"Elskan?"
Anthony looked up from his book. "Yes, love?"
"What do you want to do for your birthday? That's coming up in a week, and I put in to get off the second through the fifth so we can do something..."
"Oh!" Anthony put down the book and stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Honestly, I haven't really thought of it. Work has had me so stressed out that when I get home I just need to not think about things..."
"I know, but, you know." Sören made a vague hand gesture. "If we're going to fly anywhere we should make airline and hotel reservations now..."
"Honestly?" Anthony cocked his head to one side. "Let's just do Brighton."
"Really." That surprised Sören. You won't have anywhere to brag about to your friends. Sören wanted to smack himself for having that reaction, not wanting to be bitter, but his resentment of Anthony's friends was growing all the time.
"Really." Anthony nodded. "I think being by the sea will help me recharge my batteries, so to speak."
Sören giggled. "Batteries? What are you, a robot now?"
"God, this past couple of weeks I've felt like it." Anthony rubbed his face and pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Well..." Sören felt genuinely bad for Anthony's visible stress and came over to him, sitting on an arm of the armchair, reaching down to rub Anthony's shoulders. Anthony made a noise and leaned in to Sören's touch. Sören cupped Anthony's chin in his hand, tilted his face up, and grinned as he said, "I should check to see if you're fully functional or not."
Anthony snickered at the Star Trek: The Next Generation reference. He got up, took Sören's hand, and led him down to the bedroom.
Snow was falling as Anthony and Sören took off on the morning of Saturday, February second, where they'd be spending the weekend through Monday, February fourth, coming back on Tuesday the fifth and returning to work on Wednesday the sixth. Sören enjoyed the drive in the snow, watching the falling flakes and the world blanketed in white, cozy in the heated car, drinking a thermos of hot coffee.
They had gotten to sleep late last night, staying up to watch a movie together then making love, and they'd had an early start this morning, and despite the coffee they were both still tired, so after they brought their luggage and groceries inside, they changed back into pajamas and climbed into bed. After a few minutes Anthony got up, turned on the gas fireplace in the bedroom, and crawled back in bed beside Sören, snuggling closer to him, holding him tight, legs entwined.
"You're always pretty warm, though," Anthony said, giving Sören a kiss on the cheek. "My living blanket."
Sören smiled as he drifted off to sleep.
A few hours later Sören woke up and Anthony was still sleeping. He watched Anthony sleep for a little while, lashes framing his cheeks, short dark hair tousled, looking peaceful and innocent, the light of the fireplace making him even more beautiful. Snow was continuing to fall outside and Sören felt that cozy, safe feeling again, here in the little beach house with the fireplace going, tangled up together under a pile of warm covers. He wished he could stop time and just rest here for awhile, away from the cares of the world, the stresses of their respective jobs, just be.
Sören found himself petting Anthony's hair and after a few minutes of this Anthony stirred, stretching, smiling. He blinked his eyes open and there was such love in his green eyes when he looked at Sören that it brought tears to Sören's eyes, a lump in his throat, tight ache in his chest.
Sören rained kisses over Anthony's face, making him laugh, and when their mouths met, Sören's stomach growled. Anthony laughed harder.
"Sex can wait," Anthony said.
Sören narrowed his eyes.
"You run yourself into the ground every week," Anthony said, giving him a stern look. "You'll enjoy it more when you don't have low blood sugar."
Sören gave an exaggerated sigh and Anthony patted his head. "Someone needs to look out for you," Anthony said.
Though they'd brought some groceries, Sören made a face as he looked in the fridge and his stomach growled again, with everything needing time to cook. "You want to go for a walk to that cafe we like?" Anthony asked.
Sören nodded, and they got dressed and bundled up. A couple of minutes into the walk, Sören was glad that yet again, something imperfect had blossomed into a moment of spontaneous perfection. The sea air and crisp winter chill felt good on his flushed cheeks, and there was something lovely about walking in the snow together, arm in arm, and seeing Anthony look around taking it in, Sören knew he was appreciating the beauty around them too and that made Sören feel closer to him, giving Anthony a squeeze which was returned.
They ate outside at one of the al fresco tables, even though the snow was falling lightly. Sören noticed it was a lot less busy here than it was in the summer or even the fall, and he welcomed the quiet, snuggling into his coat as he smiled across from Anthony, who was playing footsie with him under the table.
