Sören was pulling a particularly long shift from Sunday evening through most of Monday, and after a brain tumor excision he was feeling pretty brain drained himself, chugging coffee to get through the remaining hours. Then he heard himself being paged to the front desk, something he wasn't expecting, hoping that it wasn't the family of one of his patients, asking questions.
There was a young man dressed in a bland, nondescript outfit, polo shirt and khakis, except his polo shirt had a logo from a florist on it. He was carrying a clipboard and held it out to Sören. "Mr. Sigurðsson? Please sign."
"What am I signing for?" Sören was confused.
Then he saw it - a dozen red roses with baby's breath. Sören's heart started racing as he signed. He picked up the bouquet and walked it to the break room, where he'd be putting a note out that they were his, to take home when his shift was done. In the meantime, there was a small card attached to the bouquet - Starry Night by Van Gogh on the outside, which happened to be Sören's favorite painting of all time, one that Sören had a framed print of in his living room. Either someone had done their research, or they really got lucky with their choice of card. Sören opened the card, heavy stock with a light blue inside. A careful, elegant hand wrote:
He walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in his aspect and his eyes.
That was a lovely first date, I can't wait to see you again.
-A
Sören actually squeaked out loud. His colleagues Pamela and Colin were in the break room; Colin gave him a look of amusement, perfect white teeth lighting up his chocolate face.
"Someone gave you flowers?"
Sören nodded, biting his lower lip. His face was on fire and his heart was turning cartwheels.
"Either someone really appreciates a procedure or you've got yourself an admirer," Pamela said with a toss of her red hair, "and I'm guessing from that look on your face it's the latter."
"Jæja, I think so." Sören's face burned even harder, and he could feel himself grinning like an idiot.
"Oooh, do dish, who's the lucky bloke?" Pamela raised an eyebrow.
"Lawyer," Sören said. "Tall, dark, handsome." Hung. "Very charming. We, ah, went out on Saturday. It was nice."
"Seems a bit better than nice from the look on your face," Pamela said.
"Yeah," Colin said. "Quite a bit."
"Our sweet little Sören has a boyfriend," Pamela said.
Sören made a "meep" noise like Beaker of the Muppets, and Pamela and Colin laughed like this was the funniest thing ever.
And even more than the caffeine, the roses and the card got him through the remainder of his shift, feeling like he was walking on air. Sören held the bouquet on the Tube ride home, nose buried in the flowers - usually commercial roses didn't have much of a fragrance but the perfume of this bouquet was downright heady, between that and the vibrant color and health of the roses it was clear Anthony had been careful about what to send Sören.
Once Sören was in his flat in Bromley and showered and changed into pajamas, before he curled up with his sketchbook, he dialed Anthony's number on his cell. It went to voice mail. Sören heard his deep, smooth velvet voice announce, "Hello, you've reached Anthony Hewlett-Johnson. I'm not available right now, please leave your name, a brief message and a callback number and I will return your call at my earliest convenience. Thank you." Beep.
Sören was so flustered just hearing that voice, his stomach doing cartwheels again, that he let out a "meep" into the phone, followed by a dying whale noise that the "meep" had actually come out of him, followed by an "ó, skítur" that he'd now made two ridiculous noises, before he hung up, smacking himself in the forehead repeatedly, screaming wordlessly with frustration at himself.
Smooth, now you sound like the biggest dumbarse who ever lived.
Sören still hit the number again, waited through the voice mail message a second time, which gave him the flutters even more, and then Sören took a deep breath and at the beep he blurted out, "Hi, Anthony, this is Sören. I just wanted to call and say thank you for the flowers. That was really thoughtful and it made my day. I also really enjoyed the weekend and want to see you again. So. Ah. Takk. PS, that was me being an arse just now, please disregard that message, I got all... stupid and gooey. Ah. Bye." Then Sören ended the call.
He was hungry and with his hours he rarely cooked, maybe a big meal once a week to have leftovers for a couple meals at best. Tonight was one of those nights where he was going to have to get takeaway again. He dialed the Indian place and as he waited, he began to sketch. While he loved Impressionist art, his own art was strongly influenced by the Pre-Raphaelites, though on the occasions he painted it was a bit more photorealistic as well as a touch of surrealism, a touch of magic in the mundane. He hadn't had any energy lately for painting, though, and yet as he kept looking at the card with his bouquet, it nagged him. He'd been thinking about painting the weekend of his birthday, but he knew he wasn't going to have time for that with whatever Anthony had planned. That was OK. In the meantime he'd just draw, his latest sketch being a garden.
