"All clear," Sören called out.
The doctors and nurses stepped aside as Sören pressed the defibrillator pads to his patient's chest and gave a charge. Come on. Come on, you fucker, LIVE.
The patient, a fifty-two-year-old man - a husband, a father, a grandfather - had a malignant brain tumor and would die if nothing was done. But everyone knew going in that the surgery was risky, and yet, this was precisely why Sören had gone into this field. "Never tell me the odds," Sören had said before he scrubbed in; he'd performed miracles before. He was not so overconfident to be cavalier and foolish, but when patients put their lives in his hands Sören intended to keep them alive, and countless times now he had given someone their life back, done the impossible.
Tonight, he was fighting a losing battle. "Come on," Sören yelled through clenched teeth as he watched the heart monitor, the flatlining brain scan. "Come on you motherfuck, come fucking ON, deyrðu ekki á mig, þorirðu ekki."
Then the long, loud beep. Colin took the patient's pulse and shook his head, eyes locked with Sören's over the surgical mask.
Sören took a deep breath, looked at the clock, and called it, feeling the crushing weight of defeat, every syllable a blow. "Time of death, thirteen hours and twenty-four minutes."
He took off his mask, washed his hands, and stomped out of the operating room.
He stopped in the bathroom first, to try to pull himself together enough to tell the man's wife. What he felt wasn't guilt, that he had done something wrong. What he felt was shame, that he was what was wrong. He knew logically it wasn't his fault - it was the tumor's fault, and he and his team had done the best they could. And yet.
And yet.
He had lost a patient exactly twice before. Once when he was an intern, losing a patient who looked a great deal like his mother, which almost broke him, making him wrestle with suicidal thoughts for days. He had managed to push through it and keep going, but it wasn't necessarily any easier the second time, in 2009. And that had been another low point, months after meeting a lovely Englishwoman visiting Reykjavik who ghosted him... months before his sister's murder in 2010, and then being roofied and raped at a club.
He kept reminding himself of all the lives he did save.
And yet. Tonight, with the third death in his career, it was three too many. Three times he'd failed. Even when it wasn't his fault, Sören still felt like it was his fault. That was the way of playing god in the operating theatre.
Like the previous time he'd lost a patient, he started to feel that sense of detachment, dissociation, like part of him was shutting down and going elsewhere for awhile. He made it out of the bathroom and to where the man's wife was waiting, and he gave her the speech, trying to keep calm and convey sympathy empathy for the woman's loss, regret at what had happened, without making it sound like it was his fault, without opening himself and the hospital up to blame and scrutiny. There would be an investigation anyway, there always was; it would be brought up at the weekly staff meeting. But for now, Sören tried to placate her without implicating himself, not because he didn't feel responsible but because giving her the false impression there had been incompetence would be upsetting to her and put everyone through a needless round of drama. The woman cried, which was expected, but she didn't take it out on him, which was almost a relief.
Almost. Sören was too numb to feel anything like relief.
After he talked to the patient's wife he climbed the stairwell to the rooftop, under the grey April sky after the rains, taking a puff on his inhaler, breathing in the scent of petrichor. He looked down over Holborn, watching cars drive down streets, people walk along sidewalks like little specks, watching people go in and out of buildings. Thinking about all the lives he'd saved over the years, and the lives that they, in turn, had saved or otherwise impacted in some way, all connected, like each person was a nerve or a neuron in one universal mind.
And now, thinking about the lives he'd lost, and how that, too, impacted the world. What had been lost, when those sparks of life died... where the darkness had swallowed the light.
"Sigurðsson, go home." Ed's voice was behind him.
"I still have another four hours on -"
"Sören. Sigurðsson. Go. Fucking. Home." Ed walked to stand beside him, and then faced him, arms folded.
Sören gave a shuddery sigh. Ed knew he wasn't OK - the staff didn't collectively lose patients often, or the National would have been shut down ages ago - but Ed had seen enough to know a doctor who lost a patient needed some time, no matter how hard they tried to put on a brave face.
"If you need tomorrow off, take tomorrow off, too. I'd rather have you stay home than come in if you're spooked. But you will come in, either tomorrow, or the next day, because we need you. Don't let what happened today fool you otherwise. You did your best. You are one of our best." Their eyes met. "I'd like to see you as consultant someday -"
"Doing what you do."
"Aye, doing what I do." Ed nodded. He patted Sören's shoulder. "It will be awhile before you get here, but... you'll get here. Right now, though - get your arse home."
Sören took the Tube home, still feeling that detached, out-of-body feeling where he was aware he was on the Tube, going to Kingston, and yet he was also somewhere else, floating above and away from it all. The rain was starting up again as he walked from the station to their flat, and he was drenched by the time he got up the stairwell.
He immediately stripped and got in the shower, both to decontaminate from the germs of his job and the outside world, and to try to come back to himself, to get out of the floaty, surreal place he was in. But even with the water as hot as he could stand it, he still felt ungrounded when he got out of the shower, and when he looked at himself in the mirror his eyes seemed faraway.
"Fuck."
Sören toweled off, put on a T-shirt and pajama bottoms, and crawled into bed. He found himself reaching for Finn and Tony, pulling them into bed with him, hugging them tight. He lay there awake for a bit, just staring, and then the exhaustion settled in - not just from the hours he worked, but the feeling of utter defeat, the need to just shut down and go elsewhere for awhile, even as it was a crapshoot whether his dreams would be pleasant or turn into nightmares. He was willing to take that chance to get out of the nightmare he was in now. I failed. I failed. Someone died on my table. I failed.
Sören took a few deep breaths, trying to fight off the hysteria, trying to come back at his brain noise with logic. You did everything that could be done. He could have, would have, died anyway with someone else working on him. The tumor was that bad.
And there it was again. I still failed.
Sören closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked at the clock - Anthony was scheduled to pick him up at the National at six, and Sören thought he should shoot Anthony a text message and let him know he was at home. But that meant having to get out of bed and walk across the room to the dresser where his cell phone was on its charger, and even that felt like a herculean effort right now, beyond his capabilities. Besides, my nap won't be long, just an hour or so.
He pulled Finn and Tony closer, and closed his eyes. He went to his happy place, where he and Anthony lived by the sea, by the forest, and had a dog and a couple of cats. He thought about walking with Anthony along the shore, hiking through the woods with him, watching a sunset, making love on the beach. Cuddling together at home with purring cats.
With a little sigh, Sören fell asleep.
"Sören, wake up."
Anthony was sitting on the edge of the bed, his face stern.
Sören blinked with disbelief, and mumbled, "What time is it?" even though there was a clock right on the bedtable next to him. When Sören looked at the time - quarter to seven PM - he made a noise. "Oh, shit. I was gonna text you..."
"Yeah." Anthony narrowed his eyes. "Do you realize how worried I was? Running around the National like a madman, trying to find out what happened to you?"
"Did they... did they tell you?"
Anthony shook his head. "The only people on from your shift were in surgery and I wasn't going to interrupt them -"
"Right, so." Sören exhaled sharply. "I'm really sorry I... didn't text you. I was going to tell you not to come, that I was already at home, and I..." Sören winced, and covered his face with his hands, not wanting to break down in front of Anthony. Great. I fail communicating like an adult, too.
But then Anthony's hands were on his, pulling Sören's hands away from his face, and all annoyance was gone from Anthony's face - now there was concern in his eyes, compassion. He reached out to stroke Sören's cheek. "Sören. Love. What happened?"
