It had been a week and a half since Maglor had accidentally revealed himself to Anthony - though Mark had been planning on it before they finalized moving in together at the end of April, this was just sooner and unplanned. Anthony had flown to London on Sunday and was coming back on Thursday night; it was Wednesday now. They'd had very minimal contact with Anthony since Mark had dropped the bomb, since Anthony needed space to decide whether or not continuing the relationship was a good idea, knowing how his life would eventually change. Sören couldn't blame him for that - when he himself learned the truth about Mark, he made his decision quickly and rather impulsively, but he was also in a very different place in his life, a lot of things had been up in the air then; conversely Anthony was settled and stable, having built a life here in Maine... hard-earned peace after years of turbulence with divorce from an abusive ex, and transition. A commitment to start his life over again in several years for the sake of someone he'd known two months... someone who'd told some half-truths and kept secrets, albeit for understandable reasons... that was a lot to consider.
So Sören wasn't angry with Anthony. But since Anthony had begun to maintain mostly radio silence, except for giving them keys on Sunday morning before he left for the airport and texting to let them know when he'd landed safely at Heathrow, Sören missed him terribly - it was as if he'd lost a limb or a piece of his soul. It might have only been two months they'd known each other, and a month of being a throuple, but it felt longer than that. Of course, Sören knew their bond went back across lifetimes. And while he knew that wasn't necessarily enough to keep them together in this life - after all, Fëanor and Finarfin had parted ways rather bitterly - he was still hoping Anthony felt enough of that pull to stick around.
The ache was worse for staying at Anthony's place to watch Maimonides, Shmuel and Solly - they'd brought Huan, Snúður and Fabio with them - and Mark was at the shop, though he'd be back soon, while Sören had been home alone all day, save for the animals, surrounded by reminders of Anthony. The house even smelled like him; Sören had taken a few breaks from his data entry to sniff the couch pillows, breathing in his scent, feeling pathetic for doing it, but that was how attached he was.
And the separation anxiety was especially bad today, since Anthony was coming back tomorrow night, and would give them his formal decision then, or Friday at the latest if he needed some time to decompress. Sören felt like his entire life was hanging in the balance... not just his, but Mark's. Maglor was used to being rejected when someone found out the truth of what he was - and sometimes he just left before he was exposed - but Sören knew that it didn't necessarily get easier, especially not this time when they'd found Finarfin, and Maglor would be losing his family all over again if Anthony didn't want to do this. Sören knew that was going to hurt, and Maglor was going to be in a bad way for awhile...
...and that could negatively impact their own relationship. Sören wasn't just afraid of losing Anthony, but losing Mark, too.
As the time drew closer to when Mark was due back from the shop, Sören started pacing, annoyed with himself for being so anxious, but not able to help it. He decided to do something with his nervous energy and make tea the way Anthony had taught him, instead of his pre-Anthony method of microwaving a mug of water and steeping a tea bag in it - even though it would be at least one more day before he'd see Anthony again, if not two, Sören thought Mark might appreciate hot tea on a cold, rainy April evening.
Mark got in just in time for the kettle to boil. "Hey," Mark said, marching over to Sören in the kitchen and giving him a kiss. "How's tricks?"
Even though Sören had been living in the States for years now and his thoughts were both in Icelandic and English, it still took him a moment to realize what Mark was saying. He made a noise.
Mark pulled Sören close and glanced over at the mugs with their tea bags, waiting. "Not so great, huh?"
Sören rested his head on Mark's shoulder. As much as he didn't like being a downer when Mark got home from dealing with the public all day, wanting to give him a soft, gentle space to unwind, he also knew Mark was too perceptive to pretend everything was fine. "I really miss him," Sören mumbled, "and yet, I'm dreading him getting back tomorrow." He looked up and met Mark's eyes.
"Because you're afraid he's going to say no, he doesn't want to invest any more into this, knowing what it will cost him in a few years."
Sören nodded. He didn't say the other half of it. Mark tousled Sören's curls, then he said, "How about after tea, we take the dogs for a walk, maybe that will help get your mind off things?"
"OK."
Sören usually liked walking in the rain - his old hometown of Akureyri, Iceland, got a decent amount of rainfall every year - but the walk did little to relax him; Mark noticed him sighing as Huan and Maimonides did their business. Mark put his hand on the small of Sören's back. "It won't be too much longer before he lets us know what's going on," Mark said. "I know the waiting is hard, but -"
"It's not just that." Sören leaned on him.
