It was Friday, June fifteenth, and once again time for Anthony's monthly night out with his friends - occasionally he went out for a drink after work, but didn't stay terribly long; this was his chance to catch up, insofar as these people had anything going on to catch up to. Despite Anthony telling Sören they might "grow on him", Sören had known them since February and it was now June and he still hadn't warmed up. He doubted he was going to. He didn't understand what Anthony saw in them, though Lawrence was the most tolerable of the group. Nonetheless, Anthony wanted Sören to come along, so Sören did it because he loved Anthony.
Tonight they were meeting at an upmarket restaurant where a suit and tie was de rigueur. Sören did not own a suit or a tie; he and Anthony were of a similar size so Anthony let Sören borrow one of his suits, picking out pinstripe for Sören while he went with solid charcoal grey for himself. As Anthony tied Sören's tie, he smiled at him.
"I know it's not your style but you look very nice," Anthony said when the tie was finished.
Sören made a face in the bathroom mirror. Anthony laughed and kissed the tip of Sören's nose.
"I mean, it looks good on you," Sören said. "I like a suit on a man. But that's a case of opposites attract for me. Cos I just..." Sören made a vague hand gesture and made a face again. "Feel like I'm doing a very bad drag performance, or something."
"Well, it's only for a few hours," Anthony said. "Then we'll come home and I'll... get you out of that."
Sören laughed.
"Here, I've got something else you can wear that will make it worth your while." Anthony made the gesture for Sören to follow. Sören wondered if Anthony was going to produce a pair of cufflinks, which wouldn't really have helped... and then Anthony got out the buttplug. Sören laughed harder, and enthusiastically took down his trousers and the lacy black thong he was wearing underneath. Anthony applied lube and began kissing Sören's neck as he pushed the plug inside, which made Sören's cock stir, wishing Anthony would skip the whole damn outing and just agree to stay in and fuck him senseless.
Though Anthony had the remote control for the plug, he didn't turn it on in the car. When Anthony saw Sören looking at the remote control, then giving him an expectant look, Anthony said, "I didn't want you to walk in there obviously hard, so I'm waiting."
Jack was the one with the reservation, and once they arrived at the restaurant they were promptly escorted to the table, where Jack, Trisha, Vincente, and Lawrence were all waiting. "Steve's running a little late," Jack said as they sat down.
"Of course he is," Anthony snarked. "Well..." He passed a menu to Sören, before looking at one himself. "Might as well not wait."
"I see you tamed the wild boy," Trisha said to Anthony.
"Just for tonight," Anthony said.
Trisha's eyes raked Sören. "Nice. Very nice."
Sören didn't like Trisha, and he didn't like the way she was looking at him like he was being offered for dinner, but he gave a thin smile and decided to repay a compliment with a compliment. "You look nice too." That wasn't a lie; Trisha was pretty, even if she would never be Sören's type with her attitude. Tonight she was wearing a black trapeze dress, short sleeves, a sailor neckline with a long bow in front.
"Thanks, this is vintage Yves Saint Laurent for Dior," Trisha said.
Sören fought the urge to chew the ice in his ice water. He didn't have a problem with haute fashion per se - as an artist, he could appreciate the art of fashion design - but he didn't see why she needed to announce it like that. It made Sören feel even more like he was out of his element.
That feeling intensified as he looked at the menu. Everything was at least sixty to a hundred quid, if not more. There was no way Sören would eat at a place like this left to his own devices, even though he wasn't hurting much for money as a neurosurgeon. He recalled his childhood and teenage years in Akureyri, where dinner was potatoes or French toast if his aunt was too drunk to cook for them... if there was anything in the house. He thought about the homeless he saw regularly in London, and felt a strange flare of anger.
Steve got in just as the waiter came over to take orders. "Hey, sorry I'm late," Steve said as he took a seat. He waved off the waiter. "Come back in five minutes?"
Anthony shot him an annoyed look as Steve grabbed a menu, but said nothing.
When Steve was ready to order, the waiter was flagged and came back. Sören decided to have what Anthony was having, steak and seafood, to make it easier. Anthony was paying for both of them, because he was old-fashioned that way, and had told Sören beforehand to get whatever he wanted, but Sören still felt a twinge of guilt even as he knew the cost of their meals was trivial to Anthony. Seeming to sense his discomfort, Anthony put an arm around Sören, reassuring.
Then with a little knowing glance at Sören, Anthony discretely turned the vibe on the lowest setting. Sören fought back a grin as the vibe began purring away inside him. Anthony's foot slid under the table to play with his.
"I have an announcement to make," Trisha said, looking at Vincente, who was sitting next to her.
"I do too," Jack said, "but ladies first."
