August 2021
Bentham, Maine
While he's in the produce section at the supermarket, Anthony takes out his cell phone and snaps a photo of a crate of ripe, ruby-red strawberries before he puts it in the cart. He fires off a quick text to his husband Sören: See, I remembered this time and attaches the photo before he hits Send.
He forgot the strawberries last time - fucking ADD, Anthony curses internally as he pushes the cart through the produce aisles. Fresh strawberries is Sören's favorite dessert and it's been such a difficult year, Anthony wants to spoil Sören as much as he can.
Really, it's been tough since March 2020 when the pandemic started, and the state of emergency declared which effectively shuttered the bookstore-and-gallery Anthony and Sören run together. But this year things escalated when despite their best efforts to mask, socially distance and limit their trips outside the house as much as possible, Sören got COVID in March of this year, just before the vaccines came out; with his asthma it became walking pneumonia. Sören now has long COVID with brain fog, increased shortness of breath and chronic fatigue.
It's the night before their shop is set to have its grand re-opening. Besides selling used books and Sören's paintings and pottery, they decided a few months back that when they could open for business again they would open an eatery in the shop that serves coffee and simple food like sandwiches, so that way they could declare their business essential and stay open if there was another lockdown.
Anthony is feeling a twinge of concern about Sören's ability to keep up with the increased work that will come with adding a cafe to the bookstore-and-gallery - they really could use a third set of hands, but that means a lot of bureaucracy and headaches. Sören keeps insisting that he can handle it, and Anthony doesn't want to be smothering. So getting Sören a little treat is the least he can do to say "thank you".
There are other things, of course; Anthony's mind inevitably goes in the gutter looking at the slices of watermelon, thinking about the way Sören eats one with those full lips, slurping at it...
Anthony tries to behave himself to get through the shopping trip without having an ADD brain fart and forgetting something else essential this time. Margaret Thatcher, he tells himself, a surefire boner killer - he was born in 1980 in London, and he had been raised primarily by his uncle Nigel, whose partner Steve had worked in manufacturing, and he never heard the end of how much they hated Thatcher, so he couldn't help but hate her too. Thinking of Thatcher inevitably made him think of Nigel and Steve, who had insisted on sending them money once a month to every two months during the pandemic even though they were elderly pensioners. After Anthony's father's death and his mother's descent into alcoholism and coke use, Nigel had taken responsibility for him and half-jokingly said "you keep me alive". Anthony had moved back in with them for a time in his early thirties, after his divorce from his first husband, during his transition from female to male, which Nigel and Steve wholeheartedly supported. Anthony feels like he owes them so much but Nigel keeps saying, "Just your happiness." Anthony makes a mental note to send them pictures of the re-opening tomorrow.
He's feeling nervous and excited. The state of emergency ended in Maine at the end of June, but it took them this long to get vaccinated and boostered due to having to wait ninety days after Sören's bout of COVID. That gave them an extra month to prepare and discuss, anyway, but despite the shop being on his brain near-constantly since the state of emergency ended he still doesn't feel prepared enough. It's a very similar feeling to what Anthony used to get the night before a big court case, back when he was a lawyer, first a criminal defense barrister in the UK, then a civil rights attorney after he transitioned and moved to the US.
Similar adrenaline, but less risk - probably no right-wingers will stab him this time, the trauma of which ended his law career at the end of 2016. Anthony's hand goes reflexively to the scars at his rib cage, hidden by his ancient Nirvana T-shirt - he was lucky to survive without complications other than PTSD. It's a huge step that he can go anywhere by himself without feeling the need to wear Kevlar, these days. Indeed, that's why Sören isn't with him at the grocery store - he feels he needs to push himself.
Anthony uses the self-checkout and once everything is bagged and paid for, he heads out to the Prius. He still misses his Audi, but it was necessary to downsize after he quit law, and at least this is a hybrid. After the trunk is loaded, his cell phone buzzes in his pocket. It's a text from Sören.
Yay strawberries 😸
Anthony can't help smiling at the cat face emoji; he loves that playful innocence. Then his cell buzzes again with a second text.
I've got a strawberry for you, Daddy.
