You are probably old enough to be his father.
Nicholas was annoyed with himself for admiring the young Jon Snow lookalike in the cafe, who had quite literally taken his breath away when he first laid eyes on him. But when he immediately followed up that thought with It was just a friendly gesture to someone having a bad time, he was even more irritated by arguing with himself.
His irritation boiled into exasperation once the younger man took his seat and flashed a dazzling smile and Nicholas felt his heart beating a little faster, his stomach giddy in a way that he hadn't been since he was in his twenties. Nicholas attempted to pull himself together and preserve his dignity - he sat up very straight, gave a small clear of his throat, and gestured at the menu. "May I get you anything? My treat."
"Are you sure?"
Nicholas nodded.
"I think I'd like what you're having," the Jon Snow doppelganger said, looking at the scones.
When the waiter came back, Nicholas asked for more scones and a refill of the other man's hot chocolate, and an ice lemon water for himself, since he'd had two cups of tea and that was his daily limit since turning fifty-five, not wanting heart problems from overuse of stimulants. He'd also hit his weekly limit for sweets, even though he continued to walk and run and do yoga at his age; being on testosterone for the last twenty years made him a bit more cautious about his health.
"Thank you again, so much." The younger man smiled, brown eyes warm. Beautiful eyes. Nicholas glanced away, cheeks burning.
Then Nicholas found his words. "You are most welcome. I'm sorry that whoever you were expecting seems to have blown you off."
"Yeah." The other man heaved a deep sigh and slouched a little. "Well, shit happens." Then he winced. "Sorry, language."
Nicholas chuckled. "I'm Québécois. Merde happens."
"Ahhh, I was wondering why your accent sounded like my housemates' French accents, but not quite. You've got a nice voice."
"Your own accent is quite pleasing to the ear. You're Scandinavian?"
"Icelandic." The younger man nodded.
Suddenly a lightbulb went off in Nicholas's head. "You're an Icelander and you live with French people? Are they named Yeyette and Victor, by any chance?"
"Yeah." The younger man's eyes widened.
"You're Sören." Nicholas put out his hand. "I am Nicholas Decaux."
Sören shook his hand and Nicholas once again felt that flare of annoyance at the way his stomach fluttered. Stop behaving like an overgrown teenager.
"It's nice to finally meet you," Sören said. "I'm sorry I hide in my apartment when you come over. I have social anxiety." Sören gestured around the cafe. "It's a lot that I even made myself do this today."
Nicholas nodded, feeling a pang of sympathy. "Which likely makes it all the more disappointing that you were stood up. Well, fate is with us today."
Sören raised an eyebrow and his lips quirked. "Did Yeyette put you up to coming here to keep an eye on me? She was a little worried about me going on -"
Nicholas laughed and shook his head before Sören could finish the sentence. "As you know, that is something she would do, but no, she did not. I come here every Saturday when school is in session to look at my students' assignments, grade papers, work on lesson plans, and so forth. A change of atmosphere helps my concentration and judgment, and I reward myself for the work with a little treat."
"Makes sense."
The waiter brought over Sören's hot chocolate and scones and an ice lemon water for Nicholas. For a moment they enjoyed their refreshments in silence - not quite awkward but not yet quite companionable. Sören seemed to be studying him, and Nicholas was trying - and failing - to not admire him once again. I'm not blind, Nicholas told himself, trying to justify appreciating beauty when he saw it. There is no harm in looking.
But now, of course, Nicholas's curiosity had been piqued. He thought of the pieces of what Yeyette had told him: Sören was twenty-five, he was a remote worker doing data entry but his real passion was art - some of his paintings were in frames around Yeyette and Victor's home and Nicholas had always enjoyed them - and...
"Sorry if I seem... uh." Sören shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I'm bad at people. And like I said... anxiety."
Nicholas nodded. He thought about giving Sören a reassuring arm pat but he didn't know if the touch would be welcome or not. "Yeyette told me you're neurodivergent and have been through quite a bit."
Sören's mouth opened slightly, and Nicholas went on, "She didn't get into detail about your business, as you know she's not like that -"
"Right." Sören nodded. He took a big sip of his hot chocolate. "Well I guess if I'm finally going to get to know you, that's the sort of thing you should know up-front, so you know if I act weird it's -"
"I'm not exactly normal myself." Nicholas decided not to tell Sören his life story right now, especially not in a public place like this - he'd been stealth since he'd been able to pass, and he preferred to keep it that way.
