Sören had to work all of the following weekend, and then after another long week, he had Saturday, January twenty-eighth off. He would have to work on Sunday, starting early into the evening, but at least he had Friday night and all of Saturday with Anthony.
Though clubbing had sounded like a fun option for a Saturday night when they were both free, it started to snow hard on Friday night, enough that Anthony took a detour picking Sören up from the hospital to stock up groceries for a few days so they wouldn't have to go out, and sure enough when they woke on Saturday morning, London had received a decent amount of snow, and it was still coming down, not as hard as it was last night, but even a little bit seemed like too much.
"Well, I'm not going anywhere today," Anthony said, looking out the window.
"That's fine. To be honest a quiet day at home feels like just what I need," Sören said. He chuckled, looking at his red plaid flannel pajamas. "I'm not even going to get dressed today."
"Neither am I." Anthony smiled, also in his pajamas, black silk, under a black bathrobe. "It's nice to have a day to not have to go anywhere or do anything or be anything."
Even as Sören felt lazy, he also felt motivated enough to work on getting dinner started in the slow cooker, a homemade lamb stew that seemed perfect for a cold, snowy day like this. Sören wanted to work to music, so he put on an mp3 playlist of songs from the 1970s and 1980s that made him nostalgic for his early childhood and when his mamma made a stew just like this. Anthony hovered in the kitchen, and soon enough hovering turned into grabbing Sören from behind and kissing his neck, and Sören knew dinner would never get started if he kept doing that, so he needed to find Anthony a distraction, politely.
And then "Dancing Queen" by ABBA came on and Sören and Anthony took one look at each other and burst into laughter, remembering how two weekends ago Sören, after having some Absolut at a restaurant in Stockholm, was emboldened enough to break into ABBA songs in a Swedish park, drawing a crowd. Sören also remembered how Anthony had said in order for Sören to see him in his barrister getup, Sören had to do something ridiculous.
"Well then," Sören said, brandishing the knife in Anthony's general direction - more of a joke than an actual threat, "I think it's time you paid up."
"Paid up?"
Sören gave him a look. "I made an arse of myself in Stockholm, singing this -"
"Oh, I don't know about that, you were quite good, people liked it -"
"People can like it and still think I look like an arse, and let's be real, I did." Sören raised an eyebrow. "Go on, show me your courtroom outfit."
"Oh dear god." Anthony pinched the bridge of his nose, turning beetroot.
"Do it or I'll make you listen to 'Never Gonna Give You Up' for the next four hours on repeat."
Anthony rolled his eyes and walked off. A few minutes later, when everything was in the crock pot and Sören set it to simmer, his back turned, Sören heard a dramatic clear of the throat.
Sören turned around and saw Anthony wearing a solemn black robe with a white shirt underneath sporting tails on the collar, and a yellowing grey-white wig that was in tight rolled curls on the top and led out to a curly tail in the back. Anthony tried to give him the most deadly serious expression that he could muster, but his cheeks were pink and his eyes were twinkling.
"Hvað í fjandanum." Sören tried not to laugh, and failed at it, doubling over the counter, snorting. "Wow, that's... that's worse than I thought."
"Yes, yes, I know. It's a tradition, and though it looks daft outside of the court, there are valid reasons for upholding the tradition, like I explained to you in Stockholm."
"How old is that wig?" Sören wrinkled his nose. "Shouldn't it have a bath?"
"There is an attitude that the older and more crap your wig looks, the more prestige it affords you. Myself and several of my diploma group brethren put our wigs near car exhausts to try to age them up when we started at our respective Inns."
"...Wow. That's... wow. Well, it certainly looks old, Anthony. Looks like a goddamn relic." And then, not able to help himself, Sören said, "Rock me, Amadeus!"
"Oh. God."
Sören needed to make it worse. He went over to the stereo, and selected "Rock Me Amadeus" by Falco on the playlist, turning up the volume.
Ooh, rock me, Amadeus!
Er war ein Punker und er lebte in der großen Stadt
Es war in Wien, war Vienna, wo er alles tat
Er hatte Schulden, denn er trank, doch ihn liebten alle Frauen
Und jede rief: "Come and rock me Amadeus!"
Er war Superstar, er war populär
Er war so exaltiert, because er hatte Flair
Er war ein Virtuose, war ein Rockidol
Und alles rief: "Come and rock me Amadeus!"
Amadeus, Amadeus, Amadeus
Amadeus, Amadeus, Amadeus
Amadeus, Amadeus - oh, oh, oh - Amadeus
Come and rock me Amadeus!
Anthony looked like he wanted to be offended and couldn't be, shaking with silent laughter, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Sören Sigurðsson, I swear to god."
