It was time for Mark to return the sewing machine he'd rented to repair Sören's stuffed rabbit Bláberja, and Sören elected to stay home while he did, hoping to poke at his art. But once again, Sören found himself struggling with brain fog in the first few hours after waking up - he typically didn't feel awake until much later in the day.
Sören needed to find something to do before Mark got back. He picked up the copy of The Silmarillion that was tucked under the as-yet-unopened box of chocolates in the care package Ari had sent, and attempted to read it again. And as before, his eyes started to glaze over with the business with Eru and Valar in the beginning. He closed the book, shoved it back under the chocolates, and made a face.
But taking out The Silmarillion did serve a purpose - it reminded Sören to get a hold of Ari, finally, and thank him for sending the care package. And as Sören looked at the time and did the mental math of the time difference between the US West Coast and Iceland, he knew it would be the right time for Ari to be home. So he set up his camera and opened a video chat with his cousin, waiting.
Approximately ten minutes later Ari got on. "Jæja," Ari said.
"Jæja," Sören replied.
"Jæja?"
"Jæja."
A pause, and then they both laughed. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" Sören asked.
Ari shook his head. "No, not really."
"The package came. Thank you so much!"
Ari grinned. "I hope you liked it."
"I do. I shared the Applesin with Mark - I put it in whiskey, he wasn't too happy about that, but he drank it anyway. It was funny. He made me the best cookies with some of the licorice, chopped up. Still got some, and still working on the Froskur. Haven't opened the box of chocolates yet, since I want to share them with Mark and I'm waiting for the right romantic moment -"
"Oh, so you guys are a thing now?"
Sören's cheeks flushed. He bit his lower lip and nodded. "Jæja, Mark is my boyfriend now."
"Good, good." Ari raised an eyebrow. "Have you started reading The Silmarillion yet?"
Sören didn't want to be rude, but he knew Ari would want him to be honest. He ran a nervous hand through his curls and rubbed his beard, making a face. "I tried. I couldn't get into it."
"Where did you stop reading?"
"Not that far into it... where it gets into the Valar. Just... reminds me too much of the Bible and shit."
"Mmm, OK. I should have anticipated you wouldn't like the Valar and written a longer note about where to start reading. For now skip all that stuff and go to the Quenta Silmarillion. If you're still having a hard time getting into it a chapter or so in, go right to chapter 6, Of Fëanor and the Unchaining of Melkor, though the stuff with Melkor will make more sense if you read the Quenta Silmarillion from the beginning, straight through. I promise, it gets much more interesting."
Now it was Sören's turn to raise an eyebrow. "You're really bent on me reading this book, aren't you?"
"Well, I mean... I don't want to force you to do anything." Ari laughed nervously. "But you know I write Tolkien fanfic and you've expressed interest in seeing my writing sometime and it won't make sense to you unless you've read certain things. And, I don't know, it would be good for you to expand your horizons a little? You like reading, you like learning."
"Fair enough," Sören said, though he wasn't completely sold on the idea, trying not to cringe as he remembered his immediate distaste of the Valar. And he couldn't help but suspect that Ari had some kind of motivation for wanting Sören to read the book beyond wanting to share his fanfic, and give him an "educational experience". He wasn't going to press it, though.
"Anyway," Ari said, leaning back in his chair, folding his arms, "congratulations on you and Mark. Even just talking to you for a few minutes, you seem a lot happier than you were with Seth."
"Seth was a fucking disaster, and that's just what I told you about. None of those red flags have gone off with Mark." Sören sighed. "It's almost too good to be true, really."
"When are you guys going back to Oregon?"
"I'm clearing out of here on the 18th. My original plan before everything happened was to take the train back up and Nico pick me up at the station, but Mark drove down here and I think I'll probably be riding up with him." Sören realized he had to tell that to Dooku, who would be expecting to pick him up that weekend. He'd have a lot to talk to Dooku about - he felt a little pang, missing his best friend.
"So you have a couple weeks left then."
Sören nodded. It was Friday, August fourth, now. "Two weeks."
"I hope it doesn't fly by too fast. It already feels like just yesterday you were telling me about that place on Airbnb."
"I know." Sören sighed. "It was a nice vacation. Especially after the hell of last year. Did me a lot of good."
"I guess so. Feels like you were meant to go on this trip."
