“Mum?” Anthony let himself in, and Sören followed behind. Anthony looked around - one of Elaine’s three cats, a tortie named Mungojerrie, trotted up to him, tail in the air. Anthony stooped down to pet him, smiling fondly as the cat rubbed against his hand and purred.
"In here, darling!" Elaine's voice called from the kitchen, accompanied by the clatter of pots and pans.
Anthony and Sören exchanged a glance, both smiling at the familiar sounds and smells of home cooking. They made their way through the cozy living room, Mungojerrie weaving between their legs as they walked. The living room, though done in neutral greys and earth tones, was adorned with cozy decor - plush throw blankets draped over the couch and armchair, framed photos of family and friends and colorful abstract paintings lined the walls, and a large bay window let in warm sunlight, streaming through beige lace curtains; Rumpleteazer was curled up on the window’s nook, basking in the sunshine, dust particles dancing in the beams. A fireplace crackled in the corner.
As they entered the kitchen, they were enveloped in a cloud of aromatic steam. Elaine stood at the stove, her steel-grey hair slightly frizzed from the heat, glasses slightly fogged, stirring something in a large pot. She turned, her green eyes lighting up at the sight of her son and his fiancé.
"Oh, you're here!" she exclaimed, wiping her hands on her apron before embracing Anthony tightly. She then turned to Sören, pulling him into an equally enthusiastic hug.
Anthony chuckled at his mother's enthusiasm. "It's good to see you too, Mum," he said, breathing in the familiar scent of her lavender perfume mixed with the savory aromas wafting from the stove. He felt a warmth spread through his chest - a stark contrast to the chilly reception they’d received from Anthony’s father earlier, when Roger picked them up at the airport and took them into London to get a rental car, rather than getting one right at the airport where prices would be exorbitant. “Something smells amazing," he said as Elaine released him, his stomach growling in anticipation.
Elaine beamed, her eyes twinkling. "Oh, I've made all your favorites, dear. Roast chicken, mashed potatoes, Yorkshire pudding, and of course, my special chocolate cake for dessert." She turned back to the stove, giving the pot a quick stir. "Anthony, be a love and set the table, would you? Your father should be down shortly."
Anthony nodded, moving to the cabinet to retrieve plates and cutlery. Sören stepped forward, eager to help. "Can I do anything, Elaine?" he asked, his lilting accent filling the warm kitchen.
Elaine smiled at him, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Such a dear. Could you fetch the wine from the cellar? There's a lovely Cabernet Sauvignon that should pair nicely with dinner."
As Sören disappeared down the stairs to the cellar, Anthony finished setting the table, his mind drifting to the tense car ride from the airport. His father's stilted small talk and barely concealed disapproval still stung. He hoped dinner wouldn't be as awkward.
The sound of footsteps on the stairs pulled Anthony from his thoughts. His father appeared in the doorway, his imposing figure filling the frame. Roger Hewlett-Johnson, a tall man with greying auburn hair and a stubbly five o’clock shadow, surveyed the kitchen with his piercing blue eyes.
"Evening, all," he said, his deep, gravelly voice resonating through the room. His gaze landed on Anthony, and there was a moment of awkward silence before he cleared his throat. "Good to have you home, son."
Anthony nodded, forcing a smile. "Thanks, Dad. It's good to be back."
Just then, Sören emerged from the cellar, a bottle of wine in hand. "I found the Cabernet, Elaine," he announced, his cheerful tone faltering slightly as he noticed the tension in the room.
Roger's eyes flickered to Sören, and Anthony could see the slight tight tightening around his father's mouth. But Roger managed a curt nod. "Sören," he acknowledged, his tone neutral.
Sören smiled warmly - still trying to get Roger’s approval, even as Anthony felt it a lost cause. "Good evening, Mr. Hewlett-Johnson. Thank you for picking us up earlier."
“Please, call me Roger,” the older man said, his tone still neutral, no hint of warmth.
An awkward silence descended, broken only by the bubbling of pots on the stove and Elaine's nervous humming. Anthony felt a familiar knot of anxiety forming in his stomach. He caught Sören's eye, drawing strength from his fiancé's steady gaze.
