Sören being willing to meet Anthony for Wednesday breakfast was rather a sign that he was falling hard for this guy, as Sören was very much not a morning person. Early shifts were unavoidable as a junior surgeon with the NHS, but Sören didn't like it anyway, and usually preferred his mornings to be quiet, where he could be grumpy alone. But just being around Anthony was a balm for his soul - Anthony seemed to intuitively understand Sören wanted a quiet, mellow breakfast and that was what they did, watching the sunrise together, gently touching. It was nice. Sören reflected later that he minded mornings far less when Anthony was around.
He was already becoming a fixture in Sören's life, and that scared him a little, but it felt right just the same.
Sören still didn't know what Anthony's birthday surprise was for him, Anthony playing those cards close to his chest until Thursday night when Anthony picked Sören up at the hospital and drove to Sören's flat in Bromley so Sören could pick up the bag he'd packed for the weekend. Anthony elected to wait in the car while Sören ran up and got his bag - Sören was relieved, as he felt a little self-conscious about Anthony seeing the flat, compared to what Anthony's looked like - and before Sören got out of the car, Anthony said, "Make sure you have your passport."
Sören gave him the side-eye, and again when he came downstairs with his bag and his passport in hand. "Anthony, what did you do." He realized he couldn't be too surprised at this when Anthony had asked if Sören wanted to go to Iceland for his birthday and Sören had declined, that travel was still on his agenda somehow, but he was surprised nonetheless.
"We're going to the airport."
"Now?" Sören's jaw dropped. As tired as he was, there was a sudden jolt of energy.
"Now. Stansted. It's a bit of a drive -" It was an hour from Bromley to Stansted Airport. Anthony gave Sören a small, apologetic frown. "But a reasonably short flight. We're taking an overnight."
"To..."
"Flying in directly to Charles de Gaulles in Paris."
Anthony waited, and Sören's eyes widened. Sören let out a squeak, and then he threw his arms around Anthony's neck and began raining kisses over his face. "Oh my god. Oh my god. Ó guð minn ó guð minn..."
Anthony laughed and gently pushed Sören off him. "I have to drive, sweetheart -"
Oh my god he called me sweetheart. Sören screamed, flailing. Anthony laughed harder.
"You're so cute," Anthony husked, leaning in to give Sören a little kiss before he got back on the road.
"I... can't. Believe it." Sören laughed and cried at the same time. He shook his head at Anthony. Then he gestured to the clock on the dash. "But we're going at this hour? The flight couldn't wait until morning?"
"We only have till Sunday night, so I wanted to make sure we get as much time in Paris as we can." At breakfast on Wednesday Anthony and Sören had touched base about Sören's schedule - Sören had also given him a copy of his new schedule for the next fortnight, starting next Monday. They had to go back on Sunday evening for Sören to start on Monday morning early. "And... after we get there and go to sleep in our hotel room, I wanted you to be able to wake up in Paris on your birthday."
Sören gasped. That was incredibly romantic. Sören got teary again. Then he gave Anthony a playful little swat. "Anthony... this was a lot of trouble and expense to go to. You must have spent a small fortune to get tickets on such short notice, never mind booking the room -"
"The cost wasn't as bad as you might fear, but even if it was, you're worth it to me." Anthony took Sören's hand and kissed it, before putting both hands on the wheel again.
"Jesus." Sören shook his head in disbelief, laughing and crying some more. "I'm in shock. Seriously." Sören glanced back at Anthony. "I've never been to Paris."
"Really?"
"I never left Iceland at all until 2010. When I came here." Sören shrugged. "I come from nothing, I grew up dirt poor, couldn't afford to travel as a kid. Just going down to Reykjavik was a big deal. And all I've done since I've got here has been work, there's been no time to travel -"
"I'd like to start changing that." Their eyes met. "I'd like to show you places I've been, places you might enjoy visiting as I did. I was fortunate enough to have a pocket of time, years ago, where I got to see most of western Europe."
"Like Sweden." Sören smirked.
"Like Sweden. But I've been... around."
Sören snorted at that. Anthony realized the innuendo and rolled his eyes. "Not as much as you might think, Sören, though I did my share of sowing my oats as a young man."
"Same here, so I can't say anything. I was probably worse. I pretty much fucked half of Iceland."
Anthony turned pink and his laughter rang out.
"OK, maybe that's exaggerating it slightly." Sören chuckled. Then he said, "How did this conversation even turn into sex, anyway?"
"Because it involves you, and apparently your mind lives there."
"Uh huh. Something tells me you're just as bad."
"Probably." Anthony gave him a wicked look. "At least if you're around. Difficult for me to think of much else."
"I still can't believe you blew me at the hospital." Sören laughed. "God. A blowjob at the hospital... being whisked away to Paris... what is my life turning into."
"A life," Anthony said. "All work and no play, and all of that. Not that I can talk, either, but this will be good for both of us."
Sören leaned in and kissed his cheek. "Thank you, so much." Sören ruffled his hair. "I still can't believe it."
"Believe it. I want to spoil you."
Sören crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip, watching Anthony's cheeks flush in the glow of the lamp on the roof. Sören leaned back in his seat - Anthony hit a button so Sören's seat would recline a little - and Sören hugged himself, relaxing as Anthony zipped down the highway. The car stereo was playing softly and Sören recognized it.
"Jamiroquai?"
"They're my favorite band." Anthony looked a little self-conscious. "More popular when I was coming of age -"
"Oh no, I like them too. My taste in music is all over the place."
"I seem to favor jazz and R&B, though I like classical and indie rock too. It's not unusual for me to go from listening to something like Marvin Gaye to something like Radiohead next song."