"Hey, now I know what to have as the ringtone for your number!" Sören grinned and rushed to his phone, and as "Rock Me Amadeus" continued playing, Sören went to his ringtone app, found a ringtone that was a sample of the chorus of "Rock Me Amadeus", downloaded it and programmed it into the phone as his ringtone for Anthony.
"You're terrible."
"No, that wig is terrible. Does it..." Sören tried to catch his breath, another gigglefit coming on at the sight of Anthony attempting to look dignified there in the living room with the wig and robe still on. "Doesn't it itch?"
"Not really. It's more hot and heavy as far as discomfort goes."
"Hot and heavy, eh?" Sören waggled his eyebrows. He stroked his chin thoughtfully, determined to push the envelope as far as he could get away with. "You think any barristers wear the wig during sex?"
"Sören." Anthony's eyes narrowed.
"Would you wear the wig when we shag if I asked you?" Sören waggled his eyebrows again and he let Anthony turn beetroot and splutter for a full minute before Sören admitted, "That was a joke." Then he quipped, not able to resist, "Mostly."
"All right. You've seen enough." Anthony began to walk back towards the bedroom. Before he could completely leave the living room, Sören called out, "Wait." Anthony waited.
"Let me see the wig? You can get the robe off but I want to... touch it. It's curiosity, it's going to drive me mad if I don't." That wasn't a lie, but Sören also wasn't done trolling Anthony yet.
Anthony took off the wig and tossed it to Sören, who caught it, and then Sören said, "Hey, that was fun. This could be a new sport, wig tossing..."
Anthony made noises as he stormed down the hall. As he approached the living room again, Sören heard him before he saw him, with Anthony calling down, "All right, Sören, you've had your fun touching -"
Anthony came out - once again in his pajamas and bathrobe - to see Sören sitting on the couch with the wig in his lap as if it were a cat, petting it.
"Sören, what are you doing?"
"What does it look like I'm doing? He likes me," Sören said, petting the wig some more.
Anthony once again gave him that mock offended glare, trying not to encourage Sören by laughing. "Sören. Sören Sigurðsson."
"Jæja?" Sören skritched the wig. "Oh, what's that?" He held the wig up to his ear as if the wig were telling him something, and then he patted the wig and told Anthony, "He's not ready to go back in the closet yet."
"He..." Anthony pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sören, that is a wig. It is not a he."
Sören gave him a shocked look, putting a hand to his open mouth as he covered the "ears" of the wig with the other. "Oh my god, Anthony, you'll hurt his feelings."
Anthony made a "give it back" gesture, and Sören shook his head. "No," he said, and scooped the wig up into his arms, cradling the wig like a baby, rocking it. "He spends all that time alone in your closet, and when he's not he has to sit on your head while you're in court. That's no fun. Let him spend some time with his new friend. I bet he doesn't even have a name." Sören looked down at the wig. "Do you?" Sören made the wig move like it was shaking its head.
"Oh. My. God..."
Sören skritched the wig, rocking it. "I will pet him and love him and call him George."
Anthony lost it at the literary reference. He went to the kitchen to make tea, trying to pull himself together and failing. "Dammit, Sören..."
Sören began to make a purring noise, like the wig was his ventriloquist's dummy. "Oh, he likes that. Don't you, George?" The purring got louder. Sören held the wig close and pet it and sang:
Soft kitty
Warm kitty
Little ball of fur
Happy kitty
Sleepy kitty
Purr, purr, purr.
As if on cue, "Soft and Wet" by Prince came on Sören's 70s and 80s playlist via the stereo's random shuffle feature.
Hey, lover, I got a sugarcane
That I wanna lose in you,
Baby can you stand the pain
Hey, lover, sugar don't you see?
There's so many things that you do to me
Ooo baby!
"I DIDN'T MEAN THAT KIND OF KITTY, PRINCE," Sören shouted at the stereo, and Anthony buried his face in his arms on the kitchen counter when Sören said, "This isn't that kind of wig."
"Sören, give me the wig now," Anthony said, making the "give it back" gesture again, this time with both hands.
"He has a name. You can only have him back if you show him enough respect to use his -"
"OK, fine. Give me back... George." Anthony wheezed. "I can't fucking believe this..."
Sören tossed the wig at him and Anthony caught it. He stalked off, glaring at Sören, who stuck his tongue out. When Anthony came back he was still beetroot and shaking from laughter, and he sat next to Sören on the couch.
When tea was ready Anthony got up, and a few minutes later he brought over Earl Grey for both of them. Sören watched the snow out the window, entranced, but his attention kept going back to Anthony who was losing it again.
