Sören growled as he turned off the blaring alarm clock, and made a whining noise as Anthony patted him and he snuggled deeper against his lover.
"I don't wanna go to wo-o-o-o-ork," Sören moaned.
"I know, love." Anthony kissed Sören's brow. "And I don't want to encourage you to take a sick day -"
"No, that would... bother my conscience too much. As it is, the reason why I'm working Christmas Eve is because we need what help we can get." Sören frowned and sat up. Anthony sat up with him and stole a kiss.
It was Saturday, December twenty-fourth. On Friday the twenty-third Sören had the morning free and he'd done very last-minute gift shopping for Anthony; he'd gotten off work late last night but had told Anthony to come over in the morning instead. Anthony had assumed it was so Sören could go right to sleep after his shift, but what he didn't know was that Sören had no intention of going to Anthony's parents' house empty-handed on Sunday, so when he arrived home just before midnight he got right to work in the kitchen. At a loss as far as presents for Elaine and Roger Hewlett-Johnson, Sören had decided on baked goods, since almost everyone liked those. And so he spent the next couple hours whipping up batches of traditional Icelandic holiday treats - piparkökur, spesíur and Sören's personal favorite, lakkrístoppar.
He got a few hours of sleep before Anthony came by his flat in Bromley first thing on this Saturday morning; Sören didn't even get a chance to fold up his bed back into the couch. Anthony didn't seem to mind. As he made coffee in the kitchen he noticed what Sören had done - stealing one of the piparkökur for himself while Sören scolded him and Anthony made an innocent face that wasn't innocent at all - and then Anthony had asked, "You made those?"
"Jæja, I... stayed up last night. I wanted to do something nice for your parents since they're kind enough to invite me, and they're insisting we spend the night." Mindful of the busy schedules Sören and Anthony kept and how precious their free time was, Elaine had told Anthony they were welcome to spend the night in Anthony's old room rather than go to a hotel or try to drive back. Sören felt a little awkward about sharing a bed with his lover under the same roof as his parents, but he knew it was more practical.
Anthony pulled Sören into a tight hug and rained kisses all over his face. He was visibly touched, knowing what it cost Sören with his constant exhaustion to do such a thing. "You dear, thoughtful man."
Sören crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip. "I tried -"
Anthony kissed him hard, and it turned out to be just as well that Sören hadn't folded up his bed, because Anthony pulled him onto it and soon they were undressing and settled into a hungry sixty-nine. They spent the entire day of Christmas Eve in bed making sweaty, loud, messy, passionate love, sucking and rimming each other, taking each other, bringing each other to climax after climax. Eventually Sören felt like he'd been shot out of the sky, falling from the blinding glory of sex into a warm, cozy sleep, wrapped up in Anthony's arms, their legs entwined. Anthony had the sense to set Sören's alarm clock so Sören could wake up in time to get ready for his shift with enough time to spare to eat, shower, and do some last-minute canoodling.
After Sören showered, he called for takeaway from a nearby Indian restaurant that was open for delivery on Christmas Eve. As they waited for the food to arrive, Sören and Anthony folded the bed back into the couch and then Sören put on the stereo, selecting a station playing Christmas music, and he and Anthony danced around Sören's tiny kitchen, Anthony spinning him around and dipping him. Just as Sören saw the delivery car pull up from the window, Anthony stole another piparkökur, shoving one in Sören's mouth and nibbling one himself.
"Save those for your parents, you," Sören said.
Anthony grinned and playfully swatted Sören's ass. "I can't help it, they're so tempting. Like the man who made them." He leered.
Heat rose to Sören's cheeks and he giggled, swatting Anthony back. "Good lord."
"You could have become a chef if you hadn't gone into medicine," Anthony said as he nibbled the cookie. "Seriously."
"Oh come on, I mean they're good, I guess, but I wouldn't win any awards."
"I beg to differ. You are a man of many talents."
"Your mind is right in the gutter again, isn't it."
"Darling, my mind lives in the gutter, where you are concerned." Anthony leaned in and gave Sören a little kiss. "But in the gutter though I may be, I look at you and see the stars."
"That's beautiful."
"That's paraphrasing Oscar Wilde."
"Still." Sören kissed him back, hard, and gave a little groan, lamenting that it would be impractical for them to try to have more sex before his shift started. The knock came at the door and Sören answered, paying the driver and tipping generously since it was the holiday.
They sat on the couch together and ate, and then Anthony said, "Would you like your Christmas gift now or later?"
"Depends on what it is." Sören looked at the clock and then gave Anthony a pointed look.
Anthony's laughter rang out. "I'm clearly not the only one whose mind is always in the gutter."
"Hi Clearly Not The Only One Who -"
Anthony silenced him with a kiss. "It's an actual gift, Sören." A pause. "The kind you unwrap."
"That's still not helping."
Anthony glared. "With a bow on it."
"...That's not helping either."
Anthony lost it, turning red, doubling over. "Sören Sigurðsson, do you think I would put a bow on..." He couldn't finish the sentence, laughing too hard.
When they calmed down Sören said, "Well, Christmas Eve was when I opened presents... the years I got anything, anyway..." He watched Anthony cringe - Anthony still didn't know the extent of how bad Sören's upbringing in Iceland had been, but moments like this were telling, and Sören could see he felt for him. "So we might as well do it now, plus that takes pressure off me with your parents seeing what I got you and thinking it's not good enough or -"
"Oh, Sören." Anthony patted him. He reached into the overnight bag he'd brought and pulled out a navy-colored gift bag. Sören went over to the kitchen, opened up a cupboard - Anthony laughed that Sören had actually hidden the gift, knowing how he liked to poke around - and Sören came back with a long, narrow box, wrapped in red plaid wrapping paper with a gold bow.
Sören opened the navy blue gift bag and pulled out something cube-shaped and heavy, wrapped in deep blue sparkly wrapping paper with a curly silver bow. Sören shook it and it made no sound; Anthony seemed amused by this. "Go on," Anthony said.
Despite the careful wrapping job, Sören tore into the paper, to Anthony's greater amusement, Anthony laughing as wrapping paper went everywhere. Anthony had given Sören a set of hardbound books. One was Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman. One was the collected works of Pablo Neruda. One was a book of Byron's poetry. One was Four Quartets by T.S. Eliot.
"Oh my." Sören felt that ache in his chest, a flutter in his stomach, that Anthony had observed how much Sören was touched by quotations he'd made from poets and thought he might like to read more - which Sören did. It was perfect. He threw his arms around Anthony and kissed him, laughing. "Thank you. I love it. I can't wait to read these." Sören gave a bitter little chuckle. "I can't wait to have time to read these."
Anthony stroked Sören's cheek and pet his curls. "Good, I'm relieved you didn't think this was..." He made a face. "Too nerdy."
"Oh my god no." Sören hugged him tighter, and wondered what prompted a statement like that, being they both had to be fairly intellectual to get into their respective professions. "No, it's not too nerdy at all. Are you kidding me? I think it's so fucking hot that you're well-read, that you appreciate poetry..." Sören's voice got husky with emotion. "It's art, with words. It takes depth to be able to connect with it."
