Title: Brussels sprouts

Author: Kristina [[email protected]]

Status: Finished, 1/1

Pairing: Ian McKellen/Orlando Bloom

Rating: R

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The author is not affiliated with the mentioned individuals in any way. The author is not insinuating anything about the mentioned individuals. Any similarities to actual events are purely coincidental. Also, I have no idea what brand of cigarettes Ian McKellen really smokes and I am not being paid for product placement.

Feedback: Yes please! (But please no ‘you are a pervert and you are going to burn in hell’-letters.)

Archive: BTF, Love for Sir Ian, others please ask.

Summary: Life can be hard sometimes. Luckily, there is love.

Warnings: Kink&Sap

AN: After watching a number of incredibly slashy photographs of the two gentlemen I realized I have to do something about the bunnies gnawing at my feet. This is also a fic of the kind I feel has been lacking. Also, this MIGHT have something to do with all those desert prince bunnies….

And finally, since I couldn’t write adultery to save my life, this is an AR. Consider Ian’s lovely Real Life partner happily married to someone else.

Thanks to Alex Cat for the beta!

"Familiarity Breeds Consent." -Peter McWilliams

[ ]= Italics.

***

The room was perfectly still.

There were no noises except for his own heavy breathing.

The small chamber’s only occupant was trying for all the world to fall asleep.

Ian was tired. Too tired. Perhaps that was the problem.

He sighed heavily and continued staring at the wall, watching the shadow of the flickering candle behind him. Yes, that was it. He was too tired to fall asleep.

His day had been long and filled with chores, obligations and problems to solve. Problems that were [his] to solve. He was not a young man any longer. Ian exhaled sharply. Who was he kidding? He wasn’t even not-young anymore, he was old. Older than most of the servants anyway. He turned on his back, letting one hand rest on his cloth-clad belly. He fondled it a little. He had hoped to be retired by now, enjoying a small pension in the outskirts of the city. He knew it was tradition, one of the few privileges servants enjoyed when they reached a respectable age. [If ] they reached it.

There was a certain sense of pride involved. ‘You’ve served well, you’ve fulfilled your duties. Here is your reward.’ The closer you got to your retirement, the more respect were you treated with. Ian enjoyed that respect. He had certainly earned it.

All of his life had he devoted to the court. All those long years, serving and earning his keep.

He couldn’t say that he was miserable. Life had treated him fairly well. At the times of famine, at the times of war, he had always been safe, enjoying a warm bed and bread behind the safety of the thick stonewalls.

The few hours he had for himself were his to spend as he pleased. He had made acquaintances here, people who respected him. From what little he heard of the outside world, he was lucky. He had never been beaten or coerced, robbed of his dignity. Granted, he was but a simple servant at the bottom of the staircase, so to speak, and the king hardly remembered his name, but he had always been treated like a man, instead of an animal.

It had been a simple life, but it had been his.

Pride, although moderate, filled him, as he thought of his long years of service. He would gladly accept his retirement when his time came. He wasn’t high enough in the hierarchy to decline the offer and insist on finishing his life at the court. They did that, he knew. The king’s favourites.

He sighed. It wouldn’t be long. Just a year, or two at the most.

He blew out the candle and let his eyes slip closed, content with the analysis of his problem. The day had exhausted him. It was as simple as that.

He had almost fallen asleep when he heard a faint noise outside his door. Before he could react, the door flung open and a tall, dark figure entered his chamber. He tried to yell out, before a glove clad hand pressed against his mouth, silencing him.

"Be quiet, old man. Everything is quite alright."

The stranger held a candle in front of his face, revealing delicate and noble features surrounded by a frame of coal-black curls.

Ian’s heart almost stopped in his chest.

Could it be? In his chamber.

"My Lord, I must express the deepest apology for my behaviour. I simply did not recognize the prince."

Prince Orlando waved his hand, visibly amused.
"That is quite alright, my good man. I wouldn’t expect my own visit at an ungodly hour like this."

As Ian struggled to regain control of his breathing and that iron sledgehammer inside his chest, he reflected upon the response of the prince and realised that he wasn’t in any kind of trouble. At least, not yet.

