Nicholas found Akureyri enchanting, in some ways even moreso than Reykjavik. On their first day there Sören took him to see many interesting places. They went to Akureyrarkirkja, which had 112 steps to the top, and there were seventeen stained glass windows inside; it was another design of Guðjón Samúelsson. They went to the Akureyri heart, which was a famous spot for taking selfies. In the city center there were statues of Grýla and Leppalúði, the parents of the Yule Lads. They also saw the statues of Helgi magri and his wife Þórunn hyrna, the settlers of Eyjafjörður, which were near a copper plate view-dial at Hamarkotsklappir, where an elf-lady was said to live.
Sören really wanted to see the Christmas House, which was open year-round, a long red house filled with Christmas decorations and candy, and was delightfully kitschy as well as a bit creepy, with the Well of Unborn Children. Sören and Nicholas indulged in buying some decorations and hard candy, and on their way out Sören couldn't resist and put a sweet in his mouth. The guilty look on Sören's face made Nicholas chuckle.
"Seeing Santa made me want to suck on something." Sören's eyes twinkled.
"Oh, my." Nicholas's face burned.
He also found it adorable that Sören had been like a big kid in the Christmas House. He knew Sören had been cheated out of happy Christmases with his parents dying young and his alcoholic guardians ruining the holidays - indeed, Nicholas still felt bad about the way their quarrel had soured last Christmas. Nicholas was determined to make this next Christmas a good one for Sören, but in the meantime, he was relieved Sören hadn't been put off to Christmas altogether and smiled and giggled and flailed at things, boyishly exuberant. It warmed Nicholas's heart... and made Nicholas want to do bad things to his boy later.
Sören seemed to be enough in "little" space that he wanted to do something else in that vein. They went to Friðbjarnarhús, a museum of old toys. Then they visited the house of the folk artist Hreinn, who had a garden filled with figures from fairytales, like Snow White and Cinderella, as well as characters from Icelandic folk tales, and there was even a Pippi Longstocking. Sören took lots of pictures of the backyard with all its statuary. "Times like this I wish I could sculpt," Sören said, a touch of wistfulness in his voice. "I admire the fuck out of people who do."
"Your paintings are beautiful," Nicholas said, trying to provide reassurance, not wanting Sören to feel insecure about his art.
"I like painting, I love painting, but..." Sören looked around. "I want to do more. I want to explore different mediums. Glass, pottery, sculpture..." He frowned. "There's never enough time, with my schedule. I'd have to retire from medicine and that's... not happening."
Nicholas put an arm around him and patted him. Then he had a thought. "Is some of the time constraint because you would have to travel to use a forge or a kiln?"
"Yeah, some. I mean some of that is just learning how to do shit like make glass or work with metal, which is going to take time. But not having a studio right there does make it harder."
"Hm." Nicholas stroked his beard, considering where they could go for Sören to have his own studio. Perhaps Elaine would be willing to design a house...
Sören's eyebrows went up. "Nick, I don't want you to think you have to move -"
"Well, I wasn't saying let's do it immediately, but I'm not so bound to the flat in Covent Garden that I would refuse to move if it meant you could have a studio."
"Oh, Nick..." Sören threw his arms around Nicholas and gave him a tight squeeze. "I love you, you know."
"I love you too, sweetheart." Nicholas kissed Sören's brow. Then he took Sören's chin in his hand and looked him in the eye. "Your art, and you having an outlet for that, is important to me. You are important to me." He felt it was especially necessary to remind him of that now, after two months apart.
Sören moved closer and put his head on Nicholas's shoulder for a long moment.
Their last big thing to see for the day was the Akureyri Botanical Garden. Though summer was when the real magic happened - as they walked around, Sören told Nicholas about the different types of flowers that grew, and their colors, and Nicholas almost regretted not coming with him last year - the garden in snow and frost still had its own enchanting beauty. Sören himself was enchanting, walking in the softly falling snowflakes with his curls loose, wearing a black wool trenchcoat over black trousers, somber and melancholy. As Sören paused to look around in a reverent hush, Nicholas could almost feel the surge of emotions from his mate, knowing it had been a long, long time for him - over a decade - and yet, part of Sören had never left this place. Seeing Akureyri through Sören's eyes helped Nicholas to better understand his beloved, the land that had burned itself into Sören's heart, the trauma of the necessity of escaping someplace he loved so much. "I used to love coming here when I was younger," Sören said softly, his brown eyes sad and distant. "Home was so ugly, but here... there was life. I could come here and be reminded of what is good about the world, what is good about living. All these flowers blooming in the arctic, where they're not supposed to, made me feel like I could survive, too."
Nicholas took Sören's gloved hand and squeezed.
They took more time to admire the icicle-sparkling trees, the frozen fountain, the peace of the snow. There was a cafe at the garden, a charming blue building with a wall of assymetrical glass panes, and they went inside for hot coffee to warm up. Nicholas took a menu and Sören said, "They mostly have dessert and light finger foods. We've been walking around all day so if you want something more filling, we should eat at the hotel, or... maybe a pub in town." Then Sören pulled the menu out of Nicholas's hand and grinned before he said, "No reason why we can't have dessert first, though."
They had biscotti with their coffee, which was quite good. Sören played footsie with Nicholas under the table, and Nicholas chuckled, flustered. Nicholas kept glancing out the glass wall at the magical view of the wintry garden and its frost-covered trees, trying to imagine what it would look like in the spring and summer, a riot of color according to Sören.
"Eyri for your thoughts," Sören said.
"Eyri...?"
"Our penny." Then Sören blinked, realizing what he said. "Well, I suppose not 'our' since I haven't lived here in seven years, but..."
"You still have dual citizenship."
Sören nodded. "That I do. Anyway -"
"Would you like to return this summer, so I can see the garden in full bloom? And you can take me to the Strandir coast?"
"We can do that." Sören gave a wry smile. "Good thing you're bringing it up now, because I'll probably need that much advance notice to take off another full week of work."