Sören nodded. "If I were religious I'd say it felt like someone was pulling strings."
"Well, enjoy the last two weeks of your vacation, Sören. I'm going to assume you're in good hands - ha ha - and not worry about you, so you don't need to Skype me again till you get back to Oregon. Take time to do other things."
"OK. You want me to Skype you as soon as I get back?"
"Uh, you can take a day or two to decompress from your trip if you need to, I know it's a long journey. So a few days after is fine. But." Ari gave Sören a look. "I expect you to read that book I sent you."
Sören rolled his eyes. "What, is there going to be a quiz?" Now he was even more suspicious as to why Ari was pushing this book on him.
"Maybe." Ari smirked. "Just... read the book, before you go. I went to a bit of trouble to get an English language copy -"
"I was wondering about that, why you didn't send the Icelandic version."
"It was written in English and I didn't want there to be anything lost or mangled in translation."
"Ah, OK, that makes sense."
"It's not like you can't read English, anyway."
Sören sighed at that. "It's hard to believe I've been out of Iceland for eleven years. I speak English so much that I seem to think half in English, half in Icelandic now."
"Jæja, I know." Ari sighed too. "And it's just me here now, of the family, with you and Dag abroad, and..." He didn't need to finish the sentence; bringing up Margrét was still a sore spot.
Sören winced, missing his sister again. "Já, you're the only one left."
"Though, I've been thinking." Ari looked like he was looking at something far away for a moment, then his eyes met Sören's again.
"What, you're thinking about leaving Iceland?"
"Probably. After our last conversation I really started thinking about it seriously." Ari nodded. "Wouldn't be anytime soon - I'd want to visit the States a few times, so not for another year or two, but... well, it would be nice to be closer to family. Or at least you, anyway."
Things were tense between Ari and Dagnýr, as a man of faith and a man of science. Sören always felt like he was caught in the middle between them, and that would probably get worse if Ari moved within a somewhat more reasonable visiting distance. But, he missed his cousin nonetheless and the thought of being able to see Ari more often made him perk up. "Not gonna lie, I'd be thrilled if you moved out here."
"I'd be thrilled if you moved back home but there's even less chance of that now with you having found someone, já?"
Sören nodded. "I was planning on becoming a citizen anyway. There's just... nothing left for me there, besides you. I still find myself calling it 'back home' but... it doesn't feel like home anymore." It felt strange to finally admit this out loud, to someone in his own family, but there it was.
"I understand. And, well... it's time for me to go on an adventure." Ari gave a small smile. "But I have to be smart about it, so like I said, won't be for awhile. I'll come to visit, get a feel for things."
"I'd like to visit too - even if Iceland isn't home anymore, it's still a gorgeous country. Part of my heart will always be there." Sören closed his eyes, conjuring up mental images of the landscape. "Mark should see it."
"I want to meet him. Seth wasn't keen on meeting me, or Dag. In hindsight that says a lot."
"It does." Sören nodded. "Maybe Christmas. We'll see. Sometime, though."
"And on that note, I'll let you get going, and I'll talk to you once you're back in Oregon?"
"Jæja, that's the plan. Take care, Ari. Love you."
"Love you too."
Even though Iceland hadn't really been home in over a decade, talking to Ari nonetheless gave Sören a feeling of homesickness and nostalgia. And the prospect of Ari moving out to the States someday, possibly even somewhere that he could take a day trip to visit him, created a surge of nervous-but-happy energy, the kind that needed to be burned off.
While Sören had been listening mostly to whatever Mark wanted to listen to as of late, he had a more eclectic taste in music than Mark did, and tended to gravitate more towards goth and industrial if he was feeling sad, and R&B and hip-hop at other times. He decided he would do some tidying up while Mark was out, and connected his hard drive of Mp3s to the stereo in the living room. His playlist started with Aron Can, who was like an Icelandic version of Drake or The Weeknd.
Enginn mórall
Þú þarft bara ekki annað en að brosa
og ég er farinn skýjum ofar bara þú er ekki að fokkast
Og þó hún fái nokkra sopa þó hún snerti, dansi, loki vel
þá mun þig enginn toppa
When Mark came back, Sören was booty dancing as he dusted the living room, with "I Can't Feel My Face" by The Weeknd playing. The music was on loud enough and Sören was lost enough in dancing around that he didn't hear Mark when he got in, and he jumped when the song was over, seeing Mark lean against the door with his arms folded, smiling with amusement.
