[art by me and CogitatingKerfuffle, July 2021]
Three, two, one... now.
Sören took a deep breath and tapped the numbers from the torn-out notebook page onto the touchpad of his smartphone. His heart pounded as he heard a ring.
After one ring came a, "Hello."
"Jæja, hi Anthony, it's Sören, from last night." Sören's heart beat even faster, his mouth dry. The hand holding the page with the numbers on it was shaking. "I know I said I'd give you an hour to wake up and stuff, but if you're ready, I'm ready and we can go now, since there isn't a whole lot of daylight to work with." Truthfully, it wasn't just that - Sören really wanted to see him; he found himself pacing around, feeling giddy.
"I am, actually. Thank you."
Sören breathed a small sigh of relief, both that he wasn't canceling, and that they'd get a little extra time together. "OK, I'll be there in a few minutes." Sören lived in an apartment complex not far from the hotel or the bar - he could walk to and from work; sometimes he rode a bicycle on nice days.
"See you soon!"
Sören let out a little scream after the call ended. And then his hole twitched; he could feel the slick pooling. Just from a few words from that hot British Alpha, Sören's body was already responding. Sören hadn't been able to stop thinking about Anthony since he'd got up - indeed, he hadn't slept well last night, sexually frustrated. If Anthony hadn't been so drunk, Sören would have invited him over. But of course, he wasn't going to take advantage of someone drunk off his ass. So Sören had jerked himself off before he went to sleep. And had to do it twice again today, thinking of Anthony, hoping that would take the edge off this... whatever it was. "Date" didn't feel like the right word for it, exactly.
Sören gave himself a once-over in the full-length mirror by the door of his studio apartment. Today he was wearing a traditional Icelandic sweater, grey, with skinny jeans and his black leather steel-toe Doc Martens. His nape-length mop of black curls was worn loose, and he'd trimmed his beard that morning and put in some lavender beard oil, which complemented his natural Omega scent nicely. Since he would be spending a lot of time outside in the winter cold, he opted to put on his grey wool peacoat rather than his black leather bomber, and wrapped a sky blue scarf around his neck. He slung his satchel over one shoulder and was good to go.
As he walked to the hotel, slick continued to pool from him, making him glad he'd put on a scent guard liner in his boxer-briefs. He had never reacted this strongly to an Alpha before. Macho, posturing Alpha types were a dime a dozen, but this Anthony wasn't, apart from that growl... and Sören's mind's eye kept replaying that growl, wanting Anthony to growl like that as he took him, hard and rough...
Get a fucking hold of yourself. You don't even know this guy.
And yet, a part of Sören felt like he did. Part of why Sören had taken the job as a bartender was to come out of his shell a bit more, but it was still unlike him to offer to show random tourists around. There was a familiarity with Anthony that was comforting and unsettling all at once.
Anthony was waiting for him in the hotel lobby, wearing a charcoal grey wool greatcoat, a lighter grey cashmere sweater and matching cashmere scarf, and black jeans, with black cowboy boots. He was boyishly handsome, with purposefully tousled short black hair, and magnetic green eyes. His face lit up when he saw Sören, and Sören couldn't help smiling back.
"Hi," Anthony said.
Sören waved. "How are you feeling?" Anthony looked great, but Sören had a feeling Anthony didn't feel great after too many shots of Brennivin last night.
Anthony made a face. "Shitty, but I still want to do this." He smiled again.
When they exited the hotel lobby, Sören reached into his satchel and pulled out a thermos. Anthony's eyebrows shot up as Sören handed it to him. "I made really strong Turkish coffee, it's my hangover remedy." Sören gave a wry chuckle. "I made it sweet too to make it more palatable, it's got chocolate flavoring."
"Brilliant, thank you." Anthony took the thermos with his right hand, screwed it open with his left, and paused to take a sip. He smiled again. Just that smile was making Sören's heart beat faster, his stomach turning flip-flops. "Wow, this is good."
"I have a talent for mixing drinks."
"I guess so." Anthony drank some more coffee, and Sören led them down to the bus stop.
"So," Sören said, "I have to be at work at eight PM. But, this is my last night at work and then I'm off till New Year's Day. The bar isn't closed, but the owner is a friend of mine and she knows I need the holidays off."
"To see your family, of course."
