Sören made a habit of arriving early, and unfortunately showing up early at Starbucks meant he quickly felt overwhelmed by the crowds and the noise. Rather than continue to wait there, Sören found himself leaving - and heading in the direction of the veterinary clinic where Anthony worked.
Sören's anxiety came back when he walked into the clinic and one of the clerks asked, "Can I help you?"
"Oh, um..." Sören didn't know Anthony's surname, and felt like a dumbass for not asking him. "I'm waiting for Anthony to get off." Then he bit his lip as his mind immediately took that sentence in the horny direction - now was not the time to be picturing Anthony having an orgasm.
"OK," the clerk said. "He should be out in a moment, if you want to have a seat."
Sören sat down in one of the chairs, across from a little old lady wearing a purple hat and a purple-flowered white blouse, with a black poodle on her lap. She smiled at Sören and he smiled back.
"Cute dog," he said.
"Thank you." The dog whined. "Oh, Muffin." She ruffled the dog's curls. "Muffin is here to see the doggy dentist. He's not very happy about it."
"I hope it goes well." Sören leaned in and told the dog, "You're a good boy, Muffin."
Muffin whined again.
Just then, the door to the back opened and the old woman stood up - it was Anthony, and her face fell as she saw him look over at Sören with surprise and say, "Hey."
"Hæ."
"You're not Dr. Wexler," the old woman said.
"No, she'll be out soon," Anthony said. He turned back to Sören. "You OK? Oh god, is your kitty OK -"
My kitty is definitely not OK at the sight of you in those scrubs. Sören didn't know what it was, but Anthony in a set of blue medical scrubs was one of the hottest things he'd ever seen in his life. He hoped he wasn't drooling on himself. Sören swallowed hard, nodded and found his words. "Jæja, Snúður's fine, I just came." Sören swallowed again, face on fire, and quickly added, "Early."
As they strolled out of the clinic, Anthony looked out across the parking lot. "You want to skip Starbucks and take a detour to my place before we hit the tuxedo rental? I got peed on."
"Kinky," Sören said before he could stop himself, then clapped a hand over his mouth with a squeak, mortified that he'd just blurted that out to someone who he didn't know well enough yet to determine whether or not those kinds of jokes were OK.
But Anthony laughed, sides visibly shaking, and he shook his head. He gave Sören a wicked grin. "Unfortunately, not in the fun kind of way. In the 'unneutered cat decided to make displeasure known' kind of way."
"I don't mind," Sören said. "Besides, it's really crowded in there."
"If you still want to go for coffee after the tux rental it'll probably be less crowded. Or we could grab a bite to eat somewhere."
"After sounds good."
Anthony drove a navy blue Prius, and inside was a car freshener that smelled like vanilla. It made Sören smile, until he got a whiff of the stale urine on Anthony's shirt. Then Sören realized Anthony had responded to his quip of saying "the fun kind" about pee, and Sören wondered if that meant Anthony had a watersports fetish. His cunt twinged in response, his mind's eye playing a fantasy of he and Anthony marking each other's territory...
Anthony lived farther away from the plaza than Sören did, but not by much. Sören lived in a duplex neighborhood a few streets over from downtown; Anthony lived by the park in a small light blue-grey cottage with a lush front garden that included blackberry bushes. Sören couldn't stop staring in awe as they walked to the front door. "You have a really nice place," he said. He glanced over at the garden, where he half-expected to see pixies dancing among the herbs and flowers. "So, is gardening one of your hobbies?"
"Yes." Anthony gave a wry smile. "Probably the only thing I have in common with my father."
They stepped inside. "How do you get on with your family?" Sören asked, curious, then added, "Sorry if that's a sore spot. I told you I was raised by my aunt and uncle and I left Iceland to get away from them."
"It's OK. Mum's dead, stepfather's dead, and my biological father's... a Tory." Anthony sighed. He glanced over his shoulder as he led the way from the foyer to the living room. "So we don't talk much. He disapproves of my 'homosexual lifestyle'." Anthony made air quotes.
"Jæja, I get it and I'm sorry." Sören sighed, aching for him. "Yeyette's the only family I have. Well, and now you, I guess. Queer fam."
Anthony smiled, reached out to ruffle Sören's curls - which made Sören's heart skip a beat - and then he took a step back. "You know, this is the first time I've ever seen you with your hair down."
"Is it?"
"It's a good -"
"NYA."
Sören looked down and there was a grey ticked tabby with chartreuse eyes, standing on his hind legs with his front paws on Anthony's calf. "Nya," the cat said again, more insistently.
"Oh, all right, you can have food before I change," Anthony said.
Seamus led the way, tail in the air, as Sören followed Anthony from the living room to the dove-grey kitchen, a contrast from the warm earth tones of the living room. The place wasn't immaculate - there were cat toys strewn around the living room floor, and stray kibble around the food dish where an older brown tabby was circling and started to meow when she saw Anthony - but it was clean, tastefully designed and decorated.
