Sören's twenty-sixth birthday fell on a Saturday this year. Because it was roughly four hours from Boston to New York City, they left on Friday evening, taking an Amtrak Acela train. And because it was Black Friday and a lot of people were also traveling for the Thanksgiving holiday, the train was a bit more crowded and noisy than either man would have liked, and the high-speed train made Sören feel slightly ill at times, but they made the most of it, cuddling and watching The Princess Bride on Nicholas's laptop on the way there.
Once they arrived in New York, it was nighttime. They took a cab to the hotel, checked in, and it was a short walk to nearby restaurants, most of which were still open. They decided on a fusion place - they split an appetizer of chicken wonton tacos and kimchi quesadillas and for the main course, Nicholas had a pad thai quinoa bowl and Sören had a tandoori chicken burger and a side of potato salad made with spicy-umami Korean mayonnaise. The food was good but the restaurant was even more overstimulating than the train - Sören was surprised by how many people were out eating this time of night - and by the time they returned to the hotel Sören was exhausted.
They didn't make love that night - instead, after a shower and brushing their teeth, Nicholas comforted Sören by rubbing his back, legs, and feet, with soft whispers of "You're Daddy's good boy. You're safe with your daddy. Daddy's taking care of you," and when Sören relaxed enough to start dozing off they just held each other, entwined. It made for a deep, restful sleep, and when Sören woke up the next morning, his nose in Nicholas's chest hair, feeling Nicholas's heartbeat and strong, furry arms tight around him, Sören's first thought was I want to sleep in his arms every night and wake up in his arms like this every morning. He looked into Nicholas's dark eyes, which crinkled as Nicholas smiled, and Sören gave him a sweet little kiss, holding back from saying I love you, not wanting to scare Nicholas away if those feelings were not returned, if it was coming on too fast, too strong.
"Happy birthday, mon cher." Nicholas kissed Sören's brow and squeezed him, and Sören felt a lump in his throat, a fierce, tight ache in his chest, feeling like he would explode with holding back from those three words. Too soon, Sören cautioned himself. Too soon... too soon...
But whether or not it was too soon, it was the truth. Sören had fallen in love with Nicholas.
As tempting as it was to spend the morning in bed expressing that love with his body, The Met opened at 9:30 in the morning and they needed to get there on time - there would be lines at the entrance - and have enough hours to see everything they wanted to see instead of feeling rushed. They went down to the restaurant's cafe for breakfast, and Nicholas booked a cab. On the cab ride to the Met, Sören watched the sights of New York from the window. Sören grew up in Akureyri, a city of eighteen thousand people, and Reykjavik - one hundred twenty two thousand strong - had felt huge. Then he'd moved to Boston which was even bigger. And now, he was riding through New York and it seemed almost overwhelming. Fascinating, to be sure - he didn't regret taking the trip here - but definitely someplace to visit, not live.
"Are you all right, darling?" Nicholas rubbed Sören's knee.
"Jæja." Sören exhaled. "I think I might enjoy New York a bit more when I'm properly medicated for anxiety." He could feel the overstimulation coming on just from the cab ride, and desperately hoped it wouldn't interfere with the trip to the Met.
"When is your appointment again?"
"January eighth. The soonest I could get in to the clinic where they take my insurance." Sören got his testosterone from Planned Parenthood by informed consent with routine bloodwork, but going on meds necessitated a trip to a general practitioner.
Nicholas nodded. "The waiting lists to see a doctor these days are outrageous. When I was your age..." Nicholas's voice trailed off, and he turned pink. "Oh no. I've become one of those old people."
Sören cackled and patted Nicholas's arm. "I'd love to hear what it was like back in the 80s and 90s. Your generation had the best music."
"The best music, but not the best attitudes - it was a much less enlightened time than now."
"The late 1900s."
Nicholas facepalmed, but then he laughed, too.
Despite Sören getting overstimulated again on the way to the Met, he did indeed manage to have a good time at the Met. There was a lot to see, all pleasantly distracting - Sören marveled over the exhibitions of African art, ancient Near Eastern art, ancient American art, Asian art, Oceanic art, Greek and Roman art, Egyptian art, Islamic art, medieval art, and classic European paintings. More than once he teared up, feeling a frisson of awe at getting to see beautiful pieces of history, preserved through the ages. And Nicholas not only didn't judge him for getting choked up at such wonders, but Nicholas's own eyes were too bright at times, taking it in - Sören knew the historian in him probably felt that same sense of awe.
