"Bad dream again?"
Sören just nodded, frowning. He was getting tired of this - especially now, when he'd been woken up fairly early in the morning, too early for his liking.
"The usual." Sören made a face. "I've been dreaming about burning to death since I was four, like I told you, but lately it's been even more graphic than that. I keep having this dream where I'm attacked by a mob of, like... fire demons... and they're whipping me to death, and you're holding me and I die in your arms before I go up in flames."
Mark's eyes widened, and his mouth opened.
"I mean, people with bipolar disorder supposedly have very vivid, symbolic narrative-type dreams and it's obvious that it's, you know... symbolic. Like, I finally have something good in my life, and here's the demons from my past, trying to take it away from me. But it also felt real, like in a way dreams don't tend to feel." Sören ran a nervous hand through his curls and rubbed his beard.
Mark looked away and swallowed hard. His eyes were too bright.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you..." Sören immediately felt bad for saying something. "I know that's disturbing as hell..."
"Don't worry about it." Mark attempted a thin, tight smile. He got up from the bed and began putting clothes on. "You want to go to Muir Woods? We both find peace there, I think, and it's early enough that we'll get a decent parking spot if we leave now even with it being a weekend." It was Sunday, August sixth.
"OK." Sören nodded.
After getting his meds, taking a shower, and putting on a Joy Division shirt and camo cargo shorts, he and Mark loaded up supplies for a hike and got in the Jaguar. They went back inside to get some additional water, since it was going to be a warm day - Sören noticed that today Mark was actually wearing shorts, rather than his usual jeans.
"Nice legs," Sören said on the way inside.
Mark grinned. "I wanted to show off for you."
"Is that so." Sören also grinned; he liked that Mark wanted to look sexy for him.
And then, after they got the water from the kitchen, Sören saw Mark looking at his musical instruments, considering.
"You're gonna take the war harp with you?" Sören raised an eyebrow. "Or the acoustic guitar? Even that seems like a pain in the arse to lug on the trail, strong as you are."
Mark reached down and picked up his violin case. "I haven't touched this since we got here." He patted it and carried it out to the car. "This way we can have some music when we stop for a break."
Sören smiled - now that would be a treat, Mark performing in the beauty of nature. He couldn't wait.
Once they were on the road Mark cocked his head to one side and said, "Do you want to try the longer trail?"
"The really long one?"
Mark nodded.
Sören considered, and nodded, patting the inhaler in his pocket. "I hope my body won't give out."
"Well..." Mark gave him a sly smile. "You have been building up your stamina, as of late."
It took Sören a minute, and then he facepalmed, giggling. Mark laughed too.
It was a forty-minute drive from Sausalito to Stinson Beach, and a nice scenic ride. Sören managed to relax on the way there, listening to the radio, feeling the breeze in his hair. When they arrived at the beach parking lot they lingered for a few minutes, Mark looking out at sea, and there was such a sadness in his eyes that Sören ached for him - again feeling guilty, like sharing his nightmare had been upsetting somehow.
Sören put his arms around Mark's waist. "Hey," he husked. "I love you, you know."
Mark tilted his face to look at Sören, his hair stirring in the wind; once again, Sören's breath caught at the beauty of him, as beautiful as the seascape and the nearby coastal trail, lush and green. "I love you too," Mark said, stroking Sören's face.
"You OK? Anything I can do?"
Mark kissed him softly. "I'm never really OK, Sören, but having you around makes it a lot better." Mark's own voice was husky with emotion now, and for the briefest instant Mark had a touch of a strange accent - not generic-newscaster-American any longer, vaguely Latin if Sören had to place it, but that didn't make any sense. Well, sometimes people sound funny when they're upset, Sören thought to himself, deciding not to press it... and Mark was taking his hand, pulling him along.
From the trailhead at the beach, they climbed through a dense patch of forest and through coastal scrub, rolling grassland. Here and there they saw a deer; in one grassy spot they saw a coyote lurking in the brush. Then the Dipsea Trail became the Steep Ravine Trail and the deep forest began, hiking among redwoods in a lush canyon along Webb Creek. Sören gasped at the waterfalls and pools, wanting to stop and take pictures, and just watch the flowing falls and bubbling creek, taking it all in - half-expecting to see fairies flittering about the ferns and redwoods. They spotted more deer, which made Sören choke back a squeak, softly clapping with excitement.
Once again, Mark seemed at peace, and Sören almost wished they could stay here forever, just build a hut here and live in the forest. Of course, they couldn't, and Sören knew he wasn't cut out for that kind of primitive living. But it was good to get away and be in a space to breathe in unspoiled land, anyway.
Eventually they came to here a steep section with an unavoidable 10-foot ladder next to one of the falls. Sören shook a little on the ladder, feeling an asthma attack coming on not from the ascent but from the anxiety of the height and feeling unsteady. Mark was right behind him, soothing with "I've got you, baby. I won't let you fall."
