Sören's landlord was good enough to prorate rent since Sören would only be in his flat in Bromley a few days into January; on the evening of Friday the sixth Anthony drove Sören and his belongings from Bromley to Kingston upon Thames, making a stop at Sören's landlord's office for Sören to turn in the key. Anthony immediately filled the place on Sören's keyring with a key to his own flat. Sören didn't have much to bring over, since he'd left Iceland only with what he could fit into suitcases on a plane and hadn't acquired much more in the way of personal possessions since then - mostly bedding and the print of Van Gogh's "Starry Night" hanging on his wall; Sören's studio flat in Bromley was pre-furnished. Sören had packed everything the night before, and almost hadn't gotten to sleep in his excitement about taking this big step forward with the man he loved.
As they drove from Bromley to Kingston upon Thames, Sören detected a lingering scent of roses in Anthony's car and he wondered if Anthony had gotten a new car freshener, but he was too tired to ask about it, having had an exhausted fourteen-hour shift. He just snuggled into the microfleece blanket Anthony had started keeping in the car to make him feel cozy and give him a chance to rest on drives, listening to jazz playing softly on the car stereo.
Anthony insisted on bringing in Sören's belongings himself, giving Sören an extra few minutes to rest, and at last he came back for Sören, turning off his car. Sören giggled as Anthony picked him up and carried him a few paces through the front door, and then he gasped when he saw what waited for him inside. "Oh, my god."
"I took a detour home from work," Anthony explained.
"I guess so."
The open plan kitchen and living room was filled with a dozen bouquets of a dozen roses. Sören squeaked with happiness, tears brimming his eyes at Anthony wanting to welcome him home in such a beautiful, romantic way. When Anthony put him down on the floor Sören threw his arms around him and spun him around and around, sobbing, screaming. Anthony laughed and rained kisses over Sören's face, then gave him one deep, hungry kiss with a look in his eye that let Sören know he meant business.
Then Anthony said, "Wait here."
Sören obediently stood in the living room, tapping his foot, as Anthony went down the hall. He was gone for a few minutes, which made Sören suspicious. Then Anthony came back, wearing just a bathrobe, and after he instructed Sören to take off his leather duster and hang it up, he began to undress Sören right there in the living room, as Sören giggled and said, "Anthony, what are you up to..."
"Who says I'm up to anything?" Anthony gave him an innocent face.
"You're terrible at bullshitting me, you know that."
Anthony winked, and when Sören was stripped down to his boxer-briefs, Anthony collected the clothes from the floor and brought them down to the laundry basket in the hall, then he grabbed Sören's hand and led him down the hallway. Sören gasped as he saw rose petals scattered on the hall floor, and again when he stepped into the bedroom - their bedroom, now - and the bed was freshly decked out with silk sheets, rose petals scattered from the floor to the bed, over the sheets. There were six more bouquets of roses in the bedroom. Votive candles and tealights were lit around the room, champagne was chilling in a bucket near two flutes, and there was an assortment of finger foods also being kept cold near the champagne, including fresh fruit - berries and pieces of citrus and tropical fruit. Sören noticed vanilla-flavored massage oil near the usual bottle of lube, and sexy music was playing softly in the background; Sören smiled as "Sexual Healing" by Marvin Gaye came on.
"I wanted both to welcome you home properly and take care of you after a long week," Anthony said, walking Sören over to the bed.
"Jæja, you've had a long week too."
Anthony kissed Sören and gently nudged him along onto the bed. "It is my pleasure to do nice things for you, my love. Really."
Sören and Anthony started by feeding each other, eating from each other's hands and fingers, kissing and nuzzling between bites of food. When they got to the fruit, Sören licked and sucked the juices from Anthony's fingers and palm, and when there was a little bit of fruit left Sören shoved Anthony down on his back, arranged the fruit over his chest and stomach, and ate it off his body, licking the juices off him, making Anthony laugh and moan and shiver, petting Sören's curls as he feasted. Before Sören could take Anthony's cock into his mouth, Anthony pushed him away gently, chuckling, and poured them each champagne.
"To the first chapter of our life together," Anthony said softly.
"To coming home," Sören husked. "This is where I belong. With you."
They clinked glasses, drank champagne, and kissed. When their glasses were drained, Anthony had Sören lay on his stomach, and he rubbed and kneaded the tension and knots out of Sören's neck and shoulders and arms and back and ass and thighs, his hard cock sliding in the crack of Sören's ass, making Sören ache for him even as he melted away, feeling like his body and mind were going elsewhere underneath the tender touch. And as Sören lay on his back and Anthony's hands worked over his shoulders and arms and chest and stomach and hips and thighs and knees and calves, body singing with pleasure and need, the look of love in Anthony's eyes took Sören's breath away, made him reach up to stroke Anthony's face, ruffle his hair, and at last, pull him down into a passionate kiss.
"Here," Sören said. "I want to take care of you, too." At Anthony's protest of "this is for you," Sören wagged a finger and scolded, "Don't lawyer me right now, Anthony Hewlett-Johnson. I insist."
Anthony pressed the back of his hand to his forehead and rolled his eyes with an exaggerated sigh. "If you must." His eyes gleamed, and the little smirk he gave let Sören know he didn't mind.
"I must. Here." Sören patted the space next to him.
Anthony lay on his stomach and Sören poured oil over his back and got to work. Sören was already aroused from receiving a massage, and giving one just turned him on even more. "You have a really nice back," Sören said.
Anthony laughed into the pillows. "That's a very strange compliment, but I'll take it."
"Oh, I mean... all of you is nice." Sören's hands slid down to cup and rub the curve of Anthony's firm, taut ass, before sliding back up to Anthony's back. "Like that arse of yours is lovely. But wow, you've got a nice back. These are things I notice, I guess, performing spinal surgery and drawing people."
It felt like in the just-over-a-month they'd been together that Sören had explored Anthony's body dozens of times already, but it felt new tonight, with Sören paying closer attention than usual, as if committing every small detail to memory. When Anthony lay on his back, moaning softly as Sören's hands caressed and rubbed and soothed and teased everywhere they could touch, Sören's eyes fixated on a scar on Anthony's left thigh that he'd seen before, but this was the first time he'd really noticed it. It was faded, suggesting an old scar, and it was clean and precise, which told Sören it wasn't from a stabbing - Sören would otherwise have to wonder, with the risks in Anthony's line of work - but was either from a surgeon's scalpel or a self-injury wound, and Anthony didn't have other scarring that indicated the latter. Sören's finger lovingly ran over the scar, and he thought about asking about it, but he didn't want to pry, and the way Anthony was breathing raggedly and moaning, his eyes glazed over, told Sören he wasn't really in a position to handle serious questions beyond "how do you want it?", anyway. So Sören put that thought on file, before he dove down to take a few loving licks at Anthony's hard cock, now leaking a generous amount of precum.
"Oh god, Sören."
Sören smiled and lapped more insistently, tongue teasing the slit before his lips wrapped around the head, tongue swirling as he sucked, kissing the head of Anthony's cock, making Anthony groan. When Sören swallowed his cock down deeper, Anthony's breath hitched, and Sören moaned around the cock in his mouth, his own cock throbbing, when Anthony reached to grab a fistful of Sören's curls, arching to him.