"How... how long have you been there?" Sören asked.
"Long enough." Mark's smile became a grin. "No need to stop on my account, I was enjoying the show."
The playlist launched into "And the Beat Goes On" by The Whispers, a song that came out in 1979, before Sören was born. Sören put down the feather duster and took Mark's hands, making Mark dance with him around the living room.
Do you ever wonder
That to win, somebody's got to lose
I might as well get over the blues
Just like fishing in the ocean
There'll always be someone new
You did me wrong 'cause I've been through stormy weather
And the beat goes on
Just like my love everlasting
And the beat goes on you'd better believe it
Still moving strong on and on
It was both silly and sensual, goofy and graceful all at once, marching back and forth with their hips rolling together, Mark twirling Sören around and dipping him, then bringing him back to grind up on him. Towards the end of the song Mark picked Sören up off the floor and Sören shrieked and giggled as Mark swung him one way then the other, before holding Sören tight as they spun around. When the song was over they collapsed onto the couch, laughing together, and Mark kissed the top of Sören's head.
"That was a nice surprise," Mark said. "I thought you were going to work on art."
"I thought so too, but I got restless." Sören decided not to mention the chat with Ari for now. Then he realized something that gave him a sharp pang, happy and sad all at once. "I used to do this all the time before things got bad with Seth. I'd put my music on and dance around while I was doing housework or laundry or whatever, or sometimes just for the hell of it. It always felt good, even though I know I probably look stupid."
"It's cathartic," Mark said.
Sören's eyes widened - that clicked with him. "Jæja." He nodded, remembering. "I miss clubbing sometimes. I haven't done it since the experience with getting roofied, but like, when I started, it wasn't even to hook up with people or roll on E... that was more of a consequence of going rather than the cause. I wanted to... lose myself. Music, dancing. And that's the part I miss, not the casual sex, not the drugs, but going somewhere just to get out of my head and move to the music. It's, like you said, cathartic. A sort of release."
Mark nodded. "I think it's hard-wired into humans as a species, right down to when humanity lived in smaller tribal groups and had shamans." Mark closed his eyes for a moment, as if he were mentally transporting himself into history. "The ritual drumming and dancing was, to borrow your word now, a release. A kind of group therapy. Most people who go out to nightclubs or house parties to dance probably don't realize they're enacting something very ancient. Primordial." He opened his eyes.
"Almost like song is an element right along with fire, or water," Sören said.
Their eyes met.
"You want to go clubbing tonight?" Mark asked, petting Sören's curls.
"I wouldn't mind, but the real question is, do you want to go clubbing tonight?" Sören pursed his lips. "Something tells me you're not the kind of guy who does the club scene."
"You're right. I'm not. But there's a difference between 'the club scene' and taking you dancing. I like seeing you let loose, set something free within yourself. I'd like to see more of that."
"OK." Sören kissed the tip of his nose. "I really liked it when we danced together at the drum circle, and just now. I'd like to do more of that. Though... it gets me randy."
"Oh heavens." Mark pressed the back of his hand to his forehead and rolled his eyes. "You getting horny? That would be just awful."
Sören giggled, and Mark gave him a little kiss. He continued petting Sören's curls. "I like that part of it too," Mark said.
"So... we're just going there to dance with each other, right? We're not going there to cruise?"
"Correct."
There was a weight in the air - Sören considered bringing up the fact that monogamy wasn't really a good fit for him, and while he wanted to be with Mark, sooner or later the dog in him was going to come out and want a little action on the side now and again. He'd always come back to Mark, like eating at a restaurant sometimes and eating at home most of the time... but that was how it was. Sören decided after a moment not to broach the subject here and now, not just because he didn't want to potentially hit a bump in the road when he was having a good day so far, but also, Mark was enough for him currently as he "got back in the saddle" with his sexuality again after the trauma of Seth, and even when his inner hound finally woke up and came out to play he was probably going to be a lot more discriminating going forward about prospective sexual or romantic partners. It was too soon to attempt playing around, and a club wasn't really how he wanted to meet someone right now.
"We'll probably have to make it obvious we're a couple, then," Sören said, taking Mark's bad hand, tenderly rubbing his thumb over the scars.
"I think I know how we can manage that."
_
In the bathroom, Sören added the finishing touches of his ensemble.
