Earlier in January, Sören had requested the weekend of February fourth and fifth off, since Anthony's birthday was coming up on February fourth. To compensate for having the weekend off, Sören was working longer shifts during the week, and by the time he got home late Monday night, feeling useless laying on the couch as Anthony heated up food for him in the kitchen, Sören realized he wasn't going to have a lot of time to go shopping for Anthony's birthday present, and didn't have a clue about what to get the man who had everything.
"Anthony?" Sören called, as Anthony was putting together a plate for him.
"Yes?"
"What do you want for your birthday?"
Anthony shrugged. "Hadn't thought about it." He smiled. "Surprise me."
Sören bit back a groan. That wasn't helpful - specifics would have been helpful if Anthony wanted anything at all. And when Anthony brought dinner out to him, and sat next to Sören on the couch, even though Anthony looked dead on his feet and needed to go to bed soon himself - he'd stayed up to see Sören and take care of him - Sören had to say something. "Elskan, seriously. I have no idea what to get you and very limited time to get it in."
"I know." Anthony frowned. "Honestly, it's enough that you're taking that weekend off to spend with me. I want you more than I want things."
"But you like things." Sören gestured around at the flat, and even the expensive silk pajamas Anthony was wearing. "I don't want to disappoint you."
"You're not a disappointment to me, and I don't want you stressing out about it." Anthony gave him a little kiss.
On Tuesday morning, Anthony had court - a couple of small cases, and one big, important one. He wore the robe out the door, but he paused to put on the wig when a sleepy Sören put up a fuss about it. Sören giggled, doubling over. "I needed that. Perfect way to start my day."
"Brat," Anthony said, but his eyes crinkled at the corners and Sören could tell he was amused rather than offended.
On his break at work on Tuesday late afternoon, Sören found himself pulling out his sketchpad and doodling. He drew a cartoon of Anthony sitting at his desk in his office, wearing the robe and wig as he reviewed case files before court, and he made a little speech balloon with a heart and exclamation point in it above George atop Anthony's head, and then drew several tiny wigs on his desk, the tails of the wigs waggling as they played with pens and pencils and paperclips like they were cat toys, and the desk was surrounded by a pile of regular-sized wigs that had multiplied out of control. Anthony had a disgruntled look on his face in the cartoon, and as a finishing touch Sören made one of the baby wigs tug on a tail of the collar of the white shirt he wore under his black robe, as if to say "play with me!" Sören also wrote the word PURRRRRRRRRRR various places over the wig-pile surrounding the desk, and a PURRRRRRRR over George's head.
Anthony was getting home later than usual - he was going out after work with a few of his colleagues since today's big court case was particularly difficult - and Sören took the Tube home. He needed to crash and take a nap as soon as he got in, and he left the doodle of Anthony, George, and the wig-Tribbles on the kitchen counter for Anthony to see when he got home, expecting to still be sleeping. Sören went to sleep shirtless in pajama bottoms.
Sören was woken up by the feeling of something hairy crawling up his chest, and Sören leapt awake with a gasp just as the wig slid up his sternum and tickled his nose.
"Prrrp?" The wig headbutted him like a friendly cat.
Sören facepalmed and let out a howl, shaking, wheezing with laughter, tearing up. "Jesus Christ, Anthony..."
Anthony was kneeling on the floor by the side of the bed - he'd attempted to duck so Sören wouldn't see him, only the wig, but there he was. His own face was red, his eyes twinkling with mischief. Laughing, flashing Sören that smile that made him all aflutter, Anthony leaned in to steal a kiss.
"I brought home takeaway for you," Anthony said as Sören sat up.
"Oh, takk." Sören put his arms around Anthony and kissed his brow.
Sören followed Anthony out to the living room. Anthony seemed to sense intuitively that Sören was in the mood for fish and chips, and Sören said "Perfect," as he sat down, and then, "Or should that be purrrrrrrrrrrrrr-fect."
"That Icelandic accent of yours could give Eartha Kitt herself a run for her money," Anthony said. "I'm going to get changed, I'll be back in a moment."
A few minutes later Anthony came down in his pajamas and put on tea. He once again picked up the doodle Sören left for him on the kitchen counter and laughed, needing to lean on the counter with how hard he was laughing.
"I'm glad you don't hate it," Sören said.
"Sören, I love it. This was an early birthday present, right?"
"Actually, I just did it because I felt like it while I was on break."
"Well, I'm claiming this as my birthday gift. Although, if you're truly hung up on buying me something..." Anthony tapped the paper. "I want a frame for it. I'm going to put it on my desk."
"Are you fucking serious."
"Very." Anthony gave him a soft smile. "It'll remind me of you, and that'll help me stay sane during the day."
"I take it court was bad today?"
"Dear god." Anthony made a noise. "I won, but it was very ugly. I almost feel sorry for the poor sod from Crown Prosecution that I faced. Almost. I definitely needed to go out after work. Besides which, it's been awhile."
When tea was ready, Anthony brought it over and sat next to Sören. "They were asking about you."
"They as in..."
"My friends. I used to go out to the pub with them at least once a week or so before you and I started dating, and I've been missing in action. With our schedules being what they are, I can't go back to once a week, but at least once or twice a month, they'd like to see me again. And, well... you could come with me."
"So these people know you're gay..."
"Yes. It's like I told you - I don't advertise but I'm not in the closet either. However, most of this lot has known me since my diploma conversion, so they know me well enough to know. And I mentioned you, besides." Anthony leaned in to give Sören a kiss. "They invited me out for my birthday on Saturday night. You have also been invited."