"Good, we'll get on. I like soul music a lot, though when I'm not listening to that it tends to be goth or industrial or prog metal. Sometimes classic rock too."
"I kind of got that sense looking at you."
Sören nodded. "I operate to stuff like Rush, Led Zeppelin, Tool. Or I do when Colin isn't picking the music, 'cos we take turns if we operate together. Then we work to shit like... Doctor Dre and Snoop Dogg. I'll never forget the time we had 'Keep Their Heads Ringing' during an awake surgery on some MP -"
Anthony wheezed. "Wow."
"That was an experience. Colin Traynor is my favorite to operate with, he's got a great sense of humor, good bedside manner, helps me calm nervous patients down."
"Traynor? Does he have a sister, Diana?"
"Yes. Colin talks about her sometimes."
"His sister is my EA. You'll meet her, eventually."
"Wow! It's a small world." Sören sighed. "And a big world. I still can't believe I'm going to bloody Paris for my birthday." He chuckled.
Sören had only flown once in his life, the flight from Reykjavik to London in 2010, and the relief he'd felt at leaving behind the constant fear that he'd run into his rapist or one of his rapist's friends somewhere was the thing that stuck out at him about that trip. But now the other remembered feeling came back to him - the panic as the plane began to take off and he could feel the g forces accelerating. Sören heard himself go "meep" and wanted to crawl under his seat and die.
"Shhhhh." Anthony took Sören's hand, stroking assuringly, and then he pulled Sören close to him and held him as much as the constraints of their seatbelts would allow. "Shhhhh, it's all right, darling."
God, he loved being called little endearments like this. Sören snuggled into him, let himself be held by those strong, comforting arms.
"Deep breaths." Anthony pet Sören's curls.
Sören got through takeoff with deep breaths in Anthony's arms, and was a bit less anxious in-flight, dozing off on Anthony's shoulder. Then the landing kicked up Sören's anxiety again and Anthony held him through that, too. Sören gave another "meep" in the descent.
"Sören, look." Anthony pointed out the window, which Sören was closer to.
Sören's breath caught as he saw a bird's eye view of Paris lit up at night, recognizing the Eiffel Tower right away. "Oh my god." Now he was glad Anthony had gone for an overnight flight beyond wanting Sören to wake up in Paris on his birthday. There was still a touch of anxiety as the plane continued to drop, but mostly Sören was just in awe looking out the window at Paris at night.
Sören's legs felt a little wobbly when he got off the plane - he was very, very tired after a long shift, and being kept up later than anticipated with the flight. But when he and Anthony got out of the airport and waited for the taxi that would bring them to the hotel, a giddy feeling of elation flooded him and Sören let out a whoop into the night air. He put his bag down for a moment, threw his arms around Anthony and kissed him hard.
"I'm in Paris," Sören said. God, that's dumb, of course we're in Paris. He couldn't stop the words bubbling out of him again and again. "I'm in Paris. Oh my god, I'm in Paris. I'm in Paris..."
Anthony grinned. He looked tired too - Sören stroked his face and felt a flutter, touched once again at the trouble he'd gone to, not just the expense of coordinating all of this on short notice but that he'd driven to Stansted late at night when he too had a long day, had gotten on a plane late at night to make this happen. Sören gave a wistful little sigh, feeling like he was the luckiest man in the world.
When they got in the taxi, Anthony gave instructions in French, and Sören felt all tingly, even though he didn't understand a word of what was being said. If this trip was going to involve hearing Anthony speak a lot of French, Sören was going to want to spend a fair amount of it in bed. Sören cursed feeling too tired to do anything but just pass out once they got to the hotel, but at least Anthony looked about the same amount of tired.
At the hotel Anthony again spoke French at the reception desk. Sören felt another frisson down his spine. Once they were given the key to the room and Anthony said his thanks in French they were off, heading towards the elevator.
Sören took deep breaths in the elevator - he was a touch claustrophobic, and even working at National where he had to use an elevator every day hadn't quite broken him out of it. Anthony seemed to notice Sören was nervous, and Sören felt heat flood his face, self-conscious about being a scared little baby in elevators, especially one that wasn't even all that small. But Anthony's arm was around him and he whispered, "We'll be there soon."
Sören started undressing out of his scrubs as soon as they got in the suite. It was a penthouse with a magnificent view of Paris - Sören's breath caught again with the Paris skyline lit up at night, the Eiffel Tower rising to greet him. His breath caught again when he walked into the bathroom to "scrub out", annoyed with himself for not doing that immediately in the hotel room, since he'd been on a plane filled with other people and their germs, and his annoyance was quickly replaced with awe at the sight of the jacuzzi in the room, black marble trimmed with gold.
"My god."
Anthony came up behind him and wrapped his arms around Sören's waist. "Hi."
"Hi." Sören tilted his face and gave him a little kiss, and a nuzzle. "The hot tub. Wow."
"You..." Anthony blinked. "You've never been in a hot tub, either?"
Sören shook his head. "I've been in hot springs, those are all over Iceland, but that's outside, that's different. I've never had occasion to be in a hot tub. You really have spoiled me."
Anthony gave Sören a kiss. "We better get some sleep."
They climbed in the king-sized bed together, laying on their sides facing each other. Anthony reached for Sören and pulled him close, and Sören made a noise of contentment as he curled up. "Thassnice," Sören slurred.
Anthony pet Sören's curls and kissed the top of his head. "You feel good." He rocked Sören a little. "So warm." He gave a soft chuckle. "You're like a living space heater."
Sören laughed too. "I always run a bit hot, yeah. Summers are brutal for me, I wilt."
Anthony kissed Sören's cheek and rocked him some more. "You feel so cozy." Their legs braided together.