"I lost a patient on the table." Sören closed his eyes.
"I'm sorry -"
Sören opened his eyes and felt an irrational flare of anger, not wanting to be pitied. Not wanting to be excused of his failure. "Don't you feel sorry for me, Anthony Hewlett-Johnson."
Anthony sighed, and Sören realized he'd snapped at Anthony when Anthony was just trying to be supportive of his partner. Sören reached out and took Anthony's hand and squeezed. "I don't mean to be so harsh," Sören said. "I just..." He looked away, unshed tears burning his eyes. "I'm not in a good place right now."
"I think I'd got there."
A long silence hung between them, and then Anthony took Sören's hand in his, began stroking it with his thumb, tracing lazy circles on Sören's wrist. "Forgive me for asking this, I know it's going to sound insensitive, and I want to assure you that I know you would never be intentionally negligent, but... do you think you're going to need a lawyer?" Their eyes met. "I can't represent you myself, I can't be objective, but I can help with finding -"
Sören vehemently shook his head. "I'm pretty sure I'm not going to be sued for malpractice, if that's what you're asking." Sören took a deep breath; he didn't want to talk about the whats and wherefores, but it was clear Anthony was in barrister mode again so it was forcing the issue. "Fifty-two-year-old man with an aggressive malignant tumor. He started getting treatment for his cancer too late, you see, he didn't want to go in to a doctor when he had headaches and... anyway. He was considered a high-risk surgery - he absolutely would die if we didn't do anything, but his chances of surviving the operation weren't optimal. They weren't zero, but... yeah. He had the odds discussed with him, we all knew and... well..." Sören gestured to himself. "I've fought the odds and won before. But the tumor was... well, it wasn't pretty, and he just... he just went." Sören closed his eyes, reliving the moment when the cardiac arrest started, the warning beeps on the monitor. He would never forget that sound. He remembered the jump with the defibrillator...
"So you did everything you could, and..."
Sören nodded.
Anthony pulled Sören into his arms. He rubbed his nose in Sören's short curls and kissed the top of his head. "I wish I knew what to say. I know you don't want me to say sorry..."
"Yeah. I..." Sören sighed and patted him. "It's all right."
Anthony held him and rocked him for a few minutes and then he said, "Have you eaten anything?"
Sören shook his head.
"Shall I go and get something? What would you like?"
"I don't know," Sören said, with a resigned half-shrug. "Not really hungry, haven't really thought about it."
"Well, you need to eat something."
Sören gave another shrug.
Anthony sighed. Sören sighed too. Anthony resumed rocking him, and in the safe shield wall of Anthony's chest and arms, Sören found comfort, hearing his breathing slow down, feeling the tension melt out of his upper back. At last Anthony gently pushed Sören back against the pillows, put Tony and Finn back in his arms, and pulled the blankets up around him, planting a kiss on his brow. "I'll be back in a bit with food."
Sören closed his eyes. He thought that Anthony would go out to get takeaway, but then he heard sounds in the kitchen. Anthony didn't normally cook so he wondered what was going on, but he was floaty and disoriented enough to not wonder too much, mostly just not thinking.
Then Sören heard Anthony come back in the bedroom. His jacket and tie had been stripped off, though he was still in his dress shirt and trousers. Anthony was carrying a tray, with two plates of grilled cheese sandwiches, and two bowls of tomato soup. Sören managed a weak smile as he sat up, and Anthony gingerly set the tray down and sat next to Sören in the bed.
"You know grilled cheese is my favorite," Sören said.
"I do." Anthony skritched Sören's chin like he was a cat, and Sören's smile got a little bigger and he gave Anthony a kiss on the cheek.
They ate in companionable silence, leaning on each other. Sören was once again touched by the gesture - it was nothing fancy, but it was his comfort food, and meant more than if Anthony had gone to get takeaway. Sören was once again awed and humbled by how much Anthony loved him, and took care of him. Sören would have never guessed when they first met that day in November 2011, that the suave, posh, confident barrister had such a soft touch, even more impressive after Sören had heard of Anthony's reputation; here at home the Shark was downright kittenish, and Sören felt honored to be in the klieg light of his love.
When they were done eating, Sören gave him another kiss on the cheek and said, "You cooked, so let me do dishes."
Anthony shook his head. "I'll do them. I'm taking care of you tonight."
Sören felt a little guilty, not wanting to overburden Anthony - he needed to rest and relax too - but he also knew better than to argue with him about it. "Hi Taking Care Of You Tonight -"
Anthony gave an exaggerated groan as he took the tray back to the kitchen.
Sören stretched out again, half-dozing to the sound of the sink running in the kitchen. When Anthony came back, Sören watched him unbutton his shirt, and admired Anthony's body once the shirt came off. Sören felt too soul-drained to think about sex right now, but that didn't stop him from looking at Anthony, whose cheeks turned pink as he watched Sören watching him. Anthony bit his lower lip, which Sören found adorable and incredibly sexy, and cursed his mood putting a damper on his libido.
Anthony undid his belt. "Would you like a bubble bath?"
"Oh... OK." Even though Sören had showered earlier, the bath would be relaxing.
Anthony nodded, and walked off to the bathroom. Sören heard the tub running, and Anthony came back in the bedroom and took off his trousers, then his boxer-briefs. When Anthony was naked, Sören stripped out of his T-shirt and pajama bottoms, and Sören felt that little flutter when he heard Anthony's breath hitch, watched Anthony's cock rise at the sight of him naked. Sören sighed, wishing he didn't feel so awful, and then Anthony took his hand and pulled him along to the bathtub.
The bubble bath smelled like lavender, and Sören smiled at the scent as he made his way to the tub. Anthony had also lit candles, though Sören suspected it was more to create a peaceful ambiance than to be seductive. In a decidedly non-sexy move, Anthony grabbed a tube of face mask out of the medicine cabinet and applied it to his face, looking ridiculous, making Sören giggle, and then he rubbed it on Sören's face, making Sören laugh harder. Then Anthony stepped into the tub and reached out for Sören's hand, and they got into position. Usually when they took baths together they faced each other, legs braiding in the tub, but this time Sören sat with his back against Anthony's chest, and Anthony held him, started rocking him again.
Sören realized as Anthony rocked him that the face mask wasn't just for Anthony's skincare regime and vanity, but it felt cooling and soothing, which he needed right now. "Mmmmf," Sören murmured, leaning back, getting closer. "Feels nice."
"That's what I'd hoped." Anthony nuzzled Sören's cheek, arms tightening around him.
"You're so good to me."
"I try. You deserve it."
Sören tilted his face and they rubbed noses - Sören giggled again at the face mask on Anthony, wishing he could take a picture of the two of them looking silly like this. But then he supposed it was just as well, yeah here's a picture of the day I lost a patient on the operating table.
Sören sighed, not wanting to think about it again.
Anthony seemed to just know. "Shhhhh, sweetheart. You're home now. You're safe."
Anthony continued rocking him, and Sören rested in the heat of the bubbles and the scent of the lavender and the cool, tingly face mask and the glow of the candles and the strength of Anthony's arms, the feel of Anthony's breath on his neck and shoulder. Time seemed to stop.
And then they had prune skin, and had to get out of the tub. Anthony scrubbed off Sören's face mask, then his own, and after they toweled off, Anthony blew out the candles and they walked to the bedroom. Anthony turned down the covers and patted for Sören to get in.
