AN: This chapter contains watersports closer to the end.
Before I returned to the States, Sören and I looked at different places on the US map and did research about them, and we decided somewhere in New England would be best since it was a generally liberal area but the cost of living outside of major cities wasn't obscenely high and it wasn't an area prone to natural disasters like tornadoes, wildfires and earthquakes, just winter storms.
I rented a motel room in Portland, Maine, and my mum insisted on wiring money to buy me a used Prius to replace the Audi I'd sold. Then I waited for my business loan to be approved - I was told it would take 30 to 90 days, though my bank was going to try to get it finalised closer to 30-45 days - and began to scout potential properties for a used bookstore, driving around to locations in New Hampshire and Maine to look at available storefronts and get a feel for the neighbourhood and community. The day my loan got approved in the last week of October, I signed papers to begin a rent-to-own plan on a storefront building in Bentham, Maine - a short drive from Portland - that had an apartment directly above it, so we could live above the shop which was super convenient. Sören had suggested the name Phoenix Books.
Sören was scheduled to arrive on Thursday, November ninth at 7 PM - he was flying in from Keflavik to Logan Airport in Boston via Icelandair, and I was going to pick him up at the airport.
From the time I got the keys to the new place and when Sören was arriving in roughly two weeks was a mad dash. Our goal was to open the shop two weeks after he arrived, so we could be open for Black Friday, the day after Thanksgiving, the biggest retail day of the year, with grand opening discounts and hopefully get ourselves a good chunk of business. So I had to start buying used books, bookshelves, a cash register, and some furniture like couches and coffee tables for the shop because people were more likely to buy books if the shop had a welcoming atmosphere where you could read before you buy. I also had to get the apartment furnished, which meant driving down to Connecticut to get my things out of storage - I'd paid till the end of September, then paid for one more month when I got back to the States - and driving back up to Maine, and buying new furniture since I didn't have all that much and I would be living with another person.
Despite being insanely busy with buying books - which Sören would help me unload and sort onto the shelves once he got here - and getting the apartment ready to be lived in, and dealing with all the bureaucratic bullshit of the U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services to secure Sören's ticket to work here as my employee and start the process of my own citizenship... I was still consumed with missing Sören. I thought of him often; the absence hadn't diminished the feelings at all. And we found time for video chat 3-4 times a week, and e-mailed each other every day. Some of those e-mails were funny meme pictures or random interesting links, some of the e-mails were us continuing to get to know each other, asking questions and talking about our lives... and some of the e-mails were steamy, both of us sharing our fantasies, writing deliciously smutty accounts of what we wanted to do to each other once we were reunited. To my delight, Sören shared some of the other kinks I'd been curious about but never tried, like watersports.
The waiting felt almost unbearable by the time the first week of November was here. It was so close to Sören finally getting here and us starting our life together, but the days seemed to go on forever.
On November second, as I was coming back from the local supermarket with a few bags of groceries, there was a black-and-white cat on the steps leading up to the flat.
"Oh, hello," I said. I put the bags down and stooped to pet the cat, who sniffed my hand, rubbed against it, and accepted my touch, purring loudly.
Then the cat led the way up the stairs.
My shoulders heaved with a deep sigh as I put the keys in the lock and the cat circled my ankles, purring harder and chirping. I desperately wanted a cat - Steve didn't like cats, then during my time in New York I didn't live anywhere that allowed cats on the lease. The rent-to-own agreement I'd signed didn't prohibit cats, and Sören and I had talked about getting a couple cats together once he'd been here awhile and he was sure he was going to stay - as much as we loved each other, we knew we had to be smart and see if living together would actually work.
This was a bit sooner to adopt a cat than I'd intended, but also since he liked people, I worried he might be someone's cat who'd gotten loose.
I still let him inside. I hadn't bought cat food at the store, obviously, but I had bought chicken thighs and I left one plain without seasoning so I could give him some of the cooked meat. After we'd both eaten and he'd had some water, he sat on my lap as I zoned out listening to music and I idly stroked him, comforted by the weight of him and his deep, rumbly purr.
Then my brain snapped into action.
