If moving around were not such a big production, Anthony would be pacing around the greatroom in anticipation of Sören's arrival. As it was, he kept fidgeting on the sofa, checking out the window for his mother's car.
While he would have never thought in a million years that a hot date would include dinner with his parents, that was nonetheless what Anthony was prepared for. Indeed, he'd been preparing for it all week. He was grateful that the spinal injury had not impaired his ability to get and maintain an erection, and over the last two weeks he'd been consumed by fantasies of making love to Sören; it was almost embarrassing how many times he'd masturbated in the last few days in particular, going out of his mind with want. But he also considered it practice - it had been long enough since the last time he'd had sex that he didn't want to come too soon when he and Sören made love again, so he got in the habit of edging himself, taking his time. He also hadn't taken a real cock in a long time, and though a toy wasn't quite the same thing, it still helped to open him up a bit in preparation for Sören, who was not small.
The memory of what Sören felt like inside him, and what it felt like inside Sören - and the passion - set his face on fire, sent a shiver through him. He was half-hard now, and desperately tried to push the fantasies away, not wanting an erection when his mother walked through the door. Then Anthony heard the sound of a car pulling in, and sure enough, it was Elaine's Aston Martin. As much as he'd been restless and wanting Sören to get here already, now he felt intensely awkward. He hobbled on his cane down to the hall to the bathroom, turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on his face, taking deep breaths, trying to pull himself together.
He was back in the hallway just as the door opened and Elaine called down, "Anthony?"
"I'm here, Mum. I'm coming."
"Hi Coming," Sören called.
Anthony facepalmed before he reached the greatroom - he knew how Sören meant it, which made it even worse - and his face was on fire again when he stepped into the greatroom and there was Sören, giving him a naughty look.
Elaine was carrying a bouquet of sunsplash sunflowers, peach roses, lavender and eucalyptus. Anthony smiled when he saw it - it was an unusual combination and yet it worked, which was so very Sören - and then he bit his lower lip as Sören had a large sunflower for him.
Anthony's ex-friend Trisha had a great interest in the Victorian and Edwardian eras, which included the language of flowers. He offhandedly remembered her mentioning sunflowers meant adoration, faith and loyalty, and though the memory of Trisha made him sad - Trisha, who had arguably done the most damage to his relationship with Sören of all his friends; Trisha, who had mocked him after the accident - the symbolism of the sunflower touched him, and he wondered if Sören knew.
Sören's smile was as radiant as the flower he handed to Anthony, and even though Sören was in all black himself, he seemed brighter than the sun. Anthony looked him up and down - Sören was wearing a black button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up on the hot August day, and black trousers. His hair was hanging loose to his shoulders, and Anthony saw then that Sören still owned the sapphire and tanzanite earrings that he'd given him when they were together, he was wearing them now. Anthony could have cried.
Sören had a satchel slung over his shoulder, which he set down on the coffee table; Elaine and Anthony went to the kitchen to put the flowers in vases, and Sören was there a moment later and Anthony leaned against the kitchen counter and hugged Sören tight. "Thank you," he said, kissing Sören's cheek. "Usually I'm the one to get you flowers."
"Hi The One To Get You Flowers."
Anthony rolled his eyes, chuckling, but it was a nice save; Sören's own eyes were a little too bright and Anthony knew then that he was just as caught up in the moment too.
"Please, boys, sit down, make yourselves comfortable. I'll bring out drinks, then get dinner started." Elaine put a hand on each of them, and when she pinched Sören's cheek, Anthony made a noise.
"Mum."
"I don't mind." Sören took Elaine's hand and politely kissed it, European-style. "It's nice to be here again, Elaine."
"It's nice to have you here again." Elaine grabbed him and hugged him then, rocking him a little. "Welcome home, Sören."
Sören and Anthony took a seat on the sofa and Sören pulled him close. It felt so good to just be, wrapped up in Sören's arms, feeling his heartbeat, breathing in his scent, that Anthony could have cried. He found himself playing with Sören's hair, and when Anthony lifted his head up to look into those beautiful brown eyes, Sören's smile took his breath away. They rubbed noses, so lost in each other that Anthony jumped a little when Elaine came in with a tray of lemonade and biscuits. Elaine laughed softly.
"Aren't you adorable," Elaine said. She pulled out her cell phone from her jeans pocket and snapped a few photos of them on the sofa, cuddling.
"Mother."
Sören's laughter rang out, and Anthony smiled a little as the cell phone camera captured Sören's laughter. Then Sören gave Anthony a noogie for the camera, and Elaine chuckled at the look of mock indignation on Anthony's face.
Sören poured them each lemonade, and as he nibbled on a biscuit, he looked deep in thought. Anthony raised an eyebrow, prompting him, and Sören asked, "Where's your dad?"
"He's working on one of his ships in a bottle," Anthony said. "He'll be out when it's closer to dinner. He wanted to give us some space." Unlike Mum.
Sören nodded. "I'm glad he's still doing that. That takes a tremendous amount of patience. I perform neurosurgery for a living and I don't have the patience for that shit."
"I can see that," Anthony said. "You work on intricate, delicate procedures every day, so it makes sense that in your spare time, you want to relax. Although... your art has always been amazingly detail-oriented." Anthony pursed his lips. "I hope you've kept up with it since..." He didn't have to say it. "I'd like to see any new work, sometime, if you're -"
Sören rubbed his beard, looking a little nervous. "There hasn't been much since we, you know." Sören frowned. "I hit a dry spell after..." Sören couldn't finish the sentence.