The first was the buttplug, coated with a generous amount of lube. It was still tight going in, and Sören wondered how he was going to manage dancing with it up there, but he supposed his body would find a way, and even as he pulled his underwear and trousers back up he started to adjust and it felt far less tight and uncomfortable, which was a good sign. Indeed, as he took a few steps to retrieve cologne and apply some to his neck, the buttplug provided a certain amount of friction on his prostate that was a little arousing.
Then he put on the black leather collar he'd gotten at the sex shop, with a metal O-ring in the center like a pendant. He looked at himself in the mirror, wearing it, and the overall package - a black ruffly pirate-style shirt, black chinos, his usual Doc Martens. He batted his eyes to put on a touch of eyeliner and mascara, something he hadn't done since before he'd met Seth - something Seth disapproved of. Earlier he'd painted his nails black, with a layer of clear sparkles. That, too, was something he hadn't done in a long time.
He considered putting gel in his curls to tame them a little, which was something he'd gotten in the habit of when he went out with Seth, and then he decided not to, since Mark seemed to enjoy the unruliness of his hair. And he certainly wasn't shaving - he'd had facial hair since 2005, and at least Seth had never complained about the beard, had only sometimes complained about the length of Sören's hair and the messiness, and Sören wasn't going to cut his hair for anyone.
Sören walked out of the bathroom and Mark gave a low whistle when he saw Sören. Sören, in turn, opened his mouth slightly when he saw Mark. "Guð minn góður, þú ert ljúffengur."
Mark gave a throaty chuckle at that. "If I'm making you lose your English, I must have done something right."
Mark was wearing his usual wire-rimmed glasses and a light blue button-down shirt with a darker blue paisley tie and a deep navy pinstripe vest and trousers, the kind of thing Sören had seen him wear to concert performances at the university but it was one thing to see him from feet away on a stage and another thing to see him dressed like this up close and personal. And Mark's long dark hair was cascading to the middle of his back, as it always did, though tonight for the first time, Sören saw him with a thin braided ponytail - when Mark's back was turned Sören saw a set of three blue dichroic glass beads at the bottom of the tail. Sören fingered the braid and the beads, admiring the elaborate braid - wondering how long it had taken Mark to braid it - and the iridescence of the beads, the way they sparkled in the light, jewels of blue fire. Once again, Sören felt that urge to learn glasswork. One of these days...
"I like your hair," Sören said when Mark turned back around. "All of you looks nice - well, better than nice - but your hair is really beautiful tonight."
Mark kissed Sören's forehead. "I wanted to look good for you." He opened his mouth again as if to say something, then thought better of it, closing his mouth with a little frown. Sören wondered about it, what he wanted to say and didn't.
Then Mark pulled the leash out of his pocket and clipped it through the O-ring in Sören's collar, tugging on it to draw Sören to him. Sören came to him with open arms, giggling, and Mark wrapped the leash around his good hand, his hands sliding down to Sören's waist and then his ass, pushing him closer for a kiss.
The kiss quickly heated, tongues teasing, and then Mark drew back with a little groan, both of them breathing harder. "We better behave if we're actually going to get to the club," Mark said, and Sören nodded reluctantly. Mark unclipped the leash from Sören's collar, put the leash back in his pocket - smiling at the whine of protest Sören made, playfully booping his nose before taking Sören's hand and leading him out to the car.
Sören couldn't stop looking at Mark's hair, resisting the urge to touch it because he knew if he started playing with Mark's hair he was going to want to play with the rest of him. Most of Mark's hair spilled down over his back, but some was over his shoulders. It occurred to Sören that not only had he never seen Mark with his hair tied back in a ponytail or a "man bun" - as Sören sometimes wore, especially on warmer days - but he'd never seen Mark's ears. He knew Mark didn't have any body piercings or tattoos like he had, but he wondered briefly if Mark ever had his ears pierced.
He also wondered about the braid, if it was just done for show, a bit of dressup, or if there was something significant about it. Mark hadn't talked about his life much, though Sören knew his parents had been bohemian, and between that and Mark bringing up tribal shamans earlier Sören wondered if Mark was a kind of Pagan, like his cousin was. If the braid was regalia for dancing
or to signify marriage.