After a few minutes Sören was sucking at him with hungry abandon, cupping and rubbing the tightening balls with one hand, stroking himself with another, lost in lust at the sound of Anthony's moans and the look on his face as Sören pleasured him. And then Anthony grabbed Sören's hair harder than before, pulling Sören off his cock.
"I said I wanted to take care of you, did I not?" Anthony's eyes locked with his.
"Jæja... and I'm enjoying myself." Sören grinned and, not able to help himself, took a teasing lick at the head of Anthony's cock, chasing more precum with his tongue, his cock and hole both twinging at the way Anthony moaned at that.
"Sören... you always put everyone ahead of yourself." Anthony sat up. "Lay down, and let me love you."
Sören laughed softly. He stopped laughing at the deadly serious look on Anthony's face - a look that sent heat surging through Sören's body, cock and hole throbbing again, wanting. He did as he was told, but the sight of Anthony's cock as Anthony repositioned himself was too tempting and Sören gave it a few more strokes.
Anthony got off the bed, and Sören watched as Anthony went into the bedroom closet and pulled out a charcoal grey cashmere scarf. "You don't listen too well," Anthony said, coming over with the scarf.
Now Sören's cock really throbbed, jolting as Anthony came closer. Anthony's lips curved at the sight of Sören responding, knowing what the scarf meant. Sören heard himself make a desperate little whimper, and Anthony laughed as he got back on the bed. He stroked Sören's face and cupped Sören's chin with his hand; Sören sucked his thumb. "That's right," Anthony said. "Now you're going to lie back and let me take care of you."
With that, Anthony grabbed one of Sören's arms, and wrapped Sören's hand around a slat in the headboard. Anthony tied Sören's wrist, smiling as Sören moaned. Sören moaned again as Anthony tied his other wrist. "Try the bonds," Anthony said. Sören attempted to move his arms and it was determined the binds were neither too tight nor too loose.
"Now then..." Anthony leaned in and kissed Sören passionately, both men moaning into the kiss.
Sören was almost embarrassed by the noises he made as Anthony made good on his promise to take care of him. Anthony kissed and licked Sören's neck and throat and shoulders, then spent a long time teasing Sören's pierced nipples, making Sören howl and writhe against the restraints, panting, begging "oh god, please" as Anthony's lips, tongue and teeth feasted, pebbling Sören's nipples, teasing them into aching, swollen peaks, every lash of tongue and nibble of teeth and brush of thumb making Sören's cock twitch, almost painfully hard in its need. Eventually Anthony moved on to kissing and licking the rest of Sören's chest, his stomach, down one hip and thigh and behind one knee, then back up and across Sören's stomach to the other.
"You're beautiful," Anthony whispered, hovering over Sören's cock, and then he began to lick. And lick, and lick, tongue-bathing Sören's cock, teasing and teasing, tormenting so sweetly that Sören almost cried.
But that was nothing compared to what came next. When he'd been worshiping Sören's cock with his tongue for a few minutes - moments that felt like an eternity - Sören let out a strangled sob, and Anthony laughed at him, delighted by his reaction, and spread Sören's legs. Sören screamed as Anthony's tongue danced on the sweet spot between his balls and ass, and then Anthony's tongue was inside him and it was so good it almost hurt. Anthony's tongue was like a hurricane, and then so gentle, feather-light. He licked fast then slow, fast then slow, Sören's broken cries rising louder and louder, bucking, trembling, pleasure and tension building so deep and so high it felt like he could explode and implode at the same time from the immensity of sensation. Nothing had ever felt this good, and nothing had ever been so hot as the way Anthony enjoyed him, eating him like he were the most delicious dessert, savoring him. Every time Sören thought he was going to climax from that tongue working its evil magic, then Anthony changed rhythm and took it even higher, even deeper, dangling Sören on that edge, seeing how far Sören could go, how thoroughly he could be wrecked. Being bound - being made to surrender, made to let go - just added to why it was so all-consuming.
And at last Sören felt himself hurtling towards that point of no return. Sören hadn't been able to make words for some time now, only wild, feral noises, but now he found his words again, just not in English. "Anthony... elskan, ekki hætta!"
Anthony didn't speak Icelandic, but he seemed to get the gist of what was being said, responding with "mmmmmmm" as he licked more insistently.
"Ó guð. Ó guð, meira, ekki hætta, meira, ekki hætta, ekki hætta, ekki hætta..."
"Mmmmhmmmm. Mmmmmmmmm...."
"Ég er svo nálægt, svo nálægt, svo fokking nálægt..."
"Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. Mhmmm. Mmmmmm..."
Sören quivered, feeling himself bearing down, his orgasm about to spring. The last of the storm of passion was gathering in him. A few shuddering gasps, frantic panting, and then Sören cried out, "Anthony! Ég ætla að koma, ég ætla að koma, ekki hætta, láta mig koma!"
The final few seconds of the exquisite rubbing inside him and Sören came hard, screaming wordlessly as his body shook and heaved, toes curling, making a mess all over himself as he shot again and again. Anthony came up to clean the mess with his tongue, and Anthony's tongue on Sören's sensitized cock made his orgasm even more intense, Sören wailing as he shot again, this time making a mess over Anthony's neck and throat. Anthony laughed, seemingly delighted, and he came up to kiss Sören hard, Sören moaning at the taste of himself. Anthony grabbed Sören's curls and directed him to clean up the mess, and as Sören licked at Anthony's neck and throat, Anthony made a primal noise that made Sören hungry again, not wanting to be done just yet.
And they were far from done. With Sören still bound, Anthony got the lube. He kissed Sören roughly, grinding against his thigh as he worked two slick fingers into him, then three, Sören whimpering into the kiss at the rubbing on his sensitive prostate. When Anthony knew Sören was ready, he began to push inside. Sören loved that feeling of being taken while bound, giving a deep sigh of contentment when they were fully joined.
Anthony moved inside him slowly, sensually, teasing them both. He played with Sören's cock and the other hand rubbed and pinched and plucked Sören's nipples, tugged on the rings, knowing by now what Sören liked. When Anthony kissed and nibbled Sören's neck, hands working more insistently, Sören almost came again, overcome by lust and sensation.
And then their song came on, and tears came to Sören's eyes, feeling so much love, everything aligning so perfectly.
I can't fool myself, I don't want nobody else to ever love me
You are my shinin' star, my guiding light, my love fantasy
There's not a minute, hour, day or night that I don't love you
You're at the top of my list 'cause I'm always thinkin' of you
I still remember in the days when I was scared to touch you
How I spent my day dreamin' plannin' how to say I love you
You must have known that I had feelings deep enough to swim in
That's when you opened up your heart and you told me to come in
Oh, my love
A thousand kisses from you is never too much
I just don't wanna stop
Oh, my love
A million days in your arms is never too much
I just don't wanna stop
Too much, never too much, never too much, never too much
"Fuck me," Sören breathed. "Take me."