"OK. Jæja, I suppose if you hang around with Victor you couldn't be too much of a normie."
Nicholas chuckled - his best friend was quite eccentric. "No. Indeed not. The most interesting people never are."
Sören smiled that smile again, and Nicholas smiled back.
Nicholas allowed Sören some space and quiet to eat his scones, and get back to the last paper. When it looked like Sören was finished, Nicholas checked the time - he'd been here four hours, Sören had been here a little over an hour, and Nicholas was going to need to leave soon to feed his cat, but he felt wrong about cutting their first meeting short, especially when Sören still seemed a bit pensive following the get-together that never happened. Nicholas decided he could spare an evening to help lift Sören's spirits as a favor to Yeyette and Victor, which had absolutely, positively nothing to do with wanting to keep looking at him or listening to that gorgeous accent. Not at all whatsoever. "How did you get here, if you mind me asking? Did Yeyette bring you?" He knew Sören didn't drive.
Sören shook his head. "I took the bus."
"If you like, I can bring you back... or, perhaps, we could have dinner and we can continue getting to know each other? I can cook for you, but if you'd like to go out I would be happy to treat you, so long as you're fine with stopping at my place so I can feed the cat -"
"I don't want to bother you, but I won't say no," Sören said. "I mean... to dinner. If you're sure it won't be a pain in the ass."
"I'm sure." Nicholas smiled. "I enjoy cooking for others. You were always invited to accompany Victor and Yeyette when they came over -"
"I'm sorry that I never accepted the invite." Sören lowered his head. "I felt like I would be intruding..."
"Oh goodness, no. Believe me, I say what I mean and I mean what I say. I have no qualms telling people if they are bothersome or unwelcome." Nicholas began to shut his laptop down and reached for the leather laptop case by his feet under the table. "Do you have any food allergies?"
"Not that I'm aware of."
"No dietary restrictions?"
Sören shook his head. "Whatever you want to cook for me, is fine. Victor says you're an excellent cook."
"I considered becoming a professional chef but history is my real calling." Nicholas motioned for the waiter to come over and gave out his debit card. "I might stop at the store, I think. How does grilled salmon sound to you?"
"Amazing." Sören beamed.
Once the bill was paid, Sören followed Nicholas out to his car, a sleek black Jaguar. Nicholas did not consider himself materialistic, especially by the standards of many other people in his income bracket, but he did appreciate elegance and things that were well-made; his car was worth the price tag for the ease of ownership. Sören's eyes widened as they approached the car. "This yours?"
"Yes." Nicholas unlocked the doors.
"I've never been in a Jag before." Sören climbed in the passenger's seat.
It was an overcast day in early November; Nicholas's joints warned him it would rain sometime today and sure enough, as they headed for the supermarket it began to sprinkle. Once they arrived at the store it was coming down harder, and Nicholas retrieved his umbrella from the glove compartment. Walking so close to Sören under the umbrella made him feel giddy again - and annoyed at the giddiness. You are just making a friend. Stop.
But it made Nicholas notice Sören all the more. They were close in height - Nicholas was six feet and Sören was probably five-ten. And when Sören stepped in through the supermarket's sliding doors ahead of him, walking to grab a shopping cart, Nicholas found himself staring downward at the way Sören's cargo pants hugged his plump but firm backside, just right.
Mon Dieu.
Nicholas was only here for just a few things, enough to make dinner for the two of them - the meal plans he'd originally had for tonight could wait until tomorrow. They walked around to pick up salmon fillets, fresh asparagus and red potatoes, and Nicholas decided he could cheat on his usual healthy habits this once and added fresh strawberries with angel food cake from the bakery for dessert. As they waited in line at the self-checkout, Nicholas checked out Sören again, his annoyance with himself turning to anger. It had been a very good long time since Nicholas had been involved with anyone romantically or sexually, he'd given up on relationships after the deep heartache of transitioning and finding out that most queer men didn't want a trans man as a partner and the few who did often were fetishizers and that inevitably manifested with deep psychological issues. As Nicholas got older, his available dating pool shrank even further. Nicholas still didn't regret transitioning - it had saved his life - but it was a hard road to walk alone; these last few years Nicholas had resigned himself to being single and had thought his libido was dwindling with age. Now looking at Sören was making him feel... "some kind of way", as the youth called it.