Anthony reached out to squeeze Sören's arm, aching for him. He knew that Sören's art was a sort of lifeline for him, and the idea that Sören had been without one of his few comforts after the breakup, like the inspiration was gone, tore him up inside. I broke you. I'm so sorry...
"Then earlier this year, I started to get back into it, slowly. I gave Nick a painting of Toby, actually, it's hanging up at the flat. You should see it sometime." Sören gave a resigned little sigh. "Now I just don't have a lot of time for art, it's not for lack of ideas. Sometimes I do work on things, Nick encourages me, but more often than not I'm too tired from work to really be able to concentrate. I used to have more of a routine and make the time, but after falling out of it, it's been really hard to get back into it."
"Well, I hope you brought your tablet tonight."
"I did." Sören nodded, and showed him the tablet in the satchel. "I want to thank you for suggesting that. For... giving me a space to work on things."
"Of course." And Anthony remembered that horrible, thoughtless comment he'd made the day Sören walked out. You're so fucking self-absorbed. You love your art more than me. He wished he could take those words back, wished he could take all of it back. He hoped Sören knew he was trying to make up for it - he could not undo the damage, but he could try to heal it. And the truth was, he loved watching Sören at work. It was like watching a fire, or fireworks. Sören came alive when he drew and painted, and Anthony felt honored to bear witness. It was something very intimate, like participating in an ancient mystery rite.
Sören kissed the tip of his nose.
"You could even start now if you wanted to," Anthony said, wanting to be welcoming. "I don't know if you had any thoughts, any ideas you wanted to -"
"Oh, my mind is always practically bursting with them," Sören said, laughing. "I don't want you to feel ignored, though -"
Anthony vehemently shook his head. "I wouldn't have told you to bring the tablet if I thought I'd feel ignored. I can read. Having quiet time together is nice." At least for a little while, it would feel like living with Sören again, soothing his own pain.
Sören nodded. Anthony got up. "Books are in my room," he said. Then he realized it might be rude to not show Sören his new room. "Do you... want to see?"
"OK."
Sören followed Anthony to his bedroom. Anthony's old boyhood room had been on the second floor of the four-story villa, and while Anthony could take the stairs to the second floor, he preferred not to, as it was an ordeal that completely wiped him out. So everything in his room had been moved to a room on the ground floor. It felt almost the same, except it wasn't, really, and Anthony could never quite forget that he was down here instead of upstairs because of his mobility issues. While moving back in with his parents had been something of a lifesaver after the accident, it was also nonetheless a blow to his pride.
Sören seemed entirely unfazed, looking around Anthony's room. "Wow, it's almost just like I remember it." He chuckled at the ancient Bush poster on the wall, from the 1990s. "God, you still have that same Gavin Rossdale poster." He turned on a lava lamp and smiled fondly.
Anthony went over to his bookshelf and picked out one of the N.K. Jemisin books he'd gotten at Greenleaf when they went book-shopping together. Then Sören grabbed him and snogged him hard. Anthony trembled against Sören, giving a little moan into the kiss as their tongues teased, as he kissed Sören back with all the pent-up passion of the last nearly two years without him, a promise of the way they would scorch the Earth later that night. Sören groaned and his arms tightened around Anthony. They pulled back a little to breathe, looking into each other's eyes, and then Anthony initiated the second kiss, and somehow they were backing up against the wall, Sören's back to the wall, Anthony dominant and commanding even leaning on his cane. His free hand played over Sören's chest, finding a pierced nipple through the fabric of his shirt and rubbing it. Sören whimpered and Anthony groaned, then he trailed hot, fierce kisses down Sören's neck, knowing how sensitive Sören was there.
They were both breathing harder now. Sören's eyes were sparkling, his cheeks flushed. Anthony thought about just dragging Sören over to the bed and having a makeout session with him before dinner, but that didn't seem fair, since he knew Sören needed to make art, and he didn't exactly want his mother catching them, even though she knew they were adults.
They went back out to the greatroom. That was when Sören finally remarked on what he saw.
"You moved the piano down here, too?"
"Well, movers did." Anthony still felt a sting of guilt about the trouble his mother had gone to, hiring movers to haul a grand piano from the sitting room on the second floor, down here. That had been just a few days ago, in anticipation of Sören's visit; Anthony hadn't asked Elaine to do it, she'd just decided it "in case you want to play piano for him." Anthony gave a nervous little chuckle. "I've been out of practice for awhile. Very rusty."
Sören opened his mouth as if to protest, but before he could, Anthony took Sören's tablet out of the satchel and thrust it at him before taking his seat on the sofa.
Anthony began to read as Sören began to draw, and though the story was engrossing, Anthony couldn't help stealing glances at Sören now and again, and soon it became more and more frequent. Delicious smells came from the kitchen and Sören's stomach growled and Sören facepalmed. "Smooth," Sören said.
Anthony laughed and rubbed Sören's tummy. "You're so cute."
Sören poked the tip of his nose before kissing it. "You're cute."
Anthony's face was on fire again. Before he could steal a kiss, Roger came out from his office. He paused in his tracks when he saw Sören and Anthony sitting on the sofa, and then he just held his arms out. Sören got up from the sofa and came right over, hugging him. Roger was not the most demonstrative person in the world as a rule, so this open display of affection shocked Anthony. He knew that his father had been fond of Sören, even though Roger was still a little weird about his only child being gay, but this was unmistakable proof that his father accepted and welcomed Sören, too.