"Well," Elaine chirped, her voice a touch too bright, "dinner's nearly ready. Why don't we all sit down?"
As they settled around the table, Anthony noticed how his father positioned himself as far from Sören as possible. The tension in the air was palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife. Anthony reached for Sören's hand under the table, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
Elaine bustled about, bringing steaming dishes to the table. The aroma of roast chicken and herbs filled the air, momentarily distracting everyone from the underlying tension. As she settled into her seat, Elaine clasped her hands together, a hopeful smile on her face.
"Shall we say the blessing?" she asked, looking around the table.
Roger cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "Perhaps Anthony would like to do the honors," he said, his tone carefully neutral.
Anthony felt a flutter of nervousness in his stomach. It had been years since he'd recited the blessing - not since he’d gone to yeshiva in Israel for a few years after Wemblefrrf to continue his magical studies, learning Kabbalah - but the words came back to him easily. He cleared his throat and began, his voice soft but steady:
"Baruch atah Adonai, Eloheinu melech ha-olam, hamotzi lechem min ha-aretz."
As he finished, he caught Sören's eye, seeing a mix of pride and love in his fiancé's gaze. Elaine beamed, her eyes glistening slightly. Even Roger seemed to relax a fraction, nodding approvingly.
"Beautiful, darling," Elaine said, reaching out to pat Anthony's hand. "Now, let's eat before it gets cold!"
The tension eased somewhat as they began to serve themselves, the clinking of cutlery and murmured requests to pass dishes filling the silence. Anthony helped himself to a generous portion of roast chicken and mashed potatoes, inhaling the comforting aroma of home cooking.
Sören attempted to break the ice. "This looks absolutely delicious, Elaine. Thank you so much for going to all this trouble."
Elaine's face lit up. "Oh, it's no trouble at all, dear. I'm just so happy to have you both here." She paused, her smile faltering slightly as she glanced at Roger. "It's not often we have the whole family together."
Roger grunted in acknowledgment, his eyes fixed on his plate as he methodically cut his chicken into precise pieces. Anthony felt the familiar tightness in his chest, the constant dance of unspoken words and careful glances continued as they ate. Anthony found himself hyper-aware of every movement, every subtle shift in his father's expression. He watched as Roger's eyes darted between him and Sören, his brow furrowing slightly each time their hands brushed or they shared a smile.
Elaine, ever the peacekeeper, tried to keep the conversation flowing. “So, you’re going to Wemblefrrf tomorrow to see your old professors again?”
Anthony swallowed a mouthful of mashed potatoes, grateful for the change of subject. “Yes, it’s been quite some time - I’ve corresponded quite a bit with Professor Decaux and Professor Maglor over the years, but this will be my first time seeing them since I graduated.”
"Hm,” Roger said, shoveling chicken into his mouth.
Sören chimed in, his melodic voice filling the tense silence. "We're quite excited to see them again. They were instrumental in our magical education, after all."
Roger's fork paused halfway to his mouth. "Ah yes, the... magic business," he said, his tone clipped. "I trust that's going well for you both?"
Anthony felt Sören's hand squeeze his knee under the table, a silent gesture of support. "It is, Dad," he replied, trying to keep his voice steady. "We’re still working for the International Mage Police in Oslo. It’s… an interesting job.” Anthony decided to keep it sanitized and not tell them the nitty-gritty details of working for the International Mage Police, though much of their was dealing with the rowdy local Ásatrú people who got too excited with their rituals and caused a public disturbance. Occasionally, there was unpleasantness like a murder and lately, they'd been tracking down stolen artifacts in the wrong hands. While the existence of magic was no big secret, the general public didn’t need to know everything. Anthony quickly continued on, "And Sören's been working on some fascinating research into ancient Norse magical practices."
Sören nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, I've been studying runic magic and its applications in modern spellcasting. It's quite fascinating how the old ways can still be relevant today."
Roger's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "I see," he said, his tone neutral but with an undercurrent of discomfort. "And this... research. It's all above board, I trust?"
Anthony felt a flash of irritation. "Of course it is, Dad. We're not practicing dark magic or anything illegal."
