Author's Note: Our newest addition to the OME-playlist is Shakira feat. Rihanna - Can't Remember To Forget You and Wookie feat. Eliza Doolittle - The Hype. Lol. Maybe you can listen to them while reading or smth ^^
Also thanks to all those who reviewed, and especially the Guests, to whom I couldn't directly answer. I'm happy you all like it :)
Enjoy!
Ginger/Mahogany brown
Thranduil woke with a pinch in his neck and his right leg numb, both stemming from his rather uncomfortable position, curled up on the sofa, half sitting. He groaned and blinked his eyes open. Well, Hallelujah, it seemed like he'd slept through the night like this, because the sun was peeking in through the curtains. It wasn't like his job already killed his back, no, he had to make it worse by sleeping on the couch.
"Father?"
He groaned again and rubbed his sleep-dry eyes.
"Legolas?" he called hoarsely and rolled onto his back, barely catching his laptop before it could slip off his lap and fall onto the floor.
"Look at me."
Thranduil blinked again and tried to focus on his son's face, barely a few inches from his.
"Goddamn, don't loom over me like that," he protested weakly.
"Oh good, you're not drunk. I was actually surprised to see you passed out on the sofa without any bottles of Champaign around," Legolas said cheerfully and patted his head. Sometimes Thranduil sincerely doubted that Legolas knew he was his son and not the other way around.
"Tea or coffee?"
"Both," he grunted and sat, rubbing his prickling leg. "You know I can't make a decent cup of tea. And you also know I'm not a real person before I had my morning coffee."
"Figured." Legolas started whistling a random tune and started the coffee machine. "I saw you restocked the kitchen."
"Mmmh …"
"Well, that's good. You won't be starving then. Oh, come, come, don't be shy. Bring that over to him, will you?"
Thranduil's head jerked up at the last bit and he blinked frantically, trying to figure out who Legolas was talking to. Because it sure wasn't himself, and holy fuck there was a stranger in his kitchen. Oh no, he was coming over and …
"Your coffee, sir."
He squinted his eyes and stared at the young man's bearded face. Who had beards nowadays? And he was ginger, too. It looked simply ridiculous.
"Father, this is Gimli, he works with me. Gimli, this is my father," Legolas shouted from the kitchen.
"Nice to meet you, sir," Gimli grumbled –it didn't sound like he meant it – and held out the coffee cup. Suspiciously raising his eyebrows, Thranduil took the cup.
"I'm not sure if it is," he replied then, sipped at the hot liquid and made an appreciative noise. "But coffee is always a good peace-offering."
Legolas appeared behind the Gimli-guy and grinned.
"Yup, he's always like that."
"Were you talking to me or to him?" Thranduil asked after another sip.
"Both of course."
"Cheeky boy," Thranduil growled and emptied his cup, but his loving smile was obvious enough.
"Tea?" Legolas stretched out the tea pot.
"Yes please."
Thranduil watched his son and his friend over the rim of his cup and immediately noticed that they seemed oddly familiar with each other; they sat on the couch opposite of him with their knees almost touching, but didn't seem too self-conscious about it. Also, Gimli was very obviously wary in Thrandui's presence, but Legolas' company seemed to overweigh this minor dislike. But no matter how hung-over or jetlagged Thranduil was, he would have remembered hearing his own son talk to him about a new employee in his practice – he would remember Legolas talking about a new friend. One might call it a father's instinct, but knowing his own – missing – knack in fatherhood it had to be something else.
"You're staring," Legolas asserted after a while and looked at him with a raised eyebrow.
"Well …" Mimicking his son's facial expression, he let his gaze flicker between him and Gimli. "I'm confused. You know I'm rarely confused about people."
At this, the image of a certain man came to mind. Blue eyes, black hair, a worn coat, a brown envelope and crumpled paper. Thorin. He had misjudged him.