"Hi, Roger," Sören said, returning the hug. "Long time, no see."
"Indeed." Roger slapped Sören on the back and then straightened his posture, which was somewhat comical since he was a little shorter than both of them. "It's good to see you again." Roger gave Anthony a stern look and said, "You had better not blow it this time."
The look on Sören's face told Anthony that his mind went right into the gutter with the words blow it and it was taking Sören everything he had to not go there in front of Roger. Anthony restrained a laugh, trying to keep a straight face, nodding solemnly in response. "Yes sir," Anthony said, while Sören gave him a pointed look.
Roger took an armchair while Sören sat back on the sofa next to Anthony. Anthony propped up his left leg, and Roger glanced at them both, taking it in, before he cleared his throat, looking just a little choked up - that made Anthony want to cry too, he wasn't used to his father being emotional - and then Roger cleared his throat. He poured himself a glass of lemonade, keeping his eye on them, and as he leaned back with the glass he said, "So, Sören, how's life been treating you?"
"Well, mostly," Sören said. "I live in Covent Garden now. I applied for UK citizenship and should be hearing back about it by December or January."
"Oh, so you don't need the NHS to sponsor your visa anymore? Will you be going private?"
Anthony wanted to melt into the floorboards and die. He loved his father, but Roger was a Tory and they disagreed on certain key issues, the NHS being one of them. Anthony didn't know how Roger could read horror stories of Americans going into poverty because of medical debt - the show Breaking Bad, where a schoolteacher turned to cooking methamphetamine to pay for cancer treatment, wouldn't be plausible here - and still hold the stance he had. But he especially didn't want that topic coming up now, when his old "friends" had belittled Sören for not going private; Sören who was from a Nordic country where medicine was socialized and had firm convictions that healthcare should be free, and that doctors were supposed to be civil servants, not moneygrubbers like they were in the States. Anthony agreed with him, and appreciated Sören's conscience.
"I'm staying with the National," Sören said. "I'm on the track to become a consultant there within a few years. That's what I want."
"It's good to have goals," Roger said.
Anthony was only slightly relieved. He was still annoyed by Roger bringing up the question of Sören going private, but he seemed to have enough sense to not press it and to at least sound supportive of the direction Sören's career was taking.
"What about you?" Sören asked. "Are you still doing part-time accounting?"
"Probably until the day I die," Roger said. "I can only stand being semi-retired. I'm not so old yet."
"Anthony says you were working on one of your ships in a bottle," Sören said. "Can I see?"
Roger's face lit up, clearly pleased that Sören was interested in seeing his hobby. "Sure." Roger took a big sip of his lemonade and put the glass down, and gestured for Sören to follow.
Roger's "man cave" was on the third floor, which was too much of a haul for Anthony, so he sat there, feeling a bit awkward. Elaine poked in. "Dinner will be ready in a few minutes," Elaine said. She gave a little sigh, and Anthony knew she knew he was feeling self-conscious about not being able to make the trip upstairs. "Would you like to help me set the table?"
Elaine was not in the habit of asking that, and Anthony got the feeling she was asking, despite her tendency to coddle him, to get him involved in something he could do and that would make him feel slightly better. Setting the table one-handed, with the cane in his right hand, was slow and a bit frustrating, but nonetheless, Anthony was determined to get it done, and it was indeed done by the time Sören and Roger came back downstairs.
Sören, Roger and Anthony sat at the table and Elaine came out with dinner. She'd made salmon fillets, with sides of grilled asparagus and roasted herbed new potatoes. The smile on Sören's face made Anthony's heart skip a beat, and he reached under the table to squeeze Sören's hand.
"I know you like fish, Sören," Elaine said.
"Takk. You really went all out, it looks amazing," Sören said.
"And as you can see I made plenty, so you can have as much as you want."
There was also a chilled white wine to go with the meal. Anthony and Sören both went easy on the wine, but Anthony already felt intoxicated being around Sören. It felt surreal, that Sören was back in his life, that he was here, that they were going to make love again later tonight.
"Sören was telling me that he's applied for citizenship and should be getting it in December or January," Roger said.
Elaine nodded. "I'm glad you've decided to stay in England, Sören. Have you visited Iceland at all since last we saw you?"
Sören shook his head. "No, though my brother Dag has been out to see me a couple of times. I'm trying to work on my cousin Ari to come out here to visit. He says he might for my birthday in November."
"I'd love to meet any of your family if they come," Elaine said. "I liked your brother."
"It's hard to not like Dag," Sören said. He snorted. "Unless you're Richard Dawkins."
"He's a blowhard," Roger said. "Godless heathen -"
Anthony raised an eyebrow at Roger as if to remind him that his own son was a "godless heathen". Anthony considered himself atheist or at best agnostic, though those dreams both he and Sören had when they were together, of what seemed like a past life, gave him a lot of uncomfortable questions. The irony was that Roger wasn't particularly religious, Anthony had only ever set foot in the Church of England for family events such as relatives' weddings, but nonetheless, Roger was traditional enough to nominally believe in God, and disapprove of those who didn't. It made no sense to Anthony, but then, a lot of baby boomers' attitudes made no sense to him.
"My brother's a godless heathen too," Sören said mildly. "They don't disagree on atheism, they disagree on other things." Sören chewed his salmon thoughtfully. "This is so good, Elaine."
"I'm glad you like it. I was hoping you would." Elaine smiled at him.
