Sunday and Monday were fairly uneventful - Mark and Sören went to the laundromat on Sunday, and on Monday they tidied up the house. Sören took a break from his painting of the redwoods to read the notebook Sharon had let him look at, and found himself engrossed in her stories. Engrossed enough to work on a sketch of one of Sharon's major original characters, a female paladin with a feisty, rough, bawdy personality who nonetheless had a heart of gold and would go out of her way to defend others in need. He drew her short, thick and stocky, with hair in a pixie cut and an innocent-looking doll face - an innocence that belied the blood on her sword, the battered-but-still-sturdy shield that had seen many battles. On her breastplate and shield he drew the same emblem, a flaming star that looked like a flower. It was a simple pencil sketch, but as Sören went back to it between chapters, he felt like it needed to be fleshed out with color, perhaps even turned into a painting. In his mind's eye he saw flaming red hair, silver-blue eyes with long lashes.
Drawing the cute, curvy paladin with her big eyes did nothing to help Sören's libido.
The undercurrent of sexual tension had been getting worse - telling himself that Mark was off-limits seemed to only make the attraction to him stronger. Sören wasn't sure what to do about it. He briefly considered making new accounts on Grindr and Tinder, which he'd gotten rid of early into his relationship with Seth with the expectation of monogamy. The idea of falling for someone again and having a relationship, being vulnerable, was terrifying to him. Yet he'd also learned to be wary of strangers, after his time in Toronto, and the fact that he'd met Seth on Tinder - Seth was originally supposed to be a one-night stand. Sören was disillusioned with casual sex. And he was still recovering from being raped; as much as he was starting to think I need to get laid which seemed like a sign of healing after having no interest in sex for months, he had no idea how he'd actually react if he tried, if he would get triggered or not.
Sören was mostly able to distract himself with reading, sketching, taking breaks to go for walks along the beach. Then Tuesday afternoon came, and there was Sharon.
It was another gorgeous warm-but-not-too-warm sunny day, and Sören and Sharon went to the Marin Headlands again, having another picnic on Hawk's Hill, taking in the view of the Golden Gate Bridge and the San Francisco Bay. They had mostly made small talk or not talked at all on the way up there, and then they were feeding each other finger foods like lovers and Sören couldn't think well enough to make words. After they finished eating they sat on the hill for awhile, side by side, and finally Sharon leaned against him, and Sören put an arm around her. It felt right.
"You read any of the notebook?" Sharon asked.
Sören nodded. "Jæja, your stories are good. I'd buy a copy if you had a book for sale."
"You mean it? You're not just saying that?"
"Sharon, part of my actual job is to give my students honest critiques of their works. Your medium is words, but writing is still art. And I'm pretty picky about what I read. I think your writing is good. It was really captivating. It felt real."
"Yeah?" Sharon blushed, smiling.
"Yes. I'm very fond of Marilwen, your paladin. I felt like I knew her, somehow." Sören decided not to tell Sharon that he'd been sketching her - he wanted that to be a surprise.
Sharon hugged him. "Thank you."
"Thank you for letting me read it. Can I keep the notebook awhile longer? Like a week or two? I want to re-read stuff."
"Sure." Sharon beamed. "I'll see what I can do this fall about typing it up and giving you a free PDF copy -"
"Oh, Sharon, I'm not asking for anything for free. You have the right to be paid for your work -"
"Consider it a gift."
On impulse, Sören kissed her cheek. He couldn't believe he'd done that, and his face burned as he pulled back - Sharon's blush was deeper now.
They went back to the beach house and smoked a bowl together, listening to music. Mark was out, and Sören once again found himself missing Mark, wanting to spend time with him. Sure, they'd seen each other yesterday and the day before, bantered as they usually did, but that had been chores; Sören wanted to go out and do something with him.
Yeah, I'd bet you'd like to "do something" with him.
Sören swatted away the lustful thoughts, though the buzz from the marijuana and the proximity of Sharon's body was still making him horny. She's off-limits too, Sören warned himself. But he couldn't help stealing glances at her, and eventually Sharon asked him, "You want to go for a swim?"
Sharon had worn a swimsuit under her T-shirt and skirt again, but it was not like the ones before. Sören's jaw dropped as he stepped out of the bathroom in his trunks and saw Sharon standing there in a very skimpy glittery gold bikini, her blonde locks free and tumbled down her back; he could tell from the thong she was wearing that she was in fact blonde all over, though he'd already assumed that from the unshaved armpits.
