Wednesday was their next-to-last full day at the beach house; they'd be leaving on Friday morning. After one last trip to Golden Gate Park in the morning, they spent the afternoon packing, and doing some basic tidying up, with a more thorough cleaning left for tomorrow to make sure the house was as they found it.
For dinner, Mark made a sort of odd smorgasbord with what they had left for groceries, to use them up and not have anything left over when they left on Friday - they'd be eating out or getting delivery on Thursday. And as Mark worked in the kitchen, Sören noticed the same sort of brooding intensity that Mark had occasionally displayed before they became intimate was back. Sören had been wondering when was the right timing to have the conversation about where they would go from here, what would happen when they went back to Oregon. While Mark and Sören had expressed a desire for this to last beyond the summer, that had been before Mark's revelation of being an immortal Elf, and now things felt less certain. Seeing Mark look so troubled, Sören had a feeling that weight was hanging over him too, and tonight was as good a time as any to clear the air.
After dinner they sat on the couch cuddling, listening to music - for a change, Mark deferred to Sören's preference, and Sören was in the mood for something smooth and mellow, so R&B it was. As Anita Baker's sultry contralto voice crooned, Mark cradled Sören against his chest, petting his curls.
"Mmmmm, that's nice," Sören purred.
"You want to take a dip in the hot tub?"
Sören looked up at him and swallowed hard. "Maybe later." The relaxation time would be better suited for after they got this tense moment out of the way. "Actually..." Sören sat up and shifted uncomfortably. "We need to have a little talk first."
"Hold that thought."
Mark got up, and came back with a bottle of moscato they needed to finish, and two glasses. Sören could only have one, but Sören knew Mark's constitution was such he could put away the rest of the half-bottle without getting too drunk. Mark poured them each a glass, and then he sat back, looking at Sören over the rim of his glass, waiting.
"Jæja." Sören took a deep breath and swirled the wine around in his glass. "Mark... I love you. I really enjoy being with you. I want to keep being with you. But... what's going to happen when we get back to Oregon?"
"Do you want the full, honest, blunt truth, Sören?"
Sören nodded, bracing himself. Even that sentence hurt, like the bubble he'd been floating on as of late was about to burst, hard. "I think you owe me the truth, considering the way I've trusted you. Surrendered to you, been vulnerable with you, when you know what happened to me, what a big deal that is -"
Mark raised his hand, and Sören stopped. Mark took a sip of his wine and then he put the glass down. He turned the stereo up - Pharrell Williams was on the Pandora station now - and explained, "Doing the thing because this is a conversation I don't want neighbors or other ears to overhear, if at all possible."
Oh shit. Sören fidgeted.
Mark took the glass out of Sören's hand after he took a sip, and also put it down, and took Sören's hands in his. "In an ideal, perfect world, we would be mated for life. Eternity, as far as the human mind can grasp that concept." Mark slipped his bad hand out of Sören's grasp, and stroked Sören's face, looking into his eyes. "Of all the mortals that I've been with over the ages, what I feel for you is leagues above and beyond what it was with them. We inhabit a shared wavelength, or as I like to call it, a place in the Song. We fit together."
"But."
"But. This is not that ideal, perfect world. I am immortal. I can be killed, though I am very hard to kill - many have tried, many have failed. I can survive injuries that would kill most humans. I cannot contract human diseases. I don't age. And you, Sören, are mortal. Not simply that, but with the medication you're on that you need to survive with the illness you have, it shaves some of your life expectancy off - most people on the drugs you're taking don't live past their fifties, and start to have serious health complications from the medication in their forties, if not sooner. Even if you went off your meds tomorrow... which I would rather you not do... most humans don't live past their seventies or eighties. And the road towards death is very long. The body breaks down. Sickness. Pain. Exhaustion. Frailty. Suffering. It's not an easy thing to watch. I've watched it a few times now. I've buried a few partners." Mark's eyes were too bright. "I swore to myself after the last one I was done with this. I would allow myself friendship, maybe, but no more. And then you came along, and I could deny you no more than I could stop breathing, could cut off one of my senses. But though I've allowed myself this... I don't think I can handle watching you die. Losing you. It will hurt in a way I have not hurt in a very long time. There was the grief of losing other mortal partners, friends, which I still feel to this day... and there is this. There is losing you."