Elaine jumped in, her voice overly cheerful. "Oh, that sounds so interesting, Sören! You must tell us more about it. Perhaps after dinner?"
Sören smiled charmingly at Elaine. "I'd be happy to, thank you."
“Hm,” Roger said, furrowing his brow as he ate a spoonful of mashed potatoes.
The conversation lulled into an uncomfortable silence, broken only by the clinking of cutlery against plates. Anthony felt the familiar tightness in his chest, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. He glanced at Sören, who offered a small, reassuring smile.
Elaine cleared her throat. "So, have you two set a date for the wedding yet?"
Anthony felt Sören tense beside him. They'd been avoiding this topic, knowing it would likely lead to more tension. But there was no escaping it now.
"We're thinking next spring," Anthony said carefully, watching his father's reaction from the corner of his eye. "Perhaps in Oslo, by the fjord."
Roger's fork clattered against his plate. "Oslo?" he said, his voice gruff. "Not here in England?"
Anthony felt his stomach clench. "Well, Dad, we thought Oslo would be nice since it's where we live now. And the fjord is really beautiful in the spring."
"Hmph," Roger grunted, stabbing at a piece of chicken. "Seems a long way for family to travel."
Sören leaned forward slightly, his voice gentle. "We'd be happy to help arrange travel for everyone, of course. And we could show you around Oslo - it's a lovely city."
Roger's eyes flicked to Sören, then back to his plate. "I'm sure it is," he said flatly.
Elaine jumped in, hands clasped together. "Oh, that sounds wonderful! I've always wanted to see the fjords. And think of the beautiful wedding photos you'll have!"
Anthony shot his mother a grateful look. "Thanks, Mum. We're really excited about it," Anthony said, trying to keep his tone light despite the tension. "And we'd love for you both to be there, of course."
Roger grunted noncommittally, taking a long sip of wine. The silence stretched uncomfortably.
Sören cleared his throat. "We were thinking of having a small ceremony by the water, with just close family and friends. Nothing too extravagant."
"And how exactly does a... magical wedding work?" Roger asked, his tone skeptical. "Will there be spells and potions involved?"
Anthony felt a flash of irritation. "Dad, it's not that different from a regular wedding. We'll have a chuppah, exchange rings, break the glass - all the traditional Jewish elements. The magic is just... part of who we are."
"I see," Roger said, his voice tight. "And I suppose you'll be performing some sort of magical ceremony as well?" Roger asked, his tone sharp.
Anthony felt his temper flare. "Dad, our magic is part of who we are. It's not some parlor trick or -"
"Now, now," Elaine interjected, her voice high and nervous. "Let's not argue. More wine, anyone?"
Sören placed a calming hand on Anthony's arm. "We haven't finalized all the details yet," he said diplomatically. "But we'd be happy to discuss any concerns you have, Roger."
Roger's jaw clenched. "Concerns? My only concern is that my son is marrying a -" He cut himself off abruptly, but the unspoken word hung in the air.
Anthony stood up so quickly his chair scraped loudly against the floor. "A what, Dad? A man?”
The tension in the room reached a breaking point. Roger's face flushed red, his knuckles white as he gripped his fork. Elaine gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.
"Anthony, please," she pleaded, her eyes darting nervously between her son and husband.
But Anthony couldn't hold back anymore. Years of pent-up frustration and hurt came pouring out. "Just say it, Dad. You can't even bring yourself to acknowledge what Sören is to me, can you?"
Roger's jaw clenched. "That's not what I -"
"It's exactly what you meant," Anthony interrupted, his voice shaking with emotion. "You've never accepted us, never even tried to understand. Do you have any idea how much that hurts?"
Sören stood up beside Anthony, placing a steadying hand on his fiancé's back. "Anthony, elskan," he whispered softly, his voice a soothing balm in the charged atmosphere.
But Anthony was beyond calming. Years of suppressed anger and hurt bubbled to the surface. "No, Sören. He needs to hear this." He turned back to his father, hands on hips. "I've spent my whole life trying to make you proud, trying to be the son you wanted. But it's never been enough, has it? Because I'm not exactly what you pictured."