Sören sighed and snuggled deeper. He could absolutely get used to this, being held... not just anybody, but being held by Anthony, at night. Logically, he knew that going off somewhere like this with someone he'd only met last week was probably not the safest thing to do - he'd been erring on the side of caution and paranoia since waking up in an alley in Reykjavik one Sunday morning a little less than two years ago. But it felt incredibly safe, here and now, that feeling like he'd known Anthony forever even though they were still almost strangers. Something had sparked between them and built a lovely fire.
"Oh, Sören, I have a question," Anthony mumbled, sounding half-asleep, yet whatever was on his mind prevented him from going under just yet.
"Mm?"
"What kind of cake and ice cream do you like?"
"Yes?"
Anthony laughed, throaty from sleepiness - Sören made a little noise, wishing they both weren't too tired for sex. "Is that going to be your answer every time I ask you a question about your preferences?"
Sören laughed too. "Depends on what you're asking. I don't know, I just... like variety. I like men, I like women. I like sex. I like all different kinds of music. I like... all different kinds of cake and ice cream."
Anthony laughed harder. "You realized you just described sex, drugs, and rock and roll, except... instead of drugs, it's cake." More laughter. "Sex, cake, and rock and roll."
"That's my idea of living dangerously." Sören laughed too. "That's a walk on the wild side right there."
"That's also a sign we should go the fuck to sleep, because this shouldn't be as funny as it is."
You dork. Sören sighed. That only makes me lo- Sören swallowed hard. Like you more.
Sören's heart raced for a minute. It was too soon to be saying he loved Anthony, and that terrified him. But there it was. And he didn't have to say or do anything with that feeling yet. Right now, he just needed to sleep. They both did. "Goodnight." They shared a little kiss. "And thank you."
Sören woke up and Anthony was already up. It was only eight AM, Sören hadn't gotten that much sleep with them coming in late, but it was also late enough that Sören knew Anthony had been up for awhile if he was keeping his regular schedule. Sören was also somehow not surprised Anthony was on his laptop, in a bathrobe, frowning at his screen as he typed - duty called.
Sören lay in bed for a moment looking out the panoramic window of the penthouse suite at the bright blue sky and the Paris skyline, letting it sink in. After only ever having been to England besides Iceland, he was indeed waking up on the morning of his twenty-seventh birthday in Paris.
"Oh, good, I was about to wake you," Anthony said, coming over to give Sören a little kiss. "Room service is on its way."
"Oh. Takk." Sören yawned, stretched, and returned the kiss.
Sören got up to go to the bathroom and when he came back, room service had arrived. Sören's face lit up and he gave into a peal of giddy, hysterical laughter when he saw their breakfast was pieces of rich chocolate cake served with generous scoops of coffee ice cream and whipped cream.
"Oh my god, we're having cake and ice cream for breakfast?" Sören gave a happy little squeak. He felt self-conscious about all these stupid noises he was making in front of a barrister, but Anthony just kissed the tip of his nose, smiling indulgently, which made Sören crinkle his nose and bite his lower lip in response.
"We're adults," Anthony said.
"I guess so."
"Here." Anthony put some cake on a spoon and held the fork to Sören's lips. "Happy birthday."
They took turns feeding each other spoonfuls of cake and ice cream, smiling at each other, touching, looking into each other's eyes. Sören was already starting to feel a little randy, and by the time the cake was halfway through, he was sucking sensuously on the spoon, pleased by the heat in Anthony's eyes as he watched, knowing exactly what was going through his lover's mind. A few bites later, and more teasing spoon-sucking, and Anthony gave Sören a mock stern look.
"You are a naughty boy," he said.
"Mhm." Sören sucked the spoon even more slowly and deliberately, and took a lick even though he'd sucked it mostly clean.
"No more spoon for you." Anthony smirked, and pulled off some cake with his fingers, for Sören to eat out of his hand like a pet.
He of course knew what he was getting into, because now Sören was sucking and licking his fingers as well, and when Sören fed Anthony from his fingers, Anthony teased him right back. They were both hard, and getting harder each moment, feeding each other the last bits of cake, sucking and licking each other's fingers more sensuously each time.
There was orange juice and champagne cocktails to go with the cake and ice cream, and Sören "accidentally" spilled some on Anthony, which he cleaned with his tongue. Anthony groaned, and grabbed Sören by the hair and kissed him hard. The passion of the kiss alone made Sören feel like he was about to come, going crazy with raw sexual need.
"That was lovely," Sören husked when they pulled back, breathing hard. He really was touched by the gesture - birthday cakes had been too few and far between in his life between the privations of childhood and then the intensity of his work schedule and not really having close enough connections to people. His cousin Ari had broken his regimen of healthy eating to eat cake with him for a few years in Reykjavik, but Ari had been across the ocean last year.
Anthony gave him a softer, sweet kiss. "You're lovely."
Sören felt his face flush. He gave Anthony a lingering, sensual kiss, his fingers walking down Anthony's chest and stomach towards the hard cock waiting for his attention. "There's something else I'd rather have in my mouth, though."
Sören's birthday breakfast ended with a passionate sixty-nine, the two of them hungrily worshiping each other's cocks in earnest, sucking, licking, stroking, kissing, devouring, as their hands played over each other's bodies, caressing where they'd already this soon learned they liked to be touched, teased. They came together, which felt wonderfully intimate, and they tasted good together as they kissed, holding each other.
Sören's orgasm was powerful - Anthony was talented, and Sören was very aroused by him. But as hard as he came, he still craved more. He started kissing Anthony insistently, and made a whine of protest when Anthony gently pushed him back, laughing softly.
