Despite being extremely hungover and needing to sleep late, Sören managed to be ready for Ari's pickup at one o'clock. Sören wanted to visit art museums, and Dooku being a man of culture approved of this; Ari himself was amenable to the idea, and on the way to dinner they took a detour to Ari's yoga studio - closed that week due to family emergency - where Ari showed off the art collection he had in the studio.
"I commissioned Sören to paint my meditation room," Dooku said, "and he did a magnificent job. You should commission him for art here."
"I should," Ari said.
"I'd do it for free since you're family," Sören said.
"Art is work and I'd insist on paying you."
They were joined by Margrét, Dagnýr, and Matt for dinner. Ari was in relatively chipper spirits from giving Sören and Dooku an art tour, and Margrét suggested that Ari do more of the same in the days prior to the funeral. After dinner, Margrét wanted to get caught up with Sören, so she was invited back to their hotel room, and Sören had more Brennivín as he and Margrét talked and played chess. Dooku read a book, grateful for some down time, though Sören had enough to drink that it meant sex was off the table again when it came time for bed.
The next few days were more of the same - Ari took Sören and Dooku around Reykjavik, sometimes accompanied by Margrét, Dagnýr, and Matt. Dooku got to see famous sights like Harpa, the modern glass concert hall and conference center, the Sun Voyager, a huge stainless steel sculpture of a boat set in granite by the sea, and the Imagine Peace Tower memorial to John Lennon, on Viðey Island in Kollafjörður Bay near Reykjavik, and Grótta Lighthouse on the Seltjarnarnes peninsula. Margrét insisted they see the Icelandic Punk Museum, a tiny museum in repurposed bathroom stalls; Sören got lots of pictures and even video with his phone to show Frankie. Dagnýr and Matt were interested in the flea market, which was busy enough that it gave Sören and Dooku both mild anxiety, but Sören still managed to be cheerful in the presence of his family.
More than once, it was suggested they visit one of the numerous swimming locations around Reykjavik - Dooku was surprised anything of the sort was open in the wintertime, and even more surprised to find out how popular and crowded these places were. Even if it had not been November and too cold for Dooku to consider removing his winter gear, he was shy about other people seeing him in just a pair of trunks. He could tell the others were disappointed, but they didn't press the matter and avoided the pools.
Each day was enough walking and activity that Sören and Dooku just wanted to sleep at night, curled up together like cats. Dooku liked sharing a bed with Sören, and found his presence comforting. Sören, also, seemed comforted by snuggling up to Dooku, being petted and rocked to sleep.
On the night before Katrín's funeral, Sören had a hard time falling asleep due to stress, to the point where Dooku was about to suggest Sören raid the hotel room's mini-bar for something to help him sleep. But at last Sören whispered, "Nico?"
"Yes, love."
"Do you think you could... sing to me?"
Dooku swallowed hard. Singing wasn't normally a thing he did in front of other people - he did sing, sometimes, if he was alone, and wasn't thinking about it. Performing was another story. "What would you like me to sing?"
"Well, I'd ask you to sing me an Icelandic lullaby, but you don't speak Icelandic. Or rather, you speak a few words, badly."
Dooku could hear the teasing smile in Sören's voice, and smiled back, with a playful swat to Sören's bottom. Sören laughed, and that did Dooku's heart good - at least, despite his stress, Sören could still make jokes.
"Did your mother used to sing to you?" Dooku asked.
A pause, and then Dooku felt Sören nodding. "Já."
Dooku could then feel the surge of emotions, and his arms tightened around Sören. "I'm sorry if that's a sore subject -"
"No, it's all right." Sören sighed. "I was only six when she died, but there are things I remember about her, very clearly, and I still miss her very much."
"I take it she wasn't like..."
"...Like my aunt Katrín. No. Not at all."
"I'm glad you had at least some kindness in your life." Dooku stroked Sören's face, and his curls.
"Já, she was good. She sang to us, she read to us, she played with us. She, uh... knew we were... Force sensitive... and she was OK with that because she was, too."
"I assume your aunt was not."
"No. My aunt and uncle beat it out of us pretty quickly. It wasn't even that they were afraid of what would happen to us if we were caught using it at school or in a public place, they thought it would make them look bad. As opposed to, you know, their excessive drinking and domestic spats."
Dooku heard himself let out a growl. Sören chuckled and patted Dooku's arm. But the mood sobered again quickly.
"My mother died of a brain aneurysm when I was six," Sören said. "She lay down for a nap one afternoon and it got to be night, well past the time when we were supposed to have dinner and go to bed, and she didn't wake up. I tried waking her up and she couldn't."
"You were the one who found... her... body?"