Sören tried to not register disappointment. His demanding schedule as a neurosurgeon meant he didn't socialize much, but even if he wasn't so busy, he was a shy introvert and felt socially awkward at the best of times. He'd been bullied by his peers as a child and a teenager, and had never really gotten over it, choosing to keep to himself when he went to university. One of the few times when he'd managed to break past his reserve was a night when he went to a bar in Reykjavik to unwind and listen to music, and had encountered a pretty English girl that he felt a connection with right away. Of course she'd never used the contact info she'd given him, and her own phone was disconnected not long after the encounter which led Sören to believe that connection had been strictly one-sided and he probably creeped her out. Sören knew that he couldn't realistically expect Anthony to be a hermit like he was, especially when Anthony's job was so people-oriented, but he'd been hoping to either have a quiet, romantic evening at home or perhaps go out dancing again. The idea of being around a group of lawyers in a pub on a Saturday night made him want to run away screaming and it hadn't even started yet.
But for Anthony, he would. This was Anthony's birthday, and Sören wanted to make him happy. It wasn't like they were going to do this all the time, just once in awhile.
After Sören ate, they cuddled together on the couch, drinking tea, just quietly being together, resting after what was a long, stressful day for both of them. Anthony finally broke the silence with, "You feel nice."
"You feel nice, too." Sören chuckled. "I can't believe you like that picture enough to frame it and put it on your desk."
"I do." Anthony reached for his hand. "Coming back to that was..." He sighed. "I needed it." He tilted Sören's face to his. "I need you." They kissed.
When they finished their tea, Anthony got up, took Sören's hand, pulled him up, and led him to the bedroom. They made slow, sweet love together, kissing as cock rubbed against cock, cocks gliding together to climax, then for the encore they lay on their sides and sucked and rimmed each other to a second, powerful orgasm.
As they lay there in the afterglow, holding each other, legs entwined, snow falling outside, Sören watched Anthony resting and his fingers lovingly traced the chiseled features. He'd doodled Anthony but now he wanted to sketch him. He wanted to do a proper portrait. Anthony had liked the doodle enough to claim it as his birthday gift, and Sören felt that if that were so, Anthony should have real art for his birthday. And if he wasn't so worn out from the day he'd had, he'd paint - he'd found over the years that sex made him feel creative, and when he was doing more art he was also hornier; one fed the other. But it was such a pain to get set up with the oils.
Sören heard himself making a noise. Anthony's eyes fluttered open. "You OK?" Anthony mumbled, snuggling closer to him.
"Jæja, it's just..." Sören sighed.
Anthony raised an eyebrow. "Out with it," he said, more awake this time.
"I just... once again... really hate that I can't paint anymore because of what a pain in the arse it is to get set up, and how endlessly fucking tired I am. I either need less hours - which isn't happening, as a junior surgeon - or I need some other medium."
Anthony lay there awake, and even though his expression was completely neutral, Sören knew by now that look in his eye meant the gears in his head were turning. After a couple minutes Anthony said, "If you had something like a computer tablet with a stylus that you could use as a pen and a brush, and it wasn't terrible to learn how to use the different features, blend colors..."
"That would be ideal, but I hear those things are an arm and a leg - for the good ones, anyway - and I never have time to go shopping even for really basic shit, never mind taking hours to compare the different kinds of tablets."
Anthony nodded and patted Sören's shoulder. "I'm sorry. It was a thought."
"It was a thought."
Anthony kissed Sören's cheek. "We should get some rest now, love."
"OK." Sören kissed him back and his arms tightened around Anthony. "Good night, Anthony." He snickered. "Good night, George."
On his break on Wednesday Sören took off to a department store where he found a suitable frame for Anthony's picture, and on impulse he bought himself several pairs of sexy thong underwear in assorted colors - some silky, some lacy - remembering Anthony telling him that he would like to see Sören in that type of underwear, so breaking out a pair for Anthony's impending birthday seemed ideal.
Before he left the department store he visited the electronics section just to have a look at the tablets, and boggled at the price tags. He made a decent income as a neurosurgeon but he wasn't rich by any means and his thrifty upbringing meant he had a hard time justifying spending a hundred quid on something for himself, let alone the prices these tablets were going for. Back at the hospital he put his shopping bag in one of the small lockers reserved for staff use, and when he scrubbed back in Colin said, "You look like you've been in a war zone."
"Jæja, I went shopping for my boyfriend's birthday."
"Oh." Colin laughed. "Diana has no idea what to get him."
"That seems to be a common affliction." Sören couldn't believe he was disclosing something this personal, but he opened up and said, "I made him a little cartoon and he wants to frame it, and I want to be able to make him proper art, you know, a painting..."
"Ah. I'd seen you draw on break before but I didn't realize it was a thing."
Sören nodded. "Art is almost as strong a calling as medicine. It's a real passion of mine. Just sucks that I have such limited time for it. Anthony suggested getting one of those tablets but the cheapest good one is like six hundred quid. That's fucking crazy."
"Ouch, yeah, that's a bit steep." Colin snickered. "Maybe ask Anthony to buy you one?"
"Dear god, I can't ask for something like that!"
"Why not?"
"He's my partner. I'm not... bloody... using him for his money."
Then Sören's cell phone went off. He was going to ignore it because he was at work, but it was a text notification and he had a feeling as to who this was from; it might be important. He checked his cell and saw Anthony's number.
Day is running overtime and I'll be home a little late, am taking a detour to pick up takeaway. Let me know if you're in the mood for anything.
Sören couldn't resist. Oh, there's something I'm in the mood for, all right.
Anthony shot back a few minutes later: Ha ha, I mean to eat.
And then Anthony sent seconds later: I mean food.
Sören's laughter rang out. Indian? Curry?
OK! Love you.
