Sunday, February fourth was Anthony's birthday. This time, Mark and Sören were going over Anthony's house - though they'd be spending at least a couple hours at a restaurant. Mark did offer to make Anthony a cake, however, and he baked a particularly decadent vegan red velvet cake for the occasion.
Anthony lived in a seafoam green cottage on the more expensive part of town, with older buildings and some historic homes standing since the 19th century - though it continued to amuse Mark that humans found the 1800s "really old". He had a garden on the front lawn that looked enchanted with the ice and frost, a birdbath fountain that was still going and had a couple visitors when they arrived... and a welcome mat at the front door which said COME BACK WITH A WARRANT, making Mark snicker. There was also a mezuzah on the doorpost.
Anthony and Maimonides greeted them at the door. Anthony looked handsome in a blue button-down and black chinos, and was wearing contacts instead of glasses. Mark picked up a faint whiff of cologne - musky wood notes - and observed Anthony hadn't been wearing any before, or at least not that he noticed. They each gave him a hug, and Mark felt a little frisson at Anthony's body against his, then tingling and a giddy rush when Anthony took the cake with a big smile on his face. "That was so thoughtful of you," Anthony said. "Thank you."
Mark's mouth was dry and he was having difficulty making words. Except two that came to the forefront of his mind. Oh shit.
After they removed their shoes and outerwear, Anthony led them into the house and sat them down on the brown leather couch, between two brown leather armchairs. Mark glanced around at the wooden walls and the ornate wood-framed prints of classic Impressionist, post-Impressionist and pre-Raphaelite paintings adding pops of color to the room, the muted-blues-with-earth-tones Persian rugs here and there on the hardwood floor, pillows and couch throws in the same colors. His eyes were drawn to a rosewood bookshelf full of old books, and he smiled at the beige cat trees on either end of the bookshelf, with a brown cat bed and scratching post on top of the bookshelf. The living room was the right balance of tasteful, subtle elegance and coziness. Like their duplex, there was a fireplace here - and Anthony needed it more; Mark shivered at the draft in the older house even though he was wearing one of Sören's Icelandic sweaters, black with grey and white chevrons and snowflakes.
Anthony gave them an apologetic little frown. "I hope you don't mind, but I have to go video chat with my Bubbe - we always talk on my birthday. She's still in the UK and that's five hours ahead and it has to be when she's awake and not occupied. She e-mailed me a couple of days ago to ask if we could chat an hour later than planned because the care home is doing some special cleaning today."
"We don't mind at all," Mark said. "Family is very important." He felt that wistful ache for his own family, long gone.
"Thank you." Anthony exhaled. "She's one of two family members I've got left."
Sören nodded. "We understand. Go on."
"OK. Feel free to put on telly or music and help yourself to anything you see in the fridge or you can make coffee, tea, cocoa, if you like."
Anthony went to his bedroom for privacy while Mark and Sören made themselves comfortable in the living room with Billie Holliday on vinyl and glasses of orange-pineapple juice mixed with ginger ale, a bright sunny drink for a refreshing contrast on a cold and snowy day like today. As they drank and relaxed, Anthony's cats Solly and Shmuel came out to sniff them and accept pettings. Anthony's voice still carried, albeit muffled, and Mark's sensitive hearing picked up a blend of Yiddish and English. Mark's mind couldn't help thinking back to his time in Israel - all the way back when the Romans called it Judea.
Maglor had a great fondness for the Jewish people, who reminded him of the best qualities of the Noldor with their scholarship and arts and celebrations and values; like Ruth, he had decided they would be his people and their god would be his god. Unfortunately, centuries later as he wandered back to Europe and medieval Christians persecuted Jews, Mark learned the hard way that his continued survival meant pretending to be Christian, and as time went on his secret observance waned more and more, especially after coming to the New World on a ship with Puritans in the 1600s. Now here was Anthony, who not only reminded him a great deal of his uncle Finarfin, but also reminded him of the Jewish community he'd left behind for self-preservation... he still had an open wound from the loss all these centuries later, like a hole in his soul. He didn't want to give into magical thinking, but he couldn't shake the feeling that his path had crossed with Anthony's for a reason.