"Something that's not related to religion or politics, please, if you don't mind," Anthony said, not wanting an argument with his father to ruin the evening.
"Right," Roger said. Anthony was glad that although his father held some conservative points of view, he wasn't fanatical about it the way he'd observed some right-wingers could be, and it was easy enough for Roger to drop it. "So, uh, Sören." Roger gave Sören a serious look as he swirled the wine around in his glass, and took a sip. Anthony braced himself. "I hear that you're, um. Polymorphous."
Sören almost spat his wine. Anthony facepalmed. He really hadn't wanted his father to know about Sören's arrangement with Nicholas, but he supposed Elaine was going to have to tell him sooner or later, especially if Roger had asked about Anthony and Sören living together again. But also, he cringed at the wrong word being used.
"Well, technically he's not wrong," Sören said. "I have been through many stages in my life..."
"It's polyamorous, Dad," Anthony said, not able to believe he was having this conversation with his father.
"I see. Poly...amorous. How's that working out?" Roger asked.
"Good, so far," Sören said.
"You're not one of those Mormons, are you?"
"Dad." Anthony pinched the bridge of his nose, once again wanting to crawl into the floor and die.
Sören snickered. "No, I'm a godless heathen like my brother," Sören said. "Besides, I don't know if you realized this or not, but the Mormons kind of frown on being gay."
"I made brownies for dessert," Elaine said, giving Roger a look.
"Oh, excellent." Sören raised his glass. "You're so kind."
"Dad," Anthony said, "I hope that Sören's arrangement isn't going to be an issue." While he disliked getting into it with his father, he didn't want to make the same mistake he'd made where Sören felt disrespected by his "friends" and he'd done nothing about it. Now he knew no matter who, he was going to have to take a stand.
"I'll admit it's strange to me, but like I said when you came out to us, I don't care what consenting adults do in the privacy of their own homes," Roger said. "I was just curious, it's not like I meet people in that... sort of... life... very often."
"It's strange to me that it's strange to you," Elaine said. "We did come of age during the hippie era."
"That must have been an amazing time to be alive," Sören said. "A terrible time to be gay, but still amazing in its own way, with the music, and..." Sören's voice trailed off and Anthony knew Sören was thinking better of saying anything about drugs and free love.
"It's disappointing how many of us abandoned the vision and values we had during that era," Elaine said, giving Roger another look. "My mother ran an artist's commune during that time."
"Oh, wow." Sören sighed. Then he frowned. "I'm really sorry about Anthea, by the way."
Elaine nodded. "She had a long, full life."
Anthony felt a twinge, missing his gran - it felt like bitter irony that he and Sören were back together and Anthea wasn't around to see it.
"Maybe sometime I could visit her grave, bring some flowers and pay my respects," Sören said.
"That's very sweet of you, dear," Elaine said. "We could indeed do that some time."
Now it was Sören's turn to squeeze Anthony's hand under the table. Anthony really wished Sören had been there when Anthea passed, remembering how much it hurt, like insult added to injury after his accident. Even though she'd been on a decline for awhile, it was still incredibly sad.
"Speaking of flowers," Roger said, "I was going to mess about in the garden after dinner. I don't want to intrude on your date, Anthony, but if it won't, you're welcome to join me -"
Anthony looked at Sören, and Sören nodded. "Maybe I could help too," Sören said. "Nicholas, the man I live with, has a rooftop garden and has taught me some things."
Roger grinned, seeming pleased that Sören had taken up one of his hobbies. "An extra pair of hands is welcome," Roger said.
Anthony felt a little touch of relief. Even though Roger's conservatism made things somewhat awkward, there was at least that common ground. And now he and Sören had something else to share, as well.
"After dinner might be awhile, though," Sören said. "I think I will have seconds."
Elaine beamed, triumphant.
Sören insisted on doing the dishes after dinner, even though Elaine protested, and that gave Anthony and Roger a moment alone before heading out into the garden. Roger seemed to finally get it that he might have made the dinner a bit awkward; though Sören seemed cheerful enough through the rest of the meal, and definitely enthusiastic about seconds, Anthony worried that the tense discussion might have put Sören off to coming over again.
"I'm sorry," Roger said. "I know I put my foot in my mouth in there."
"Just a bit," Anthony said.
Roger nodded, swallowing hard, and then he reached out and hugged his son.
Once again, Anthony was shocked. Hugging Sören had been unexpected, but Anthony supposed since Roger had been fond of his almost-son-in-law and it had been close to two years, it wasn't a completely abnormal response. On the other hand, Anthony rarely got hugs from his father himself. Anthony returned the hug, feeling choked up, hoping he wouldn't start crying when Sören was done with the dishes.
"I'm trying," Roger said, patting Anthony's back as they hugged.
"I know. Just maybe..." Anthony exhaled sharply. "Have a talk with Mum about... I don't know, how to handle all of this? I don't want Sören to feel uncomfortable when he's here."
"OK." Roger tousled Anthony's hair before he pulled back. Then he sighed and said, "I really hope things work out with you two this time. It's been really hard to see..." Roger's voice trailed off and now Roger looked ready to cry again too.
Anthony blinked back tears. He knew what Roger wasn't saying - that it had been hard to watch Anthony slide deeper and deeper into depression after the breakup. Anthony had felt like he'd been drowning. The return of Sören was a life raft, and while he hadn't yet reached shore, still feeling adrift on the choppy waves of "the new normal" post-accident, shore was at least in sight. He loved Sören so much it hurt, and he was determined not to lose him again, not just because of the pain and emptiness of being without him, but that awful knowledge of having hurt him deeply, his sweet, sensitive beloved who'd already been hurt so much by the world. He didn't just need Sören there in his life, but he needed to make it right, somehow. It offended his sense of justice.
