"Oh, shit..."
Sören whined, kicking off the sheet loosely covering the lower half of him. His legs itched and burned almost unbearably, and he grit his teeth and made a little screaming noise through them as he frantically scratched.
Mark sat up and his hand grabbed Sören's wrist. His eyes widened at the hot pink rash all over Sören's calves. "You'll make it worse if you scratch," Mark said.
"Blóðugur fokking helvíti," Sören growled.
Mark tilted Sören's chin to look him in the eye. "Is it just your legs that itch like this?"
Sören nodded.
Mark stroked his own chin thoughtfully. "We had seafood yesterday but you're not allergic to any of that."
"No. I mean, allergies can start at any time but I've been eating it my entire life and never had a problem and it doesn't make sense why my legs would be all fucked up."
"Right." Mark narrowed his eyes. He got up, and Sören watched as he fished a laptop out of a briefcase. It occurred to Sören then that he hadn't seen Mark use a computer much at all over the summer, and Sören had to do a double-take as Mark sat on the edge of the bed, typing into a search engine - for a moment Sören felt like that looked out of place, as if Mark was a relic from another time and this was an anachronism of sorts. But that made no sense...
"Ah, OK." Mark nodded. He looked back over at Sören. "According to what I just read, there was some poison oak on the trail yesterday, so my guess is that's why you've got a rash."
"Fuck." Sören scowled. He reached to scratch again as his legs twinged, and Mark gently swatted his hand away.
"Mkay." Mark got up and quickly began getting dressed. "I'm going to go to the store to get you some stuff to help you feel better, OK? Do me a favor and try not to scratch it. Actually... go take a quick shower with lukewarm water, while you do that I'll strip the bed and change the sheets in case any of the oil on your legs got on the sheets. Then I'll head out and pick up some things."
Sören nodded. He went to the kitchen to take his morning meds, whining all the way, then he did as Mark said - the shower was only minimally helpful, like turning down the volume on the itching but not making it go away completely. And it wasn't long before his legs were killing him again, itching like mad. He felt ready to climb the walls waiting for Mark to get back, where an hour felt like ten. He tried to distract himself by reading, or sketching, but he was too uncomfortable to concentrate. When Mark got back from the store Sören was uploading photos from yesterday's hike, about to send some of them off to Dooku in e-mail.
Mark came in the bedroom and tossed Sören a pink bottle. Sören caught it and saw it was calamine lotion. Then Mark tossed over a bag of cotton balls.
Sören shook the bottle and put some lotion on a cotton ball, rubbing it onto his leg. The cotton ball didn't get much use before Sören needed another one, and as Mark was putting things away in the kitchen Sören ended up spilling some calamine lotion on the fresh sheets and swearing. Mark came back in and saw the mess.
"I can't do anything right," Sören said, feeling ashamed of himself, remembering all the times he'd spilled things and Seth and Einar had taken him to task.
"Oh, baby, that's not true. Here." Mark got down on his knees at the edge of the bed, shook the bottle, poured lotion onto a cotton ball, and began to apply lotion to where Sören had left off. As Sören continued crying, not wanting to be dependent on anyone and monopolize Mark's time - feeling like he was being a nuisance - Mark made little soothing noises, and at last he took his free hand and offered his thumb for Sören to suck on. Sören did, and started to calm down. The action was also vaguely erotic, and Sören would have gotten aroused if he wasn't feeling so awful.
When the lotion was all over Sören's legs, Mark stripped the bed again. "I'm going to have to go to the laundromat and change the sheets before you can lay on the bed," Mark said. "I'll fix up the couch for you in the meantime."
Mark spread a towel out on the couch and propped up some pillows. Sören felt guilty that now Mark was going to have to take time to go to the laundromat. "I fucked up this entire day," Sören said as he climbed onto the couch.
"Baby, shit happens. And, in fairness, I feel like I was negligent. I should have done more research before we went on that particular trail yesterday, and should have told you to wear something other than shorts. After all, where I come from in Connecticut it's Lyme Disease central, hiking without long pants is a fool's errand."
