Sören woke up to daylight burning his eyes. And there were arms around him... Mark's arms. He was snuggled into Mark's bare chest.
His bare, muscular chest. Some of Mark's hair was draped down over a shoulder and Sören's nose was in it, breathing in the clean forest-like scent.
Sören gave a little gasp - he had been used to sleeping alone so many months that the realization someone else in bed with him gave him a start - and Mark's eyes opened at that. "Ah," Mark said.
Then Sören felt himself erect, hard-on poking against Mark's leg. "Er," Sören said. His cock twinged at the sight of a pink nipple pebbled in the morning air.
Sören sat up quickly and pulled back the covers. Sören was still in the T-shirt and plaid flannel pajama bottoms he'd worn to bed last night, and Mark had on his black silk pajama bottoms; the pajama top was folded on the bedtable next to the bed. Sören looked at it and at Mark. "You're like a living space heater," Mark told him. "It got too warm, so..."
"I see." Sören saw, his morning erection throbbing as Mark stretched, shirtless. "I, ah... I gotta pee."
After Sören took care of business, he got out of the bathroom just as Mark was heading to his own bedroom. "I'm sorry about, uh." Sören looked down and made a vague hand gesture towards his crotch.
"It's biology, Sören. Morning wood happens. I'm not offended." Mark patted his shoulder - the touch threatened to make Sören hard again, jolting like electricity.
Just before Mark could walk off to his bedroom, Sören cleared his throat and Mark paused. "Um... thank you for last night," Sören said, rubbing a nervous hand through his curls, rubbing his beard. "For comforting me."
"You needed it." Their eyes met.
"You're a good friend."
Mark gave him a little smile that seemed sad, and then he said simply, "Gonna get changed," and closed the bedroom door behind him.
Sören also got changed into jean shorts and a Nine Inch Nails T-shirt. When Mark came out he was wearing jeans and an Aerosmith T-shirt and his usual wire-rim glasses. Sören followed him into the kitchen - still feeling awkward about the erection, and the delicious memory of Mark shirtless, needing a distraction. "You got plans for the day?" Sören asked as he took his morning meds.
Mark shook his head.
"You want to go to Golden Gate Park like we talked about?"
"I would," Mark said, "but it's the fourth of July. A lot of people have today off, crowds and traffic will be pretty obnoxious. You had a rough night last night and I don't want you to stress out too much..." Mark made a face. "I don't want to stress out too much either."
"Ah, jæja, I forgot about that." Sören frowned into his iced coffee. "I've lived in this country for four years now and I keep forgetting about it."
"I'm fine with taking you somewhere else that should be less busy, like the Marin Headlands," Mark said. "Doing Golden Gate Park another day, sometime soon."
"Oh, OK." Sören nodded. "Marin Headlands... that's nice, já?"
"I wouldn't offer to take you there if it wasn't."
Sören's face burned, feeling sheepish for asking. Of course, he was surprised he could string two words together after waking up to Mark shirtless. Nothing had happened... and Sören ached a little, almost wishing something had.
"I need to get some air," Sören said, trying not to stare at Mark, who seemed oblivious to the effect he was having.
"All right. I'll... do some warmups on the harp or something."
Sören went out the glass patio doors out to the deck down the steps, out to the beach. The sand felt good on his bare feet, and the ocean rolling over his bare feet and ankles felt even better. It was breezier today than it had been in the days previous, and a bit overcast, though still bright enough that Sören wished he'd remembered his sunglasses. It wasn't simply that he hadn't brought them outside but he'd left them in Oregon - a casualty of ADHD making him a bit forgetful - and his medication made him sensitive to light. If he was going to survive the rest of the summer he needed to do something about that.
He walked along the shore, wind in his hair, breathing in the deep salt air, relaxing at the sound of the waves and the feeling of the sea washing over his feet, the soft sand under his feet. He found a couple pebbles the size of his palm, flat and worn smooth. He hadn't really picked up any souvenirs of his trip apart from the glass box he'd bought at the boutique - he'd resisted the lure of the gift shop at Muir Woods, though he had browsed for fun. This seemed better because it was a part of the place he was staying, a connection to the land. He walked with one stone in each hand, which had the added bonus of grounding and centering him, making him feel more balanced, and after a few more minutes of just standing and watching the tide, he headed back to the house, wiping his feet before he stepped into the kitchen.
Mark was doing scales on the harp, seemingly lost in his own little world. Sören paused and watched him, breath catching at the sight of Mark's fingers moving over the strings, the intense-yet-calm look on his face, eyes closed, as he played. The way his hair and shoulders moved as his arms rolled back and forth, like the tides.
Jesus, he's fucking beautiful.
Mark's eyes opened and he jumped a little at Sören standing there. "Shit, sorry, didn't mean to startle you," Sören said.
"Ah, no, it's fine. Usually I'm more sensitive to hearing and feeling someone else come in the room but I guess I got really into it." Mark looked away. Sören saw him glance at the clock. "When do you want to go to the Headlands?"
"To be honest, afternoon would be better? I'm still feeling kind of... sluggish mentally. The walk helped." What it had helped with was making him less flustered, though the sight of Mark playing the harp, in his element, was bringing all that back again. "But, ah... can I ask you for a favor now?"
Mark primly folded his hands and looked up at Sören, waiting.
The sight would have made Sören laugh if he still didn't feel so in awe of what he'd just seen of Mark playing. "I need to get sunglasses and a couple other things, can you take me to the drugstore?"
"Yeah, we can do that."
