Dooku was hung over, and his cell woke him up, sitting on his bedtable. He was of a mind to flip it open and tell whoever was on the other end to fuck off, but then he noticed it was one in the afternoon - he'd slept much later than he intended - and his cell needed to be charged, quite soon.
Dooku flipped open the phone. "Yes," he grunted.
A deep breath. "Nico."
Sören. Dooku sat up with a start, and immediately regretted it because of his throbbing head. "Sören... I'm very sorry about last night. I should have pulled over -"
"No, Nico. I'm sorry. I..." Sören sighed. "I shouldn't have blown up at you like that."
Dooku also sighed. "I don't judge you, Sören. You have done the best with what life has given you. Not everyone needs a... career. You would be as bad as a barrister as I would be as an artist. The kind of art you make breathes life into my life."
"How much did you drink last night?"
"A lot."
"Don't you fucking do that again, because as soon as you picked up, my head started hurting."
Dooku laughed, and Sören laughed too, and then Dooku said, "I got very, very drunk because I thought I would never see you again and that just... it hurt." And then his voice broke, and he couldn't help the tears that came.
"Oh, Nico. I didn't mean to make you cry."
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't be crying -"
"There's nothing wrong with crying if you need to cry. None of this 'men don't cry' bullshit." Sören's voice was husky, now. "You were upset because you..."
"Whatever this is," Dooku said, "it makes my life better. It fills a void. I may not know much about you, that's true, but what I do know, I like. I don't want to lose that. I am an old man now, and I have let too much of life pass me by."
"I'm coming over."
"No," Dooku said.
"No?"
"I'll come to you. I want to see where you live. I don't care how not posh it is. You can take me around your neighborhood." Dooku rolled his eyes. "You can take me for a ride on the Tube."
"You've... never been on the Tube, have you?"
"No."
Sören laughed at this.
_
An hour later, Dooku arrived at Sören's flat, parked in front of the coffee shop where Sören worked forty hours a week. He walked up a flight of stairs and knocked on the door. A young woman answered the door, seemingly not over twenty, petite, chubby, large-breasted, wearing a pink mohawk, large gauges in her ears, many facial piercings, lots of tattoos over her arms and up her neck, a faded Sex Pistols T-shirt and red plaid flannel pajama bottoms. She took a look at Dooku, snapped gum, rolled her eyes, looked off to the side, and yelled, "Sören!"
Sören rushed to the door. Dooku had a bouquet of flowers. Sören squealed a little as he took them. "Ah shit, I need something to put these in."
The pink-haired girl produced a clean drinking glass and turned on the faucet and then Sören said, "Do we have any Sprite left?"
"A little."
"Pour it in there, já? It makes flowers last longer, I heard."
The girl went into the fridge, took out a bottle of Sprite that was mostly gone, and took a swig before pouring the rest into the glass. Sören then put the flowers in the glass and said, "Ah shit, where are my manners. Nico, this is Frankie. Frankie, this is Dooku."
Frankie waved the fingers of her left hand. "Yo," she said, and snapped gum again.
Sören was wearing his usual jeans and Doc Martens and today, a Bauhaus T-shirt. Dooku admired the ink on Sören's arms, and then noticed Frankie was noticing him looking at Sören's arms, and glaring daggers.
"I'll give you the tour, not that there's much to see," Sören said.
"Don't go in my room, it's a mess," Frankie said.
The flat was quite small. There was a kitchen area, and a shabby card table with a couple of folding chairs near a window. The living room had a beaten-up ancient couch that Sören or Frankie had attempted to make look presentable by throwing a blanket over it. There was a TV, stereo, gaming console and speakers in the living room, and a coffee table that had rock and art magazines strewn across it. Bed sheets were used as curtains, and the view of the neighborhood was mostly an alley and another set of flats, where Dooku saw neighbors outside having a screaming match. The living room led out to a small hallway. There was a bathroom that was clean but the toilet and tiling looked old, though the shower curtain had cheery fish on it and there was matching fish decor on the sink. Immediately down the hall past the bathroom was Frankie's room, and though they were told to not go in there Dooku couldn't resist looking over his shoulder and saw not only was the bed - a mattress on the floor - unmade, but the floor had a lot of dirty clothes, used dishes, soda bottles, books, magazines, and whatever else strewn across it. There were posters taped on the walls, and the curtains were a dark color, with glittery sun and moons on them, blowing in the breeze.
Sören's room was like a different world. He had a full-size mattress on a box spring - no bed frame - and his bed was made, though not as neatly as Dooku usually made his own. The comforter was dark red, and the pillows were red and black. Sören had black velvet curtains, and there were beaded curtains over them, glittering black, silver, deep red, and purple. On either side of Sören's bed there were wooden bedtables, set up with assorted scented candles. Sören had a bookshelf filled with books, a stereo in his room, and by one open window, there was an easel and a canvas, and his paints. He had two closets in his room. "One is for clothes, and the other..." Sören opened it and Dooku saw it was full of art supplies and finished paintings, the paintings protected by plastic wrap.
