Sören is relieved that the trails to the landmarks at Arches National Park that he wants to see the most are all easy ones, a couple miles at most, though with his long COVID symptoms under two miles still feels like a marathon. But the exertion is worth it. They hike to Broken Arch and Sand Dune Arch - they take their shoes and socks off to walk barefoot in the sand - and The Windows and Double Arch.
When Sören was growing up in Akureyri, he used to regularly get out of the house to spend time at the Goðafoss waterfall and the Dimmuborgir - the lava rock formations look like ancient ruins and he would draw and paint them as portals to other worlds, or sometimes its own hidden realm, a city of the huldufólk.
The Arches here in Utah don't have quite the same energy - but Sören still feels something ancient and primeval here, a window into other times if not other places. He can almost hear the land sing if he quiets his mind enough. The red arches send a frisson down his spine, his scalp tingling, especially when he walks through the arches and stands underneath them.
He's grateful to be sharing yet another place of wonder and awe with his two best friends, and with the way Mark's gaze lingers on the rock formations, Sören suspects Mark can feel it too, the otherness of this place.
Of course, Sören can't be serious all the time. Balanced Rock looks noticeably different from the other formations at Arches. Sören and Anthony both snicker at the phallic-shaped rock formation - with another phallic-shaped rock formation in view - as Mark rolls his eyes, then joins them, laughing.
"Incorrigible," Mark says, shaking his head.
"I know I said I hoped I would get some D on this trip but this wasn't what I meant," Sören quips.
But the men he truly wants are right in front of him, and even as Sören tries not to begrudge their happiness, he once again feels that stab of loneliness and longing as he watches Mark drape an arm around Anthony's shoulders, and Anthony holds Mark by the waist. Sören shifts his attention back to the rocks, the contrast of orange-red against the blue sky in the light of golden hour. He studies the patterns of the arches, committing them to memory to paint some time.
And yet his gaze keeps wandering back to Mark and Anthony, happy together. Beautiful together. And his heart hurts.
They stay at Goose River Campground, in the shade of trees along the Colorado River. Anthony and Mark want to camp in a tent again, and as much as Sören would normally enjoy sleeping under the stars, his body ached for days after the tent at Yellowstone - he can't tolerate bedding on the hard ground so well, so he's sleeping in the jackknife bed in the RV. On the plus side, he has easier bathroom access.
Despite having a more-or-less comfortable bed to sleep in, Sören feels restless, lying awake spinning his mental wheels about Mark and Anthony, and how he's tried for years to get over Anthony and it hasn't worked, and he knows the pining is going to get unbearable as the road wears on and maybe he should say something before they start heading for Alaska, so if things get weird they can just turn around without having spent all that time trapped together in awkward politeness. But Sören is not only worried about rejection, he doesn't know where to even begin with trying to put his feelings into words. Everything either seems too cheesy and cliched and trite, or too intense and creepy.
Eventually Sören does get some sleep, but his bladder wakes him up just before dawn and as he lays there admiring the softening twilight, his brain refuses to let him return to sleep. Enough so that even though he's not a morning person and usually not into this sort of thing, he washes up, gets dressed, and after coffee he steps out of the RV to take a stroll to look at the tree-lined river sunrise, taking his tablet with him in case he feels inspired to sketch or make a digital painting of the landscape at dawn.
What he sees is just as lovely, if not moreso. Anthony and Mark are both in swim trunks, T-shirts and life preservers. Mark wades into the Colorado River up to his waist and raises his arms in greeting at the rising sun painting the sky in pastels.
Anthony steps in and he gets to his calves before he freezes in his tracks, makes a face, and then starts swearing at the top of his lungs as he backs out as quickly as he can. Mark doubles over, laughing so hard he tears up.
"Wuss," Mark teases.
Standing at the riverbank, Anthony gives him the finger. "Piss off, not everyone can be an immortal bloody alien like you, immune to extreme heat and cold..."
Mark laughs harder. "Oh, I'm an alien now?"
Anthony holds his arms out slightly in front of him and his hands a few inches apart. "I'm not saying it was aliens, but it was aliens." Anthony snickers. "I could call you ALF."
Mark scowls, then he wades most of the way out and as he approaches the riverbank, he leans over and starts splashing Anthony madly.
Anthony drops down to his knees, and splashes Mark back furiously, getting him in the face, then drenching his hair. "ALF the drowned rat..."
