On the last day of 2017, Dooku woke up to the sound of rain... and soft kisses raining over his face.
It was a Sunday. Sören's family had gone back to Iceland and Canada the evening of the 27th, and they'd had three days to recover, but Dooku still felt tired enough to sleep in until eight AM, two hours past his usual wake up time. He was also usually up before Sören, but here was Sören nuzzling his beard, kissing along the length of his jaw. Dooku finally tilted Sören's head and claimed his mouth, kissing him deeply.
"Mmmmmmmm," Sören purred into the kiss. They pulled apart just enough for Dooku to see Sören's smile, and the way his eyes smiled, shining with love. It made Dooku smile back; Sören's smile lit up his whole world.
"How long have you been up?"
"About twenty minutes."
"You could have woken me up sooner."
"You looked so peaceful," Sören said. He gave Dooku a soft, lingering kiss. "I didn't want to disturb you." He stroked Dooku's face some more, skritched his whiskers. "I like watching you sleep. I like looking at you."
It was then that Dooku felt Sören's hard-on pressed against his hip. Dooku smirked. "I can tell."
Sören kissed him again. "There are worse ways to wake up, Nico."
"Indeed there are." Dooku pet Sören's curls and kissed him back. "I wasn't complaining. This is nice."
"It is." Sören nodded. "You know what would be nicer?"
"Hm?"
Sören took off his T-shirt; Dooku ogled his bare chest. Then Sören helped Dooku take off his own pajama top, and began to kiss him everywhere. Between kisses, Sören sang.
Sunday morning rain is falling
Steal some covers share some skin
Clouds are shrouding us in moments unforgettable
You twist to fit the mold that I am in
But things just get so crazy living life gets hard to do
And I would gladly hit the road get up and go if I knew
That someday it would lead me back to you
That someday it would lead me back to you
That may be all I need
In darkness he is all I see
Come and rest your bones with me
Driving slow on Sunday morning
And I never want to leave
Dooku couldn't help smiling at Sören singing to him, the husky, bluesy tenor and the Icelandic lilt. Sören began to peel down Dooku's pajama bottoms, caressing and kissing the exposed flesh of his hips and thighs, and continued singing between kisses:
Fingers trace your every outline
Paint a picture with my hands
Back and forth we sway like branches in a storm
Change the weather still together when it ends
That may be all I need
In darkness he is all I see
Come and rest your bones with me
Driving slow on Sunday morning
And I never want to leave
Sören finally stopped singing... to take Dooku's cock into his mouth. Dooku groaned, loving it. He stroked Sören's hair and face, shivered at the heat he saw in his bondmate's eyes. Sören sucked him slowly, working his tongue slowly. It wasn't long before Dooku was writhing, moaning, trembling with desire.
After awhile Sören took Dooku's cock out of his mouth and just licked it, from the slit in the sensitive head down the shaft to the hilt, and back up again. Slow, deliberate strokes of his tongue, following the veins and the trails of precum now leaking in copious amounts. When Sören started sucking Dooku's balls, he cried out, and again at the "mmmmmm" from Sören with his mouth full.
Dooku's balls tightened and he felt the delicious tension building and building, his release so close yet so far. He loved every moment of being teased, but especially when their eyes met. Sören licking his balls was also heavenly, and when Sören resumed licking his cock, Dooku heard himself panting, gasping, moaning. He loved the way Sören completely wrecked his self-control and made him lose every shred of dignity, turning him into an animal.
Sören stopped licking for a moment, his finger tracing circles around the slit in the head of Dooku's cock. "How do you want it?" he asked.
"Yes?"
They both laughed at that. Sören playfully smacked his thigh and then nibbled it, making Dooku moan. "That's not an answer," Sören said.
"Sure it is." Dooku laughed. "Let's spend the day in bed, enjoying each other. I can think of no better way to end this year and welcome in the next one."
Sören smiled. "All right." He came up to kiss Dooku. "Then I guess my question is, what do you want first?"
