Sören is sore from last night, especially his ass and his pussy.
He can't stop smiling. He feels like he's high.
It's a cool, cloudy day - a reminder that summer is just about over. In between customers at the cafe, Sören continues work on Swan Prince Anthony on his Wacom tablet. The high from last night's scene feeds his creative energy, and he gets lost enough in his art that when he does have to wait on someone it startles him, but as the day wears on he gets a nagging uneasy feeling he can't put his finger on, and when he takes a break to get up and stretch and looks at the clock, it hits him: Mark hasn't come in yet today, and it's past the time when he usually shows up.
Sören feels weird about his reaction. He barely knows Mark. He likes Mark, from their interactions, but he doesn't know much about him. They're friendly, but not quite friends... and Sören isn't so sure he should be trying to make friends with customers, as personal relationships can be complicated and if the friendship goes south, they lose business. But Sören can't help feeling a touch of concern, and as the hours wear on and Mark hasn't come in yet to read and have something to eat and drink, Sören's anxiety grows, to the point where he can't concentrate on his art.
That turns out to be just as well, as a middle-aged man and woman in matching boonie hats and khakis, who Sören assumes is a couple, are browsing his gallery of paintings and pottery. Sören gets up and lightly clears his throat, going into curator mode. "Hi," Sören says. "I'm the artist, and if you have any questions about any of the pieces here, like if you want to hear a story about them, or -"
The man, who has nape-length grey hair and a scruffy grey beard, kind blue eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses, points to one of Sören's paintings, of the Kirkjufellsfoss in a pink-orange-gold sunset, with wildflowers blooming in the green grass and the dramatic Kirkjufell mountain in the background. "How much is this?"
"And this," the woman says, plump with curly grey hair, pointing to a vase in iridescent swirls of teal and indigo, textured with Icelandic lava, and cracks lined with real gold. "It's stunning."
Sören takes a deep breath and quotes them. He braces himself - he's gotten remarks about "charging too much" for his work, from people not understanding how much time and effort goes into pieces like this, not understanding that art is work...
...and to his surprise and relief, they look at each other and nod. "That's very fair," the man says and takes out his wallet.
"We'll take both of them," the woman says.
"For today," the man adds. He points at another painting, this one of the incredibly green Ásbyrgi Canyon, claimed in myth to be the "capital city" of the elves. "I think we'll be coming back for that one next paycheck."
"Fond memories of our visits to Iceland."
Sören's face lights up, pleased that they recognize the locations because they've been there. "Oh, já? That's where I'm from."
"I thought so by your accent." The woman nods. "Such a beautiful place, I'm surprised you left."
"I left for love," Sören says. A part of him is always homesick, but Anthony is his home.
"Oh, that's so sweet." The woman puts her hand on her heart, then she takes her husband's hand.
"Looking at the painting it feels like I'm back," the man says. "Every single one of them is... like a magic portal."
"And all of your pottery is gorgeous," the woman says. "I might need a few different pieces for my plants."
"But for now, we'll start with these and... some coffee. And we have books picked out and waiting for us at the register," the man says.
"I can bring the painting and the vase over when you're ready to check out. In the meantime..." Sören gestures for them to follow.
Sören tries to restrain himself from giggling, jumping and doing a little dance as he makes coffee for his patrons. He can't believe he's selling not one, but two pieces of art and they're interested in more. He wants to hug them. He wants to run around and scream. No matter how many times he's sold his art, it's still a rush for someone to love it enough to want to buy it. It's not just about the money - though there is that, he doesn't go cheap, and each piece that sells is a much-needed boon to their finances - but it's about someone else appreciating his vision, connecting with it, his labor of love touching them in some way. It never gets old.
When they've had their coffee, Sören carries the painting over, then the vase, and wraps them himself as Anthony handles the transaction. He tries to be cool and professional, but he feels ready to burst, and as soon as they're out the door, Sören falls apart, sobbing.
Anthony hugs him. "Oh, sweetheart."
"I'm OK," Sören chokes out through his tears. "Just, yanno."
"I know." Anthony has seen this before. His arms tighten around Sören and he starts rocking him. "Congratulations! So proud of you." He kisses Sören's forehead.
Sören sobs harder with joy and relief - as well as a slight touch of sadness, because he'll never see those pieces again, even though he's glad they sold.