Anthony smiled and kissed the tip of Sören's nose, blushing a little.
"Now you," Sören said, thrusting the present at him.
"Do you have a scissor? You did a nice job with wrapping this, I -"
"JUST OPEN THE FUCKING PRESENT," Sören yelled.
Anthony doubled over laughing again. He tweaked Sören's nose and then he tore off the wrapping paper like a big kid, to Sören's delight. The long, narrow box contained a tie - Armani, dark navy blue, herringbone design. Anthony didn't react when he saw it - neither registering pleasure nor disappointment.
"I know it's not exciting," Sören said, "but it's practical, and it'll go with the colors you usually wear, and it's... it's, you know, Armani." It had cost most of the hundred quid Sören had insisted on as a limit for spending, and Sören suspected Anthony had still gone over the limit with his books. "And it's... you know, a little piece of me to take with you every day..."
Anthony's eyes softened and he reached for Sören's hand and squeezed.
And then Sören put the spin on it that he'd been planning on when he got the idea in his head to just go with the safe, low-stress option of a tie. "And it means Jólakötturinn won't eat you."
Anthony's eyes widened, his eyebrows went up, and he said, looking amused and bemused all at once, "Yo-la... what? Eating me? What?"
Sören laughed. "So to back up a bit, back in Iceland, our Christmas is different. We have a troll couple, Gryla and Leppaludi, who live in a cave, and they cook naughty children in a stew. They have thirteen sons, the Jólasveinar or Yule Lads, and they come one by one to play pranks on everyone. If you're good, they leave you sweets or other small gifts in your shoe, and if you've been naughty, they leave a potato. But the Yule Lads are mostly harmless. It's the Jólakötturinn you have to watch out for. The Yule Cat will eat you if you don't get at least one item of new clothing for Christmas."
"Are you taking the piss?"
"No."
"Icelanders teach this to small children?"
Sören nodded vehemently. "We live on a tiny island with volcanoes that can kill us, it's made everything a bit dark, I think."
"That's seriously disturbing, and if I was a religious man I'd say I'm going to hell for finding that funny. Scaring children is awful."
"It's not really that scary, if you've behaved yourself and you've got new clothing." Sören gestured to the tie. "See? You're safe from Jólakötturinn... this year."
"Well, thank you." Anthony took the tie out of the box and gave Sören a kiss. "It's my color, and I will always think of you when I wear it." He snickered. "My hero, saving me from the Yule Cat."
"Wish I could save us from my fucking Yule schedule," Sören said, glowering at the clock.
"Right, I should bring you to work now."
Sören had packed a bag to bring to Anthony's parents' house in Blackheath for the weekend, and they brought the bag and the cookies down to Anthony's car so when Sören got off work tomorrow late afternoon they could just go directly from National to Blackheath without having to stop at Sören's flat in Bromley first. As Anthony loaded the cookies into his Audi, Sören scolded him, "Now, you leave those alone and save them for Christmas Day, or I'll take back that tie and let Jólakötturinn eat you."
Anthony chuckled and stole a kiss. "I love you, you know."
"I know." Sören kissed him back. "I love you too."
At National, Sören lingered in the car, not wanting to go. They shared a few last kisses, until the kisses got more heated and Sören was tempted to be late for work. They pulled apart breathing hard, flushed, and Anthony said, "I'll see you tomorrow."
Sören gave his shoulder a squeeze. "I'm sorry I have to work tonight."
"I am too, but it's not your fault. Do you want me to come by on your break -"
"You can, but you need your rest too, so it's OK if you just come by when my shift is done." Sören blew him a kiss and gave him a sad little wave.
Anthony didn't come by on Sören's break, which was fine because Sören was a bit frazzled and didn't quite want Anthony to see him like this on Christmas. He managed to calm down when his shift was over and Anthony was waiting for him in the Audi, all smiles when he got in the car.
Anthony gave him a big kiss as he slid in the passenger's seat. "Happy Christmas."
"Gleðileg jól til þín."
Christmas music played softly on the car stereo as Anthony drove to Blackheath, and Anthony had hot chocolate in a thermos for Sören, which he took with mumbled thanks as he sat back and let himself unwind in the cozy warmth of the car, watching gentle snowfall over London at sunset.
When they pulled into the neighborhood in Blackheath, Anthony said, "One thing to be aware of before we go in. Under no circumstances should you discuss politics with my father."
Sören laughed. "Wasn't planning on it."
"Sören, you'd be surprised what my father can turn into a political discussion. I love my father, distant though we are, and I wouldn't call him racist or homophobic, but he can be a bit clueless about how the rest of the world lives. I have no idea sometimes how my parents ended up together, I'm guessing a lot of alcohol was involved."
Sören didn't know what he was expecting when they arrived, but Anthony's parents' house was like something out of Mary Poppins or Upstairs, Downstairs. The villa was four stories with a grey stone exterior, manicured flowerbeds sleeping for the winter. When Sören walked inside carrying the wrapped-up plates of cookies, Anthony's arm around him, Sören felt painfully conscious of Anthony's flawless elegance, wearing a black wool greatcoat with a navy cashmere scarf, a steel-blue cashmere sweater and dark blue jeans underneath, and Sören coming to the house straight from work in a black leather duster over his scrubs and the long-sleeved T-shirt he wore under his scrub top to cover his tattoos per NHS regulations. Sören also cringed at the reflection in the doorway - the long hours under high pressure showed on his face.
But the woman at the door greeted them warmly, seeming delighted to see Sören regardless of what he looked like. She was tall, slim, steel-grey hair in a pixie cut, green eyes framed by glasses, handsome rather than pretty, wearing a chocolate brown pantsuit with a beige camisole and a strand of cream Akoya pearls. "You must be Sören," she said in a deep, rich, well-cultured voice, immediately pulling him into a hug. "I'm Elaine."
"Nice to meet you," Sören said.
"Mum." Anthony hugged his mother.
"Come in, come in." Elaine gestured.
They went from a glass-topped porch to a hallway with glossy dark wood floors and a large white staircase. Sören's breath caught at the sash windows and stained glass, again at the plaster flowers at the tops of the grey walls, metalwork repurposed as sculptures and wall hangings, and the chandelier.
"This place is incredible," Sören said.
"I bought it when Anthony was four," Elaine said, "repaired and redesigned it."
"Oh... you're..."
"An architect," Elaine said, nodding. Elaine looked at the tinfoil-wrapped plates Sören was carrying. "Those are for us, dear?"
Sören nodded.
Elaine took them and Sören and Anthony followed her to the kitchen, removing their outerwear to hang on a coat rack. Anthony was carrying their overnight bags and set them down by the coat rack as well. The kitchen was done in a wood finish and had all-new, glossy appliances in cream. Judging from the smell and what was sitting atop the stove and on counters, Christmas dinner had been timed to be ready for when they arrived.
Sören felt self-conscious again. "I hope I didn't keep you guys waiting too long if you're hungry -"
"Nonsense. Here, pick out what you'd like and I'll fix your plates if you go have a seat in the dining room."