Legolas sighed and met Gimli's gaze for a moment, as if they were mind-talking. Thranduil didn't like people who mind-talked with his son. Or, well, he liked Tauriel, but he didn't like when she did it.
"Father, I told you, Gimli is a friend. He works in the practice."
"He's not a doctor," Thranduil said matter-of-factly.
"I'm Legolas' and Dr. Woods' assistant. I handle th-…"
Thranduil's stare silenced Gimli immediately.
"Legolas," he said tonelessly. "You called him Legolas. And you called Tauriel Dr. Woods."
He watched as both men paled minutely, and that was when he felt his own blood withdraw from his head. He put two and two together – for heaven's sake, almost literally – and realised …
"You're a couple."
After cold realisation came shock – how could he not know, how could he have missed something as crucial as this – and then came embarrassment and eventually resignation and maybe – only maybe; remember, bad dad, he didn't do responsible – a tinge of happiness for his son. He didn't know how much of his internal struggle showed on his face, but judging after Legolas' and Gimli's dreadful, stony faces he'd say not much. So he set his jaw and jutted a finger at the ginger, bearded P.A.
"You," he said coldly. "Be glad I wasn't sipping my tea, or I'd be in need of medical assistance. And you," this time the finger pointed at Legolas, "be glad I'm too stunned to be reprimanding you for not telling me, for fuck's sake."
"Fat-…"
"Don't 'father' me," he interrupted Legolas in an imperial tone and stood. "Both of you, up, on your feet. Now."
The two men – boyfriends for crying out loud – exchanged wary glances, but did as they were asked to. When Thranduil came at them around the tea table, they looked thoroughly shaken.
"Hold still," Thranduil said, put down his tea cup and pulled them both into a bone-crushing hug.
"Ow," Legolas protested, but the huff that followed the exclamation sounded positively amused.
Thranduil pulled back a little and stared at Gimli.
"Consider yourself warned. Should you only so much as think about hurting my boy you will learn about real pain." He leaned into the shorter man's face. "Fear me."
"Okay, father, that's enough, leave him be!" Legolas laughed, but Gimli solemnly nodded.
"I would never hurt Legolas, sir," he said, and Thranduil let them go, satisfied.
"You shouldn't have worried though, father," his son said and shyly wound his arm around Gimli's. "We came here exactly to tell you about us."
"But it wouldn't have been so efficient for my part," Thranduil disagreed and subtly-not-so-subtly did the unofficially global sign of 'I'm watching you' to Gimli. Then he snapped out of his serious demeanour and bowed elegantly with a flourish. "Now, as our business has been attended to I would ask you to leave now – I have things to do."
"And what might that be?" Legolas asked suspiciously.
"Stuff," Thranduil simply stated and shooed them out. Or tried to. Because Legolas refused to budge once they left the living room, not even when being poked into his ribs.
"Are you overworking yourself again? It's only been two days since you came back from Paris – I doubt you know what time it is and you probably haven't eaten in at least 24 hours. You shouldn't let yourself be bullied into jobs," Legolas said with a hint of worry.
"I'm not working, but shouldn't you two be working? Helping people and stuff?"
"It's our lunch break," Gimli deadpanned.
"What? What time is it?"
"Half past twelve," the P.A. offered politely.
"Fuck." Thranduil turned his back on them and rushed back to the couch, where his laptop lay. After continuously pressing a few buttons he realised that the battery probably ran out some time during the night. "Legolas, have you seen the charger for my laptop?"
"No. Why, is it important?"
"Yes!" Because of course he'd fallen asleep after finding out Dís Durin's address, and never got to the point where he wrote it on a piece of paper. On the other hand, maybe this was some sort of a divine intervention. A sign not to pursue this matter. Dammit, no, he had to find Thorin Oakenshield, and if it meant to canvas a metropolis for a homeless person. The 'why' didn't exactly matter. This was instinct, a very illogical drive that drove him insane, like an itch somewhere you couldn't reach.