"So... what are you saying?" Tears burned Sören's eyes now. He felt like he was stung. "You... you just want to leave?"
"It's not a question of want, Sören. I want, desperately, to be with you. I want a life with you. But I am scared shitless of what is down the road for us."
"And yet..." Sören pulled his hand away from Mark's and reached for his glass of wine. He needed a drink now. "Neither of us know what's down that road. Yes, there's a chance that my meds might fuck up my health long term. But the bipolar meds that are out now are a lot kinder than the ones that were out a decade ago, two decades ago. Medicine is making advancements all the time. I pay attention to that, both as a patient and as someone who was, briefly, a doctor. Making those kinds of predictions now isn't fair."
"Even if better meds or other medical advancements buy you more time, that time isn't infinite, Sören. Someday you will die. If we do this, if we stay together for the rest of your life, I will watch you die."
"And? I'm not denying that it's painful for you. But is walking away from me, breaking my heart - when I have those mental health problems we just finished talking about - a better alternative? Is you being alone for eternity a better alternative?" Sören sipped his wine and sat it down, folding his arms. "Is a sunset not worth watching because it fades away and is never the same twice? Is a garden not worth keeping because the flowers die when the seasons change?"
"That's not a fair or accurate comparison."
"I'm a fucking artist. Isn't it?" Sören scowled. "I make art because I love the world as I do. I feel as intensely as I do, falling passionately in love with the beauty around me - the sunset, the sunrise, the moon, the stars, the flowers, the trees, the ocean, the mountains, the seasons, everything, everything. I fall in love with creation itself, getting wrapped up in my projects, obsessed with them... and eventually those projects end and it feels like a death, of sorts."
"It's still not the same. I appreciate your philosophical mind, Sören, but -"
"I didn't say it was exactly the same, but, it's similar enough that it's worth thinking about. You act like you're the only person in the history of the world who has ever lost someone, and god, I get it that being alive for thousands of years and carrying that grief with you, missing the people you've loved, is something awful. But is loneliness a better trade off? You don't want to feel the sting of death anymore... so you make yourself miss out on life. That's no way to live. That's not living, that's surviving. I've lost people I love. My own sister was murdered. I still would have rather known her, and loved her, for the little bit of time she was in the world, than never have known her at all because she was suddenly taken from this world and I still grieve her to this day. I will never stop missing her, even as the ache isn't constantly at the forefront of my mind. You can say it's because of my puny human lifespan and eleven years doesn't measure up to eleven hundred years, eleven thousand years, but you know what? We both have a heart. And our hearts need love. People need people, whether they're humans or Elves. People need connections. Not letting yourself love because that love will only last so long... if you ask me, the wound of loneliness is even deeper, harder to heal, than the wound of grief. At least with grief you have the memory of being loved. Something to balance out that pain. You get jack fucking shit when you force yourself to be alone."
Mark covered his face with his hand and then his hand slid down and he winced as if he were in pain. "You're right that it's no way to live, Sören. It's horrible. But it's the only way I know how, anymore."
"You're not so old that you can't learn. And don't tell me that you really, truly, want to end this right now and go back to being alone. Do you?"
"No, I don't, Sören. I told you. I want to be with you. This isn't me not wanting it. I just..."
"Can't you allow yourself this at least a little while, then?" Sören felt like his heart was breaking.
"The longer we're together, the more attached I'll get... we'll both get... and the harder it'll be when..."
"We're already both attached." The tears spilled from Sören's eyes. He took a few shuddery deep breaths. "What we've shared, the last few weeks... it's only been a few weeks but it feels like a lifetime. It feels like magic. You feel it too, I know you do."