Sören looked around. He thought the bird was probably goose, and he didn't recognize much of anything else apart from greens and herbed, roasted potatoes which looked good. "Um, I'll have whatever Anthony is having." That sounded like a safe bet.
"All right, dear."
Anthony's father Roger was sitting at the dining table when they walked in - glass-topped, big enough to sit somewhere between eight to ten people, sturdy wooden chairs with floral carvings on the back. Sören stared at another chandelier and the pretty windows and gauzy curtains, mouth open, and then Roger rose from the dining table. Anthony favored his mother in looks and coloring - Roger had a mix of auburn and grey hair, and cool grey eyes, with a rather square-jawed, disapproving face. He was also shorter than Sören and Anthony, though of a build that suggested he had once been an athlete, now halted by obvious arthritis in his joints. He wore a dark red blazer and khakis, and the red plaid slippers suggested he'd spent the day relaxing indoors. He took Sören's hand and gave him a genuine smile before reaching out to pat his son on the back. "Anthony. And... Sören, is it? It's good to finally meet you."
Anthony pulled out a chair for Sören, who said "Takk," beaming as he sat down. Elaine came out with Sören and Anthony's plates first, and Sören was hungry enough that he wanted to start right away, but Anthony stayed Sören's hand with a look that said wait. Elaine came back with a plate for Roger and she asked, "What would you like to drink? We have cider, egg nog..."
"Egg nog," Sören said.
"Cider for me, and I will take a shot of whisky if you have it," Anthony said.
"What about you, Sören? We have scotch, gin and tonic, ale..."
"I'll have ale, yes, thank you." Sören smiled and Elaine smiled back.
When drinks were served, Elaine came back with her plate and when she started eating, that was the cue for everyone else. "Oh god, this is good," Sören said as he tried the goose.
Elaine grinned.
"So you've just come from work?" Roger said, sizing Sören up.
Sören nodded. "Had to work overnight Christmas Eve."
"Goodness, that's a long shift," Elaine said.
"Indeed. They expect you to work on Christmas?" Roger scowled.
"It's not like we can help the emergency trauma cases that come in," Sören said. "Someone's got to be around."
Anthony kicked Sören under the table, whispered, "Remember what I told you in the car," and then he said to his parents, "Sören has tonight off, all of tomorrow, and tomorrow night, so there's that."
"Well, you boys are welcome to stay," Elaine said.
"You sure it's not any trouble?" Sören made a moue.
"Sören, we have plenty of space, and Anthony still has his old room," Elaine said. "Besides, it's nice having family around, since my mum couldn't make it this year. She's in Tahiti for Christmas with Donovan." To Sören she explained, "Her companion."
Anthony leaned in and whispered, "Boytoy."
"I heard that, Cornelius Anthony," Elaine said, giving him a stern look though her eyes registered amusement, while Roger looked decidedly uncomfortable. "Donovan is a very nice young man who makes your gran very happy."
"I didn't say there was anything wrong with that," Anthony said, going on the defensive. "On the contrary, I think society makes too much of a big deal over things like age differences between consenting adults. But let's call a spade a spade. I bristle at the word 'companion' being used for someone's partner for what should be obvious reasons."
"Anthony, this isn't the courtroom, dear," Elaine said. "Try the plum pudding, I used Mum's recipe."
There was Yorkshire pudding, and plum pudding, and figgy pudding, and for Roger, black pudding. "How many things do the English call pudding?" Sören asked, examining a bit of plum pudding on his fork.
Anthony flushed and tried not to laugh, and failed, working on his whisky.
"What do you usually have for Christmas dinner in Iceland, Sören?" Elaine asked.
"Well, it depends." Sören decided to not get in the tragic story of his life with Elaine and Roger. "I like a good leg of lamb, myself, but this goose is to die for." Sören tried the plum pudding. "Hey, this is pretty good. But... there's no plums in this?"
"No, there are no plums in plum pudding," Elaine said, seeming amused rather than offended by Sören's confusion. "It's got raisins."
Sören had seconds of the greens, potatoes, and goose, and Elaine gave him some of the rich, crispy goose skin which Sören really enjoyed, raving about it to Anthony's amusement. After the meal Sören insisted on helping with dishes, wearing Elaine down when she initially refused, and Anthony came in to load the dishwasher when things were rinsed.
Elaine began to take the tinfoil off the cookies Sören had brought. "Oh, these look delicious."
"I baked them myself. That's piparkökur, ginger cookies, spesíur which is sugar cookies, and lakkrístoppar - meringues, licorice with chocolate."
"I'm taking one now." Elaine had one of the lakkrístoppar.
"Excellent choice, those are my favorite." Sören grinned.
Elaine leaned on the kitchen counter and made a face of bliss as she ate a cookie. "My god, Sören. This is wonderful. And so thoughtful!"
"I didn't want to come empty-handed," Sören said.
When the dishwasher was started, Sören and Anthony followed Elaine out to the reception room - Elaine brought the cookies - where Roger was having a glass of scotch and Anthony had a second one. Sören and Anthony sat on a couch together across from Anthony's parents, kicking their feet up, and when Anthony put an arm around Sören, Sören leaned against him.
"So Anthony tells me you met at National, when he was doing investigative research for a court case," Elaine said.
Sören nodded.
"How long have you been there? And in England?"
"The NHS sponsored my visa, I came over in mid 2010."
"Do you like it here? I've seen pictures of Iceland, it's a beautiful country, you must get homesick..."
"Now and again, but this is home now," Sören said, and took Anthony's hand as if to say you are home now. Anthony got the message and squeezed Sören's hand, thumb rubbing over Sören's ring finger.
"You think you'll be with the NHS for awhile, or go private sector?"
"Probably NHS as long as I can," Sören said. He skirted around the issue of Scandinavian values, not wanting to get into political discussion with Roger. "They work us hard, but it's... it's a calling. I knew I wanted to be a doctor since I was small, and a brain doctor when I learned about the different specialties of medicine."
"That's quite a calling, to feel it so young," Elaine said. "Did anything prompt that?"
"My mother died," Sören said matter-of-factly. "Brain aneurysm. I was almost six."
"I'm sorry," Elaine said, and Roger nodded sympathy.
Sören hadn't wanted to be a downer on the holiday. "You're an architect, you said?"
"Yes," Elaine said. "Sometime I'll get out my portfolio and show you my work, if you're interested. Like you, it was an early calling, though for different reasons. I was gifted a dollhouse and it quickly got to be too small for the amount of dolls I had, and my mum said I had to wait till my next birthday to get one - she had money but didn't want to indulge me too much. So I made additions myself. I drew up a plan and constructed it from materials on hand. My friends were impressed and wanted me to make dollhouses for them. Then I was reading stories and my mind was visualizing everything I was reading and I drew the houses from my imagination. It took off from there, really."
"My story is far less exciting," Roger said. "I'm an accountant. Well, was... I'm retired now, though I can still help crunch numbers when it needs doing for family or friends."