"No." Sören exhaled. He didn't like to get into this subject with people, let alone someone he'd just met, but since Anthony had confessed some of his own troubles last night, Sören thought it was fair to share his own. "I'm... estranged from my guardians. I don't have anybody to see during the holidays, really, but I still wanted them off."
Anthony nodded, and there was a silence as Anthony drank his coffee, every now and again stealing glances over at Sören as if he were considering asking Sören to spend Christmas with him. Sören thought about inviting him, but he held off, feeling shy, like a schoolboy with a stupid crush. His nostrils twitched as he caught Anthony's Alpha scent on the winter breeze, musky jasmine. Sören's hole throbbed, his cock stirring, more slick dripping.
When the bus came Sören and Anthony sat together, and the proximity of Anthony's body to his made Sören ache even more. Anthony's scent was a bit stronger now and even with the liner in his underwear Sören could smell his own arousal. Sören tried to make himself think of something other than sex - focus on the other people on the bus, the sight of the Reykjavik city streets through the window - but all he could think of was laying underneath Anthony, writhing, hearing that growl again.
"So, where are we going?" Anthony asked.
Sören smirked. "You'll see."
Sören had a few stops picked out for the tour. There was a lot more to see, but between the short days, many places being closed for the impending Christmas holiday, and Sören having to work tonight, he had to limit it to just a few notable attractions. He was hoping that he'd get at least one more visit with Anthony before Anthony had to go back to the UK - maybe on one of those nights free he could show something Anthony very particular.
In the meantime, he could drop a hint. When the bus pulled up at the closest stop to it, Sören tapped Anthony's shoulder as an indicator to get up.
Anthony followed him off the bus, and finished his coffee as they walked to the building. When Anthony saw the sign of where they were taking him, he almost choked on his last swig of coffee.
"What in the world."
Sören grinned, giggling as he pulled Anthony by the arm to the door. "It just opened this year. I went on opening day... by myself. It's more fun to have someone to visit it with, who hasn't seen it yet."
The Iceland Phallological Museum had opened earlier in 2007, and boasted the largest collection of taxidermied penises in the world, from many different animal species, including a few human specimens... and not human. Anthony tried very hard to keep a straight face as they looked at the blue whale penis - Anthony was six-foot-two and the penis was taller than he was - and the massive bull elephant penis. But then he saw the penises labeled "elf" and "troll" and he doubled over, wheezing, turning pink, eyes tearing up. Sören gigglesnorted too.
"I don't know, I would have thought an elf penis would be... a lot bigger." The whimsical fake "elf" penis was about the size of Sören's pinky, which he raised, then Sören held his hands several inches apart to demonstrate a more appropriate suggested size.
"You sound like an expert on the subject."
"Jæja, I'm really an elf."
Anthony narrowed his eyes and then Sören elbowed him, laughing some more.
They made a few rounds of the museum to get a good look at everything - though Sören found looking at Anthony much more interesting - and then they hit the gift shop. Sören didn't have a lot of friends and he didn't feel like it was appropriate to give them any of the penis-themed memorabilia, even though anyone who was friends with him knew how he was. He did, however, buy a pair of oven mitts that had Santa Claus with a penis sticking out, which made Anthony lose it all over again. Anthony continued laughing as he picked out things to take back to England - penis-shaped pasta and candies, and a penis mug. His last selection was a penguin "Willy Warmer", and after Anthony paid for his things he handed the "Willy Warmer" to Sören.
"Here," Anthony said, grinning. "It's an early Christmas present. I know those long winter nights are cold."
Sören's face burned, realizing this meant Anthony was thinking about his cock. He grasped for levity, feeling flustered and stupid. "Great! Now Jólakötturinn won't eat me!"
Anthony narrowed his eyes, looking confused. "What."
"You came to Iceland for Christmas but didn't research our Christmas traditions?" Sören tsked, though he knew it was a spur-of-the-moment decision made in pain and he elbowed Anthony again to let him know it wasn't real annoyance. "The Yule Cat. If you don't get at least one new item of clothing for Christmas, he eats you."
"You... Icelanders teach this to children."
Sören nodded solemnly. "He's still not as bad as Grýla and Leppalúði, the trolls who own him. Grýla cooks naughty children in a stew."
"You're taking the piss."
"I'm not."
Anthony laughed. "That's terrible. I like it."