"This is nice," Anthony said, looking out towards the sea.
Sören nodded. "It's a shame we only have a few days."
"This is honestly why I wanted to come here," Anthony said. "No hassle of travel, no time zone changes. Not many tourists." He gave a little smile. Then he looked out at sea again. "All I wanted for my birthday was to relax."
"That says a lot about how stressed out you've been."
Anthony nodded and sighed. "I never thought this life would be easy, when I was at university. I also didn't think it would be this difficult. I'm turning thirty-three in just a couple of days and I had a thought a little while ago, I'd like to live here when I retire. Who the hell at thirty-three is thinking about being old and retired? Clearly, someone who feels old. I need a break. I seriously, badly need a vacation that's longer than a few days, or even more than a week or two. And..." Anthony shrugged. "Someone has to do this job."
"I hear you." Sören nodded, thinking of his own job and how tired he was constantly, and yet... all those lives that needed saving.
"Yeah, you get it." Their eyes met. "It's terrible that we both get each other in this way - we're both fucking addicts to the adrenaline of our respective lines of work, trying to save the fucking world. Except probably most people on your operating table aren't shit human beings, and most of the people who walk through my door aren't good people."
"We both get it, yes." Sören nodded, feeling like he'd been punched, but it was the truth - he and his neurosurgeon colleagues were all adrenaline junkies. He reached across the table and stroked Anthony's hand. "I also get needing a vacation. And... living someplace like this upon retirement." Sören looked out at the sea. "It's so pretty here."
"I think I could live anywhere, so long as you were there with me." Anthony's voice was husky with emotion, and Sören felt that ache again, smiling at him. "But yes, when we're old..." Anthony chuckled. "I'd like to live seaside."
"I'd like that too. And I'll have more time for painting, then."
"I hope you brought your tablet with you this weekend, in case you get inspired."
"I did." Sören looked out at the sea again. "Actually, maybe we can stop by the house and get it, and sit at the beach for awhile?"
"I'd like that."
The snow was starting to die down, and had mostly stopped by the time Sören and Anthony returned to the beach house. In Sören's satchel, besides the tablet they packed a blanket to sit on, a blanket to cover up with if needed, and Anthony slipped in a copy of The Farthest Shore by Ursula K. LeGuin.
The shingle beach was snowy, and there was ice on the ocean. The late afternoon cast an old-gold haze in the air, and Sören was captivated, just sitting and looking around for awhile, taking it all in. But he did finally pick up his tablet and started to sketch - in his mind's eye he saw the two brother-lovers from his dreams, one dark one fair, walking along the shore together. It felt almost like a memory, not just something pretty to think about.
Trying to be so careful, lest there were prying eyes. Then at last the fair one stops and throws his arms around the dark one, holding him tight, sobbing. "Stay with me. Stay here. For good. Don't go back..."
"I have to go back. You know this."
"I never see you. I miss you so much..." A shuddery sigh. "I need you."
Sören put down his stylus and exhaled sharply, tears burning his eyes, feeling a gnawing ache. He could feel it, the echo from long ago and far away, the increasing distance between visits, the missing each other that bordered on obsession. Here and now, even though Sören and Anthony lived together, Sören's shifting schedule and long hours meant their time was precious. Already, there was a sense of loss on this little holiday, that too soon it would be over, that they'd be thrown headlong back into their jobs and the stress and would have to carve out time again...
Anthony seemed to sense the shift in Sören's mood. "You OK?"
Sören nodded. "Já."
Anthony quietly put down his book. He pulled up the blanket for huddling under, covered both of them, and leaned on Sören. Sören leaned on him, their heads together; Anthony took Sören's hand. They just sat like that, silent, watching the stark beauty of the snow-covered rocks, the icy sea, the steel blue overcast sky washing gold. It was a melancholy landscape today, but still beautiful, perhaps even the moreso, Sören thought, for its melancholy.
The sunset came. They got up, rolled up both blankets and packed them in the satchel with the book, and then they took each other's hands and began to walk along the water's edge to watch the sunset together, the silver-and-gold now darkening to blue with plumes of pink and orange. The sky became intensely pink, and then began to fade to lavender and peach. At the first touch of blue twilight, they went back to the beach house, the snow falling again.
