Nicholas Decaux lived in a brick apartment building in Covent Garden. Sören was claustrophobic and shaking by the time he got out of the lift, but then he saw the sign on the door of Nicholas's flat: MEA NAVIS VOLITANS ANGUILLIS ABUNDAT - and Sören was laughing when Nicholas opened the door.
Nicholas's dark eyes widened a little and his mouth opened, then he took a deep breath, closed his mouth, and his eyes crinkled at the corners, shining, smile broadening. "Hello, Sören."
Sören put his hand out. "I love you... ah... your sign." He gave a nervous little giggle.
Sören felt a flutter in his stomach, face on fire as he paused to admire the milk glass lamp in the hallway. "I like the glass," he said.
"Thank you," Nicholas said. "It's an antique."
Sören paused again by the staircase in the hallway, looking up at Rossetti's Joan of Arc on the half-landing. "Ah." Sören felt a big grin break out on his face again.
"Hm?" Nicholas paused.
"You're a fan of Rossetti, I take it."
"He's my favorite painter."
Sören nodded, pleased - if that both resonated with them it made Nicholas a kindred spirit of sorts. "He's mine next to Van Gogh. Rossetti was a major influence on my work."
"Yes, indeed. I mentioned I own paintings of yours." Nicholas made the "come along" gesture.
Sören walked into an open plan living, dining and kitchen area. The floorboards were a dark brownish-grey, contrasting with the grey and cream armchairs and couches. The room was brightened up with throws and cushions and rugs in sea green and blues, and Sören beamed again at the sight of a woodstove lit with a cozy fire, a grandfather clock ticking beside it. The area was full of ferns and potted palms and books. Shelves of books everywhere.
"My god, you have a library," Sören said, his voice hushed, impressed by the sheer volume of books.
"I am a voracious reader." Nicholas nodded.
It came out before he could stop himself. "Hi A Voracious Reader. I'm Sören."
Nicholas glared - Sören found that look devastatingly sexy. Sören crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip, and then Nicholas laughed, facepalming. "Dear god, that's terrible." Nicholas shook his head and folded his arms.
"Thank you."
Nicholas led Sören upstairs and at the top of the steps, on the wall between the master bedroom and one of the bathrooms, Sören saw the paintings. Four paintings in a row, the prints autographed, and Nicholas had chosen frames of white marble dusted with golden flecks for all of them.
Sören and Anthony mutually had very strange dreams during the nearly two years they were together, that they discussed, some of which Sören began to paint. The first painting in the row was two male Elves, both impossibly gorgeous, one with a flood of black hair to his knees, the other with hair the same length but in waves of a color that could only be described as silver-gold, shifting in the light like the flash of a gem. They were naked, wearing only flowers in their hair, and the one with black hair was on a leash made of pearls, wrapped around the hand of the fair one. The fair Elf was inside the darker, his free hand cupping the dark-haired Elf's chin with a decided look of I-own-you on his handsome face, while the dark-haired Elf was in rapture, his hard cock dripping beads of precum. They were laying together in a high-walled garden of herbs and climbing roses, a pastel sunrise in the sky above. That painting had been entitled Kiss the Dawn.
The second was Sören, himself, kneeling in a submissive posture, head bowed, hands bound, flames gathering around him, and some of his naked body was beginning to molt, growing feathers of fire, as if in the act of serving in love, he were becoming a half-man half-bird deity of some forgotten pantheon. Spirit of Fire was the title of that painting, a name Anthony had called him in the bedroom.
The third was the two male Elves again, the fair one in the distance, already turned and looking away, as the dark-haired one walked forward, head downcast, brow furrowed, beautiful in his grief. The sky was overcast and rain was beginning to fall, reflecting the final parting of the two lovers, each mourning, and the title of that painting had been Rain Falls. It had been one of Sören's last paintings, following the breakup with Anthony.
The very last - both in the row and the last one Sören had painted; it had been awhile - was Sören as Saint Sebastian, bound to a tree, pierced with three arrows, mortally wounded.
The way Nicholas had arranged the four paintings looked as if Nicholas knew they belonged together, that they were parts in a narrative. Sören felt stricken at the sight of them - he'd known, of course, Nicholas owned some of his work, but it was one thing to know that and another thing to see it right in front of him. Sören was not expecting the sucker punch to his feelings, bringing tears to his eyes on a night that was not for tears.