"I do." Mark's own eyes were too bright. "I do, Sören."
"Walking away from it now won't make it better, for either of us. It'll make it worse, like an unfinished painting, an unfinished song -"
As if on cue, "You Can't Hide Love" by Earth Wind and Fire came on, like the Music itself was calling Maglor out.
You want my love and you can't deny
You know it's true but you try to hide
You turn down love like it's really bad yeah owh
You can't give what you never had yeah
Well bless your soul, you can fool a few
Ah I know the truth and so do you
You can't hide love, you can't now
You can't hide love, it's got ya
Betcha you want my love, I betcha
You can't hide feeling inside
You can't pretend there's nothing there
Girl, I look in your eyes, I see you care
So why not stop trying to run and hide
You won't find out, if you never try
You can't hide love, you can't now
You can't hide love, it's got ya
Betcha want my love, I betcha
You can't hide feeling inside
Mark looked shaken. "OK. Forget the mortal versus immortal issue for a minute, because it's not the only issue we have going forward." Mark sipped his wine. "There's more."
"Is there."
Mark nodded. "You remember what I told you the day I came out? I don't age, and there's only so young I can convincingly pretend to be with my personality, and only so long 'I got some work done' holds up, if it even does. When I worked out a deal with the Feds for my release back into society, some rules were implemented, one of which being every seven to ten years, I have to move. In exchange for me keeping a low profile and not causing chaos and mass panic by shaking up the world with the revelation that some people walking the streets aren't human, the US government will move me anywhere I want to go free of charge. They will, and do, provide me with new identity paperwork, help fabricate any other documentation I need to become gainfully employed and have something to do, thus staying out of trouble." Mark took a deep breath. "I started teaching at Oregon State University in 2010, Sören. I've lived in Oregon for seven years now. You need to know this - I was planning on leaving Corvallis at the end of the year, after the holidays."
"You..." Sören's jaw dropped.
Mark nodded again.
There was an awkward few moments of silence as Sören let that sink in. Then Sören's tears were no longer silent. "So you're just going to... to leave? At the end of the year?"
"I was going to. But... I have up to ten years. Technically, I could stay until sometime in 2020. But it's already hard enough to leave now. I like the Pacific Northwest. I like my job. And it feels like the longer I stay the worse it's going to be..." Mark shook his head.
"And you would just leave." Sören sniffled. "Can I come with you?"
"See, that's the thing."
"Don't tell me that the government won't let you take someone with you, that they fucking expect you to be alone for the rest of your life -"
"They don't, no. They'll allow for me to bring a partner, or other designated family members - for example, if I had stepchildren. That's part of the package deal. The thing is, though..." Mark exhaled sharply. "You've noticed the way the political climate in the US has been changing. It's... concerning. I have concerns about being on the radar, because if shit hits the fan and they start rounding people up, guess who's getting hauled in. I'm strong, I'm a trained warrior in multiple forms of combat, and I'm crazy." Mark's eyes gleamed. "But I can't outrun, outfight a special forces team sent to bring me in, or take me out altogether. And that's me being not human, not mortal. I worry that I would be a liability to anyone I had with me, if that time comes, if they'd get captured, hurt... and that's their blood on my hands. And it's not just the US government I worry about, with all the hackers and leakers out there. It's who else, where else, has this information of what I am, where I am, who I'm with. What they would do with that information - like trying to use you as a bargaining chip to get something out of me, or the Feds. I don't want to come home someday and find out that some Russian guy has you tied up and is having his way with you, or something like that."
Sören couldn't resist, needing a moment of levity. "I don't know, that kind of sounds like fun. Maybe it could be a threesome."
In the background, a female voice sang:
Strawberries on top of me
Candlelight, a little Hennessy
That's the way, that's the way
My love flows
Mark narrowed his eyes. "Hells, Sören..."
