Sören smiles as he takes a few fairy tale eggplants out of their basket - Anthony's garden on the balcony yielded quite a good haul this year. There are few things nicer than eating garden-fresh fruit and vegetables, and Sören takes a moment to admire the fruits of Anthony's labor, the rich amethyst purple with delicate white striping on the eggplants that are each the size of the palm of his hand, the thickness of three fingers.
He gets to work assembling the other ingredients for the meal, washes his hands, and proceeds to chop - though he hates cutting up something so pretty. Before he can finish chopping the first eggplant, Anthony gets in from his run, short black hair mussed, damp and sweaty. Sören's cock stirs at the sight of him, and he gets half-hard as Anthony comes closer, breathing in the healthy masculine scent. Anthony gets behind him and Sören puts the knife down as Anthony's arms circle around him. Anthony leans in to peck Sören's cheek. "Hi. Whatcha making?"
"Aubergine parmigiana. Thought I'd use some of the fresh ones from the garden."
"Ah, very good." Anthony nuzzles Sören's nose, and Sören giggles and kisses the tip of Anthony's nose.
Sören resumes chopping, and Anthony lingers. When Sören turns his head again, he sees Anthony is pink, and trying to stifle a laugh.
"What." Sören raises an eyebrow.
"Oh, it's just." Anthony's face breaks into a grin, green eyes sparkling with mischief. "The emoji."
It takes Sören a few seconds, and then he puts the knife down and facepalms. "You're terrible." They have quite a history with texting each other and using that emoji as they flirt shamelessly.
"That's why we get along so well."
Sören giggles again, and Anthony smacks Sören's ass. Sören gasps, the twinging going right to his cock, hardening fully in his jeans. Anthony seems to know the effect he has on Sören - he watches Sören begin to chop the second eggplant, but Sören's hands are shaking a little, and when Anthony's fingers brush down Sören's spine, Sören has to put the knife down again. His breath hitches.
"Cornelius Anthony, I am never going to get dinner done if you keep that up."
Anthony takes Sören's chin in his hand. "You poor dear." He moves in and gives Sören a kiss.
Sören melts into the kiss, cock throbbing, hole twitching. He resists the urge to march Anthony over to the couch, shove him down, and ride him. Sören turns around and gives Anthony his best stern face - of course now Anthony can see how hard he is, and Anthony smiles at it. Sören sees Anthony is hard too, and can't help licking his lips. But someone has to be the grownup. "Dinner," Sören growls, before Anthony kisses him again.
"Mmmm. There's something else I'm in the mood for."
Sören can't deny that he wants it too. He lets out a little whimper into another deep, sensual kiss. Anthony drops to his knees, undoes Sören's jeans, and tugs down the jeans and boxer-briefs, Sören's hard cock springing free. "Yes?" Anthony asks.
"God, yes -"
Anthony takes Sören into his mouth as deep as he can, and Sören lets out a cry. He clutches at Anthony's head, shivering as Anthony sucks at him greedily, hungrily, hard and fast. Their eyes lock, and the heat in Anthony's eyes makes Sören quiver again, letting out a husky moan. "Oh, fuck." Sören bites his lower lip, grabs Anthony's head harder, and starts to gently fuck his mouth, feverish. Soon Sören hears himself panting, making animal noises, swearing in Icelandic as Anthony sucks for all he's worth, the hot wet velvet of his mouth bringing Sören closer and closer.
Just before Sören can come in his mouth, Anthony stops sucking. He pulls the cock out of his mouth and takes long, slow, deliberate licks around and around the head and up and down the shaft, a naughty look in his eye.
"Þú fokking stríðir. Sú tunga á eftir að drepa mig..."
"Fuck." Anthony's tongue lashes the frenulum, making Sören gasp and cry out, a shudder going through him. "You know I love it when you lose control so much you start speaking your native language."
"Ég ætla að láta þig missa stjórn, þú stríðinn fokk."
Anthony chuckles - he doesn't speak much Icelandic but Sören knows he got the gist of that - and then Anthony playfully tugs on the Prince Albert ring in Sören's cock with his teeth, just a little pull, before his tongue lashes some more. Sören throws his head back and moans.
Anthony continues to lick as one of his hands slides up to Sören's ass. Sören moans again, louder, as Anthony pushes one finger inside him, then two, finding that spot right away, rubbing. Sören's knees buckle and Anthony pushes him against the counter, still licking the frenulum, fingers working in and out of him more insistently.
Then Anthony stops fingering him, his arm reaches up, and Sören watches as Anthony pulls down one of the eggplants that hasn't been chopped yet. Sören cries out as Anthony pushes the eggplant inside him, inch by inch. Anthony takes just the head of Sören's cock in his mouth, kissing it, swirling his tongue in the most sensuous rhythm, as he starts to fuck Sören with the eggplant, slowly at first, then harder, faster.
Anthony draws Sören's cock back in his mouth and moves in for the finish, sucking as he pushes the eggplant in and out of Sören. The suction around his cock and the rubbing inside him builds the pleasure and tension higher and higher until Sören pulls on Anthony's hair, white-knuckled, shaking, feeling ready to fall over... ready to fly. He gives a whimper and at Anthony's "mmmmmmm", Sören lets go, giving a long, wordless howl as he comes in Anthony's mouth, trembling, panting. He feels himself contracting around the eggplant, the throbbing so intense, and as he sways, Anthony catches him, holds him steady.
Anthony swallows down what he has to give - his lips and chin glisten wet - and he pulls the eggplant out of Sören, looks at it, laughs, and tosses it in the trash. Then he kisses Sören, holds him tight, and an aftershock goes through Sören, clinging to Anthony to not fall.
Anthony leads him over to the couch and cradles him, pets him for a few minutes as the world goes away, Sören feeling floaty. When Sören comes back to himself, he looks into Anthony's eyes, then down at the hard bulge in Anthony's gym shorts. He definitely wants to return the favor, and then some. Their eyes meet again. Sören leans in to kiss him, palming the hard-on, rubbing in slow circles.
"Dinner can wait," Anthony says, his voice breathy with need. "Or I can get takeaway."
"I think I want to skip straight to dessert." Sören pushes Anthony back against the couch pillows. Anthony grins as Sören takes his shorts down, then Anthony groans as Sören's lips wrap around his hard cock.