2013
Brighton, England
Anthony looked up from his book as he heard the keys in the front door. He heard the familiar sound of Icelandic swearing - "Fokk, skít, andskotinn" - and some fumbling around with bags rustling; he couldn't restrain his grin as he watched Sören walk in with the keyring in his teeth, two shopping bags in either hand. Even though Sören had been gone less than two hours, Anthony still got up as quickly as he could and threw his arms around him. He'd tried not to worry, but every departure carried the threat that he would not return. Indeed, it was a miracle Anthony even let Sören out of his sight.
It was to be their first night in their new home. The grey cobblestone salt box design beach house in Brighton, with its arched picture windows, dark hardwood floors, and bright white and light grey walls, had originally been the vacation home of Anthony's parents Elaine and Roger, and they had given it to the couple after what happened. Anthony's promising career as a criminal defense barrister had been cut short when he'd been stabbed by a client. He had lost a lot of blood and required a transfusion - thankfully no vital organs were ruptured. He had recovered, though he was sill feeling weaker than before the attack, and he bore some scars on his chest and stomach from the knife wounds. The worst scars were on his mind. Anthony was too spooked to return to Garden Court Chambers, and indeed, wanted to get out of London altogether. So they were here in Brighton, with some money from Anthony's parents to tide them over until they figured out what they were going to do with themselves. Sören was thinking about opening up his own art studio, which seemed like it would fit right in with Brighton's quirky, bohemian shops, but Anthony was still undecided. He'd had his heart set on being a lawyer since he was a teenager, and the knife attack had shattered his dreams.
But some things were still consistent. Sören had been loyal and devoted, his strength through the painful physical recovery and the emotional fallout that led to the diagnosis of post-traumatic stress disorder.
PTSD was something Sören dealt with himself, having been raised by an alcoholic aunt and uncle who got abusive when they were drunk. Well into Sören's adulthood, his uncle found ways to occasionally terrorize him, so Sören had come to the UK to get away from them and start his life over, and had ended up in a relationship with an Alpha named Justin Roberts, who abused him. Sören had, in fact, started off as Anthony's client, arrested for "assaulting" the golden boy of Arsenal - Sören had been acting in self-defense. Anthony managed to prove that and save Sören from doing time. The sort of trust it took for Sören to give Anthony enough evidence to prove his case built a friendship between them. The hurt, scared Omega brought out all of Anthony's protective Alpha instincts, but he tread carefully, not wanting to trigger Sören or make him feel taken advantage of. After a year as friends, following the case, Anthony had shyly seduced him, and not-so-shyly claimed him. That had been almost two years ago.
Anthony planted a kiss on the scar from the claiming bite where Sören's neck and shoulder met, and buried his nose in Sören's neck, breathing in his Omega's scent, spicy floral with a touch of woodsmoke. Sören dropped the bags and squeezed him tight.
The home in Brighton was fully furnished, but they'd brought their clothes and personal items with them and spent the day unpacking. Anthony had wanted to get takeaway or take Sören out to dinner and give him a break, but Sören wanted to make Anthony a home-cooked meal their first night in their new home, and Anthony couldn't object to Sören's tender loving care. So, Sören had gone to the supermarket to pick up something for dinner.
Sören was wearing jean shorts and his frequently-worn Joy Division T-shirt, dark curls tied up in a loose man bun to cope with the August heat, revealing the two small silver rings in each ear. The black glittery nail polish he wore sparkled as he pulled up the dark sunglasses and Anthony smiled at the love shining in those sweet brown eyes. Even dressed down, Sören was delicious to him, especially for being a little sweaty. Anthony thought about Sören glistening under the shirt and a shiver went down his spine.
Sören kicked off his black Doc Martens boots, leaving them by the door to not trudge dirt through the house, then he stooped to pick up the shopping bags.
"Do you want help -"
"I got it," Sören said, walking ahead to the kitchen.