Roger's face was a storm of emotions - anger, confusion, and something that might have been guilt. "Now see here, Anthony -"
"No, you see here," Anthony cut him off. "I'm marrying Sören. He's the love of my life, the person who accepts me for who I am - magic and all. And if you can't accept that, if you can't be happy for us, then..." Anthony's voice cracked, tears welling in his eyes. "Then maybe you shouldn't come to the wedding at all."
A heavy silence fell over the room. Elaine let out a choked sob, her hand still pressed to her mouth. Sören tightened his grip on Anthony's shoulder, a steadying presence.
Roger stared at his son, his face a mask of shock and hurt. For a moment, he seemed at a loss for words. Then, slowly, he pushed his chair back and stood up.
"I think," he said, his voice low and strained, "that I need some air."
Without another word, he strode out of the room. The sound of the front door slamming echoed through the house.
Anthony collapsed back into his chair, the fight draining out of him as quickly as it had flared up. He buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Sören knelt beside him, wrapping an arm around his trembling form.
"Oh, Anthony," Elaine whispered, her voice thick with tears. She rose from her seat and hurried around the table, enveloping her son in a tight embrace. "I'm so sorry, darling. So very sorry."
For a long moment, the three of them remained locked in their embrace, the only sounds in the room their muffled sniffles and the distant ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall. Finally, Anthony lifted his head, his eyes red-rimmed and swollen.
"I'm sorry, Mum," he said hoarsely. "I didn't mean to ruin dinner."
Elaine shook her head, cupping Anthony's face in her hands. "You didn't ruin anything, sweetheart. This... this has been brewing for a long time." She glanced at the door Roger had stormed out of, her expression a mix of worry and frustration. "Your father... he's set in his ways, but he loves you. He just doesn't know how to show it sometimes."
Sören squeezed Anthony's shoulder gently. "Maybe I should go," he said softly. "Give you some time alone with your family."
"No," Anthony said firmly, reaching up to clasp Sören's hand. "You are my family too. Please stay."
Elaine nodded in agreement. "Of course, Sören. You're always welcome here." She straightened up, wiping her eyes. "Now, let me make us some tea. That always helps, right?”
“Yeah.” Anthony heaved a deep sigh.
Sharing tea and watching a few episodes of Downton Abbey by the fireplace with his mother and Sören, while giving love and attention to Elaine’s cats Mungojerrie, Rumpleteazer, and Macavity, helped lift Anthony's spirits. Afterwards, they spent time in Anthony's childhood bedroom, unpacking their luggage and putting their things away. The room was mostly the same as he left it, except for a larger bed and the absence of a poster of Gavin Rossdale from Bush. Lava lamps and old stuffed animals were still present, as well as a framed painting of Van Gogh's Starry Night. Anthony pulled out a photo album and showed Sören pictures from his childhood, including ones with his parents and during his time at Wemblefrrf... when Sören was still known as Sigrit. They had been best friends then, the two goths at their school.
"I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable," Anthony said, noticing Sören shifting in his seat after looking at some old photos from Wemblefrrf.
"No, it's okay. It's a part of my past," Sören replied, reaching out to touch a photo of himself before he transitioned, with a small smile. "It just feels like a lifetime ago, but I still remember what it was like to be trapped in the wrong body. I'm grateful that Maglor understood and helped me through the transfiguration ritual to become who I am now." Maglor, himself, had once been female, and magically transformed to male.
The ritual involved one representative from each of the four elements - Earth, Air, Fire, and Water - and took a lot of energy from the participants; Maglor represented the House of Air. Sören said he'd felt like he’d had the flu for almost a month afterwards but still had no regrets - that had been a small price to pay for living as his true self.
Anthony squeezed Sören's hand lovingly. "I'm proud of you."
"Hi Proud Of You, I'm-"
Anthony groaned playfully and nudged Sören with his elbow. Just then, there was a knock on the door.
"Anthony," Elaine poked her head in, "your father would like to have a talk with you. He's in the study."
