Once I was all cried out, I fell asleep in Sören's arms, all tangled up with him. Because of how early I'd gone to sleep, my body stirred awake in the twilight just before dawn. After I did my business I gingerly climbed back into the camper van, hoping I didn't wake Sören up with the movement, but he continued to sleep. And I found myself unable to return to sleep. I watched Sören sleeping in the dim blue glow of the nightlight and the twilight through the van windows. He was so beautiful, with his curls tousled, the serene look on his face, full lips slightly parted. He was like a prince out of a fairy tale, waiting to be awoken by true love's kiss.
I wanted to do just that, but I kept watching him, unable to take my eyes off him. And then at last he opened his eyes, gave me a sweet smile, and reached out to touch my face. "Elskan," he said, his voice raspy from sleep.
That melted my heart... and set me ablaze. I moved in to give him a little kiss, then I kissed the tip of his nose, then I rained kisses over his face, making him giggle, and then I kissed him deeply, passionately. Sören moaned into the kiss and thrust his hips out instinctively and I groaned back. Our tongues played together open-mouthed and then we kissed again, and again. I started kissing and licking Sören's neck. "Want you," I growled, feeling myself already starting to drip, drenched and achingly hard for him.
"Mmmmmmm." Sören's fingers brushed down my chest.
I kept kissing, licking, nibbling, sucking on his neck as my hand slipped down his pyjama bottoms. I played with him, my own cunt twinging at the feel of his slick creamy folds, the hard little nub asking for attention. A few deep, hot kisses later we undressed, then Sören spread and arched for me and reached out to me to pull me down into his waiting arms. We kissed as our cunts kissed, then Sören looked into my eyes and gave a deep sigh, the bliss on his face making me melt all over again.
Sören's grunt as I pressed more firmly into him almost made me come right away... and then I had a slight twinge of concern, remembering how hard I'd fucked him with the strap yesterday. "I'm not hurting you, am I?"
"No." Sören smiled.
"OK. You can tell me. I don't want to hurt you or... trigger you -"
I knew that was probably the unsexiest thing ever, but I felt really cautious from what I knew and could infer from his personal history. Sören silenced me with a kiss and then he held me tighter and said, "I feel safe with you."
I exhaled. I briefly thought of how sex with Steve was a chore I felt badgered into... and how being here with Sören was the complete opposite. I hungered for him in a way I never had before. "I feel safe with you, too."
Sören's smile became a grin. "Does that mean we're doing The Safety Dance?"
I laughed, delighted by his silly humour. I kissed him back, then again, deeper. "You can dance if you want to."
"Men With Vaginas is my Men Without Hats cover band."
I laughed harder - it felt so good to laugh like this - then I kissed him breathless and rubbed against him more insistently, joy becoming passion.
We made love slowly, sensually, sweetly, rubbing our cunts together, cock sliding against cock, as we kissed again and again, running our hands over each other's bodies, exploring, teasing. The rising sun painted the sky in pastels and bathed our naked bodies in a golden glow. Every now and again Sören touched my face, or I stroked his cheek and hair, looking into each other's eyes before another deep, fierce kiss. We savoured each other, the slow rhythm of our cocks building the decadent pleasure. I never wanted this morning to end, lost in his beauty, lost in tenderness and warmth and ecstasy, lost in connectedness, our bodies making art together in the light of dawn. But after awhile it was too much, both of us exciting each other, grinding faster, rocking our hips, cunts smacking together until Sören's nails were digging in my back, eyes feverish, panting. I kissed and licked his neck again, then I felt myself right on that edge, my breath in shuddery gasps against his neck. Sören turned his head and we kissed and in that kiss we exploded together, both of us contracting in time, taking each other's hands and squeezing, crying out together as we kissed deeper, pulsing, gushing.
We held each other, looking at the blue sky of morning, and all was right with the world. I could have stayed in bed with him all day, but we had to get back on the road. There were things to see.
There was life to live. There was hope.
It was a little under two hours to drive from the Dettifoss to Akureyri. We needed to stretch our legs so we jumped right in to sightseeing - Sören took me first to Akureyrarkirkja, which was designed by Guðjón Samúelsson who'd also designed Hallgrímskirkja in Reykjavik. The church in Akureyri was less phallic-looking but had the similar "cliffs of basalt rock" look, and we spent awhile admiring the architecture then the great view of the city from the top of the 112 stairs to get to the church, and finally the interior with its stained glass windows, a 3200-pipe organ, the white marble baptismal font, the model ship hanging from the ceiling which was an old Pagan tradition of offerings to protect loved ones at sea.