I went back out, this time to the local pet supply store, and bought a covered catbox, some litter, cans of cat food and a water fountain, and a scratching post. I threw in a bag of cat treats and a bag of jingle balls and jingle mice at the counter, even though I cautioned myself not to get too attached yet.
After I was back home and set things up for him, I looked around online to see if there were any lost cat notices on Facebook or Craigslist, typed up a few found ads to post on various spaces online, and made one with a photo of the cat to print off, and then I headed back out again and posted the flyer to a few lampposts and crosswalks.
The next morning I called the local veterinarian's office as soon as they opened and scheduled a next-day appointment to bring the cat in and make sure he wasn't ill - he seemed healthy, but I was still cautious. Despite my hesitancy to get attached to the cat in case he belonged to someone else, the cat followed me around and I couldn't resist skritching and petting him, giving him hugs and letting him sit on me. He slept with me that night, and woke me up before my alarm went off with headbutts, nose kisses, and meowing for food.
He didn't like the ride to the vet, but his bloodwork came back clear. The vet said the cat was about five or six years old, he was slightly underweight and had some scarring like he'd been in street fights with other cats, and his stool sample indicated he needed to be dewormed but he was otherwise OK. He got a series of shots, and was groggy on the way home, though he perked up when I gave him a cat treat for being good at the vet. As he napped and I continued working on the apartment, I kept obsessively checking my phone to see if I'd missed a call or a text from someone who'd responded to my found ads, but nothing turned up. That he was neutered but had scars from catfights, and the needing to put some weight on him and the worms told me he'd been homeless for awhile - and the vet hadn't found a microchip - and the thought that his previous owner might have given up on finding him again, or possibly even abandoned him, broke my heart.
I waited another three days to tell Sören about the cat, not wanting him to be disappointed in case someone rang or texted or e-mailed about the cat, or in case the cat's health suddenly took a turn for the worse. But while we were in video chat, just as I was about to make the announcement, the cat made it for me, hopping up on me, standing on his hind legs with his front paws on my shoulder and giving me many insistent headbutts while Sören watched.
Sören squeaked adorably. "KITTY!"
"Yeah." I gave a nervous laugh. "I found a cat. He doesn't seem to belong to anyone."
"No, it seems like you belong to him."
I smiled. The cat rubbed his nose on my nose as if to agree, purring loudly.
"Oh, what a precious baby." Sören got so caught up that he began to talk baby talk to the cat in Icelandic. "Þvílík sætur, dýrmætur góður lítill kisi. Þvílíkur fallegur sætur lítill kisi, hann er svo sætur, ég mun deyja, helvíti fokk."
I laughed. "You're so cute." I kissed the cat's forehead. "And so are you!"
The cat settled into my arms, purring away, and I rocked him a little. "What's his name?" Sören asked. "Ah... she? He?"
"He," I said, nodding. "He's been neutered." I shrugged. "I haven't named him yet because I wanted to make sure he didn't have owners to claim him and wanted to make sure the vet..." I didn't want to finish that sentence. I felt so relieved the cat was OK that I felt like crying, though T made it harder for the tears to come so it was just an ache.
"Well, he needs a name, dammit."
I gave another nervous laugh. "I have no idea what to name him." That was true - even though it was likely safe to get attached now, and I was already attached long before that, I had been so hung up on the idea that naming him was keeping him that it was like I'd shut off that part of my brain and now it couldn't come back online.
Sören stroked his beard, considering. "He's such a good baby."
"Wait till you meet him. He's very affectionate." I referenced a popular meme of the late 10s. "A sweet cinnamon roll."
"Ah, that could be his name. Snúður!"
I grinned. "You want me to name him... Snu..." I tried to pronounce it.
"Snúður."
I cleared my throat and said it back. "Snúður."
"Very good, you got it!"
We chitchatted for a little while about other stuff - Sören's next-to-last day at work at the penis museum, funny things that we'd seen or had happened to us recently - and eventually Snúður got down and walked out of the bedroom to go eat or do his business.
"I'm so glad you got a cat," Sören said. "I know we were going to wait but now it really feels like I'm coming home."
I smiled. "I can't wait. I miss you so much, sweetheart."