Once Sören was in the bed, Anthony gently rolled him onto his stomach and began massaging Sören's shoulders, kneading and rubbing in firm circles. Sören sighed as the tension melted out of him, and then he felt Anthony's cock against the crack of his ass and he said, "Oh god, Anthony, don't take this the wrong way, but I can't tonight -"
"I know," Anthony said, patting him. "I'm just rubbing your back to try to make you feel better, I'm not expecting..."
"OK." Sören felt a pang of guilt. "I'm really sorry, I -"
"You don't need to apologize." Anthony squeezed his shoulders and then continued rubbing. "I love you. I told you, I want to take care of you tonight. It's OK to just rest."
Tears stung Sören's eyes again, wanting to shake Anthony and scream at him how can you be this wonderful to me, I'm a fucking failure. But he didn't. He was too exhausted to do anything but lay there, and let the magic of Anthony's touch take him to a better place for awhile.
Anthony's touch was too good and Sören relaxed enough that the biggest tension of all, the wall around his heart, came undone and Sören found himself weeping, even though he hadn't wanted to fall apart over this, not wanting to make Anthony sad, and not wanting to give into the pain, the raw grief of losing a patient. Hot shame burned Sören's face, his mind's eye once again replaying every detail of the surgery, those fraught moments of the beeping heart monitor, the charge with the defib pads, the flatlining brain scan.
I failed. I'm a failure. I failed. And then Sören was saying it aloud, like a mantra of madness. "I failed. I failed. I'm a failure. I failed -"
"Sören, no." There was warmth in Anthony's voice, compassion, but it was also firm, stern. Anthony came around and cupped Sören's face, made him look up, look him in the eye. "It wasn't your fault."
"He put his life in my hands and he died -"
"Sören. Do you remember when we first met, when I was asking you about Rafferty? The man you reported for appearing drunk, too impaired to perform surgery, and someone ended up dying because of it?"
"I'm surprised you remember..." And Sören immediately felt sheepish for saying it. Of course Anthony would remember that.
But Anthony wasn't offended. He went on, not missing a beat. "You are not like him. I know you, I know how careful you are, your attention to detail, your compassion for every person under your knife. I know you did everything you could, and it's like you said, he had an aggressive, malignant tumor, the rates for his surviving the operation weren't good. He still consented on the small chance that maybe the operation would be successful. You did your best."
"I did my best and someone died."
"He would have died anyway, whether it was you or someone else."
"Do you know that for a fact? Maybe a better surgeon could have -"
"Maybe the job was given to you because you are one of the better surgeons, Sören, you've performed miracles before."
"Not this time."
"No, but maybe next time. The problem with blaming yourself, beating yourself up, is that you know you need to have a certain amount of confidence to keep doing this job, and this is the confidence killer. I'm not a doctor, but it's something very similar for me when I take a case. Sometimes I win and an innocent person will go free, or a good person who chose the wrong path will get a lesser sentence. Sometimes I don't win, and I have to not take it personally. I have to keep going out there, and fight on another day. We have to keep doing this for the lives we will save, not get hung up on those we can't. It doesn't mean those lives don't matter. It's precisely because all these lives matter, that we have to keep on, for their sake, and not let the fear, the shame, get us down."
Sören gave a shuddery sigh. He knew Anthony was right, but he still felt the burning sting of shame, of anger with himself over the defeat. "It just hurts so much."
"I know." Anthony stroked Sören's cheek. "I know."
Anthony resumed rubbing Sören's back, and Sören wept afresh, the wall inside him crashing down, all of the emotions rushing out of him like a flood. It was too much. The man had been nothing to him personally, just a patient, nobody he knew outside of the National, and yet he was a microcosm of every loss Sören had known, every mistake Sören had made, every regret he had, every unforeseen consequence of seemingly benign actions. Sören thought about finding his mamma dead just before his sixth birthday, his fierce determination in childhood to become a doctor to save lives. And now he had lost a life for the third time in his career, and he felt like he was betraying that small boy who kept himself going despite the abuse from his aunt and uncle, despite the bullying of his peers, because that small boy had such a sense of purpose, that he was going to grow up and fix people no matter what. He felt like he was betraying his mamma, even though her death wasn't his fault and there was nothing he could have done, at five years old. The mental image of his mother's stiff, lifeless body, not breathing, and the mental image of the man on his operating table blurred together. Sören sobbed, screamed, thinking of the man's children, his grandchildren, his wife, left with their grief the way he was left with his own.
At last Anthony just held him, pet him. "Let it out," Anthony whispered, rubbing Sören's head. "Let it out, sweetheart. Don't keep it inside. You don't have to pretend it doesn't hurt. I know it hurts." He kissed the tears that flowed. "Just so long as you know it wasn't your fault."
The logic was still lost on that sense of shame, the bitter anger Sören felt at himself for not being able to save him, the way he'd saved others. "I failed him. I failed his family. I failed..."
"Shhhhhhh. You didn't fail. You did all you could."
"I failed."
"No, Sören."
"I'm a fucking failure."
"No, you're not."
"Yes I am."
Anthony's eyes locked with his. "No."
Anthony rocked Sören harder, rubbing his back, rubbing his head, making soothing noises as Sören cried and cried. He knew that arguing with Anthony was pointless - Anthony argued for a living - and, as importantly, he was tired. Sören was still too wound up to sleep, but he was also too wound up to keep pressing on and trying to explain why he failed. And he knew, logically, Anthony was right. It was just that he still felt wrong. But he was also feeling too drained to keep talking about it.
So he lay there in Anthony's arms, accepting defeat, but also accepting the comfort for his defeat. Every now and again, his mind's eye replayed the surgery, watched everything fall apart, watched the man die over and over again on his table. And Sören would start crying again, sobbing, keening, calling out "I'm sorry, I'm sorry" even though neither the man nor his family could hear him. Anthony's arms tightened around him each time, Anthony whispered "Shhhhh, hush," and pet him, kissed his brow, kissed his tears until Sören calmed down. Until the next squall, when it would start again, when Sören would break down, crying out "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," as he saw the death, as he re-examined the death scene and what could have, if anything, been done differently.
Time passed in a blur. It was midnight, then it was after three AM, and Anthony was still awake, holding him, offering him comfort every time the pain came back, offering him comfort when the fit died down for the time being and there was just drained, numb emptiness.
Now Sören's words were for Anthony. "I'm sorry." Sören reached out to stroke Anthony's face, met his eyes in the glow of the nightlight. "I'm keeping you up all night -"
"You need me."
"And you have work tomorrow -"
"This is more important."
Sören pursed his lips. Before he could open his mouth and argue, Anthony put a finger to Sören's lips and then he traced them, slowly, sensually, lovingly. Sören felt a shiver down his spine, even though he was still too emotionally mangled for sex. Anthony offered the tip of his thumb to Sören to suck on, and Anthony stroked Sören's curls with his free hand.
"I'm here for you," Anthony husked. "You are my partner. You are my life. You are all that exists, right now."
Sören rested his head on Anthony's shoulder and closed his eyes.
Somehow, that was the magic bullet that put Sören to sleep. His body stirred when light burned through his closed eyes, and Sören made a grumble of protest, then a little high-pitched noise of concern when he realized Anthony was usually up before dawn and it was some time after that. Through narrowed, bleary eyes, Sören saw it was just after seven AM... and Anthony was still awake, holding Sören in his arms. Looking like hell, because he hadn't slept, but still managing a smile and a little kiss.
"Anthony. You..." Sören blinked with disbelief. "Aren't you..."
Anthony shook his head. "I'm calling out today."