"That was seriously disturbing," Anthony said.
"Takk." Sören sipped his tea.
When Anthony sipped his, Sören decided he had to take one last shot, for now. He stroked his beard thoughtfully and said, "I think I figured out why you lot can only wear that in the courtroom."
Anthony raised his eyebrow and took another sip of tea, waiting.
"They'll get loose and start... breeding. Like Tribbles."
Anthony spat his tea, had to put his cup down, and wiped his face and bathrobe, shaking, leaning on Sören as he doubled over, tears streaming down his red face. "Sören..."
"Court doesn't set the right mood, but if they were around outside of it, ho ho ho..." Sören rolled his eyes. "Lincoln's Inn would be overrun with little baby wigs..."
Anthony made inhuman noises. "Sören. Sören. Stop. You're killing me."
"All right, all right." Sören patted him. "I'll stop... for now. This isn't over yet."
"Ye gods." Anthony shook his head and picked his tea back up.
When their tea was finished, Anthony went to the sink, and on his way back he lingered at his bookshelf. Anthony selected a hardcover copy of The Master and Margarita, retrieved his glasses from his desk, and got back on the couch next to Sören.
Sören considered getting a book himself, since Anthony had told him awhile back to feel free to do so, but Sören felt brain-dead from having worked such long hours all week that he didn't feel like he could get into something involved like reading. He was nonetheless feeling too mentally restless to do something like zone out watching TV or a movie from Anthony's DVD collection. Sören decided to paint, which he hadn't done in awhile. But by the time he set up an easel and had assembled his paints and brushes, it was such a big production that Sören lost all motivation to paint, and he flomped down on the couch next to Anthony with a disgruntled noise.
"What's the matter?" Anthony asked, looking up from his book, concern on his face.
"Oh, just... this bullshit keeps happening." Sören gestured over to the easel and paints set up near Anthony's desk. "I can't have that stuff out all the time, it takes up too much room, but by the time I get it all together my brain decides it's too tired and doesn't want to paint anymore. It's why I hardly ever paint now."
Anthony frowned. "Do you think it would help if next time I set things up for you?"
Sören shook his head. "It's too involved, stuff like having to sort through my colors - knowing the difference between shit like cadmium yellow and cadmium lemon, phthalo blue and ultramarine, that kind of thing - and a lot of the times when I paint I don't know what colors I'll be using till I actually go through them myself." Sören sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's frustrating. Art is one of the ways I cope and it's..." Sören made a vague hand gesture in the direction of his easel and paints. "It would be so much easier if I just had everything instantly available at the touch of my fingertips."
Anthony's brow furrowed, and he patted Sören, rubbed his shoulder, leaned in to give Sören a little kiss. "I'm sorry."
"Já, me too."
Anthony put his book down. "You want to watch anything? Or..."
"Well, I wanted to do something, but I'm too tapped out for art, too tapped out to read, and not tapped out enough to watch something. I hate it when I get like this, energy I don't know what to do with."
Anthony thought for a moment. "I have an idea."
"Does it involve George?"
Anthony gave Sören a playful swat with the book, and Sören tweaked his nose, and Anthony mussed Sören's curls. Then, giving Sören another little kiss, he said, "It's something I haven't done in a long while, actually. Well... technically you and I did this, over Christmas, but that was back at my parents' house." He got up and stooped in front of the TV, rummaged in the cabinet underneath, and Sören watched as he pulled out a gaming console and a box of old video games. "Yes?"
"Oh my god, yes." Sören nodded enthusiastically.
Anthony showed him what he had, and they mutually decided upon Sonic the Hedgehog. They would play a few rounds before dinner, trading off who got to be Sonic and who got to be Tails, based on who won the previous round.
Sören hadn't played video games since he was a teenager - they weren't fun to him unless he had someone to play with, and he'd had nobody in his life, not even friends, until Anthony. Once again Sören felt a touch of how surreal his life had become, a neurosurgeon and a barrister, two professionals, playing Sonic the Hedgehog in their pajamas. And it was exactly the sort of change Sören welcomed. He could tell Anthony needed it too, relaxing and having fun, like the two of them were two big kids again.
They took a break for dinner when the crock pot was ready. Anthony profusely complimented his bowl of lamb stew. "Sören, this is so good. You cook at least as well as my mum, if not better."
"Awww, I mean... it's just stew. It's nothing fancy."
"No, it's really good. I can't cook like you can, and it's just... it's nice, having a home-cooked meal, and one that was made with appreciable talent... and love."
"Well, I do love you. And I'm glad. I don't always have the energy to cook, but when I have time I like to do things like this, make enough to have leftovers for the next day or the day after."