"Now, Sören. There's a lot of Paris to see and we have limited time." Anthony gave him a mischievous look. "We can wait until later for more, and I promise, it will be worth the wait."
Sören gave another whine, but Anthony was right - Paris demanded exploring.
In what Sören thought of his "civvies" - today it was a Nine Inch Nails "Pretty Hate Machine" T-shirt over a deep navy turtleneck, faded and worn jeans, and his leather bomber, his ever-present steel-toed Doc Martens boots - he was on Anthony's arm, with Anthony flawlessly elegant in a a trenchcoat, steel blue cashmere sweater, dark blue jeans, expensive brogues that thocked on the sidewalk. They were very obviously a couple, walking around Paris hand-in-hand or arm-in-arm, and it amused Sören that they were such an odd couple, you could tell just by looking at them, but then, he knew this was a case of opposites attract.
And he was so very attracted, stealing glances at Anthony every few paces.
Their first day in Paris started with a visit to Saint Chapelle. The almost floor to ceiling stained glass windows were worth the queue, Sören's breath taken away as they walked inside. Sören kept pausing to stare and take it all in. Finally he took some pictures.
"This sort of thing makes me wish I'd taken up glasswork," Sören whispered to Anthony. "I have no time to learn that, though."
"If you like stained glass you'll love the home I grew up in. Some of the windows are stained glass. Not as magnificent as this, but still quite lovely."
That sounded like Sören was going to meet Anthony's parents at some point. That sounded serious. Sören did an internal happy dance but tried to keep calm.
Near Saint Chapelle was the famous Notre-Dame Cathedral. Sören made an excited squeak when he saw it - it was one thing to see pictures of it and another thing to see it live and in person. He made even more exuberant noises as they got closer, once again feeling self-conscious that he was being such an idiot. "Sorry," Sören said.
"You're adorable." Anthony's grip tightened on his arm. "I love seeing your joy in all of this."
"Have you ever been here before?" Sören facepalmed. "Er, that's a stupid question, you said you've been to Europe."
"It's not a stupid question, Paris isn't all of France, after all. But yes, I've been here before. My first trip here was as a teenager, my mum is an architect and she insisted I see some of the architectural marvels of the world."
"Oh wow, your mother is an architect?" Sören felt even more nervous now about showing Anthony his art.
Anthony nodded. "She designed our home. Well, hers and my dad's, now."
Again, that reminder Anthony came from money. Sören had a prickle of self-consciousness, remembering going to school in hand-me-downs from neighbors, especially "highwater pants" too short for his growing legs.
Notre-Dame in person was a transcendent experience. They walked around to appreciate the exterior, Sören taking in the towers and buttresses from different angles. Anthony had pre-booked a timeslot for climbing the tower, and Sören made more happy noises in the tower, looking at the view, feeling a bit surreal. "Wow. Wow. WOW. I'm in Notre Fucking Dame. This is an artist's wet dream." He realized there were other people around. "Meep."
Anthony's laughter rang out and he kissed Sören - not caring there were other people around. He tousled Sören's curls on the way out of the tower, smiling at him adoringly.
"If you think that was an artist's wet dream..." Anthony led them to the metro. "You'll love where we go next."
Sören screamed when he saw the glass pyramid of the Louvre. The queues were long but Anthony had a fast track advance pass so they didn't have to wait a ridiculous amount of time.
The Louvre was one of those places where Sören could spend hours if not days, but they decided to limit the Louvre visit to four hours. Sören broke down weeping when he saw the Mona Lisa in person. He felt so stupid about crying over it in public, but Anthony was understanding, pulling Sören into a fierce, tight hug when Sören finally was able to unglue himself from the painting. Sören fell apart all over again at the Venus de Milo, and when they walked away from that, Anthony kissed his tears and pulled him into a sweet kiss that made Sören want to shove him on the floor and take him right then.
Anthony opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, then thought better of it, and gave Sören a cryptic smile - Sören thought he could see a touch of longing in Anthony's eyes. He held Sören's hand tighter as they continued to walk around the museum.
There was so much to marvel at - Greek antiquities, Islamic art. Pieces of ancient history, something Sören had a keen appreciation for with all of the Viking-era history ever-present in Iceland. It also put Sören in a philosophical mood, which he reflected on as they made their way out of the Louvre.
"It's really amazing," Sören said, "the way the human impulse to create, make art, make beauty, is so consistent across ages, across cultures. It's the one thing that really unites us as a species."
Anthony nodded.
"It's so humbling, as an artist. I mean, my art is crap compared to anything in here -"
"Once again, I doubt that, Sören." Anthony traced the flames on Sören's wrist.
"But I make art anyway because I need to. It... it burns." Sören struggled for words to explain what happened to his mind when he got in "the zone". "When I see something in my mind's eye, it takes me over. It's like a fit. It's a special kind of madness, but it's one of the only things that keeps me sane."
"You know," Anthony said, "this is going to sound really strange, but in a number of ancient pantheons, the god who was the patron of artists was also frequently a healer. Like Brighid, the Celtic goddess, comes immediately to mind. There seems to be a connection there -"
Sören was delighted Anthony knew anything about that. He's smart, good. That might have been a given with his profession, but Sören tried not to assume anything about people.
"It's life." Sören struggled again to find words for it, and would even if English was his native language. "There is no life without life. Healing the body... art heals the spirit. Medicine defies death... art celebrates living. Even in its pain. Especially in its pain. We can't appreciate joy without sadness." And Sören of course wished he'd never experienced so much of what he had - the abuse of his guardians, the bullying from his peers when he was a sensitive, intelligent young boy from an obvious "trash" background, later the escape into partying and meaningless sex that got him literally dumped in an alley, not able to remember what was done to him except whatever it was hurt. "The sadness sucks, though."
