Thomassen is a fucking control freak, and Søren is sick of it.
Søren's been a yachtie since he left school at seventeen. He knows what he's doing. He's been a deckhand, a stew, an assistant chef on a larger yacht, and the best bosun his ex's family could dream of. And he's a damn good chef, too — sure, his education wasn't as formal as say, Bonnefois from Thomassen's old crew, but in the middle of a disaster season, he's the best chef any captain could dream of. And he should fucking well know it, 'cause Søren's heard the stories from previous charters. Honestly? If you ask Søren? Didn't sound like Thomassen was completely blameless in the tipsy stewardesses incident. As easy on the eyes as their fair-haired captain may be, right now, even Søren is tempted to slip some of the bourbon he uses for his slow-cooked ribs into his morning coffee. And a couple of stressed stews having a sip of wine is really hardly grounds for a plane ticket home.
He's never met such a perfectionist prick, and he's only the chef. He dreads to think what the stews had to go through. It's all Andersen I need a twelve course dinner in three hours, Andersen the clients have requested a party and you're the one organising it, Andersen you aren't cooking this right, Andersen you aren't plating that right.
Nah, by the sounds of things? Thomassen has a stick, no, he has a fucking mast up his arse and he drove his own stews away. And Søren isn't far off himself. He's only sticking around for the money now, and maybe the view.
He thinks he's pretty easygoing, for a chef. Bonnefois is notorious for his sulking, Kirkland is notorious for his fiery temper, no one wants to even touch Williams for his mood swings. Søren gets the job done, and pretty fucking well, if the clients' words are anything to go by. And that's the thing — in their industry, the client's word is the last word. Thomassen can complain all he likes, but at the end of the day, it's the clients they're bending over for, not the captain.
This charter, it's a pair of vegan foodies, and Søren is in his element. He'd call himself plant-based, as difficult as that is at sea, so he knows his stuff, and these two are used to the culinary haven of Milan, so it's the perfect challenge. But guess what? Thomassen is really on his arse.
The chief stew is venting to him every other second. They've worked together before, apparently, and it's the first time he's actually gone and lost her the whole damn crew. Losing Bonnefois was fine, but losing Svensson and Väinämöinen, leaving Alice scrambling for the first day of the charter before her replacements arrive, that's just shit. It's damn near impossible. Thomassen is fucking lucky that Søren is on top of his game and has enough time to help Alice sort shit out.
During their short break, Alice sits at the dining table in their tiny crew mess and heaves a deep sigh.
"I've known him my whole bloody life, but he's damn well out of control now," she says. "Fuck knows what's got into him. I'd talk to him but he's barely acknowledging me now."
Søren feels so bad for her. She's the youngest chief stew he's ever met, set to be ditching the cleaning to be a damn client at the rate she's going at, but this is not how you're meant to be spending your early twenties.
"I'll talk to him," he promises her, and gives her a sample of the food he's prepared for the vegan twins.
He does go up to the bridge to see Thomassen, who is visibly unhappy about it. There's not a lot he can say to Søren, though. He can't lose another chef, and Søren knows that, and Søren knows that Thomassen knows that.
"Just cut everyone a little slack, okay? I know you're very accomplished an' all that, hell I reckon ya've been on boats less time than I have an' I'm no captain, but yer even scarin' Alice off, an' ya can't lose any more staff."
Thomassen's glare is icy, cold blue eyes absolutely venomous. "I think I know how to run my ship, thank you."
"Do ya?"
Thomassen really looks like he's going to slap Søren, or at the very least fire him, but Søren knows well he can't do either of those. So he stalks out of the room, and continues to prepare his six-course vegan feast.
It's only a matter of hours before Thomassen starts trying to make him regret it.
"Andersen, the clients requested dinner at nineteen hundred hours. It's ten minutes to and I don't see any food going out any time soon."