Sören has attached a photo. It's a close-up of his dick, two inches on T with another half-inch from pumping up; the pump also made his already-meaty pussy lips more swollen. His cock is completely slick, and he's so wet that thick cream is pooling out of those glistening lips. His cock really does look like a ripe, juicy berry when it's like this, just waiting to be eaten.
Anthony licks his lips and moans involuntarily. He shoves his phone back in his pocket and starts the car as fast as he can, trying to calm himself down enough for the drive home, not wanting to speed or get into a crash. But all the way there his mind's eye keeps showing him that delicious photo. Playing mental images of Sören pumping himself, teasing himself, in anticipation of him getting home.
Anthony is hard and wet now, trying to keep from grinding the driver's seat, his hands shaking on the wheel. He laughs to himself; it's a far cry from where he was twelve years ago, married to his first husband, another Steve - so very not like Nigel's Steve - and he was dysphoric and constantly triggered by his own body, and Steve's bland, selfish done-in-two-minutes "lovemaking" did nothing to ease that. You're like a dead fish, you just lay there, Steve had said in their final argument before the divorce papers. Now Anthony has a luscious little Jon Snow lookalike waiting for him at home who's utterly insatiable for him and Anthony is insatiable right back, the best sex he's ever had, almost four years and counting.
Sören is insatiable and submissive. Sören sent him that naughty text knowing he'll get punished for being a tease. Anthony gets harder just thinking about it, feeling himself drip in his boxers.
Their apartment is on the second floor, directly above the shop. Sören greets Anthony at the door in a pair of grey boy shorts that are obviously soaked in front, showing off camel toe and his hard cock making a little bump, with fishnet stockings, and a lacy black camisole that shows off the ink on his arms - a full-sleeve tattoo of fire going up his right arm, ocean waves down his left arm. The flames and waves lead out to a firebird and water phoenix on his back, a design from Sören's first painting. Sören is wearing his usual black leather O-ring collar - the sign of an owned sub - and his dark curls are hanging loose to his shoulders, tucked back behind his ears to reveal the two small hoop earrings he wears in each ear, and the outline of his hard, pierced nipples is visible through the tank top. He looks slutty and sexy, irresistible. Sören gives a sweet, shy little smile, the adoring look in his brown puppy dog eyes going straight to Anthony's heart.
Anthony kisses Sören hard, then he sucks on Sören's full lower lip for a few seconds before Sören pulls back and leans in, his beard tickling Anthony's neck as he starts kissing it, his arms around Anthony's waist as he starts grinding against Anthony's jeans. Even though there's a packer between them, there's enough friction that Anthony's cock twitches and he drips again.
Sören takes a couple bags of groceries and leads the way to the kitchen, shaking his tight, hot little ass. Once everything is put away they kiss again and Anthony's thumbs rub Sören's hard nipples through the fabric of his tank top before he smacks Sören's ass. Sören moans into the kiss and Sören's hands slide down Anthony's back to cup and rub his ass. "Hi Daddy," Sören purrs before he kisses Anthony again.
Anthony growls and nips Sören's lower lip this time. "Hi, baby boy." Anthony is forty-one and Sören will be twenty-seven in November; Sören was twenty-two and Anthony was thirty-seven when they met in 2017, when Anthony was visiting Iceland as part of "things on his bucket list" after nearly dying from being stabbed. Anthony plays with a lock of Sören's curls, skritches Sören's beard like a cat, making him giggle, and then kisses the tip of Sören's nose. He loves Sören so much and feels fiercely protective of him, especially now after Sören was so sick a few months ago, he could have lost Sören and that makes his boy all the more precious.
"Wanna play, Daddy? You got my text message, right?"
"I did, and it got me so horny I couldn't even make words to reply. You..." Anthony nibbles Sören's neck, loving that breathy moan. "Are a naughty little minx."
"Takk." Sören crinkles his nose and bites his lower lip.
"And I... am going to get dinner started, so you're just going to have to wait." As horny as he is, Anthony knows if he doesn't do this now they're going to fuck all evening and will be too tired for anything more than delivery, and Anthony really wants to celebrate tonight. Once they have dinner out of the way, sex will be worth the wait, he can take his time. Anthony is sure that effort will be appreciated.
He also feels that a tease should be teased, and part of Sören's punishment is to not give in, but frustrate him even more. "Wait here, pet."
