It was open mic night at The Dirty Swan, and Anthony and Sören had walked over instead of driving, which meant they could drink a bit more than usual, and it was the case that if there was karaoke or open mic and Sören had enough to drink, he would get up and sing.
Sören sang "Wild Thing" in earnest to Anthony, who laughed hysterically. Then when the song was over, someone clapped particularly loudly, enough for Sören and Anthony to look in their direction.
It was the guitarist.
Who then got up, took the mic, and played a few songs by request. Just a few, and for his last request he specifically looked at Sören and Anthony, who then looked at each other.
"'Free Bird'," Sören yelled, to be a troll, and Anthony kicked him under the table as the guitarist gave him a filthy look. "All right, all right. Play 'Jaja Ding Dong.'"
Anthony facepalmed and kicked Sören under the table again. Then Anthony asked, "Can you play 'Because the Night', like you did a few days ago?"
He did, and it was just as lovely as before, the needed reminder that yes we are doing this. At the end of the song Sören and Anthony stole a kiss, and as the guitarist walked away from the mic, Sören waved him over to their table. "Come on, sit with us," Sören said.
He awkwardly slid in.
"You really should go on one of those idol shows," Sören told him.
"No."
"OK but, I was serious about you performing at our wedding," Sören said, folding his arms, "and I won't take no for an answer. Name your price..."
"You don't need to pay me." His voice was deep, soft, musical even when not singing.
Sören was finally noticing how tall he was - Sören and Anthony were a good six feet and it looked like the gentleman had close to a foot on him. He was dressed fairly inconspicuously, a black T-shirt and faded jeans, carrying a leather jacket with him. His dark hair hung loose to the middle of his back, with some cascading over his shoulders, covering his ears. He had light grey eyes, long-lashed, that were tonight behind wire-rimmed glasses - the glasses seemed to only enhance his good looks, rather than detract from them. His chiseled face was proud, even a bit haughty, but there was something deeply melancholy about him, and not just because he was obviously here in a bar and had been drinking alone; Sören kept staring at the badly burned right hand, trying not to stare, trying not to notice.
And, the guitarist was an Alpha. He smelled like petrichor, sea salt, and musk. Anthony was usually slightly on the defensive around other Alphas, after Sören's history with Justin, and some other Alphas had made unwanted advances since then, but for once Anthony seemed relaxed. The guitarist had a bit of a soothing presence to him, like the sea itself.
"We'd like to give you something," Sören insisted. "Your music really made the proposal the other night... even more memorable." Anthony nodded vehemently in agreement.
"We can repay you for that song by buying you a drink," Anthony added.
"Well, I've had enough tonight," the man said.
"Have you paid for what you've had yet?"
"I have a tab..."
Anthony went up and paid the part of the tab that was tonight's round of drinks, and sat back down.
"That really wasn't necessary. I sing for the love of it..."
"Consider it a tip," Anthony said. "But that's just for the song right now. We still owe you for the song the other night, and we should talk about you coming to the wedding..."
"Dinner," Sören blurted out, on impulse. "Have dinner with us." Anthony nodded agreement.
The guitarist seemed uncomfortable by that. "I... don't want you to spend money on me somewhere fancy..."
"We can afford it," Anthony said.
"It's not just that. It's the atmosphere..."
"Then have dinner at our house," Sören said, and Anthony nodded.
The guitarist gave an incredulous laugh. "You don't know me. You're inviting a total stranger into your home. I could be a serial killer..."
"Serial killers don't sing the way you sang just now," Anthony said. "There was real soul there. I felt it. We both did."
Sören nodded.
"And we don't have to be strangers." Sören decided it was time to introduce himself. "I'm Sören Sigurðsson and this is my fiance, Anthony Hewlett-Johnson..."
"Mark Lauer." He shook their hands. "And you're new to Brighton."
"We moved here in August, yes." Anthony nodded. "You're from... "Manchester?"
"Yes, but I've lived here awhile, enough to know you're new here."
"Yeah, we came from London. Well, I did. Sören's from Iceland."
"Akureyri," Sören said.
"Ah, Iceland's a beautiful country. I haven't been in years but it stays with you." Mark put his hand on his heart.
"Well, we know your name, and I know you've been to Iceland and you loved it, so now you have no excuse to not let us feed you." Sören folded his arms.
Mark's lips quirked with amusement. "You're going to nag me about this every time you run into me until I relent, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"Then I accept."
"What days are good for you?"
"Any evening is fine, so long as it's in the evening. That's when my shop closes -"
"You run a shop around here?" Sören gave him a curious look.
Mark seemed to almost regret letting that detail slip, suddenly shy again. "Yes. I own The Wax Museum, a vinyl records store."
"Oh, you're into vinyl?"
"I'm what you would call a vinyl snob."
"Me too," Anthony said. "See, we're already off to a good start."