Anthony claimed his mouth again and then claimed the rest of him, moving harder, faster. Sören rocked his hips, matching Anthony's rhythm. And when Anthony rose, one of Sören's legs on his shoulder, Sören bucked even harder, overtaking his rhythm, for Anthony to outmatch Sören, once again in charge. Sören lost himself in the delicious rubbing inside him, the hungry lust on Anthony's face, the noises they made as they gave in to that most ancient, primal need, the need to rut, the need to mate, and yet somehow even at its most profane it was sacred, Sören feeling as free and alive as he'd ever felt, trusting someone so deeply to take him where nobody else ever had, into realms of pleasure and passion he never thought possible.
Sören's second orgasm was as good as the first if not better, and the feeling of Anthony coming inside him - hearing him as he shattered - was so incredibly rewarding, making him feel as warm and glowy as the candles burning around him. Anthony untied Sören's wrists and Sören flexed his wrists and wrapped his arms around his beloved, snuggling close to him. "You were magnificent," Anthony husked.
"You were fucking amazing." Sören kissed him hard.
They cuddled, needing to recharge. They had a second glass of champagne, and when Sören spilled a little on himself, Anthony cleaned it with his tongue. That led to Sören "accidentally" spilling some on Anthony to lick off of him, and soon enough they were both hard again, rubbing against each other, kissing fiercely.
Anthony lay on his back and pulled Sören on top of him. "Your turn," he said, and handed the lube to Sören, grinning.
Sören's fingers played inside him as they kissed, and at last Sören took him. For all that Sören wanted to return the same loving care, keeping the pace slow, he was too worked up and found himself slamming into him, feverish - which was just what Anthony wanted. He wrapped his legs and arms around Sören, nails scratching Sören's back, kissing Sören hard, biting Sören's neck and shoulder between kisses. "Yes, yes, yes..." Anthony gave a little growl as he bit Sören again.
Sören loved it, thrusting into him even harder. "Taktu það. Taktu það, þú fokking hani druslan." Sören kissed him again and again, moaning as their tongues licked together between kisses, letting out a cry when Anthony nibbled his neck. "Ástin mín. Ég get ekki fokking fengið nóg af þér, yndislega ríða druslan mín.
"Sören." Anthony shivered and Sören gave him a wolfish grin, knowing Icelandic was his weakness. "Oh god, Sören..."
"Elska þig. Elska þig svo mikið, ég ætla að gera þér fokking koma svo mikið fyrir mig."
"Sören. Sören." Anthony's nails raked his back again, and Anthony gave a deep, fierce grunt, trembling, bucking underneath him harder, breath ragged.
The sweet sting of Anthony's nails urged Sören on faster, pounding him into the mattress. Anthony cried out, nails scratching Sören again, who growled and now it was Sören's turn to bite him. Anthony took Sören's face in his hands and kissed him hard, breathless, both men crying out into the kiss, and then Anthony reached and put Sören's hand on his cock, grabbed Sören's hair with the other hand, giving Sören a look that let Sören know who was still in charge. Sören growled and Anthony growled back, kissing Sören harder, fucking himself furiously on Sören's cock even as Sören stroked him in time with their hips.
"Don't stop," Anthony commanded.
Sören growled again, kissing him.
"Sören." Anthony gave a shuddery gasp. "Oh god, Sören."
"Yes." Sören could see it in his eyes, could hear it in that gasp, the catch of Anthony's breath, the little quiver against him. "Fuck, yes. That's it."
"Oh god, Sören." Anthony's eyes glazed over. His nails were in Sören's back again. "Sören. Sören..."
Anita Baker's voice was so apt for this moment, Sören smiling as he watched it unfold.
I'm in love, sweet love
Hear me calling out your name, I feel no shame
I'm in love, sweet love
Don't you ever go away, it'll always be this way
"Oh. My. God. Sören. Sören." A last shudder, a sharp exhale and a cry, before the final "Sören!"
As soon as Anthony began contracting around him, shooting over their stomachs and chests, Sören's own climax overtook him, emptying into his lover with a deep, satisfied grunt that felt like it was coming from the molten center of the Earth itself, erupting with the scorching heat of his release. They took each other's hands and kissed, trembling together, the pulse of Anthony around him and the pulse of Sören within his lover seeming to go on forever, endless, the push and pull its own force of nature.
They clung to each other, not able to make words, and indeed, no words were needed. Sören managed to give Anthony a smile before he plummeted into sleep.
At some point, Anthony had gotten up and the stereo was off, the candles were out; Sören felt Anthony get back in bed and take him back into his arms.
"I love you," Sören mumbled.
"I love you." Anthony kissed the top of Sören's head, gave him a tight squeeze. "I'm so glad you're here with me."
Even though he was only partly awake, Sören went there. "Hi Glad You're Here With Me."
Anthony swatted Sören's ass.
The next few days passed by in a dreamlike haze. Anthony drove Sören to work on Saturday and Sunday, and on Saturday night they went out to a restaurant late, and on Sunday they got takeaway; Sören began to unpack his belongings and put them away, with Anthony giving Sören half the bedroom closet for his clothes.
On Monday, Anthony had to go to work before Sören did, which meant Sören would be taking the Tube there, but when Anthony's alarm went off, Sören stirred awake and Anthony stole a sleepy kiss, Sören grinning at him before he dozed off again. When Sören's alarm went off, he let out a whine at the emptiness in the bed, and after yawning and rubbing his eyes for a moment he found a handwritten note at the bedside:
and Sören found a handwritten note, elegant cursive, at the bedside:
I love that your beautiful brown eyes are the last thing I see before I fall asleep at night and the first thing I see when I wake up. Thinking of you will help me get through court today.
Sören gave a happy little sigh, holding the note to his heart. He felt a bit self-conscious about it - it was an inanimate object - but it was something his lover had given him, a piece of his heart.
One of the items Sören had brought from the flat in Bromley was a hollowed-out book that Sören had gotten specifically to keep dried petals in from the first bouquet of roses Anthony had given him, which were sitting in a gauzy satchet bag. Now some of the petals of the eighteen bouquets Anthony had gotten to welcome Sören home were being dried, to eventually add to their own bag to place inside the box. The card from the first bouquet was there, and Sören tucked the note inside as well. He kissed the lid of the book-box after the note was safe inside.
Sören knew Anthony wasn't going to feel like dealing with people after a day in court, even if he won, so when he was on his break he texted Anthony about dinner, offering to cook. Anthony felt guilty about Sören cooking when he'd been on his feet all day, and Sören compromised by saying he'd make something simple.
They still had to go grocery shopping when Sören got off work, which Sören had always hated doing when he lived alone, but somehow, doing this with Anthony felt comforting - he realized it was an act of nesting, being domestic together. Anthony seemed to pick up on that as well, his arms around Sören as Sören pushed the cart around, adding this or that.
When they got to the flat and Sören got out of the car, before he went to the trunk to help Anthony unload groceries, he took a few minutes to breathe the crisp night air, the cold air feeling invigorating, a second wind that he needed after the long day. Anthony also seemed to intuitively understand Sören needed a few moments to breathe and just be, and he came over and put an arm around Sören. The view of the Thames lit up at night even from here on the ground was gorgeous, making Sören feel wistful, even moreso when Sören looked up and there was a shooting star. Anthony took Sören's hand and Sören heard himself sigh, remembering that the last time he'd seen a shooting star was when he lived in Iceland...