Sören nodded.
"Love. I'm so sorry." Dooku sighed and squeezed Sören, pressing his forehead to Sören's. "No child should have to go through that."
"It was what made me decide to become a doctor," Sören said. "But I realized, when I got older and was in med school, that even if a doctor had been there, it wouldn't have saved her. And I couldn't save other people, and..." He let out a shuddery sigh, a prelude to a sob.
Dooku started rocking Sören and petting him.
"I had a breakdown," Sören said. "I was in a hospital for about a month, put on medication that just made me feel tired and stupid all the time, was surrounded by people much, uh... worse off than myself. I started painting, in the hospital, they had an art room, and I was encouraged to 'express my feelings'. We had an 'outsider art exhibit' and I was told by a gallery owner in Reykjavik he was seriously interested in my work. Of course I didn't know at the time he was just seriously interested in my arse. But that was how I entered the art world. Because I'm too much of a failure to do anything else."
"Darling, you're not," Dooku said. "That you even made it as far as medical school is an accomplishment. And your art is beautiful. Because you, who you are, is beautiful. From the ashes of your tragedy, you grew meaning, you made something that has touched undoubtedly many other people besides myself. That is something to be proud of. It is not a failure at all."
"That's easy for you to say, you're a career barrister. You're actually doing something with your life. You heard my aunt at the hospital, dismissing this as 'silly painting' and 'just a phase', and maybe she's right, I'm going to be thirty-three in two weeks and I'm just a barista..."
"As a career barrister, I need balance in my life. Appreciating things like art isn't a luxury, it's a necessity. Your art resonated... resonates... with me. And your aunt judged you about other things, and she wasn't right about those." Dooku continued petting Sören. "You took to art as easily as you did because you were artistic as a child, yes?"
Sören nodded. "Já. My mother liked it when I painted and did drawings. The refrigerator was always full of my artwork."
"Something tells me that she'd be proud of you."
Sören broke down sobbing; Dooku pulled him into his chest and made soothing noises, tearing up himself, aching for what Sören had endured in his life.
"I still miss her so much," Sören said, finally. "My life would have been very different if she hadn't died. Why did she have to die first, and a miserable bitch like Katrín stay alive? I have no answers, except that any God who would allow that isn't very good."
Dooku gave a small, rueful smile. "I was raised Romanian Orthodox. I was very devout until I was in my early twenties. Even when the Force was awakening in me and I knew there were people who would think me demon possessed or even call for me to be burned at the stake, I tried to see it as a gift from God. And eventually I just... stopped... believing, for much the same reasons as you did. If there is a God, there is too much injustice and tragedy in the world to make him worth anything to me, and such things as the Force can be explained as science, eventually, when humanity has the right technology to study it. I continued to attend Mass for some time after that, out of force of habit, and then I stopped altogether, except for the time I visited Romania during Easter, and even then I felt nothing. I had aspirations of becoming a priest, actually, when I was a child, when I still believed, and my parents drilled that out of me because I was their eldest son and we are of noble blood and they wouldn't have me 'squander my life away' like that."
"And of course you never married or had children."
"No. Mercifully they both died when I was in my early thirties, so I didn't have to hear them nag for very long."
"When you say mercifully... I take it you weren't very close to them."
"No, not at all. My father was a strict disciplinarian - I was taken to the woodshed more times than I can count for minor infractions - and my mother was very cold and criticized me frequently - in hindsight I recognize much of what she said as verbal abuse. When I got sent to boarding school it was a bit of a relief, even as I also felt unwanted for it. I was close to my grandfather, but he died when I was ten."
"Sounds like your childhood was about as fun as mine."
"Yours seems worse, somehow."
Sören sighed. "Doesn't mean yours wasn't bad, Nico." He sighed again. "And I at least had a mother who loved me, once."
"You don't remember your father?"
"He died before I was two. From what our mother told us, she loved him very much and he was a good man, and Margrét remembers him a bit better and says he was very kind. They're buried on the same plot in Akureyri. I..." Sören's voice trailed off.
"Love." Dooku's voice was husky with emotion. "I didn't mean to make you more upset."
"You didn't do anything wrong," Sören said. "I've never really talked much about my life, to you, and since things have gotten, er..."
Serious? Complicated? The sort of complication Dooku would never see himself allowing in his life, even as recently as six months ago, but here they were. "Intense, perhaps," Dooku said.
"Já. It's not good to keep things bottled up inside, especially not around one's partner. If you can't be intimate with the person you love..."
"And vulnerable." Dooku kissed Sören's forehead. "I honor your trust in me."
"And I honor yours." Sören's lips brushed Dooku's, but gently, almost chaste. "Since the funeral's in the morning we should try to get some sleep."
