That Tuesday evening was another night of magic, as Mark improvised on his harp and Sören continued work on his painting of Marilwen the paladin, through the near-finish. When they were at a stopping point close to three in the morning, Sören showed Mark the end product.
"It'll probably need a few more last details, but..."
Mark's jaw dropped a little. "It's already pretty detailed." His eyes went from the sword she held, with its star emblem on the hilt, to the same emblem on her breastplate, on her shield. It was a winter scene, with snow falling everywhere, and ships burning in the distance.
"I could hear the snow as you were playing." Sören pursed his lips. He closed his eyes, remembering the notes on the harp - fading fast from memory, ephemeral. "Could see the way the jewels in her armor, on her shield, were shining. Could feel her determination, as relentless as the snow..."
Mark swallowed hard. "I was thinking a lot of my aunt as I played that."
"Oh, jæja? You've told me a bit about your parents, but not the rest of your family..."
"I was very close to my father's younger brother - well, one of them... and my father's sisters. One of his sisters was my music teacher and the other was, um. An early martial arts instructor of mine, I suppose you could call it. I was thinking specifically of her for awhile as I played. So it's... remarkable that you were painting a warrior woman, where her energy comes out so strongly."
Sören let out a low whistle. "Your aunt sounds cool. Aunts, both of them, I guess."
"She was. My uncle was my favorite, though." Mark gave a sheepish grin. "I idolized him. And my father."
"Jæja? What did your uncle do?"
"A lot of things." Mark bit his lower lip for a moment - Sören thought that was incredibly sexy, feeling the urge to kiss him again - and then Mark said, "But mostly, he was a politician."
"Oh, huh. And your father was an artist." Sören rubbed his curls. "I was wondering why you'd been in the service when your parents were bohemian artist hippie types, but I guess having a politician uncle..."
"Well, I told you my father's sense of values was also involved. He believed very strongly in justice and defending what you love. They were both idealists, they just expressed it differently. Anyway..." Mark looked at the clock, and then turned off his recording equipment. "Enough about all of that. We should celebrate the painting."
"Denny's?" Sören grinned.
"As you wish."
They had nachos at Denny's, with Mark once again complaining about the subpar quality even as he was still eating them. Sören finally kicked him under the table, and Mark reached across the table and tweaked his nose. Sören got up to give him a noogie, which resulted in Mark tickling him, and Sören running through the restaurant as Mark chased him, ending up in the bathroom with Sören turning on the sink and fiercely splashing water at Mark. Mark splashed Sören back and then stuck wet fingers in Sören's ears before playfully grabbing him by the hair and marching him back out to their booth. Sören found himself getting aroused by Mark grabbing his hair, wondering if he was like that in bed.
Fighting off the desperate, hungry urge to ask Mark to take him to bed.
They went to the Marin Headlands after Denny's and watched the Wednesday morning sunrise on Hawk Hill again, sitting atop the hill; Sören leaned against Mark, craving physical contact even though it was making his nerves scream with sexual frustration. It was another clear morning with a gorgeous view of the Bay, and the colors this morning were even more dramatic than they were yesterday, more intensity, more shading. It seemed almost like the fire in the sky was a mirror of how Sören was feeling about Mark, the way Mark affected his art, fueled his muse, brought back color to his life. It was beautiful in and of itself, but feeling like he needed to remember this place in time somehow - even as Sören was sure it would never amount to anything but friendship - Sören took some pictures of the sunrise and the view, and a couple selfies of himself and Mark. He liked that the fierce, wild sky was in the photograph with them, overhead.
Sören started to doze off in the car on the way back, lulled to near-sleep by Mark singing along with "Stairway to Heaven" when it was on the radio. Mark gently shook him after he pulled into the parking spot at the beach house. "We're here," he said.
Sören followed him in, still groggy, and Mark said, "Sören, take your meds."
He poured Sören a glass of ice water and leaned against the counter as Sören took his night meds. The act of dispensing his own medication from the med minder made him a bit less groggy, though he intended to go to bed after he was done there. He looked at Mark watching him - feeling a little self-conscious, face burning - and there was a moment of silence, as if Mark was considering his words, and then Mark asked, "So tonight..."
"Jæja?"
"I need to talk to you about something." Mark's brow furrowed slightly.
Sören swallowed hard, feeling a knot in the pit of his stomach. "Anything bad? Did I do something wrong?"
"No, Sören." Mark sighed softly. "I wish that wouldn't be the first conclusion you jump to."
"Sorry. Force of habit." Sören cringed. "Seth, and before that, my aunt and uncle scapegoated me more than they did my other siblings. I could never do anything right..."
"You do plenty of things right." Their eyes met, and held. Then Mark looked away, out to the view of the sea from the sliding glass door in the kitchen, and he gave another small sigh. "It's nothing bad. I. Ah." He looked down, and rubbed his head. "I wanted to ask, um, your opinion about something, but I want to do that when you're more awake than you are now." He looked up again.