Over lunch, Sören found words for some of what he was feeling. "My uncle Einar used to tell me that making art was worthless and a waste of time. I still get self-conscious about it - my art doesn't earn enough to pay the bills, when I can sell it. But when I look at all of these paintings and sculptures and things... it tells me he's wrong. Art is a universal language, every culture has art, we've been making art as long as we've been walking upright, expressing ourselves is one of the things that makes us human." Sören put his hand on his heart. "It's something we need in the world, if that makes sense."
"It does." Nicholas put his hand over Sören's hand. "You, and other artists, are carrying a fire that was lit at the dawn of time. That fire gives light to the world and helps it to see. Einar was too stupid to understand that."
I love you, Sören thought to himself again, but didn't say it.
Though Sören had felt a bit overwhelmed by how big, loud and busy New York City was, and he wasn't keen on seeing Times Square - at least not until he was on anxiety medication - he still felt it would be remiss not to visit Central Park which was nearby. So he and Nicholas went on a sunset stroll. The fiery sunset was a sharp contrast to the bare trees of late November and it was a melancholy, wistful ambiance, enough so that Sören paused here and there to take pictures, hoping to paint something inspired by the scenery someday.
They stopped to have Italian food at Caffe Grazie - Sören was tickled by the Italian version of a bento box - and then they returned to the hotel. The shower in their hotel suite was small enough that they decided not to shower together tonight, even though Sören usually enjoyed showering with Nicholas. Nicholas showered first and Sören doodled on his tablet to unwind, with some smooth jazz and sultry R&B playing in the background. When it was Sören's turn to shower, he turned the water as hot as he could stand it and let it pelt down on his sore muscles, draining away any lingering anxiety from the big day out. For the last few minutes of his shower he leaned against the wall and just let himself be, breathing deeply.
When Sören stepped out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist, he found that the lights were dim, rose petals were scattered in a path leading to the bed, and on the bed, LED candles were glowing around the room... and Nicholas was laying naked, propped up on one elbow, lazily touching himself. Sören's breath hitched at the sight of him, cunt throbbing.
Nicholas made a "come here" gesture. Sören let his towel drop to the floor, rushed over to the bed, and pounced on Nicholas like a cat, making them both laugh. Nicholas smiled up at him and pulled him down against his chest, in his arms.
For a few moments Nicholas just held him and pet him, stroking his curls, and then after Sören leaned up to rub noses and kiss the tip of Nicholas's patrician nose, they kissed - first a soft, sweet kiss, then a deeper, more passionate one. Sören moaned into the kiss, hands running over Nicholas's hairy chest and arms, enjoying the feel of him.
Nicholas gently rolled Sören onto his back. "Happy birthday, my sweet boy." With that, Nicholas proceeded to spoil him - kissing and licking his way down Sören's neck, over his shoulders, down one arm and up the other... lapping and suckling each nipple, playing with one as his mouth teased the other, going back and forth between them until they were in long, thick, aching peaks and Sören was panting, arched to him, his thighs slick. Nicholas continued kissing, licking and nibbling Sören's stomach and each thigh. Nicholas's fingers brushed over him, leaving gooseflesh in their wake.
Sören was desperate for release, but Nicholas just rolled him onto his stomach and worked on his back, kissing and licking down his spine, fingers tracing the tattoos, hands rubbing in slow circles then fingers walking, sliding down his spine. Nicholas nuzzled and nibbled Sören's ass cheeks, making Sören giggle, and Nicholas massaged there too, easing tension while building the arousal higher. Sören moaned into the pillows as Nicholas kissed and caressed the back of his thighs and calves - Sören never knew he was so sensitive there.
Nicholas rolled him over again and once more explored the front of him, from the calves on up. Slowly, deliberately, kissing and licking, hands roaming. Sören lost track of time as Nicholas lavished tender loving care over each part of him, going deeper and deeper into sensation. Through the haze of sensual pleasure, Sören thought about the one-night stand with Justin that never was to be - and how it was uncanny if not Divine intervention that Justin, a rapist, had been run over on his way to the meeting. Sören had intended on settling for what he could get that night, which in hindsight he knew would be a two-minute fuck if Justin hadn't outright assaulted him. But this...
"This is how it's supposed to be," Nicholas purred as if he'd read Sören's thoughts. "You deserve this, darling. You're Daddy's good boy..."
Sören bit his lip and whimpered. As much as he loved the delicate, decadent bliss of Nicholas's skilled foreplay, he could feel a wet spot on the sheets underneath him. "Daddy..."