Mark's hand moved from Sören's back to take Sören's hand in his, and Sören turned to look at him. Sören decided to come out with it. "If he says no, I'm worried that... well, it won't just hurt in and of itself, but I'm afraid it'll fuck things up with us. I've read that a lot of marriages don't survive something like the loss of a child, and I know this is different - he's our partner, and it hasn't been terribly long, but we've been sharing him, and I might be an unpleasant reminder of him if..." Sören's voice broke and he couldn't finish the sentence.
Mark closed his eyes for a moment, as if in pain, and then he squeezed Sören's hand. He didn't say anything - not just yet, as if he was trying to compose his thoughts. They walked the dogs back to Anthony's cottage in silence, though Mark kept a reassuring arm around Sören all the way there. Once they were at the door, before Mark unlocked it he took Sören in his arms and kissed him passionately, and for a few moments the world seemed to stop as they kissed in the rain.
They pulled apart, breathing harder; Mark's lips grazed Sören's neck, making him shiver. "We better get inside before we get soaked," Sören said.
Mark gave him a pointed look and Sören cackled, picking up on the double entendre. "Usually it's my mind that's in the gutter." Sören shook his head.
Mark winked and unlocked the door. The minute they stepped inside and the dogs ran into the house, Mark pushed Sören up against the foyer wall and kissed him again. And again. Kissing and kissing, as if their lives depended on it. Now Sören was also wet from more than just the rain, each kiss making him melt with desire. They continued kissing as they kicked off their shoes, taking a break only to remove their outerwear, and then Mark was guiding him along inside, kissing with each step, hands roaming under Sören's sweater, fumbling with Sören's jeans.
Sören didn't want to stop - this was exactly what he needed to get out of his head for awhile - but through the haze of his lust, a practical concern rose. "I was going to start dinner -"
"We can get takeout. I want you now. And you need this."
"Fuck, yes." Now Sören initiated the kiss, taking Mark's face in his hands, marching backwards towards the bedroom.
They undressed quickly, with Mark dropping his glamour, and they tumbled onto the bed together, kissing. As Sören lay back, Mark climbed over him, fire in his eyes. Then Mark made a "wait here" gesture, booped Sören's nose, and Sören propped himself up on one elbow, wondering what Mark had planned.
Mark stepped into Anthony's walk-in closet, and came back with two belts. Sören threw his head back and laughed, figuring it out immediately. It had been several months since Mark had tied him up - it wasn't something they did all the time, just once in awhile to spice things up, though Sören wouldn't mind if it was a bit more often. They usually used silk scarves, or rope, but this was what they had to make do with. Mark twirled the belts as he approached the bed. "Do you consent?"
Sören nodded enthusiastically. "Fuck, yes."
"Remember the safeword if you need it." Mark got back on the bed, and took Sören's left arm.
Mark used one belt to bind Sören's left wrist to the bedpost, then the other belt for his right wrist. When Sören was restrained, Mark had him wiggle his arms to make sure it wasn't too tight or too loose. Satisfied, Mark leaned in to kiss him.
Mark started kissing and licking Sören's neck... and nipping. Hard enough that Sören knew he'd have visible, obvious bruises on his neck tomorrow. That normally wasn't a big deal since Sören was a remote worker, but tomorrow they'd be picking Anthony up at Logan Airport. Not only would Anthony see, but probably quite a few other people. A frisson went down Sören's spine, straight to his cunt, when Mark rasped, "That's right. You're mine," just before his teeth found the sweet hollow where neck and shoulder met.
Sören lay there, bound and helpless, completely under Mark's control and at Mark's mercy, while Mark worked his way down, kissing, licking and nibbling at Sören's nipples, stomach, hips, and thighs. "Mine." Mark growled, making Sören shudder with desire, cunt throbbing, going slick and hard for him. "No matter what happens with Anthony, I'm not going anywhere. You belong to me. I want you to see that, want you to know it when you look at yourself tomorrow, the next few days."
"Fuck, please..." Sören bit his lip and whimpered, writhing as much as the restraints would allow, going out of his mind with sensation and lust. Going deeper and deeper into that submissive space where the only thing that existed was pleasure and surrender, pushing away all doubts, all worries for the moment. It was just him and Mark right now, Mark playing him as skillfully as any instrument.
"Mine." Mark rubbed his nose in Sören's bush. His fingers teasingly brushed Sören's clit, standing at attention, then dipped inside him; Mark smiled as he felt how wet Sören was. "And you love it, don't you? You love giving yourself to me like this, any time I want, any way I want..."
"Yes, yes..." Sören's breath was ragged, and his thighs were quivering, so close to coming and Mark had barely touched him.
"No matter what happens." Their eyes locked. "I wouldn't trade you for the world."
