After Sören had been awake for a few hours and felt awake - his cognitive tempo being such that it usually his body being awake for awhile in order for his mind to wake up - he decided to start unpacking his art supplies in the bedroom that he and Anthony had decided could be his studio. Earlier that morning, Anthony had rearranged the spare bedroom, pushing the bed against one of the walls to give Sören space for setting up in the room; the bed against the wall made a sort of nest with blankets and a pile of pillows. Anthony knew Sören's habits, and had given him a place to stretch out when he needed to take a break, or where he could come in and keep him company. Or, to take another option, where they could make love, as Sören frequently felt randy after painting for hours, and now that Anthony seemed like he was in better spirits...
Sören shuddered, thinking of last night, and the way he'd ridden Anthony. His cock stirred, hole twitching. Down, boy.
But thinking of Anthony, here in the studio, looking at his paints and canvas... he thought of what he'd told Anthony last night. I'd like to paint you.
Anthony was puttering around in the kitchen, Sören could hear him, and he still didn't have all his stuff unpacked. He got back to work, he had several Sterilite bins to open and go through, and then he had to organize. The organization was the worst part, even with the cart and trays that Anthony's mum Elaine had helped him pick out.
Spending a bit of time sorting his different types of supplies - oil and chalk pastels, Prismacolor markers, regular colored pencils and watercolor pencils, watercolor paints, acrylic paints, and oil paints - and then sorting Prismacolor markers by color, acrylic and oil paints by color and type, paintbrushes by size, and stacking canvases by size and different kinds of paper by type and size, was tedious enough work that Sören finally needed a break. He wanted to go to the kitchen and see what Anthony was up to, but the noises in the kitchen were louder now and the stereo was on, playing Jamiroquai. Anthony was a morning person, and in a particularly chipper mood this morning, moreso than usual, I should hope so after the way we went at it last night. He debated whether or not he wanted to risk getting in Anthony's way, with whatever he was up to in there.
Sören sat on the bed and rubbed his face, thinking about the little conversation they'd had before falling asleep. About getting a cat. Or two cats. When they'd lived in London, their flat had not allowed pets of any kind, though it didn't stop the occasional resident from sneaking in a cat or a small dog, but they hadn't wanted to risk it, since there was already some judgment at the "posh" barrister and his artist "boytoy".
Sören went to their bedroom and came back with his laptop, sat down, and started a Google search for places in the area were up for adoption. There was a shelter offering kittens that had been bottle-fed, and the photo gallery of a tiny greyish-brown tabby and his tortie sister, black with splotches of orange in her coat, made Sören bite his hand to keep from screaming. Just before he could take out his cell phone and call, he heard Anthony coming down the hall, and something smelled delicious.
"Sören, take a break," Anthony said, poking his head in. "I made you chocolate chip biscuits."
Sören smiled - he would always find the British way of calling cookies "biscuits" to be amusing, as his education of English had taught him to use the American word, though he'd learned other British English words - the way Icelanders spoke English tended to confuse both Brits and Americans alike. "Takk. They smell wonderful, and that was so thoughtful of you."
"Well, it wasn't completely selfless. I'm having some too and don't you start." Anthony wagged his finger, anticipating the "I'm" joke.
Anthony had never been particularly domestic, but he'd spent a lot of time with his mum in the weeks following the knife attack and had gotten back into the habit of helping her in the kitchen like he did as a small boy. Elaine taught him how to bake - Anthony had a secret weakness for cake, though he kept fit by running and lifting weights.
Sören shoved his laptop over to the side and made some room for Anthony to sit with him. Anthony popped a warm, fresh-out-of-the-oven cookie into Sören's mouth, the chocolate chips were all melty and he let out an "mmmmmmm", feeling a little self-conscious about it, but Anthony's face lit up.
"This is so good," Sören said through a mouthful of cookie.
"I'm glad to hear it."
