A modern day warrior
Mean, mean stride
Today's Tom Sawyer
Mean, mean pride
Though his mind is not for rent
Don't put him down as arrogant
His reserve, a quiet defense
Riding out the day's events
The river
Sören's last job of the day was a ventriculo-peritoneal shunt. He and Colin were currently attaching a valve to a proximal catheter, two sets of hands working together with precision, like they were playing a musical instrument, but that instrument was the human body.
Sören had done countless procedures now and no matter how many times he'd operated he still felt a quiet sense of awe that he could go in, cut open someone's brain and spine, twiddle around, and the person would be OK afterwards. He was fascinated by the marvel that was man, a machine that could be broken, taken apart and put back together.
On the occasion that Sören talked to strangers and was asked what he did for a living, the most common question he got about neurosurgery was if he was grossed out, or afraid of blood. Sören was relieved that Anthony hadn't asked him that, his partner seemed to have good enough sense to understand that if those things had been problems Sören wouldn't be in that profession. What Sören found gross, and fearful, was not the blood, not the open, raw meat and going inside to poke around, but the spectre of death hanging over people, and all too often, people too young to die, or people with too much life to give up on life. Sören understood that to Anthony, every client he had was potentially someone like his uncle, and to Sören, every patient he had was potentially his mamma. Every person he opened up, unraveled and knit back together, they were somebody to someone - parent, child, lover, friend.
Sören had felt so powerless the day his mamma had a bad headache, lay down for a nap, and never woke up again. He couldn't save her, but the strength of his will pushed him to do what he could for others.
To exorcise that spectre of death and re-quicken the spark of life... that was magic. At times, the artist in Sören would see in his mind's eye visions not unlike the paintings of Alex Grey, the human body electric with millions of wires of energy, color and light. His tools, his fingers, touched the weave of worlds within them, the brain the house of the soul, the patient on a journey on his table like the mythological journeys through the underworld and back. Sören was not a religious or superstitious man but as an artist he appreciated the poetry of mythology, its symbolism, fragments of a deeper, greater truth, and when Sören was operating he rather understood why in ancient times the healers were shamans. There was a magic in this, one that was hard to put into words but one that he felt, and each time he did an operation he was tapping into that magic, defying death once more, hallowing that weave of worlds inside each patient with a cleansing fire, a light that held back the darkness this time. Not today.
It was a magic that didn't just fix whatever was broken, here on his table, but it helped to heal that wound inside him, ripped open the day his mamma died. It would never be fully healed, Sören knew that, but it was better than it was, years ago.
When Sören had decided to go into neurosurgery in particular, knowing it was one of the most taxing specialties, he had heard it described as a calling, with the kind of brutal hours neurosurgeons put in, working on some of the most delicate, complex procedures in medicine. Sören understood that concept each time he operated. Some people had religion and a Higher Power, this was Sören's religion, this was what he dedicated his devotion to. Life.
His day was not quite done when the shunt was complete. Now he had a scan, and then he met with the patient's family to go over what he could of what he'd just done, necessities of aftercare and followup, and was ready to answer any questions they had. The discussions with family or partners was one of the best and worst parts of this job - best when it gave some good news that they badly needed to hear, worst if the family blamed him for what was outside his control, and especially when they misunderstood that there were limits to the miracle work that could be done and often the operating table was the beginning of the road back, not the end. Nobody liked to hear that there was going to be more scans, therapy, and possibly no such thing as "good as new", only a new normal of what was possible. Mercifully, today Sören had a family who was more grateful than entitled, thanking him profusely for his work, and it made Sören smile on his way out of the meeting, feeling relief at their relief, hope at their hope.
After Sören and Colin scrubbed out, Colin bro-fisted him. "You want a ride back to Bromley, mate?" Colin asked. "You look dead on your feet."
Sören laughed softly. "This is going to sound strange, but I like taking the Tube. It's just... a routine I have, I zone out. And it's raining. Those last few minutes walking home in the rain, it... it feels good." Sören felt a little sheepish, but he always got overheated when he operated, as if he were wielding fire, even though the operating theatre was climate controlled.
