The next two days passed uneventfully - Sören and Dooku didn't pick the coming-out discussion back up - and then it was time for Sören's show.
Sören and Dooku wore the same outfits they'd worn to the show where they'd met back in October. Though Dooku felt ill at ease in a large crowd, he managed to take the edge off by ogling Sören in leather pants, watching his lithe frame work the floor, giving groups of gallery patrons the tour across his selected paintings.
At last Sören was back at his side again, and Sören directed him to the spread of hors d'oeuvres. Dooku could tell Sören wanted to take his hand, both for Dooku's reassurance and his own, but Sören was respectful of Dooku's concerns about public affection so he didn't.
After they had a few snacks, Sören and Dooku went around the room together, so Dooku could take a good look at the paintings on display for what might be the last time he saw some of them, being Sören had prospective buyers. Dooku lingered at the portrait of him at the Dimmuborgir - he'd been aware some people looked at the painting and looked at him, making the connection that he'd been the subject. The painting was called The Once and Future King, which seemed like an appropriate title due to the mythic feel of the piece, moreso for being set in a winter landscape with a dramatic sunset. Dooku felt a little odd that a painting of him might hang on someone else's wall, but it was indeed one of Sören's best pieces and he was glad to see Sören get the recognition and reward he deserved. He studied the painting - as usual, Sören had captured something ineffable with his brush, in this case, Dooku's melancholy, and lifelong sense of loneliness. It was something Sören understood well himself, though they coped with it differently.
Dooku was so lost in Sören's work that it took him longer than usual to feel someone staring at him. Dooku finally looked over his shoulder - a middle-aged woman in a vibrant tie-dyed shirt over a frilly dress, wearing several beaded necklaces of varying lengths, smiled and walked over to them.
She shook Sören's hand, and Sören, being a gentleman, took her hand and kissed it, European-style. She laughed and then said, "You have such a gift. Your work is absolutely magical." She turned to Dooku then and said, "You must be so proud of your son."
Dooku's jaw dropped.
Dooku wanted to say, "He isn't my son," but he couldn't. He couldn't make words at all, his mouth suddenly dry, anxiety stealing his ability to think.
Sören opened his mouth - seemingly about to correct her - and just then, Leja interrupted. "Sören," Leja said, "there's someone who's interested in five of your paintings and giving you a commission, if you'd come with me and we can negotiate price."
Sören nodded. He cleared his throat, said to the woman, "Excuse me," and then shot Dooku a look as he walked off.
Just before Dooku could finally gather his words to correct the woman's assumption, she was off, schmoozing with other gallery patrons. Which was just as well, because Dooku still felt anxiety gnawing at him, and it moved his feet without him really thinking about it. He spent the rest of the show in the bathroom, feeling wave after wave of self-consciousness about their age difference, the fears resurfacing about growing even older, and when the inevitable came. Was it fair to condemn Sören to this?
Sören found him in the restroom, over an hour later. Dooku realized it was a mirror of their first meeting, when it had been Sören hiding in the bathroom from anxiety. And though Dooku had picked up on Sören bristling at Dooku not immediately correcting the woman's assumption that Sören was his son, Sören cast his annoyance aside when he saw how shaken up Dooku was.
"Are you ready to go home?" Sören asked.
Dooku nodded. Then he choked out, "I'm sorry," and started to cry, a little.
Sören reached in his pants pocket and produced a handkerchief - his own - and handed it to Dooku, who wiped his face and began to take deep breaths, attempting to pull himself together before he left the sanctuary of the bathroom. A few minutes later they walked out of the restroom together, past the last few stragglers. Leja met them near the door.
"Goodnight," she said. She hugged each of them and kissed their cheeks. At the look on Dooku's face when they pulled apart, Leja gave him a quizzical look, but Dooku didn't want to elaborate on it, he just wanted to get out of there.