"OK." Trisha cleared her throat. "Vincente and I are dating."
Jack, Anthony and Lawrence gave polite little golf claps; Steve gave a wolf whistle, which made Trisha roll her eyes.
"It's about time the two of you got together," Lawrence said.
Trisha nodded. "Well, you know, I was with Charles. And Vincente played the field, I didn't think he'd be interested in committing. But after Charles and I broke up last month, he offered to take me out for some drinks to get my mind off things, and..." She grinned, blushing fiercely.
"Congratulations," Anthony said.
Sören had a feeling Trisha was going to be the one to call the shots in the relationship, and he wondered how long an Italian man would put up with that. He wondered if the friend group was going to be split if Trisha and Vincente broke up. On the other hand, Lawrence's comment suggested something had been brewing with them for awhile...
"We'll be moving to a new flat together next month," Trisha said, "and you guys are all invited to the housewarming party."
"Where are you guys moving to?" Lawrence said.
"Kingston," Trisha said. "We'll be a couple blocks away from you, Anthony!"
Sören began to chew the ice in his ice water. The very last thing he wanted was Trisha and Vincente as regular guests in their flat.
"We'll see what our schedules are like," Anthony said. "Sören works crazy hours at National and spending time with him is a priority."
Sören reached under the table and squeezed Anthony's knee in thanks. Anthony reached and squeezed Sören's knee in return, and then his hand slid up Sören's thigh, making Sören's cock twinge with desire. He turned the vibe up a little higher.
"That's fair," Trisha said.
And then Vincente finally spoke. "We might be pretty busy ourselves," he said, leering at Trisha, who turned pink and giggled, giving him a swat.
"Anyway," Trisha said, "the party's happening on July seventh, so that gives plenty of time to schedule time off, I hope." She gave Sören a pointed look.
That was in three weeks, though Sören had next weekend off, so he was iffy about asking for another full weekend two weeks after the last one, and the idea of going to work on Sunday after a Saturday night with Anthony's friends didn't appeal to him. "I'll see what I can do," Sören said, not wanting to make any promises.
Then Steve spoke up. "So you're still working for the NHS, huh?" Steve raised an eyebrow, with a smug little smirk. "When are you going into private practice?"
Sören blinked. "I... I'm not." He pursed his lips. "For starters, the NHS is sponsoring my visa. But also, I come from a country where we have universal healthcare and I think this is important -"
Anthony gently elbowed Sören and flagged the waiter. "Can we have more ice water, please? And a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc?" Anthony began to trace letters on Sören's thigh - S, T, E, V, E, I, S, A, T, O, R, Y. Sören tried not to make a face, and traced back O and K on Anthony's knee.
"You had an announcement?" Anthony asked Jack.
Jack nodded. "Well, it's more like an invitation. Now that it's summertime, it's time to make good use of the yacht I bought this past winter. So I'd like to have a yacht party. Sometime in July... late July, maybe, to accommodate scheduling for Trisha's party."
"Oh, brilliant," Trisha said. "Some of my favorite childhood memories are going on Papa's yacht..."
Sören chewed the ice in his ice water again, not caring about the strange look Jack gave him. Trisha, of the trips to Dior when she was fourteen, going on a yacht as a child. Sören was wearing neighbors' castoffs at fourteen and never did more than take trips in his aunt's clunky car as a kid, worrying about her driving drunk.
"I've never been on a yacht," Anthony volunteered.
"Really." Trisha gave him an incredulous look.
"My parents had money but not your kind of money," Anthony said, and then he informed Sören, "Trisha's grandfather is an earl."
That meant absolutely nothing to Sören. "Jæja, my family was... like... nobility or something in Norway, before they came to Iceland, six or seven centuries ago. We don't have any of that in Iceland, people are just people."
"It's a very different world here," Trisha said.
No shit. Sören tried to not give her a look.
"And Papa is rather scandalized by Vincente," Trisha went on. "Doesn't matter that he comes from a good family from Naples, he doesn't have the pedigree Charles does. I don't see why he can't just be happy that I'm happy."
"Exactly," Jack said. "It's not like you're dating a pauper."
"Right? He may be new money, but Vincente does very well for himself."
Not for the first time, Sören wondered how Anthony's friends would receive him if he wasn't a neurosurgeon, but a full-time artist, living hand-to-mouth, struggling from painting to painting, maybe working as something like a barista to make ends meet. He found himself very annoyed, and was grateful when the food came a few minutes later, giving him something else to concentrate on. He spent the rest of the evening trying to tune them out, aided by Anthony playing with the remote control so the vibe sped up and then slowed down, teasing him, reminding him of the passion that awaited when they got home.