"I get it." Colin nodded.
"Thank you for offering, though! I'll see you tomorrow, já?"
"Yeah. You ready for hell?"
"God, about as ready as I'll ever be."
"Tomorrow" was technically "tonight", starting at 11 PM, with Colin and Sören both scheduled for an overnight shift that would last until 11 AM, realistically more like 1-2 PM. Sören didn't always work overnight but at least once a fortnight he'd have to pull an all-nighter. Colin and Sören joked about these shifts being "hell" because these were when the emergencies came in, with fewer staff to handle them - the overnight shifts felt more taxing than usual because they were.
It was one in the afternoon now - Sören having a shorter work day than usual today was to account for the fact that he'd be going back to work in ten hours. Rather than spending his evening with Anthony, he'd be going to his place in Bromley and basically eating and going to bed. But Anthony was going to call him when he had a break from work at his chambers later this afternoon, and Sören was so very looking forward to the sound of his voice. He had that funny feeling in his chest and stomach just thinking about it.
He thought about calling Anthony first, but he didn't want to interrupt, and he didn't want to come off as needy, desperate, clingy. Not that Anthony had given any indicator that Sören was behaving in such a way - just the opposite, Anthony was very attentive and warm and he basked in Sören's attention and warmth. But Sören still felt self-conscious about how hard he'd fallen. He still hadn't worked up enough courage to tell Anthony he was in love, which Sören realized was a holdover from his hookup days where signs of attachment were the antithesis of casual sex and would result in him being ghosted if he wanted more than a one-night stand, like an occasional fuckbuddy. This wasn't casual, especially not what they'd shared in Paris just over a week ago. Sören still worried about scaring Anthony away with things moving too fast, escalating with intensity. "You're too intense" was something Sören had heard more than once back in his hookup days in Iceland when he wanted cuddles, wanted raw, primal, insatiable passion. Sören knew Anthony was drawn to his fire, but nonetheless he didn't want Anthony to feel burned, with Anthony's own schedule being what it was, the adjustments he was having to make to his own life to make space for someone else.
On the Tube ride to Bromley, Sören put in his earbuds and began the process of decompressing from work, listening to a random-shuffle playlist of prog metal. He began to enter a lightly meditative state as "Rosemary" by Deftones came on, in the minutes before his stop.
Time shifting
We discover the entry
To other planes
Time shifting
As we collide with the energy
In other worlds
Stay with me
As we cross the empty skies
Come sail with me
We play in dreams
As we cross the space and time
Just stay with me
Sören was in enough of a daze that he bumped into someone on his way off the train, hard enough for Sören to fall over into a puddle. Sören managed to break his fall so he wouldn't get injured, but still ended up getting jostled and drenched. He was startled enough to need his inhaler, and as he puffed he got bumped again.
There goes my good mood. At least hearing from Anthony would redeem this afternoon.
Sören went in his flat, changed into pajamas, scrubbed in, and set to work transferring food that had been in the slow cooker into a bowl for eating now and containers to fridge and reheat later. It was nothing fancy - a homemade stew with beef and vegetables, but it was good on a chilly, rainy day like this.
After Sören ate, he went to his leather duster hanging up to retrieve his cell phone in anticipation of Anthony's call. And then he found that his phone wasn't in his coat. At all. Sören recalled the fall in the puddle, then being jostled again as he was using his inhaler.
"Tíkasonur, blóðugur móðurfokk helvíti."
He was already in his pajamas, and would have to put his clothes back on and go for a walk on the chance that the phone was even still there - he had strong doubts that it was, and he knew with his luck he might have lost it even before that, maybe on the Tube or at the hospital. Meanwhile, it wasn't simply that he absolutely had to get to bed soon if he was going to be functional for his overnight shift, but even with a shorter work day today he was exhausted and his body needed to crash anyway.