"Not exciting but it paid the bills," Elaine said, "and left you with time for more interesting hobbies, which in my opinion is important, life is for living, after all." Elaine turned back to Sören. "When it's springtime you'll have to see Roger's garden."
"Oh yes." Roger chuckled. "That garden is my pride and joy just like this house is Elaine's."
"And all work and no play makes life dull," Elaine said. "I assume you have hobbies too, Sören?"
"I draw, sometimes I paint," Sören said. "I read. I liked to go hiking when I lived in Iceland, go out and be one with nature."
"Oh! Maybe if I show you my portfolio, you can show me your art sometime?" Elaine's face lit up.
"Maybe." Sören fidgeted in his seat.
Anthony elbowed him. "Sören, your art is good. It deserves to be shown to more people." He looked at his mother. "Mum, you have to see his work, he is very gifted."
"You're gifted in the kitchen too," Elaine said, having another cookie. She gave one of the sugar cookies to Roger, who brightened up and had more. "You baked these yourself."
"I'm glad you like them," Sören said.
"I feel a bit bad that we didn't get you anything for Christmas now," Elaine said, "but I take it Anthony explained to you we don't spend money on each other - I have everything I want, Anthony can afford to get himself anything he wants, so I'd rather a donation to charity be made in my name."
"He did tell me that and I'm OK with that," Sören said. He added honestly, "I'd just feel obligated to get you something for Christmas because then baked goods wouldn't really cut it, and holiday shopping is stressful for me even when I'm not working the kind of hours I do."
"Yes, that's part of why I instituted this policy a few years ago. Anthony already has to do little token shopping for his colleagues, I don't see the point of putting additional stress on him trying to guess what to get us," Elaine said.
"I still got Sören a little something," Anthony said.
"Well, good. For your partner, definitely that's the right thing to do."
"He wouldn't let me be extravagant," Anthony said, giving Sören a look, and then, smiling, he said, "Books of poetry. Whitman, Neruda, Eliot, Byron..."
"Oh, good." Elaine sounded relieved by that, and Sören was surprised, but didn't press it. "Yes, it's good that you have someone who..." Elaine seemed to catch herself. "Reads." Elaine sipped on egg nog. "What about you, Sören?"
"I got Anthony a tie," Sören said, feeling a twinge of self-consciousness.
"It was an Armani tie," Anthony quickly added. "It will go with every suit I own." Anthony grinned. "And the Yule Cat won't eat me."
"The..." Elaine raised an eyebrow, and the look of genuine puzzlement on her face made Anthony laugh, which made Sören laugh too.
Sören explained the Icelandic Christmas folklore to Elaine and Roger, and Roger looked a bit perplexed while Elaine clapped her hands and laughed uproariously.
"I can see why you're such a kind, thoughtful young man," Elaine said, "if you had the threat of being fed to hungry trolls hanging over your head as a lad." She winked, eyes full of mischief. Then she turned to Anthony. "Did you know about any of this beforehand?"
"He just told me about it yesterday," Anthony said.
"I know I said I didn't want gifts, but now I'm concerned the Yule Cat will eat us in our sleep," Elaine said with a smirk.
"Jæja, that's why I made all those Christmas cookies," Sören said, though it wasn't really. "We can't possibly eat them all in one night so there'll be enough left over and that will hopefully distract Jólakötturinn and he'll forget all about eating you."
"Oh, I love the sound of that," Elaine said. "Say it again?"
"Jólakötturinn," Sören said, amused.
"You have such a beautiful language," Elaine said.
"If you like the sound of that, we have a song," Sören said, feeling emboldened by the ale he'd had. "Should I sing it to you?"
"Please."
Sören took a deep breath, cleared his throat, and sang the traditional song in its haunting, melancholy minor key.
Þið kannist við jólaköttinn
Sá köttur var gríðarstór
Fólk vissi ekki hvaðan hann kom
Eða hvert hann fór
Hann glennti upp glyrnurnar sínar
Glóandi báðar tvær
Það var ekki heiglum hent
Að horfa í þær
Kamparnir beittir sem broddar
Upp úr bakinu kryppa há
Og klærnar á loðinni löpp
Var ljótt að sjá
Því var það að konurnar kepptust
Við kamba og vefstól og rokk
Og prjónuðu litfagran lepp
Eða lítinn sokk...
When the song was finished, Elaine stood up and clapped. "Bravo. You have a beautiful voice," she said.
Sören's cheeks flushed.
Anthony gave Sören a squeeze and tousled his curls. Sören grinned at him, and grabbed a cookie and put it in Anthony's mouth before he could be tempted to snog him in front of the parents.
That urge intensified as Elaine took Sören on a proper tour of the house, ending with the patio doors that led out to the garden, a winter wonderland glowing softly with fairy lights, and Sören noticed there was a mistletoe hanging right above the patio doors. When Elaine turned to go back into the kitchen, Anthony grabbed Sören and kissed him hard. Sören gave a little moan into the kiss, melting against him.
"What was that for?" Sören asked when they pulled apart.
"You and your native language." And as they marched towards the kitchen, Anthony's arms wrapped around Sören's waist, walking close behind him, and Sören could feel he was half-hard. Sören grinned.
In the kitchen, having a last cup of egg nog, Anthony stood behind Sören - who knew it was to conceal his arousal - and Elaine said, "If you boys need anything, help yourselves, all right?" She leaned in to kiss her son's cheek, and then she kissed Sören's cheek as well and patted him. "I'm so glad you came for Christmas and it'll be nice having you here tomorrow! Roger and I are going out for a bit tomorrow afternoon but we'll be home in the evening, you boys I'm sure can find things to pass the time, we have a large DVD collection, Anthony's old gaming consoles are in his room..." She strode off. "Good night, dears. Sleep well."
Anthony's old room was on the second floor, far away from everything else on the second floor except the bathroom. The second floor had a library and second sitting room with a home theatre and a grand piano and a liquor cabinet, large but more intimate than the reception room on the first floor. Sören let out a low whistle at the piano. "Who plays?"
"I do," Anthony said. He pushed Sören along from the sitting room towards his bedroom.
Anthony claimed that his old bedroom was left the way he'd had it when leaving for Cambridge in 1998, apart from the TV being replaced by a flat-screen. He had a bed that was just big enough to accommodate two adults with a somewhat tight fit, a dark wood frame and headboard that matched the wooden floor. The duvet had a print of a galaxy and nebulas, and the pillowcases and curtains matched, which Sören smiled at. Sören's smile broadened at the poster of Bush, prominently featuring Gavin Rossdale sweaty and shirtless - "that is so 90s it hurts," Sören said - and then he had a gigglefit, clapping when Anthony turned on two lava lamps and larger glow lamp that changed color as it rotated.
The flat-screen TV was on a handsome shelf unit that had several old gaming consoles and a bin of ancient video games underneath. Sören's laughter rang out when he saw Super Mario and Sonic the Hedgehog. "Oh my GOD," Sören wheezed. "We totally need to play sometime."
"You want to play now?" Anthony grinned.
They got in their pajamas and Anthony set it up, and they sat down with two controllers to play Super Mario. "So what are the stakes here?" Sören said with a raised eyebrow.