The temperature had dropped enough that Sören, who usually ran hot, was shivering by the time they got in. "A hot shower might help warm us up," Anthony said, and started to undress. Sören followed him into the shower, and for the first couple of minutes they just clung to each other under the spray.
Feeling skin on skin, the weight and shape of Anthony's body on his, Sören's cock woke to life, and Anthony's cock stirred as well. They kissed as they slowly, deliberately lathered each other, hands rubbing in languid, sensual circles. Their cocks rubbed together as they rinsed under the spray together, holding each other again, kissing deeply, hungrily. They kissed and caressed their way to the bed, and fell on the bed together, then resumed kissing, holding each other, cock rubbing cock.
Anthony began kissing Sören's neck, then kissed down to his nipples, lapping them, suckling hard as his hands played over Sören's stomach and thighs, making Sören shiver and break out in gooseflesh. He kissed and licked down Sören's stomach and kissed and nibbled Sören's thighs, laughing softly as Sören writhed and howled, so exquisitely sensitive there it was going right to his cock, throbbing, aching. Anthony took Sören's cock into his mouth, sucking slowly, watching Sören gasp and sigh and tremble, and then he sucked harder, faster, gently cupping Sören's balls and rubbing them, fingers straying to that sensitive place between balls and ass. Already Sören felt himself right on that edge, but he wanted to please Anthony, too. This was his weekend, and more than that, Sören wanted to love him, take care of him, fuse with him in every way possible.
"Stop," Sören called out, and Anthony stopped. At the look of concern Anthony gave him, Sören patted him and chuckled. "I want to suck you, too."
They got in the sixty-nine position, laying on their sides. They held each other as they sucked, clinging, and that feeling of intimacy made it even hotter for Sören, safe together, safe enough to truly let go. Sören moaned with his mouth full, worshiping the beautiful cock in his mouth, honoring and adoring the beautiful man in his arms, feeling worshiped, honored, adored in turn. This was a soul-deep connection, and Sören knew Anthony could feel that too, Sören could feel it in his touch. But it was as carnal as it was spiritual, lust as strong as their love. Sören loved pleasing Anthony this way, making love to the long, thick, perfectly formed cock, hands wandering and exploring his body, feeling Anthony tremble, hearing the moans and sighs and little catches of breath. Sören loved losing control, hearing himself whimper around the cock in his mouth, undignified and not caring, only needing.
Sören came first, making a high-pitched wail, and Anthony came a few seconds later with a deeper groan. Sören swallowed all that he could and lapped up the rest, and then he and Anthony sat up together and kissed, fiercely, passionately, tasting their combined essence, letting those last embers smolder, a promise of more later.
Anthony lay down and pulled Sören into his chest, petting him, and Sören ended up falling asleep. When he woke up Anthony wasn't in bed, and Sören made a noise of protest at the cold, empty space next to him. Then he heard the toilet flush and Anthony peeked out. "Ah, you're awake."
They got back in pajamas and went to the living room. Anthony resumed reading while Sören sketched; they had a light dinner, and it started snowing again. Sören went outside for a few minutes to watch the snow and look up at the night sky, remembering when he was a small child and he and Dag used to say goodnight to the moon and stars. Anthony came behind him, wrapping his arms around Sören's waist, and Sören leaned back against him, melting into the closeness. After a stolen kiss, they decided to go in and make love again, slow and sweet. As Sören faded once more in the bliss of post-orgasmic afterglow, he thought that this had been a near-perfect day, and once again had that ache, wishing they could stay longer, just be.
In the morning on Sunday, Sören made breakfast, and they mutually decided to go on the Undercliff Walk. Once again Sören was enchanted by the frozen sea, and when they stopped to look at the tidepools, there was snow on the rocks and the sight of Anthony in his wool greatcoat, strolling out on the frosted rocks looking out at the icy sea made Sören ache, burning into his mind's eye to paint later.
