Don't Threaten Me With A Good Time: Chapter 21

After Dooku's bout with the flu, life returned to normal, with Dooku and Sören back to their usual routines. Things were in fact so back to normal that they never got around to having the talk about Dooku's advancing age, or the matter of his not being out. There were times when Dooku considered bringing it up, but quickly decided against it. For the time being, they were in a holding pattern, and that was their refuge from the stresses of their jobs; Dooku didn't want to rock the boat and create more stress for them both.

Then the beginning of February came.

Sören's exhibit was rescheduled for Friday, February 9th. Sören had been working feverishly on some last-minute pieces for the show, and had to have them all picked out by no later than Wednesday, so they could be brought to the gallery and displayed, and Sören and Leja would be working together on where each painting was located. On Tuesday, the night before, Frankie came for dinner - part of Sören and Dooku's routine had been having Frankie over once or twice a week, and having Qui and Obi over once a week or going to their house for dinner. While it was more social activity than Dooku had been used to in a long time, he didn't particularly mind it, and he rather enjoyed seeing Sören animated around his best friend.

Sören and Frankie had also further bonded over Margrét; Margrét and Frankie had been in regular contact over e-mail and Skype since Margrét went back to Iceland after the holidays, and Margrét had plans to visit London again in the spring, and Frankie in particular. It became obvious from the way Frankie talked about Margrét that she had a crush on her, but still felt shy about saying or doing anything to express her interest, and Sören was once again trying to convince Frankie to tell Margrét already. Frankie finally made a bid to change the subject by saying, "You wanted me to give you a second opinion on the paintings for your show, yeah?"

Sören gave Frankie a look and wagged his finger, but then he turned to Dooku and asked, "Is it all right if she sees the meditation room?"

If it had not been revealed that Frankie was Force-sensitive, Dooku would have said no, but he simply nodded. Sören pulled Frankie up from the couch and they walked down the hall, while Dooku sat in his armchair, watching the news.

From down the hall, Dooku heard Frankie squeal at the sight of what Sören had done with the meditation room itself, and he smiled, feeling pride in his bondmate's artistic talents. Then they were talking, and Dooku's concentration floated back to the news for the next few minutes, until he heard Frankie yell "D'AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW."

Dooku couldn't help but eavesdrop, tuning his sensitive hearing to the conversation. He heard Frankie say, "That's so sweet." Then Frankie made vomiting noises. "Gross, but sweet."

"Fuck you," Sören teased. "But I think that's my finest work."

"I agree," Frankie said. "You should definitely show that one. Just... it would be weird to sell it and have it on display on someone else's house, y'know wot I mean?"

"That one wouldn't be for sale," Sören said. "The others, yes, but not this. I'd never intended to sell this one."

Sören and Frankie came back a few minutes later, and had one more cup of tea before Sören brought Frankie back to Greenwich on the back of his scooter. When Sören returned he was in good spirits. He put his arms around Dooku and said, "Now it's your turn to give me an opinion."

Dooku went through Sören's canvases - some of which had been painted before they met. Sören had over fifty paintings and had to narrow the showcase down to thirteen regular paintings and one pièce de résistance. Dooku went with a combination of Sören's older work and newer work, and just before he could select the thirteenth regular painting and his choice for the centerpiece, he finally noticed that one of the canvases Sören had out for selection was the one he'd painted for Dooku's birthday, of the two of them naked, albeit in a pool of water from the waist down, embracing and kissing under the aurora.

"You..." Dooku looked at Sören, and at the painting, and at Sören again. "Frankie saw this?"

"Já," Sören said, nodding. He picked up on Dooku's discomfort and said, "It isn't like she doesn't know we fuck. And she agrees with me that that's my best one and should go in the show."

"Well, I would agree that it is your finest painting. But -"

Sören took a deep breath. He folded his arms.

"Let's sit down and have a talk," Dooku said.

They sat down in the living room, Dooku in the armchair, Sören on the couch. A few moments of awkward silence passed, as Dooku gathered his words. Finally he spoke. "I love that painting," Dooku said. "But I don't want it in the show."

"It wouldn't be for sale, just for display," Sören assured him. "It was your birthday present, I'm not selling that."

"That's not..." Dooku sighed. "What I'm objecting to isn't on the basis of it having been a birthday present, Sören."

