It was Tuesday, June fifth. Sören had started his shift Monday night and was scheduled into Tuesday afternoon. He was exhausted, and glad his last patient of the day was a consult, rather than surgery, though he'd found from past experience that sometimes consults could be just as delicate of a procedure, if the patient was very nervous or upset about what was going on with them.
To his relief, his consult seemed to be mild-mannered and easygoing, or at the very least, refraining from a reaction, keeping calm for the meantime. The patient was a Ronald Daly, in his early forties, who had spinal stenosis and was going to need surgery. He was as tall as Sören and seemed like he had been handsome in his younger years, now had a "dad bod" and his brown hair was thinning. His blue eyes followed Sören around the room as Sören presented his X-rays and MRI scans, and explained what was happening to his back and what the surgery would entail; Sören would be one of the attending surgeons.
"Do you have any questions for me?" Sören asked, as per the usual.
"How long will the recovery process take?"
"Full recovery? At least three months, possibly longer," Sören said, and finally the calm, composed mask broke, with Ron Daly frowning, blinking back tears. "I know," Sören said, genuine compassion husking his voice - he felt for him, as he always did with his patients. "I know you want your life back. You should be able to do some things after six weeks - walking short distances, for example. But you're going to be laid up for at least four to six weeks where you'll have to severely limit movements and activities- you'll be in bed a lot, no way around that - and then after that you'll still need to go easy. You'll need physical therapy. You'll be out of work awhile, I'm guessing. If you have a strenuous job you may probably need to consider a different line of work, something more sedentary -"
"No, it's not physically strenuous at all. I'm a barrister."
"Ah!" Sören smiled a little. "My partner is a barrister. You should be fine to return to work in about two months in that case -"
"-oh thank god."
Sören's smile broadened, knowing Anthony would react much the same way if he had to be out of work. "Yes, I know, you lot live for the thrill of the courtroom. It's like an addiction."
"It really is," Daly said, laughing.
"Unfortunately, sitting for long periods of time - your desk, or in court - isn't going to be good for your recovery process either, so you'll have to make sure to stretch. And if you're on your feet in court, you may need a cane depending on how stable you are. And of course, you'll need to take care of yourself. Getting adequate rest, adequate nutrition..." Sören gave him a stern look. "Coffee is not a food."
Daly laughed. "Yes, you know how it is."
"I have to chase after my partner to make sure he eats and sleeps. And gets a yearly physical."
Daly smiled. "My wife's a doctor."
"Oh, really?"
Daly nodded. "A cardiologist. She got after me to see a doctor about my back pain. When it first started, before it got bad, I kept telling her it's nothing and, well."
"Oh no, it's definitely not nothing." Sören nodded and folded his arms. "She did the right thing, you already let it go too long."
"Well, you know. We're trained to ignore pain in this world, and by the time it got crippling I had to see three different doctors before I could find one that would take my complaints seriously enough to order tests."
Sören sighed and nodded again; it was all too common for physicians to dismiss complaints of pain as med-seeking and act like "pain is a part of life" and avoid costly specialist visits. He wondered bitterly how many lives would be saved if more physicians took their patients seriously. He knew it was even worse in the States. "It's good you got more than one opinion and didn't let it go, but then I suppose that's part of your job, is to argue the case till it can't be argued anymore."
"Indeed." Daly smiled again.
"So, any other questions, Mr. Daly?"
"I think I'm probably set... I assume you'll be touching base with me prior to the surgery as far as avoiding food, medications, that sort of thing?"
"Correct. Me or someone else on staff will get in touch with you when it gets closer to the date. First we have to look at the schedule and fit you in. The hardest part of all of this will be waiting for the surgery, and then the recovery time, especially when you feel restless and want to get back to doing things again. But you're in good hands, Mr. Daly. We'll fix you up."
"I feel it," Daly said. "I'm glad you'll be attending the surgery, you've got a way about you that... puts me at ease. Probably other patients of yours too."