He did just that when they got back at the beach house, feverishly working on his tablet as Anthony read. Sören found himself giving the piece a touch of magic, as often happened, merging the mental image of Anthony with the fair brother-lover of his dreams, where Anthony became even more regal, now wearing dark, somber robes instead of a greatcoat, a cape stirring in the breeze as he strode across the frozen tidepool. And though neither Anthony nor the fair one used anything like this, Sören drew Anthony with a gnarled walking stick... in Anthony's right hand, even though he was left-dominant. And though Sören struggled with titles for his paintings most of the time, the title for this one came to him right away: The Fisher King.
After a few hours Anthony took a break from reading, wanting a nap, and though Sören was in "the zone" creatively and normally had a hard time stepping away from it, he also had been feeling strangely sad working on the painting, not really understanding why, and the thought of feeling Anthony against him, holding him, was very appealing, somehow needing the assurance that he was there and he was OK. Sören climbed under the covers with him, pet Anthony to sleep, and just watched him for awhile, feeling strangely protective of him, feeling a tight ache in his chest before sleep claimed him as well.
They woke up to the howling wind; the snow was really coming down. Sören got started on dinner and while it cooked he joined Anthony at the storm window where there was a little ledge to sit on, and they watched the snow together. Anthony leaned on him and Sören pet his hair, massaged his scalp. Anthony made little contented noises and then a few minutes later he did the same for Sören, pulling him close, rubbing Sören's curls, fingers stroking Sören's scalp, relaxing and arousing him all at once.
Sören was worked up during dinner, but he kept his impulse to drag Anthony off in check because among the groceries they had brought with them, Sören had bought ingredients to make a birthday cake, and he wanted to bake that tonight. Sören got started on making the cake after dinner, and Anthony tried to read but his curiosity got the better of him and he hovered in the kitchen. He stole a spoonful of cake batter and Sören gave him a look, though he was amused rather than annoyed.
"What?" Anthony asked, sucking the spoon. "Taste testing the product here."
"It's not even done."
"So?" Anthony grinned at him.
Sören pretended to be horrified as he poured the cake batter into a pan. Then he gave Anthony the bowl, with the leavings of cake batter, and a spoon. Sören put the cake in the oven and sat back down with his tablet, and ended up having a gigglefit watching Anthony eat cake batter out of the bowl in his pajamas like an overgrown child. It was even funnier to him knowing Anthony was this suave professional.
"If your colleagues and clients could see you now," Sören said.
Anthony turned beetroot. "A good thing they can't."
Sören reached for his cell phone and snapped a candid photo. Anthony gave him a death glare and Sören took a picture of that, too, then howled at the ultra-serious expression on Anthony's face - though his eyes were laughing - as he clutched the bowl of cake batter. "My preciousssssss," Sören said in a Gollum voice. "My cakeses, precious."
"You had better not show that to anyone?"
"Who am I going to show that to? It's not like I have friends." The words came out before Sören could stop himself, and he immediately felt self-conscious about it, like there was something wrong with him compared to everyone else. And he felt the bitter sting of it - he wished he had friends. But with his schedule he barely had energy for a partner, and friendship had never come easily to Sören anyway, a bullied outcast loner growing up.
Anthony frowned a little, and Sören immediately tried to lighten the mood. "Friendses, precious, we don't needs them."
"I would have thought you'd consider my friends your friends." Anthony sounded somewhat hurt.
Sören tried to keep the confusion off his face. For all that Anthony was observant, unnervingly so, he was painfully obtuse on this subject, after months of Sören being awkward and uncomfortable around his friends. Sören didn't understand why Anthony didn't get it, but he decided the night before Anthony's birthday was not the time to try to pick a fight with him about it.
Anthony got up and quietly did dishes, and Sören sat there feeling stung, even though they hadn't quite had any sort of confrontation or heated exchange. Sören felt ice in the pit of his stomach, wishing there was something he could say or do, but he wasn't going to lie to Anthony and say he liked Anthony's crowd to make him feel better, and Anthony would know he was lying anyway.
When the dishwasher was running Anthony sat back on the couch and resumed reading. Sören's stomach did flip-flops, wanting to defuse the tension but not sure how. He decided he needed some air, and quietly got up, pulled on his trenchcoat and boots, and stepped outside, breath steaming in the crisp wind, snowflakes swirling around him. A few minutes later Anthony joined him, and they just stood there side by side, in the wind and the snow. Sören finally reached out and took Anthony's hand, and Anthony squeezed.