Getting changed to go down to the chip shop or another place nearby and asking to use the phone wouldn't work because he hadn't memorized Anthony's number - he had too much information in his head to keep straight, things like phone numbers and e-mails had to be plugged in somewhere or he couldn't trust himself to remember. And he hadn't thought to ask for Anthony's e-mail, they'd as yet only communicated by phone. Sören was sure he could probably Google the name Anthony Hewlett-Johnson and get an e-mail address, but then he wasn't sure if it was wise to shoot off something personal on his work e-mail.
"Ég hef ekki fokking tíma fyrir þetta... og hann mun halda að ég sé að hunsa hann..." Sören facepalmed and hit himself in the forehead. "Fokk, fokk, FOKK, skít, guð fjandinn, ég þurfti ekki þetta kjaftæði!"
Sören knew that while Anthony had common sense and might wonder if Sören had just passed out or perhaps lost his phone, there was also a real potential for Anthony to wonder if he was being ignored, and for that to create problems between them. Sören let out a wordless grit-teeth scream, angry with himself for losing his phone. I've fucked everything up now.
And there was nothing he could do about it right now. Already, he was going to be running under eight hours of sleep if he went to bed and fell asleep immediately. Sören continued cursing under his breath as he folded out his couch into a bed, made it, and got in.
I'll see what I can do to fix this tomorrow after work. Telling himself that gave him back enough of a tiny sliver of control, so he could go to sleep.
The overnight shift was even more chaotic than Sören and Colin had feared, and as upset as Sören was when he got into work, still fretting about his lost phone and Anthony's reaction, his thoughts were quickly taken over by emergencies coming in that had to be handled. It was close to one PM when Sören and Colin were finished, and just before Colin could head out, something from a conversation Sören had with Anthony came crashing into his head. Making Sören feel frustrated that he couldn't remember numbers but he could remember this.
"Colin, wait up a minute?"
Colin paused.
"This is going to seem a weird question, but, ah, where does your sister work?"
"Which one?"
"Diana."
Colin laughed. "Why? You stalking my sister, mate?" He playfully punched Sören in the arm.
"Ha ha, no." Sören pursed his lips. "Your sister is my boyfriend's EA or whatever it's called."
Colin's jaw dropped and his eyes widened. "That's who you're dating? Holy shit, mate."
"Jæja, I'm dating Anthony Hewlett-Johnson."
"Jesus." Then Colin raised an eyebrow. "You're dating this bloke and you don't know where he works?"
"Obviously I know he's a barrister but I like... never... asked. It hasn't been that long we've been dating, just a couple weeks. Usually when we're together we talk about other stuff. Or we... you know. Don't talk."
Colin facepalmed. "Oh god, I shouldn't have asked that, I walked right sodding into that."
Sören grinned, not able to resist. "Emphasis on the sodding -"
"Yeah, piss off." Colin grinned, rolling his eyes.
"Anyway, I need to go down -" Sören continued the cheekiness, unable to help himself, because Colin was just as bad sometimes where women he was dating were concerned. They were professional enough to only be like this in private moments and not in front of other colleagues, especially not ladies, not wanting them to feel sexually harassed in any way, but it was one reason why Sören and Colin got along so well, they had a similar raunchy sense of humor.
"Good god, Sören."
"I need to go to his office because I lost my fucking phone yesterday and missed a call from him and I don't know how he'll take that."
And then Colin gave Sören a long, pointed look. "Wow, mate, you have it bad for this bloke, yeah?"
Sören looked down and nodded, face on fire.
Colin slapped his shoulder. "I wouldn't worry too much, Sören, these things happen, if you explain it to him he'll know you're telling the truth. He'll just know, trust me."
Sören realized that yes, Anthony would know, being well used to spotting lies and half-truths and evasions in the courtroom, but it felt comforting to hear it from someone whose sister worked closely with the man and likely had things to say about him.
"And yeah, Diana works at Lincoln's Inn Fields, in Temple, you want to go to Garden Court Chambers."
