[art by me and SemperViridis, August 2021]
The only thing more delicious to Anthony than the sweet taste of Sören's slick was the sight of his magnificent peach-shaped ass, and the sound of Sören's broken cries as his tongue played.
Anthony stroked himself as he ate at Sören, not able to help touching himself, aching, going out of his mind with lust. His cock was already completely wet with precum, flushed a deep pink, making a sloppy rattling sound in his hand, and his balls were painfully tight, ready to explode.
When he couldn't take it anymore, he slapped Sören's ass. "It's time."
Sören let out another sob, and Anthony watched as Sören got in position, on all fours on the couch, face down, ass up. Anthony climbed onto the couch and knelt, straddling Sören's hot ass. He smacked Sören's ass again, making Sören cry out, then he rubbed in soothing, sensual circles. The sight of Sören open and slick... Anthony shuddered.
"I'm coming in," Anthony rasped.
"Hi Coming In."
Anthony spanked Sören's ass again, then took himself in hand and began to guide the tip of his cock to Sören's opening. The sight of Sören's firm bubble butt flushed red from his hand, the cute pink puckered hole pooling slick, watching Sören's hole swallow his cock inch by inch, almost undid him immediately. He took deep breaths, gripping Sören's hips when he was all the way in. Sören's breath hitched. Sören's passage was like a vise, suggesting it had been awhile. Anthony gave Sören a moment to adjust to the length and thickness of him - and himself a moment to steel his nerves so he didn't come right away. Then he began to thrust.
He went slowly, both to ease Sören into it, and to savor that first moment of connection, the sweetness of the silken heat gripping him. Nothing had ever felt better than plunging into Sören, feeling Sören hold him so intimately.
A few thrusts in, Sören cried out. Anthony paused, concerned. "Am I hurting you?"
"Oh god, keep going." Sören let out a whimper. "Feels good..."
Anthony resumed thrusting, and he started feeling it, that nub inside Sören rubbing against his cock. Anthony groaned, and Sören cried out again. It felt good to Anthony, too.
And then it happened. Anthony felt like Sören's passage was clamping down on him even harder, his balls tighter, his cock as stiff as it had ever been. I'm knotting. Anthony gasped, and felt himself smiling, euphoric.
He'd watched plenty of Alpha/Omega porn, and had secretly longed for an Omega of his own for years, even as he had been loath to get involved with an Omega, knowing attachments tended to be intense, and one's early to mid twenties was not the most stable time for that. But it was one thing to see it, and fantasize, and another thing to experience the real deal. He was knotted inside Sören, and Sören loved it, howling, rocking his hips back at Anthony, harder, faster.
"Yes, fuck me, yes, give me that fucking knot..."
Anthony smacked Sören's ass and growled. He grabbed Sören's hips, harder, pulled Sören closer to him, and now there was no gentleness, only fierce animal need. He matched Sören's rhythm and went even faster, watching Sören's fists grip the couch pillows, white-knuckled. The wet suctioning sound of thrusting in and out of Sören's slick hole, the sound of their hips slapping together, and Sören's whimpers and cries drove him wild. Anthony growled again, giving in fully to that Alpha instinct to rut, pounding into Sören like his life depended on it. Sören bucked right back at him, sobbing, screaming.
"Yes, yes, yes, oh god, Anthony, yes, that cock is so fucking good..."
"God, you feel so good to me." Anthony growled. He slapped Sören's ass again, and again, and fucked away. He needed to come, but he needed to fuck even more. The combined scent of their arousal was intoxicating, and even moreso that feeling of power, of conquest...
...of rightness. Like Sören was made for him. His Omega.
It was dangerous to feel that way about someone he'd just met a few days ago, someone who lived in another country, when he would be returning to London in several days. But he found himself grabbing Sören by the curls, then grabbing one of Sören's arms, then the other, pinning them, which made Sören moan even louder. "More," Sören begged. "Oh fuck, more, fucking take it..."