When Sören came back downstairs, Nicholas said, "I assume you would like to have dinner?"
"If you don't mind. Do you have anyplace in mind?"
"I was going to cook for you. I got fish fresh this morning."
"Oh!" Sören blinked slowly, completely surprised by that. "You cook?"
"I would never win a Michelin star, but yes, I cook. And I made the assumption you like fish, being an Icelander."
"You assumed correctly." Sören was thrilled. "I only get to cook for myself once a week or so, I don't have time with my schedule... it's such a treat to have someone else cook for me, wow."
Nicholas smiled. "I thought you might appreciate that."
"I really do." Sören watched him get to work in the kitchen, assembling fish and vegetables to chop and grill for skewers.
"I enjoy cooking. It keeps me grounded." He glanced over at Sören before he got to work. "Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea?"
"Water, if you've got it?"
Nicholas brought him bottled water of the non-sparkling variety, which Sören accepted with a "takk." Then, as Sören stretched out on the leather couch, he heard a "Prrrp?"
A cat was coming right over to him, mostly black with white socks and a white ruff, orange eyes, a notched left ear, a scar on the nose. "Oh, hello!" Sören held out his hand for the cat to sniff, and giggled when the cat gave him a headbutt, purring, tail high in the air.
"That is Tobias," Nicholas said.
"What a good boy." Then Tobias jumped onto his lap and Sören's troubles melted away as he stroked and skritched the cat, who purred louder. Sören found himself lapsing into his native language as he lavished love on the adorable cat. "Ert þú ekki dýrmætt barn. Þvílíkt sætt litla elskan. Ó, hvað góður, snaggi litli köttur. Nú er kominn tími til að þú fáir öll nuddin og rispurnar og ástina, já?"
Nicholas went from a small smile to a full-fledged grin, showing his teeth. Though he had nice teeth, all the moreso at his age which Sören guessed was sixties, he did look rather goofy grinning like that, and yet somehow that made him even more endearing to Sören. Nicholas re-composed himself with a little Mona Lisa smile. "Don't let his good behavior fool you. He's a rapscallion."
"He's a... what." Sören blinked and giggled; he'd never heard that word before.
"A mischief maker," Nicholas said, sounding vaguely annoyed that Sören didn't know what a rapscallion was.
"Sorry, English isn't my first language."
"Your average twenty-five year old doesn't know what a rapscallion is, either." Nicholas tutted. "I teach Classics at UCL."
Sören had been wondering what Nicholas did for a living, and that explained why he had a sign in Latin on his door.
"The sound of your native language is delightful, I must say." Their eyes met.
Sören's face flushed again. "Takk." He tried not to stare too long at those warm, shining dark eyes.
"And Tobias certainly seems to like it." Nicholas got up and walked to the kitchen, looking back at Tobias on Sören's lap, continuing to get pettings.
"I certainly like him." Tobias stood on his hind legs, front paws on Sören's shoulder, and he began to headbutt Sören's face over and over again, making Sören squeak with happiness. He squeaked again when their noses touched. "Hví ljúfur, yndislegi litli Toby. Já, þú ert dýrmætt barn Toby, þvílík ást."
"Er," Nicholas called from the kitchen. "His name is Tobias." He narrowed his eyes, looking somewhat disgruntled.
And sexy. Sören felt something puckish stir in him as he skritched Tobias's chin. "Þetta er lítill barnakettlingur. Já, þetta er góður, elsku Toby."
"How long have you had Toby?" Sören asked.
"I have had Tobias for eleven years," Nicholas said, giving him that look again. Sören gave him an innocent face in return. "He was a rescue. I found him wandering outside in the neighborhood in the dead of winter when he was just a kitten. So of course I had to take him in."
The mental image of Nicholas taking in an orphaned baby kitten went right to Sören's heart... and wasn't doing a good job of making Sören not find him attractive. Sören swallowed hard.
"Do you have any cats, Sören?" Nicholas asked, looking curious.
Sören shook his head with a wistful sigh. "I work sixty, seventy hours a week. I'd feel guilty leaving a cat alone by himself all the time. Which is too bad, because I really love cats and would love to have a cat of my own."