"Takk, Colin, you're a lifesaver." Sören raised an eyebrow. "One more thing... I need directions. Written down, if possible."
As he approached the law offices, he felt self-conscious about being in a place full of suits when he was coming fresh off of work in his scrubs - at least he wasn't still wearing a cap, and the little flashlight that he had to wear on his cap during surgery, though he and Colin made jokes about how they got to wear "the cool hats".
At the reception desk Sören didn't have to wait long. "Hi, I'm here to see Anthony Hewlett-Johnson?"
"Do you have an appointment, Mr..."
"Er, no, I don't, but it's important. Urgent."
He was given a dirty look, but asked to sit down nonetheless. Sören's anxiety mounted at the expensive leather couch, the wood and glass all around, elegant, making him feel even more out of place in his duster and scrubs, his mop of curls a damp mess from the wet weather after being unleashed from the man bun he wore at work. He saw the crest in the lobby, and his eyes locked onto the motto: Do right, fear no-one.
A frisson went down Sören's spine. That's my Anthony.
And then a prickle: My Anthony? My Anthony. I'm thinking of him as mine now. Oh yes, I have it bad.
Sören did have to wait a bit of time, and then it wasn't Anthony who came out, but a pretty woman with brown skin, expressive hazel-brown eyes in a heart-shaped face, dark curls in a tight, sleek ponytail, a slim figure in a navy suit with a skirt and a white blouse, showing off calves that made Sören stare for a few seconds. This had to be Diana Traynor.
"Hello, you're here to see Mr. Hewlett-Johnson?"
"Yes, hi... you're Diana, right?"
The woman gave him a "do I know you" look. "You are..."
"Sören Sigurðsson."
"Oh! You're that Sören, you know my brother!"
"Oh shi - er, oh, darn..." Sören saw Diana fight off a grin at the near-slip. "Does Colin talk about me?"
"He's mentioned you a few times. Always nice things. Says you're a funny guy."
Their eyes met, Diana flashed him a lovely smile, and if this had been a few months or even a few weeks ago, Sören would have gone against his usual shyness and caution and asked Diana to dinner or to have a drink and see where it went from there. He realized then that yes, he did crave a woman's touch sometimes, and he didn't want to take the risk of asking Anthony for an open relationship after Anthony's experience with being "the other man", so he was looking at being strictly gay in practice for the foreseeable future, even though he still found women attractive and felt desire for them. That was something he was going to have to live with, but... he'd do it for Anthony.
God, I really am in love with him. Jesus.
"Right, so, ah." Sören ran a nervous hand through his curls. He didn't know if Anthony had mentioned to Diana that he was dating Sören, and Sören got the distinct sense that was not something to discuss out here in the open regardless.
"Right, let me check his diary for when he'll be free and I'll be back in a moment?"
Sören huffed, not liking there was a possibility he'd be stuck here until Anthony got off work for the day, not knowing what his plans were after work, or he'd have waited. "I really need to see him today. It's kind of urgent. Please tell him Sören Sigurðsson is here, he'll understand just from my name."
"All right. I'll be back in just a minute."
"A minute" was more like five, but it wasn't as long as he had been waiting. And when Diana came back she made the "come along" gesture. Sören rose from the couch and followed Diana down a hall, past a series of doors. Sören's heart pounded with each one, pit of his stomach rising, afraid that somehow, Anthony would assume he'd been ignored and it would be all over...
Uh, no, idiot, he's a defense barrister. He's letting you present your side of things. Chill.
It was even the slightest possibility that things could go badly that worried Sören - desperately not wanting to lose him - and beneath that, the worry that Anthony had felt ignored, had been wondering what happened... Sören feeling awful that Anthony would be upset at something he did, even by accident, not wanting to cause him pain...
Fuck. Shit. I love him.
And there they were. Anthony was in an office with wood paneling, his desk long and made of dark wood, his chair high-backed leather. He was in a charcoal grey suit, white shirt, grey tie, ever the consummate professional. Diana gave a nod and then as she left Sören there, she closed the door behind her, giving them a knowing look on her way out.