Sören grinned and put the Willy Warmer in his satchel, then he put an arm around Anthony and led him across the street to where there was a hot dog cart. "Come on, let's get a pylsa."
Sören ordered two with everything. Anthony took out his wallet to pay and Sören waved his hand. "They're not much, it's on me."
Sören knew when Anthony took the pylsa this was probably his first time eating an Icelandic hot dog. Sören had visited the States once, going to New York City when he was nineteen, and had gone to a hot dog cart and been disappointed by what passed for hot dogs outside Iceland. Sören nibbled at his, glancing around the street, taking the occasional look at Anthony. After a few bites Anthony paused, and Sören worried for an instant that he didn't like it, but then Anthony facepalmed and shook with silent laughter.
"I can't believe we're eating this after visiting the penis museum," Anthony chuckled.
Sören couldn't resist. He smiled, took a bite of his hot dog, and said, "And this is what happens to naughty elves."
Anthony almost choked on his hot dog. He gave Sören a playful nudge, and Sören attempted a wink that was more of a clumsy blink.
When they were done with their hot dogs, they got on the bus again. Every now and again Anthony and Sören's eyes met and they laughed, still amused by the penis museum and the wrongness of eating hot dogs together immediately afterward. Sören loved the way Anthony smiled and laughed, finding it incredibly sexy, and his hole started twitching again, more slick pooling as his stomach fluttered, heart beating faster. He resisted the urge to take Anthony's hand or put an arm around him.
The bus let them off near Hallgrimskirkja. Sören gestured in the direction of the church. "Since we sinned so much... a bit of a cleanser."
Anthony laughed again, then he stopped with a nervous look on his face. "You're not religious, are you?"
Sören snorted. He threw back his head and laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world, then he shook his head vehemently. "I'm Lutheran on paper, and I go to church once a year for midnight mass on Christmas Eve for tradition's sake, but otherwise... no, I'm agnostic. My aunt, who raised me, got Jesus a couple years ago and if I was ever inclined to explore religion I wouldn't, with the way it changed her." Sören made a face.
"OK." Anthony breathed a little sigh of relief. "What was it Gandhi said... 'I like your Christ, I do not like your Christians.' That sums up how I feel about most of them."
Sören nodded. "Honestly, I took you here for the architecture. It should be a crime to visit Reykjavik and not see this place."
"It's amazing. I need to take more pictures and show my mum. She's an architect."
Sören was impressed by that - he loved looking at well-composed buildings. He loved drawing and painting them even more. Architects were a different sort of artist, and Sören liked creative people. "You do any, ah, architecture yourself? Or sketching, other art stuff?"
"No. I'm a barrister back in London."
A lawyer. Sören mentally filed that information away. "I make art, in my spare time."
"I'd love to see some of it before I go back to London."
"Maybe." Sören looked at his watch. He felt nervous about showing other people his art, especially a hot guy he wanted to bang. "Not today though." He made the "come on" gesture and Anthony followed.
First they stopped at the statue of Leifur Eiríksson, and Anthony took some photos of that. As they got closer to Hallgrimskirkja, Anthony took more pictures of the church from different angles - including a couple pictures with Sören in it. It made Sören blush to be photographed, but even more than that, to know Anthony didn't hate looking at him. Sören decided to take out his own phone and snap a few photos, both of the church and of Anthony.
No matter how many times Sören had seen Hallgrimskirkja, it never failed to impress him. Regardless of Sören's feelings about religion, the church was a work of art. The rising tower and the wings were a tribute to Iceland's mountains and glaciers; the wings were made to resemble basalt columns. The church had been described as "music turned to stone", and Sören felt that description fit perfectly. While it was wholly modern, a product of the 20th century, there was nonetheless something about the church that felt ancient, that seemed to almost sing. The stained glass windows were another feast for the eye, the light of the afternoon hitting the glass panes in such a way that each color was richer, with many subtle shades. Sören felt that ache he always got when he looked at stained glass, wishing he knew how to make glass and had a workshop for things like that... and working with stone, working with metal. He enjoyed painting, but he wanted to make several different types of art.
Maybe someday.
Sören took Anthony inside the church, as there were more things to see inside - walking around to look at the different stained glass pictures in detail, admiring the baptismal font made of basalt and crystal... and the pipe organ, one of the largest in the world, fifteen meters tall, with 5275 pipes. Anthony's eyes widened as they walked to the organ.