Anthony walks Sören over to one of the armchairs. He sits down and pulls Sören onto his lap, holding him, rocking him. After awhile it starts to rain, and Sören is snuggled into Anthony's chest, and the beat of Anthony's heart and the sound of the rain are calming. Anthony pets and skritches Sören's curls and beard, rubs his back, making soothing noises. "Proud of you," Anthony reiterates. "You're such a good artist, your work deserves praise and sales. You deserve to be famous."
"Well, I'm not sure I would want that kind of notoriety." Sören gives a nervous laugh. "Having an OnlyFans is enough."
"Speaking of..." Anthony pulls his cell phone from his pocket, pulls up the Internet, and a few minutes later he shows Sören how much they earned in tips so far from the video they made last night, that Anthony edited and posted this morning.
Sören claps his hand to his mouth and giggles. They have an established pattern of getting more money when Anthony fucks Sören with a strap and Sören gets vocal, but Sören still loves to see it, and the compliments about how hot they are and how hot he is make Sören flush, feeling a little giddy. A far cry from his days pre-transition when he struggled with self-confidence.
Anthony gives Sören a squeeze, and then he puts his phone away and starts tenderly kissing the tears still sliding down Sören's cheeks, silently. "I love you."
"I love you too."
He continues kissing Sören's tears, and when they stop, they rub noses. Anthony kisses him on the lips, then their lips part and their tongues swirl and slide. One kiss becomes another, sensual and teasing. Sören gets up and re-positions himself, straddling Anthony's lap, grinding against him as they kiss some more. Sören gets lost in the heat of the moment, thinking about the passion between them last night... wanting Anthony all over again. Anthony's hands stroke down his back and cup his ass. Anthony slaps Sören's ass and Sören growls and starts kissing and licking Anthony's neck, rubbing against him a little faster.
"You know," Anthony rasps, "someone could come any minute."
Sören grins. "I hope it's one of us, Daddy."
Anthony chuckles, then he smacks Sören's ass again. "You are incorrigible."
"Takk."
"And insatiable."
"For you," Sören says, and claims his mouth again. Anthony groans and pulls on the O-ring of Sören's collar, kissing him back fiercely.
Sören loves it when they're like this, so far gone in their lust for each other that they throw caution to the wind. Sören keeps rubbing against him as they kiss and kiss, and Sören lets out a little cry as Anthony licks and nibbles his neck.
Then Anthony gently pushes him off - breathing harder, cheeks flushed, pupils dilated - and Sören climbs off his lap and Anthony gets up. "Wait here," Anthony says, and walks out of the store.
Sören knows he's going up the flight of outside stairs to their apartment, and wonders about it. He perches on one of the arms of the armchair, waiting, hoping nobody comes in while Anthony's gone. When Anthony comes in - a little damp from the rain outside - he grabs Sören and pulls him into another deep, fiery kiss... and slips something into Sören's palm. Sören's fingers wrap around it and he recognizes the bullet vibrator.
Anthony pats him and gestures towards the bathroom. "Go put that down your pants."
Sören scampers off. He's so horny that his hands are shaking as he takes down his jeans and boxer-briefs. He nestles the vibe against his cock and pulls up his underwear, re-adjusting his packer, then he does his jeans back up. As he washes his hands, the vibe turns on - not enough to make him come, just enough to make him more aroused and frustrated. Sören lets out a little whine; Anthony is an evil bastard sometimes, though he loves it.
Sören rubs against the edge of the sink, feeling like a cat in heat. All he's doing is making it worse. He splashes some cold water on his hot face, preens a little in the mirror, and finally he comes out. Anthony isn't at the front of the store anymore, and Sören walks around looking for him. He finds Anthony in the YA section, putting some books away, and he shoves Anthony against the bookshelf, kissing him passionately, grinding against him.
Anthony moans and slaps Sören's ass. "You sure you want to play this game, pet?" Anthony turns up the vibe - still not enough to make Sören come. The vibe quietly purrs away at Sören's cock, and Sören whimpers as he feels himself starting to cream.
"Teases get teased," Anthony rasps, playing with the O-ring of Sören's collar. "That's the rule."
Sören makes a staple-hand-to-forehead gesture.
Anthony comes closer, keeping his voice down. "It's going to be a long rest of the day, with that thing keeping you on edge till the battery dies. And the next time you tease me at work, I'm going to take you in the cafe and fist-fuck you so hard you squirt all over the counter and have to clean it up."