Sören washed his hands again after handling his cell phone. Even though it bore the news that Anthony would be late, just seeing a text from him brightened Sören's spirits and he had a little bounce in his step as he went in to see his next patient.
Sören didn't nap when he got home, but waited up for Anthony, and when he heard Anthony arriving he got up and opened the door. Anthony gave him a kiss, and when Sören took the takeaway bag out of his hand he saw Anthony had a shopping bag in the other. Sören gave him a suspicious look; Anthony kept a poker face but his eyes were mischievous.
They ate together on the couch, and Sören's eyes kept wandering to the shopping bag sitting on the kitchen counter. "What's that?" he asked. "Early birthday gift from the office?"
Anthony chuckled. "Hardly." He patted Sören. "You'll see."
When they were finished eating, Anthony brought the shopping bag over to Sören. "For you," he said and thrust it at him.
Sören had no idea what was in it - he wondered if Anthony had been thinking about Sören in sexy underwear too and now Sören would have even more sexy underwear in his collection - and he reached inside and pulled out a brand-new-in-box WaCom tablet. Sören began shrieking.
"YOU SNEAKY BASTARD!" Sören shouted as Anthony laughed. Sören screamed again. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA? AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA..."
Anthony grinned at him.
"Ég get ekki fokking trúa því... þú ert mér of góður... Ég elska þig svo mikið, þetta er of mikið, fallegi bastardinn þinn!" Sören teared up.
Anthony pulled him into a kiss, and then he kissed the tears that flowed. "I wanted to give you a way to do something important to you."
"Anthony." Sören stroked Anthony's cheek. "I... I wasn't expecting this. When you brought it up late last night and I commented on how expensive these are, I wasn't fishing, wasn't trying to get you to buy me one..."
"I know." Anthony patted him. "I did this because I want to. I like spoiling you."
"Já, I... I got that. I just don't want you to think I'm after you for your money..."
Anthony gave him a stern look. "Sören. I have never once thought that. That said, if there's something you need or want, I don't mind you asking me. I want to take care of you."
"I don't need or want a sugar daddy," Sören said, shaking his head. "I like being with another professional because you understand the hours, the craziness, but your worth to me as a partner is independent of your income. This is what matters to me." He put his hand on Anthony's heart. And then, needing a moment of levity, his hand slid lower, to the bulge in Anthony's trousers. "And this."
Anthony stole another kiss. "I know. I still want to do nice things for you. It's... it's a love language for me, I suppose. You haven't had much..."
You don't know the half of it. Sören still hadn't gotten into the full horror story of his younger years, though he knew Anthony was observant enough to pick up on things unsaid.
"...and something like this," Anthony gestured to the tablet. "What I've seen of your art, you have a gift that shouldn't go neglected. It broke my heart over the weekend to see you so frustrated at being too exhausted to paint. This isn't quite the same as oil painting but it's something."
"Oh, it's definitely something. I've seen what people can do with a tablet over on deviantART and it's impressive. I just don't want you to feel used, or like you have to buy my love..."
Anthony took Sören's hands and kissed them. "I don't."
"And I don't know what you're in the habit of telling your friends, but please don't tell them you dropped money on this for me. I don't want them to think I'm some kind of whore."
"Oh my god, Sören. You're a doctor, I assure you they won't think that."
And if I wasn't a doctor? But Sören didn't voice the question. And Anthony didn't give him much more opportunity to sit and fret about the cost, because now Anthony was pulling Sören along to the bedroom. "I've missed you," Anthony husked between kisses.
"God, I've missed you too." Sören began undoing Anthony's tie, smiling that as always he was wearing the tie Sören bought him for Christmas. "I love you, you know."
"I know." Anthony kissed him hard.
When they were naked in bed, kissing, hands roaming, Anthony paused between kisses, looked into Sören's eyes, and said, "My big brother takes care of everyone else all the time. You should let little brother take care of you sometimes."
Sören's cock leapt at that and he kissed Anthony hard. Anthony rolled onto his back, pulling Sören atop him, and spread his thighs, knees up, looking at Sören expectantly. Sören kissed him hungrily as he readied him, and when Sören was all the way inside Anthony husked, "That's it, big brother. Let little brother make you feel better after a long day."
Sören groaned and gave in to his animal side right away, fucking hard. Anthony loved it, clawing Sören's back, biting him, growling, panting and gasping as he bucked underneath. Sören brought him off hard and fast and then gave into a blinding climax of his own, hearing himself cry out "Bróðir minn, bróðir minn, litli bróðir, litli bróðir..." as he spent, Anthony responding with a deep groan and a shudder, shooting again over Sören's flesh.
Then Sören slipped out, and after kissing and petting for a few minutes their hands were groping again, cocks waking up once more, and Sören straddled Anthony's hips and rode him. Anthony fucked Sören just as hard as he'd been fucked, Sören grabbing onto the headboard to hang on as he rode Anthony like a wild bull. "Oh god. Ohgodohgodohgod Anthony, fuck me," Sören cried out, bouncing furiously. "Fuck me brother, FUCK ME..."
They came together, screaming, and when Sören collapsed into Anthony's arms he cried, overcome by the intimacy of their crossing-the-line game, that secret need in both of them, and the way Anthony loved him, wanted to be sweet to him after a lifetime of being ignored and neglected at best, abused at worst. They loved each other without guile, they trusted each other, they were each other's refuge from the crazy world, and Sören felt safe with him... safe enough to rest, safe enough to let his mind wander and for the first time in too long, try to explore and express himself.
Anthony fell asleep soon after sex, and normally Sören would be right there with him, but he kept thinking about the WaCom tablet in the other room. Like a kid wanting to inspect what Santa left under the tree before the grownups got up on Christmas morning, Sören went down the hall to the living room, opened up the box, took out the tablet, and began reading the instructions.