If Sören had been rankled by Roger's faux pas at the dinner table, he didn't let it show once he was done with the dishes and they headed out to the garden. Sören and Roger chatted amicably about the herbs and flowers, and Anthony observed that Nicholas had indeed taught him a bit about gardening the last while. As they worked, Anthony wondered if he would ever get to see Nicholas's rooftop garden, and he immediately felt like an idiot for wondering. He still didn't want to like the man Sören lived with, even if he had a cat and enjoyed reading and gardening, all things Anthony approved of. He didn't want to be a jealous maniac either, and felt guilty with his irrational anger with himself for wondering about their garden.
And yet, looking at Sören on his hands and knees in the garden, touching bare earth, treating plants with tenderness - noticing Sören noticing the little details, admiring the wonder of growing life - Anthony knew that even though sharing Sören was still taking some getting adjusted to, Sören was what he wanted. He would take what he could get.
The sun set, and when they were ready to pause for the evening, Elaine brought out more lemonade and sat with them. Sören rested his head on Anthony's shoulder and Anthony thought to himself, Soon. Soon, Sören would be writhing underneath him, and the passion would rival the fire blazing across the sky.
But first, he knew Sören needed a little more time with his art. They bid Anthony's parents goodnight, and settled back on the leather sofa in the greatroom, Anthony's left leg propped up as he resumed the N.K. Jemisin novel, and Sören's stylus danced across the tablet, a look of intense concentration on Sören's face, like he was trying to teleport himself into another world, or pull another world into this one. The words of the story once again fell away as Anthony kept looking at Sören, and then when Sören paused, Anthony realized that staring was probably making him uncomfortable. Anthony needed something to do, but reading wasn't quite where his mind was at.
The problem was that he was feeling too much. And suddenly, Anthony knew what he needed.
Anthony found himself going over to the piano and sitting down at it for the first time in too long. He flexed his fingers and began doing scales. Though Anthony worried he'd mess up, the music flowed back to him naturally. And he found himself playing "Moonlight Sonata", something he hadn't played in years, never mind months. The music expressed for him what his words could not - the loss, the longing, the love. How beautiful Sören was to him, his regret for the past and hope for the future.
When "Moonlight Sonata" was done, without thinking, just feeling, he transitioned to "Watermark" by Enya. He felt a little self-conscious and cheesy about playing an Enya song on the piano and yet, that too was how he felt, the combination of melancholy and joy all at once.
As the song ended, he noticed Sören had stopped drawing and was just watching him. Anthony stopped, not wanting to disturb Sören, knowing he needed this space for art. And yet Sören said, "It's OK, Anthony. Go on." Sören gave a throaty chuckle. "You say you're rusty but that was pretty damn good."
Anthony's face was on fire again. He bit his lower lip, unsure of what to say - "thank you" didn't seem sufficient, somehow. He flexed his fingers again, cleared his throat, and took a walk down memory lane. This time he sang as he played, even as he felt a bit stupid about singing, knowing he didn't sound as good as the guy at open mic last week, but he still sang from the heart.
I wished on the moon, for something I never knew
I wished on the moon, for more than I ever knew
A sweeter rose, a softer sky
On April days that would not dance by
I wished on the stars to throw me a beam or two
I begged on the stars and asked for a dream or two
I looked for every loveliness, it all came true
I wished on the moon for you
Sören got up, and walked towards him. Sören helped Anthony up from the piano stool, pulled him into a hug, and a deep, passionate kiss. They kissed all the way to the sofa, and when they tumbled down together they laughed before kissing again. And again. And again. Kissing like they were starving for it, kissing like their lives depended on it.
"I love you," Anthony husked, stroking Sören's cheek, looking into those beautiful warm brown eyes.
"I love you," Sören said, and kissed him again.
When they pulled apart for air, Anthony's curiosity got the better of him and he glanced at the tablet on the coffee table. "Can I see?"
Sören picked it up and handed it to him. "It's not anywhere near done, but..."
Even as a black-and-white sketch, not yet colored in, it was amazing both in its realism and attention to detail. And even though it was nearly photorealistic, it nonetheless had that touch of magic, of fantasy, of Other that Anthony felt characterized Sören's work. Here was a snapshot of the dreams they'd both had when they were together - Sören and Anthony in the bodies not their own yet still them, brother-lovers. Working in a garden as they had been earlier this evening... and Sören's other-self was putting a flower crown on the head of Anthony's other-self.
It was a sweet, lovely picture, and once again it filled Anthony with that overwhelming feeling of joy and sorrow, regret for the past, gratitude for having Sören in his life again. He could almost see the memory in his mind's eye, and he wondered about it, even as he didn't like to speculate on whether or not they were just dreaming or they were remembering something real. The feelings were real. Too real.
"Do you like it?" Sören crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip.
"I love it." Anthony put the tablet down. He stroked Sören's face again, pet his curls, drank in the sight of him. "I love you." With that, he grabbed Sören's face in his hands and kissed him, even more hungrily than before, wanting Sören to feel his love, his passion, his need.