Sören obediently waits, and when Anthony comes back from the bedroom he has the remote control vibrator. They haven't used it in awhile - they haven't been leaving the house much during the pandemic, and that's when it's the most fun - but it has a fresh pair of batteries and still works. Anthony reaches down Sören's shorts and his fingers massage Sören's hard little cock before he nestles the vibe in place. He turns it on to the lowest setting and Sören whimpers.
"That's mean, Daddy."
"Like it wasn't mean to send me that hot dick pic when you knew I was at the store trying to concentrate? Fucking cocktease."
Sören sticks out his tongue, then he shakes his ass.
Anthony laughs and gives Sören a peck before he slaps Sören's ass. He takes the steaks out of the fridge that he bought for tonight, washes his hands, and starts the process of marinating them to go on the grill out on the balcony, pouring marinade into a bowl. Sören whines, watching him, and Anthony laughs again and turns the vibe up to its next setting. He whistles innocently as he drops the steaks in the marinade. Sören finally notices what Anthony bought, his brown eyes wide.
"Holy fucking shit, we're having steak tonight?" Sören swoons, arm to his forehead. "It's been eighty-four years..."
It hasn't been that long but it has been a good while since the last time they had steak - not since the pandemic started, probably. After their shop had to close down, and trying to find other work was next to impossible, they still wanted to hold onto this place rather than trying to start over again with a new building somewhere else once it was safe to re-open, and that meant having to keep paying rent every month and keep the utilities on and pay the water bill and taxes and feed themselves and their three cats, plus they were paying out-of-pocket for veterinary care as well as testosterone injections for both of them, the T ran a few hundred each month. Besides Anthony's uncle Nigel sending them money, Anthony's mum Elaine also wired them money once every few months - which Anthony felt guilty about taking because Elaine had blown her inheritance and her professional reputation with her coke habit, but it was her "blood money" for not being there, only having gotten clean two years before Anthony came out and began transitioning. And they'd gotten stimulus checks, of course, with Anthony having become an American citizen some years ago and Sören getting a green card with their marriage. But none of that went far, so they'd been living rather frugally, eating lacto-ovo-vegetarian five days a week, meat was a luxury; their cats ate better than they did, getting actual meat in their diets every day. Anthony and Sören took turns cooking, trying out new recipes so they weren't living on ramen. The habit of pinching pennies had gotten them through till now.
That, and their side hustle.
The cats finally come out, yawning, and begin to circle, very interested in the meat. Seamus, a grey tabby with chartreuse eyes, hops up on the counter and Sören picks him up. Seamus climbs onto Sören's shoulder and drapes himself across both Sören's shoulders behind his neck, kneading and purring loudly, staying put as Sören walks across the kitchen. "Anything I can help with?"
"You can sit down and let me take care of you." Anthony boops Sören's nose. They are - hopefully - going to be busy enough tomorrow, with Sören on kitchen duty making coffee and different kinds of sandwiches; Anthony doesn't want to make him do that tonight.
"OK. Come on, kitties." With Seamus on Sören's shoulders, he walks out to the open plan living room, Solly and Snúður following. Anthony watches Sören sit down - Seamus still riding on Sören's shoulders. Solly, an elderly brown tabby with an owl-like face and four teeth, sits on Sören's thigh, and Snúður the tuxedo cat climbs into Soren's arms, making Soren hold him like a baby. Sören has gotten used to maneuvering around the cats and with his free hand he turns on the TV, then resumes petting Solly and Snúður.
With the steaks Anthony is making vegetable skewers to put on the grill. He washes the vegetables and chops tomatoes, onions and zucchini, arranging them between mushrooms. His eyes get teary from the onions and he's glad when that job is done. He sets a timer for the marinade, washes his hands again and sits down next to Sören. Solly moves to lay across both of them, purring away. Anthony takes the slicker brush from the coffee table and begins to brush Solly with it, smiling as she rubs her face on it, purring harder.
"I still can't believe we're opening tomorrow," Sören says.
"Me either." Anthony sighs. Then he confesses, "I can't believe we still have the shop at all, that we didn't lose it with how broke we've been."
Sören nods.
Anthony gives a wry chuckle. "And part of me can't believe I even have a shop. I knew from the time I was very young I wanted to practice law. Couldn't see myself doing anything else. Till I got stabbed."