"I miss you too, Daddy." Sören bit his lip and wrinkled his nose. "I have a kitty for Daddy, too."
My breath hitched. "Oh, baby boy. I've been wanking off at least three or four times a day, thinking about you."
"Me too. Actually... I was playing with myself just before you opened up chat, and I didn't finish the job." Sören moved the camera around and then I saw him sit back - he wasn't wearing any pants - and he spread his legs, giving me a good look at his creamy cunt and his hard little t-dick.
My own cunt throbbed in response. "Oh my god," I said under my breath, enthralled by the sight of him hard and wet for me.
Sören reached down and began to touch himself as I watched. I felt myself slick and harden, wanting him. I sanitised my hands, pulled down my pyjama bottoms, adjusted the camera, and started touching myself too, both of us watching each other. "Mmmm, Daddy, I wish it was your cock instead of my fingers," Sören husked.
"God, I can't wait to fuck your cock with my cock," I growled.
"Oooh, Daddy..." Sören pawed himself faster. "My cock wants your cock so fucking bad, Daddy..."
"Oh baby, me too. Want to feel your cock on mine, want to fuck you for hours, see how many times I can make your slutty boypussy come..."
It wasn't long before we couldn't make words, rubbing ourselves furiously, panting, Sören's whimpers answered by my deep grunts and growls. Sören climaxed first, coming with a cry, and the sight of his gushing, contracting cunt with his cock twitching sent me over the edge, coming hard. I moaned and sank down in my chair as the tension rolled out of me and I throbbed with release.
Then I heard a "Prrp?" and looked down just in time for Snúður to put his front paws on the edge of my seat and drop his grey jingle mouse right onto my pubic mound.
Sören laughed so hard he fell out of his chair and made inhuman noises from the floor.
"Thanks, cat," I said, rolling my eyes.
"Prrp!" Snúður tapped my hand, seeking pettings. I reached out to skritch him, laughing too.
At last, the day arrived.
I left early - traffic going into Boston was notoriously bad, as I'd discovered driving from Maine to Connecticut and back - and made sure Snúður had plenty of food and his fountain was topped up before I left. Sören was coming into Terminal E and I was taking him out to dinner at Wahlburgers, owned by one of the New Kids on the Block and Marky Mark. Even though Sören had seen me naked and rumpled I still fussed over what to wear - I wanted to look good for him, whilst also not being so formal I was uncomfortable on the road and walking around a huge airport, or looking ridiculous at a burger restaurant. I decided on a cream-coloured cashmere jumper, dark blue jeans, and brogues.
The most important part of my outfit was on the inside. Of course I was wearing my usual packer to help with going stealth and relieving that vague but unsettling "missing limb" feeling. Underneath that, I'd ordered an adjustable cock ring made for FTM guys with bottom growth and I was wearing it now, pumped and standing at attention. Earlier, I'd spent some time edging myself and not coming - not getting so frustrated I couldn't drive, but enough to be ready to fuck him good and long later.
Sören had registered with Global Entry so he was going to need to stop at a kiosk to scan his fingerprints and passport and complete a customs declaration form, but this was still less time than dealing with Immigrations and Customs directly - though we had an appointment next week to go to Immigration Services in-person. We had agreed beforehand to meet at the baggage claim.
I had been worried that even with leaving early I would still get there late and make poor Sören have to wait after a six-hour nonstop flight, but after paying for a spot at the parking garage and taking the shuttle to the terminal, I was fifteen minutes ahead and spent that time pacing around, heart beating faster, hoping and praying that Sören's flight hadn't run into trouble even though accidents and hijackings were rare. When the announcement came that Icelandair 635 from Reykjavik had arrived, my heart skipped a beat and I had to restrain myself from doing a little hop. I fidgeted, trying to act casual, but my stomach was butterflies. This was really happening. Shit got real. We were doing this.
Terminal E was international - British Airways was also coming in and for the first time in a long time I noticed the accents of my fellow Brits, which I found strangely comforting but also a bit disconcerting, as it was a reminder of the life I'd left behind, a life I was moving even further away from as I began the citizenship process. Before I could get too caught up people-watching and reflecting on the way my life had changed so drastically within the last five years...