The only way to make sure he understood everything, of course, was to try it. He brought the tablet back down the hall to the bedroom and turned on the small lamp on his side of the bed - he found from past experience that both he and Anthony could sleep through the other's lamp being on, on one of those sleepless nights when Anthony was working on a case like he was preparing to go off to war, or where Sören couldn't shut off his mind and made himself read till he passed out. Anthony lay against him as Sören began to fiddle with the tablet, testing the stylus by doodling dickbutts, then testing the painting features, browsing the huge palette of colors, working on blending and shading, and other techniques.
Sören was going to be working an overnight shift Thursday night into Friday afternoon, so being up late tonight wasn't the issue it normally would be, but even if that wasn't the case Sören found himself too entranced to stop.
He wanted to make something for Anthony for his birthday - not that he minded Anthony claiming the doodle as his birthday gift, but if he had silly art on his desk, Sören thought he should have something serious in his office to balance it out. The question was what. Sören looked at Anthony sleeping next to him and once again was tempted to do a portrait of him, but a portrait of Anthony sleeping didn't seem right for his office. Sören stroked his beard, considering. It had to be another subject entirely... something that spoke of Anthony's watchful, carefully observant nature, a willingness to look at the other side of a story. But what?
A random thought bubbled to the surface, from when they were newly dating. Sören's own observation about Anthony: You want the world to think you're a Slytherin, but you're actually a Ravenclaw.
That was it. A raven. Or, since Sören wanted this to be big enough for Anthony to hang on a wall, ravens plural.
Sören thought about Anthony mentioning his interest in ancient history, archaeology, a field he likely would have gone into if not law. A lightbulb went off in Sören's head - just as Anthony seemed tickled by learning about Icelandic Christmas folklore, he might also appreciate a nod to Norse mythology. Sören had always regarded Odin with some wariness, not liking the idea of a god who stirred up strife for its own sake, who demanded such bloody sacrifices for his worship. But his ravens, Huginn and Muninn - Thought and Memory, who traveled the Nine Worlds and reported their happenings back to Odin - that, Sören found interesting. Those are some cool-ass birds. And with the iridescence in raven feathers, it would be the perfect way to try out "painting" on the new tablet.
So it was that Sören stayed up the next couple of hours, sketching two ravens flying, making sure he got lots of detail. One of the only things he disliked about the tablet was its small size compared to a canvas, but he could also zoom in, and thus create large files that could be made into large prints. And he found he had more control with the stylus on the screen, than he did with trying to draw with paints on a canvas. He zoomed in and in and in to put in the tiniest details, and then back out to look at what he had so far. The ravens became incredibly lifelike, enough that it felt like they were watching him through the screen.
Before Sören went to sleep for the night, he got a little bit of coloring done on one of the ravens. Only a small part of the body, and not as much shading and blending that even that small part would have, but it was a start. And enough of one that Sören could see the vision in his mind's eye - Huginn and Muninn, rainbow-black feathers, flying into a sunrise.
Sören is not a morning person in any world, in any incarnation. Nonetheless, he stirs when he feels the magic approaching, the touch of Anthony's energy being carried out to him. He quickly gets dressed and goes outside, waiting.
The white raven descends with a scroll in its beak. It waits as Sören breaks the seal on the scroll and reads Anthony's request for Sören to come visit, with a parchment attached for Sören to write a response and send it back via the raven. He does, letting Anthony know he will be on his way soon.
Anthony has moved out of their father's palace and has an estate of his own now, by the sea. It is both like the palace they grew up in, with its great halls and marble columns, and yet also unlike, with its walled garden full of exotic plants that Anthony is studying, and a menagerie of birds - especially the white ravens who serve as his trained messengers. And there are books upon books upon books, some of which Anthony has written himself - poetry, histories, even as a young man, has a reputation for being well-learned, well-spoken, wise.
Some of that poetry Sören recognizes - love poetry that was written for him, and has since been glossed, that everyone assumes is for the wife he took, the sexless marriage when Anthony prefers men; to get children Sören assists, laying with both Anthony and his wife, transferring Anthony's seed so Anthony does not have to touch her himself. They cannot be open about the sin behind closed doors... the sin that Sören hungers for as soon as he lays eyes on his brother, the hunger he can feel in his brother as well, sparking between them even as Anthony remains cool and distant while prying eyes are around.
The moment they are truly alone, they waste no time. Sören cries out as Anthony handles him roughly, the facade of the aloof, "wilting flower" scholar gone and replaced with a fire that burns as bright as his hair, like the light of a thousand suns. Anthony takes him hard and Sören claws him, begs for more, Anthony delighting in his fierce, proud brother begging him, desperate and needy.
And then, there is the tenderness. Sören and their other brother pretend to be enemies to keep up appearances, but sometimes it is hard to remember it is pretense. Already, Sören and his wife grow apart. There is no strife here, no neglect, only sweetness, Anthony as gentle as he was savage. This isn't just a social call, isn't just family visiting family for the sake of "the family business", but Sören was sent here because Anthony knew he needed rest, he could feel the distress through their bond over leagues. When Sören is angry, or bothered, emotions eating him alive like a star about to go nova, he usually withdraws into the heat of the forge to fight fire with fire... but now there is the cool ocean breeze, the scent of flowers, the play of birds, strong arms holding him, sensitive hands stroking him, and a glorious flood of silver-gold hair being wrapped around him like a blanket of light.
"Let me take care of you, elder brother."
In that silken blanket of light, Sören's inner darkness fades, at least for a little while.