They drove home in silence. It was a Friday night but Sören had to work Saturday morning, and it was past their usual bedtime anyway, so instead of making love they just cuddled together. Sören fell asleep first, and Dooku watched him sleep as he tried to settle down. He felt conflicted between the love he felt for his bondmate - especially with Sören looking so beautiful as he slept - and the feeling of anxiety about their age difference, the increasing guilt of the burden his aging would place on the younger man. Dooku's anxiety and restlessness got bad enough that he thought about throwing his winter coat on over his pajamas and going for a walk outside, but he was reluctant to leave the warmth of their bed and the coziness of Sören next to him.
As if he detected the mood Dooku was in, Dragos hopped up from the footstool onto the bed. It took Dragos a moment to stretch before he walked over, slowly - the cat was fourteen years old now, needing stools to climb, and the hitch as he walked suggested arthritis. Dragos walked on top of the cuddling couple and settled onto Dooku's chest, kneading and purring. Dooku reached out to stroke the cat, and soothed by the sound of the deep, rumbly purrs, Dooku at last fell asleep.
_
Sören had accepted the commission he was given at the art show, but unfortunately the commission was on a tight deadline, which meant that over the next few days Dooku didn't see much of Sören - he would come out of the meditation room only to go to work, eat, bathe and use the bathroom, and sleep. However, Sören's creative energy was directly tied to sexual energy, and at least when they settled down in bed together, Sören wanted to make love.
Seeing less of Sören left Dooku alone with his thoughts more, and increasingly, they were clouded by fear and doubt. He couldn't stop thinking about their age difference, and feeling like he was being unfair to Sören, being selfish in some way. And not just for the matter of his advancing age, but his continued reluctance to come out. He knew Sören was upset about having to mask their relationship at the art exhibit, though Sören hadn't brought it up. They still hadn't resolved that issue, and Dooku was starting to see it as encapsulating the problem of their significant age difference - they were from two different generations, that might as well have been two different worlds.
Such was Dooku's downward spiral that when Sören crawled into bed on Tuesday night and said, "I'm finished," it was as if his heart stopped. Dooku couldn't breathe, his stomach sinking, his entire body frozen and leaden.
Then Sören leaned in and kissed the tip of his nose. "The commission is done. Do you want to see it?"
Dooku let out an audible sigh of relief. It took him a moment to get out of that panic response and unfreeze himself, simply nodding his head; fortunately it wasn't so dark that Sören couldn't see that.
Sören took him by the hand and led him across the hall to the meditation room. The canvas on the easel had a painting of a forest on fire, with a phoenix being born out of the flames. Dooku gave a small smile, and without thinking about it, reached behind Sören, tracing the outline of the tattoos on his back through the fabric of Sören's T-shirt - the pattern he'd memorized over the last few months, the tangible expression of the way Sören walked in beauty, with sensitivity and strength and grace. "That's gorgeous," Dooku said. "It's almost a pity you're selling that."
"I'd be sorrier to sell it if the money from it wasn't so good," Sören laughed. Then, obviously self-conscious, he ran a hand through his curls and said, "Not that I'm in this just for the money, but when you've been a starving artist -"
"There's nothing wrong with wanting to be compensated for your work." Dooku patted Sören's back.
"Anyway," Sören said, "I did ask my patron if she would allow me to make some prints of it so long as she got to keep the original, and she agreed to that. So at least there's that." Sören laughed again. "I don't know where you'd put it, since you have so much of my art on display..."
"Oh, I could hang it in the hall," Dooku said, "or on another wall in the living room, perhaps."
"Perhaps."
Dooku took a few more minutes to study the painting and appreciate it, and then Sören said, "Tomorrow, after work, I'm bringing that by her house, so I'll be a little late getting home."
Dooku nodded.
"But," Sören went on, "I have a little surprise for you."
Dooku raised an eyebrow.
"Tomorrow is Valentine's Day," Sören said.
"Ah, so it is." Dooku being a lifelong bachelor up till now, had never made much of the holiday, and February 14th often didn't even register with him as being a day out of the ordinary.
