It was Wednesday, December twenty-first... the winter solstice. It was also Dooku's sixty-eighth birthday. He'd never made much of a big deal about his birthdays, and indeed, didn't see the point of mentioning it today, planning on going the day without saying anything about it at all.
Sören was getting to that point in his injury recovery where he wasn't quite healed but he was also too restless to stay home all the time, and with school being out for winter break he had little to do besides read, color the mandalas, and watch TV, which was getting tedious for him. Dooku liked spending time with Sören but he also didn't take offense if Sören wanted to do something on his own, as had been usual for most of Sören's life, and most of Dooku's as well. And Dooku understood that the emotional part of Sören's recovery was dependent on him going out by himself and not worrying about whether or not he was going to run into Seth somewhere, the assurance that Seth was long gone. So when Sören wanted to take the bus into town that afternoon, Dooku didn't object, and busied himself tidying up around the house.
Sören was gone for close to five hours, enough for Dooku to consider calling his cell to ask if he was all right, but he decided he'd give it more time, not wanting Sören to feel smothered or patronized. Dooku didn't understand why he worried like this - Seth was gone, and Sören was a grown man who could take care of himself. There wasn't much that could happen with him taking the bus around town. He knew he cared for Sören - he truly appreciated having a friend again - but this seemed to go above and beyond basic caring and concern for a friend, this anxiety with Sören being gone for a few hours, the worst-case scenarios playing out in his head and the sheer panic of something happening, the devastation at the prospect of losing him.
He didn't like that feeling at all. It wasn't just that panic was unpleasant to have, but he wasn't used to being so attached. It bordered dangerously close to obsession.
Sören did return, of course, before Dooku gave in to his urge to call. Sören had taken a backpack and a small metal cart, and they were loaded up. Dooku saw bags from a department store as well as a couple of supermarket bags.
Dooku helped Sören unload the supermarket bags. Sören had gotten more egg nog - both regular and pumpkin spice varieties. He'd also splurged on a tray of Christmas cookies, a tin of Danish butter cookies, and last but not least, a German chocolate cake.
"I know you like to bake, and you're good at it," Sören said, "but, I don't know, I wanted to treat you, get you something. At least this way if you get in the mood for holiday baking, we've got cookies covered and you can make other things."
"That was very thoughtful of you."
"And the cake was just because. We're adults, we don't need an excuse to eat cake." Sören gave a small smile.
"Indeed. Though, it is my birthday today."
It slipped out before Dooku could stop himself. Sören's eyes widened and he made a squeak, and then he gave Dooku a little shove. "You bastard! Why didn't you fucking tell me?"
"I... usually don't do much for my birthday, and it's been even less since I turned sixty-five." Dooku sighed. "A reminder that I've lived this long and don't have much to show for it."
That, too, slipped out before Dooku could stop himself. He immediately cringed. While he had compassion and sympathy for others, he despised self-pity in himself. And he'd tried as best as he could to make something of himself, be the change he wished to see in the world, make a difference in the lives of his students; he'd tried to live as fulfilling of a life as he could without a partner, without too many friends. There were legitimately aromantic and asexual people who were quite content to be on their own. Unfortunately, Dooku was not one of them and always felt a sense of loss. He was usually better at masking it, telling himself he didn't truly need anyone. And then Sören had become a houseguest, and Dooku felt his ice thawing more and more all the time.
"God, listen to me." Dooku pinched the bridge of his nose. "There are people dying, I'm upper-middle-class sounding like my life is such a hardship. Forgive me, Sören."
"I get it, Nicolae." Their eyes met. "And I hate this 'people are suffering more so I can't acknowledge my own pain' game that we play in this world. We're both two lonely people. I'll own my heartache. It's OK if you own yours."
Dooku had the sudden urge to grab Sören and kiss him, and did not. Once again, he didn't want to make the younger man feel unsafe, especially not when Sören was staying under his roof, he didn't want Sören to feel pressured into bed with him to continue the respite he needed.
