wanking_mods (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} wanking_mods) wrote in ![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} hp_wankfest,@ 2008-05-05 12:00:00 |
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Percy Weasley in Florean Fortescue's with a Fruit or Vegetable
Title: Maduro Split
Author:lee_west
Character: Percy Weasley
Location: Florean Fortescue's Ice cream Parlor
Object: A fruit or vegetable
Other Characters: Kingsley Shacklebolt
Rating: NC-17
Warning(s): Abuse of a poor, innocent fruit.
Word Count: ~2,100
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction set in the Harry Potter universe – all recognisable characters and settings are the property of J. K. Rowling and her associates. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is made from this work.
Author's Notes: Maduro, meaning 'ripe' in Spanish, is also a delicacy of Latin Caribbean cuisine. Delicious, served as a side dish, it is simply fried plantain, which is a type of banana. For the Maduro to be at its best, soft, sweet and succulent, the plantain must be very ripe, its peel being totally black. The darker the peel, the more delicious the resulting Maduro.
And a million apologies for the blatant use of a certain movie line.
Many thanks to my two wonderful betas, who are probably craving ice cream now.
***
After having disappeared for a few years, Florean Fortescue decided that, Voldemort being dead and six feet under, it was safe to reopen his old business. He arrived in Diagon Alley a few weeks after the last battle, looking tan, fit and even younger.
It didn't faze him that people whispered behind his back, or even didn't bother to whisper at all, blatantly confronting him about his lack of spine during the years Voldemort was menacing their world. Fortescue simply waved those people away, claiming that he had gone to a culinary school in the Caribbean, learning new recipes for what he called "fusion ice cream." It was a mix of traditional English ice cream ingredients, but with a distinct Caribbean flavor. As proof of his newly-acquired proficiency, he offered samples of a piña colada sundae that had people threatening to riot when the sample batch was gone. A boycott planned by the most outraged wizards and witches never took shape.
And, in a time of reconstruction and healing, Florean provided a respite, sweet things that alleviated a little of the bitterness felt by the orphans and widows, the parents without children.
***
Florean Fortescue's face opened into a broad grin when he saw the line of people outside of his ice cream parlor on that unusually warm and humid summer day in August 1998. It was the time of the afternoon break at the Ministry and the wizards and witches who had been cooped up inside for most of the day ran to the ice cream parlor, almost Apparating on top of each other.
He grinned even more widely when he saw the tall black man making his way to the parlor. Excellent. Minister Shacklebolt had not been too pleased with him due to his taking a rather well-timed Caribbean culinary course and was the only important person who hadn't visited the parlor yet.
The multitude of wizards and witches stepped aside, making way for the Minister, who refused politely, but caved in to their insistence. He went to the front of the line and Florean unceremoniously elbowed aside the pimply teenager who was helping him serve that day.
"Minister Shacklebolt, welcome to Fortescue's," he greeted with a toothy grin.
Kingsley replied much less enthusiastically with a cool "Good afternoon, Fortescue", but Florean knew what he could do to make the man friendlier towards him. He knew of Kingsley's sweet tooth, having served him huge sundaes since he was a wee boy coming to Fortescue's with his father. "You came on the right day, Minister. I just developed a new recipe, and I would like you to be the first one to try it."
That piqued Kingsley's interest. "And what is it?"
"My own invention: it's called 'Maduro Split'," he said, opening his arms wide and looking around to the multitude for effect.
But nobody seemed to know what he was talking about, although they were obviously interested, so Florean continued, "It's like a banana split, but much better. Instead of a regular old banana, I use a Maduro, a fried plantain."
"What's a plantain?" Kingsley asked, curious.
Florean ducked behind the counter and produced two large bananas, one green and the other black. "These are plantains." He showed the green one. "This is the way you get it from the tree. Then you let it ripen and it gets this color." He showed the dark one. "Once it's like that, I fry it in a little butter and scoop the ice cream on top of it. Compared to a banana split, a Maduro Split is sweeter and the warmth of the fried plantain makes the ice cream melt just like so," he showed a tiny space between his thumb and index finger. "Believe me, Minister, this is something you definitely have to try."
Kingsley was hooked. He knew he was being taken by Fortescue: the man knew that banana splits were his favorite. But the innovation sounded really delicious, so he grinned happily and said, "I'll be glad to try it, then."