"Do you... still want me to sing to you?"
"If you don't mind," Sören said. "I'm not picky what you sing, I just need... something."
Dooku spent a moment thinking about it and drew a blank, and he closed his eyes, opened his mouth, and just let the Living Force take hold. He heard himself begin to sing:
There's a lady who's sure
All that glitters is gold
And she's buying a stairway to heaven
When she gets there she knows
If the stores are all closed
With a word she can get what she came for
Even though Dooku had a bass voice and Robert Plant was a tenor, the song was not as awkward as he'd assume it would be. He hummed and resumed,
...and she's buying a stairway to heaven
There's a sign on the wall
But she wants to be sure
'Cause you know sometimes words have two meanings
In a tree by the brook
There's a songbird who sings
Sometimes all of our thoughts are misgiving
Ooh, it makes me wonder
Ooh, it makes me wonder
There's a feeling I get
When I look to the west
And my spirit is crying for leaving
In my thoughts I have seen
Rings of smoke through the trees
And the voices of those who stand looking
Sören's breath deepened and slowed, his body relaxing, and Dooku could tell Sören was starting to fall asleep, but he continued singing through the end - taking care not to belt out And as we wind on down the road / Our shadows taller than our soul. The final line, And she's buying a stairway to heaven was soft, almost a whisper, as he stroked Sören's hair and kissed his forehead, making sure Sören was well and truly asleep.
Then Dooku let himself cry, for Sören, and for himself. Wishing they could have known each other as children, and been friends then.
I guess we will have to make up for it now.
_
Dooku had never seen Sören in a suit and tie, and before that morning would have not even thought those items would be in Sören's wardrobe. And yet, they were - Sören had a dark grey wool suit, with a matching dark grey vest, and a darker grey tie, with white button-down shirt. He was still wearing his Doc Martens, though, which Dooku smiled at. Dooku's own suit was dark brown - he'd thought about wearing black but felt that might be too severe for the funeral of a woman he'd barely met and hated. Dooku and Sören looked well together, and Dooku noticed Sören kept ogling him in the jeep; Dooku couldn't take his eyes off of Sören, either. Thankfully, Sören was the one driving.
The funeral was being held at Katrín's church, still in Reykjavik but a good drive from where the hotel was located. It was snowing outside and the skies were grey, which seemed appropriate for the somber mood. They arrived at the church the same time as Margrét, Dagnýr, Matt, and Ari, who were traveling together in Dagnýr's rented SUV. Despite Dagnýr's casual attire all week, he too was wearing a suit and looked put-together - he was also wearing wire-rim glasses, and Dooku finally had a glimpse of the professor who'd been published in scientific magazines, taught at a university in Toronto and had presented at Cambridge and other prestigious institutions, even had his own Wikipedia article. The transformation was about as shocking as Sören's, but most shocking of all was that Margrét was even there, when it had been established she'd burned bridges and wasn't coming to the funeral.
"I'm not coming in with you guys," Margrét explained. "I'm here for moral support, I'm gonna hang out till it's over."
The funeral was presided over by Katrín's pastor. There weren't many attendants - a couple dozen at most, all of whom seemed to be from Katrín's church, a small Pentecostal establishment in Reykjavik. The kind of hateful rhetoric that the church espoused wasn't popular in Iceland, but nonetheless a couple dozen felt like an army - Dooku could feel the morally outraged stares as he held Sören's hand through the funeral, and Dagnýr and Matt openly had an arm around each other.
The funeral service was conducted in Icelandic, but Dooku could tell through his Force bond with Sören that the pastor was giving Katrín's testimony from violent alcoholic to a righteous woman who led prayer circles and Bible study and gave to the poor and needy, and Sören's teeth were on edge, fighting the urge to interrupt the service and recount Katrín's last day in the hospital. Dooku could also sense through his Force bond with Sören that the pastor was going on about how Katrín was in heaven now and not in any pain, and though almost everyone in the audience was "saved", it was obvious enough there were gay men in attendance that the pastor couldn't resist making an impassioned plea for nonbelievers to "accept Christ".
"What a crock of shit," Dagnýr hissed under his breath.
At last the pastor shut up, and it was time to view the body and pay respects. The family rolled eyes at the melodramatic wailing and prayers of Katrín's fellow churchgoers as they visited the coffin. Ari was first in line of the family members, and he kissed his fingertips and touched them to Katrín's forehead.
"Thank you for giving me life," Ari said softly, in English, for the benefit of Matt and Dooku. "I'm sorry you made the wrong choices in yours. I'm glad you're gone."
Dagnýr and Matt were next. "If I believed in hell, I'd tell you to fucking rot there, bitch," Dagnýr whispered.