"Well, you were wearing shorts too," Sören pointed out, which seemed odd for someone who had spent so much time in Connecticut and would have had "long pants for hiking" ingrained. In fact, the whole thing seemed odd to Sören, just now - Mark didn't have a rash at all. He knew something like 15% of the population was more or less immune to poison ivy, oak and sumac, but that seemed like an awfully big coincidence that Mark would be one of the 15% that wasn't affected by poison oak.
Sören remembered then, the way he'd scratched Mark during sex, and Mark didn't bleed, and he knew he'd scratched hard enough to draw blood on anyone else, having had that kind of sex with other partners for years. That, too, was odd. He'd think Mark was indestructible, like the Army had done some sort of medical experiment that contributed to his trauma and secrecy, except Mark had that geometric-shaped burn scar on his right hand, and scarring on his right shoulder and thigh like he'd taken a bullet or a knife.
Something was very strange here. Something that would have been very strange on its own, but coupled with the other strangeness...
You mean, the strangeness that I'm not entirely sure isn't just me hallucinating.
Sören leaned back against the pillows, exhaling sharply, and turned on the TV.
"I'll be back," Mark said in a fake Arnold Schwarzenegger accent.
Sören could only half-pay attention to the TV, still uncomfortable - not quite as itchy as before, but his legs still felt a little burned and prickly. And his thoughts kept returning to why Mark didn't have poison oak, why Mark didn't bleed when scratched, why Mark was so reticent about discussing certain aspects of his life.
So you're not just hallucinating, now you're paranoid. Maybe you should think about going back early, seeing the doctor as soon as possible.
But he really didn't want to go back early. This vacation had been a treat to himself after the hell of 2016, and the hard, brutal work that had been keeping himself together in the aftermath and fallout of leaving Seth and coming to terms with the abuse Seth had put him through. And for the last little while it had been magical, finding love with Mark and it awakening something in him. If he was going crazy - crazier, Sören thought to himself with a frown - well... there was a little crazy and there was a lot crazy. For now, he could still function.
Ancient Aliens was on the Discovery channel. His brother Dagnýr, the astrophysicist, was in fact a believer that the "gods" humans worshiped in antiquity could have been aliens, but Dag disagreed with a lot of the outlandish theories about it; Sören smiled to himself as he remembered the way Dag would make snarky, cutting MST3K-type commentary on this show in particular, pointing out the holes and flaws in speculations being presented, while Dag had speculations of his own.
And now, Sören had another crazy thought: What if Mark's not human?
That was ridiculous, of course - Mark looked human, though possessed of an unearthly beauty, the body of a Greek god. But... his eyes had looked inhuman for a brief instant, one night.
"Curiouser and curiouser," Sören mused aloud. Then a snort. "I'm not saying it was aliens, but it was aliens."
And now I'm talking to myself. Great.
Sören thought about calling Dag, but what would he even say? "Hey, so can aliens have sex with humans? Asking for a friend." He felt like if he told Dag he was dating someone he suspected wasn't human, for all of Dag's belief that it was ludicrous and outright dangerous for humans to think they were alone in the universe, Dag would probably echo Sören's earlier thought, to cut the vacation short and go see his doctor.
Ari, on the other hand, would much more readily accept that there was something weird going on here.
Sören chewed on that thought, considering opening up chat with his cousin, but then Ari would get on his case about that damn book he'd sent with the care package. The one he was really pushy about Sören reading. Ari had been writing fanfic for years and never gotten adamant about wanting to share with Sören before - if anything, Ari seemed reluctant to broach the subject of his writing - so something about "needing context" so suddenly Sören could read things was odd. Very odd. In light of everything else happening, a little too odd.
I need to stop thinking about this shit for awhile.