When he was a bit absorbed in his sketch, his cell went off, and he wondered if it was the delivery driver - usually they just came right up. It was also still a bit soon for them to get here. Then he saw Anthony's number. He answered right away. "Jæja?"
"Hi." Anthony's voice was warm, cheerful. "I just got your message." A soft chuckle. "Messages."
"Oh god, I'm sorry, I'm an idiot -"
"You're adorable."
Sören's face was on fire again. He felt himself grinning, biting his lower lip. "Awww, takk." Sören ran a nervous hand through his curls. "Thank you so much for the roses. And the card, with the poem. That's Byron?"
"Yes. I changed the gender for obvious reasons, but that is indeed Lord Byron."
"You couldn't have known this, I don't think, but Starry Night is my favorite painting."
"I saw you looking at the prints I have framed in my flat. It seems my observation you like that school of art was correct."
"Wow." Sören didn't know whether to be impressed or terrified that Anthony had been noticing Sören looking around his flat and taking mental notes on his reactions. "Well, I do. It was a nice touch."
"I'm glad you liked it. I was a little worried you'd find the traditional red roses a bit boring -"
"Oh no! I love roses."
"I decided to err on the side of caution rather than going for something more exotic like orchids, even though you're rare and interesting enough it seems that suits better."
"Classic is always a good choice. My flat smells heavenly right now."
"Sören... what are you doing right now?"
"I am in my pajamas waiting for takeaway. I worked over 14 hours, I was up all night -"
"Dear god. You poor thing."
"So I am going to eat and then I am going to crash."
"Well, shit."
Anthony sounded so disappointed that Sören felt bad, as well as that small elated thrill that Anthony really wanted to see him. "I'm so sorry. If I wasn't, like, dead on my feet I'd tell you to come over, but -"
"It's all right." A soft sigh. "When is your break tomorrow? Can I come see you?"
"If you can get to the hospital around 1 PM, I should be available unless a surgery goes catastrophically wrong. No, that doesn't happen much."
"Brilliant. 1 it is. Would you like me to bring anything?"
"Yourself, and coffee if you don't mind."
"I don't. How do you take yours?"
"Light cream, three sugars." Sören couldn't resist. "I like my coffee like I like my men, dark and sweet."
Anthony laughed. "I'll see you tomorrow, Sören. Rest well."
"You too, when you get there."
When the call was over Sören held the phone to his heart for a moment, giving a little wistful sigh. The sound of Anthony's voice, and thinking about him, made Sören feel a bit randy - unfortunately he really was too tired for sex and had to stick to his plan of eating, sketching till he had digested enough to go lay down and sleep without an issue. He really wished Anthony could come over tonight, if only just to hold him. But the way he was feeling, he wouldn't want it to be just cuddles. The thought of the passion they'd shared on Saturday night and Sunday morning made Sören crave more.
So much more. He could get addicted to their sex pretty easily.
I could fall in love with him pretty easily, too. Sören sighed again, and wondered if he wasn't already most of the way there.
One PM on Tuesday couldn't come fast enough. Anthony was waiting for Sören in the cafe for visitors, with coffee for each of them. As soon as Sören walked in, Anthony got up from the table to pull out a chair for Sören - charmingly old-fashioned - and Sören went right to him and gave him a hug and a little kiss.
It felt so good to be in his arms again, to feel his warmth, to breathe his scent. On the other hand all of those things and the heat in Anthony's eyes made Sören's cock start to wake up, which was a bit awkward being in his scrubs.
Sören also felt self-conscious about being in his scrubs when Anthony was so put-together, today wearing a dark navy pinstripe suit with a white shirt and blue tie. Sören realized that Anthony knew he was coming to the hospital and seeing him in scrubs was expected, but he still felt stupid just the same, in awe of this gorgeous, elegant man. Sören's face was on fire as he sat down, and it burned even more as Anthony pushed the cup of coffee across the table to him, putting his hands over Sören's and looking into his eyes before Sören could take the cup.
"Takk," Sören said. He felt himself grinning like an idiot again, reluctantly pulling his hands away from Anthony's to start on his coffee. "How are you?"
"Better, now that I can look at you."
Sören's stomach was turning flip-flops, his heart soaring. "I. Ah. Like looking at you too." Then Sören gestured to his scrubs. "Jesus, I'm a wreck."
"I did ask you out with you in your scrubs, Sören. You're cute."
Sören crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip. He reached with his free hand to squeeze Anthony's hand as he sipped his coffee.
"When does your shift end?" Anthony asked.
