When Sören woke up the next morning, Mark wasn't in bed with him as usual, and Sören had a split second of panic, wondering if he was gone gone - followed by a breath of relief as he sensed Mark's presence nearby. And that, in turn, was followed by confusion and a note of concern that made him wrinkle his nose, wondering how it was he could suddenly feel whether Mark was there or not. It was one thing for Mark to be Maglor the elf, and it was another thing entirely for some sort of psychic powers to exist, even if it seemed more than once as if his own cousin had a degree of prescience.
Sören tried to not dwell on it too much as he climbed out of bed and changed into a T-shirt and jean shorts, stumbling out to the kitchen to get his morning meds. Mark was in the kitchen cleaning, scrubbing the sink.
"Mornin'," Mark said, leaning in to give Sören a little kiss as Sören went past him to get his med minder.
Sören thought about pulling Mark in for a deeper kiss, but the doubts that had surfaced yesterday had put a bit of a damper on his libido - for now - and even without that, Mark had an intense look of concentration on his face as he scoured the sink, as if his existence depended on getting it clean. Sören glanced around the kitchen and saw the countertops were shiny, and when he opened the fridge to get a glass of orange juice he saw Mark had cleaned the fridge too, and there was new baking soda in there to freshen it up.
As Sören took his meds he stared at the calendar on the fridge. It was Wednesday, August ninth. They had nine more days left at the house, heading back to Oregon on the eighteenth. Sören knew that would fly by in no time, and he was once again worried about the future, if there was an "us". He thought about bringing that up now but he was still exhausted from yesterday's revelation - not to mention his own wrestling with doubt about being Fëanor - so he put it aside for now. He knew he wouldn't be able to avoid the topic of where they went from here - if they were truly going to be boyfriends or if this was just a fling - for much longer. But he needed a little more time. He got the sense from watching Mark, feeling so much storm beneath the mask of calm, that Mark was going to need some time before that discussion, too.
After he took his pills, still drinking the juice, Sören raised an eyebrow, and Mark stopped scrubbing for a moment, looking a little self-conscious. Finally Mark said, "I had a bad dream." A pause, and Mark continued, "About Maedhros."
"Oh, elskan." Sören's throat tightened. He put down his juice cup and held out his arms. Mark went to him and Sören pulled him into a tight hug. Mark gave Sören a squeeze, and they stood there holding each other, rocking each other. Sören's heart ached - not just for Mark, tormented by the trauma of his elder brother's death all these eons later and still missing him, living with the hollow void of where Maedhros used to fit into his life... but also the ache was for Maedhros himself, who had died so terribly and deserved so much better. It was a grief that threatened to undo Sören first thing in the morning, and he tried to keep himself together to be strong for Mark. But by god, he could see it in his mind's eye, the man even taller than Mark, flood of flaming hair, so proud, so strong. A strength that was broken. My son. Even now, as he doubted, it was a father's grief. My son.
Sören found his thumb rubbing the geometric-shaped burn scar on Mark's right hand, then bringing the hand to his lips, kissing the scar. With his free hand Mark stroked Sören's face and pet his curls, his eyes too bright, and then he pulled Sören in for a kiss.
When they pulled apart, breathing harder, Mark pet him again, and took a step back. He resumed scrubbing the sink. "So... yeah. I've found over the years when I get like this, it's better for me to... find something to do. Clean, if possible."
"You could have woken me up, Mark."
Mark gave a little nervous laugh. "Sören, if I get in the habit of waking you up every time I have a bad dream, or am otherwise having a haunted moment... you'll never sleep." He frowned, scrubbing harder.
Sören took the sponge out of his hand and wrapped his arms around Mark's waist, holding him from behind for a minute. Mark's arms covered Sören's.
"Well..." Mark turned on the water. "I suppose this is good enough for now." He turned around and took Sören's hands in his. "You want to get out and do something?"
"Já, that sounds good." Sören leaned against the counter and finished his orange juice. "You got anything in mind?"