They walked down to the beach together. Putting suntan lotion on Sharon's back was like torture, and Sharon rubbing sunblock onto his back was excruciating. Sören had no way of concealing his hard-on in his trunks, though he tried to walk ahead of Sharon, praying she wouldn't notice, praying the cold sea water would make his erection deflate.
When they were up to their chests, Sharon grabbed his butt under the waves. Sören laughed, and then Sharon waded close to him, the two facing each other.
"You like what you see?" Sharon grinned.
Sören wasn't going to lie, his face burning. "Yeah, I do."
Sharon nodded. "I wore this for you. You... make me feel sexy. I haven't felt sexy in awhile."
Sören didn't know what to say. His breath hitched as Sharon came closer, and then, suddenly, her arms were around him, her mouth on his, her small breasts pressed against him. Sören let out a little moan into the kiss, trembling, and he found himself kissing her back, the kiss deepening, tongues swirling, playing together. Sören's arms were around her waist and his hands slid down to cup her pert ass, his mind racing with thoughts of leading her back to the sand and taking her on the beach...
...They pulled apart, breathing hard. Sharon's face was flushed again, her eyes a bright blue.
"Sharon," Sören rasped, "we can't do this. I don't like how Lucas treats you, but you're still with him and as far as I know that's not an open relationship and I don't want to be the other man..."
"I know." Sharon stroked his cheek. "And I said I want to work things out with him -"
"You deserve better... but... I get it." He wished she would break up with him, but for herself, not just so she could be free to do all the things his cock was screaming for right then.
"And I mean... you live in Oregon. It's a short flight but a long drive."
"And we're at two very different places in our lives."
"Yeah." Sharon looked away.
"Yeah." Sören looked down, hating the truth of it, but the truth needed to be spoken anyway.
And then their eyes met again. "I still like you. A lot."
"I still like you too."
"And if things were different, well..." Sharon took his face in her hands. "I wish you were my boyfriend."
They kissed again, just as passionate as before, and then their mouths lingered, a sweet brush of the lips before they backed away.
Sharon took his hand as they came out of the water. Though Sören was near-sighted and didn't have his glasses on the beach, his eyes still looked up at the beach house out of force of habit, and he could just make out the shape of Mark in the kitchen, at the glass door.
They were still holding hands on the way back to the house, and Mark was still in the kitchen when Sören and Sharon stepped inside, toweling off. Mark was putting away groceries, and looked a little disgruntled.
"Hey," Sören said.
"Hey," Mark said, taking a look at Sören and then quickly looking away.
"Hi," Sharon said.
"Hello, Sharon."
"Oh wow," Sharon said, looking at the goods on the kitchen counter that had yet to be put away, "are you making lasagna?"
"Yes," Mark said.
"That's my favorite. You Italian?"
"No, though I've been to Italy a few times."
"Oh, really? Wow." Sharon laughed. "I've never left the US, you guys are making me feel so uncultured."
"If you ever get the chance to go to Europe, you should go to Tuscany or Venice, you won't regret it." Mark then looked at Sören. "I assume you haven't seen Italy, either."
"No, just Iceland, Canada, and the States," Sören said. "I'd love to see the world, though. Especially parts where the old masters lived."
Mark looked like he was deep in thought, and then he looked at Sören and back at Sharon and asked Sharon, "Do you want to stay for dinner?"
"I'd love to, but I have to get back soon, unfortunately." Sharon made a little pouty face that made Sören want to kiss her again.
Sören was surprised that Mark was actually inviting Sharon to dinner, when it seemed he'd been going out of his way to avoid her, but he held that thought as he ducked into the bathroom to change and Sharon put her clothes back on. He walked her out to her van and they lingered.
"Thank you for today," Sören said. "It was lovely." He couldn't help himself. "You... you're lovely."
"So are you." Sharon took his hands and squeezed. She let out a sigh.
Sören also sighed.
"I'll see you in a few days?" Sharon cocked her head to one side.
Sören nodded. "Jæja, give me a call and we'll do something."
"OK." Sharon gave a little wave as she turned and walked off to her van. "Bye, Sören."
Sören felt a lump in his throat and a little ache when he went back inside, remembering the kisses... the delicious sight of her in that skimpy bikini. He knew he probably could have had her if his conscience hadn't gotten in the way.
If his fear hadn't gotten in the way.
And yet, he wanted.
Fuck, I'm horny.
And of course, there was Mark, coming out of the kitchen, presumably on his way to the bedroom. Mark paused when he saw Sören, and Sören also paused in his tracks. There was a long, awkward moment of the two just looking at each other, not saying anything; then Sören ran a nervous hand through his curls and cleared his dry throat.