On top of Sören's bookshelf there were a few stuffed animals, which Dooku recognized as being mostly from Winnie-the-Pooh and the Sesame Street television show. "They have that in Iceland?" Dooku asked.
"Sesame Street is all over the world," Sören said. He picked up Big Bird and hugged him. "I've had this doll since I was two."
The sight of Sören hugging a Big Bird doll made Dooku feel weak, fluttery, and gave him the strange urge to rain kisses all over Sören's face. He controlled himself.
"Ey, yo," Frankie said from down the hall, "if you guys are gonna fuck in there, close your door, y'know wot I mean?"
"We are NOT going to fuck in here," Sören yelled back. "Unless you're planning on fucking your girlfriend in there while he's here, then all bets are off."
"Fuck you," Frankie said, raising her middle finger, but the tone in her voice was affectionate.
"Yeah, fuck you too," Sören said.
"Bitch."
"That's Queen Bitch to you."
Frankie stuck her tongue out at Sören, who stuck out his in return, then Frankie closed her door, and Sören gestured for Dooku to sit on the bed. There was a chair near Sören's easel, and he brought it over near the bed, sitting on it backwards. Then Sören used the Force to hit the light switch, and even though it was still daylight, Dooku could see glow in the dark stars on Sören's ceiling and walls. It made him smile.
"No, this is the best part." On Sören's bookshelf, there was a projector, which Dooku hadn't noticed between the stuffed animals, and Sören used the Force to turn it on; the projector began making auroras on the wall, rotating through colors of the rainbow.
"I have a waterfall too." Sören in fact had two waterfalls, one on each bedtable, between the scented candles. Sören turned them on, and it created a nice ambiance.
"This is actually nice," Dooku said, and then felt stupid for saying "actually", worrying about offending Sören again.
"Shit, can I get you something to drink? I have water, juice, soda..."
"Do you have tea?"
"Já, let me go make some tea."
Dooku sat in the bedroom, drinking in the energy and presence of Sören - admiring the beauty he'd made in such shabbiness, like a rose growing from concrete. A few minutes passed, and Sören came in with two mugs. They had tags sticking out of them.
"Er, what's this?" Dooku asked.
"Tea. It's Lipton..."
Dooku realized there was a bag in the mug. This was not how he took his tea. He did it the proper British way, boiling water over tea leaves. Dooku involuntarily crinkled his nose, and immediately felt bad for doing so, not wanting to be rude to his host.
"I didn't know how much sugar you wanted so I put in the amount I use for mine, just a spoonful." Sören sounded a little apologetic as he sat down.
"It's... fine. Thank you."
Sören gave Dooku a look. "It's not fine, is it."
"You're going to call me posh again."
"Just pretend it's not tea. Call it... tea substitute."
Dooku laughed at that, and politely drank the Lipton.
"You'll have to show me how you do proper tea," Sören said. "I'm more of a coffee drinker, myself."
"It's not terribly dissimilar to how you make coffee, if you boil water and pour it over the coffee grounds. But yes, I can show you how to make tea," Dooku said. And I will buy you a better brand than Lipton.
"Are you hungry at all?"
"Not presently. But if you'd like to get a bite to eat later, that could be part of my... Tube experience."
Sören laughed. They drank their tea quietly - Sören finished his rather quickly, and then said, "Shit, it's warm today."
It was in fact warm again today, like London couldn't make up its mind whether it was September or October. Sören had a window open, but Dooku could see he was sweating a little, despite his short-sleeved shirt. "Já," Sören said, at Dooku's disbelief. "When you grow up in Iceland, apparently anything over 15 C makes you melt." Sören took his empty mug of tea into the kitchen - Dooku was still nursing his - and Sören returned with an orange popsicle.
"I didn't offer you one, but if you want one just let me know," Sören said.
"I'm fine, thank you."
Sören sat down and used the Force to retrieve his laptop from one of the bedtable shelves, pulled it over to him, opened it up, turned it on, and did some typing. As he did, Dooku watched Sören suck on the popsicle. Sören fit most of it in his mouth, which was impressive, and then Dooku's mind began to go in awkward directions. Sören sucked the popsicle slowly, then after a minute pulled the popsicle out of his mouth, gave it a few licks up and down, and sucked on just the tip. Dooku's hands were now shaking as they held the mug of tea. Sören continued to surf the Web, oblivious to the effect he was having on the old man; at last he showed Dooku a list of local restaurants on the screen.