...There he was. His curly mane hung past his shoulders; he was wearing a black leather jacket over a black turtleneck jumper, with black cargo trousers and his Doc Martens. I loved that bad boy look to him. Our eyes met and his face lit up with that smile I found just as breathtaking as the first time I saw him. He bit his lower lip and gave me a shy little wave as he kept walking towards the baggage claim. I ran to him, he held out his arms, and we collided, kissing passionately, giving zero fucks who saw us.
"Oh, elskan." Sören hugged me tight, laughing and crying. "Ég elska þig, elskan."
"I love you, sweetheart. God, I've missed you so much." I squeezed him and rained kisses over his face.
We rubbed noses, holding each other, and then Sören looked over my shoulder and said "ah".
Sören had flown with his carry-on - a leather messenger bag worn over his shoulder - and one piece of luggage; he'd shipped over a bunch of things, mostly his art, his art supplies and clothing, which would arrive sometime this month hopefully. As I accompanied him to the baggage carousel I laughed when Sören grabbed a wheeled black suitcase with sparkly rainbow ribbons tied to the handle, and just below the zipper there was a Pride Flag with an anarchy symbol sticker that read Ekki hommi eins og í hamingjusömu, en hinsegin eins og í fokk þú at the bottom.
"This is how I know which one is mine," Sören said, chuckling.
"All right, I have to ask, what does your sticker say?"
"Not gay as in happy but queer as in fuck you."
I grinned at him and he grinned back.
Right after Sören got his suitcase off the carousel and I wheeled it a few steps, suddenly a female voice with an unmistakable Geordie accent hollered "Hoo, Sarah, deek at this! It's your favourite actor!"
"Haddaway?"
"Oh shit, no," Sören muttered under his breath, stepping behind me as if he could actually hide there.
Sören knew he looked like Jon Snow - it wasn't a big deal in Iceland, but he knew to be prepared for people remarking on it or outright mistaking him for Kit Harington once he got here. But I don't think either of us had been expecting for that to start the minute he landed. Then the woman who yelled, a chubby redhead, was pointing in our direction and the woman she was yelling to, a petite blonde, looked over and her jaw dropped.
"Wey aye, man! It's that gadgie, it's Dennis from EastEnders!" the blonde screamed back, as the redhead nodded vehemently.
They made a beeline, giggling and screaming "NIGEL! NIGE!", and Sören and I hauled arse as fast as we could, with Sören howling with laughter as my face burned, mortified. At least that was a sign I passed and hadn't been clocked, but I didn't know what to make of it since I had turned my feminist nose up at soap operas during the aughts; I didn't even know who they were referring to until we were in Wahlburgers with our drinks and appetizers, waiting for our burgers and I used Google on my phone out of morbid curiosity.
"Oh god, they're right," I said, wanting to crawl under the table and die.
"Hm?" Sören raised an eyebrow.
I passed my phone over, and after he checked the info he handed it back, nodding. "Here we are," Sören said with a smirk. "Jon Snow and Dennis Rodman."
I almost spat my Sprite. "Rickman."
"Right. One fucks his aunt and the other fucks his sister. Totally normal."
That would also hit us like a brick five years later. "As one does," I said, snickering.
Sören relaxed once the food arrived and we chatted about his flight and my drive. Sören was eager to see the cat and I was eager to see his kitty, so we skipped dessert - I had cake waiting for us at home, anyway. We leaned on each other on the shuttle back to the parking garage, and before we got in my car we shared another hungry kiss.
It took us a half-hour just to get out of Boston, and then the two hours up to Portland was agonising, my cock painfully hard, but I'd done this to myself and I was a man on a mission; it would be worth it when we got home. I kept glancing over at Sören, barely able to believe this was real, he was finally here with me, this was the first day of our new life together. I was anxious - we loved each other and we seemed ridiculously compatible in the almost two months we'd spent getting to know each other, but I knew that didn't always translate to being compatible to live together.
And yet, I couldn't shake the feeling that this was right and things would work out with us. It wasn't just Sören who had come home to me, but I had come home to him.