Florean put on a big show of peeling the dark-skinned, very ripe plantain with flair and then carefully putting it into a frying pan, where butter had been melting. He tossed the plantain in the butter until it was golden brown and, again with the handwork of a magician, transferred the Maduro to a dish and scooped generous portions of vanilla and chocolate ice cream. Remembering what his most important customer loved, he poured hot fudge on the ice cream, added the chocolate flakes that the boy Kingsley had always demanded with his sundaes and finished it off with a very generous serving of whipped cream, topped with a bright red Maraschino cherry.
"Voilà, Minister," he said, handing the dish to Kingsley with a bow. Then he moved away from behind the counter, briskly patted two youngsters who had finished their ice cream and were staring at the huge concoction in Kingsley's hands, and told them to move and give the Minister their seats.
"It's not necessary, Florean," Kingsley said, "I can savor this standing up."
"Not at all, Minister," Florean grinned, noticing gladly the first-name basis and obviously the corresponding thaw in Kingsley's previous demeanor towards him. "You should be comfortable to enjoy it to the fullest." Kingsley sat down, and Florean stood next to him, arms crossed over his chest, watching Kingsley in anticipation of his reaction.
Everyone in the parlor was also waiting for Kingsley's reaction, so he decided to put an end to the spectacle. He sank his spoon into the sundae, cutting into the Maduro and brought a spoonful to his mouth.
He really tried, but couldn't avoid letting out a loud moan of pleasure when he closed his mouth over the spoon and the mixture of tastes touched all the right taste buds. He closed his eyes and savored that first mouthful, oblivious to the communal sigh of approval from the crowd. When he opened his eyes again, no-one was around him any more – they were crowding the counter, demanding the same, including an old witch who had just arrived as Kingsley was taking the first bite, and was pushing people away with her large bag and umbrella, demanding sternly, "I want what he's having!"
Kingsley ignored it all and lowered his spoon again. He was enjoying it too much to pay attention to the mayhem, so he never noticed that there was one person watching him from the sidelines, hidden by the mob crowding around the counter.
***
Percy Weasley, back in his position at the Department of International Magical Cooperation after the war, didn't have direct contact with the new Minister, but he saw Kingsley constantly in the building. Their interactions were limited to a "Good morning, Minister," and a "Good morning, Percy," but, as soon as Shacklebolt passed by him, Percy would turn around surreptitiously and ogle the Minister's arse. Kingsley was Percy's ideal type: black and strong, but Percy knew better than to make any overtures toward the Minister. It was something frowned upon in the Ministry and he wouldn't risk his career for it. Besides, he wasn't sure about Kingsley's orientation. He suspected that Kingsley might like blokes, too. After all, he was in his late thirties and still unmarried, but that could also be caused by other factors, maybe a reluctance to commit. Lately he was seen often with Amanda Hopkirk, Mafalda's pretty but somewhat vapid daughter, and who was conveniently a reporter and not a Ministry employee. But the fact that they were a couple didn't mean much for Percy; there was something in Kingsley that assured Percy that Minister Shacklebolt might like a flat chest about as much as a pair of breasts. Or a nice cock instead of...well, that unmentionable thing.
On that hot August day, Percy had followed the throng of wizards and witches to Fortescue's and had positioned himself in a place where he could ogle Kingsley's arse a little bit without being noticed. He got a little distracted when Fortescue announced the new recipe, and, when he brought the two pieces of fruit, Percy gasped out loud, eliciting an "I'm sorry" from a big wizard who had elbowed him inadvertently.
But Percy hadn't felt any pain. What he felt was something much different: his cock stirred when he saw the dark plantain in Fortescue's hand. Big, black, thick and slightly curved, the plantain looked exactly like what Percy imagined Kingsley's cock would be like. His arse contracted as he almost felt that plantain entering it, attached to a smooth and muscular body, fucking him hard.
And then, fuck of fucks, Kingsley moaned when he took that first bite. That was too much for Percy. As people crowded around the counter, Percy watched Kingsley cut the plantain and put it into his mouth. Percy pressed his legs together, unsuccessfully trying to make his erection less visible, and hoping that his robes weren't tented. The piece of Maduro Kingsley put into his mouth was a light golden brown, darker than Percy's own cock, but light anyway, and he closed his eyes, visualizing Kingsley closing his mouth around his cock.
That was too much; his cock was almost painfully hard, and Percy made a quick decision. He moved around the throng of people and, acting stealthily, managed to grab a very ripe plantain from the basket that Florean had put on the counter for ease of access. He hid it, holding it close to his robes and took a quick dash to the bathroom. There he locked himself inside a stall, pulled his robes up and his pants down, and fisted his cock, while bringing the ripe plantain to his mouth. Just as he was about to lick it, he wrinkled his nose – people had touched it! He thought about casting a Scourgify, but sometimes the spell cleaned too much, and he didn't want the nice black color to fade away.