"Jæja, so, ah, thank you for inviting Sharon to dinner. That was nice of you," Sören said.
Mark shrugged. "I figured I ought to be nice to my friend's girlfriend -"
"Wait, no." Sören laughed, his anxiety intensifying. "We. Ah." He shook his head.
"Well, I saw you guys out there -" Mark's voice trailed off and he looked away.
"Oh Jesus, what did you see?" Sören folded his arms. "I know you saw us holding hands as we were coming in, but..."
"I saw enough." Mark took a couple steps away. "I saw you kissing her."
"Yeah. Before I told her I can't go there because she's seeing someone, and she agreed logistically it wouldn't really work anyway."
Mark paused again. "Hm. OK. I just..." He took a deep breath. "I didn't want to be rude."
"No, you... you're fine. That was really nice of you. But no, Sharon and I aren't a thing."
"It sounds like you want it to be a thing, though, and it definitely looks like it."
Sören wasn't going to lie. "Yeah, maybe?" Sören rubbed his head, and his beard, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "Honestly, though, I don't know what I want. I'm a fucking mess."
Their eyes met, and Sören almost blurted out I want you to Mark. His heart raced, thudding in his ears, a chill down his spine as the words formed on the tip of his tongue and he choked them back just in time. He didn't think Mark was interested in him at all, and he didn't want to strain their friendship.
Mark looked away again. "I kind of had a rough afternoon," Mark said, "so I'm gonna go to my room for awhile."
"OK. I think I might take a nap, myself."
Sören went to bed when he got in his room, but it wasn't to sleep - not yet. He took out the lube and the toy from the mirror box. Once again, he fucked himself with the dildo as he thought of Mark. When he came, he started to cry - as powerful as his release was, it left him physically sated and yet spiritually hollow, a sort of unclean feeling. He knew he shouldn't be thinking about Mark this way, feeling like Mark would be horribly creeped out if he learned that over in the next room Sören was masturbating to fantasies of him. And try as he might to resist, the lust burned.
As much as Sören was coming alive again - literally, even - feeling like a sexual person again after months of no interest, caring about two people three if you count Dooku, he thought bitterly, another pang stabbing at him... it also hurt. It was like a limb waking up from being asleep for so long, almost unbearable pins and needles. He felt raw, oversensitized, like everything was too much. He'd been running from having any kind of intimate desires for so long and now it was all catching up with him and he needed but he was so, so afraid, feeling like if he opened that Pandora's box of connection he'd mess everything up, somehow.
Seth's words in his head. You're damaged goods, baby. It hadn't just been a dream - Seth had said those words to him more than once over the course of their relationship, mocking him for his high-strung emotions, his past, his pain...
For now, he was sleepy post-orgasm. He pulled up the sheet, snuggled Eeyore and Bláberja, and closed his eyes.
_
Sören dreamed of a house of mirrors, the one he'd dreamed about closer to the beginning of his stay in Sausalito. And from the dream of the house of mirrors, his reflection changed to someone who looked a great deal like Mark but wasn't, wearing a long red robe, finely embroidered and bejewelled, and there was a crown of three stones like diamonds on his brow but the brilliance of the stone surpassed even that of diamonds, like he was wearing three stars plucked from the very heavens.
Mark was there with him in the mirror then, and he turned, and they kissed, much as Sören and Sharon had kissed in the ocean, but instead of being in the sea and waves rolling to and around them, everything was fire. Glorious, bright fire, and it felt like with each kiss they were one with the fire, that in their passion they were as magnificent as a wild force of nature itself...
...and then Sören was burning up. The nightmare that had haunted him from earliest childhood. The creatures of smoke and fire were upon him, lashing him with whips of flame, and he went up in flames. He could hear Mark screaming...
...Those screams were his own. Sören sat up in a cold sweat, heart pounding. Then Mark was pounding on his bedroom door.
"Sören? You OK?"
"Nightmare," Sören called back, his voice threatening to break. He looked down and saw he was naked but for the sheets, and the dildo was on the bedtable, needing to be washed before he put it back in the box. "I need a few minutes?"
"All right. So long as you're OK -"
"Jæja, I." Sören took a deep breath. The dream-kiss with Mark had been so lovely... something I can never have. Sören blinked back tears. I will never be OK. "I'll come out in a few minutes."
Sören put on a T-shirt and pajama bottoms. He tucked the dildo behind the box, making a mental note to come back to it later and find a way to wash it that wouldn't result in another awkward scene with Mark. He opened the bedroom door and Mark was waiting in the living room.