"It's a theme," Sören whispered. "I took you to the dick museum, now we're inside a cock-and-balls shaped church and I'm showing you an organ."
Anthony's laughter boomed out, echoing, and he clapped his hand over his mouth when he got a few stares from other people visiting the church. He and Sören exchanged glances and laughed together more quietly. Anthony's cheeks were pink now, his green eyes sparkling, and Sören couldn't help but notice Anthony's Alpha scent was just a little stronger now, as if his body was responding to the flirting.
The thing that most tourists came for wasn't the organ, but the tower. Sören hated elevators, but he was willing to brave the lift to show Anthony the view of Reykjavik. After they climbed into the lift together and the doors closed, Sören tried to keep calm, taking a few deep breaths, but he felt himself tensing, and as the lift went up and up, his heart raced and he felt himself cringing despite his best attempts to not let his anxiety show. Anthony noticed - Sören's face burned, wishing he could bolt - and of course he would notice, it seemed observation was part of a lawyer's job.
And then Anthony reached out and took Sören's hand. It was like being given a shot of an anti-anxiety drug; Sören's heartbeat immediately began to slow, his breath evening, feeling the warmth and strength of Anthony's hand holding his. It was such a kind gesture. Sören felt a little embarrassed about his panic in small, enclosed spaces, and he still worried Anthony would judge him, but then once the lift stopped at the top, Anthony gave him a quick hug and a squeeze.
"We made it," Anthony said.
"This is why I wanted to take you here." Sören took Anthony by the hand and led him to the ledge.
The panoramic view of Reykjavik from atop the church tower was breathtaking. It was a clear winter day, with a blue sky, so there was absolutely no fog over the city, everything was right there. They gazed at the cheery, brightly colored houses and shops and snow-capped green spaces and the view of the fjord, the ocean. Anthony let out a low whistle.
He took some pictures of that too, and a selfie, and then another selfie with Sören in it. When he put his camera away he gave Sören another quick hug. "It means a lot that you were willing to brave your claustrophobia to show me this," Anthony said.
Sören bit his lower lip. "I feel dumb."
"We're all afraid of something," Anthony said. "I'm really arachnophobic."
"God, so am I. Fuck spiders. Well..." Sören had to go there. "Maybe not fuck them, that would be... bestiality? Ah... Insectiality?"
Anthony facepalmed again, laughing. They got a couple looks from people who'd gone up to the tower, and Sören smiled and waved - he wasn't sorry at all.
"We are in a church," a middle-aged woman scolded him in Icelandic.
"Jæja, really? You don't say," Sören replied in Icelandic.
"Have some respect for sweet baby Jesus."
Sören tried not to laugh at that. He started to innocently whistle as he turned back to Anthony and the bird's eye view of Reykjavik.
They spent awhile up there, looking and looking at the city - it was like Sören caught something new every time. Finally, and a bit reluctantly, they went back in the lift. This time Anthony put an arm around Sören's waist and Sören leaned on him, feeling far less panic when he was close to Anthony like this. Now Sören's heart was beating faster for an entirely different reason. His body tingled at the closeness of Anthony's body to his... the longing for Anthony's body on his. Already, he felt safe with Anthony like Anthony was his Alpha.
Sören tried not to think about it as they made another round of looking at the organ, the stained glass. But he could barely string two thoughts together that didn't involve Anthony plunging out of his slick, throbbing hole as they exited the church into the crisp winter air.
"Where to now?" Anthony asked.
"A couple places."
The first was Listvinahusid, a specialty shop that was a short walk from Hallgrimskirkja. It was Iceland's oldest ceramic shop, with pottery made by Gudmundur Einarsson that used Icelandic lava. Sören loved looking at the original pieces, even as he felt that wistfulness again for a studio of his own. "My mum would love this," Anthony said, looking at a bowl with a deep metallic grey glaze and a lava texture. He looked at the price tag, and then he nodded. "I'm going to buy it for her. Sort of my way of saying 'sorry' for not being there this holiday."
Sören couldn't really afford anything in the shop - rent in Reykjavik was pricey and he had to be careful with his money; he spent enough on art supplies like paint and canvas as it was - but that didn't stop him from wishing he had a few pieces to decorate his flat. In particular, he liked a mermaid figurine with her tail wrapped around a shell dish, glazed in iridescent celadon, and a chunky candleholder with a vermilion glaze and touches of lava. Anthony saw him eyeing those pieces and finally he slapped his wallet against his hand. "Which one do you want?"