Sören's mouth opened, and Anthony chuckled and pressed his fingers to Sören's jaw, closing his mouth. He planted a kiss on Sören's brow and then he pulled Sören closer. "I take it you're not going in?" Anthony asked.
Sören shook his head. "Not today."
"But tomorrow."
Sören nodded.
"Good." Anthony kissed Sören's brow again. "Get back on that horse after you fall off, and all of that."
"I feel like the damn horse."
Anthony leered. "Well, you're a good ride."
Sören facepalmed, laughing a husky, tired laugh, and then he blew a raspberry into Anthony's chest, making Anthony laugh. Then Sören shook his head. "Not right now. I -"
"No, I know." Anthony pet Sören's curls, stroked his cheek. Their eyes met. "I understand. Besides... you need more rest."
"You need to get some sleep too."
"If I sleep now I'll fuck up my entire body clock, so it's better I just stay awake. But I can stay with you here for awhile." Anthony kissed the tip of Sören's nose.
Anthony pulled Finn and Tony closer to them, and with Sören hugging the stuffed animals, resting in Anthony's arms, Anthony pet him and rocked him until Sören fell back asleep.
Sören woke up again after six PM, sitting up with a start and a gasp. "Jesus Christ."
Anthony heard him get up and came in the bedroom; he was wearing pajamas and his wire-rimmed glasses, and Sören had a feeling he was doing some paperwork at home. "You're up."
"I'm Sören."
Anthony facepalmed, then gave him the finger, shaking with silent laughter, and Sören gave it back, grinning. Then Sören's moment of good cheer wore off and he scowled again, looking down at his feet. "I didn't mean to sleep that long -"
"I know, but you needed it, clearly. Tea? And we can get delivery or something?"
Sören nodded.
Sören pulled on a T-shirt and pajama bottoms and when he stumbled out into the living room, Anthony was getting the tea ready. Anthony sat next to him on the couch and for a few minutes they sat together in silence, leaning on each other with their cheeks touching, drinking tea. Sören glanced over at Anthony's desk and saw his assessment that Anthony had still been working, even with taking the day off, was correct; his laptop was on and he had portfolios open, paperwork on his desk, pages out of the printer that needed to go somewhere.
When their tea was finished, Anthony called the hole-in-the-wall Italian place they liked, tracing circles on Sören's wrist as he made the order, and then he pulled Sören onto his lap and held him close, cradling him like a precious child, rocking and petting him. Sören melted into his touch and half-dozed until the delivery arrived.
They shared an eggplant parmesan and a garden salad, and after the meal they curled up on the couch together, only sort of paying attention to the TV. Anthony didn't ask Sören any questions about how he slept or how he was doing - Sören knew Anthony already knew he wasn't doing well, and wasn't going to press Sören to talk about it if he didn't feel like it.
Highlander II was on, and they decided on that, having a mutual appreciation of godawful sci-fi films. Anthony spooned Sören, arms around Sören's waist, head nestled in the crook of Sören's neck and shoulder, and Sören managed to relax as they made snarky commentary and laughed throughout the movie.
After the movie they showered together - again, Sören was too emotionally drained for sex, and Anthony understood. Sören was just drained in general, feeling like he was made out of lead, leaning on Anthony, who held him up, making soothing noises as he lathered Sören in slow, gentle circles.
Anthony carried him from the bathroom to their bed, with Sören giggling a little. "My hero," Sören said, leaning in to give him a kiss on the cheek.
Anthony turned pink, and he kissed Sören back, with a bashful smile. Then he chuckled and said, "Don't build that pedestal too high. I might fall."
"Well, we can lay in the gutter together." Sören sighed as Anthony placed him down on the bed. "Look up at the stars."
Sören reached for pajama bottoms and watched Anthony pull on his own, and then Anthony climbed over him and kissed him hard. When the kiss broke, leaving Sören breathless, Anthony stroked Sören's face, and the fierce ache in his eyes made Sören twinge, and regret that he was too tired tonight. "I love you, Sören Sigurðsson," Anthony said, his voice husky with emotion. "Never forget that."
Anthony hit the lights and they snuggled together, holding Finn and Tony. Rain began falling outside, and though Sören's mind started replaying the death on his operating table again, he made himself listen to the rain, and the beat of Anthony's heart. Sören had wondered if he was going to be able to sleep tonight, after having slept till six PM, when he was scheduled to go in early tomorrow morning. But the rhythm of the rain and Anthony's heartbeat, and his lingering bone-tired soul-tired feeling, put him to sleep in no time.
Sören groaned at the sound of Anthony's alarm blaring. Anthony swore under his breath and batted the alarm off with such vehemence that it made Sören crack up laughing.
"I love that sound," Anthony said, smiling as he kissed the tip of Sören's nose. Then he added, "Your laugh. Not that infernal -"
"I know." Sören grinned and they rubbed noses.
Sören started to get ready for work, even though he didn't really want to. He was tempted to take another day off, but he knew that would start a slippery slope of missing another day, and another, until he was out of medicine entirely and had to find another line of work. He'd come too far to give up now, and he had yet farther to go - he remembered Ed's words that he could make consultant someday.
He had more lives to save.
Anthony saw Sören hesitating every now and again as he put his scrubs on, watched him pause over morning coffee. At last Anthony took Sören's hands in his and kissed them.
"You can do this," Anthony said. "You will do this. You will go back out there and do what you do. Because you have to."
"I'm afraid," Sören said honestly.
Their eyes met. "The motto of my chambers is 'Do right, fear no-one.' That doesn't just mean our clients' opposition, or opposing counsel, or the people who judge us for representing who and what we represent. It means ourselves, too. You can lose a battle without being defeated, you go on to other cases. You fight on another day. When you choke, when you start thinking that because you've lost one you're going to lose them all, it's over." Anthony squeezed Sören's hands. "Don't let this get the best of you, Sören. Keep trying. Keep fighting."
Then Anthony got up, and Sören wondered where he was going; Anthony came back with his hands behind his back. "I don't have court today," Anthony said, and pulled out the wig from behind his back, putting it on Sören's head. "You need George more than I do right now, he wants to give moral support."
Sören threw his head back and laughed. "I love you, you muppet."
"The Swedish Chef is calling me a muppet now."
Sören chased Anthony around the kitchen, finally getting him against the wall and tweaking his nose. Then Anthony grabbed Sören and tickled him until Sören was bent over the counter, screaming and giggling, thrashing about as Anthony got him under the arms. George fell off Sören's head and slid across the counter, and Anthony said, "Wow, George is like 'get me away from these crazy people'."
"'Mum and Dad are being gross again.'"
Anthony laughed and said, "I can give him something to really complain about," and brought Sören back to a standing position, then tilted Sören's head to give him a kiss.
Anthony drove him to work. There was light rain when they left the flat, and halfway there the rain started to let up. As Anthony pulled in front of the National, rays of golden sun were peeking in through the silver clouds, and Sören's breath hitched at the sight of it... a frisson through him, as if the universe were trying to send him a message.
Anthony gave him a kiss. "I'll see you at six."
Sören's first job of the day was a pre-surgery consult, preparing a woman in her early thirties for spinal stenosis surgery next month, going over benefits and risks, wanting to put her fears at ease about the surgery. He tried very hard to mask his own fear left over from losing a patient two days prior, and in reassuring her that things would likely be fine, even if the recovery would be slow and arduous, it gave him a much-needed boost of confidence as well.
You can do this.
