The week wore on. Dooku saw Sören in the canteen on Friday and they had lunch together. Mostly talking about the news, and the weather, but it was still something. And at the end of it, Dooku finally got the nerve to ask Sören to spend time with him again.
"Would you like to get together this weekend?" Dooku asked. "Go for a little drive, perhaps." He thought for a moment. "Cannon Beach. It would be a day trip with the driving there and back, but it might be nice to see the ocean after everything -"
"Jæja, I'd..." Sören gave that shy, sweet smile that took his breath away. "I'd like that a lot. That's very nice of you, Nicolae."
"You deserve someone being nice to you."
Sören's eyes narrowed and he scowled. "I don't want your pity -"
"Oh, for fuck's sake, Sören." Dooku didn't like reverting to vulgarity but there it was. "I told you I'd like to be your friend. It isn't pity."
Sören took a deep breath. "Sorry. I just..." He frowned and looked down. "I have a hard time believing anyone would voluntarily spend time with me unless..." His voice trailed off.
"Well, I'd like to spend time with you. I'd like to take you someplace peaceful, like Cannon Beach. I think it would be good for you. For both of us - it would be stress-relieving for me as well." Dooku watched Sören's body language settle down, less defensive. "So, Sunday?"
"All right." Sören nodded.
"I'll pick you up Sunday morning..."
"No earlier than 11 o'clock." Sören made a face. "I sleep in on the weekends." A lazy smile into his coffee. "I fucking hate mornings."
Dooku chuckled at that. "Really. And you went into teaching -"
"I love art more than I hate mornings, but, jæja, keeping a schedule that requires me to get up in the morning isn't my favorite. I'm a night owl, been that way since I was a kid. But anyway, 11 is good if that's good for you..."
"It's good for me." Dooku immediately had a mental image of he and Sören laying side by side, naked, spent, breathing hard. Was that good for you? His face burned. This wasn't a date, they were just friends, he was old enough to be Sören's father, and Dooku was still a virgin besides that. He hadn't wanted to take the risk of pursuing a partner in the days when being outed could cost him everything, then of course there was AIDS to worry about, and the life of an academic was such that he was rather married to his job, and by the time the world had come around and AIDS was less of a death sentence, life had passed him by. He was content to be Sören's friend. He needed friends. Sören needed a friend too. He couldn't be thinking about Sören like this.
No, definitely not making sweet, slow, tender, sensual love to him - taking more care and consideration with Sören's body than Seth ever had, so that Sören wasn't "laying there like a dead fish" at all, but was writhing, moaning, panting... Dooku's cock was starting to wake up. He batted those thoughts away as quickly as he could, the way Beowulf would bat his toy mouse around in younger years.
He's too young for you, and he has those ridiculous plugs in his ears. Dooku could see the tattoos poking out from Sören's long sleeves - flames on one arm, ocean waves on the other. And he has tattoos. His hair is too long. He's a bit rough.
Out of the corner of his eye Dooku saw Mark Lauer, the music theory professor - the tallest teacher on campus, even taller than Dooku's six feet five inches - dressed in his usual all black, the cut of his clothing showcasing a lean yet muscular, powerful build, long dark hair to the middle of his back in soft waves, cool grey eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. Mark Lauer was in his early forties and as beautiful as a living statue, a sort of romantic elegance to him. His hair was too long too - longer than Sören's - and that never kept Dooku from ogling him around campus, feeling a bit wistful. Mark gave a small smile and nod to Dooku and Sören - Sören gave him that shy smile that made Dooku's heart skip a beat - and then Mark was off with a salad and a ginger ale. Dooku saw Sören watching Mark's firm, tight ass too, and then Sören looked away, blushing.
"OK, so eleven on Sunday," Dooku said. "We can grab a bite to eat while we're out... Tillamook, perhaps."
"Sounds good, and... I'll give you gas money."
"There's no need. I'm fine -"
"It's courtesy, Nicolae." Sören frowned. Then he gave a little sheepish smile, running a nervous hand through his curls. "Consider it my way of saying sorry for annoying you with my music."
"In that case you can treat me to lunch too."
Sören's laughter rang out. "You're on."
_
But they weren't on.
The next evening, as Dooku was getting back from the store, he saw Seth's car in front of Sören's house.
With disregard to the perishables he had in the trunk of his car, he banged on Sören's door, frantic. He pounded and pounded on the door. No response.
Eventually Dooku gave up, and brought his groceries inside. His heart was pounding - he was in such a panic that he was still shaking when all the groceries were put away. He made tea, and as he sat down in the living room with a cuppa to calm his nerves, he thought about calling the police. But he knew, once again, that if the police came out there for a domestic both Sören and Seth would be getting arrested, and for an immigrant an arrest could be very bad, especially in this political climate.