He didn't like that at all. But he still felt it was the right thing to have Sören over for dinner and if nothing else, begin a friendship with him.
Nicholas lived in a brownstone duplex in a quiet neighborhood close to a park. He maintained a small garden on his porch with birdfeeders, and Sören stopped for a moment to admire it before they went inside. Nicholas's tuxedo cat, Tacitus, greeted them at the door, allowing Sören a sniff and some pettings. After they removed their shoes, Nicholas attended to the cat first, while Sören waited in the kitchen. "Make yourself at home," Nicholas told him, motioning towards the living room - the kitchen and living room were open plan. "May I get you anything? Juice? Water?"
"Water's fine, takk."
Sören sat on one of the navy blue plush couches, looking as awkward as Nicholas felt. Nicholas brought him a glass of spring water, then set to work making dinner. He put on music - a bit of Mozart - and every now and again glanced over at Sören, who was making friends with Tacitus. At last Sören broke the ice. "I like your cat."
"He seems to like you, as well. His name is Tacitus."
"...Like the historian?"
"Yes." Nicholas smiled, glad that he didn't have to explain that to Sören. He knew European schools were good, and Sören would have received a more rigorous education than his American counterparts, but it was still a relief.
"Anyway, I like all cats. Which is good, because Yeyette has a lot of them."
"Indeed." Nicholas chuckled. Then he sobered a bit. "Tacitus ought to have a friend, but I'm still grieving the loss of my senior cat Herodotus, who passed earlier this year."
"I'm sorry." Sören sighed. "It never gets easier."
"No."
Sören gestured towards the kitchen. "You want some help in there? I feel like if you're feeding me, I should -"
Nicholas waved his hand. "Thank you for the offer, but no, I shall manage. Besides, I am rather... exacting in my kitchen standards, I would not wish to inflict that on someone else."
Sören snickered.
"What's so funny?"
"Oh, Victor said you can be a bit pedantic. Part of why I was intimidated about meeting you. Anyway, I'm guessing that extends to the kitchen as well."
"Quite." Nicholas raised an eyebrow. "What else did my old friend have to say?"
"Not much." Sören shrugged. "Guessing probably as much as he and Yeyette have mentioned about me."
"Probably." Nicholas nodded and tried to concentrate on his work preparing the meal, but he kept being distracted by Sören's affection towards the cat, looking more adorable than he had any right to be.
A few minutes later, Sören was walking around the living room, examining the contents of Nicholas's bookshelves. While Nicholas had downsized considerably once he'd hit fifty, being single and with no heirs, he still owned a great many books - his book collection was a source of pride. Sören seemed a bit in awe - when their eyes met, Sören let out a low whistle. "You've got a lot of books," Sören said. "I'm impressed."
"Do you enjoy reading?"
Sören nodded. His eyes wandered back to the books in front of him. "Part of why I got bullied as a kid was because I preferred books to sports. Like, in Iceland reading is a big deal - one of our Christmas traditions is Jólabókaflóðið - but even by Icelandic standards, I was a real nerd. I never had as many books as this, but I had at least a trunk's worth and I had to leave it behind in Iceland. I donated them, but still." Sören stared down at his feet for a moment. "I haven't tried to rebuild my book collection in part because Yeyette and Victor have a decent amount of books, and in part because I always worry my life will go tits up again and I'll have to leave things behind."
"Well..." Nicholas took a deep breath. "If you see anything you like, you have my permission to borrow it. I'd be happy to have you over now and again so you can visit my library and keep an old man company."
Sören's smile was as bright as the sun. Nicholas's heart skipped a beat again. "Are you sure? I mean, we just met -"
"Yeyette and Victor think well enough of you to let you live in their home, I think that's a good vouch of your character."
"OK. Speaking of..." Sören pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. "I better text Yeyette and let her know what happened. Where's your bathroom...?"