"I used a little of the money I'm being paid for this to, ah, do something romantic." Sören gave a nervous laugh. "I made reservations at a nice restaurant in London."
"Oh, you did."
Sören nodded.
"That was very nice of you." Dooku leaned in to give Sören a soft, gentle kiss.
Sören kissed him back, and the kiss grew heated. Soon they were walking backwards into their bedroom, undressing on the way to the bed. Sören pushed Dooku down on the bed, onto his back, and Sören kissed him even more hungrily, before kissing Dooku's neck and shoulder. Dooku moaned, and reached down to take both their already-hard cocks in his fist, stroking them together slowly, teasing them both. Sören's response was to start licking and suckling his nipples, knowing how sensitive he was there.
Feverish, Dooku used the Force to bring over the bottle of lube. Sören poured it over their cocks, and Dooku stroked them a little while longer as they kissed, and Dooku returned the favor to Sören's nipples, making Sören pant and whimper, bucking against him. When Sören couldn't take it anymore, he straddled Dooku's hips and slowly sank down on his cock. They both cried out when Dooku was all the way in, loving that first moment of connection, union of their flesh.
Sören rode him slowly, running his hands over Dooku's chest and arms and thighs. "I love you," he husked.
"I love you." Dooku looked up and into Sören's beautiful dark eyes, and reached to stroke Sören's face, his beard.
Sören leaned down and kissed him, hard. Dooku wrapped his arms around Sören and began to thrust into him harder, faster, feeling a sense of urgency rather than his usual need to take it slow and savor.
But even with the urgency, they still held back from coming too soon. Sören rode him hard, and Dooku pounded into him, for as long as they could. The tension built, the lust growing stronger as the wet slurping sound of their fuck and slap of Dooku's balls against Sören's ass got louder and louder, the delicious sight of both of them breaking a sweat. They fucked and fucked, completely lost in heat for each other.
Close to the finish, Dooku stroked Sören's cock in time with his thrusts - Sören's cock was leaking so much precum that his entire shaft glistened with it and it pooled over Dooku's hand. Sören collected some of it from Dooku's hand onto his fingers and stuck them in Dooku's mouth. Dooku groaned, sucking the precum from Sören's fingers. When Sören wiped more precum onto his own nipples for Dooku to lick off, Dooku almost lost it. At last, drawing Sören's nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, Dooku felt Sören begin to shoot; Sören threw back his head and let out a long howling wail, shuddering violently as cum erupted from his cock, soaking them both. Dooku cried out as his own orgasm overtook him, and Sören shuddered again and blasted more cum as he felt Dooku spending deep inside him.
They held each other, foreheads pressed together, gasping for breath, and then kissed deeply.
Dooku felt exhausted and exhilarated - he looked at the clock and noted they'd been fucking for close to forty-five minutes, which was something of a new record for them for one session. It was one of the most satisfying releases he'd ever had if not the most satisfying, feeling relief into his bones, melting him. The release was so shattering that when he looked at Sören and saw the love in his eyes, it made him start to cry.
Sören leaned in to kiss his tears, tenderly, which made him cry harder. Sören let him cry for a few minutes before nuzzling him and asking, "Are you OK?"
Dooku didn't know how to express what he was feeling, and he didn't completely understand all of it himself, but some of it was just the sense of how ephemeral it was, a beautiful moment in time, that had passed like a sunset or a rainbow and there would never be another quite like it. He looked at his magnificent bondmate, smiling and gentle and warm, and he ached with how deeply he'd fallen for the younger man, and how much he didn't want to hurt him, didn't want to break him, and he felt like that was still inevitable, somehow.
So Dooku said nothing. He just kissed Sören's soft, sweet lips, and nuzzled him, and said, softly, "I love you."
He pulled Sören close, and pet Sören to sleep. He watched Sören sleep for awhile, continuing to feel a sense of melancholy, but soon he was asleep as well.