...under the northern lights, fire in the sky. As much as Sören felt bitter about what happened in Reykjavik, no longer thinking of Iceland as his home, he couldn't help but ache because prior to the rape, Iceland had been his home. He was a part of the land, and the land was a part of him, and it was still in him bone-deep, soul-deep, there was still that longing for the shape of the land that had shaped him...
"Sören." Anthony stroked Sören's face, looking concerned. "What is it, love?"
"Oh." Sören gave a nervous laugh, ran his hand through his curls, rubbed his beard, stared down at his Doc Martens. "Nothing."
"Bullshit." Anthony glared as he popped the trunk and went over to take a bag of groceries. "It's something. Sören, don't 'nothing' me when I ask you what is it, you can't lie to me..."
"OK, fine." Sören huffed as he grabbed a bag of groceries. Anthony closed the trunk firmly but didn't slam it, which let Sören know he wasn't quite angry, just a little irritated, but Anthony's glare quickly gave way to concern again, softness. "I just... got a little homesick, is all." Sören quickly added as they walked to the door, "I mean, this is home now, but..."
"No, Sören, I get it. Well..." Anthony gave a sad little smile. "Not that I get it, as I've lived my entire life in London apart from when I went abroad years ago, but... it's perfectly normal for you to miss where you're from."
They went inside. Sören grasped at levity, his default coping mechanism. "Oh, you mean I did a normal people thing for once?"
"Yes, just this once." Anthony grinned, and Sören laughed; Anthony laughed with him. Then Anthony was all concern again. "Are you quite sure you don't want to visit Iceland...?"
Sören nodded vehemently. "I... I don't feel safe. I mean, yes you'd be with me, and I feel safe with you, but it's just..." Sören sighed deeply. "Too soon, too raw, too much..."
"Oh, sweetheart." Anthony stopped unloading groceries and came over to give Sören a fierce, tight hug. "I'm so sorry."
"I know." Sören patted him. Sören felt a lump in his throat, and he didn't want to fall apart now. He got right to work, assembling the ingredients for the omelette, and "scrubbed in", then proceeded to chop the vegetables. Chopping fast and furious, as if he were stabbing whoever it was who cut him away from the world he'd known.
On Tuesday night Sören had to work an overnight shift; early Wednesday morning, Anthony texted Sören a little while before his scheduled break to let Sören know he was coming to the hospital for Sören's break. Sören was touched, since he knew Anthony was getting up earlier than usual for this.
The cafe was just starting to open, and it was just Anthony there, with a cup of coffee for each of them. Anthony was already dressed for work - he'd be going straight to Lincoln's Inn after he left the hospital; his greatcoat was draped over a chair and Sören grinned at the sight of him, impeccably handsome in a charcoal grey suit with waistcoat, and the navy tie Sören had gotten him for Christmas. Anthony rose when he saw Sören approaching, smiling back at him as he held out his arms. "Brown Eyes."
Sören giggled and ran to him, breathing a little sigh as Anthony pulled him close and held him tight for a moment, rocking him. Sören still felt that tiny flutter in his stomach with him, and Anthony's presence gave him the rush he needed to make it through the second half of his shift even before the caffeine.
They sat down. "It's sweet of you to meet me here," Sören said.
"I missed you." Anthony gave a sad little smile. "I didn't sleep well without you there, besides."
"Awwwwwww..." Sören reached across the table and squeezed his hand. Then he accepted the coffee and took a few seconds to breathe in the coffee aroma, before he drank. "Oh, that's nice. I needed this, elskan."
"I thought you might. How are things going?"
Sören shrugged. "Going, pretty much. Got a couple sleep studies to monitor, we had an emergency trauma patient... the usual. After your work day starts, I have a couple scans lined up, and a spine surgery before I go home."
"Is it appropriate to say 'good luck' with surgery? Is 'break a leg' better?" A wry grin. "'Break a spinal cord'?"
Sören gigglesnorted and kicked Anthony under the table. "I'm not superstitious at all, and I don't believe in luck but I'll accept the well wishes anyway."
"You should take a nap when you get home. Want me to bring home anything in particular?"
"Whatever you feel like, but Indian or Thai is always nice."
"All right."
They sat in companionable silence for a few moments, drinking coffee, playing footsie under the table, and then over the intercom someone paged, "Doctor Khan. Doctor Khan."
Without thinking about it, Sören quipped, "Doctor Khan let me rock you, let me rock you, Doctor Khan, let me rock you, that's all I wanna do..."
Anthony almost spat his coffee. "God, Sören. Now Chaka Khan is going to be in my head all morning."
"There are far worse earworms to have."
"There are, and you had better not." Anthony reached across the table and tweaked Sören's nose; Sören gave him an innocent face that wasn't innocent at all.
"I will be so bloody grateful to have this weekend off," Sören said, frowning into his coffee. "Friday can't get here fast enough." Having the Chaka Khan earworm himself, Sören remembered the fun they had New Year's Eve with a little wistful sigh. "Hm, maybe we could go to a club on Saturday? I liked that... well, apart from the gay bashing on the way home."
"I did too. But actually, that's part of why I came here, I have news for you." Anthony's eyes twinkled and Sören knew he was up to something, and was impressed he'd managed to conceal that this far into the visit.
"Oh, do you now."
"This weekend, we are going to Stockholm."
Sören's eyebrows shot up. He put down his coffee. It took a few seconds for it to register and then he squeaked, got up, came right over and hugged Anthony, making happy noises as Anthony squeezed him and laughed.
Sören sat back down, closer to him. "Stockholm? Really?"
Anthony nodded. "I know you were homesick Monday night, I know you miss the northern lights. I can't guarantee that the aurora will make an appearance while we're there, but we have a better shot of seeing it there than we do staying put here, and... it's the closest I can come to giving you a little taste of home without it being Iceland."
Sören couldn't recall specifically mentioning that his longing when he looked up at the shooting star was for the aurora, even though he'd certainly been feeling that, and he got a funny little prickle at the back of his neck, gooseflesh over his arms under his long sleeves. But he was as touched even more than he was unsettled that Anthony somehow knew, and Sören took Anthony's hands and kissed them, before throwing his arms back around him again, making more happy noises. "You're the best, elskan. Thank you so much. I love you..."
"I love you. We'll be flying in Friday night and coming back Sunday evening, which isn't a huge amount of time but it's something?"
"It's definitely something." Sören leaned in to give him a kiss. "You're definitely something."
As they got ready to go to the airport on the evening of Friday the thirteenth, double-checking that they had everything, Sören said, "I can't believe this is happening. In a good way." He came over and gave Anthony a hug. "I love you so much, this is amazing."
Anthony laughed and tousled Sören's curls, kissed his brow and the tip of his nose. "I hope you enjoy it there. Truthfully, this trip is for me as much as it is for you. When I took time off from school to see the world for a bit, I toured western Europe, and I spent a longer amount of time in Stockholm than I did anywhere else."