Anthony's eyes darkened, and Sören knew that as much privilege as Anthony had known, he'd known heartache too.
Sören got self-conscious about his last choice of words. "The sadness sucks. God, that sounds... so dumb -"
Anthony grabbed him and kissed him hard enough to take his breath away. They both moaned into the wild, fierce kiss, the depth of what they'd just spoken to each other pulling them under, as if they were kissing and embracing with their souls, not just their bodies. When the kiss broke and their lips lingered, Sören was tempted to tell Anthony to take him back to the hotel.
Anthony had reservations for them at a Michelin-starred restaurant with prices that made Sören boggle. Sören also didn't know the first thing about French food, so he let Anthony order for them - in French, which got Sören hot and bothered again. He still wasn't entirely sure what he was eating when it was brought to them, something with goose and potatoes, but it was delicious, subtle nuances of flavor that made him slow down and actually taste his food instead of wolfing it down like he was on break or at home alone feeding himself out of exhausted hunger, about to crash for the evening.
The end of their first day in Paris was at the Eiffel Tower, which seemed rather mandatory. They watched the sunset fade into twilight and darkness from the top of the tower, kissing, touching, looking into each other's eyes between glimpses at the city of Paris. The whole wide world, it seemed to Sören, looking down at everything, everything. He'd known there was more beyond Akureyri when he moved to Reykjavik, and more beyond Reykjavik when he moved to London, but there was so much more, and he wanted it. He wanted to see the world. To live, beyond his job. To recharge his own skills as a healer by having these adventures. To fuel his art.
To strengthen the bond he was forming with this wonderful man who was spoiling him. They leaned on each other, Anthony petting Sören's curls, until Sören looked over and up at him again and they shared another hungry kiss.
It felt good to Sören to be in a place where they could be out without having to worry, remembering the shit he'd gotten in Akureyri in the early 00s before he moved to Reykjavik. Sören remarked on it as they finally left the Eiffel Tower, heading back to the hotel. "I like this. You being my boyfriend. Not having to hide."
Anthony nodded. "I was a teenager in the 90s. That was not a fun time to be gay."
"Jæja, I was a teenager for some of the 90s. I bet."
"Times are better now. Not perfect by any means, but... better."
"You said you came out to your parents in your late twenties? Was that coming out in general, or just to them?"
"A bit of both. I lost my virginity when I was 19, at school. Cambridge. It was a friend, it was... neither awful nor was it amazing. I took some time off from school following my uncle's suicide - he wanted me to see the world, so I did, in his memory, and because I needed to escape, with my grief. I found out to my surprise and delight that European men are much less inhibited and, ah, cold, than British and American men tend to be. And Scandinavian men in particular are fun." Anthony gave Sören a wicked grin.
"Jæja, Iceland is very... ah... libertine? Is that the word for it? You should have gone to Iceland." I wish we'd met sooner. But then, Sören wasn't sure that Anthony would have liked him as a med student and a fresh new doctor, a constant wreck of emotions.
"Mmm, visiting Iceland someday would be nice. Anyway, I was absolutely certain by the time I got back from Europe that I was gay. But it took longer for me to tell my parents, because. Well. It's my parents. My dad is a Tory - " Sören made a noise and Anthony did too. "Yes, yes, I know. I used to be one, when I was younger, but I'm not at all socially conservative. I held off telling my parents as long as I could get away with."
"So what prompted it? Relationship?"
Anthony nodded.
Sören was curious now - curiouser and curiouser, as if he'd fallen down a rabbit hole. "I've never been in a serious relationship, like I told you. I've had casual sex, friends with benefits... nothing more."
"It's been awhile since my last relationship," Anthony said.
"When you say awhile..."
"Two years, roughly. I've had sex since then, obviously, but nothing I would consider relationship material until now."
"How long?"
"Not long. I've had a few other relationships, none lasted longer than a year. Most of them fizzled out, we just grew apart. The last one was ugly - he wasn't out, which I will respect for the sake of one's profession if necessary, but I found out at the end he was married to a woman, had kids and everything, so I was the other man and didn't know it, until of course, I did. I went on a bender."
"Oh god, Anthony, I'm sorry." Sören ached for him.
A rueful smile. "So am I." Anthony patted Sören. "I'm over him now. Have been for some time."
"Is it going to bother you that I'm bisexual?"
"No, you were honest about that from the beginning."
Sören stopped walking and took Anthony in his arms, wanting to reassure him. Anthony returned the hug, holding Sören tight.
As soon as they got in their hotel room, Sören and Anthony began undressing. Anthony turned on the hot tub and they got in together and spent awhile cuddling, drinking champagne. It was relaxing, all the tension in Sören's muscles from the long workweek draining out of him. Relaxation gave way to arousal, with the kissing and touching throughout the day teasing Sören enough that he was more than ready for sex.
More than ready for making love, wanting to explore those awakening feelings with being naked and vulnerable in his lover's arms.
Anthony, of course, wanted to tease Sören some more. When they got out of the hot tub and took a shower, Anthony's hands on Sören's body were slow and deliberate, kissing his neck and shoulder, amusing himself with the noises Sören made as he explored that most erogenous part of him.
Then he teased further, dimming the lights to a soft golden glow as he led Sören to the bed. He put Sade on the stereo and Sören saw that Anthony had packed vanilla-flavored massage oil, which he'd been warming in the kitchenette of their hotel suite. Anthony had Sören lay on his stomach and he proceeded to rub Sören down, kneading away the knots in his shoulders and biceps, his upper back, his lower back, his ass and the backs of his thighs. Anthony's hard cock rubbed in the crack of Sören's ass as his hands worked their magic, and Sören found he really wanted Anthony to top him, sometime. He wasn't quite ready for that, his body remembering that morning in the Reykjavik alley, but soon. When the time was right.