"I've been told that before," Sören said, nodding. "I know all of this can be scary and overwhelming and I do what I can to make it less so."
"You do a good job with presenting all of the information and explaining it in a way that laypeople can understand, and being very matter-of-fact about it rather than dramatizing or glossing it over. And you're very warm - I can tell you actually care about what happens to the people you see, you're committed to getting us better, which is reassuring." Daly raised an eyebrow. "So you said your partner is a barrister? What branch of law does he work in?"
"He's a defense attorney," Sören said.
"Oh then I've more than likely faced him... I'm Crown Prosecution."
Sören normally didn't disclose his personal life to patients, but he thought it couldn't hurt in this case. "Anthony Hewlett-Johnson?"
Daly's jaw dropped and his eyes widened. "You..." He blinked. "You. Your partner is the Shark? But you're so nice."
Sören's laughter rang out. "What? Anthony is very nice."
Now it was Daly's turn to laugh. "You've never faced him in court."
Sören knew from that first encounter with Anthony back in November, and all of the little "barrister moments" over the last six and a half months, that Anthony was probably damned good at his job, intimidatingly so. But this was the first time he'd met someone on the opposite side of a case, who had seen Anthony in action. "What did you call him? The Shark?"
"The Shark." Daly gave a small, apologetic smile. "I didn't start calling him that, he's been called that for years. I don't know who started it."
"And you guys call him that because..." But Sören already had an idea, having seen Anthony in "barrister mode" at home. He had very sharp instincts. If he knew he'd drawn blood, he'd go in for the kill, knowing what to ask, how to get what he was looking for. It was how he'd learned much of Sören's past, with Sören being reluctant to address certain subjects.
"He's absolutely ruthless. Savage. He looks for that way in, right down to the subtlest cues - changes in speech pattern, tone of voice, posture, facial expression - and as soon as he's got it, he eviscerates. I've seen him rip witnesses apart, make them cry on the stand, challenge them into losing their tempers, make people fumble and contradict themselves or let something out that puts a big hole in the prosecution, and all he has to do is ask the right questions the right way. And of course, he never betrays the same sort of weakness to exploit himself, it's like he has no emotions. Always calm. Too calm. Which makes his defense logic seem even more convincing, when he spins his closing arguments. He could defend the Manson family and at the end of the day he'd have at least some of the court believing they were the victims and everyone they killed had deserved it somehow. Nobody in their right mind wants to go up against Hewlett-Johnson. Every single time I've seen that he's going to be defense for a case I'm prosecuting, my reaction has been oh God, oh shit, not him, anyone but him. Even when he loses, it still doesn't feel like a win for our side. Going up against Anthony Hewlett-Johnson in court is like going to war against Sun Tzu."
"Wow." Sören let out a low whistle.
"So yes, the Shark." Daly raised his eyebrows. "I can't believe he even has a partner, let alone someone who seems very nice and compassionate, like you. No offense intended."
"None taken," Sören said, though he still bristled slightly, feeling like he needed to defend Anthony somehow. "He's just doing his job."
"Yes. The Nazi soldiers were just doing their job, and the KGB secret police were just doing their jobs too."
The pleasant, cautiously optimistic consult had suddenly gotten very awkward. There was a moment of excruciating silence. Sören didn't even know how to respond to that, and decided it was probably best not to, for the sake of professionalism.
"Well," Sören said, looking at the clock and then back at Daly, "If that's everything, I don't want to keep you."
"Er, yes. Sorry, I got a bit carried away."
"No need to apologize." Even though you just sort of compared my partner to a Nazi. Sören tried to smile. He offered his hand to shake, to be polite, much as the germophobic surgeon in him hated shaking hands with people. "Good luck to you, with the upcoming surgery and recovery time."
Daly took Sören's hand, his grip firm, his shake hearty. "And good luck to you, with... your partner, there."
