This time the cry that woke Sören up was not his own. Without thinking about it, he reached out for Mark - who he was already tangled up with in bed - and pulled Mark closer to him. Mark buried his face in Sören's shoulder, shuddering, sobbing. Sören pet Mark's hair, kissed the top of his head, rocked him.
"Shhhhhh, elskan. It's OK. I'm here. You're safe. It's all right." Sören kissed the top of Mark's head again, arms tightening around him. "It's all right."
Mark sobbed harder.
Sören turned on the small lamp on the bedtable, and sat up a little, pulling Mark up with him. He took Mark's chin in his hand and picked Mark's head up, looking into his eyes. "What was your nightmare about?"
Mark looked away - far away - and closed his eyes. Sören felt a lump in his throat as he watched the tears spill down Mark's cheeks. "My father." Mark swallowed hard. "My father dying in my arms."
It took Sören every ounce of his restraint not to scream It's me. I was reborn. I came back to you. Once again, he was worried about being disbelieved, judged as a sick pervert... or if it was true, that for all of Mark's talk of acceptance now, it would be null and void when he saw Fëanor reborn into this mortal body, this human body, this broken, sad little life, in no way able to compare with the greatness of what he had once been. He ached so much to give Mark the comfort of being with his father once more... and he couldn't.
Sören started sobbing, too. He hurt so much for Mark. "I'm so sorry." And not just for Mark's loss back then. I'm sorry that you lost me and here I am again, like this. You deserve so much better than this.
Sören pulled Mark close, began kissing his tears. Mark broke again, weeping, and Sören played with Mark's hair as he kissed his tears. "I love you," Sören whispered. "I love you so much."
"I love you," Mark choked out.
Sören grabbed their stuffed animals, which were on the other side of the bed. He made Hells the unicorn hop over, and Hells leapt into Mark's arms. Mark managed a smile through his tears.
Sören made Sparkle Bunny and Bláberja snuggle Mark, too. Then Eeyore came over and nuzzled him. "Eeyore knows what it's like to be sad," Sören husked, "and his friends love him anyway."
Mark patted Eeyore and then he gave Sören a little kiss. "You're incredibly sweet."
"You're incredibly lovable." Sören kissed the tip of Mark's nose.
Sören turned off the lamp and Mark settled back into his arms. "Should I sing you back to sleep?"
Mark nodded, eyes looking up at Sören in the dim glow of the nightlight, and his own silver aura. "OK."
Sören thought about his default of "Stairway to Heaven" as a lullaby, but that didn't quite seem right, and as much as he loved making Mark laugh, he felt like "Walk This Way" would probably offend right now. Sören drew a blank, not knowing what would be appropriate, and then, suddenly, it came to him.
Just yesterday morning, they let me know you were gone.
...the plans they made put an end to you.
I walked out this morning and I wrote down this song,
I just can't remember who to send it to.
I've seen fire and I've seen rain.
I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end.
I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend
But I always thought that I'd see you again.
Won't you look down upon me, Jesus,
You've got to help me make a stand.
You've just got to see me through another day.
My body's aching and my time is at hand
and I won't make it any other way.
Oh, I've seen fire and I've seen rain.
I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end.
I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend
But I always thought that I'd see you again.
Been walking my mind to an easy time, my back turned towards the sun.
Lord knows when the cold wind blows it'll turn your head around.
Well, there's hours of time on the telephone line to talk about things to come.
Sweet dreams and flying machines in pieces on the ground.
Oh, I've seen fire and I've seen rain.
I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end.
I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend,
but I always thought that I'd see you baby, one more time again, now.
Thought I'd see you one more time again.
There's just a few things coming my way this time around, now.
Thought I'd see you, thought I'd see you, fire and rain, now.
_
Sören was woken up again hours later by Mark finally getting out of bed. He gave Sören a hug and a little kiss as he got up. Sören felt a little disappointed that it looked like morning sex wasn't happening, but then, he imagined Mark probably had that exhausted hungover feeling from crying so hard last night, so being not in the mood right now wasn't surprising.