Nicholas restrained a sigh. On the one hand, he appreciated Sören's passion for his job, his dedication to medicine and saving lives. On the other hand, Sören's always seemed tired, and a bit burned out. Nicholas sometimes felt like Sören gave so much of his own life to helping others that he didn't have a lot left for himself, and that was especially evident when Sören talked about wanting to make other kinds of art and not having time. Nicholas also worried that there would come a day when Sören was doing another stint of hundred-hour weeks - he'd heard the horror story from Anthony, and he was not looking forward to that gauntlet himself.
"I was thinking June or July," Nicholas said. "That way I can also see the midnight sun."
"All right, sounds good." Sören raised an eyebrow and before he took another sip of his coffee, he lowered the cup and said, "Anything else?"
Nicholas looked out through the glass again, remembering the way Sören had been just a short while ago in the garden, the ache in his eyes for the home he'd lost. "Do you ever think about returning here to live?"
Sören snorted. "My life is with you, Nick. I'm not going to abandon you to run off to Iceland -"
"That wasn't what I asked." Nicholas straightened his posture. He couldn't believe he was saying this - he'd lived in England his entire life, he would have never thought before now he'd even remotely consider living in another country, and yet he knew he would follow Sören to the ends of the earth if need be. His mind's eye replayed a dream he had not had in a long time, but still remembered as clear as day... remembered as if he'd lived it, following a version of Sören with longer hair and grey eyes, clean-shaven, through ice and snow and darkness, through hunger and fear and despair, but Sören was the fire that kept him warm, the light that gave him hope. Full brother in heart. A shiver went down Nicholas's spine, though the cafe was warm. "As you know, I am going to be sixty-nine in December..."
Sören snickered. "Nice."
Nicholas rolled his eyes but he couldn't help being a little amused by that. Nicholas gave him a look and went on, "And I am planning on retiring when I am seventy-five, which is close to seven years away. Health willing I could of course continue as a professor well into my eighties or nineties, it is not a strenuous job by any means, but I have given enough years of my life to educating and I would like the last years of my life to be leisure."
"Understandable."
"So what I am asking is... when it comes time for me to retire, how do you feel about us moving to Iceland?"
Sören's jaw dropped. "Uh."
Nicholas immediately wished he hadn't asked that, not wanting a new quarrel, this time fearing that they might find out their lives were going in two separate directions. "It was just a suggestion -"
"No, I know." Sören took a deep breath. He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his face. "It's a lot to think about, even seven years away."
"Indeed. I am, again, not saying we have to -"
"No, but it's something I never expected you'd ask, and now the cards are on the table so..." Sören nodded, looking out at the garden, and back at Nicholas. "It's a possibility. There's a couple considerations, though. One of which is that I'm probably going to become a consultant within the next one to two years. I don't know that they'd be thrilled for me to leave that post after five years."
"They might not, but I assume Iceland could use more specialists."
"Yeah. I don't doubt that I would be a big fish in a small pond if I came back, it's just... leaving the other pond, that has some issues. The other consideration, and the more important one to me, is..."
"Anthony." Nicholas's relief that he hadn't been shot down, that Sören did in fact want a future with him, was chased by the love that dared not speak its name, the subject that would not go away.
Their eyes met. "I don't know how he'd feel about uprooting and moving to Iceland. There's one lawyer for every three hundred people here. He'd probably be better off with a career change if he moved here and... I can't see him giving up the English court system so easily."
"Nor can I. But, as you know, in seven years Anthony will be forty-four, and he may feel differently about his career than he does now, and its stress levels as his age advances." Nicholas's lips quirked. "It's amusing that we're both considering having Anthony come with us." It's terrifying that I can't see a future without him in it, as a fixture in our lives. It seemed surreal that they had been so wary of each other at first.
"It would be even better if you considered talking to him about, y'know, joining us here and now." Sören gave him a stern look. "I don't think he's going to reject you."
Nicholas's face was on fire again. He hoped Sören was right, but Anthony had ample opportunity for months to declare interest and did not. "I think we should see to dinner plans now."
Sören narrowed his eyes.
Nicholas went with Sören's suggestion of eating at a pub in Akureyri. The sun was just beginning to set, streaks of gold in the deepening blue sky. Sören looked deep in thought, and Nicholas decided to ask. "Now it's my turn - eyri for your thoughts."
Sören's lips quirked. Then he shrugged. "I didn't think I'd ever see the day when I'd be seriously considering coming back to Iceland. I know it wouldn't be for some years yet, but just the fact that it's a 'maybe' instead of a 'hell no'..."
Nicholas put a hand on his shoulder and gently rubbed. "I know this is still your home."
"It is." Sören sighed. "To be honest, I kind of entertained the idea for a minute when I was visiting with Anthony over the summer, but I didn't think it would be realistic. So to hear you say you might want to move here when you retire..."
"It's a beautiful country. And it produced a beautiful man."
Sören's face lit up with that radiant smile Nicholas loved, making Nicholas smile too.
"What surprises me just as much," Sören went on, "is that I could come back to Akureyri and I've just... been in an OK mood. I'm not triggered." Sören glanced at him, and their eyes met. "I feel safe with you."
When they arrived at the parking lot, after they got out of the car Nicholas went over to Sören and hugged him tight; those words, that acknowledgment of trust, was as precious to Nicholas as gold.
Unfortunately, neither of them knew at that moment the feeling would soon be put to the test.
One of the things Nicholas liked the most about Akureyri was how much character the small city had, with its brightly colored houses and shops, which gave it an old-fashioned, whimsical feel. He imagined that if they did end up moving to Iceland they'd need to live in Reykjavik for Sören to work as a specialist, but if they had a choice, he found himself leaning towards Akureyri. In the pub, they managed to get a table by one of the front windows, which gave them a nice view of the sunset as well as the street, giving Nicholas a chance to appreciate the buildings and how everything looked and felt cozy. Nicholas realized he felt like he'd come home, to a home he didn't know he had. As they waited for their food, Sören talked a bit about the history of Akureyri, and his own personal anecdotes of growing up in the city, spending a lot of time walking, later driving when he was old enough, to be out of his guardians' house as much as possible.