"I love you, you know," Sören told him.
"I know. I love you." Anthony traced little circles on Sören's wrist.
"And you're my best friend." Sören turned to him and their eyes met.
"You are too." Anthony gave him a hug.
The issue hadn't totally gone away, but they would let it rest for now. Anthony followed Sören inside, and when Sören hung up his coat, Anthony said, "You've got snow on your face." With that, he kissed Sören's brow, his cheeks, his eyes, and the tip of his nose. Sören giggled and wrapped his arms around Anthony, who nuzzled Sören's beard.
Sören joined him on the couch and leaned on him, zoning out as Anthony read, until the timer for the oven went off. Anthony hovered as Sören pulled the cake out of the oven. "It's too hot, and I have to frost it, anyway," Sören said, swatting him with a dishtowel.
Anthony stuck his tongue out, then he picked off a tiny crumb and ate it, running away as Sören chased him with the dishtowel.
They snuggled together on the couch as the cake cooled, and finally Sören got up to frost the lemon cake with a coconut buttercream frosting. He and Anthony ended up licking the frosting, and then Anthony began to tug on the tail of Sören's pajama shirt like an overenthusiastic kid. "Caaaaaaaake."
Sören gigglesnorted. "It's still only the third. You can have your cake at midnight."
"Caaaaaaaaaaake." Anthony pouted, making Sören laugh harder, and he laughed too.
"No cake yet."
There was an Indiana Jones movie marathon on, and every now and again Anthony tugged on Sören and said "Caaaaaaaaaaake", and Sören laughed and patted him on the head. A little past eleven Anthony seemed to doze off, but then at 11:59 his eyes opened and he said "CAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAKE" and Sören doubled over, wheezing.
"Goddammit Anthony..."
Sören stuck tiny birthday candles in the cake - they were the trick candles that would keep relighting - and he dimmed the lights and sang
Hann á afmæli í dag
Hann á afmæli í dag
Hann á afmæli hann Anthony
Hann á afmæli í dag
Anthony beamed, his eyes soft at the sound of Sören singing to him in Icelandic. He leaned in and blew out the candles, and scowled as they relit.
When the candles were finally vanquished, Anthony informed Sören, "You are a little shit."
"Takk."
Sören cut them each a piece of cake and they settled back on the couch and fed each other forkfuls of cake. Anthony sucking on the fork, eyes locked with Sören's, made Sören's mind go right to the gutter, thinking of him sucking something else, and as soon as they finished their pieces of cake Sören yanked him up from the couch and hurried him off to the bed.
Once they were naked, Sören pushed Anthony onto his back and kissed and licked him all over, then sucked him, slowly at first, then hungrily, working his tongue as he sucked, holding Anthony's hips as Anthony grabbed Sören's head and arched to him, moaning, panting, trembling. When Anthony came in Sören's mouth with a cry, Sören felt a sense of victory.
Sören was also rock hard, turned on by pleasing Anthony this way, and he was glad when Anthony returned the favor, sucking fast and hard, devouring him. Of course Anthony had to tease, licking inside him for awhile as Sören writhed and whimpered and begged for release. When he focused on Sören's cock again he spent time just licking it, chasing the precum that flowed, and Sören saw him reaching down and knew he was touching himself. Sören shivered, cock throbbing, going out of his mind with lust at that, loving that Anthony was enjoying this as much as he was. Anthony licked Sören's cock until Sören was making high-pitched inhuman noises in between growling, swearing in Icelandic, and when Anthony at last took Sören back in his mouth Sören was quickly undone, giving a fierce, wild howl as he climaxed. Anthony swallowed it down with a "mmmmmmmmmm", and licked Sören clean, his tongue giving Sören delicious little aftershocks until Sören gasped and ground out, "Too sensitive."
Anthony came up to kiss him, and Sören moaned as he tasted himself. As they kissed, Anthony rubbed his hard cock against Sören's thigh, letting him know he was ready for another round. When Anthony began kissing and licking Sören's neck, Sören's cock hardened again, also ready for more. Sören cupped Anthony's chin in his hand and traced the generous mouth with his thumb, until Anthony kissed Sören's thumb and sucked on it, making Sören giggle, then shiver at the heat in those green eyes. "What does my birthday boy want?" Sören husked.