Sören made it up the ladder, puffing on his inhaler, and then once Mark was there with him he hugged Sören from behind. "I'm proud of you," Mark said, squeezing him. "I could feel how nervous you were."
Those strong arms around him, Mark's hands on him, his protection... Sören trembled again, not from fear this time. He reached up and wrapped his arms around Mark's neck, pulled him closer for a kiss. Then Sören grasped for levity, caught up in emotion and desire. "Hi Proud Of You," he teased.
Mark swatted Sören's ass. "Come on, you butt."
The trail passed through more redwoods, becoming a bridge with a particularly thick growth of ferns and shrubbery that looked like small oak trees, that was unavoidable to walk through at one end of the bridge. The ferns and oak-like leaves tickled Sören's legs, making him giggle, and Mark tilted Sören's face to steal another kiss. "I love to hear you laugh," Mark said.
Mark took the lead again as they left the bridge, climbed out of the canyon into a more open forest. They reached the Pantoll Ranger Station and stopped to take a rest, drinking water, eating trail mix. Mark took out his violin then and began to play - first practicing scales, then "Serenade" by Schubert, which was melancholy and bittersweet after the wild, exuberant beauty of the canyon and reminded Sören again of the early morning's nightmare, and Mark's own strange sadness at it.
Sören had a memory of attending a Christmas concert last year with Dooku, where Mark had played harp in the opener, and how even then, before he and Mark were friends, before they were intimate, Mark's music evoked so much emotion, bringing him to tears. It was so much more personal now, feeling the song inside Mark - just as Sören painted what he saw in his mind's eye, Mark played from the heart. Sören could hear the love and loss, the memory of love lost, the fear of love found, all coming to a head in a beautiful place like this.
"Serenade" was followed by "Mysterious Forest" by Chopin, another achingly melancholy song. As Mark's bow glided over the violin, Sören could feel the summer winding to a close, wanting to hold on to what they'd found this summer, what they'd found here, the magic between them. As if he was afraid, just as Sören was, that when they left California and went back to Oregon, they'd lose what they had.
"La Campanella" by Paganini was a mood swing of a song, veering back and forth between wild melancholy and playful brightness, the dance of fear and hope, sorrow and joy. Sören swooned - he was having a better appreciation for why rock stars had groupies; the way Mark played, eyes locked on him, made Sören feel almost like Mark had gone back in time somehow and mused Paganini to compose that just for him. Which of course was foolishness, but that was the sensitivity of Mark's playing, putting so much emotion into music without words, feeling that transcended words.
"That was fucking brilliant," Sören said as Mark caught his breath.
Mark took a theatrical bow. Sören laughed and applauded.
"That Paganini guy was a genius," Sören said.
"I'm sure he'd be rolling in his grave at you calling him 'that Paganini guy'," Mark said with an eyeroll and a small smile. "If you like that, though, you should hear it with an orchestra, it's even more brilliant when it has other instruments backing it up."
"Maybe we can go to a concert sometime?" Sören chuckled then. "I never thought I'd be wanting to go to a classical music concert, but you've expanded my horizons."
"Good." Mark grinned. "I like it when I can help the younger generation to appreciate the old masters."
"I'm not that young, and certainly not that much younger than you," Sören said.
Mark raised an eyebrow before taking a sip of water. "I'm at that age where everyone under thirty-five is a kid," Mark said.
"Mhm."
"Anyway... one more song by Paganini?"
"Please."
Mark finished with "Caprice no. 24" by Paganini, which was exciting - like channeling discovery and exploration itself, the spirit of wonder. Mark's wildness on the violin was intoxicating to watch, and when it was finished, Mark breathing hard, Sören checked his impulse to throw Mark down in the grass and fuck him senseless. Checking that impulse wasn't a bad thing, as a runner zoomed past.
Mark put his violin away and after more water they continued on, crossing Panoramic Highway to the Matt Davis Trail. It was all downhill now, alternating forest and wide open views - in the open places they stopped to look at the Pacific Ocean and the Farallon Islands in the distance, holding hands. The descent through the mixed evergreens was rocky and the stairs were uneven, with Sören holding onto Mark to steady himself, Mark's return grip strong and comforting.
At last they reached the end of the trail, and after a short walk from the firehouse back to the Dipsea Trail, it wasn't far to the car.
"We made it," Sören said, not able to believe he'd hiked almost seven miles without incident.
"We did." Mark gave him a little hug. He looked at the time. "We made good time too, only six hours."
"Some of that was your concert." Sören kissed the tip of Mark's nose. "Thank you for that."
"It was my pleasure." Mark stroked Sören's face, pet his curls. "Thank you for appreciating it."
"I can't believe I didn't really appreciate classical music before now," Sören said as Mark turned on the ignition.
"I can." Mark let out a little sigh. "Don't get me wrong, there's really good music from this era." He gestured to his Metallica T-shirt. "But I think the lack of ability to appreciate more complex music, that isn't 'catchy', is symptomatic of the culture as a whole. Wanting instant gratification, not wanting to think too hard, feel too much. Wanting everything to be packaged and 'fun'."