"Hi Glad To Hear It -"
"FOR FUCK'S SAKE, SÖREN."
Sören laughed, and gave Anthony a little kiss, though he still had cookie in his mouth. Anthony rolled his eyes, but grinned, booped his nose, and stuck another cookie in Sören's mouth when he'd finished. Anthony nibbled on one himself.
Anthony had fallen into a depression after the knife attack and it had been helping his mum in the kitchen that had gotten him to start eating more regularly. Sören was glad to see it - it still seemed surreal, to see Anthony in a good mood - and he tried not to stare.
"This is my breakfast, you know," Sören said, grinning.
"I almost feel guilty, like I should make you something nutritious like porridge, but fuck it, we're adults."
"The adultiest."
"Mhm." Anthony glanced over at the laptop. "Were you in here reading slash fic again?"
Sören almost choked on his cookie. He patted Anthony on the shoulder, giggling madly. "No. Actually, I was up to something innocent this time."
"Sure you were."
Sören showed Anthony the website he was looking at, and Anthony actually squeaked, then clapped his hand over his mouth, turning beetroot. Sören loved it, though, and leaned in to kiss the tip of Anthony's nose.
"I was gonna call them before you walked in and see about scheduling an appointment -"
"We could just go to the shelter," Anthony said, scrolling down. "They're open."
And that was how Sören and Anthony ended up with the tabby and tortie, bringing them home with cat litter and a covered catbox, cans of cat food, a fountain, dishes and mats. The kittens squealed in their carrier, not enjoying the ride in Anthony's Audi, but they stopped crying once they were let out in their new home and promptly began sniffing around.
"We should think of names," Sören said.
"Well, of course. But that requires some thought - every cat I've had learnt to recognize its name, so we want to make very sure with whatever we choose, the cat will be stuck with it for life. Nothing stupid."
"Why not?"
Anthony laughed and elbowed Sören.
At last the kittens came over to where Sören and Anthony sat in the living room, and climbed on them. Anthony and Sören lavished the kittens with pettings and skritches and kisses, talking baby talk. The tortie girl began grooming Sören's nose, making Sören giggle.
"She wants you to be elegant like her," Anthony teased.
"Then she should have an elegant name, right?" Sören picked up the kitten and inspected her, racking his brain for names. When the kitten squeaked, Sören resumed cuddling her and the kitten went right back to grooming his nose. Once the kitten started grooming his beard, Sören wriggled - the sandpaper tongue tickled him - and the kitten put its paw on Sören's nose as if to say "hold still", grooming more insistently.
"She's already the queen," Sören said.
"That's it. We'll name her Elizabeth."
Sören snorted. "Oh, god. Really? You're going to name that tiny thing after someone who's like two hundred or some shit."
Anthony doubled over with laughter and the tabby boy meowed as if to laugh too. "She is not bloody two hundred, Sören."
"Fine, she can be Elizabeth but she gets Lizzy because look at this thing. She's so small." Sören kissed the kitten's head. "I can't get over how tiny she is." Sören cocked his head to one side. "What about her brother? If Lizzy's named for one of the royals, her brother should be too."
"Right. Well, the Queen has no brothers, and I'm not naming a boy cat Margaret."
"I'd suggest Charles, but his ears aren't big enough."
Anthony chuckled. "Charlie? Lizzy and Charlie."
"OK." Sören nodded. "There." He handed Lizzy to Anthony and took Charlie, who began to nuzzle and headbutt him. "Oh, what a good boy." He skritched Charlie's chin and whisker pads. "What a cute baby."
"I can't believe we just... went out and got kittens." Anthony was grinning so hard it made Sören tear up a little.
"We're parents now."
"I guess so."