After his consult he had a staff meeting, where the death on his operating table was one of the subjects discussed. Sören was relieved that he was not being held responsible for the death and there would neither be litigation nor disciplinary action - not that he had been worried about either of those two things, but now here was the tangible confirmation of such. He still felt at least somewhat to blame, that he had failed the patient, and he was in a somber mood through the rest of the meeting, trying not to keep replaying the death over and over in his head.
Anthony's words rang in his head as he got up when the meeting was adjourned. Keep trying. Keep fighting.
Sören had a short break, and an ice cream van was near the hospital. It was before noon but Sören didn't care. On a whim, he took a walk to Queen's Square, where the trees were budding in spring, and colorful flowers blossomed. He took pictures of George "eating" the ice cream cone and "smelling" the flowers, and texted Anthony with them.
Why isn't George eating something healthy? Anthony texted back.
Sören howled. Awww, he had to have ice cream! He would have cried.
You spoil him.
Sören sent back an emoji of a face with a stuck out tongue.
Then Anthony texted back, I'll be a little late picking you up, about twenty minutes. Sorry.
Sören wondered why, but he wasn't going to press it - he knew meetings sometimes ran overtime, or there were other unexpected things. He wasn't worried. OK, I'll take George for another walk in Queen's Square while we wait for you.
Sören did in fact have a surgery that day, working on a spine, and everything went smoothly as it usually did. When the surgery was over, Colin put a hand on his shoulder for a few seconds, silently telling him it was OK.
The extra time before Anthony came to pick him up was just what Sören needed, decompressing from the stress of the surgery - and the added stress of his anxiety, which he kept in check while he was operating so he didn't choke, but came flooding out when the procedure was done. Sören snapped more photos of George, and when Anthony's Audi arrived at six-twenty-five, Sören playfully skipped to the car like an overgrown child, making Anthony laugh as Sören got in.
"Here," Sören said, showing Anthony pictures on his phone.
"Dear god." Anthony laughed harder.
Anthony had on Jamiroquai, which meant he was either in a good mood or he was in a bad mood and trying to cheer himself up, but judging from his body language and the softness in his eyes as he kept stealing glances at Sören on the way home, Sören guessed he was in a good mood. Sören leaned on Anthony and then he took out George and made the wig crawl up to rest on Anthony's shoulder, making purring noises.
In the parking stall of the flat, Anthony popped the trunk and Sören put a hand on his hip, not expecting that. Sören's eyes widened and he gave a happy little gasp when Anthony handed him a bouquet of sunflowers.
"You." Sören gave Anthony a playful swat with the wig; Anthony dodged, chuckling. "You thoughtful bastard."
Anthony grinned and came closer for a kiss. Then Sören watched as Anthony took a gift bag out of the trunk. "Let's go up."
"Is that why you were late?" Sören asked as they walked upstairs.
Anthony nodded. "I needed to get you a little something."
Sören washed his hands, put the flowers in Sprite and then he came running over to where Anthony sat on the couch, with the gift bag on the coffee table. Sören was a little out of breath when he crashed onto the couch, and Anthony caught him, reaching in Sören's pocket for his inhaler. Sören took a puff and Anthony handed him the gift bag, watching intently.
Sören opened the gift bag and pulled out a mug with Pusheen wearing a unicorn horn and a rainbow mane - "Pusheenicorn!" Sören squeaked - and a T-shirt in his size with Pusheen sitting on a couch that said "Home is where my butt is."
"It's just a little something, but -"
Sören threw his arms around Anthony's neck and screamed "EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE" with giddy happiness. Anthony's cheeks flushed pink and he gave Sören that dazzling, radiant grin that took Sören's breath away each and every time. God, he's hot.
Sören rained kisses over Anthony's face, making him laugh, and finally he grabbed Sören, hugged him tight, and pulled him into a deep, hungry kiss. Sören was still not completely up for sex - today felt exhausting, between the long surgery, the staff meeting, and his ongoing angst about the patient death. But soon.
They pulled back and their eyes held, and Sören's eyes misted with tears as he reached out to touch Anthony's cheek, his heart soaring, burning with love, like the phoenix on his back. How can I love someone this much. And yet he did, so much he felt his heart could break. Yes, it was just a little gift, but it was the thought behind it - Anthony observing Sören's love of Pusheen, the surprise, wanting to cheer him up with something cute and silly - and it meant more to Sören, so much more, than the Rolex watch and the tanzanites and sapphires in his ears. It wasn't that Anthony hadn't given those things from the heart, but it was easy enough for him to throw money around on flashy things. This came from someplace deeper, and Sören treasured it more.
I treasure you, above all. Sören traced Anthony's lips with his fingers and thumb, before Anthony took Sören's hand and kissed it.
They went out to dinner that night, as a change of pace, going to the place where they had breakfast with Trisha and Vincente a month prior, but it was just the two of them this time. Sören initially felt a twinge of irritation when they arrived, not wanting to be reminded of that breakfast, not wanting to be reminded of Trisha and Vincente, period - he had yet to tell Anthony about the bouquet that seemed very much like a warning message with Trisha's study of the language of flowers, and he doubted at this point he was going to, since he hadn't saved the evidence. But he was still reluctant to deal with the two of them, or anything that reminded him of them. And yet, here they were. Sören realized he was being unfair, Anthony didn't know the full extent of his problem with them, or that just the restaurant itself would be a bad association. And the sun had come out in the afternoon and the garden the little gingerbread cottage restaurant boasted, with al fresco seating, was blooming with spring flowers and was lovely and picturesque; Sören realized Anthony had taken him here for this reason.
They got a table outside, and watched the sunset together as they ate, sharing a seafood platter and assorted appetizers. Lanterns were lit in the garden, and after their meal they took a stroll through the hedges and trees, peaceful and romantic with the golden lanterns shining in the twilight. Sören breathed deep, savoring the beauty of the garden, no longer thinking of Trisha and Vincente, but of the thoughtfulness of Anthony. As Sören leaned down to smell tulips, Anthony's arms encircled him from behind, and when he came up Anthony turned Sören's head to his and they kissed. Anthony's kisses down his neck sent a shiver through him.
But Sören was still tired, and he had work early the next morning - he had to work even if Anthony did not on a Saturday. "I can't tonight," Sören whispered.
Anthony just nodded, his head in the crook of Sören's neck and shoulder. "I understand, love. I don't want you to think I was demanding or doing nice things for you just to -"
"I don't." Sören tilted his face to smile at him and rub noses. "You were doing nice things because you are nice." Sören kissed the tip of his nose. "And I love you."
"I love you." Anthony stroked Sören's cheek. "Would you like another bubble bath when we get home? And a back rub? Just to take care of you, not..."
"I'd like that." Sören bit his lower lip, and tears stung his eyes again. My wonderful man.
When they got home that was exactly what Anthony did, making tea for Sören in his new Pusheen mug, and then he took Sören in the bathroom for another candlelit bubble bath. This time they sat facing each other and after relaxing for a bit, Anthony accidentally splashed him when he wiggled his toes, which made Sören splash him back on purpose, and they got into a splash fight and at last Sören blew bubbles across the tub, giggling madly when a bubble popped on Anthony's nose as Anthony gave him a death glare, which dissolved into a grin, Anthony shaking with laughter and tearing up.
Anthony worked on Sören's back again, kneading away the tension. His touch once again broke that wall around Sören's heart, and Sören found himself sobbing again. "It's all right," Anthony soothed, rubbing Sören's back in slow circles. "It's OK, love. Cry if you need to cry."