Sören was still sleeping when Anthony had to go to work the next morning; Sören stirred with the alarm, grumbling, and he stopped grumbling as Anthony rained kisses over his face. Sören woke up hours later to a handwritten note on top of the tablet:
It's so cute that you couldn't wait to use the tablet, staying up playing with it like a big kid. It's also weirdly hot, to see you so enthusiastic about something. I'm going to miss you tonight while you're at work, but I'll come visit you on your break. (And I might have to take you in the supply closet.)
Sören giggled. "Incorrigible." Not that he could talk.
He kissed the note and tucked it safely into the hollow book where he kept other mementos. He had some time to kill before work, so he resumed working on the painting. He didn't like to rush things but on the other hand this was simple enough - while still complex in the detail of the birds, the shading of the feathers, and the shading of the sunrise - that he felt he had a reasonable chance of finishing by Friday night or Saturday morning, at which point he'd take the file to a print shop, get a high-quality print and a nice frame.
Sören felt more motivated to do art than he had in a long time. It wasn't just for Anthony, he knew, but for himself - he felt a small sense of victory and accomplishment, that he was "back in the saddle" again, riding the wave of inspiration as it came rather than sitting it out yet again because he was too tired.
Sören thought about taking the tablet with him to work to continue the ravens-and-sunrise on his break, but with warning that Anthony was coming for said break he didn't want to be neglectful. Sören's break was before Anthony had to go to chambers, and Anthony looked dead tired that Friday morning but also happy to see Sören, and Sören was as always touched that Anthony was starting earlier than usual to see him. Anthony had coffee for them both, and they chatted about what they could discuss of the current goings-on in their respective jobs without breaking confidentiality.
Anthony didn't take him in the supply closet but led him out to the Audi so they could sit and cuddle, which turned into a makeout session, which turned into them getting in the back of Anthony's car, giggling like a couple of horny teenagers up to mischief, and they sixty-nined. Just as Sören was hanging on that edge of climax, he took Anthony's cock out of his mouth, gave it a few teasing licks, and husked, "I'm starving for a taste of my brother."
That set them both off, Sören coming so hard it almost hurt, and when they finished they leaned on each other in the back seat, Sören laughing with giddy post-orgasmic euphoria but also amusement at how shameless they were in their need for each other. Sören's laughter became tears when he was reluctant to go back, and part with Anthony till later - he'd missed Anthony so much last night, the missing him even worse at the ache he could see in Anthony's own eyes, and knowing Anthony hadn't slept well, again, without him there in bed.
Sören got home before Anthony did in the late afternoon. On the Tube ride back, on impulse he called Anthony's mother Elaine to ask, "What kind of cake does your son like? What's his favorite?" And then Sören took a detour at the grocery store to pick up ingredients to bake a lemon cake.
While the cake was in the oven, and dinner in the slow cooker, Sören worked on the ravens-and-sunrise, continuing to be enchanted by the way it was coming together, watching the magic unfold. He thought about the dream of the white raven, and he wondered about it - that dream had felt so real, much more vivid and intense than his dreams usually felt, like he was awake and living it. And it seemed odd for his brain to regurgitate thinking about ravens, and roleplaying being brothers during sex, in such a manner - he'd had dreams referencing things on his mind, and this wasn't quite it.
I've been working a lot of hours, I'm dead on my feet constantly, I probably am having more intense dreams because I'm so damn tired.
It felt like the ravens were watching him again, and in his mind's eye Sören saw a vague flicker of the Sydney Opera House, which made no sense to him.
Definitely way too fucking tired for life.
Sören frosted the lemon cake when it cooled, and then he wrapped it and put it in the fridge, even though he knew it wasn't that much of a disguise and Anthony would be able to tell that was a birthday cake in there.
Sören wouldn't be done with the painting tonight before Anthony got home, but he would be done tomorrow morning if he got up early, and he was sure Anthony would excuse him for an hour or two on Saturday morning if he said he had to get a frame for the picture... which wasn't a lie, it was just a different picture.
Anthony came home in a bad mood, having had a difficult day, but he quickly recovered when Sören drew them a bubble bath - it was comical for the two tall men to fit in the bathtub, a bit of a tight squeeze, but that also meant cuddling. And he recovered even more when Sören took him to bed, gave him a massage, and then rode him.
They took a nap after sex, and then later the timer went off in the kitchen and dinner came out of the slow cooker, the lamb stew that Anthony liked. Anthony continued to relax as he put his feet up and got some food in his system - Sören was concerned to hear that he hadn't eaten much all day due to nerves.
"Are you sure you want to go out tomorrow night?" Sören pursed his lips.
Anthony nodded. "I'm kind of obligated to."
"No, you're not. You're not anyone's slave."
Anthony sighed. "I don't expect you to understand. Yes, I'll be fine to go out tomorrow." He gave Sören a little kiss. "You don't have to worry about me."
"I worry about you anyway, because I love you. By the way, tomorrow morning I have to go out for a bit. I, ah... need to get you a frame."
"OK. I might sleep in, in that case. I'm entitled."
"Yes, you are. Live a little."
In the morning as Anthony slept, Sören made two high-quality prints of the ravens-and-sunrise at the print shop - one large print for Anthony's office, one portfolio-sized, since Sören wanted to start keeping a binder of his finished work. And Sören realized, pacing around the print shop, that at least some of this trip was to burn off his nervous energy about meeting Anthony's friends later. He was going into it with low expectations, not assuming that Anthony's friends would automatically become his friends. But nonetheless, he was hoping they didn't get off on the wrong foot.
The print shop had frames, and Sören had the large print put in a frame right there. It was a pain in the ass to lug back on the Tube, but this was what Sören did for love. And when he got back, Anthony was awake, making tea, and his eyes widened as he saw Sören carrying in the large frame. "Sören, what did you do."
Sören showed him.