I enjoyed the brightly coloured buildings of downtown, all the funky little specialty shops, and the giant sculptures of Grýla and Leppalúði. Though I did have to ask Sören who they were, which got into him explaining the Yule Lads and the Yule Cat, and that made him decide to detour from our plans a little and go out to the Christmas House, which was open year-round. It was one of the kitschiest things I'd ever seen in my life, a red Santa's Workshop with a cave for Grýla, the inside of the store packed with garish decorations and enough candy to put the entire city in a coma. But it was good cheesy fun, and Sören was once again generous and bought a sampler of Icelandic candy for me.
Our next stop was on the agenda - the Botanical Garden. My mum had told me my dad was an avid gardener and I thought to myself that he would have loved this. As I remembered my own late father - who I hadn't known well since I was so young when he died - I wondered about Sören saying he wanted to come here to visit his parents' graves, but he hadn't brought it up in our trip planning and we hadn't stopped at the cemetery yet today. I decided not to ask him about it, thinking he would probably get to it when he was emotionally ready to get to it... not wanting to disturb his peace among the vibrant flowers, once again reminding me of a prince out of a modern-day fairy tale as he strolled through the gardens taking in its beauty.
"I forgot how pretty it is here," Sören said in a hushed, reverent voice. "This was one of the places where I used to escape off to when things got bad at home. The flowers reminded me not everything in the world was ugliness."
I put an arm around him, aching for him again. Sören leaned on me for a moment with a heavy sigh.
"And I used to walk a lot," Sören said. "I'd just walk and bike around, all through the farmland. Actually..." Sören bit his lower lip. "I know you wanted to take me out to dinner tonight, but you want to have a picnic, instead?"
That sounded splendid - as much as I wanted to spoil Sören, I also wanted to feed his soul, knowing he had to miss the nature of Akureyri down in urban Reykjavik. Now, Reykjavik was far from the ugliest city I'd seen - it was quite nice, as far as cities went, enough that part of my brain was starting to wonder what it would be like to relocate there instead of Boston - but looking around Akureyri, it was like another world. An enchanted world.
We stopped at a supermarket and picked up drinks, ready-made sandwiches and raekjusalat - a shrimp salad - and potato salad, fresh strawberries and cream. Then we drove out to a scenic meadow in the rolling hills, no houses or people for miles, just the two of us and the grasses and wildflowers.
I wanted to always remember Sören this way, the serenity of him in the light of golden hour in the meadow, himself lush and wild like our surroundings.
We spread a blanket in the grass and fed each other bites of sandwich, eating from each other's fingers, and put spoons of salad in each other's mouths. It was even cheesier than the Christmas House, but I loved us being soft and silly together, loved the way Sören giggled and wrinkled his nose, eyes shining as I indulged his playfulness.
When we got to the pint of strawberries, the silly mood turned sensual. I put a strawberry topped with cream to Sören's lips and when he bit into it, juices and cream spilled down his chin and my fingers. Once he'd eaten the strawberry, he licked and sucked my fingers clean. Watching Sören's full lips wrapped around my fingers gliding in and out of his mouth - the naughty look in his eyes - made me horny all over again. Hornier still when I leaned in to lick the mess from his beard and throat.
It was my turn - Sören proffered me a strawberry and I ate from his hand, then sucked his fingers as he'd done mine. With the next strawberry, Sören kissed me with a mouthful of strawberry before sucking my fingers again. Then with my strawberry, Sören licked cream from my tongue and I licked his entire palm and wrist before licking up and down his fingers, sucking on them.
I fed Sören another strawberry, and we shared another kiss. This time Sören sucked my thumb after he'd sucked my fingers. Then he fed me a strawberry and we kissed again. There was one more strawberry - and the largest one. I dipped it in the cream and Sören held out his tongue, and the sight of the cream dripping onto his tongue almost made me come untouched. Sören licked the strawberry before he bit it, then he put the rest of it in my mouth and I sucked his thumb when I took the strawberry. We kissed with another mouthful of strawberry, then we scooped up what was left of the cream and took turns finger licking, finger sucking, licking cream from each other's tongues.
When it was all gone I was hungry for something else. There was no-one around. I kissed and licked Sören's neck, and started pulling up his jumper. Once he was shirtless, I kissed him deeply and played with his nipples, rubbing and flicking them, tugging on the nipple rings. A few kisses later I was kissing his neck again, making him moan. I kissed down his throat to his sternum, then drew a nipple in my mouth, sucking hard. Sören threw back his head and cried out, shuddering.
Sören lay back and took off his boots, then took down his jeans and boxers while I stood up and took off my jumper, kicked off my shoes and dropped trou. It was a cool day - only in the fifties F, sweater weather - but heat coursed through my veins at the sight of Sören arched to me, knees bent and thighs spread, giving me a good look at his creamy cunt. I licked my lips at him before I dropped back down to the blanket and crawled over him.