Sören puts a hand on Anthony's rib cage, where he's seen the scars countless times now. Anthony puts a hand over Sören's hand, then Solly grabs his wrist and gently nibbles him with almost-no teeth, as if to say hey, get back to work. Anthony laughs and continues brushing her; Solly kneads, eyes half-closed with a smug smile.
"If you'd told me ten years ago this is what I'd be doing, I would have laughed in your face," Anthony says. "And probably if Steve could see me now, he'd laugh at me."
"Jæja, fuck that guy," Sören says with a sneer. "I've never met him but everything you've told me about him, I don't like him. And he has a very punchable face."
Anthony laughs at that. "I know I'm better off."
"I looked him up, you know. On Facebook." Sören doesn't use Facebook. "He's remarried -"
"Yes, to Trisha, one of his old friends from uni." Anthony pinches the bridge of his nose. Trisha had never liked Antonia and the feeling was very mutual; Trisha was fond of making rude remarks just within earshot when Steve dragged Antonia along to hang out with "the squad", including that Antonia was "really a man". Well Trisha, you were right for the wrong reason. Bitch. No doubt Trisha's heard from Steve about the transition; Anthony's sure she's got a lot to say about that. "They deserve each other."
"Trisha. Jæja, she looks like a Karen."
Anthony snorted. "I love you, Sören."
"I love you too." Sören leans in and kisses Anthony's cheek. "Sometimes I wish we were closer in age and that we knew each other back then but I think I would have gone to jail beating up Steve."
"You're such a cute little attack wolf." Anthony skritches Sören's beard.
"Rawr."
They lean on each other, making snarky commentary at Dr. Phil, petting the kitties, as the timer ticks and the vibe hums. It's a simple life, a far cry from the villa in Blackheath and the Audi and the champagne-on-a-yacht black-tie parties of "the squad", but Anthony wouldn't trade it for anything. He smiles, feeling content. Hoping the peace will last, that their shop will stay afloat, that neither of them will get COVID again, that they won't have a run-in with someone giving them grief for enforcing a mask policy. Maine is a liberal state - it's one of the reasons why Anthony chose to relocate here, after he left New York - but MAGA is unfortunately alive and well everywhere, and Anthony is tired of these "freedom fighters" who almost killed his husband.
The timer goes off and Anthony gets up. Time to grill. He tousles Sören's curls and then, with an evil grin, he turns the vibe up. Sören whimpers.
"I'm gonna get you," Sören teases, sticking his tongue out.
Anthony looks at Dr. Phil, and back at Sören. "Cash me outside, howbowdah."
Sören facepalms, shaking with silent laughter. "You know, that sounds completely wrong in your British accent." Anthony's lived here since 2013 and still sounds like a Londoner; Sören's Icelandic accent is milder but still noticeable.
Once everything is on the grill, Anthony leans on the balcony railing, looking out at the neighborhood. He sees their boomer neighbor, Mr. Peterson, walking his collie. Mr. Peterson waves and Anthony waves back. If anyone disapproves of having a gay couple on their street they haven't said anything about it, which Anthony is grateful for.
Mr. Peterson stops for a moment. "Ayuh, I told my daughter Jodie you was opening tomorrow so she'll be in looking for some books."
"Thank you, we appreciate the business."
"You're welcome. Good luck."
As Mr. Peterson and his collie resume their walk, Anthony's phone goes off. It's the special ringtone he has for his mother, "Boadicea" by Enya. He answers after one ring, doing the mental math - the UK is five hours ahead, so it's almost ten PM her time. "Mum, why are you up? Go to bed."
Elaine laughs. "You don't run my life, Dad."
Anthony chuckles too. Then he starts to panic a little - it's very not like her to call in the evening her time. "Oh god. Are you OK? Is Uncle Nige OK? Is -"
"More or less." Elaine exhales. "Look, I've debated telling you this, because you've got enough troubles of your own, but -"
"Out with it."
"I was diagnosed with cancer a week ago, and then I fell off the wagon."
That was twelve years of sobriety gone. Anthony pinches the bridge of his nose and opens his mouth but no words come out.