_
They had an arrangement for that Tuesday, at seven o'clock. Anthony and Sören had tried to gauge food preferences beforehand and Mark had simply said, "Surprise me."
It was turning out to be a grey and drizzly day, so Sören had decided on something more hearty - something warm and that felt like home; he got the sense Mark lived alone - and so he had a lamb stew going in the slow cooker, one of his comfort foods from back when he lived in Iceland. Sören had recently also gotten a bread machine so now he was baking bread and the smell wafted through the house enough to keep drawing him out of the studio until finally he just lingered in the kitchen, sniffing the air like it was a drug.
"I know," Anthony said, coming over from the couch to put his arms around Sören. "If someone could bottle this scent they'd make a fucking mint."
Sören couldn't resist teasing him. "I'd wear it, and then you'd be all over me."
"News flash: I already am all over you." With that, Anthony grabbed Sören and pulled him onto a hungry kiss, and then Sören giggled, giving him a playful swat.
"He'll be here in less than an hour -"
"That's enough time," Anthony said, and leaned in to kiss him again. The jasmine-musk of Anthony's Alpha scent was strong.
Sören didn't resist. Sören kissed him back just as feverishly; Anthony was already hard, and Sören palmed the bulge in his jeans, his other hand roaming over Anthony's chest. Anthony reached to rub a nipple through Sören's Nine Inch Nails T-shirt. Anthony crushed Sören against him, kissing harder, and Sören moaned into the kiss, his body instinctively thrusting his hips against Anthony's, feeling Anthony's hardness against him. Sören hardened up too and went slick, and began rubbing against him. Sören could smell his own arousal, like woodsmoke.
"Yes?" Anthony raised an eyebrow.
"Fuck, yes."
Anthony pushed Sören up against the wall, and Sören wondered if Anthony was going to take him against the wall again like he'd done the night of the proposal - a frisson went down Sören's spine, god he had loved that - but instead, Anthony dropped to his knees, unbuttoned and unzipped Sören's jeans, and Sören looked down to watch Anthony take the waistband of his boxer-briefs between his teeth and tug it down, heat in his moss-green eyes. As Sören's hard cock was exposed, Anthony gently nuzzled his dark, curly bush before continuing to pull his boxer-briefs off with his teeth until they were at Sören's knees, then he just used his hand to yank down Sören's jeans and underwear and Sören stepped out of them.
Anthony took Sören's cock in his mouth and Sören leaned against the wall, tugging Anthony's shirt dark hair for dear life, white-knuckled, as Anthony sucked him like he'd been starving for it, making filthy slurping sounds as he sucked, moaning around the cock in his mouth. Sören could hear himself crying out loudly enough he wondered if the neighbors could hear, and decided he didn't care. Anthony bobbed up and down as he devoured Sören's cock, sucking hard and fast and fierce, and just before Sören could come in his mouth Anthony let the cock slip, gave it a few long, slow, deliberate licks, eyes locked with Sören's, and then he grabbed Sören's hips, pulled him forward, and spun him around so Sören was facing the wall.
Anthony shoved Sören against the wall again and his tongue circled Sören's opening, dripping with slick. Sören howled as Anthony's tongue dipped inside him. Anthony licked slowly, teasingly, then harder, fast and furious, fucking him with his tongue, lashing away. Sören held onto the wall and rocked his hips, desperately fucking himself on Anthony's tongue, panting, making guttural noises, whimpering, swearing in Icelandic. Anthony's tongue was so good, rubbing that magic spot inside him so sweetly, but Sören needed more. Anthony's tongue teased and teased, knowing just how to make Sören crazy, until Sören was almost sobbing, begging for it. "Please, Daddy, please. Please fuck me. Oh god, please fuck me. I need your cock so bad, Daddy, please, Daddy, please, give me your cock, please, fuck me, knot me, please, please..."
Anthony laughed softly and smacked Sören's ass. Anthony came up to kiss him, Sören's sweet vanilla-like slick on his tongue, and that got Sören going even more, letting out a whimper. Anthony took Sören's hands and he pulled Sören along, Sören's arms wrapped around his waist as he kissed Anthony again and again, willing to go anywhere so long as Anthony made him come. They didn't go far, just a couple meters to the table, and once Sören felt it against the small of his back and saw the look in Anthony's eyes, he peeled off his shirt and let it drop to the floor, before he climbed onto the table.
Anthony looked at Sören like he was dinner and dessert as he took off his shirt, then his belt, took down his jeans and then his boxer-briefs. His cock looked delicious, flushed and thickly swollen, slick with precum, and his arousal smelled just as delicious. Sören lay back on the table, knees bent, spreading himself, taking Anthony's cock in his hand and guiding it to him, wanting it. He was so slick he could feel it dripping onto the table, puddling. Anthony plunged in and buried himself to the hilt, letting out a shuddery gasp as the silken heat wrapped around him, and Sören in turn cried out at the fullness of Anthony's cock, that feeling of rightness he always felt with Anthony inside him. This is mine, Sören thought to himself. One flesh. We belong...