"Yes."
Sören rolled his eyes, but chuckled.
It was late afternoon when they'd finally finished. They'd started their day in bed with sixty-nine, then they lay on their sides and Dooku fucked Sören slowly, with Sören rolling him onto his back to ride him for the finish. Then after a nap they'd woken up for Sören to kiss and caress Dooku all over before rimming him, and finally Sören took him, another slow, sensual fuck that they never wanted to end, with a shattering climax.
They had a variety of reheated leftovers for dinner, eating in the living room in their pajamas. Dooku felt too tired to stay up till midnight, but Sören was still high on the euphoria of fucking the day away, so Dooku slept as Sören painted, and just before midnight, Sören woke Dooku so they could open a bottle of champagne and toast 2018 in bed.
Sören "accidentally" spilled champagne on Dooku's pajama top, and then again on his bare chest, and Sören cleaning it with his tongue aroused him all over again. Their first act of the new year was to make love once more, pouring champagne over each other's naked bodies and licking it off, then sucking each other's champagne-soaked cocks until they came together. Dooku lay shuddering for several minutes after he'd stopped shooting cum, feeling like he was melting.
Sören finally helped him move his body, to get under the covers. Sören snuggled against him, spooning from behind with an arm around him. He craned his head to gently kiss Dooku's cheek.
"Happy new year," Sören whispered.
"Mmm. Happy new year," Dooku mumbled, smiling.
"I hope it'll be the best one of our lives so far. And many more, together."
_
Dooku had New Year's Day off, and Sören did not. Though Sören had the Vespa to get around, Dooku asked to bring him to work and pick him up, since he had some errands to run, and Sören agreed to it.
The first order of business was hitting the gym. Before Sören moved in with Dooku, he had a schedule of visiting the gym three times a week, which he credited with keeping him in shape at his age - when he was a younger man he'd been even more physically active. Since Sören had moved in with Dooku in November, Dooku had gotten to the gym twice a week, which still wasn't bad, but Dooku was starting to feel uneasy about it. He wasn't the type to make new year's resolutions, but he was determined to get back to his original schedule of visiting the gym three times a week.
The workout left him tired and sore, but in a good way. He also noticed as he changed back into his usual tunic and trousers and winter coat, that he wasn't as self-conscious as he used to be about being in a T-shirt and gym shorts while working out around other people.
Dooku's next stop was the supermarket, and the Jaguar was loaded with groceries when he arrived to pick up Sören. Sören had a hectic shift of dealing with customers, but nonetheless brightened when he saw Dooku. After Sören helped him put the groceries away, Dooku put on tea and they just cuddled together on the couch for awhile. As Sören snuggled into Dooku's shoulder, Dooku felt the residual distress across their Force bond, and he propped one of Sören's legs up on his lap and began to rub Sören's foot. Sören made happy little purring sounds and Dooku smiled - he loved spoiling his bondmate.
When Dooku worked on Sören's other foot, Dragos came over, wanting pettings of his own. Sören pulled Dragos onto his lap and proceeded to pamper the cat, until Dragos was purring loudly, kneading on Sören and drooling happily.
At last the foot rubs were over. Sören stretched, and Dooku took his cat and gave him some love. Dragos flopped onto his back so Dooku could rub his belly, and Sören skritched the cat's chin and behind the ears.
"Do you want steak or fish this evening?" Dooku asked.
"They both sound good, so whichever you'd rather make," Sören said. "I think while you're cooking I'm going to paint for a bit, try to get this last piece finished before the show on Thursday night."
Dooku nodded. One of Leja's birthday presents to Sören had been his own show at her gallery during the first week of January. Sören was still nervous about it, and Dooku was nervous about accompanying him. But it was an opportunity Sören couldn't refuse, and Dooku wanted to be there for him on this momentous occasion.