"Really?" Sören raised an eyebrow. "What prompted that? It's pretty there, and lots to do, já?"
"Well, yes, but it was a bit personal for me as well." Anthony's cheeks turned pink, and he looked a little wistful.
Sören had a feeling he knew what that meant. "Oh, boyfriend?"
"That implies it was serious and, well, no. It was a fling, but not a relationship." Anthony looked out the panoramic window at the Thames and the city of London lit up at night, and Sören knew he wasn't looking at the riverfront so much as he was looking into his own memories. "He was older. Like... old enough to be my father, older. I was in my very early twenties, and he was in his fifties. Swedish, tall, grey haired, bearded. Great shape for his age."
"Nice." Sören licked his lips without thinking about it. "I've always had a thing for silver daddy types. Haven't gotten to fuck many of them, but..."
Anthony nodded. "Mikael was definitely that type. We had fun - enough that I stayed in Stockholm a bit longer than anticipated. I honestly would have moved there if he'd asked me to, back then, I was fairly smitten with him, but he was the one who told me I shouldn't tie myself down at that age, he should just be a fond memory. And... I have no regrets." He turned back to Sören, his face a deeper pink now.
"That's very sweet," Sören said, and then he added, "and very hot." The thought of Anthony having sex with an older "daddy" type did things to him. The thought of turning it into a threesome... Oh, fuck. Sören shivered, his cock twinging. "Do you still keep in touch with him?"
"No, he didn't want me to be attached, for which I can't blame him. He had a life and I needed to find my own."
Sören wondered if he should suggest possibly he and Anthony going cruising on Saturday night to find a "silver daddy" to have a threesome with - if maybe with their respective hours, Anthony might be better served having a second partner to get his rocks off with once in awhile...
...but then before he could bring it up, Anthony went on, "Even if we were, though... I'm with you. And when I'm with someone, I'm with someone. You're the one I want." Anthony took Sören's hand and kissed it.
Well, so much for that idea. But Sören could live with it. A hot "silver daddy" type for them to play with was a nice "possibly to have" fantasy, but not mandatory. Besides, if we were going to go there, I'd rather it be a Frenchman, not a Swede. Sören had a weakness for the French. The thought of a silver-haired-and-bearded Frenchman in bed with them... fantasy though that would remain, it was still a delicious one. We better get out of here before I drag Anthony to bed and we miss our flight.
When they arrived in Stockholm, they went straight to their hotel, taking a cab. Sören was even more impressed by Anthony's command of Swedish than he was with Anthony's fluency in French, as Swedish was a bit closer to home for him linguistically, and he smiled at the not-quite-familiarity of hearing another Scandinavian language.
Anthony had spared no expense, getting them into a five-star hotel that had a jacuzzi in the room and they even had a key to a private sauna, with the sauna rooms out in back. "We can do the sauna tomorrow?" Anthony asked on the way to their room.
"That sounds good," Sören said, and then with a nervous chuckle as they got in the elevator, he added, "I've never been in a sauna before."
"Really."
"We have hot springs in Iceland... I have plenty of experience with those. Saunas, not so much, that's more of a Swedish, Norwegian thing. But I'm looking forward to it!" Then Sören gave a sigh, feeling guilty about his reluctance to go back to Iceland. "I'm sorry. You'd like Iceland, probably, and I wish I wasn't so fucking... broken... so we could go..."
Anthony pulled him close and pet him. "You have nothing to be sorry for, my love. You didn't ask for what happened, and... there are plenty of other places we can go, plenty of things to see in the world." Their eyes met. "I'd like to share where I've been, with you. Pieces of my life. It makes me feel closer to you, letting you in on something that was very private to me."
"Awwwwww." Sören leaned on him, and then, overcome by emotion and not wanting to cry in the elevator, he found himself defaulting to humor to cope. He broke out in song. "I can show you the world..."
"Oh no."
"Shining, shimmering, splendid... tell me princess now when did you last let your heart decide?"
"Sören, they'll deport us."
They laughed all the way to their hotel room. Sören stopped laughing when they got in and he saw the view of Stockholm, letting out a low whistle. Anthony came over and put an arm around Sören's waist, and kissed him.
Tired as they were from the long day they both had, they weren't quite ready for bed, and decided to unwind by getting in the hot tub, where they snuggled, drinking champagne. Sören quietly marveled at how surreal his life was now, going from poverty in a tiny town in Iceland, to being whisked off for weekend trips around Europe, canoodling in a hot tub, drinking champagne like it was water. It was something that he never would have dreamt possible for himself when he was younger, not even as recently as a few years ago when he'd made it as a doctor and had a decent flat in Reykjavik and could live comfortably, if not extravagantly. It's like I've fallen through a looking glass, into a fairytale.
After their cuddle in the hot tub they had a sweet, languid sixty-nine, and, sated, tangled up together and drifted off to sleep. In the morning when the alarm woke them up, they started their day kissing, rubbing their cocks together, Anthony's hand covering Sören's as he took them both in his fist and stroked them to climax. Anthony tasted them from Sören's fingers, and Sören tasted them from Anthony's mouth, the two laughing softly as they rocked each other, legs entwined - it felt good to be alive. For at least a little while, all was right with the world.
They went down to the hotel restaurant for a light breakfast, and then they got in what sightseeing they could in the limited time they had. Anthony and Sören looked at City Hall and the Royal Palace, and Stockholm Cathedral. They went to Skansen, the open-air museum that housed five centuries of historic buildings and dwellings, and Sören felt both nostalgic for all of the ancient history preserved back in Iceland, but also comforted that here, too, in a sister-nation, the past was important.
Sören and Anthony chatted about that as they walked around, hand in hand. "I almost took Ancient History instead of Linguistics," Anthony said, "but I thought languages would be more practical in a law career - no need to use a translator if I had international clients."
"So you did, what, a diploma conversion?" Sören was still trying to wrap his head around the way things worked in the UK compared to Iceland's school system.
Anthony nodded. "That, too, was a matter of practicality, it was an easier route."
"Do you regret not going for history?"
"Yes and no? I don't regret becoming a lawyer. I might very well have become an archaeologist if I hadn't been compelled to law when I was younger, between what happened with my uncle and my own sad tale of defending myself against -" His voice trailed off and he looked away, wincing a little. Sören thought about asking, curious and a little concerned, but he knew not to press a sore spot, and it would be up to Anthony to say anything more about it or not. Anthony just patted his arm and they kept walking. "Ancient history still fascinates me. I was a bit of a nerd about it, growing up. I'm a product of the times we're in and I don't romanticize the past, I wouldn't want to live in the days when being what I am is illegal, or where life expectancy would be dramatically shortened with diseases we can prevent now, but I still find myself drawn to learn about the people who went before us, anyway."
"I imagine you would have made a good archaeologist. The same wanting to examine things, pick things apart and uncover the truth, that happens in the courtroom, já?"
"Especially eras that were misunderstood, misrepresented in some way, or peoples and places that were underappreciated as being particularly pivotal to history, setting the record straight... I suppose that's a recurring theme in my life." Anthony chuckled, looking a little sheepish. "If I believed in anything, like past lives, I'd start to wonder if maybe I had a past life where I had a famous brother or brothers and I was the 'boring' one according to history and that part of me saying 'hey, I was interesting, dammit!' isn't compensating now by this perverse, consuming need to prove others wrong and challenge assumptions and 'facts' that aren't actually so."