The drugstore was across the street from a small appliance store and rental; Mark also got out of the car and Sören thought Mark was going to go into the drugstore with him, but instead Mark was looking at the place for small appliances. "I'm going to head in there for about fifteen or twenty minutes," Mark said.
"Oh, OK." Sören thought that was weird, since the house was pretty well equipped - microwave, blender, various other kitchen gadgetries - but maybe Mark needed an iron or something for his clothes. Mark seemed like the kind of person to actually want to iron his clothes.
Mark not accompanying him into the drugstore was just as well - Sören had considered keeping lube, condoms, and a toy in the glass box he'd gotten from the boutique. He'd brought a couple toys down from Oregon, but it had been enough months since he'd had sex that he hadn't packed lube or condoms, and it had been enough time since he'd bought either of those things that what he had sitting back home in Oregon was probably due for a replacement anyway. Sören hadn't brought condoms and lube because he'd been certain he wouldn't need it, but now thinking of Sharon, he wondered if he did. Based on the way his body was reacting to Mark, he felt like he needed to get laid, but he wasn't yet at the point of trying to go out and cruise - even though he knew he could hook up very easily with the eye candy in San Francisco. He was however willing to allow for "wait and see", especially where Sharon was concerned, so...
After throwing a pack of condoms and a bottle of lubricant in the basket, he went over to the display of sunglasses. They weren't Ray-Bans - which was what he had at home - but he just needed something to shield his eyes. He tried on a few pairs and went for aviator sunglasses, which was close enough to his preferred style. When he got up to the cash register - pausing at the cooler to get a small bottle of Sprite - a twink with a tan and spiky bleach-blond hair who looked to be not older than nineteen or twenty was there, and hungry green eyes looked him up and down as he scanned the condoms and lube. Sören's face burned, recognizing that look - it was the same exact look he got on a regular basis during his party days.
"You on vacation?" the twink asked.
"Jæja... you're local?"
The twink nodded. "A lot of people come and go." He emphasized the word come. "I haven't seen you before and... I would have remembered you." The twink licked his lips as he put the scanner down. He gave Sören his total.
Sören handed over his debit card and waited, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, feeling awkward and a little randy at the same time. The twink was definitely younger than what he went for with men - especially when he had students that age; he preferred men his age or older... especially a lot older. But he was pretty to look at.
The twink bagged the condoms and lube. Before he could put the sunglasses in the bag, Sören took them and their fingers brushed.
"I'll be wearing these," Sören said. Then he scowled at the tag dangling. "Well, I will if I can get the bloody tag off."
The twink pulled out a pair of scissors and snipped the tag.
"Takk."
"That's a great accent. You're... Scandinavian?" The twink cocked his head to one side.
"Iceland."
"Oooh, Icelandic men are so hot." The twink's eyes raked him again. "How long have you been here in 'Murica? You just here for the summer?"
"I've been here four years," Sören said. "I become a citizen next year."
"Oh for real? You want to stay here in Cheetonia?"
Sören laughed. "It's got its problems but everyplace does. My home country had a lot of problems with corruption several years ago, so we can't point the finger too hard." He took the bag from the twink. "Cheetonia, though... that's pretty funny."
"I hope you don't become too assimilated, that accent of yours is really sexy." The twink was giving him another hungry look.
Sören ran a nervous hand through his curls. He put on the sunglasses and said, "Jæja, well, you have a nice day."
He got out of there as fast as he could, not wanting things to get even more uncomfortable. Mark was crossing the street, carrying a medium-sized cardboard box taped up. He reached for the keyring on his belt and pressed a button to pop the trunk. He put the box in the trunk and then went around to the driver's side.
"Hey, Top Gun," Mark said, looking at Sören.
Sören laughed. "I've actually never seen that movie. It's one of those old movies I haven't gotten around to -"
Mark snorted. "It was released in 1986. It's not that old."
"I was just two. Not even, probably, since my birthday's in November."
Mark laughed as he pulled out of the parking lot. "Jesus Sören, you're making me feel like an old man."
"News flash: you are an old man."
Mark gave him a look; Sören gave him an innocent face in return. Then Sören blurted out, "You look good for your age," and though he meant it - oh, how he meant it - he couldn't believe he said it.
Mark said nothing in response, but his cheeks flushed slightly.
When they got back to the house, Sören wanted to ask Mark what was in the box, that he'd picked up from the appliance place, but he decided not to pry, being that Mark was striding ahead right to his bedroom with a determined look on his face, as if he were on some kind of mission. It probably is a clothing iron, Sören thought to himself.
Not asking the question meant Sören could also quickly unload the contents of his own purchase. He opened up the glass box on his bedtable and put in the bottle of lube. He emptied the packet of condoms. He couldn't believe he was doing this, his hands shaking a little as he threw the condom box in the wastebasket. He sat down on the edge of his bed and finished the little bottle of Sprite he'd bought, mouth dry. He thought of the twink at the drugstore and how if this had been a few years ago he would have gotten the guy's number or even asked for a rendezvous in the bathroom.
A lot had happened in a few years. Now the concept of cruising and hookups felt completely alien to him. Reflecting on it, it wasn't really what he wanted anymore. A fuckbuddy, maybe.
Someone to hold at night.
Sören thought about Sharon, wondering what his chances were with her - even as the odds were not good for anything lasting beyond the summer - and as if on cue, his phone went off and it was her. He answered right away. "Sharon, hi!"
"Sören, hi! I'm not calling too early, am I?"
"I'm actually awake at this hour, so today you're not." He gave a nervous little laugh.
"Oh, spending the summer sleeping in, are you?"