Sören painted while Dooku cooked - he decided on steak - and after the meal Sören did dishes, and went back to do a little more painting as Dooku relaxed with a book. At last Sören was ready to turn in - more for consideration of Dooku having to be up early the next day for work. They meditated together and then took a shower together, which turned sensual, and their last act of the night was to make love, Sören on his back, Dooku fucking him slowly, sweetly. The kissing and caressing and nuzzling and whispered words of love created an intimacy that made for a deeper feeling of connection and surrender, which brought about a very intense orgasm for them both. As Dooku fell asleep entwined with Sören, he felt peaceful and content, grateful for the love that had given him a second lease on life.
Dooku woke up with a headache, and feeling a bit achy all over. He figured it was maybe overdoing it at the gym yesterday, so he'd forego his original plan of hitting the gym again after work. Once he was at work, the achy feeling got worse, and he felt cold enough that he had to check to make sure the thermostat was actually functioning properly - it was. Hot tea wouldn't take off the chill, and when he had been at work a few hours, he noticed himself shaking. As he went from his office to use the restroom, he felt weak and a little dizzy and had to stop and lean on a wall. One of his co-workers noticed and told him to go home early.
The drive home was stressful - not only could Dooku not stop shaking, but he felt hazy and not as alert as he normally was, even with tea. He wondered when he was almost home if he should have left his Jaguar at the office and called a cab, but it was rather too late for that. When he got inside, he put on more tea, and wrapped himself in a blanket. He watched the BBC while drinking tea, but couldn't concentrate on the television, or really anything at all. And he was freezing cold, even with the heat being on inside. After a cup of tea, he decided to change into pajamas and get under the covers of his bed.
He was in bed when Sören found him a few hours later. Sören sat on the edge of the bed, and gently pet him awake. "Elskan, are you all right?"
"No," Dooku said. He tried to sit up, and it hurt too much, so he lay back down. "Fuck," he said - normally not one for profanity outside sex, but he was so irritable from the incessant chill and the ache that he didn't care.
"OK, you're definitely sick." Sören pressed the back of his hand to Dooku's forehead. "You're a bit warm."
"I don't feel warm at all. I'm freezing."
"I'll take your temperature later. Have you eaten? I hear chicken soup is good when you're sick."
"I'm not hungry."
"You should still eat something."
"I suppose."
Dooku drifted off, and was woken up again by Sören with a tray of hot chicken soup. Sören sat next to him as he ate - Dooku was shaking enough from whatever it was he had that he spilled soup on himself, and felt embarrassed. Sören wiped at his shirt with a wet towel, nonplussed.
Just sitting up to eat some soup felt like a herculean effort, and Dooku needed to lay back down. Sören tucked him in and petted him until he fell back asleep. This took awhile, as tired as he was, because of the discomfort from aching and still not being able to stop shaking, which made him ache more.
When Dooku next woke up, he heard music across the hall, a sign that Sören was painting. Dooku wondered if Sören had turned up the thermostat because he'd complained about being cold, because now he was so hot he didn't even have covers on. His pajamas were damp with sweat. He still ached, and his head felt foggy. He felt the urgent need to go to the bathroom, but it took him a minute to even recall how to get from the bed to the bathroom, even though it was just a short distance away.
A few steps there, and suddenly his stomach lurched. He tried to rush to the bathroom, but he didn't make it in time, and there was now a puddle of vomit just outside the bathroom door. Dooku saw it and immediately felt embarrassed, and between that and just not feeling good he broke down crying on the toilet.
Sören heard him crying. He saw the mess immediately. "Oh, elskan."
"I'm sorry. I'll clean it -"
"You are going back to bed." Sören wagged his finger. "I will clean that up."
"But -"
Sören gave him a very stern look, which for all his trolling, he was quite good at.
Sören helped him back to bed, and Dooku lay there, watching as Sören scooped up the solid parts, then sprinkled baking soda over the mess. Just as Dooku was starting to fade back into sleep, he was woken by the sound of the vacuum cleaner. He growled at the noise and then immediately felt guilty - of course Sören had to clean that up right away, so it wouldn't stain.