Anthony stood and gazed at his feet before he let out a deep breath and nodded. He didn't want to start another argument, but they had to talk about it. Just the two of them. Sören reached out for a comforting hug and gently patted his shoulder. "You got this," Sören assured him.
Anthony's heart pounded as he made his way down the hallway to his father's study. The familiar scent of old books and leather filled his nostrils as he hesitated at the door, hand poised to knock. Taking a deep breath, he rapped his knuckles against the wood.
"Come in," Roger's gruff voice called from inside.
Anthony stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. His father sat behind his large oak desk, a tumbler of whiskey in hand. The warm glow of the desk lamp cast long shadows across Roger's face, accentuating the deep lines of worry etched there.
"Sit down, son," Roger said, gesturing to the chair across from him.
Anthony lowered himself into the seat, his posture rigid with tension. For a long moment, neither spoke, the ticking of the antique clock on the mantle marking the passing seconds.
Anthony cleared his throat, breaking the heavy silence. "Dad, I-"
Roger held up a hand, cutting him off. "Let me speak first, Anthony." He took a long sip of whiskey, his eyes fixed on the amber liquid swirling in the glass. When he looked up, his gaze was tired but determined. "I owe you an apology."
Anthony blinked, caught off guard. Of all the ways he'd imagined this conversation going, this wasn't one of them.
Roger continued, his voice low and gravelly. "I haven't been... fair to you. Or to Sören. I've let my own prejudices and fears cloud my judgment, and in doing so, I've pushed you away." He paused, taking another sip of whiskey. "That's the last thing I ever wanted to do."
Anthony felt a lump forming in his throat. "Dad, I... I don't know what to say."
Roger set down his glass, leaning forward with his elbows on the desk. "You don't have to say anything. Just listen, please." He took a deep breath, as if steeling himself. "I grew up in a different time, Anthony. A time when... well, when people like you and Sören weren't accepted. My brother Nigel, you know he’s gay, and it made life a lot harder for him. And I knew life would already be hard enough for you as… a magic user, and being Jewish on your mum’s side. Your mum told me things about what her parents went through - her mum coming here to London after the Kristallnacht, her dad using magic to survive Auschwitz, and help other prisoners survive as best as he could. I didn’t want people coming after my only child and making your life miserable for being what you are, what you can’t help. But you can’t help being gay, either, and I suppose it’s natural you were drawn to another magical person instead of someone normal - well, let me rephrase that, ‘normal’ doesn’t sound right.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Anyway. The fact is, even though the world has changed, I still worried the old prejudices would come round and hurt you. And that people would think I’d failed you, in some way, even though this isn’t about me and I should know better.” He paused, running a hand through his greying hair. "But that's no excuse. You're my son, and I love you. I should have been able to see past all that, to see how happy Sören makes you. I've been a fool, and I'm sorry."
Anthony felt tears welling up in his eyes, a mix of relief and lingering hurt washing over him. "Dad, I... thank you. That means a lot to me."
Roger nodded, his own eyes glistening suspiciously in the lamplight. "I can't promise I'll get everything right from here on out. Old habits die hard, and all that. But I want you to know that I'm trying. I want to be better, for you. For both of you."
Anthony swallowed hard, fighting back the lump in his throat. "That's all I've ever wanted, Dad. For you to try and understand."
Roger stood up, coming around the desk. He hesitated for a moment before pulling Anthony into a tight embrace. Anthony stiffened at first, surprised by the uncharacteristic display of affection, before melting into his father's arms.
"I'm proud of you, son.”
Anthony felt his breath catch in his throat at his father's words. He pulled back slightly, looking up at Roger with wide, disbelieving eyes. "You... you are?"
Roger nodded, his expression softening. "I am. You've grown into a remarkable man, Anthony. Strong, principled, and kind. Your mother and I... we raised you the best we could, but the person you've become, that's all you." He paused, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "And Sören, too, I suppose."
Anthony chuckled, even as tears threatened to spill over. "He's been a good influence on me."
"I can see that," Roger said, his tone thoughtful. "He clearly cares for you a great deal. And you for him."
