Well, Boss?
Title: Well, Boss?
Pairing: Elijah/Orlando
Rating: R
Disclaimer: No I don't own them, yes it is made up
Feedback: Any is welcome
Notes: AU. Written for Orlijah_Month 2009 Prompt 19 - Food
Orlando was ten minutes late for his first day at his new job. He let himself in through the back door in to the kitchen warily, hoping nobody would notice.
He glanced around vaguely. The kitchen wasn't quite in full swing - the chefs, all of whom seemed to be male, were standing at their stations, chatting and cutting up veg and meat. A shortish man with blondish hair - everything about him seemed to come somewhere in between extremes - gave him a nod. Orlando recognised him as the chef who had interviewed him two weeks ago.
"Hi," he said, going over. "Dom, right?"
"Hey," the man said - he was prepping courgettes, slicing them neatly into paper-thin circles. "Orlando, isn't it? Boss'll be here in a moment. Get your apron and stuff."
Orlando obediently followed Dom's indication to a corridor and sideroom where there was a row of lockers. A key was taped to one with a note underneath with his name on it. He lifted it off and turned the key in the lock, taking out his white chef's double-breasted overall and a cap. There was a hairnet underneath that. Orlando put it on reluctantly.
He made his way back out into the kitchen. There had been a mood swing while he'd been gone - everyone was quiet, chopping faster. Orlando took a moment to notice the cause - a small figure striding round the kitchen, correcting a slant of a hand here, the thickness of a carrot slice there. He gulped. Head chef.
"There he is, boss," Dom said, giving Orlando a crooked smile. Boss turned round.
Orlando felt a blush begin to heat his face. Head chefs shouldn't be that gorgeous, he thought foggily. Bright blue eyes regarded him.
"Well. Orlando, isn't it?" he said briskly, in an unmistakably American accent. He held out his hand. "Elijah Wood, head chef."
Orlando shook it, letting go too quickly.
"Your station is here." Elijah led him to the edge of the kitchen. "You're on salad starters this week, but don't make the mistake of thinking this is the easy option. There is only one standard of food in my kitchen - perfection." He twitched the chopping board slightly as if to emphasise his point.
Orlando gulped again. He'd never simultaneously had a crush on someone that made him want to fling them onto a bed and fuck them hard, while being absolutely terrified of said crush.
Elijah was still talking, tapping ingredients. "...to order. OK?"
Orlando gave himself a hard shake. "Sorry, could you say that again, please?"
"You will have to make each salad to order, with a dressing of their choice," Elijah said, eyes sparking. "And please listen more carefully, I haven't the time to be repeating myself. Understood?"
"Yes, Eli - boss."
"You can call me Elijah," Elijah said, picking up one of the knives and sharpening it so suddenly that Orlando jumped. "Most of my chefs find it has too many syllables. Boss is faster. Speed is key. Speed and perfection." He put the knife down. "Right. Familiarise yourself with your station. I'll be back to check on you shortly."
He left, and Orlando forced himself not to stare after him.
***
"One salad, Orlando - iceberg, tomato, chicken, pepper, mustard and honey dressing!" The words flew across the kitchen like bullets.
Orlando instantly set to work, lifting slices of lettuce out of the crisper.
"Orlando!" Elijah was at his shoulder. "When I yell, yell back, won't you? Did you get that?"
"Yeah, boss - lettuce, tomato, chicken, dressing."
"And pepper!" Elijah snapped, eyes flashing. "Do NOT forget the pepper, this is a regular customer. And mustard and honey dressing. Three minutes tops."
Orlando began to chop the lettuce, beginning to sweat, hearing Elijah move on. He took out the cherry tomatoes and layered them on top of the lettuce on the plate, then his chicken breasts, which he had sliced neatly that morning. He balanced some pepper slices round the edge and finished it off with a drizzle of dressing.
"Boss, salad," he called, taking it to the front desk.
Elijah turned from where he was pinning a new order on the board.
"Pheasant," he yelled, then glanced at Orlando's dish.
"Re-plate that, that's a mess," he said. He followed Orlando back to the station. "Like this." He threw the ingredients on so quickly Orlando's eyes blurred slightly.
"There," Elijah said. "Think you can do that next time?"
"Yes Boss," Orlando said, glumly.
***
Elijah went to find the new chef at the end of service. It was 3 o'clock and the lunch rush was finally over. Orlando was heading back to the sideroom with the lockers where the chefs left their coats during service.
"How did you find that?" Elijah asked. "You didn't look like you were coping very well." Lord, but he was hot - he had taken off his cap and hairnet already, leaving silky curls round his chin.
"Well...I suppose it'll take me a while to get used to it." Orlando shuffled his feet and fidgeted.