Sören got off work a couple hours before Anthony was set to leave chambers, and rather than hanging around at National for Anthony to pick him up and drive him back, Sören really wanted a shower and a nap. So Sören took the Tube home, with Deftones in his earphones, thinking of what Daly had told him as he zoned out to the music.
Show your strings, your wires
Check the lights
Provide me clues just go ahead
And break your silence
And tell me your secret
Can I watch you train?
You know I like to believe it
Go on explain...
Tell me how you do it
Every time it takes my knees out
Cause every time you do it
I'm on fire...
Sören knew going into their relationship that Anthony was tasked with defending the indefensible, and he'd gotten a visceral reminder of that back in March. And Sören had of course seen some of that shark-like nature himself - Anthony watching, listening for tells and responding, precise, measured. He had seen Anthony put on a figurative mask, guarding himself - almost turning into someone else entirely, too casual, glib - around his so-called "friends", who Sören disliked having to socialize with once a month, so Sören knew Anthony was definitely capable of staging a persona. It was still very hard to reconcile the mental image of courtroom Anthony with the loving, caring man who he slept with, who had shown his shy, sensitive, vulnerable side, who had shown his inner dork, who had shown himself to be a secret romantic, who was all fire between the sheets, like a force of nature.
Sören was too worn out to ruminate further, and after his shower he pulled on a pair of pajama bottoms and fell into bed. He woke up to Anthony petting him, raining kisses over his face, and when Sören opened his eyes, the shy, sweet smile that Anthony gave him took his breath away.
And there was no way to fake that, the love shining in his eyes, the way they crinkled at the corners. No way to fake the tenderness in his touch, as Anthony sat on the side of the bed, stroking Sören's curls, his cheek, his beard.
"You looked so precious asleep that I thought about not disturbing you," Anthony said, "but I missed you." He leaned in again and kissed the tip of Sören's nose, then as Sören giggled he claimed his mouth.
Sören moaned into the kiss, cock stirring. But Anthony got up. "I brought us Thai," he said.
"Oh, good." Sören sat up, yawned, and stretched.
Bare-chested, he followed Anthony out into the living room. Anthony put on the stereo - a selection of jazz, Sören recognized "Equinox" by John Coltrane. The coffee table was set up with food and drinks, and Anthony hadn't just brought home Thai, he'd also gotten Sören a bouquet of pink roses and mums.
"Awwww, what's that for?" Sören asked, sitting next to him on the couch.
"No reason. Just because I was thinking of you." Anthony gave him a kiss.
Sören sighed, feeling all aflutter. He was tempted to say "fuck food, we can reheat it" and drag Anthony back to bed, but then his stomach growled and Anthony gave him a look. "You're always nagging me to eat something when I'm at the Inn and you haven't eaten since last night, have you?"
Sören looked down, face burning. "Guilty."
Anthony's response was to shove a forkful of pad thai in Sören's mouth. Sören laughed so hard he almost sprayed the noodles. He patted Anthony's head and after he chewed and swallowed he said, "How was your day?"
Anthony made a noise. Sören patted him again.
"It is so good to come home to you," Anthony said, rubbing noses with Sören before he kissed the tip of Sören's nose again. "You are my refuge."
"I'm glad." Sören rubbed Anthony's knee. After a few bites of food, he decided he was going to come out with it in case Anthony faced him again and it was brought up. "I met one of your brethren today."
"Oh!" Anthony cocked his head like a curious cat. "May I inquire?"
Sören nodded. "Ronald Daly. I had a consult and he's going to be out of work for a bit."
"I see."
Sören noticed that Anthony kept his tone and expression neutral now, not reacting. "He brought up that he's married to a doctor, and it came out that I'm with a barrister and of course he wanted to know who. And, ah."
There was a little telltale quirk of the lips, a slightly raised eyebrow.
"He called you the Shark," Sören said.
"Yes." Anthony nodded. "He did."
"So you know people call you that."
"I've known for quite some time. It started fairly soon in my career."
"And it doesn't bother you."