"It doesn't," Sören joked, and then he shook his head and with a frown he said, "Late. Probably later than you ought to be staying up if you've got work tomorrow."
Anthony frowned too.
"I'm sorry." Sören hated seeing the sadness in his eyes. Then he sighed, wondering if this was fair. "Anthony, I'mma be real with you, I really, really like you, and I want to be with you, but I work at least sixty hours a week every week, usually closer to seventy-two. What free time I have, you can consider it yours, we'll find a way to make this work if you want it to work, but this is unfortunately what you're signing up for. I'll understand if you want to find someone with more compatible hours -"
"They're not you." Their eyes held. "I know what I want, and what I want is you, and like you said... we'll make this work."
A frisson went down Sören's spine. Anthony's words I know what I want, and what I want is you echoed in his head. And Sören wanted him, too, relieved at the reassurance. As soon as this was, with the two of them getting to know each other, it also felt right. Something clicked with them.
"We're doing my birthday this weekend, já?"
"We certainly are. When you say you have Friday off, you mean the entire day?"
Sören nodded. "I'll be getting off late Thursday, but if you want to start the festivities early and don't mind driving out at 11 PM to pick me up -"
"I don't."
"We can go back to your place? I'd invite you to sleep over mine but, ah, yours is nicer."
"We can stop at your place unless you can bring a bag to work, pack some things for the weekend. I'd like to take you on a little holiday for your birthday if that's OK with you."
"Oh my god, I'd love that." Sören's face lit up. "Where?"
"That's a surprise." Anthony smiled.
"Well, I'm sure I'll love it. I haven't been, ah, anywhere, really, since I came here last year."
"Did you want to go back to Iceland for your birthday?"
Sören shook his head adamantly. He didn't want to get into why he didn't want to go back to Iceland this soon into the relationship - eventually, that might come out, but not now, and especially not here in a public place. "I do not, but thank you for asking."
The look Anthony gave him suggested to Sören that he'd picked up on Sören's discomfort, but he knew not to press it now. Sören sipped his coffee, and now Anthony was the one to squeeze his hand, as if to say it's OK.
"Also, for future reference..." Anthony raised an eyebrow. "What kind of flowers do you like, besides roses?"
"Yes?" Sören laughed. "I love flowers. All different kinds of flowers. It's very hard to disappoint me." Despite Sören's discomfort with the idea of a return visit to his home country, he had to share this anyway. "I grew up in Akureyri, which isn't big at all, but it has a famous botanical garden, and I used to go there a lot when I needed to get out of the house, just to hang out and be at peace in the garden with all the pretty flowers. It was a good place to sketch, and a good place for me to learn how to sketch different kinds of flowers, trees -"
Anthony's eyebrows shot up. "You draw?"
"And paint." Sören ran a nervous hand through his curls and shifted in his chair, immediately wishing he hadn't said anything, remembering the way his aunt and uncle ridiculed his art and ripped it up, threw it out. "I'm probably not any good, but I like it -"
"Did you design your ink?"
Sören nodded solemnly.
"Then you're probably a lot better than you think you are. I'd like to see it, anyway, if you have a sketchbook or something you can bring this weekend."
"If you insist." Oh god, he's going to think it's stupid and dump me.
"I do." Anthony's eyes locked with his again. "So... that's what you do in your spare time? Is art?"
Sören nodded. "It's a bit of a passion of mine. I would have gone into art if I hadn't gone into medicine. But like I said, I probably suck at it..."
"I doubt that."
Sören quickly changed the subject. "What about you and your spare time?"
"What is this spare time of which you speak."
Sören laughed. "God, if that isn't a mood."
"Yeah, you get it." Anthony sighed. "I do a lot of things -"
"I bet."
Anthony gave him a wicked grin, eyes gleaming. "Besides that, you." He started playing footsie with Sören under the table, sending another frisson down Sören's spine. "I read -"
"Oh good. I mean, I kind of figured from the card you sent..."
Anthony nodded. "I like going to concerts. I have music on a lot when I'm home, I collect vinyl. I play piano, though I'm no virtuoso. I usually go to the pub with my colleagues once a week or so."
"If I show you my crappy art, you have to play piano for me sometime."
"You're on."
Anthony's footsie was getting more insistent. Sören's cock was wanting attention again, as his Doc Martens teased against Anthony's brogues.
"Should be interesting to see where this goes," Sören said.
"I can already tell I won't be bored, you'll be able to keep up with me intellectually. That's a big plus."
"It's a big plus to me that you say that," Sören said. Then he snickered. "Though, you have a lot of faith in my intellectual abilities, with the noises I made into your voice mail."