Anthony resisted the urge to lay on Sören's back, bite his neck. He wanted to, he desperately ached to, but claiming him and leaving him behind was bad. So he held off. He kept his hands on Sören's wrists, slamming into him, getting closer, closer, making himself hold back, wanting Sören to come first.
It didn't take much longer. Sören let out a shuddery gasp, and then a breathy, "Anthony... I'm gonna -"
"Yes, baby, come for me."
Two thrusts later Sören screamed, his channel clenching Anthony's cock, pulsing, milking it. The feel of Sören throbbing around him, slick rushing over his cock, sent Anthony over the edge, throwing back his head and crying out as his release hit like a thunderbolt. The pleasure rose and fell, swirled and melted. Anthony gasped for breath, heart hammering in his ears, bliss ringing through his body.
He collapsed onto Sören's back, shaking with the force of his orgasm. Sören was shaking too, laughing. Anthony rubbed his nose in Sören's hair, kissed his cheek, and Sören kneaded the couch like a contented cat. Anthony gave a happy sigh.
They lay there like that, holding hands, as Anthony's knot locked them together for what felt like a long time, lost in the sweet peace of their orgasm. When his knot receded, Anthony pulled out, got up - legs wobbling - and sat on the couch, pulling Sören against him. For a few minutes they snuggled, Anthony petting Sören's curls. Then they kissed and nuzzled, and several tender little kisses later, the kisses became more insistent, the passion sparking between them once again.
"I need more," Sören whispered, guiding Anthony's hand to his cock, which had hardened up again.
Anthony laughed and kissed the tip of Sören's nose. He felt like he had won the lottery. He kissed Sören back, and when Sören began to kiss his neck, making him shiver, his own cock rose again. Anthony moaned as Sören's lips and tongue trailed over his shoulder, then Sören licked his chest hair, lapped and suckled one nipple as he played with the other, going back and forth between them, driving Anthony out of his mind with sensation - he never knew his nipples were so deliciously sensitive. "Need you," Sören panted before he drew a nipple into his mouth, sucking even harder.
Anthony shuddered and gasped, his nipples throbbing, so hard, Sören's tongue so luscious. He loved those full lips latched onto a nipple, the innocent-yet-naughty brown eyes. He ruffled Sören's curls and husked, "How do you want it?"
"On my back, this time." Sören stroked Anthony's face. "I want to see those pretty eyes."
Anthony smiled, leaning into Sören's touch, savoring it, cherishing it. He kissed Sören's hand and then he tweaked Sören's nose. "You got it."
Sören wanted to see Anthony's eyes laying on his back... and Anthony loved seeing all of him. He once again admired the beautiful swirling flames on Sören's right arm, the ocean waves on his left. The pierced nipples with their captive bead rings. The smooth, creamy skin, a dark treasure trail leading to a riot of dark curls like the ones on Sören's head, framing a long cock, flushed pink, glistening with precum. Anthony hooked a finger through the ring in the head of Sören's cock and came down to claim his mouth.
They kissed and kissed, hard cocks rubbing together. Anthony kissed and licked Sören's neck, cock jolting at the moans Sören made, just as sensitive as he was there - and once again resisted the urge to bite Sören's neck, to claim Sören as his Omega. Sören arched to him, tilted his hips, spread his legs, and once Anthony's cock was poised at Sören's entrance, he kissed Sören deep and hard, taking Sören's hands in his as he slid inside.
With their hands joined, their mouths together, tongues playing, Anthony began to thrust, once again starting slow. But when he knotted up again and Sören started bucking underneath him, Anthony grabbed at Sören's thighs, guiding Sören's legs to wrap around him, and he pounded Sören into the couch, bodies slapping together, the sloppy sound of their fuck threatening to bring them both off right away. Anthony made himself focus on Sören's pleasure, as difficult as it was to resist spending into that hot, wet, tight hole, like gliding on liquid silk, each thrust more and more intense, pleasure reaching the shatterpoint. He kissed and licked Sören's neck and throat again, careful not to bite. He kissed his way down to those lovely pierced nipples, hard little rosebuds. He suckled one, thumb rubbing the other. As his tongue lashed, his thumb rubbed faster, harder. Sören writhed, panting, making the most delicious whimpers, eyes feral.