In the small parking lot adjacent to the storefront, Sören and I kissed again. One kiss became another until we were making out right there. When we were breathless, I took Sören's suitcase and on the way upstairs Sören grabbed my arse, giggling.
We wasted no time, feverishly pulling each other's clothes off the minute we got in the door, letting them fall to the floor in haphazard piles. We kicked off our footwear, kissing hungrily, running our hands over each other's naked bodies. I marched Sören backwards to the couch, the two of us kissing and caressing all the way, then Sören sank onto the couch and I climbed over him, my thighs quivering, cock desperate for relief.
I rode him hard, cock rubbing cock a few strokes, then my cock slipping inside his cunt a few strokes, before our cocks kissed again. Our cunts fit together like we had been built for each other and we found that rhythm right away, making those delicious wet sloppy noises as we rubbed, teased, fucked. We were starving for each other, clinging to each other, kissing fiercely, Sören's nails in my flesh. I savoured the sensation of cock pleasuring cock, the silken heat of his inner walls, wanting to stay lost in our hot sex forever, but we were both so pent up that our orgasm hit us like a detonation, crying out together as we contracted against each other, juices flowing.
We rested, petting, then there were sweet little kisses... then it sparked that fire again. Sören got on his hands and knees, arse thrust out at me, and I took him from behind, cock pushing in and out of his drenched, hot cunt as I reached around to play with his cock. I grabbed his hair and spanked his arse and Sören went wild, bucking his hips madly, panting "More, Daddy, more..."
I'd missed this. I craved this. I growled and fucked him harder, all raw primal, animalistic lust. The slurping sound of my cock in him was almost as loud as Sören's broken cries. I rode the high of his surrender, Sören giving himself with slutty abandon, and me taking what I wanted, fucking and fucking, not able to get enough of his hot hole on my cock, kissing it, embracing it, welcoming it. Claiming him over and over again. "Mine," I growled.
When Sören came, feeling his walls clamp down on my cock, squeezing, I lost control, coming so hard it almost hurt, squirting inside him. Sören lay on his stomach, shaking, gasping for breath, and I settled atop him, my chest to his back, nuzzling his neck and shoulder, giving tender little kisses. "Good boy," I whispered. "Such a good boy for Daddy. Daddy's good, good boy." I took his hand. "Welcome home, baby boy."
Sören turned his head and gave me that blissed-out smile, and squeezed my hand.
We lay there like that for a few minutes - vaguely I wondered where the cat was, hoping he wasn't mad that I was gone and hiding somewhere - and then Sören said, "Anthony?"
"Yeah?"
"I, ah. I have to go. I was on a nonstop and I'm claustrophobic, I can't go in that tiny airplane restroom -"
"Oh shit, OK, I'm sorry." I felt like an idiot - I'd dragged us right to Wahlburgers to escape the fangirls losing their minds without realising Sören probably needed to stop and visit the bathroom on the way there. Of course, he hadn't asked, either.
And then it was as if a lightbulb went off in my head. An opportunity had presented itself. "...Do you have to piss?" I asked. "Or the other -" Neither of us were into "the other".
"I need to piss," Sören said. "Why - oh. Ohhhh." He glanced over his shoulder and his face lit up. "Are you thinking..."
I grinned back at him and nodded. "If you want to try one of the kinky things we've talked about, now is a good time." I got up and stretched. Sören got up a minute later and we kissed again. "Let's mark each other, pet," I said, and took him by the hand down to the bathroom.
I turned on the shower and took off my cock ring. When the temperature was to Sören's liking, he stepped into the shower and I followed him in.
At first we just held each other under the spray - I knew from my own experience with flying that a long, hot shower felt amazing after being cramped up on an airplane all day. I let Sören lean on me and relax in the steam. When Sören was ready, I got on my knees and he let me have it, pissing in my face as I lapped it up, raining piss over my chest. It was exhilarating, and got me all worked up again.
I needed to go now too, after that. It was Sören's turn to kneel and drink from me, let me mark his face and hair and beard and neck and chest. Sören moaned and reached down to play with himself, just as turned on as I was.