Sören nodded. "I'm pretty sleepy. It'll probably be another day of me sleeping in till the afternoon, too, considering the time."
"That's fine. There's no set time on when we have this discussion, just thought it would be better to, ah, get your input sometime tonight."
"Is it important?"
"Kind of?" Mark looked at him again, and then looked back out to sea. "Like I said, it's nothing bad. At least, I don't think so."
"OK." Sören was still a little worried, even though Mark had given the assurance he hadn't done anything wrong. "Do I get a clue of what it's about?"
"No. It's easier to just explain the thing all at once."
Sören nodded and finished his water. Mark looked at him again and then he laughed a little. "Oh god Sören, you're making that sad face like you're about to go on trial or something. I'm sorry, I'm really not trying to worry you. It's nothing bad, OK?"
"OK."
"Here. You... get changed, and if you want, I'll tuck you in and sing to you."
Sören got changed, and stepped out of the bedroom when he was ready. Mark came down, and Sören climbed into bed. Mark put Sören's stuffed animals in his arms, and pulled up the sheets around him. For a moment, Sören felt the urge to ask Mark to sleep next to him - the urge, again, to ask Mark to do more than just sleep, though his body was a bit tired for sex right now. He stifled his impulse as Mark sat on the bed next to him, with Sören rolled over onto his side, and Mark began to gently rub his back and sing "Stairway to Heaven". Sören was out like a light before the song was over.
_
Sören dreamed of the paladin again, but this time, he was also in the forge again, making the armor she wore, the sword and shield she carried... right down to refining and cutting the crystals that went into the star design. He wove enchantments into them as he worked, even though he'd never practiced magick in his life - that was something his cousin did. He was obsessive in the work of smithing - both crafting the armor and sword and shield, and the spells that went into them - and, as he sometimes got when he was deep in the zone with his painting, he worked for what felt like days, not sleeping in his dream, not eating. At last Mark came to him, took him out of the forge, bathed him and then tongue-bathed the freshly clean skin, licking him all over, eyes like mercury. You always take care of everybody else. Let me take care of you now. Licking the sweet spot inside him slowly, tenderly, the fingers of one hand playing over his body, the fingers of the other entwined with his fingers, hands clasped together - just the act of holding each other's hand felt so intimate, sweetness when there was so much bitterness...
Sören woke up gasping, panting - Mark had been edging him in the dream, something Sören had never been on the receiving end of in reality, only read about, somewhat envious that he'd never had a lover who'd had the patience to tease him - most of his sexual experiences had been a quick fuck, maybe a few of them in a row. He was a giver, himself, wanting to lavish pleasure on a lover's body, but had yet to experience being given the same kind of care. And in that dream Mark had taken care of him. Sören had woken up just before he could come, and every nerve in his body was screaming for release.
He thought about masturbating then, but his head also ached in the way that let him know he needed his meds and some caffeine in his system. He looked at the clock and it was after 4 PM. He was still hard after visiting the bathroom, and hoped he didn't run into Mark as he made his way into the kitchen, not wanting Mark to see the erection tenting his pajama bottoms.
Mark wasn't there, and the house was quiet. Sören found a note on the kitchen counter, in Mark's handwriting - graceful, elegant, almost calligraphy-type writing, very old school. "Went for a drive, picking up groceries on the way back."
Sören swore he could smell a faint whiff of Mark's cologne - or perhaps his natural scent, since Sören hadn't noticed any bottles of cologne in the bathroom or his bedroom. Sören held up the paper to his nose and breathed it in, the petrichor-earth-forest-sea-salt smell. His cock throbbed, almost in distress as his mind played a delicious fantasy of his nose rubbing over Mark's body, especially in his bush...
...Mark offering him a taste, not just scent...
Sören found himself going back to the bathroom, where Mark kept the laundry hamper of his clothes. Even as he felt like a creepy pervert doing it, he opened the hamper and took out the pair of Mark's boxer-briefs closest to the top. He breathed in the scent of that too, which was a bit stronger, muskier, but not offensive.
What the fuck are you doing, Sören screamed internally. That's his underwear. Stop it. Get a fucking hold of yourself. He doesn't like you like that, you're being weird now...
And yet, Sören couldn't stop himself, too far gone in his lust. He carried Mark's underwear to his bedroom, like a cat making off with a prize. He threw Mark's underwear onto his bed and took off his T-shirt and pajama bottoms as fast as he could, before climbing on the bed and picking up the underwear, holding it to his face again to breathe in Mark's delicious, intoxicating scent. Then he flipped open the stained glass box and pulled out his glass dildo and lube.
He stroked himself for a couple of minutes, holding Mark's underwear to his nose - poking out his tongue to take a little lick at where he was sure the underwear had made contact with his cock. There was a slight saltiness, indicating precum. Sören groaned, his mind going wild with thinking about Mark coming in his mouth. A release so Mark would last longer inside him, taking him, coming inside him...