Anthony licked the other nipple, sucked it hard, licked around and around it, then lashed the swollen bud even harder, before tugging it with his teeth, suckled, tugged the nipple ring with his teeth and suckled again. Sören howled, and his nails raked Anthony's back. Anthony shivered at the sweet sting, made a seething noise through clenched teeth, almost coming from that. He growled, and crushed his mouth against Sören's, his tongue moving in the same fierce, insistent rhythm as his fuck. Sören whined into the kiss and grabbed Anthony's head.
Anthony licked down Sören's neck to feast on those nipples some more, not able to get enough. The mental image came, unbidden, of what those nipples would be like swollen with milk, after seeding Sören, giving Sören his pups. It was all he could do not to bite Sören's neck and let himself go. He fucked as hard as he could - they were both starting to sweat now, panting together.
Sören clutched at Anthony and pulled him into another kiss. Sören whimpered into the kiss and Anthony responded with a growl. They were right there, clinging together, trying to draw it out as long as they could, one last note of hot, all-consuming, immolating passion.
"Anthony!" Sören's eyes widened and he let out a gasp, then a deep, animalistic groan, as his cock spurted up Anthony's chest.
"Oh god, Sören!" Anthony shook as his orgasm claimed him, pulled him under. His mouth was on Sören's again, tongues tangling, gripping each other's hands so tight it almost hurt, both of them trembling. Anthony's knot pulsed in time with Sören's channel, and for a moment it was like he didn't know where he ended and Sören begun. He'd never felt so close to someone before. Not even William. William didn't exist anymore.
All that existed was those beautiful brown eyes, warm, sweet chocolate. Anthony didn't know how a color could be so dark and yet so bright all at once, the most beautiful eyes he'd ever seen, so expressive. Looking into his with perfect trust... and awe, like Sören knew they were sharing something sacred.
Anthony kissed him again, more gently, tenderly. "Thank you," he whispered, and kissed him once more. When he pulled back, he rubbed noses with Sören, who giggled adorably.
"Thank you." Sören sighed deeply, and his face lit up, a radiant smile that took Anthony's breath away. "Oh god, I feel like I'm flying."
"Like the phoenix on your back."
"And you gave me the fire." Sören touched Anthony's cheek.
Those words went right to Anthony's heart. He really didn't want to fall in love with this man, who came from another world, it wouldn't work. But those beautiful words, from a beautiful man, with beautiful artwork on his body - the expression of a beautiful soul - were melting him. Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt. He'd come to Iceland to escape his pain, he hadn't expected much, just a distraction, and he'd found joy.
Sören's arms felt like home.
Anthony rested his head against Sören's chest, listening to his heartbeat as Sören stroked his sweat-damp hair. He put an arm around Sören and Sören's arms wrapped around him again, and Anthony snuggled against a shoulder. Sören glanced off to the side, catching his breath. They waited as Anthony's knot locked them together. Anthony didn't even mind. There was nowhere else he would rather be, than in this moment.
After Anthony's knot receded and he slipped out of Sören, he noticed the groceries he'd brought back, the bags that he'd dropped to the floor as soon as he'd walked in and saw Sören presenting. "Shit, I better get the perishable stuff put away," he said, reluctantly but quickly getting up.
Sören lay there looking dazed as Anthony brought the groceries into the kitchenette and began to unload, still stark naked. He'd gotten water and some sports drinks with electrolytes - he and Sören were both sweaty. There was a cheese platter, a fruit platter, and a vegetable platter. He'd bought some finger foods that could quickly be heated in the microwave, like chicken tenders, as well as Icelandic foods like skyr, and smoked fish and crispbread. He saved the best for last - Sören's face lit up again as Anthony pulled out an assortment of Icelandic Christmas cookies, and a box of Malt og Appelsín bottles.