A delicious shiver goes through Sören, getting harder and wetter for him. Even his nipples are aching now. "Promises, promises."
"Yes, indeed." Anthony kisses him.
Sören giggles, feeling naughty. He kisses the tip of Anthony's nose and wrinkles his own. "I guess I'll be giving another Korn concert."
"Oh god." Anthony facepalms, laughing.
Sören can't resist a moment of silliness. He begins stomping around, thrusting his pelvis like he did last night. "BOOM da da boom da da EEMA, a boom da da BOOM da da EEMA, SOMETHING, on the dum na na EEMA, fight, somethings they FIIIIIIIIIIIIGHT -"
Just then, Mark heads into the YA aisle. Sören freezes in his tracks, mortified, face on fire. "Oh, hi Mark." He wants to drill a hole into the floor, crawl in and die. Of course, he hadn't heard the bells at the door from the bathroom, and assumed it was still just he and Anthony in the store, no customers.
Mark waves, shaking with silent laughter, not bothering to hide his amusement. "Hi."
"It's, ah. It's nice to see you. I was getting worried when you didn't show up at your usual time." Sören feels weird admitting to that aloud, feeling like he sounds like a crazy stalker or a smothering mother hen, or a very insincere snake-oil salesman trying to charm a customer.
"Oh wow, really?" Mark gives a little laugh. "I was in Portland. When it started to feel like rain I left."
Sören wonders what Mark was doing in Portland, but doesn't want to pry. "You want anything to eat or drink?" To his horror, his mind goes immediately in the gutter - Sören is so horny that Mark, as gorgeous as he is, is turning him on too. Sören wonders what Mark looks like naked. Wonders what Mark is like as a lover.
You don't know if he's queer, Sören admonishes himself, and if he'd even be into trans guys, most cis guys aren't. Not to mention you're with Anthony.
...He could join in.
The thought of having a threesome with Mark and Anthony, sucking and fucking in different positions, hands caressing naked bodies, voices moaning... Sören shudders, feeling himself dripping. Then he tries to shove those thoughts away as quickly as possible. They're not quite friends, Mark is a customer, trying to mix business with pleasure is bad even without the complications of whether or not Anthony would be OK with it and whether or not Mark has a genital preference. Sören can't be thinking like this. But nonetheless, he can't help admiring Mark - even with his mask on, those eyes, that hair, that body.
"In a little while," Mark says. "Going to do some browsing first."
Sören salutes. "I'll be in the cafe when you're ready."
Yesterday, Anthony offered Mark a free sandwich for putting up with Sören's dad jokes, so Mark just has to pay for a drink today. To Sören's surprise, Mark puts a five-dollar bill in the tip jar, rather than his spare change. Sören's eyebrows shoot up. That's above and beyond twenty percent - that's more than the cost of Mark's drink.
"Oh, that's... that's too much," Sören says, not wanting to insult him but not wanting to cause him financial pain, either.
Mark waves his hand. "No, it's not. Please."
Sören restrains the question of are you sure. He's put two and two together that Mark seems to not have a job, or not a lot of money, and he wonders why Mark thinks he can afford a five-dollar tip today, and he decides that's not his business. He hopes for Mark's sake that his assessment of Mark's situation is wrong, and maybe Mark does have a job - in Portland - or something else.
Sören wants to make small talk and break the ice, but he's terrible at it. It doesn't help that the bullet vibe quietly buzzing against his cock is distracting him, sex on the brain, thinking of Anthony... having more forbidden thoughts about Mark. Especially as Mark sips his drink and Sören wonders what those lips would look like wrapped around his cock.
Sören feels a wave of relief when Mark heads out of the cafe, putting his mask back up, but he stays awhile, continuing to browse books, this time putting some in a basket, and when he has a stack of about a dozen he parks in an armchair and starts reading a thick one. Sören tries to get back to his art, but he feels like his brain has short-circuited.
Finally Mark checks out; Sören finds himself following Mark to the register, trying not to stare at Mark's ass. Mark keeps nervously glancing out the shop window at the rain, and when he's all paid up and the books are in a paper bag, he says, "Do you mind if I pull up to the front door, and one of you hands this to me? I don't want the books to get wet in the parking lot."
The weather isn't all that's wet, Sören thinks to himself, squirming a little as he drips again. He looks at Anthony, who looks over at Mark and nods. "That's fine, I'll bring your bag out to you," he says.