For a pub, the food was surprisingly good - Nicholas had a seafood platter, and Sören had a lamb burger with a side of shrimp and scallops. Sören played footsie under the table again, and once again was like an exuberant big kid, drinking a glass of Applesín with ice in it, through a neon green twisty straw.
"Is it like Irn Bru?" Nicholas made a face at Sören's drink.
"No, it's orange soda." Sören smiled. "I miss it. I ought to buy a case and bring it back with me."
Despite the gorgeous sunset blazing pink and orange, and the picturesque street, and the good food, and the warm glow of Sören's company, Nicholas couldn't shake a vague uneasiness. At first he was willing to chalk it up to the pub being crowded at happy hour - they had managed to evade crowds for most of the day, and even a couple dozen people felt overwhelming. But as the time passed Nicholas felt like he was being stared at, and when he glanced around the pub he finally saw the source - a portly balding man who looked to be in his fifties or sixties, ruddy-faced, with wisps of salt-and-pepper hair, icy blue eyes, a square jaw, wearing jeans and a burgundy sweater under a brown leather jacket, looking right at Nicholas and Sören with a surly expression. Nicholas quickly looked away, his heart beating faster, sensing trouble. Though Iceland was a fairly progressive country on LGBT rights issues, Nicholas knew from spending most of his lifetime in the closet that even in fairly enlightened places there lurked bigots who wanted to start trouble, and he and Sören were obviously on a date, with little touches and smiling at each other fondly; Sören had called him elskan a few times over the course of their dinner conversation.
Sören got a bottle of Applesín to take with them when they were ready to leave. When they got up, Nicholas put an arm around Sören's waist and began quickly marching him to the door.
"I was going to go up to the bar and leave a second tip," Sören said. "You OK?"
"I left a generous tip on the table, and... I'll explain when we get outside. Just..."
And then Sören froze in his tracks, his eyes wide. Sören had finally seen the man staring at them in the pub, and it looked like Sören had seen a ghost. Nicholas had a bad feeling about this, confirmed when Sören pushed on ahead to the door as fast as he could. Nicholas walked faster to catch up with him.
As soon as they stepped outside, Nicholas asked, "Is that -"
"Einar?" Sören nodded. He grabbed Nicholas's arm, practically dragging him in the direction of the parking lot. "Come on, let's get out of here -"
"Sören." A gruff voice rang out. "Þú ætlar ekki að segja hæ við frænda þinn?"
Sören whirled around and looked Einar in the eye. As much as Nicholas was tempted to continue going to the car, he realized Einar would probably follow them there and if there was going to be an altercation, better here than the rental car potentially being damaged. And he knew Sören wasn't going to back down - Sören's first instinct had been to run, but Nicholas could see the anger in Sören's eyes, the set of his jaw... the fierce pride. Sören was done running away from his uncle, and Nicholas felt a surge of pride of his own, even as it was tinged with apprehension of what was to come next.
"I have nothing to say to you," Sören said in English. "Piss off."
Einar just laughed, a nasty-sounding barking laugh that made his beer gut jiggle. He replied in heavily-accented English. "What brings you back to Akureyri after all this time, ah? You showing your lover here where you come from?" Einar smirked. "That is your lover, já? You're still a homosexual? Haven't become a real man yet?"
Sören sneered. "And you're still a drunk? Haven't become a real man yet?"
Einar's taunting grin became a murderous scowl and he stepped forward. Nicholas found himself getting in the way, blocking Einar's path to Sören. Even though Nicholas knew Sören had pride, Nicholas's protective instincts still won over, and now Nicholas was angry. They had been having a good day. After all this time, Sören felt safe in his hometown with the man he loved. And here was Einar, drunk - it wasn't even seven PM yet and he'd already had so much to drink that the smell was overpowering and made Nicholas want to retch. Here was Einar, bullying Sören all over again. Nicholas's mate. Nicholas ached for the bullied, scared, hurt boy Sören had been, how Sören had to stand up for himself and his siblings and cousin; the neighbors didn't want to get involved, and Sören had no other family he knew of who he could turn to. Nobody had been there to protect Sören, to stop Einar, back then, but Nicholas bloody would stop Einar now.
Nicholas's voice was soft, but firm. Quietly menacing. "If you're going to try to hurt him... you'll have to get through me."
There were onlookers now, hanging around the door of the pub and by the window. Einar glanced behind him, and then he took a step forward. "Ég er ekki hræddur við þig, gamli maður."
Nicholas's anger boiled to rage... and then it burned like dry ice, where everything else in the world, in the entire universe, shut off and there was only this, a single target... for destruction. Nicholas had once been a priest, he had once believed that most people had at least a single spark of goodness in them, and that the wicked could see the error of their ways and reform if shown compassion. People like Einar were an exception. People like Einar had no light in them. There was no mercy for people like Einar, only justice. And now, as Nicholas regarded Einar, he felt the violence awaken in him that he had suppressed as a priest. No turning the other cheek, no praying for those who persecute. He thought of Sören, freezing in a dumpster in Akureyri on a cold February night. He thought of the scars on Sören's back, that had been covered by tattoos but Nicholas was still intimately familiar with them, had kissed them.
Nicholas Decaux wanted to smite.
Nicholas felt himself clenching his fists, ready to throw the first punch. But in his mind's eye, he saw himself doing far more than that. Just punching Einar wasn't good enough. For all the thousands of days over eleven years of hell that Einar had put Sören through, Nicholas thought Einar deserved to die. It was a special kind of evil to abuse a child the way Einar had abused Sören and his siblings and his own son, an evil that was long overdue from being removed from the world. In Nicholas's cold storm of rage, he fantasized about choking Einar to death.
And then, suddenly, before Einar could take another step, just as Nicholas's fist was coming out to swing... Einar made a horrible rattling noise. His eyes bugged out, and he clutched at his chest, gasping for breath as he sank to the ground. Nicholas's fist had never connected with Einar's body. Einar had just collapsed. He twitched on the sidewalk and then he wasn't moving. One of the onlookers rushed out of the pub and attempted CPR. Nicholas and Sören stood there, stunned.