When Sören was done vacuuming, Dooku closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep, but he was too hot and in tremendous pain. Some time later, he felt Sören poke him.
"Nico, put this under your tongue." It was a thermometer.
The last thing Dooku wanted to do was that, and even that simple act hurt. Sören waited, checking the clock, and when it was time he took out the thermometer. "You've got a fever," Sören said. "My educated guess is that you've got flu."
"Here I was hoping I'd just overdone it at the gym."
"No, you probably caught a bug at the gym, or anywhere else you've been the last couple of days," Sören said. "So here's what you're going to do. I'll call out on your behalf tomorrow -"
"No."
"What do you mean, no? You're not going to work like this. Not only do you need to rest and not make yourself worse, but you're not going to give this to your other co-workers."
"It's not that." Dooku frowned. "Having you call there, on my behalf, is what I'm complaining about."
"Why, though?"
Dooku sighed. He thought this would have been more obvious to Sören, after discussions they'd had. "I'm not out. If you call in on my behalf, it's going to raise questions that I'm not prepared to answer."
"I see." Sören attempted to keep the edge out of his voice, but Dooku could feel it creep in there anyway, and now he felt even worse, knowing he'd upset his bondmate just a little. "Do you want me to wake you up tomorrow morning then so you can make the call yourself?"
"Yes, please." Then Dooku said, "Thank you for understanding -"
Sören cut in with, "We'll... discuss that subject at another time. In the meantime, the vomiting and the fever means fluid intake is important, so I'm going to make a run to the store to get you some Gatorade."
Dooku didn't know how long Sören was gone, but Sören was waking him up again with a bottle of orange Gatorade. "Drink," Sören said.
It tasted awful to him, but Sören wasn't going to let him not drink it, so he drank. When he'd drank enough to please Sören, Sören put the half-full bottle at his bedside and put a cool, damp washcloth on his head. "Rest." Sören pulled up the covers to Dooku's waist, and rubbed his back until he went to sleep.
Dooku woke up in the middle of the night again to vomit once more - this time he managed to do so in the sink - and he was on the toilet for quite awhile. He was freezing again when he climbed back in bed beside Sören, who responded by wrapping himself around Dooku, holding him tight.
"I'm sorry to wake you up," Dooku said.
"Stop apologizing, you can't help being sick." Sören kissed Dooku's sweaty forehead. "It's going to be all right. I already called Frankie's aunt and I'm taking the next couple days off to take care of you."
Dooku remembered that Sören had been in medical school once, and had even done an internship in a remote Icelandic village before suffering a breakdown from the stress of it all. Dooku could see that Sören would have made a fine doctor - he had a warm, gentle bedside manner, happy to be of whatever help he could. Dooku patted his bondmate's shoulder. "I love you."
"I know. I love you too. Now get your arse to sleep."
Getting back to sleep was difficult, with how much he hurt all over, and staying asleep was a chore. He kept running to the bathroom. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this ill, and the powerlessness of it all terrified him. When it came time for him to call out of work, Sören had to dial the number for him, and Dooku could only choke out a few words to the chamber's receptionist. Thankfully, it had not gone unnoticed that he'd had to leave early due to illness, so it wasn't a big deal for him to take the rest of the week off.
Or at least, it wasn't a big deal as far as the chamber was concerned. Dooku felt awful about it once Sören hit the "end" button on the call. He had responsibilities, and he couldn't fulfill them.
"I also talked to Leja last night," Sören said.
"Oh no."
"I told her I won't be able to do the show on Thursday because you're sick."
"Sören. I would have understood if you'd gone to the show without me..."
Sören shook his head. "I would have been miserable the whole night. These events are hard enough for me as it is, never mind without my biggest source of emotional support." Sören squeezed Dooku's shoulder.
"I hope Leja wasn't too angry..."