Sören watched as Anthony opened a can of cat food and portioned out wet food and kibble for Seamus and Solly, who meowed together as they practically tripped Anthony on his way to the food station. Anthony bent down to check the water level in their fountain, and Sören tried hard not to stare at Anthony's ass in the thin fabric of his scrubs.
"You want anything while you wait?" Anthony asked once he was back at eye level.
You. Naked. Balls deep. Sören licked his lips, then glanced off to the side and said, "I'm good."
While Anthony got changed, Sören waited in the living room on a plush brown couch, looking around at Anthony's book collection, a vinyl records collection, and a shelf of lava lamps - the lava lamps made Sören smile, completely incongruous with the shades of brown and the wood-framed paintings of forest landscapes. Sören made a mental note to share his art with Anthony.
Then Sören felt a small surge of panic. He always had a touch of impostor syndrome about sharing his paintings with people - art for him was just as intimate as sex, if not moreso. He had danced onstage in front of thousands, like a living sculpture, but it was an entirely different thing to expose his inner worlds, what his soul looked like.
Stop inviting trouble, Sören told himself. Anthony seems like a nice guy who won't make fun of you for your art.
So Sören's brain gave him something else to worry about. While Sören was going as Anthony's date to the reunion, they hadn't talked about whether this was a friends-date or a test run for more-than-friends. Sören was hoping for the latter - he was hoping Anthony had been flirting just before Seamus began begging for food, but he didn't know and he was too afraid to ask.
Play it by ear, Sören told himself.
Solly came out with a dollop of wet food on her nose and began to cautiously sniff Sören. After a few sniffs, Sören proferred his hand and Solly let him pet her, purring. Then Seamus came in, saw that Solly was getting attention, and boldly hopped up on the arm of the chair to get a closer sniff. Sören pet him too.
Anthony wandered in wearing jeans and pulling on a white T-shirt, just long enough to give Sören a glimpse of his hairy chest and treasure trail and the beginning of a dad bod - still trim but not ripped. Sören's breath caught and his cunt throbbed, and he bit back a swear of disappointment when the hem of Anthony's T-shirt fell over his chest and stomach.
"They like you," Anthony said, smiling. He came over and stroked Seamus, then stooped to skritch Solly. "Now you kids be good while your dad is gone, yeah? I'm taking your new friend here to rent different fur for the weekend."
Sören cracked up laughing, harder when Seamus headbutted Anthony and Solly wrapped her front paws around Anthony's wrist and gently nommed, and Anthony began talking baby talk to the cats. "Good to see I'm not the only guy who babies cats," Sören said, melting. Anthony was getting more and more attractive by the minute.
"I don't know how anyone couldn't baby these kitties. Wook at their widdle faces. How can anyone resist those sweet widdle babies."
Anthony took a few minutes to continue petting his cats and assuring them he would be back later, then he got up and gestured for Sören to follow. They went back out to the Prius and the early evening sun glared just enough that Anthony put on black aviator sunglasses.
The tuxedo rental was on the far end of town, and Sören was all nerves by the time they arrived. While he was stealth and hadn't been clocked since he grew facial hair and had top surgery, he knew there was potential for clocking with his waist and hips being measured, and/or if the person measuring him could tell he was wearing a packer. To his relief, he made it through the measuring and fitting without incident, whether he wasn't clocked or the sales clerk was too professional to say anything about it.
Anthony chose a black tuxedo with a chevron brocade pattern. "You look sharp," Sören told him, holding back from telling Anthony he looked hot, not sure if it would be welcome or not.
Anthony smiled and his cheeks turned pink. "You look h- dapper."
Sören went with basic black tuxedo, white shirt, not wanting to be too flamboyant. He was already feeling stiff and uncomfortable just trying the suit on, never mind dancing in it in front of at least a few dozen people if not a few hundred. Sören made a mental note to bring his THC gummies with him tomorrow.
When they checked out, Anthony insisted on paying for Sören's tux, and Sören let him. Once they left the shop, Anthony reached over to pat him and just that little touch sent a shiver down Sören's spine. "You know, we don't absolutely have to wear the tuxedos if it's going to be like torture for you," Anthony said.
"As tempting as it is to say let's just wear Hawaiian shirts or something... no, I really want to see the look on your bullies' faces when we walk in." Sören thought about the girls who'd picked on him in ballet school, and how they'd probably be falling all over him now that he looked like Jon Snow, and he would just laugh at them... and he'd never get that satisfaction. He very much wanted that justice for Anthony. "I can put up with it for a few hours."
"OK. I really appreciate your support."