In the meantime, Sören moaned and sighed as Anthony worked him over like he had all the time in the world to spoil his lover. Sören also realized the vanilla-flavored oil had been deliberate, as he felt Anthony lean in to kiss and lick his shoulder blades, lips and tongue trailing down his spine, making Sören shiver and break out in gooseflesh, cock throbbing, hole twitching, wanting him more and more with each second of exquisite, delicious sensation coursing through him.
"If your art is like the ink on your back, it's not crap at all, Sören."
Those words were just as soothing, caring as his touch. Sören hoped he really meant that and when he eventually showed Anthony his work tomorrow. His eyes misted, stomach fluttering. His heart felt like it could fly when Anthony's fingers traced the birds on his back, and lingered on the scars the ink covered - Anthony could see them, and likely knew they were from his alcoholic guardians. Sören's eyes teared up harder when Anthony kissed them, reverently, fingers continuing to trace over Sören's ink, like he was worshiping Sören, committing his body to memory.
Anthony teasing the front of him was even better - and worse. Sören's moans got louder as Anthony's hands rubbed and caressed his arms, chest, stomach, his thighs and calves. His fingers "accidentally" brushed Sören's nipples and then more deliberately, playing with the aching nubs, playing with the rings, leaning in to kiss them, lick, suckle, nibble, sucking harder at Sören's cries, panting, arching to him. "Oh god, Anthony, please."
After awhile Anthony was playing with Sören's cock as he continued feasting on Sören's nipples, and when Anthony's head dove between Sören's legs to take him into his mouth, Sören let out a fierce cry. Anthony sucked slowly, sweetly, rubbing his tongue as he sucked, and he played with Sören's balls, fingers brushing the sensitive place between balls and ass. Sören grabbed Anthony's head and bucked, panting, gasping, writhing. He heard himself almost sobbing as Anthony slowly edged him closer, making "mmmmm" noises of pleasure, lust in his eyes.
Sören found himself gently fucking Anthony's mouth at the end, giving shuddery gasps, and then at last a cry of "oh god, Anthony, yes," as he let go, coming in his waiting mouth. Anthony swallowed and came up to kiss Sören fiercely, rock hard and grinding against his thigh.
They both reached for the condoms, and Anthony was quicker. "I'm tempted to say fuck it and let you breed me," Anthony rasped between kisses at Sören's neck, "but."
"No listen, as a doctor, I appreciate you being careful. We'll get tested."
Anthony nodded. "Things were scarier when I was young, dumb, and horny. I was very lucky." Then Anthony grinned. "Well, I'm still horny, and you make me stupid."
"Hi Still Horny And You Make Me Stupid -"
Anthony bit Sören's shoulder, which made Sören cry out and his cock leapt at that, which Anthony laughed at. "Well," Anthony said, petting Sören's cock, "someone has a fetish."
Sören giggled and quipped, "Who?"
Anthony grinned. "It's a mystery." He kissed Sören and then his tongue licked where he'd just bitten, soothing and arousing the skin, and he nibbled Sören's neck as they rolled a condom onto Sören's cock.
Anthony straddled Sören's hips and rode him, slowly. It had been a very long time since Sören had been ridden - indeed, Sören was usually the one to do the riding - and Sören gloried in it, watching him, touching him, being touched. It was incredibly sensual, with Sören's arousal fueled not just by the sweet vise-like grip around his cock and the silken rhythm of their bodies, but being lost in beauty, in wonder...
...in love.
He felt taken care of, tonight. He spent so much time taking care of other people, running on empty. Anthony seemed to understand that better than most, in his own line of work. And that Anthony was taking time and trouble to make his birthday this special...
Sören choked back the three little words. He sucked Anthony's fingers, tasting Anthony's precum on them, to make himself not say it, not yet, not wanting to scare him away, but god, he felt it.
When Anthony was riding him harder, Sören went from fighting off those three little words to not being able to make words at all, fighting off his own release. Watching Anthony in ecstasy, enjoying his cock as much as he did... Sören loved pleasing just as much as he loved to be pleased. And at last, when Anthony came first, as Sören wanted him to, seeing the look of what could only be described as euphoric joy on his face as he erupted made Sören come and come and come, a full-body orgasm that seemed to go on forever.
It wasn't enough. It would never be enough. Anthony lay on his back and they feverishly rolled another condom onto Sören's cock. Sören took him again, Anthony wrapping his arms and legs around him, holding Sören with all of him, the two of them kissing passionately with each thrust. A slow build, like waves, with the storm rolling in the distance, on its way.
You're ruling the way that I move
And I breathe your air
You only can rescue me
This is my prayer
If you were mine
If you were mine
I wouldn't want to go to heaven
I cherish the day
I won't go astray
I won't be afraid
You won't catch me running
You're ruling the way that I move
You take my air
You show me how deep love can be
"Oh god." Sören was almost sobbing again. He claimed Anthony's mouth again and again, like he was claiming all of him.
"Sören." Anthony kissed Sören's neck, hands sliding over Sören's back, hips rolling, urging him on faster. Not too fast, not just yet, but enough. "Sören..."
"Oh my fucking god." Sören shuddered, speeding up. Needing. Needing.
The kisses got hungrier, their hands more possessive. And finally Sören was pounding him, encouraged by Anthony's cries, Anthony's deeper kisses like he wanted to consume Sören. The bed rocked against the wall, Sören wondered if they'd get a complaint from the concierge about their noises and he didn't care. This was glorious.