Finally Anthony came back, smiling though his eyes were a little too bright.
"How's your bubbe?" Mark asked.
"She's good. Well, you know, as well as can be expected, at her age."
"How old is she?" Sören cocked his head to one side. "She's real old, já?" Mark elbowed him.
Anthony chuckled and nodded. "Yeah, she was born in 1929."
Mark let out a low whistle. "Ninety-three? Ninety-four? She survived the Shoah, didn't she?"
Anthony looked down. "Ninety-four. She came to London via Kindertransport from Germany in 1939 before things got... real bad, though she witnessed the Kristallnacht. And she was the only one of her family who... made it." Anthony looked off to the side, scowling.
"I'm sorry." Mark immediately felt like an idiot when those words came out of his mouth, feeling like it was glib and trite and did not make up for the blood relatives Anthony would never know and the horrible way they'd died. His heart ached.
Sören saved the moment. "Wow, she's a living part of history."
"She is," Anthony said, relaxing slightly.
Sören's eyes widened. "Ninetysomething and she video chats with you AND uses e-mail, too?"
Anthony managed a small smile. "I had to teach her, and she had help from some other people but yes, she has basic Internet literacy. She can't figure out a smartphone, though."
"So she's still mostly there, no dementia?" Mark asked.
"Oh yeah, she's pretty sharp. All old people have some cognitive decline but she still reads and does crossword puzzles and can hold a conversation with me. Thank G-d for that. My parents were killed in 9/11, they visited New York City at exactly the wrong time, and I was only twenty-one and it devastated me. But it brought me much closer to my bubbe."
"I'm sorry about your parents, too." Mark wanted to hug him again, but held back. Sören nodded.
"I take it she's accepting of..." Sören looked Anthony up and down... and bit his lower lip, turning slightly pink.
"Very much so," Anthony replied. "My bubbe is a feminist and was a vocal ally of LGBT people all the way back in the 1980s during the AIDS crisis. When I came out to her as trans she said, 'I always wanted a grandson and I see G-d gave me one.' I'd had a bat mitzvah as a teenager and she flew out to the States to attend the re-bar mitzvah I had in 2015 after my top surgery."
"Awwwwwwwwwwwww," Mark and Sören said in unison.
"Also... I was named Antonia after my great-grandfather Anton - and my bubbe's own name is Antje - and I took Anthony, the male version of Antonia not just because it was easier but also to honor his memory. My bubbe was very happy with that."
"Awwww," Sören said again.
"Do you have a Hebrew name?" Mark asked, curious. "I take it your mother gave you one at birth but you would have changed it after transition."
"I want to say I'm surprised you know about Hebrew names but I remember you told me you lived in Israel for a bit." Anthony's lips quirked. "Yeah, I do, and yeah I changed it at my re-bar mitzvah. It's." He cleared his throat. "It's Ariel."
Sören tried not to laugh, and had to cover his mouth with his hand. "I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't find that funny. It's just -"
"I know." Anthony snickered. "I know."
Mark had to gently rib him and started singing "Under the sea, under the sea | Darling it's better | Down where it's wetter | Take it from me..."
"It means Lion of G-d," Anthony said, laughing harder. "I took the name to have a shot of courage as a trans man and a Jew, in the crazy world we live in. It's not for the Little Mermaid."
"I knew that," Mark said. "About the name meaning, I mean. It's a good choice of name." Once again, he felt that wistfulness for the people he'd lost.
"Though you'd make a cute merman," Sören said, and then he turned pink again. In fact, he turned a deeper pink, eyes glittering with mischief before he looked away.
Anthony turned pink too.
Mark recognized that look on Sören. He was pretty sure now that Sören had a crush on Anthony, and he was pretty sure it was mutual. Rather than feeling jealous, he found it amusing... and his own cheeks burned as he remembered how his body responded to Anthony's hug a short while ago. He also felt drawn to the handsome British veterinarian. And he had lived long enough to know the heart was capable of many loves, and to think of monogamy as a fairly recent invention in human society. Nonetheless, Mark didn't think this was the time or the place to remark on the sparks flying, since it was Anthony's birthday and if he was reading the situation completely wrong he didn't want Anthony to have bad memories of "that one awkward birthday" for years to come.