Nicholas thought about bringing Sören to the car and taking him back to the hotel, but when he reached out for Sören, he put up a hand. Nicholas knew Sören needed to watch this, as if it validated some sort of long-held desire. And when the paramedics arrived a short while later, they came with the police, and Nicholas knew it was just as well they didn't leave. He swallowed hard when the police officers walked over to ask him some questions. Nicholas answered to the best of his ability, glancing over every so often at Sören, watching the paramedics try to resuscitate Einar, and when he saw one of the paramedics shake his head at another, and then call a number in military time, he knew Einar was dead.
After a few questions the police told him to stick around for a little while in case they had anything else. Nicholas sat on a bench and Sören sat next to him.
"He's dead," Sören said in a flat monotone.
Good. Nicholas didn't say it aloud, only took Sören's hand.
The police interviewed the onlookers and at last they came back to Nicholas and Sören. "All right, everyone says you didn't even touch the guy, you can go. Seems his heart just gave out on him."
And even though officially Nicholas knew he wasn't being held responsible as the cause of death, a chill still went through him. He knew logically that Einar had abused his body with alcohol for years, and those sorts of people didn't tend to live long. But it was indeed quite a coincidence that as he envisioned killing Einar, feeling like he had become rage incarnate, Einar had just suddenly dropped dead on the sidewalk. He wasn't officially responsible for murder, but Nicholas still felt that eerie prickle of I killed him.
Followed by He deserved it.
The Nicholas of thirty years ago would be horrified at this, a line crossed. But Nicholas had no tears to shed for someone like Einar leaving the world. What he was horrified by was not the death itself, or even the idea that he might have committed a form of murder... but that it had somehow been possible for Nicholas to kill with his mind, with his heart. When Nicholas was a priest he had believed to an extent in prayer, in miracles. It was Catholic tradition to examine supernatural claims, many of which were frauds. After Nicholas left the Church he stopped believing in any of that. He practiced tai chi, but he attributed its success less to "energy" and more to the science that stress impacted health, and the relaxation of tai chi was good for reducing stress and thus improving health. Now...
It's a coincidence. Don't be like the people who see the Virgin in their burnt toast.
It's a bloody big coincidence.
Nicholas thought of those dreams he'd had of himself in another body, with other-Sören and other-Anthony, in a magnificent landscape like something out of CGI, that felt more like memories... dreams that those of other faiths would suggest might be a past life. What if it was? What if that strangeness was connected to the strange too-bright-too-hot stone somehow, and this display of power...
Stop this nonsense at once. It sounds insane.
Nicholas and Sören got in the rental car. Nicholas sat for a moment, and then he found himself making the Sign of the Cross for the first time in over thirty years, and reverting to his parents' native tongue. "Notre Père, qui es aux cieux, que ton nom soit sanctifié -"
Sören raised an eyebrow. "Don't tell me you suddenly got religion."
Nicholas stopped. "Er, no. It... force of habit." Nicholas gave a nervous cough. No, he still could not bring himself to believe in "Sky Daddy" - and if that being existed, Nicholas thought it was an evil tyrant who delighted in the suffering of billions. "Sorry."
"It's OK. We're... both a little shaken up." Sören's eyes were too bright.
"Sören." Nicholas's heart twinged, hating to see his beloved so upset. "You... are you grieving?"
"Not for him." Sören sniffed. "I'm... I'm glad he's gone. I feel like a terrible person saying it, but -"
"No, love." Nicholas pulled Sören into his arms and held him tight. "You sound like someone who has been victimized for years and are relieved he can't hurt you anymore. And he can't. He's gone." Nicholas pet Sören's curls and kissed the top of his head. "I wish I had killed him for you."
Sören let out a nervous, hysterical little laugh, and patted Nicholas before he pulled back. Sören's mouth opened and for a minute Nicholas thought Sören was going to say something, then Sören looked away and took a deep breath, like he thought better of it.
They went back to the hotel in stunned silence.
That night Nicholas just held Sören as he fell apart, crying so brokenly it made Nicholas tear up too. "He's gone," Sören said. "He's gone. He's gone..." Over and over again, like a mantra.
"Yes, sweetheart. He's gone. He can't hurt you anymore." Nicholas rocked him, nuzzled him, pet his curls. "Daddy wouldn't have let him near you."
At last their eyes met, and Sören blinked slowly, looking like he was in a state of shock. "It's... it's kind of scary, you know? Almost like I was meant to see him die, after everything that happened." Sören snuffled. "I mean... I didn't expect to see him. I knew, of course, that returning to my hometown, Ari would have told me if they were dead so I assumed they were still alive and there was a non-zero chance I'd run into them, it's a city of eighteen thousand people. But I was still willing to take the chance that I wouldn't, that we could just go and have a chill time. I... I feel safe with you."
Nicholas kissed Sören's brow. His heart soared every time Sören said that, like absolution after the nearly two months of separation.
"But he was around, drinking - I didn't think he went to that pub, that was why I chose it, I'm familiar with his haunts..."
Nicholas nodded. He could only imagine.
"And there he fucking was... and he just... he just died. He just. Dropped. Dead. Right there." Sören broke down again. "He's gone. He's finally fucking gone."
"You mustn't beat yourself up for feeling relief. He hurt you so badly, it's only natural -"
"I... I can't believe it." Sören wept afresh. "I'll never be completely free of what he did, not really, but I've always had a fear in the back of my mind, a small one, that he might find me someday and start shit. Now he can't."
"No. And I am so very, very sorry you lived with that for so many years." Nicholas stroked Sören's cheek and looked into those beautiful sad brown eyes. "You're a good boy. You don't deserve what he did to you." Nicholas kissed the tip of Sören's nose. "You've got your Daddy right here, taking care of you. Keeping you safe."
Sören bit his lower lip, and then he said, softly, "Daddy killed the bad man."