Sören felt that wistful ache again - as happy as he was to have cats, and indeed, he wanted even more cats - making the quip that they were parents reminded Sören once again of that secret desire he had to have pups. He and Anthony had both said "maybe" about it when they got together, but they'd been using birth control through every one of Sören's heat cycles and hadn't had a serious discussion about it. Sören didn't think Anthony was necessarily in a place to make that decision with having been stabbed almost to death three months prior. But adopting two kittens gave him hope... and the hope made him afraid, what if he brought it up and Anthony thought they were moving too fast, suddenly overwhelmed by the level of commitment.
He made himself push away the angst - for now - and focus on the kittens. He continued fussing over Charlie, then he and Anthony switched kittens again, and again. They finally wanted to get down and explore some more, and Sören went back to the spare bedroom - now his studio - to continue unpacking his art supplies and making sure they were sufficiently kitten-proofed. When the task was finally complete, just before Sören could head out of the studio, Charlie came trotting in with Anthony's curly off-white barrister wig in his mouth; the wig was as big as he was.
"Oh, what a good boy!" Sören said, giggling hysterically, stooping down to pet the kitten, who headbutted him and purred, the wig still proudly in his mouth. "Anthony, come see what your son killed!"
Anthony rushed in - probably assuming it was a bird or something that had gotten in from outside - and he facepalmed when he saw Charlie finally let go of the wig, dropping it on the floor. Charlie made a happy chirp, tail high in the air.
"Such a good boy," Sören cooed. "Such a good baby!" Sören gave the wig some pats. "Alas poor George, I knew ye well." Sören had named Anthony's wig "George" not long after they first became an item.
Anthony couldn't even be annoyed. He also stooped down and rewarded Charlie with pettings. "God, I can't believe he already got in the closet. I hope they don't scratch up my suits."
"Now son, it's OK to be gay, you don't need to be in the closet," Sören quipped, patting Charlie.
Anthony facepalmed again and gave Sören a playful shove. "You know..."
"I know."
"We should probably think about keeping the closet closed," Sören said. "I know it's more convenient to just leave it open -" The bedroom closet had a sliding door.
"Yeah, but you're right. Of course, they'll probably figure out how to slide open the door." Anthony shook his head and skritched the kitten some more. "You and your sister are going to get into all kinds of mischief, aren't you."
"Prrp," Charlie said, and climbed onto Anthony's shoulder.
_
In the middle of the night, Sören got woken up by Charlie and Lizzy pouncing on his feet. Even as he tried to hide them under the covers, the kittens still repeatedly pounced on his feet and wouldn't let him go back to sleep.
Then Sören's bladder woke up, so Sören climbed out of bed and the kittens trotted along to follow him into the bathroom. They watched with curiosity as Sören took a piss, then meowed at the flushing toilet, as if to protest that he hadn't buried it in sand. Sören washed his hands and went to the kitchen - the kittens had eaten all their food already so Sören opened a fresh can and dished it out.
Sören thought the food might distract them properly so he could get back to sleep, but after taking a couple bites of fresh food the kittens saw Sören was going back to the bedroom and followed. Sören sighed and climbed back in bed, spooning Anthony, who made a tender noise and reached behind him to pat Sören, trying to mumble his name. The kittens saw the movement of Anthony's hand under the covers and pounced.
"What the..."
Pounce.
Lizzy trotted up to Anthony and started grooming his face with her cat food breath. Anthony made noises and Sören shook with silent laughter. Then Charlie pounced on his stomach.
"Jesus," Anthony muttered.
"Jæja." Sören decided sleep was a futile effort. He climbed out of bed again, stretched, and decided to sit in the studio for a bit.
Sören went through his portfolio of prints - he had canvases of some of the original paintings wrapped up in the closet; some others had sold. He was still muzzy and expected that browsing his previous paintings would just make his brain slow down enough to go back to sleep, but instead it had the opposite effect, like a shot of caffeine as the gears in his brain began to turn. He thought of Anthony, and something like a cross between the garden at his parents' house and the Botanical Gardens in Sören's hometown of Akureyri... but wilder, more lush.