"Like a snack instead of a meal."
"Or junk food instead of something that took longer to put together and where it needs to be savored slowly. For the most part, I like music to be the way I like to make love. A quickie can be fun, but immersion, something that takes you in completely, is more satisfying to me. And the world seems to be losing that. People want to 'hook up', not be actually intimate. People want mindless entertainment, not engagement. They want to be consumers, not be consumed by the experience of music, of art... and, well..." Mark glanced at Sören. "You get it, I think. You feel more deeply than most people, and that comes out in your work."
"Your music makes me feel, too," Sören said. "It's not just what the old masters composed that makes a song good, it's the musicians playing it. Just like lines can be written, but an actor makes or breaks their impact. You have a gift."
"It's a gift I try to impart to my students, at least a little." Mark frowned as he watched the road. "It feels like trying to keep alive something that's dying out."
"Like magic, itself, is dying out in the world," Sören said, thinking of the way Seth couldn't appreciate his art, scoffed at the magical realism, the supernatural and mythological themes. Seth, who was all technology and transhumanism, longing for a day when AIs would rule the world.
"Very much so."
"We have that magic, both of us." Sören's mouth was dry, remembering the melancholy he'd felt in Mark's violin, the way he'd taken others' compositions and made them his own, almost as if he'd composed them himself, that feeling of loss and fear and longing, wanting to believe in the love that was in front of him. "We're stronger together."
Mark pulled over and kissed Sören hard, hard enough to take his breath away.
For a minute Sören wondered if Mark was going to drag him into the backseat, but then Mark got back on the road and said, "Let's go grab a bite to eat somewhere, then maybe we can make some more of that magic together."
It was late afternoon now. They opted for a small, cozy restaurant on the coast where they got seafood, and before they got back in the car they just leaned on each other awhile, watching the sea. Mark seemed a little sad again, and Sören ached for him, wishing there was something, anything he could do.
When they got back to the beach house, Sören's cell phone went off. He thought about ignoring it, but he didn't know if it would be important or not. So he took his phone out of his pocket. His face lit up when he saw Dooku's number, doing a little internal happy dance.
"Nico! Hi!"
"Sören, hello." Dooku's own voice was bright. "As you know, it's been a few days since I've heard anything from you -"
"Jæja, I've been kind of occupied." Sören didn't want to get into how, since Dooku didn't seem to be the type of person to discuss sexual matters. He also hadn't told Dooku yet he and Mark were an item now - that information could wait till he got back. "I just got in the door..."
"Oh."
And that one "oh" carried the weight of disappointment. Sören felt a pang - despite being so fixated on Mark as of late and incommunicado, he did miss his best friend, and he was regretting very much that he didn't hug Dooku before he took the train. They had been in the habit of hugging and casually touching when they first became friends, last year, and then Dooku had suddenly stopped, apart from the occasional touch. Sören very much wanted to hug him now.
"I should let you go then," Dooku said, a note of sadness in his voice.
"Oh no, Nico, it's OK, I just wanted to try to explain a little why there's been radio silence. It's not you. And I'm telling you I just got in the door because..." Sören walked to the bathroom and closed the door behind him. "I'm taking you to the bathroom with me."
"Oh dear." Dooku chuckled.
Sören put Dooku on speakerphone as he took care of business. "So how's things up there in Oregon?"
"The usual. Reading, gardening, going to the gym, my weekly Krav Maga class. Your plants are fine."
"I've got some more pictures to send you when I get a chance to upload them, I hiked in Muir Woods today."
"Oh, that sounds lovely."
"You'll appreciate this - I hiked eleven kilometers. I managed pretty well, though I'm pretty worn out now."
"How did your asthma hold up?"
"Only one attack and that was on a ladder going up, from anxiety."
"Very good." Dooku sighed. "I recall that the first few months of this year you were having asthma attacks quite a bit..."
"Jæja, that was a hard road, newly being separated from Seth and having to unpack all the shit he did to me, like peeling layers of an onion. You were my rock, Nico." A pause, Sören wishing he could hug him again. "You still are."
"Oh, Sören. Well, as you know, you're rather a rock for me as well. I've missed you terribly."
"Yeah." Sören sighed, knowing his relationship with Mark was going to impact his schedule, and he would have to make time for Dooku. "We'll make up for lost time when I get back. Mark has taught me to appreciate your old geezer classical music and everything -"
Dooku chuckled. "Brat."
Sören blew a raspberry and switched from speakerphone to regular phone as he flushed. "So, you know, maybe you could take me to a concert now and again."
"That would be wonderful." Dooku cleared his throat. "Sören, that's actually why I'm calling - the matter of when you're getting back."
"And here I thought it was so you could hear the sound of my voice."
"Well, that too."
