After the auction, Sören was in a bit of shock, still reeling from the fact that somebody had bid five thousand pounds on him. And not just somebody, but an absolutely gorgeous man with a sexy voice, and from what little Sören had seen of him on the auction floor - Sören remembered how defiant he looked when he scored the winning bid against the creepy man with the white-gold hair - Sören liked his attitude.
Nonetheless, Sören was not in so much shock that he neglected to meet with the coordinator on the way out, who gave him the contact information of the winning bidder, and, as Sören knew going into this, the bidder would have his contact information as well. Sören was instructed to be in touch with the bidder before the end of Friday, which was fine - Sören thought he'd give the gentleman a call tomorrow, after he went home and got some sleep.
But on the Tube ride home, Sören found he was still wide awake, even as exhausted as he was, his mind racing. There had to be some kind of catch, some sort of "too good to be true", with all of this, hadn't there?
Just like there had been with Anthony, after close to two years, the man he'd loved so passionately, the man he trusted, when Sören's trust was so hard-won...
As Sören got off the Tube and began walking towards his flat in Holborn, his phone went off. "Anthony, I swear to fucking god that better not be you," Sören snarled under his breath, almost violently reaching for the phone buzzing away in his pants pocket, ready to give his ex a piece of his mind -
It was a number he didn't recognize, but then, he didn't tend to keep numbers in his head. Sören swiped Accept. "Hello."
"Sören Sigurðsson?" That deep, velvet voice. "This is Nicholas Decaux, your winning bidder."
"Oh!" Sören heard himself exhale sharply. "Jæja, hi... Mr. Decaux."
"Please, call me Nicholas. I wanted to call and make sure you're all right. A soft chuckle. "I saw the expression on your face when the auction ended, like a deer trapped in headlights -"
"Oh god. I'm sorry." Sören was cautious, but at the same time didn't want the man to be insulted. Under any other circumstances, Sören would have fancied him.
"No need to be sorry. You're probably wondering why I spent five thousand quid on you."
"Yeah, actually, I am."
"I found you captivating. There was no one else like you at the auction - your beauty, your energy. But also... this will make me sound like a stalker, perhaps, but I own several of your paintings. All that life and vitality and passion that went into those paintings... I saw it in the flesh. You will have to pardon a man for wanting a taste of that for an evening."
Sören's jaw dropped. His head started to spin. He couldn't make words.
He realized the pause was excessively long when Nicholas asked, "Are you still there?"
"Yeah. I'm..." Sören gave a nervous chuckle. He didn't know how he was supposed to react to that - but he felt flattered.
"As you know, the choice is yours whether or not you want to be... physical. But -"
Sören swallowed hard. He felt his cock stirring. "It's been awhile for me, but ah. So long as you're not married or seeing someone else..."
"I'm not, no, but it sounds as if you've had a prior negative experience."
Sören couldn't believe he was opening up like this to a perfect stranger - albeit, a stranger who wanted to fuck him - but... "I was engaged to be married. Anthony Hewlett-Johnson, barrister, known for some high-profile court cases. I would have been celebrating my one-year wedding anniversary right now if... well..." Sören pinched the bridge of his nose, not liking the anger that was rising in his voice, not wanting to take it out on this man he didn't know, this man who had donated five thousand pounds to a good cause. He tried to rein it in but there was still an edge to his voice as he went on, "The end of that, the whys and wherefores, isn't and will not be public record, but our engagement wasn't a secret, our wedding announcement was in the newspaper. So. Yes. I did the charity auction to amuse myself on my thirtieth birthday, I got a bit more than I bargained for. Happy birthday to me." Sören let out a self-deprecating snort.
"I see. If you're sure. If this is too... soon... for you, I won't tell them we didn't have the date, the money will still go to charity -"
And that confirmed for Sören this was the right decision. We're doing this. I just want you to understand my motivation for this was not to find Mr. Right."
I found him and then he turned out to be Mr. Wrong. Except it still felt right, it still ached, so much. Sören knew that running into Anthony just before his birthday last week was a leftover of that very odd bond they had - Anthony probably wasn't deliberately searching for him, judging from the looks of things, he doubted Anthony even knew he was in Holborn. But throughout those two years they'd had moments of "tuning in" to each other, like the day Sören was operating and he felt a sudden wave of panic like something was very, very wrong with Anthony, and then on his break, a bomb threat at Anthony's chambers, Lincoln's Inn was all over the news... This was another non-concidence, their paths syncing up just before Sören's birthday, as if fate was pushing them at each other to try it again, and they had been so good, until the very, very, very end, which was why it hurt as much as it did, even now.
Sören doubled down on his resolve not to call Anthony immediately when he got off the phone with Nicholas, even as he had that wild impulse to give in.
The older man's voice cut into his thoughts, cut into the wound. "From the tone of your voice, I'm surprised you're willing to do this at all, giving your word or not. What are you hoping to find, Sören, if not Mr. Right?"
Sören gathered his thoughts for a moment, searching for the right words. He remembered the confidence Nicholas had in the auction, like he owned it, like he owned Sören himself. It was the same attitude Anthony would have had if he was there bidding on Sören. Sören had always hesitated to say he had a type, since he'd fucked so many different sorts of people, he had an artist's eye for beauty, he liked variety... and yet he did have an aesthetic with men, if he was honest with himself. Tall, deep-voiced, commanding, dominant. Anthony was all of those things - dominant especially. Sören felt a frisson down his spine, his nipples aching at the whisper of memories of yielding to him, bound, helpless, trusting, surrendering. It was, paradoxically, when he was bound that he had felt the most free, pure passion, pure fire. He'd internally made a quip wondering if his life was about to turn into Fifty Shades of Grey aka Fifty Shades of How Not To Do BDSM - but Sören also knew he missed being dominated, being taken into anguish and ecstasy. He knew a dominant when he saw one, even though Anthony had been his first, and he hadn't been quite aware of what they were getting into at first.
Nicholas was a dominant. Sören sensed that into his bones. Nicholas had power, and he wasn't afraid to use it. And he needed that, right about now.
"Not Mr. Right, no. Mr. Right Now, I guess."
"Well, Sören, it would be an honor to enjoy a night with you. I am looking forward to it."
"So am I," Sören said sincerely. "I'll see you at eleven-thirty tomorrow night, já?"
"Yes. Sleep well." Click.
Sören was left holding the phone for a moment, feeling a bit dazed. And a little flustered, heat coursing through him at that voice, the memory of what he'd seen at the auction... what he'd been picking up throughout their conversation.
Well, if nothing else, this should be interesting. In the meantime, it was time to go to bed.
Alone.
Sören hugged his body pillow, wishing it was Anthony. Again. Wondering what he was doing right now, if he was sleeping alone tonight.
I hate that I still want you.
chapter 4 | return to Learning To Fly | return to Other Tolkien Fic | return to index