Sören's heart leapt at that. He didn't know why his brain jumped to that conclusion, maybe too many fantasy novels or something, though he couldn't recall offhand any fantasy novel where braids were used in such a way. Sören once again felt self-conscious for the feeling he had that he wanted to marry Mark - he was bad at monogamy, but he still wanted a commitment, he wanted to settle down and grow old with Mark, for Mark to be his hearth and his home. He knew if he told anyone how he felt they'd all say he was way too serious about this guy way too soon, moving way too fast, and for all of Mark's proclamations of love Mark would probably want to run in the other direction if he brought up marriage. But it was what it was, Sören couldn't help how he felt. Mark's braid couldn't be some sort of Pagan-ish marriage token, could it? - but that thought had come out of nowhere.
Huh.
Before they'd gotten ready to go, they'd browsed a list of clubs online and chosen one that was bisexual-friendly, where there would be male/female couples, male/male, and female/female, as well as people outside the gender binary. Though Sören wasn't going there to cruise, he liked having a more diverse assortment of eye candy around him.
After waiting in line and paying the cover charge, Mark and Sören made their way into the club. It was Throwback Night, where most of the music would be from the 70s, 80s, and 90s. The DJ was taking requests, and Sören thought about that as Mark led him onto the dance floor. As they hit the floor, "Vibeology" by Paula Abdul was winding down, a song Sören had not heard in years. Then "Just Another Dream" by Cathy Dennis started.
"Jesus, I remember when this song was new," Mark said, clipping the leash through Sören's collar. "I feel old now."
"I was six? Seven?" Sören crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip.
"Thanks, that was helpful." Mark playfully swatted Sören's ass.
They did a bit of a tango, and also to the song that followed, "Strike It Up" by Black Box. When "Let's Dance" by David Bowie came on, they moved closer together, starting to grind more, their eyes locked on each other, the energy between them more sexually charged than before. "Physical Attraction" by Madonna had them grinding some more, with Sören's back against Mark's chest, Mark's hands around his waist, sliding up and down, leaning over Sören's shoulder to steal the occasional kiss. The buttplug rubbed in the most sensuous way as Sören's ass wiggled against Mark, and Sören entertained the brief fantasy of Mark bending him over and taking him right here.
"Be My Lover" by LaBouche seemed appropriate enough after, Sören turning around to face Mark, though now they were back to more of a dance routine, attempting something like Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers.
I hear what you say, I see what you do
I know everything, I need to know about you
And I want you to know that it's telling me
You wanna be my lover
Sören continued to dance, with Mark spinning him around at the end, dipping Sören and pulling him up for a kiss. Mark tugged on the leash as they kissed, and Sören's cock woke up again, though he'd already been feeling some arousal from dancing with the buttplug rubbing inside him.
Mark walked Sören over to a nearby pole, and Sören grinned as Mark tied the leash to a pole. "I'm going to get us a couple drinks," Mark said. "Non-alcoholic, you have a preference?"
"Can I have a Shirley Temple, if they've got it? Otherwise ginger ale or Sprite is fine."
Mark nodded and patted Sören's ass before he walked off. Being tied to the pole was making Sören even hornier, for some reason.
Mark came back with a mojito mocktail for himself, and Sören smiled as Mark put the familiar pink Shirley Temple in his hands. Mark's face turned as pink as the drink as Sören's lips wrapped around the cherry.
"Oh, this is good," Sören said. "The cold drink feels good, after working up a sweat."
Mark untied Sören from the pole, and when they were finished with their drinks, they went back out to the dance floor in time for "Alright" by Jamiroquai. Once again, they were grinding up on each other, but this time their hands were roaming as well.
It felt good to be so alive, here and now. As much as Sören had missed dancing, he hadn't attempted to go clubbing by himself in the months following the breakup with Seth - the prospect had been triggering, reminders of what had happened in Toronto. Here with Mark, he wasn't triggered at all. He'd even accepted a drink without being afraid that something was in it, because he trusted Mark.
Mark's hands were on him, and he was living life again, and his life was in Mark's hands - the leash wrapped around Mark's bad hand was like a symbol of his tether to this world. Sören lost himself in the driving rhythm of Jamiroquai, one of his favorite songs by one of his favorite bands... lost himself in emotion, the silver flame of Mark's eyes.