_
Dooku was already home when Sören arrived home the next day, later than originally planned, late enough that they would have to rush to make the reservation in time. Dooku heard the sound of Sören's scooter and got up to let him in. He was about to ask if everything was all right, but the look on Sören's face told him it very much was not.
"I need to change," was all Sören said - he was in clothes more suited for the coffee shop than for a posh restaurant.
Sören quickly changed in their bedroom, and came out wearing leather pants and a white ruffly shirt with a black vest. He looked like a rock star, and Dooku felt that thrust in his loins just looking at him. The fact that Sören noticed Dooku was looking at him like he was dinner and didn't respond with flirting or teasing in some way was a bad sign.
The first few minutes of their trip in the Jaguar, they rode in silence; Sören had his arms folded, seething. Dooku finally asked, "What's wrong?"
Sören let out a sigh. "I don't even know where to begin."
"Are you very sure you still want to go to dinner? We could turn around and go home and get takeaway if you're not -"
Sören waved his hand dismissively. "It'll be a nice change of pace."
"All right."
Sören sighed again, and ran his hand through his curls. "So that commission I did."
"Yes."
"I brought it with me to work, so I could just take it with me on the way back to my patron's house."
Dooku braced himself.
"While I was in the restroom and Frankie was out in front, one of our customers somehow got in the back room. I came out of the bathroom just in time to see him making off with my painting and some other stuff. I chased after him, he had someone pick him up in a getaway car."
"Did you get the plates?"
Sören nodded. "Police report has been filed - by the way, I fucking hate the police. They acted like somehow we were up to something dodgy as opposed to the bloke who got in there and stole shit from us."
Dooku gave a small, rueful smile. "Most of my clients also hate the police, although usually because they're on the opposite end of the equation."
"Já, if they're acting like this to people who didn't even do anything wrong, I can only imagine how they are to your clients." Sören shook his head.
"But obviously your painting has not been recovered."
"No, it fucking has not. And as you know, I had to bring it over today because the person she's giving it to has their birthday on Friday. She was not happy, at all, and she gave me a lot of shit about it. And maybe I shouldn't have brought it to work with me but it's not like we get thieves in there every day? So I didn't think it was an incorrect assumption to bring my painting to work with me and it would still be there when my shift ended. But apparently this was my fault. So I had to refund her the money she paid for that commission, and she wanted it back immediately. Obviously I don't carry thousands of dollars on me at once. She insisted on going with me to the fucking bank and watching as I made a fucking withdrawal, rather than letting me go there myself and trusting me to come back with the money. She also got on the phone with Leja while I was still there and complained to her and told her she'd be withdrawing her monthly gallery membership if I was ever given a show there again."
"Bloody hell." Dooku took a hand off the wheel to pat Sören's knee. "I'm very sorry you went through that."
"Já, so am I."
"Should we even be doing this? Did you have to refund her for the other five pieces she bought, does she no longer want those?"
"I did not have to refund her for those. Though she made a remark about how she's probably going to sell them now so she doesn't have to look at them and have such a bad taste in her mouth." Sören sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I even told her I'd take the next two days off from work and paint it over again - I remember what I painted and how to paint it, I could make another. But she said no."
"That's bloody awful." Dooku frowned. "I wish there was something I could do."
They got a table for two in a quiet corner of the restaurant. They shared an assortment of appetizers - Sören was upset enough that he wasn't particularly hungry, so Dooku had to encourage him to eat. But nibbling on appetizers did seem to help take the edge off.
When Sören had been looking at the menu and musing aloud as to his considerations, Dooku noticed that Sören was looking at the least expensive choices on the pricey menu, while still encouraging him to get whatever he wanted. Dooku had the feeling that Sören was a little worried about the expenditure after having to refund the commission, and Dooku said, "Order whatever you want. We can split the bill, or I'll pay."