Nicholas swallowed hard. There was a part of his mind that did take credit for what happened, it wasn't every day someone felt that much intense fury and the object of their wrath suddenly dropped dead. But Nicholas had been trained to be skeptical, first within the Church with every superstitious person claiming divine apparitions, next after he left the Church and became disillusioned with religion altogether. It had given him more comfort to believe humanity was truly on its own and had no justice, no mercy, but what it made for itself, than when he believed in divine retribution and that God simply ignored many who called out in pain. Now, it felt like his grasp on reality was slipping, and he didn't like it at all.
"No, little one," Nicholas said, not wanting to start down this slippery slope. "He just had a heart attack. He didn't take care of himself. But Daddy would have killed him for you if he could."
Once again, like he had in the car, Sören opened his mouth and looked like he very badly wanted to say something.
"What?" Nicholas prompted. "What is it, darling?"
Sören looked down and sighed. "I. Ah." Sören rubbed his beard. "Steve -" And then Sören's voice trailed off. "Never mind."
Nicholas only vaguely recalled a Steve - after racking his brain, this was one of Anthony's ex-friends. The one who took Anthony's cane outside a Starbucks. "Steve?"
Sören shrugged. "I've been mad enough to kill before." Sören kissed Nicholas's cheek with a small smile. "It looks good on you."
Nicholas narrowed his eyes. He had a feeling there was more to the story than that - or maybe not, maybe Sören was just sharing his own experience with murderous rage so a former priest wouldn't feel guilty about his own - but either way, Nicholas decided against pressing it. Sören snuggled into Nicholas's shoulder and started crying again, and now was the time to comfort him, not confront him over what he was trying to get at.
So Nicholas kept holding Sören, letting him cry, and cry. Nicholas drifted off to sleep, and when his bladder woke him up Sören was snoring softly, which Nicholas paused for a moment to watch, finding Sören adorable. Once Nicholas got back in bed he pulled Sören against him and Sören rubbed his nose in Nicholas's exposed chest hair. "Daddy makes a good teddy bear," Sören mumbled.
"Yes, sweetheart. Hold onto Daddy."
Soon Sören fell back asleep, and Nicholas did too. Then a couple hours later Nicholas was awakened by a little shout, and the sound of Sören weeping again. Nicholas's arms tightened around him and he started rocking Sören, making soothing noises. "Daddy's here, baby. Daddy's here. Daddy's got you."
"Daddy," Sören cried out. He sobbed into Nicholas's chest. "He was hitting me in my dreams..."
"Oh, love." Nicholas's heart broke for Sören all over again and now the tears came, spilling silently down his cheeks. He tried to keep his composure, tried to keep strong for Sören, to be the shelter he needed in this storm. "I'm so sorry. But he will never hit you in real life again. He's gone. And Daddy would have stopped him from hitting you on the street."
"I know." Sören snuffled. "I'm sorry to wake you, I'm sorry I'm such a crybaby -"
"You're my baby." While it still felt strange to call a grown man in his thirties a baby, it also slipped out naturally. Sören brought out all of Nicholas's paternal instincts, tender and protective. "And it's fine." It was four in the morning, but this was what one did for love. "I'm here for you. Daddy's here for his boy. You don't have to keep the pain bottled up inside."
Nicholas let Sören cry some more, rocking and petting. He would tear his own heart out to make Sören feel better, he would pull the moon down from the sky if that was within his power. He felt helpless, wishing there was something he could do, but all he could do was just be here. Still, Nicholas knew Sören was lancing a wound that had been festering for close to three decades, and it was necessary. And when the storm of tears subsided and Sören was crying silently, and less, Nicholas found himself putting his thumb in Sören's mouth, pulling up the blankets to tuck more of Sören's body in, up to the back of his neck. "Here, baby. Get some rest."
Sören made a little whiny noise around Nicholas's thumb, but he continued sucking the thumb - Nicholas fought back mental images of Sören with his mouth even more full, of cock, he thought trying to initiate sex right now would be gauche. Sören closed his eyes and Nicholas pet Sören until his breathing slowed and he was sure Sören had fallen asleep. Then he let himself sleep as well.
Sören was not a morning person on a good day, and he'd had a rough night enough that when the alarm went off, Nicholas just let him sleep, reading by the window. But then a couple hours later, Sören's phone chimed, and Sören grumpily fumbled for it until Nicholas came over, picked up the phone off the bedtable and handed it to him. Sören's eyes widened when he saw the number and swiped to accept.
Nicholas had assumed it was Anthony, but when Sören launched into a staccato of Icelandic, he knew it wasn't. Sören sat up, face registering concern, then surprise, and Nicholas went about making Sören a cup of coffee. By the time the coffee was ready, Sören was just about done with the call, and somewhat more animated.
"That was Ari," Sören said as he hit End.
"Ah." Nicholas had yet to meet Sören's cousin.
"His mother got word about Einar and she called him. He's... flying up to Akureyri to deal with some things, and he wants to get together for lunch if that's OK with you."
Although Nicholas didn't like abrupt changes of plans - he had intended on doing more sightseeing with Sören today - he also knew Sören hadn't seen his cousin in seven years at least and he wasn't going to complain. "All right."
"An early lunch. More like a late breakfast. So you and I still have some time to do things we were going to do. He can't stay too long anyway, he has kind of a mess to clean up."
"I imagine so." Nicholas tried to not let his relief show that Ari would not be hijacking their entire day.
Nicholas didn't know what to expect when they met Ari down in the hotel restaurant. Ari was as tall as Sören, and fair where Sören was dark, with short-cropped dirty blond hair and a beard, and the same icy blue eyes of Einar. Ari was also on the beefy side but fit, muscular, dressed casually in a red plaid flannel shirt over a black T-shirt and faded jeans, and seemed to be the picture of what Einar could have been if he hadn't drank so much. His personality, though, was quite opposite - he was warm, personable, giving Sören a fierce hug right away, rocking him a little.
"I'm glad he's gone too," Ari said softly, hugging his cousin tight. "He was terrible." He gave a shuddery sigh. "Now there's just Mamma to deal with."
"She's bad, but Einar is light-years ahead in the cruelty department."