I see your eyes,
Hold the key, to my paradise
Summer in your smile
Well it makes me feel, so real
You tell me things
And my heart sings to the world,
From islands in the sky
Take my hand
As one we will stand
You know it's never too late
To say hello to forever
Sören's back was up against his chest again, and Sören raised his arms and wound them around Mark's neck. Mark tilted Sören's face and they were close enough to kiss, close enough to breathe each other's breath, just breathing each other in. The sensuality between them made Sören rock-hard, and Mark, not even caring that they were in public, slid his hand down to where Sören was tenting. Sören pulled Mark down for a kiss.
Something seemed to explode between them and the next thing Sören knew, Mark was pulling him along on the leash, marching him towards the bathroom. He slammed into the men's room, and then he bent Sören over the marble counter of sinks. Sören watched in the mirror, smiling at the obvious bulge in Mark's trousers, then letting out a moan as Mark undid Sören's trousers and yanked them down, moaning again when Mark got his cock out.
Mark pulled the buttplug out of Sören's ass and grabbed a small travel-size tube of lubricant that Sören assumed he'd gotten while he was out returning the sewing machine. Sören wiggled his ass. "Fuck me," he panted.
He watched in the mirror as Mark took him. It was one of the most erotic things Sören had ever seen in his life, made all the more erotic as Mark started to thrust. One hand had the leash wrapped around it, rubbing up and down Sören's back, and the other grabbed Sören's curls. Sören rocked his hips back at Mark. Not caring who saw them. Not caring if they got caught, if someone called the police. He wanted. He needed. Right now this was the only thing in the world that existed to him - their passion for each other, their hunger.
Mark pounded him, hard enough that their balls smacked together. Sören matched his rhythm, bucking wildly against him. "Oh, fuck, get it, get it," Sören cried out, grabbing onto the sink white-knuckled.
The hand that had been in Sören's hair reached down to play with Sören's cock, and the hand holding the leash was now in Sören's curls, grabbing again. "Oh, Sören," Mark groaned. "Oh, Sören, fuck, I want you..."
"Take it, take me, I'm yours, I'm yours," Sören panted.
Mark loved that, growling. "Mine."
"God, yes."
"Mine."
"Yes, fuck, god, yes..."
Sören gave a high-pitched whimper and Mark responded with a deep grunt. They continued to moan and cry out together as their hips slapped together. It was so wild, so shamelessly wanton, and the thrill of fucking in public like this - the surrender to being bent over and taken any time Mark wanted it, and loving it - combined with the sweet sensation of Mark's hand expertly stroking his cock, thumb on the frenulum, and Mark's cock rubbing away inside him, teasing his prostate just right. Sören knew he wasn't going to last much longer, and from the way Mark was trembling, gasping for breath, he knew Mark was close too.
They climaxed together, wordlessly shouting their pleasure. Sören almost fell over as his orgasm coursed through him, buckling his knees. Mark steadied him against the sink - Mark himself having to lean on the sink to not collapse, breathing hard.
"Sören," Mark moaned. He shuddered again and then he laughed. "Oh, Sören. Oh god, wow."
Sören laughed too. "Holy fucking shit."
They got up, Mark put the plug back in Sören's ass, they put their pants back on, and kissed - a deep, sensual lingering kiss that held the promise of more later. The feeling of being plugged up with Mark's cum inside him made Sören feel even more shameless, still aroused, in heat, after the powerful release in the men's room. But they weren't ready to go yet, arms around each other as they danced together to "This Is How We Do It" by Montell Jordan.
"We gonna stay here awhile?" Sören asked.
"Maybe, yeah."
"Can I go see the DJ?"
"May I go see the DJ."
Sören narrowed his eyes. "English isn't my first language, dude."
"You speak it well enough." Mark gave him a wicked grin.
Sören scowled and Mark laughed. He patted Sören's ass then and unclipped the leash. "Go see the DJ, I'll get us another drink. Same thing?" Sören nodded, and stuck his tongue out at Mark as he walked off, saying, "Meet me at the bar."
Now Sören was feeling mischievous - since Mark had been a troll, he'd be a troll right back. When he met Mark at the bar he had a shit-eating grin on his face and Mark raised an eyebrow before clipping the leash back in Sören's collar, then handing over the Shirley Temple. "You're up to something."
Sören gave him an innocent face.
It took a few songs, but finally the DJ announced, "For Sören, this is a little Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch."
Sören smirked as "Good Vibrations" came on. Mark gave him a withering look over his mojito mocktail, and Sören raised his Shirley Temple in salute.
