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The meal is over, food and drink all consumed and enjoyed, nothing left but the faint hint of a taste – perhaps only imagined – still clinging to the stainless steel utensils.Rosencrantz follows the edge of his spoon with the tip of his tongue, swipes along the underside of the bowl, then the edge again, then the concave dip, before sucking it into his mouth up to the stem, a happy humming vibrating through his chest at the traces of sweet over the metallic base.Across from him, Guildenstern’s teeth attempt to leave their mark on the unyielding tines of his fork.
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Wilson gnawed absently on his spoon, hardly noticing the lingering taste of the crème brûlée he'd had for dessert, all his attention fixed intently across the table on the fork laden with chocolate mousse that disappeared between waiting lips, slightly parted in anticipation, to return to the air free of its burden, followed by the very tip of a pink tongue that delicately danced over the tines, assuring itself that no trace of chocolate was lost.A sound, half growl, half sigh, bubbled up from his throat, and the eyes above the fork sought his.“Did you want a bite?” House inquired, almost pleasantly.
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“Stuff’s in there,” George pointed over his shoulder, then turned back to counting out plates.“Mm,” came the reply from the other side of the kitchen, then the muted chang of utensils bumping together as they were pulled from their drawer.A moment later, George almost dropped the plates he was holding as something hard ran up his spine before cool metal kissed his neck. He spun around, plates clutched tightly in his hands, mouth open in protest.Lee, a bundle of flatware in one hand, a single spoon raised in the other, grinned mischievously. “Think you can handle dessert?”
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“…then he went into a dive…” Oliver’s hand swooped towards the table to demonstrate while he kept talking.Fred, however, wasn’t listening. His eyes were fixed intently on the fork in the older boy’s hand that was darting through the air as Oliver gesticulated sharply, trying to make his point.“… but if she hadn’t–” Oliver broke off abruptly as Fred grabbed his wrist, stilling the waving utensil, and leaned in close.“Oliver,” the redhead murmured, so close the other boy could almost taste the pumpkin pie Fred had eaten for dessert, “shut up.”Oliver’s eyes fluttered closed. “Okay.”
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James frowns at his plate, only with a great effort managing to prevent himself from making designs in his mashed potatoes. It won’t do for James Potter to look like he is nervous, because James Potter doesn’t do nervous, even when on a first date with Lily Evans – especially when on a date with Lily Evans…But the silence is painfully awkward. Is she regretting coming to Hogsmeade with him? He doesn’t know what to say.He glances up and sees the miniature potato castle she’s making with her spoon.He heaves a silent sigh of relief.“Want some help?”
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This isn’t right, John thinks. Charles isn’t supposed to be the one with the fork, and he certainly isn’t supposed to be eating with it.John’s mouth opens to make some snide remark that would wipe the confidence right off the other man’s face, but the words stick in his throat as his eyes track the slide of metal between blushing lips.The chink of fork on plate breaks John’s concentration and he glances up to see those lips curve in a grin as Charles rises and vanishes up the stairs.John barely makes it to a count of ten before following – ignoring the smirks of the others.
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Kyo glowered across the table at two of his greatest enemies and tightened his hold on his chopsticks.The spoon laden with the food of the devil slipped between pale lips to reappear a moment later, clean as a whistle. The process repeated several more times before a faintly pink tongue darted out to the corner of that insipid mouth to save a drop of miso from falling.With a crack! the thin wood shattered in the redhead’s grip.Yuki’s head jerked up. “Yes?”Kyo felt his face heat up and fled to the kitchen, muttering about needing new chopsticks.
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“Treachery!” Fred cries. “Betrayal!” He lunges at his brother, brandishing a spoon. “Have at you, sir!”“If you’d been this quick earlier,” George mocks, blocking with his fork, “you might have had the last of the pie yourself.”“Vile traitor,” Fred hisses.George stumbles and Fred presses his advantage.Cornered, George smirks at his twin, licking his lips with obvious relish. “I still taste of it,” he taunts.Fred’s smirk is a perfect mirror as he leans in, tongue flicking over the other’s mouth. “Mm,” he hums agreement. “So you do.” He draws back and lightly smacks George’s cheek. “Touché.”
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Duo stabs moodily at his dinner, the tines of his fork skittering across the plate below, which screeches its indignation.Heero winces at the noise and frowns across the table. Duo has been fidgety all day, moving from task to task without completing anything, unable to settle, and it is slowly unhinging Heero.Heero takes a deep calming breath and carefully lays down his spoon, before reaching across the table and covering Duo’s fork-hand with his own.Duo starts, looks up, and meets his eyes. He blinks and a slow smile crosses his face as he finally relaxes, going still.
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Kit sits writing, food forgotten and growing cold to one side.Will rolls his eyes at the other man’s behavior, but doesn’t comment, knowing he can be just as bad, content to watch in silence as he eats his own dinner.The scritch of quill on parchment pauses as Kit thinks, the tip of the feather gently tracing the seam of his lips. Will can’t help but stare, watching the play of feather against skin.Kit looks up just as Will narrowly avoids missing his mouth with his fork. Their eyes meet and Kit’s knowing grin lights up his face.