"When I can. I'd sleep in all year if I could get away with it, but you know, teacher. I'm not a morning person, I don't know what the fuck I was on when I thought teaching was a good idea. Well... I love it enough I'm willing to compromise, but I need an IV drip of caffeine some days." Sören laughed again. "Babbling, sorry."
"Oh no, it's OK. I could listen to you talk for hours. Your accent is beautiful."
That was twice in one day, but Sharon's compliment sounded more sincere, somehow. Sören's face burned. "Thanks, you too." Then he facepalmed, because by American standards Sharon didn't have much of an accent, a "newscaster" voice with the slightest West Coast twang. He liked the sound of her voice, husky and deep for a woman's. "So, ah... is it normal to say 'happy fourth of July' to you people?"
"You can, yeah. 'You people.'"
"Sorry. Americans. I haven't thought of the day much the last few years I've been here but I assume people make plans."
"Yeah, a lot of people cook out, there's usually fireworks at night."
"Fireworks, yes, I think I remember that." Sören pursed his lips. "If you're inviting me to something Herb and Marguerite are doing, the answer is still no -"
"Actually I'm not, because Lucas doesn't like you and I don't want to piss him off. Which is why I'm calling..."
There was a knot in the pit of Sören's stomach, worried that Sharon was going to tell him Lucas didn't want them spending time together anymore...
"...I know I said I wanted to get together later in the week or early next week, but can I drop by now for a bit? Lucas and I had a fight this morning and I need to get my mind off things."
Sören got up from the bed with a start and began to pace around, a nervous habit of his. "Jæja, you can come over," Sören said. He felt like an eager, excited puppydog, wanting to see her again... then his excitement was shoved aside by a fresh wave of panic. "Are you OK?" He set his jaw. "He didn't hurt you, did he?"
"No." Sharon clicked her tongue. "He wouldn't lay a hand on me. Besides, I've taken karate."
"Wow, that's hot." Then Sören facepalmed - that had just slipped out. "Er, sorry."
Sharon laughed. "Don't be sorry, Sören. Anyway, I'll be over in a little bit, OK?"
"Sounds good to me. I'll see you soon."
When Sören hit "End", he saw Mark standing in the doorway of his bedroom. "Oh. Hi, Mark."
"Hello." Mark folded his arms.
Then Sören realized he'd made plans with Sharon when he'd had plans with Mark. God, I can't do anything right. Sören shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "How much of that did you hear?"
"Enough," Mark said.
"I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking..." Sören pinched the bridge of his nose.
"It's all right. We can take a rain check. Besides, I remembered that I need to pick up a couple things so I'll take care of that while your friend is visiting."
"Are you sure you don't mind?" Sören still felt bad. "I don't want you to feel like I'm blowing you off..." His mind immediately went in the gutter with his choice of words and he smacked away the mental image of giving Mark a blowjob. "Like spending time with you isn't important to me."
"I heard the words 'he didn't hurt you, did he' - so I know she's going through a rough patch and you want to be supportive and comforting. I get it, Sören."
Mark's eyes still looked a little sad, and Sören swallowed hard. "Can she go with us to Marin Headlands?" He didn't want to disappoint Mark.
"Like I said, I have to pick up a couple things. So... see your friend. We can go to the Headlands another time."
Sören decided to make his bed for company. The sheets smelled like Mark, and he couldn't help bringing it up to his nose and breathing in before dropping them back on the bed, self-conscious. What's next, taking his underwear out of the hamper and smelling that? Sören propped Eeyore up on the bed when it was made. He noticed that even though he'd been cuddling with the pillowcase that held the remnants of his bunny, it wasn't on the bed; he assumed Mark put it back in the closet where he'd found it while Mark was in the bedroom and Sören was in the bathroom.
Mark was leaving just as Sharon arrived, driving her RV instead of Marguerite driving her. Sören gave her a hug as soon as she got to the door - she looked like she was still shaken up from her earlier spat with Lucas, eyes red like she'd been crying.
"Can I get you anything?" Sören led her into the kitchen.
"Uh, sure."
Sören took out ginger ale for himself and Sharon decided she'd have that as well. They settled in the living room with ginger ale, just drinking for a few minutes, then Sören said, "Can I ask what happened?"
"We were fighting about money, which happens from time to time since we live together. He makes more money than I do, since he's a computer programmer, and he knew going into this how much I make, and I do contribute to rent, groceries... but he's been getting up my ass to have a 'real' job. Even though he can afford everything just fine without my income, and he knows I have the job I do so I have enough time for writing. He thinks my writing is stupid."
"Jesus." Sören scowled. "My most recent ex... he thought my art was stupid. Even though I teach art for a living."
"Is he smoking crack? Your art is wonderful."
Sören smiled and patted her shoulder. "Honestly, if he was smoking crack that would explain some of his behavior, but no. No crack. He drank, though."
"Oof. I'm sorry, Sören." Sharon frowned. "I don't want you to get the impression that Lucas is, like..."
"Abusive?"
Sharon nodded. "He doesn't hit me..."
"Abuse is more than just hitting you." Their eyes met. "Before my ex, Seth, ever started hitting me, he said nasty shit to me. I don't know why I put up with it. Well... I guess I do, in hindsight. And I mean, I don't know Lucas, really - I just have your word on what's happening. But those guys at the cookout and their attitude, and the fact that it was Lucas who invited them - I haven't forgotten that."
"Yeah." Sharon pursed her lips. "Like I said, he doesn't like you. He'd flip if he knew I was here right now."
"Which is another thing. He shouldn't be controlling who you're friends with."