"Whoever wins gets to top," Anthony said, smirking.
"You're on."
Two and a half hours later, Anthony won, and Sören felt heat flood him. Anthony wasted no time in claiming his prize, kissing Sören roughly, undoing his pajama top button by button.
When they were both naked, Anthony turned off the lights, put on the lava lamps and the color change lamp, and then queued up "Alright" by Jamiroquai, giving Sören a naughty look that made Sören howl, before Anthony joined Sören on the bed.
"Hi," Anthony said.
"Hi," Sören said.
They kissed.
"Come here often?" Anthony raised an eyebrow.
Sören gigglesnorted. "I do now, apparently."
Anthony pulled Sören into his arms and kissed him deeply, and Sören moaned into the kiss, cock springing to life. Jamiroquai played softly in the background as their hands roamed, cocks rubbing together, kissing sweetly and teasingly, then fiercely and hungrily, getting more and more lost in desire. Sören wondered if Anthony had ever done this with anyone else in his bed, and as if he read Sören's mind, Anthony paused and said, "I feel like I'm making up for lost time."
"Oh?"
"I didn't date, when I was younger and had this room. I wasn't going to try to date girls, that felt like lying, and I wasn't bold enough to date boys in the late 90s."
"Understandable." Sören stroked Anthony's cheek. "Well, you've got me now."
"And you are so much hotter than anyone I went to school with." Anthony kissed him hard. "By leaps and bounds." His voice got lower, huskier. "Plus, your accent."
"You really have a fetish for me speaking Icelandic, too, don't you?"
"I do." Anthony nibbled on him. "And..." He kissed the tip of Sören's nose. "It was so cute, the way you went on about the Yule Cat."
"Awwwww."
"Although..." Anthony chuckled. "It makes me feel bad I didn't get you a clothing item, as well. If I'd known about that part of your culture sooner, I would have gotten you... like... sexy underwear or something."
Sören giggled. "Oh myyyyy." He waggled his eyebrows. "So I take it that means you'd like to see me in sexy underwear?"
"Well, I'd prefer to see you out of sexy underwear..." Anthony's cheeks flushed, and they laughed harder. "But yes, I think you wearing something like a thong would be incredibly hot. Especially if you were... you know. Wearing that for me, under your work clothes, in anticipation of seeing me when your shift ended."
"Mmmmm." Sören kissed him, his cock twinging. "I like that idea too."
"Good." Anthony kissed him back. "Perhaps next year that'll be my gift to keep you safe from the Yule Cat. But in the meantime..." He leered. "The Yule Cat can't eat you if I eat you first."
Sören gigglesnorted, laughing so hard his sides hurt. He stopped laughing when Anthony began kissing and licking him all over, teasing his nipples, his stomach, his thighs, and he let out a loud moan when Anthony took Sören's cock into his mouth. Anthony let it slip and gave Sören a look. "We have to be kind of quiet," he said. "Mum and Dad are right upstairs. My music's not loud enough to bother them but that is."
Sören bit back a moan as Anthony swallowed him down again.
After a few minutes of Anthony sucking him, with mischief in his eyes Anthony let go of Sören's cock and kissed and nibbled Sören's thighs, making Sören fight off another moan. Anthony licked around the rim of Sören's opening a few times, Sören whimpering into his hand, and he gasped when Anthony's tongue speared him. It took Sören everything he had to not howl and scream as Anthony's tongue rubbed inside him, teasing the sweet spot just right, bringing him to that edge right away and keeping him there, Sören utterly lost in pleasure.
"Oh, god," Sören ground out. "Fuck, that's so good..."
"I love doing this to you." Anthony's tongue brushed around the rim of Sören's channel again before plunging back inside.
"You have the most amazing tongue." Sören gasped and shuddered. He clutched Anthony's head, and his hands slid down to Anthony's shoulders, nails digging in, which made Anthony shiver and moan into him, licking harder, faster. Sören gave a little whimper and Anthony slapped his thigh to say quiet.
Then Sören let out a moan, as Anthony's tongue slowed down, deliberately tormenting him. Anthony laughed softly. "Shhhhh," he cautioned before he slipped his tongue back into Sören.
"I can't help it," Sören whispered. Then Sören laughed too, at the surreality of this. "God, I can't believe we're doing this. It was one thing for your mum to say it was OK to spend the night, knowing we'd be sharing a bed, but this..." Sören chuckled. "You eating my arse in your old bed, that's pretty fucking kinky."
"Yes, it is." Anthony smiled at him before tonguing him some more.
"So kinky." Sören shivered. "So, so naughty. This is probably the naughtiest, kinkiest thing I've ever done."
Anthony stopped licking for a moment, a look of pure evil on his face. "Oh, I can make it kinkier."
"Can you now."
Anthony got up, with Sören making a whimper of protest. He grabbed his bathrobe, which made Sören whimper again and cry out, "Please," and Anthony gave a harsh "shhhh" before he left the bedroom, leaving Sören laying there frustrated. Sören heard the sound of Anthony going down the stairs, and then moving around on the first floor, and then coming back upstairs. Sören idly stroked himself, waiting, and Anthony came back in carrying the cashmere scarf he'd been wearing outside. Sören gave him a bemused look and Anthony gave Sören a look of mock disapproval as he closed the door behind him.
"Did I say you could touch yourself while I was gone?" Anthony asked.
"No, but..."
"Well, it appears my idea was prescient." Anthony took off his bathrobe, freeing his very hard, very slick cock - the sight of it made Sören lick his lips - and he got on the bed with the scarf, grabbed one of Sören's arms, and began to tie Sören's wrist to the headboard. "If this isn't OK, let me know -"
"Oh, shit." Sören laughed, his cock jolting with need, another bead of precum dripping out of him, sliding down the shaft. "Fuck, that's hot."
Anthony grinned, and took Sören's other arm and bound the other wrist. He surveyed his handiwork and then he said to Sören, "Try to move your arms, I want to make sure that isn't too loose or too tight."
Sören did as requested. "It's fine."
"Good." With that, Anthony dove back down between Sören's legs.
He ate Sören more slowly than before, and Sören desperately tried and failed to not cry out, only half-succeeding, making tiny moans and whimpers, gasping, panting. Anthony reveled in the power he had over Sören, teasing him and teasing him, dangling Sören helplessly at the edge of orgasm but not taking him over just yet, getting Sören more and more sensitized, watching him lose control as Sören bucked against his face, panting, gasping. Sören had never been tied up before - he'd certainly heard about it, and been curious about it, but he'd never trusted any of his prior casual sex partners for something like this. Here, there was trust, and being bound, Sören felt incredibly free, going even deeper into pleasure and lust, feeling more sexual hunger than he'd ever felt in his life, giving Anthony the gift of watching him transform in the throes of passion, Anthony's eyes watching him intently.