"She's gotten worse since the last time you were here." Ari gave Sören a stern look as he took a menu. "She got Jesus. She's stayed with him because she thinks it's a sin to get a divorce, but she's been trying to push him to quit drinking -"
"And exchange one addiction for another." Sören made a face as he glanced over the menu. "So when you say 'got Jesus'..."
"She's like those batshit people in the States. Everything is a sin now. She thinks we're all going to hell. Especially you." Ari grinned, then got serious again. "But me too. She doesn't like that I'm Pagan."
"Well, I don't like it either, but it's your life," Sören said. "Live and let live, and all that."
Nonetheless, Nicholas sensed it made Sören uncomfortable - Nicholas wasn't exactly comfortable with it either - and now he had some additional context for why Ari hadn't at least attempted a visit to London these last seven years, it wasn't entirely the Icelandic work ethic.
"It's also my job," Ari said. "Sort of."
"He runs a yoga studio and he does Reiki and shit," Sören explained.
"Ah." Nicholas didn't have anything polite to say about that, so he said nothing, only sipped his orange juice.
"And I do Tarot readings. Sometimes I try to help people explore their past lives." Ari gave Nicholas a pointed look. "But I do that for free, I don't feel right taking money for it."
Nicholas didn't know what was more objectionable, the idea of Ari taking money from people for parlor tricks, or being a true believer who did it for free. He just knew he didn't need to think about past lives and those dreams right now.
"God, don't start with the past life shit again." Sören peeled his straw and when the paper was partway down the straw he blew into it, firing the paper at Ari's nose. He turned to Nicholas and explained, "He told me I was some kind of king or chieftain warlord or something." Sören rolled his eyes at Ari. "I'm sure you tell that to all your clients."
"No, not really."
Nicholas felt a frisson down his spine - the other-Sören he'd dreamt of had been kingly; their father had been some sort of king or leader. No, he definitely didn't like where this was going. "I practice tai chi," Nicholas said, hoping that mentioning this would throw Ari a bone enough that Ari would leave him alone and not try to push spirituality on a godless heathen. "But I used to be a Catholic priest and I left the Church on rather bitter terms - I was frustrated with the corruption and pushing it under the rug, you see - so I'm afraid it's made me a bit sour."
Ari nodded. "Understandable. Though, you do see the value in some sort of meditative practice. That's good." He reached in his pocket. "Sören, I have something for you, on that note. I'm not trying to push anything on you, but -"
Nicholas watched Ari put a strand of nine deep purple glass beads, graduated in size, in Sören's hand. The strand of beads had a loop on the end. Sören looked down at the beads and then up at Ari, brow furrowed. "The fuck is this?"
"Meditation beads. I use them to chant mantra sequences. But they don't have to be like that. You can just... fiddle with them when you have anxiety. Like a fidget spinner. Your finger can fit through the loop and spin it."
Sören nodded and looked at the beads again. Nicholas could practically see the wheels spinning in Sören's head, like he had an idea for them, but Nicholas had no idea what. Art, perhaps?
"Thank you," Sören said, and slipped the beads into his pocket. His lips quirked as he took a sip of his orange juice - he was definitely up to something and Nicholas didn't know what, but he had a feeling he'd be finding out.
After the brunch with Ari, Sören took Nicholas to see the Goðafoss. "It's especially timely since we just got through meeting with Ari and his Asa-cooties," Sören snickered. He gestured at the falls, still roaring even as the land surrounding was frozen, heavy snow covering its banks, blocks of ice falling into the river. "This is where Þorgeir Ljósvetningagoði threw a statue of Odin to proclaim Christianity the new religion of Iceland. It was a fairly peaceful conversion here, compared to the rest of Europe."
Nicholas was delighted Sören knew that tidbit of historical info. "It's impressive you remember the name."
"We get our history drilled into us in school." Sören shrugged. "And I always found that interesting. Odin seemed like such a horrible bastard, wanting people to go to war with neighboring tribes all the time, at Uppsala he demanded the 'nine nines' - nine males from each species every nine years, even humans. No wonder people thought Jesus was kinder. Of course, Jehovah has his own issues, according to the Bible. Meet the new boss, same as the old boss."
"Indeed." Nicholas put a hand on Sören's shoulder. "I'm glad religion isn't a source of contention in our relationship."
"Yeah." Sören sighed, and looked into the falls, as if he were searching for something. "If the gods are real, fuck them."
Another chill went down Nicholas's spine, recalling his dreams of other-Sören cursing the gods. His reality was crashing even faster now, like the flow of the waterfall, that even the ice and snow could not slow down.
The surreal feeling only got stronger as they went to the Dimmuborgir and even though they were alone on a winter day as the sun was starting to set, Nicholas kept looking around, feeling like there were other people in the vicinity watching them. The eerie lava formations looked like ruins of a lost kingdom, and as Nicholas passed near an arch he felt his hair standing on end, like the temperature had suddenly gone up a few degrees, like the land beneath his feet was pulsing.
Worst of all, he couldn't shake the thought that he'd been here before. Which he hadn't - this was his first and only trip to Iceland. He'd seen photos of the Dimmuborgir, of course, and seeing it in-person was awe-inspiring, an exercise in humility to be in the presence of something ancient, something that had been there long before him and would be there long after. But this was something else, a familiarity, like he knew where he was, and in the corner of his mind's eye there was a glimmer of coming here with Sören in a wild sunset like this one, passing through the arch...
What's next? Seeing an elf? Nicholas mocked himself.
Their final destination of the day, the Nature Baths at Lake Mývatn, was exactly what Nicholas needed to counteract the weirdness and just relax. They had to shower nude first, and then whatever lingering discomfort Nicholas had with the strange ritual melted away in the delicious heat of the water. On a February night there weren't many tourists - there was another couple in a far corner of the hot spring, necking - and Nicholas was glad for that. He and Sören leaned on each other, just being, looking up at the sea of stars. After awhile Sören called one of the staff over and ordered beer for both of them. While Nicholas wasn't much of a beer drinker, preferring wine, the frosty coldness of the beer was a nice contrast to the hot water, and Nicholas mellowed even more.