Sören and Anthony wait by the door, and when an old-looking grey Dodge Ram van pulls up, Anthony boops Sören's nose and struts outside. Anthony comes back as the van rolls out.
The rest of the evening is quiet, they only have a couple more customers, and they decide to close ten minutes early. When the cafe and the bathroom and the front of the shop are all clean, Anthony handles the cash in the register and they head upstairs. The vibe's battery has long since died but Sören is still ready to scream with sexual frustration.
He has to wait awhile longer. Anthony makes dinner - bean-and-cheese enchiladas tonight, one of Sören's comfort foods - and while Anthony works in the kitchen, Sören comes over and rubs up on him, whining.
"Daddy," Sören begs. "Can we fuck now, and have dinner later?"
Anthony throws his head back and laughs. His answer to that is to slap Sören's ass.
That just makes Sören even hornier. He keeps rubbing on Anthony, whimpering.
Anthony kisses him, boops his nose, and smacks Sören's ass again. "You," he says, "are as bad as the cats, if not worse."
Sören grins and starts meowing. Anthony laughs harder, steals another kiss, and once the enchiladas are in the oven, they kiss some more, kissing all the way to the couch. They have a hot makeout session while the food is cooking, kissing, tongues teasing, hands wandering and groping. "You are so naughty," Anthony purrs, kissing Sören's neck. "Such a naughty boy." He licks down Sören's neck, and up, takes kisses and licks back down, little nibbles here and there, driving Sören wild. Sören clutches at him, making desperate noises.
When dinner is ready, Sören wolfs his food down, both because it's good and because he's eager to get done so they can get down to business. Anthony laughs at him again, and when Anthony does the dishes, Sören is back to grinding on him in the kitchen, begging... meowing like a cat, making them both laugh.
"Go get the leash," Anthony says, looking Sören up and down, a wicked little smirk on his face.
Sören runs off to grab the leash, excited, and runs back - even though he's out of breath now he has no regrets. Sören kneels and Anthony clips the leash into the O-ring on Sören's collar and rests his hand on Sören's head for a moment, then he gestures to the couch. "Sit while I finish this."
Sören feels ready to explode by the time the dishes are done. "Please?" he begs as Anthony approaches.
Anthony looks out the window, then at the door. It's stopped raining. He gestures for Sören to get up. "I think I want to take my kitty on walkies first."
"...Outside?"
"Yeah." Anthony walks to the window and takes a look around the neighborhood. "It's dark, nobody's out."
Even so, the risk of getting caught - someone seeing Anthony leading Sören around on a leash, out in public - is still there... and Sören finds it thrilling, fueling his lust even hotter as Anthony pulls him along up and down the street. They've done pet play before, but not in a long time, and not in public.
As they approach the shop, they notice the parking lot isn't empty, as it's supposed to be at night - only Anthony's car is allowed to be parked there. Upon closer inspection, Sören realizes it's the same grey Dodge Ram van that Mark had pulled in front of the shop earlier.
"That's Mark's van," Sören whispers to Anthony.
"I hope he's all right." Anthony frowns. "I hope his battery didn't die."
With Sören still on the leash, Anthony marches up to Mark's van. Anthony is so much in Helper Mode that Sören thinks he might have forgotten about the leash and the level of appropriateness - or maybe he doesn't care. Sören finds himself getting all the hornier, either way. Anthony peers in through the passenger's window at the empty driver's seat, like he's expecting Mark to be in the back. "Hello? Mark?"
There's no response.
Anthony waits. "Mark? Are you in there? Do you need a jump or something?"
Sören's mind immediately goes in the gutter again, thinking of how he'd like to "give Mark a jump". He shoves that thought away and says, "I don't think he's in there, like he probably just parked it if he had trouble and walked to wherever he lives."
"Yeah, you're right." Anthony sighs and nods, and begins leading Sören away from the van. "Well, I'm not going to call a towing company, and I doubt the police will be through here to try to have him towed." Anthony shrugs.
They go back upstairs, feed the cats again, and then Anthony pulls Sören closer to him, tugging on the leash, and kisses him deeply, then more gently.
"Will you put on the kitty ears and tail for me tonight?" Anthony asks.
Sören grins. He had bought it for his first proper American Halloween, and they'd found out they had a fetish for it. Anthony lets Sören off the leash long enough for Sören to get ready, putting on the black cat ears headband, and the matching cat tail buttplug. Finally he comes up to the bedroom door and leans on it, crossing his legs, attempting to give Anthony a sultry look. "Mrowr."