Sören got up and we kissed open-mouthed, tongues licking, sharing our salty brine. I pulled him into a deeper kiss. "How was that?" I asked, even though I knew the answer.
Sören actually blushed. He smiled and bit his lower lip. "I liked that a lot."
"Good." I kissed him again. "Me too."
Now it was time to clean up. We shampooed and conditioned each other's hair, lathered each other's bodies... melting into each other's touch, soothing and arousing at once. We played between each other's legs, kissing until we had prune skin and it was time to turn the water off.
Time for another round.
I led Sören to the bedroom. As Sören lay back against the pillows, taking in his new surroundings, I lit candles and put on the string of fairy lights I'd bought. I took out a couple lengths of rope and twirled them around. "You want?" I asked.
"God, yes."
I laughed. I came over to the bed, sat down next to him, and gave him a kiss. "Remember our safeword."
"Eyjafjallajökull."
I grinned. "Good boy."
I'd had a long day and was too tired to take the time to do elaborate ropework tonight, and it would be something Sören would need to work up to anyway. But the bed did have a headboard with slats, and it was a canopy bed with bedposts. So I had some fun making a series of knots to secure his wrists.
Then I had even more fun straddling his chest, rubbing my cunt against him. My cock rubbing one pierced nipple, then the other. Rubbing over his stomach, his left side and hip and thigh, then the other. "Now that you're all cleaned up, I need to make you smell like me," I said, looking at his gorgeous body glistening with my juices. "Because you're mine now."
Sören moaned and bit his lip. "Oh, Daddy..."
I took my sweet time, making love to his body with my cock, worshiping him... claiming him. "That's right," I purred. "You're mine. You're Daddy's boy."
Sören whimpered and gave me those sweet puppy eyes. I booped his nose and kept grinding on him, my cunt caressing and massaging him.
Finally, I'd decided he had enough and I was aching to fuck him again. I hooked his left leg on my shoulder and his right leg around my waist and our cunts kissed once more, cock fucking cock, losing ourselves in pleasure and lust. I loved the sight of him all tied up, my gorgeous Viking bad boy submissive to me. I thrilled to the sound of his moans, our cunts smacking together, that feeling of conquest as I fucked him hard and he panted like he was in heat, begging "more, Daddy, more..."
When I knew he was getting close I put my hand on his throat - not enough to choke him, but enough pressure to assert control. Sören came hard, and I came with him, the two of us squirting, christening the bed.
"I love you," I whispered, leaning in to kiss him.
"Mmmmmmmmmmmm, I love you, Daddy." Sören kissed me back, and we rubbed noses. The look of peace on his face made me feel that fierce, tight ache, wanting to protect him, keep him safe, so nothing could ever disturb that peace. "That was so fucking hot."
I untied him and peppered his rope burns with tender little kisses. That got us kissing again - then making out again. We had just enough left in us for one more, though my cunt was a little sore from all the fucking and I knew his was probably a bit sore as well...
...so we sixty-nined. I had missed the taste of him, and I enjoyed the stronger flavour of his sexed-up musk, licking and slurping and sucking as he did the same to me, teasing me with his lush lips and wicked tongue. We spent a long time on each other until we were both shaking, moaning into each other's cunts, viciously devouring each other.
After we came, we shared a wet, messy cum kiss, enjoying our mingled essence. Sören snuggled into my chest... and then, I heard a "Vrrt?"
There was Snúður, finally making an appearance, sniffing Sören's cunt. Sören shook with silent laughter that bubbled out of him, turning beetroot and tearing up.
"Kitty, meet kitty," I choked out, also in hysterics.
"Prrp!" Snúður climbed onto Sören and walked up until he was sitting on Sören's chest. Sören's eyes were soft and he skritched the cat, talking baby talk in Icelandic. After a few minutes of Sören petting the cat and Snúður kneading on him, purring away, Sören started shaking with laughter again.
"I can't believe he..."
That was when Snúður turned around and put his bum in Sören's face, inviting Sören to also scent him. Sören facepalmed, howling.
"Great first impression, cat," I groaned.
"Vrrp," Snúður chuffed, and let out a cat fart.
chapter 21 | return to A Place Called Home | return to Original Works | return to index