"I missed your voice," Sören said sincerely. He really did. And that deep, rich velvet voice was doing things to him now, almost like a caress, a frisson down his spine. Sören's face burned as he thought about hugging Dooku again. Now that his libido had come back thanks to Mark, he entertained the briefest fantasy of he and Dooku in bed, naked, kissing...
But they were just friends. Sören batted that thought away, swallowing hard.
"So," Dooku cut into his thoughts. "When do you need me to pick you up at the Amtrak station?"
"Ah, I don't, actually."
"Oh?"
"I'm going to ride back up to Oregon with Mark, be easier since we're going to the same place and all."
"Oh, all right."
Sören detected the faintest touch of disappointment, and Sören felt a little guilty, knowing Dooku wanted to spend time with him, take him out to dinner when he got back. And Sören still wanted to see him. "It's a ten-hour drive and I'm leaving on the 18th, so Mark and I will probably get back on Saturday the 19th, and... how does Sunday the 20th sound, if you want to get together for lunch? Maybe we can go to Portland?"
"I'd like that, Sören, thank you."
"Good. I'd like that too. I miss you." Sören got a little choked up now, feeling the impact of how much. Yes, he really was going to need to keep Dooku as a fixture in his life, and hopefully that was something Mark would understand and allow him time and space for, because Dooku was very, very dear to him. There was fierce loyalty, after the hell he'd been through, and the way Dooku had rescued him, taken care of him, helped him back from the edge of self-loathing.
"I miss you very much, Sören. I lo-..." A deep breath, and a little sigh.
"Hm? You OK? You what?" Sören was a little worried, hoping Dooku didn't have some kind of announcement to make about ill health or anything else.
"I lost track of time and have to turn the chicken in the oven." A soft, nervous laugh.
"Oh, OK." Sören gave a nervous laugh too, relieved that was what it was and not cancer or something. "I'll let you get off, then." Mind, gutter. Sören wondered if Dooku ever masturbated; he'd never seen Dooku with a lover or heard him mention a partner so he didn't think Dooku had sex at all. Sören wanted to slap himself for even wondering, but that voice... Sören shuddered and bit his lower lip.
"Yes, I shall be... getting off now." A small clear of the throat. "Have a good rest of the evening, Sören, and I'll see you on the 20th... what time?"
"Ah, noon just so I can sleep in a little. And you too. I'll see about sending you some pictures tomorrow or the day after."
"Splendid. Good night, dear."
Sören's heart was racing a little, his stomach fluttering as the call ended. He looked at himself in the mirror - pupils wide, cheeks flushed. He felt kind of stupid, not knowing why he was reacting like this, and splashed some cold water on his face before he came out to the living room.
Mark was relaxing with a glass of white wine. He smiled when he saw Sören, and patted the seat next to him on the couch. Sören sat down and immediately put his aching feet up, to take a load off. Without Sören having to tell Mark how much his feet ached, Mark seemed to sense it, put his glass down, peeled off Sören's socks and adjusted his position, moving Sören's legs; Sören sat with his back against the armrest, propping pillows behind him, and Mark began to rub one of Sören's feet. Sören groaned at the tenderness of the spot followed by relief as Mark's elegant, skilled fingers kneaded.
"So that was Professor Dooku," Mark said.
Sören nodded. "He was going to pick me up at the train station but I told him I'd ride back up with you on the 18th - I assume that's OK?" Mark nodded. Sören continued, "And I told him we can do lunch the day after I get back, probably the 20th."
Mark nodded. "I think it's good you want to see your friend."
"Yeah?"
"You've had a rough life, you need supportive people around you. Even without that, it's just... you know, healthier, to have friends."
"Says the guy who has no friends." Sören narrowed his eyes.
"Yeah." Mark looked down, rubbing Sören's foot harder. "I have issues with getting close to people, so this is a 'do as I say, not as I do'."
"Well, I'm glad you're mentioning that, because I actually was going to talk to you about how I'd still like to keep Nico as a constant in my life, I need to make some time for him each week. He's been a good friend and I need to keep that friendship."
"I don't have a problem with that. I'd like to keep seeing you when we're back in Oregon -"
"Boyfriends."
"Yeah." Mark gave a sheepish grin, continuing to rub, and when Sören let out a deep groan at another good spot, Mark moaned at the sound Sören made. "But it's OK to have a life and not make me your everything. I encourage you to have as well-rounded of an existence as you can. I want to spend time with you, I want to be important to you, have an important place in your life, but I don't want to monopolize you where you feel smothered. I get the feeling Seth smothered you and pushed everyone and everything out of your life, didn't he?"
Sören nodded, cringing, remembering.
Mark took Sören's hand and kissed it, before resuming work on Sören's foot. "So, you know. It's fine if you want to take that Sunday and see your friend."
"Thank you for understanding."
"I gotta say, though." Mark gave a soft chuckle, rubbing harder. "Before this summer? I actually assumed you and Professor Dooku were a couple."