A cold, dangerous smile. "No."
"He said some not very flattering things about you," Sören said.
"I bet," Anthony said, working on his tom yum soup.
"He's terrified of facing you in court."
"Oh, I hope you didn't defend me too much," Anthony said. "I can't have the opposition thinking I'm soft."
"Well, he said something like, you could defend the Manson family and make people think they were the victims and the people they killed deserved it. I told him that you're doing your job and he said 'Nazi soldiers were just doing their job too.' The Nazi comment rubbed me the wrong way -"
Anthony snorted. "He literally Godwinned you. That's... wow. I know Crown Prosecution has a lot of reasons to dislike me, but that's... special."
"It doesn't bother you that he -"
Anthony gave a resigned half-shrug. "If people are scared of facing me in court that's not exactly a bad thing as far as I'm concerned. I can use that. I didn't become a barrister to win popularity contests."
"I suppose not, no." Sören nodded. "And no, I didn't say much about you at all, just that, you know, you're nice to me. Which you are."
Anthony gave him another kiss. He put down his soup for a minute and took Sören's hand. "I feel like you're one of the only people I can truly be myself with. My mum is the other. My uncle Nigel was another, but he's gone now..."
"...Yeah."
"And I know that you're... you... all the time. You're one of the most sincere, earnest people I've ever met, which was part of what drew me to you. It's refreshing. I just..." Anthony frowned a little. "Hope you understand why it is the way it is. I went into this line of work for my conscience. After the experiences I had - being punished for defending myself against bullies in school... seeing what my uncle Nigel went through with almost going to prison when he had an episode... it became a calling. And I have to do this even when it bothers my conscience, when I have to defend the guilty as well as the innocent, fight for them both equally hard, because the entire system suffers if I don't. And I knew going into criminal defense work that plenty of people would think of me as the scum of the earth for defending the sort of people that I do, and those who don't look at me and they respect me for the wrong reasons - money, perceived power. I don't care if the rest of the world doesn't like me, really. I don't need many people. But I do need you, and I hope that you don't think less of me for doing what I must, even when it gets ugly. And it frequently does, in court."
Sören looked into Anthony's eyes now and knew he was telling the truth. And he realized that rather being an incongruous picture, Anthony the Shark who scared the piss out of his court opponents and Anthony the sweet, affectionate man who brought him flowers and gave him nose kisses were the same person - two sides of his passion, his intensity.
"I love you," Sören said. "And I think I get it." He was quiet for a minute, stroking his beard, trying to find the right words. Then he said, "You go out there and defend others because that's your heart, and it's a battle out there. The Shark persona is your armor... your weapon. You need that to survive, to be able to fight. And here, with me, this is your home, where the armor comes off, and your weapon - attention to detail, the ability to ask the right questions, get to the bottom of things, draw conclusions - you use that only as a tool of healing, to make me feel safe, and wanted, and loved, after everything I've gone through. People like Ron Daly might not be able to see how the two sides of you could co-exist and even be born from the same place, but I do."
Anthony got very, very quiet. They continued eating, and when they were finished, Anthony took their empty containers to the trash. He came back with a bottle of ale from the fridge for both of them, and they drank in continued silence. Sören was starting to worry a little, and at last Anthony turned to him and said, "Thank you."
And then, before Sören could respond, Anthony kissed him deeply, hungrily. Sören let out a little squeak as Anthony picked him up off the couch, and squeaked again, laughing, as Anthony carried him down the hall to the bedroom. Sören stopped laughing when he saw the deadly serious look on Anthony's face, eyes that could drill through granite, just before Anthony started undressing. Sören tugged off his pajama bottoms, letting them fall to the floor; Anthony came closer and grasped Sören's cock like he owned it, kissing him fiercely as the cock stirred in his hand.
They kissed all the way to the bed, tumbling down together, and then Anthony grabbed Sören and kissed him harder, more passionately, making Sören moan into the kiss, urgently rubbing his cock against Anthony's. Anthony began kissing Sören's neck and shoulder, and Sören moaned again, and then he laughed a little and said, "What's gotten into you?"
