Work Text:
“Sir, would you care for a glass of champagne we take off?”
Thranduil, sharp in his grey business suit and red vest nodded at the stewardess, “Wonderful, thank you.”
The woman nodded, polite smile fixed on her face as she made her way down the aisle of the plane to ask the other first class passengers the same question. He turned back to the papers on his lapdesk, outlining the trade agreement between Mirkwood International and Ereborian Steel for the outsourcing of new product his company was interested in. As he was highlighting the gross demands to be renegeotiated, a scuffle took place beside him and as he looked up a scraggly man sat beside him.
Worn leather jacket over an orange plaid button up, tucked into blue jeans, boring black boat shoes completed the outfit. Thranduil raised a brow at the man, whose back was turned to him, and opened his mouth the snap at him when the stewardess re approached them.
“Mr Bowman, please, the airline is terribly sorry for the inconvenience we have caused you. Why don’t I take your bag here, and have a glass of champagne ready for you when we have levelled out?”
“Champagne? Do I have to pay for that? They never told me if I have to pay for the upgrade. I can’t possibly afford it.” His voice was gravelly and Thranduil rolled his eyes, six hours of this? Good lord.
“No Mr. Bowman, the airline is handling all excess fees, and have agreed to reimburse you for the trouble we caused you. Is there anything I can do for you before we take off?” When the man shook his head she nodded and went about her way.
Thranduil turned back to his work, ignoring the man beside him, shuffling his papers back into a pile as the stewardess went through their pre-flight routine. He leaned back, relaxing in his leather chair, and felt his eyes drift over to the man in the seat beside him. He was staring ahead at the seat in front of him, hands gripping the arm rests and breathing shallowly. He shook his head, shoulder length brown hair swishing over his collar.
Smirking to himself, Thranduil turned slightly to watch the man throughout the take off. He shuddered as the plane sped up, shook violently as it began its climb, and only started to breath normally again when they leveled out and the seat belt sign came off. The moment it was off he unbuckled his belt and ran to the washroom at the front of the plane.
Thranduil rolled his eyes, he would get a headache at this point, and took his papers back out to continue going over the negotiations. Minutes later the man cam stumbling back to his seat, his pale face making his beard stand out even more. He sat down with a huff, a shaking hand coming up to cover his eyes.
“Is this your first time in this section of the plane?” Thranduil couldn't help but jab at him.
The man turned to him, brown eyes bright despite the sickness he was feeling. “Actually, first time ever off the ground really. I’m flying back home because the trains are out, and I need to get to my kids. Is it always like this?”
“Like what?” Thranduil put his pen down for a moment, only to be polite now then ignore him later.
“Terrifying. Absolutely terrifying. I feel like at any moment I’m going to trip over something and the plane will explode. Or a bird will get caught in the engines and we’ll crash. Sorry, I’m sorry; I shouldn't be saying these things.” He shrunk down in his seat, fidgeting with the zipper on his jack. “I’m just…it’s the first time leaving my kids since my wife died, and they’re alone with my aunt, and I just miss them and I want to be home.”
“Your champagne sirs?” The two men looked up at the stewardess standing there, smile on her face and a flute of champagne in her hand.
“Perhaps a ginger ale for this man, and something to calm his nerves? A small meal would be wonderful, thank you.” Thranduil took his champagne and smiled when the woman nodded.
“Right away sirs.”
“No, that’s not, you don’t need to. Oh fine.” Mr Bowman turned to face Thranduil head on. “Thank you.”
He took a sip of his champagne. “No need to thank me, I’d rather have you not throwing up so you can tell your children how the plane ride was.”
“Well, thank you again Mr?”
“Thranruil Opherion.”
“Bard Bowman.” He stuck out his hand and waited for Thranduil to take it in his own. “Thank you Thranduil.”
“Again, no need to thank me. You have children?”
The smile that lit up Bards face could have powered his company for months he imagines. “Three. Tilda is my youngest, she’s seven. Bain is my son, he’ll be eleven soon. Then Sigrid, she’s sixteen. Here.” He pulled out a beaten up wallet and produced several photos of them. The first was ugly Christmas sweaters, Tilda missing her front teeth. The second was on the beach, Bard was holding Tilda above his head, while the other two hung off his arms. The third was with a beautiful brunette holding a baby still in the hospital, the other children very young smiling widely. “That was the last photo I took before my wife died, complications from delivery.”
“I’m so sorry, my wife died when my son was young as well, he hardly remembers her some days.” Thrnaduil handed the photos back and watched Bard caress them for a moment.