Anthony ended up coming in the room as if Sören thinking about him had summoned him. "Hey."
"Can't sleep?"
"The kittens are attacking my feet now."
Sören giggled. "Oh god, I'm sorry, I should have realized if I got up they would do that to you."
"It's all right." Anthony glanced at Sören's portfolio. "You're looking at your old stuff?"
Sören nodded. "I think I'm starting to feel inspired for some new stuff. I said I want to paint you and I mean that." Sören closed the portfolio and put it down. He glanced at the clock on the wall - it was three in the morning.
Anthony also looked at the clock. "Now?"
"Do you think the kittens are going to let us get back to sleep anytime soon?"
Anthony chuckled. "All right, I'll put on coffee and then I assume you want me to pose."
"I do."
"I don't have a kilt, you know."
"I know, but... you don't need a kilt." Sören leered. "Or anything at all."
Anthony turned pink, but he was grinning. He came back a short while later with coffee for both of them, fixed strong but sweet the way Sören liked it.
When they finished their coffee Anthony said, "So you want me to pose for you."
"Yes."
"And you're sure about me posing nude." Anthony raised an eyebrow. "You're not going to make me wear a silly hat on my head or anything, are you?"
"Not this time."
Anthony gave him a playful swat as Sören laughed, doubling over at the mental image of doing a painting with Anthony wearing a silly hat, or perhaps a pile of silly hats. That wasn't what he'd had in mind, but the opportunity to troll Anthony and have it preserved eternally was a delicious thought.
Not as delicious as what he had planned, though. Anthony took off his shirt and for a moment he just sat there next to Sören, looking a little dazed, like he couldn't believe this was happening.
Sören reached out and traced one of the jagged scars on Anthony's chest from the stabbing, reverently, lovingly, then another on Anthony's abdomen. "You're still gorgeous to me."
Sören remembered how Anthony had cried when he'd seen the wounds. He'd eventually stopped feeling so self-conscious about it, since the scars could be hidden by clothing and would grow thinner and more faint with time... but also Sören hadn't lost interest, but helped Anthony to see it as a mark of his own survival, just like the scars Sören bore on his back from abuse, on his arms from a suicide attempt.
"Have I told you lately that I love you?" Anthony asked, his voice husky with emotion.
"I never get tired of hearing it." Sören took Anthony's hand and kissed it. "And you show me a thousand different ways. Like this." He pointed to his empty coffee mug. "You take care of me."
"We take care of each other." Anthony leaned in and gave him a little kiss. "You're good to me and good for me and I appreciate you more than you know."
"Well then, get naked and give me some eye candy."
Anthony threw his head back, laughter ringing out - Sören grinned, loving it - and then Anthony stood up, dropped his pajama bottoms, and shook his firm, shapely bubble butt. Sören gave a wolf whistle. Then Anthony did a twirl.
"You're OK with this?" Sören wanted to make absolutely sure, even though he knew if Anthony had a problem with it he probably wouldn't have stripped down.
"Yes." Anthony swallowed hard. "You think I'd look OK...?"
"I think you're a lot better than OK. You belong in a fucking Renaissance painting. But I mean it, Anthony, I don't want you to feel pressured if you're not comfortable with -"
"So long as my mum and dad aren't going to see... let's do this." Anthony shook his ass again.
Sören was already almost regretting it, hardening and going slick at the sight of him - this was going to be a long four or five hours.
"How do you want me to pose?" Anthony asked.
Sören got up from the bed, set up his easel and his paints, while Anthony sat on the bed. When Sören was all situated he glanced over at Anthony, sitting naked on the edge of the bed, waiting patiently. Sören considered.
"Whatever's comfortable for you, though you stretched out would be my preference."
"All right then." Anthony grinned, and lay on his side, propping himself up on one elbow. "Draw me like one of your French guys."