Anthony followed behind him and watched Sören unload the groceries on the counter. He'd gotten salmon and the makings for a garden salad, and picked up some essentials like bread, milk, and eggs, orange juice, sausages for tomorrow morning, a package of cheese, and for snacks, baby carrots and a bag of salt-and-vinegar crisps. Anthony smiled as Sören took out fresh strawberries and a can of whipped cream, and took the can to put in the fridge.
"I can make the salad if you work on the salmon," Anthony told him.
"Jæja, are you sure?" Sören raised an eyebrow. "You have to chop with a knife -"
"Yeah, I'm sure." Anthony sighed, then gave Sören a playful whack on the elbow. "It's... it's fine. It's a kitchen knife, not..." He didn't finish the sentence.
"OK." Sören leaned down and kissed the tip of Anthony's nose. "I just worry about you, is all. I want to take care of you."
"I know, and you do. But some of taking care of me means letting me push myself sometimes too." Anthony planted a soft kiss on Sören's full lips, and then a second later almost regretted it because a chaste, innocent kiss became anything but, with their tongues meeting, swirling together, Sören's fingers walking down Anthony's spine. Anthony's breath hitched and he shuddered against him, melting to him. Anthony had already gotten himself worked up thinking about Sören while he was out, and now...
Anthony started kissing Sören's neck, knowing how sensitive he was there. Sören moaned, and seized Anthony's face to claim his mouth again. They pulled apart a moment later, breathing hard.
"I'm proud of you, you know." Sören tousled Anthony's short black hair. "You're a fighter, and it's one of the things I love about you."
"I love you too. Now we better get to work and no more hanky-panky, you."
Sören waggled his eyebrows, making Anthony laugh out loud. Sören turned on the tap and Anthony watched as Sören splashed cold water on his face, rubbed it into his beard - despite his intolerance of summer heat, he wouldn't shave his facial hair, but Anthony liked it. Sören looked like a rock star without being one, right down to the ink and piercings. Anthony watched Sören splash water onto his arms now, both covered in sleeve tattoos, flames on one, ocean waves on the other. After taking down his hair, shaking his curls loose and sprinkling water into that, he was good to start washing his hands and set to work on the salmon fillet.
They made an interesting contrast of opposites - Anthony was clean-cut and preppy, himself clean-shaven, using a straight razor as his late uncle Nigel had taught him... or he had prior to the attack. He was using regular razors now and he didn't like it as much, but he hoped that as time went on and he exposed himself to things like kitchen knives, he would be able to use a straight razor once more without balking.
Sören turned on the stereo so they could have music as they worked in the kitchen. Anthony was born in 1980 and Sören in 1984, and had grown up with music from the 1960s and 70s and early 80s - one of Anthony's favorite stories from Sören's past was one of the few happy memories he had of childhood, his late mother Brynhildur Jónsdóttir singing "Stairway to Heaven" as a lullaby. So it was a classic rock station they listened to now, with Sören singing along in his husky, soulful tenor and lovely, lilting accent to Kenny Loggins.
The waiting is over, no, don't you run
No way to hide
No time for wonderin' why
It's here, the moment is now, about to decide
Let 'em believe
Leave 'em behind
But keep me near in your heart
Know whatever you do
I'm here by your side
(You say that maybe it's over)
(Not if you don't want it to be)
For once in your life
Here's your miracle
Stand up and fight
(This is it)
Make no mistake where you are
(This is it)
You're goin' no further
(This is it)
Until it's over and done
Elaine had bought them a spice rack as a housewarming present, stocked up with a professional-quality selection of herbs and spices. Sören was properly impressed - he liked to make jokes about how Icelanders considered food "heavily spiced" if there was dill in sour cream, and that "fermentation is not a spice". Sören liked seasonings, and he especially liked heat in his food, the degree of heat surprising and amusing to Anthony considering where Sören came from and his dislike of hot weather. Sören was adding some kick to the salmon now, though Anthony knew Sören was restraining it for his sake - there was pleasantly piquant and then there were Anthony's jokes about Sören being part-dragon. Sören knew where Anthony's tolerance was, well below his, and it was one of the many ways Sören showed he cared for him, making the heat more to Anthony's taste.