"Well, if he told me not to associate with you I'd tell him to go pound sand. He can express displeasure but he's not to the point of outright forbidding me to do stuff. I wouldn't put up with that." Sharon folded her arms. "I know it sounds bad, but he's really not an asshole all the time. Everyone is an asshole some of the time, even me. Most of the time he's funny and sweet..."
"I'm not the one you need to convince to stay with him, Sharon." Sören frowned. "I just know that your writing is important to you and if he's putting that down it's not a good sign."
"I think he means well, not wanting me to be dependent on anyone..."
"If he does, he has a funny way of explaining that."
There was a long silence. They finished their ginger ale. Then Sören asked, "So do you want to do something? To get your mind off things?"
"Yeah." Sharon nodded. "I really liked coloring with you the other day..."
"Awww, I liked that too. It's a good outlet, isn't it?"
Sharon nodded again, smiling. "Can we do art again?"
"Sure." Sören got up and without thinking about it, he took Sharon's hand, pulling her off the couch.
He was about to get out some paper, and then he remembered the rocks he collected on the beach earlier. "I have an idea," he said. He put the rocks down on the table. "You want to paint these? I'll do one, you do the other?"
"That's a cute idea."
Sören got out the acrylic paints, brushes, and sealer for when the designs were done. He put on the stereo in his room and sat at one end of the desk, with Sharon at the other. They painted in companionable silence to classic rock. Sören found himself painting a phoenix on the stone, which didn't surprise him since the phoenix had come up in his art so many times over the years, but he realized he was going to give this stone to Sharon when he was done and it felt a touch personal.
When his firebird was all painted, rising out of flames, he waited, studying it, and then Sharon was done a few minutes later. She had made a mandala with hers, a star-flower of rainbows, with more intricate swirling spirals in the background between the spokes. Sören smiled at it. "That's really nice."
"You can have it if you want," Sharon said.
"Oh, thank you - I was going to give you the one I painted, too." Sören showed her.
"God, I love that." Sharon's face lit up. "That'll always remind me of you."
Sören blushed and bit his lower lip, not knowing what to say.
"I really like the phoenix on your back, and the waterbird. And I remember your portfolio, all the phoenix paintings. That's like a thing with you, isn't it?" Sharon cocked her head to one side.
Sören decided to just tell her. "When I was a small child, I used to have recurring nightmares about fire - specifically, dying in a fire, burning to death. I remember being four years old and telling my mamma, this is how I died. I think any other parent would probably think there was something seriously wrong with me, but she never told me I was wrong or treated me like I was crazy or something for telling her."
"Whoa... that sounds like you had a past life," Sharon said.
"Jæja, years later I was reading stories of children who remembered past incarnations and feeling like my own experience of remembering burning up was very similar to that. My cousin Ari suggested I get a past life regression done but like..." Sören rubbed his beard. "My fraternal twin brother Dag is a scientist. A skeptic. I lived with him in Toronto for some years and I learned never to bring up any weird shit around him, and just put it all on the back burner, kind of forgot about it, though not quite. Though to his credit he doesn't dismiss all of it - my mamma said we have Elven blood and Dag thinks this was one of those ancient aliens." Sören laughed nervously. "Anyway... when I was twenty I tried to kill myself. When I was unconscious I had the dream about burning up again and this time a voice led me back to life." She called me Father. Sören swallowed hard, remembering. "I made my first painting in hospital, and the ink on my back was based on that. The fire and water is a reminder to seek balance." Yet it also felt like something more, somehow.
"Oh, Sören." Sharon squeezed his hands. "I'm glad you're OK now."
"It's been a long uphill battle and to be honest, I'm not completely OK. I will probably never be completely OK - there's no cure for bipolar, it's just something I have to manage and some days I do better than that with others. But... I have more going for me now than I did when I was twenty, I guess."
Sharon got up and gave him a hug. Sören returned the hug - his body responding to the feel of her body against his, but he behaved himself.
"These should be dry enough for me to put a sealant on," Sören said, and that was what he did, coating the stones with a protective transparent glaze.
"Summer Breeze" by Seals & Crofts came on the radio and Sharon said, "Oh, I love this song."
"Me too." Sören turned it up. He laughed then. "It's funny... we both like KMFDM and I'm guessing other industrial bands but we also like this kind of music too. My parents came of age in the 1970s and my mamma always had music on when I was a kid. Before she died, and all."
"That's so rough, losing your mom at a young age." Sharon frowned. "My parents are in their forties -"
"Oh your dad's like Mark's age?"
"Probably? So they were 80s kids. I listen to everything, though. Well, except country and rap."
Sören grinned. "I like rap." He snickered, remembering the feuds with Dooku, which were funny in hindsight now. "My taste in music is pretty eclectic but I tend to gravitate towards hip-hop, industrial, and 70s music. I like 70s music enough that I think I was born in the wrong decade. That and it was the time of free love..." His face burned.
"Yeah, I know what you mean." Sharon took Sören's hands then and started dancing him around the room to the tail end of the song.
Sweet days of summer, the jasmine's in bloom
July is dressed up and playing her tune
And I come home from a hard day's work
And you're waitin' there
Not a care in the world
When the song was over "Livin' Thing" by Electric Light Orchestra came on. Sören let out a little scream and turned the stereo up even louder. "I fucking love this song. ELO is one of my favorite bands," Sören admitted. Then it was his turn to take Sharon's hands and lead her around, doing a faux tango.
Sailin' away on the crest of a wave
It's like magic
Rollin' and ridin' and slippin' & slidin'
It's magic
And you, and your sweet desire,
You took me, higher and higher
It's a livin' thing,
It's a terrible thing to lose
It's a given thing
What a terrible thing to lose.