Sören made himself put the thoughts on file - not quite done with it, but having exhausted his ability to deal with it all as poorly as he felt right now. He was watching an Ancient Aliens marathon still when Mark got back from the laundromat, and Mark seemed fairly amused by Sören's choice of television viewing as he strode in with the laundry basket.
"Didn't think you'd be into conspiracy theories and stuff," Mark said.
Sören felt somewhat peevish - his rash was acting up again, just a little - and he changed the channel. There was a Star Trek: The Next Generation marathon happening, which was considerably better. Sören applied more calamine lotion to his legs and focused on Patrick Stewart, and after Mark made the bed back up he went to the kitchen and began cooking. Sören wondered why he was starting so early.
Sören stopped wondering, dozing off at a point, and when he woke up from his nap he could smell something delicious. Mark was sitting across from him, writing in a journal, and when Sören yawned, stretched, and then moaned at his rash itching, Mark looked up and smiled at him tenderly.
"Hey, sleepyhead. How ya feeling?"
Sören made a noise.
Mark made a little soothing noise back.
Sören's nostrils twitched. "What smells so good?"
"Making something special for you," Mark said.
Sören managed to smile through his discomfort. Regardless of what Mark was or wasn't, he loved this man, and Mark had been better to him than any previous partner... especially Seth. The only person who had been this kind to him, outside his brother and cousin, had been Dooku, and, well, he and Dooku weren't sleeping together, much as Sören would have liked that months ago before he gave up hope and resigned himself to being just friends.
Mark was a keeper. That was all that mattered.
Sören applied more calamine lotion to his legs. Star Trek: The Next Generation was still on and his attention resumed there, as Mark continued jotting down whatever he was writing in a journal. At last Mark got up and went back into the kitchen, and after Mark puttered around in there for awhile, Sören watched Mark walk to the bathroom, and then he heard the sounds of the shower.
For a brief instant Sören thought about taking his clothes off and joining him, except that he wasn't feeling very sexy with the rash on his legs, and he knew lukewarm water was advised for showers and meanwhile, there was steam rolling into the hallway from Mark's shower. The thought of Mark naked under the water did make Sören harden a little, and as the minutes wore on, Sören's temptation grew.
He needed a stronger distraction than Star Trek. Mark's journal was on the ottoman by the armchair, and despite Sören's misgivings about spying - knowing he was committing some kind of cardinal sin - he picked up the hardbound book and opened it, heart racing at what he might find. Hoping Mark wasn't secretly complaining about him, though Mark had given no indications of being displeased with him at all - it was just second nature to Sören to doubt, after what had been drilled into his head for years.
Sören leafed through the pages and not only was none of it in English, it was all in a foreign alphabet. It didn't look like runes or Cyrillic or the Greek alphabet, but something else altogether.
Sören dropped the journal like it was a hot potato. Then he put it back in the exact position where it had been on the ottoman, hoping Mark wouldn't be able to tell he looked at it. Feeling dirty for having pried. And now, of course, he had even more questions.
He knew that Mark had been through some kind of prisoner of war experience, and he wondered if Mark's time in the Army had involved anything classified, and if he'd gotten into the habit of cryptology from that. But that still didn't make sense, especially when this wasn't any kind of alphabet Sören recognized. It did, actually, look somewhat familiar to Sören, a weird sense of déjà vu, like he'd seen this before - but he couldn't think of where.
...parchment, his own hand holding a quill, forming the letters, as a small boy with long dark hair and solemn silver eyes watched, and then copied the letters...
"Jesus," Sören said, pinching the bridge of his nose, suddenly dizzy. "What the fuck."
Mark's shower was done. Sören attempted to get into a casual, I've-done-nothing-nope-no-suspicious-activity position on the couch, and Mark came back out in pajama bottoms, shirtless and glistening, his glorious mane still damp from the shower. Sören bit back a moan as his cock stirred again at the sight of him.
"Dinner will be ready soon," Mark said, and went to the kitchen.
Sören heard the sound of the frying pan, and wondered again what Mark was making, but he let it be a surprise. And when dinner was ready, Sören made his way out to the deck outside the kitchen, taking a moment to breathe in the salt air and enjoy the cool breeze before sitting down.