"Yes," Anthony said, and sucked Sören's thumb some more.
Sören laughed and kissed the tip of his nose. "Well, I can't do everything at once, so... pick something."
Anthony thought for a minute and then he leaned in and started kissing and licking Sören's neck, sending chills through him that went straight to his cock. Sören moaned, and then louder when wandering fingers brushed a nipple and began rubbing it, coaxing it to hardness. "I want you to fuck me," Anthony whispered, before nibbling at Sören's neck, making him moan again. "I want you to pound me into next week."
Sören's cock throbbed. With a growl, he rolled Anthony onto his back and reached for the lube. "I can do that, baby brother." He claimed Anthony's mouth roughly, cock twinging again as he heard Anthony moan into the kiss. Sören pushed slick fingers into him, readying him as they kissed and kissed, hard cocks rubbing together. At last Sören anointed his own cock, and guided it to Anthony's passage.
That first moment of union was always incredibly sweet, the way they gasped together and looked into each other's eyes, overcome by the feeling of being totally fused. Sören leaned in, took his hands and kissed him hard as he thrust slowly, and then Anthony let go of Sören's hands and wrapped his arms around him. He started kissing Sören's neck again, and Sören heard himself moaning, grunting as the feeling of Anthony's lips and tongue on his sensitive neck and Anthony's slick heat around his cock sent pleasure coursing through him.
And then Anthony grabbed Sören's chin, made Sören look him in the eyes. "I said," he ground out, "fuck me." There was a wicked look in those green eyes that sent a frisson down Sören's spine.
Sören loved it when he got demanding like this, and gave in, nipping Anthony's throat with a growl as he began to drive into him, harder and harder. Anthony dug his nails into Sören's back and rocked his hips back at him, giving as good as he got. Sören fought off his orgasm, but it got increasingly difficult with every moan, every growl, the slap of their flesh competing with the sound of their voices. Sören loved that desperate, pleading look on Anthony's face, completely lost, looking as lost in passion as Sören felt, overcome by sensation and emotion, the need to mate, to claim and be claimed, take and be taken, loving with every inch of their bodies.
Anthony got louder as Sören fucked, and when his moans got longer and he was almost sobbing, Sören knew he was close. Sören kissed his neck, his throat, kissed down to a nipple, as he played with the hard, dripping cock that looked so delicious Sören wished he could suck and fuck at the same time. "Does my little brother want to come?"
"Oh god." That telltale hitch of breath, the shudder as Anthony's nails raked Sören's back.
"Mmmmm, I can't wait to come deep inside you, little brother, but you need to come for me first." Sören suckled, and his thumb rubbed the nipple in teasing circles as he kissed back up Anthony's neck. He went in for the kill. "Komdu, litli bróðir. Sýna stóra bróður sem á þennan rass..."
"Sören!" There it was. Anthony let out a shuddery sigh and Sören groaned as he felt Anthony spill over him. "Sören. Oh god. Sören. Sören..."
Three hard thrusts and Sören came with a deep, savage growl, biting Anthony's shoulder, shaking and gasping as he spent and spent and spent.
And yet, they weren't done. They kissed, and one kiss became another and another, their cocks hardening up again. "Please," Anthony whispered, kissing Sören's neck. "Another."
"Anything for my little brother on his birthday." Not that Sören ever minded fucking him any other time, but he knew what had an effect on him, and smiled as Anthony groaned, rolling his hips. Then Sören let out a cry as he began to hammer into him again, feeling even more luscious than before.
"I hope you weren't planning on sleeping tonight." Anthony nipped Sören's lower lip.
Sören giggled and gave him a little kiss, then growled and kissed him back harder, slamming into him harder, faster. "I hope you weren't planning on walking tomorrow."
It was close to eleven AM when Sören woke up, and he winced as he stretched, then he smiled, feeling deliciously sore, knowing exactly why he was that sore. He'd gotten quite a workout last night, fucking Anthony for hours, to climax after climax.
He roused Anthony awake with little kisses, and then he restrained a smile as Anthony sat up and made a face. He couldn't help laughing as Anthony walked gingerly to the bathroom, though he did have some empathy, having been on the receiving end of that same predicament many times over.