He gathered all of his occupational pride. He sank down on one knee on the floor in front of the grinning royalty.

"How may I be of service, My Lord?"

"Ah, that’s the real mystery is it not ? Not [how] I came here, or why a prince would have anything to say to a faithful, yet, unknown servant. No the mystery is [what] I want from you, and," he paused for the slightest of moments, "if you are willing to give it to me".

"I serve at the pleasure of the court, My Lord," Ian said stunned. "I will do anything you bid."

The prince shook his head. "No, no, this service is different. I will not have anyone who treats it as simply another duty. This is the kind of fruit…," he reached down and tipped Ian’s chin up so their gazes met, "that is only sweet, if it is given freely."

Ian thought he heard his heart beat its way out of his ribcage and jump down on the cold stone floor beneath his folded leg.

The prince smiled. "Yes, you know what fruit I speak of. Do you taste it yourself?"

Ian shook his head, too numb to give a verbal response. He had had lovers, male as well as female, but not for quite some time.

"I have developed quite a taste for fruit myself," the prince continued, "and I enjoy variation. That is why I’ve come to you tonight. It’s an awfully large garden, and I intend to taste everything. Even if it is just once."

Although he had still trouble processing the information he had just received, Ian managed to get his vocal cords operational.

"My Lord", he started meekly, "I am but a [simple] servant, and old at that. Wouldn’t you rather… uhm… taste someone higher in station than me… someone closer to His Majesty. A page if it is indeed a servant that you want…. or at least someone younger?"

"My dear old man," the prince continued, "my desire is to walk through the entire garden. I’ve had younger. I’ve had higher in station. Men, women, servants, pages, stable boys, equals, nobility, friends, my father’s confidants. I’ve had a taste of all. What. I. Want. Tonight. Is. You."

It was as though the son of God had stood there promising Ian an eternity in paradise. He could not believe that this was happening. This must simply be a lucid dream of some forbidden sort.

"I am your prince, servant." Orlando stated quietly. "What I want from you is your total submission. You will not forget your place. But I am not a brute. I will not take it from you if you are unwilling.

Say no and I will leave you here. You will not suffer any repercussions from your decision."

Ian asked God for strength to speak the next few words, and luckily the maker granted his wish.

"I serve at the pleasure of the court."

****

Ian had never been in the private quarters of any members of the royal family. Prince Orlando didn’t seem to share his mother’s rumoured taste for abundant luxury. His quarters were large, but moderately decorated. Candleholders, bookcases, plush carpets and in the middle of it all, the prince’s bed, veiled with woven silk. Ian felt increasingly uncomfortable in these surroundings. He shouldn’t be here. This was not his place.

The guards that must have stood outside the prince’s quarters would not have reacted when they saw what the prince had in tow, Ian mused. They would be too well trained.

The prince left Ian standing in the middle of the carpet-clad floor to exchange a few words with his page in the adjoining chamber. He returned after a moment with a glass bottle in his hand.

"My page is preparing a bath for you. Wash yourself clean." He pointed towards a small door next to the page’s chamber.

Ian had not moved a muscle until now, simple or not, he [was] a professional. The prince’s order and his casual way of delivering it hit a nerve in Ian. The prince must have done this many times before. For a fraction of a second he imagined the prince’s previous bedmates, surely there must have been a variety of…fruits. He gathered himself within an instant.

"Yes, My Lord." He started in the direction he had been pointed.

"Ian." The servant stopped midstride and turned towards the prince. How did the prince know his name? "Yes, My Lord." The prince flashed a reassuring, almost benevolent smile.

"Make sure to take your time. You are not in a hurry."

***

Ian shed himself of his simple clothing. The prince had thankfully allowed him to change out of his nightshirt before leaving. He hesitated for the slightest of moments before removing his breeches. The page would have looked him straight in the eyes without giving his genitals any attention.

As he stepped in the hot, scented water he reveled in the warmth surrounding him. He had been instructed to take his time. Was he really perceived of as that filthy? Not that he wasn’t happy to oblige. How long had it been since he had last enjoyed the luxury of unlimited time in a hot bath? The stressful life of a servant allowed no such extravagances.

