Anthony lay there, watching Sören rest, finding himself stroking Sören's curls and rubbing his back with a sort of tenderness that made him slightly self-conscious and yet it felt incredibly right.
Anthony needed sleep himself, but he drank in the sight of Sören's long lashes, the full lips slightly parted... that look of perfect peace.
His finger began to trace the full-sleeved flame tattoo on Sören's right arm, leading out to the pair of phoenixes on his back, fire and water. He wondered what had gone into such elaborate art - there was a story there.
Then for the first time he noticed the painting hanging on the wall across from the bed. It was the phoenixes on Sören's back, arising from fire and waves against a backdrop of space, nebulas. Anthony heard himself gasp. Of course, he'd been too occupied to see it before now - Sören's naked body was rather distracting - and that made it all the more shocking.
Sören heard the gasp and opened his eyes. "Hm?"
"Oh. Sorry, didn't mean to wake you." Anthony tousled Sören's curls, then he pointed at the wall, even though pointing was rude. "That painting. It matches your ink."
"Jæja, I painted it." Sören pursed his lips. "It was my first painting."
"It's beautiful," Anthony said honestly. He stroked Sören's face and skritched his beard like Sören was a cat. Sören smiled and Anthony smiled back. "So are you," Anthony added.
Sören bit his lower lip, which Anthony found adorable - then Sören leaned up and kissed him.
Anthony's cock stirred back to life as the kiss deepened. Then they kissed open-mouthed, tongues licking, teasing, and Sören began to grind against his thigh. Anthony's nostrils twitched at the delicious smell of Sören's Omega heat, still going. He couldn't get enough.
He could get used to this, and that feeling scared him a little. But it was also exciting, like jumping from a plane or diving into the ocean. The intense look Sören gave him just before they kissed again reminded Anthony of immolation... and he wanted to burn in that fire. He had been starving for touch in a long, lonely dry spell, and here was a feast.
Anthony laughed a little, tickled by the situation. Sören's eyebrows went up.
"It's my birthday," Anthony said. "This was shaping up to be my shittiest birthday ever... but now it's my best birthday ever."
"Jæja?" Sören grinned. "Happy birthday."
"Thank you." Anthony kissed the tip of Sören's nose.
"How old are you, anyway?"
"...Forty-two." Anthony realized they knew virtually nothing about each other except their names - and that Sören was from Iceland, he painted, and Sören's Alpha was dead - and he felt a bit self-conscious about rushing right into bed without getting to know each other better. "Any other questions?"
There was a pause, then Sören asked, "Do you know where your towel is?"
It took Anthony a few seconds to get that, then he laughed harder and tousled Sören's curls. "I see you're a man of... deep thought."
"And I see you're a real hoopy frood." Sören grinned again and stole another kiss. "You gonna sass me now?"
"Soon. How old are you?"
"Old enough." Sören smirked, then his grin became teasing. "And young enough to call you an old fart."
"Hey!" Anthony wasn't really offended by that, but he still smacked Sören's bottom.
Sören moaned, and wiggled his ass playfully. "Ooh."
"Oh, you like that." Anthony nipped Sören's lower lip. "Maybe you should get the birthday spankings."
Sören nodded so eagerly it made Anthony's sides hurt from laughter... but Anthony's cock really liked that idea, and the way his cock throbbed and precum rolled down the shaft made him sober up quickly. He pulled Sören across his lap, over his knee, and said, "I won't give you forty-two spankings. Just ten." If it had been awhile since Sören had been with anyone then it had also been awhile since he'd been spanked, and Anthony didn't want to hurt him too much.
"OK."
"Tell me to stop if it's too much, all right?"
"Would you just spank my fucking ass already?"
Anthony couldn't help laughing again - he really, really liked this guy, what little he knew of him - and then he took a deep breath and swatted Sören's left ass cheek, hard. Sören moaned, and Anthony's cock jolted in response.
Anthony slapped Sören's right ass cheek, and Sören cried out, rubbing himself on Anthony's thigh and knee. Back and forth Anthony went, smacking Sören's ass harder and harder. He watched the slick pool out of Sören's hole - some even splattered his hand when he spanked Sören, driving him out of his mind with lust. By the time the tenth and last spanking was done, Anthony felt like he was about to explode, and the way Sören was panting and whimpering, eyes glazed, told Anthony the same thing.
Sören climbed off Anthony's lap and got down on all fours, face down, ass up. Anthony growled at the sight of Sören's hole twitching, dripping slick. This time he took Sören from behind, admiring Sören's red freshly-spanked ass... giving in to a primal, animalistic fuck, pounding into him hard and fast, one hand grabbing a fistful of Sören's curls, the other reaching around to stroke Sören's precum-soaked cock. Sören rocked his hips back at Anthony, giving back as good as he got, desperately fucking himself. "Oh god, fuck me," Sören moaned. "Fuck me, just like that..."
Both men groaned as Anthony knotted. Anthony slowed down, not wanting to come right away, his knot throbbing with need. When the pace picked back up, the feel of that little nub inside Sören rubbing against his knot was so delicious that Anthony grit his teeth, shaking, trying to hold back his release, wanting his Omega to come first.