Then it happened. Nicholas had wanted to see Iceland in the winter because he was hoping to see the aurora borealis at least once, and so far in their vacation there had been no aurora - Nicholas had resigned himself to not seeing it here, though he had no regrets about visiting Iceland. But now, as Sören and Nicholas snuggled up together, sipping cold beer in the hot spring, there it was, delicate swirls of green and then a shimmer of violet, a blaze of magenta, aqua and gold, the entire sky like a rainbow. Nicholas and Sören both broke out in gooseflesh, watching in awe for a few moments before they looked into each other's eyes, and kissed. Nicholas's free hand traced the phoenix tattoos on Sören's back.
"Ég elska þig þar til andinn minn fer frá þessum heimi," Sören husked, stroking Nicholas's face. "Sál mín mun finna ykkur yfir allt rými og tíma."
They kissed again, more deeply, more hungrily. Then they nuzzled, their foreheads close, breathing each other's breath, their palms and fingertips touching. In that moment Nicholas felt something greater than themselves, like the aurora was a door to other worlds than these, and in all of those worlds, some way, somehow, they were together. That thought unnerved him - he didn't like cosmic mystery, he wanted things to be neat and orderly - but if there was a mess of parallel universes where they lived and loved in each one, where they somehow found their way to each other as if something had guided them... that was a beautiful disaster.
"Ég er þitt og þú ert mín," Sören whispered, and took Nicholas's hand and put it on his heart.
Nicholas kissed Sören's brow and looked up at the aurora again, tears falling silently. In the sixty-eight years of his life, he had never felt more alive than this moment.
When they got back to the hotel, they fell on each other as soon as they stepped in the suite, quickly undressing. Sören got on the bed and moaned, "Fuck me." Nicholas climbed onto the bed, leaning over Sören, his body like a living shield wall hovering over him. Sören reached up to wrap his arms and legs around Nicholas, pulling Nicholas's body against his.
"My protector," Sören said.
"Always." Nicholas kissed Sören hard, and then kissed along his jaw, down to his neck. "I protect what is mine."
"Mmmmm. You know..." Sören gave Nicholas a teasing grin. "You were hot last night. So... wolfy."
Nicholas's response to that was to nibble on Sören's neck, growling as his teeth grazed Sören's flesh. "You bring out that side of me."
"So... is my wolf going to eat me?"
Nicholas got up and went to his suitcase, and took out a couple of surprises. He showed Sören the silk scarves he'd brought and Sören nodded and clapped, grinning eagerly, making Nicholas chuckle at his exuberance. Wordlessly, he tied Sören's wrists to the posts of the bed with silk scarves. As he did, Sören looked up at Nicholas adoringly. When Nicholas was done tying Sören, he surveyed his handiwork. "I'm not going to eat you," Nicholas rasped, kissing and nibbling down Sören's torso. "I'm going to devour you."
He put as much of Sören's hard cock in his mouth as he could, making Sören buck his hips, crying out. Sören trembled, moaning as Nicholas's head slowly moved up and down, nodding, then circling, the wet velvet heat of his mouth suctioning Sören's cock, wanting to give Sören ecstasy.
That ecstasy was about to go deeper. Nicholas had also brought a vibrator, and after he lubricated Sören's passage, he pushed the vibe inside. Nicholas continued sucking Sören's cock as he slowly fucked Sören's ass with the vibe, in and out, in and out, keeping the vibe on its lowest setting to tease him. Nicholas loved to tease Sören - twice the buildup, double the release. Sören writhed and howled and Nicholas had only just begun. He waited a few minutes before turning the vibrator to its next setting, and as the vibe pulsed harder and faster, Nicholas's tongue licked up and down the length of Sören's cock, from the head to the sensitive ball sac, down to the exquisite place where balls and ass met, and back up. Kissing, lapping the head of Sören's cock, savoring the lightly sweet taste of the precum starting to flow.
"Please, fuck me," Sören moaned. "Please..."
"Mmmmmmmm." Nicholas took Sören's cock back into his mouth, sucking slowly. His free hand cupped Sören's balls, and then began to caress every inch of Sören's body in time with the slow rhythm of the vibe in and out of his ass.
"Fuck, Nick..." Sören was thrashing against the restraints now. "Daddy..."
"I am enjoying this thoroughly." Nicholas took a few more licks at Sören's shaft, his head. "A beautiful cock like yours deserves to be worshiped." He kissed the head of Sören's cock, took just the head into his mouth to swirl his tongue around it, suck and suction it, knowing he was making Sören crazy with sensation and lust; his own cock throbbed, knowing firsthand how good that felt when Sören did it to him. "And a beautiful arse like yours deserves worship also."
"Please, give me your cock..."
"In time." Nicholas gave him a wicked smile.
After a few more minutes of languid teasing with his tongue lapping at Sören's cock, the vibe working in and out of Sören's channel, Sören ground out, "The beads."
Nicholas stopped, confused. "Hm?"
"The... the glass beads Ari gave me. In my jeans pocket."
Nicholas left the vibrator purring away inside Sören, and reluctantly got up and retrieved the beads. When he returned to the bed, he dangled them in front of Sören. "What about them?"
Sören grinned. "They remind me of anal beads."
"Wh-" Nicholas didn't even know what to think of that. "Anal beads? What?"
"It's a type of sex toy. You push them inside and then pull out one bead at a time. It's intense."
Nicholas raised an eyebrow. "Have you ever..."
Sören shook his head. "No. But I've been doing research on kinky stuff I can try with Anthony, and... well, you, I guess. It... it interests me. But only if it's OK with you, I don't want you to be weirded out..."
Nicholas found the concept bizarre, but also strangely erotic. The thought of seeing the strand of beads pulled out of Sören one at a time... Nicholas's cock jolted. "We can try it, if that's what you would like, my sweet."
"Definitely open to it... ha, I'm, ah... really open, at the moment."
"Good." Nicholas withdrew the vibrator from Sören's ass, and then pushed the strand of beads inside, slowly, one at a time, holding the loop at the end, cock throbbing as he watched Sören's passage swallow each bead. "Let me know when you're close to coming." With that, he took Sören's cock back into his mouth.