Mark had made grilled cheese - Swiss on rye, Sören's favorite - and a pot of homemade chicken soup, completely from scratch. Sören teared up, touched by the gesture.
"You're so sweet," Sören said.
"You're sweet. I had to do something for you." Mark dipped a spoonful in the bowl and held it to Sören's lips. "Here, try it and let me know what you think."
It was as good as it smelled, if not better. It was seasoned with salt, pepper and savory herbs, flavorful but not overpowering. The chicken was accompanied by a wealth of vegetables - carrot, celery, peas, onion, garlic, peppers, and mushrooms. Mark fed Sören a few spoonfuls before letting Sören work on his grilled cheese, and then Sören dug into the chicken soup, even having a second bowl. Mark was pleased Sören liked it so much.
"I'll have to make that for you again." Mark patted him. "Hopefully you won't get poison oak again, though."
"God, I hope not." Sören made a face. "I enjoyed our hike yesterday but I'd rather not get poison oak next time."
"I'll be more careful. I'm sorry -"
"Hi Sorry."
Mark glared.
"I don't want you blaming yourself," Sören said. "I could have done research too. I tend to look things up when I'm curious - after my cousin picked California out of a hat for where I should go on vacation, I did a lot of research before deciding on Sausalito. I should have looked up if there was anything potentially hazardous to prepare for on the hike, I mean, I was an intern at a hospital for awhile, for fuck's sake..."
"Well, you blaming yourself doesn't do any good either. We'll just be... more careful going forward." Mark frowned a little, and then he shoved another spoonful of soup in Sören's mouth. "I'm so glad you like this."
"You take such good care of me, Mark." Sören took Mark's hand and kissed it. "I think that's also part of why I didn't think about any potential dangers on the trail... after living in fear for so long... I've started to relax. Not completely recovered, but better than it was. I feel so safe with you. You keep me safe."
Mark gave him a thin, tight smile, a look of sadness in his eyes that tugged at Sören's heart. Sören wondered about it - thought about Mark's dead brothers. For a moment the words I can't keep anyone safe rolled into Sören's head, as if Mark had spoken aloud but hadn't, and Sören saw the brief mental image of himself old and frail and sick, being fed soup again. An intense feeling of sadness with it, that was not entirely his own. And then the mental image was gone, and Sören felt that same dizzy feeling he'd felt when he'd had the little vision of the parchment and the strange alphabet, earlier.
Mark's eyes looked away and Sören looked down, hearing the hitch in his breath. He quietly finished the rest of his soup.
Mark cleared the table and began running the sink. Sören walked over, about to do dishes since Mark had cooked, and Mark gently pushed him back. "You're not feeling well, I'll take care of this tonight," Mark said.
"Oh, all right." Sören wasn't going to argue - once again, the relief of the calamine lotion was all too temporary and his legs were burning and itching again, making him feel on edge, ready to scream.
Mark patted him. "Go take another lukewarm shower, and then I'll help you with the lotion."
Sören crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip, wanting respite from all of the uncomfortable thoughts and the way the rash was bothering him. "Join me?"
Mark laughed softly. "These dishes won't do themselves, Sören."
"I can wait..." Sören made a moue.
"I already showered, and you're doing the itchy dance, the longer we take in the shower is the longer you'll have to wait to get some more lotion on. So, you know." Mark stared at the dishes in the sink, scrubbing more intensely. "I'll take a raincheck for when you're better."
"I'll hold you to that."
Mark patted Sören's ass. "Go. Shower."
Sören took a quick, lukewarm shower, which didn't help that much, and he once again felt ready to scream from the itching and burning of his legs as he walked from the bathroom to the bedroom, not even bothering with a towel around his waist.
Mark was also naked, reclining on the bed propped up on one elbow, half-hard. As unsexy as Sören felt with his rash, the hungry look that Mark gave him when he walked in made Sören strut a little, grinning, and Mark smiled back when Sören got on the bed.