Besides, it was time to get to the restaurant.
They piled in Anthony's Prius and Mark and Sören treated Anthony to lunch at an Indian restaurant in Portland with a lunch buffet and lots of vegetarian options to accommodate no pork, shellfish, or mixing meat with dairy. By the time they left all three of them were stuffed, but instead of going directly back to Anthony's place, Anthony said, "I had fun at the dog park last week building a snowman and a snow fort with you. You want to play in the snow?"
This time they went to Payson Park and took turns riding a sled down snowy hills. Anthony's boyish exuberance was infectious, and it did Mark's heart good to see Sören giving into his silly, dorky side. Especially when Mark accidentally hit a pile of snow as he landed and the snow spattered all over Sören, who retaliated by throwing snowballs, which turned into a snowball fight of Anthony and Mark against Sören. When Sören was finally defeated by multiple snowballs pelting him at once and knocking him over, Anthony held Sören down in the snow while Mark tickled him, making Sören screech and giggle madly. After Mark let up and pulled Sören to sit up, they kissed - Anthony watched, turning pink again - and when they pulled apart, there was a brief instant where Sören and Anthony locked eyes and Mark thought Sören might kiss him too.
But Sören got up, also flushed and a little flustered, and broke off in a short run to the sled, then started pushing it uphill for another ride.
They continued to take turns with the sled until golden hour, when they knew it was time to get back before it went dark. They took a walk before they left to admire the way the light gleamed through the icicles on the trees, the way the snow sparkled in the sun, the dance of sun and shadow. Sören snapped a few photos of the beautiful scenery, as well as candids of the three of them. While Mark usually didn't like having his picture taken - the CIA wanted him to keep a low profile, which included avoiding social media, being in the news, and leaving a trail of photographs as evidence where his cover story with each move could have large holes poked in it - he nonetheless found himself glad Sören was taking pictures of today, as a souvenir of a beautiful moment with someone Mark had already come to care for a great deal in a short amount of time.
As he sat in the passenger's seat on the way to Anthony's house, Mark looked out the window at the setting sun - fiery streaks of orange and hot pink in a deep blue - and he thought about how well the three of them seemed to fit together, almost like Anthony was unofficially a part of their relationship. He'd been wary of letting in a stranger, with all the cautions he had to take to protect his identity, as well as guarding his own heart after having lost so many people over the ages. But now it felt like they'd known Anthony a long time already, and he couldn't imagine their life without him in it. He felt sheepish for getting so attached so quickly, but it just felt right.
Once they were at Anthony's house and settled in, Anthony fed Maimonides and his cats, then served the red velvet cake Mark had made, with cups of hot chocolate. At Anthony's request, Sören had brought his portfolio - a laminated print of every painting he'd ever made, some of which had sold, some of which he still owned - and Anthony sat between them on the couch and Sören spent the next hour showing Anthony his work, who genuinely seemed enthralled, making detailed commentary on each piece on a hushed, reverent tone of voice. Solly and Shmuel also joined them, as if they were looking at the paintings too.
The portfolio was in reverse chronological order, from Sören's newest work to his oldest. Mark knew what was at the very end of it - the one painting Sören would not sell.
The painting was of two phoenixes: one of fire, one of water, beaks pressed together as if doing a mating dance, in a background of space with nebulas.
"Wow," Anthony said. "That's incredible. I can see a progression in your work over time, your skill keeps improving - though your older stuff is nice too - but this one is my favorite, I think. It would be amazing even if it wasn't your first painting, but knowing this is your very first one makes it all the more impressive."
Sören bit his lower lip. "Thank you," he said softly.
Anthony glanced over at the ends of Sören's sleeve tattoos peeking out from his sweater. "Is your ink based on that painting?"
"It is." Sören handed Anthony the portfolio, got up, and pulled off his sweater with his back to them, showing that the flames on his right arm and ocean waves on his left led out to a fire and water phoenix doing a mating dance on his back. Sören turned around to put his sweater back on, giving them a glimpse at his pierced nipples and faded top surgery scars before the sweater fell over them. Anthony was slightly open-mouthed and very pink, and Mark couldn't help thinking, Yeah, he's got the hots for Sören.