The beads just stayed inside, for the next few minutes, but Nicholas made up for the lack of fucking stimulation inside of him by sucking Sören's cock harder and faster, massaging his balls. And then Nicholas's tongue was on Sören's frenulum, licking just the way Sören liked as his mouth continued the kiss, and Nicholas felt Sören's balls tightening, the beginning of that surge.
"Almost there," Sören panted.
Nicholas took Sören's cock out of his mouth and his tongue chased the flow of precum down the shaft. He began to pull the beads out of Sören's ass, one bead at a time, slowly. One bead, two beads. "Who do you belong to?"
"You..."
Nicholas sucked the head of Sören's cock for a minute, before taking a few teasing licks and asking, "Who owns you?" Three, four.
"You do..."
Five. "Your life is in whose hands?"
"Yours..."
Six. "And that means your pleasure is in my hands." Nicholas pulled out seven, eight, and purred, "Your Daddy takes care of you." With that, he pulled out the last bead - Sören was shaking from head to toe now, making inhuman noises. He pushed the strand back into Sören and pulled it out again slowly, as he sucked Sören's cock for all he was worth.
"Daddy." Sören's eyes rolled and he shuddered. "Oh god, Daddy."
Nicholas took a few more teasing licks. "I love pleasing you. Love taking care of what is mine..."
"Daddy..." Sören whimpered. "Daddy... oh shit... I'm so close..."
"Mmmmmmmmmm. I can't wait to taste you, my own. To savor every drop of my delicious little brat... swallow you like the wolf I am..."
The beads went in and out of Sören's ass then faster and faster, like Nicholas was playing a musical instrument, and Sören shrieked as he let go, coming in Nicholas's mouth. Nicholas groaned as his mouth was flooded by Sören's thick, hot cream, almost coming himself. Sören panted, quivering. "Oh god." Sören's face lit up, smiling that beautiful smile that always melted Nicholas's heart. "Oh Daddy, oh god..."
Nicholas drank Sören as much as he could, and used his tongue to clean the rest, amused by Sören's aftershocks. "Delightful," Nicholas murmured.
"Fuck."
Nicholas was ragingly hard now, his cock flushed almost red, leaking so much precum the entire shaft was slick with it. He got on his knees - his arthritis would yell at him later, but it was worth it, he didn't care - and hooked Sören's legs around his waist. He readied his own cock with lube, and more lube for Sören's passage, and growled, "Now, my own, you will get what you asked for."
He pushed into Sören and pounded away, fevered with hungry lust for the delectable man tied up and writhing, vulnerable and trusting, surrendering, underneath him. Sören's cock was already hard again and Nicholas stroked it in time with his thrusts, his free hand playing over Sören's body, loving, worshiping, teasing, pleasuring. Sören's moans drove Nicholas wild, and he slammed into Sören like a man half his age, wanting so fiercely it hurt, wanting to burn away the memories of Einar, burn away everything that had ever hurt Sören and remind him this was life, this was the goodness the world had to offer, and they would take it, together.
Sören bucked underneath him, matching his rhythm. "Oh god, oh fuck, get it, getitgetitGETIT," Sören cried out.
"Sören." Nicholas shuddered. He grit his teeth, determined to hold back his own release as long as possible, wanting Sören's pleasure. His balls smacked Sören's ass and Sören whimpered, eyes pleading.
"Daddy. Daddy. Yes, Daddy, yes, fuck me, fuck me, FUCK ME..."
"I am taking what is mine. MINE."
"Yours, yours, yours, YOURS... YES..."
"Come for me, my boy. Come for the one who owns you. Come for your Daddy. Let us come together, as one."
They did. It was glorious, like they were the fire of the aurora they'd seen that night, lighting up the entire world. Nicholas had never been so vocal during orgasm before, moaning, shouting Sören's name over and over again as he spent and spent and spent into Sören's contractions and Sören painted him with ropes of thick cum.
Nicholas leaned in, holding onto the headboard as he shivered, and somehow managed to untie Sören's wrists. Sören flexed his wrists and his arms wrapped around Nicholas once more, the two rolling onto their sides so they could hold each other. Nicholas was still resting inside Sören, and it felt cozy and sweet. "I've got you," Nicholas whispered, pulling Sören into his chest, stroking his curls. He kissed the top of Sören's head. "Now and always. I will never let you go. I will never lose you, ever again." He didn't just mean the almost two months apart. He thought of his dreams, the dreams that felt too real. Whether they were or weren't, this was real. This was Nicholas's religion, the man in his arms, two hearts beating as one.
The beads had served their purpose: they were both deeply relaxed now.
Some time later, they decided to order up room service. As they waited, Nicholas asked, "I take it you enjoyed playing with the beads?"
"I did." Sören bit his lower lip. "Something I can try with Anthony, now." Then Sören raised his eyebrows. "Speaking of..."
Nicholas pinched the bridge of his nose. He had been in a mellow mood; being reminded of pining for Anthony Hewlett-Johnson - the impending risk of rejection, the risk of making things awkward for everyone - was not what he wanted right now. But it was better to just get this discussion done and over with. "What?"
"You really should tell him. When we get back to London... after we've had a few days to settle back in, get readjusted to the daily grind... we should invite him over, to thank him for catsitting, and for helping us reconcile. Bake him a cake to say thank you." Sören smirked. "That's not all we can offer as thanks."
It took Nicholas a moment and then he realized what Sören was getting at, and his cheeks burned. "Are you suggesting a threesome?"
Sören nodded eagerly.
Nicholas facepalmed, feeling shy and flustered... and then he nodded too. He liked that idea, and his own eagerness at the thought of having a threesome with Anthony - his very first threesome - won out over his anxiety about propositioning him. He still couldn't believe he was going down this path but then, a short while ago he wouldn't have been able to believe he was playing with anal beads, either. "You've corrupted me, you know."
Sören attempted a wink, more of a clumsy blink. "As you know..."
chapter 6 | return to Learning To Fly | return to Other Tolkien Fic | return to index