He hopped out of the stall, hoping that no-one would come in and washed the plantain in the sink. He hopped back into the stall, locked the door and, one hand back on his cock and the other fisting the plantain, he brought the fruit to his mouth – and made a face. It had a peel taste.
Not too happy with the situation, Percy nonetheless had to get off. He sadly peeled the plantain and then he managed to wank and suck the fruit at the same time. It wasn't ideal: the plantain was actually not that good – it probably needed to be fried in butter - and a bit soft, pieces breaking into his mouth and having to be spit out. But the image of the Minister having his own personal orgasm by eating the Maduro split helped a lot. Percy pumped his cock, squeezing the plantain to an unrecognizable pulp and then, as he was left with just a fistful of fruit, he changed hands and oiled his cock with the mashed plantain.
That felt awesome. It was messy, but slick and soft. With his free hand he picked up the discarded black peel and put his cock inside it. That felt even better and he fucked the empty peel, his hand fisting the whole thing. He came in a hard way, and his clean and organized mind, which should have rebelled against the mess, was actually oddly satisfied.
Percy leaned against the wall of the bathroom, casting a fond look at the ripe plantain peel. He smiled happily and stayed in the stall, thinking that he'd definitely have to repeat the experience. He cast a Scourgify at large, noticing that it had indeed discolored the plantain peel a little. He wouldn't have any more use for that special peel anyway.
He threw it in the trash can and left the bathroom in the direction of the tables in the parlor. Shacklebolt was still there, but now he was standing up, talking to a few people, giving Percy a good view of his profile. Percy brazenly took another plantain from the basket and held it in such a way that it looked as if it was indeed Kingsley's hard cock, attached to his body.
Percy smirked. He put the plantain back in the basket and asked Fortescue where he could find the fruit. Florean scribbled an address in a piece of paper and handed it to Percy, who thanked him and bought all the accoutrements for making the sundae at home. He would buy the plantains and would practice at home, until he could do it as well as Fortescue. And then he would invite Minister Shacklebolt for a special tasting. After seeing what Percy could do with a Maduro, Kingsley would think twice before going out with Amanda again.
He left the parlor, saying with a suggestive smile, "Hello, Minister, glad to see you enjoyed your Maduro split. I wonder what else it may be used for." He didn't wait for an answer, but walked away, certain that Kingsley's eyes were following him.
Title: Maduro Split
Author:
lee_westCharacter: Percy Weasley
Location: Florean Fortescue's Ice cream Parlor
Object: A fruit or vegetable
Other Characters: Kingsley Shacklebolt
Rating: NC-17
Warning(s): Abuse of a poor, innocent fruit.
Word Count: ~2,100
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction set in the Harry Potter universe – all recognisable characters and settings are the property of J. K. Rowling and her associates. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is made from this work.
Author's Notes: Maduro, meaning 'ripe' in Spanish, is also a delicacy of Latin Caribbean cuisine. Delicious, served as a side dish, it is simply fried plantain, which is a type of banana. For the Maduro to be at its best, soft, sweet and succulent, the plantain must be very ripe, its peel being totally black. The darker the peel, the more delicious the resulting Maduro.
And a million apologies for the blatant use of a certain movie line.
Many thanks to my two wonderful betas, who are probably craving ice cream now.
After having disappeared for a few years, Florean Fortescue decided that, Voldemort being dead and six feet under, it was safe to reopen his old business. He arrived in Diagon Alley a few weeks after the last battle, looking tan, fit and even younger.
It didn't faze him that people whispered behind his back, or even didn't bother to whisper at all, blatantly confronting him about his lack of spine during the years Voldemort was menacing their world. Fortescue simply waved those people away, claiming that he had gone to a culinary school in the Caribbean, learning new recipes for what he called "fusion ice cream." It was a mix of traditional English ice cream ingredients, but with a distinct Caribbean flavor. As proof of his newly-acquired proficiency, he offered samples of a piña colada sundae that had people threatening to riot when the sample batch was gone. A boycott planned by the most outraged wizards and witches never took shape.
And, in a time of reconstruction and healing, Florean provided a respite, sweet things that alleviated a little of the bitterness felt by the orphans and widows, the parents without children.
Florean Fortescue's face opened into a broad grin when he saw the line of people outside of his ice cream parlor on that unusually warm and humid summer day in August 1998. It was the time of the afternoon break at the Ministry and the wizards and witches who had been cooped up inside for most of the day ran to the ice cream parlor, almost Apparating on top of each other.