Sören pursed his lips, looking a little annoyed.

"If I go with you to the event - as I intend to, because I want to be there for you - it is going to be very, very obvious that painting is of us, in a rather... intimate pose. And even if I were to not go with you to the event, Leja's gallery is patroned by people in the area who do know me, some of whom are my colleagues at work. They would recognize me in that painting." Dooku sat back in his chair. "I don't have an objection to you using the other painting where I'm a subject - the one you painted of me at the Dimmuborgir, with my cape blowing in the wind, where it looks almost mythical. But I would prefer that you not show the painting of us, even though it is your finest work to date and I understand the purpose of this show is to get you exposure through the best you have to offer. As I've told you more than once before, I'm not out."

"Well, I am," Sören said. "I've been out since I was sixteen, which is seventeen years being openly gay."

"I understand that," Dooku said.

"I'm not going back in the closet for you or anyone."

"I wasn't asking you to."

"In a way, you kind of were," Sören said. "Look. Nico. Over the years I've been showing my art, I've had the occasional interview in zines where I've mentioned I'm gay, and this can be Googled if you're looking for me on the Internet. At the show on Friday I have to have a short bio with my work, and that bio mentions I live in Bermondsey with my partner. I don't name him, but even if you've never heard of me, never read an interview with me, in art circles 'partner' usually infers 'same-sex partner', because it's a given that a fuckton of us are queer. If you come with me to my show, you're not even going to hold my hand in public? I can't introduce you as my partner?"

Dooku pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sören, I've mentioned this to you before but it's worth bringing up again - I was born in 1948. When I was your age, homosexuality was still seen as a very bad thing in society, enough that it was a contributing factor to why I didn't act on certain curiosities I had. There has only really been a change of public opinion over the last decade or so, and even now, in 2018, there is still a strong conservative presence in England that adheres to more 'traditional values'. My profession in particular tends to have a number of people in that category. I haven't been able to be fired from my job on the grounds of sexual orientation since 2003, but that doesn't mean that disclosing something like that would be well-received either - there are ways to create a hostile work environment."

"You could just say fuck em and retire?"

Dooku glared. "No, I bloody well could not. I haven't already retired. Just because I am an old man doesn't mean I can't continue to work if I want to, and I have been doing this since I graduated from Oxford over forty years ago. It is my life, for better or worse. Just 'retiring', especially over drama I could have easily prevented by keeping my private life private, is not an attractive option to me."

"Well, being with a closeted partner isn't an attractive option to me either," Sören said. "Love you as I do, I'm kind of done being with self-loathing, closeted, conflicted gay men."

"It sounds like there's some history behind that statement."

"There is. My longest-term relationship was with a closeted gay man - a Brazilian, named Alejandro, a musician - who eventually chose a 'normal' life, over me. He wasn't even in love with the girl he married, he just did it to please his family."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Dooku sighed. "But I'm not him. There is rather a big difference between not wanting to make a public proclamation, and pretending I'm heterosexual. I'm not about to go after a wife and children. And I'm not ashamed of who I am - this isn't about shame."

"Nico, I'm not asking you to march in a parade, or start flying a rainbow flag on your car, or sing show tunes at work. What I'm asking is that we not have to hide who we are. It doesn't mean you have to stand on your desk at the chamber and yell, 'HEY GUESS WHAT EVERYBODY, I'M GAY!' But the idea that we can't be affectionate in public, I can't introduce you as my partner... it doesn't sit well with me." Sören frowned. "Especially because you are getting older. I know that you're in really good health, and good shape..." He attempted a wink, to try to lighten the mood. "But you were also very ill a month ago, to the point where I considered having you brought to the hospital. And if there ever comes a time when you're sick enough that has to be a thing... or if I'm sick enough, for that matter... and you're too incapacitated to make medical decisions for yourself, or I can't for myself, then we can claim next of kin and make medical decisions for the other. But that involves having to tell a doctor, 'This is my same-sex partner.'"

"On that note, you outed me to my physician," Dooku said.

"I'm... surprised he didn't already know, to be honest? Doctors usually want to know if their patient is in the 'men who have sex with men' category, because even with me being clean and us being monogamous, he'll want you to get tested every now and again."

"That still wasn't your place to tell him."