"The doctor is in," Mark said, reaching for the calamine lotion and cotton balls.
"Hi, Doctor Lauer," Sören said.
"No no. Tonight it's... Doctor Feelgood." Mark threw the horns and began to sing, "He's the one they call Doctor Feelgood, he's the one that makes ya feel all right..."
"He's the one they call a huge fucking dork," Sören sang.
Mark gave Sören a playful swat. "I think you have a case of terminal brattiness."
Sören blew a raspberry.
Mark began to apply calamine lotion to Sören's legs, rubbing in slow, sensual circles, heat in his eyes. As uncomfortable as the rash was, the way Mark applied the lotion felt really good, and Sören couldn't help but find it sexy, not just the touch but the way Mark was taking care of him. Sören reached out to play with Mark's hair, rubbing his scalp as Mark teased Sören's calves with the cotton balls.
"That's nice," Sören purred.
"Mmmmm." Mark kissed Sören's knee. "Good. I want to help you feel better."
"Jæja, the calamine lotion only works for so long before it wears off. It's gonna be hell to try to sleep tonight."
"I prepared for that too," Mark said. He gestured to a box of Benadryl on the bedtable. "In a little while I'm going to have you take an antihistamine and your night meds - while you were sleeping I looked up to make sure it wouldn't interact with what you're taking."
"It's early for me to go to bed."
"It is, but sleep is a potent healer and what your body needs when you're having an allergic reaction like this. But... that'll be in a little while. Not now." Mark kissed Sören's other knee. "Right now we're giving you another sort of relief."
"Oh?" Sören raised an eyebrow, smirking. Despite the discomfort of his legs, he was starting to feel a little randy, with the way Mark had been rubbing him, the sultry look on Mark's face, the tenderness and once again the feeling of safety and total trust he had. "And whatever would that be?"
"Well... I want to make sure you're really OK, so..." Mark propped himself up on his elbow again, giving Sören a seductive smile. "Doctor Feelgood wants to give you an exam."
Sören hadn't played doctor since his internship, and had only been on the giving end, not the receiving. This was cheesy, but fun. Sören was game for having a little fun right now, awful as he'd felt all day... all too serious as his thoughts had been. "OK... you can examine me, Doctor."
After Mark was finished putting the calamine lotion on Sören's legs, he said, "First, testing your reflexes..." He tapped one of Sören's knees, then the other... then he kissed behind one knee, then the other. Sören's breath hitched. Mark tickled Sören's tummy, making Sören jump and giggle, and then Mark began to kiss and lick his stomach and Sören clutched his head, arching to him, sighing and moaning.
"So far so good..." Mark tugged on one of Sören's nipple rings, then the other, and lapped them, making them pebble. "Mmm, seems to be working here, too." He suckled and lapped some more, and Sören bucked, breathing harder.
"Yup." Mark's hand reached to cup Sören's erection, slowly stroking. "Reflexes seem to be fine."
"That's good."
"Now, it's time to examine your prostate..." Mark poured lube onto his hand, and slipped one finger inside Sören, then two, rubbing inside him in slow, lazy circles as they kissed. Sören moaned into the kisses, gently rolling his hips back at Mark, fucking himself on Mark's fingers.
"Mmmm, so far so good. Have to really get in there to make sure..." Mark added a third finger and Sören gasped, then moaned as Mark continued fingering him, achingly slowly.
"God." Sören shuddered. "I think that's in good working order..."
"Mmmmmm." Mark kissed Sören again, and started kissing and licking Sören's neck and shoulder. Sören gasped and cried out, rocking his hips against Mark harder, faster.
Sören noticed then that Mark had used the passionfruit flavored lubricant. He braced himself, desperately wanting what he thought Mark was planning, and cried out with a mix of frustration and pleasure when Mark's mouth slid down to feast on his nipples again, fingers continuing to play inside him. The heat in Mark's eyes as he suckled made Sören feel like he could come right then. But he needed more.