He grinned even more widely when he saw the tall black man making his way to the parlor. Excellent. Minister Shacklebolt had not been too pleased with him due to his taking a rather well-timed Caribbean culinary course and was the only important person who hadn't visited the parlor yet.
The multitude of wizards and witches stepped aside, making way for the Minister, who refused politely, but caved in to their insistence. He went to the front of the line and Florean unceremoniously elbowed aside the pimply teenager who was helping him serve that day.
"Minister Shacklebolt, welcome to Fortescue's," he greeted with a toothy grin.
Kingsley replied much less enthusiastically with a cool "Good afternoon, Fortescue", but Florean knew what he could do to make the man friendlier towards him. He knew of Kingsley's sweet tooth, having served him huge sundaes since he was a wee boy coming to Fortescue's with his father. "You came on the right day, Minister. I just developed a new recipe, and I would like you to be the first one to try it."
That piqued Kingsley's interest. "And what is it?"
"My own invention: it's called 'Maduro Split'," he said, opening his arms wide and looking around to the multitude for effect.
But nobody seemed to know what he was talking about, although they were obviously interested, so Florean continued, "It's like a banana split, but much better. Instead of a regular old banana, I use a Maduro, a fried plantain."
"What's a plantain?" Kingsley asked, curious.
Florean ducked behind the counter and produced two large bananas, one green and the other black. "These are plantains." He showed the green one. "This is the way you get it from the tree. Then you let it ripen and it gets this color." He showed the dark one. "Once it's like that, I fry it in a little butter and scoop the ice cream on top of it. Compared to a banana split, a Maduro Split is sweeter and the warmth of the fried plantain makes the ice cream melt just like so," he showed a tiny space between his thumb and index finger. "Believe me, Minister, this is something you definitely have to try."
Kingsley was hooked. He knew he was being taken by Fortescue: the man knew that banana splits were his favorite. But the innovation sounded really delicious, so he grinned happily and said, "I'll be glad to try it, then."
Florean put on a big show of peeling the dark-skinned, very ripe plantain with flair and then carefully putting it into a frying pan, where butter had been melting. He tossed the plantain in the butter until it was golden brown and, again with the handwork of a magician, transferred the Maduro to a dish and scooped generous portions of vanilla and chocolate ice cream. Remembering what his most important customer loved, he poured hot fudge on the ice cream, added the chocolate flakes that the boy Kingsley had always demanded with his sundaes and finished it off with a very generous serving of whipped cream, topped with a bright red Maraschino cherry.
"Voilà, Minister," he said, handing the dish to Kingsley with a bow. Then he moved away from behind the counter, briskly patted two youngsters who had finished their ice cream and were staring at the huge concoction in Kingsley's hands, and told them to move and give the Minister their seats.
"It's not necessary, Florean," Kingsley said, "I can savor this standing up."
"Not at all, Minister," Florean grinned, noticing gladly the first-name basis and obviously the corresponding thaw in Kingsley's previous demeanor towards him. "You should be comfortable to enjoy it to the fullest." Kingsley sat down, and Florean stood next to him, arms crossed over his chest, watching Kingsley in anticipation of his reaction.
Everyone in the parlor was also waiting for Kingsley's reaction, so he decided to put an end to the spectacle. He sank his spoon into the sundae, cutting into the Maduro and brought a spoonful to his mouth.
He really tried, but couldn't avoid letting out a loud moan of pleasure when he closed his mouth over the spoon and the mixture of tastes touched all the right taste buds. He closed his eyes and savored that first mouthful, oblivious to the communal sigh of approval from the crowd. When he opened his eyes again, no-one was around him any more – they were crowding the counter, demanding the same, including an old witch who had just arrived as Kingsley was taking the first bite, and was pushing people away with her large bag and umbrella, demanding sternly, "I want what he's having!"
Kingsley ignored it all and lowered his spoon again. He was enjoying it too much to pay attention to the mayhem, so he never noticed that there was one person watching him from the sidelines, hidden by the mob crowding around the counter.
Percy Weasley, back in his position at the Department of International Magical Cooperation after the war, didn't have direct contact with the new Minister, but he saw Kingsley constantly in the building. Their interactions were limited to a "Good morning, Minister," and a "Good morning, Percy," but, as soon as Shacklebolt passed by him, Percy would turn around surreptitiously and ogle the Minister's arse. Kingsley was Percy's ideal type: black and strong, but Percy knew better than to make any overtures toward the Minister. It was something frowned upon in the Ministry and he wouldn't risk his career for it. Besides, he wasn't sure about Kingsley's orientation. He suspected that Kingsley might like blokes, too. After all, he was in his late thirties and still unmarried, but that could also be caused by other factors, maybe a reluctance to commit. Lately he was seen often with Amanda Hopkirk, Mafalda's pretty but somewhat vapid daughter, and who was conveniently a reporter and not a Ministry employee. But the fact that they were a couple didn't mean much for Percy; there was something in Kingsley that assured Percy that Minister Shacklebolt might like a flat chest about as much as a pair of breasts. Or a nice cock instead of...well, that unmentionable thing.