Sören immediately regretted his lack of brain-to-mouth filter. He downed the last of his moscato, put the glass down, and sighed deeply, hanging his head for a minute. He picked his head back up and said, "Mark, when were you captured by the US government? How long were..."
"1972. I was let go in 1976."
"So you've been free for forty-one years... have you had any incidents since then? Be honest."
"Well, no -"
"I get what you're saying about the way things look in the US right now, and I get that your experience made you paranoid, justifiably so... but I honestly think if it's been this long and you haven't had problems, they're not likely to start. And I mean, things were looking up before this last election, and after the next election in 2020 the country might regain its sanity. But once again, like with the mortality thing, you're speculating on things that might not happen. And..."
"That's not the only issue. The other one isn't a speculation, because I've lived it. Having to uproot and move around every ten years... it's a hard life, Sören. It's a hard, hard life. I worry that if I drag you around with me, and we get settled in someplace just to have to keep moving... eventually you'll resent me."
"I doubt that, Mark. I've lived in three different countries now - Iceland, Canada, the US. I've been gone from Iceland since 2006. I want to see the world. It sounds like an adventure, a dream come true."
"You say that now. But you've also moved by choice. All this moving around I do? Even though I get to pick out wherever I want to go next, the Feds allow me that - it's still not the same as moving by choice. If I could just stay in Oregon for the next forty, fifty years, I would. I am really attached to the Pacific Northwest. It feels as close to home as I'm going to get in this world. I am tired, Sören. So, so tired. I am soulsick. I just want to stay put in one fucking place for awhile, put down roots, settle the fuck down, and I can't. In fact, a few centuries ago, before any government involvement, my shelf life was even smaller because lifespans were shorter and age was less kind to most people, and in the days when people were seeing witchcraft everywhere, me looking young and healthy for even a few years raised more than a few eyebrows. Ten years feels like a lifetime now, generous compared to all that. And still that's too soon, and that's hard enough for me, never mind forcing someone else to put up with it. At least a few people have left, over the millennia, when they've gotten a taste of what this life is like."
"I'm not most people, Mark."
"You're right, Sören. You are one of the most sensitive, passionate people I've ever met. You get deeply, deeply attached, bound up, entangled to people, places, and things. Cutting you off and making you move around with me... and not even just all the moving around, but making you be cautious with people, to not expose my secret..."
"And that should be my choice to make. You're not giving me a choice. Mark, I'm telling you I can handle it. For you, I would." Sören started to cry again. "I love you. I love you so much. I don't want to lose you."
"Goddammit, Sören." Mark cried too. "You say that, but you don't know what you're saying. The last few weeks - they've been intense. They've been magical, beautiful. They've been sacred. But you can't... you can't make a decision like this that will impact the rest of your life when it's only been a few weeks. All the shiny new relationship energy is affecting you, that's too impulsive -"
"So give me time." Sören's jaw set. "I think I'm pretty damn sure of what I want - and what I want is you - but if you're saying you doubt that I'm this sure... and that's fair, a lot of people's impulsive decisions have ended badly... then at least allow me some time. Allow us some more time to be together."
Mark poured himself another glass of moscato. He sipped, looking at Sören, saying nothing.
"The fact that you haven't said immediately no..." Sören raised an eyebrow.
Mark sighed. "I haven't said yes, either."
"OK." Sören pressed his hand to his forehead and then rubbed his beard, searching his mind, desperately grasping for some sort of compromise. He knew that maybe the smart thing was for it to end now if it was going to end anyway, but he didn't feel like being smart. He couldn't go without Mark now. He needed at least a little more time. "What if you stay in Corvallis for one more year? Till summer 2018. Which will give us enough time for the shiny new relationship energy to wear off a bit, for things to be more 'real' with us. And if after all of that, I still tell you I want to come with you..."
Mark covered his face with his hands.