Mark shrugged. "I'm flexible, so whatever you want to do -"
Sören couldn't help himself, otherwise he was going to fall apart and Mark didn't need that right now. "Hi Flexible So Whatever You Want To Do -"
Mark swatted him with the dishtowel, but he was laughing. "Thanks, Sören, I needed that."
_
They decided to walk around Sausalito on foot, spending the morning and afternoon going from one end of town to the other and back again, much of it on Bridgeway, taking in everything there was to see.
They spent awhile at Schoonmaker Beach, playing in the sand. Sören wanted to make a "sandman" - a snowman, but with sand - and Mark obliged. Needing some levity after the emotional intensity of the morning, Sören made him anatomically correct, fashioning a crude penis out of sand, which made Mark groan and eyeroll but also chuckle. It got worse, however, when Sören found an earring that someone had lost in the sand, and stuck it in the head of the sculpture's cock, giving it a Prince Albert piercing like his own. Mark howled.
"You know, you're terrible," Mark said.
"I know," Sören said, grinning.
Mark gave a wistful little sigh. "Nelya would have appreciated that." He snickered. "He would have told you to make it even bigger."
"He got that from his father, didn't he?"
Mark looked away with another sigh. "Yeah, he did. Our father was... a character." He looked back at Sören. "You... remind me a lot of him." Mark pursed his lips and looked down.
Sören again felt that urge to scream I'm right here and once again that surge of doubt shoving it back. And for all that Sören had tried to lighten the mood, now here he was ready to cry again. I'm such a crybaby. Fëanor never cried like this in the Silmarillion, for fuck's sake.
A flash of a mental image of Fëanor and Finwë arguing bitterly, Fëanor isolating himself in his forge where nobody could see him cry, sooty tear streaks on his face as he banged out his anger with the hammer on the anvil. I feel too much. Fingolfin, his little shadow, coming in with a snack, trying to be comforting. I don't like the way Father treats you, Fëanáro. Fëanor trying not to cry in front of Fingolfin, then crying anyway, ashamed of himself - oh, the grief Finwë had given him for crying - and Fingolfin taking out a handkerchief and wiping his tears.
I'm such a mess, Ñolofinwë.
You are a beautiful mess.
Words spoken in innocence, the hero-worship of an older brother... and years later, when Fingolfin was becoming a man, far less innocent. Fingolfin now a man, kissing his tears.
Sören's breath caught. Oh, Fingolfin. I miss you. Which just added to his doubt. If he was truly Fëanor reborn... where were the others? What of Fingolfin? And where is Maedhros? At the question of Maedhros, the mental image he conjured - once again of copper hair, pride, strength - faded to sunset glowing over bushland, and... a kangaroo, hopping away. The sound of a didgeridoo.
That made no sense whatsoever. Definitely going crazy.
Sören got up and brushed himself off. Even though Mark was capable of getting up on his own, Sören held out his hands and Mark grabbed them, rising up. Towering over Sören as he did, almost a foot on him. I remember when we used to be eye level. But as much as Sören ached for what was lost, he had a frisson down his spine at how much bigger Mark was than him... bigger, stronger, capable of killing with his bare hands, yet Sören knew Mark would never hurt him. Mark was his protector now. And Sören loved that. It was what he needed, in this life. And after the hell of how I died.
Shut up, that was not even a thing. Sören was getting more and more annoyed with that part of his brain insisting he was Fëanor.
Once again, Sören sought for something lighthearted and fun to do, to give them both a respite from the emotional overload. They made their way to an ice cream stand, and waited in line. Mark just got a strawberry-banana smoothie, which Sören thought was kind of lame but somehow also adorable; Sören got a soft-serve cone, vanilla with rainbow sprinkles. They sat on a nearby bench, people-watching.
It was a warm day and the ice cream was just right. Sören had a moment of wistfulness, seeing parents with their children - not just wanting kids of his own someday and knowing increasingly that wasn't likely, but also thinking that Fëanor would have definitely taken all of his sons out for ice cream if a place like this had existed back in Valinor long ago.
That ache again, and then the sharp stab of guilt, making it worse. Some father you are, fucking your own son.