All of the little things, added up so much.
As Sören prepped the salmon, Anthony washed and chopped lettuce, cucumber, tomatoes. There were green and black olives and feta cheese to add to the salad, and a vinaigrette dressing. "You Can't Hide Love" by Earth Wind and Fire came on, and Sören sang falsetto along with Philip Bailey, which always made Anthony laugh no matter how many times he'd heard Sören do it, which had to be dozens now.
"I love making you laugh, elskan."
Anthony stole a kiss at the end of the song, and he was starting to ache now, hardening in his khakis - Sören's Omega scent was a little muskier now, and Anthony could detect the vanilla notes of Sören's slick. Anthony was tempted to tell Sören to hell with dinner and drag him to the master bedroom. But instead Anthony watched with lust in his eyes as Sören bent over, firm bubble butt sticking out as he put the fish on the broiler. It wouldn't be long now.
Anthony leaned against Sören while the fish cooked, tossing the salad, throwing in the olives and cheese at the end, drizzling the vinaigrette. Anthony didn't need the support for standing, but the feel of his sweet, nurturing Omega against him was comforting.
And arousing. Anthony glanced at him, and Sören crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip. It took Anthony every ounce of his restraint to not slam Sören against the wall, pin his wrists and kiss him deep, wondering what it would be like to take Sören on the kitchen counter.
Not very sanitary for food prep, probably. But it was a nice thought. Sören got dishes down from the cupboard, and then he strode out of the kitchen for a moment, going out to the deck. Anthony wondered what Sören was doing - probably getting some air, since the kitchen was getting hotter with the broiler going - and when the timer rang, he came back.
Sören took out the fillet of fish from the broiler and cut it up, loading it onto plates, with some remaining on the tray for seconds or leftovers. He brought the plates and utensils out to the table on the deck, Anthony following behind with the large salad bowl in one hand, and two smaller serving bowls in the other.
When Anthony approached the table, his breath caught. Sören had been lighting candles out here, in colored lanterns and hurricane glass holders. Sören had also managed to sneak a bottle of Auchentoshan in with his groceries, which Anthony smiled at the sight of.
"I'll get the shot glasses," Sören said, putting a hand on Anthony's shoulder as he walked past.
The sun was starting to set, and the view of the blazing sky reflected on the sea made it especially romantic. Sören came back with shot glasses, regular glasses, and a pitcher of ice water. He left the patio door open a crack so they could still hear the stereo, sat down across from Anthony and as if on cue, "Your Song" by Elton John came on the stereo.
It's a little bit funny, this feeling inside
I'm not one of those who can easily hide
I don't have much money, but boy if I did
I'd buy a big house where we both could live
"Well, we sort of did that," Sören said, laughing softly. He poured the Auchentoshan, and passed Anthony his glass, holding his out. They clinked glasses, and Sören sipped his whisky thoughtfully, swirling it around.
"This is lovely," Anthony said, gesturing to the lit candles. "You're lovely."
"You're lovely." Sören's eyes crinkled at the corners. "I wanted to spoil you a little."
"You spoil me all the time." Anthony tried a bite of salmon. "Oh god, this is good."
Sören smiled.
"How was the walk?" Anthony asked between bites.
"Hot."
Anthony laughed and kicked him under the table. "I know that, muppet. I mean... how was it. You're finding your way around now?"
Sören nodded. "I took a little detour on the way there, looked at the sea for awhile. There was some guy with a guitar sitting there, playing." He bit his lower lip, his cheeks flushing.
"Yeah, was he cute?"
"Fuck, he was hot." Sören's blush deepened.