Anthony stopped kissing Sören's neck and took Sören's chin in his hand. "You get it," he said simply. "You get me. No one else does."
With that, his mouth met Sören's again, and Sören felt both that heat of arousal flooding through him, and aching for his lonely, misunderstood wounded warrior. Yes, I do get it. We're two bullied, picked-on kids who strongly like unfairness, and we both fight to save lives, in different ways. It was a pity that people like Ron Daly didn't see that, and just dismissed Anthony as some sort of callous predator, and yet Sören understood that it was also necessary - that Ron Daly couldn't see that, that it was better for Daly and people like him to fear Anthony. That was part of the battle.
Here and now, Anthony's guard was down, sweeping Sören into passion... into vulnerability and trust. Anthony rolled onto his back and pulled Sören atop him. "You see inside me," he husked, stroking Sören's face, "and now I want to feel."
Sören kissed Anthony deep and hard, and wordlessly reached for the lube on their bedtable. He slicked his fingers and pushed them into Anthony's passage, finding that place right away, smiling into the kiss as Anthony moaned. Sören rubbed in slow, lazy circles, until Anthony grabbed his hand and pulled Sören's fingers out, and poured lube over Sören's cock, working it over as he resumed kissing and licking Sören's neck and shoulder.
Sören pushed into him slowly, Anthony pushing out as Sören pushed in, easing him along. Anthony wrapped his arms around Sören, and when Sören bottomed out inside him, their foreheads pressed together, noses brushing, breathing each other's breath as they gasped and panted at that first moment of oneness.
Sören began to thrust slowly, kissing him again and again, fighting the urge to just pound into him, needing to prolong the sweetness of Anthony holding him this way, letting Sören in, Sören feeling as if they were making love with their souls, not just their bodies. This is the one, Sören thought to himself as their tongues teased, played in the slow, sensual rhythm of the push and pull. This is the one I want to spend my life with.
The need got too great for the both of them and Sören took him harder, faster, and slammed into him even more furiously as Anthony's voice rose, moaning louder and louder, Anthony's eyes glazed, a look of worship on his face. Sören loved seeing him completely rapt in passion, desire, and Sören was just as hungry, wanting, driving into him with abandon, growling, grunting. This was profane as well as sacred, deliciously so, the two of them losing themselves in the blinding glory of sex, fire calling to fire, mating with a savage, primal hunger.
Anthony's nails raked Sören's back, his teeth on Sören's neck, his shoulder, growling back at Sören. Sören fucked even harder, shuddering at the delicious silken heat grasping and stroking him, too good to last and yet he made himself, wanting to make Anthony come, wanting to see him, hear him, feel him lose control, wanting to give ecstasy to the man he loved. A few minutes later, as Sören was trembling, making little keening noises as he tried to hold back his orgasm, Anthony climaxed, crying out Sören's name as he erupted, spilling over their stomachs. Three thrusts later Sören spent, Anthony's channel pulsing around him as Sören sobbed and swore, turned to mush as Anthony held him close and tight.
They rested there, catching their breath, and then they kissed, deeply, sweetly. The kiss was enough to make Sören harden up again, and Anthony chuckled softly, giving Sören's ass a playful swat. "All right, Captain Insatiable," Anthony teased.
"That's Doctor Insatiable to you."
"Doctor Impossible."
"Like you're not."
"Doctor Bloody Impossible."
Sören nipped Anthony's lower lip, and Anthony nipped Sören's nose, making Sören squeal and giggle. Then Anthony guided Sören's hand down to his cock, which had also hardened. "Your turn," Anthony whispered.
Sören pulled out of him, and poured lube over Anthony's cock, kissing him as he played with it, coating it with the lube. Then Anthony gave him an expectant look, and after another kiss he tapped his shoulders, a "get up here" gesture.