"It means a lot, that you do this when your free time is so precious." Anthony kissed him. "And you're very, very good at it."
Sören beamed, glowing with pride at what he could tell was a sincere compliment. "I try."
"You definitely succeed. I'll handle cleanup, since you cooked. Oh, speaking of which, the housekeeper is coming tomorrow when you're at work." Anthony was fairly proactive about cleaning up after himself to keep the place tidy and functional, but with his schedule being what it was he preferred to have a housekeeper come in once or twice a month for a few hours to do a more thorough job with the flat. Sören was relieved by this, and he was touched that it was one of Anthony's former clients, a woman from "an unfortunate background" who was now making a living as a maid. Anthony did insist on being there when she came, explaining to Sören he'd want to be around for any housekeeping whether the person had a criminal past or not, but she had been on the right side of the law since she'd had her day in court.
"Oh, if I'd have known I would have picked up stuff at the store to make her a batch of cookies or brownies."
"Oh, Sören. You're so sweet sometimes I can barely believe you're real."
"Well, it's not entirely unselfish. I could go for some cookies or brownies, myself." Sören made a little whine.
"Hold that thought."
After Anthony did dishes, he came back with a carton of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream and two spoons. Sören laughed at the sight of it and gave Anthony a kiss when he sat down. "Awwwwwww, my hero."
"Shall we play another round?"
"Yes, please."
As they played more Sonic the Hedgehog, they ate ice cream straight from the container, and after awhile they began feeding each other spoonfuls of ice cream. When they'd finally had their fill of the game, Anthony put one last spoonful in Sören's mouth - heat in his eyes as Sören sucked the spoon suggestively - and he stole a kiss, sharing the ice cream in the kiss. They lingered, petting each other, nuzzling. Sören's cock was starting to wake up, not quite fully erect, but reminding him it would be nice to make love later.
The cold ice cream made them both want something hot to drink, so when Anthony went to put the carton back in the freezer he made more tea, and they cuddled together on the couch with a microfleece blanket wrapped around them, drinking tea.
"This has been a surprisingly nice day," Anthony said. "Not a care in the world."
"Except me making friends with George."
Anthony facepalmed. "Goddammit, Sören..."
"Poor George, in the closet, all alone..."
"Why are you like this?"
"Because you need it." Sören kissed the tip of his nose. "And I do too. If I really go too far then by all means say something, but you know you don't hate this."
"No, I don't." Anthony sighed and he pulled Sören closer, kissing Sören's brow. "I think I mentioned to you once that... well... when I was young, I wished I had two brothers."
"You mentioned that, yes."
Anthony nodded. "Two brothers, preferably older so they could look out for me, give me advice... have my back in that 'nobody gets to be an arse to you but me' sort of way that seems to be common among siblings."
Sören nodded, remembering his own childhood.
"I also wished I had a younger sister. Not too young, just a few years younger. Someone I could look out for, do some ribbing, myself." Anthony frowned. "But... I'm an only child, for better or worse. For all my privilege, there were times when I would have rather been worse off but had more of a family, than what I do. And I'm sure there are plenty of people worse off who would have gladly taken my lot in life, traded a sibling for the privilege. We don't always get what we want, and having a family has been one of the things money can't buy me."
Sören felt bad for him; Sören's arms tightened around him. "I used to wish sometimes I had a younger brother," Sören confessed. "Dag is seven minutes younger than me, but that's... not the same thing, really." He gave a wistful sigh.
His eyes soft, Anthony stroked Sören's face, pet his curls, kissed the top of his head. "It's strange. You're my partner, I'm fiercely attracted to you. But in a sense you're also like... the brother I never had. The older brother I always wanted, even though you're younger than me - you look out for me. You put yourself in harm's way for me on New Year's Eve, I'll never forget that."
"Awwwwwwwwwwww?" Sören squeezed him even harder. "That's so sweet?"
Anthony chuckled. "It also sounds fucked up, doesn't it? A bit incestuous."
And underneath the blanket, their pajama-clad bodies close together, Sören could feel Anthony hard against him. And Sören found his own cock was responding.
They kissed, tongues teasing, tasting, and Sören's hand slid down to the hard bulge in Anthony's pajama bottoms, rubbing gently. "Definitely quite a bit incestuous." Sören felt Anthony's cock leap under his touch, heard the telltale catch in Anthony's breath, and Sören gave a little groan of his own, cock twinging.
"Oh god." Anthony took a few deep breaths. "This is all kinds of wrong."
"It is," Sören admitted. "But your cock and mine seem to think it's all kinds of wrong in just the right way." Sören stole another kiss.