"I can tell you're a cat person," Nicholas said with a slow nod. "Tobias has taken quite a shine to you." Their eyes met again, and Nicholas gave him that little smile, eyes crinkling at the corners. Sören's stomach fluttered again. "And you even have..." Nicholas's eyes looked down, then up. "Is that a cat on your shirt?"
"It's Pusheen," Sören said. He pulled on the tail of his shirt to smooth out the graphic on the front, to make it easier to see.
Nicholas read the caption aloud. "Home... is where... my butt... is." Nicholas pinched the bridge of his nose.
Sören almost spat his drink hearing Nicholas speak those words aloud in his deep, RP-accented voice. Nicholas then raised an eyebrow at Sören. "Where in the world did you get a shirt like that. I'm afraid to ask."
"Pusheen is big on the Internet," Sören said, "and my ex, ah, Anthony, got it for me and some other Pusheen stuff when I was depressed. I know it's not really the sort of thing you wear on a hot date but I also figured I wouldn't be clothed for very long." Sören gave a cheeky grin.
"Indeed." Nicholas chuckled.
"Can I do anything to help you in the kitchen?" Sören wanted to be polite.
"May I," Nicholas corrected.
Sören raised an eyebrow. "So you're a professor?" Sören asked, not able to help himself. "Are you like this with your students?"
"I have a bit of a reputation." Nicholas looked almost proud of himself. "They started calling me Tyrannus - Latin for tyrant - or Lord Tyrannus when they want to be particularly snarky. New students are warned about me."
Sören giggled. "Oh god, that's like my ex being the Shark, almost." He shook his head and sipped his drink. "Almost like you two are brothers or something."
Tobias started headbutting his face. Over in the kitchen area, Nicholas glanced over, smiling fondly, and Sören smiled back. Then Sören grimaced as Tobias climbed onto his shoulder, digging his claws in, and draped himself on the shoulder. Sören continued to pet Tobias.After awhile Tobias walked across Sören's shoulders and lay behind Sören's neck, with his head and front paws on one shoulder and his rump and back paws on the other, kneading, claws digging in again. "Does he do this to you?" Sören called over to the kitchen.
"Oh yes," Nicholas said. "Especially when I'm trying to grade papers."
The mental image of Tobias perching on Nicholas's shoulders the same way made Sören giggle. The movement of Sören's laughter made Tobias adjust himself again, climbing down, but lingering to put his butt right in Sören's face. It became apparent Tobias had visited the litterbox recently, the smell assaulting Sören's nose.
"Oh god, cat," Sören said, trying to lean back and move his face out of the way. "You've got a dirty boom-boom."
Nicholas stood there in the kitchen, bottle of olive oil in hand, thick brows drawn, eyes narrowed, mouth a flat line of disapproval. Sören loved it.
Tobias then farted in Sören's face. "AUUUUUGHHH," Sören cried, wincing. Tobias settled onto Sören's lap, purring very loudly, smiling, kneading. "Oh god, Toby farted." Tobias looked pleased with himself.
"Tobias has sometimes woken me up doing that," Nicholas said. He put the olive oil down on the counter and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Well, so much for first impressions..."
"It's all right." Sören laughed and skritched the back of Tobias's neck, which the cat enjoyed, leaning into his touch. "You can't help having a stinky boom-boom," Sören said to the cat in a singsong voice.
Nicholas glared again. "That is... that is not a word."
"It is now."
Nicholas gave an exaggerated sigh. "This was not quite what I was expecting, with your art."
"You expected someone more refined?"
"I honestly don't know what I was expecting other than... passion." Nicholas's lips quirked. "Submission."
"So you want to tie me up," Sören said.
"Perhaps." Nicholas nodded. "Would this be acceptable to you?"
"I don't know you." Sören pursed his lips. "I had the experiences you assume I had because of trust. I don't trust anymore."
"But you still burn. And you burn for someone long gone - you keep bringing him up. I can help you."
"I doubt that," Sören said, the edge creeping into his voice again. "I should have been over him before now. I'm not."
"The love, the passion, that inspired you to make the artwork you make - that is not lost overnight, and with someone like yourself, probably not at all."