Sören slid up and sat on Anthony's face, gasping as Anthony's tongue pushed into him. Anthony loved eating him out, and Sören loved his wicked tongue - nobody else had ever rimmed him so enthusiastically, with such talent. Sören held onto the headboard as Anthony's tongue played inside him, rubbing fast then slow then fast again, teasing and teasing, Sören crying out with delight as Anthony pleasured that magic button inside him, working his tongue like a hurricane and then like a brush, fierce and hungry then sweet and delicate. Sören got closer and closer to orgasm, until he was quivering, panting, swearing in Icelandic. Before he could come just from Anthony's tongue, Anthony patted Sören's ass for him to get down.
Sören slid back down, straddled Anthony's hips, and sank onto the hard, waiting cock. They both moaned as Anthony filled him, and again when Sören began to ride. Sören bucked slowly at first, sensually, his hands roaming over Anthony's body, caressing. Anthony's own hands glided over Sören, electrifying him, Sören breaking into gooseflesh at his touch. Sören cried out as Anthony's fingers and thumbs lingered on his nipples, rubbing them into hard, aching peaks, then tugged on the rings before pinching and rubbing some more.
When Anthony pulled on Sören's nipple rings again, that was Sören's cue to ride harder and faster. Anthony grabbed Sören's hips and thrust into him even harder, and when Sören bounced madly, like he was riding a wild bull, Anthony rewarded him by playing with his nipples some more, pulling on the rings again when he wanted Sören to ride faster. At last they had both worked up a sweat - Sören loved the sight of Anthony glistening, flushed, hair damp as he gave his all - and Sören was grabbing onto Anthony for dear life, howling with pleasure as Anthony's cock stroked that sweet spot within him at fever pitch, pushing him to that point of no return. And when Anthony rasped, "Come for me," Sören exploded, throwing back his head and letting out a long, wordless scream as he came so hard it almost hurt, the contractions intense, powerful, seed spraying all over Anthony and even hitting the headboard and the wall.
"Fuck," Sören gasped, laughing.
Sören sighed as he sank back into Anthony's arms. Anthony kissed the top of Sören's head, pet his curls, and snuggled him, the two of them rocking a little as they melted into bliss.
Sören dozed off for awhile, and then he was woken up to Anthony gently rubbing his back and shaking him a little. "I need a shower," Anthony said. "You got me all sweaty." He laughed.
"Mmmmm."
"You want to join me?"
Even though Sören took a shower before Anthony got home, he'd worked up enough of a sweat from their romp that it was a good idea anyway. They brushed their teeth together, leaning on each other. As they got into the shower Sören found himself chuckling, and Anthony said, "Hm?"
"I'm having second shower," Sören said as he reached for the shampoo. "It's like second breakfast."
Anthony laughed too. "Oh god."
The shower quickly turned sensual as they lathered each other, and admired each other's bodies. They held each other under the spray, kissing, hard cocks rubbing together.
"I can't get enough of you," Sören rasped, kissing Anthony's neck.
"Nor I of you." Anthony grabbed Sören's wrists and shoved him up against the wall, kissing Sören roughly, then kissing and licking his neck. Then Anthony got on his knees right in the shower and began to lick Sören's freshly clean cock, Sören moaning, trembling as Anthony's tongue worked its magic. When Anthony took Sören's cock into his mouth it was all Sören could do to not slide down the shower wall.
Anthony sucked for just a couple of minutes, watching Sören react with heat in his eyes. Then he got up, carefully, and kissed Sören, and Sören could taste his precum as well as the minty toothpaste. Anthony turned off the water, and took Sören's hands, leading him out of the shower. They toweled each other off, continuing to tease with sensual rubbing of the towel, and then Anthony pulled Sören close, their hard cocks together again, stealing a kiss before they climbed back into bed. They quickly got into a sixty-nine, laying at each other's sides, Sören groaning as Anthony resumed sucking his cock, before Sören swallowed Anthony's cock down, lavishing the same love onto him.