And Mark knew that too, at last lowering his head, spreading Sören's legs, and licking around the rim of Sören's opening. "Have to examine really thoroughly, now." With that, Mark's tongue slipped into him.
Mark devoured him, Sören writhing, thrashing, fucking Mark's face, screaming louder and louder. It was far from the first time Mark's tongue had been inside him but there was a passion and hunger to it tonight that was unmatched, as if seeing Sören so vulnerable brought out that fierce side of him, needing to offer comfort... offering them both something other than a reminder of frailty. Mark moaned into Sören's ass as his tongue lashed away, and Sören knew he was stroking himself and that turned him on as much as the sensation of Mark's tongue on his sensitive prostate, rubbing just right... knowing how much Mark liked doing this, wanting it as badly as he did...
Sören came from Mark's tongue, shooting all over himself with a cry. Mark licked up the cream that spilled onto Sören's stomach and chest, and Sören pet his hair, groaning at Mark's tongue on his sensitized flesh. As good as that felt, his orgasm was intense, and he was exhausted enough from being in physical discomfort so much of the day that he knew he probably was going to need a good long time to recharge, if he could go again at all. Already, the endorphins from the climax were relaxing him enough that sleep wouldn't be far away.
But Mark was hard, grinding against his thigh. And Sören wanted to do something to please him.
"Do I get a lollipop, Doctor?" Sören crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip.
Mark sat on Sören's shoulders and Sören grabbed Mark's hips and leaned in, drawing the hard cock into his mouth. Mark pet Sören's curls and stroked his face, moaning beautifully as Sören sucked him. Sucking Mark's cock was soothing, continuing to relax him. He wished he wasn't so exhausted because the sound of Mark moaning, the sight of his lovely face in ecstasy, a good look at his gorgeous body as he worshiped Mark's perfect cock... Sören shuddered. When he was feeling better, he was going to let Mark ravish him. And ravish Mark. In the meantime, he wanted to give a damn good blowjob to this wonderful man who was so kind to him, so loving.
So full of secrets. And yet so kind and so loving that those secrets almost didn't matter.
Mark finished in Sören's mouth, crying out his name, taking Sören's hands as he came. Sören loved that, the proof that Mark was coming for him, loving that confirmation of yes, this is mine. Sören drank the sweet cream flooding his mouth, savoring the taste, once again wishing he wasn't too exhausted for more. He would never get tired of Mark's taste. He wondered about that too, why it was so delicious...
Sören giggled, a fit of silliness coming on. "You're magically delicious," Sören said as Mark snuggled on him.
"Aye, you're always after me Lucky Charms," Mark said in a fake Irish accent, patting him.
Sören snorted, giggling some more. Then he sighed. He was content, for now, to just lay here with Mark. Mark was Mark. The man he loved. The man who had given him an amazing rimjob a little while ago. That was all that mattered.
Before Sören could doze off, cozy and warm, he was roused half-awake by the feeling of Mark getting up from the bed, and Mark came back with water. Mark opened the box of Benadryl and dispensed one; Sören took it with his night meds.
Then Mark rolled Sören against him and pet him, rocked him. "Rest, my love."
Sören pouted. "Dun wanna."
Mark swatted Sören's ass. "You need it." His lips brushed Sören's forehead, and he gave a shuddery sigh. Then his arms tightened around Sören and he began to sing:
There's a lady who's sure
All that glitters is gold
And she's buying a stairway to heaven
When she gets there she knows
If the stores are all closed
With a word she can get what she came for
Oh oh oh oh and she's buying a stairway to heaven
_
Sören woke up a few hours later - squinting at the clock, it was only after eleven PM. He'd been asleep four hours, if that.
Mark wasn't in bed with him, and the rest of the house was quiet, and felt empty, though Sören wasn't sure why he was relying on a feeling for why that was so. For a brief instant he panicked, wondering if Mark had just left - which didn't make any sense, considering how happy they were together, but that was his abandonment issues talking.