"Sören." Anthony looked him up and down, his expression neutral, his voice neutral. "This is unexpected."
"I lost my phone," Sören said.
"Oh." And then Anthony's face and voice were less neutral. His eyes were suddenly too bright. "Oh."
"Oh god, Anthony, you thought I was ignoring you?"
Anthony closed his eyes and nodded, saying nothing.
Sören came right over to the desk. He put his arms around Anthony, pulled him close, and then he was mindful of the fact that his leather duster was wet from outside. "Er, I need to take this off..."
Anthony gestured to a coatrack in the corner of the office, where his own trenchcoat was hanging. Sören pulled off his duster, hung it up, and then he came back to Anthony and gave him a fierce, tight hug, cradling Anthony's head in his chest, petting his hair. He heard that sharp exhale, the little tremble that was a tell Anthony was crying a little.
"Oh my god. Anthony."
"Shit." Anthony pulled back, looking down, his cheeks pink, his eyes damp. "I... I don't cry, Sören. I don't cry, and I especially do not cry at work."
"I'm sorry -"
"No, it's." Anthony wiped his eyes with the heel of his hand. He looked up at Sören then. "I didn't know why you weren't answering your phone. I was afraid I'd lost you, and -"
Sören grabbed Anthony and kissed him. Sören's cock woke up at the kiss, twinging again at the moan Anthony made into the kiss, quivering against him. Sören's arms tightened around him even more, Sören kissing Anthony deep and hard and hungry, as if he were claiming him.
"I feel like an idiot for worrying so much," Anthony said. "I know these things happen. I just..."
"Shhhh." Sören kissed him again. And again. "I worried you were going to think something was wrong. I don't memorize phone numbers, I don't have your e-mail, and with me working overnight last night and being so bloody exhausted when I got home I didn't want to go back out and try to find my phone, and I felt terrible, I didn't want to upset you, but I didn't know what to do when I just needed to get to bed..."
"Sören." Now Anthony was the one initiating the kiss. "It's all right. I'm not angry."
Sören desperately needed some levity, overcome by emotion. Protectiveness. Wanting to be reassuring, nurturing. Falling in love with him all over again and those green eyes, the sensitive heart that he tried to shield from the world... "Hi Not Angry. I'm Sör-"
Anthony kissed him harder, and swatted Sören's ass. Sören's cock jolted at that, and he felt his blood boil. Mad with lust, not thinking, Sören found himself getting on his knees and under Anthony's desk. Before either of them knew what was happening, Sören had Anthony's cock out, hard for him, and Sören looked up at him with hungry eyes, searching to make sure Anthony wanted this, was OK with it. Anthony grabbed Sören's curls, guiding his head towards his cock, and Sören's own cock throbbed in response. But before Sören could start sucking, he looked into Anthony's eyes and he finally said it. "I love you." Then his lips wrapped around Anthony's cock.
Anthony gasped, shuddered, and he ground out, "I love you too, Sören."
Oh god, yes. Yes. YES... Sören's heart soared. He started sucking the cock in his mouth like he was starving for it, like his life depended on giving this man the best pleasure he could. "Mmmmmmmmm," Sören hummed, a happy noise at the truth being laid bare.
Between Sören's hunger and passion, and Anthony's need, Anthony only lasted a few minutes. He was quieter than usual by virtue of being at work, only giving a little groan here and there, but when he came he let out that shuddery gasp Sören had heard him make during orgasm before, which Sören found incredibly sexy, especially with Anthony twitching, the rapture on his face as he gave in. Sören was turned on enough by sucking him, watching and listening to him come, tasting him, that as soon as Anthony was finished Sören took out his own cock and began to furiously masturbate right there, on his knees in Anthony's office. Sören came in record time, collecting the pooling seed into his shirt hem which was going to be washed anyway. Enough of his cum got on his hand that when he stopped shaking and needed to get up from the floor, Anthony paused him and licked and sucked Sören's hand clean, so sensually, with such heat in his eyes that Sören was tempted to take him on his desk.