"Oh god. I wasn't asking. I'd... I'd feel bad about you spending money..."
"Just for taking me up to the top of the church to see that view of the city, I want to do something nice for you."
Sören swallowed hard, face on fire. He looked at the price tag on the vermilion lava-touched candleholder, winced a little - it wasn't ridiculously expensive but it was more than Sören felt comfortable with Anthony spending on him when they'd just met. But the candleholder was in Anthony's hand and he took that and the bowl for his mother up to the register. Anthony also picked out a small dish for himself, a marbled black and brown glaze with pieces of rugged black lava.
When they'd checked out, Sören tucked the candleholder safely into his satchel. "Thank you very much."
"You're welcome."
Sören gave a wry chuckle. "I shouldn't have taken you in there. I want everything in that shop." Sören sighed. "I want to make everything in that shop." He could still see the wheels and the kiln of the studio part of the shop, in his mind's eye. "Well I mean, I'd make my own designs, I wouldn't be copying his, but still."
"My gran makes pottery. If you ever visit London, and you've got enough time, I'd be happy to take you to see her and I'm sure she'd be happy to let you borrow her wheel and her kiln. Of course, I know that's not the same as having your own studio."
"No, but it's a sweet offer." As was just the thought of visiting Anthony and spending more time with him. If nothing else, this was going to be a lovely friendship, and Sören was glad they'd met.
He also felt a touch of sadness, realizing Anthony would go back to London in the new year.
Why are you being like this? You don't even know him.
Sören took a deep breath. Fortunately, there was a big distraction nearby. Sören marched them to the Einar Jónsson Museum, another short walk. The real attraction of the museum was the sculpture garden, which had opened in 1984, the year Sören was born. Twenty-six sculptures were cast in bronze with a patina, standing atop stone pillars. Sören thought the garden was more impressive in the winter, with the stern faces brought to life by the frost, the barren birch trees among the evergreens.
Sören's favorite sculpture was Heimir, head bowed, playing a harp. Heimir was, in legend, the foster-father of Aslaug, the daughter of Brynhildur and Sigurð, and he kept his foster-daughter hidden in the harp and wandered as a bard until he was murdered. Sören's own parents were named Brynhildur and Sigurð, which amused him, and after they'd died he was raised by Sigurð's sister and her husband, who were cruel; after learning the story of Heimir, young Sören used to daydream about being taken in by a wandering harpist, traveling with him, kept safe. When Sören was a teenager those daydreams became romantic, the harpist with long, flowing black hair, an intense silvery gaze...
Sören's other favorite sculpture in the garden was called "The Outlaw", which portrayed a wild-looking man wielding a walking stick, accompanied by a wolf, carrying his dead wife on his back towards civilization. It stirred Sören's mind's eye to how difficult it must have been to wander exiled in the harsh winter ice. He could almost feel the bitter cold, the sharp hunger, the closeness of death...
"It's like walking through a monument or temple in another world," Anthony said, his voice hushed, reverent, the footsteps crunching in the snow louder than his voice.
Sören nodded. Once again, there was that ache to sculpt, to shape with his hands, to bring his visions to life in other ways. "It's so melancholy here. Kind of haunted. That's why I like it, though." Sören put his hand on his heart.
"Yes, I was warned about the Scandinavian temperament," Anthony said. "I can see why you lot are of a melancholy disposition now, when you've only got a few hours of daylight during the winter, and it gets so cold here."
Sören snorted. "Some of us find ways to deal with it. Keeps me in work as a bartender, I guess. Which is therapeutic in its own way - people come in who are more depressed than I am."
Anthony sighed and put a hand on Sören's shoulder. He paused and Sören paused too. Sören wished he hadn't said that aloud, not wanting to be flip about the pain Anthony was in. But then Anthony cupped Sören's chin in his hand. "So you're depressed?"
Sören shrugged. "I've had kind of a hard life. You don't want to hear about it."
"You got to hear about my problems last night. Well, some of them."
Sören shrugged again. "I've got PTSD. I was bullied in school -"
"Me too."