Anthony and Sören were committed to each other but they weren't blind - they still noticed attractive men, and indeed, one of their favorite games was to ogle men together, which aroused them for each other. Before the knife attack they had talked about possibly finding a guy to have a threesome with, though they were picky, so it hadn't happened yet.
"Long dark hair," Sören went on. "Tall, too, from the looks of him, though he was sitting down."
"Ooh nice." Anthony had fantasized about that type, sharing with Sören. He looked down at his food, not wanting to get his hopes up about getting to see his fantasy become a reality, especially when he still felt like a wreck a mere three months after the knife attack. "Did you talk to him?"
"Ha ha no." Sören sipped on his whisky. "You know how I get with strangers. Even if I'd felt less shy, I felt like he was too pretty for me to talk to. And his music was sure pretty. Was worth spending a few extra minutes in the heat."
"That's good, at least."
A few more minutes passed, with them working on their meal, and Sören asked, "How's your book?"
"Heavy." He was re-reading Stephen King's Dark Tower series. "I feel like I find new things every time I go back."
"Someday I should read that."
Anthony nodded. "Well, consider it yours."
"Aw, takk."
"It'll be nice to get the rest of my books unpacked. It's nice to be able to read again, even if I have to do it in shorter stints than I was used to." The post-traumatic stress disorder interacted with Anthony's attention deficit disorder in uncomfortable ways - it was harder to concentrate, and he was having more short-term memory problems. He used to be able to hyperfocus on a book for hours without a problem, now he was lucky to be able to read fifteen to twenty minutes at a time without needing a break. But even that was progress - he hadn't read at all for the first several weeks following the attack, everything got him upset.
"It's nice to see you reading. I wanted to cry when I got in and saw you."
Anthony felt the urge to throw down his fork, come over and hug him tight, but he didn't. He helped himself to another bowl of salad as well, and then he refilled Sören's dish while he had the tongs in his hand.
Sören dug into more salad. "I think I'll want to unpack my art supplies tonight or tomorrow, get the studio set up." Their house had two bedrooms, though they only needed one, and the spare was being turned into Sören's art room.
"Oh, brilliant. I can't wait to see you get back into painting."
"I'm feeling inspired again." He hadn't been painting much over the last three months following the knife attack. His voice husked then as he said, "You inspire me. I'd like to paint you."
"Oh, Sören." Anthony felt his face flush.
"You look like a Celtic warrior, with the scars." Anthony was Scottish on his mother's side. Sören bit his lower lip and went on, "You should model for me in a kilt."
"Oh Jesus." Anthony laughed, face burning.
"You should wear a kilt all the time, now that you're not having to wear those suits. I mean, don't get me wrong, you look hot in a suit but..."
Anthony shook his head and kicked Sören under the table. "And then what, we can play Celts and Vikings?"
Sören gave a little growl that went right to Anthony's cock.
Then Sören got more serious as he leaned back with his glass of whisky. "You know I hate that inspirational 'everything happens for a reason, the universe sends us blessings in disguise' bullshit, but you were always so stressed out from work. This is a chance to start over and find something... healthier. Rising from the ashes, like the phoenix on my back."
Anthony nodded. He couldn't argue with Sören about that. He had been very passionate about defending those in need, using his privilege to fight for the poor and people of color, who were disproportionately targeted by the British criminal justice system, but the constant adrenaline wasn't good for him - he understood why so many in his profession turned to drugs or alcohol, though he'd managed to keep free from those vices himself, except for the occasional joint thanks to Sören.
Sören went on, "I've wanted to be supportive, but Anthony, I am so glad you're done with that. I could see the way it was eating at you and it hurt."
"I know. And I really appreciate that you tried to look after me when I was so stressed out, without trying to control me and tell me to get out of it." Anthony frowned. "I just wish I knew what to do with myself now. I feel so useless."
"Oh, elskan. You're not fucking useless, OK? And... you'll figure it out. It's not like we need money in the meantime."