"Anyway," Sören said, gesturing to the cake, "I didn't know it was your birthday today but it's funny how these things work out, já?"
"Indeed." Dooku nodded.
"So happy birthday. How old are you now?"
"Sixty-eight."
Sören's eyes looked him up and down. If it had been anyone else, Dooku would have wondered if he was being "checked out", as the youth called it, but Sören had otherwise given no indicator of being interested and he was fresh out of an abusive relationship so Dooku wouldn't expect such interest. Nonetheless, Dooku's face flushed.
"You look good for your age," Sören said mildly, putting the egg nog in the fridge.
"Thank you. I try to take care of myself."
"It shows." Sören looked away, staring into the fridge.
_
Then it was Saturday the twenty-fourth, Christmas Eve. In the morning over breakfast, Sören asked, "Nicolae, can I ask you to do something for me?"
"Hm?" Dooku paused before taking a bite of egg.
Sören leaned back in his chair, took a sip of coffee, and sighed, looking wistful and nervous all at once. "I'd like to go to midnight Mass tonight."
Dooku raised an eyebrow and put his fork down. "You didn't strike me as particularly religious," he said, reaching for his tea.
"I'm not." Sören shoved a forkful of eggs into his mouth. "I'm Lutheran on paper - most Icelanders are, that's the state religion - but I'm, ah. What was the word you used about not being Orthodox anymore?"
"Lapsed," Dooku said.
"Jæja." Sören nodded. "That's the word. Lapsed. I have a bit of an allergic reaction to organized religion, I think. But when I say my mamma went all out for Christmas, she took us to midnight Mass too, and it's something comforting to me. The baby Jesus story is a nice story, even if a lot of his so-called followers are arseholes."
"That much I agree on," Dooku said. "I believe it was Gandhi who said, 'I like your Christ, I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ.'"
Sören clapped and made fingerguns. "Yes. This." Sören nodded and shoveled more eggs in his mouth. "That basically sums it up right there. Anyway, when I was out on the bus on your birthday, the route took me past the Lutheran church a few streets away... which is having services tonight at 11 PM. And it's near the Starbucks. We could go grab coffee, and you can drop me off at Mass, or come with me -"
"I'll attend Mass with you," Dooku said. He made a little chuckle into his tea, then.
Sören waited, and Dooku explained, "I was, in fact, very religious when I was younger. I wanted to be a priest and my parents discouraged me, telling me I needed to marry and have children - which as you know, didn't happen."
"Actually I didn't know that," Sören said. "You've never talked about any past relationships or partners and I try to not assume."
"I see." Dooku took a deep breath. "Well, I've never been married, nor had children. And though my piety continued even after my parents talked me out of the priesthood, I still ended up giving up the faith altogether when I was in my early twenties. I thought that if there is a god, or gods, they must be sociopaths. I lean towards agnosticism, but sometimes I can't help if humanity has summoned to itself a rather malevolent alien host, preying upon its prayers." He decided once again not to bring up his sexual orientation as part of why he left the Orthodox Church.
"Humanity needs different gods, or no gods at all," Sören said. "At most, maybe personal gods... like a personal Jesus. Like how Renaissance artists had a wealthy patron looking out for them. One god takes a few people here, one takes a few there, and people have to stop arguing over people doing religion wrong because nobody does religion the same way."
"Hm, yes, that would be better than the current way of doing things."
"And I mean... the gods humanity worships now... with the exception of Christ, none of them have been human. They don't get what it is to be mortal and frail and vulnerable and go through the utter shitshow that this world is sometimes. So a better set of gods would need to understand that." Sören polished off his eggs, and then sat back in his chair with his coffee. "I think that's why the baby Jesus story doesn't give me hives. Whether you think he's real or made up or you just don't know... he was one of us, for awhile. My people in Iceland, our conversion was pretty bloodless. I think my distant ancestors got sick of Odin wanting sacrifices and war all the time, this Jesus guy got it that they were tired of that shit and they wanted a nice god who didn't demand so much. Unfortunately, people these days seem to forget all of that. Christmas is the one time of year when they remember, hey Jesus was a man too, let's be nicer to everyone."