On the Pandora station, Minnie Riperton sang:
Two people, just meeting, barely touching each other
Two spirits, greeting, tryna carry it further
You are one, and I am another
We should be one, inside each other
You can see inside me - will you come inside me?
Do you wanna ride inside my love?
You can see inside me - will you come inside me?
Do you wanna ride inside my love?
Two strangers - not strangers - only lacking the knowing
So willing, feeling - infinite growing
While we're here, the whole world is turning
We should be one, fulfilling the yearning
You can see inside me - will you come inside me?
Do you wanna ride inside my love?
You can see inside me - will you come inside me?
Do you wanna ride inside my love?
Sören pulled Mark's hands from his face and kissed them. Kissed the scar, pressed the scarred hand to his heart. He still felt a bit hurt that Mark would consider leaving, but he knew Mark was reacting from his own hurt - a very deep place of hurting - and it wasn't a reaction he could help; Sören didn't know if, thrust into the same position, he wouldn't be the same way. He and Mark were alike in their sensitivity, and Sören recognized Mark's impulse to run as one not of callous disregard for his partner but loving too much, feeling too much, being terrified of things outside his control, his partner getting hurt, Mark himself hurting even more. Sören couldn't begin to imagine what Mark's life had been like, all these millennia. But he ached to provide Mark with some respite, some comfort, for at least a little while.
"Ride or die," Sören said. "That's me. Maybe you think it's too soon for me to commit to that, but give it a year. I can't see myself not feeling the same way."
Mark closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then his eyes met Sören's, and he blinked back tears. "You win. I'll stay for a year. And after a year, if you want to come with me..." He closed his eyes again, nodded, and broke down, sobbing.
Sören threw his arms around Mark, drew him into a deep, hungry kiss. Mark grabbed Sören's face and kissed him back, harder, fire calling to fire. It was the kind of kiss that would make Sören harden right up if he wasn't so emotionally exhausted from this conversation... now Sören was crying again too, knowing what this risk was costing Mark, hurt as he was... aching again for Mark's wounded heart... relief that Mark had agreed to a year... worry that Mark might leave anyway...
When they pulled apart, Mark said, "The one caveat I have on this is, I'm not asking you to live with me before the year is up. It might make more sense for us to live together, with us sleeping together the way we are, but... us having some occasional space from each other means you have more time to think independently of me and really weigh that decision over, if you want this."
"All right. No living together yet. But... we'll still be seeing each other?"
Mark nodded. He managed a small, mischievous smile then. "You might get sick of me."
"I doubt I would ever get sick of you, Mark." Sören smiled back. He got up, and took Mark's hand. "Let's get in the hot tub now."
They cuddled together in the hot tub, relaxing - or attempting to - in the heat and bubbles. Mark finished off the bottle of moscato, and kissed Sören, letting him taste the last of the sweet wine in the kiss. Their tongues playfully rubbed together, and Sören's cock finally wanted attention, with Mark's hand reaching for it under the water, Mark giving him a knowing smile.
Sören groaned, and reached for Mark's cock as well. They kissed again, stroking each other slowly. Then when they pulled apart but their faces were still close, nuzzling, Sören's thumb rubbed the frenulum of Mark's cock, making Mark gasp and shudder. Sören loved that, rubbing more insistently. "Does my boyfriend like that?"
"Yes." Mark rolled his eyes and laughed. "Feels so weird, at eleven thousand years old, to be called someone's boyfriend."
"English doesn't really have a better term for it. But my language does." Their eyes met. "Elskan. Ástin mín."
Mark gasped again, and he kissed Sören hard. "I love that." He kissed Sören again. "I love you."
Sören smiled, delighted. "I still can't get over the fact that you speak Icelandic... that you speak everything. You like it when I speak my language, já?"
"God, Sören, I love it. Icelandic is such a beautiful language. I'm so glad it hasn't died out." Mark stroked Sören's face. "You said you'd like to take me there sometime, and... you know, we could do that."