Anthony got Sören closer and closer to orgasm, and before he could bring Sören off just from his tongue, he stopped. Sören almost cried, as pent up as he was, and he gave a particularly loud moan as Anthony lapped up the precum flowing down Sören's aching, needy cock. Anthony kissed and nibbled his way up, and he reached for the lubricant he'd somehow grabbed when he got his bathrobe. He readied them both, and then he began to push inside Sören. He watched Sören's eyes as he worked his way in, Sören breathing harder as he was stretched. At last, when Anthony was all the way inside, he claimed Sören's mouth, kissing him fiercely, and they both moaned into the kiss.
"I love you," Anthony husked, and he began to thrust.
He went neither too slowly nor as fast and hard as he could go - just enough to build momentum and make Sören feel like he could come any moment now, but not enough to make him come just yet. Just enough to keep teasing, building on Sören's need. Anthony kissed Sören's mouth again and again, tongues teasing, tasting. He kissed and licked Sören's neck, kissed and lapped and suckled and nibbled on Sören's nipples, playing with the rings, in between his fingers walking, hands stroking over Sören's chest and stomach and hips and thighs. Feeling Anthony's hands on him reinforced that Sören was tied up, bound, fully under Anthony's control. When Anthony rose, propping up one of Sören's legs on his shoulder, fucking Sören harder, Sören looked up at him adoringly, worshipful, and Anthony reached to stroke Sören's face, his own eyes loving, before the fierceness returned, pounding into Sören even harder, and Sören matched his rhythm, rolling his hips back at Anthony, lost in the push and pull, the give and take, pleasure building higher and higher.
It didn't take long, once Anthony got going, for Sören to feel himself hurtling to that point of no return. Anthony's left hand wrapped around Sören's cock, stroking in time with his thrusts, as his right hand played over Sören's flesh, from his thigh to his chest. Sören heard himself whimper as he writhed against the binds, rocked his hips back at Anthony, giving as good as he got. When Anthony slowed down - maddening, a wicked look on his face - Sören let out a sob.
"Please," Sören pleaded.
"Tell me in your native language," Anthony growled.
"There isn't really a word for 'please' in Icelandic." Sören had to learn some social graces the hard way when he moved to England.
"Beg for it, then."
Sören shivered. "Láttu mig koma."
Anthony gave a deep groan - now it was Sören's turn to raise an eyebrow at the noise. Anthony still kept the pace slow, tormenting Sören, but Sören knew from the look in his eyes, and feeling Anthony tremble as he thrust, that it was tormenting them both.
Sören bit his lower lip, feeling a small glow of victory even as he was the one being conquered. "Ég þarf að koma. Ég þarf að fokking. Koma. Ég þarfnast þess erfiðara. Hraðar. Meira. Gefðu mér það."
"Oh, god." Anthony shuddered and gave another groan. Now he gave into Sören's pleas, slamming into him.
So much for keeping it down, Sören thought to himself with a small smile at the sound of their bodies smacking together. He too let out a moan at the feel of Anthony's balls slapping his ass, and sighed as Anthony's cock worked magic on his prostate. He was co close. "Ó, FOKK, bara svona. Bara si svona, ástin mín. Svo gott. Svo gott, næstum þar, rétt þar."
Anthony made a primal, guttural noise. "Sören." He was shaking now, his breath coming in gasps.
Sören moved his arms so the scarf tightened on his wrists, really wanting to feel the binds, reinforcing his surrender, his trust. "Rétt þar, rétt þar, taktu það, taktu mig."
"Oh god, Sören..."
"Taktu mig, taktu mig, ég er þín, láttu mig koma, láttu mig koma fyrir þig." Sören let out a whimper - he was shaking now too, thighs quivering, balls tightening, the rubbing on his prostate and stroking of his cock at last hitting that perfect note that was about to send him flying. "Fer að koma fyrir þig, fyrir þig, fyrir þig, fyrir þig, ástin mín, ástin mín."
"Sören." Their eyes met. "Come for me."
Sören opened his mouth and no sound came out, trying to contain his cry. His entire body twitched, pleasure surging through him as he shot over Anthony's chest, rewarded a few seconds later by the feeling of Anthony spending into him, hearing Anthony give a shuddery sigh, watching the ecstasy on his face as he trembled. Sören shot over him again, and again, sighing deeply as the release throbbed and throbbed inside and out, over and through. He had never come so hard, felt so radiant as he came. He felt the smile light up his face and Anthony smiled too as he settled down on top of Sören, tenderly stroking Sören's cheek, petting his curls, kissing his brow then his mouth. Anthony shivered with an aftershock, groaning into the kiss as he shot into Sören again, and Sören gave another happy little sigh.
Anthony unbound Sören's wrists and Sören flexed them before wrapping his arms around his lover, holding him tight. Anthony rested in him and their legs twined together. For a few minutes they just held each other in silence except for the thunder of their heartbeats, ragged breath slowing down back to normal. Finally Sören broke the silence by saying, softly, "That was fucking amazing."
"I've been wanting to try that with you for awhile but was waiting for the right time," Anthony said, kissing Sören's cheek.
"How long was 'awhile'?"
"Honestly? First night you were over I thought about it. Extensive body mods indicate a high pain tolerance and possible masochism, and there were certain tells in the way you were with me that you have strong submissive tendencies."
Sören laughed so hard he snorted. "Wow. Dude. Do you size everyone up, like, constantly?" He didn't know if he was impressed or terrified, or a bit of both.
"It is literally my job." Anthony grinned. "Sometimes, there are additional bonuses to being observant, beyond drawing blood in the courtroom."
"I guess so." Sören cackled. Then he raised an eyebrow. "So, like... how did you get into... this?" He gestured to the scarf.
"I told you Europeans are interesting," Anthony said. "I had some adventures during my time abroad in my very early twenties. I found out I like certain things, and am less keen on others."
"So you wouldn't want to be tied up yourself."
"I am not remotely submissive, no."
"And yet, you picked me up at my job and not, like... a BDSM club or something."
"No." Anthony took a deep breath and met Sören's eyes, looking ready to deliver a small speech, as if he'd been expecting Sören's curiosity and had been internally preparing what he'd say for this moment. "I like doing this once in awhile - maybe a little more than once in awhile - as a bit of novelty. It's fun. I haven't been looking for a submissive specifically because there's what we did just now and there's lifestyle BDSM, and I'm not really into the lifestyle. Trying to meet a partner via 'the scene' means weeding out people who want a full-time dominant, which isn't what I want - I don't want a full-time submissive who I have to give orders to constantly. Part of the fun for me is someone who's independent-minded, strong-willed, perhaps even a bit defiant, and getting them to submit, to surrender. And you, of course, challenged me right away, when we met." Anthony chuckled and said, "You still challenge me."
Sören stuck his tongue out to demonstrate Anthony's point.
Anthony smiled indulgently and went on. "Also, trying to find a partner via 'the scene', I also have to weed out people who want heavy pain which I'm not into giving, people who may not want a full-time dom or pain but may still be submissive enough to be 'pillow princesses' and expect me to do all the work in bed while they lay there. That, and having a bit of discretion about where I spend my time and in whose company, well... I decided that finding something like this would either happen organically or not at all. Tying someone up and having my way with them isn't mandatory for me to get my rocks off, it's just a nice to-have, sometimes."