"Oh my god, Sören, is that for me?" Anthony's eyes widened.
"No, it's for George."
Anthony gave him a filthy look, and then he threw his arms around Sören, rained kisses over his face, visibly touched. "Sören. I don't know what to say. I guess, wow, that's beautiful. It looks so real."
"It's Huginn and Muninn," Sören said, and explained, "Their names mean Thought and Memory. They're from Norse mythology. I thought it was, you know, fitting, considering your line of work, the questions you ask, the observations you make, the way you have to put it all together and convince people it's the truth, it's the way things happened..."
Anthony kissed him hard. "It's not only beautiful work, it's beautifully symbolic, and I love that you put a bit of history into that as well. My god, Sören. Can I hang this in my office? Do you mind?"
"That's exactly what I intended."
Anthony started dragging him off to the bedroom, and Sören giggled, "Wait, there's cake. I went to the trouble of baking you a cake, you need to have some of it."
"We can bring cake into the bloody bedroom. I need you."
Sören laughed at the urgency, though it also sent a frisson down his spine, sent his own cock surging upward with hot, sharp need of his own. He cut two pieces of cake and brought them down to the bedroom where Anthony waited on the bed, propped up on one elbow, stroking himself idly.
Then Anthony got all choked up again. "How did you know lemon is my favorite?"
"Huginn and Muninn told me." Sören couldn't resist the madness. "Well actually they told George, and then George told me..."
Anthony went back and forth between glaring at Sören and laughing, and finally Sören admitted, "I asked your mum."
"Well, that was lovely of you." Anthony's lips quirked. "Not as lovely as eating it off your naked body would be, however."
He proceeded to do just that, eating bits of cake from Sören's chest and stomach, licking the skin clean, making Sören moan and harden even more, and then Anthony fed Sören his piece of cake from his fingers, like Sören was a pet being given a treat. Sören licked and sucked his fingers, and then when the cake was gone, Sören dove down between Anthony's legs and licked at the hard cock ready for him. "I like this better," Sören husked, before taking the cock into his mouth.
After making love for the rest of the morning and part of the afternoon, pleasing each other in different positions, they napped together and were woken up by the alarm clock set to give them time to get ready for their outing.
Anthony's friends were meeting him at an upmarket restaurant-and-bar in Kingston, which meant they wouldn't have to go far, could leave their car at home, and could have some drinks. Sören was at a loss as far as what to wear, and Anthony said, "What you wore on our first date is fine. That's what I'll be wearing, too."
Sören smiled that Anthony still remembered that, but then, he knew he shouldn't be surprised that Anthony remembered that.
The only change Sören made to that outfit was breaking in one of the new thongs - black lace. He smiled at the naughtiness of it, and what he intended to give Anthony as his final birthday gift later that evening.
At the restaurant, they were escorted to a larger table in the back. Sören counted five heads, with Anthony making six and Sören making a seventh. "Everyone, this is Sören," Anthony said as they arrived, arm-in-arm. Anthony gestured.
"Sören, this is Jack." A thin, handsome man with short dark brown hair, hazel brown eyes, clean-shaven and wearing a green sweater and expensive Rolex, waved.
"Lawrence." A tall, muscular bald man in a white blazer and black vest, with deep black skin, and an equally deep voice that said, "How do you do."
"Trisha." The one woman in the group, a short blonde bob, blue eyes, thin and model-pretty, wearing a lavender camisole under a royal purple cardigan. Sören took her hand and kissed it, old-school, which made her blush and laugh.
"Vincente." A man with an Italian name who sounded perfectly English when he said, "Nice to meet you," olive-skinned, short hair as curly and dark as Sören's, piercing blue eyes, clean-shaven, square-jawed, wearing black-framed square glasses and a black tie with a burgundy blazer.
"Aaaaaaaaand Steve."
Steve looked like a Steve. He looked like a little shit, with short, somewhat unruly auburn hair, brown eyes, a big cheesy devil-may-care grin and cleft chin. Steve was wearing a black blazer and a bright blue tie, and reached up to try to muss Anthony's hair, which got Anthony smacking his hand away. Steve then pumped Sören's hand vigorously.
"So you're the one who whipped our boy Anthony," Steve quipped.
"Steve, please." Anthony facepalmed as he sat down.
"What? You all but disappeared off the face of the Earth the last month and a half, if we didn't see you at Temple we'd have thought aliens abducted you. Though, I guess an alien of sorts did abduct you. You're from, ah, Finland, right?"
"Iceland," Anthony said before Sören could answer.
"Right. Well, a toast, then." Steve reached for a bottle of champagne that was on the table and poured drinks for everyone. Steve raised his glass and said, "To our birthday boy... and his birthday toy."
Sören didn't know whether to be amused, offended, or both. Anthony looked irritated, but then Steve attempted to deflect the tension by saying, "I'm sorry. We're just all in a state of collective shock that Anthony has settled down."
"But a good shock," Trisha added. "And my god, I didn't know the NHS had such hot doctors! I think I need to get myself into an emergency posthaste."
Sören blushed and Anthony put an arm around Sören's shoulders.
"It's good to have you back, Anthony," Lawrence said, smiling. "I was all alone here as the token Black friend... now we've got the token gay friend again..."
"That's learned token gay friend," Anthony quipped. "Learned."
"I notice you didn't add learned to my bit." Lawrence raised an eyebrow.
"Well no, that would imply you spent time studying during our diploma conversion and I think we all know what you were doing instead."
"Oh please, like you weren't out there chasing tail yourself." Lawrence turned to Sören and said, "Anthony used to be a dog. A gay version of a dog."
"I was not anywhere near as bad as a couple of you," Anthony said. "And there was far less cocaine involved."
Steve almost spat his champagne. "I didn't do that much."