In the "download" of memories, Maglor had been a consenting adult - Fëanor had not touched him a day before then - and they were not human besides. Incest was still wrong for humans, that much Sören felt strongly about. But they had been almost as gods. There had been something magical in the way they'd made love, the energy they'd raised, Flame and Song...
Nice delusions of grandeur, there, you sick pervert.
Sören focused on his ice cream. He started licking the soft-serve ice cream, making himself slow down to savor it, immerse his senses, get out of his head. After a few licks he noticed Mark was no longer people-watching and was staring at him intently, and a couple licks more and Mark's face was pink. Sören realized what was going through Mark's head and now he licked even more slowly, deliberately. The warmth of the day was making the ice cream melt a little and he chased drops down the side of the cone, licking down and then back up again.
This trip around Sausalito on foot was evocative of when they were newly arrived and rooming together not just in their choice of activity, but the way it seemed like they were almost back to where they'd started before they slept together - so careful around each other, not touching too much, trying to not give away too much interest. But now, they were in couple mode again, Sören not able to keep from smiling at the lust in Mark's eyes as Mark watched him licking the vanilla ice cream.
And then a dog barked, startling Sören enough to make him jump - which made Sören hit himself in the nose with ice cream, getting a dollop of vanilla ice cream with rainbow sprinkles on the tip of his nose. The dog was on a leash, but it was more the loud noise out of nowhere. Sören hated that he still startled so easily at loud noises, months after being done with Seth. And his face burned - he'd been trying to be flirtatious, a little seductive... and now he was just a dork.
But here was Mark, coming closer. "You know," Mark husked, cupping Sören's chin in his hand, "you are so damn cute."
Mark licked the ice cream off Sören's nose, and then kissed the tip of Sören's nose. What was a sweet, silly moment was also one of the most erotically charged moments of Sören's life, hair standing on end, breathing harder, cock stirring in his shorts. Mark seemed to feel it too, heat in his eyes as he gave Sören a wicked grin.
Sören's tongue darted out to take another lick of ice cream, and Mark leaned in to also steal a lick from Sören's cone. Their tongues rubbed together, and Sören's cock jolted in his shorts. They took a few more licks together at the vanilla ice cream, tongues dancing, playing, not caring who saw them, or what anyone thought. And then they were just rubbing their tongues together without the ice cream in the way, before their mouths met and they were kissing deeply, hungrily, pent up after not making love yesterday. Fire calling to fire.
The ice cream was down to the cone now. Sören took a bite, then Mark did, and Mark peeled the paper off the cone and they finished the cone together. Mark made a ball out of the paper that had wrapped the cone, and when Sören got up to wipe his face and dispense with the napkins, Mark flicked the paper ball at him, which hit him between his eyebrows.
"Why you little..."
Mark took a few steps back, laughing. Sören marched to the counter of the ice cream stand again - there was a lull in the customer traffic, and he ordered a Sprite from the fountain right away. When he had the cup, Mark took his hand and they resumed walking, and a few minutes later Sören took the straw and spat Sprite at him.
"We're adults," Mark said, wiping his face.
"The adultiest."
Mark put an arm around Sören... and then put him in a headlock and gave him a noogie. When Mark let go, Sören blew Sprite at him again, and Mark grabbed him and gave him another deep kiss.
"Let's go home," Mark said, taking Sören's hand, "before we do something we oughtn't out here in public."
"Promises, promises."
_
But when they got back to the beach house, they didn't make love right away. Sören was starting to get a little winded from the long walk, and Mark marched him over to the couch and took out Sören's inhaler for him. After Sören took a couple puffs and they'd kicked off their shoes, Mark leaned back on the couch and pulled Sören into his arms.
"Here, baby." Mark kissed the top of Sören's head and began to pet his curls. "Relax for awhile."
Sören snuggled into Mark's chest, and then after a minute he laughed.
"Hm?"
Sören looked up. "Is it weird for you to call me 'baby'?"
"Surprisingly, no. It's like I told you yesterday, I've been living around humans so long that... well, I wouldn't go as far as to say it's like I'm a human, there are some noticeable differences beyond the physical, but..." Mark shrugged. "It's not that much of a struggle for me to sound American, these days. To speak the common vernacular. I used to struggle with it but as time goes on it's something I'm used to, has become more ingrained, more natural, it's not really something I think about... so the word 'baby' slips out, as a term of endearment." Mark pet Sören some more. "You don't mind, do you?"