Sören needed a shower when they got home, even though he had showered several hours ago when he got back from National. He turned the water as hot as he could stand it and just stood under the water for a few minutes, decompressing, taking deep breaths.
Anthony quietly joined him, just holding him at first. Anthony lathered Sören slowly, sensually, and his touch, the way he kissed Sören's neck as his hands worked their magic, helped Sören to relax, at last melting to him. He lathered Anthony in turn, and as they rinsed off they kissed, cock rubbing cock, Sören's stress burned away and replaced by fierce, hungry need.
Anthony lay on his back and gave himself to Sören first, and Sören took him hard, with fast, furious, savage thrusts. Anthony reached for the plug again and Sören slowed down so Anthony could push the plug inside him; when Anthony turned on the vibe they kissed and Sören kept the pace slow for a moment as their foreheads met, noses rubbing, breathing each other's breath. Then Sören grabbed Anthony's legs, putting them around his waist, and pounded away, showing no mercy, fucking even harder as Anthony scratched him, moaning louder and louder. Thrusting into Anthony with the vibe buzzing inside him was delicious, his cock and prostate pleasured at the same time, and when Anthony was right on that edge he turned the vibe as high as it could go, driving Sören to that edge with him, every thrust threatening to undo Sören first. When Sören leaned down and bit Anthony's shoulder, Anthony came hard, and Sören followed him into orgasm, giving a hoarse shout as he spent into the channel pulsing around him.
They snuggled, kissing, and then Anthony collected some of the seed he'd shot onto himself and stuck his fingers in Sören's mouth, feeding it to him. That got Sören going again, and when they kissed again, this time harder, Sören was ready for a second round. Anthony pulled out the plug and patted his shoulders; Sören sat on Anthony's face and bounced up and down on Anthony's tongue, licking hungrily inside him, readying him for more. When Sören had his fill he slid back down, straddling Anthony's hips, and poured lube over his cock. They both cried out when Anthony was all the way inside, and then Sören rode Anthony's cock as hard as he had fucked him, Anthony grabbing Sören's hips and slamming into him, giving Sören a wild ride. Sören rode and rode, feeling like Anthony driving into him was driving away any doubts Sören had in the presence of his friends, that here and now it was just them, needing each other, wanting each other. When Anthony tugged Sören's nipple rings, Sören climaxed, screaming his name as his orgasm overtook him, and Anthony came a few seconds later, calling out Sören's name in response.
Sören fell asleep soon after. In the middle of the night he woke to use the bathroom and when he climbed back in bed Anthony tangled up with him, holding him tighter than before, making content noises with Sören back against him. The sleepy smile Anthony gave in the glow of the nightlight went straight to Sören's heart, planting a tender little kiss on his brow before he cuddled up and went back to sleep.
Despite the good sex and the nice cuddling, Sören was troubled as he got ready for work early on Saturday morning, while it was still dark outside. He had enough distraction from his job to not ruminate too much during the day, but when his shift was over and Anthony came to pick him up, the dark mood came back, and Anthony picked up on it right away.
"What is it?" Anthony asked, as Sören stared out the window.
Sören shrugged. He turned to look at Anthony, who glanced at him before his eyes went back on the road. "I felt very out of sorts last night."
"Ah."
"It's..." Sören exhaled sharply. "It's bad enough that they're your friends and I feel like I'm just there as 'Anthony's boyfriend', I'm not there in my own right, they're not my friends too. It's worse knowing that if I wasn't your boyfriend, I was just some random guy... I wouldn't be welcome. Cos I mean... I have nothing in common with them. I feel completely... alien."
"Well, you are a professional yourself," Anthony said. "Your income as a neurosurgeon is nothing to sneeze at."
Sören raised an eyebrow. As brilliant and observant as Anthony was, he seemed to be missing the point here. "That's an income I've only had for the last couple years, and I still don't make as much as your friends do. More to the point, I shouldn't. A doctor is a public servant. I hear about these doctors in the States getting rich, owning yachts and more than one vacation home, while very sick people die because they can't afford medical care, and that disgusts me. That kind of shit is why I don't go private sector - we're not anywhere near as bad as the States, but still..."
"Yeah, I'm sorry about Steve -"
"I know I've said this before, but I don't get it. I really don't. You don't have the same values he does - you're not a Tory, you've taken some cases pro bono if it's a good cause and the defendant is in need. Friends don't have to have everything in common but when there's such a fundamental disconnect of values -"
"Steve's known me since I was at uni with my diploma conversion. It's the history."
Sören shrugged again. "I still don't get it. But... back to what I was saying. Your friends come from money. In Trisha's case she comes from old money. I come from nothing."