"My cousin Ari would be thrilled if we came for Christmas." Sören squinted. "He sent me that copy of The Silmarillion, you know. I, ah." He facepalmed. "Don't be mad, but I told him a little about you not long after we got together and he... he sent me that. Like he knew... He's a big Tolkien fan."
Sören was expecting Mark to be annoyed or even alarmed, that he'd been exposed in some way, but instead Mark just laughed. "Wow. He sounds like someone worth meeting."
"I think he'd really want to meet you. I mean, he would anyway, with you being my boyfriend..." Sören cackled at the word. "But... he'd be tickled to meet a real live Elf, and he wouldn't be annoying about it either, he'd want to make you feel comfortable."
Mark patted him. "OK. Well... Christmas in Iceland sounds fun."
Sören clapped excitedly.
"I'd love to see Iceland, and I'd love to learn more about your people," Mark said.
"I'd love to learn more about yours. I know what I've read..." And what I remember. "But there's more than what's in canon."
"Very much so." Mark nodded. "At least some of what I told Tolkien was... stuff he didn't add to his texts, with the sensibilities of the era. And some of it, I didn't tell him at all."
Sören wondered about that, what would have shocked or offended him, and decided to not press it. They'd already had enough serious discussion for one night. Besides, it's probably just stuff like Mark being bi, they were real prudes about that back then.
When they got out of the hot tub, Mark massaged Sören's shoulders and back, helping to relax him further. Sören melted underneath his touch - hard though he was, wanting relief, he also loved being pampered and soothed like this, wishing the massage could go on forever. Mark's hands with their long, elegant fingers were magic even without the healing energy that Sören could feel radiating from them now. "Be at peace, my love," Mark whispered as he kneaded. "I know how hard this was for you."
When Mark stopped rubbing, he rolled Sören onto his side and leaned in for a kiss. Mark was hard too, and his precum-slick cock looked delicious, Sören wanting to please him. But Sören wanted to give him some comfort and peace as well. Sören picked up Mark's hairbrush, had him sit up, and began to brush the full length of Mark's hair. Brushing with one hand, the fingers of the other massaging Mark's scalp.
"Oh, Sören." Mark sighed. "You take such good care of me."
"You deserve it."
Their eyes met. Mark grabbed him and kissed him, and Sören was tempted to get on his cock right then and there, but he wanted to give Mark some more tender loving care first, melt the tension away. Sören resumed brushing Mark's hair and played with it a little, enjoying the silky texture of it over his fingers, the soft waves, the touch of blue iridescence in the black, like raven feathers. "Your hair is so gorgeous," Sören husked.
Mark smiled. He skritched Sören's curls. "I like your hair, too."
"No, seriously, Mark... your hair is magnificent. My hair is nice, I guess, but yours is unearthly beautiful."
"Don't sell yourself short, Sören. You are a work of art."
"OK, well right now, I'm focusing on you, you..." Sören gave him a playful swat with the hairbrush, before taking another stroke with the brush. "I'm not going to ask you all the questions about Elf things tonight, but... are you all like this, with your hair this long?"
"Pretty much. Some longer. My uncle Fingolfin had hair down to his knees."
Like in the dream-visions I had. Sören said nothing about that - he still wasn't entirely sure any of that was real, not a trick of his mind in some way. But he still felt a frisson down his spine nonetheless... and his cock throbbed too, remembering what Fingolfin's hair had looked like fanned out over the bed, or disheveled in the heat of passion...
And then Sören paused, because he did have a curiosity he could ask about. Just one more thing, something that had grabbed him the night they went to the club, and he'd sat with it, and now...
"Mark?"
"Hm?"
"When we went to the club that night..."
"Yes. That was fun." Mark grinned.
Sören took a deep breath. "Your hair looked really amazing. Like, even more than usual. That little braid you had..." Sören narrowed his eyes. "Was that just for adornment, or was there some kind of cultural significance to that?"
Mark's eyes locked with his. "It means I'm married."