On that hot August day, Percy had followed the throng of wizards and witches to Fortescue's and had positioned himself in a place where he could ogle Kingsley's arse a little bit without being noticed. He got a little distracted when Fortescue announced the new recipe, and, when he brought the two pieces of fruit, Percy gasped out loud, eliciting an "I'm sorry" from a big wizard who had elbowed him inadvertently.
But Percy hadn't felt any pain. What he felt was something much different: his cock stirred when he saw the dark plantain in Fortescue's hand. Big, black, thick and slightly curved, the plantain looked exactly like what Percy imagined Kingsley's cock would be like. His arse contracted as he almost felt that plantain entering it, attached to a smooth and muscular body, fucking him hard.
And then, fuck of fucks, Kingsley moaned when he took that first bite. That was too much for Percy. As people crowded around the counter, Percy watched Kingsley cut the plantain and put it into his mouth. Percy pressed his legs together, unsuccessfully trying to make his erection less visible, and hoping that his robes weren't tented. The piece of Maduro Kingsley put into his mouth was a light golden brown, darker than Percy's own cock, but light anyway, and he closed his eyes, visualizing Kingsley closing his mouth around his cock.
That was too much; his cock was almost painfully hard, and Percy made a quick decision. He moved around the throng of people and, acting stealthily, managed to grab a very ripe plantain from the basket that Florean had put on the counter for ease of access. He hid it, holding it close to his robes and took a quick dash to the bathroom. There he locked himself inside a stall, pulled his robes up and his pants down, and fisted his cock, while bringing the ripe plantain to his mouth. Just as he was about to lick it, he wrinkled his nose – people had touched it! He thought about casting a Scourgify, but sometimes the spell cleaned too much, and he didn't want the nice black color to fade away.
He hopped out of the stall, hoping that no-one would come in and washed the plantain in the sink. He hopped back into the stall, locked the door and, one hand back on his cock and the other fisting the plantain, he brought the fruit to his mouth – and made a face. It had a peel taste.
Not too happy with the situation, Percy nonetheless had to get off. He sadly peeled the plantain and then he managed to wank and suck the fruit at the same time. It wasn't ideal: the plantain was actually not that good – it probably needed to be fried in butter - and a bit soft, pieces breaking into his mouth and having to be spit out. But the image of the Minister having his own personal orgasm by eating the Maduro split helped a lot. Percy pumped his cock, squeezing the plantain to an unrecognizable pulp and then, as he was left with just a fistful of fruit, he changed hands and oiled his cock with the mashed plantain.
That felt awesome. It was messy, but slick and soft. With his free hand he picked up the discarded black peel and put his cock inside it. That felt even better and he fucked the empty peel, his hand fisting the whole thing. He came in a hard way, and his clean and organized mind, which should have rebelled against the mess, was actually oddly satisfied.
Percy leaned against the wall of the bathroom, casting a fond look at the ripe plantain peel. He smiled happily and stayed in the stall, thinking that he'd definitely have to repeat the experience. He cast a Scourgify at large, noticing that it had indeed discolored the plantain peel a little. He wouldn't have any more use for that special peel anyway.
He threw it in the trash can and left the bathroom in the direction of the tables in the parlor. Shacklebolt was still there, but now he was standing up, talking to a few people, giving Percy a good view of his profile. Percy brazenly took another plantain from the basket and held it in such a way that it looked as if it was indeed Kingsley's hard cock, attached to his body.
Percy smirked. He put the plantain back in the basket and asked Fortescue where he could find the fruit. Florean scribbled an address in a piece of paper and handed it to Percy, who thanked him and bought all the accoutrements for making the sundae at home. He would buy the plantains and would practice at home, until he could do it as well as Fortescue. And then he would invite Minister Shacklebolt for a special tasting. After seeing what Percy could do with a Maduro, Kingsley would think twice before going out with Amanda again.
He left the parlor, saying with a suggestive smile, "Hello, Minister, glad to see you enjoyed your Maduro split. I wonder what else it may be used for." He didn't wait for an answer, but walked away, certain that Kingsley's eyes were following him.
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