Sören felt tears sting his eyes, knowing Nicholas was right. He was probably going to carry a torch for Anthony Hewlett-Johnson for the rest of his life, and he hated that.
"I'm not offering to make you forget him," Nicholas said. "But I calculated the timing of when you stopped showing, and when your engagement likely ended. I can give you fresh fire, Sören, to fight fire with fire, leave scorched earth behind... and perhaps from that, something new can grow, as a forest grows back stronger after a wildfire, the soil nourished from the ash."
"That's why you bid on me?" Sören's eyes narrowed. He would not, would not, would not fall apart crying here. He sipped his water, taking slow, deep breaths, trying to keep calm, running the same internal scripts he did when shit hit the fan at National.
"I desire you. But as much as I desire the body that danced for me... I desire to see a return to the sort of art I bought from you. A return to the gift you have given the world."
Sören's mouth opened. Once again, he found himself at a loss for words. A frisson went down his spine and his hair stood on end.
"And that means I'm going to enjoy you," Nicholas said, meeting his eyes, "and you're going to enjoy me."
Sören felt a frisson down his spine, cock stirring in his pants. He was tempted to take his cock out and start stroking it, to tease Nicholas, but he'd wait awhile yet, test the waters some more. With the sexual tension came a sudden rush of nervous energy and Sören found himself getting up to look around, fascinated by the books.
When it was time to eat, Nicholas served dinner on the rooftop where he had a garden, with fairy lights and lanterns. Sören took his time, enjoying the spicy seasoning used on the grilled fish and vegetables. Their knees were touching, and every now and again their eyes would meet and Sören gave him a shy little smile. Nicholas had brought out a crisp white wine to go with the skewers, and as Sören sipped his wine he noticed Nicholas was watching him intently, bringing a flush to his cheeks that had nothing to do with the alcohol.
Dessert was next - Nicholas had made a very lucky guess, because it was strawberries with whipped cream. Fresh fruit had been a luxury for Sören growing up, and though he liked sweets and pastries as much as most people did, fresh fruit was his real weakness. It was also now when the gloves started to come off, with Nicholas dipping the strawberries into the cream and feeding Sören from his fingers like he was a pet being given a treat.
When the strawberries were gone but some whipped cream remained, Nicholas used his fingers as a spoon and Sören began to lick and suck the cream from his fingers. Nicholas's eyes could drill through granite now, and Sören responded, cock straining his leather trousers. After the cream was finished and Nicholas put the bowl aside, Sören heard himself offer, "Should I do the dishes?" since he was a guest in Nicholas's home.
"You're doing something else," Nicholas said, got up, and gestured for Sören to follow him.
Once they were in the bedroom, Nicholas lit candles around the bedroom, then undressed Sören himself, like he was unwrapping a present. When Sören was fully naked - and fully erect, Nicholas smiling at the hard cock ready for him - Nicholas said, simply, "Kneel."
Sören knelt, and waited as Nicholas undressed himself. Then Nicholas walked over to the wardrobe and produced a leather collar and leash. Sören was no stranger to leash play, having been on a leash for Anthony on occasion... but Anthony had been the only one he'd ever submitted to. Nicholas was practically a stranger.
And yet, Sören accepted the collar, and the leash. Nicholas gave Sören's face a tender caress before he gave the leash a tug, pulling Sören forward towards his own hard cock. He held the leash as his cock disappeared into Sören's mouth. Their eyes held, locked, and Sören felt a tremor go through him as he got to work, head bobbing, Nicholas's cock pushing and pulling in and out, Sören sucking for all he was worth.
Nicholas was silent at first, and then his breath hitched when Sören found a rhythm. When Nicholas began to moan, Sören moaned too with his mouth full, reveling in the sounds Nicholas made, the look of lust on his face as he got into it. Sören sucked harder and faster, enjoying himself, his own cock and hole twinging for attention. Before Nicholas could come in Sören's mouth he pulled out, and led Sören on the leash over to the bed.
"So, d'you have a safeword we're using, or...?" Sören raised an eyebrow.
"If you need me to stop anything I'm doing, 'no' or 'stop' works," Nicholas said.
"Fair."