Sören shook his head. "I find it strangely comforting." I need to be the baby now, after everything. Let my son take care of me. Sören shoved that away. There we go again. Stop.
"OK, good." Mark smiled, stroking Sören's face. "I like you being my baby. You're... I don't know. Small, cute, like a little kitten. I want to take care of you."
Sören sighed. It was almost as if Mark had read his mind.
"And it's..." Mark looked away. "Therapeutic for me, I think. After feeling like I failed everyone. I have something to take care of again. Something precious." Mark rubbed Sören's shoulder. "If it annoys you, let me know and I'll stop."
"No, Mark, I was just asking because I don't want it to annoy you." Sören glanced up at him again. "I know you've been living around humans for a long time but... it's OK with me if you need to be, you know, yourself. You need room to breathe, and all of that."
Mark pulled Sören closer and rubbed his nose in Sören's curls, kissed the top of his head again. "I love you."
"And I love you." Sören picked his head up and met Mark's eyes, took Mark's face in his hands. "I really mean it. Like... I told you yesterday now that I know who and what you are... you don't have to hide around me. We got back and it's just the two of us here... you don't need to glamour now." Sören pursed his lips. "I'd prefer you didn't, actually, when it's just me and you. There's no reason for you to pretend."
Mark took a deep breath, and he stroked Sören's face again, giving him a small, sad smile. "You're right. It's force of habit -"
"I know. But it's OK now." Sören leaned up and gave him a soft little kiss. "Let go," he whispered.
Mark exhaled sharply; Sören's eyes closed involuntarily and when they opened, Mark's hair was down to his thighs. Mark took off his wire-rimmed glasses and blinked, and Sören gasped as Mark's eyes changed from silver-grey to a more iridescent silver. Mark began to glow faintly.
"You're so beautiful." Tears came to Sören's eyes. "So, so beautiful."
"Thank you." Mark took Sören's hands and kissed them. "Your acceptance means so much to me."
"I love you, Mark. And that means all of you, as you are." Sören leaned in to kiss him again. This time the kiss was deeper than before, their mouths parting, tongues swirling together, playing, teasing. Mark moaned into the kiss and so did Sören. Sören felt his cock stir in his shorts, not just from the passion of their kiss but the sight of the breathtakingly gorgeous man kissing him. Mark was exquisite glamoured, but unglamoured he was like a god. A sex god, incarnate. Sören wanted.
He understood now why Fëanor had not been able to resist him. And not just the beauty of his looks, but that voice, his music... his heart. It was as if Mark's physical beauty was the manifestation of who and what he was on the inside. My Song.
Sören shoved the Fëanor thought away again - this was already getting old, and it had barely started - and focused his attention on Mark. Which wasn't hard to do, as Mark stretched out delectably on the couch, cuddling Sören against him.
"Some people have been afraid of me," Mark said softly.
"I'm not. I know you would never hurt me." Sören's fingers played over Mark's face, not able to help touching him.
"So many humans fear the Other. And having lived among them so long, I sort of understand and sympathize with why. Human lives are so fragile -"
"We fear what we don't understand, but sometimes - often - we should try to understand." Sören felt a prickle of anger, wondering what kind of hell Mark had been through as he'd wandered... and still, he showed kindness to humans. He was kind to Sören before they'd gotten involved. He was kind to his students. Mark had every right to be bitter, if he'd experienced persecution once exposed. But Sören could sense no hatred in him, only compassion. And that made him love Mark even more.
Mark rocked Sören a little. "You have a good heart."
"It's yours, Mark."
They kissed again, deep and hungry. Their lips lingered, brushing softly, breathing each other's breath.
"I've been alone for so long," Mark said. "And now... it isn't just that I found someone, but I found you." Mark looked into Sören's eyes with such love that for a little while, Sören could put aside the part of his doubts that said he was just convenient, that Mark would rather have one of his own kind if given a choice. "The beautiful, fiery rainbow at the end of a long storm."