"She was more worried about you, than she was upset about me cancelling. I gave her enough notice that she's going to do a quick reschedule with a charity concert or something, some art rock band. We did talk about rescheduling the show for sometime in early February. Hopefully neither of us will be sick then."
"Hopefully not." Dooku frowned, and attempted a small, weak smile. "I feel bad..."
"Like I told you last night, Nico, stop apologizing. It's not your fault you're sick. So I rescheduled my show for a few weeks, that's not the end of the world, and it means I can bang out a couple more paintings before then, maybe make some extra money." Sören smirked.
"I still feel awful about it." Dooku sighed. "I feel bloody awful, in general."
"Jæja, and this is why you need to get some more rest." Sören kissed his forehead.
Sören came back awhile later with some weak tea and toast. It turned out Dooku couldn't even keep that down, in and out of the bathroom again. Between trips to the bathroom he went between states of being awake, achy and miserable, and sleep that didn't feel restful at all, having wild, disturbing dreams. He was hot, and cold, and hot, and cold, back and forth between wanting no covers and needing extra covers. Every time he moved his body it hurt. Just going to the bathroom made him feel exhausted.
Time and rest didn't help - he felt like he was getting worse, not better, with each trip to the bathroom, wondering how he was even producing anything at all. After another fever dream, Sören woke him to take his temperature again, and Dooku watched as Sören looked at the thermometer and frowned.
"What's your physician's number?" Sören asked.
"I... don't remember." Dooku was used to remembering these things, and it scared him that he couldn't, feeling so foggy from the illness. "It's in my phone, under Kingsley."
When Sören called, Dooku felt the same twinge of alarm he'd felt when Sören had offered to call the chamber on his behalf, but at this point Dooku felt too weak and awful to complain. Sören asked for Dr. Kingsley to make a house call, and Dooku fell back asleep. Then, about two hours later, judging by the clock, there was the doctor, smiling at him with perfect white teeth contrasting against very dark skin.
"Mister Dooku," Dr. Kingsley said in his rich Jamaican accent. "I hear you have a bad case of the flu."
Dooku just nodded.
Dr. Kingsley took his vitals, and then he and Sören stepped out of the bedroom and had a bit of a chat about Dooku's symptoms, what the last couple of days had been like, and Dooku's activities prior to contracting the flu. Dooku finally heard Dr. Kingsley say, "His fever is high enough that if it doesn't go down in the next three hours I'd recommend sending him to the emergency room."
"To be honest I thought about sending him now," Sören said, "but I wanted to get a second opinion."
"I've seen these kinds of high fevers go down," Dr. Kingsley said, "and of course you want to avoid an unnecessary trip to the emergency room so he doesn't get sicker, as sometimes people do when they're in a hospital surrounded by other people who are sick. So I don't blame you for calling me first."
"It's good of you to come," Sören said. "I've been scared."
"It's good of you to take care of him," Dr. Kingsley said. "You're a good friend. Neighbor? Housekeeper?"
Sören coughed and said, "I'm his partner."
When Dooku had his birthday physical and had been asked if he was sexually active and affirmed - after years of the answer always being no - Dooku wasn't pressed as to whether he was sexually active with men, women, or both, and had been grateful for that; Dr. Kingsley just cared if he was playing it safe, or needed Viagra. But now, Dr. Kingsley knew, and Dooku felt a pit of dread rising in his stomach. He understood Sören wasn't in the habit of lying, but...
"Ah. Well, if he has to go to hospital and things... get worse... that means you can claim next of kin and make decisions on his behalf. Hopefully it won't come to that, but the flu can be vicious to the elderly."
"I know. I was in medical school, I had an elderly patient die from it."
"Keep an eye on him, yes. Like I said, in three hours if his fever doesn't go down have him go to the emergency room. If his fever does go down a little, then give him the Kaopectate."
"Thank you, Doctor Kingsley."
"You're welcome. I hope he feels better soon and remember to take care of yourself, too, mon. We don't want you getting sick either."