Dooku buried his face in his hands.
He didn't sleep well. And at eleven o'clock Sunday morning, with Seth's car still parked outside Sören's house, he tried anyway, knocking on the door. He had a few rounds of knocking for a good ten minutes before Sören finally answered, in a T-shirt and pajama bottoms. The T-shirt exposed more of the ink on his arms, and Dooku stared at it before he met Sören's eyes.
"We can't," Sören said.
"Sören." Dooku swallowed hard. "I thought you were done -"
"You better go," Sören said in a flat voice, like he was a robot.
"Sören." Dooku glared. "Sören. You can't be serious about taking him back..."
Sören looked down, cringing slightly - looking like he was fighting back tears - and then he looked up and away, tears in his dark eyes. "You better go," Sören repeated, his voice raspy.
Dooku went, his own eyes stinging with tears.
_
A week passed. Seth's car was there constantly, except for work hours, and Dooku wondered if Seth had moved in. Dooku tried to see Sören in his classroom that first week, and Sören wouldn't look at him, gave him the silent treatment.
One week became two. And then on a Tuesday morning, before he got in his Jaguar to drive to the university, he stopped at the curb to put out his trash and recycling since Tuesday was collections day. He usually thought nothing of it, but out of the corner of his eye he noticed several boxes on the curb in front of Sören's house, in addition to Sören's own garbage and recycling cans out on the curb, and full.
Both Sören's and Seth's cars were gone, indicating they'd both went to work.
Not able to help himself, Dooku made his way over, and when he saw what was in the boxes he had a sinking feeling in his stomach, a wave of nausea gripping him. "Oh no," he said out loud.
The first thing he noticed was the bowl he'd admired in the kitchen - still intact, with the cactus in it. There were other pieces of pottery. Bowls, jars, vases, plates. They were all gorgeous. Dooku took a plate out of a box, glazed in greens and blues with a swirling spiral pattern, a piece that looked ancient and modern all at once. He flipped it over and saw Norse futhark runes on the bottom, which he assumed was Sören's signature.
In other boxes were paintings. Some of them were framed, most were canvases. The one that caught his eye first was a black sand beach, the Northern Lights in the sky over the waves, and flying out of the aurora was what looked like two phoenixes, but instead of burning orange fire they were burning with the aurora. It was a gorgeous painting and looked photorealistic - even the phoenixes looked real. The same Norse futhark runes were in the bottom righthand corner of the painting.
"Jesus Christ," Dooku said under his breath. Sören was throwing these away?
More likely, Seth was.
Cursing under his breath, Dooku began to bring in the boxes, trying to move as quickly as he could. When he'd salvaged all of the boxes with pottery and paintings in them, the boxes sitting by the front door, Dooku could feel tears coming on. And as he drove to the university, he wept.
Dooku managed to pull himself together for the school day, but when his classes let up he tried again, going down to Sören's classroom. Sören once again proceeded to try to ignore him, and Dooku wasn't accepting that this time.
"Sören, look at me."
Sören wouldn't.
"All right, then don't look at me. But I'm not going away. I saw what you left for the trash collector this morning. Your art. Your beautiful, wonderful art. Why?"
"Seth thought it was trash," Sören said flatly.
"He's trash." Dooku wanted to kill Seth. "Sören. Why is he back in your life. Why is he living with you? I don't understand. If he won't leave you alone, let me help you -"
Sören finally looked at him. "Nobody can help me, Nicolae."
"I sure as hell can try." Dooku's voice was shaking with anger, his fists clenching. "Sören. You can't let him do this to you."
Sören shrugged, and looked away. "You better go."
"Sören. Don't shut me out. Please." He started walking towards Sören. He reached out and put a hand on Sören's shoulder, his arm -
Sören wrenched away, and shoved him away, hard. And then Sören's jaw dropped, as if he was surprised by his own reaction. "I." Sören swallowed hard. "I'm sorry."
"Sören, I understand. I should have asked first..." Fight or flight. It pained Dooku that Sören was so traumatized this was how he responded, but he knew it wasn't Sören's fault, he didn't ask for this. "Sören. Please. I'm your friend. Let me help -"
"Leave me alone, Nicolae." Sören turned his back. "Please go away."
Dooku sighed. "Sören."
"Go."
Dooku left, his eyes stinging with tears again. It was all he could do not to go back to Sören's classroom, drag Sören out to his Jaguar, and make Sören go home with him, before finding Seth and raising hell.