"There. Uh." Anthony visibly struggled with his words. "Um." He cleared his throat, looked off to the side, composed himself, and tried again. "There's a story behind all of that, right?"
"I tried to kill myself," Sören said. "That's how I ended up getting transition care. I was so severely dysphoric - and traumatized - that I didn't want to be alive anymore. So I painted that as symbolic of rebirth, remaking myself."
"But there are two phoenixes." Anthony looked confused.
"Jæja, so I started having a recurring nightmare when I was four, about burning to death. As the years went on that dream evolved and got more detailed - ambushed by a pack of fire demons. I think it's symbolic of the dysphoria trying to consume me and make me self-destruct but the dreams also felt very real, like something that was actually happening, something I'd lived." Sören shrugged and sat back down; Maglor knew, of course, that the dreams weren't just symbolic but Sören couldn't explain the Balrogs to Anthony. "So when I was inpatient, I painted that as a way of tempering the self-destructive fire with water... finding balance. Reconciling my past self with my future self."
"That makes the painting even more beautiful now," Anthony said. "And thank you for still being here."
"Ohhhhhh." Sören reached over to give him a quick squeeze. This time Mark gave Anthony a hug too, grateful that someone else was being kind to his beloved. "That means so much." Sören took the portfolio from Anthony and held it open. "So... I know your birthday's almost over, but I'd like to give you a gift. I can make a print of any of these - or depending on what you ask for, I might have the original - and I'll frame it, and you can have it, completely for free."
"That's so kind of you." Anthony's finger traced the fire phoenix on the laminated print. "Can I have a print of this one? I wouldn't ask you to give the original if you have it, I know it's so personal..."
"You can! But you can have any of them, like, this one is the most personal but it's also not my best, and it doesn't really go with your living room -" Sören looked around at the paintings by Monet, Renoir, Van Gogh, Rossetti and Waterhouse.
"I still think it's your best. And you would look good in my bedroom. I mean, it, the painting, would look good in my bedroom." Anthony ran a hand over his face, wincing, mortified.
You were right the first time, Mark thought to himself, but didn't say it aloud, and tried not to laugh.
Later that evening, after they'd returned home, Sören was feeling frisky. They showered together - Maglor noticed he'd been keeping his glamour especially "tight" today and it felt like a huge weight rolling off his shoulders when he was able to let his glamour drop. The hot water felt good after a chilly day, and Mark and Sören kissed and caressed under the spray, its own kind of steam. Mark couldn't resist teasing Sören by dropping to his knees and taking a few slow, deliberate licks at Sören's clit before turning off the water and escorting Sören out of the shower, who whined with frustration.
As soon as they fell on the bed together Sören kissed him passionately, and began kissing Mark's neck. He reached between Mark's legs with one hand and guided Mark's hand to his cunt with the other. But before they could go too far, Mark felt like they needed to clear the air. He gently took Sören's hands in his and squeezed. "Sören, we need to talk."
"Oh no."
"It's not an 'oh no'. Well... not necessarily." Mark sat up a little, pulling Sören up with him, and looked him in the eye. "You like Anthony. I don't mean as just a friend."
Sören looked off to the side and pursed his lips. Then he gave a small nod. He turned back to Mark. "I'm sorry. I love you, and I still want to be with you. I don't, want to, like, leave you or cheat on you or -"
Mark put a finger to Sören's lips. "I know. I'm not accusing you of any of that. Look, we've never talked about this the entire five years we've been together... but you know I've lived a long time, so I understand a bit about human nature, I remember when monogamy wasn't the norm, and many people - not everyone, but enough - aren't wired to be exclusive to only one person for years, decades, and that's why so many relationships fail. I thought about bringing this up with you a few months in but then there was the pandemic and social distancing and so it felt kind of pointless considering we wouldn't have had many opportunities if we found someone. And after the pandemic calmed down, I decided we'd had enough chaos that I didn't want to rock the boat. But now..."