Dr. Kingsley left; Sören had Dooku drink some more Gatorade. Dooku fell back asleep, woke up to use the bathroom again - god, how he hurt, ached into his bones - and then drifted in and out of consciousness until Sören poked him. He had the thermometer again. Sören sat next to him, looking anxious as Dooku kept the thermometer under his tongue, moaning with discomfort. Finally Sören pulled it out and looked at it, and Dooku heard the audible sigh of relief.
"Your fever has dropped by two degrees," Sören said. "You're still running a temp, but it's not scary high like it was when I decided to call your doctor."
Sören gave him more Gatorade, with a Kaopectate pill. "He didn't want you taking this sooner in case you'd have had to go to the hospital and be given some sort of meds there."
Dooku swallowed it, and downed the Gatorade. Sören had another, and he started gulping that down - even though he hated the taste of it, he couldn't remember being thirstier in his life.
"Get some more rest," Sören said, "I'll come back in awhile with toast and broth."
That sounded unappealing, but Dooku didn't argue with him. When Sören came back with the food, Dooku felt so weak it was difficult to hold a spoon, and Sören decided to spoon-feed him, as well as pull apart pieces of toast with his fingers and let Dooku eat the toast from his fingers, like the way Dooku gave Dragos treats.
The way Sören fed him and doted on him as he was being fed - petting his face and whiskers, skritching him - was adorable and somewhat comforting, but he still felt embarrassed, not just for being in such an undignified state, but Sören having to take care of him like this. If Sören minded, he wasn't letting it show, and indeed, Sören's tender loving care seemed full of genuine tenderness and love. But Dooku still felt guilt, nonetheless. He felt absolutely useless.
It wasn't just that, however - the flu can be vicious to the elderly and I had an elderly patient die from it were echoing in Dooku's mind. He was sixty-nine now, the last year of his sixties. He had outlived the age his parents were when they died. Of course, his parents had endured World War II and its privations - they'd come to the United Kingdom before Romania formally adopted communism, but just what they'd experienced before that had taken a toll on their health, resulting in them dying in their mid-sixties when Dooku was in his thirties. Dooku hadn't experienced the hardships they had, and medicine had advanced so much since they'd died back in the 1980s. Unlike his father, Dooku wasn't a smoker. But that he was now older than his parents were at the time of their death, and knowing that even with his good health he was at an age that made him more vulnerable to things like a simple cold or flu... that just this flu could completely incapacitate him as it had done... it shook him. One of the fears that flashed in his mind was being older than he was now, finally succumbing to some illness as a result of old age, being bedridden, unable to care for himself... and how that would affect Sören. Already in just two days, Dooku was completely dependent on the younger man. Was it fair to put him through this again, but for longer, and far worse, down the road? Especially with knowing Sören had quit medical school and had a nervous breakdown because of the stress of his internship, watching people suffer and die... feeling it, in the Force. Sören had given him life, but what had he given to Sören? And what would he be taking away?
Dooku didn't want to think about that. Mercifully, he was still too sick to think about much for long. He drank more Gatorade, and went back to sleep.
On Thursday - the day when Sören would have had his solo exhibit at Leja's gallery - Dooku was still sick, though there was an improvement from Wednesday. His fever was starting to go down. The Kaopectate had stopped the runs. He still felt weak, achy, exhausted, and miserable, but it seemed like the worst of it was over. He ate more toast and broth - he still didn't have an appetite, but Sören made him eat. When Sören was ready for bed, he brought in fresh linens - Dooku had been sweating so much the last two days - and then Sören paused and asked, "Would you like a sponge bath?"
Dooku felt embarrassed again, but he did need to bathe after all the sweating and the shitting and the vomiting, especially if Sören was putting clean sheets on the bed, and he was still too weak to try to take a shower on his own. He nodded. Sören helped him undress, and then gently began to rub him down with a soapy washcloth.