Nicholas had Sören lay on his back, and he tied the leash to the bed. He leaned in and claimed Sören's mouth, kissing him again and again as their hard cocks rubbed together. Sören liked having his hands free - for now - so as Nicholas's hands slid over him, Sören touched Nicholas in turn, impressed with the lush silver pelt, the trim physique. "You're gorgeous," Sören whispered, fingers tracing over Nicholas's furry chest. "Delicious."
"And you are a work of art." Nicholas gave Sören's face another tender caress, looking into his eyes before he gave Sören a deep, hungry kiss, one that made Sören's cock jolt against his. Nicholas chuckled at it, and hooked his index finger through the Prince Albert ring in the head of Sören's cock, like it belonged to him. "You deserve a diamond," he said, running his finger over the captive bead ring in the piercing.
Sören smirked. "Flattery will get you everywhere, Nicholas Decaux." He crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip. "Maybe even inside me."
"Mmmmm... but not yet." Nicholas's fingers brushed a pierced nipple and began to rub, before giving a tug of the nipple ring. "Such beauty demands worship."
With that, Nicholas kissed Sören's mouth again, and then he licked and kissed Sören's neck, his shoulder, down to Sören's nipples. As his tongue teased one, his fingers teased the other, rubbing, pinching, and already Sören was writhing beneath him, moaning, his nipples hard-wired to his cock. Back and forth Nicholas went between Sören's nipples, feasting, driving Sören wild until he couldn't take it anymore and cried out, "Please, Nick, take me..."
Nicholas laughed softly. "I said not yet."
He kissed down Sören's chest to his stomach, then down one thigh, and up the other. He nibbled Sören's navel before taking a lick at Sören's cock, which was now dripping precum. And then he just licked it. And licked it. Sören panted, howled, writhing harder, hearing himself whimpering, keening, almost embarrassed by the sounds he was making, by the raw sexual need coursing through him. He felt so sluttish, being this ready and willing with a near-stranger, even a breathtaking, handsome, deliciously masculine stranger.
And he loved it. He'd missed sex. He'd missed that feeling of being alive as passion consumed him. He didn't miss the days of casual, anonymous sex in Reykjavik, filling a void and not quite filling it, but he missed what he had with Anthony. And Anthony was gone, but maybe, just maybe, he could get his needs met again, somehow, someway, from someone.
Nicholas lapped at Sören's cock like it was a sweet treat that he'd been looking forward to for days. The expression on his face was downright mischievous as he edged Sören for what felt like an eternity, licking his cock, getting it more and more excited, but keeping Sören just shy of climax.
"Nick, please." Sören was gasping for breath, quivering involuntarily - his thighs were quaking, even. "Please. Oh god, please, please..."
"You have a magnificent cock," Nicholas told him, taking another lick.
The words almost stung, Sören remembering Anthony's parting shot that the man he'd cheated with had been better-endowed. But the sting was sweet, now, Nicholas touching that wound and giving it a balm that Sören hadn't wanted to need, yet badly needed.
Nicholas patted Sören's thigh, then, and he untied the leash from the bedpost. "On your stomach," he said.
When Sören lay on his stomach, Nicholas retied the leash. Sören tilted his head to watch Nicholas get out massage oil, and then Nicholas straddled his hips and poured oil over Sören's back.
That was another thing Sören hadn't experienced since his ex. Anthony had taken good care of him - he hadn't just been dominant, but he'd been very sensual, and liked to make Sören feel better when Sören was constantly exhausted from his long hours as a surgeon, and carried so much tension in his body on a regular basis, coiled and ready to spring. Feeling Nicholas's hands knead him now brought tears to his eyes, the ache of nostalgia, and the glimmer of hope he dared not have, that maybe there was life after heartbreak.
Nicholas's hands worked him over and over, Sören feeling like he was melting with those gifted hands. Nicholas's hard cock rubbing in the crack of his ass kept Sören on edge, still aching for release, the perfect blend of relief in his body and urgency in his cock. When Nicholas's cock left the crack of Sören's ass, Sören gave a little whimper of protest, and then he felt Nicholas slide down the length of him and there was Nicholas's tongue, licking around the rim of his opening in slow, lazy circles. When Sören realized what Nicholas was going to do he heard himself cry out "oh shit, oh god, oh fuck," and a "yes" as Nicholas's tongue speared inside.