They decide to get it on camera, both for their enjoyment as well as their subscribers. After they're set up and the candles are lit, and Anthony's naked too, Anthony walks Sören on the leash, over to the bed, and once they're on the bed together, Sören crawls to him on all fours like a cat, meowing, and Sören headbutts him in the face. They laugh, and Anthony gives Sören a sweet little kiss, then a deeper, more sensual kiss.
Sören purrs, kneading Anthony, and they kiss again.
"Does my kitty want to give me a bath?" Anthony asks.
Sören nods eagerly. "Mrowr!"
Anthony lays back, propped up against pillows, and Sören starts kissing and licking down his neck and throat. Sören kisses the sweet hollow of Anthony's neck and shoulder on one side, then the other. Sören takes one of Anthony's arms and licks it all over from his bicep down his forearm, licks the palm of Anthony's hand and licks and sucks each of his fingers, then his thumb. Then Sören licks and nuzzles his way back up the arm, lifts Anthony's arm and nuzzles his armpit, breathing in the masculine scent of him, even licking his armpit. Anthony sighs, sensitive there. Sören does the same with the other arm, tongue playing down the bicep and forearm, licking Anthony's hand, licking and sucking his fingers, licking back up his arm to nuzzle and kiss his armpit.
Sören kisses and licks across Anthony's collarbone, then down his chest. Anthony's nipples aren't that sensitive after top surgery but Sören kisses them anyway, loving all of him. He nuzzles and licks Anthony's chest hair, enjoying the silky feel of it, and Anthony moans softly. Anthony moans louder as Sören licks at his stomach, kissing here and there. Anthony starts skritching Sören's beard and curls, making Sören giggle. "Good kitty," Anthony says, and boops Sören's nose, then moans again as Sören nibbles at his navel. "Oh fuck, kitty."
Sören smiles and continues licking, kissing and nibbling over his stomach, knowing he's sensitive. Sören kisses over to one hip, nibbles some more, and licks and nuzzles the hairy thigh, which makes Anthony moan even louder, arched to him, breath in shuddery little gasps. "You're so sexy, Daddy," Sören husks, his hand stroking the other thigh. He kisses behind the knee, kisses and licks up his thigh to the seam of his crotch. He nuzzles Anthony's pubes on his way to the other thigh, licking and kissing as he caresses up and down the first thigh, then his fingers stray to Anthony's cock, and down the wet folds.
Anthony skritches him again. "Does kitty want some cream?"
"Mrowr!"
Sören nuzzles Anthony's pubes again and starts to lap Anthony's cock, slowly. Sören feels his own cream dripping down his thighs as he licks at Anthony. His tongue rubs at Anthony's folds, and he sucks one into his mouth, then the other, then his tongue rubs Anthony's cock some more before his lips wrap around it and he begins slurping away. Anthony bucks and cries out, tugging Sören's curls with one hand, the leash with the other. Sören keeps sucking, fingering Anthony as he sucks, aching for his own release but wanting to please Anthony first, wanting to worship him, loving every moan and gasp and sigh, the look on Anthony's face as he loses it bit by bit. Soon Anthony is fucking Sören's mouth and Sören loves it, slurping harder, reaching down to rub his own cock with his fingers slick from Anthony's juices, then his fingers are in Anthony again as he sucks for all he's worth, eyes meeting Anthony's.
"Oh god, kitty..." Anthony lets out that telltale shuddering gasp, eyes wide.
"Mmmmmmm."
"Oh fuck!" Anthony shivers, and his cock twitches in Sören's mouth, as he contracts around Sören's fingers, cream gushing.
Sören takes a few last licks, savoring the thick, sweet-musk cream, and then he slides up to kiss him. "Mrowr," Sören says, making Anthony laugh. They rub noses and Sören headbutts him like a cat, kneads on him as Anthony curls up against him, coming down from his climax.
"Good kitty." Anthony skritches Sören's curls, rubs his back. "Such a good kitty."
"Mrowr."
Anthony rests for a moment, then they're kissing again and Anthony's hand reaches between Sören's legs. "Oh baby, you are so wet."
"Mrowr!"
Anthony laughs, gives him another kiss, and then he boops Sören's nose. "I think kitty needs a bath, too. You need a bath all over."