They marched, dipped, and twirled. At the end of the song Sören dipped Sharon as low as he could and when she came up she giggled and kissed the tip of his nose. Sören's face burned. "You're so cute," Sharon said, stroking his cheek.
Sören wanted to kiss her - he felt she deserved better than Lucas, but his internal set of rules still declared her as being in a relationship and he didn't go after people who were taken. Sharon went back to the desk to admire the phoenix stone some more. "Can I look at the ink on your back?" she said after a moment. "I've seen it before but I haven't really studied it."
Sören hesitated, but took his shirt off and turned around. He could feel Sharon looking at his back. "That's amazing," she said in a hushed tone of voice. "Really detailed work..."
"I designed it but the tattoo artist did a great job with the design."
Sharon looked it over some more and then she said, "You've got some scars on your back."
Sören nodded. He turned around. "My aunt and uncle raised us after my mamma died and my uncle was, ah." He looked down.
"Jesus, Sören." Sharon hugged him again. "You seem like a really nice guy and it's all the more remarkable for having lived through that kind of abuse."
"Jæja, the cruelty I experienced taught me the world can be a nasty place and it's important to be kind to others. So I try."
Sören was about to put his shirt back on but before he did, Sharon said, "Do you want to go for a swim?"
"I could go for that, but I didn't think you would want to since it's overcast and not too warm..."
"I don't mind it on days like this."
Sören grinned. "In Iceland we go swimming year-round. My standards of 'too cold to swim' are different from most people's."
"I bet. God, I'd love to see Iceland someday."
"Oh if you can, you totally should. I don't go back because my aunt and uncle are still there and at this point I've lived so long away from Iceland that I'd feel like a foreigner. I might visit again once I know they're dead but... I don't think I could live there again. I'll always miss it, though."
"I've lived my entire life in the Bay Area, but I want to see the world. Or some of it, anyway. I'd really like to see Oregon." Their eyes met.
"You'd like Portland. I live in Corvallis, which isn't too bad of a drive from there. The Pacific Northwest has become home, it felt right as soon as I flew in and saw everything from the plane window. Mount Hood and all the trees, looking like broccoli." Sören laughed at the memory, and then gave a little wistful sigh as he remembered that first sight, the dramatic sunset setting the sky ablaze, the awe of the big mountain, trees as far as the eye could see. It was like flying into an enchanted realm. The Pacific Northwest felt magical to him in a way that was hard to put into words. It had a different sort of beauty than Iceland but a wild, primordial beauty in its own right.
Sharon started undressing right there. At the surprised look on Sören's face, Sharon laughed and said, "I have my swimsuit on under my clothes. I put it on when I thought I'd be coming out here to see you."
She was wearing a hot pink two-piece this time instead of the blue one before. Sören couldn't help but take an appreciative glance before he grabbed his swim trunks and changed in the bathroom. When he came out, he and Sharon went out the glass door of the kitchen, out the deck, down to the beach.
It was overcast, but Sharon still had suntan lotion with her, and made Sören put some on too. "You can still burn on days like this," she said.
The SPF was still a bit low for Sören as pale as he was, but it was better than nothing, as he didn't want to go back in to grab the sunblock he'd forgotten and he didn't expect they'd be out here for hours. Sharon did Sören's back first - he bit back a moan at her hands on him - and then he did her back, trying to be clinical and professional about the whole thing but his mind kept racing with thoughts of what it would be like to give her a sensual massage, play with her, spoil her with his tongue. When she turned around and began to apply the lotion to the front of her, Sören tried very hard not to look, his face burning, but he kept looking.
Sharon gasped from the shock of the water, which was colder today, though not so cold as to be unbearable. She was shivering a little when she got up to her thighs, and Sören couldn't help but noticing her nipples were hard in her bikini, which gave him even more lustful thoughts. He found himself licking his lips without thinking about it, and then their eyes met - she'd seen him looking at her breasts and reacting like that. Sören quickly looked away, wishing he could duck underwater.
When Sharon was out to her waist and Sören was a little further out, up to his chest, Sharon splashed him. Sören looked and Sharon was laughing.
"I saw those eyes wandering," Sharon said, wading up ahead so she was alongside him.
"Jæja, sorry about that. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." Sören looked down.
Sharon put her hands on his shoulders. "No, I'm... flattered." Sharon bit her lower lip adorably. Their eyes met again, then Sharon looked away. "Lucas makes fun of me sometimes about being small-breasted and skinny, says I'm a toothpick..."
Sören made a noise. "You say he's not abusive but he makes fun of your body. That's not OK, Sharon. And he shouldn't talk either, he's built like a string bean."
"Well, you know, double standards. And I mean, I like girls with big tits so I can't..."
"He shouldn't make fun of you." Sören glared. "And there's nothing wrong with you, Sharon." Before he could stop himself, he blurted out, "You've got a hot little body."
Sharon blushed, and bit her lower lip again.
"Sorry," Sören said, looking down.
"No. It's... thank you." Sharon smiled. "You don't have to say things to make me feel better -"
"I'm not." Sören let out a little sigh. "If you were single I'd fuck you senseless."
Sharon laughed at that, and then she winked at him. "You never know. You're fucking hot, yourself." Then she sighed too. "I want to try to work things out with Lucas..."
"You deserve better."
Sharon shrugged. "We have a history. I'm used to him. Things weren't always like this... he's been stressed out from work..."