"He fucking asked me what my relationship was to you. What was I supposed to do, lie?"

Dooku didn't have an answer for that. Sören gave an exasperated sigh.

Then Sören said, "Also? While you're worrying about how your posh barrister co-workers might react to finding out you have a boyfriend? You were there when you saw my aunt Katrín spew her hatred at me on her deathbed. Now imagine growing up with that. Imagine coming out when you were sixteen, living with that - she was like that before she got religion, her religion was just a way to justify it. And seventeen years ago, when I came out, Iceland wasn't quite as progressive on LGBT issues as it is now. It wasn't uncommon for gay people to get harassed on the street, when I was younger. I moved to Reykjavik from Akureyri because of that, actually, even though I never quite adjusted to life in the big city."

Dooku folded his hands - he could hear the anger rising in Sören's voice, could feel it boiling in their Force bond.

Sören went on. "The sad thing is I know lots of people who've had it far worse than myself. Countless people who got thrown out by their parents, on the street, for coming out. Frankie is one of those people - her mum flipped her shit when Frankie came out to her, and if her aunt hadn't been around she'd be homeless in London, probably. She still doesn't talk to her mother. And since I moved to London over two years ago? I hear the odd homophobic slur, I've had people threaten me in public restrooms just for innocently going to the bathroom next to them, and all of that shite. Some dude pulled a knife on me once."

Dooku sighed.

Sören continued, with even more of an edge in his voice. "And then we have my sister. You want to tell me how hard you might have it at your cushy job where you still will not be fired if they find out? Because that shite has been illegal in the UK since 2003? Well, let me tell you - my sister is self-employed because even in Iceland, a so-called 'progressive' country on LGBT rights issues, she was denied work I don't know how many fucking times. And she still worries about using public restrooms, yes, even in 2018 in Iceland, people still say shit to her once in awhile. When she travels outside Iceland, she has to worry about possibly being beaten to death, or worse. And yet, she is what she is. She lives as a woman, even though she's over six feet tall and you can tell she has an Adam's apple and her voice is deep for a woman's, so it's a bit obvious to most people she's trans. She's not living a lie, trying to be male so society won't give her its bullshit. So you're asking the wrong fucking person to go back in the fucking closet and be sympathetic over whether or not your co-workers get a little passive-aggressive to you."

Dooku waited, wanting to make sure Sören was done ranting - he knew interrupting Sören would make him even more upset. After a few moments of silence, Dooku finally said, "Just because I have not suffered as much as you, or your sister, does not mean my concerns are not valid. You and Frankie and your sister and many others have endured much. But I was a young man when the Stonewall riots happened and you were not even a gleam in your parents' eyes. You were not there when AIDS was new and enough hatred and vitriol was unleashed upon the gay population that I felt it was better to spend the rest of my life alone, however lonely I was, however much it hurt, than risk being outed in those days. I sacrificed a lot for the sake of my career, which is to serve the greater good, to be a force for justice in a cruel, unjust world. You think I work some sort of posh job because of my wig and my robes, I've eaten from a vending machine in a windowless brick room more times than I can count. I defend the innocent and the guilty alike, the innocent who are often racially profiled or some other unjust reason, and with those who are guilty, they are almost always in the criminal system because they have had too few opportunities, too much oppression, and are not bad people, just people who need to get their act together. I have had to be psychiatrist, social worker, father, to my clients, and am too often one of the first people who has ever demonstrated giving a damn about them. You will have to excuse me for wanting to take some precautions to not have all I've worked so hard for, destroyed like a house of cards."

Sören was quiet, reflecting on that, and then he replied with, "Keep telling yourself that you're fighting the good fight, that you're standing up for justice, when you can't even fucking stand up for yourself, Nico."

That comment stung like a slap in the face, and indeed, Dooku thought bitterly, it would have been kinder if Sören had slapped him. Dooku got up, departed to his study without a word, and spent the rest of the night there.

When it was time to go to bed, Dooku heard the TV in the living room, and poked his head in. Sören was watching TV with an unimpressed look on his face, idly petting Dragos.

"Come to bed," Dooku said.

Sören said nothing, just flipped a channel.