"I need your smartphone," he sighed eventually and stretched his hand out to Legolas, who frowned, but gave it to him. Thrandui quickly searched for Dís Durin's address and grabbed a slip of paper, on which he wrote the address, before handing the phone back to his son. "Thanks. I'll be heading out with you in a sec."
Scurrying around the apartment he grabbed a fresh long-armed t-shirt (dark blue), threw a black waistcoat on top, changed his socks – he figured the black skinny jeans were still okay – and quickly brushed through his hair, but it had that silky quality that kind of prevented it from tangling too much.
"Good to go," he said, slipped into his comfy green coat and custom-made shoes, grabbed his keys and the note with Dís Durin's address. He saw Legolas eyeing the slip of paper suspiciously, but he didn't say anything, which Thranduil was strangely grateful for. He hated lying to his son – and he sort of didn't want to tell him about Thorin Oakenshield quite yet. For whatever reason.
The door to Dís Durin's apartment was painted with a flaking blue paint. Thranduil's hands itched, wanting to peel it off the door completely, while he gathered his courage to ring the bell or knock. He hadn't decided which one to do yet. Why was he even here? Ah, yes, Thorin Oakenshield. The mystery. The pursuer who turned away. The homeless painter. Damn his curiosity.
With one deep breath he reached for the doorbell and pushed the slightly sticky button. He wiped his fingers on his coat, cringing inwardly. Well, the Bronx clearly wasn't Manhattan. There was a clanking noise before the door opened minutely, held by a metal chain. A pair of innocent blue eyes looked up at him from under a mop of brown, unruly hair. A child, Thranduil realised.
"Hi," the child said.
"Oh, hi. Um … Is your mommy home?"
"Yeeess." The blue eyes blinked.
"Can … Can I talk to her?"
A different voice called out from behind the child, a woman's voice: "Kíli, I told you not to open the door to strangers. Who is it?"
"A man. He wants to talk to you," Kíli said and half-turned away from the door. Thranduil – secretly pleased the child had recognised him as a man and not as a woman; a common mistake – heard footsteps, the metal chain was unhooked and he was faced with a sturdily built, small woman with hair as unruly as the child's. He couldn't help but notice its reddish mahogany brown colour.
"Can I help you?" she asked, curtly, politely, but with a hint of impatience. Kíli peeked around her broad frame and blinked at him.
"I hope so," he said with a smile. "My name is Thranduil Greenleaf. Are you Dís Durin?"
She only scowled and pointed at the name tag under the doorbell with her free hand, which of course said "D. Durin". The other one gently and perhaps absentmindedly petted the boy's hair.
"Well … Good. Ah … Is Thorin Oakenshield you brother?"
"Why are you asking?" The impatience in her voice grew minutely.
"He approached me yesterday, and … kind of walked away before we finished our conversation. I understand that he sometimes visits you. If it is no bother to you I would like to leave my name and address with you."
Dís' eyebrows rose and she took his appearance in.
"Huh. So you're the guy he was talking about." Then, suddenly, a very genuine looking smile lit up her face and she made an inviting gesture. "Come on in, this isn't hallway talk."
"Thank you." He followed her into the flat and brushed past a big-eyed Kíli, whose patting footsteps followed him into a small living room, where they were swallowed by a thick rug. The whole apartment seemed to be rather small, but it looked cosy and warm, with soft-looking couches, cushions and old, wooden furniture. Kíli retreated into what seemed to be his room, closing the door behind him.
"Would you like some coffee? Or tea?" Dís asked.
"No thanks, I just had some."
"Well, then." She crossed her arms. "Thorin was here yesterday and told me about you or I wouldn't have let you in."
"How fortunate," Thranduil said and smiled uncertainly.
"You seem to be a very fortunate man." Dís gave him a calculating look, before she walked past him and knocked on a door. "Thorin? Come out, there is someone here to see you."
Oh. So he was still here. Well, that would speed things up.