"Is that your way of saying I'm really gay?" Sören grinned, and nipped Mark's lower lip.
"Mmmmm, perhaps."
They kissed. Sören wanted to touch him everywhere, knowing he'd been starving for touch for ages. And not just sexually - though that too - but just to touch, comfort, soothe, satisfy that bone-deep, soul-deep ache that all people had for contact. Without thinking about it, he reached up and began to rub Mark's scalp, gently. Mark sighed and flexed his fingers and toes, like a cat, relaxing into Sören's fingers. "That's nice," Mark said.
"You're nice." Sören felt stupid saying it, but there it was. He kept rubbing, caressing, giving little scratches here and there. He watched Mark's arms break out in gooseflesh, smiled at the way his breath hitched.
"Hells, Sören, that feels good." Mark's voice was husky with pleasure. He closed his eyes and let out another little sigh before smiling.
Sören continued to rub and rub, and leaned in to rain little kisses over Mark's face. Mark's eyes opened and he smiled again, rubbing noses with Sören before cupping Sören's chin and pulling him into another kiss. They both groaned as their tongues met and the kiss heated.
Sören's free hand slid down to Mark's chest, rubbing his chest as his other hand rubbed and skritched Mark's head. And then the hand on Mark's chest moved slightly and brushed against some of Mark's hair, cascading down over a shoulder. Sören liked the silky feel of Mark's hair, and he began playing with Mark's hair as he continued to massage Mark's scalp.
"You spoil me, love."
"I want to really spoil you." Sören felt shy asking, but his need outweighed his nerves. "Can I... can I brush your hair?"
"Oh, baby, I would love that. Please."
Sören got up, and dashed off to the bathroom to grab Mark's hairbrush. He came back and had Mark adjust his position, so Mark's back was to him but Mark was leaning against him, so every now and again Sören could look over and watch his face.
Sören spent a long time brushing Mark's hair, from the top of his head all the way down his thighs, wave by wave. Mark loved it, smiling sweetly, continuing to flex his fingers and toes like a cat, making happy little sighs. And Sören loved it, worshiping Mark's beauty with each stroke of the brush. It was almost sad, that he'd been starved for touch for so long that such a simple little thing could make him so happy - but Sören liked making him happy. This was something he could do to comfort the man he loved... to express his love. In a way, brushing Mark's unglamoured flood of hair felt as intimate as sex.
And when Mark at last took the brush out of Sören's hand and changed his position to cradle Sören like he was a precious child, rocking and petting him, it was Sören's turn to sigh and melt into Mark's touch. Then Mark picked the brush back up and began to brush Sören's curls.
"You're beautiful too," Mark told him.
Sören's heart froze. He really wanted to believe what Mark was telling him, to take Mark's words at face value. But that doubt came roaring back, so loud and overwhelming that it broke the dam inside Sören, made him start to cry.
"Oh honey." Mark took Sören's chin in his hand and looked at him with sadness, concern. "What is it, love?"
"It's..." Sören gave a shuddery sigh. He didn't want to bring up the Fëanor business, which he was absolutely sure would be the kiss of death for them. So he went with what he'd be struggling with even without that information - or delusion - hanging over his head. "I don't feel worthy of you."
"Sören." Mark's eyes narrowed. He grabbed Sören's face and kissed him hard - furious, unleashing the fire of his passion - and then, after allowing a few seconds for Sören to catch his breath, kissed him again. Sören whimpered into the kiss, and Mark groaned. "Sören, don't say things like that."
"But..." Sören gestured to him. "You're beautiful, and ancient, and powerful, and I'm just... just... this human fuckup with my sad, stupid little life -"
"Sören." It was as if Mark had raised his voice, but he hadn't. "Sören, you will stop." And now, as if several voices were speaking in unison. Sören had chills.
Sören couldn't make words anymore, just stared, open-mouthed, shaking a little.
"I will not have any of this inferiority shit from you," Mark said, returning to his normal, smooth velvet voice. "I choose to be with you. I do find you a worthy partner. I wouldn't waste my time on you if you were not."