Dooku was pleasantly surprised by the depth coming from a man he'd judged for listening to Snoop Dogg.
"I'm sorry." Sören ran a nervous hand through his curls. "Here I am getting all philosophical first thing in the morning... and I fucking hate mornings." Sören gave a sheepish grin.
"Don't be sorry. I enjoy your company." Dooku smiled. "I appreciate having someone around who thinks."
"I think too much." Sören's smile became a frown, and he looked down. "My head isn't a fun place to be a lot of the time."
"Mine isn't, either. But we can take a break from that today. It's a holiday."
"Then on that note..." Sören got up, went to the counter where the tray of Christmas cookies was sitting, and loaded a few on a plate. He came back and proferred the plate to Dooku.
"Cookies for breakfast." Dooku narrowed his eyes.
"Why the hell not?" Sören nibbled on a cookie, looking naughty and innocent all at once, a combination that made Dooku feel that start in his loins.
Dooku spent the day baking - the traditional figgy pudding and plum pudding that he remembered from his youth in Great Britain, a batch of brownies, a loaf of cozonac and colaci from his Romanian heritage. He also looked up recipes for piparkökur and spesíur, wanting to do something nice for Sören.
Sören screamed at the Icelandic cookies, and Dooku couldn't help smiling, feeling a warm glow that he'd made Sören happy. It was adorable that such a little thing made him so exuberant, as well as somewhat heartbreaking, wondering what kind of privation Sören had experienced to never take these things for granted.
"Are they good?" Dooku asked as Sören sampled the Icelandic cookies, warm from the oven.
"So good," Sören said through a mouthful of cookie. "The only way this would be more awesome is if you'd also made a batch of lakkrístoppar."
"La... what?"
Sören slowed down. "Lakkrístoppar. It's got, ah, licorice? And chocolate. It's meringues."
Dooku made a mental note of that. "Perhaps next year." He was surprised that he was already thinking of having Sören over for Christmas again next year.
Sören gave him a sweet smile. "Takk, for this. This... it means a lot."
Dooku patted him. "I'm glad you're happy."
They sat on the couch together and, with Beowulf between them, watched a few movies as they waited for it to get late enough to get ready and head out - Sören wanted to watch Elf and Christmas Eve On Sesame Street, and Dooku conceded, but only if Sören watched It's A Wonderful Life with him.
Sören got choked up during It's A Wonderful Life, at the scene where George was about to jump off the bridge. "This is reminding me of when I wanted to kill myself," Sören whispered when Dooku noticed his tears.
"Oh." Dooku didn't want Sören to be sad on Christmas. "I'm sorry, we can stop if it's triggering you -"
"No, it's OK."
And then Dooku found himself putting a hand on Sören's arm. The simplest of touches, but one that nonetheless felt like playing with fire. "I'm glad you're still here," Dooku said softly.
Sören put his hand on Dooku's hand.
When the movie was over, before Sören and Dooku were about to get ready to go out, Sören said, "Hey, Nicolae, shoo for a minute."
Dooku gave him a puzzled look.
"Just... shoo." Sören made a shoving gesture.
Dooku waited, and then Sören called him back out. He saw his shoes, sitting next to Sören's Doc Martens. They were filled with candy... and had small potatoes in them.
"The Yule Lads were here," Sören explained, with an innocent face that wasn't innocent at all. "They decided we were both good and naughty, so we got candy for being good and potatoes for being bad." Sören handed Dooku a box. "Here."
"Sören, you... didn't have to get me anything -"
"Open the fucking box."
Dooku opened it, and out came a brand new fedora. There was nothing wrong with the one he usually wore, but...
"Now the Christmas Cat can't eat you, because you got a new item of clothing," Sören said.
Dooku chuckled. He decided he would give Sören his gift now rather than waiting until tomorrow. He went off to the hall closet, and came back with a large box, neatly gift-wrapped.