Sören went to the bathroom, and when he came out to get his morning meds, Mark's back was turned and Mark ended up startling. Sören put the med minder down and went over to Mark, giving him a hug. Mark cried again.
"I'm such a mess," Mark said.
"I get it. Remember? PTSD is a bitch to live with."
Mark nodded. "I'm still traumatized by stuff that happened thousands of years ago. Not that I haven't had trauma somewhat recently -"
"I imagine that your four years as a 'guest' of the US government wasn't very pleasant," Sören said, before putting a pill in his mouth.
"No. Not at all." Mark scowled.
Sören took his pills, and when he was done, he looked at the med minder and at Mark. "I assume that, like, medication designed for humans probably wouldn't work for you."
"Mostly not. I did feel pretty good when we, ah... toked up." Mark gave a sheepish grin. "So there's that, at least."
"We could do that more often when we get back to Oregon. I grow my own." Sören grinned back. "Nico's been looking after my plants for me."
Mark laughed at that. "The thought of Professor Dooku tending pot plants... now that's a sight."
"He's got quite a green thumb. You ought to see his garden. And his rose bushes." Sören smiled fondly, thinking of the pressed rose Dooku had given him as a token of friendship back in December. He still had it, in a place of honor in a ceramic bowl he'd made just for that rose, in colors that reminded him of Dooku - solid, earthy browns and peaceful sea blues. "Anyway... medicinal marijuana, that's something I can help you with."
Mark nodded. "I never thought I'd see the day where I'd be willing to go the stoner route, but..."
Sören shrugged. "Pot makes me feel more creative. Well... depending on strain. I grow the Northern Lights strain, which is a nice indica. The mellow kind. Sativa makes me feel too..." Sören made a face. "Too edgy, too amped up. Some people like it, but I can't do sativas."
"Wow. I didn't know pot was so complicated."
"Oh, man, I could tell you about different pot strains I've tried, but the Northern Lights one is my favorite. And not just because of the name, though that's a nice added bonus." Sören sighed, remembering the aurora over Akureyri in wintertime. "I won't bore you with all that right now."
"So you mentioned medicinal... is that a script for you, then?"
"No, it's recreational. It does seem to help my symptoms a bit more than the meds I'm on, but I can't go into work stoned, and I also don't want to develop a tolerance to it where I have to use more for it to have an effect. Which is why I haven't pushed my psychiatrist to give me a script."
"But your doctor knows..."
Sören nodded. "I have to have bloodwork regularly with the meds I'm on and there's no way I can fucking hide that with blood tests. My doctor's really chill about it, though. I've had... some less than positive experiences with doctors about the marijuana thing." Sören cringed. "I've had some less than positive experiences with mental health treatment in general. Like therapists preaching platitudes at me and telling me I need to 'forgive' people who abused me. What the fuck."
"That's so frustrating." Mark shook his head. He frowned. "I don't even know how to talk to a therapist about anything going on with me. I'd have to lie or give a lot of half-truths and that kind of defeats the purpose of talking honestly about shit."
"Cognitive behavioral therapy might help. You're not talking about your life so much as you're working on coping skills. The trick is, of course, finding a therapist who just does that and doesn't want to get into your life story, and... they all do." Sören shrugged. "There's workbooks, though, that you can do at home, on your own. I should really get back into CBT myself. 'Cos like... if we're gonna be together long-term, maybe I should work on myself some." Sören met Mark's eyes. "We could work on a CBT workbook together. Like not every day, but, you know, once in awhile."
"Hm."
Sören had a feeling he was starting to hit a nerve - and he got it, even people who acknowledged they had mental health issues often had a hard time coming to terms with some kind of treatment plan. But he remembered how tormented Mark was last night, and he desperately wanted to do something to help the man he loved. Heal my son. "You know what I heard is really good for PTSD, though?" Sören thought of them snuggling the stuffed animals last night, and how much that calmed Mark down. He thought of when he'd stayed with Dooku for a few weeks following his accident and was too injured to take care of himself, and Dooku's elderly cat Beowulf had been so soothing. "Service animals. Like, a pet is good to have in general... I want a cat, which I couldn't get when I was with Seth, and then after I left him, well... I was a mess for months, but I thought about getting a cat after the summer was over. But... I don't know, with your PTSD, you should get a service dog."