"It's too bad you haven't been feeling well," Sören said. "Just looking at you is getting me worked up."
Dooku smiled. It did cheer him up, a little.
As tired and disgusting as Dooku felt, his cock still woke up when Sören washed it, making Sören grin. Sören began to wash it more slowly and deliberately, which got him a bit aroused, more when he saw the bulge in Sören's pajama bottoms. But then Sören was washing his legs, and Sören said, matter-of-factly, "Roll over."
Sören rubbed Dooku's back as he washed it. Dooku felt embarrassed again at having his ass washed, but the way Sören rubbed the washcloth also continued to build his arousal, so he almost didn't care. Sören continued rubbing his back with his free hand. He washed and washed, making sure Dooku was all cleaned up, and then he washed the back of his thighs and legs. When Sören rolled Dooku over, Sören looked at Dooku's full erection, and then down at his own.
"I think that fucking is off the table tonight," Sören said. "You still need to rest and get your strength back."
"I know," Dooku said.
"But..." Sören gave him a mischievous smile. "I can still take care of that for you."
Sören took Dooku into his mouth, and Dooku groaned. The blowjob was slow and sweet - Sören held Dooku's hand, squeezing it reassuringly, and Dooku pet Sören's face, stroked his curls, letting Sören see the love in his eyes, wanting him to feel how much he appreciated this, how much he appreciated him. As unsexy as being sick was, Sören still had a way of making him feel like a sex god, salvaging the last of the pride that had been broken through this ordeal. Part of Dooku's misery was feeling like this was the beginning of the end, a "new normal" of being invalid and needing Sören to care for him, but here and now, they were getting back to the way things were. He could feel the life flowing back into him, and when he at last came in Sören's mouth, the relief the orgasm gave him was the best medicine.
The orgasm also made him tired. He started dozing off, and then he felt shaking next to him - he opened his eyes and saw Sören stroking himself, obviously aroused from having given the blowjob. Dooku groaned at the delicious sight of it, wishing he weren't so spent. His eyes were riveted on Sören masturbating, and then finally Dooku felt he needed to do something to help, so he cupped Sören's chin in his hand and turned his face so they could kiss. And with that kiss, Sören climaxed, shooting cum over both of them. Dooku moaned, wishing again he weren't too exhausted. Sören collected some of the cum on his fingers and stuck them in Dooku's mouth to taste.
Dooku moaned again, savoring the taste of his bondmate. "That's the best thing I've put in my mouth in days." He nuzzled Sören. "I wish I could have done more."
Sören patted him. "It's all right. You're already doing better, you can just make it up to me once you're well again." Then he gave Dooku a gentle nudge. "I need to make this bed now."
Dooku leaned against the wall as Sören made the bed with fresh sheets. The crisp, cool cloth felt as wonderful as the orgasm had felt, deepening the post-orgasmic relief. Dooku melted into the clean sheets, making a little contented noise. Soon he felt Sören's arms around him, legs entwined.
Dooku got up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom - just a normal trip - and then he had more Gatorade. He also had an appetite for the first time in days, but he was still too exhausted to try to walk down the hall and rummage for food in the kitchen. So he went back to sleep. Sören brought him breakfast in bed at his usual wake-up time; this time there was oatmeal porridge, which Sören had flavored with cinnamon and sugar, and slices of banana. For something so simple it was like ambrosia.
"If you can keep that down, I'll make you a real dinner tonight," Sören said.
"Thank you." Dooku kissed Sören, softly.
Dooku's fever had broken. He was still not fully recovered, so it was another day at home, but he didn't want to spend all of it in bed, either. Sören set him up in the living room with Gatorade and some lighter snacks like saltines, to watch television while he was down the hall painting. Dooku quickly got bored of what was on TV, but his head was still too foggy to try to read a book - he only got a few paragraphs in before he felt hazy and lost the ability to concentrate. So it was back to TV, and a nap on the couch, and when he woke up Sören was making dinner.