"Yes, little one?"
"Daddy, I need to come." Sören gave him a pleading look.
Nicholas gave an exaggerated groan and a chuckle, and then he rubbed his nose in Sören's pubic bush, breathing in the scent of him. Sören's hard clit jutted out at him, and Nicholas caressed it with his index finger then began to lick... ever so slowly, deliberately. Sören whined and bucked his hips. Nicholas smiled wickedly, eyes crinkling, and continued the slow, slow licking. As badly as Sören needed to come, each slow stroke of Nicholas's tongue sent fire through his veins, addictive, building layers of pleasure like never before.
After awhile Nicholas drew Sören's swollen clit in his mouth and sucked slowly, letting it glide back and forth, slowly rolling it around in his mouth. Sören writhed, clutching fistfuls of the sheets, gasping, hearing himself swearing in Icelandic, mindless with need. Nicholas kept on just like that for what seemed like an eternity with slow sucking and slow licking, until Sören's cunt was making thick streamers of cream and Nicholas's beard was glistening with it, and Nicholas himself was breathing more raggedly.
Nicholas rose up, heat in his eyes. Sören spread his thighs wider, and Nicholas climbed over him, kissing him hungrily as their cunts kissed. Sören shivered as he felt how wet Nicholas was for him as well, Nicholas's hot juices dripping. Nicholas began to roll his hips, fucking him slowly. Sören clung to him and they kissed again and again. Nothing had ever felt so delicious as their lips kissed above and below, clit making love to clit slowly, sweetly.
It wasn't long before they were both breathless, shaking, and Nicholas kissed and licked Sören's neck as he moved just a little faster. "Daddy," Sören moaned, nails in Nicholas's back, urging him on faster. "Daddy... Daddy, Pabbi, Daddy..."
"Yes, darling." Nicholas nipped at the sensitive place where neck and shoulder met.
"Daddy..."
When Nicholas gave in and began to rub against him harder, Sören's nails raked down Nicholas's back. "More, Daddy!" Sören felt the first flutters of orgasm - not quite coming, but almost there. "Don't stop, Daddy, more, Daddy, more..."
Nicholas groaned and nibbled at Sören's neck again. Kissing, licking, nuzzling. Their cunts were making wet suctioning sounds now, fueling Sören's lust even hotter. "More, Daddy..."
"Yes, little one. As much as you want. As much as my good boy wants..."
"Oh fuck." The flutters pulsed again, sending him closer to that edge. "More... please, more..." And then Sören completely lost his English. "Pabbi, meira, Pabbi... meira, Pabbi..."
Nicholas grunted and rocked his hips now, the wet smacking sound louder than their moans and shuddery breaths. Sören held onto him tightly, bucking his own hips, matching Nicholas's rhythm, rutting madly. "Pabbi! Pabbi, Pabbi..."
Nicholas was whispering in French and Sören was too far gone to pick up on it and try to make sense of it, he just knew it sounded sexy as hell. Their mouths crushed together and Nicholas took his hands and squeezed. "I can't hold back," Nicholas ground out.
Sören let go, coming with a broken cry. A moment later Nicholas came too, and Sören's orgasm pulsed harder at the feel of Nicholas's cunt pulsing against his, juices gushing. "Pabbi," Sören sobbed. And before he could stop himself, he heard himself calling out, "Ég elska þig. Ég elska þig, ég elska þig, ég elska þig..."
Nicholas smiled, eyes shining with love, and he tenderly stroked Sören's cheek. "Je t'aime. Je t'aime, mon amour."
Sören began sobbing with mingled relief and joy. He held Nicholas tight and kissed him fiercely. "I love you," he said in English, his voice shaking.
"I love you." Nicholas kissed his brow, and his lips slid down Sören's nose to kiss the tip.
Sören giggled and sobbed. "Thank fuck. I was worried you'd think I'm too needy -"
"I feared the same." Nicholas sighed, then he smiled again. "But it is as you said, our first night. It feels like we were meant to find each other."
Sören nodded solemnly, a frisson down his spine. "It feels right. And even if it isn't right, I'm too far gone. It scares the shit out of me, but I want this, even though I feel like I've fallen off the deep end of emotions."
Nicholas nodded. He took Sören's hand, kissed it, and placed it on his heart. "You shall lead and I will follow."
If you recognize Nicholas's words at the end of the chapter, give yourself a House of Finwë star.
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