As he let himself soak, his mind drifted to the task that lay before him. It had been a long time since his last encounter and he wasn’t sure how he would feel once the prince had his hands on him. [The prince.]

Oh dear, to top it off, it was his Lord that he was supposed to… service, and not one of his peers. A member of the royal family, after all those years of inactivity!

He was starting to wonder if he could do it. Of course he could, he reminded himself harshly. He had been offered the opportunity to decline the offer with his honor intact, and he had not taken it. Now that moment had passed. He had made his choice. He was going to service the prince.

He felt resolution well up inside of him and he stood and stepped out of the bath. He searched for something to dry himself with but found nothing. As he surveyed the floor he noticed with horror that his clothing was nowhere to be seen. The page must have taken it.

A smile suddenly grazed Ian’s features. Yes, this was exactly the way things should be. The [servant] then opened the door and went out into the large room dripping water, dressed in nothing but what God had given him.

He bowed his head meekly. "My Lord." The prince did not rise from the chair he was sitting in next to the fireplace. "Did you enjoy the bath?" The servant bowed and said, "Yes, My Lord. Thank you, kindly." He knew better than to make a move. Instead he waited for instructions.

"Would you like a drink before we start?", the prince motioned towards the glass bottle. Ian wasn’t surprised by the kindness, and he knew he shouldn’t be. "Very much, My Lord." He bowed his head.

The servant accepted the glass from the prince and swallowed it’s amber liquid. It burned in his throat and he had to restrain himself from coughing. The prince made no motion to rise, but his gaze burned on the naked body before him. When he spoke, his voice was soft, almost alluring. "Come over to me."

Ian held his breath as he crossed the room while counting quietly in his mind. Three paces, four paces, five paces. As he stood before the prince’s chair, he sunk down on one knee and bowed his head. "There, there, servant" the prince said in a suddenly steely tone, as he reached out and petted Ian’s head, the way you would a loyal dog. "You will do just fine." The servant didn’t dare to let any of his reactions show. He knew for sure that that would lead to punishment.

Prince Orlando reached down a hand and caressed a pink nipple. He smiled victoriously as he felt it harden between his fingers. "Yes, you are going to do just fine." He stood up and motioned towards the bed. "Have a seat." The servant immediately obeyed.

As the prince freed himself from his own clothing, Ian tried to calm his raging heart. God, the man was beautiful. Tall and slender, but not frail. Lean and muscular, covered in beautifully tinted skin. And that face, what a face. Dark curls fell into piercing, hazel eyes and were brushed away with a graceful motion.

Then the world stood still. The servant sat at the edge of the bed as the prince held him captive with his gaze for what seemed to be an eternity. It was the prince who broke both silence and stillness by walking up to the servant, placing one hand on his neck, and saying, "Taste me."

The servant thought of the sea he had visited as a child before it had claimed his father. He thought of the sharp taste of salt water that had found its way into his mouth, and the stickiness it had left behind. He thought of his mother’s patch behind their hovel, and the musky smell of earth.

He felt like he was fainting, his head swimming with sensations. Taste, sound, scent. The feel of silky skin beneath his tongue, and strong, forceful hands in his hair. It was over before he realised, the man before him taking a step back. "Lie on the bed face down". His voice was unsteady now.

The last coherent thought that crossed through Ian’s mind was of how long he had waited, and how much he deserved this. When the pain gripped him, he surrendered to it, reveling in the feel of the prince brutalizing his body, shoving himself deep inside without any visible restraint.

Oh, the advantages of a long, hot, bath.

Ian had gripped the sheets without realising it. Strong hands grabbed his wrists and pinned them down. He could feel his own member beneath his body. Stone hard like the one inside him.

At the second thrust, his eyes watered. At the third, the tears came. He loved this, the completeness of it. A head bent down to his ear and kissed it. For a moment, there was the notion of another presence in the room. A presence he knew well. The voice in his ear didn’t belong to the prince at all.