"It's very nice." Sören laughed softly. "I didn't expect to be as into that as I was, wow."
"I had a feeling you would like it but you still surprised me with how much." Anthony kissed him. "A pleasant surprise, to be sure."
Sören kissed him back. "Very pleasant."
"Very." Kiss. "Very." Kiss. "Pleasant." Anthony tousled Sören's curls, stroked his face. "We'll have to do that again."
Sören was getting randy again. "How about now?"
Anthony laughed. "Right now?"
Sören nodded eagerly. Then he grinned as he felt Anthony's cock start to come to life again inside him.
"You are insatiable," Anthony said, kissing Sören.
"You make me insatiable." Sören kissed him hard. "Please."
"I don't know." Anthony propped himself on one elbow, smirking, the fingers of his free hand teasing Sören's nipple in slow, lazy circles. "I don't know if a naughty boy like you should get everything he wants on Christmas..."
"Oh my fucking god, Anthony, myndirðu bara gefa mér haninn."
Anthony growled and nibbled Sören's lower lip. He pulled out of Sören, with Sören making a little whimper of protest, and Anthony held a finger to Sören's lips. "Shhhhh."
"They've probably already heard us -"
"That doesn't mean they need to keep hearing us. Shhhh."
For some reason even that was turning Sören on, and Anthony watched with amusement in his eyes as Sören's cock wiggled at him. Then, in stern domination mode, Anthony ground out, "Turn over on your stomach, face down, arse up."
Sören did as he was told. Anthony took the scarf again, and Sören's hole twitched with anticipation, wondering if he was going to be tied up again - and then Anthony surprised him by tying the scarf around Sören's neck, and he gave it a little tug as he positioned himself behind Sören. With the end of the scarf in Anthony's hand, gently pulling on it, the scarf was now a makeshift leash. Sören loved that, moaning into the pillows.
Anthony took him from behind and when he was all the way inside he tugged on the scarf-leash with his left hand, slapped Sören's ass with the right. "So naughty."
"God, yes." Sören let out a gasp and rubbed his ass against Anthony.
Anthony began to thrust, slowly. He shoved his fingers in Sören's mouth, still holding onto the scarf-leash with the other hand. Sören moaned around the fingers in his mouth. "You want it all the time, don't you?"
"Mhm."
"Begging for it like a little bitch in heat."
He withdrew his fingers from Sören's mouth for a moment and Sören took that as his cue to beg. "Ó guð, já, ég get ekki fengið nóg af hananum þínum inni í mér, ég þarfnast þín svo mikið, þú verður að taka mig og ríða mér og láta mig koma og koma og koma og koma og koma og koma og koma."
Anthony gave a deep groan and shoved his fingers back in Sören's mouth, fucking him harder; Sören whimpered around his fingers and Anthony tugged on the scarf-leash, slapped Sören's ass. "That's right. You beg like a little bitch, you're going to get fucked like one."
Sören moaned around Anthony's fingers and rocked his hips back at Anthony, fucking himself on the cock gliding in and out of him, overcome by hot, feral sexual need. Nothing else mattered, just getting fucked, being taken.
Anthony leaned in to nibble and lick the back of Sören's neck, his shoulder, knowing how sensitive Sören was there, laughing softly at Sören's little whines around his fingers. "Yes. I love seeing how much you want this."
Sören nodded and let Anthony's fingers slip from his mouth. "God, yes. Need it so bad."
Anthony slapped his ass again. "That's because you're mine." He bit the sweet spot where Sören's neck and shoulder met.
That did it. Sören slammed against him, howling into the pillows until Anthony's fingers were back in his mouth. Anthony matched Sören's wild rhythm and overtook it, driving into Sören as hard as Sören could take it. It felt beyond kinky, doing this with his parents right upstairs, not caring, so far gone in their lust that it didn't matter if the entire world heard them and knew what they were doing. They still tried to keep the moans down, but their bodies slapped together, the bed rocked against the wall. Sören was right on that edge again, Anthony's cock beyond delicious at this position, this pattern.
"Mine," Anthony insisted.
Sören nodded and whimpered around the fingers in his mouth, whimpered again at the pull of the scarf-leash.
"Mine." And then he took his fingers out of Sören's mouth, tilted Sören's head to his, and kissed him, fingers stroking Sören's beard, tracing the outline of his lower lip. His hand slid lower, fingers grazing a nipple before his arm held Sören tight, hand resting on Sören's heart.
It was the perfect storm of sensation, feeling, and hotness. Three thrusts later Sören was gone, shaking as he spilled into the sheets, the world dissolving with every spurt of his cock. Anthony felt him contracting and another three thrusts he was done too, collapsing onto Sören's back shuddering, gasping.
"I love you," Sören whispered.
"I love you." Then Anthony shook with silent laughter.
"What's so funny?"
"...We're going to have to launder these sheets tomorrow."
"God." Sören gigglesnorted. "Like your parents didn't already hear us."
"Well, hopefully not."
"Admit it, you liked the forbidden thrill of it." Sören and Anthony kissed again. "Like I'm a date you brought home or we're... having a sleepover." Sören crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip. "A naughty sleepover."
"So naughty I'd be surprised if... what's their names... that troll couple... doesn't come all the way from Iceland to put us in a stew."
"Well, Anthony, just remember... they can't eat us if we eat each other first."
They laughed at that, and Anthony stole another kiss before he pulled out, unwrapped the scarf from Sören's neck, and took Sören into his arms. Sören snuggled against his chest, being pet, and then Sören said, "Thank you, you know."
"For?"
"Well, what we did tonight but also..." Sören made a vague hand gesture. "I worried you'd think the tie was lame, but you were a good sport about it."
"It was from you, so that in and of itself makes it precious, and you made it memorable, too. That tie will forever be my good luck charm in honor of when you saved my life from the Yule Cat."
Sören giggled. "OK, well... so long as you're not secretly thinking it's stupid..."
"It's not. I would have politely told you not to get me anything next year if I thought that. To be honest, I was probably more worried about the books, than your worry about the tie."
"Really. Even though you quoted some of that to me and I loved it."
"Even though, yes." Anthony nodded solemnly.
Sören thought again about Elaine's reaction to Anthony's gift and Sören's reception, her obvious relief that Anthony was with someone who reads. He thought about asking about it but got the sense now was not the time or place. It was already starting to not be the time or place for words in general, Sören feeling the sleepiness settle in after a long day and two amazing orgasms.
"All I wanted for Christmas was you," Anthony husked, kissing the tip of his nose.
"You got me." Sören kissed him. "Gleðileg jól, elskan mín."
For once in his life, Anthony Hewlett-Johnson had not set the alarm to get up, sleeping in. Sören saw it was just after eleven AM when he and Anthony mutually stirred. Anthony looked at the clock, said, "Jesus," and gave a guilty grin, chuckling.
They put on pajamas, since they had nowhere they needed to be. Anthony went down the hall to the linen closet, came in with fresh sheets, and he and Sören stripped the bed and put on new sheets, then carried the cum-stained bedding to the ground floor, where there was a washer and dryer in the pantry. Sören remembered that Elaine said she and Roger would be gone for a few hours in the afternoon, and sure enough, it was just the two of them in the house.