He heard a few muffled curses, banging and splashing, and then the door was forcefully thrown open, revealing the tall man, dripping with water and naked except for a towel wrapped around his hips. His eyes immediately fell on Thranduil, and they held each other's gaze, blue on blue. He felt his cheeks warm up.
"Well, this is embarrassing," Thorin grumbled and shot his sister an annoyed look.
Thranduil cleared his throat and fiddled with the seam of his coat, unsure what to do or say, now that he was faced with Thorin again – half naked on top of that. He stubbornly refused to look anywhere except his azure eyes. No, he didn't sneak any glances to the broad, muscled chest or the … No, no, just the eyes. Eyes were safe.
"Maybe you should dress first," Dís suggested gently after a while.
"Yeah … I'll just …" Thorin retreated back into the bathroom and closed the door, and Thranduil couldn't keep back a relieved sigh.
"Moron," Dís said affectionately, but apparently not low enough, because Thorin shot a laughing "Witch!" back through the bathroom door. A minute or two later he emerged again, this time wearing trousers and a shirt, which he was about to button up.
"Sorry about that," he said and approached Thranduil, holding out a hand to shake. He carefully took it and squeezed a little, trying to ignore the slightly calloused fingertips brushing against his wrist.
"No problem. My name is Thranduil. Thranduil Greenleaf."
"Oh. Nice to properly meet you."
"Likewise."
"So …" Thorin put his hands on his hips. "I'd still like to paint you. I assume that's why you're here?"
"I was curious, yes." Which was the safest answer he could think of. Others went along the line of I had to solve the mystery or I can't explain it, but I had to find you.
"I'll let you two to it then," Dís murmured.
"Would you agree to sitting for me then?" Thorin asked, as soon as she left the room.
"I'd certainly like to try, yes. Though I can't imagine I'm … qualified."
"Don't worry. You won't have to do much," Thorin assured with a small smile. "Though if you imagine sitting like in the movies – having to be still for hours and hours – I can tell you that my technique vastly differs from that. I'll just need you to be in the same room as me, but otherwise you're free to do whatever you like."
Thranduil's eyes widened and he made a surprised sound. He hadn't actually put much thought into what would happen once he found Thorin, but he was glad it was so … easy. It was like they already connected on a certain level. It appeased his worries and emphasised that his was – somehow – the right thing to do.
"How do we do this, then?" he asked. "Where, when, and such."
"I'll need some more time to gather the utensils I need … Sold them after I lost my last job," Thorin admitted a bit sheepishly. "And well, I don't know if my sister would allow us to work here, but …"
"We can use my place," Thranduil offered. "I have enough room, and I live alone. We wouldn't disturb anyone."
"Oh, that sounds … perfect."
Thranduil patted his pockets, searching for pen and paper, but Thorin stretched both out to him before he could ask.
"A painter always has a pencil and a paper with him," he explained.
"Thanks. Very useful."
They both laughed a bit while Thranduil wrote his name (always a source of confusion, especially his first name), address and phone number on the paper. When he handed it back to Thorin, he blinked at it a few times.
"We were almost there yesterday, when …"
"Yeah." Thranduil grinned, slightly embarrassed at the memory. "I figured it wouldn't be too intelligent to lead a stranger directly to my home, but that realisation came a bit late."
Thorin chuckled and nodded.
"Good. Um, as I said, I'll probably need a few days. Is it okay if I just call you when I'm prepared? We can figure out time and date for the first session then."
"Seems good to me," Thranduil agreed happily and smiled at Thorin, finding a similar joy in the other pair of blue eyes.
Afterwards, Thranduil couldn't quite remember how exactly they parted, it was all a strange haze, blurred by awkward laughter – at some point Dís returned and he kissed her cheek in goodbye. Kíli came out of his room, too, hugging his hips and burying his face in his green cloak as if he was his favourite uncle or something. When the flaked blue door closed behind him, Thranduil felt like leaving a fairytale world and stepping back into real life. How strange.