It was hundreds of dollars worth of watercolor, acrylic and oil paints, brushes, cleaner, a palette, canvases of different sizes. Oil and chalk pastels with pastel paper, since Sören had mentioned offhandedly he worked in that medium sometimes. A set of Prismacolor markers.
Sören screamed and laughed and sobbed, and hugged Dooku tight, who returned the hug even as every nerve in his body was screaming with sexual frustration.
"I... Nicolae. I don't... this is too much," Sören said.
"No, it's not." Dooku shook his head. "I wanted to replace everything that rotten filth threw away. I probably forgot some things."
Sören broke, weeping. Dooku handed him tissues.
"You've been so kind to me," Sören said.
"You deserve kindness. It is as you said earlier - this time of year should remind us of how fragile mortal existence is, and inspire us to be kinder to one another. But beyond abstract concepts of virtue... you deserve kindness. I've grown very fond of you." Too fond.
"Same here."
Their eyes met, and held. Dooku's heart skipped a beat. I'm not in love. Really. That's not what this is.
"I still feel like I don't deserve it," Sören said. "Like I'm damaged goods." He frowned, looking down at the floor. "My uncle used to yell at me all the time growing up, telling me I was 'soft'... and I'm still soft, still too sensitive for my own good. But there's an edge to me that didn't used to be there, like a knife. That rough, sharp prickliness that you saw when we, you know, were feuding with each other."
Dooku found himself going to his bookshelf, and taking out the large hardbound book where he'd pressed two roses from the last bloom of his rosebushes out front before the cold weather set in. He took one out now - still vibrant in color, still a lingering touch of fragrance - and brought it over to Sören. "This is a token of friendship," he said, handing it to him. "You are a lot like this rose. Soft, delicate... full of thorns. And no less of a beautiful soul for having them. The thorns protect the rose. It's OK for you to have that edge to protect yourself. I understand why."
Sören's jaw dropped. He got teared up again. "Takk," he husked. "I will always cherish this."
A rose full of thorns... a rose made of fire. My fireflower. Dooku's face burned, not liking where his mind just went. "My" fireflower?
No. I'm not in love. This is madness.
"We should get ready now," Dooku said, his own voice husky with emotion.
Sören was mostly past the point of needing help with getting dressed and undressed, but he still wanted Dooku to help with his tie, with Sören wearing the same suit-and-tie he'd worn to the concert at the university. Just that little bit of close contact was agony, and it didn't help when Sören's gaze raked over him again and Sören said, "You look sharp," taking in Dooku's own suit and tie, with waistcoat, as it disappeared under the greatcoat. He's just saying that to be polite, Dooku thought to himself bitterly as he put on his new fedora. Which he would now wear all the time and retire his old fedora, since Sören gave him this.
Aren't you sentimental.
They took a little drive to see the lights around town before stopping at Starbucks to have hot chocolate. They drank in companionable silence - the coffee shop was almost abandoned at this hour on Christmas Eve, and there were Christmas songs playing in the background, with Dooku not even minding the newer pop ones so much.
When they went out to the car together, breath steaming in the chill of the night, Sören said, "How's the hat? Warm enough?"
"Yes," Dooku said.
"I feel kind of like an arse because that was all I got you, I had a feeling that you'd yell at me if I splurged too much, even though I really wanted to -"
"You are absolutely correct," Dooku said, getting in the Jaguar. "I have everything I need, and almost everything I want." Dooku noticed his choice of words then and how telling that was - for he did not, in fact, have everything he wanted. He watched Sören get in the car, face burning. "I would have told you to donate that money to charity in my name or the like."
"And yet, you spent money on me."
"That was different."
"Mhm."
"Don't feel bad, Sören. I like the hat. And..." Dooku gave a small smile, secretly delighted by the weirdness of Icelandic Christmas traditions. "You've seen to it so the Christmas Cat won't eat me."
Sören threw back his head and laughed. "Jæja, that's the most important thing."
"Indeed." Dooku chuckled as he turned on the ignition. "Though I do wonder at those Yule Lads not able to reach a verdict on whether we're naughty or nice."