"We do," Anthony confirmed, his voice soft but firm. "He's everything to me, Dad. I know it might be hard for you to understand, but -"
Roger held up a hand, cutting him off gently. "I'm trying to understand, Anthony. I may not always get it right, but I want to." He took a deep breath, as if steeling himself. "I'd like to talk to Sören, if that's alright. Maybe... maybe we could all have breakfast together tomorrow morning? Start fresh?"
Anthony felt a wave of emotion wash over him - relief, hope, and a cautious optimism. "I'd like that, Dad. I think Sören would too."
Roger nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Good. That's... good." He cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the prolonged emotional moment. "Well, you should probably get some rest. It's been a long day."
Anthony nodded, wiping at his eyes. "Yeah, you're right." He stood up, hesitating for a moment before pulling his father into another quick hug. "Thanks, Dad. This... it means a lot."
As Anthony made his way back to his room, he felt lighter than he had in years. The weight of unspoken words and suppressed emotions that had hung between him and his father for so long seemed to have lifted, at least partially. He knew there was still a long way to go, but it was a start.
Opening the door, he saw Sören sitting on the bed with his legs crossed, engrossed in a notebook. It was no ordinary book, but one that contained all the emo poetry Anthony had written during his turbulent tween years before being accepted into Wemblefrrf.
"Oh shit, you found that."
Sören's mischievous smile revealed his guilt as he read one of the cringe-worthy poems aloud.
"'My soul is as dark as the blackest night, my heart a void of endless despair,'" Sören read dramatically, barely containing his laughter. "'No one understands my pain, this anguish I alone must bear.'"
Anthony groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Oh G-d, please stop. I can't take the embarrassment."
Sören's eyes twinkled with amusement. "But elskan, this is pure gold. Listen to this one: 'Trapped in a world of conformity and lies, I long to spread my broken wings and fly.'"
"I swear, if you don't stop right now, I'm calling off the wedding," Anthony jokingly threatened, though he couldn't help but laugh at his younger self's melodramatic writing.
Sören set the notebook aside, opening his arms invitingly. "Come here, my dark prince. Or should I say… dork prince.”
Anthony gave him the finger, but still welcomed his beloved’s embrace. “Piss off,” he said fondly.
Sören responded with a kiss. Then another. And another. Anthony’s cock stiffened, and he felt Sören’s telekinetic powers undoing his belt and his jeans. “Here?” he asked, feeling a little self-conscious about doing it in his old room… but he was too horny to object.
"Why not?" Sören asked, nuzzling Anthony's neck, his hands roaming under Anthony's shirt. "It'll be like reliving naughty schoolboy fantasies."
Anthony shivered at the touch, his resolve crumbling. "My parents are just downstairs, and their room is right down the hall," he whispered, even as he tilted his head to give Sören better access.
Sören's lips curved into a wicked smile against Anthony's skin. "Then we'll just have to be very, very quiet, won't we?"
Before Anthony could protest further, Sören captured his lips in a deep, passionate kiss. Anthony melted into it, all thoughts of propriety fleeing his mind as desire took over. Sören's hands made quick work of Anthony's remaining clothes, and soon they were both naked on the bed, their bodies pressed together.
Sören's hands roamed over Anthony's body, tracing familiar paths that never failed to ignite sparks of pleasure. Anthony gasped as Sören's fingers brushed against his nipples, teasing them to hardness.
"Shh," Sören cautioned. "Remember, we have to be quiet."
Anthony bit his lip, stifling a moan as Sören's hand wrapped around his cock, stroking slowly. He bucked his hips, seeking more friction, but Sören kept his pace maddeningly slow.
"Patience, elskan," Sören whispered, his breath hot against Anthony's ear. "I want to savor you."
Anthony's breath hitched as Sören's lips trailed down Anthony's chest, pausing to swirl his tongue around each nipple before continuing lower. Anthony groaned as Sören's mouth hovered teasingly over his cock.
"Please," Anthony breathed, his fingers tangling in Sören's dark hair.
Sören looked up at him through hooded eyes, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. "Please what?" he asked, his breath ghosting over Anthony's sensitive skin.
"Please, I need..." Anthony trailed off, biting back a moan as Sören's tongue flicked out to taste the tip of his cock.