Sören giggled, and he gave Anthony a tight hug. "Awwwww, elskan. I don't find you boring in the slightest. I couldn't imagine you as ever being boring."
Anthony returned the hug. "And from where I stand, you're the more interesting of the two of us." He played with a lock of Sören's curls. "I find you fascinating."
"Well, I find you fascinating, elskan. You're not just a... flashy rich boy, a stuffy suit." Sören thought about the way he'd almost dismissed Anthony at their first meeting at National - which seemed like ages ago, even though it had just been November - and was glad he didn't. "There's depth to you, and I will never get tired of exploring it."
Anthony grabbed his face and kissed him hard, right in the middle of a very public place, lots of onlookers and passerby. Sören threw his arms around Anthony's neck and kissed him back, and when they pulled apart, breathless and giddy, Anthony said, "Come on, there's something I think you'd love to see."
They took the ferry to Djurgården, and Sören howled with laughter as Anthony dragged him to the ABBA Museum. As they waited in the queue, Sören started laughing all over again.
"Nothing says 'depth' like ABBA," Sören giggled.
"Nothing says 'serious professionals making a difference in the world' like going to the ABBA Museum."
"Anthony Hewlett-Johnson, this is the gayest thing I've ever done in my life."
"Good."
They leaned on each other in hysterics, attracting some glares from other people in the queue who clearly thought waiting in line to see an ABBA museum was a serious affair, and after Anthony and Sören quieted down they stole a look at each other, smirking, mischief dancing in their eyes.
"Utmost decorum for ABBA," Anthony said, nodding solemnly.
"Very dignified. No funny business here, nope." Sören tried not to have another gigglefit. "Hey, this is so somber you should have brought your wig and robes."
"No." Now Anthony glared, but his eyes betrayed his amusement. "I could actually get in trouble for that, it's against our code of conduct to wear that outside the courtroom."
"Jæja, 'cos then the, ah... fashion police... would come arrest you guys and you'd be tying up your own legal system having to defend each other."
Anthony lost it again, turning bright red, shaking, tearing up. "Sören, I swear to god."
"You know... I really want to see you in it." Sören was giggling too. "The wig. The robes."
"No. No you don't."
"Yes, I do. You're going to show me one of these days." Sören started poking him. "You can't wear it in public, I guess because it looks too silly to be legal -"
Anthony facepalmed, laughing harder.
"But nobody's going to know if it's at home, in private."
"I'll feel ridiculous. It's one thing to wear it in the courtroom - it's like going on stage, assuming a role, it helps me get into a completely different mindset. And the court won't be swayed by the price of my suit, but by my arguments. It's another thing to wear it in front of someone who isn't one of my brethren, knowing it looks completely daft outside of that context."
"Oh, please? After a long, crazy week at work it's just the sort of thing I need to remind me the entire world isn't malfunctioning brains and spines and nerves."
"Really? I'd have thought seeing me dressed up like that would in fact remind you the world is malfunctioning brains..."
Now it was Sören's turn to explode into laughter, and Anthony laughed with him. Sören stroked Anthony's face, pleased he was with someone who shared his sense of humor.
Then Anthony said, "I will next time you have a weekend off, if you... if you do something equally ridiculous."
"Like what?"
Anthony shrugged. "Surprise me."
Sören grinned. "You're on."
The ABBA Museum was a delight - Sören giggled at the wax statues of ABBA, and the mannequins wearing their well-known, so-disco-era-it-hurt outfits from the 1970s. He howled appreciatively at Björn Ulvaeus's over-the-top "Malmberg" guitar, and poked around with curiosity at the recreations of their studio and makeup rooms.
"I feel, like, twenty percent more gay now," Sören said on their way out.
"Only twenty percent?"
Sören nodded.
They got dinner after that - it was already pitch dark, and bitter cold. Anthony had a platter of assorted fish with a side of cucumber salad, and Sören had a smoked salmon open-faced sandwich. They shared a piece of lingonberry-apple cake that Sören made a mental note to research the recipe of later, and Sören indulged in a bit of Absolut - not enough to lose agency, just enough to lower his inhibitions, make the world seem more electric, make him louder, more animated.
While waiting for a cab to take them back to the hotel, Sören wanted hot chocolate, so they each got a cup, and took it in the cab. Sören snuggled on Anthony in the cab ride home and Anthony pet him, which made Sören feel especially warm and cozy. He eventually felt too warm, between his outerwear, Anthony's proximity, the heating in the taxi, and the alcohol, and he asked Anthony if they could get out at an approaching park a few blocks away from the hotel and sit for awhile in the fresh air and walk to the hotel when they were ready. Anthony nodded.
The park was a winter wonderland, trees covered in ice and snow, snowdrifts glowing in the streetlights and the fairy lights around the park. There was an ice skating rink in the park and Anthony and Sören found a bench and watched the skaters. Sören was in a very good mood, and the vodka had loosened him up just enough that he felt like singing when he finished his hot chocolate.
Friday night and the lights are low
Looking out for a place to go
Where they play the right music, getting in the swing
You come to look for a king
Anthony turned red, shaking with silent laughter. "Oh my god, Sören."
Anybody could be that guy
Night is young and the music's high
With a bit of rock music, everything is fine
You're in the mood for a dance
And when you get the chance
You are the dancing queen
Young and sweet, only seventeen
Dancing queen
Feel the beat from the tambourine
Oh, yeah
You can dance, you can jive
Having the time of your life
Ooh, see that girl, watch that scene
Digging the dancing queen
A few passerby stopped and came round, clapping and swaying, encouraging Sören to keep singing.
You're a teaser, you turn 'em on
Leave them burning and then you're gone
Looking out for another, anyone will do
You're in the mood for a dance
And when you get the chance
You are the dancing queen
Young and sweet, only seventeen
Dancing queen
Feel the beat from the tambourine
Oh, yeah
You can dance, you can jive
Having the time of your life
Ooh, see that girl, watch that scene
Digging the dancing queen
Digging the dancing queen
Sören got wolf whistles and applause when the song was done, and he took a bow. Then someone saw the empty hot chocolate cup that Sören hadn't gotten around to throwing away yet and threw some coins in, and another put in paper money. Sören shrieked with laughter - tickled rather than offended that people thought he was a street performer - and, to Anthony's amusement, Sören continued on with another ABBA song... singing to Anthony.
My, my, at Waterloo Napoleon did surrender
Oh yeah, and I have met my destiny in quite a similar way
The history book on the shelf
Is always repeating itself
Waterloo - I was defeated, you won the war
Waterloo - promise to love you for ever more
Waterloo - couldn't escape if I wanted to
Waterloo - knowing my fate is to be with you
Waterloo - finally facing my Waterloo
Anthony gave Sören an adoring look, even as he was also in hysterics from Sören's over-the-top, eat-your-heart-out-Freddie-Mercury performance. Sören continued belting out the song, with more onlookers gathered round, clapping and dancing.