"Jæja, funny how that works out," Sören said as the Jaguar pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road. "We might have to find an elf, though I suspect he'd tell us we were very naughty." Then Sören's eyes widened and he sat up taller, tapping Dooku as he pointed out the window. "Holy shit, is that Mark Lauer?"
It was indeed Mark Lauer walking down the street, wearing a scarf and a leather trenchcoat, no hat. Hair worn loose, flooding to the middle of his back. Dooku's face burned even more and his mouth went dry, but he still beeped and pulled over anyway, rolling down the window. "Professor Lauer. Do you need a lift?"
Mark stopped in his tracks and gave a small smile and shook his head. "No, I'm good. I'm just going for an evening stroll."
"All right. As you know, it's rather cold this evening, so I thought I would offer."
"I appreciate it, but no, the air helps clear my head." Mark looked at Sören in the passenger's seat; Sören blinked slowly and tried to smile. "Where are you guys off to at this hour?"
"I'm taking Professor Sigurdsson to midnight Mass," Dooku said, as Sören rolled his eyes at being called "Professor Sigurdsson".
"Oh. O-OK." Mark looked a little surprised at that. "Well, Merry Christmas."
"Thank you, Professor Lauer. Happy Christmas to you," Dooku said.
"Gleðileg jól," Sören said.
Mark gave a little wave and resumed walking. Dooku watched him again, feeling a strange wistfulness he couldn't put his finger on, and when he waited at the streetlight, he and Sören watched Mark cross the street.
"He's probably alone on Christmas too," Sören said, sounding a bit sad.
"Perhaps."
"I feel kind of bad. Like we should pull over again and drag him off with us or something."
"Sometimes people want to be left alone, even on Christmas."
"I suppose. Just..." Sören frowned. "Doesn't seem right."
"It may not seem right to you, but if he is alone for this holiday, it's likely by choice."
"Yeah." Sören sighed and nodded. "That makes me think of all the people where it isn't by choice."
"Indeed. And it seems these days for all the progress of civilization, the world is a harsher place to live in than it ever was before."
"Mm." Sören looked out the window - they were getting closer to the church.
The service was much different from what Dooku had been accustomed to with Romanian Orthodox liturgy, enough that it almost felt like another religion altogether rather than a different interpretation of Christianity. Nonetheless, the message of the divine made mortal, in humble beginnings, a reminder to show compassion to all, was comforting and familiar, and the hymns were pleasant. Sören seemed to be half-asleep during the service and Dooku wondered with some amusement if he was in fact falling asleep, at this hour, and then he realized, when Sören's eyes focused, that Sören looked like he was deep in meditation... or remembrance.
Dooku wondered then what Sören's life would have been like if his mother hadn't died.
After the Mass was over, the pastor - a young blond, Nordic-looking man who looked to be not over forty, if even that - greeted everyone at the door with smiles and handshakes. When it was Dooku and Sören's turn, making their way through the throng, the pastor gave them that look that let them know they weren't going to escape his attention.
"Merry Christmas," the pastor said. "I hope you enjoyed the service."
"The service was lovely," Sören said.
"Yes," Dooku said. "Happy Christmas."
The pastor grinned. "It's good to see some new faces, I hope you'll keep coming back!" Then, when he noticed Sören and Dooku looking a little bristly, he quickly added, lowering his voice, "Just so you know, we're an LGBT-affirming church - Christ loved everyone, and so do we. We perform gay weddings here and everything, if you guys want a wedding in the church..."
"Oh, that's great," Sören said, making fingerguns with a big cheesy grin, face turning bright pink. He began ushering Dooku along, almost dragging him. "Merry Christmas!"
Sören facepalmed on the way to the car. Dooku's face was on fire again too. They said nothing about the pastor's assumption that they were a gay couple as Dooku got on the road, driving perhaps a little too fast away from the church.
They rode in awkward silence most of the way back - it got unbearable enough that Dooku put on the radio for Christmas music, not wanting to think about the pastor's assumption, or why he would assume that.