"Shhh… You have me", it whispered, "[you have me]". Ian didn’t try to hold anything back anymore. He soaked the pillow with his tears, and clawed his nails into the sheets as the prince received an orgasm from his body. Ian sunk down into the mattress unable to move, as pleasure, unbelievably sweet overtook him like a tidal wave.

It took a long while until he had gathered himself. He felt the strong hands of the prince release his wrists, and the heavy body move off him. Hazel eyes, now tired, looked down upon him, and the voice that asked him was unbelievably soft. "What say you, servant?".

Ian lifted his head to meet the gaze and delivered his line with a smile.

"Brussels sprouts."

****

As the even rhythm of his breathing calmed him, he slowly became aware of his surroundings. Tall walls, the dark ceiling of a large room. Doors, many rooms, corridors, a fireplace, but not a castle. His home in Limehouse. If he focused, he could hear the steady flow of the Thames outside his bedroom window. Even though the drapes were closed, he knew that night had fallen.

The sheets were soft under his sweat and seed covered skin. He wondered if he needed another bath but decided against it. What he really needed was sleep. As he pondered whether he would get it or not, the sound of soft bare feet caught his attention and he directed his gaze towards the door.

Orli walked into the room wearing nothing but a warm smile, carrying two tall glasses of water, and on top of one, the one thing Ian at that moment desired more than anything in the world. His cigarettes.

"I really think you should stop smoking that crap and convert to cloves", Orli said as he climbed into the bed, resting his head on an elbow and watched his boyfriend smoke.

"Crap?" Ian amusedly queried between long drags on his cigarette. "You are calling Chesterfield’s crap? It seems to me that you are in need of developing taste-buds, my sweet prince." He loved this gentle bickering, he thought, as he extended one hand and ruffled black curls. He hoped he would never have to live without it.

As if he had heard his boyfriend’s thoughts, Orli brought Ian’s hand to his lips and kissed it. "You know how much I love you, don’t you?". His friendly smile was the only reassurance Ian would ever need. "Of course I do. You show me every day. You do now. You did tonight."

Ian hoped that Orli understood just how much playing these games meant to him. He rubbed his hand gently against Orli’s cheek. "I just want to thank you for doing it with me. You’ve no idea how much it means to me." He watched in amusement as Orli laughed and winked at him. "I think I’ve a pretty good idea…" He pointed towards Ian’s sticky belly, before silencing. "So… It was everything you wanted? I did everything right? I know hiding your clothes wasn’t part of the deal, but I couldn’t help myself, and you didn’t even notice when I stuck my arm in and took them."

Ian answered by pulling Orli’s head down and showering his face with little kisses. After leaning towards the nightstand and rubbing his fag in the ashtray, Ian settled on his back nestling Orli in his arms. "What about you? Did you enjoy it as much as I did?" He was greeted with a mock-indignant snort.

"What do you take me for, someone who would go through something like this without liking it? Just to make someone else happy?" Ian shook his head slowly.

"You [know] I’m not that kind of person. I wouldn’t play our games if they didn’t make me feel good. And I can assure you, that I enjoyed it [very] much." The last bit was spoken with a smile, and Ian was treated to a gentle poke in the ribs.

Orli was quiet a while before he continued softly. "You are incredibly beautiful like that, you know. When you lose control and give in to the sensations. It’s amazing to watch you let go, to feel you trembling under my hands, and know that you do it for me. It’s all for me."

Ian sighed, pulling Orli in for a long, tender kiss.

"Are you going to be able to sleep tonight?" Orli asked as he reached for his glass. "Yes, I think so." Ian stretched his lose limbs, reveling in the warmth and the tingles. "For some reason, I feel awfully relaxed." Orli laughed and finished his water. "Do you feel alright about tomorrow?"

Ian nodded, all the tension of the last few days vanished from his body. "Yes, a lot better. I always knew it’s going to go well, I just get like this every time."

Orli laughed again. "I still can’t believe you’ve stage fright!" After two years, it still baffled him beyond belief that Ian suffered from what he considered a plain beginner’s disease.

"It’s not stage fright, really, it’s just nerves." Ian explained patiently trying to sound as though he wasn’t defending himself. "It´s…." He gazed up at the ceiling.