My, my, I tried to hold you back but you were stronger
Oh yeah, and now it seems my only chance is giving up the fight
And how could I ever refuse
I feel like I win when I lose
Waterloo - I was defeated, you won the war
Waterloo - promise to love you for ever more
Waterloo - couldn't escape if I wanted to
Waterloo - knowing my fate is to be with you
Waterloo - finally facing my Waterloo
So how could I ever refuse
I feel like I win when I lose
Waterloo - couldn't escape if I wanted to
Waterloo - knowing my fate is to be with you
Waterloo - finally facing my Waterloo
Waterloo - knowing my fate is to be with you
Waterloo - finally facing my Waterloo
Waterloo - knowing my fate is to be with you
People in the crowd were calling out "Mer!" and "Annan!" and Sören got more money in his paper cup. Sören thought one more couldn't hurt.
Lay your head on my chest so you hear every beat of my heart
Now there's nothing at all that can keep us apart
Touch my lips, close your eyes and see with your fingertips
Things that you do, and you know I'm crazy 'bout you
Kisses of fire, burning, burning
I'm at the point of no returning
Kisses of fire, sweet devotions
Caught in a land-slide of emotions
I've had my share of love affairs but they were nothing compared to this
Oh, I'm riding higher than the sky and there is fire in every kiss
Kisses of fire
Kisses of fire
Sören's own face was burning now, feeling cheesy and overly sentimental yet this was the way to show his heart, in this moment.
When you sleep by my side I feel safe and I know I belong
Still it's making me scared that my love is so strong
Losing you is a nightmare fate and to me it's new
Never before did you see me begging for more
Kisses of fire, burning, burning
I'm at the point of no returning
Kisses of fire, sweet devotions
Caught in a land-slide of emotions
I've had my share of love affairs but they were nothing compared to this
Oh, I'm riding higher than the sky and there is fire in every kiss
Kisses of fire
Kisses of fire
Kisses of fire, burning, burning
I'm at the point of no returning
Kisses of fire, sweet devotions
Caught in a land-slide of emotions
Kisses of fire, burning, burning
(I'm at the point of no returning)
Kisses of fire, sweet devotions
I'm riding higher than the sky and there is fire in every kiss
(Caught in a land-slide of emotions)
Kisses of fire, burning, burning
I'm at the point of no returning
Kisses of fire, sweet devotions
Caught in a land-slide of emotions
The crowd clamored for more but Anthony was giving Sören that eat-you-alive look and Sören said, "Sorry, that's all for tonight!"
Anthony and Sören got up to walk to the hotel, arm in arm, laughing. "You are the silliest thing in existence," Anthony told him between kisses, "and somehow also the sexiest."
"Takk." Sören smirked. "I think we're even now, and you have to show me your wig and robes next time I've got a weekend free."
And then, into another kiss, Sören froze, eyes widening. Anthony stopped, making a noise of concern, and Sören just pointed up.
Though Anthony couldn't guarantee they'd see the northern lights on their trip, there it was, shimmering green and cyan with little touches of gold and fuchsia. No matter how many times Sören had seen an aurora borealis each one was its unique light show, nature's perfect pyrotechnics, and Sören's breath was taken away every time. Now moreso than ever, Sören's entire body breaking out into gooseflesh and chills, because he was here with the man he loved, sharing this magical moment with him.
"My god." Anthony's breath hitched.
"You were here before, have you ever seen an aurora?"
Anthony shook his head. "I was in Scandinavia for the summer, the midnight sun. Not this."
"So this is your first time?"
Anthony nodded. "I've seen photos but... live and in-person is so much... more." His voice was hushed with awe.
Sören squeezed his hand, tears coming to his eyes. When he looked at Anthony, he could see his lover looked about ready to cry too, and that made Sören love him even more.
They couldn't stop kissing in the elevator ride to the hotel room, completely overcome by the power of what they had just witnessed, and their own feelings for each other - Sören felt like they had discovered some sort of enchantment with their bond, as strange and ridiculous as that seemed to his skeptical, scientific mind, the artist part of him felt they'd touched something that was bigger than both of them, somehow.
It was enough that Sören felt like he could break, and didn't want to spend the evening crippled by tears - even tears of joy - and especially when they'd had such a lovely day. Sören once again needed humor to cope. He got out one of his mp3 playlists, entitled "Europop Trash", and queued it up on the stereo. He'd meant to select a song by ABBA, but accidentally hit Ace of Base, which was just as well for what he was about to do.
Sören began to do a striptease for Anthony Hewlett-Johnson... to "The Sign" by Ace of Base. Anthony's reaction was a mixture of amusement at Sören's continued antics, and genuine lust for Sören dancing, undressing, putting on a show just for him. When the song was over Anthony pulled the now-naked Sören close to him - Anthony was still fully dressed - and he kissed Sören hard, reaching for Sören's erection, stroking gently.
Anthony quickly undressed and they got in bed together. Sören had forgotten to turn off the stereo as they fell in and the random shuffle on the stereo kicked in and just as Anthony and Sören started kissing, the stereo began to play
I'm a Barbie girl in the Barbie world
Life in plastic, it's fantastic!
You can brush my hair, undress me everywhere
Imagination, life is your creation
Come on, Barbie, let's go party!
"Oh, sweet baby Jesus." Anthony let out a scream into the pillows, wheezing, turning bright red, holding his sides, tears streaming down his face.
Sören gigglesnorted, and then he began to do a dance on the bed, shaking his naked ass.
I'm a Barbie girl in the Barbie world
Life in plastic, it's fantastic!
You can brush my hair, undress me everywhere
Imagination, life is your creation
I'm a blond bimbo girl in a fantasy world
Dress me up, make it tight, I'm your dolly
You're my doll, rock'n'roll, feel the glamour in pink,
Kiss me here, touch me there, hanky panky...
You can touch, you can play, if you say, "I'm always yours."
"Help..." Anthony rolled off the bed.
Sören had to turn off the stereo. "Are you all right? I didn't mean to kill you."
Anthony attempted to get up, hanging on the side of the bed, and he had to sit on the floor for a moment, trying to pull himself together.
"Smooth, Sören. That was... suave." Anthony shook his head, still laughing.
"So now the question is... which one of us is Barbie? I'm guessing it's you." Sören snickered. "Trying to picture you with long blonde hair..."
"Jesus Christ, Sören."
Somehow, Anthony made it back on the bed. Sören pinned Anthony, laying on top of him. "There, now I've got you and you can't fall off again." With that, Sören rained kisses over his face.
They resumed kissing as before, all silliness forgotten as their passion took over, and soon Sören was riding Anthony's cock, bouncing wildly, his screams as loud as their laughter had been, if not louder. The euphoria of the evening made Sören feel more sensitized than usual, and when he climaxed he came hard, making a mess all over Anthony and himself, deeply gratified when Anthony came hard too, crying out Sören's name, and then just crying, pleasure so good it brought him to tears. Sören kissed his tears, pet him, and was moved to tears of his own. They held each other and rocked together. Usually they needed more than one round to slake their thirst, but this time the one was enough, completely shattering them, and when the tears calmed down and the blinding ecstasy and awe gave way to quiet, radiant joy, they drifted off to sleep.