Sören's heart skipped a beat, his stomach fluttering.
Mark took Sören's left hand out of his hair, and for a second his fingers grazed the ring finger of Sören's left hand... where a wedding ring would go... before he clasped Sören's hand in his. "It means you and I are married." Mark closed his eyes. "I don't know what the future holds for us, if you'll still feel the same way in a year, but... even when I thought I was going to leave..." He opened his eyes, too bright with tears. "We're mated." He pressed Sören's hand to his heart. "Here. That's how I feel about you. No matter what happens, I will never stop loving you..."
Sören slipped his hand away and shoved Mark down on his back. Feverishly, he grabbed the lube from the bedtable, poured it over Mark's cock. Mark guided his cock to Sören's opening and Sören sank down, both of them crying out when they were joined, Mark's cock all the way inside. Then Sören began to ride like his life depended on it, sobbing with all the rush of his feelings, his need.
They didn't last more than a few minutes, Sören coming hard, screaming as his seed sprayed over Mark's body, and then a few seconds later Mark gave a shout as he spent into Sören's channel clenching and pulsing around him. Sören collapsed on top of Mark, and they kissed deeply, their orgasm continuing to wind through them.
The kissing made them harden up again right away. Mark grabbed the lube this time, coated Sören's hand, guided Sören's fingers to his passage. He moaned as Sören found that spot inside him right away, rubbing in circles with two fingers, then three, while Sören's other hand teased his cock, played over his body. At last Sören spread Mark's legs wider, lubed up his own cock, and watched with mad lust as his cock pushed into Mark an inch at a time, until he was buried to the hilt. Sören leaned down to kiss Mark, one hand playing with Mark's hair and caressing his body as the other stroked Mark's cock in time with his thrusts, going slowly at first, lovingly.
But soon passion took over and the beast in Sören came out, and Mark's legs ended up on his shoulders, Mark crying out louder and louder with each of Sören's savage, punishing thrusts. "Oh god, Sören. Oh Hells, oh god..." Mark was trembling, gasping. "That ring... oh fuck..."
Sören was starting to think getting the Prince Albert piercing in 2005 was one of the best decisions he'd ever made in his life. Seth had never wanted to bottom, with or without it - Seth was strictly a top - but Mark seemed to like taking Sören's cock at least as much as Sören liked taking his, and Sören made up for lost time with the sweet sensation of silken heat wrapped around him, driving into Mark with abandon, pounding him into the mattress, the bed rocking against the wall so hard Sören worried about knocking off the painting above the bed.
Being inside Mark felt so good - so right - that Sören had to fight hard to hold back his own orgasm, wanting to take care of Mark's pleasure first. But then Mark took Sören's hands and his eyes were wild, feral, as he said, "Come inside me."
"I don't want to be selfish..."
"You're not. Please."
A few thrusts later Sören let go, and the feeling of Sören erupting deep inside him sent Mark over the edge, screaming at the top of his lungs, coming so hard his cum not only went all over Sören - his stomach, his chest, his throat, his face - but also hit the painting above the bed. Through the glorious euphoria of their climax, Sören and Mark laughed hysterically, tearing up and wheezing at the mess.
"So much for leaving this place the way we found it," Mark said as Sören slipped out of him.
"Well, it may have increased the painting's value. Now it's a Sören Sigurdsson original."
Mark screamed into the pillow, laughing harder. "Oh, my god."
"See?" Sören stroked Mark's face, pet his hair, laughter giving way to tenderness. "You'd miss moments like this, if you left..."
Mark kissed him softly. "I know. I just..." He closed his eyes and when he opened them there were tears again, and he gave a soft sigh. "I hope you still feel the same way, in a year."
"I hope you do, too."
Mark kissed him harder, and they moaned into the kiss as they felt their cocks slide together, aroused once more. Overcome by emotion, Sören found himself unable to speak, and let his body do the talking for him, expressing his love. Mark's moans and sighs let Sören know he got the message.