One kiss led to another, and another. Anthony gently pushed Sören back on the sofa, laying atop him, and Sören's arms wrapped around him; Anthony shivered as Sören's fingers traced down his spine, and he groaned into the kiss as Sören grabbed his ass and squeezed. Their tongues played together between kisses, and Anthony found himself grinding against Sören, hard-on straining in his jeans. Sören was hard too; Anthony moaned at the feel of the bulge in Sören's trousers, and again as Sören rubbed back. Anthony began to kiss and lick Sören's neck, encouraged by the way Sören moaned, the way Sören's fingers played down his back again, grinding against him harder.
Anthony was as overcome with lust now as he had been with emotion a few moments ago. With trembling hands, he began to undo the buttons of Sören's black shirt, kissing and licking the creamy flesh exposed button by button, savoring the taste of Sören's bare skin. Sören's moans got louder, and Anthony's cock got harder, throbbing, wanting to just take Sören here and now on the sofa, but even if there wasn't the risk of one of his parents coming downstairs to the kitchen, Anthony wanted to take his time and really feast on Sören's body.
When Sören's shirt was all the way unbuttoned and peeled back, Anthony took a moment to just look at him, both nipples pierced, his stomach toned, a fine growth of hair around his navel starting the "treasure trail" Anthony remembered all too well. It was indeed just like Anthony remembered, except Sören had new ink, a rose which looked like it was made of fire, on the right side of his body where his hip and waist met. It didn't just match the full-sleeve tattoo Sören had of flames going up his right arm, which led to a phoenix on the right side of his back, but Anthony knew from very personal experience that where Sören had the fireflower rose was one of his most erogenous places. The pretty rose contrasting with Sören's maleness was somehow indescribably erotic, and Anthony's breath hitched.
"Fuck, you're beautiful," Anthony whispered.
Sören crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip, a look in his eyes that could drill through granite. Anthony claimed his mouth again, more roughly than before, and then he started down Sören's neck again, more insistently this time, kissing, licking, sucking, nibbling, cock twinging with each of Sören's delicious moans. Anthony kissed down to Sören's nipples, already pebbled. He began to lap at one and Sören cried out, bucking against him, clutching at Anthony's head.
"Fuck," Sören moaned.
"God," Anthony rasped. "God, I fucking want you." His tongue lashed at Sören's nipple fast and furious and then he gave the nipple ring a tug with his teeth before he drew the peaked nipple into his mouth, suckling hard. He pulled on the nipple with his mouth like he was nursing. The whimpers Sören made, and the feel of Sören's hard nipple in his mouth, the sight of Sören's body, was driving Anthony wild, grinding against him harder. Sören rubbed back, panting, gasping.
Anthony turned to lick and suckle the other nipple, as he played with the one he just worked on, fingers tugging on the ring, rolling, rubbing, pinching it. Sören writhed and bucked, alternating between making deep, throaty growls and high-pitched keening noises. Anthony loved it, reveling in the glory of Sören lost in passion, and they'd only just begun. He went back to the first nipple, lapping fast, then brushing his tongue with slow, deliberate strokes, lashing again before suckling hard. Licking and suckling some more. He'd learned Sören's body very well over close to two years, and he knew Sören's pierced nipples loved attention... and he loved giving it.
Back and forth he went between Sören's nipples, hard cock rubbing hard cock through the fabric of jeans and trousers. Anthony finally relented a little and kissed down Sören's chest to his stomach, another place Anthony knew Sören was intensely sensitive. He kissed and licked and nibbled over Sören's stomach, fingers walking and swirling, and then he kissed back up to Sören's nipples to worship them some more. This time he used his teeth, giving little bites before and after he sucked. The sight of Sören's hard, swollen nipples glistening from his mouth made Anthony feel like he could come in his pants. Not wanting to come too soon, he kissed his way back down Sören's chest and stomach, and then he gave that rose tattoo some love, tracing the outline of the ink with his tongue before kissing the rose itself, sucking on it, nibbling, making Sören cry out, shaking, swearing in Icelandic.
Anthony's hands undid Sören's belt, and fumbled with the button and zipper of his trousers. Sören was wearing black boxer-briefs that were very tented. Even with underwear on, Anthony could smell the scent of Sören's arousal. He found himself rubbing his nose in the treasure trail, the beginning of the black curly bush peeking out from the top of the underwear. Then Anthony rubbed his nose against the fabric of Sören's boxer-briefs, gave delicate little kisses over the hard cock through the fabric, before he took some of the bulge in his mouth. Even though the fabric of Sören's underwear felt a bit weird, Anthony didn't care. Teasing Sören like this was worth it. Sören shuddered and made a long moan, and Anthony's own cock jolted in response, wanting to be freed from the jeans and briefs that felt like a prison. Anthony rubbed his nose against the bulge in Sören's boxer-briefs again. His eyes locked with Sören's as he took the waistband of Sören's boxer-briefs in his teeth and began to tug, growling as he yanked the offending garment down and Sören's cock sprang free, standing at full attention, dripping precum. Anthony groaned at the sight of it, continuing to tug the underwear down. Sören's cock still had that Prince Albert piercing, a captive bead ring in the head. A shiver went through Anthony, remembering what that felt like inside him. He couldn't wait to feel it in him again, he couldn't wait to be in Sören too. He wanted to do everything, all night, until the sun came up.
Sören's trousers were down to his knees, and the boxer-briefs were down Sören's thighs, cock and balls fully exposed. Anthony licked his lips, wanting to taste the delicious-looking precum sliding down Sören's shaft. He leaned in and just before he could lick the head of Sören's cock, Sören said, "Anthony, wait."