Ari, Dagnýr and Matt waited as Sören approached the open coffin. Sören paused for a long minute, just looking, and at last he reached to touch Katrín's face. To onlookers it would have seemed like a tender gesture to a beloved aunt, but through their Force bond Dooku knew Sören was making sure she was really dead. Then at last Sören withdrew his hand, bent as if to give her a kiss... and spat in Katrín's face.
Then Sören said, simply, "Drullukunta."
After the viewing of the body there was the option to stick around for the burial - the church owned a small plot of land for such purposes. Sören elected to stay for the burial, and Ari, Dagnýr and Matt decided they would stay as well. Even though it was cold and snowing, and Dooku was annoyed by the church-goers singing Icelandic hymns, he understood to an extent why they were staying for the burial. Dooku did not understand why Sören was smirking, then quietly snickering, shaking with silent laughter - until Sören elbowed him and discretely pointed.
In the parking lot, Margrét was sitting on the hood of Dagnýr's rented SUV... smoking a joint. Dooku had come of age in the hippie era, and even though he had been "a square" during that time period, he recognized marijuana when he smelled it, and the smell was starting to waft over on the winter wind. Even though it was broad daylight and marijuana was still federally illegal in Iceland and she took a risk of being fined, Margrét was smoking a joint anyway, right there in plain sight, making a quiet but bold statement.
Margrét also had the SUV's music player going - in between hymns Dooku picked up the voice of Johnny Rotten:
Don't ask us to attend 'cos we're not all there
Oh don't pretend 'cos I don't care
I don't believe illusions 'cos too much is real
So stop your cheap comment 'cos we know what we feel
Oh we're so pretty
Oh so pretty
we're vacant
Oh we're so pretty
Oh so pretty
we're vacant ah
But now and we don't care
Sören discretely took out his phone, snapped a couple photos of the burial, and then turned so his camera was on Margrét. Dagnýr pointed to his brother's camera and waved, and Margrét posed for the camera by raising both her middle fingers, the joint in her mouth.
During the last hymn Margrét turned up the volume on the car stereo, so the hymn had to compete with:
I am an antichrist
I am an anarchist
At last Katrín's coffin was in the ground, and the cross headstone placed on top. A few of her fellow churchgoers left flowers, which of course would freeze outside. Sören, Ari, Dagnýr and Matt hesitated. "Should we go now?" Matt asked.
Right on cue, Margrét was walking towards them. But instead of walking to her family, Margrét walked past them, and Dooku watched as Margrét approached Katrín's freshly dug grave. It was just them in the graveyard now - the pastor had gone back into the church. Dooku expected Margrét to spit and swear as Sören had done, and his jaw dropped as, instead, Margrét hiked up her skirt, and a moment later an arc of urine sprayed onto the cross headstone. Sören snapped a photo before it was over.
Sören and Dagnýr howled with laughter, and when Margrét walked back towards them she was grinning broadly.
"No wonder you drank so much coffee on the way here," Ari said. "I thought you were just tired and had a long night at the bar."
"Well I did," Margrét said, "but já, I had, er, ulterior motives. I've been wanting to do that for fucking years."
The group went out to lunch, and as they waited for their food and worked on their drinks, Dagnýr said, "So like I mentioned earlier this week, I have to go back to Toronto tomorrow. I'll have a couple days to decompress before I return to the grind."
Sören nodded.
"And I have to open my studio up again," Ari said. "I can't afford to lose too much business, just this week was enough. Which means however long you'll be staying after this, I can't give any more sightseeing tours."
Sören looked at Dooku, and Dooku said, "We'd talked about staying an extra week, since I've never been to Iceland and there is more to see, and Sören doesn't feel emotionally ready to return to work himself."
"I have to deal with customers," Sören said, "and I'm a bit more sensitive than you guys."
Ari nodded. "I'd still love to get together with you at least one more time before you go!"
"I would too," Margrét said. "It's been too long."
"And if you're staying an extra week, I can recommend some more activities in Reykjavik -"
Sören cut Ari off. "Actually," Sören said, "I... don't want to stay in Reykjavik."
"You changed your mind?" Dooku's eyebrows went up.
"No," Sören said. "I just... want to go. To Akureyri, where we grew up."
"Ah," Ari said, nodding.
Sören looked at Dooku. "That's actually why I shot down every hotel suggestion the night we got here," Sören said. "It wasn't just that I felt uncomfortable with the amount of money you'd be spending, but..."
"You would have rather been in Akureyri," Dooku said. "That's... understandable."
"Very much so," Ari said.
"It's not that I disliked the tour this week, or spending time with you guys," Sören said.