Anthony came hard, looking like he'd seen God himself when he spent over Sören, making shuddery gasps that turned into deep moans, before he breathed, "Sören. Sören..."
Three thrusts and Sören gave in with a shout of "Anthony!", collapsing onto him, his whole body trembling, the pleasure almost terrifying in its intensity. No one had ever made him come like this. No one had ever made him want like this.
It was a shattering enough release that they both dozed off after a few minutes of sleepily holding and petting and kissing. In the middle of the night they woke up hungry again but were still in that drowsy haze - awake enough to consent, not so awake they wanted to get into something athletic. With sweet, sleepy kisses, Sören took them both in his hand, stroking their cocks together, and in the last few minutes, both of them trembling, breathing harder, Anthony took them out of Sören's hand and into his own, bringing them to the finish. Sören buried his face in Anthony's chest as he cried out and Anthony pet him, rocked him, legs braiding more tightly with his.
They had another sixty-nine with breakfast before they hit the city for their second day. This time they started with the Opera Garnier - they weren't going to an actual opera, but to see the building itself, which was the inspiration for "Phantom of the Opera". The tour showed them the grand theatre, the huge staircase, the chandelier and the balcony. Anthony kissed him there too, and Sören could have sung for joy.
The Musee d'Orsay was another high point, with Sören making giddy noises at the works of Monet, van Gogh, Cezanne and Renoir. The building alone was worth visiting, never mind the masterpieces within.
They strolled along the Left Bank after the museum, holding hands, kissing. They passed by an elegant older woman with silver hair in a chignon wearing a purple coat, a purple feathered hat and dark glasses, carrying a Louis Vuitton bag, who smiled and waved as if she knew them. Anthony and Sören paused, and the woman came over and said in a French accent so heavy as if to be comical, "It is so good to see two people so much in love. I just needed to say that to you, how beautiful the two of you are together."
Anthony took the woman's hand and kissed it. "Vos mots me touchent et une appréciation de la beauté vous a gardé belle, madame."
"Oh, bah, I am old enough to be your mother." She was clearly relishing the attention, and Sören was amused by it. She beamed at Sören, and then she turned back to Anthony and she said, "Prenez soin de celui-ci, oui? Il a quelque chose de différent en lui, quelque chose de spécial. Je pense que vous avez une idée de ce que je veux dire, peut-être." She quickly added, "Je l'ai vu pleurer au Louvre. Son feu brûle profondément."
"Je suis d'accord. C'est très bientôt dans notre relation, mais aussi étrange que cela puisse paraître, je pense avoir trouvé "celle-là"." Anthony looked at Sören and tousled his curls.
"Très bien." The woman waved as she began to stroll off. "Have a wonderful day, you two."
Sören raised an eyebrow at Anthony and said, "I have no idea what was any of that you just said, but it sounds sexy as hell."
Then Sören realized Anthony hadn't contradicted the Frenchwoman when she remarked on them being in love - at least not what he could understand in English - and Sören hadn't denied it, either. He still hesitated to say I love you, feeling shy, still wary. But the giddy flush of love made him giggle as Anthony pulled him closer, as they resumed walking along the Left Bank.
They had another expensive dinner out, with wine, and Anthony played footsie with him under the table again. Sören was feeling hornier and hornier, it taking every ounce of his restraint to not throw Anthony on top of their table and fuck him for all of Paris to see. He said as much when they left the restaurant. "I wanted to take you on the table."
"Oh my god, Sören." Anthony turned beetroot and his eyes twinkled. Then he leaned in, kissed Sören, and husked, "I wouldn't have stopped you."
"God." Sören giggled and kissed him back. "You could get me in real trouble with the law, Anthony Hewlett-Johnson."
"I think I know a barrister who could defend you."
Sören snorted and gave him a playful shove, and Anthony ruffled Sören's hair and kissed him deeply. They made out the entire taxi ride back to the hotel, Sören feeling like a horny teenager again, and when they got in the hotel room Anthony dropped to his knees, yanked down Sören's jeans and boxer-briefs, and blew him right there just as he'd done in the supply closet earlier that week.
After he climaxed Sören dragged Anthony to bed and returned the favor, with Anthony being so aroused from going down on Sören that he came within minutes, crying out Sören's name over and over again as he lost control. That aroused Sören, but Anthony was going to need time to recharge, and Sören was perfectly content snuggling with him - he found he liked the afterglow cuddling as much as he liked sex.
He'd hoped Anthony would be wrecked enough from his orgasm to forget about Sören's art for awhile, but then, before Sören could doze off a little, Anthony started poking him, like he was a big kid wanting attention. "Sören. Did you bring it?"
"Bring what," Sören mumbled.
"Your sketchbook."
Sören made a noise.
"Awwww, Sören, come on, I want to see..."
He sounded so boyish right then that Sören had to indulge him. Jesus, it's like he's my little brother, even though he's older. Sören grabbed the sketchbook out of his satchel and sat up with Anthony, leaning on him. "I feel really stupid about showing this after we were in the bloody Louvre and Musee d'Orsay -"
Anthony shot him a filthy look and snatched the sketchbook out of Sören's hands like it belonged to him. He hissed like a cat, and it was so comical that Sören doubled over, wheezing. Then he sobered when Anthony flipped it open and began leafing through. Not reacting - ever the courtroom professional outside of the courtroom, playing his cards close to his chest. But finally he looked at Sören with something like awe in his eyes.
"Sören. Your work is fucking incredible."
"Oh, Jesus Christ, Anthony -" Sören ran a nervous hand through his curls.