"Oh."
"Yeah. It started - uh, you remember Christmas Eve? When I was walking and you guys pulled over and asked if I needed a ride, and said you were on your way to church? I honest to god thought you guys were a thing, which was why y'all going to church surprised me, because, you know, gay people usually don't."
Sören's face burned. It wasn't the first time that assumption had been made - that same night, after midnight Mass at the Lutheran church, the pastor had given them a spiel about the church being LGBT-affirming and performing gay wedding ceremonies. And, the fact of the matter was, back then Sören had been half-hoping - only half-hoping, as he had been wounded from Seth, cautious about those matters - that Dooku would express some interest, when Sören was staying with him following the injuries from his car accident, and Dooku hadn't; indeed, Dooku had helped him dress and undress following his car accident and hadn't tried anything. And Sören had tried his best to vanquish that silly little crush. It was good enough that they were friends - really, the best friend Sören had ever had. He didn't want to ruin that, didn't want to lose Dooku by making things awkward.
"I figured it out when you showed up here, alone," Mark said, "because if you had been my boyfriend, you wouldn't spend a summer alone." Mark laughed softly.
"Jæja, maybe next summer we can go on vacation together," Sören said.
Mark nodded, looking down again. Looking a little pensive. He switched to Sören's other foot.
"But no, Mark, we weren't a thing." As much as I'd wanted it to be, and... It was dangerous to still want. That voice... "I don't think he's even gay."
Mark raised an eyebrow at that with a small smirk, and kept rubbing. "OK."
"What?" Sören laughed. "Seriously, I don't think he's gay -"
"Not everyone is as out and, ah..." Mark gestured to Sören. "Flaming as you. Would you have known I'm bi if I hadn't told you?"
Sören once again grasped for levity, since this discussion was making him uncomfortable and he needed a distraction. "Hi Bi If I Hadn't Told You -"
"Dammit, Sören, I'm being serious -"
"Hi Being Serious."
"Hells."
Sören giggled; Mark was so cute when annoyed. Sören booped his nose. Then Sören said, "Probably not. But I mean, he's never once talked about his love life or..."
"Have you ever asked him?"
"Well, no. But I haven't asked because he seems kind of private, reserved..."
"Yes. So am I. And you see how I am. I'm a total slut for you." Mark grinned.
Sören couldn't resist. "Hi A Total Slut For You."
Mark facepalmed, shaking with silent laughter. "Goddammit, Sören..."
Sören blew a raspberry.
Mark rubbed Sören's feet some more, and finally he patted Sören's calves. "I need to get up for a minute," he said.
Sören swung his legs over. Mark finished the last of his wine then he said, "I'm gonna go to the kitchen, you want anything?"
Mark muttered "Hells" under his breath as Sören came back with, "Hi Gonna Go To The Kitchen You Want Anything..."
"SÖREN I SWEAR TO GOD -"
Sören grinned. "Ginger ale or Sprite would be lovely?"
Mark came back with a Sprite. The cold, crisp bubbles and tart citrus were refreshing, and Sören sighed as Mark put Sören's legs back on his lap, and now Mark was massaging one of Sören's calves. Sören moaned and sighed, not simply from sensual pleasure but the aching tension flooding out of him at Mark's touch. "Oh, that's good."
"I'm glad I could oblige." A muttered, "Oh shit no."
"Hi Glad I Could Oblige, I'm Sören."
Mark gave Sören a playful swat. "OK, what is it with you and the dad jokes? It's like... the Dadpocalypse over here." A pause. "The Dadgor Dadgorath."
"The what now?"
"Never mind," Mark said. "You'd get the Dadnarök reference though, I hope."
"Oh, já, I would," Sören said, grinning at Mark referencing Norse mythology. "Twilight of the Dads. I think that's where Fenrir kills Odin with bad memes and dabbing, or something."
Mark facepalmed. "Dear god, I almost forgot dabbing exists."
Sören dabbed. Mark groaned. Sören chuckled, and moaned again as Mark kneaded his calf.
"But seriously, you're on a streak tonight that's bad even for you." Mark raised an eyebrow.
Sören shrugged. "Humor is my coping mechanism and I've been feeling too much today. Besides... I've never had kids, that I know of, and that's my one big regret in life. So I have to make up for it somewhere."
"So you... you want kids," Mark said.
"Admittedly I do, já." Sören felt a tightness in his throat, thinking about his brother's son and daughter, and how much of an ache he'd felt when they were born. "But it's not a dealbreaker in a relationship if my partner doesn't. And up until more recently my life was too much of a mess for me to even think like that, so, you know. It's fine."
Mark pursed his lips but said nothing.
There was an awkward silence. Sören got the feeling from what Mark had disclosed to him weeks ago - that Mark himself had an adult son out there somewhere - that the subject was a sore spot for Mark. "Sorry," Sören said softly.
"No need to apologize, Sören." Mark took Sören's hand and kissed it.