Nicholas ate Sören with savage hunger. Sören bucked against his face, fucking himself on Nicholas's wicked tongue. Nicholas growled into him, tongue lashing fast and furious, getting him right on that sweet spot that threatened to send Sören flying, yet still kept his orgasm just out of reach. Sören screamed into the pillows until he was practically sobbing, begging for it. "Nick, take me, please. Please. Oh god, please, I need you inside me, I need you inside me now, RIGHT FUCKING NOW..."
Nicholas finally relented. "You win," he said, chuckling, giving Sören's ass a playful swat. Sören heard the sounds of Nicholas lubing his cock, and then slick fingers pushed into him.
It had been long enough since the last time Sören had sex that he was tight, and Nicholas knew this, working two then three fingers into Sören, rubbing his prostate, opening him up. When Sören was ready, Nicholas untied the leash from the bed, wrapped it around his hand, and began to push into Sören, an inch at a time. And when he was all the way inside Sören, he lay on top of him, Nicholas's chest on Sören's back, and he sank his teeth into the sweet spot where neck and shoulder met, as if he were a rutting animal and claiming Sören as his mate.
He went slowly at first, to ease Sören into it, but soon enough he was slamming into Sören and Sören was rocking his hips right back at Nicholas. Nicholas tugged on the leash with one hand and pulled Sören's curls with the other, and that made Sören frantic for it, bucking against him even faster, crying out "more, more..."
When they got closer, Nicholas leaned down again, tilted Sören's face to his, and kissed him deeply. Sören trembled, letting out a whimper into the kiss as if to warn the man dominating him that he was almost there, and Nicholas responded with an "mmm-hmm" as if to encourage him. They kissed and kissed, tongues rubbing together, and then Nicholas rasped, "Come for me," just before he licked Sören's neck and bit his shoulder.
Sören came screaming, and a few seconds later he felt Nicholas come inside him. They moaned and cried out together, shaking, and Nicholas's arms were around him now, as if Sören were falling and Nicholas was catching him.
"Yes. Oh god, yes, Nick, yes," Sören gasped, tears coming on strong with the shock of the intensity of his orgasm. It had been too long so lonely and cold.
"Yes. Fly with me." Nicholas nuzzled Sören's neck, and gave him a sweet, gentle kiss as their orgasm continued to sear them both.
They ended up on their sides, cuddling for a little while, recharging. Petting became caressing, little kisses became deeper, fiercer, hotter. When they both hardened up again Nicholas took their cocks into his fist, stroking as his mouth claimed Sören's over and over. Sören finally rasped, "How do you want it?"
Nicholas smirked. "Ride me."
Nicholas lay on his back and Sören straddled his hips. With a tug of the leash, Nicholas watched with heat in his eyes as Sören sank down onto his cock, and Nicholas tugged the leash again once he was all the way inside.
Sören kept the pace slow for a few minutes, mindful of the fact that it had been over a year since the last time he'd had sex and he was still very tight. Not that Nicholas seemed to mind, hands sliding over Sören's body, watching the fluid, sensual grace of his slowly rolling hips, working on top of him like a dancer. "Beautiful," Nicholas whispered.
It was soon enough that Sören needed it faster, harder, bouncing on top of him, and then Nicholas grabbed Sören's hips and drove into him with abandon, Sören grabbing Nicholas's hair for extra support as he rode like he was on a wild bull or a racing stallion. Sören was crying out so loudly his voice was getting hoarse, and when Nicholas began to slap his ass it almost sent Sören over the edge, but Sören hung on, not wanting the blinding, burning glory of sex to be over just yet.
Nicholas began to stroke Sören's cock furiously. "I can't hold back," Nicholas ground out. "Need you to come with me..."
A few thrusts later and Sören erupted, throwing his head back with a cry as he spilled over Nicholas's body. Nicholas shot into him within seconds, also crying out. He pulled the leash hard and he and Sören kissed passionately through their climax, Nicholas's arms wrapped around Sören's again as Sören grabbed his face, kissing Nicholas like he was claiming him, even as he felt claimed.
Sören rested on Nicholas's chest. He wasn't quite spent yet, but he was going to need a break from being penetrated after two hard poundings. Before he could ask Nicholas what he wanted to do now, Nicholas asked, "Would you like to take me?"