Sören laughed, almost dropping the bottle of paintbrush cleaner as he brought it over. "I do love me some French men," he said, licking his lips appreciatively. What he wouldn't give to meet a dashing, older French silver fox, preferably one with a beard and some chest hair, a real "daddy" type...
As if he could read Sören's mind, Anthony teased, "We need to find someone to play with."
"Jæja, maybe." It was good Anthony was open to that again, suggesting more self-confidence, but Sören still didn't want to rush it, they needed their lives to be normal again first. Or the new normal, starting over again here in Brighton... with the kittens.
"It would be hot to double penetrate you, my cock rubbing against another cock inside you..." Anthony was erect now, and Sören's face burned, mouth watering.
Sören heard himself make a sharp exhale. "Anthony... not helping."
Anthony gave him an evil grin. "Is this better?" He started touching himself.
"OK, that is just fucking... warfare." Sören sat down in front of his easel. "And, are you sure that is how you want to be portrayed?"
"If you're going to paint me nude, we might as well go all the way and make sure my cock is actually hard. Make it sexy. You make me feel sexy."
"You are sexy. This is gonna be hell, having to work and not touch you."
Anthony mimed a kiss. "Consider it payment for all those times you walked around the flat with your shirt off when I was working on a case, frustrating the hell out of me."
"Oh yeah?" Sören stood up, and took off his Nine Inch Nails shirt, letting it fall to the floor. "There. It's on now."
"Bloody hell," Anthony hissed under his breath, and now it was Sören's turn to give him a saucy grin as he sat back down.
"Mkay." Sören took out a brush, and got it ready.
_
Just painting Anthony himself was time-consuming, never mind what the rest of the painting would turn into. Sören wanted to get Anthony just right. Anthony found that posing was harder than he thought, needing to take breaks to stretch, use the bathroom, get water...
And even when not, he got fidgety. Sören tried to be polite about it, most of his reminders given with his eyes or eyebrows or a clear of his throat, not wanting an edge to creep into his voice. He knew that it had to be hard for Anthony to lay in the same position for long periods of time, it would be hard for him too.
Finally, it was Anthony's curiosity that interrupted, as morning had broken. "Can I see it?"
"It's not done yet."
"I know, but I don't mind seeing the work in progress..."
Sören usually did mind others seeing it before the finished product, though now and again he allowed Anthony to look at his works in progress because the way he got all excited over them, flailing and making happy noises, was adorable and it stroked Sören's ego the right way to fuel the determination to finish it. This still felt too unfinished, Anthony's body floating in white space, but he was at a place where Anthony, himself, was mostly done.
Mostly. Something was missing, and he didn't know what, yet. Sometimes Sören had a very clear vision in his mind's eye when he set out to work, and sometimes it was just a vague idea that unfolded only when he was drawing or painting.
Sören gestured for Anthony to come over. Anthony got up and did, and just him putting a hand on Sören's shoulder, with the proximity of his naked body so close, made Sören go hard and slick again. Fuck.
"Oh wow, Sören. That's..." Anthony teared up a little. "You make me look like a sex god."
"You are." Sören took Anthony's hands in his, and looked up at him adoringly. "You're my sex god."
Anthony threw his arms around Sören, and the feel of that naked flesh, the body hair... Sören shivered, hole twitching.
Anthony pulled back, starting to be aware he was arousing Sören and that might be too distracting. "Do you have an idea of what you're going to do with the rest of it?"
"Well, you raise an interesting point that you look like a sex god here," Sören said. "I was going to paint you in a greenery setting, like a garden but wilder. I guess you'd look like a fertility god." Sören's cheeks burned, once again aching to have Anthony's pups.
"OK. Can we call it a day?"
"Yes, your posing is done, and I can finish the background and foreground later." Sören stood up and gave him a kiss.
"Good." Anthony kissed him back, harder. "Because I want you now."
Sören whined and pointed at his easel and paints. "We have kittens now so I can't leave this stuff sitting out... and I have to clean my paintbrushes. So you have to wait a little bit."