"I just... don't want to make things weird for you. Or us."
"It doesn't." Mark patted him, and resumed rubbing Sören's calf. "I'll be honest with you, I don't know how I feel about the concept of more kids. I fucked up with the one I've got. Which..." Mark pinched the bridge of his nose. "I have no excuse for that. My father was amazing. I never once doubted that he loved me. We were incredibly close. A lot of deadbeat dads or people who are estranged from their kids... you at least can kind of get it if their own dad or other family wasn't around. But I don't have the tragic dysfunctional family to complain about. I only have the tragedy that happened to my family, that ripped us apart."
"The war."
Mark nodded solemnly. "I haven't been right in a long time, Sören. And I don't want to cheat you out of something you want..."
"I told you, though, it's not a dealbreaker. Honest. I don't absolutely need to have kids."
"But you've still got that paternal instinct."
"I do," Sören said. "That's why I teach."
Mark leaned in and gave Sören a soft little kiss. "I love that about you." He stroked Sören's face. "You're a better man than I am."
"I don't know, you seem to be pretty good with your own students. And today you taught me something, even, a little. You opened my mind to something I wasn't into before."
"You've got a beautiful mind to open," Mark said, continuing to pet Sören, his eyes soft. "You see the world through different eyes than most people. You burn so brightly." He leaned in to kiss Sören, more insistently than before. "My little flame."
Sören giggled and wrinkled his nose. "I love it when you call me that."
"Good." Mark kissed the tip of Sören's nose, and booped it before rubbing Sören's calf some more. "So, what do you say we think about creating together some?"
"We could, though kinda worn out from the hike," Sören said.
"Oh, OK." Mark nodded.
"But..." Sören took a deep breath. He knew he had to show this to Mark eventually and he might as well do it while they were still here and fresh off a trip to the redwoods, even. "Something I want to show you."
Sören got up, and walked over to Mark with a canvas. He showed Mark what it was - the painting he'd done of the redwoods, and Mark in the redwoods, Mark depicted as an elf with a flood of hair to his thighs, pointy ears, playing harp in the forest, where it seemed like a shaft of golden light streaming through the trees over him and his harp was in fact coming from the harp itself. There were little faery doors here and there on redwoods, and golden wisps floating around the forest.
Mark's jaw dropped. "Er."
"Oh." Sören gasped. He yanked the painting back. "Oh no... you don't like it, do you?"
Mark grabbed the painting from Sören, looked at it with wild, feverish eyes - for a brief second Sören feared Mark would break the canvas, as Seth had once done with his work, even though Sören knew Mark wasn't like that, Mark wasn't Seth... and then Mark put the painting down gingerly, grabbed Sören and pulled Sören onto his lap, kissing him deep and hard, hard enough to take Sören's breath away.
Catching their breath, Mark looked at Sören with awe on his face, then looked back at the painting, then at Sören.
"You..." Sören swallowed hard, eyes misting.
"Sören. Oh, Sören. Oh, my love." Mark kissed him again. "My love. My little flame." Another deep, hungry kiss; Sören moaned into the kiss, hardening.
"You like it?"
"Sören, 'like' is too trivial of a word here." Mark's voice was hushed with reverence. "You..." He seemed shaken. "Your gift. Your..." He seemed to struggle for words. "Your gift. That inner fire in you, illuminating what you see, what comes out with your brush..."
"So you like it."
"Dammit, Sören. No, 'like' is what idiots do on Facebook."
Sören let out a howl, shaking with laughter. Mark laughed too - laughed and cried a little. Mark blinked back tears and he stroked Sören's face. "I love it. I love you. You... god, I don't even know how to make words to describe what's going through me right now, but you." Mark stroked Sören's face some more, pet his curls. "I'm deeply, deeply touched, and honored -"
Sören felt like he was going to break down and bawl, relief flooding him, as well as pride, as well as joy, like his gift had given Mark something he'd needed, somehow. And Sören didn't want to have another crying fit. "Hi Deeply Deeply Touched And Honored..."
Mark picked Sören up and marched to the bedroom, carrying him. Sören shrieked and giggled on the way there. There was a feral look on Mark's face when he put Sören down on the bed and began stripping as quickly as he could. Sören also took his clothes off but it wasn't fast enough for Mark, who came over to yank them off of him, then shoved Sören back onto the bed with a growl and climbed over him.
Sören went hard at being manhandled like this - he loved the passion between them - and he cried out as Mark's hard cock slid up against his, as Mark settled on top of him and kissed him hungrily. Sören wrapped his arms around Mark, kissing him back, hunger awakening hunger. Fire calling to fire.
"I want you," Mark rasped between kisses. "I need you like life needs life."
Sören shivered at that, eyes misting again at the poetry in those words, the depth of a beautiful soul. "Mark," Sören breathed. "Take me. Make me yours."