Anthony started to thrust, taking it easy at first, and then harder, rocking the table. Anthony's left hand grasped Sören's cock, stroking it, and the other played over Sören's bare skin - Sören's thigh, stomach, chest, whatever he could reach. "God, I want you, Sören," Anthony rasped. "I don't give a fuck if he's going to be here any minute. I want you now. Need you now. Right fucking now..."
Those words just inflamed Sören more and he was matching Anthony's rhythm, bucking his hips back at him, fucking himself on Anthony's cock, taking Anthony just as much as Anthony was taking him. Soon Sören's legs were on Anthony's shoulders and they were pounding away, their cries echoing in the dining area, the slap of their flesh and the wet suctioning sound of their fuck gloriously obscene.
"Oh god, Anthony, Daddy, fuck me," Sören moaned, digging his nails into Anthony's hips. "Fuck me hard..."
"You feel so good, baby. So hot and wet and you look so fucking hot like this, letting me take you on the table..."
It was wanton and shameless and uninhibited and he needed it. Sören needed to be able to let go, to surrender to passion like this. He had been abused and violated by Justin, but this was fully consensual. This was reclaiming his body, his mind, his spirit. Sören loved the feeling of wanting, needing like this, the power in it, claimed yet fully free. Exhilarated. He was living in the moment, living for the now, each moment of joy precious after so much sorrow.
The spontaneity of their fuck was as delicious as the sensations, as delicious as watching Anthony plow into him, utterly consumed by the fire between them. Anthony's knot was working wild magic rubbing his prostate, and Anthony's grip on his cock made the pleasure that much more intense. Sören was right there, and as badly as he needed to climax he wanted to keep feeling the way Anthony was stroking him inside and out, the way Anthony was pleasing him, loving him, as Sören loved him right back...
"Ohgod." Sören was starting to lose it. "Ohgod... Anthony..." Sören let out a whimper, shuddering.
"That's it, sweetheart. Come for me..."
"Anthony!" There it was again, the contractions, hard and deep. Sören could feel his slick gushing as his cum spurted, and his fingers and toes curled involuntarily.
A few thrusts and Anthony spent into Sören with a triumphant shout. Sören felt him shivering, Anthony's knot pulsing, and Sören smiled with his own sense of victory as he felt Anthony having to lean against the table to not fall over, panting as he was undone, continuing to shoot in him.
Sören lay there dazed for a moment, continuing to crest on his pleasure, and then Anthony helped Sören sit up. They kissed, and then Anthony picked Sören up off the table and carried him over to the couch, still knotted in him... still shaking, gasping for breath. Sören sat on Anthony's lap, Anthony's knot welding them together, and they nuzzled and gave each other tender little kisses. Then Anthony glanced over at the table and doubled over with laughter. "Oh shit."
"What?"
"We... made a mess."
Sören had gushed so much slick it was dripping from a huge puddle on the table, to the floor. Sören looked at the clock - they had fifteen minutes. "Oh no." Sören giggled madly.
Anthony grinned. "Oops."
They laughed some more. Anthony's knot receded a few minutes later. They quickly got dressed and then they set to work sanitizing the table and wiping up the floor, in hysterics, giggling and snorting the hardest as wipes and paper towels were thrown in the trash. Then Sören's nose twitched, sniffing the air again. "Wow, it smells like sex in here. Sex and bread and lamb stew."
"I hope Mark doesn't notice the sex smell."
"Well, he's an adult, Anthony, I think he's aware we do adult activities."
"That doesn't mean he needs to smell them, for fuck's sake."
Sören leaned on the counter, doubled over again. Anthony also had another gigglefit. "Why are we like this?" Sören asked.
"I don't know, but I love you." Anthony stole a kiss.
That was when they heard the knock at the door. They cleared their throats in unison and put on their best "serious business" faces - which got them giggling all over again, and Anthony swatted Sören's ass - and then they marched together to the door.
Mark was standing there in the drizzling rain, wearing a leather jacket over the usual T-shirt and jeans; Sören looked down and noticed he had the same exact Doc Martens boots as him. Mark wasn't wearing glasses in the drizzle, but he did have his guitar case slung over one arm, and there was a bottle of wine tucked under the other.
"Good evening," Mark said.
"Hi Mark," Sören said, with the best innocent we-are-up-to-no-shenanigans-no-sir look on his face that he could muster, that made Anthony stifle a laugh at the sight of it, and Mark raised an eyebrow as if he knew there had indeed been some kind of shenanigans.
Anthony and Sören stepped aside then to let Mark through. "Come in," Anthony told him.
Mark came out of the rain, and Sören gently shut the door behind him.
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