"That kind of necessitates, you know, getting a doctor's note and I just explained to you why I don't see a therapist about what's wrong with me."
"Jæja, but I mean, you told me yesterday that the government can fabricate you documentation for stuff you need. So maybe if you tell whoever it is you report to that you need paperwork for a service dog..."
Mark started to walk off.
Sören felt stung, though he knew he probably should have shut up five minutes ago. "Sorry," Sören said. "I'm just trying to help..."
"Nobody can help me, Sören."
And Sören felt a flare of anger at that. He'd said those same words to Dooku when he'd been at the lowest point in his life... he'd said those same words to himself when he was on the long road back to the land of the living after Seth, when he vacillated between wanting to keep fighting, making himself survive out of spite or otherwise his aunt and uncle won, Seth won... and wanting to die, wanting the pain to stop. And he had, ultimately, kept fighting. Seeing Mark resign himself like this, when they were supposed to be thinking about their future... and Mark deserved better. Your father is back, and things are going to change, now. It was an understandable attitude, one that Sören understood all too well, but it also felt like a slap in the face to his entire fight... both the fight of this current life, and the way Fëanor had fought to the very end.
"Macalaurë Fëanorion, you shut the fuck up," Sören said.
Mark stopped walking off - he froze in his tracks. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me," Sören said, folding his arms. "I get it that your life has been tough. That you hurt. But you know, you're getting in the way of your own happiness, too. And if this is going to work out between us... well, that's the key phrase right there. 'Work out.' Relationships are work. I need to keep working on myself, with my issues, and you need to do something on your end. Maybe you can't take meds, maybe you can't see a therapist. But I don't know why you can't get a service dog for your PTSD. I think it would help at least a little, and something is better than nothing. I'm not saying this to lecture you, shame you, make you feel bad. I'm saying this because I care, I love you, and goddammit, you are not allowed to stop fighting, and just resign yourself to being miserable. If I can't, neither can you. Don't give me that 'nobody can help me' shit. It was a lie when I said it, months ago, and it's just as much of a lie now. The biggest lie."
Mark glared - Sören glared back. Sören felt a frisson down his spine; Mark was so sexy when he was grumpy like that. But he was still annoyed.
Mark continued walking off, and Sören heard him grab his keys.
"Where are you going?" Sören asked, fighting off the urge to yell Don't you walk away from me, Kanafinwë.
"I," Mark said, "am getting some things squared with the car so we don't break down with me driving five hundred seventy six miles over Friday and Saturday. I've been putting a lot of mileage on it this summer." Mark turned to look at Sören over his shoulder. "I'll be back to help with the final cleanup, and stuff."
"You... don't want me to come with you? I know hanging out at a garage isn't terribly interesting, but we could go for a walk or -"
Mark narrowed his eyes. "I need some space for a few hours." He did manage a small wave before he stepped out the door. "I'll be back."
_
Sören spent the next four hours worrying that he'd really put his foot in it, but every time he thought back to that line - nobody can help me - his blood boiled.
Tears unnumbered ye shall shed, the Valar had promised with the Doom... and Sören wanted to see them fall for that. Whatever their sin - and there was very little that the Fëanor part of Sören regretted, except maybe that he didn't do it more to really piss them off - this went above and beyond any concept of "just" punishment. Everything Mark had endured, and if Sören truly was Fëanor reincarnated... incarnated into this life, with all of his own tragedy and trauma... with the two of them reunited just for Maglor to see his father die again... it was sadistic cruelty. These weren't gods, these were psychopathic bullies swinging their weight around.
Bullies who needed a comeuppance, the way Seth had received his at Dooku's hands. They needed to pay for what they had done.