Nicholas pointed the way, and resumed focusing on getting dinner ready. When Sören came out of the bathroom, Nicholas was ready to join him in the living room. Tacitus sat on Nicholas's lap, purring. Nicholas changed the music from Mozart to Coltrane, and Sören asked, "So, what's your favorite book?"
Nicholas chuckled. "I have a lot of favorites. Narrowing it down to just one would be rather difficult."
"Off the top of your head."
"All right... The Master and Margarita, is one of my very favorites. What about you?"
"I like Stephen King's Dark Tower series and Ursula K. Le Guin's A Wizard of Earthsea. I know those aren't really classics, but..."
"Just because something is older, doesn't mean it's better. Yes, classic literature had many great stories, but not everything penned in those times was a masterpiece." Nicholas's lips quirked. "I'll let you in on a secret - I despise Moby Dick. And Jane Austen's works."
Sören cackled. "I hate Jane Austen. Overprivileged bougie shit."
"Yes. I come from a well-to-do background but even so, her works leave rather a bad taste in my mouth. Anyway, I know many dismiss King because he's popular, but he's popular for a reason. He's quite gifted at weaving a compelling story. Le Guin's work is pure art."
Sören smiled that smile again. "OK, so you're not as stuffy as I feared you'd be."
Nicholas facepalmed, and couldn't help laughing a little. "Yes, I have some refined tastes, and I know I've got a bit of a formal, reserved manner - I am probably somewhere on the autistic spectrum. But I like to think I'm not that bad - I'm Gen X. We swore we wouldn't turn into our boomer parents."
"Do you have any kids? Besides Tacitus, I mean."
"No. No kids. No... significant other." Nicholas knew Sören probably wasn't homophobic, but because homophobia had been the default in the 80s and 90s, Nicholas still found it hard to break out of the habit of referring to a partner in non-gendered language to people he didn't know well.
Sören nodded, and looked down with a small sigh. "Yeah. Me either."
Nicholas sensed there was a sore spot - putting two and two together, it seemed that Sören had been stood up by a date - and he decided not to probe it just yet. He changed the subject back to books... and to test the waters with Sören's acceptance of gay people. "Have you ever read Oscar Wilde's works?"
"Not in a few years. He's my favorite classic author, though."
Nicholas gestured for Sören to follow him, and led him over to his shelf of Wilde hardcovers. On the shelf immediately above... "Walt Whitman's poetry." Another queer man.
"There's someone I've been meaning to read and never got around to it."
Nicholas took Leaves Of Grass down and handed it to Sören. Then he pulled down Dorian Grey and handed it over. "Here. You can return these in a couple of weeks, and let me know how you liked Whitman."
"Thank you." Sören beamed.
They sat back down. "I was bullied too," Nicholas said. "I had a couple of good teachers who kept me from turning to the dark side, as they say, and that was part of why I decided to become a teacher myself - to pay forward the kindness I was shown, and try to be a positive influence, one more person saying 'you matter, you are our future'. And history is especially important in these times, so we do not repeat the horrific mistakes of previous generations."
"That's awesome, to have a calling like that." Sören nodded. He sighed again. "I don't really have any grand purpose in life. I do data entry -"
"And you paint." Nicholas once again thought about the beautiful oil landscapes on Yeyette and Victor's walls, with a touch of magical realism - portals, nature spirits. "I would say that is a calling."
"It doesn't exactly pay the bills."
"Wealth is not an accurate measure of things worth doing. For example, look at the Kardashians."
Sören snorted. "I'd rather not."
Nicholas smirked. "Indeed." Then he went on, "The arts are not a luxury, but a necessity. For the whole of human history we have burned with the fire of creation - cave paintings, prehistoric people adorned with jewelry. Humans need beautiful things. They soothe us, inspire us. What I've seen of your art, belongs in a museum. Victor will tell you I am sparing with my praise -"
Sören nodded vehemently. "I take that as a huge compliment, takk."
"In fact, now that you're here, I would love to commission at least one or two paintings from you." As much as Nicholas tried to avoid making major purchases of tangible items anymore, he thought this was an acceptable indulgence.
Sören looked at the two books on the cushion next to him, then their eyes met. "Since you're kind enough to let me borrow books, I wouldn't charge. You can consider it payment for -"
"Oh no, I offered to lend you the books for free. I would feel as if I was robbing you." Just then, the timer went off.