I wish you wouldn't make excuses for him. It reminded him too much of how things had been with Seth, right down to Seth also having been in the tech industry. But he knew that just like how he'd made excuses for Seth when things started going bad, it was going to be hard to convince her Lucas was toxic. He couldn't force her to break up with him.
Sören dropped it and they waded around.
When they got back to the house Sharon made a noise as she looked at the time. "I've gotta get going. Herb and Marguerite are having a little party tonight and I said I'd make a couple things, bring them over..."
"I understand." Sören continued toweling off. "Are you feeling any better?"
"Yeah, I am." Sharon started pulling her clothes on, though she shook her ass to give Sören a little show before she put her skirt on and when she turned around and saw Sören blushing, she giggled.
"Naughty," Sören said.
"Mmmmm... if I was single I'd tease you mercilessly just to hear you say the word 'naughty' like that."
Sören was getting hard. He decided getting naked in the bathroom to put his clothes back on was a bad idea in his current state - he'd be too tempted to invite her in - so he walked her to the door in his swim trunks. Sharon hugged him goodbye, which only made it worse, even more so when she kissed his cheek.
"I still want to see you later in the week or early next week," Sharon said. "And I didn't bring my notebook this time..."
Sören nodded. "Give me a call when you have an idea of what your schedule looks like. I'm pretty flexible." His mind immediately went into the gutter at that, and at the flush in Sharon's cheeks he could tell hers did too.
"All right. Bye."
Yes, yes I am. Sören waved as she walked out to her RV.
Sören dropped his trunks as soon as he got back in his room. He lay on his bed and stroked himself, thinking of taking off Sharon's swimsuit and kissing and licking her all over - paying special attention to the small breasts that Lucas didn't appreciate. Eating her to climax, taking her.
The fantasy turned into Mark pounding into him while he was inside Sharon. For the first time in months, Sören took out the glass dildo he'd brought from Oregon. Flipped open the mirror box - he finally noticed there was a mirror on the inside - and grabbed the lube. He caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror, the lust in his eyes that he hadn't seen in months, not since the early days of Seth. He was starting to feel like himself again.
Sören slicked the dildo with lube, then his own cock for a better stroking experience. He fucked himself with his left hand, stroked his cock with the right, as his fantasies continued to flip between Sharon and Mark, it didn't take long for Sören to bring himself off, coming hard. He brought his cum-soaked fingers to his lips to taste.
Sören lay there, winding down from his orgasm. He was sleepy, post-climax. He needed a nap... He drew up the sheet around him, and closed his eyes.
_
Sören woke up with a start when he heard footsteps outside his door. He breathed a little sigh of relief when he saw it was just Mark.
"Sorry, I didn't know you were sleeping," Mark said.
"It's OK. I... ah." Sören rolled onto his side. He looked at the time - it was just after five. "Wow, shit. I slept late."
"You had a bad night last night, I'm not surprised your body decided it needed extra sleep. Anyway, what do you want for dinner?"
"Um. Food."
Mark laughed. Then he said, "You said grilled cheese is your favorite, right? I want to do something nice for you since you had such a rough time of it last night."
"That's very sweet of you." Sören felt a little tug at his heart. His face burned, remembering his sexual fantasy of earlier... this was three times now that he'd masturbated thinking about Mark. He was dangerously close to falling for this guy and he didn't want to fuck up their friendship.
"So... what do you want to go with it?"
Sören sat up to think. "Soup? I'll let you decide."
"I'll make homemade soup... minestrone fine?"
"Yes. Sounds very good."
"I'll start dinner in a bit, I have to unload stuff I bought while I was out."
Mark walked off, and then Sören realized he was still shirtless... and wearing just a sheet. Worse, he hadn't put the glass dildo or lube back in the box when he was done with them - he needed to clean the dildo first - and he wondered if Mark had seen that right out on the bedtable when he was standing in the doorway. Sören's face burned, mortified. It was one thing for Mark to know he was bisexual, it was another thing to know he'd been relieving himself earlier.
Sören put his clothes back on. The glass dildo was Pyrex, which meant Sören usually cleaned it with dish soap after use. He'd put the dildo in the dishwasher back in Oregon, but something told him Mark wouldn't appreciate finding a dildo in the dishwasher. Since Mark was in his bedroom - the stereo in the bedroom was on as Mark unpacked whatever it was he'd bought - Sören quickly stole to the kitchen, trying to keep the dildo tucked away discretely, hearing the Mission: Impossible theme running in his head.
After Sören washed the dildo, he put it on the counter to dry for a bit and poured himself a drink. He was just leaving the kitchen, dildo in hand, when Mark walked in.
"Oh. Hi, Mark." Sören wanted to crawl into the floor and die. "Ah..."
Mark saw the dildo; Sören fumbled with it, trying to hide it, but that made it even more conspicuous so they just stood there in the kitchen, with Sören holding a glass dildo.
The stereo in Mark's bedroom began to play "Walk This Way" by Aerosmith, and Sören, in an attempt to save face, began to play air guitar with the dildo as the guitar. Mark leaned against the wall, shaking, red and teary-eyed with laughter. "Sören..."
"I'm sorry. I'll... ah... I'll go..." Sören started singing along. "WALK THIS WAYYYYY, TALK THIS WAYYYYY..." He strummed a little more before dashing off, face on fire.
Sören put the dildo and lube away. Mark walked by with a drink on the way back to his room and Sören poked his head out and said, "I'm sorry. I..."
"Don't worry about it." Mark ran a hand through his hair, looking as nervous and uncomfortable as Sören felt. "Um... I'm gonna go outside for a bit."
Sören imagined he would need air, after that. Mark turned off the stereo and then went out the glass door in his room.