"You got malt and Applesín for us for Christmas! That's so sweet, takk!" Sören clapped his hands together like an excited kid.
Anthony smiled. "One of the supermarket employees told me it was traditional for Christmas. I've never had it."
Sören sighed. "I was planning on baking for you, but I'm not going to be in a position to do that with my heat. I'm sorry."
Anthony leered. "I'm not."
Sören cackled. Then he sat up, and after a minute he slowly got off the couch, and gingerly walked to the kitchenette to give Anthony a hug. The feel of Sören's naked body against his - the smell of their sex - got Anthony's blood stirring again, but before he could pull Sören back to the couch, Sören walked to the closet. Anthony watched Sören's ass, cock half-hard.
Sören got on his knees and rummaged around. Anthony leaned against the counter, waiting, and then he saw Sören pull out several canvases in plastic wrap. Sören made a "come here" gesture and Anthony stooped to pick up the canvases; Sören pulled out another batch.
They took the canvases to the couch, setting them down on the coffee table. Sören began to unwrap them. "I'm still really nervous about showing you, but..."
Anthony put his hand on Sören's, knowing what an act of trust this was. "I appreciate it."
Sören started with the first painting he'd ever done, the fire phoenix and the water phoenix with their tails twined, on a background of space nebulas. Anthony's breath caught. He took Sören's hand, feeling like he'd seen a miracle of nature, just like the aurora. In this case the miracle was Sören's survival, rising out of the ashes of grief and rage, making beautiful things. Anthony's heart ached, and tears stung his eyes. "That's... wow. That's. I love that." I love you. Anthony bit his lower lip, not wanting to say it aloud, but he couldn't deny it anymore. It was going to break his heart to go back to England.
"Takk. It's not my best work, I think my stuff has improved with time, but it still has a lot of meaning to me, you know?"
"Oh, I think it's wonderful. Don't sell yourself short." Anthony's thumb stroked Sören's hand. "You're wonderful."
Sören laughed and squeezed Anthony's hand.
Sören's paintings were photorealistic yet with a touch of surrealism - intensely saturated, ramped-up colors, and a bit of otherworldliness. One painting had a beautiful redheaded woman with green eyes in a ballet costume, but it was made of flames, and colors swirled around her, as if her dance was a ritual or an act of magic. "Someone you know?" Anthony asked.
Sören shook his head. "Someone I've dreamt of."
There was a man with long silver-white hair, green eyes, and a fierce scowl, clad in black leather armor and a dark grey cloak, wearing a silver pendant set with an emerald, holding a sword, while fire and blood raged in the background. There was a scene of a throng of people wandering in a barren arctic wasteland, along a frozen river, with fog and wind shrouding them. There was a scene of ships burning, which reminded Anthony of Vikings, but these didn't look like Viking ships. There was a scene of two trees, one made of silver light, one made of gold, with the Milky Way in the background. There was an erotic painting of three men, nude and debauched, painted with each other's cum; two of the men had long black hair and the third had long blond hair. One of the black-haired men had intense blue eyes that captivated Anthony even more than the beautiful, sculpted bodies.
There were nature scenes - places around Iceland, but with subtle faces visible in rocks and trees, like spirits watching. Anthony was particularly taken with one painting that had an aurora in the shape of a phoenix over a black sand beach - the aurora-phoenix looked alive, another sort of guardian.
But the best piece of all was the most recent one - Sören was correct that there had been a progressive improvement with each painting, though Anthony thought they were all good. "This is another person from dreams," Sören said. A man with long blue-black hair stirring in the wind, with a chiseled, handsome-yet-beautiful face like that of a statue or Renaissance painting, piercing silver eyes, wearing a black leather jacket and jeans, was walking along the same black sand beach of the aurora-phoenix picture, except this time the sky was stormy, with golden light through steel clouds over a choppy sea, and there was a better view of basalt columns rising from the sea, looking phallic, and a craggy tall rock on the sand, going up and up. Something about that man felt familiar even though Anthony had never seen him before, and the painting evoked a strong feeling of melancholy, otherness, aloneness, being lost, that was all too relatable.