"Tell me what you need, elskan," Sören purred, his hands caressing Anthony's thighs.
Anthony swallowed hard, his cheeks flushing with a mix of desire and embarrassment. "I need your mouth on me," he whispered urgently. "Suck me. Please, Sören."
A look of triumph flashed in Sören's eyes before he lowered his head, taking Anthony's cock into the wet heat of his mouth. Anthony bit down on his fist to stifle a moan as Sören's tongue swirled around the sensitive head before taking him deeper.
Sören's hands gripped Anthony's hips, holding him in place as he bobbed his head, alternating between long, slow strokes and quick, teasing flicks of his tongue. Anthony's free hand tangled in Sören's hair, not guiding but simply holding on as waves of pleasure washed over him.
"Oh G-d," Anthony breathed, his head falling back against the pillow.
Sören hummed in response, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through Anthony's body. He increased his pace, sucking harder, working his tongue. Anthony's hips jerked involuntarily, and he had to bite his lip to keep from crying out.
"Sören," Anthony gasped, tugging gently at his fiancé's hair. "I'm close. I'm gonna come soon."
Sören pulled off with a soft pop, his hand replacing his mouth as he stroked Anthony firmly. "Come for me, elskan," he husked. "Let me taste you."
Anthony's back arched as Sören took him back into his mouth, sucking hard. With a muffled groan, Anthony came, his body shuddering as waves of intense pleasure washed over him. Sören swallowed Anthony's release, slowly pulling off his softening cock. He crawled back up Anthony's body, a path of gentle kisses along the way before claiming his mouth in a deep, passionate kiss. Anthony could taste himself on Sören's tongue, and it sent a residual shiver through his body.
"That was..." Anthony whispered against Sören's lips, still trying to catch his breath.
"Magical?" Sören supplied with a cheeky grin.
Anthony rolled his eyes fondly. "You're such a dork."
"Says the man who wrote emo poetry about his 'broken wings,'" Sören teased, nuzzling Anthony's neck.
Anthony groaned, but there was no real annoyance behind it. "You're never going to let me live that down, are you?"
"Never," Sören confirmed, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he nuzzled Anthony's neck. "Never," he repeated softly. "It's too adorable."
Anthony huffed in mock indignation, but he couldn't keep the smile from his face. He ran his hands down Sören's back, feeling the warmth of his skin. "Well, I suppose I'll have to find a way to distract you then," he said, his fingers trailing lower.
Sören's breath hitched as Anthony's hand wrapped around his cock. "Oh? And how do you plan to do that?" he asked, his voice husky with desire.
Anthony smirked, using his free hand to pull Sören into a deep kiss. As their tongues danced, he stroked Sören slowly, teasingly. Sören moaned into the kiss, his hips rocking into Anthony's touch.
"Shh," Anthony whispered against Sören's lips, echoing his earlier warning. "We have to be quiet, remember?"
Sören bit his lip, nodding as Anthony's hand continued its torturously slow pace. Anthony reveled in the way Sören's breath hitched, the slight trembling of his body as he fought to stay silent.
With a swift movement, Anthony flipped their positions, pressing Sören into the mattress. He trailed kisses down Sören's neck, pausing to suck gently at the sensitive spot just below his ear. Sören's hands clutched at Anthony's back, his fingers digging in as he fought to stay quiet.
"Anthony," Sören breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Please..."
Anthony smiled against Sören's skin, loving the way his fiancé trembled beneath him. He continued his journey downward, pausing to lavish attention on each of Sören's pierced nipples before moving lower. He kissed and licked at the planes of Sören's toned stomach, feeling the muscles quiver under his touch.
When he finally reached Sören's cock, Anthony paused, looking up at his lover with heated eyes. Sören was a vision, his skin flushed and glistening with a light sheen of sweat, his dark hair fanned out on the pillow. Anthony took a moment to appreciate the sight, his heart swelling with love and desire.
"You're beautiful," Anthony sighed, before kissing and nibbling on Sören's inner thigh.