Is it obvious...
Dooku's mouth went dry, his heart racing. I'm not in love. That's foolishness.
"So, Nicolae, I was thinking," Sören said as they were a block away.
Dooku's heart continued racing. Dooku braced himself, wondering if Sören was going to bring up what the pastor said. If Sören was going to ask about his own sexual orientation.
If Sören was, perhaps, going to ask about his feelings. Where they stood.
Oh, shit. A knot formed in the pit of Dooku's stomach.
It was none of that. "So I was thinking about what you said earlier... how hard the world is nowadays. And, well... I've had a shite year, but I'm still alive, I made it after everything... and I'd like to put things in perspective. Would it be out of line for me to ask if we can go to Portland tomorrow? Volunteer at a homeless shelter, or a soup kitchen, something like that?"
If they had been in a relationship - which they were not - it was the sort of thing that would make Dooku love Sören even more. But I'm not in love. "We can do that," Dooku said.
And that was what they did on Christmas Day, driving down to Portland to feed the homeless and offer a bit of kindness and compassion in a world that seemed to increasingly have none. Dooku got past his usual dislike of socialization with strangers for the day, and his fondness for Sören grew all the more as he watched Sören come out of his shell for a little while to read to people, play Uno with some homeless veterans, convince a paranoid old woman the food wasn't poisoned.
Dooku wrote a check for the shelter on his way out, and they took a detour to see the lights in Portland before getting on the highway. Sören sang along with the Christmas songs on the radio on the way back, and Dooku thought he might like to make this a yearly tradition.
And he thought of what the pastor had said last night, assuming they were a couple. He had the briefest glimmer of wondering if he and Sören would in fact be a couple in a year's time. The thought of Sören living with him for good, his mate...
Flooded with warmth, he shoved those thoughts away as quickly as he could. I'm not in love.
_
On Monday, January second, 2017, Sören finally went back to his house next door. He still wasn't completely healed, but he was able to do more things for himself now and he didn't want to inconvenience Dooku, even though privately Dooku thought Sören wasn't an inconvenience at all.
They had dinner together, and then Dooku helped Sören carry everything over. Then Dooku lingered, having tea with Sören in the living room.
"Thank you for everything," Sören said. "You were a great host."
"You were a fine houseguest," Dooku said. "I enjoyed having you, despite the circumstances."
Sören looked at the calendar. "Can't believe it's been almost a month since everything." He made a face. "And school starts in a week, on the ninth."
"Mm." Dooku raised an eyebrow. "So you're going back to school when it starts, then."
Sören nodded. "Jæja, my job's not that strenuous, and... I need to go back, if that makes sense. I need to start doing things again."
"I understand." Dooku still felt a pang. "Well, as you know, I'm right next door if you need anything. And... I mean what I say about us being friends. It's not a term I use lightly. You're welcome to visit. I'd like to get together with you -"
"I'd like that too. And actually, I was going to ask if you'd mind driving me to the rental car place on Wednesday or Thursday, so I can have something while I look around for the best deal on a new car..."
"All right." Dooku nodded. "How would Wednesday work?" It was the sooner of the two dates... so I can have the excuse to see him sooner. Dooku swallowed hard, face burning.
"Wednesday's fine, and we can do dinner, maybe?"
"That sounds like a plan."
Dooku tried not to miss him too much - though Beowulf moped a bit, hanging around by the window and giving Dooku forlorn looks, meowing as if to say "when is my other person coming back?" And though Dooku tried to distract himself with other things... the gym, Krav Maga, reading, cooking... Sören strayed back into his thoughts often.
Wednesday couldn't come soon enough, and Dooku felt almost like an excited puppy when Sören got in the Jaguar. They went to the car rental and after browsing and getting Dooku's opinion, Sören got a respectable Volvo sedan, which he drove home. Dooku noticed Sören was driving very slowly, and when Sören got out of the car in front of their houses, he looked a wreck.