Anthony knows, of course, that recovery is not linear, and most addicts relapse. But he also knows his mum had been strong during the peak of the pandemic, the isolation of lockdown and her feeling like she was playing roulette any time she had to leave the house, so that this is coming now, as infection rates are slowing down and places are re-opening, is a bit of a shock. Anthony grabs the railing, white-knuckled.
"Anthony, are you there?"
"Er, yes Mum. Sorry." He goes with the pragmatic question first. "What kind of cancer is it, and how far along are you?"
"It's ovarian cancer and it's 1B, still fairly early stage so my prognosis is good, but it's just. The proverbial straw. And now I can't avoid going in for appointments and hoping I don't get sick at the doctor's, while my immune system is dealing with chemo and radiation."
"Yeah." Anthony sighs. "I'm sorry." He doesn't know what else to say. He doesn't want to lose his mum, they've been trying to repair their relationship the last twelve years. There's also now a nagging voice in the back of his head: you're over forty and you have a first-degree family history of ovarian cancer, so now you're going to have to get screened and probably misgendered and -
Anthony wants to kick himself. Oh Jesus Bleeding Sodding Wanking Christ, don't make it all about you. But just hearing the word "ovarian" makes him cringe. He still has his original plumbing - bottom surgery is expensive and complicated, and Anthony has had enough growth down there on T that it's good enough; T also stops his period - but memories of painful menstrual cycles and the intensified dysphoria while on his period are still all too clear.
Now the dysphoria is chased by something else: the ache of possibly losing his mum, whether to cancer or COVID. She'll be seventy-one in October, he knows she won't live forever, but it still hurts.
"Like I said, Anthony, I held back telling you, but after talking it over with my sponsor I thought it was probably better to just be honest with you."
"No, I'm glad you did. Well, not glad. I... I'm not glad you have bloody cancer. Bugger. Shit."
"Anthony, language."
Anthony tries not to laugh. "If you're up at this hour, I get to swear."
"You never stop being a lawyer, do you?"
Now Anthony does laugh.
"It's good to hear you laugh," Elaine goes on. "How are you doing? How's Sören, and the kitties?"
"We're all doing well. We're re-opening tomorrow, hopefully the business won't go under."
"A lot of people have taken up reading during the pandemic, so you might get some customers thirsty for new reading material, or at least that's what I hope."
And if not, I've got other thirsty customers, Anthony thinks to himself but doesn't say it aloud. He hasn't told his mother about what he and Sören have been doing to supplement the money Elaine and Nigel send them, and he isn't ever planning on having that conversation.
"I don't want to keep you," Elaine says, "and I'm sorry for telling you like this instead of a more thought-out e-mail -"
"Well, it's good to hear your voice, and yeah I'm making dinner so I can't stay on very long. Thank you for telling me, and calling." Anthony looks out at the trees, which will start turning in about a month. "With travel restrictions easing up, maybe once you're feeling better you can come out and visit. I wish you could see Maine in the fall, Mum, the foliage is gorgeous."
"Maybe Christmas?"
"We'd like that a lot." Anthony smiles. His smile fades as he wonders if it'll be her last Christmas.
"All right. Let's tentatively plan to get together over Christmas and in the meantime I'll keep you posted on treatment if you'd like to know -"
"Yes, please, otherwise I'll worry." He's going to worry anyway, and he knows he's going to have a visceral reaction to Elaine having chemo and radiation, but it's his duty.
"OK. I love you, Anthony."
"I love you too, Mum. Bye."
Anthony tears up as he takes the steaks and vegetable skewers off the grill. He tries to hide it from Sören as he brings it into the kitchen and sets up plates, but at least he has an excuse to pull himself together without Sören seeing. "Sweetheart, can you wait for me in the bedroom till I tell you to come out?"
Sören goes down the hall to the larger of their two bedrooms; the other is Sören's art studio. Anthony takes out the roses he brought home from the supermarket, putting them in the fridge to keep them out of Sören's view, and then he spreads a blanket on the living room floor, arranges pillows, lights candles in votive holders and hurricane glasses, and scatters rose petals around the blanket and pillows. His last step is to open a can of cat food, hoping that will keep the cats from trying to steal bits of steak. He whistles for Sören to come out, and Sören's face lights up as he looks at the candlelight and the rose petals.
"Oh, elskan." Sören's voice is husky. "You're so sweet."