“It’s hard, isn’t it, to go on?” Bard took calming breath and put them back in his wallet. “But we make do. Was it easy to date again? Fuck sorry, that’s extremely forward and I’ve known you for twenty minutes and shit.” He glanced at his watch. “Another five and half hours, oh god just ignore me and I’ll mumble to myself.”
Thranduil found himself laughing at the man beside him, a little blush on his cheeks that stayed after he finished. “Six hours is enough time to get to know someone though, maybe we’ll be friends when this is over? It’s almost as long as three dinner dates.”
Bard scoffed. “True. Well,” he shifted a little taking off his jacking and moving to sit cross legged. He leaned forward a bit, shirt opening to show just a hint of a tanned chest. “Why don’t you tell me about your son and we can see where that leads us?”
Thranduil downed the rest of his champagne, coughing a little as the bubbles attacked his throat. “Pardon, my son? He is twenty now, just a month ago actually, stubborn as anything. Just like his father I suppose. I’m afraid I don’t have wallet photos, but,” He pulled out his phone and scrolled through the photos to a most recent one. “Here, at his birthday party.”
Bard took the phone and looked down at the screen. Thranduil was stone faced beside a younger looking version of himself. Same dark eyebrows and white blonde hair, though the younger man was smiling in the photo, holding a beer. “He is quite handsome, like his father, you must be very proud.”
“I, well, yes.” Handsome eh? He cleared his throat. “I suppose Legolas does that after me in that regard. Oh look, food.” Grateful for the distraction, he allowed himself to look Bard over again and readjust his previous thoughts about him. Perhaps the man was just rough enough to be gorgeous and not know it? He obviously adored his children, and seemed to do anything to get back to them. He thanked the stewardess when she left them, glancing down at their steak and potatoes before looking at Bard again.
Bard was smiling at him, holding up his can of ginger ale. “Now that we have dinner, perhaps we can get to know each other. A toast then?”
Thranduil lifted up his own can, “To what?”
“Our children, the reason we get up in the morning.” He moved to take a sip when Thranduil spoke again.
“And to handsome men you meet on planes.” He sipped from his can and smiled as Bard blushed deeply.
“Yes, well. Shall we eat?”
As they ate they continued to talk, snippets of conversation which lead them to understand more about each other. The other members of first class were content to ignore them except for the occasional bursts of laughter from Bard and the deep throated chuckle from Thranduil. The stewardess brought them more drinks, and chocolate snacks to tide them over. With one hour left of the the flight, Thranduil, having removed his suit jacket hours ago, was leaning towards Bard, engaging him in a joking conversation, when his hand went too far and he spilled his ginger ale over his pants.
“Ah damn! Bard, I’m so sorry, your pants. Here, let me.” He took the napkins from their previous snack and went to dab at the growing stain on Bards leg.
“No, Thranduil it’s just jeans.”
“No, please, I’m so sorry.” He dabbed at the pant leg before Bard grabbed his wrist stopping his movements. “Really, it’s alright.” He turned his hand over and took the damn napkins from them, putting them to the side of his tray. He didn’t release his wrist though, his right hand came back to run soft fingertips over the lines of Thranduils palm. Fingernails tracing the veins down into his wrists, and back up to the pads of his fingers. He interlaced their finger and turned his wrist back over.
Smiling softly, he brought up his other hand to caress Thranduils fingers captured between his own. “You have such soft hands.” It was whispered more to himself than to Thranduil, “Mine are so rough from work.” He ran his thumb against the side of the hand in his.
Thranduil coughed, jarring Bard out of his state and frowned when he drew his hand back. “Sorry, ‘m sorry. I won’t do that again.”
Thranduil stared at Bard for a moment, fidgeting in his seat again, when he stretched out his right hand and took Bards left in his own. He brought the joined to hands to rest on his leg, fingers squeezing in their hold.
“I seem to remember we were discussing your daughters’ fear of spiders, please continue.” He spoke quietly, eyes locked onto Bards to watch them light up again. He felt Bards hand squeeze his and smiled as he continued to talk.
An hour later, they were sitting upright in their seats, Bard holding onto an armrest for dear life, Thranduils hand in his other. They finally touched down with a jerk and Bard released a shaky breath. They waited for most of the plane to depart before they too stood up and retrieved their bags. They didn’t hold hands at they walked off the plane and into the terminal, but they stood right beside each other, arms brushing as they walked over to baggage claim.
They were standing at the carousel, waiting for bags, when a voice yelled “Da!” and Bard turned just in time for a blue blur to launch itself into his arms.
“Tilda! Oh my sweet girl, where’s your aunt? And Bain and Sigird?” He smiled down at his daughter, grateful to see her soft face again.