"Sören..." Anthony looked nervous, but there was a neediness in his eyes as well. "I don't want you to get the wrong idea about me. I would never do anything -"
"No, neither would I. I have no interest in my brother, Dag." Sören made a face, not even able to think about it. "Though..." Sören chuckled, feeling sheepish that he didn't realize this sooner. "You look more like you're related to Dag, than I do. That's a little unsettling." Sören kissed Anthony again. "Not unsettling enough, though." They kissed again.
"Oh god. Sören." Anthony shuddered. "I..."
Sören peeled the blanket off them. His heart was pounding in his ears, knowing he was about to cross a line, a line he would have never dreamed of crossing prior to five minutes ago, and yet here they were, and Sören's body was screaming with sexual hunger, his cock and hole throbbing at the delicious forbidden fruit held out before them. Sören dropped from the couch onto his knees and pulled Anthony's pajama pants down just enough to free his hard cock. "You want what you want. Your body doesn't lie." And then Sören took a lick at the head of Anthony's cock, looking into his eyes, watching as Anthony gasped, trembled. Sören took a few more licks, smiling as Anthony's breath hitched and he let out a moan, reaching out to grab Sören's curls. "Does my little brother like that?"
"Ohgod." Anthony was panting now, and Sören grinned at the way his cock jolted at those words.
This is so fucking wrong. But Sören wanted it too. Sören licked Anthony's cock some more, tongue rubbing in the slit, teasing it. When his lips wrapped around the head of Anthony's cock and he swirled his tongue as he sucked, kissing it, Anthony got more vocal, moaning, sighing. Anthony let out a cry when Sören let the cock slip and went back to rubbing his tongue around the head. "Mmmmmm, I love teasing my little brother," Sören husked.
That did it. Anthony grabbed Sören's curls hard, and growled, "You. Me. Bedroom. Now."
"Such a demanding spoilt brat my little brother is -"
Anthony yanked Sören up to his feet and he was right there, dragging Sören along with him, kissing him as passionately as Sören had ever been kissed. Once they were in the bedroom they undressed each other, letting their pajamas slip to the floor, and then Anthony shoved Sören onto the bed and climbed over him, a feral, dangerous look in his eyes that made Sören's own cock jolt and drip precum, wanting him, wanting this next level of exploration.
"If I'm a brat," Anthony ground out, "it runs in the family." He kissed Sören hard.
They groaned as their hard cocks slid together, and Anthony moaned again as Sören's hands ran over him.
"Mmmmmmmmmm, yes it does." Sören kissed Anthony back, and began to kiss Anthony's neck, making him moan and shiver; Sören licked and nibbled his neck, smirking as he felt Anthony's cock stiffening even more. "Well, then. If you're going to do something, no sense in doing it halfway, já? My brother should show me what a terror he can be."
Anthony growled and bit Sören's neck, then his shoulder, and now it was Sören's turn to tremble, crying out, his cock twinging and jolting against Anthony's. Anthony groaned as he felt Sören responding, and Anthony licked where his teeth had been, licked down to Sören's nipple, laving, lapping, lashing. Sören cried out again, and let out a howl when Anthony's teeth were on his nipple, then he suckled, soothing and tormenting all at once, before licking some more. Back and forth he went between Sören's nipples, teasing them into hard, aching peaks, getting them ripe and swollen, making Sören writhe and sob with pleasure and frustration. Anthony teased him and teased him, fingers rubbing one as his mouth worked on the other, knowing too well what drove Sören mad.
Then he continued to kiss his way down, and spent awhile kissing, licking, and nibbling Sören's stomach, kissing and biting Sören's exquisitely sensitive inner thighs. Sören knew he was going to have bruises there tomorrow and he didn't care - to the contrary, he loved seeing that evidence of where Anthony had been, what Anthony had done, making him his. And there was something about that tonight, with this game they were playing, that felt even more delicious than usual. "Mmmm, I'm going to look down tomorrow and see what my brother did to me."
"Oh, fuck." Anthony bit Sören's thigh harder, making Sören yelp.
And then Anthony was licking his cock, just licking and licking and licking, as Sören panted, gasped, whimpered, clutching Anthony's head, being dangled on that edge of sensation, driven out of his mind. When Anthony finally relented and took Sören into his mouth he sucked slowly, deliberately, agonizingly slowly, and Sören whined, his voice raspy as he called out "Anthony. Please. Please..."
Anthony was not inclined to give in to Sören's pleas for release any time soon. After a few minutes of slow sucking Sören's cock, he let it slip, tongue-bathed it some more, and then his tongue slid down from the head to the shaft down further to Sören's balls, then the sensitive place between balls and ass, and then his tongue was inside Sören, slowly rubbing that sweet spot inside him, bringing Sören closer to release but still keeping it out of the way, mischief in his eyes as he looked over the length of Sören's body up at him, watching Sören's desperate, needy reactions.