"What we decide on depends on whether we're doing two checks or you're comfortable with me paying," Dooku said.
"I'm comfortable with you paying with the understanding that you're not buying anything but dinner," Sören said. "If we ever... it's not going to be because I owe you."
Dooku's face burned, and his cock stirred at Sören's words. He had been trying to not think too much about that possibility, but now that it was brought up...
We can take awhile getting there, if it's even going to... Dooku felt foolish even entertaining the idea. He's half my age. Do men my age even...? His cock clearly still worked, but...
Sören bit off a piece of popsicle in his mouth, and slid it back in, his eyes fixed on Dooku's.
"I'm comfortable paying," Dooku said.
"All right." Sören nodded. He gave the popsicle a few more licks, and sucked on it again for a moment before asking, "Do you like Italian?"
"I like everything."
"Then Italian it is." Sören cocked his head. There was just a little bit of popsicle left now, and Sören sucked the rest of it thoughtfully, as Dooku's face burned and he resisted every urge he had to offer Sören something else to suck on. "Frankie may want to tag along, and she may want to invite her girlfriend, though I wouldn't ask you to pay for them."
"So you clearly aren't involved with her."
"No, sir. Gay man and a lesbian. Frankie's aunt owns the coffee shop downstairs, Frankie's aunt is another lesbian, but she's more femme than Frankie. She asks me to do her hair and I have to tell her 'I'm not that kind of gay boy, sorry.'"
Dooku raised an eyebrow. "What does your roommate know about me? She seems to assume..."
"Já, I told you that day I had you drop me off at the corner, she was gonna assume things. And you know, I don't know where this is going, so I haven't... told her... that we aren't, yet? She was giving you the evil eye out there because my last boyfriend was a real piece of shit, very verbally and physically abusive. The last time he was here, he made the mistake of hitting me, not knowing Frankie was home. She came up behind him and knocked him on his arse with one of those folding chairs we have in the kitchen, and then dragged him downstairs, threw him onto the sidewalk, kicked him in the balls with her steel-toed boots, and said if he ever showed his face here she'd shank him the next time, maybe cut his cock off. He didn't call the cops on her, he stayed away after that."
Dooku felt a surge of rage at what Sören had experienced - how dare someone abuse him - and a little bit of admiration and appreciation for the rough girl Sören lived with.
"So já," Sören said, "Frankie is a little protective of me because she's seen me go through some shit. And you don't fuck with punk chicks if you know what's good for you."
"How long ago was that?" Dooku asked.
"About a year ago. I haven't had any boyfriends since then, just a few hookups from Grindr."
"What?"
"Uh." Sören ran a hand through his mop of curls, looking nervous. "Never mind."
"Is that one of those social networking -"
"Yes." Sören seemed very uncomfortable with the subject.
"Does she think... we met..."
"I don't know what she thinks, she probably assumes you're a Grindr daddy dom I've seen more than once? I don't know? I didn't get into the full story of how we met." Sören lowered his voice to barely above a whisper. "It's bad enough she sees the Jag out there, I don't want her knowing my rent is paid for the next three months because of you buying my paintings. Frankie's a good girl, a good friend, she just... sometimes asks me for money. Because neither of us have it. But she has less of it than I do, because." Sören made a smoking gesture.
"Cigarettes?"
"Pot." Sören laughed nervously. "I toke up sometimes too. It helps me relax. I feel more creative when I'm stoned."
"I see." Dooku cleared his throat. "I've never tried it."
Sören grinned that naughty grin; Dooku didn't have to be Force sensitive to know that smile meant Sören was going to get him to try it sooner or later.
When Dooku had finished his tea, he accompanied Sören to the kitchen, where Sören rinsed the mug and put it in the sink. Dooku opened the door, and just before Sören could step through, Frankie was in the kitchen.
"Hey, um," Frankie said, "can I get twenty quid to order a pizza? I've got my period and don't feel like cooking..."
It took Dooku a moment to realize Frankie was asking him and not Sören, and was a little taken aback that the girl was sharing such private information with a near-stranger. Sören glared at her. "Frankie, it's rude to ask him for money," Sören said.
Dooku quietly took out his wallet and walked over to Frankie and put something in her hand. "Sören told me what you did, a year ago. With his... ex."
"Oh." Frankie smirked. "Yeah, he had it comin'. Fucker used to have Sören bruised up and in tears. I was finally here to pay me respects."
"Look at what I gave you," Dooku said, "and consider that my gratitude for what you have done. And please, in future, do not ask me for money again, and do not ask Sören for money because he is spending time with me and you assume things. He has a difficult time making ends meet, and whatever may or may not be going on between us, I am not paying for his companionship or otherwise financially supporting him."
Frankie's jaw dropped - now it was her turn to be taken aback by forthrightness - but she just nodded.