Anthony paused, and looked into Sören's eyes. The hot look of raw lust on Sören's face had been replaced by wide-eyed concern, looking almost panicked.
"We can't do this," Sören said.
Anthony blinked. The pit of his stomach rose as his heart sank. His hopes came crashing down around him; he had flown too close to Sören's sun and now he was falling, crashing, deeper and deeper into the abyss.
But first and foremost, before he addressed his own disappointment, he needed to make sure Sören was OK. He knew Sören had been raped in Reykjavik, which was why he'd left and not gone back. He hoped Sören wasn't triggered, and with a pang of guilt, he wondered if Sören was remembering that last day, when Sören caught him in bed with Scott, which he knew had also violated his trust.
"What's going on?" Anthony asked.
Sören sat up and rubbed his beard. Anthony noticed he didn't adjust his underwear just yet, and Sören was still hard. Sören looked down for a moment, brooding, deep in thought, and then their eyes met and the hurt in Sören's eyes made Anthony want to rip out his own heart and offer it to Sören to trample on. "This is moving too fast," Sören said.
"Oh." Anthony was both relieved that Sören wasn't having a flashback of being raped in Reykjavik, and that feeling of guilt intensified that it was the trust issues he caused with his idiotic actions almost two years ago, that would give Sören pause now. I fucked up.
Sören exhaled sharply. "What I mean by that is..."
Oh god, there's more. Just "this is moving too fast" would have been sufficient, but now Anthony knew he was going to get some kind of lecture. And he knew he deserved it. He knew he didn't deserve this, the beautiful gift of Sören's love, his body, after what he'd done with Scott.
Their eyes met again. "We were together for almost two years. And then in the course of a single afternoon, it all fell apart. There were problems for a few months before that, but it still took the better part of two years for us to get to the breaking point." Sören pursed his lips and then he went on. "It took the better part of two years for shit to come crawling out of the woodwork that made me think everything I knew about you was wrong and built on a lie. It's going to take me longer than a month to correct that. Yes, even though the last month has been good and you've shown me it's the same old Anthony I know and love... falling in love with you all over again." Sören reached out to stroke his face, a reassuring gesture that meant all the world to Anthony, giving him a glimmer of hope even as his heart was breaking.
"So you need time," Anthony said, nodding. He could respect that; if the situation were reversed, Anthony would probably need time too... if he took the cheater back at all. Sören was more forgiving than he was.
"I need time," Sören said. "But also, I need proof. You can swear to me up and down that you're not going to cheat on me again, or do me dirty some other way. But those last couple of weeks we were together, back in 2013, you were lying to me. You were going behind my back. So I need more than words. I need more than promises. I need to see that things are OK."
"I understand. I'm sorry I rushed you -"
Sören put his hand up. "I'm not done yet," he said, his tone a bit stern, and then, realizing how harsh he sounded, he took Anthony's hand and squeezed, another reassuring gesture before he continued. "The problem is that the cheating was not so much the cause, as it was a symptom. We had a talk about this back in June, but it bears repeating. You... have issues. I have issues too, but you have... a lot of issues. And I'm really, really worried that once we're past the honeymoon stage, they're going to come back unless we can address them and start working on them now."
Anthony looked down. His face was hot with shame, but he knew Sören was right. He looked up again, and his eyes could only meet Sören's for an instant before he looked away, fighting the urge to run. He needed to stay and face the music. "OK. So..." Anthony gave a "go ahead" gesture. "What do you think needs to be addressed and worked on, here?"
"I don't want to sound rude or insensitive by saying this, but I feel like..." Sören looked like he was struggling for words, how to say what he was about to say. Anthony braced himself. "I really think you should go to therapy. I don't mean physical therapy, I mean psychological counseling."
Anthony's heart sank again, and shattered some more. His doctor had suggested counseling when he'd started prescribing Anthony antidepressants after the accident, but Anthony hadn't taken that suggestion. Talking to someone professional about his problems felt like weakness, like an admission of defeat. And though Anthony made his living arguing in the courtroom, he wasn't comfortable with strangers on a personal level.
"I'm not a psychiatrist, but I'm pretty sure you have PTSD after the accident," Sören said. "You said you can't get behind the wheel of a car anymore without panic. And someone else died in that accident."
"It wasn't my fault." That came out a bit defensively, and Anthony knew that even though it had been officially declared that Justin Roberts was the driver at fault, Anthony still felt guilty, like he'd done something wrong. And he knew from the way Sören watched his reaction that Sören knew how he felt.
"No, it wasn't your fault, Anthony... but I know that can still be traumatic. And even without all of that, you were severely bullied in school. You lost an uncle to suicide. Those things, too, are sources of trauma. Your experience with bullying is still impacting you to this day. It's why you're afraid to make friends now. It's why you stayed friends with those assholes who were treating me like shit, as long as you did. I get it. I was bullied too." Sören let out a deep sigh. "Truth be told, I should be in counseling too, but I don't have time. Right now, you do."
It was a blow to Anthony's pride. And of course, Sören went there, too. "Your pride went before a very big fall," Sören said. "Like I told you at the beginning, I need you to not with the 'stiff upper lip' thing if we're gonna do this. Counseling will help with undoing some of that bullshit conditioning and... fostering emotional honesty." Then Sören pinched the bridge of his nose, and rubbed his face. "God, I wish you spoke Icelandic. This is breaking my brain a little."
