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ddk_mod ([personal profile] ddk_mod) wrote in [community profile] daredevilkink2015-04-15 05:15 pm
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Prompt Post #1


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Fill: The Gentle Art of Gastronomy (1/?)

(Anonymous) 2015-05-04 11:55 pm (UTC)(link)
A/N: I've written two scenes for this, but doubt I will continue it. May someone else carry on the good cause and bring more M/V/F into the world.

~

“Our compliments to the chef,” Wilson said. The maître d’ beamed.

“We are delighted, very delighted, indeed, to hear you are pleased with tonight’s meal,” he responded. He was a salivating dog staring at a pile of bones.

How vulgar.

“We’d like to meet him, Marcel. Can you arrange that?” Vanessa asked.

His smile only faltered for a second before bleached white teeth returned like a hollowed moon. “Monsieur Murdock is…private, sir. While he certainly appreciates your kind words, he prefers to not speak with the public. However, his sous chef, Mademoiselle Page, would be delighted to answer any questions you have.”

Vanessa’s lips turned down. Wilson, too, thought it was terribly rude. “That’s an unusual policy,” he said neutrally.

Marcel’s mouth twitched in response. His collar had darkened where beads of sweat dampened it. “We are delighted to have one of our most revered guests return, and would not want to disappoint you. Perhaps, we can make an exception this once.”

“How lovely,” Vanessa said, adding lightly, “but only if isn’t too much of an imposition.”

Marcel looked between them and Wilson knew what that glint. Marcel had heard rumors of this pride, but he was no longer sure who was the more dangerous: the lion or the lioness. He nodded once more before making a roundabout turn and heading straight for the kitchen.

“A secretive chef, how unusual,” Vanessa said once he’d disappeared from view, her eyes meeting Wilson’s. She lifted her glass and took a small sip of her Château Mouton Rothschild. Her lips were stained the same dark color.

~

The glasses were an unusual affectation for a chef, but Wilson respected that genius had its idiosyncrasies. His imperial collar was a crisp and pristine white against the auburn stubble. It framed pouty lips. Oh, Vanessa would love this one.

Wilson watched as the man moved methodically through the kitchen. He was tactile, running his fingers along immaculate stainless steel counters, pausing here and there to sip at soup, those lush lips pressing against metal.

“Roberto, please add nutmeg,” Murdock requested. The young man snapped to attention and walked to a cabinet brimming with herbs and spices. After stirring in more than a pinch, Murdock nodded at him for to taste. The young man did, a smile brightening his face.

“You taste the difference?” Murdock said.

“Sweet and smooth without being cloying.”

Murdock nodded. “Very good.”

He continued to make his rounds never stopping once to wonder at Wilson’s presence in his kitchen.

“Can I help you, sir?”

Wilson turned to face the questioner. Ah, Nascita di Venere. Vanessa would love her, as well. “Yes, I was hoping to meet the chef de cuisine to give him my thanks personally.”

“Ah, Mr. Fisk,” the woman replied, smiling, unsurprised. She looked younger with warmth in her heart. “Marcel mentioned your interest in meeting Mr. Murdock. He’s currently finishing up the last plates of dessert for the evening, but he will be available in ten minutes.”

She lifted her arm to direct him out of the kitchen, but Wilson sat resolutely at the counter nearest the swinging doors. “I’ll wait here.”

The woman blinked a few times, pretty sun-kissed lashes against pale skin. “Certainly,” she said after a moment. She looked at him curiously before nodding and heading to the other end of the kitchen, her fair hair delicately arranged in a chignon, a few small wisps escaping with the energy of her step.

Wilson returned his attention to Murdock. He was carefully plating a brûlée of some sort, too dark to be merely caramel. Cappuccino, perhaps? He turned to an older woman and spoke softly to her. She looked at the plates and shifted the chocolate garnish on one, before lifting all four plates and placing them on the serving counter near the kitchen entrance.

He walked one final round, occasionally stopping to speak in soft tones with a cook or dishwasher. They were preparing to close the kitchen now, laughter tinkling as brightly as the clang of dishes being washed.

Murdock walked over to a sink and rolled up his sleeves revealing strong arms covered with fine brown hair. He carefully soaped his hands like a surgeon before rinsing and drying them on a clean towel at his right. He paused for a moment, took a deep breath, before he headed in Wilson’s direction.

The man took a slight detour where a red and white cane leaned innocuously against a wall across from him. He hadn’t noticed that before.

“Mr. Fisk?”

Re: Fill: The Gentle Art of Gastronomy (1/?)

(Anonymous) 2015-05-05 07:52 am (UTC)(link)
Ah, this is great!

Re: Fill: The Gentle Art of Gastronomy (1/?)

(Anonymous) 2015-05-06 10:17 pm (UTC)(link)
ooh, I love this! Can't wait for more :D

Re: Fill: The Gentle Art of Gastronomy (1/?)

(Anonymous) 2017-06-29 07:25 am (UTC)(link)
oh god, I was absolutely blown away by the imagery in this, so vivid. especially the vision of Matt in his imperial collar tasting the soup.

author!anon I would pay cold, hard cash for you to write the scene where Fisk introduces himself and tries to get Matt to cater some event for him. :))

I'm not kidding: cash.