Then Dooku took Sören's arm, and practically shoved him out of the flat.
As they walked down the stairs, Sören hissed, "How much did you give her?"
"One hundred pounds."
"...shit... I'd ask how you can even afford that..."
"Don't worry about it. If she asks you for money again do tell me, and please give me her cell number so I can have a few words with her."
_
They took the Tube from North Greenwich into Southwark, to a family-owned Italian restaurant that had gotten good reviews across most review sites on Google. Dooku was a little nervous when they took the Tube, even though there were fewer people on it, on a Sunday evening; most of his anxiety was the crowds, rather than feeling any sense of danger. There was also some anxiety with the fast movement, underground. Sören sensed Dooku's anxiety and took his hand during the first trip, and even when he'd calmed down, they still held hands. Dooku worried about possibly triggering a homophobic response, but a mother with small children seated across from them just smiled.
Dooku's legs stopped shaking once they began walking to the restaurant, and when they arrived, they were seated quickly; Dooku right away ordered a bottle of wine, which was delivered along with a pitcher of ice water. This time Sören drank his wine more slowly. "I've never been much of a wine drinker," Sören said, "but the taste is growing on me."
"What do you drink, usually?"
"Beer, lager... vodka." Sören grinned. "Brennivín."
"Is that like akvavit?"
"It's worse."
Dooku ordered aubergines and Sören ordered potatoes gnocchi. They shared a loaf of warm, fresh bread, and each had a salad as they waited for the main course. Frank Sinatra played in the background, and Dooku was amused by Sören singing along - Sören had a good voice, a rich tenor, though his accent was still painfully obvious when he sang, and very out of place with Sinatra. And then Dooku was even more amused when Sören sang along to "That's Amore" by Dean Martin.
"It's too bad they don't have karaoke," Sören said after the song. "I am the karaoke king, especially if I've had a few."
"On dear." Dooku laughed.
Dooku enjoyed watching Sören eat even more than he enjoyed his own food - Sören ate with gusto and passion, and Dooku was intoxicated by it. It made him feel more alive. The food was indeed delicious, though Dooku thought he could make better at home; nonetheless, he tipped generously for the good food and good service.
Dooku hadn't had a lot of wine because he needed to drive home to Bermondsey later, but Sören had a few glasses, and continued to sing Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin songs on the way back to the Tube station. Once they were on the train, Sören quieted down - it was apparently an unspoken rule that you didn't make noise on the Tube - and Dooku was relaxed enough from the wine and Sören's company that he didn't feel anxiety this time. There were more passengers this time, however, which meant more Force noise... and a woman with children needed a seat, which meant Sören or Dooku had to give theirs up. Sören got up - he didn't want anyone to hassle him about making an old man get up - but the seats in their row were all full now, and Sören would have to go a long ways to find an empty seat. Dooku's response was to pull Sören onto his lap, which made them both laugh.
Dooku stopped laughing when he felt himself get hard, in response to feeling Sören on his lap. He expected Sören to run away, but instead Sören leaned back against him and tilted his face to nuzzle Dooku's beard. Dooku wrapped his arms around the younger man and they stayed like that until their stop.
There was no physical contact on the way back, and finally Dooku was at the bottom of the stairs to Sören's flat.
"Do you want to come up and have a nightcap?" Sören asked.
Dooku had a feeling Sören was offering him sex, and despite his response on the Tube he wasn't ready for that. He had a lot to think about, and the time to think about it was not when he was feeling a little buzz and full of flutters. "Not tonight," Dooku said. "I have to work tomorrow."
"All right." Sören nodded. "When am I coming to hang the paintings?"
"Thursday night? 7 PM?"
"Sounds good."
"I'll pick you up," Dooku said. "It's not because I think you'll get mugged on the Tube, it's because I'm old-fashioned."
"All right."
They lingered, until it got awkward with smiling and nodding, not touching. Then Sören quickly took Dooku's hands in his, brought them to his lips to kiss them, and then he attempted to run up the stairs, tripped because he was slightly drunk, and Dooku paused on the first step, watching Sören stand up and lurch to the third-from-the-top step. "Do you need help getting up there?"
"I don't need any more help getting it up, thanks." Sören then smacked himself in the face. "Er. Good night, Nico."
Dooku laughed softly. "Good night, dear Sören. Sleep well, when you do."
"Já, I'm gonna need a cold shower first."
Dooku didn't understand why Sören said that, but when he got in his car, feeling somewhat giddy, the thought of Sören in the shower just made him feel even more flushed and fluttery and stupid. His cock ached for attention, and that night when he lay in bed trying to sleep, for the first time in years, Dooku brought himself to climax, thinking about Sören sucking him the way Sören had worked on the popsicle that afternoon, moaning Sören's name with his release.
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