While not an Alpha himself, Sören knew Alpha-on-Alpha hazing could be particularly bad, he'd heard horror stories. Sören went on. "And home was no escape from that. My parents died when I was young, so my aunt and uncle raised me. They drank. They got mean when they drank." Sören spared the gory details of being beaten with a belt; tattoos covered the scars on his back.
"And you... work in a bar, where people get drunk."
"It's sort of exposure therapy for me. A reminder that not everyone is like those people. Anyway, it's why I live in Reykjavik - I came here from Akureyri, up north. Got away from my guardians the minute I turned eighteen."
"I don't blame you. Jesus, I'm sorry." Anthony frowned.
Sören shrugged again. "Anyway, I get panic attacks, I have flashbacks, that sort of thing. Like I said, you don't want to hear about it."
Anthony exhaled. He opened his mouth, looking like he wanted to say something, and then he closed his mouth, like he thought better of it.
The King of Atlantis had a figure with a pyramid head, and when Anthony noticed it he started laughing. Sören had seen the sculpture dozens of times but now he laughed too, seeing it in a new way.
"Wow," Anthony said. "Everything here is super serious and then we have... Triangle Man over here."
"Technically, a triangle is two-dimensional. A pyramid is three-dimensional. And not all pyramids are triangular in base, some have a hexagonal base, and..." Sören realized he was doing "the Aspie thing" and shut his mouth.
Anthony laughed harder. "You're cute," he said, making Sören blush fiercely - in Sören's mind's eye he remembered the Rankin-Bass Rudolph cartoon with Rudolph shouting "She thinks I'm cuuuuuuuute!" before flying into the air. Sören felt like he could take off like a rocket now. Then Anthony added, "That went right over your head, didn't it?" He started singing, "Triangle man, Triangle man / Triangle man hates particle man / They have a fight, Triangle wins / Triangle man."
Sören facepalmed - he couldn't believe he didn't catch that reference to They Might Be Giants. As he and Anthony walked around the garden some more they sang together:
Particle man, particle man
Doing the things a particle can
What's he like? It's not important
Particle man
Then they collapsed in hysterics, leaning on the Thor Wrestles With Old Age statue, laughing so hard they wheezed at the sheer absurdity of singing "Particle Man" in a garden full of sad, stern sculptures.
"Wow," Sören said.
After they left the sculpture garden and got back on the bus, Sören looked at his watch. He turned to Anthony and said, "We have a couple hours to kill before I take you to the next thing I have planned, which starts after sunset. Do you have anywhere that you'd like to go?"
Anthony thought for a moment then he said, "The Blue Lagoon? I did a little research before I came here and the hot spring looked lovely."
Sören's face burned again - he wondered if that was Anthony's way of hinting he wanted to see Sören in next to nothing - but unfortunately, as much as he was willing to test the waters, literally, he shook his head and explained, "You need a reservation so unless you made one, we can't. The Blue Lagoon is almost always full, lots of tourists both in the summer and winter."
"Oh. Well, shit."
Sören nodded; he was also disappointed. But he couldn't help expressing his opinion, either. "It's honestly a bit overrated for what it is. It's nice, don't get me wrong, I've been there, but... the Nature Baths at Lake Mývatn, near my hometown of Akureyri, that's much nicer and less expensive."
"You sound like you miss it, even if you came down to Reykjavik to get away from your family."
Sören did, and then he found himself making an impulsive decision - not thinking, just feeling... wanting to do something to make Anthony happy, since Anthony had come here to escape the pain he was in. Sören had been willing to go in the lift of the church tower to show Anthony the view of Reykjavik. Now he was willing to do something else. "So I mentioned I have the rest of the holiday off, through New Year's Eve. How about tomorrow, you and I fly up to Akureyri? It's an hour flight, it's cheap. I can take you to the Nature Baths and show you some other things, like the Botanical Garden, and the Christmas House... the statues of Grýla and Leppalúði, the trolls who eat children."
Anthony beamed. "I'd like that a lot, Sören. Thank you."
Sören smiled back. "Before I go to work tonight I'll see if there are any hotels available in Akureyri for tomorrow night, otherwise we'll have to fly back to Reykjavik that night. Or... well. There's another option but you might not like it, if you think it's cold here."