Sören smiled, deeply touched - and reassured, feeling a wave of relief. Relief that quickly gave way to delicious frustrated torment as Mark began sucking his clit with firm pressure but letting it roll around in his mouth slowly. Mark knew just how to make him crazy, keeping him right on the edge of orgasm with hard, slow sucking, building the tension higher and higher, until Sören was a shaking, sobbing wreck.
"Please, please make me come." Sören lost his ability to speak English as the teasing intensified, so close yet so far. "Ég þarf að koma, láttu mig koma, ég þarf það svo sárlega..."
Mark chuckled. His response to that was to take a few long, slow licks at Sören's clit, before sucking even more slowly. Sören's clit was almost painfully hard, urgently swollen, and the sucking was luscious but Sören needed that release, feverish for it. Soon he couldn't even make words at all, only whimpering, panting, in heat.
At last Mark gave in, shaking and bobbing his head back and forth as his lips tugged on Sören's aching clit. It didn't take long for Sören to climax, howling as the deep pulsations radiated bliss through his entire body, making his toes curl. Mark smiled, watching Sören's contractions, and took a few last licks, making streamers with Sören's cream.
Sören lay there feeling like a weightless blob of jelly. Usually after Mark went down on him, Mark kissed him, sharing his juices. This time Mark watched him with tenderness in his eyes, gently rubbing Sören's tummy as Sören came down from his climax. Then Mark made a second round of Sören's body, kissing, giving little love nips here and there, worshiping and claiming every inch of him... arousing him all over again. "Mine." Mark's fingers traced every curve and angle, making him tingle, making him burn with need. "Mine. No matter what. Nothing, no one, will come between us. You're mine."
"Fuck..." Sören bit his lip, losing himself in passion.
Mark finally kissed him, a deep kiss then a playful open-mouthed one, rubbing their tongues together. Mark rose up on his knees, straddled Sören's shoulders, and thrust his hips forward, his cunt in Sören's face - Sören's own cunt throbbed at the musky scent of Mark's sex, the sight of Mark's hard clit jutting out at him. Though Sören was bound, Mark seized a handful of his curls anyway. Sören obediently drew Mark's clit into his mouth, lips clamping down, and began to bob his head, sucking it like it was a cock. Mark rolled his hips and threw his head back, groaning as Sören pleasured him. Sören whimpered with his mouth full, aching to come again.
When Mark began trembling and Sören knew he was getting close, Mark pulled back and climbed down. They kissed open-mouthed again, tongues licking, making a mess with Mark's cream. Then Mark got on top of him, parting Sören's thighs and maneuvering between them so their cunts lined up, lips on lips, clit on clit. Mark kissed him once more and began to rub against him, clit teasing clit. Sören had enough range of movement to work his hips, so both of them could fuck each other. As badly as Sören needed to come again, he savored every moment of feeling their pussy lips kissing, their clits sliding up and down, back and forth, finding that perfect rhythm together. He loved the wet smacking, slurping suctioning sound they made, louder as they fucked harder, eventually as loud as their moans and cries.
Soon they were both right there, foreheads together, looking into each other's eyes, breathing each other's breath. Mark took Sören's hands in his, bed rocking against the wall as their cunts slapped. "Come with me, surrender to me," Mark commanded, and bit Sören's neck.
Sören's arms and legs flailed as he climaxed a second time, crying out "Macalaurë!" Mark grunted with satisfaction and Sören gave a shuddery sigh as he felt Mark pulsating and gushing. Mark sighed too, squeezing Sören's hands, then he took Sören's face in his hands and kissed him. A kiss that was tender and fierce all at once... like he was kissing Sören's soul.
"I love you." Mark stroked Sören's face, smiling. Sören smiled back and teared up, shattered by two intense orgasms, and the powerful demonstration of Mark's commitment to what they had together. "And I'm not going anywhere. I promise."
"Good. I love you too."
Mark kissed Sören's tears and rained kisses over his face. "I would swear another oath, right on that Silmaril, if I could get up right now but..." He laughed and Sören laughed too.
"You don't need to swear any more oaths, elskan. And I believe you."
"I hope so." Mark began to untie his wrists. "Seriously, regardless of what Anthony decides, you're stuck with me. Just the same... I hope he also decides we're stuck with him."
"Me too." Sören closed his eyes, and his mind's eye saw Anthony's face, and hoped everything would be all right. As good as it felt to belong to Mark, he felt he belonged to Anthony too, and he silently prayed that would be enough.
go to Chapter 10 | go to story index | return to Maglor Fanfic | go to home page