Such was the presence of the "stranger in a strange land" that the beach felt like it existed in another place or time. Anthony had to ask. "Is this beach from dreams too, or is it real?"
Sören gave a throaty chuckle. "The beach is real. It's Reynisfjara." He cocked his head to one side. "When my heat passes, I can take you there. It's about two and a half to three hours one way depending on traffic and road conditions, so we could get a campervan again and overnight it, if you want."
"I'd like that. I've only ever seen shingle beaches, no sand. This beach looks amazing."
"It's even nicer in-person. And, good, we're on. Consider it a Christmas present."
"Well... I'd like to pay for the campervan." Anthony didn't know what Sören's financial situation was like, but he was sure he had more money than Sören did, and it just felt right.
"Fine, I'll have to give you something else for Christmas." Sören thought for a moment, then he waved his hand, gesturing at the paintings. "Pick out one, to take with you when you. You know. Go back to London."
Anthony detected a faint waver in Sören's voice, like that idea hurt him. Anthony felt a little rush of relief - it seemed like the feelings were mutual - but he also felt a twinge of guilt, not wanting Sören to be hurt by the inevitable. It would hurt Anthony too.
But he also ached again. All of this art was exquisite, it belonged in a gallery; Sören deserved to be famous. Anthony felt almost like he was doing something wrong by accepting a piece for free, and yet he knew he'd regret it if he declined. He wanted not just one of these beautiful paintings, but a souvenir of the beautiful man he'd met in Iceland.
Anthony looked the paintings over. It was hard to decide, each one of them was lovely. But again and again his eyes went to Sören's first painting, the one of the fire phoenix and waterbird... the one that had become the tattoos on Sören's back. It would be a very intimate souvenir of Sören, looking at that and remembering Sören's body, the passion they'd shared.
"So... any of them I want?"
Sören nodded solemnly.
Anthony picked up the one of the birds. Sören's jaw dropped, and for a minute Anthony thought Sören was going to say no, not that one, and he prepared himself for disappointment, but instead Sören said, "Are you sure you want that one to keep? Like I said, that's my first painting, and the others are better -"
"It's you." Anthony's voice was husky. "Every time I see it, it'll remind me of you, and these magical days together."
For a few seconds they just looked at each other; Anthony's heart started racing again, smelling Sören's sweet-spicy-smoky Omega scent, muskier in heat. Then Sören grabbed Anthony's face and kissed him, taking his breath away. Anthony moaned into the kiss, cock jolting to full hardness.
"Get up," Sören said, his voice gruff.
Anthony raised an eyebrow. He gently set the painting down on the coffee table. "Did I do something -"
"I need to fold the couch out to a bed," Sören said. "Fucking's more comfortable that way."
Anthony threw his head back and laughed. He got up and helped Sören fold the couch out. Sören grabbed sheets and blankets from an ottoman, and he and Anthony made up the bed together. Once the bed was made they climbed on and clung to each other, laughing, kissing. Anthony stroked Sören's cheek, his curls, looking into those beautiful brown eyes.
"I want you," Sören whispered.
"I want you too." Anthony sucked on Sören's lower lip. After another kiss, he asked, "And how do you want it?"
"I want to ride you."
Anthony groaned, his cock throbbing with appreciation. He loved being ridden, and he was going to love it even more with this gorgeous man riding him.
My Omega.
Anthony propped up pillows and reclined. Sören straddled his hips and Anthony moaned as he watched Sören sink down on his cock, taking it inch by inch. Sören leaned in and they kissed hungrily, then Sören began to ride. Watching his cock glide in and out of Sören's hole, slick pouring down the shaft, and watching Sören's beautiful body move with fluid grace, like a dancer, watching the ecstasy on Sören's lovely face, was a feast for the eyes. Anthony wished he could paint; he would paint this, preserving this moment for all time.