"Oh god. Anthony. Anthony. Please. Please, please, fucking please, PLEASE..."
Anthony gave a few teasing licks around the rim of Sören's opening and then pushed his tongue back inside, licking even more slowly than before. Sören gave a scream and Anthony laughed softly, replying with a wicked "mmmmmmm".
"Anthony. Please. Anthony. Please. Please. Please, please, please, please..."
Anthony finally stopped licking and said, "Please, what?"
"Please, fuck me..."
"Wrong answer." Anthony resumed licking, slowly, slowly, and Sören howled, whined. Sören thought he had a better appreciation of what an animal must feel during heat, now, the all-consuming, shameless need to just get fucked, be filled and satisfied. Sören felt ready to cry, Anthony's tongue was too delicious and he needed more. So much more.
"Anthony, please, please, fucking please, I'm begging you, please..."
Anthony paused again and asked, "What's the magic word, Sören?"
And then Sören knew. "Please, brother."
That was indeed the magic word, and that it was made Sören's cock and hole both twitch when Anthony stopped licking and kissed his way up Sören's body. Anthony got the lube and started teasing Sören's nipples again as he readied Sören's passage with slick fingers, claimed Sören's mouth roughly as he slicked his own cock. When he pushed inside Sören felt like crying with a combination of relief and intensified need, and when Anthony was all the way in, their eyes met, and the feeling of breathing each other's breath during this experience of newfound closeness, speaking the truth of their hearts, threatened to set Sören off right then.
Anthony kept the pace slow for the first few minutes, agonizingly, deliciously, tormenting them both. They kissed and kissed, hands playing over each other's bodies, needing to touch, feel every inch of each other that they could reach. "I love you, brother," Anthony husked with such longing in his eyes that it brought tears to Sören's own, feeling the loneliness he'd felt for so long, that sense of something missing that hadn't been safe to fill before now.
Sören reached up to stroke Anthony's face, muss his hair. "I love you, brother."
Anthony kissed him harder. He moved inside Sören just a little faster, and Sören's hands slid down to Anthony's hips, Sören rolling his hips back at him. "You feel so good," Anthony whispered, kissing and licking Sören's neck, making Sören quiver.
"You feel good." Sören's lips quirked. "My little brother isn't so little." Sören gave a groan. "So big. So full inside me."
Anthony grabbed Sören's wrists and pinned them, and began to thrust into him harder, faster. He nipped Sören's lower lip, and Sören cried out into another heated kiss.
"So rough, little brother!" Not that Sören minded - just the opposite, Sören moaning, throbbing at the luscious rhythm inside him, stroking the sweet spot so right.
Anthony went even harder and faster, biting Sören's neck. Sören loved it, whimpering, gasping, bucking underneath him. "Oh god, my brother's so evil..."
"You may be the big brother," Anthony rasped, licking Sören's neck, "but I'm the one in charge."
"Oh god. Yes, yes, yes, fucking YES, FUCK ME, brother..."
With Sören's legs on his shoulders, Anthony drove into him with fast, furious, frenzied abandon, pounding Sören harder and harder, hammering away at that sweet spot in him just right. When Anthony let go of Sören's wrists, Sören's nails raked Anthony's back, and between fierce, hot kisses Sören cried out, "Brother, brother, more, brother, more..."
"My brother." Anthony kissed him with wild, desperate need that made Sören ache. "My brother..."
"Oh god, brother, fuck me, brother, fokk mér litli bróðir!"
Anthony groaned, slamming into Sören even harder, nibbling on him, moving in for the kill. Sören's nails scratched down his back as he clung to Anthony for dear life, bounced and rocked away underneath him, giving back as good as he got, wanting this as badly as he'd wanted anything. It was so wrong, so fucked up, and that just made it hotter to Sören, their broken places fitting together just the right way, intimacy even deeper stumbling upon this secret kink together, this terrible longing they both carried inside them. It was like coming home to a home Sören didn't even know existed, being reunited with someone lost, something precious.
"Brother. Brother, litli bróðir, I love you..."
Anthony kissed Sören hard, and then soft and sweet. "I need you."
"Take what you need."
Anthony took Sören's face in his hands and kissed him again. He slowed down, teasing them both, edging them, keeping them in this moment of deep, wild magic as long as possible, until they were both shaking, gasping, and then he grabbed Sören's wrists again and pinned him as he fucked Sören even harder than before, Sören crying out with each savage, punishing thrust.