Elijah frowned slightly. "We don't have a while. You need to be nailing it every single time. This is one of the best restaurants in town, Orlando, you do understand that, don't you? There is no room for error."
"Sorry," Orlando said meekly.
Elijah sighed. The last thing he wanted was to get off on the wrong foot with someone he so badly wanted to flip him over a table and shag him senseless. "We need to sort this out. Go home and practice, OK? Make as many different salads as you can - and for God's sake, present them nicely."
Orlando nodded and Elijah turned back to the kitchen to get things ready for evening service, feeling ever-so-slightly confused and aroused.
***
The next day went more smoothly. Elijah, pleased, sought Orlando out at the end of service.
"Well done. That was so much better than yesterday."
"Thanks," Orlando said, while releasing his curls from the net.
Elijah resisted the urge to twine a curl round his finger. He cleared his throat and said, "Keep up the good work, Orlando. I'll see you tomorrow."
Orlando smiled. "Thanks," he said again.
Elijah returned the smile and turned to leave, feeling heat rising on his face.
"Hey, Elijah?"
Elijah spun back round. "Yeah?"
Orlando was biting his bottom lip and scuffing his toes on the floor.
"Wanna go out sometime?" He was blushing too.
Elijah sensed a huge, involuntary grin breaking out.
"Sure," he said casually.
***
"...And my signature dish," Elijah said, with a flourish, laying the plate down in front of Orlando. "Coq au vin."
"WHAT au vin?" Orlando asked cheekily, picking up his knife and fork.
Elijah gave a mock-innocent smile. "Coq." He sat down opposite Orlando, on the small round table in the corner of his kitchen.
Orlando smirked and cut a bit off. Elijah watched with mild interest as Orlando's lips closed around the forkful of steaming chicken.
"Yes," Orlando said, after swallowing. "Your 'coq' tastes very nice."
"Thank you," Elijah said, starting his own, the smile still in place.
Orlando leant across, holding a bit of roasted parsnip on his fork. Elijah took it obediently. He flicked a look upwards at Orlando through his eyelashes, and was satisfied to see Orlando's eyes change slightly.
"You know what, I'm full," Orlando said, voice going silky. "All that eating's tired me out."
"Well, maybe we should head to bed." Elijah leaned across the table, almost knocking over the candleabra as he did so, and twisted one of Orlando's curls round his finger. His jeans were beginning to feel uncomfortably tight.
"Maybe we should," Orlando said, touching his lips to Elijah's in a soft, teasing kiss. Elijah got up and pulled Orlando forcibly to the bedroom.
***
"Harder - "
Orlando grunted in response, pounding obligingly. Elijah gasped, eyes widening.
"Harder!" he demanded shakily, sweat dripping off his foreahead into his dark hair.
Orlando huffed, slamming himself in repeatedly. He rolled one of Elijah's pink, hard nipples between his fingers.
"Elijah," he panted softly. "Oh, Elijah..."
Elijah jolted his hips upwards with a soft cry. "Harder! Please!" he begged. His sapphire eyes were full of shining tears. "Please, Orlando..." He trailed off into a groan.
Orlando did so, grasping Elijah's slender hips and pulling him forwards onto Orlando's cock with every thrust. Elijah whimpered needily, his cock standing proud, weeping pearly drops.
"Touch me, Orlando, pleeeasssee - "
Orlando blinked sweat out of his eyes. Elijah, spread wide-legged below him, was hot and velvety on the inside, silky and creamy on the outside. He took a hold of the solid organ begging for attention and squeezed his way up it. Elijah let out a wordless sob, hands clinging to Orlando's shoulders hard enough to bruise.
"More - more - "
"Greedy," Orlando managed to pant out, twisting the end of Elijah's cock. Elijah half-screamed.
"Faster - "
Orlando's hand became a blur on his damp cock, his other hand still pulling on Elijah's hip.
"Gonna cum - " he groaned.
Elijah wailed, face screwing up. "Please, Orlando - fucks sake, faster, harder - "
The mewl in his voice pushed Orlando over the edge. He let out a low growl as he came, shooting with more satisfaction than he could remember. Elijah's muscles contracted tightly around him, wringing out the last few drops - and he saw Elijah coming too, in a moment of arch-backed stillness, sending creamy liquid all over their chests and stomachs.
Orlando collapsed, cock falling out of Elijah's heat, and they lay for a moment, their harsh breaths the only thing breaking the silence.
Orlando eventually got off Elijah, and stroked sweat-soaked hair off Elijah's smooth forehead.
"Well, Boss?" he asked, with a cheeky grin.
Elijah, eyes closed, twined his left hand in Orlando's curls. "Excellent, Orlando. But I think we should keep practicing."