Anthony made a noise of protest. He sat back on the bed. But then he frustrated Sören right back, touching himself again, stroking himself slowly. Sören couldn't help a little moan as he put away his supplies, and the naughty grin Anthony gave him just fueled his lust even more.
"You want to be a tease," Anthony said, "two can play at that game, you know."
"Oh, I know. I'm going to tease you right back, when I'm back over there." Sören paused, considering. Then his eyes caught an unopened set of new paintbrushes. He grinned and opened it, pulling one out while Anthony's eyes were closed, his breath hitching as he stroked himself a little faster and harder.
Sören got on the bed with one hand behind his back, holding the paintbrush, and then he leaned in for a kiss; Anthony opened his eyes.
The paintbrush traced around Anthony's lips, and then down his neck as Sören stole another kiss. The brush traced the scars on Anthony's chest and stomach, Sören's mouth following in the wake, lips kissing, tongue licking, loving. The brush found its way to one nipple, swirling around and around it then stroking the nipple, peaking it, before Sören moved his mouth there, echoing the actions of the brush, tongue swirling and lapping as the brush teased the other nipple. He suckled the nipple he was working on and then brought the brush back to it as his mouth made love to the nipple where the brush had just been. Back and forth Sören went between the nipples, again and again, making Anthony moan, arch to him, clutching Sören's head, panting.
"Sören..." Anthony's voice was ragged.
"Mmmmm." Sören gently tugged a nipple between his teeth. "I warned you about teasing, elskan. I don't play."
Anthony made a strangled noise as Sören sucked the nipple again.
The brush continued to play over Anthony's body - stomach, hips, thighs, Sören's fingers and lips and tongue chasing the brush. Every now and again, Sören's hand strayed to Anthony's cock, resting but not really touching, knowing it was driving Anthony crazy. At last the paintbrush made its way there, teasing in circles around the head, brushing in feather-light strokes up and down the frenulum, then up and down the shaft. Sören's cock pulsed, hole twitching, slick pooling at the noises Anthony made, the deep groans and shuddery little gasps. Sören's cock jolted as he took Anthony's cock in his mouth, the paintbrush teasing Anthony's balls, the sensitive place between balls and ass. Sören sucked Anthony slowly, working the brush, thrilling to the way Anthony shivered and moaned, grabbing Sören's curls. "Sören... oh, fuck, Sören..."
Sören paused. "You like that, elskan?"
"Guhhhhh, god, fuck," Anthony growled.
"That's not a yes."
"Yesdon'tyoufuckingstop."
Sören laughed and put the cock back in his mouth, sucking harder, faster, brush dancing on Anthony's balls. Sören's free hand strayed to his own cock, which itself was leaking precum. Anthony's Alpha scent - jasmine and musk - combined deliciously with the lightly salty-sweet precum. Sören felt slick dripping down his thighs, hole twitching, wanting Anthony inside him so badly it hurt, but he needed to keep sucking, driving them both mad.
Anthony started making broken little cries, panting louder, gasping, shuddering. "Sören. Sören..."
"Mmmmmmm." Sören pulled Anthony's cock out of his mouth to lick it up and down, chasing the precum with his tongue. He tapped the head of the cock against his tongue, making streamers. "You taste so fucking delicious." He gave a few more licks, before licking his lips, savoring it.
Sören resumed sucking and Anthony started fucking Sören's mouth. Sören loved it, moaning, stroking himself faster as he greedily, hungrily sucked harder, bobbing his head up and down, mouth suctioning for all he was worth. Their eyes locked and Anthony gave an urgent grunt that let Sören know he was close. Sören put the paintbrush down and cupped and massaged Anthony's balls, sucking, sucking, until Anthony cried out, shooting in Sören's mouth, flooding it with hot, sweet cum. Sören moaned with pleasure, drinking it down, swallowing. He licked Anthony's pulsing cock clean, and then moved up to snuggle Anthony as he came down from his climax, purring.