"Yes, Sören." Mark kissed Sören's neck, making Sören cry out, nails raking his back. Mark kissed and licked the sweet spot where Sören's neck and shoulder met, nibbled and sucked on Sören's shoulder, then kissed Sören's neck some more. "You're mine, baby." Their eyes met. "And I'm yours."
Sören grinned. "Hi Yours."
Mark growled, reached over to the bedtable, and before Sören knew what was happening, Mark grabbed the handcuffs that they'd picked up at the sex shop. Sören's face lit up at the sight of them, his cock twinging - now this was going to be fun - and he moaned as Mark rolled Sören onto his stomach, held him down as he slapped the cuffs on Sören's wrists.
"I'm arresting you for your dad jokes," Mark said.
"Hi Arresting You For Your Dad Jokes."
Mark slapped Sören's ass, hard. Sören cried out and rubbed against the mattress, giving a sassy butt wiggle as he did. Being spanked like that was hot, he had to admit.
"Now," Mark said, "a teasing brat like you deserves to be disciplined for awhile."
"OK," Sören said.
"I notice you're not wearing the plug."
"I wasn't wearing that on a hike when I'm still new to wearing a plug."
"Fair." Mark rubbed Sören's ass and slapped it again, groaning as Sören moaned. "If I do anything you don't like, and you need me to stop, tell me no."
"OK."
"And now..." Mark slapped Sören's ass again, and Sören cried out. "It's time to drive you as crazy as you drive me."
Sören grinned.
Sören watched as Mark got out the flavored lubricant, and he moaned when Mark poured the liquid into him, and moaned again when Mark retrieved the plug and put it in Sören's ass. Mark gave Sören's ass another slap, then another, and Sören whimpered, rubbing against the mattress, loving it, wanting it. Already he was painfully hard.
Mark leaned over him. Mark had learned enough about Sören's body by now to know that the back of Sören's neck and shoulders were one of his biggest erogenous zones. Sören shivered at the feel of Mark's breath against his nape, and then he whimpered again as Mark began to lick his neck, then his nape. Mark's tongue made slow, deliberate strokes up and down Sören's neck, nape, and one shoulder, then the other, then back to the nape again, taking his sweet, sweet time, as Sören shuddered and cried out, so close to coming and he knew Mark had only just begun.
Mark moved lower. He began tracing the phoenix and waterbird tattoos with his tongue. Placing reverent kisses over the scars that the tattoos only somewhat concealed, from when Einar used to beat him with a belt. Tears burned Sören's eyes, and a few spilled when Mark whispered, "I love you, baby," pressing his forehead against Sören's back for a moment before kissing his scars some more. Mark made another round of licking the ink on his back, then kissed and licked lower, groaning as Sören moaned and whined. Mark kissed and licked his way back up, and then Sören felt Mark's tongue on his spine, going so, so slowly. Sören's fists clenched in the handcuffs and he cried out, shivering.
"Oh god, Mark."
"Mmmmmmm." Mark's tongue continued to slide down Sören's spine, ever so slowly.
"Oh god..." Sören let out a cry. "Oh god, Mark, fuck me..."
Mark laughed softly. He patted Sören's ass and slapped it, and continued the slow trail of his tongue, all the way down Sören's spine.
Then back up, going even more slowly than before. Sören shrieked into the pillows, and again as the stroke of Mark's tongue became feather-light. "Oh god, fuck..." Sören was practically sobbing. "Oh, shit, fuck..."
Mark licked and kissed Sören's nape and shoulders some more, with his fingers playing down Sören's spine now. Sören screamed into the pillows again, cock throbbing, balls tightening. When Mark's fingers reached the rim of Sören's opening and traced around it, Sören cried out, and begged some more. "Mark, please... please, fuck me, Mark, take me..."
"Mmmmmmmm, we'll see." Mark nibbled Sören's shoulder.
His fingers walked down Sören's spine again, brushing slow and feather-light. His mouth followed the wake of his fingers, kissing, licking. Sören howled, thrashing. The handcuffs were getting a bit sore but he loved being bound like this, helpless, teased. The feeling of surrendering so completely, giving in so fully to his passion... Sören shuddered. "Mark, please, fuck me, fuck me..."
"I'm not anywhere near done with you yet."
Sören wiggled his ass. "Hi Not Anywhere Near Done With You Yet."
Mark slapped Sören's ass, and when Sören cried out and bucked against him, Mark slapped the other cheek of Sören's ass. "So naughty."
"Mmmmhmmmm."
And there was Mark's tongue on his spine again, slow and feather-light. Down, down, down, then up, and down again. Then Mark's tongue slid from the base of Sören's spine to the crack of his ass. Sören cried out, trembling. "Oh god..."
Mark removed the plug, and his fingers traced around the rim of Sören's hole in slow, deliberate circles. "So you want to be fucked?"
"Yes. Please. Oh god, Mark, please, more than anything."
"Hmmmmm."