"You don't have to explain, bro, we get it," Dagnýr said, smiling. "To be honest, I wish I could spend an additional week and go up there myself, but I can't."
"I can make a reservation somewhere when we get back to our room," Dooku said.
"I have a better idea," Ari said. He looked at Sören. "As you know, our grandfather left me his cabin, in Svalbarðseyri. If you don't mind something a bit rustic, you can stay there."
"How rustic are we talking about?" Dooku asked.
"It has electricity and running water," Ari said. "I go there at least a couple times a year as a form of retreat, to clear my head when Reykjavik gets too congested. It will be clean when you arrive. But it's small, just a bathroom, kitchen, a big bed, a couple of chairs and a small table. About the size of a studio apartment. And it's got a fireplace and wood stove. I put in a mini fridge and hot plate, you can get food in Akureyri which isn't far of a drive. So it's not a hotel with room service but it's still functional enough."
"That sounds good," Sören said.
"We can drive you back to the car rental place and to the airport," Dagnýr said. "It's only forty-five minutes to Akureyri by plane and there should be someplace to rent another jeep -"
Sören shook his head. "I want to drive there."
"That's a five-hour drive, probably closer to six in these weather conditions," Dagnýr said.
"I know. I still want to drive there." Sören took a deep breath. "I need to drive there."
"You better get up there before stores close, unless you want to go shopping before you leave Reykjavik and bring food with you," Ari said.
"Well then, let's eat," Sören said, just in time for their food to come.
There was a long and somewhat tearful goodbye between Sören and his brother, with a promise to come to London for Christmas and keep in touch in the meantime. Then Sören and Dooku headed to their hotel room to pack once more and check out, and off they were in the jeep.
Even though the plane would have been more convenient and somewhat more comfortable, Dooku was glad for the scenery of the road trip, and even more than that, hearing Sören sing along with his playlist - Sören had a good voice when he wasn't drunk, a husky, somewhat bluesy tenor, and his Icelandic accent was charming. They watched the sun set, a dramatic fire in the sky, and then Dooku gasped a little as he watched the stars come out, more and more of them the further away they got from civilization. A half-hour away from Akureyri, Sören shut off the music altogether, so they could enjoy the silence.
"If you think that's impressive," Sören said, gesturing to the sky through the windshield, "wait until we're someplace with no light pollution."
The supermarket in Akureyri was one Sören had been in before, and knew where everything was, so it didn't take long for Sören to pick out some food for the next day and head to checkout. Then they drove to Svalbarðseyri, approximately a twenty-minute drive. Even in the darkness, the farming village on the fjord, surrounded by mountains, was impressive.
Ari was not exaggerating about the cabin's size - if anything it might have been a little smaller than a studio apartment. The cabin had not been used since at least the summer and was a bit musty, so Sören opened up a window for a brief while to air it out, as Dooku loaded the fridge and then walked around the small cabin, taking it all in.
The bathroom was about as large as the sleeping/sitting area - there was a showerhead, but there was also a deep and wide bathtub that could easily fit two people. Dooku's muscles ached from the long ride in the jeep, so it wasn't long before he stripped and got in the shower. Apparently, the water smelled like sulfur everywhere in Iceland, and he was almost used to it but not quite.
The almost-too-hot water soothed his sore muscles, and he came out of the bathroom in his pajamas - it was still cold in the cabin, though Sören was getting a fire going in the fireplace. Sören had also found where the blankets and quilts were stashed, in a wooden trunk near the bed. The bedding was clean enough, and Dooku admired the handmade quilts.
"My grandmother made those," Sören said, smiling. He pointed to a black-and-white picture on the fireplace mantle, of a woman who looked oddly enough like Margrét but from another era, with a man who looked like a bearded version of Dagnýr.
There was no television in the cabin; Dooku was surprised that he could get an Internet connection, though it was slower than in Reykjavik. He wondered if he also had cell - he did, and decided to call Qui-Gon while Sören showered, catching him up, and inquiring after Dragos who was still doing well.
Dooku was checking his e-mail when Sören came out of the bathroom in blue plaid flannel pajamas, toweling off his hair.
"You want something to eat?" Sören asked.
"Sure," Dooku said.
Sören made them lamb and potatoes on a skillet on the hot plate, seasoned well - it was the first time Dooku had seen Sören cook, and Sören's self-deprecating "I'm not much of a cook" was undeserved. Dooku complimented the food, washed down with chocolate milk from the store, and there was a bottle of Brennivín in the cabin's small liquor pantry, unopened, that Sören opened, and poured them each a shot glass.