"It was precious." Anthony gave him a genuine smile. "Nobody's ever reacted like that to me before."
"Really? I find that hard to believe. Even now, I feel like I can barely string two words together."
"I feel the same way. I'm good at hiding it. Have to be, in my line of work."
Their eyes met again. "Really?" Sören facepalmed. "Wow, I say 'really' a lot."
"Really?"
Sören kicked him under the table. Anthony grinned into his coffee, and then his brogue slid up Sören's calf. Sören's cock was twinging again and Sören shifted in his seat.
"Can you do breakfast tomorrow?" Anthony asked.
Sören nodded. "Meet me here 6 AM?"
"OK."
I'd rather eat you. Sören didn't say that aloud. "I'm sorry that I won't be able to do tomorrow night, but at least we've got that, and you picking me up Thursday night for my birthday..."
Anthony nodded. "We'll make that work."
"I really - oh god, there's that word again..."
Anthony chuckled and gave Sören's hand another assuring squeeze, a pat... a scratch on the palm, as his feet played with Sören's under the table some more.
"I really appreciate that you're willing to give this a chance, with our crazy hours," Sören said.
"I don't meet someone like you every day."
Sören crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip, face burning again.
"I unfortunately can't stay too long, or I would have offered lunch." Anthony looked at the clock and cringed.
"I appreciate that you came at all."
They got up from the table and Anthony took Sören into his arms, and he said, "Actually, I have one last question for you."
"Hm?"
That wicked look in his eyes again as Anthony leaned in and husked, "I'd like to see your equipment again... to make sure it's fully functional."
Somehow, they ended up in a supply closet, kissing feverishly as the door closed behind them. Sören moaned as Anthony yanked down Sören's scrub pants and boxer-briefs, his aching cock springing free. Sören moaned again as he watched Anthony get down on his knees and swallow his cock down to the root, sucking hard and fast, like he was starving for it. Sören grabbed Anthony's head and stifled a cry, not wanting to alert anyone passing in the hall what they were doing.
It was a power trip, seeing this high-flying barrister down on his knees, hungrily sucking him off. And yet, at the same time, Sören felt like he was the one being conquered - that there was nothing submissive in this gesture and Anthony was doing exactly what he wanted to do, taking what he thought was his. And Sören loved that feeling too. Sören began to gently thrust into his mouth, breathing harder. Anthony encouraged him along by humming "mmmmmm", and when he cupped Sören's balls and began to rub, Sören almost came from that, moaning again.
Anthony slowed down a little, teasing him, teasing more when he pulled back to focus on the head and first few inches of the shaft, working the rest of it with his free hand.
"God, I can't believe we're doing this," Sören rasped.
Anthony pulled Sören's cock out of his mouth. "I've been going out of my mind wanting you," he husked before taking a few licks at Sören's cock, a worshipful look in his green eyes. His eyes still locked with Sören's as he took Sören's cock back into his mouth, and Sören felt his own eyes rolling, glazing over as he got closer.
Sören bit his hand to stifle a cry when he climaxed, knees buckling, sliding a little down the wall as Anthony made a "mmmmmmm" drinking him down. He licked Sören's cock clean and came up to kiss him and Sören made a little content noise at the taste of himself on his lover's tongue. Anthony was rock hard and Sören fumbled with his belt, got his cock out, and started stroking it as they kissed. A moment later Anthony was done, moaning into the kiss as he trembled against Sören, shooting into Sören's hand. Sören reveled in knowing Anthony was so aroused sucking him off that it didn't take much. Sören brought his hand to his mouth and licked it clean as Anthony recovered, and Anthony groaned at the sight of Sören tasting him.
"God, I wish we had more time." Anthony kissed him deeply.
"Me too. But we will... this weekend."
Anthony's arms wrapped around Sören again and they kissed again, sweetly, a promise of more to come.
Sören walked him outside - peeking outside the supply closet first to make sure the coast was clear. On the way out the lobby Sören giggled like they were children caught being naughty. One last kiss, and Sören sighed sadly as he walked Anthony stride off, waving.
I already miss him. I've definitely got it bad.
But he couldn't be too sad, with that awesome blowjob in the closet, the shit-eating grin returning to his face as he went back inside, feeling the spring in his step. I've got it good, too.
That night, when he got home, he pressed a rose in a book and preserved some of the rose petals in a bowl from the bouquet Anthony had sent on Monday. He was sentimental like that.
chapter 5 | return to Learning To Fly | return to Other Tolkien Fic | return to index