After the song they'd had enough of a breather to get back on the floor. "I'm Too Sexy" by Right Said Fred came on, which made Sören and Mark laugh, and now they danced like dorks, mock-voguing, leaning on each other laughing some more at the end of the song. The dorkiness was put aside when "You Make Me Feel Mighty Real" by Sylvester followed, and then "Come and Get Your Love", the mid-90s Real McCoy cover of the 1970s Redbone song. Sören and Mark were grinding together again.
Yeah (yeah) what's the matter with your hair?
Oh, yeah, yeah, (yeah) what's the matter with your mind
And your sign and a, oh, yeah
Mmm, how I gonna get it, baby, gonna get my lovin'?
Talk to me, tell me how I gonna get it
I'm ready for you, baby, ready for your lovin'
Don't make me wait 'cause I really need to get it
Yeah, (yeah) whip it baby
'Cause you're fine and your mine
And you look so divine
Come and get your love
Come and get your love
When Mark spun Sören around and Sören twirled back to him, Mark caught him and whispered, "We can go after this."
"OK," Sören said.
Mark gave him a look like he was going to eat him alive, and Sören crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip, feeling aroused again.
As soon as they got in the car they started making out, and when Sören reached down to try to undo Mark's trousers, Mark took Sören's hands away and said, "I don't want to make a mess in the car again after I cleaned it... and besides, there's stuff we can do at home."
"Oh, all right."
They had a last kiss - which became another, then another - before Mark made himself pull away and started the car up. Sören was so sexually frustrated he felt ready to scream, and was glad it wasn't a terribly long ride back.
As soon as they got in the door they started undressing, and Mark picked Sören up off the floor and Sören's arms and legs wrapped around Mark as he was taken right there up against the wall. Mark kissed and nibbled Sören's neck, groaning and growling as Sören's nails raked him, Sören crying out "more, more, fuck me, fuck me," loving being taken this way, so completely lost in passion. Sören came first, shooting all over Mark, howling, and a few seconds later Mark came with a cry, and they kissed deeply, moaning between kisses, tongues rubbing together, sensual, keeping the fires burning.
Mark carried Sören to the bedroom, looking at him like he was the only thing in the world, giving him that same eat-you-alive look he had during their last song in the club, and when he put his glasses down on the bedtable his eyes seemed for a moment almost iridescent, flashing like labradorite, before they went back to their usual silver.
Mark opened the first drawer of the bedtable and took out the flexible double dildo they'd bought, and the vibrator. Sören's cock throbbed at the sight of it. Mark climbed onto the bed, and held one end of the dildo to Sören's lips, for him to suck.
Mark sucked the other end, and just from that, Sören felt like he could come again. Then Mark was kissing him, giving the double dildo a coat of lubricant as they kissed. Mark lay back against the pillows and pulled Sören down on top of him, Sören giggling before Mark kissed him again. Then he handed the dildo to Sören, looking up at him with trust and love in his eyes.
Sören guided one end of the dildo to Mark's opening, and began to push inside, slowly. Mark gasped - Sören remembered he was still pretty tight up there - and he went gently. Mark adjusted, and Sören played a little, using his hand to move the dildo back and forth, in and out.
Sören straddled Mark's hips. With one end of the dildo inside Mark, Sören brought the other end to his own opening and sank down. He moaned when his end of the dildo was all the way in.
They found their rhythm, Sören riding, Mark rolling his hips, fucking himself, going slowly at first. Sören leaned down to kiss him, stroking Mark's face, looking into those beautiful eyes between kisses. His fingers tenderly strayed to what he could reach of the braid, and then Mark grabbed Sören's face and kissed him more deeply, insistently. Sören reached to take both of their cocks in his hand, stroking them together in the same slow, sensual, teasing rhythm of their thrusts.
This had been a wonderful night, losing himself in the music at the club, and now the music of Mark's moans as they pushed and pulled like the tide. Mark reached for the vibrator and turned it on and held it between their cocks, against each of their frenulums. Sören cried out, riding harder, faster, loving the feel of the vibe on his frenulum as the dildo rubbed on his prostate. The sight of Mark moaning, panting, lost in lust...
Things would never get old, with them. Their bed felt like a garden of endless sensual bliss, waiting to be explored, and always new things to discover each time.