Sören closed his eyes and his mind replayed the spinal surgery he'd performed earlier, a success. Then his mind replayed the death on his operating table on Wednesday. "Anthony?"
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"When you..." Sören exhaled sharply, not wanting to be insensitive or touch a nerve, but also needing to reach out to someone who'd fought and lost before. "When you've lost cases... not the ones you know are guilty, but where you're convinced, or at least pretty sure, the defendant is innocent... do you... do you just forget about it, or does it bother you for awhile?"
"Honestly?"
Sören opened his eyes and looked over his shoulder at Anthony. "Yeah, honestly."
Now it was Anthony's turn to exhale. "It bothers me a lot. I can't begin to tell you how many sleepless nights I've had, mulling it over and over, thinking about how things could have been different. And it's never any use, because usually when I've lost a case it's not something I could have argued better."
"So even though I have to go out there and keep fighting..."
"It'll stay with you for awhile." Anthony patted Sören's shoulders and then resumed kneading them, his touch firm and deep.
"Yeah. That was what I was afraid of." Sören shook his head. "I mean, I'll go in tomorrow like I usually do, but I..." Sören sighed, and the tears flowed again.
"'Do right, fear no-one.'" Anthony tousled Sören's curls, leaned down to kiss his shoulder, kiss him, and then he just lay on Sören, snuggling him. "You're absolutely fucking not a bad surgeon. Remember that. What you do is necessary. Keep doing it. Yes, it's normal to carry the weight of what happened around with you, to keep feeling the pain and the regret and the apprehension of a possible next time. But don't let it get the upper hand of you."
"I'm trying."
"I know." Anthony kissed him again. "Every day that passes, you put more distance between yourself and the death on the operating table. You have more wins that prove you can do this. It never goes away completely - I can tell you the name of every person who I couldn't save - but it fades, with time."
"What do I do until then?"
"You hang onto me." Anthony sat up, rolled Sören over, and pulled Sören into his arms. "Hang onto me."
Anthony held him all night again - it took a good while for Sören to fall asleep, crying himself exhausted, and Anthony rocked him, pet him, murmured tender little noises, kissed his tears. But finally Sören did get to sleep, all cried out. And when he woke up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, he saw Anthony was still awake in the glow of the nightlight, still keeping vigil over him; Anthony held out his arms for Sören to come back to when he left the bathroom, and rocked and pet Sören back to sleep. Sören woke up a couple hours later from a bad dream - reliving finding his mother's dead body - and Anthony was still awake, arms tightening around him when he felt Sören's distress. "Shhhhh, you're here, you're safe," Anthony whispered, planting a kiss on Sören's brow.
"I hate this," Sören sobbed.
"Shhhhh. I've got you." Anthony pulled Sören closer, held him even tighter. "I've got you."
When the alarm went off on Saturday morning, Anthony swore, and rolled over into the pillows with a groan. Sören giggled as he reached to shut off the alarm, and he gave Anthony sleepy kisses.
He knew Anthony was dead tired and had probably just gotten to sleep, so even though Anthony's usual custom was to work at home on a Saturday, and Anthony would drive Sören to and from work on a Saturday, Sören didn't want him to have to go to the trouble today. "I'll take the Tube there and back home," Sören said.
"Are you sure? I doubt I'm going to lie in bed all day -"
Sören patted him. "I'll be fine." He chuckled, feeling mischievous. "I'll take George with me. Show him how the rest of the world lives."
Anthony facepalmed but also chuckled. "I'm still in disbelief that I've started playing along with you about George." And then Anthony muttered, "oh shit, no."
It was too late. "Hi Still In Disbelief That I've Started Playing Along -"
Anthony swatted him with a pillow. Sören squeaked and hit him back with a pillow, giggling madly, and they spent the next few minutes having a pillow fight until Anthony tossed Sören's scrubs at him and said, "You, get ready for work, or I'll be forced to give you a time out and tie you to a chair, or something."
"...Like that would be so objectionable to you." Sören wiggled his eyebrows. "Or to me."
Anthony turned beetroot, and flashed him a wicked grin that made Sören's stomach flutter. The gleam in his eye sent a shiver down Sören's spine. It had been long enough that Sören was starting to feel that hunger again, his mind going in places other than the death on his operating table... now more like Anthony on a table, his legs on Sören's shoulders...
The playfulness of the morning - and the tender loving care of last night - kept Sören's spirits up while he was at work, and he was still feeling pretty good when he got off work, enough to take a walk through Queen's Square and admire the pretty spring flowers before he rode the Tube back. Walking from the station to their flat in the fresh air felt good, and Sören smiled and waved at children playing in the neighborhood.
Sören opened the door of their flat and called, "Loo-see, I'm ho-ome," in a Ricky Ricardo voice, but Anthony wasn't at his desk. Sören washed his hands and went to the bedroom, to see if Anthony was sleeping, and he wasn't there either but there was a note on the bed:
Went for a run while the weather's good.
Been thinking of you, Brown Eyes. Even though I wish it was under better circumstances, I loved holding you last night. I can't wait to hold you again as soon as I get back.
Sören felt his face break into a big grin and heard a giggle bubble out of him as he picked up the piece of paper, held it to his nose to breathe Anthony's scent, and then pressed it to his heart, before tucking it in the hollow book where he kept all the other little love notes.
Sören took a quick shower and changed into a T-shirt and pajama bottoms, and made tea. As he took out his new Pusheen mug he smiled at it fondly, running his finger around the rim - and immediately his mind went into the gutter, thinking about running his finger around the rim of Anthony's opening... Anthony's tongue inside him, working its sweet magic...
Sören's cock started to stir. Sören walked over to the bouquet of sunflowers, feeling his heart beat faster, impatient for Anthony to get back home. Marveling at how, over the last year and a half, his love for Anthony had just gotten stronger. Some people who were afraid of commitment, of long-term relationships, feared that it would get boring over time. But what Sören felt for Anthony was deep, and growing ever deeper.
And in that year and a half, they had learned each other's bodies well. Sören knew what Anthony liked - where he liked to be kissed, caressed, all of his erogenous places, the noises he made when he was pleasured. And Anthony knew what Sören liked, knew how to play him like a master playing the violin, how to make Sören fall apart, a trembling, sobbing wreck of sexual need...
Sören's cock was throbbing now, craving release, craving the pleasure they had not taken from each other in days. GET YOUR ASS HOME NOW, Sören screamed in his head, as if telepathy actually worked and Anthony could hear it somehow. Sören snorted at his own ridiculousness as the water boiled.
It wasn't so ridiculous when, a few minutes later, Sören was sitting on the couch with his hot mug of tea and he heard his hot husband-to-be marching upstairs. Sören's cock jolted, twinging, and Sören's mouth opened when he heard the key in the lock, feeling like one of Pavlov's dogs.
Anthony stepped in, wearing jogging shorts and trainers, and his grey T-shirt had sweat stains, his hair damp. "Oh, hello -"
Not thinking, just feeling - wanting - Sören rose from the couch and fell on him, grabbing Anthony and pulling him in for a deep, passionate kiss. Anthony groaned as their tongues met, and instinctively thrust his hips out at Sören, shivering as Sören's fingers walked down his spine. When their mouths pulled apart, Sören began kissing Anthony's neck, breathing in the healthy, masculine smell of his sweat, and the touch of his aftershave and the natural musk of him. Anthony moaned as Sören licked his neck, and moaned again as their mouths met once more, Sören kissing him even harder. He'd had a taste and now he wanted it all. Sören's hands ran over Anthony's chest, thumb brushing a nipple through the T-shirt, pebbling it, and then slid lower to his stomach, and lower to the hard bulge Sören knew was in those shorts. Sören palmed the bulge in slow, lazy circles as they kept kissing, moaning together; Anthony leaned into Sören's touch, and when the kiss broke Anthony gave him a hungry look and whispered, "Sören..."