As hot as that thought was, Sören knew that Anthony would get vocal and that was probably a bad idea, not to mention that the man probably didn't keep lube in his office. But he should start keeping it... just in case.
Anthony seemed to know exactly what Sören was thinking. "Sören, you're too tempting."
"Takk. So are you." And then Sören pulled him close again, letting Anthony rest his head on him, rubbing Anthony's shoulders and upper back. "I should probably go before we get in trouble."
Anthony patted him and looked up. "What are you doing tonight?"
"Sleeping." Sören chuckled.
"What are you doing before that? I'd like to come over."
"Come... over... to my place? In Bromley?" Sören was in disbelief. He lived in a studio, it wasn't terrible but it was small, small enough that he slept on a couch that folded out into a bed.
Anthony nodded. "It would save you time, rather than having to pack an overnight bag and travel from your place to mine. We'd have more time, you'd get more rest."
Sören took a deep breath. He was worried about Anthony seeing his tiny, somewhat shabby little place, but he nodded. "All right. If you truly don't mind -"
"I want to see you." Their eyes held. "I miss you." Anthony reached up to stroke Sören's face. "I love you."
Sören's heart soared again. As tired as he was, he could have done cartwheels around the entire chambers, screaming for joy, if it wouldn't make a scene. "I love you too."
After Sören put his duster back on, Anthony walked him to the door of his office, stealing a kiss just before he opened the door. "I'll be there roughly around six."
"OK."
"What would you like to eat?"
"You."
Anthony laughed and turned pink, and Sören laughed too, before kissing the tip of his nose - Anthony was adorable when he was bashful, and it made Sören love him more. "Well, I made stew last night but if I don't have to eat the same thing two nights in a row... you mind bringing over fish and chips?"
"No." Anthony gave him a hug. "I'll see you then, love."
Sören was grinning from ear to ear on his way out. He tried to sober as he passed the receptionist, not wanting to give it away, but the grin came back as soon as he stepped outside.
Sören didn't go straight home, stopping at one of the stores of his cell phone provider to buy a new phone and get his plan transferred to the new phone, complete with keeping the same number. He had to charge it up when he got in, and set about getting in his red plaid flannel pajamas and making the place tidy, once again feeling bad because of how spartan his place was, apart from some art on the walls. He'd come from Iceland to England with exactly one suitcase, almost all of that clothing, and moved into an efficiency where buying furniture wasn't necessary. He'd accumulated very little in the way of personal belongings since then save some art prints, his television and stereo, and art supplies, because he wasn't home all that much - his flat was a place to eat and sleep. And now...
I want a home. This isn't a home. Sören swallowed hard.
He heard Anthony come up the steps. "It's open," Sören yelled.
Anthony walked in, bearing stargazer lilies with one hand and a bag from a chip shop with the other, with an overnight bag on the arm that carried the food. Sören ran to him to take the flowers, giving a squeak before giving Anthony a kiss. Then he went to put the flowers in Sprite and put on tea.
"I'm really sorry," Sören said as he took his place beside Anthony on the couch. "My place is, ah. It's not much."
"I came here for you," Anthony said.
Nonetheless, Sören could see him looking around, taking it in, and thought he detected a hint of sadness.
They ate together, curled up, watching a rerun of Star Trek: The Next Generation. It was nice to just be, and Sören smiled when Anthony started feeding Sören from his fingers like Sören was his pet. When they were done eating, Anthony pulled him close and pet Sören's curls, rubbed his back.
"I have something for you," Anthony said.
"Mmmm, I hope so." Sören looked up and gave him a naughty look.
Anthony turned pink, laughed and rolled his eyes, and said, "That too, brat." He produced a business card from his wallet. "Here. That has my cell and my e-mail."