I wanted to taste him, but I wanted to feast on his delectable body first. He was such a gorgeous work of art, with his tattoos and his nipple piercings, his wild mane of curls and his thick bush. I wanted to savour him, wanted him to feel how much I wanted him, thought he was the sexiest man I'd ever met.
I kissed and licked my way down his body, my fingers walking, brushing. I spent a long time on his nipples, lapping and suckling one as I played with the other, making him moan and writhe. I nibbled at his stomach, nipped and sucked on his sides and hips, thrilling to the way he gasped and grunted and trembled. I kissed and nibbled his inner thighs, until he was pleading with his eyes, whimpering.
At last I gave in, teasing his cock with my tongue, then sucking on it, my eyes locked with his. I loved the feel of his t-dick pulsing in my mouth, watching him panting, quivering, as I got him closer and closer. But before I could make him come, he said, "Elskan, I want to taste you too."
We got into a sixty-nine. I was so worked up from exploring his body and eating him out that it didn't take me long to get close to that edge. Feeling his contractions set off my own orgasm, moaning around his cock in my mouth then letting it slip and crying out. Sören moaned then gave a sigh of bliss that made me smile so hard my face hurt.
We kissed, tasting ourselves and each other, making a mess with our cream. A few sloppy kisses later we were both worked up again. Sören pulled me atop him and I rode him, working my hips, and Sören gave it right back, bucking his own hips, cunts slapping together, cock rubbing cock in that delicious rhythm we'd learnt so well the last few days. As I fucked him the sky began to change more dramatically with the colours of sunset, the fire in the sky mirroring our passion for each other. Nothing felt more right in the world than fucking him out here like this, and I wanted to make it last but we were both too far gone in lust and pleasure, rutting like animals, in heat for each other. Sören and I came together as the sunset hit its fiery peak, our bodies glowing under the magenta-orange glow.
We lay there on the blanket, snuggled up together as we watched the last light, the sky picking up more lavender and soft blues streaked with gold. When the light was almost gone, we put our clothes back on, packed up our blanket and our trash, and then Sören gave me a hug and a kiss. "Takk," he said softly. "That was wonderful."
I kissed him back and squeezed him tight. "You were wonderful." I swallowed hard as I held back: You are wonderful.
We took our camper van to Hamrar, by the forest Kjarnaskógur. There was a service centre with toilets and showers and laundry facilities, a kitchen, dining room and living room with a television. We showered, changed into pyjamas and attempted to watch TV while we did laundry, but I couldn't follow along with the Icelandic-language programming and when Sören recognised that he said, "I was going to show you some of my paintings. I brought a portfolio of prints -"
"I'd like that very much, yes."
Sören went over to where he'd put his duffel bag, and came back with a three-ring binder. He sat next to me on the couch. The very first painting made my jaw drop.
[art by me]
There were two phoenix birds - one appeared to be made of fire, one made of water, and they were against a backdrop of space, appearing to rise out of nebulas.
Then a lightbulb went off in my head, as I thought of the ink on Sören's body, which I was intimately familiar with these days. "Did that inspire your tats? Or the other way around?"
"Jæja, this became the basis for my ink, though obviously it doesn't look exactly like the birds on my back."
"There's a story to it." I cocked my head to one side.
Sören exhaled. "When I was four, I started having recurring nightmares about burning to death. I hadn't seen fire on TV or movies, no neighbours had a fire, it was just... completely random. When I hit puberty the dreams got more violent - I was ambushed by a pack of fire demons with flaming whips. I told myself that the dreams were symbolic. I was bullied at school, my aunt and uncle were hell to live with, and then puberty was adding insult to injury with the dysphoria. Anyway, after I attempted suicide I... painted this... and then I had it put on my body. Reclaiming the fire, instead of letting it destroy me. Tempering it with water."
I ached for him, but I was also proud of him, and a little in awe of him, having made something so incredible. "It's beautiful," I said. Then I gave a nervous laugh. "That sounds so... trite. Beautiful doesn't seem like strong enough of a word, but there are really no words that do this justice."
"It doesn't help that English is a weird language," Sören said.
I cackled. "Like Icelandic isn't weird?"
"My language makes sense. We can read Old Norse literature without too much trouble. Your language on the other hand, not only doesn't follow its own rules but it changes all the time."
"I would argue it changed for the better," I said. "Imagine me speaking archaic English to you when we're fucking."
Sören's lips quirked, and then he said, "Jæja, you're right. Probably better you don't say 'presentest thine bussyeth!' or some shit."
I laughed so hard I rolled off the couch, sides heaving, tearing up.
And that was when I knew this wasn't just a holiday fling for me anymore. I'd fallen in love with him.
chapter 18 | return to A Place Called Home | return to Original Works | return to index