Sören nodded eagerly.
Sören wasn't going to let Nicholas get away without at least a little foreplay, in charge or not. His fingers played around Nicholas's opening. "I want to eat you out," Sören whispered, keenly aware of how crass that sounded, but there was really no other way to put it.
Nicholas chuckled. "Yes, please."
Sören dipped down and pushed his tongue into Nicholas's opening. Then he ate Nicholas like he'd been starving for it - in a way, he had - as Nicholas grabbed his curls, played with the leash, groaning and gasping and growling, going deeper and deeper into sensation. Sören's tongue lashed and lashed, then fluttered more slowly and teasingly, then he was back to devouring him. When Nicholas was the one to writhe, starting to cry out, Sören smiled against Nicholas's channel, feeling a sense of victory. Nicholas finally made a menacing, feral noise, yanking Sören up on the leash. "Now," he demanded.
Sören lubed his cock and guided it to Nicholas's opening. The silken heat wrapped around him threatened to undo him right away. He necessarily thrust slowly, not just because he didn't know how long it had been for Nicholas, but also he needed to keep himself in check, wanting Nicholas to come first, not wanting to blow his load right away. Nicholas, however, wouldn't let him get away with going slow for long. "Harder," Nicholas growled. "Faster."
Sören did love a power bottom - when Anthony had bottomed for him he'd been a lot like this, still dominating - and Sören got into it, trembling as he tried to hold back his orgasm, focusing on Nicholas's pleasure. Soon enough one of Nicholas's legs was propped up on Sören's shoulder and he was pounding, and Nicholas rocked back at him, panting for it, cock leaking precum. "Yes, take it. Show me no mercy," Nicholas commanded.
At last both of Nicholas's legs were on Sören's shoulders and he was driving into Nicholas so hard that the bed was slamming against the wall, the slap of Sören's balls against Nicholas's ass as loud as their cries. Nicholas felt so good, so fucking good, and the look of desperate hunger on Nicholas's face and the fine sheen of sweat on his body and the engorged cock slick with precum just fueled Sören's lust all the hotter, going deeper and deeper into pleasure, passion, where this was all that existed.
"Oh god," Sören called out. "Oh god..." He was dangerously close to coming first.
"That's it. Lose yourself, show me that fire." Nicholas tugged the leash. "Give in to me."
Sören pounded as hard as he could, and reached for Nicholas's cock, stroking in time with his thrusts. Sören couldn't even make words now, he was so far gone, at the place where he was about to go off any time now...
...and when Nicholas came first, shooting over Sören's body, Sören howled as he let go, exploding deep inside him, a full-body orgasm that made his toes curl. Nicholas gasped with a look on his face like he was seeing God himself as his body shook, cock spurting and spurting over Sören, walls clenching and pulsing around the cock seeding him.
"So beautiful," Nicholas breathed, reaching up to stroke Sören's face. "So much power. So much fire."
Sören kissed Nicholas's brow. He closed his eyes as the tears fell again. "Thank you," he whispered. He felt like he had been given a gift of some kind, though he wasn't sure entirely what it was. "Thank you."
Sören dozed off after sex, as he tended to do when he was with Anthony. When Sören came to, he realized the gravity of it - he didn't like to sleep with strangers, so the fact that he felt comfortable enough to nap after sex was a big deal.
Nicholas was gently petting Sören's curls, watching him sleep, and when Sören stirred awake, Nicholas smiled and said, "Hello."
"Hey yourself." Sören stretched and snuggled against him again. Reflexively, Sören looked at the time, a force of habit as a busy surgeon.
"Do you have to work tomorrow?" Nicholas asked, noticing him looking at the clock.
Sören shook his head. "It was my birthday this past week and I requested this weekend off as a gift to myself, awhile back." He chuckled. "This was quite a nice present."
"If you don't have to work this weekend..." Nicholas stroked Sören's face. "Would you like to spend the weekend with me, here?"
Sören nodded without hesitation. "I'd like that, yes."
"Good. We'll have all weekend to play some more. In the meantime..." Nicholas's arms tightened around Sören and he kissed Sören's brow. "Rest, my dear. You need it."
You don't know how much. Sören was constantly running on a sleep deficit. He closed his eyes and slid back into the golden afterglow, melting away.
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