Anthony raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"
"We could camp. I have some camping gear in my flat, a tent that can sleep two. I haven't gone winter camping in a few years - my late cousin Ari and I went camping in eastern Iceland to see reindeer for my twenty-first birthday. I'd love to do it again, but even with insulated bedding you might not like it."
"I'm willing to try it." Anthony sighed. "I haven't been camping at all since I was a teenager. I used to go camping regularly with my uncle Nigel and his partner Steve. I miss it. I miss them."
"Maybe you could call them, wish them a happy Christmas?"
"They're both dead." Anthony's smile became a frown.
"Oh god, I'm sorry." Sören hugged him, without thinking about it. Anthony hugged him back and they clung for a moment - it felt so good to be in his arms... too good. Sören's cock stirred in his jeans, and his hole twitched again, slick dripping. When Sören pulled back he saw the pink in Anthony's cheeks, his pupils blown wide, and Sören really wanted to kiss him, but it seemed gauche to kiss him right after Anthony had mentioned the death of two beloved relatives.
"I think he'd approve of me winter camping in Iceland," Anthony said, tearing up a little. "Actually, he told me to visit Europe, see as much of the world as I can. Iceland was on his bucket list but he never got a chance to go. So... I guess he's here in spirit, if I believed in that."
"The Old Norse thought the ancestors visit us during Jól," Sören said. He didn't know why he was saying that since he didn't really believe in that either, but it was a comforting thought.
"I'm sorry," Anthony said. "I didn't mean to make things sad."
"It's OK. I just wish there was something I could do to make you feel better." Then it came to Sören, and he started singing:
Particle man, particle man
Doing the things a particle can
What's he like? It's not important
Particle man
Anthony wiped away tears that weren't of sadness, shaking, face lit up. "You're terrible."
"Takk."
"And I'm sorry if this sounds stupid, but... I love your accent. I like the way you say 'particle man'. Parrrrticle man."
Sören giggled. He crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip, cheeks on fire again. "Takk. I like your accent too."
"Thanks."
"And... you didn't tell me what you want to do, while we've got time before the next thing."
"Right." Anthony closed his eyes for a moment, looking deep in thought, then he said, "Can we look at Christmas lights?"
"Jæja! You want to go to Austurvöllur? There's some really nice Christmas trees lit up there."
That was what they did. The sun was starting to set, which gave the warm white fairy lights on the trees an enchanted feel. In the blue glow of twilight, the lights sparkled beautifully. Sören showed Anthony the Christmas tree that was sent from Oslo every year, and the decorations of the Yule Lads. A street vendor was selling hot cocoa and they each got a cup, walking around admiring the lights, drinking hot chocolate, huddled close together. Sören once again thought about giving Anthony a kiss, but he felt shy, and he didn't want to take away from the magic of the lights.
The lights were even more magical when Sören produced a joint from his satchel, waiting for the right moment. He lit up, puffed and passed; Anthony stared at the joint for a moment and then he took a hit. When he coughed, Sören patted him.
"I normally don't smoke," Anthony choked.
"Oh! I hope you didn't feel pressured at all -"
Anthony shook his head. "There's a first time for everything, right?"
"Right." Sören toked up again, passed the joint over, and they took turns smoking it until it was gone. Coughing, laughing. The buzz made the lights even prettier. The entire world was beautiful. Anthony especially.
They got back on the bus, this time in the direction of the Kollafjörður Bay. They were just in time for the ferry that went to Viðey. "The ferry ride only takes a few minutes," Sören said. "It's the twenty-first and every year, the John Lennon Peace Tower is lit after sunset. Yoko Ono herself comes out to do the ceremony."
"Holy shit!"
Sören smiled - he was glad Anthony liked the idea - and they got on the ferry together. Even for a short ride, it was beautiful, the lights of the city shining on the water, a few stars visible in the sky.
There was a crowd at the Peace Tower, but Sören thought it was worth it for the experience. Sure enough, Yoko Ono came out to a wild round of applause - Sören and Anthony clapped too - and she said, "Every year we light this tower in memory of my late husband... in honor of his dream. I want you to take a moment and imagine peace. Imagine a world at peace. A world without ignorance or hatred, a world where people can put aside their differences and live in harmony, love each other as one human family."
A beam of silver-blue light shot up four kilometers in the air. Sören gasped - he'd seen it before and it was still amazing to him. He loved light, and he especially loved the silver-blue color of this light.
"Imagine peace!" Yoko Ono yelled.