Sören frowned. "I feel bad. I don't want you to think I'm taking advantage of you. Once in awhile I'd like to be able to do nice things for you -"
"You already do a lot of nice things for me." Dooku started playing footsie with Sören under the table. "Like last night."
Sören smirked, and shoved a chicken tender in his mouth.
By the time their waiter came back, Sören managed to pull himself together enough to at least fake a smile when he ordered. Sören ordered a larger steak than what he'd originally considered, with a side of shrimp and scallops. Dooku had the same, and they also decided on the same soup and salad.
They were fairly quiet during their meal, and Sören seemed to relax a little. Dooku had room for dessert, and knew Sören had a sweet tooth and that might make him continue to ease up, so he handed Sören the dessert menu. When the waiter came back to take their dessert orders, and had jotted them down, he finally gave them a broad smile above and beyond professional courtesy.
Dooku raised an eyebrow. "Hm?"
"Ah, I just think it's sweet, is all," the waiter said. He looked at Sören and said, "Good of you to take your da out on Valentine's Day, the old folks shouldn't be alone then."
Dooku's jaw dropped. So did Sören's.
Before either of them could say anything, the waiter took off. When he came back with their desserts, Dooku muttered his thanks.
"Anything else?" the waiter asked.
"Já, there is one thing." With that, Sören leaned over to give Dooku a deep, passionate kiss.
Dooku gave a little whimper of initial protest, but couldn't help responding, melting into the kiss, kissing Sören back. Sören playfully rubbed his tongue against Dooku's before kissing him again, moaning "mmmmm" into the kiss. Then Sören pulled away and told the waiter, "He's not my father."
Dooku looked around nervously to see if he recognized anyone or anyone recognized him - they'd made a bit of a scene just now. Dooku shoveled down his cake as fast as he could, feeling an awkward mix of arousal and self-consciousness, while Sören took his time. When Sören realized Dooku was rushing, he went even more slowly, which Dooku bristled at - surely Sören knew how uncomfortable he was.
A different waitstaff handled their check, and Dooku and Sören walked out to the Jaguar in silence. They were almost home before either of them spoke again.
"Next time you do that I'd like some advance warning," Dooku said.
"I don't see what the bloody problem is," Sören said. "Yet again, someone assumed you were my father. I couldn't do anything about it at the gallery but this time? What did you want me to do, just smile and nod and lie?"
"No, but -"
"There is no but," Sören said, anger thickening his accent. His eyes flashed and his nostrils flared. "I've had a really fucking awful day and you know how upset I am and right now I feel like you're ashamed to admit I'm your partner or something -"
"That's not true at all -"
"Actions speak louder than words, Nico." Sören folded his arms. "And right now, your unwillingness to take a stand for me is pretty fucking deafening."
"I'm sorry you feel that way."
"Oh here we go with the fucking clever wording. I'm sorry you feel that way, as if how I feel about this is all on me and has nothing to do with you deciding I'm good enough to fuck but not good enough to present as your partner -"
"Enough." Dooku could feel his own anger building - including anger at himself. He shot Sören a look that immediately made Sören go silent.
The silence continued until they reached their neighborhood. As they rode down the street, approaching their house, Dooku said softly, "Look. It's Valentine's Day. You've had a bad day. It was not my intent to make it worse. Let me take care of you and make you feel better when we get inside."
Sören gave a small nod. "All right."
The shower in the bathroom adjacent to their bedroom was a walk-in and did not have a tub, but the guest bathroom did have a tub. It was a bit cramped for two men over six feet tall, but they tried it anyway, taking a candlelit bubble bath together, sipping wine.
They relaxed in the bath in silence for a little while, and finally Sören spoke and said, "This is nice."
Dooku nodded and smiled. "I'm glad you approve." He reached out to take Sören's hand, and squeeze. "I love you."