"You did enough. I thought for sure you were going to end up as one of my clients." Anthony rolled his eyes.
"You say 'far less'..." Sören raised his eyebrows.
"I tried it exactly twice. It... wasn't my thing," Anthony said. "And not anywhere near worth its price tag. I like spending my money on better, non-chemical highs."
"Speaking of which," Jack said, "who wants to see my new yacht?"
Anthony looked incredulous. "You bought a yacht."
"I sure did. I've been thinking about it for months, now I'm living the dream."
"The harbors are all frozen, you bought it and what... you're going to sit on it for months?"
Jack shrugged. "Here, look at this with me." Jack pulled out his phone and accessed a photo gallery, and began to pass the phone around.
Sören supposed that a normal person would be impressed, but Sören found himself vaguely annoyed that Jack was introducing himself right off the bat with such an ostentatious display of wealth, which seemed like a very show-off-ish, braggart thing to do. That would have been bad enough on its own, but then Vincente had to share pictures of his new Mercedes, which got Trisha into showing off her new pair of Louboutin shoes right there, Vincente showing that he was also wearing Louboutins, and finally Steve one-upped everyone by saying his grandmother just promised to put him in the will for her vacation home in the Bahamas. "It's gonna be sweet when that old bird goes," Steve said.
Sören tried not to make a face. He glanced over at Anthony, who rolled his eyes at Sören but otherwise said nothing. Sören felt like grabbing Anthony, pulling him aside, and asking him why he didn't yell at Steve for seeming to salivate over the death of a family member, which seemed fairly cold and heartless, but he held off.
One thing was for certain - he didn't like Anthony's friends. And he didn't like the way Anthony seemed vaguely amused by them as they showed off their baubles trying to one-up each other, like they were idiot jesters putting on a performance for him to internally snark at. He didn't get it how Anthony would want to spend his time that way.
Lawrence seemed to be the least obnoxious of the group, as he hadn't shown off his latest expenditure, and gave Steve a little frown as Steve rattled off all the other things his grandmother was willing him. Finally Lawrence spoke up and said, simply, "I wish my gran were still with us."
Anthony nodded, giving Steve a frosty look. "My father's parents died when I was rather young. My mother's father died about a decade ago. Her mother is still with us, thankfully. She's got quite a bit of life in her yet."
"My grandmum was like that too, and then she went quick," Trisha said. Then she smirked. "She was the one who took me on my first trip to Christian Dior, when I was fourteen."
Oh my god, please, who the fuck takes fourteen-year-old kids to Christian Dior. Sören felt ready to vomit.
The food was reasonably good though not the best Sören ever had - he had shrimp, and used cocktail sauce for his fries, as many Icelanders did, which finally got Steve giving him a weird look. "Mate, what are you doing?"
"...Eating?" Sören nibbled a fry.
"You don't put cocktail sauce on chips! That's... that's just wrong!"
"Iceland missed that memo, I guess." Sören dunked his fry again just to prove a point.
"That's not even the strangest thing you lot eat, is it? I heard you eat shark." Trisha gave Anthony a pointed look; Anthony flushed beetroot and Sören wondered what that was about. "And sheep's heads and things."
"Some of us eat that, já, but reports have been greatly exaggerated. It's not something most of us eat every day. I've never had sheep's head." Sören felt his irritation increasing - a lot of non-Icelanders had some very strange concepts about Iceland. On the one hand Iceland was remarkably good at preserving its language and some cultural traditions, on the other hand Iceland was thoroughly modern, to the point where even farmers in rural areas tended to have the Internet; the average Icelander was more likely to have had Domino's Pizza recently than sheep's head. Sören didn't like being treated as some sort of exotic commodity, even as he was usually very proud of being Icelandic and normally liked sharing bits of history and folklore and language.
Anthony stole one of Sören's fries and dipped it in cocktail sauce, as if to show solidarity, and Sören smiled at him; Anthony squeezed his knee under the table as he ate the fry he stole.
"Oh bloody hell, he's corrupted you," Steve said.
"He certainly has." Anthony winked at Sören, and now Sören giggled and blushed.
Well, at least there's that.
After the meal the group went to the bar. Sören noticed that even though Anthony wasn't driving, he still limited his alcohol intake in public, which Sören thought was wise, and followed suit - on Sören's end, in large part because he didn't trust his brain-to-mouth filter under the influence, not to tell Steve and the others they were idiots. It became more apparent in the bar, as the others talked about their recent cases and Anthony listened, that Anthony seemed a bit bored and was sitting in silent judgment to a point, and Sören once again wanted to ask why he was wasting his time with this. But he didn't. He waited for Anthony to take the initiative to get bored enough so they could get home. And waiting for that moment dragged on and on, until finally Sören had enough and he came closer to Anthony and whispered, "Can we go soon?"
Anthony nodded, nipping on his bottle of ale. "Soon," Anthony said sotto voce.
A few minutes later, when Jack was going on about a minor celebrity he currently had as a client and getting a bit catty, and Sören felt even more uncomfortable, he decided to up the ante. "I want my brother to take me home and show me how nasty he can be," Sören whispered.
Anthony cleared his throat loudly and announced, "We're, ah, going to go now. It's getting later..." It wasn't that late, but it was late enough as far as Sören was concerned. "And I have to be at my mum's tomorrow." That wasn't entirely a lie - they were invited to Sunday dinner, and Elaine and Roger would fuss over Anthony for his birthday, but they wouldn't be going till the late afternoon.
The group was all smiles as they bid them farewell. And when Jack said to Sören, "It was great meeting you!" Sören's reflex reaction was Yeah, fuck you.