"You've been alone too long -"
"Long enough that what's a few more years? A few more decades?" Mark's nostrils flared. "God, Sören, do you think I'm fucking easy? That I just jumped into bed with the first warm body I could because I was lonely? Because let me tell you, I've had more of those opportunities than I can count, over the years, and I don't. I'm picky. And I want you, Sören. That should tell you a lot."
"But I'm damaged goods..." Seth's words, now.
"You will not say that about yourself." Mark's eyes flashed, and it was back to The Voice again. Realizing that it was unsettling Sören, Mark sighed, and he held Sören for a moment, petting and rocking again, trying to soothe. Then he picked Sören's chin up and looked him in the eye. "Look. Sören. I love you. That's all that matters. It's not simply that you're 'good enough' for me, like I'm settling... it's that you're good. Period. I didn't want to fall in love, and you stole my heart. You. Don't insult me and the way I feel for you - the way I feel, as the Song, as the son of my father - by trying to tell me how I should feel."
"I'm sorry." Sören's jaw quivered. "I just..." He closed his eyes, trying to black out the memories of Seth. Of his aunt and uncle. Of his schoolmates bullying him as a kid. "I've never been good enough for anyone."
"Yeah, stupid assholes with no taste who don't deserve to breathe the same air as you."
Sören laughed bitterly. "I wish I could believe you."
"Fucking Hells, Sören. Look." Mark got up from the couch, and then he yanked Sören to his feet, and dragged Sören down the hall. He led Sören into the bathroom and they stood in front of the mirror together. "Have you seen yourself? You're fucking gorgeous."
"Not compared to you -"
"Shut up." Mark turned to face him, and glared at him. "You could be a model. Going to be really honest with you, every time I saw you around campus, I thought to myself oh shit, he's hot. And when I came here and found out you were going to be my roommate for the summer... I felt like an idiot teenager around their crush. You have that effect on me."
Sören looked down at his feet.
"But it's not just that. Because it's not just physical for me. It never is." Mark led him across the hall to the bedroom. He went over to one of the paintings Sören had made, and given to him, carrying it over to show Sören. "Remember when you painted this earlier this summer? Before things happened with us, we were just friends?"
It was the bridge across worlds. One realm the bridge spanned had a city of gold and marble under pastel dawn, sending an elegant gondola-like ship onto sparkling water. Another realm had a forest, with a temple-like structure in the middle of nowhere, flying gliders, an almost-hot-air-balloon, in wide, seemingly endless blue sky. Another realm had ruins, ashes and embers, a lone figure wandering. And above it all the bridge, with what looked to be a male and female figure huddled together under a blanket on top, seeking shelter from a storm, lighting a small fire.
"Remember when I told you it was like you saw into my head, like you were painting my life somehow, and you didn't quite understand, then?" Mark gestured to the golden city. "Valinor." He gestured to the forest, the lone mansion-temple-structure in the middle of nowhere. "Formenos, my father's estate." The ruins. "What the world, my life, felt like after... well... all the things. All the death. Alone." And at last, the bridge. "And here... how it's felt more recently, before now. A place to wander endlessly, passing through this world, but never quite at home."
Mark put the canvas down, then grabbed the one of him in the forest. "And this. This, before you saw me unglamoured, knew anything about what I was." His voice shook. "But you knew, deep down. You saw... not with your eyes, but here." Mark gestured to his forehead. "And here." Mark gestured to his heart.
He put that canvas down and walked to Sören, who was getting choked up again. "You see, it's not that you're just pretty to look at. Your soul is beautiful. All the ugliness you've endured in your life and you still make magnificent art, you still have a vision, you still have that unconquerable fire in you that illuminates... and as a teacher, you try to give some of that to others, don't you?"
Sören nodded. "They carry the fire," he said.
"And that fire is home, Sören. You are my hearth, and my heart, your vision and my Song, together." Mark kissed him hard. "Don't you ever say you're unworthy of me again, Sören. You are a rare, precious soul and I. Love. You."
Sören broke down crying again and now Mark was crying too.