Sören cocked his head to one side and waited.
"I like him too," Mark said. "I can't blame you for being attracted to him. Your heart is big enough to care for more than one person, and so is mine. It would be OK with me if we, um." Mark tried to find the right words. "I don't want to call it an open relationship because that implies fucking whoever and that's a bad idea in our specific circumstances for a lot of reasons, but..."
"But you mean, like, Anthony as our third."
"Whether as an occasional fuckbuddy or an actual part of our relationship, yes. If you're into that -"
Sören turned pink and giggled, then he quickly tried to re-enter serious discussion mode. "It's not a question of whether or not I'm into that. I don't know if he would be into that."
"I'm pretty sure he likes you. I can't tell if he likes me too, but even if you guys just wanted to fuck and let me watch, that would be hot -"
"That's not what I meant," Sören said. "And I'd be more comfortable if we were a package deal, at least at first, so we don't have surprise jealousy creep up on us. But what I meant was... he's, like, religious."
Mark had been mentally rehearsing this part of the speech on the way home. "So, about that. First of all, polygamy used to be a thing in Judaism - it's not forbidden in the Tanakh, and over forty important people in the Bible were in polygamous relationships including Moses and King Solomon. My guess is that polygamy stopped being in fashion because of the medieval persecution of Jews and the assimilation that followed. But the former chief rabbi of Israel actually supported legalizing polygamy. Second of all, Anthony is a Reform Jew. They believe Jewish law evolves with the times, and practices need to be meaningful to the individual rather than unquestioningly followed for no reason which has the potential to breed drudgery and resentment. Soooo, Anthony ate out at a non-kosher restaurant today - yes, he only ate the vegetarian options to keep some level of kosher, but if he was super strict he wouldn't be there at all, he'd wear a yarmulke every day in public, he wouldn't be trans and gay..."
"That still doesn't mean he'd approve of being in a poly relationship with us. Even if he doesn't disapprove from a religious standpoint, he might still think... I don't know." Sören exhaled. "And we haven't even been friends for a month yet. I don't want him to get creeped out by us."
"We won't know for certain how he feels about poly - and trying it with us - until we ask him. But I'll concede your point that we can wait awhile before we ask him. Maybe a few more weeks or another couple months. We might as well spend that time reading up on poly relationships to prepare ourselves to make room for another person. I just don't want you to try to sweep your feelings for him under the rug and dance around them, because it doesn't work like that, and if there's one thing I've learned about humans over the last several thousand years it's that the human lifespan is too short for regrets - all the what ifs, all the days not seized. Especially when the pandemic has reminded us of how anything can happen, it would sit better with my conscience if we asked him in a reasonably timely manner and didn't spend the next few years pining. Also it means if we do get rejected and it's too awkward on either side to continue the friendship, we haven't invested years where it will hurt more. Deal?"
"Deal," Sören said. "One more thing, though."
"OK."
Their eyes met. "Are you going to tell him about you?"
This was the other thing Mark had been mulling over on the way home. "If things get serious enough, yes, I think he has a right to know. We'll play it by ear as whether or not it gets to that point."
"You told me pretty quickly in."
"Well, that was a different situation. You were willing to move out of state to be with me. It's not that I want to lie to him, but the revelation has consequences for him, not just us - it'll alter the fabric of his reality pretty significantly. I'd rather spare him that until it becomes necessary."
"What about when it comes time to move?"
"If he's still in our life at that point then yes, that would count as 'serious enough' whether we're involved with him or not."
"OK. I'm sorry if this is a sore spot for you." Sören took Mark's hand and kissed it. "I just want to make sure -"
"I get it. I really do." Mark gave him a hug, and held him for a moment.
Sören rested his head on Mark's shoulder, and after a long but comfortable silence he looked up. "Thank you for understanding."
Mark smirked. "It's not like I'm being entirely unselfish here, I want to jump his bones too."
Sören cackled.
Now Mark could get back in the mood, with that issue almost resolved. He leaned in and claimed a kiss. "You'd enjoy a threesome with me and him, wouldn't you?"
Sören moaned. "Fuck, yes." He kissed Mark back.