His hands roamed over Sören's body, wanting to touch, feel, every part of him. He lingered at Sören's nipples, teasing, playing, making Sören moan and start bouncing hard. Sören worked his hips in circles, driving them both mad with sensation, intensifying when Anthony knotted, stretching him full, an even firmer grip. Now Sören's hands were on him too, running through his chest hair, pleasuring Anthony's nipples. Anthony moaned at Sören's fingers brushing his stomach, his thighs.
"You are so fucking hot," Sören growled, and came in for another kiss.
They held each other, Sören bouncing feverishly, as they kissed again and again, not able to get enough. Anthony smacked Sören's ass and Sören howled, riding even harder, and Anthony seethed through clenched teeth, trying desperately not to come first, but it felt so good, and the sight of Sören and his scent and the lewd, obscene wet slapping sound of their bodies was driving him wild. Anthony started kissing Sören's neck, fighting the urge to bite. He lapped Sören's nipples instead, thumb rubbing one as he licked the other, and his free hand reached down to stroke Sören's cock. When his hand was thoroughly coated with Sören's precum he found himself anointing Sören's nipples with it, suckling hard, enjoying the salty sweetness. Sören grabbed Anthony's head and screamed, swore in Icelandic, and called out, "Oh god, I'm so fucking close."
Anthony kissed up Sören's neck again. Their eyes met, and Anthony shoved his precum-glistening fingers in Sören's mouth, cock throbbing at those full lips wrapped around his fingers, just imagining what a cock would look like there. Sören sucked Anthony's fingers clean and then Anthony ground out, "Come for me, sweetheart," and kissed him deeply, tasting Sören's nectar again as their tongues licked.
Sören let out a whimper into the kiss, shuddering, and Anthony felt hot cum splash his chest again; he loved that feeling. Anthony grunted into the kiss as he came too, coming and coming, his knot pulsing deliciously, euphoria winding through him, wonder and awe that anything could feel like this.
They kissed again, more softly, sweetly. They rubbed noses and looked in each other's eyes. Anthony cradled Sören against his chest, rocking him.
They both dozed off a little and when Anthony opened his eyes, he saw it was after midnight. He tapped Sören; it was now December twenty-fourth. "Happy Christmas."
"Gleðileg jól." Then Sören frowned a little.
"What?"
"Oh, well... I gave you a painting but I didn't get you any clothing, so the Yule Cat is going to eat you."
Anthony snorted, and then he tousled Sören's hair and said the first thing that came to mind, thinking of Sören's body on his, insatiable for him. "What if I wear you?"
Sören grinned, and then he kissed the tip of Anthony's nose and chuckled. "I think making nábrók is frowned on these days."
"What."
Sören took a minute, like he was mentally searching for the English translation. "Necropants. It's a thing from our medieval grimoires. You skin the corpse of a dead man - you make a pair of pants from him, leaving the dingdong intact -"
"Oh my god, Sören." Anthony wheezed, doubling over. He gave Sören a playful shove. "That's not what I meant and you knew it." He facepalmed, laughing harder. "Jesus Christ, is that even real?"
"You can look it up. I'm not warped enough to come up with something like that on my own. Though that's not even the weirdest shit from old time grimoires."
"I'm afraid to ask."
"Fretrúnir. Fart-runes. Cursing someone to fart themselves to death."
They rolled on the couch-bed together in hysterics, laughing so hard they cried - Sören laughed hard enough to let out a fart, which made them laugh even harder.
God help me, I have it so bad for him that just makes me love him even more. Anthony sighed and kissed the top of Sören's head. "We're super mature adults."
"The adultiest." Sören grinned. "And now..." He kissed Anthony. "Back to adult activities."
Anthony pulled Sören down into a deeper kiss.
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