Sören dropped to his knees, yanked down Anthony's shorts, and right then and there, a foot from the door, took Anthony's hard cock into his mouth, sucking like he was starving for it. Anthony grabbed Sören's head and moaned, trembling.
"Mmmmmmhmmmmm." Sören's own cock was throbbing in response, so turned on by sucking him like this, being so shameless, so wanton.
"Fuck..." Anthony gave a shuddery sigh.
Sören took Anthony's cock out of his mouth to growl, "Fucking want you," before he swallowed it down again, cock twinging at the gasp Anthony gave, the little cry as the shiver went through him.
Sören sucked and sucked, looking up to watch Anthony's reactions, wanting Anthony to see the worship in his eyes, the lust in his eyes, burning like a forest that had gone too long without rain, all dry tinder. A few days was too long. Sören felt like he was going out of his mind, wanting it as badly as he did, and first he needed to taste the man he loved, wanted to make this thoughtful, generous man explode with ecstasy.
Sören sucked hard and fast, bobbing up and down, devouring him, reaching to cup and rub Anthony's balls as he sucked. He felt Anthony's balls tighten, getting closer, and even without that he could tell from the way Anthony was moaning, the ragged breath, the shivering gasps, his voice rising, not giving a damn who could pass by the door and hear them.
Then Sören took Anthony's cock out of his mouth, put his tongue in the slit, licked down to the sensitive frenulum, lashing it, and licked around and around the head of Anthony's cock, giving a mischievous smile as Anthony's knees buckled and he had to hold onto Sören. "Fucking tease," Anthony growled.
"Oh no. This is teasing." Sören licked up and down Anthony's cock, from the head down the shaft and back up, long, slow, deliberate strokes, and then faster ones, lashing, laving, rubbing. Anthony groaned and made a deep, guttural noise that went straight to Sören's cock, and Sören kept licking, making several rounds up and down, up and down, before swirling around the head of his cock some more, around the base of the foreskin. Sören smiled at the precum leaking and chased the flow with his tongue, slapped the head of the cock against his tongue to make streamers before sucking on just the head, rubbing his tongue as he sucked, kissing it.
Sören spent the next few minutes just kissing the head of Anthony's cock, hand rubbing the shaft, until Anthony was making little cries, panting, looking desperate. Sören loved making his suave, sophisticated lawyer lose control like this, reveling in the power over him... a frisson down his spine as he knew Anthony would take that power right back and master him.
Anthony's cock was in Sören's mouth again, working his tongue with his mouth full, sucking slowly, then faster. Anthony grabbed Sören's short curls and started to thrust into Sören's mouth, and Sören encouraged him, humming "Mmmmmm, mmmhmmm, mmmmm," around the throbbing cock in his mouth. At last Anthony's eyes fluttered and he ground out, "Sören. Sören. Oh god. Oh god, Sören, oh god..."
"Mmmmmhmmmm."
"Oh god, Sören, I'm gonna -" Anthony shuddered, not able to finish the sentence, throwing back his head and crying out as he spent into Sören's mouth.
Sören loved the sweet-salty taste of him, savoring it, swallowing it. He lapped the slit of Anthony's cock, licking it clean, until Anthony yanked Sören's head back. "Sensitive," Anthony hissed, and then he laughed, looking radiant, euphoric. "Oh god, Sören. Oh my fucking god. That. Was amazing."
"I loved that." Sören got up from his knees and kissed Anthony, letting him taste himself. "I love you."
"Fuck." Anthony's arms were around Sören's waist, and he kissed Sören back. "I. Love. You."
"Yeah, do you?" Sören crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip. "Come on and show me." With that, he dragged Anthony by the tail of his shirt to their bedroom.
Sören stripped as soon as he got in the door, and once Anthony crossed the threshold Sören fell on him again, impatiently tugging off his jogging clothes. Anthony laughed, guiding Sören's hands along, stealing kisses here and there. "So impatient, my love."
"So hungry." Sören's eyes locked with his. "I want you so fucking bad."
Anthony grabbed Sören and kissed him, deeply, fiercely. Sören moaned as he felt their cocks press together, Anthony's cock hard and ready again. Then Anthony was walking him backwards towards the bed, still kissing, their cocks rubbing together with every step, making them moan into the kiss. Anthony gave Sören a playful shove onto the bed, and Sören, out of his mind with need, crawled to get into position - face down, ass up, wiggling his ass at Anthony.
"Please. Inside me. Now," Sören begged.
Anthony's breath hitched and Sören made a little whimper, shaking his ass again. He felt Anthony get on the bed behind him, and Anthony leaned over him to grab the lubricant. Sören gasped as he felt the shock of the cold liquid inside him, and then he let out a howl as he felt Anthony's cock rubbing in the crack of his ass, lubing his cock up as well as Sören's opening, teasing them both. Sören cried out again as the tip of Anthony's cock pressed against his channel, and he made a frustrated scream through grit teeth as Anthony pushed in just the tip, and back out, just the tip in, and out, tormenting him.
"Fucking fuck me," Sören yelled.
Anthony laughed. "So needy."
"I need too much," Sören said, feeling a gnawing ache in him, an abyss that needed to be filled, now.
"Never too much," Anthony husked, and then he started to push inside.
When Anthony bottomed out inside Sören he let out a deep, primal noise through clenched teeth, that sent a shiver down Sören's spine, made his hole twitch and his cock throb, aching for him. Anthony rested in him for a moment, letting them both adjust, Sören to the fullness and Anthony to the vise-like grip around him, custom fit to his cock after a year and a half of it being only him. Then Anthony took his first few thrusts, slow, teasing. "Oh god, Sören." He made that feral noise again, grabbing Sören's hips. "You feel so. Fucking. Good." And he slapped Sören's ass with both hands, making Sören cry out and buck against him.
Anthony grabbed Sören's hips again and started to pound into him. "This is going to be hard and fast, love."
"Yes. Fuck me. Hard." Sören needed hot, raw, nasty sex, needed to get out of his head for awhile and be purely physical, all pleasure, all heat.
Anthony delivered, driving into him savagely, furiously, as hard as Sören had ever been fucked. Sören loved it, fists grasping the pillows, white-knuckled, trembling, howling and whimpering as he rocked back at Anthony, needing it, needing it, needing, almost sobbing as Anthony's cock rubbed that sweet spot in him just the right way, getting him on that edge and keeping him there, deepening and deepening the pleasure, as deep as their love, as deep as that hollow in him, needing to consume.
"Oh god, please, fuck me," Sören cried, bucking against him, giving it back as good as he got.
"Oh, Sören. Fuck, yes, I need you. I want you, I want this, you feel so fucking good to me."
"Oh god." Sören heard himself make a high-pitched whine, and another, followed by a deep, feral roar. "Oh god, your cock is so good..."
And at last Sören couldn't make words at all, he could only whimper and howl and scream, Anthony responding with grunts and growls as they got closer, closer, their hips slapping together, the bed rocking against the wall. When Sören felt the pleasure in him rising, the point of no return, he found his words again, calling out "Anthony, you're gonna make me come, I'm gonna come..."