Sören went out to the kitchen, not caring that he was naked, and cut them each a piece of cake. When Anthony came out of the bathroom Sören was waiting for him in bed with cake. Anthony tried to run over like an excited big kid, then stopped and slowed down, and Sören snorted.
"I almost feel like I should apologize," Sören said as Anthony got in bed, "but I'm not sorry."
"Hi Not Sorry."
Sören narrowed his eyes and Anthony grinned. "Would you like to wear this cake?" Sören asked, though he was amused rather than angry.
Anthony batted his lashes. "I'd normally say yes, but we know where that would lead and you might end up killing me..."
"Same here." Sören laughed. "God..."
"You." Anthony kissed the tip of Sören's nose. "Were fucking awesome." He kissed Sören, and then he fed Sören a forkful of cake. They kissed again with cake in their mouths and Sören would have been aroused again if he wasn't so exhausted and spent from last night.
"I love you, elskan." Sören fed him a forkful of cake. "Very much."
Anthony kissed Sören's engagement ring. "My big brother takes good care of me."
"Jæja, my little brother takes good care of me, too." Sören tousled Anthony's hair.
After their cake, Sören was fully expecting Anthony to just want to stay there at the beach house and do nothing, maybe a walk to the beach at best, but Anthony surprised him by asking if they could go to the Royal Pavilion. That was what they did, though Anthony did have to walk a bit more slowly than usual.
Sören loved the Royal Pavilion, even as he was horrified by how much the King had spent on it back then, and the riches of the royal family in general when there were so many in Britain who were struggling, going hungry. But the usual bitter pang he felt was softened by the enchantment of the palace in wintertime - a good amount of snow had fallen last night and the palace looked like something out of a fairy tale in the sparkling snow. Sören snapped photos with his cell phone, including selfies of himself and Anthony. Then he took some more time to marvel as they walked around the palace, and through the frozen gardens.
They stopped for a hot chocolate at a cafe in the shops near the palace, and then one particular shop caught Sören's eye, and he tugged on Anthony's sleeve. "They sell outdoor sporting goods," Sören said. "Like sleds. I haven't been sledding since I was a kid. Maybe we could go sledding sometime."
"Maybe we could go sledding today."
"Are you sure?" Sören didn't want to exacerbate the soreness.
Anthony nodded. "It would be fun."
They bought an adult-sized sled and two inner tubes, and headed to Stanmer Park. There were small children there this Monday morning, some playing with parents, some playing by themselves as parents hovered in the distance. Sören snickered as they pushed the sled uphill, loaded with the two inner tubes, seeing that they were the only adults not accompanied by children who were going to play in the snow. Anthony grinned at him, noticing it too.
They unloaded the inner tubes, and got in the sled together. Sören screamed as they coasted downhill, and laughed as the sled crashed to a stop in a snowbank at the bottom, throwing him out into the snow. They went back up and sailed down again, and then they each took an inner tube down the slope, laughing like madmen as the tubes spun wildly. They did another round with the inner tubes, then back down with the sled, and then one last drop with the inner tubes.
They rested at the bottom of the hill, and then Sören decided he wanted to build a snowman. They sat down in the snow together, and began packing snow. As Sören fashioned a crude snowman, Anthony arranged the snow more artfully, which made Sören raise an eyebrow as normally he was the artistic one. The snow took shape, like a bird, and as Anthony made the arched neck he explained, "It's a swan." He gestured to the snowman. "He needs friends."
"So... swan friends."
"I really like swans, OK?"
Sören couldn't help laughing at this - it tickled him just the right way. "That's so refined for Mr. Snowman here."
"Well, maybe he's a gentleman snowman."
Sören had to do what he did next, shaping an oversized, exaggerated penis out of snow and sticking it on the snowman. Anthony doubled over, wheezing. He tried to give Sören a stern look and failed.
"Yes, so noble, Mr. Snowman here," Sören said. "HONK HONK, YOU WANT SOME FUCK?"
Anthony fell over in the snow, and Sören beamed, proud of himself.
"Sören, that's terrible even for you."
"Takk."
"Also, children might see that."
"Oh." There weren't many kids over here, compared to the top of the hill; Sören had forgotten there were kids in the park at all. Sören quickly took off his scarf and threw it over the snowman's penis, which made it even worse and Anthony had a fit of laughter all over again.