Anthony takes Sören's hand and kisses it, then once Sören is seated Anthony brings over his plate and silverware. He pops open a bottle of sparkling cider and pours it into wine glasses; they're both wary of alcohol with a mutual family history of alcoholism. They clink glasses, sip, and begin eating. The food is good, and for a few minutes they eat in companionable silence and Anthony lets the food ground him, trying to get his mind off the stress, but then Sören says, "I heard you talking out on the balcony."
"It was Mum."
"Wow, that's late for her to be calling. Is she OK?"
"She has cancer."
"Oh Jesus." Sören swallows hard, his eyes wide. "I'm so sorry."
"Yeah, so am I." Anthony sighs. "I hope you don't mind, but I invited her for Christmas -"
"No, I don't mind." While Sören has complicated feelings about Elaine abandoning Anthony to the bottle, he also understands Elaine has been trying to do better and he's cordial with his mother-in-law. "Better her coming here than us going there, yanno? I don't want to try to find arrangements for the cats."
Anthony nods.
"What kind of cancer?" Sören raises an eyebrow.
"Ovarian." Anthony rolls the word around, hearing the edge of discomfort in his voice.
He doesn't need to explain; Sören gets it. Sören puts down his plate and utensils and reaches out to hug Anthony for a long moment. "Oof," Sören says.
Anthony pats him, comforted by the warm blanket-like shield wall of Sören's hug.
When he's ready to speak again, Anthony says, "She's early-stage so her odds are good, but the treatment will suppress her immune system and -"
"Jæja, that sucks. Anything I can do to help?"
"Just keep being you."
Sören gives a sad smile. Then he adjusts his position - Anthony can smell how aroused Sören is now, with the vibe teasing him for an hour - and Sören clears his throat and says, "You know, if you need to take a rain check, if you want me to just hold you tonight -"
Anthony loves what a gentleman Sören is - and tonight he needs Sören to not be one. "Oh no. I need some good stress relief, punishing that bratty arse of yours." He winks. "And other parts."
"OK. If you insist." Sören makes a staple-hand-to-forehead gesture.
Anthony quietly turns up the vibe to the highest setting. "Actually... we could make a vid tonight."
Sören nods. "I'd been hoping you would suggest that, when I sent the picture." Sören grins and giggles.
Anthony shakes his head, chuckling - he loves this incorrigible man. "Yeah. So I think we'll do that, create some good content for those thirsty fuckers."
In 2020, after they had to shutter their shop in lockdown and money started getting tight, and they were at a loss of safe things they could do from home to make money, Sören jokingly suggested they do OnlyFans. But then they decided that was actually a good idea. They were already having a lot of sex with so much time on their hands, they might as well video-record some of it and make money, and post sexy photos of themselves, called "thirst traps".
They didn't just make decent money from subscribers and tips, but they found they had a kink for it. The camera - and the knowledge that there are people watching them, getting off - gives them a naughty thrill which makes the sex even hotter and more intense; there's no need to act. One of Anthony's pre-transition fantasies had been attending an all-male orgy, men watching as he fucked different guys, and after he and Sören got together the fantasy turned to people watching the two of them, like a ritual. This is as close as he can get to fulfilling that fantasy, and Anthony loves it. Sören also has an exhibitionist streak.
And, as much as neither of them care for chasers who see them as a fetish rather than a person, it still feels good to get compliments from random strangers of different genders about how hot they are. It helps Anthony and Sören feel more confident with themselves; sometimes Anthony downright feels like a stud. Anthony has had some lingering issues about the limits of what transition could do to shape his body, and having scars from being stabbed has made him self-conscious - Sören's insatiable lust certainly helps a lot, but this is also a balm for his soul, enough so that even when the shop re-opens, Sören and Anthony want to keep making new videos for their OnlyFans, because they like it.
One of their specialties is BDSM content; performing makes them put more thought into what scenes they'd like to do together, so they've become a bit more creative, a bit kinkier, and that's enriched their already-delicious sex life.
Now Anthony tries to distract himself from the worry about his mother, and the discomfort with anything "female"-related - and his guilt for those feelings when his mother is suffering - by planning what he's going to do to Sören. Some more teasing is in order, he thinks.
Lots of it.
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