"Come for me, brother," Anthony growled.
Sören screamed as he lost control, eyes rolling, his entire body shaking, toes curling, his cock and inner walls pulsing and pulsing, making a shameless, glorious mess all over both of them as his cock spent again and again. Three thrusts later and Anthony came with a deep, delicious groan of male satisfaction, making Sören shoot again.
"Oh god," Sören gasped, still shuddering. Tears burned his eyes, flooded his cheeks, overcome by emotion, by the gravity of what they'd just done. "Oh god..."
Anthony was crying too, quietly. "Sören." He stroked Sören's face, kissed his tears. "Sören, I love you."
They clung to each other, rocking, shaking, at last sobbing, both men no longer hiding the full emotional impact of what they'd just done.
"I hope you're not going to judge me now," Sören choked out through his tears.
"No, Sören, I hope you're not going to judge me."
"We needed that," Sören said, "clearly. It hit something in both of us just the right way."
"It did," Anthony said, nodding, "and that's kind of terrifying. It's not something I'd do with -"
Sören put up a hand in protest. "I know. Neither of us would. This is just... a game." Sören stroked Anthony's hair and face. "A kink we both have. And you know what?" Sören kissed the tip of his nose. "We're not hurting anyone." Sören kissed him softly.
"No. I think it's... the opposite. This feels like it's... healing something hurt." Anthony blinked back more tears, wiped his eyes with the heel of his hand. "My childhood was incredibly lonely, Sören."
Sören wept afresh, crying for him. He rained kisses over Anthony's face, then held him close, petting him. "You're not alone anymore. We've got each other." He leaned in and whispered, "We found our way home, little brother."
Anthony rose and kissed Sören hard enough to take his breath away, hard enough to stir their spent cocks. Now Sören rolled Anthony onto his back and began to give him the same treatment, kissing Anthony's neck, lapping and suckling the nipples, kissing and nibbling his stomach. When he started licking and sucking and biting Anthony's inner thigh, Anthony grabbed his curls and commanded, "Sören, just take me already."
Sören laughed and came up to kiss him, reaching for the lube. "Don't you like it when I love you, little brother?"
"I do. Any other night I would let you. But here, now..." Anthony looked into Sören's eyes with such longing that it made Sören tear up again. "I need too much, Sören."
"Never too much," Sören rasped and kissed him hard as he pushed slick fingers into him, playing with that place inside him, readying him.
When Sören's cock was all the way in, he was gratified by the way Anthony moaned and trembled, clutching at him. Sören hooked Anthony's right leg around his waist and began to thrust, neither too fast nor too slow, moaning himself as he plunged into silken heat, the sweet vise-like grip around him, rippling against him one way then the other as he glided back and forth, in and out.
"You feel so good to me, little brother," Sören whispered.
Anthony grabbed Sören and kissed him. "You feel so right inside me, big brother." He kissed Sören again. "This is so wrong... and so right." He shuddered.
"We were made to fuck each other," Sören rasped, before claiming Anthony's mouth again.
Anthony's eyes widened and he gasped into the kiss, as if something snapped in his head, and the next thing Sören knew, Anthony rolled Sören onto his back and began to ride him. Sören loved it, enjoying the view, enjoying the passion. He grabbed Anthony's hips and thrust into him hard, and Anthony grabbed onto Sören for dear life. With the wild, frantic ride, they didn't last long, Anthony coming hard with a hoarse shout, Sören coming seconds later at the feel of the contractions around his cock, the sight of his beloved in ecstasy.
Anthony lay in Sören's arms, on his chest, Sören cradling him, petting him. They drifted a bit, and then Anthony roused him before he could completely doze off, kissing him, and Sören's cock responded, Sören smiling as he felt Anthony hard against him once more.
This time Sören took Anthony on his back and he stayed there, looking up at Sören with love and trust in his eyes as Sören fucked him with a leg on his shoulder. Sören had intended to go slower, not wanting to hurt him, but he couldn't help himself, Anthony felt too delicious, and Anthony's deep, primal noises urged him on.
"My big brother is such a beast," Anthony said. "I love it."
"Fuck." Sören shuddered, rocking into him even harder. "Fuck, I fucking want you..."
"Yes, brother." Anthony tugged on one of Sören's nipple rings, knowing how that got him going even more. "Take it like you own it, because you do. I'm as much yours as you are mine."
Sören growled and gave it to him as hard as he could stand it. The slap of Sören's balls competed with their cries and grunts and at last it was too good and Sören couldn't hold back any longer and he looked into Anthony's eyes and rasped, "Come with me."