It was too warm all of a sudden, and Sören needed another cold drink. From the sliding glass doors in the kitchen he could see Mark sitting in the sand, hugging his knees. The breeze stirred his hair - Sören admired it, but Mark looked sad, even a little wistful. Sören wondered what was bothering him. He wondered if he, himself, was bothering Mark. He knew they had just experienced a very awkward moment, and wondered if he'd ruined their friendship even without Sören confessing he'd used that dildo because of him...
Sören tried to let it go, but when Mark got back and started work on the soup, Sören wandered into the kitchen. "Hey," Sören said.
"Hey."
"I. I'm sorry."
"Sören, quit apologizing. It's not exactly a shock that a single bisexual man of a certain age would be..." Mark's voice trailed off, his cheeks flushed.
"Well... I went to the kitchen while you were outside and you looked upset. I didn't know if it was because of me..."
"It's the fourth of July, Sören. I was in the service. I have memories I'd rather not."
Sören swallowed hard. He felt like an idiot now, like he'd made everything about him. "Shit, Mark, I'm sorry." And yet that explanation didn't fully satisfy him... like it was some of the truth why Mark was upset, but it wasn't the whole reason why. Mark was not looking at him, not just because he was working in the kitchen, but even in the spaces between he seemed to avoid meeting Sören's gaze, deliberately.
If he wants me to know he'll tell me. Sören let it go.
Eventually Mark put music back on as he worked. Sören smoked a bowl to relax, and found himself looking over the photos he'd taken at Muir Woods. The music, the high, and the pictures got his creativity buzzing. He set up his easel and began to paint. He didn't get very far when Mark said dinner was ready.
They ate on the deck listening to music. Sören thought Mark made the best grilled cheese he'd ever had, and the minestrone soup was excellent, and he told him so. Mark had white wine, even though dinner wasn't terribly fancy, and Sören allowed himself a glass. They sat for awhile after dinner just watching the waves, sipping wine, with the classic rock station in the background, and then "Walk This Way" came on again and Mark and Sören both lost it.
"I'm never going to be able to hear that again without thinking of you and..." Mark shook his head, tearing up again as he shook with laughter.
"If ever there was a band appropriate to wave a dick around to, it's Aerosmith," Sören said.
"I will agree with you on that." Mark grinned.
When the song was over, Sören said, "I was painting before dinner was ready. Do you want to, ah..." Fuck my brains out? No, I can't ask him that. "Play harp while I paint?"
"Rain check? I have something I need to take care of -"
"Related to what you bought earlier? Not that it's any of my business, but I'm curious."
"Yes," Mark said. "I'm working on something."
"Making a bomb?" Sören joked.
Mark's jaw dropped. "How did you know?" Then he shook his head. "No, not that."
"OK, I'll quit asking. But yeah, I suppose we can take a rain check..."
"I won't be working on it all night but I'm calling it an early night, I'm a bit tired."
"God, I hope my snoring didn't keep you up."
Mark laughed. "I got hypervigilant and watched you sleep a lot of the night. Protective instincts die hard."
"Yeah, you were a soldier for awhile, I guess so."
Mark nodded.
Sören did dishes, and Mark retreated to his bedroom. He closed the door; Mark's stereo was still playing loud enough for Sören to hear, and Sören wondered about that. As much as Sören liked classic rock it wasn't quite the right vibe for a painting of the redwoods, so he put on his headphones and selected the ambient playlist from his mp3s, which he tended to not listen to except in times like this, when he had a project where that sort of music fit. He got in the zone, deciding to lay out the landscape first, and he could take care of the details - like bark texture, moss - after. But there was so much of it, and not just the height of the trees and how many of them there were, but the feelings that exploded under his brush, seeing the forest again so vividly...
...remembering how Mark looked in the forest.
As much as Mark wanted to keep a low profile and didn't seem to want photographs of himself shared anywhere - which had caused Sören to modify the painting of the dancer, still marveling that the man appeared in the mirror earlier - Sören couldn't help but start painting Mark into the forest now, preserving the memory. He was hesitant enough that he just got some of the hair at first, before going back to do some more trees. But a wild Mark had appeared, giving him a frisson down his spine. These paintings took on a life of their own much of the time, and Mark needed to be in it. That was just how it was. If Mark objected later, Sören would give him the painting or agree to make it part of his own private collection, the few paintings of his he'd kept for sentimental value.
He was leaning towards that anyway, feeling a strange ache as he thought about Mark in the forest again. The peace he'd had there, contrasted with the sadness on his face as he sat on the beach.
I wish there was something I could do to make him happy.
_
Some time later Sören got up to stretch and go to the bathroom. Mark's stereo was off. His bedroom door was open now, and the bedroom was dark; Sören could make out the figure in the bed.
When Sören got back from the bathroom he looked at the time. He remembered the fireworks were tonight, and probably starting soon. He grabbed water and stepped outside, and he was right on time for the first few fireworks to light up the sky, wheels of exploding light. Sören leaned against the door as he watched, not intending to stay long - his painting called him - but for a little while he was entranced, enjoying the play of color.
He hadn't intended to stay long, but of course, there he was, still watching, and the longer he watched the fireworks the less inclined he was to go back and work some more on the forest, out of the zone for the night. He had to go to the bathroom again from the water he drank, and he decided to take his night meds and put his painting supplies away.
The explosions were getting louder, enough that even as Sören was expecting them, it still made him jump. Then he heard a moan of distress from Mark's room, and then another. A "noooooo".