Mark's fingers walked down Sören's chest and stomach as he kissed and licked Sören's sensitive neck and shoulders. "Both of us kissing you all over..." He lowered his head and lapped and suckled one pierced nipple, rubbing and pinching the other. "Sucking on both nipples at the same time..."
"Fuck!" Sören bucked his hips, arching to him.
Mark laughed softly and turned to the other nipple, licking and sucking, tugging on the other. He went back and forth between them, his lips and tongue teasing them into long, thick peaks. "Mmmmm, a gorgeous body like yours is made to be worshiped, deserves to be spoiled with lavish pleasure." He kissed his way down Sören's torso, licked at Sören's stomach, as his hands slowly wandered over Sören's hips and thighs. As he kissed and nibbled at Sören's right inner thigh, his fingers caressed Sören's clit, hard and standing at attention. He kissed Sören's left inner thigh and pushed a finger inside him, his cunt throbbing at the feel of how hot and wet Sören was already.
Sören was breathing harder, quivering. Mark rubbed his nose in Sören's bush, and then began to lick Sören's clit, slowly at first like he'd done in the shower. "Imagine all three of us with our heads between each other's legs, eating each other out..." He drew Sören's clit into his mouth, sucking on it. Sören cried out and shuddered, clutching Mark's head. Mark almost came untouched at the mental image of the three of them moaning into each other's cunts as they licked and sucked. His tongue lashed Sören's clit hard and fast before he sucked on it again, harder this time, pulling on it with his lips. After another few slow licks, he purred, "Tasting me, then him... Feeling my tongue on you, and his..."
"Oh fuck. Oh fuck, ohfuckohfuckohfuck..." Sören gently rolled his hips, fucking himself on Mark's tongue, then fucking Mark's mouth as Mark resumed sucking on him, now touching himself as he did so.
When Mark got close - and he knew Sören was getting close, fists grabbing the sheets as he writhed, Mark slid up and kissed Sören, who moaned as he tasted himself. Mark parted Sören's thighs and maneuvered himself so their cunts lined up, then Mark began to grind against him, clit to clit. He groaned at the feel of Sören's piercing and started kissing Sören's neck again. "I can fuck you while he sits on your face, and he and I make out with each other as we dominate you together, as we make you our slutty little fucktoy..."
Sören whimpered and his nails dug into Mark's back. Sören rocked his hips harder, fucking Mark's clit with his clit, the captive bead ring teasing them both. Mark pressed into Sören more firmly, and groaned at the feel of their cunt lips kissing. Their clits found that perfect rhythm, gliding together so deliciously. "Then he can fuck you and I'll get behind both of you, watching your dripping pussies rub together... my tongue inside him, then inside you, tongue-fucking you... pushing his juices inside you, your juices inside him..."
Sören couldn't make words anymore, only panting like he was in heat, nails raking Mark's back as their cunts smacked together, their hard, erect clits rubbing. "Yeah, you want to be a slut for us, don't you, baby?" Mark leaned in to tug a nipple ring with his teeth, before sucking on the swollen nub.
"Yes, yes, yes..." Sören's eyes were feverish. He bit his lower lip and whined.
"Take turns with Anthony fucking that slutty boypussy of yours, making you our bottom bitch..."
Sören cried out. Mark grunted with satisfaction at the feeling of Sören's cunt contracting against his, squirting into him. Mark gave in to his own orgasm, also squirting, throbbing, waves of relief and bliss rolling over him. "That's a good boy," Mark whispered, raining kisses over Sören's face, feeling deep connection to him in their shared moment of ecstasy, like their very own magic circle. They rubbed noses and Sören smiled; the love shining in his eyes went right to Mark's heart. Mark rolled to his side and pulled Sören close, holding him tight.
He hoped that he wasn't wrong about Anthony's character and that it would be safe to let him in, if and when the time came. Sören had been hurt enough in his life, and Mark felt fiercely protective of him. But he was starting to feel protective of Anthony, too, thinking of him as one of "his" people.
And he had a feeling that when they got there, the passion between them would be even hotter than his and Sören's fantasies.
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