"No, but it's not really about the money. It's about a sense of purpose."
"I suppose. But it's OK to just chill and enjoy yourself for awhile too, y'know? I want to see you happy."
"You make me happy, Sören." Anthony meant it.
They finished dinner. Anthony started to get up, and Sören put a hand up. "I'll take care of dishes and wrap up the leftover fish," he said. "You want dessert?"
I want you for dessert. "Sure."
Sören moved the candles back to the mantle above the fireplace in the living room; Anthony sat on the couch and Sören brought over strawberries and whipped cream. The candles glowed golden against the blue dusk flowing in from the picture windows as they fed each other strawberries, licking and sucking the juices and cream off each other's fingers.
When Anthony bit into a particularly juicy strawberry and the juice trailed down his chin and neck, Sören licked it, making Anthony tingle and moan. He moaned again as Sören kissed him, stroking his face, his hair. Anthony finished the strawberry and more juice dripped down onto his shirt.
"Uh-oh. We better get this off." Sören began to unbutton Anthony's shirt, exposing the dark pelt of chest hair; Anthony's nipples hardened in the cool night air. Sören loaded another strawberry with whipped cream, and casually dripped cream and juice down Anthony's bare chest as he took a bite. Anthony looked down at the mess then up at Sören, who had a wicked gleam in his eye as he chewed and swallowed the strawberry, then chased the whipped cream and strawberry juice with his tongue. He continued licking Anthony's chest, and his tongue strayed to tease a nipple.
Sören fed Anthony a strawberry and now Anthony made an intentional mess of whipped cream on Sören's shirt. "Looks like you should take your shirt off too," Anthony said.
Sören took his shirt off, and they shared the last two strawberries between them, taking bites, kissing. Then Sören playfully sprayed whipped cream onto Anthony's neck and chest and licked it off with slow, deliberate strokes of his tongue. He licked around and around each nipple, then lashed it hard and fast, suckled and licked some more. Anthony clutched Sören's head, cock throbbing, breathing harder, electrified.
But he was going to tease Sören back first. Anthony sprayed whipped cream on his fingers and stuck them in Sören's mouth, groaning appreciatively as he watched Sören's full lips wrap around them and he worked his head back and forth, Anthony's fingers gliding in and out of his mouth like it was a smaller version of Anthony's cock. Anthony's smiled at the tent forming in Sören's jean shorts, mirroring his own hard bulge. The vanilla scent of Sören's slick was quite strong now.
Sören sprayed whipped cream over his own chest and Anthony lapped at the pierced nipples, sucked them hard, tugged each nipple ring with his teeth, licked more delicately. Sören moaned and gasped and shuddered. When Anthony came up their tongues rubbed together playfully, before Anthony kissed Sören deeply. He began to kiss, lick, and nibble Sören's neck. "I want you."
"I want you too, elskan." Sören gasped as Anthony sucked at the scar of his claiming bite. "Oh god." Sören shivered. "Elskan..."
"Yes?"
"Ég þarf þig innra með mér."
Anthony nipped and growled. He loved it when Sören spoke Icelandic; it was Anthony's sexual kryptonite. Anthony got even harder, aching to knot inside him. He got up, and dragged Sören up with him.
"Wait, the whipped cream needs to go in the fridge," Sören giggled. He gave a naughty ass shake as he brought the whipped cream to the kitchen.
When Sören returned, Anthony picked Sören up and carried him to the bedroom, making Sören giggle harder and squeal. Anthony gently tossed Sören onto the bed and began undressing, his hands trembling with desire. Sören threw his clothes haphazardly on the floor - Anthony was so horny he didn't even care - and when Anthony was naked too, he pounced on Sören like a cat. Sören giggled again, and then let out a cry, hips bucking as Anthony grabbed Sören's wrists and pinned them, kissing him fiercely, hard cock grinding hard cock. Sören whimpered as Anthony started kissing his neck.