Anthony grabbed Sören's face and kissed him hard. He began to flip back through the sketchbook to show Sören a few that stood out at him. "The detail in these is... it's remarkable. These flowers. That bird." He smiled fondly. "The faeries and elves."
"You don't think it's stupid?"
"Sören Sigurðsson, I swear if you call your art 'crap' or 'stupid' one more fucking time."
Sören couldn't help laughing at the steel in him, and felt a frisson of arousal at the same time.
Then Anthony flipped to a colored pencil portrait Sören had done of his brother, catching a falling star from the sky.
"That's my brother Dag. Twin brother."
"His personality comes off in this portrait almost like I know him."
"And that's my sister Margrét." Sören swallowed hard as Anthony thumbed to another page and lingered there. He had turned Margrét into a Valkyrie with a winged stallion.
"The one who was murdered."
Sören nodded. "She was a trans woman. She was stabbed to death -"
"Jesus." Anthony pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm so sorry, Sören. I don't know why people have to be so..." He struggled to find the words. "So fucking hateful."
Sören took Anthony's hand and kissed it.
"I see some very dark things in my line of work," Anthony said, looking off into the distance. "There are days when I have genuinely wondered if there is more evil than good in the world." Then he looked at Sören. "But you. Shine so brightly."
"You barely know me." Those words were directed as much at himself, falling for Anthony like he was.
"I already know more than you think I do. I watch. I observe. And you're not exactly a hard one to figure out. Like you crying in the Louvre yesterday. I'd wanted to make you happy, bringing you to Paris, when you told me you're an artist in your spare time I thought you might appreciate something like that, but I wasn't expecting to see..." Anthony made a vague hand gesture, looking for the right word. "Your soul, opened up."
"And what did you see?"
"I saw fire." Anthony took Sören's chin in his hand and his thumb traced Sören's full lips, eyes probing. "I saw light."
He kissed Sören hard, and put Sören's sketchbook off to the side. "Your work is beautiful." Anthony's fingers traced down from Sören's lips to his heart. "Who you are, is beautiful, and god help me, I need you." He grabbed Sören and kissed him even harder than before.
Sören took Anthony on his back, sweet and slow, lost in a dreamy haze of sensuality, melting, teasing, not able to stop touching, as if they were long-lost lovers reunited, hungering for each other's skin, needing the connection to last as long as possible. Kissing and kissing, eating each other alive. And at last Anthony kissed Sören's neck and rasped, "Take me hard, Sören. Show me fire."
Sören bit his neck and drove into him with abandon, Anthony's legs on his shoulders. He gave it as long as Anthony could take it - and he could take a good punishing for an impressively long time. When Anthony lost control, screaming Sören's name, Sören spent with a hoarse shout, laughing and crying as his body heaved, fingers and toes curling involuntarily.
"Sören." Anthony grabbed him and held him, rocked him. "Oh my god, Sören, that was..." He sighed. "Transcendent."
"What you said," Sören breathed, and giggled uncontrollably.
After they cuddled and dozed off, they woke up awhile later and took another soak in the hot tub. They ended up making out in the hot tub and stroking each other to climax there, and when they got back in bed they rubbed cock to cock, kissing, still hungry but sated enough to crave something more slow and sensual. Watching their cocks shoot together made Sören feel like the entire universe was exploding out of him, continuing to twitch and moan until sleep claimed him again.
It rained in Paris on Sunday which was just as well because their grand finale was spending the entire day in bed making love for hours, in different positions - Anthony riding Sören... Anthony on his back with a leg hooked over Sören's shoulder... the two of them laying on their sides sucking each other... Sören on his knees, taking Anthony doggy style, fucking him hard... later, Anthony on his stomach with Sören laying on Anthony's back and taking him from behind much more gently, kissing his neck and shoulder, tilting Anthony's face so they could kiss, holding hands... laying face to face, kissing, petting, rubbing cock to cock. There was something absolutely perfect, to Sören's way of thinking, about them getting sweaty and cum-soaked together as the rain fell outside, curling up between orgasms to look out the penthouse view at the city, still achingly gorgeous in the rain.
They showered and stroked each other to another climax before they had to leave for their flight back to London. Sören blew a kiss into the wind and rain as they reached the airport, and he looked out the window at takeoff, blowing a kiss at the Eiffel Tower before it disappeared into the fog.
Anthony invited Sören to spend the night with him and take him to work in the morning, with laundry facilities at his flat so Sören could wash and re-wear the scrubs he'd left London in. He was in no rush to get back, driving slowly in the rain, and when Sade came on the radio it reminded Sören of their lovemaking on Friday night and he found himself kissing Anthony, then kissing his neck, getting Anthony hard while he was driving. Sören had never done anything like this before, but he leaned over, got Anthony's cock out, and started sucking him off right then. When Anthony's driving started to be affected, swerving just a little - not enough to be dangerous, but enough to cause him alarm - he pulled over, and once he was safely pulled over he grabbed Sören's head and leaned back in his seat, shuddering and moaning. Sören sucked him to an ejaculation, savoring the taste of him as he swallowed it down, kissing Anthony and letting him taste himself.
"Jesus, Sören."
"You've never gotten road head?"
"That would be a no."
"I've never given road head, but I wanted to for you."
"God." Anthony laughed, still looking dazed and happy from the orgasm. "What's gotten into me?"
"My cock, for starters."
Anthony laughed harder. "Incorrigible."
"Takk." Sören reveled in it, loving that smile on Anthony's face as he resumed driving them back to Kingston upon Thames. This was what he wanted - he'd just come back from the most magical weekend of his life and he knew, somehow, there was even greater magic to come. They belonged.
chapter 6 | return to Learning To Fly | return to Other Tolkien Fic | return to index