Sören gets down on all fours. Anthony kisses and licks Sören's back, tracing the lines of Sören's ink with his tongue, then his tongue slides down Sören's spine, making him shiver. Anthony kisses and nibbles Sören's ass cheeks, slaps them - Sören shakes his butt playfully, making the tail buttplug wiggle. Anthony kisses and licks the backs of Sören's thighs, then he moves closer, and begins working the tail plug in and out of Sören's ass as he eats at Sören from behind, licking and sucking his cock. Sören grabs fistfuls of the sheets, yowling, gasping for breath.
Before he can come, Anthony has Sören roll over. He ties the leash to one of the bedposts and kisses Sören deeply, then kisses, licks, and nibbles Sören's neck, kisses and nibbles each shoulder. He laps and suckles Sören's nipples, playing with one as his mouth works on the other. He tugs a nipple ring with his teeth as his hand pulls on the other one, and then he sucks it harder, before going to the other. Back and forth, until Sören is writhing, begging. Anthony licks and bites Sören's stomach, his thighs, his index finger gently stroking Sören's cock, a naughty look in those sexy green eyes as his tongue slides over Sören's skin.
At last Anthony's head is between Sören's legs and he starts sucking Sören's cock. Sören bucks, whimpering. Anthony sucks slowly at first, still teasing him, then he gets into it, sucking harder and faster, his fingers banging in and out of Sören's dripping cunt, making those filthy wet sloppy sounds that drive them both crazy, as loud as Sören's broken cries. When Sören gets close again, Anthony stops sucking and licks at Sören's cock, teasing it again, his moans joining Sören's - Sören loves that this turns Anthony on too. Anthony finally relents and resumes sucking Sören's cock, nursing on it, until Sören comes hard, crying out.
Anthony laps up the flowing juices and comes up to kiss Sören, sharing them. He brings Sören's hand down between his legs, and Sören moans softly at how hard and wet Anthony still is. It doesn't take much for Anthony to get Sören going again, the two of them playing with each other's cocks, kissing.
Anthony unties the leash from the bedpost and wraps it around his hand again and they get into a sixty-nine, laying at each other's sides, the cameras positioned so in the edit they can go back and forth between perspectives. They eat each other hungrily, shaking and bobbing their heads, suckling, moaning around each other's cocks. The pleasure builds and builds and builds until they're both quivering, tension wound tight to the shatterpoint. Sören comes, howling around the cock in his mouth and a few seconds later Anthony comes too, twitching in Sören's mouth with a deep, satisfied grunt. Sören watches him contract as he laps up the dripping cream, his own contractions intensified. He sighs with relief and happiness.
"I love you." Anthony kisses Sören, and rains kisses over his face.
"Mrowr." Sören headbutts him like a cat again.
They laugh and Anthony skritches his curls and beard. "My good kitty."
"I love you, Daddy." Sören snuggles against him, perfectly content.
As they lay there, Sören feels deep gratitude for the way his life is right now, compared to several years ago when he was still living in Iceland and everything was harder pre-transition and during transition. Their business is doing well, Sören sold art today, they're still very much in love. Life is good. He feels good. Everything is so, so good.
Then Sören thinks of Mark, paying with exact change most of the time, driving a beat-up old van. One that now appears to be stalled in their parking lot. He hopes Mark will be OK. He thinks about asking, but he doesn't want to intrude or make Mark uncomfortable. But he finds himself worrying again, just like he'd worried when Mark wasn't there at his usual time.
You're way too invested in someone who's just a customer. Jesus.
And even so, emotions don't work on a switch; Sören can't just switch off the concern.
Sören tries to relax, focusing on the weight and shape of Anthony's body against his, feeling Anthony's arms around him, feeling Anthony's heartbeat and breath. But then the thought occurs to him: what if Mark's van isn't in their parking lot overnight because of something like a dead battery, but because Mark is living in his van?
That seems like a reach - just because someone appears to be cash-poor doesn't mean they're homeless - but maybe Mark considers them less likely to have him towed than if he parks elsewhere overnight.
Sören really hopes that isn't the case, that idea hurts to think about. He hears himself make a noise of distress.
"You OK?" Anthony picks up Sören's chin and looks him in the eye.
Sören nods and kisses the tip of Anthony's nose, then rests his head on Anthony's shoulder. Stop thinking about Mark, he tells himself, and closes his eyes.
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