My Omega. Anthony's eyes widened, not able to believe he was already thinking of Sören as his Omega.
He slowed down again, teasing them both. He sank down, chest against Sören's back. He let go of Sören and put an arm around him, tilted Sören's face so they could kiss. They moaned as their tongues licked together sensually, and Sören moaned louder as Anthony began to kiss and lick his neck. Anthony fought the urge to bite the hollow where Sören's neck and shoulder met - a claiming bite would make it serious. They didn't even know each other.
But buried balls deep inside him, feeling the wet silken heat of Sören's inner muscles ripple around him up and down with each thrust, Anthony felt like they did know each other. It felt like coming home.
They kissed again and Sören climaxed, spurting over Anthony's hand. Three thrusts later Anthony came with a triumphant shout, seeding him, savoring the feel of Sören contracting around him, making the throbbing of his cock stronger. "Oh, baby." Anthony nuzzled Sören's neck, kissed it some more. Don't bite him. Don't bite him...
They rested, Anthony laying on top of Sören, still knotted in him, then he rolled onto his side, pulling Sören with him, spooning him, arms encircling him. Sören made a contented noise and put his hands over Anthony's and squeezed. Anthony let out a deep sigh of contentment.
They drifted off for a bit and when Anthony came to, his knot had receded and he'd slipped out of Sören. He still spooned Sören anyway, pulling him closer, smiling as Sören made another little murmur of pleasure. Anthony began to nuzzle the fire phoenix on Sören's back, then he studied the sleeve tattoos, the phoenixes, finger tracing them.
"So... which came first, the ink or the painting?" Anthony asked.
It took Sören a moment to respond, his voice husky from sleep. "The painting. I based the ink off it."
"There's a story behind it, right?"
"Jæja." Sören rolled over, and looked Anthony in the eye, then closed his eyes like he was trying to find his words in English. When he opened them, he looked up at the ceiling, then met Anthony's eyes again. "I had a fucked up childhood. My parents died young, I was raised by my father's sister and her husband. They were drunks. Beat the shit out of me. My uncle was an Alpha and he was... really unhappy about me being an Omega, in particular."
"I bet." Anthony winced... and then he felt a surge of anger, the urge to go to Iceland himself and beat up Sören's uncle. Show him what a real Alpha was like. Whoa, settle down.
"The minute I turned eighteen I left, moved to Reykjavik from Akureyri. For my nineteenth birthday I won tickets to go see my favorite band at the time, a Viking metal band from Norway called Blod Ulv. The guitarist, Eiliv, was openly gay, and I met him backstage and he, ah. He gave me birthday spankings." Sören crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip, then he gave a small, sad smile before he went on. "Eiliv retired from music a couple years later, he was very smart, he had a university degree, he loved history and archaeology, and he became a teacher. We moved here when he got a job offer and he taught Viking and Medieval Norse Studies at UMaine till the shooting on campus."
"I'm so sorry." Anthony touched Sören's face.
"That was three years ago. We would have been together nine years this year."
Anthony did the math. "You're... twenty-eight?"
Sören shook his head. "Just turned twenty-seven in November."
Anthony pulled Sören close. "I don't even know what to say."
"I was going to tell you about the painting, sorry, I got distracted. After I'd been with Eiliv a couple years my old issues came back, I was convinced I wasn't good enough for him, I started self-injuring again. Eiliv helped me through it and I started painting as a form of therapy. That painting is... symbolic in a lot of ways. I've had a recurring nightmare since I was four, of burning to death, even though I don't know where it came from. As I got older I interpreted it as that self-destructive urge. The water... tempers the fire. Getting myself inked was kind of like an act of magic, to balance the fire and water."
"That's a beautiful story." Anthony cocked his head to one side. "You have more paintings? Is the one in the living room by you, as well?"
Sören nodded. He scratched his beard. "You want a show?"
Anthony smirked. "I've been getting quite a show, but yes, I'd love to see more of your art."
Sören laughed, patted Anthony, rose from the bed and stretched. Snúður meowed, standing in the bedroom door. "I gotta feed this little asshole anyway," Sören said, and blew Snúður a kiss, who responded with a slow blink. The soft smile Sören had for his cat made Anthony melt, cheeks burning.
Anthony followed Sören out to the open plan kitchen and living room, both of them naked. Once the cat was fed, Sören led Anthony over to the fireplace, where he rekindled the warm, cozy fire, and they spent a few moments studying the painting hanging over the mantle. The northern lights shimmered in neon green and cyan in a starry sky over dark choppy waves crashing onto a black sand beach with tall basalt cliffs and stacks further out in the ocean.
"That's Reynisfjara," Sören said.
"It's beautiful." Anthony's eyes followed something gleaming in the waves, like a small lamp. A magic glowing orb of some kind. Anthony's hair stood on end and a shiver went down his spine.
"I dreamt of that," Sören said, noticing his observation. "A strange light in the sea."