Søren grins at him. "That's 'cause it's a hot starter of grilled peach and sourdough, Cap'n, an' if it goes out a moment too soon we're fucked in the arse."
Thomassen raises an eyebrow and strides off.
Later, when Søren's plating dessert, Thomassen wanders in again and asks him why Alice isn't making the clients cocktails.
"There's only one Alice, Cap'n, an' plenty of cleanin' to do, an' I figured I could handle it. Maybe you'd like a virgin Sex on the Beach?"
Thomassen completely ignores him, and wanders off again.
When he next strikes, he and Alice are cleaning up after the meal, the two young foodies very happy with their service, sitting shirtless in the evening sun and chatting away in some Mediterranean language Søren can't identify.
He gives Alice a look. She doesn't want to be around for this. It's a game of cat and mouse, and she shouldn't be anyone's bait. She hurries off, saying something about needing to wipe down all the windows.
"How long have you been on yachts, Andersen?" Thomassen asks, as if to question his very competence for his job.
"Since I was seventeen, Cap'n, started out a deckhand an' learnt to cook along the way. Nearly thirteen years now."
Thomassen raises an eyebrow and runs one long finger down the crack in between two cupboards, as if trying to prove that Søren's kitchen is dusty. Naturally, he is unsuccessful, and Søren has to bite back a snicker.
"Where did you learn to cook?"
"Went to an academy back in Copenhagen in an off season, then went back as a stew an' worked it in to what I was doin'. Worked out pretty well, don't ya think?"
Thomassen seems unconvinced. He steps closer to Søren, looking him right in the eye. "The problem is, Andersen, a yacht needs a high-class chef. Someone who knows what he's doing. Knows his way around a kitchen. And, furthermore, knows his place in a kitchen."
They're very close now. "Your criticism suggests ya ain't ever even tried my food, Cap'n."
"That could be the case."
"Y'know, Cap'n, ya seem like an arsehole when ya talk like this," Søren says quietly, now so close that he can whisper it in Thomassen's ear. "Are ya an arsehole? 'Cause I'm not sure anymore. The others talk like ya weren't always like this, an' I got a feelin' yer just a little… stressed."
Thomassen closes his eyes. "That… could be…. the case."
"If ya haven't tried my food, isn't it damn well time ya did that?"
Søren licks his lips and takes one of the leftover truffles from dessert from the counter and puts it between his teeth. Thomassen leans in to bite it from him, and bites Søren's lip, too, gently.
"It's good," he breathes, "but I think we can do better."
That's it. This captain needs to be put right back in his place.
Søren slams Thomassen back against the fridge and presses his body against his. He rubs himself against the captain, letting him feel every bit how much he wants to get his own way on this ship.
Thomassen moans softly, and bites Søren's ear.
Søren isn't taking that. This guy dares to tease him? No. No fucking way. He rips open the captain's shirt and squeezes his nipple and he moans louder. That's what Søren wants. He bites and licks them and Thomassen starts begging him, pleading him to go on, to go further, to satisfy him fully.
"Ya wanted more'n a taste, then?" Søren whispers, and Thomassen nods.
Søren sweeps everything off the counter onto the floor, and slams Thomassen down on it. He undresses, and Thomassen does the same, dropping their uniforms to the floor. All Søren is wearing now is his underwear, and the captain, helpfully, isn't even wearing that.
Søren leaves dark, purple marks on Thomassen's neck, and moves down. He sucks, hard, and Thomassen groans. He seems to be agreeing with Søren.
Søren carries on, then starts with his hand instead, biting Thomassen again, and then he freezes.
The door to the kitchen has started to open.
He jumps up and slams himself against it, forcing it closed. From the other side, one of the clients asks if they can have more dessert.
Søren looks at the captain, chocolate melting on his skin, and cream on his lips, and tells the client that regrettably, the kitchen is closed, but Alice will make them more cocktails.
Thomassen is a bit nicer to everyone after that.