Wordlessly, Sören followed him into the kitchen; Mark began to prepare the lasagna with the classic rock station playing. "You want to talk about it?" Mark asked.
Sören shrugged. "Same shit. Me on fire again."
Mark took a deep breath and looked down, chopping vegetables harder. "I'm doing half vegetable, half sausage," he explained as Sören looked at the ingredients on the counter.
Mark was currently preparing an eggplant. Sören's mind went there, desperately grabbing at levity in the tension. At the look on Sören's face, Mark rolled his eyes.
"Sören, I swear to god..."
Then "Walk This Way" came on. Mark put down the knife, leaned against the counter, and shook with laughter. Sören's laughter rang out. "I can make this worse," Sören said. He came out with the dildo he needed to clean and began to play air guitar on the dildo again, dancing around the kitchen.
When the song was over and Mark calmed down enough to resume his work, Sören washed the dildo in the sink.
Mark finally looked at him and said, "So you got worked up after Sharon's visit?"
"Yeah," Sören admitted. "Ah, sorry for TMI?"
Mark shrugged. "I told you, you're a grown man, I get it." Mark was looking away now, his face slightly flushed. "Keep telling yourself you and Sharon aren't a thing -"
"Because we're not. I mean, what's it to you?" What Sören didn't tell him was that Sharon hadn't been the one he'd been fantasizing about as he reamed himself with the toy.
Sören hadn't meant to snap at him, and as soon as the words were out of his mouth he regretted it. Mark flinched a little like he'd been stung. Sören wanted to apologize for his tone, but he was also mildly peeved at Mark's inquiry and commentary. And this of course is why I can't say anything to him. If it's already this awkward and he thinks I've been jacking it to Sharon...
"I... I'm gonna go check my e-mail and stuff. Come get me when dinner is ready?"
Mark didn't look up, only nodded in acknowledgment.
_
Sören and Mark had dinner on the deck. Most of the meal was spent in silence, with music in the background. Finally Sören felt like he should say something, remembering the way Mark flinched in the kitchen at his tone. "The lasagna is really good," Sören said.
"Thank you." Mark sipped wine, looking out at the ocean.
"I can't decide which of these I like better, the sausage or the eggplant." Then Sören couldn't help snickering.
Mark facepalmed, but he was laughing a little too - a laugh that cleared the tension. Then, just as they were both taking a bite of lasagna, "Walk This Way" came on the radio again. Sören sprayed a mouthful of lasagna; Mark teared up. Sören howled and clapped like a seal, as Mark doubled over the table.
"I'm sorry," Sören said, quickly wiping up the mess on the table and his shirt.
"No you're not. And even if you were, it's not me you need to apologize to." Mark gave him a stern look but there was mirth in his eyes.
"Right." Sören folded his hands as if in prayer. "I'm sorry God. I'm sorry Aerosmith."
Mark laughed. "You're praying to Aerosmith?"
"Saint Steven?"
Mark laughed harder.
When they calmed down, their eyes met. Sören decided he wasn't going to hold Mark's earlier words against him, and he said, "I'm sorry for snapping at you."
"I shouldn't pry," Mark said. "I just..." He sighed, looking into his wine glass. "I'd like to see you happy, is all."
"I appreciate that. But..." Sören shrugged. "It's like I told you. I'm a mess. It's kind of a sore subject for me."
"I get it." Mark nodded, and he looked back out to sea. "I get it better than I'd like to get it."
"I... yeah." Sören remembered what Mark had told him, about having a son who was an adult now. He wondered if Mark had been alone all this time.
He wondered what had happened, in that case.
He decided it was dangerous to wonder about it, because that led to asking questions that he got the feeling Mark didn't want him asking. Sören finished his lasagna.
After dinner Sören did dishes, and then he and Mark did their usual routine of watching Star Trek: The Next Generation and Star Trek: Deep Space Nine. Though Sören took his night meds between shows he wasn't quite tired when the end credits of Deep Space Nine rolled, having had a nap earlier, albeit one that had been interrupted by the disturbing dream. He wasn't quite in the frame of mind to pull an all-nighter, so he didn't ask Mark to play music while he drew. He was in the mood to draw, however, and Mark looked tired for once, like he was dozing off a little.
"Mark, go to bed."
Mark stuck his tongue out at Sören - Sören internally cursed where his mind went at seeing Mark's tongue - and then Mark got up and shuffled off to bed.