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Scorpius selects another piece of melon from the bowl of fruit-salad, transferring it deftly to his mouth, closing his eyes and humming low in his throat in pleasure as the sweetness explodes on his tongue. He swallows and sighs before carefully licking the sticky remnants of juice from his fingers.Al suddenly growls from across the table and thrusts a fist forward – straight at Scorpius’s face.Scorpius jerks back, blinking, and sees the bit of metal glinting dully in his friend’s hand. “What the –” he begins, confused, but Al cuts him off.“Just use the damn fork, would you?”
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Aziraphale sucks absent-mindedly on his tea-spoon as his eyes flick from word to word, line to line, over the page of the book in front of him. He feels a trifle guilty about reading at the table when he has a guest, but he has been trying to finish this book for three days and it’s just gotten interesting, and, besides, it’s only Crowley.A thud from across the table draws Aziraphale’s gaze to the fork that is stuck upright, trembling, in the wood of the table, Crowley’s fingers still wrapped tightly around the stem, his cheeks a brilliant red.
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Regulus hisses through his teeth as heated liquid splashes across his skin, followed by an even hotter mouth. He twists helplessly against his silk restraints, trying to follow as the mouth retreats.At the wine-rich chuckle from above, Regulus forces his eyes open to glare at his boyfriend.Rabastan merely lifts the dripping spoon and lets a smooth stream of chocolate trace patterns over Regulus’s stomach and thighs, smirking as Regulus clenches his teeth, trying, and failing, to swallow a moan, hips shifting frantically in search of friction.“Gods, Rab, fuck,” Regulus grits, and Rabastan’s eyes dance wickedly.“Say ‘please’.”
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Ignoring the serving forks, Harry plucks a strawberry from the display with his fingers and brings it to his mouth, meeting Draco’s gaze from across the room. Without breaking eye-contact, he flicks his tongue out to taste the fruit, then wraps his lips around the tip, cheeks hollowing as he sucks it into his mouth.He can practically see Draco’s pupils dilate as he bites the end off the strawberry and swallows, bringing a thumb to the corner of his mouth to wipe away the traces of juice.He grins triumphantly as Draco stalks awkwardly out of the Great Hall.
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Trowa leans forward and gently brushes the hair back off of Quatre’s forehead, sighing in relief as his eyes flicker open.“How are you feeling?” he asks softly.“Hungry,” Quatre rasps, grin wry.Trowa nods and fetches the lunch tray. Settling once more at Quatre’s bedside, he fills a spoon with soup and brings it to the other boy’s mouth.Quatre raises an eyebrow, but obediently parts his lips. “I can feed myself,” he murmurs after swallowing.“I know,” Trowa replies, and loads the spoon again. “But I like taking care of you.”Quatre shakes his head, and lets him.
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Jem can’t help but stare as Teddy picks through the carton of take-away lo mein, long fingers surprisingly elegant as they manipulate the chopsticks with a dexterity Jem envies, even as he wonders what else those fingers can do.“Want me to show you?” Teddy’s voice cuts into Jem’s thoughts, and Jem can feel his face heat up.“Wh-what?”“If you’d rather not use that,” Teddy gestures with his chopsticks at the fork in Jem’s hand.“Oh.” Jem is sure his face is hotter than a pepper, but the thought of Teddy’s fingers guiding his is too much. “Yeah. Sure.”
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Sirius nods in agreement with Remus’s assessment of their afternoon classes, absently stabbing a piece of asparagus off the other boy’s plate with his fork.“…not that I’d expect any less of her this close to exams,” Remus concludes, using his spoon to scoop the pile of onions and mushrooms from the edge of Sirius’s plate to his own before they fall to the table.It suddenly occurs to Sirius that their table-habits remind him rather strongly of James’s parents. Like an old married couple, he thinks, and hides the smile that the warm fuzzy feeling in his stomach provokes.
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Charlie surreptitiously watches Draco across the campfire as they eat their dinner in companionable silence, wondering for what must be the millionth time what made the Malfoy heir decide to leave his comfortable manor and get in touch with his wild side with the Romanian dragons.Draco looks up then, as he licks his fork clean, firelight dancing over the silver of the metal and in the silver of his eyes.Charlie holds his gaze for a long moment, and when Draco’s face breaks into a crooked grin, he decides abruptly that he’s glad, no matter what the reason is.
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“What the hell is this?” Patrick asks, eyeing the piece of plastic suspiciously.“It’s a spork,” Pete says, grins. “Cool, huh?”Patrick raises an eyebrow. “That’s not the word I’d have chosen.” He looks down at the spork again. “What’m I supposed to do with it?”“You eat with it,” Pete says, the duh silent.Patrick rolls his eyes. “Thanks.” He wants to ask, Is it a spoon? Is it a fork? Why can’t it make up its damn mind? but knows better. He frowns at his plate and tries to stab a piece of fruit. It doesn’t really work.