Once dinner was served, Nicholas allowed Sören a few moments of silence. Sören gave a happy sigh and pointed to his plate with his fork. "This is excellent."
"Thank you." Then Nicholas realized he'd forgotten something - he'd been too distracted by Sören. He rose from his seat. "Wine?"
"I don't drink."
Nicholas glanced over his shoulder as he retrieved a bottle of white wine. "Will it bother you if I have a glass?"
"No."
Nicholas poured himself a glass of wine and brought it over. He was curious as to why Sören didn't drink - that was unusual for someone his age - but didn't want to be rude by asking. But Sören answered the question for him. "I was raised by my aunt and uncle after my parents died, and my guardians drank a lot. I self-medicated with alcohol for a bit and I stopped after..." Sören looked down. "Sorry, that was probably trauma dumping."
"You're fine." Nicholas swirled the wine in his glass. "Do let me know if it bothers you, I enjoy a glass of wine with dinner but I can take it or leave it."
"Nah, like I said, I can handle it. I mean, I live with French people. I don't really miss it. Anyway, the food is great. You could have become a chef if you weren't a professor."
"I like cooking. And truth be told, cooking is more enjoyable when I have someone to share it with."
"Really surprised you're single." Sören quickly shoveled a forkful of salmon into his mouth.
Nicholas gave a rueful smile. "I've had a lot of disappointments over the years."
"Yeah, me too." Sören nodded and wolfed down more salmon like it had personally offended him.
Nicholas twirled his fork. "But you... you're still young. There are other fish in the sea. I know getting your heart broken isn't easy -"
Sören shook his head and glanced off to the side. "It wasn't a heartbreak, really. I got stood up, but he was just someone from Grindr." Then Sören clapped his hand over his mouth, like he'd committed a faux pas by admitting he was gay.
"I'm gay too," Nicholas said, holding his gaze.
Sören breathed a small sigh of relief. "Hi Gay Too -"
Nicholas groaned loudly. "As you know, I am the elder here and should be the one making dad jokes."
"Hi The Elder Here And Should Be -"
Nicholas made a mock-threatening gesture with his knife. Sören batted his eyelashes and took a smaller bite of food.
"I've never used Grindr," Nicholas said. "I've heard of it - as you know, I teach at a university, most of my students are your age, I've overheard things - but 'hookup culture', as they call it, isn't really my style. I came of age during the time when casual sex was a death sentence."
"It's not really my style either," Sören said. "But it's been a really long time since..."
Nicholas felt his eyebrows go up. "I imagine men would be throwing themselves at your feet, non?" He felt like a creepy pervert for saying it, not wanting Sören to know there was an attraction and make him uncomfortable.
"No. I'm pretty sure I got stood up because I'm..." Sören looked down.
Nicholas tilted his head to one side. He didn't want to put Sören on the spot, but he also knew there was something very big dangling at the end of that sentence.
Sören looked up, rubbed his face like an annoyed wet cat, and exhaled sharply. "OK, if we're gonna be friends, you might as well know this, because I've dealt with enough cis gay guys who are 'phobes... I'm trans. I'm a trans man."
Nicholas leaned back in his seat. "So am I."
Sören's jaw dropped.
For a minute the room was so quiet one could hear a pin, and then Tacitus began to beg loudly for salmon. Nicholas went to the kitchen to dispense a couple of cat treats, and when he came back Sören said, "Wow. Does... does Victor know?"
"Yes." Nicholas nodded. "He wouldn't have told you even if he'd given you more information about me."
"It might have made me feel less intimidated about meeting you."
"Perhaps. But... as you know, it's rude, if not dangerous, to out people. I didn't know you were trans, either."
"I certainly couldn't tell." Sören's eyes raked him up and down. Then Sören gave a guilty grin. "You're hotter than the guy who stood me up today." Sören crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip.
Nicholas's cheeks burned, his stomach did cartwheels, and a frisson went through him. He tried not to be too pleased by the compliment, but it didn't feel like false reassurance flattery of the "those jeans don't make your ass look bigger" variety. Nicholas sat back down to finish his food. "Transition has been very good to you as well," Nicholas said mildly, restraining himself from coming out with the you are the most gorgeous man I've seen in my life that had been ringing in his head since the cafe.