Anthony kissed down Sören's body again, starting with his nipples - lapping and suckling one while his fingers pinched and flicked the other. He went back and forth, back and forth, making Sören howl and writhe. After a couple dozen rounds, Anthony licked down Sören's stomach, kissing here and there. He licked, kissed and nibbled one hip, then the other. He sucked on Sören's inner thighs, and nipped at those too, knowing there would be love bites later. At last he grabbed Sören's knees and split him like a peach. Sören's cock was rock hard against his stomach, glistening with precum... and his pink hole was twitching, dripping slick. Anthony's cock leapt at the sight, wanting to take him, pound into him, but first, he wanted to reward Sören for taking care of him.
"You are so wet, baby," Anthony breathed.
"Wet for you, ástin mín."
Anthony dove in and began licking at Sören's opening, savoring the sweet vanilla taste of his slick. His tongue found that little nub inside him and rubbed at it, making Sören scream, nails digging in Anthony's shoulders. Soon Sören was rocking his hips, desperately fucking himself on Anthony's tongue. "Oh god Anthony, fuck me, please, fuck me..."
"I am fucking you."
"Dammit, you know what I mean. I need your cock." Their eyes locked. "I need your knot."
Anthony groaned, his cock jolting again. The thought of knotting inside that hot hole...
Sören ground out, "Ég þarf þennan fokking hnút. Hnúturinn þinn innra með mér. Gefðu mér haninn þinn, gefðu mér hnútinn þinn..."
Anthony made a strangled noise. He pulled back, and slid up, kissing Sören roughly, letting him taste himself. Anthony wrapped his hand around Sören's cock, standing at attention for him, and gave it a few strokes. Anthony's fingers walked down the shaft, then back up, and gently rubbed at the frenulum - he smiled as Sören shivered. He drew Sören's lower lip between his - god, he loved Sören's lips - and sucked on it a little before he whispered, "I want you to ride me."
Their favorite position was Sören riding him, though they liked others - they were nothing if not creative and adventurous in bed. Tonight, though, was right for their old tried-and-true favorite.
Sören nipped Anthony's lower lip and sucked on it before he growled, "Ég vil ríða þér eins og villt naut."
Anthony's cock throbbed. He needed Sören now. He lay back against the pillows and Sören climbed astride him, straddled Anthony's hips, and sank down. Sören was so hot and wet that Anthony's cock slid right in; they moaned together at that sweet feeling of connection, Anthony's cock filling, stretching the hole, Sören's silken heat gripping him like a vise.
Sören began to move up and down on Anthony's cock, slowly. Anthony's hands ran over Sören's lithe, sleek body, lingering on his chest, thumbs rubbing the nipples. Then one hand slid down to play with Sören's cock, thumb rubbing the frenulum up and down; Anthony hooked a finger through the Prince Albert ring in the head. "Ride me hard," Anthony husked.
Sören grabbed onto Anthony and bounced away. Anthony gripped Sören's hips, rocking his hips back at Sören. Sören threw back his head and cried out and Anthony grunted as Anthony's knot formed, Sören even tighter around him. Sören whimpered and bounced feverishly, Anthony's balls slapping his ass, the smack of their flesh and the wet slurping sound of Anthony's cock in and out of him competing with Sören's broken cries, Anthony's deeper groans.
"Oh fuck, oh god, that's so good..." Sören's nails dug into Anthony as he shivered.
Anthony could feel that nub inside Sören rubbing against his knot, teasing them both. Again and again Sören's prostate and Anthony's knot slid together, making Anthony pulse and Sören twitch, pleasure building and building. Anthony's hands once again wandered over Sören's body, lust fueled hotter by the sight of Sören working his hips in circles, the fluid grace of him, a living work of art with his curls, his beautiful face, his ink and piercings, his creamy, soft skin. He gave his all into each thrust, wanting Sören to feel how loved he was. How wanted.