"After all those months of preparing yourself… After all that work, and those long rehearsals, you’ve reached a point when there’s nothing more you can do. You’ve done everything you can, you’re all prepared, and all you can do is to watch the hours ticking by, waiting for the moment when you can get up there and do the best you can." He let out a tired sigh. "It’s the helplessness that gets to me. But now…" He rolled over and poked Orli’s nose. "Now I have you."

"Yes, and I will be right there tomorrow. So when you start tripping over your own feet and forgetting your lines, I’ll organize the escape." Orli chuckled and was then quite for a moment.

"I still don’t understand why I have to be a slut. Where do you get everything from?"

Ian had to snigger at Orli’s almost offended expression. "I don’t know, honestly. A display of the prince’s power maybe. It was just something I came up with." He settled back against the mattress grimacing as his soreness made itself known. "Where did you get this from anyway?" Ian gestured towards the silk veil. "I haven’t seen it before."

Orli moved closer and tipped Ian’s face towards him. "I got it when I was in India, with Dom and Elijah. Look…" He bit his lip thoughtfully. "Can I ask you a question?" He continued when Ian nodded. "Why is your safeword brussels sprouts? I mean, I know they’re your favourites and all… But it’s hardly the first thing that comes to mind when you are having sex."

Ian was quite for a while, pondering on how he could explain. "This might sound silly to you, but it’s…." He paused. "When I was a child my mother would go to the market in the mornings, you know we weren’t that terribly well off, it was the war, it had just ended…. Anyway, and my mother would bring home, among other things, brussels sprouts."

He gestured vaguely with his hands. "And there was a variety of things, well not that many, because of the war, and the money and all… Uhm. And anyway… for some reason, of the things my mother would cook, this included the potatoes and cabbage and carrots, the thing I loved the most was brussels sprouts. Boiled, with butter and lemon."

He looked at the other vegetarian seeking understanding. "They can’t be compared, of course, to the frozen ones people buy in the store nowadays. They have to be fresh. Do you understand me?"

Orli shook his head in confusion. No, he couldn’t say that he understood.

"Anyway, and we would sit down, mum and dad, and Jean and I. And we would eat them, with bread. And… we would sit there and…. I can’t understand why it’s brussels sprouts that’s stuck in my head, we had lots of lovely meals together… and I can’t see why…."

He interrupted himself when Orli looked at him sternly. Ian sighed.

"Anyway, you know what it’s like when you’re a child. The world is awfully big to you, scary and unknown. So you cling to the world you [do] know, the world that is yours… And well, I was sitting there, with my family in our dining room, in our four-bedroom house, and it wasn’t very large, you know that… And I felt…. Perfectly safe. And perfectly content. I knew with all my heart, that ‘this is where I want to be, this is my place’…. and I felt at home. You trust your parents implicitly when you’re a child, you trust them with all that you are. I knew they loved me you see, me and Jean. They really loved us. And they’d never hurt us, they’d do anything to protect us. And well… that’s the thing that’s stuck in my head, and that’s why I say ‘brussels sprouts’ because that’s the way I feel with you."

Orli was quiet for a long while, looking straight into Ian’s eyes before kissing him firmly at the top of his head. Ian felt a strong arm wrap around him and he thought he saw a tear glisten in the corner of Orli´s eye.

"You know, I’ll be very happy when I get off that stage tomorrow. I’ll be extraordinarily happy."

He gave Orli´s earlobe a little lick and smiled. "In fact, I think you know [exactly] how good of a mood I’ll be in when we come home from the party." Orli moaned slightly against Ian’s neck.

"Just promise me we’ll have normal sex, Ian. I’m worn out by all that acting."

Ian laughed, but he sounded tired even to his own ears. "One plain vanilla missionary coupling, coming up. Shall you lie still and think of England, or shall I?"

The sound of Orli´s giggles soothed his ears, and his last thought before he fell asleep, thoroughly relaxed, in strong, youthful arms, was of his mother’s brussels sprouts, served with butter, and a hint of lemon.

The End.