For awhile they stood there holding each other, crying in each other's arms. Sören truly wanted to believe him, wanted to accept what he was saying. After being hurt so many times, a lifetime of his own loneliness, Mark's words were like a balm for his soul. It wasn't simply that Mark loved him, and that he loved Mark, but they got each other - two creators, above and beyond anything else they were, inhabiting that shared space of creation. That space was sacred. Sören could feel it, Mark's arms almost like a magic circle around him, protecting him, keeping safe his dreams from a world that had broken him too many times. Fostering, nurturing, nourishing him, feeding that flame.
Sören wanted to be that space for him. To give Mark the shelter he needed to really make music again, in a world where good music was dying out, the same way it seemed like the magic was dying out, as the world itself was dying. Sören had the mad thought that maybe the energy of Mark composing, performing new songs might heal the world, at least a little.
Why the hell am I thinking like that. Yes, definitely going crazy.
And yet, that was how he felt about Mark. Their love was sacred, Mark himself was sacred to him.
He wanted to say those things and he couldn't make words. He could only feel. He could only hold, cling for dear life, in the violent storms of his feelings.
At last Mark pulled back. "Here. Let's take a shower together. Wash away the tears." Mark started to undress.
They were finally showering together. Of course, Sören now understood why they hadn't before - Mark's ears were plainly visible with wet hair slicked back, and Sören imagined he had to unglamour his hair to wash it properly.
And it took a long time to wash Mark's hair. Once again, Sören was impressed by how much of it there was. Sören lathered the shampoo into that glorious mane lovingly, reverently. They lathered each other's bodies, silken caresses that made their cocks spring to life, rubbing together as they held each other under the spray, kissing.
Mark carried him out of the shower, their eyes locked each step of the way.
Mark put Sören down on the bed gently, and climbed over him. Sören looked up at him, his breath catching - no matter how long Mark had been unglamoured around him, the sight of him still took Sören's breath away. He reached up to stroke Mark's face, and Mark took Sören's hand and kissed it, put Sören's hand on his heart as he kissed Sören deeply.
Their cocks slid together as they kissed, even more sensually than in the shower. Their hands roamed over their shower-damp bodies - Sören wanted to touch, feel, every part of the man he loved. Wanted Mark to feel the love in his touch. The desire. The need in him.
They took each other's hands, kissing as they continued rubbing together, cock to cock, man to man. They were both leaking precum, making little streamers as they rubbed, dripping over each other.
Sören found himself rolling Mark onto his back, and he proceeded to worship every inch of Mark's body, feasting on him with his lips, teeth and tongue, fingers walking, brushing, hands kneading, stroking, circling, as if he were sculpting or painting Mark to life. And Mark came alive under his touch, his kisses, moaning so beautifully. Sören moaned too, reaching every now and again to give his own cock a few lazy strokes, electrified by the sight of Mark's body glistening wet from the shower, the intoxicating scent of him, the hard arousal, those sweet, sweet moans and sighs. Sören lost himself in Mark's body, wanting to make up for all those years starved of touch at once, to just surrender himself to pleasuring Mark, loving him. Loving, loving, loving.
Sören's kisses and caresses moved lower, and Mark's cock found its way into Sören's mouth, Sören sucking him slowly, looking into Mark's eyes. "Oh, Sören," Mark breathed, petting him. "God, you're good..."
"Mmmmmmmm." Sören took Mark's cock out of his mouth and licked it all over, from the head down the shaft and back up, tongue lapping and lapping every inch, every bit of his manhood that he could. "I love you so much. I love doing this to you."
Sören sucked him again, taking his time, until Mark couldn't take it anymore and grabbed Sören's head, fucking his mouth gently. Then Sören let loose, sucking hard and fast, lashing his tongue as he sucked. Mark's moans got louder, at last crying out, trembling, gasping for breath. Sören's hand cupped Mark's balls and rubbed, and when he felt them tightening he braced himself. Mark bucked and screamed as he came, and Sören drank him down greedily, swallowing then taking a few laps at the slit and sucking the head again, slurping at the cream he didn't catch in the flood, wanting all of it. Mark had to grab him off his cock. "Too sensitive..."