I dreamt of it too, Anthony thought to himself, but didn't say it aloud, not wanting to make things weird. Anthony was not religious - he didn't believe in anything - but it was an awfully big coincidence for his car to break down here during a blizzard at the home of a gorgeous Omega going into heat who had the same dream of a small sphere of light tossed about the ocean. It felt like they were meant to meet, somehow, and that was a dangerous feeling.
Still naked, Sören walked to the closet and Anthony sat on the couch while Sören pulled out a stack of canvases wrapped in plastic, and a large binder portfolio. They looked through the canvases first, each of them a different scene of Iceland - waterfalls, fjords, volcanoes, mountains and glaciers - but the colors were more saturated, giving the landscapes a surreal, dreamlike effect... and upon closer inspection Anthony could see faces in the trees and stones, little wisps of light, plant creatures, like something out of folklore. It made him smile.
The portfolio held prints of paintings that had sold. There was more of the same type of nature theme, but also portraits. "People I've never met," Sören said. "Mostly." Some of the portraits were of elves. The last one was of Eiliv, a gruff-looking man with wild ginger hair and beard, intense blue eyes.
"He looks like Tormund," Anthony said, tickled.
Sören rolled his eyes and then he laughed. "Jæja, we got the Jon Snow and Tormund jokes a lot, he even called me 'little crow'. He said we should get a wolfhound and name it Ghost." Then Sören gave a small, sad sigh.
Anthony put an arm around him and rested a hand on his shoulder, aching for Sören's grief.
Seeming to sense the shift in mood, Sören looked out at the kitchen then back at Anthony. "You want some leftover pizza?"
"Sounds good."
As Sören heated up plates of leftover pizza - still naked - he asked, "So do you just deliver the pizzas, or -"
"I own the restaurant," Anthony said. "It was my stepfather's, and I took over after he died."
"Oh! What did you do before?"
"I was a civil rights lawyer." Anthony frowned. "I got stabbed by a fundamentalist Christian convinced I was doing 'the devil's work.'"
"Ah shit, I'm sorry." Sören shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "That's rough."
Anthony nodded. "I needed a change of pace after that. So, yeah. It's not a glamorous job but it's honest work, and I'm less likely to get stabbed again, unless I accidentally do it myself in the kitchen." Anthony gave a nervous chuckle.
"I'm impressed that you did civil rights law. That takes... conviction." There was that hesitant little pause, as if Sören was trying to find the English word. Their eyes met. "I like people who are passionate about things. Like music or academia. Or justice."
"Or pizza." Anthony snickered. "I pride myself on having the best in town."
"I order from you pretty regularly but this is the first time I've seen you. Usually it's other drivers."
"I sent them home because of the storm, did the last ones myself. Wondered who the fuck was getting four pizzas in the snow." Anthony smirked. "Wasn't thrilled about driving down the cul-de-sac."
"I'd apologize, but I think you got a pretty good tip out of it."
Anthony laughed and nodded enthusiastically. "I'll say."
They sat in front of the fireplace to eat their pizza, and Sören pulled up a playlist of Joy Of Painting from YouTube. When their pizza was done they continued to cuddle under blankets by the fire, watching Bob Ross paint happy little trees. It was so cozy to hold Sören in the blanket pile, with Snúður curled up with them purring, as Bob Ross painted little worlds to life. The wind howled outside and the lights flickered.
"I've got a generator if the power goes down," Sören said. "Eiliv wanted to make sure we were prepared for emergencies."
"He was a good Alpha to you," Anthony said.
Sören turned and looked into Anthony's eyes. For a moment they just looked at each other, and though neither of them spoke, Anthony could almost tell what Sören was thinking. He was studying, observing... considering. Anthony fought the urge to say I could be your Alpha, even though he was definitely feeling it, definitely wanting it. It took a beautiful, sensitive heart to make such lovely paintings, and Anthony wanted to protect it the way Eiliv had.
He was afraid of coming on too strong... and he was afraid of getting hurt himself, having a bad track record with relationships. But Anthony felt safe here, in the blankets by the fire, with this gentle Viking who loved Bob Ross and painted happy little trees of his own.
Wordlessly, Sören moved in for a kiss, and soon they were making out, taking turns kissing and licking each other's necks, kissing deeply, tongues licking, teasing, hands roaming under the blankets.
"I want you," Sören whispered.
"You've got me," Anthony husked.
Sören pushed Anthony down onto his back and straddled him. Anthony guided the tip of his cock to Sören's wet, dripping opening and watched Sören's hole swallow it down inch by inch... just as beautiful as his paintings. Its own miracle of nature.
"Mmmmmm." Sören bit his lip and then he sighed, a look of pure bliss on his face. "God, I love feeling you in me."
"This is nice." Anthony reached up and stroked Sören's cheek.
"It is." Sören grinned. "Happy little heat."
Anthony snickered. He loved Sören's dorkiness more and more. "Happy little slick."
"Happy not-so-little dick."
Anthony's laughter rang out. Then he grabbed Sören's hips and began to thrust, making Sören bounce astride him, losing himself in the hot, needy fuck, the slap of their flesh, the sweat dripping down their bodies, their broken cries, pleasure building and building... until at last Sören painted him with cum, and Anthony exploded with ecstasy once more, feeling like he could float into happy little clouds.
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