And then Mark's tongue was inside him, lapping slowly, slowly. Sören screamed at the slow strokes on his prostate, feeling like his brain was pooling out of his ears, his entire body turning to mush, melting at the magic of that tongue. The slow, slow rubbing inside him made Sören's balls tighten dangerously, cock as hard as it had ever been. The handcuffs ached but god he wanted Mark to dominate him as long as he could, knowing the teasing would pay off in the end...
...if there was an end.
Mark put the plug back in Sören's ass, and climbed next to him on the bed. He rolled Sören onto his side - Sören's hands still cuffed behind him - and Mark gave Sören a wicked grin as he began stroking himself lazily. Sören licked his lips at the sight of precum pooling down Mark's shaft.
"You want this cock, do you?"
"God, please, Mark..." Sören pleaded with his eyes, making a whine like a puppy.
Mark laughed. "You poor thing." Mark continued stroking himself - delicious, delectable eye candy that drove Sören as wild as Mark's tongue inside him.
"Oh god. Oh god, Mark, please..." Sören whined again. "Mark, please, fuck me..."
"I love hearing you beg for it." Mark stroked himself a little harder and faster. "God." Mark looked down at Sören's own hard cock, which was also dripping precum and flushed a deep pink, looking almost angry in its need. "That's so hot, seeing how much you want it."
"God, I want it so bad. So bad. Mark. Please." Sören whimpered. "I'm begging you."
Mark grinned. "Hi Begging You."
Sören grit his teeth and screamed; Mark laughed and patted Sören. Then he collected some precum on his fingers for Sören to taste, while he continued stroking himself. Sören sucked Mark's fingers greedily, cock throbbing, dripping more precum as he watched Mark play with his cock.
Then Mark collected some of Sören's precum onto his fingers and Sören watched Mark suck his own fingers, savoring the taste of him with a look of sensual lust on his face as he stroked harder, faster. Sören cried out, and Mark moaned.
"God, Sören, I want you. But you're such a naughty boy."
Sören watched as Mark got out Sören's glass dildo. He coated it with lube and then Mark began to toy himself with one hand, stroking his cock with the other, the way Mark had caught Sören that one afternoon. Sören cried out and whinnied, then made a strangled sob at Mark's laughter. Mark played slowly, deliberately, but he was shaking, breathing hard, and after a few moments of Sören's eyes riveted on him, Sören making helpless pleading noises, Mark sped up, fucking himself harder, rolling his hips, stroking faster.
"Oh, Sören." Mark closed his eyes and gave a shuddery gasp. "Oh, god, Sören, I fucking want you. Hells, I want you, Sören."
"Please, Mark. Take me. Give us what we both need."
"And what would that be, Sören?" Mark opened his eyes, and his eyes locked with Sören's, challenging. "I want to hear you say it."
"Fuck me, Mark. I want you to fuck me..."
Mark continued stroking, toying himself. Sören groaned with frustrated need. He got the sense "fuck me" wasn't quite good enough here. He searched, through the haze of primal lust. "I want you to claim me," Sören husked.
"Better," Mark whispered.
"Take my fire, Mark. Give me yours. Burn with me."
Mark stopped stroking himself and working the dildo in and out. Wordlessly - eyes feverish as the rest of him was calm - he unlocked Sören's cuffs. Sören flexed his wrists as Mark pulled the plug out of his ass. Then Sören yelped as Mark grabbed him by the hair, shoved him onto his back, and seized his aching wrists, pinning him. He cried out again as Mark took him, pushing inside. "Oh god, yes..."
Mark kissed Sören hard. Then he began to thrust, showing no mercy, pounding Sören as hard as he could.
"Yes, yes, yes," Sören panted. "Oh god, Mark, take it, take me, get it, yes..."
Mark growled. Soon Sören's legs were around his waist, his balls smacking against Sören's ass as he drove into him, and then Sören's legs were on his shoulders and Sören's now-free hands were grabbing onto him for dear life. "Oh shit, oh god, fuck me, fuck me," Sören howled, and then he couldn't make words anymore, just animal noises as Mark slammed into him, looking almost angry in his need.
Sören was so close, and a moment of hard pounding later he felt it, rushing towards the glimmering release, then it came over him like a wave, like a flame. Over him, into him, through him. It felt like heaven crashed into earth and the stars themselves sang as Sören screamed, his body giving into the hardest orgasm he'd ever known to that date, his cock and prostate throbbing one, then the other, then together, clenching. Three final drumbeat thrusts later Mark let go with a roar as he exploded into Sören, like a white-hot supernova. Sören's nails raked him involuntarily - after Mark collapsed onto him, trembling and gasping for breath, making high-pitched little cries as his body convulsed, Sören wondered why, for a moment, his nails didn't break the skin, as hard as he scratched. That was odd.
Then he couldn't wonder anything at all, couldn't think, only feel. Pleasure. Joy. Light. Life. Love. Love, love, love. He'd been so worried yesterday about madness but if he was mad, right now, he didn't want to be sane. They belonged.