Anthony slapped Sören's ass, hard, and grabbed his short curls. "Come for me."
Sören screamed as he shattered, his entire body heaving as the pleasure pulsed through him. A few thrusts later Anthony cried out Sören's name as he climaxed, Sören groaning at the delicious feel of Anthony shooting inside him just before Anthony collapsed onto his back, shivering and twitching.
Anthony's arms encircled Sören's shoulders, squeezing, rocking him a little. Anthony nuzzled the space between Sören's neck and shoulder, and Sören turned his face to kiss him, to rub noses with him, their eyes meeting as they smiled at each other in bliss.
Then Anthony took his hands and they just lay there, Sören feeling safe and at peace with Anthony's chest on his back. "I've got you," Anthony whispered, knowingly. "I've got you."
Sören dozed off, and came to a little while later to the feel of Anthony's hand on his head, idly stroking his curls, rubbing his scalp, like he was a pet cat. Sören gave a happy sigh and flexed, kneading the pillows like a cat with a "prrrp?" which made Anthony laugh.
"That was awesome," Sören said.
"Mmmmm, if that's what happens when I go jogging I shall have to jog more often."
Sören giggled and snorted. "Well, you hot and sweaty is a turn-on for me, but it wasn't just that." Sören's voice got husky as he tilted his face to meet Anthony's eyes. "It's you. The way you look out for me, take care of me."
"We take care of each other." Anthony stroked Sören's face, and kissed the top of his head.
They rested together for a few minutes and then Sören said, "I got the new schedule."
"Oh!"
"I have next weekend off."
There was a pause, and Sören could practically see the gears turning in Anthony's brain, and then Anthony said, "Do you want to go to Brighton next weekend, then?"
"I'd like that a lot."
"Good." Anthony squeezed him.
They lay there some more, rocking together, and finally Anthony's stomach growled. Sören had another gigglefit. "Well, Mr. We Take Care Of Each Other, we should think about food. Where do you want to get takeaway, or would you like to go to dinner again?"
Anthony cupped Sören's chin in his hand and gave him a wicked look. "Right now, it's you I want to eat." With that, he kissed Sören deeply, and then he rolled Sören onto his back and began to kiss his way down.
They arrived at the house in Brighton on Saturday, April twentieth. It was raining, but that was expected for April in England, and they were the sort of people who didn't mind the beach on rainy days.
But when they got to the beach house, they spent the afternoon making slow, languid, sensual love, and then a nap. Later, in the late afternoon, they got out of bed and hit the beach - the rain had stopped but there was a thick fog, with swirling mists on the shingle beach under a silvery sky, a melancholy scene that reflected Sören's lingering melancholy at having lost a patient a week and a half ago.
They paused on their stroll and watched the tide together, Anthony standing a little behind Sören, arms around Sören's waist. Sören tilted his face and just before they could kiss, Sören's phone went off in his cargo pants pocket. Sören cursed under his breath, hoping it wasn't work calling him in, but then his eyes widened when he saw his twin brother Dagnýr's number.
"Dag! Hvað segirðu?"
Anthony's eyes also widened with surprise. "Should I..."
Sören shook his head. "Stay."
"Sören, hi," Dagnýr replied in English - the careful Canadian accent that he'd practiced, living in Toronto. "Everything's fine, how are you?"
"I'm OK." Sören nodded. "I'm at Brighton right now, I have a weekend off."
"Oh, nice. I hope I'm not interrupting anything -"
"No, you're fine. Um... what are you calling about? Is it just to say hi, or?" Sören wasn't good at small talk, even with his own family.
"I am calling becaaaauuuuse..." Dag cleared his throat. "I am coming to England next month! I'm giving a TED Talk at Oxford -"
Sören squeaked with happiness. "You're coming here? Really?"
"Jæja, really." Even after having spent half his life away from Iceland, Dag still said "jæja", which made Sören smile fondly.
"So... when are you coming?"
"May," Dag said. "I'm flying into Heathrow on Friday, May tenth, and I'm going back on Saturday, May eighteenth. I can get you a ticket, or pair of tickets, to see my TED Talk at Oxford if you think you can come -"
"Ooh, what's your TED Talk about?"
"Oh, you know. Alternate universes."
"Cool! I'll ask for that evening off. Uh, I assume it's evening."
"Monday, May thirteenth." Dag chuckled. "The night before Eurovision."
"Well fuck it, I'll ask for that Monday and Tuesday off, we have to watch Eurovision together if you're here."
Dag snorted with laughter. "The more things change..."
It felt good to laugh with his brother. When they calmed down, Sören said, "I'd need a pair of tickets. I'd want to bring my, uh, fiancé, Anthony. Who you haven't met..."
"Yes, I need to meet this guy. That's my other agenda for the visit, honestly, is meeting the guy you're marrying." Dag had been e-mailed about it earlier in the year. "Make sure I don't have to kill him, that sort of thing."
Sören giggled. "He's good to me, Dag. But you should meet him anyway, because, you know, he's going to be family."
"OK!"
"Hey, do you want us to pick you up at Heathrow? I mean, it depends on what time you're flying in -"
"Friday the tenth at seven PM. Yeah, if you guys wanted to do dinner or something..."
Sören glanced over at Anthony. "He's flying in on Friday the tenth, in the evening..."
"We can do that." Anthony nodded.
"We can do that," Sören repeated back to Dag, feeling giddy already.
"Great. OK, well, I won't keep you, but, uh, I'm looking forward to seeing you again," Dag said.
"Me too. It's been too long." They hadn't seen each other in five years.
There was an awkward pause, and then Dag finally said it. "Love you."
"Elska þig líka."
Sören sighed as he ended the call, feeling unexpectedly emotional. Anthony saw him getting choked up and put an arm around Sören. "You OK?" he asked.
Sören nodded. "Yeah, just..." He gave a sad smile. "It's been five years since..."
"Wow." Anthony's eyes widened. Then he kissed the tip of Sören's nose. "Well, we'll have to make this visit count, I guess."
"I guess so."
Anthony chuckled, shaking his head. "You guys are going to watch Eurovision?"
Sören nodded, grinning through his tears. "And he's giving a TED Talk at Oxford the night before..."
Anthony gave an impressive low whistle. "I'm not really a science guy, but I'd still be interested -"
Sören nodded. "He's good at making science interesting and accessible to people who don't do science."
"He must not have that much of a stick up his arse, if he's going to watch Eurovision with you."
Sören giggled, and then he spun Anthony around. They hugged each other tightly, and when Sören rested his head on Anthony's shoulder, Anthony tapped him and pointed up, and he saw a rainbow in the clouds.
"Make a wish," Anthony said.
"That's not very scientific," Sören teased.
"Make a fucking wish, Sören."
Sören closed his eyes. I wish for us to be together, always. Sören thought of his brother's theory of parallel universes. Everywhere.
And then Anthony kissed his brow. "What did you wish for?"
"If I tell you, it won't come true."
Anthony made a face, and Sören couldn't resist ribbing him a little more. "Well, you did say make a fucking wish, so my wish sort of involved that."
Anthony's laughter rang out, echoing over the waves. "You're incorrigible."
"Takk."
Their eyes met. "Don't ever change." Anthony stroked Sören's face, and then he cracked a teasing grin. "Stay gold, Ponyboy."
"...I don't think cum is gold."
Anthony facepalmed and howled.
chapter 36 | return to Learning To Fly | return to Other Tolkien Fic | return to index