Sören remembered why he hated taking Benadryl as he sat up, wincing. Always afterward, he had that hungover feeling, a combination of the leftover fog of sleep and being thrust into awareness, everything sharper and more acute after having been hazy, the world melting away earlier. In the sharpness of sobriety, Sören noticed the sliding glass door in the bedroom was ajar. Ah ha, Mark went for a walk.
Sören was going to need to go back to sleep soon, so he popped another Benadryl and took it with water. He opened the glass door some more, and stood out on the part of the deck that was outside the bedroom - glancing down at the part outside the kitchen, where they'd eaten earlier, looking strangely forlorn now. The moon was full tonight, and Sören looked up at the moon, glowing over the waves and the beach.
He could hear harp music now. Sören's eyes followed the direction of the music. Mark had lugged his goddamn war harp outside, and he was sitting on a rock, playing. The moonlight flooded him and yet... Mark, himself, was glowing as bright as the moonlight, if not brighter.
There was a breeze going. And that was when Sören noticed it. Mark's hair was all the way down to his thighs, and Sören finally saw Mark's ears, with his hair blowing in the wind. Pointy ears, like a Vulcan's only more elegant. As beautiful as the rest of him.
Sören dropped the tumbler of water, spilling out onto the deck. He let it lay there for a moment and rubbed his eyes, blinking, doing a double-take. But Mark was still glowing, and there was all that long hair, those pointy ears. His harp was playing the most melancholy song Sören had ever heard, and Mark was singing in a language that wasn't English. Wasn't any language Sören had ever heard before.
Sören had chills.
Sören felt, somehow, like this was even worse than trying to read Mark's journal earlier, like he was spying on something very private and intimate. He didn't understand a word of what Mark was singing but he could feel it, all the loss and loneliness he'd endured, finding love and hope again and being prepared to lose it once more. Sören's heart ached, wanting to go out there to him, put his arms around him, tell him it's OK...
Sören picked up the tumbler, closed the glass door - leaving it slightly ajar as before - and walked to the kitchen to rinse it out and have more water. I can't possibly be seeing any of this. Seriously, I'm hallucinating.
But he thought again of the rash that he had and Mark didn't, even though they'd both crossed through the same patch of poison oak in shorts. The way Mark hadn't bled when scratched.
Sören went to bed. Mercifully, his second dose of Benadryl was starting to kick in, so he wouldn't lie awake all night, mulling it over. He was woken up briefly by the sound of Mark coming back inside, bringing in the war harp, and he gave a little murmur as Mark got back in bed with him, arms tight around him, so tight it almost hurt. Sören reached up to rub Mark's cheek, sleepy, and he could feel it was wet, like he'd been crying. Sören wanted to kiss it and say something reassuring, but sleep took him again.
In the morning Sören woke up and the rash was aggravating him again. Mark - who was back to his usual appearance, not glowing, hair down to the middle of his back, covering his ears - helped him put more calamine lotion on his legs, and got him situated in the living room.
"I'm gonna go for a drive. I'll be back in a few hours," Mark said, and Sören nodded. He almost asked to come along, but he knew he wasn't going to be good company all cranky and uncomfortable like this. And just like Mark didn't want to smother Sören the way Seth had, Sören didn't want to smother Mark either. It was OK for him to do things by himself.
After the way Mark had been playing that sad song and crying last night, Sören felt he probably needed some time to be alone, anyway.
Sören was already tired of TV. He got up and paced around, and then he found himself going to the care package that Ari had sent. He still hadn't touched the box of chocolates - which now felt like a good idea, with his nerves so jangled... and his eyes rested on that goddamn copy of The Silmarillion.
If Mark was an elf, well... Tolkien wrote about elves.
Sören wondered now if something about what he'd told Ari about Mark, had set something off in Ari's head to send him this, and that was why Ari was being so insistent he read it.
Sören grabbed the book now and sat back down on the couch.