Anthony needed a few minutes to recharge, but seeing Sören lazily playing with himself did the trick. Anthony rolled Sören onto his back and kissed him fiercely. "Your turn," Anthony said, and kissed him again. "How do you want it?"
"Yes?"
They laughed. As good as Anthony was at sucking cock, he could return that particular favor some other time. Sören needed to feel Anthony in him. "Take me," Sören whispered.
Anthony hooked one of Sören's legs around him and slipped inside. He thrusted slow, gentle and tender. When his knot formed Anthony pressed his forehead against Sören's and they breathed each other's breath, taking each other's hands. "I love you," Anthony said softly.
"I love you too." Sören looked adoringly into Anthony's eyes. "You are so beautiful to me."
Anthony kissed Sören's forehead. "Your soul is beautiful."
Tears misted Sören's eyes and he kissed Anthony hard. Anthony still continued gliding in and out ever so slowly, and Sören savored, feeling love so fierce, so overwhelming it ached, love that had only deepened in the years since they'd met, that had only grown stronger since the knife attack, almost losing him.
Sören rolled his hips back at Anthony and they kept the rhythm slow as long as they could, loving, loving, loving, connecting, that feeling of one flesh, melting together, one need. When the passion took over, Anthony moved inside Sören harder and faster, then Sören started rocking against him, setting the pace harder still. Now Anthony reached for the paintbrush and got Sören back for his teasing, sliding the brush up and down Sören's cock, the lightest of touches, and Sören howled, nails digging into Anthony as he grinned.
It didn't take long after that, Sören's nails clawing Anthony's back, for Anthony to go into beast mode, pounding away, balls slapping Sören's ass, and Sören growled into Anthony's shoulder. When Anthony bit Sören's neck, the bite combined with the sensation of the knot hitting his sweet spot and the brush teasing his cock and Sören climaxed, coming hard, slick and cum gushing.
"Oh god. Oh god, elskan, oh god, oh fuck..."
Anthony let out a little sob as he came too, Sören's contractions milking his cock. Sören moaned with pleasure, pulsing again as he felt Anthony's seed spill inside him, knot throbbing.
Sören kept contracting, gasping for breath, the ecstasy cresting and cresting like the waves of the sea, seemingly infinite. Anthony was flushed, panting, eyes glassy, a look of triumph on his face.
They kissed and started rocking together, laughing from the sheer euphoria.
"God, Sören, if this is what happens when you paint me, you can paint me every day."
Sören laughed. "I don't think my balls would be able to handle another session of you naked for four or five hours and me not able to do anything about it. I almost died."
Anthony made a "world's smallest violin" gesture, and Sören tickled him, until Anthony swatted Sören's bottom.
They both had come hard enough to pass out. Some time later Sören woke up to the kittens purring in their faces; Anthony's knot had receded but they were still tangled up together. Anthony opened his eyes and gave Sören a sleepy grin. "Hey."
"Hey."
The kittens mewed and Anthony and Sören skritched and kissed them. Anthony looked at the clock and groaned. "We should eat something."
"I mean, I had sausage already."
Anthony facepalmed, laughing, and then he cupped Lizzy's ears, then Charlie's. "Not in front of the children. You'll corrupt them."
"Like they don't already lick their junk and stuff."
Anthony laughed harder. "Why are you like this?"
"You love it."
When they calmed down Anthony asked, "What do you want to do for breakfast? I don't think I can cook in this state."
"I don't think I can move." Sören giggled.
Anthony nodded. "My entire body is jelly."
"I'd apologize, but -"
"You wouldn't be sorry, and I'm not sorry either."
"Hi Not Sorry, Either -"
The fearsome scowl on Anthony's face made Sören howl with laughter, and Anthony tweaked Sören's nose.
"You want to go out for breakfast?" Sören asked.