Sören's response was cut off as Anthony took him into his mouth, his back arching off the bed. Anthony worked his tongue along the underside of Sören's cock as he bobbed his head, savoring the familiar taste and weight on his tongue.
Sören's hands tangled in Anthony's hair, not guiding but simply holding on as pleasure coursed through him. Anthony could feel the tension in Sören's body, knew he was fighting to stay quiet. He doubled his efforts, hollowing his cheeks as he sucked harder.
"Anthony," Sören gasped, his voice barely audible. "I'm close. So close."
Anthony hummed in acknowledgment, the vibrations causing Sören to buck his hips. He relaxed his throat, taking Sören deeper as his hands caressed his lover's thighs. Sören's breathing grew ragged, his body trembling on the edge of release.
With a final swirl of his tongue, Anthony felt Sören tense beneath him. Sören bit down on his fist to muffle his cry as he came, his body shuddering with the force of his orgasm. Anthony swallowed, working Sören through the aftershocks until he became too sensitive.
Crawling back up Sören's body, Anthony gave him a tender kiss. Sören melted into it, his arms wrapping around Anthony's shoulders to pull him close.
"That was..." Sören breathed against Anthony's lips.
"Magical?" Anthony supplied with a smirk, echoing Sören's earlier comment.
Sören chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with amusement and post-orgasmic bliss. "Touché, elskan."
They lay there for a moment, basking in the afterglow, their bodies intertwined. Anthony traced lazy patterns on Sören's skin, relishing the warmth and closeness.
"I talked to my dad," Anthony said quietly, breaking the comfortable silence.
Sören turned his head to look at Anthony, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern. "How did it go?"
Anthony took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. "Better than I expected, actually. He... he apologized."
Sören's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Really?"
Anthony nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah. He said he's been unfair to us, that he let his own prejudices and fears cloud his judgment. He wants to try and understand, to be better."
Sören's expression softened, a mix of relief and cautious optimism crossing his features. "That's wonderful, Anthony. I'm so happy for you."
Anthony nodded, feeling a lump form in his throat as he recalled the conversation. "He said he's proud of me, Sören. And he wants to talk to you too. He suggested we all have breakfast together tomorrow morning, to start fresh."
Sören pulled Anthony closer, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. "That's a big step for him. How do you feel about it?"
Anthony sighed, nestling his head against Sören's chest. "Honestly? I'm nervous. Happy, but nervous. I want to believe things can change, but I'm afraid of getting my hopes up too high."
Sören stroked Anthony's hair gently, his touch soothing. "That's understandable, elskan. It's okay to be cautious. But this is a positive step, and we should give your father a chance to make good on his words."
Anthony nodded against Sören's chest. "You're right. I just... I want this to work so badly. I want us all to be a family."
"We will be," Sören said softly, his voice filled with quiet determination. "It might take time, and there might be bumps along the way, but we'll get there. Together."
Anthony lifted his head, meeting Sören's gaze. The love and support he saw there made his heart swell. "Together," he echoed, leaning in to kiss Sören softly. "I love you so much."
"I love you too," Sören whispered against Anthony's lips.
They lay there for a while longer, wrapped in each other's arms, the gentle ticking of the clock on the nightstand marking the passing minutes. Eventually, Anthony reluctantly pulled away.
"We should probably get some sleep," he said, glancing at the clock. "Breakfast with my parents is going to be... interesting."
Sören nodded, kissing Anthony's forehead again before they disentangled themselves. They cleaned up quickly and quietly, mindful of the thin walls and the sleeping household. As they settled back into bed, Anthony curled into Sören's side, resting his head on his fiancé's chest. Sören's arm wrapped around him protectively, his fingers tracing soothing patterns on Anthony's skin.
"Whatever happens tomorrow," Sören said softly, "we'll face it together."
Anthony nodded, feeling a sense of peace wash over him despite his lingering nerves. "Together," he echoed, closing his eyes.
As sleep began to claim him, Anthony found himself thinking about the journey ahead. There would likely be more difficult conversations, more moments of tension and discomfort. But for the first time in years, he felt a glimmer of hope that his family could truly come together. With Sören by his side, he felt ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.
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