"Takk. I bought a new phone, let me grab it..." Sören went to the kitchen space in the open plan studio to grab his phone off the charger. He also grabbed a bottle of beer for each of them. He groaned a little at the prospect of having to reprogram all his contacts, but for now he'd take care of this. He glanced at Anthony's business card and then his eyebrow went up at the C. ANTHONY HEWLETT-JOHNSON. "Oh, Anthony's a middle name?"
"...Yes."
Sören smirked. "What does the C stand for?"
"Could You Not."
"Oh, come on. I suck your cock, I fuck you in the arse -" Anthony turned beetroot at this. "And I can't know what your real first name is?" Sören started poking him. "Come on, tell me..."
"Sören..."
"It's not Sören. That starts with S, not C."
"Brat."
"Come on." Sören poked him harder, faster. "Tell me... tell me what the C stands for..."
Anthony gave him a look.
"C is for Cookie?"
"NO," Anthony said with such commanding force that it made Sören almost spit his beer, finding Anthony's reaction ridiculous and delightful.
"Cleopatra?"
"You're hilarious." Anthony's eyes narrowed.
"Crap? Cunnilingus? Cheese?"
"Sören, I swear to God -"
"Right, it would be one of those poncy British names you lot have like Clive... Colin... Cedric..."
"None of those names are poncy, Sören."
"They're all poncy to people who aren't from England. Really, Anthony, I don't know why it's so bad you can't tell me..."
"Fine." Anthony gave him another look. "It's Cornelius."
"Corn-Cornelius." Sören felt his head snapping back, his lips quirking involuntarily. "Wh-what... kind of name is Cornelius -"
"This is exactly why I didn't want to tell you, and why I go by my middle name."
"Can I call you Corny? Or Corn?"
"The name is Latin for horn, actually."
That made it even worse. "OK then... so Horny?"
Anthony glared.
Sören leaned in and gave him a little kiss. "I'll stop if it bothers you. I just." He giggled into his beer. "You poor dear, I don't know how your parents could see a tiny baby and decide to name it Cornelius."
"I don't either."
Then Sören cocked his head to one side. "Do you go by Anthony all the time? Does anyone call you Tony?"
"Nobody calls me that."
I'll call you that once in awhile, and I'll get away with it. "Tony's a damn sight better than Cornelius, though."
And then Anthony gave him a look that let him know he wasn't quite as annoyed as he was acting - as if he enjoyed the challenge that Sören presented, a good sparring of wit. "You're not really in a position to make fun of anyone's name, considering your own resembles an IKEA product."
Sören almost spat his beer. He howled and clapped appreciatively. Then he couldn't resist the troll impulse. "There are jokes about wood and inserting tab A into slot B here somewhere."
Now Anthony lost it, laughing, heaving, turning pink. "Goddammit, Sören."
They kissed, a sweet little kiss that deepened, heated. Soon they were making out on the couch, hands roaming. Anthony began to undo the buttons of Sören's pajama top, kissing and licking the exposed flesh. When his tongue lightly brushed a nipple, then lashed it, pebbling it, Sören shivered, gasped and cried out, bucking against him as his cock jolted and throbbed awake.
"Tony," Sören teased, and then said, "Anthony," at the mock stern look he was given. "This is... this is it, for what I have for a bed. It folds out, but I'm cautious about testing it with, ah, more strenuous stuff. On the couch itself, it's fine."
Anthony nodded. Sören once again got the sense that Anthony didn't know quite what to make of Sören's living situation, but the fact that he was willing to come here and spend the night at all said a lot. "Well, we can start on the couch, before you fold it out for the evening."
"All right. I hope you've got condoms and lube with you, because I don't have either here."
"I've got them, yes."
They undressed, with Anthony folding his clothes neatly on the coffee table. Sören lay back on the couch and Anthony got him ready by sucking him, kneeling on the floor as Sören had knelt on the floor of his office. "I've been thinking about this since you left chambers," Anthony husked when he let Sören's cock slip from his mouth.
"I've been thinking about... you, period." Sören swallowed hard, feeling that tight ache in his chest - a good ache. "About us." He stroked Anthony's face, pet his hair. "I love you."