"I love you." Sören reached and began to rub Dooku's chest, at last leaning in for a kiss. "I'm sorry I've been in such a foul mood tonight -"
"It's rather understandable," Dooku said. "And I'm sorry if I've said or done anything to give the impression that I'm somehow ashamed of you. Nothing could be further from the truth." Dooku sighed. "I am an old man who's been through a bit of a radical life adjustment and it's still... taking a lot of getting used to. To be quite honest, I feel like I'm too old for a lot of this."
"You're not too old." Sören kissed him again. "You're not too old at all."
Dooku wasn't so sure of that, but he wasn't going to argue with Sören again. He groaned and kissed Sören back, and soon they were kissing passionately and necking in the tub, roaming soapy hands over each other. A few minutes later Sören got up and out of the tub, and Dooku looked up to see Sören fully erect.
"Let's go to bed," Sören husked.
They snuffed out the candles in the bathroom, drained the tub, and then climbed into bed together. They spent a long time just kissing, and then their hands began roaming again. Dooku took Sören's cock into his hand and stroked it slowly, and Sören took Dooku's cock into his hand to stroke as well, but try as he might, Dooku could not get hard. It was the first time since the consummation of their relationship that Dooku had not been able to get an erection. He remembered Dr. Kingsley's words back on his birthday in December, that this was a common problem for men his age, and Dooku had felt at the time he must be something of an anomaly for not having any trouble with it. But now, even though there was indeed a plausible explanation for why Dooku stayed soft - he was still feeling the residual stress and anxiety from earlier, and the additional sting of yet another person assuming he was Sören's father, which reinforced that feeling of being too old - Dooku also wondered if it was his age. And that made him tense up even more.
He also felt a tremendous sense of guilt. Sören was hard, and had a rough day - he needed to feel better. Dooku wanted to please him. But Sören took more satisfaction when it was mutual, when he was able to please his partner as well as being pleasured himself. So even as he took Sören into his mouth and sucked him to an ejaculation, he could sense across their Force bond that it wasn't quite as satisfying for him as other activities would have been - it was definitely not what Sören had planned. And as Sören dozed off post-orgasm, Dooku felt almost crushed by the weight of the guilt and the conflict inside him.
It's only going to go downhill from here.
As much as he hated it, Dooku knew what he had to do.
_
The next evening, they ate at home - Dooku cooked, and Sören did dishes, as their usual routine. When Sören had loaded the dishwasher, Dooku said, "Sören, we need to talk."
Sören followed him into the living room. He sat on the couch, expecting Dooku to sit next to him, but Dooku took the armchair instead.
Dooku paused, considering his words, and finally Sören said, "You wanted to talk, so talk."
Dooku cleared his throat. His hands began to shake as he said, "Sören... this isn't working out."
Sören's jaw dropped. He sat there stunned for a minute and then he stammered, "What... what do you mean."
"I mean..." Dooku sighed, looked down, and then back at Sören, and quickly looked away - the stricken look on Sören's face made him want to cry, what he could feel across their Force bond made the tears burn his eyes. "Exactly what I said. This arrangement we have, you and I..." Dooku gestured. "It's not going to work."
Sören blinked slowly and then he said, "Is this about last night? Because you couldn't get it up? Shit happens once in awhile, it's not the end of the world, it's not worth breaking up over..."
"It's not simply that," Dooku said. The truth was, the inability to get an erection had set off Dooku having yet more angst about their age difference and his aging, and Dooku felt like it would be kinder to not condemn Sören to a life where, some years from now, they wouldn't be able to have sex at all. But he also didn't want to argue with Sören and hear Sören try to convince him he wasn't somehow too old for this. He already felt like he had done the younger man wrong, the two of them living together for a time, attached to each other, and the break would be painful enough as it was now. His conscience screamed at the thought of making Sören endure the last years of his life, when he knew Sören had already endured too much. So he had to make this as cold and clinical a break as possible - even if it made Sören hate him, perhaps especially if it made Sören hate him. It's best you get over me as quickly as possible. "It's a lot of things. We come from two different worlds, and the shiny new feeling that made me overlook a lot of our differences is wearing off now."