Sören sketched for awhile, continuing to work on the female paladin, Marilwen, from Sharon's stories. He was almost ready to copy this sketch to canvas and flesh it out with color, but not quite. He re-read Sharon's notebook, wanting to immerse himself a little more before the undertaking. He felt a small pang of guilt as he looked at the canvas of the redwood forest, untouched, but he'd get back to it. He had a limited time to borrow Sharon's notebook; he had at least another month to visit the redwoods and study Mark, to paint him.
More like ogle Mark.
Sören's face burned. And then, he heard what sounded like crying from Mark's room. Sören got up. When he walked out of his room towards Mark's room, that was unmistakably what it was.
"Mark?" Sören stood in the doorway of Mark's room. "You OK?"
Mark sniffled. He said nothing in response, then another sob came.
Sören walked in and sat on the edge of Mark's bed. Mark lay there, crying into his pillow, shaking. Sören began to gently rub his back, and finally Mark rolled over and Sören pet his hair, his face.
"What is it?" Sören asked.
Mark sighed. He closed his eyes, blinked slowly, and shook his head. "Nothing, Sören. Don't worry about it..."
"It's not nothing if you're crying, Mark." Sören gave him a look.
"It's... stuff I don't want to talk about." Their eyes met. "I'm sorry."
"Well... I get it, your boundaries are your boundaries. There's shit I don't like talking about either. That's one of the problems with therapy, they'll tell you talking about stuff helps but sometimes it really doesn't."
"Yeah. Thank you for understanding." Mark patted him. "I didn't mean to disturb you -"
"I don't want you to feel like you can't cry if you need to cry because it might disturb me or wake me up or something, OK? You're my friend." With that, Sören reached out and gave him a hug. "You're a very dear friend."
Mark returned the hug, crying a little again. "You too, Sören." He swallowed hard.
They held each other for a moment, rocking together, and when Mark started to cry harder, Sören fought back his own tears, wanting to cry with him, for him. He couldn't bear the sight of Mark so upset, desperately wanting to comfort him in some way. Sören wracked his brain. "You want to go outside? Walk on the beach for a few minutes?"
They did that, walking along the shore barefoot, in their pajamas. Sören held his hand like he'd held Sharon's earlier, with the same pang he'd felt for Sharon but stronger. And the sight of Mark on the beach at night in the light of the waning gibbous moon, hair stirring in the breeze, a wistful look on his face, made Sören ache with the beauty of it. Wanting to kiss him, tell him how beautiful he was, that he had a beautiful soul, to make the kind of music he did. But he restrained himself.
After their walk, Mark got back in bed. Sören got a glass of ice water and brought it to him, to help continue the process of grounding and centering. Then Sören went to his room and came out with Eeyore and Bláberja. Mark smiled at the sight of them. Sören tucked him in, put the stuffed dolls in his arms, and before he could walk away back to his room Mark asked, "Sören?"
"Hm?"
"Can you stay with me for awhile?"
Sören nodded.
He pulled back the sheets, got on the other side of Mark's bed, and snuggled up against him, wrapping his arms around Mark. Mark's arms went around Sören, and soon their legs entwined as well. Sören felt the urge to cry again, not just for whatever was hurting Mark so much that he needed him there, but how good it felt to hold someone and be held. Sören had skin hunger, and he wondered if Mark had it too. He could feel Mark crying a little again, and then the tears subsided and he was breathing more slowly, calming down. Sören gently rubbed his head, his back, gently rocked him.
Even though Sören felt self-conscious about the way he sang compared to the way Mark sang, he found himself singing now anyway.
There's a lady who's sure all that glitters is gold
And she's buying a stairway to heaven.
When she gets there she knows, if the stores are all closed
With a word she can get what she came for.
Ooh, ooh, and she's buying a stairway to heaven.
There's a sign on the wall but she wants to be sure
'Cause you know sometimes words have two meanings.
In a tree by the brook, there's a songbird who sings,
Sometimes all of our thoughts are misgiven.
Ooh, it makes me wonder,
Ooh, it makes me wonder.
There's a feeling I get when I look to the west,
And my spirit is crying for leaving.
In my thoughts I have seen rings of smoke through the trees,
And the voices of those who stand looking.
Mark was either asleep now, or he was close to it. Sören pulled Eeyore and Bláberja closer to them, relaxing himself with his stuffed dolls close - especially the bunny that Mark had fixed up. Sören listened to Mark breathe - felt the rise and fall of Mark's chest against him, the breath against his skin - and attempted to sing the rest of the song, but soon enough he was mumbling as his night meds kicked in and the forest imagery took him into the happy little forest of sleep.