"Oh god." Sören couldn't take it anymore, and let go of the underwear - letting it fall to his chest so he could still smell it, faintly, but he needed his hand free. He positioned pillows underneath his hips, spread his legs, and with his right hand stroking his cock, he began to work the dildo into himself with his left hand. Slowly, thinking about Mark fucking him slowly. Lost in those silver eyes. What it would be like to feel his touch, to touch him...
"Oh Mark." Sören shuddered, not able to help saying the name out loud. He rolled his hips, fucking himself on the dildo as his hand continued to push and pull the toy in and out of him.
A little nagging voice in the back of his head warned you should close your door but it felt too good to stop, get up, close the door. Sören didn't want to stop. He won't be back for awhile, probably. I need this NOW.
It felt too good to get up, and it felt too good to keep it slow for much longer. He stroked his cock faster, worked the dildo in and out of himself faster. The thought of Mark taking him hard, completely surrendering to him - no pain, no fear, just pure lust and heat and desire and need - made Sören crazy, rocking his hips furiously, stroking himself as fast as he could, fucking himself as hard as he could. He was so close, but the delicious fantasy, the delicious pleasure, was too good to stop. He kept himself on the edge, orgasm building but just out of reach, as his mind raced with the thought of Mark driving into him, trembling against him as he was trembling now... "Oh Mark. Mark."
Sören was losing it. He bit his lip and gave a little whimper. Almost there but he didn't want to stop... wanted to make this last... "Oh god, Mark, fuck me, Mark..."
Saying his name out loud just stoked the fire hotter. The truth of it. This is who I want. This is what I want. I want Mark. I want him to fuck me. I want him to make love to me...
"Mark. Mark."
He was so close, soclosesoclosesoclose. He heard himself cry out. He was making the bed shake now, and cried out again, before giving a shuddery gasp. "Mark!" Almost there... "Mark!"
Gasping for breath. The bed shaking. He was about to come. He stopped stroking his cock for a moment as a last attempt to tease himself, rubbed and pinched a nipple - wishing it was Mark's tongue, Mark's lips - before he resumed stroking. "Mark, Mark, Mark..."
He stopped stroking to give his other nipple attention, still fucking himself with the dildo, and gave another wordless cry. "Oh god, Mark..."
His cock was in his hand again. "Mark..." Stroking himself so hard it rattled. "Mark! Mark!" Sören gave a little whimper. "Oh god, Mark... oh god Mark... Mark..."
"Sören?"
Oh no, he's home, oh shit - And it was too late. Mark rushed to the doorway of Sören's bedroom just to watch Sören climax, shooting cum all over his stomach and chest and neck and face - Sören licked his lips without thinking about it, tasting himself... and Mark was just standing there, eyes wide, mouth open.
The sight of Mark watching him come - even as humiliating as it was to be caught - made Sören's climax intensify. Sören let out a moan, not able to help it, and then another as his hole twitched around the dildo - another as he pulled the dildo out and his hole contracted again. It was one of those amazing orgasms where both his cock and prostate were pulsing, a full-body release...
...and he was already crashing into horror.
There was no way Mark could not put two and two together that the crying out of his name and Sören masturbating, climaxing, was connected. Sören's face burned and he felt a wave of panic. I've fucked everything up. He knows now, and he doesn't like me like that, I've ruined our friendship -
Sören started to cry.
"Sören..." Mark's voice was raspy.
"Go away," Sören choked out.
Mark's eyes widened again. "Sören -"
"I said go away," Sören growled through grit teeth. He felt absolutely humiliated - a fresh wave of embarrassment, even more intense than before, when he saw Mark's underwear still on his chest and that he'd gotten his cum on that, too.
Mark's expression was neutral. "As you wish." He turned on his heel and walked off.
Sören took a moment to recover - being jarred out of the euphoria of orgasm into the squick of embarrassment was somehow worse than regular embarrassment, and he was still having a panic attack as he pulled his pajama bottoms and T-shirt back on, but at least his body had stopped shaking with the throes of orgasm and he could stand now.
For a moment Sören thought about packing his stuff, calling an Uber, and going to the train station and going back to Oregon as soon as possible. But he still had another month left on the house - it was only July nineteenth - and even if he left within the next few hours, he'd still be running into Mark at the university in the fall... and he wasn't going to leave and try to find another teaching job just because of this. His job was one of the only things keeping him sane.
He did, however, need to not be around Mark right now. He was too embarrassed. That meant he had to take certain steps. He made himself brave his panic and marched out to the kitchen to grab a bottle of Sprite, so at least he'd have something to drink while he was avoiding Mark -
"Sören." Mark was coming into the kitchen.
"Leave me alone, Mark."
"Sören, I think we should talk about -"
"No." Sören pursed his lips. "Just... I can't, right now. Please." Sören met Mark's eyes, at last, and Sören felt himself ready to cry all over again. Sören realized he still had his own cum on his face and he wanted to crawl into the floor and die. "I'm sorry."
Then Sören stalked off to his room and closed the door. It was going to be a long night.