Sören gave Mark a few minutes to recover, before his finger idly circled around the rim of Mark's opening. When Mark moaned, hardening again, Sören knew he was ready for more, and now it was his tongue that licked around it. Around and around, smiling a little at the way Mark panted, gasped. The cry Mark made when Sören's tongue slipped inside almost sent Sören coming; Sören shuddered, making himself pause for a moment before he resumed licking inside him.
Sören spent a long, long time down there, licking Mark slowly, then faster, then slow again, teasing and teasing the prostate with his tongue. Mark thrashed and gasped and howled, and soon he was fucking himself on Sören's tongue and Sören devoured him, hungry for his beloved's pleasure. When Mark came this way, screaming Sören's name as he erupted, shooting his seed all over himself, Sören cried out, almost coming too.
Sören licked up the seed spilled over Mark's body, and came up to kiss him. He was rock-hard, his cock completely slick with precum. Mark reached for it, playing with it.
But Mark wasn't going to let Sören come right away. Now it was his turn to kiss and caress Sören all over - getting Sören out of his head for awhile, giving him an escape, a respite from the doubt. There was only sensation... desire. Mark had learned Sören's body well these past few weeks, kissing, licking, rubbing everywhere that pleased him. "So beautiful," Mark murmured between kisses at Sören's nipples... over his stomach... nibbling on his thighs. "So, so beautiful. So delicious."
Mark sucked Sören as slowly as Sören had sucked him, but Sören was so pent up between teasing Mark and being teased by Mark that it took far less time for Sören to come, and when he came in Mark's mouth, screaming, Mark surprised him by coming too, a few seconds later, Sören watching as Mark rose to stroke himself to climax, shooting over Sören's body.
"You're mine," Mark husked, licking around where he'd come on Sören's flesh, leaving the seed there as evidence. "See how I've claimed you."
Sören shivered, letting out a whimper, wanting more. Mark kissed his way down again, and when his tongue speared inside him Sören almost cried, it was so good. Even better as Mark lapped away, tongue finding the perfect rhythm on Sören's prostate, moaning into Sören as he feasted. When Sören started to lose it, trembling, swearing in Icelandic, Mark slowed down, keeping Sören on that edge for as long as he could, until Sören let out a tortured roaring sob and grabbed Mark's hair.
"I love that fierce side of you, baby," Mark whispered.
Sören grabbed Mark's hair again. This time he pulled Mark up towards him. He kissed Mark hard, and then he shoved Mark onto his back. Grabbing Mark by the hair again, he straddled Mark, but instead of sinking down on Mark's hard cock he scooted up to Mark's shoulders. Mark grabbed Sören's ass and pulled him down onto his face, and Sören rode his tongue, Mark eating him with wild abandon. When Sören was almost ready to let go he started making telltale keening noises and Mark's tongue slipped out of him, Mark tongue-lashing his cock as Sören gave him a facial.
It was so debauched, Sören was ready to go again soon after coming. Mark held Sören against him, their hard cocks rubbing together once more as Sören licked his cum off Mark's face and fed it to him, tongues rubbing together the way their cocks were rubbing together.
Mark reached for the lube. Sören happily straddled him, sank down... began to ride slowly. Until their need got too strong, and Mark rolled Sören onto his back, grabbed Sören's wrists, pinning him down, and fucked him hard. Sören matched his rhythm, rocking his hips back at Mark, begging for more until he couldn't make words, just sounds, until Mark drank his cries with kiss after feverish kiss.
Before they could come together Mark slowed down, teasing them both. He let go of Sören's wrists and Sören grabbed his face, kissed him hard, played with Mark's hair as they kissed and kissed.
"You let me be, as I am," Mark said, "and I love you, as you are." Mark kissed him deeply. "You. I love you. I want you."
They kissed again, and Sören cried out into the kiss, wrapping his arms and legs around Mark, holding Mark with all of him. Wanting to make this last, this perfect moment when the doubt was silenced - for now; it would return later... but later didn't exist, just yet. Right here and now, all that existed was their love. Their passion. The dance of Flame and Song.