"Not just outwardly, but here." Sören put his hand on his heart. "Dysphoria is a special kind of hell." Their eyes met. "You're not just the first other trans man I've met in-person - that I know about, anyway - but you're the oldest trans man I've ever talked to. It had to be real rough back in your day, já?"
Nicholas nodded. "I had dysphoria before I knew there was a word for it, or anyone else like myself. I began transition in 2004, so it's been twenty years. Twenty very lonely years - I was married and it ended my marriage, and my attempts at finding a partner since then have been... unfortunate. But I make the most of it. I still wouldn't go back to life before."
"Me either." Sören chewed the last of his salmon slowly, thoughtfully. "It's hard to believe you have trouble finding guys, though. Like, you're hot and you're smart. The guy who messaged me on Grindr could barely spell."
"I've found gay male culture can be very shallow and superficial, brains are not always an asset, especially for men who only want..." Nicholas gestured below the waist.
"I don't really care what someone has downstairs," Sören said, "so long as they look like, you know, a dude from the waist up." Sören sipped his ice water, their eyes meeting again before Sören looked away, cheeks pink.
Now Nicholas was reasonably sure Sören was flirting with him, and he didn't know how to respond to that. He found it flattering, a nice boost to his ego, and he was feeling a bit randy for the first time in ages, but a still small voice in the back of his mind cautioned him.
Nicholas decided to change the subject and they resumed talking about books... then their favorite artists and works of art. Sören was once again impressed by Nicholas's cultured background - especially how many famous works of art he'd gotten to see in-person, touring Europe as a gift to himself for transitioning, living his best life.
"I've never been to an art museum before." Sören frowned. "I mean, we have some stuff in Reykjavik, but it's not, like..." His voice trailed off.
Nicholas found himself being spontaneous. "How would you like to accompany me to New York to visit the Metropolitan Museum of Art, sometime in the near future, perhaps within the next month?"
"Holy shit." Sören's eyes widened. "That's a dream come true, but that's got to be expensive, right?"
"I don't think it's ridiculous, but it doesn't matter. You deserve to go."
Sören teared up a little, then pulled himself together. "I really wish I could do something nice for you. I feel like you're spoiling me." Sören looked at their empty plates and utensils. "Can I do the dishes?"
"You are a guest -"
"Please."
Nicholas heaved an exaggerated sigh. "All right. If it makes you feel better..."
While Sören rinsed the dishes and loaded the dishwasher, Nicholas relaxed with a second glass of wine, and got two sips in before he realized he was going to have to drive Sören back - or have Yeyette or Victor pick him up, but that would likely be an annoying inconvenience on such short notice - and then he cursed himself, knowing he was staring at Sören's ass again and that had distracted him. In fact, Nicholas had been so distracted that he'd forgotten all about the cake.
Nicholas strode into the kitchen, as Sören was finishing up. "I am incredibly sorry. I bought a cake and I didn't remember to offer you dessert."
Sören turned off the water and stepped closer to Nicholas. "I'd rather have you for dessert." He crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip again.
Nicholas's heart skipped again and he felt that surge in his loins, a frisson through his body. He could feel warmth radiating off of Sören. As much as he wanted, he made himself proceed with caution one last time. "As you know, I'm old enough to be your father."
"You could be my daddy." Sören smiled.
Nicholas couldn't help laughing at that - delighted and flustered - and then Sören's hands were on his chest and their lips met. The last of Nicholas's caution was dashed upon the whirlwind of the sexual frustration he'd felt for the last twenty years, all passion and desire and hunger and need as their tongues played together, Sören's hands sliding over him, his own hands cupping that magnificent ass he'd been admiring since the afternoon. They kissed and kissed, until they were breathless.
Nicholas stroked Sören's cheek and an errant lock of his curls. "I don't... usually..."
"Neither do I. I mean, I was going to with that idiot from Grindr, but that's... not..." Their eyes met. "Besides, this isn't entirely casual. It feels like we were meant to find each other, somehow." Sören rested a hand on Nicholas's heart.
This time Nicholas initiated the kiss, letting himself want. He grabbed Sören by the waist and began marching towards the bedroom, kissing with each step.
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