They came together, taking each other's hands. Sören felt like he was falling, then flying, his spirit soaring, something in him set free. They started crying again, but now they were laughing too, and when Sören snuggled up against Anthony, they rubbed noses and laughed into a deep, sweet kiss, Anthony's arms squeezing him tight.
"Thank you," Anthony whispered, rocking Sören in his arms.
"The pleasure was mine." Sören grinned.
"You're right, because what I experienced... 'pleasure' doesn't do that justice." Anthony flushed pink. "God, what's wrong with us."
"I don't know, but I like it."
They kissed, and then Sören erupted into a gigglefit, not able to resist the urge to get in one last shot before they fell asleep.
"What?" Anthony raised an eyebrow.
"It's maybe no surprise I'm one for violating taboos considering, you know." Sören giggled. "George."
"Oh, my god." Anthony facepalmed, shaking with silent laughter.
"I can't even imagine what your colleagues would say if they saw what went down this morning."
"Neither can I." Now Anthony's laughter was less silent. "I still can't believe... that... Tribble... comment."
"Well, it's a real concern! We can't have London flooded by wigs."
"God, Sören..."
"That said, I still feel bad about George being trapped in the closet when he's not at court with you." Sören grinned. "Might have to do something about that."
"Might?" Anthony glared, though his eyes were smiling. "Sören, you better behave."
"Or what? You gonna... try me?" Sören snorted. "I think you already did that, just now."
Anthony started tickling him. Sören screamed and flailed, as Anthony delighted in the new information that Sören was exceedingly ticklish. When he finally stopped, he pulled Sören back in his arms and pet him and said, "We need to get some sleep, you have an early start tomorrow."
"Oh, all right."
Anthony's lips quirked. "Funny how I'm the little brother and still the responsible adult here..."
"Hi The Little Brother And Still The Responsible Adult Here -"
Anthony swatted Sören's ass. He got up to turn off the lights, and then he and Sören tangled up together again. "Good night, my love."
"Good night, Anthony." A pause. "Good night, George."
Sören is in a body not his own. Taller, stronger, with a flood of black hair to his knees, straight rather than curly. His hands are calloused, scarred, and seem to be permanently stained with soot and ink.
Sören is at their father's house - where he goes only rarely these days - for his younger brother Anthony's coming of age. Reluctantly, since Anthony had idolized him and clung when he was a boy, then became distant as he grew older. And the distance was returned - if his brother had no love for him, then he would have no love for his brother.
And yet, the void, the ache, knowing it should not be this way, to be so detached from his blood. Wanting to reach out, but Sören's pride got in the way, not wanting to be rebuffed the way their father rebuffed him.
What was merely sorrow at the distance now becomes pure anger when he sees his brother for the first time in years.
Anthony is also in a body not his own, with hair that can only be described as silver-gold, also to his knees. Eyes grey, different face, and yet... still him, still feels like him, and has similar body language and facial expressions, a commanding baritone.
He is all grown up now, absolutely gorgeous. Sören's wife could not sculpt something more exquisite than he, and Sören can't stop looking at him, feeling a surge of anger at the lust his brother provokes in him. How dare he.
Anthony notices him noticing, and, all cool disdain, every part the son-of-the-king their father has trained him to be, he finally says when they have a moment alone, "Finally you acknowledge I exist."
Sören snorts. "I could say the same about you, brother."
"Oh, believe me, I can do nothing but acknowledge you exist." Before Sören can ask about that cryptic statement, Anthony goes on, "But you... you never cared before now."
I did care, and you pulled away from me. He answers that challenge with pride, a bluff, a sting. "Of course I wouldn't. You are not like me, like our other brother - you have no fire in you."
Anthony's eyes flare, and then he walks off.
The distance returns at the evening meal. Sören retires to his bed, cursing that he cannot take their other brother into his bed here, under their father's roof. He is frustrated and needs to unleash. He manages to find sleep.
But then he is woken up in the middle of the night by another presence in his bed. He smiles, feeling proud that his other brother wants him badly enough to risk it, and he moans at the frantic kisses raining over him, arching to his lover. "Yes, darling..."
It is Anthony. He grabs Sören and kisses him as fiercely as Sören has ever been kissed, and then, his fingers in Sören's mouth so he can't cry out too loudly, he bites Sören's neck. He is rock hard, and naked, his skin feverish. He rips Sören's nightclothes from him, and bites Sören's throat. Sören gasps, cock leaping, and clutches at him, almost terrified of how badly he wants this, how badly he needs this. "Yes..."
"I will show you fire, brother," Anthony promises. "We will scorch the earth, tonight." He claims Sören's mouth again, and oiled fingers push into him.
That night, they burn.
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