Dooku had been hesitant to try Brennivín - more hesitant after he'd seen the effect it had on Sören, who got loud and silly, but here they were in the middle of what was more or less nowhere, and they both needed to unwind. So Dooku drank his glass of Brennivín, which tasted strongly of licorice, making him gag a little.
Dooku did dishes since Sören had cooked, and then Sören, already under the influence, decided to put on his winter coat, gloves, boots, and hat, and go out to sit in the snow and look at the stars. Dooku joined him. For awhile they just sat there - Dooku was mesmerized by the view of what seemed like hundreds of millions of stars, the clearest night sky he'd ever seen. He also felt a strange wave of terror, the full shock of how small he was, on a small planet, in such a big universe.
There was enough light from the cabin that Sören started puttering around in the snow, packing it together. Soon Dooku joined him - they were building a snowman close to midnight, and it was ridiculous, and it made him feel strangely alive. Once the snowman was built, Sören flopped on his back in the snow and began moving his arms and legs.
"What are you doing?" Dooku asked.
"Making a snow angel. You've never done that?"
"Of course not."
"Well..." Sören Force threw Dooku onto his back in the snow, and Dooku, chuckling, obliged Sören, moving his arms and legs, imprinting his form in the snow near the cabin.
Then Dooku and Sören got up - Dooku felt like he could barely stand - and they leaned on each other, staggering into the cabin.
"How do you drink so much of this stuff?" Dooku asked. "I had one glass and I feel like I dropped an anvil on my brain."
"I'm Icelandic," Sören said. "I'm pretty sure our blood is at least a quarter Brennivín."
Dooku snorted. "You were in medical school."
"It's a joke, silly." Sören used the Force to throw a pillow at Dooku. "Like that was a joke."
Dooku's response was to Force throw a pillow back, and soon they were hitting each other with pillows, both holding them and using the Force to bring them over. When Sören dodged a pillow it somehow ended up in the fireplace, and Sören doubled over laughing until he cried, watching it burn.
Then he just started crying.
"My grandmother made that," Sören said between his sobs.
"I'm sorry," Dooku said. "If I'd known I would have been more careful." He sighed and patted Sören's shoulder; he reached for Sören and pulled him close. "Did you know your grandparents?"
"Já, they died when I was a kid, but I remember them." Sören sighed. "I used to love visiting them because it was a break from..." He didn't need to finish the sentence. "They had a house in the village - this was just my grandfather's cabin, where he went to write poetry."
"He was a poet?"
"Everyone in Iceland is a poet," Sören said, "it's just that some of us are better at it than others."
Dooku said, "I know that you are, at least. There must be poetry in your soul to make the kind of art that you do."
"You're so bloody kind," Sören said. "I feel sometimes like I don't deserve it."
"If there's anything you don't deserve," Dooku said softly, "it's the abuse you endured."
Sören started sobbing again. Dooku had been waiting for it - he was surprised it took this long after the funeral for Sören to have another emotional catharsis. Dooku rocked Sören, petting him. "Let it out, sweetheart," Dooku soothed. "It's all right."
"I'm sorry," Sören sobbed. "I'm sorry for crying like this -"
"You have nothing to apologize for. Didn't you tell me last night that bottling emotions is bad to do? If I can vent to you, you can vent to me. Please do."
Sören sobbed again, and Dooku's arms tightened around Sören, rocking him and rocking him, making soothing noises as he stroked Sören's curls, his beard. "My love," Dooku said.
"I was so afraid of her," Sören said. "Both my aunt Katrín, and my uncle Einar... but Katrín moreso. Einar was nasty and mean to us all the time, but sometimes Katrín would be nice to us - like when she'd take us out for pylsur and ice cream, or to a movie, or the flea market and buy us little things, like she was making up for the way she was when she was drunk. And it was the times when she was nice that... it would have been easier if she was awful all the time. It would have been more predictable. And it also made it harder to hate her."
"It seems like many abusers can get away with their abuse because they can put on a convincing act of not being like that all the time," Dooku said, "and it gives you false hope that they can change or things can get better or perhaps it's just all in your head and they're not truly this horrible person."
"Exactly." Sören nodded. "But it was the unpredictable behavior that made me afraid of her even more. It was never really safe, even when it seemed like it was safe. And when she'd had enough of being nice to us, she'd be even worse than Einar at his worst." Sören looked up, and looked into Dooku's eyes. "You know why I have the tattoos on my back, and my arms? To cover the fucking scars she gave me."
Dooku's own eyes stung with tears.
"You can see it if you look closely enough," Sören said, "but I wanted something that would hide it pretty well. And it was an act of... reclaiming myself. The phoenixes. Rebirth. The first painting I did, that later became what I showed the tattoo artist, was when I was in the hospital."