"Your English is remarkable. Better than a lot of native speakers I've known," Anthony said, impressed that Sören hadn't lapsed back into Icelandic with emotions running high, as he sometimes did.
Sören laughed softly, and quickly sobered. "I've been here long enough that I think half in English, half in Icelandic. It's a little scary to me, makes me feel like I'm losing touch with what I am. But I suppose this is home now." Their eyes met again. "And you're still home to me, Anthony. This isn't a rejection. I still love you. I still want to be with you."
"But you need time."
"Unfortunately so. I'm going to need time before we're intimate again and that means we're going to have to... be friends for awhile, and behave ourselves. Because getting all feelsy with each other, and making out, is too much temptation."
As much as it would ache to not be able to kiss Sören for awhile, Anthony was willing to do what it would take, if it meant eventually they would be together again. "How long?"
Sören closed his eyes, and then looked down again, and the brooding look on his face made Anthony tear up, heart sinking even lower. "I think I need at least a year."
Anthony's mouth dropped. A few months would be difficult, wanting him so badly, but a year... Or... "At least a year. That implies -"
"That implies it might take a little longer than a year, like by a couple of months, yes. Like I said, it took close to two years for things to fall apart. It's going to take at least one full year of you proving to me that you're working on the issues that caused all of this, for me to feel ready to go there with you." Then another reassuring touch. "Once that happens, there'll be a mushroom cloud over London, trust me."
Anthony laughed despite himself, and the touch of humor helped to soften the blow, to make it seem less bad. At least Sören still wanted him.
"It's not no forever," Sören said, looking into his eyes again, taking Anthony's hands, as if he knew Anthony needed to know. "It's just... for now. For a year. As we rebuild trust."
A year felt like eternity, and what Sören was asking of him felt like a tremendous amount of work that he barely had the energy for. But those beautiful brown eyes, and the magic that had been rekindled the last month...
"OK," Anthony said. "I'll try."
Sören reached out to hug him. The proximity of Sören's body got Anthony's cock throbbing again, even though Anthony knew they couldn't have sex tonight, or for a long time. And as they pulled away Anthony noticed Sören was still hard too. Sören noticed him noticing and they both laughed sheepishly.
"Do you want me to wake Mum to drive you back?" Anthony felt incredibly awkward again. "Or I can pay for you to take a cab home..."
"Well, I mean..." Sören shrugged. "I don't want to wake up Nick getting in late, either. And it would be nice to hold you, if you're OK with just holding each other tonight. Just cuddling."
"I like cuddling." Anthony liked cuddling with Sören at least as much as he liked sex; he had skin hunger for holding and being held, and if that was all he could get right now, he would take it. But then he looked down at the erection in his jeans, painfully hard. "Just cuddling" with Sören when he was like this was a special kind of torture. "Er. Do you mind if I go in the bathroom and take care of this, then -"
"Just this once," Sören said, "we can take care of it together."
"But you said no sex."
"No, but this isn't quite... well, you'll see," Sören said. "After tonight we shouldn't do this, either, what I propose we do, but this is, ah... well, different circumstances."
Anthony's cock stiffened even more. His balls felt almost unbearably tight. "What are you proposing?"
They went to Anthony's bedroom and took off the rest of their clothes after they stepped in. The lights were off, the only light source in the room the blue glow of Anthony's nightlight. Anthony didn't want to turn the lights on fully, self-conscious of the scars from the accident over his chest and shoulder and back. But what he could see of Sören in the dim blue light was good enough, still getting his blood flowing, cock pulsing. Sören turned down the covers and climbed in the bed, propped up on one elbow, lazily stroking himself as he watched Anthony limp over, hard cock bobbing with every step. Once Anthony was in the bed, Sören grabbed him and kissed him, and as they kissed, Sören took both their cocks into his fist and started stroking them together.
"Oh god, Sören." Anthony moaned into Sören's shoulder, a shiver going through him. He wasn't going to last long, feeling the silken steel of Sören's cock rubbing against his, the vise-like grip of Sören's hand around them both, Sören's naked body so close.
Sören moaned too, and kissed him again. Sören's fingers ran through the chest hair that had started to grow now that Anthony no longer went in to get waxed, and then Sören was kissing his throat, kissing down to the patch where the chest hair started. As soon as Sören began licking it, Anthony went off like a rocket, coming with a cry. Sören looked down and moaned at the sight of Anthony's cock shooting onto his cock and a few seconds later Sören was coming too. Their mouths met again, and the sensuality of the kiss just intensified Anthony's orgasm, coming and coming, so good it almost hurt.
"Fuck." Sören let out a shuddery sigh, shaking as he continued spurting.
Anthony felt like he was made out of jelly, his mind drifting away on a fluffy cloud of pure light. He was aware of Sören's fingers at his lips and he tasted them both and watched Sören tasting their cream from his other hand, giving a little groan before they kissed again, sharing it. Then Sören pulled the covers up around them and Anthony rested in Sören's arms, basking in that wonderful glowy, weightless feeling.
"One year," Sören said, nuzzling his neck. "And then what we just did won't even compare to what we're going to do."
Anthony wanted to believe him. He wanted, desperately, to hold onto that hope. But he still felt nervous about the whole thing, like his attempts at rebuilding trust would keep falling apart. He felt too broken.
He pushed away those dark, leaden feelings, turning back to the light, and the cozy, safe feeling of having Sören in his bed, in his arms, resting in Sören's own arms. At least he had this, right now. He savored it to the dregs, until his body gave in to sleep.
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