In the middle of the night Sören stirred awake - his body wasn't used to sleeping for long periods of time and would wake him up at least once - and he got up to take a look out the window, taking in the view of Stockholm at night, still feeling a touch of surreality that he was here on a tiny holiday.
Then, after a couple of minutes, Anthony made a little noise of protest and mumbled, "Sören, come back to bed."
Sören got back in bed and Anthony pulled Sören close against him, grabbed him tight. "Need my blankey," Anthony said, clearly half-asleep still.
"Oh, I'm your blankey now?"
"Mhm. So warm." Anthony kissed Sören's shoulder. "Safe."
Sören felt a tug at his heart, a sharp ache. He'd already figured out he felt somewhat protective of Anthony, having seen his vulnerability that day Anthony confessed his love at Lincoln's Inn, then again when Anthony played piano for him, so shyly and sweetly, at his parents'. Sören felt protective enough to get in the way of attackers without thinking about it. Where the world might not think the suave, lacquered professional needed someone to watch over him, Sören knew on some level he did - Anthony took care of him, and he took care of Anthony. And in the truth of those barely-awake words, they touched Sören as deeply as any flowery poetry did.
I am my beloved's, and he is mine.
They hadn't gotten to do the sauna on Saturday as planned, but it was just as well because they slept in Sunday and had time for only one last real "Swedish experience" before they had to go to the airport to fly back.
The private sauna had wooden walls, floors, and benches. It was clean, though Anthony and Sören put down towels on their benches anyway, since Sören's conditioning as a surgeon was to see germs everywhere.
Though Sören and Anthony both noted they had an aversion to hot weather and it seemed odd they'd deliberately inflict high temperatures on themselves, the sauna was a very different experience. Sören started to feel deeply relaxed in the steam, like a bunch of lingering tension was melting out of his body, as well as general malaise and a sense of miasma he carried with him day to day. Anthony looked noticeably at ease, and Sören couldn't help staring at him, enjoying how peaceful he looked.
Then Sören enjoyed the view for an entirely different reason, feeling arousal coming on at the sight of Anthony glistening from sweat. Sören was slick with sweat too, and soon enough he noticed Anthony noticing him, that familiar predatory look in his eye.
Sören came closer, and they began to kiss, hands roaming, caressing. When Anthony started kissing Sören's neck, he reached for Sören's hard cock and Sören moaned, grabbing Anthony's cock and playing. With their free hands they continued wandering, exploring, teasing, wanting to touch and feel every inch of each other that they could.
Sören's internal jury was out about how safe certain positions were in the high heat, or how much exertion past a certain point was safe. But they were both too far gone to not take care of their needs in their somehow, and the steam heat seemed to make Sören's skin feel more sensitive, more reactive, even as his lust burned hotter for the sight of his lover sweat-slick, the intoxicating smell of sweat and arousal, something deliciously male.
Sören found himself getting on his knees and taking Anthony's cock into his mouth, sucking greedily as Anthony moaned, panted, grabbed Sören's damp curls. When Anthony began to gently fuck Sören's mouth, moaning louder, it was all Sören could do to not come right there, loving that feeling of being under his control. And when Anthony came in his mouth he seemed to taste better than usual - he always tasted good, but now Sören gave a deep "mmmm" as he swallowed, licking his lips, loving it, licking Anthony clean.
Sören got back on the bench and Anthony returned the favor. Sören was so turned on by sucking Anthony that it didn't take long for Anthony to bring him off, and he seemed to enjoy Sören's flavor just as much, murmuring "that's lovely" after he swallowed, before lapping up the seed continuing to flow from Sören's cock.
They weren't quite spent - sucking Sören to climax had gotten Anthony hard again, and tasting himself on Anthony, feeling how ready he was to go again, made Sören crazy with desire. Sören sat on Anthony's lap, facing him, and with Anthony's arms around him, holding him close, kissing him deep, Sören sank down. Sören was still open from last night, and they were sweat-slick enough that they didn't need lube. He groaned as he felt Anthony stretching him, and they both cried out when Anthony bottomed out, all the way inside him. Sören rested for a moment, savoring that first moment of connection, that feeling of oneness between them, looking into Anthony's green eyes and feeling perfect love and perfect trust.
The heat of the sauna was mirrored in their passion, Sören riding Anthony like it was their first time, like it was their last time. Their hands played over each other, needing to touch, needing to have and hold and give and take and please and tease and love. Every kiss stoked the fire hotter, and as badly as Sören needed to come he needed to keep feeling Anthony inside him, hitting that perfect note of pleasure in him again and again, completely and utterly lost in that place that was only theirs, where the hectic, chaotic world could not intrude, could not take this from them.
"I love you," Sören ground out between kisses.
"I love you."
"I'm gonna come soon, elskan."
Anthony grabbed Sören harder, holding him for dear life. Sören rode, feverish, not caring if it was too much. It was never too much, never enough, needing. Sören whimpered, panted, gasped, as Anthony groaned, growled, their kisses deeper and deeper, fierce, demanding. At last Anthony's eyes met his, green fire blazing his soul. "Come for me."
Sören let go, screaming, his entire body feeling like he'd been shocked, and through it, the awe of what this man could make him feel, that such a physical act could be so transcendent, so luminous, like they were stealing fire from heaven. Anthony cried out as he spent into Sören, and Sören gasped at the feeling of Anthony spilling into him, the evidence of their union. He loved that feeling of being marked, claimed, filled by the man he loved. Anthony knew he loved it, tenderness in his own eyes as he crushed Sören against him, kissed him with all the fire hidden beneath the cool, professional exterior, fire burning all the hotter for being secret, like magma flowing.
Anthony held him then, rocked him, pet him, and Sören sighed, the contentment post-orgasm even stronger in the steam of the sauna. And it felt so right for them to love like this here...
...fire calling to fire.
Sören was in a bit of a daze on the ride to the airport, and on the flight back to London. Not quite asleep, but he felt out of it, in the best possible way, as deeply relaxed and content as he'd felt in ages. He rested on Anthony's shoulder on the flight home, who wrapped them up together in a blanket and pet and pet Sören, untiring of touching him.
Back at the flat in London, Sören finally snapped back to consciousness as he took a shower, but also felt drained - again, in a good way, tired but happy. They finished their weekend with Anthony sitting on the couch in his pajamas, wearing his glasses as he attended to a last-minute pile of paperwork before Monday morning, and Sören lay across the couch, head in his lap in a non-sexual way, Anthony idly petting and stroking him as he looked things over, between dashes of his pen.
Finally Anthony's work was done and he fully attended to Sören, rubbing his shoulders.
"Thank you for this weekend," Sören said, smiling up at him.
"Thank you."
"That was wonderful, beyond words."
Anthony smiled, stroking Sören's face. "That was just the beginning. There is so much more I want to give you." He pulled Sören up and gave him a kiss. "I would give you the moon if I could."
"I don't need the moon, Anthony. Just you."
chapter 11 | return to Learning To Fly | return to Other Tolkien Fic | return to index