They sucked languidly, savoring the sensual pleasure and the closeness. Their hands slid over each other's damp flesh as their mouths worked, and at last Anthony's fingers found their way into Sören, sucking harder as his fingers thrust in and out, rubbing and strumming that place inside him. Sören followed suit, fingering Anthony, sucking faster, not able to keep from rolling his hips, gently fucking Anthony's mouth, fucking himself on Anthony's fingers. And then a few minutes later Anthony's tongue was inside him again, Sören howling around Anthony's cock in his mouth before he returned the favor, also fucking Anthony with his tongue, lashing hard and fast inside him, cock throbbing at Anthony's moans. They ate each other like they were starving for it, and before Sören could come from his tongue, Anthony took Sören's cock back into his mouth and sucked him hard, devouring. Sören did the same, sucking Anthony with all-consuming hunger, aching to make him spill. When Sören felt himself ready to come, he grabbed Anthony's hand and squeezed, and Anthony gave an assuring "mmmmmm," and a few seconds later Sören came, crying out around Anthony's cock in his mouth, rewarded by Anthony coming with him, moaning as he drank down Sören's seed, Sören swallowing all that Anthony had to give.
They lay there for a moment, dazed. Anthony licked Sören clean, giving him aftershocks, and Sören gasped and patted Anthony off him. "Sensitive," he said.
They sat up and kissed - Sören loved the lingering taste of them together. They sank down onto the pillows, legs tangling, holding each other, and Anthony reached to turn off the light, leaving them in the glow of the nightlight and the view of the Thames and London lit up through the panoramic window. They lay there looking at each other; Anthony pet Sören's curls, stroked his face, smiling adoringly.
"I love you, you know," Anthony said.
"I know." Now it was Sören's turn to kiss the tip of Anthony's nose. "I love you too."
"I love you so much. More than I can say."
"But do you love me more than you love... second breakfast?"
Anthony rolled his eyes and then he chuckled. "Is that what we're calling it now?"
Sören snorted. "No, that was sixty-ninesies."
Anthony lost it, sputtering and doubling over, and Sören laughed too, pleased that Anthony appreciated his humor.
"So I take it you've read Tolkien," Sören said.
"Just the Lord of the Rings trilogy. I haven't read any of his other works."
"Neither have I." Sören sighed, thinking of his cousin. "My cousin Ari is a Tolkien fanatic. He writes fanfic and everything. He's always after me to read, ah. What's that called. Um." His brain was tired and he grasped for it, and drew a blank, but it sounded sort of like... "The Milli Vanilli."
Anthony facepalmed. "The Silmarillion." Anthony shook with laughter again. "Dammit, Sören..."
"Right." Sören couldn't resist being a troll now. "The Vitameatavegamin."
Anthony lost it again. Sören loved making him laugh.
When Anthony calmed down, Sören said, "So, já, that. I haven't read that."
"Maybe we should read it together, someday. If we ever have time."
They came closer, and Sören rested his head on Anthony's shoulder, Anthony continuing to pet his curls, rocking him. Though the shower and the sex did a lot to relax Sören and he was tired enough to want to go right to sleep, his mind recalled the conversation with Daly again... and then it hit Sören, and he started shaking with silent laughter, that finally bubbled up out of him in a hysterical gigglefit.
"What?" Anthony asked.
"I've been away from Iceland for two years... and I still can't stop eating shark."
It took Anthony a moment and then he lost it even harder, laughing so hard he cried. Sören laughed with him. It felt so good to laugh like this, together. It was these little moments that made their relationship what it was, more than anything else.
When they calmed down again, they snuggled, nuzzled. Sören yawned and Anthony patted him.
"Sweet dreams, my love," Anthony said, kissing Sören's brow.
Sören gave a sleepy smile and kissed his cheek. "You too when you get there."
"You are my dream."
chapter 20 | return to Learning To Fly | return to Other Tolkien Fic | return to index