Sören assembled some of the assorted cookies he'd made on a plate and he and Anthony took it upstairs to the sitting room down the hall from Anthony's bedroom. "Sören, are you eating biscuits for breakfast?" Anthony gave him a mock stern look.
"We're eating cookies... biscuits... whatever... for breakfast, because we're motherfucking adults."
Anthony laughed, sitting next to Sören, and Sören put a cookie in his mouth.
They cuddled on the couch, watching TV but not really paying attention, both of them in that lazy calm space of finally having some down time from their respective jobs and just zoning out. Sören's gaze kept drifting to the grand piano by the window and finally he said to Anthony, "So, you play that thing?"
"Yes. It's... been awhile. I'm kind of rusty."
"I'd still like to hear it."
Anthony sat down at the piano, and Sören took a seat next to him. Anthony turned beetroot, smiling shyly, looking almost boyish rather than the suave, commanding professional Sören was used to. It was an adorable transformation, and Sören reassuringly took his hand and kissed it.
Anthony quietly considered for a few minutes what he was going to play, and then he said, "Ah," flexed his hands and fingers, and started. It took Sören a few seconds but then he recognized the piano instrumental to Billie Holiday's "I Wished On the Moon For You", which played in Anthony's car the night after Sören bottomed for him for the first time. It was not a coincidence that after the next big step of trust, Anthony was playing this for him now - trusting Sören in turn, showing him his heart, his soul - and it made Sören's heart soar, brought tears to his eyes.
When the song was over Sören pulled Anthony into a kiss. Anthony's eyes were damp too and Sören grabbed him and kissed him again, harder.
Fresh sheets on the bed be damned, Sören and Anthony stumbled down the hall to the bedroom, kissing all the way, not able to get their pajamas off fast enough before they sank down on the bed. Sören shoved Anthony down on his back, got the lube and readied them both, straddled Anthony's hips, sank down and rode him. Anthony looked up at Sören with all the trust and adoration in his eyes that Sören had tried to express through his, last night, and Sören tousled his hair, stroked his face, slid his hands down Anthony's chest to rest on his heart as he bucked on Anthony's cock, expressing his love and passion with his body, needing them to be one flesh, joined as deeply and intimately as two people could be.
They came together hard, crying out loud now that they were alone in the house, and they kissed passionately as they drifted down from their climax, holding each other, rocking. After petting and tender little kisses the need rose in them again and Sören slipped out of Anthony, kissing him feverishly as his fingers worked inside Anthony's passage, preparing him. Anthony guided Sören's cock to him and Sören took him, slowly. Laying atop him, looking into his eyes, Sören thrust into him, breathing his breath, at last kissing him hard enough to take his breath away. Anthony grabbed onto Sören for dear life and gave it back to him, and Sören stroked Anthony's cock in time with the motion of his own cock in and out of him, Sören hearing himself moan as the silken heat enveloped him, consumed him, too delicious to last much longer.
When Sören got to that point of no return, kissing and kissing and kissing him, he pulled back, met Anthony's eyes again, and growled, "Komdu fyrir mig."
"Sören." Anthony gave in and let go, coming with a cry.
Sören filled him a few seconds later, shouting with the force of his own release. They were almost sobbing as they shook and gasped in each other's arms, Anthony spending over Sören's sweat-damp flesh as Sören continued shooting inside him. When it was over Sören's head was buried in Anthony's chest, listening to the drum of his heartbeat, its fierce rhythm echoing Sören's own, pounding in his ears.
They snuggled up together, falling into a nap even though they hadn't been awake terribly long - their bodies knew they needed the rest. They were still sleeping when they heard a polite knock at the bedroom door.
"Boys, dinner's almost ready."
They looked at the clock again. It was quarter to five. "Oh shit," Sören said.
They got back in pajamas and shambled downstairs. Anthony threw the sheets in the dryer - Elaine noticed as she was walking past that they were laundering the bedding, but did not say anything. However, when they both sat down to dinner, both Sören and Anthony sat gingerly, and Elaine gave them a knowing look as Roger shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Anthony tried to keep a poker face, and Sören gave a guilty grin, feeling heat flood his cheeks. Elaine and Anthony spent most of dinner talking about Elaine's latest architect job and what Anthony could divulge about the case waiting for him after the holidays, but every now and again Anthony's and Sören's eyes would meet and they would try to not fall into hysterics, exchanging little smirks before Anthony continued conversation.
"I'm sorry," Sören told Elaine after dinner as he insisted on helping with the dishes again.
"It's quite all right, dear," Elaine said, patting him. "I knew when I invited you both to spend the night that you're adults. You didn't disturb us... much."
"Oh god." Sören's face was on fire. When he calmed down he said, more seriously, "I feel like I should say thank you, you know, for being so cool about... well. Me being your son's boyfriend."
"This is 2011," Elaine said. "Besides... as an architect, I have colleagues and clients who are gay or bisexual - aesthetes, you see - and my own mother was an artist, a bit of a bonne vivante, her very best friend was a gay man. So I've never had a problem with gay people, just the opposite. But even if I hadn't already had so much exposure to it where it doesn't phase me... you make my son happy. I can see it in his eyes, and the way he is with you. If you can give that boy some peace, I don't care if you're male, female, black, white, purple, from Iceland, India, or from the planet Neptune."
Sören couldn't resist, needing levity in the moment of heightened emotion, not wanting to get choked up around Elaine. "What if I told you I'm secretly all of those things at once?"
Elaine laughed, delighted. "This is why my son loves you, Sören." Elaine kissed his cheek.
After watching Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home in the sitting room, Anthony spooning Sören, arms wrapped around him, they showered together and went to bed. As snow fell outside, to the glow of lava lamps, they made sweet, slow love together, first a languid sixty-nine and then Sören taking Anthony, at last Anthony taking Sören. Utterly spent, they snuggled, holding each other's hands.
"I have to work tomorrow morning," Sören grumbled, "so we need to set the alarm."
Anthony nodded. "My chambers re-open on Monday the second. I'm almost suspicious of this free time, I'm not used to it."
"D'you have plans for New Year's Eve?" That was falling on a Saturday night.
"You, if you're free."
"I am, I work overnight shift on Friday but I'll be out on Saturday afternoon. We should ring in the new year together."
"We should."
Sören snickered. "2012, the so-called end of the world."
"We may make that prophecy come true with all the earth-shattering orgasms."
Sören gigglesnorted, and Anthony laughed too. Sören kissed him, smiling, so happy to be with someone who got his humor and was very much the same way. "We're terrible."
"We are." Anthony kissed him back. "And so very, very good together."
Sören kissed him harder and the passion rose in them again, Anthony rolling Sören onto his back, Sören's arms and legs wrapping around him, opening to welcome his lover inside, needing to feel him - feel them, the promise of together - once more.
chapter 9 | return to Learning To Fly | return to Other Tolkien Fic | return to index