"Lawrence grew up in council housing."
"OK, but he seems comfortable enough with the life he has now, and being around people who..." Sören's voice trailed off. "It was just really... conspicuous? I guess is the word? Last night, moreso than other times we've gone out with them. I felt even more like I just don't belong there."
"I'm sorry," Anthony said, with a small frown and a furrow of his brow. "I mean, they wouldn't invite you if they hated you..."
Sören wondered if he'd be invited at all if he wasn't another professional, if he was working-class or a starving artist, but he kept that thought to himself. Sören just sighed.
The rest of the ride was spent in awkward silence; Anthony put on music and Sören attempted to relax to the smooth sounds of John Coltrane. Finally as they pulled in the parking space, Anthony lingered behind the wheel. "Is there anything I can do to make you feel more..." Anthony made a vague hand gesture. "Comfortable around them?" He gave Sören a pleading look. "They've been a part of my life for years and, well." He looked down, brow furrowed again. "I'm sure Mum told you this, but friends haven't exactly been easy for me to come by over the years."
Sören swallowed; he sympathized with that. Sören himself didn't make friends easily, he had been a loner in his younger years, and had only casual friends in the club scene as an adult. Sören felt for the hurt boy inside Anthony who just wanted friends, just wanted to be liked, but he felt like Anthony's friends didn't really like him for him, rather only a certain image of him. He felt like Anthony deserved better. Much better.
"I don't know that there's anything that you can do," Sören said. "Whether or not they like me, it's... we come from very different worlds. I wore hand-me-downs and sometimes went hungry, growing up. I've never had the kind of luxury your friends have. I feel like a fish out of water."
When they got inside, Anthony stopped in his tracks. Sören also stopped, and then Anthony took a few paces and gave him a tight hug.
"I'm sorry you went through that." Anthony smoothed the curls that had escaped from Sören's man bun for work and pulled Sören's head onto his shoulder, petting him. He kissed the top of Sören's head. "You deserve nice things."
"Well..." Sören patted him. "You are a nice thing." Sören picked his head up, and they kissed.
You're too nice for them. But Sören didn't say it aloud, understanding Anthony wasn't just going to up and get rid of the only friends he had, not unless they actually did something to Sören, and so far Sören just felt uncomfortable with the culture clash, it wasn't like they had done anything personally to him. Wanting a distraction, he took Anthony's hands and pulled him along into the kitchen to put on tea.
The following weekend, on Saturday June twenty-third, Anthony drove Sören out to his parents' in Blackheath. Before Sören could get out of the Audi, Anthony lingered at the wheel and said, "I have something for you."
Sören paused. Anthony reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box from a jeweler. He handed it to Sören, who took it hesitantly; Sören opened the box and inside was a genuine Rolex watch, white gold. Sören gasped and almost dropped it.
Anthony took Sören's left wrist and put the watch on him, and then met Sören's eyes. "I want you to have something nice. I don't want you to feel uncomfortable in the presence of money."
Sören teared up, and he hugged Anthony tight. At the same time, he had mixed feelings about the gift - he knew Anthony had spent at least several thousand quid on this, if not more, and he was self-conscious about Anthony spending that kind of money on him, even though he knew Anthony was doing it because he wanted to. It felt shamefully ostentatious. Sören once again thought about the homeless he saw around London, when he now had something on his wrist that could pay for someone's housing for at least half a year.
And Sören wasn't a watch person - he had clocks at work, he could check the time on his cell phone if he otherwise needed to know the time, and as someone who performed surgery several times a week and frequently washed his hands, a watch was more of a hindrance than a help.
As much as Sören wanted to be gracious about the gift - and he was genuinely touched by the sentiment of it, Anthony wanting to make up for Sören's life of privation somehow - he also wondered if Anthony had considered how impractical the watch actually was, and if Anthony seemed to think the watch would somehow fix the rift between his friends and Sören, like throwing money would solve the problem, when the problem was far deeper than that. And giving it to Sören before they were set to spend a weekend at his parents suggested Anthony thought Sören was uncomfortable in the presence of all rich people - but Sören felt at home with Anthony's parents; again, it was the attitude of Anthony's friends more than just the fact that they had money.
And Sören hated feeling like that, his reaction to the watch so complicated, instead of just being happy. He felt a twinge of guilt as Anthony held him, and when they pulled apart, Sören said, "I don't feel awkward around your parents, just so you know."
"That's good. They love you." Anthony smiled and stroked Sören's cheek. "I still wanted -"
Sören put a finger to Anthony's lips and swallowed hard. "I know."
chapter 21 | return to Learning To Fly | return to Other Tolkien Fic | return to index