Dooku sighed, and went to their bedroom. He skipped his usual meditation routine - he didn't want to be in the meditation room, surrounded by the energy of Sören's paintings and Sören's energy, just then. He changed into his pajamas and went to bed, alone. When he got up the next morning, he was still alone in his bed, and it took him a few minutes to leave the bed, feeling like he was made out of lead.

His first act was to feed Dragos, and then he saw that Sören had fallen asleep on the couch, with a blanket wrapped around him. Dooku sat on the footstool next to the couch and lightly shook him awake.

Sören blinked slowly, and then they just looked at each other.

Despite Dooku's wounded feelings at their discussion last night - not the least of which being a wound to his pride, knowing Sören had some valid points - he couldn't bear the thought of Sören upset with him. He took Sören's hands in his and kissed them. "Sören," he said, "I'm sorry. Please just... bear with me as I figure all of this out." He frowned. "I'm scared. Please understand that. Just even having this, having someone, has been a big step for me. Change is difficult. I don't want to make you hide in the closet, that isn't fair to you, no. I just need time and a plan to figure out how to come out, myself."

Sören sat up, put his arms around Dooku, and held him tight for a moment. When they pulled apart they looked at each other again, and then Sören leaned in and kissed him hard. Dooku kissed him back, and his body responded to the kiss. After a few more kisses, Dooku peeled the sheet off Sören and picked him up off the couch, physically carrying him down the hall. He put Sören down on the bed and began to undress; Sören undressed also. Dooku went into the bathroom to turn on the shower, and Sören followed him into the shower.

Underneath the hot water they held each other, kissing, cocks rubbing together, and at last in the heat of passion, Dooku picked up Sören once more and pushed his back against the shower wall. He used the Force to bring over their lube from the bedroom, and as the bottle levitated in the air and poured over his cock, Sören began stroking Dooku's cock, working in the lube, then Sören helped guide it to his opening. Sören wrapped his arms and legs around Dooku and gasped and panted as Dooku pushed inside. Once he was all the way in, they kissed. Sören reached to stroke Dooku's face and they pressed their foreheads together, nuzzling, breathing each other's breath.

Then Dooku took him hard, pounding into Sören mercilessly, as Sören screamed, "Yes, yes, yes, fuck me, fuck me Nico, fuck me." Soon Dooku was kissing him again and Sören whimpered and moaned into each kiss. Dooku groaned too, overcome by the feeling of being in heat for his beloved, needing to fuck him, claim him, drive away any lingering resentment or doubt, so that nothing came between them. Sören's silken channel melting to him and the urgent need of their fuck almost undid him right away but he held back, thrusting fast and furious, cock throbbing and balls aching, waiting for Sören to come first. Wanting Sören to come hard.

And come hard Sören did, exploding all over Dooku's chest and stomach without his cock even being touched, just from the feel of Dooku's cock banging away at his prostate. At the delicious sounds of Sören's cries, and the sight and feel of his hot cum spraying him, marking his territory, Dooku gave into his own release, shuddering and crying out as he spent deep inside Sören, felt wave after wave of pleasure and relief. Then they kissed, moaning as they came down, rocking together slowly under the water cascading over them, melting all troubles away.

They didn't speak as they got dressed. Sören finally broke the silence as he walked Dooku to the front door. He put his arms around Dooku and kissed him again. "Have a good day at work," Sören said.

"You too."

"I love you."

"I know." Dooku smiled, and stroked Sören's face. "But I never get tired of hearing it. I love you too."

Sören nodded, and squeezed his hands. "We'll help you find your way, together."

Dooku nodded. He blew Sören a kiss and waved, and then he was off to work.

When he didn't have to go straight to court, his chamber typically started off the morning with tea and reading the newspaper. One of his colleagues, who was roughly the same age and who Dooku knew voted Tory, was reading the entertainment section. "Elton John is playing Vegas," he remarked. "I can't believe that old queen is still performing, at his age. Would have thought he'd be dead of AIDS a long time ago, or drugs, like too many of those lot do to deal with not being normal."

Dooku's face fell. He sipped his tea and said nothing - he gave the man a dirty look, but still said nothing. He thought about coming out right then and there, but felt flooded with anxiety, especially when no one else at the table challenged the statement. He was relieved when everyone got up from the table and it was time to start the actual work day... but also ashamed that he hadn't said anything.

He felt like he was at a crossroads, and either path terrified him. Yet, there was no standing still and no going back.

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