You are not helpless, Kanafinwë, but Manwë and the rest of them certainly will be, when I get through with them. Nobody. Nobody. Fucks with my family. In his mind's eye he saw Fingolfin fall at Morgoth's hammer. This is their fault. He seethed, his heart screamed inside.
I need to find the fucking Silmarils. And that was a crazy thought - Sören didn't even know where, or how. This assumed that he was even Fëanor, and despite the memories he was getting glimpses of, the strong reactions he was starting to have as he reflected on Noldor history, Sören wasn't entirely sold on that yet. He still had doubts.
This is fucking crazy talk. Getting the Silmarils? Taking down the Valar? Sure, that's totally not delusions of grandeur! You keep telling Mark he ought to work on his mental health when you're completely fucked in the head!
More immediately, he was concerned with whether or not he'd blown it with Mark. All of Sören's art supplies were packed now, but he wouldn't have been able to distract himself with that anyway, wound up like this. He paced up and down. He tried to watch TV. Nothing was helping. He felt like after the last few weeks of finding joy - ecstasy - and the relief of the promise Mark had made last night, the other shoe was about to drop. Like he was going to lose everything.
At last Sören heard Mark's Jaguar pull up, and he heard the sound of Mark's voice - he looked out the window and saw Mark on his cell phone. It occurred to Sören that he hadn't seen Mark on his phone really at all over the summer, and he didn't know why he was surprised to see him talking to someone on the phone now, when they were about to go back to their lives in Oregon and presumably Mark had to touch base with somebody about something there, but it still felt strange.
Mark paused a moment outside to finish the call - whatever it was, it was apparently something Mark didn't want him eavesdropping on, and Sören heard Mark lowering his voice, as if he knew Sören was trying to figure out what he was doing.
And then Mark's call was done, and he came inside. Sören was sitting on the couch, drinking water. For a minute they just looked at each other and said nothing.
Then Mark said, "Hey."
"Hey."
"Hey."
"Hey."
"Hey."
"Hey."
"Hi."
"Hello."
"Hello."
"Jæja." Sören cocked his head to one side. "Car OK?"
"Car is good, and we've got a full tank of gas for tomorrow. We'll be clearing out of here before noon, drop off the keys at an office in San Fran, get on the highway." Mark sat on the couch next to Sören and pulled up Google Maps on his phone, showing him the route. "I'll be driving for five and a half hours, with rest stops adding to that, and we'll overnight Friday in Weed, California."
Sören started snorting, not able to help it. "Weed, California? Are you fucking serious?"
"Yes, Sören." Mark grinned too. "That's the actual name of the town. Weed, California. It's exactly halfway between San Francisco and Portland."
"So what, is it Exit 420? Does Snoop Dogg live there?"
Mark facepalmed, laughing. Then he put an arm around Sören and kissed his cheek. "Thanks, babe, I needed that."
"Já, me too." Sören sighed. He decided to spare Mark the angst of I was afraid I'd blown it. Maybe later. "So we're staying there?"
Mark nodded. "One of the calls I made while I was out was reserving us a hotel room. It won't be super fancy, but, you know it's what's available out there. It'll be decent enough for what we need."
Sören also nodded.
"Saturday morning we'll get back on the road and it'll be another five and a half hours back to Corvallis. So we'll be back in town sometime Saturday evening."
"OK. That's less time than the train, it was twenty-four hours by train because of the route the trains took."
"Oof, that's quite a long ride. Even if we hadn't gotten together this summer I'd still insist on bringing you back."
"Takk." Sören patted him.
"And now..." Mark got up. "Let's clean this place, then get something delivered for our last meal here."
They spent the next four hours cleaning, which was a good outlet for what was left of Sören's frustration and anxiety. Mark put on hair metal, which also helped with a release of the aggression and creating a lighter mood.
When the cleaning was finished, Mark and Sören rested together on the couch. Mark started kneading Sören's shoulders.
Sören gave a shuddery sigh, feeling the last of his tension give - giving way to tears. Mark noticed and tilted Sören's face towards his. "What's wrong, baby?"