The tux rental was a short drive from Craig Beach, and there was a clam shack and a soft-serve ice cream stand within walking distance of the beach. They hit the clam shack for lobster rolls, fried clams and curly fries, sitting outside and sharing more cat pictures and cat stories. Then they each got an ice cream cone - Anthony's vanilla with cherry dip, Sören's vanilla with rainbow sprinkles - and they strolled along the beach together eating their ice cream, enjoying the golden haze before sunset, watching the waves.
"You've got ice cream on your nose," Anthony said when Sören's cone was done.
"Oh god." Then Sören heard himself make a high-pitched noise like Beaker's "meep", which was even more mortifying.
But Anthony just smiled that smile and gently daubed Sören's nose with a tissue, then gave it a boop. Sören felt flustered as hell after that, not knowing what to make of that nose boop. Was it affection between friends? Was it flirting?
Sören tried to not let his head spin too much and just be present, admiring the golden sparkles dancing on the water. The shore was sandy but there were rocky jetties and cliffs; Sören liked the way the light played on the cliff faces. After they walked out to the edge of the longest jetty, Anthony showed him there was a cave with an open ceiling and "door" in one of the cliffs. From the cave interior they sat on a cluster of large rocks and watched the sunset, fiery neon giving way to softer, muted pastels. It felt romantic to do this with Anthony, even though Sören still wasn't sure where they stood, and feared rejection too much to ask. But Sören was aching to lean on him and cuddle through the sunset...
...and also aching to capture this moment with his brush. He snapped a few photos for reference, including a couple candid selfies of the both of them. "Thank you for taking me here," Sören said. "One of these days I'll have to come back and paint it. I'm no Monet portraying Étretat or anything, but -"
"I'd be happy to come here again with you sometime... and I'd like to watch you paint."
Their eyes met. "Well, you say that now, but you've never seen my work." Once again, Sören couldn't tell if Anthony was flirting, or if he was genuinely fascinated by artists, or perhaps a bit of both.
"I'd like to." Anthony cocked his head to one side. "I know you probably want to get home and see your cat, but can we take a detour to the gallery?"
That was what they did. Sören had a key, but the building was open - two other instructors were giving classes tonight, and there were no events at the gallery until this weekend, which Sören hadn't planned on attending since he got nervous about intermingling with people looking at his art with possible intent to buy. Sören was keenly reminded of that discomfort as Anthony walked around, looking at the best of the best that was currently for sale.
Sören had other canvases at home that he hadn't exhibited yet, some he wouldn't exhibit, and a portfolio of prints of original paintings that had already sold. This was a small selection of his work, a dozen paintings, but Sören felt it was a good representation of the types of things he painted. He favored landscapes and seascapes in oil, and especially auroras, sunsets and waterfalls, with intensely saturated dreamlike colors, photorealistic with a touch of surrealism - some were inspired by places in Iceland but took on a life of their own and seemed to exist in their own little worlds, and some were fantasy realms straight out of Sören's imagination. It was easy to imagine the huldufólk of Icelandic legend living in such places. The beauty and wonder of the world had kept Sören going through his traumas, and he tried to convey that, making beautiful "happy places" of color and light that people could mentally wander to if they were having a dark time.
"This is amazing," Anthony said in a reverent, hushed voice. "I can see why you said you're more into painting. You're bloody good at it."
"Awww, takk."
"I want to buy one of these and hang it in my living room, but I can't decide which one."
"You don't have to buy my art to be..." Sören's voice trailed off, not sure if he should say "friend" or "boyfriend".
But before he could finish the sentence, Anthony said, "I know that, but it's not a bribe or anything. It's me appreciating something beautiful." Their eyes met, then Anthony looked back at a forest waterfall in dappled golden light.
"I do take commissions, if you have anything specific in mind. Although if you celebrate Christmas, maybe Santa might give you a painting for free."
"I wouldn't expect you to just give something like this away," Anthony said. "But the commission is tempting. I've been wanting a mural for the room where I do meditation and yoga."
Sören tried to not find that funny - not in a mocking way, but one more thing he found strangely endearing. Then he got the mental image of Anthony in different yoga positions, which turned into Kama Sutra positions and Sören bit his lip, face on fire, desperately trying not to have sex on the brain.
When it was time for Sören to go home to his cat, they lingered in Anthony's car, thanking each other for the company. Anthony hugged him, and Sören's body tingled, but he didn't know if a kiss would be welcome or not.
That didn't stop him from thinking about a kiss once he was in bed for the night. Kissing. Sucking. Fucking. Sören brought himself to a fast, furious, wet and messy orgasm, calling out Anthony's name as he climaxed. Then he lay there staring up at the ceiling, body leaden, feeling like a pervert... and with the resolve that this weekend, he would bite the bullet and ask Anthony if they were a thing now, or could be a thing.
He hoped the answer was yes, and if the answer was no then he hoped it wouldn't make things weird and push Anthony away. He was looking forward to more days like this.
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