“They’re over there. But I had to see you. So I ran over here when I saw you getting bags. Da who’s the pretty man?” Tilda smiled a toothy grin at Thranduil, who froze in the movements of running away.
Bard frowned at that, but smiled again to introduce him. “Tilda, this is Mr. Thranduil Opherion. Da met him on the plane. Thranduil, my youngest Tilda.”
Tilda stepped forwards in her little blue dress and stuck out her hand. “Nice to meet you Mr. Thranduil.” She leaned in close when Thranduil took her small hand in his to stage whisper , as children do,“If Da got sick on the plane, you can tell me. I’m seven.”
Thranduil smiled as Bard covered his face in his hands. He leaned down to be level with Tilda, stage whispering to her. “He only got sick once. He was very brave.”
Tilda beamed at him and Thranduil beamed back. He stood up as three more people joined their little group. An older woman with short cropped black hair stood beside a young boy and a tall young lady. “Thranduil, my son Bain and my daughter Sigird. This is my sister Annabell. Everyone this is Mr. Thranduil Opherion.”
Bain stepped forward and stuck his hand out. Thranduil shook it and smiled when Bard moved to hug his son. He stepped towards the two women and took Annabells hand in his. He brought it to his lips and smirked when she blushed a bit. “A pleasure to meet you. And you, miss Sigrid, your father has told me much about you.” He reached for her hand and kissed it as well when Tilda pouted.
“Not fair! He didn’t kiss my hand!”
“That’s because you’re only seven!” Sigrid rolled her eyes at her sister, blushing at Thranduil.
“You must let me apologize then, come here.” Thranduil took Tilda’s hand in his again and put a loud kiss on the back of her hand. She giggled and pulled it away to wipe it on her dress.
“Eew, gross!” She giggled again and moved to stand by her sister and aunt. “Da, can we go home now?”
“In a minute love, why don’t you four go ahead, I’ll walk with Thranduil and our bags.” He waited a moment for them to walk a bit ahead before he turned to Thranduil. “Thank you for being so nice.”
He shrugged, slipping his jack back on and reaching down for his luggage. “It is easy to speak to children.”
“You were going to run away if Tilda hadn’t mentioned you, why?” Bard took his own luggage in hand and started walking beside Thranduil, his kids only a few feet in front of them.
“I am uncomfortable with meeting new people.”
“But you’re totally okay to flirt with me on a plane for six hours? A stranger you just met?”
“I was fully prepared to ignore you, but,” he shrugged, “I couldn’t help myself once you started talking.”
Bard made a noise of understanding and reached forward to take Thranduils hand in his. “Come have dinner with us one night, I’ll make my famous lasagne I told you about.”
“Your children won’t mind?” He grinned, wiggling his fingers between Bards.
Bard shrugged as they reached the doors to the outside. His kids were milling around their van waiting for their father to finish talking to his new friend. “I think they would enjoy it. So how should I get a hold of you?”
“Oh.” Thranduil reached into his wallet and withdrew a business card. “Here, no wait.” He flipped the card over and reached into his pocket. “I’ll give you my cell and direct line at work as well.” He wrote the numbers down and slipped it into Bard’s pocket.
Bard smiled at him, moving forward to pull him into a hug. “Thank you Thranduil, I’ll give you a call soon then, eh?”
“Wonderful.” Thranduil paused for a moment before leaning down and kissing Bard’s cheek. He lifted his head to pull away when Bard leaned up and kissed him full on the mouth. It was a soft kiss, lips pressed against each other with eyes closed.
“Aww da that’s so gross! Can’t you wait till you get him home first?”
They broke apart smiling, “Bain get in the car! So yeah, I’ll call you.” He squeezed Thranduils hand one last time.
“I’ll look forward to it.”
“Till next time then.”
“Until then. Maybe I’ll bring a pie with me?”
“Nothing with peaches, Sigrid allergic to them.”
“Ah, duly noted.”
“BARD! Get in the car before I leave you here with Mr. Fancy Pants!” Annabell yelled from the passenger seat up front, hand hovering over the horn.
“Alright! Alright! I’m leaving, really.” He kissed Thranduil again. “I’ll see you later Thranduil.”
“Goodbye Bard.” He waved as Bard got around and sat in the van, smiling as they pulled out and left for home.
“Mr Opherion? Your car is waiting for you.”
Thranduil turned, “What? Oh, yes thank you.” He’d like to say his mind was fully engaged on the meeting he was about to attend, but all he could think about was what kind of pie to bring to the dinner whenever Bard called.
Maybe cherry?