Sören froze. He realized he was sharing a house with a vet who had PTSD, on a night when there were loud explosions happening outside. "Mark," he said under his breath and took off at a run for his bedroom - having to slow down when his lungs wheezed in protest. He was walking towards Mark's bed just as a very loud bang made Mark sit up with a cry, and Mark grabbed Sören and threw him down onto the bed with him, shielding him with his body until he snapped out of it a moment later.
"Oh god, Sören." Mark facepalmed. He was shaking, tearing up. "Sören..."
"It's OK, Mark." Sören was a little sore from being so roughly handled - also vaguely aroused - but his concern right now was for Mark, who was reliving whatever horror he'd been through. "It's OK. Shhhhh. You're here in Sausalito."
"Oh Hells." Mark tried to take deep breaths, but he was sobbing. "Oh god."
"Are you... having a flashback?"
"I was." Mark nodded, still crying. "I'm starting to come out of it but still having that fight-or-flight response... did I hurt you?"
"Not much. And even if you had, I'm not angry. You were trying to save me from whatever it was you were seeing..."
"Yeah. I'm sorry." Mark broke down, weeping harder. "No matter how long it's been, certain things will send me back..."
"I know." Sören's arms tightened around him, and he began to rock Mark back and forth. "I know. You were there for me last night when I was reliving my own hell... I'm here for you tonight." He brushed an errant lock of hair out of Mark's face and stroked his cheek. "You don't have to be alone through this."
Mark cried on Sören's shoulder. Sören gently lay them down and pulled Mark close, petting his hair. "Let it out. It's OK." He continued rocking Mark, petting, making little tender, soothing noises as Mark wept, shaking. "It's OK. It's all right. You're safe here."
Mark cried and cried. It made Sören tear up too, heart aching, wishing there was something, anything he could do to make it OK again.
Well, there is one thing I can try. Sören got up, and went over to his own bedroom. While he was in there, he stripped down to his boxer-briefs - he wasn't going to bed in his street clothes - and he reached for the Eeyore doll on his bed. Before he could grab a pair of pajama bottoms, he heard Mark calling for him in distress, which made the dam break - Sören couldn't hold the tears back. So even though he was just in his underwear, he came back with Eeyore, climbing in bed next to Mark.
"Here," Sören said, putting Eeyore in his arms.
Mark laughed and cried at the same time. "You're a dear."
"I'm a donkey," Sören said in an Eeyore voice, making the doll headbutt Mark. "Get it right."
Mark laughed some more. "I needed that."
"I know."
Their eyes met, and then Sören held out his arms and Mark settled back in. Mark's arms went around Sören too, and they held each other, Eeyore held between them. Their legs braided together and Mark started to cry again. Sören resumed petting his hair, rocking him. "Shhhhh," Sören soothed. "You're safe here. I've got you."
"I don't want to keep you if you're painting..."
"I'm done for the night but even if I wasn't, you need this right now."
Mark sobbed. "I hate being like this, so much."
"I relate. Different trauma, but..."
"Yeah." Their eyes met. "You get it. I'm sorry that you get it too, but..."
"But we have someone who understands." Sören took Mark's scarred hand and squeezed it. Without thinking of it, his thumb stroked the scar on Mark's palm. Then Sören let go of his hand and held Mark more tightly. "Just rest. Try to go back to sleep. I'll be here."
"Thank you."
Mark continued to cry for awhile, and Sören pet him, aching. At last Sören asked, "Do you... do you want me to sing to you?"
"You could."
Sören thought about what to sing - "Stairway to Heaven" came immediately to mind, but he didn't think he could do the song justice at all, especially not after Mark sang it last night, sounding as good as Robert Plant if not better. His mind drew a blank, and then, in a fit of madness, Sören heard himself singing
Backstroke lover
Always hidin' 'neath the covers
'Til I talked to your daddy, he say
"Sören." Mark's eyes were wide.
He said, "You ain't seen nothin'
'Til you're down on a muffin
Then you're sure to be a-changin' your ways"
I met a cheerleader
Was a real young bleeder
Oh, the times I could reminisce
'Cause the best things of lovin'
With her sister and her cousin
Only started with a little kiss
Like this
"Oh my god, Sören." Mark was shaking, but now it was with laughter.
Sören began to make Eeyore dance as he continued the song.
Seesaw swingin' with the boys in the school
And your feet flyin' up in the air
Singin', "Hey diddle diddle"
With your kitty in the middle
Of the swing like you didn't care
So I took a big chance
At the high school dance
With a missy who was ready to play
Wasn't me she was foolin'
'Cause she knew what she was doin'
And I knew love was here to stay
When she told me to
"Walk this way, talk this way"
"Walk this way, walk this way"
"Walk this way, walk this way"
"Walk this way, talk this way"
Just gimme a kiss
Like this
Sören sang "der-ner-ner, der-ner, der-ner-ner, der-ner-ner-ner, der-ner-ner, ner ner NER ner," to the guitar riff, making Eeyore twerk.
Mark facepalmed, doubled over. "Goddammit, Sören. You fucking dork..."
Sören was laughing too. "I couldn't help it."
When they calmed down from their hysterics, Mark's arms squeezed Sören. "Thank you."
Sören nuzzled the top of his head, breathing in the scent of his hair. "Now get some sleep, you."
"I kind of want you to finish the song."
Sören laughed. "No." His face was burning, feeling self-conscious about singing, even though he was glad he'd entertained Mark and got his mind off things a little. "I could barely get through the first part."
"Party pooper."
"Good night, Mark. You need your rest."
"All right," Mark mumbled, snuggling into Sören's chest. "Good night, you."