Mark splashes Anthony in the face, then a mighty splash in the chest. Anthony shivers from the cold water and Mark snickers, just before Anthony grabs Mark by the hair and uses his free hand to splash Mark's upper body some more.
Mark tears out of the water and Anthony scampers off, howling with laughter, just before Mark tackles him. They roll around on the ground, grappling. Mark pins Anthony and tickles him, then Anthony gives Mark a wedgie, flips Mark, and tickles him mercilessly. Mark grabs Anthony's arms and puts him in a hold and flips him again and they roll around some more, laughing, each trying to put the other in a submission lock. After a few flips Mark says, "We should probably take off these life vests so we don't accidentally pop them."
"You're right."
Mark and Anthony quickly get out of their life preservers, then their shirts, both of them bare-chested. Sören quickly ducks behind a tree so he's not seen... so he can ogle the shirtless men without being judged as a pervert. Sören feels his body warming to the sight of them - Mark is ripped, and Anthony is deliciously masculine with his hairy arms and torso, that delectable treasure trail. Sören's heart beats faster as he watches them pounce each other and fall to the ground again, tickling, trying to pin each other...
...kissing open-mouthed, tongues teasing, then more deeply, their hands caressing each other's bare flesh just as much as they're grabbing and tickling and locking. It isn't long before they're rubbing against each other, kissing more passionately, continuing to flip each other so Mark is on top, working his hips as he ruts against Anthony, then Anthony rolls Mark onto his back and grinds on him.
A few moments later they take off their bottoms and they're completely naked. Sören has seen them shirtless before, but he bites back a moan at the sight of Anthony's ass, a perfect peach. Both of them have hairy pussies, and Sören gasps as he watches Anthony's cunt lower onto Mark's, watches their cunt lips kiss, hard t-dicks sliding against each other. Anthony and Mark keep kissing, clinging to each other, both of them rocking their hips as their pussies find that rhythm, side to side, then circling, up and down, more circles.
Sören undoes his jeans and slips his hand down his boxers. His own t-dick is already hard and he's soaked. His cheeks burn with shame - someone could catch him doing this, maybe even Mark and Anthony themselves if they look at the right spot in the trees. He feels like a pervert, watching them without being invited, playing with himself as he watches them rub their pussies together, Anthony fucking Mark and Mark bucking his hips wildly and giving it right back to him, then after a couple deep, hungry kisses Mark rolls Anthony onto his back and rides him. Anthony smacks Mark's ass, and Mark rides hard, their pussies making wet sloppy sounds that Sören can hear from meters away. Sören paws himself faster, hearing himself breathing harder. His thighs are quivering and he can feel the pleasure coiling, winding tighter and tighter, ready to spring with release, but he holds back, wanting more, wanting to watch them fuck.
When Mark leans in for a kiss, Anthony flips Mark as they kiss and then Anthony takes charge, fucking Mark so hard their cunts slurp above the sounds of their grunts and groans. The look of heat on Anthony's face and ecstasy on Mark's face as their cunts share creamy kisses makes Sören feverish; Sören's hand is shaking as it frantically rubs his cock, more and more erect under his fingers, the most thickly aroused Sören has ever been without a pump. He's gotten himself off to the sounds of them having sex before, but watching it is a different story. Watching their beautiful male bodies, muscles rippling, fucking each other with abandon, primal animalistic rutting in the grass. Sören gets closer, closer...
Mark bites his lip and whimpers. "Daddy, Daddy, I'm gonna come..."
"Yeah, that's it. Come, you little slut."
"Daddy!" Mark shudders.
Anthony throws back his head and lets out a shaky gasp as his body trembles, and the sight of Anthony coming sends Sören over the edge, buckling, collapsing to the ground on his knees as his own cunt spasms under his fingers and he gushes over his hand.
Sören gasps for breath, his cunt pulsing so hard it radiates into his ass, through his spine into his whole body, a flood of relief so strong that it breaks an emotional dam inside him and he starts to cry silently, ashamed of himself for the voyeurism and angry with himself for having no self-control, for having perved on his two best friends like this.
For wanting what he cannot have, knowing he will probably make an ass of himself when he confesses his feelings, knowing it might be the end, this road trip a last hurrah rather than celebration.
But the burning has become a consuming fire, and he knows that someday soon, he won't be able to keep it hidden anymore. He is going to have to come clean with them.
Their next major landmark is Vegas. Sören decides that's the perfect place to take a gamble on love.