Dooku let the tears flow freely, let Sören see them. Sören cried more, and Dooku cried with him, openly.
"Even when I was a legal adult and she stopped hitting me because she knew I'd call the police on her," Sören said, "she still kept verbally abusing me. I'd cut off contact with her and she'd still find me. She showed up at the hospital just to tell me how pathetic and disgusting I was."
"Which you're not at all," Dooku said.
"When I was a kid," Sören said, "there were times when I wanted her to die. When I was in the hospital, in fact, I told her I wanted her to die, and then had to convince the staff I wasn't homicidal which was... really fun. But the truth is if I could have gotten away with it, I don't know what I would have done." Sören sobbed again. "So of course, finally, there she is in a hospital bed, dying. And part of me is relieved that it's finally fucking over... and part of me feels guilty..."
"You didn't kill her," Dooku said. "You may have the Force, but you didn't... give her cancer... with the Force. That's not how the Force works. Her death wouldn't have been that slow."
Sören laughed, and then he cried some more. "I still feel bad. Because yes, part of me wanted her to die, but not like that? I could see how much pain she was in, at the end. Coughing up blood. She lost a lot of weight. When she had the chemo, she went bald. Cancer is a horrible way to die, and... even though there were times I wanted her dead, I didn't want her to die like that... and yet... she did so much awful stuff to us, and I should be happy..."
"You can't help how you feel," Dooku said, "and it's all right for you to have all these mixed emotions. You've been through a lot."
"I feel like all I do is feel," Sören said. "I feel too goddamn much. Even tonight, I wanted to drink to try to get my mind elsewhere, but instead I'm right here, drowning..."
"You're not alone." Dooku took Sören's hands in his, and squeezed them. He kissed Sören's forehead. "It will be all right. I won't let you drown."
"Hold me," Sören said.
They got under the covers, and Dooku held Sören, letting him cry some more, until at last Sören fell asleep. Dooku watched Sören sleep, aching for him - feeling some relief to see Sören at peace in his sleep - and at last the alcohol washed over him, sending him into sleep as well.
_
The fire had gone out, and the cabin was cold again. It was just as well, because Sören didn't want to stay put during the day. They drove into Akureyri - a town of just 18,000 - and Sören gave Dooku the tour, showing him the neighborhood where he grew up, the schools he went to, the park he used to play. There was a swimming pool open, with just a few people there, and Sören looked at Dooku expectantly, but the shy look on Dooku's face made Sören drop it and think of something else to do.
They stopped at the supermarket and then, after loading up the fridge with provisions, went for a walk back in Svalbarðseyri - or more accurately, a hike through the snow. There was enough daylight left for a spectacular, breathtaking view of the fjord - downright magical. Sören took pictures and did some sketching, as Dooku meditated, touching the Living Force as clearly as he ever had in the beautiful, pristine mountain fjord.
When it was close to sunset, Sören started a fire in the fireplace and then built a fire pit right there in the snow, to have a barbecue, explaining that Icelanders loved barbecues even in the wintertime. Dooku was amused by this. When the food was ready they had a picnic, watching the sun set. There was no alcohol with their meal, this time. After the sun went down and twilight gave way to the first stars, Sören leaned on Dooku's shoulder, and took his hand.
"Thank you for coming up here with me," Sören said.
"Thank you for taking me to this place," Dooku said. "It's magnificent." He turned his head, and Sören turned his. "You're magnificent."
They hadn't had a real kiss in days, and it quickly got heated. They kissed again and again, hungry for it, hands roaming across coats. It wasn't long before Dooku and Sören were walking into the cabin, kissing all the way. Their winter gear came off near the doorway - Dooku didn't even give a damn about neatly hanging up his coat and hat, for once. Nor did he care about his clothes strewn across the floor on the way to the bed. Only when Sören saw him naked for the first time, did he feel a moment's hesitation, but the sight of Sören naked and hard for him was enough to make that inhibition go away.
Still feeling a little shy, Dooku climbed onto the bed with Sören, and once they were both on the bed, the kissing resumed, and hands feverishly caressed and stroked bare flesh for the first time. Sören's fingers played through the hair on Dooku's arms and chest, while Dooku enjoyed the feeling of Sören's smooth chest and soft skin. Dooku still felt self-conscious about his naked body, especially considering his age, but he didn't stop Sören when Sören pushed Dooku onto his back and began to work his way down.