On the taxi ride back, Anthony made out with Sören, and Sören got into it, but when they got in the flat, Sören said, "Anthony, can I be blunt with you for a minute?"
"Yes, always be honest with me, Sören. I can tell when you're not."
Sören took a deep breath. "Your friends are arseholes."
Anthony nodded. "Yes. Yes they are."
That answer surprised Sören, and he sat down. "Why?"
"Why what? Why are they arseholes, or -"
"No... why do you bother with them?"
"I've known them for a long time," Anthony said. "They may be idiots, but they're my idiots, I guess."
Sören was pretty sure they weren't "his" anything, but he didn't say that aloud. "That one with the dying grandmother? Steve? That was so crass..."
"It was, but what did you expect me to do, go cut-throat on him over my birthday celebration? You don't like me in lawyer mode all the time, do you? We're both lawyers, it would have turned into an argument, and when I'm trying to unwind I pick my battles. Steve is... Steve. Telling him a few things isn't going to change how he is, he's just like that. I know he came off badly tonight, he's not a saint, but he also sees the shit I put up with every day."
Sören looked down. He could tell he'd hit a nerve, and he hadn't meant to make Anthony feel like he was on trial on his own birthday. "Sorry," Sören mumbled.
"Sören, please don't be sorry for speaking your mind. I just hope you understand, these idiots have been a part of my life for awhile, and... they're trying to make you feel welcome too. I think some of it is just culture clash."
Not too much, if even you understood they were being a bit stupid. But Sören decided to drop it, and Anthony, sensing how uncomfortable Sören was, gave him a hug.
"It's only once or twice a month I'd be going out with them," Anthony said. "And I'd still like you to come with me." Anthony's lips quirked. "Someone can share my pain."
Sören still didn't feel like he should waste his time but he knew it was easier said than done to drop longtime friends, even those who seemed to no longer fit where one was at now. He hadn't had many friends in his own life, but he understood how hard it was for professionals to even make friends and that Anthony would have no one apart from him if he let them go, and it would probably make things awkward for him professionally as well - this was a large part of why Sören avoided socializing with Colin Traynor outside of work, much as he liked Colin very much and knew Colin wanted to hang out and they'd probably become good friends, because if for whatever reason that friendshp went pear-shaped or otherwise drifted apart, that was a source of awkwardness where he had to work every day. "Don't shit where you eat", and all of that.
Now Anthony's eyes raked Sören. "You didn't make me leave there early to lecture me about my friends, though, did you."
Sören felt a little defensive that Anthony was calling it a "lecture" - though he supposed on Anthony's end it felt like one. Sören nonetheless wanted to change the mood... they both needed it. Sören gave him a cheeky grin and went to the stereo, where he had readied a certain song on an R&B playlist for this moment.
Sören began to swivel and thrust his hips in time with the music, eyes locked with Anthony's before he turned around and gave Anthony a good look at his leather-trousers-clad ass.
I'm just a bachelor
I'm looking for a partner
Someone who knows how to ride
Without even falling off
Gotta be compatible
Takes me to my limits
Girl when I break you off
I promise that you won't want to get off
Sören took off his shirt and threw it at Anthony, and danced closer to him, but just out of reach. Smiling seductively at the heat in Anthony's eyes, the growing bulge in Anthony's black jeans.
If you're horny, let's do it
Ride it, my pony
My saddle's waiting
Come and jump on it
If you're horny, let's do it
Ride it, my pony
My saddle's waiting
Come and jump on it
Sören began to work on his leather trousers, really putting his hips and ass into it now.
Sitting here flossing
Peeping your steelo
Just once if I have the chance
The things I will do to you
You and your body
Every single portion
Send chills up and down your spine
Juices flowing down your thigh
The leather pants came off and Sören revealed the lacy black thong he was wearing. Anthony's cheeks were pink and he was breathing harder... and definitely hard.
Now Sören came close, grinding up on Anthony's lap, running his hands over Anthony's chest, letting Anthony touch him.
If we're gonna get nasty, baby
First we'll show and tell
Till I reach your ponytail
Lurk all over and through you baby
Until we reach the stream
You'll be on my jockey team
Sören took a few steps back, working his hips some more, swaying, thrusting, teasing out of reach.
If you're horny, let's do it
Ride it, my pony
My saddle's waiting
Come and jump on it
He came back for the big finish, taking Anthony's hand and putting it right on the bulge in his own thong, hands on Anthony's shoulders, leaning in for a kiss.
If you're horny, let's do it
Ride it, my pony
My saddle's waiting
Come and jump on it
Anthony picked Sören up off the floor and carried Sören down the hall to the bedroom, Sören shrieking and giggling. Anthony put Sören down on the bed, undressed as quickly as he could - Sören moaned at the sight of the hard cock set free - and then Anthony got on the bed and took off Sören's lacy black thong with his teeth, growling, making Sören buck against him as his own cock leapt out, going crazy at the look of lust in Anthony's eyes.
Anthony then rolled Sören on top of him, laying on his back, reaching for the lube. "I hope you're ready for a good ride," Anthony said, pushing his fingers into Sören, who began to work his hips again, fucking himself on Anthony's fingers.
"I hope you're ready for me to ride you hard," Sören rasped.
And like that, nothing else mattered. Sören forgot about Anthony's friends, or any tension bristling between them. Anthony Hewlett-Johnson ended the first day of the thirty-second year of his life being ridden into the sunset, Sören taking his cock as long as he was willing and able to give it, wanting to give his special, beloved brother a very special birthday. Sören had a record amount of orgasms that night, losing count after five, and he knew it was far from the last one. He was well-used, and it was well worth it, giving himself as the final gift, which Anthony thought was the best one of all.
chapter 13 | return to Learning To Fly | return to Other Tolkien Fic | return to index