"God, I love watching you ride me." Anthony played with Sören's nipples again, almost undone by the way Sören whimpered.
"Oh god, fuck!" Sören let out a little sob.
Anthony leaned up and pulled Sören into a kiss, then kissed down his neck, drew a nipple into his mouth as Sören rode harder. Anthony played with the other nipple and his free hand reached down to grasp Sören's cock, stroking it in time with Anthony's thrusts, Sören's bucking hips. He knew he wasn't going to last much longer and he needed Sören to come too. Sören was pouring slick now - they were going to have to change the sheets, but Anthony loved it. The wet sloppy sound of their fuck was so loud now, so obscene, and Sören was utterly lost, trying to swear in Icelandic and not even able to make words, just animal noises.
Sören started making little shuddery gasps, eyes rolling back, and Anthony knew he was right there. He pinched one of Sören's nipples. "Come with me, hjartað mitt."
Sören let out a cry of "Anthony!" and then a deep, primal roar as cum shot over Anthony's hand, onto Anthony's chest, slick gushing and gushing down Anthony's cock. Sören's contractions around Anthony's cock sent Anthony over the edge, knot pulsing as the bolt of his release shattered him. "Sören. Oh fuck, Sören."
Sören collapsed onto Anthony's chest, shaking, gasping for breath, his hole still continuing to twitch and clench Anthony's cock. Anthony throbbed and throbbed with relief and bliss, toes curling, head ringing, everything dissolving into light before he closed his eyes and gave a deep sigh of contentment.
Anthony rested inside him, their knot still joining them. Anthony began to purr, as happy or sated Alphas were wont to do, and he skritched Sören's curls and his beard, making Sören giggle. Sören kissed the tip of Anthony's nose and Anthony kissed Sören's nose in return before they rubbed noses and gave each other a few sweet little kisses. Then Sören rested his head on Anthony's chest and Anthony began rocking him, still purring.
"I love you," Anthony said when the thunder of his heart began to quiet down.
"I love you too." Sören touched Anthony's cheek. "I think our life here is off to a good start."
"I think so." Anthony kissed him again.
They snuggled, and once Anthony's knot receded he slipped out and started to doze off. He woke up to a cold empty spot in the bed and sounds in the bathroom. Sören came back in and Anthony held out his arms, making a noise of get back here as Sören curled up against him once more.
"We should get a cat, now that we don't have to worry about a lease that says no cats," Sören said.
"I agree." Anthony smiled. "We should get two cats."
"Why stop at two?"
"I like how your mind works."
"Does that mean you like my idea for us roleplaying dinosaurs the next time we fuck?"
Anthony facepalmed, sides heaving with hysterical laughter - god, he needed that - and he smacked Sören's ass. "You're terrible, you know that?"
"Takk."
"No dinosaur roleplay," Anthony said, even though he knew Sören was just joking.
"What if we compromise and use your idea for Celts and Vikings so it's... Celt and Viking dinosaurs?"
"Oh my fucking god, Sören."
When they calmed down, Sören kissed Anthony's cheek and said, "So yeah, let's think about kitties."
But Anthony's mind wasn't stopping there. They had come here to escape London, and for Anthony to figure out a different line of work where he was less in danger of getting stabbed by criminals, but for the first time since they'd discussed moving it felt less like running away and more like starting a new life. One they were starting together, in a deeper commitment to each other.
Anthony realized he wanted more. He wanted this. He wanted kitties... and kids. The thought of Sören with a baby bump... Sören's nipples swollen with milk for their pups...
How to say that without scaring Sören away? It was one thing to be living together and adopt cats together. It was another to barrel down this trajectory at light speed, making it legal, not using birth control during Sören's next heat...
Anthony closed his eyes and made himself get off that train of thought. Made himself relax. One step at a time, we can figure that out later. For now, he contented himself with this moment, this night of hope after his world had shattered three months ago. He was coming back to life, and things finally felt like they were going to be OK.
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