"You are so fucking sexy," Sören husked, kissing Dooku's neck, kissing his way to Dooku's nipples, lapping at each of them, suckling, nibbling, licking some more, alternating between fast and slow strokes of his tongue. Dooku had never known his nipples were so sensitive, like a direct line to his cock, and he couldn't keep from moaning. His moans got louder as Sören kissed and licked the space of his chest between, bathing the chest hair with his tongue like a wolf grooming another. Sören spent a long time just licking and sucking Dooku's nipples, licking and caressing his chest, then at last moving his head to the stomach, which was equally exquisitely sensitive, making him arch and cry out, grabbing Sören's curls.
"Fuck, you're in great shape," Sören growled, tracing the muscle definition with his fingers. "God, I fucking want you." Sören's hard-on rubbing against Dooku's leg was proof of that. But soon Sören was kissing his legs, too, kissing, licking, and nibbling from Dooku's stomach down his thigh and one calf, and then up the other, his fingers following the trail of his tongue, playing through the white hair. Dooku's thighs were another wickedly sensitive place, and Sören spent a long time there, teasing.
Dooku was as hard as he had ever been in his life, leaking so much precum his shaft was slick and glistening with it. With one hand reaching to caress and rub Dooku's chest and stomach, and the other playing with Dooku's thigh, Sören put his head between Dooku's legs, buried his nose in Dooku's bush to breathe in his scent, licked the white fur there as well, and then took a long lick from the head down the shaft, and then back up, his eyes riveted on Dooku's eyes the entire time. Dooku could barely breathe, his body locked in pleasure and excitement so intense he felt he could explode. And when Sören took him into his mouth, bit by bit, Dooku almost embarrassed himself with the moans he couldn't control, gasping for breath at the delicious feeling of Sören's mouth wrapped around him, the way those full, luscious lips looked around his cock, the heat in Sören's eyes as he watched every reaction.
Sören worked his tongue as he sucked, like he was kissing it but not quite. Soon the hand playing with Dooku's thighs began to cup and rub Dooku's balls, and Dooku whimpered, electrified by his touch. Sören sucked harder and faster, bobbing his head, and Dooku felt the tension building, winding, threatening to break him, yet never wanting it to stop. This is why people make such a big deal about sex. Nothing had ever felt so good, made him feel more alive.
Just before Dooku's excitement could hit its peak, Sören pulled the cock out of his mouth and teasingly licked at it, building the tension even higher, deeper, making Dooku feverish, and the undignified noises coming out of him were almost shameful if he hadn't been too lost in wanting this, needing it so badly. Sören teased and teased with his tongue, and soon his tongue was on Dooku's balls, and when Sören started sucking on those too, Dooku clutched Sören's head, writhing, panting, almost sobbing with sexual need - needing to come, but also needing it to never stop, needing more...
Mercifully, Sören took Dooku's cock back into his mouth, and resumed sucking, this time more slowly, continuing to tease with his tongue rubbing as he sucked. Dooku's moans got louder and louder, and at last, when Sören sped up again, Dooku heard himself yell, wordlessly, as the first shock wave of orgasm hit him. His eyes locked with Sören's, and as another jolt wrenched through him he cried out, "Sören. Sören, my love, my love..." Another wordless scream, as Sören drank all he had to give and his cock throbbed and throbbed with endless, melting pleasure, and for a moment all he could see was pure, brilliant light, merging with that light, weightless, joyous.
Sören came up to kiss him, and at the taste of himself on Sören's lips - the evidence that they had done this, that he had given himself this way... that Sören had made love to him, had treated his body like a temple, with adoration and worship - Dooku started to cry. Like the moans of passion as Sören had made love to him, he couldn't help it. It wasn't happy tears, it wasn't sadness - it was something above and beyond any emotion he'd felt so far, something he wasn't able to classify. He had surrendered, in Sören's tender loving care, and Sören had given him ecstasy, as vast and profound as the sea of stars hanging over them - he had felt infinite, in his release. Sören had given him a gift that no one else had, no one else could. He wasn't just naked in his body, but he had been naked in his soul, then, and Sören knew that, and the look of awe and wonder and love in Sören's eyes made him weep, weeping harder when Sören lovingly, reverently kissed his tears.
"I love you," Dooku sobbed, brokenly.
"I know," Sören husked. "I love you too, Nico." He continued to kiss Dooku's tears. "You are so beautiful when you come."
Dooku cried more, and Sören at last pulled him close, his arms a wall to protect the mystery they had shared. Sören rocked and pet Dooku, echoing the way Dooku had rocked and pet him last night. For all that Dooku had felt deeply alone for most of his life, he wasn't alone anymore, and the shock of that broke the last of his reserve with Sören, pouring his tears, his pain, and the hope he'd dared not have. Between the power of his climax and the emotional release afterwards, Dooku felt drained enough to fall asleep, there in his beloved's arms, with Sören holding him all through the night.
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