"I." Sören swallowed hard. "I was worried you were so pissed off at me when you left that you were going to break up with me -"
"Oh god, Sören, no." Mark threw his arms around Sören and hugged him tight, rocked him. Sören let out a sob and Mark rocked him harder, pet him and made soothing noises. "Oh, honey. I'm so sorry." He sighed. "I should have given you some kind of reassurance before I left, told you I love you... something..."
"It's... it's all right."
"No, Sören. No it's not." Mark looked into Sören's eyes. "My father died with my uncle thinking he hated him."
Oh no. Sören remembered that - the last argument. The latest round of Fëanor resenting that they couldn't be open with their relationship. It was true that the game they played of keeping things a secret had a certain spice to it, especially in the days when they had pretended to be bitter enemies to avoid suspicion - and for kinky roleplaying fun - but the secrecy had weighed on Fëanor, the double lives.
If the Fëanor part of him truly had any regrets, that was one of them. Not getting in the last word, which should have been, I love you anyway.
And yet, Fingolfin had gone after Morgoth out of the blind rage born in love for Fëanor. A man with nothing left to lose.
O brother, where art thou.
"So..." Mark snapped Sören's attention back to him. "New rule, insofar as I don't like rules. If things get tense with us, one of us hits a nerve, and one of us has to go out for a bit, whether to take care of work or errands or just to get some air and calm down... we don't leave without saying 'I love you.'"
Sören hugged him tight. "I love you."
Mark hugged him back, tighter. "I know. And I love you too."
They held each other for a moment, and then Mark said, "I'm gonna order pizza, then go to the bathroom -"
"Hi Gonna Order Pizza Then Go To The Bathroom -"
Mark narrowed his eyes. Sören blew a raspberry.
Mark did that, and while he was in the bathroom, Sören decided if they were going to relax now, they were going to really relax. He took out his satchel and the last of his weed, and packed a bowl. He put the packed pipe on the coffee table to wait for Mark.
Mark was in the bathroom long enough that it fell on Sören to get the door when the pizza arrived, and Sören wondered what Mark could be doing in there.
"Mark, pizza's here."
"OK, give me a few minutes."
You've already had over a half-hour, what are you doing?
And then when Mark came out, Sören got his answer. Mark had his hair in the same braid that he'd worn the night they went to the club, the rest of it worn loose. The marriage braid. Sören's breath caught. Mark smiled.
They ate pizza from the box by candlelight on the deck. It wasn't quite sunset yet, though the air was getting that old-gold tinge to it that said sunset was soon.
Unlike Sören's art supplies which were in luggage or boxed up, Mark's war harp, violin, keyboard and acoustic guitar were in cases and could still be taken out and put back without much trouble. And Mark got his acoustic guitar now, and a blanket, and Sören grabbed the pipe, and they headed down to the beach to watch the sunset together, as Mark played guitar. Between songs, they puffed on the pipe, blowing smoke rings into the sky.
Most of what Mark played was instrumental - some original, some classical - but then he played "Love Song" by Tesla, which he'd played for Sören back in June.
So you think that it's over, say your love has finally reached the end
Any time you call, night or day, I'll be right there for you
If you need a friend
It's gonna take a little time, time is sure to mend your broken heart
But don't you even worry, pretty darlin', 'cos I know you'll find love again
Love is all around you, love is knockin' outside your door
Waitin' for you is this love made just for two
Keep an open heart and you'll find love again, I know
And then Mark repeated "Fire and Rain" by James Taylor, the song Sören had sung to put him back to sleep last night.
Oh, I've seen fire and I've seen rain.
I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end.
I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend,
but I always thought that I'd see you baby, one more time again, now.
Thought I'd see you one more time again.
There's just a few things coming my way this time around, now.
Thought I'd see you, thought I'd see you, fire and rain, now.
Tears came to Sören's eyes... the song was so much more poignant when Mark sang it. Like he was singing it to Fëanor. Once again Sören wanted to scream, I'm right here, Kanafinwë. Here I am. It's me. And he did not.