The chicken, potatoes and mixed vegetables were even better than the porridge that morning. Dooku was grateful to have an appetite again, and hoped he'd be able to keep everything down, but it did seem like the worst of it was over. Dooku offered to do the dishes, out of force of habit since Sören had cooked, but Sören vehemently shook his head.
"You're still not well enough for that," Sören said. "Go rest for awhile."
Dooku sat with Dragos - Sören told him over dinner the cat had been keeping vigil at Dooku's bedside or on the floor near the bed, most of the week. Dragos kneaded on him, purring, lulling him half-asleep. When Sören was ready he scooped Dragos off Dooku's lap and helped him down the hall, into bed. Dooku lamented that he was so tired so early, and Sören said, "You're still recovering. It's OK."
Dooku woke the next morning early, with a raging hard-on. Every nerve in his body screamed for sexual release. Calm down, Dooku told himself. You went most of your life without it, and were fine... But now that he'd been having it, and gotten used to it, it was like a drug. Dooku's mind flashed back to the night before last, when Sören had masturbated next to him, and that just flamed his arousal even more.
Sören was woken with a kiss, and he gave Dooku a sleepy smile. That smile broadened into a grin when he felt Dooku's erection pressed against him. "Oh my, what's this?" Sören asked. He reached down to rub Dooku through his pajamas. "Feeling better, are we?"
Dooku kissed him again, harder, deeper. When they pulled apart, breathless, their eyes met. "You told me I could make it up to you once I was well again."
"That I did."
They kissed again, and again, and soon their pajamas were in a heap on the floor. Laying side by side, Sören hooked an arm around Dooku's waist and Dooku slid into him, and fucked Sören slowly, sensually, savoring every moment of catching up. He knew he'd missed their lovemaking, but the feeling of union with his bondmate was deep, resounding joy in every fiber of his being. Every kiss, every touch, every gaze was perfect in its timing and its beauty. Dooku kept the pace slow as long as he could, needing to feel and feel and feel, but at last the sensation and lust got the better of him, and with a growl he rolled Sören onto his back and plowed him hard, fucking him into the mattress. Sören loved it, whimpering, screaming, clawing Dooku's back, and when Sören came it was more explosive than Dooku had ever seen or felt, and that brought Dooku over the edge into an orgasm almost frightening in its intensity. They melted together in the Force, truly one flesh, not knowing where one ended and the other began in the endless throbbing waves of pleasure.
They lay there gasping for breath, and then kissed deeply, their palms pressed together, fingers entwined. "I missed that," Dooku said, then more softly, "I missed you."
"I missed you too." Sören smiled, and let go of Dooku's hand to pet his face, his whiskers. "I missed you all week." He frowned. "I was very worried about you for awhile there, and I did a lot of thinking about what would happen if..." His voice trailed off and he swallowed hard, fighting off tears.
"Love." Dooku's voice was husky with emotion. He fought off the returning mental image of growing older, being infirm and bedridden, Sören a wreck trying to take care of him. He stroked Sören's face and leaned in to kiss Sören's forehead. "I survived." He took Sören's hand and pressed it to his lips to kiss, before pressing it to his heart. "At some point, we should indeed talk about..." He didn't need to say it, and as importantly, didn't want to say it.
"At some point we should, just like we should at some point talk about you not being out." Sören pursed his lips.
Dooku felt a little sting across their Force bond - he hadn't realized that the matter of him not having come out to people like his co-workers or his physician would be such a sore spot with the younger man. "We will." Then Dooku stroked Sören's face again, lost in his beautiful, expressive dark eyes. He could feel Sören's hurt, and he wanted to make it better, somehow. "But right now, I don't want to talk."
He claimed Sören's mouth with his, and took both of their spent cocks into his hand, coaxing them back to life. A minute later Sören rolled him onto his back, reaching with the Force for their lube, and for the next while, all their cares were pushed away.
chapter 21 | return to Northern Lights | return to Other Tolkien Fic | return to index