"That could be nice."
After they cleaned up and changed, they opted for a nearby fish and chips place, having a full English breakfast. Sören teased Anthony about beans on toast, and Anthony said, "At least I don't eat fermented shark."
"Well no, because that would be cannibalism." Anthony's epithet in London's legal community had been "The Shark".
"Not anymore." Anthony sighed and looked down.
"Oh, elskan."
"You know, it isn't just the sense of purpose. I had friends. I've never been good with people, I got bullied when I was in public school, but then that changed when I went into law. None of my friends have checked up on me since the attack, since I quit."
"Well in fairness, a few of them are assholes. Like that Steve guy."
"Point. But not everyone. Most, perhaps, but a couple were all right."
"Maybe they're as bad at people as you are - I notice law tends to attract a type, you all have to be kind of ornery to want to argue for a living -"
"Ha ha."
"- but maybe the couple who are worth anything, like that Lawrence guy, are waiting for you to call them. You should call Lawrence and say hi."
Anthony paused, and Sören knew that made him uncomfortable.
"Not trying to tell you what to do," Sören quickly added. "I just -"
"No, I know." Anthony sighed again. "I feel like an idiot. Like I'm back to square one with trying to learn how to make friends again. But... I guess that's part of the package with starting over, innit?" He shrugged and bit into his toast.
After their breakfast they took a detour to walk along the shingle beach. It was a sunny day, the sky clear blue, the sea sparkling with a million diamonds of light. Summer was almost over, and it was trying to finish in the most spectacular way possible.
"There he is," Sören said in a hushed voice.
He was dressed casual, a long-sleeved grey T-shirt and faded jeans, long dark hair to the middle of his back, blowing in the breeze. Playing an acoustic guitar, looking out at the sea, a sad expression on his lovely chiseled face... sad grey eyes. He's so beautiful, how is he even real, Sören thought to himself, heat flushing his cheeks. Sören and Anthony stood there a couple meters away from the guitarist for a little while, hand-in-hand, just watching listening to him play, something beautifully melancholy that felt terribly romantic at the same time, something they'd never heard before. Sören closed his eyes, swaying a little to the music, and got the mental image of someone wandering endlessly, never able to go home again, trying to take what little, simple comfort he could in the world, watching others and longing for companionship. Sören felt a pang, thinking of Iceland, and his own deep loneliness before Anthony. I love you, his lips mouthed as his eyes met Anthony's green eyes, knowing the music was affecting him too, stealing a kiss.
At last, Sören, feeling bold, strode over to the guitarist, with a £50 banknote in his hand. The man didn't look homeless or poor, but Sören still felt compelled.
"Did you write that yourself?" Sören asked.
The man just nodded.
"Here."
"I don't need your money -"
"Even if you don't, take this. My boyfriend and I enjoyed your music very much. You've got a gift, please accept a gift for a gift." Which was the truth - Sören wanted him to be compensated in some way for that.
Sören pressed the banknote into his hand, noticing that the hand was badly scarred, and feeling weirdly self-conscious about it, trying not to stare, but the man saw him staring.
"It's an old war wound."
"Iraq?" He seemed about the right age to have been in the Gulf War in the early aughts, mid thirties if Sören had to guess.
The man said nothing, and Sören ran a nervous hand through his curls. "Sorry."
"It's all right." He looked at Sören, and then at Anthony. "You have a nice afternoon."
"You too." Sören smiled apologetically, and hurried off. "God, I feel like the biggest arse," he muttered to Anthony.
"You were fine."
"Ha ha. No, no I wasn't." He could feel the man's eyes following him as they walked.
Anthony put an arm around Sören's waist. "You were trying to be kind. You've got such a good heart. And I think he understood that."
"I hope so."
They kept walking, and at the front door, they held each other for a moment. Then Anthony led Sören inside. "Welcome home," Anthony said, with a kiss.
"You are my home, elskan."
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