"Are you all right?" Dooku asked as they headed into his house.
"I think so. Just..." Sören took a few deep breaths. He was shaking. "Nerves, I think."
Considering the last time Sören was behind the wheel he'd been in an accident - one that further had traumatic association thanks to Seth - Dooku couldn't fault Sören for having a panic attack. He hoped it was something Sören could get past, knowing Sören's pride. Sören looked shell-shocked as he sat on the couch stroking Beowulf, as Dooku made dinner.
After dinner Dooku walked Sören back to his own house, and when Dooku returned home it felt very, very empty. He had a glass of wine and went to sleep early, waking up in the middle of the night feeling cold even though the heat was on, and when he climbed back in bed he hugged one of the pillows tight, imagining it was Sören. The thought of curling up with Sören in his arms soothed him enough to get back to sleep, though when he woke up in the morning he had a somewhat dirty, guilty feeling about it.
I'm not in love.
Dooku worked out his frustrations at the gym, going harder than usual. Sweat-soaked when he got back, he took a shower right away, and came out to the sound of his cell phone ringing. A towel around his waist, Dooku picked it up to see who it was, and when he saw it was Sören he answered right away.
"Nicolae." Sören's voice was raspy. "Um... I have a strange request."
"I'm listening."
"Can I come over and do laundry?"
"Now?"
"If you're not busy."
The towel was tenting at the mere sound of Sören's voice, the thought of Sören here with him, naked... what his body had looked like when Dooku helped him undress weeks ago...
Fuck.
"I'm not busy, no. But... laundry?"
"Jæja, ah. My, ah, washing machine is broken." Sören gave a nervous laugh. "And I could drive to the laundromat but you're right next door -"
"Oh, yes, no need to bother with that, then. Can you give me ten minutes?"
Dooku put on khakis and a button-down shirt - as delicious as the thought of being naked with Sören had been, the reality was that Sören likely wasn't interested at all. Once again, he didn't want to make Sören feel harassed, triggered, unsafe in any way.
And sure enough, Sören looked upset as he walked in the door, like something had triggered him before he came. Dooku's washer and dryer were hooked up in the pantry, and Dooku made coffee while Sören threw a load in the washing machine.
"Takk again for letting me come do this on such short notice."
"You're welcome. I'm sorry that your washing machine is broken. I bet it will be a pain to replace..."
Sören nodded, looking down, not meeting his eyes. "Jæja, I have to. Uh. Talk to the landlord about that, I guess."
Doing laundry led to Sören having dinner with him again, and then Dooku helped him carry the baskets back home. And when Dooku was alone again, he got out a book, but he couldn't concentrate. He kept thinking of Sören, with those sad, beautiful brown eyes. Wanting to make him smile.
Wanting to make him feel better, give him relief...
Wanting to unbutton Sören's shirt, the way he had when Sören was recovering from the accident and needed help undressing... this time, kissing each inch of exposed flesh. Kissing him everywhere. Let me kiss it better, sweetheart.
Kissing him everywhere indeed, taking Sören into his mouth, tasting him. Giving Sören relief, escape, taking him away from the pain, into pleasure.
Sören underneath him, arms around him, panting, Sören begging more, more as Dooku sheathed himself and thrust into him. Holding back his own release, taking care of Sören, focusing on his needs.
As Dooku thought of making love to Sören, he stroked himself, taking a longer time than usual, playing out the fantasy as long as he could. But at last his desire was too strong, and when Sören climaxed in his fantasy, he let go too, crying out, "Sören, Sören, my love, my love..."
It hadn't been the first time he'd brought himself off thinking of Sören Sigurdsson, or even the tenth, but it was the first time he'd called out Sören's name when he climaxed.
And it was the first time he had spoken those forbidden words. He could no longer deny it, shaking from more than just his orgasm.
I am in love with Sören.
He knew, as well, that this feeling wasn't new, and he'd been sitting on it for at least a few weeks. Denying it.
But that love would no longer be denied. The question was no longer do I love Sören, do I want to be with him but what to do about it?