Sören wasn't one for prayer, or meditation, or visualization - his late cousin Ari had been, and all the transcendental meditation in the world hadn't kept him from taking his own life - but in the intense shining light, he could almost see it. The light of the Peace Tower was beautiful symbolism, to him. The light of peace. The light of hope. Honoring the light inside each person, their inner fire.
Anthony and Sören had just met, but Sören realized that was part of the draw. In the darkness of Anthony's depression, his inner light still burned brightly, clearly. Some people lashed out, acted out, in their sadness and anger - his guardians had been living proof of that - but there was a kindness to Anthony, Sören was sure of it. Anthony felt like a force of light in the world.
Anthony took Sören's hand in his, and squeezed.
After the ceremony, Yoko Ono was doing an autograph signing, and Sören and Anthony queued up and waited. When it was their turn she shook their hands, gave them each a hug, and signed autographs. Anthony asked for a second autograph for his mum, who was a huge fan of the Beatles, and Yoko Ono pinched his cheek before doing a second autograph. Sören laughed as they walked away - Anthony looked a little mortified at the grandmotherly Yoko pinching his cheek, but Sören thought it was adorable.
Then Anthony paused after a few steps and took out his phone. He made a "wait" gesture to Sören, hit a number on speed dial and then after a deep female voice's "Hello," Anthony said, "Mum! MUM! I JUST MET YOKO ONO!"
Sören tried not to laugh harder. That boyish exuberance was even more endearing.
Anthony took a few steps for privacy, though his voice carried, going on about meeting Yoko Ono and how pretty the Peace Tower was. When he got off the phone he walked quickly over to Sören and gave him a tight hug.
"I think I'm kind of high," Anthony said.
"Hi Kind Of High."
Anthony facepalmed, laughing.
"You want to get something to eat, then?" Sören asked; he himself got the munchies when he was stoned.
There was a small cafe on Viðey, and they went there for dinner. Food was very basic - burgers, salmon - but the setting was the historic Viðeyarstofa, built with stone in the 1750s, and there was a gorgeous view of the bay. Anthony insisted on paying for both of them, and they ate in companionable silence, still lost in the wonder of the light ceremony. Still buzzed.
"Do you want to go to a Christmas market before I have to get ready for work?" Sören asked as they were nearly finished with their meal.
"Yes."
After they took the ferry back to Reykjavik they went to the Christmas market at Ingólfstorg Square. Sören bought some Christmas cookies from a vendor to share with Anthony. Anthony looked like he was having an orgasm as he sampled them. "Piparkökur," Sören said, pointing to the ginger cookies. "Spesíur are the sugar cookies. And the ones with liquorice and chocolate and meringue, those are lakkrístoppar."
"They're crack, is what they are. Jesus, I could eat an entire tray of these."
Sören put that information on mental file, next to Anthony as a lawyer. As much as he hated mornings, he considered waking up early to make a batch of Christmas cookies to bring with them to Akureyri tomorrow.
Waking up early? To bake? For this guy? It's like you're falling in love with him. Get a grip.
Sören was reluctant to part ways when it came time for him to have to go back to his flat and prepare for work. They lingered at the doors to the apartment complex, eyes locking. Sören could get lost in those green eyes.
Anthony shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "So... what time tomorrow?"
Sören did mental math. He was getting off work at two, which meant he'd be asleep by three at the earliest. Sunrise was close to eleven AM. If they left before sunrise, Sören would need to wake up at seven or eight AM to make cookies. He scratched the idea of baking cookies tomorrow morning; he could do that some other day during the holiday season, it would be an excuse to have Anthony come over. "How does nine sound? We can fly to Akureyri just in time to watch the sunrise."
"Brilliant." Anthony took a deep breath. "Thank you again, Sören, so much for today. And... tomorrow. I'm sure tomorrow will be even better."
"That's what I'm hoping." Sören gave him a quick hug.
He really wanted to kiss Anthony, but he knew if they started kissing now, Sören was going to find it nearly impossible to not drag Anthony upstairs and play hooky from work, which would probably get him in trouble. And he didn't want to be even hornier for his shift. As it was, even without kissing him, Sören ended up bringing himself off in the shower, thinking about Anthony. Wanting.
He didn't want to fall for a guy who would be gone in a few days, but he was already most of the way there.
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