Then Anthony rolled a snowball and threw it at Sören. "Terrible."
Sören rolled a snowball and threw it at Anthony, who dodged. "Fuck."
They got into a snowball fight, sometimes hitting each other, sometimes missing, and then one of Sören's snowballs knocked the penis off the snowman instead of hitting Anthony and they lost it again, rolling around in the snow together.
Back at the beach house, Sören worked on making dinner, steak and roasted fingerling potatoes and mushrooms. Anthony dozed off on the couch, and Sören thought that was just as well, as he'd wanted to surprise Anthony at least a little. He turned on the gas fireplace in the bedroom and set up bedding in front of the fireplace. When dinner was ready he woke up Anthony by rubbing his feet, and led him to the bedroom where it was waiting.
"Awww, this is romantic." Anthony leaned on Sören's shoulder and nuzzled his beard.
"I'm glad you approve."
"Hi Glad You Approve -"
"You know..."
"I know." Anthony grinned and kissed Sören's nose.
There was wine with dinner, and they ate and drank slowly, basking in the warm glow of the fireplace and the quiet joy of being together, having a quiet evening away from the world. After dinner there was more cake, and after Sören brought the dishes out to the kitchen he came back and they just curled up together, watching the fire.
"I really wish we didn't have to go back tomorrow," Anthony said, frowning.
"Me too. But we do."
"Yeah." Anthony sighed. "We do." He turned to Sören. "At least we made the most of it while we could."
They kissed and Sören said, "Night's not over yet."
"No." They kissed again. "No it's not."
They undressed each other, and lay down together in front of the fire. For a few minutes they just lay there, naked, looking into each other's eyes, touching, no need for words, letting their hands and eyes speak for them.
At last they began kissing, holding each other close, cock rubbing cock as they kissed. They made love just like that, rubbing their cocks together, kissing, hands exploring, caressing each other's bodies, stroking each other's hair and faces, eyes meeting between kisses, lost in the look of love in each other's eyes, lost in the dreamy haze of sensuality, the powerful connection between them. This was, to Sören, as intimate as being inside each other, if not moreso. They teased their way to orgasm, rubbing slowly, then a little harder and faster, until they were grinding on each other feverishly, panting, gasping, trembling, sweat dripping down each other's bodies, cocks fully slick with precum, but still needing to savor, still needing to feel each other this way. It didn't matter that it was taking hours, bringing the tension to a breaking point so they were almost sobbing as they got closer... if anything, Sören knew the release would be all the more delicious for building so long.
And when they climaxed, one was all they needed, intense and powerful as anything they'd ever experienced, pleasure so good it made Sören cry. They clung to each other, kissing deeply, and when they pulled apart and their eyes met once more Sören cried harder, loving him so much it hurt. He felt like he was burning like the fire in the hearth, the phoenix inked onto his back, aglow with radiant bliss.
"My spirit of fire," Anthony said, as if he knew what Sören was feeling. He put a hand on Sören's heart. "You are my light."
They nuzzled and kissed some more, and Anthony said, finally, "Thank you."
"Thank you."
Anthony laughed softly. "That was one of the best orgasms I've ever had." He looked into Sören's eyes, touched his face. "You are the best I've had. Period. End of story."
"Same here." They kissed again.
"The best. And the last." Anthony smiled. "You've completely ruined me for anyone else, you know."
Sören thought of the occasional cravings he had for women, and older men, but pushed that thought away. He could go without to be with this man he loved. His best friend. His playmate. His soulmate.
As they held each other and rocked together, Sören burned the memory of this night into his heart, tears in his eyes again. And in the early morning while Anthony was still sleeping, Sören sat with his tablet and painted, wanting to preserve the memory of them making love in front of the fireplace, side by side, cock to cock, looking adoringly into each other's eyes, bathed in the golden glow of the firelight, and what felt like a glow from within, their feelings for each other even stronger than they had been a year ago. Sören had painted two other erotic pictures of them, but he felt like this one was his magnum opus, wanting the love and the light of their bond to shine through with every stroke of the stylus.
chapter 32 | return to Learning To Fly | return to Other Tolkien Fic | return to index