"I love you too." Anthony sucked at the head of Sören's cock for a minute and then he rasped, "I really want to feel you."
They got into a position where Anthony could ride Sören on the couch without falling. As Anthony straddled Sören's hips, Sören wrapped his arms around him and pulled him into a kiss. Not breaking the kiss, Anthony sank down and they moaned together. When Sören bottomed out inside him they kissed harder, deeper, and Anthony whispered, "I love you."
"I love you." Sören kissed him again. "I will never get tired of hearing it."
"I will never get tired of saying it, or hearing you say it." Anthony began to ride, slowly. Sören's hands slid down from Anthony's back to his hips, guiding him. Sören watched his erect cock, feasted on the sight of his body, the look of lust on Anthony's face.
Their mouths met again and again, tongues swirling, playing, teasing. Their hands slid over each other, caressing, rubbing, exploring and worshiping. Anthony kept the ride languid, the two of them savoring just connecting, being together. Sören was glad that they'd mutually be getting tested soon and could likely do away with barriers then, wanting nothing to come between them. In the meantime Sören pulled him closer, held him tighter, devoured him with his eyes, loved with his touch, his kiss. And at last Anthony was riding him harder and Sören grabbed his hips and started to thrust, putting him to work, pushing them both along to that point of no return. Sören played with Anthony's cock when he started to make those telltale noises of getting close, and when Anthony called out Sören's name, erupting over him, Sören came a few seconds later, hearing himself cry out, "Anthony, ástin mín, ég elska þig."
Anthony kissed him hard - knowing somehow what those words meant. They kissed and kissed, and now Sören was crying, showing his own vulnerability in that moment of truth. Sören pulled him close and rocked him, still inside him.
After they rested for a few minutes they got up and Sören dispensed with the used condom, folded out the bed, made it up, Sören hit the lights, and after brushing teeth they got in, with Sören setting the alarm for five in the morning for both of them. Sören left a light on in the bathroom to provide them with a little bit of light in case they needed it - and because it was nice to have some light when they weren't going to sleep just yet. Sören and Anthony began kissing again as soon as Sören snuggled up next to him, and Sören smiled as he felt Anthony's hand reaching down to the stiffening cock.
The covers got peeled back as they settled into a sixty-nine, laying at each other's sides. With the urgency of mutually craving a fuck gone, they could take it slower now, sucking sweetly, lovingly. As they edged towards orgasm they were hungrier, Sören rubbing his tongue as he sucked, rewarded with Anthony doing the same. They came together, taking each other's hands as they spilled into each other's mouths, and never had it felt so intimate. When Sören came up to kiss him, petting, nuzzling, Sören felt that it was one of the most beautiful moments of his life. Their love confession that afternoon had been under imperfect circumstances with Sören losing his phone, Anthony had ended up coming over out of the imperfect circumstances of that, and Sören's flat was imperfect, not a home. And yet it was all perfect in its imperfections, accidents coming together to make something wonderful and real.
For the first time in a long time, years, well before the rape in Iceland, his sister's murder, Sören felt a return of the optimism he'd felt as a new med student. That life was an adventure again.
They tangled up together, holding each other, legs entwined.
"I like holding you," Anthony said. He'd said it before, but Sören never got tired of it.
"I love it." Sören sighed and snuggled closer, deeper. "I wish we could do this more often."
"Me too."
For a brief, flittering instant Sören thought about broaching the subject of them living together, but they'd been dating barely three weeks and it was way too soon for that - saying "I love you" might not scare Anthony away but Sören had a feeling asking to move in just might. But the ache was there, and it would solve the problem of wanting to see each other more often... a lost phone wouldn't potentially be such a disaster if they were under the same roof.
The fact that he already felt like this - so sure, so right... Sören felt the tears about to come on again. Sören needed to calm down, so he went to his default coping mechanism, humor. "I love you, Corn."
"I love you, IKEA."
chapter 7 | return to Learning To Fly | return to Other Tolkien Fic | return to index