"I see." Sören pursed his lips. "So basically you're telling me it was fun fucking me but you're bored now."
"That's not quite what I'm saying," Dooku said, stung even though it would be less painful for Sören in the long-term if he believed that, so Sören could move on with his life instead of wondering about what could have been.
"That sounds exactly like what you're saying."
Dooku sighed. "Sören. I wouldn't call it boredom."
"What would you call it, then?"
"Irreconcilable differences."
"How very like a barrister of you."
Their eyes met, finally. Dooku could see the tears in Sören's eyes, and no doubt Sören could see the tears in his own.
"I don't get it," Sören said. "You told me last night you love me. And you sit here with tears in your eyes as you tell me it's over, so clearly you must feel something. Why can't we just... try? All relationships have difficulties, and -"
"I don't think this is anything that can be worked out," Dooku said.
"Nico, please."
Dooku looked away. "I've said what I have to say."
Sören let out a sob. Out of the corner of his eye Dooku watched him cry, his own heart breaking, wanting to cry himself, making himself hold back, afraid that giving in would mean not being able to let Sören go, would be sentencing him to years of pain worse than what he was feeling right now. Dooku did however use the Force to pass Sören the box of tissues, a gesture of politeness.
Sören wept, and Dooku sat there, and Sören finally said, "When do you want me out of here?"
"I don't want you on the street, so you can stay here until you find another place to stay -"
"I can move back in with Frankie. That's not really an issue. I want to know how long."
"Since you have to work tomorrow, I'll give you until the end of Sunday," Dooku said. "In the meantime, I could take the couch so you have an actual bed to sleep in -"
"Don't bother. I'll take the fucking couch tonight."
"If you need help with moving your things -"
"Right now what I need is for you to get out of my fucking face."
Dooku quietly got up, and departed to the study. Once the door was closed, he allowed himself to weep - quietly, but deeply. Part of him wanted Sören to feel it across their Force bond and pound on the door and fight for him, but the rest of him was convinced that painful as it was, he was doing the right thing.
When Dooku went down the hall to the bedroom to change, he heard Sören on the phone with Frankie. Sören was trying to keep his voice down, but was agitated and failing, and Dooku could hear a lot of swearing, a lot of "that fucking bastard" and "that arsehole" and assorted vitriol. He had expected it - indeed, his actions had encouraged that, for Sören's sake - but it still hurt. Dooku cried again once he was in the bedroom.
He lay awake most of the night, not able to sleep without the warmth and weight of Sören's body next to his in the bed. Dooku attempted to do various relaxation exercises but none of them helped. Finally, a little after two in the morning, he gave in to sleep, exhausted.
Dooku took a long hot shower to try to wake himself up, and from the bathroom he could hear Sören rummaging around in the bedroom. He made himself stay in the bathroom awhile to avoid coming out in a towel, in case that led to sex and that led to Dooku caving in and going back on his decision. Dooku came out when it sounded like Sören was no longer in there, and got changed for work.
He expected to find Sören on the couch as he made his way down the hall to head out, but Sören was already gone even though his shift started later. And when Dooku came back, he expected Sören to be home already - Sören only had a half-day - but Sören wasn't there, even though the Vespa was.
On the desk of his study was the key to the Vespa and the house key. No note.
Dooku went to the bedroom, and then the meditation room. All of Sören's belongings were gone - clothes, art supplies, everything. He'd already moved out.
Dooku fought back the urge to call Sören's cell, to ask if he needed anything, to say goodbye. He sat on the edge of the bed, just shaking, and then broke down weeping, this time loudly, brokenly. Dragos came in to comfort him but not even the cat could help him now.
This is for the best, Dooku kept telling himself. You're doing him a favor.
But it hurt, like he'd had a limb ripped out, a piece of his heart cut out, a piece of his soul smashed. He was alone again.
In the end, all we ever are, is alone.
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