When the song was over, Mark put his guitar back in the case, turned his head to Sören, stroked his cheek, and husked, "My little flame." And when Mark grabbed Sören's face and kissed him, Sören felt stupid for his worries earlier in the day, that he'd blown it. As they kissed, Mark guided Sören's hands to his marriage braid, and one of Mark's hands stroked Sören's face, the other rested on Sören's heart.
Sören felt the fire consume him, and found himself shoving Mark onto the blanket, and Sören peeled his shirt off. Mark moaned at the sight of Sören shirtless, reaching up to run his hands over Sören's chest, playing with the pierced nipples. Sören reached down to undo Mark's jeans, and pulled them and the boxer-briefs down, with Mark's already-hard cock springing free. There was no one else on the beach, and they undressed as quickly as possible, piling the clothes next to them, on Mark's guitar case.
Sören lay on top of Mark and Mark's arms wrapped around him, their hard cocks rubbing together as they kissed. Sören didn't know if Mark had brought the little travel-sized lube out here with him, and felt like it would break the mood to ask.
But more than anything else right now he wanted to feel Mark's body against his, Mark's cock on his. Making love with every inch of their bodies together. Flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood.
As the last light of the sunset melted away and blue dusk shrouded them, high tide rolling in, they made love just like that, slow and sensual, cock to cock, body to body, heart to heart, breathing each other's breath, the dance of their bodies like the way the water and the earth caressed, as the sea washed over the sand again and again. Even between their fingers and toes, they needed to connect, feel each other.
It was the perfect end to their summer at the beach house. They hadn't planned this... and it was perfect in its spontaneity, in its imperfection of being unplanned, cobbled together from the broken pieces of earlier that day. It was, Sören thought in the mellow philosophical mood of being stoned, like a microcosm of their relationship - their imperfections, their flaws, still making a way to find moments of perfect beauty. Fumbling towards ecstasy. Sören gave Mark a lazy smile, and Mark wrapped his arms around Sören and gave him a deep, passionate kiss.
The kiss changed the pace of their lovemaking from more languid to fevered, rubbing against each other harder and faster, fingers teasing nipples, sucking each other's fingers, kissing and licking each other's necks, licking and suckling each other's nipples. Sören nibbled his way from Mark's shoulder up his neck, and, on a whim, licked the ridge of Mark's ear up to the pointy tip, flicking the point with his tongue before sucking on it. Mark went wild at that, moaning louder, letting out a cry, shivering, bucking against him, grinding harder. Oh, he is sensitive there. That is very good to know. Sören smirked to himself, and his response was to take their cocks into his fist, stroking them together in the vise-like grip, and Mark's hand clasped over Sören's, guiding the rhythm. Conducting the song of their flesh, their passion, their flame.
They came together a few minutes later, crying out as they watched cock cream over cock, seed mingling, one in their release. Mark collected their combined fluids on his fingers and put his fingers in Sören's mouth, Sören sucking Mark's fingers, tasting, his orgasm continuing to throb, all the more delicious for the taste and the sensual, soothing finger sucking. Mark sucked Sören's fingers as well, tasting. The heat in Mark's eyes as he licked Sören's fingers clean made Sören crave more...
...but not just yet. Sören rested on his chest for awhile. Dusk became star-rise, and they watched the stars and the dark sea, enjoying the cool air on their sweat-damp, flushed skin, the salt breeze. It was a moment of perfect peace, where the world seemed to just stop for awhile and let them rest.
Since there was still no one else on the beach, they went back up to the house naked, carrying their clothes and the blanket and guitar. They had a little bit of sand on them from having made love on the beach, even though they had been on a blanket, and between that and wanting one less thing to have to do in the morning before they left, they got in the shower together.
Showering together got them hard again, and they kissed on their way to the bed. Sören pulled Mark down on the bed with him, giggling, smiling up at him. The grin on Mark's face, the light in his eyes, and no one would have guessed the day had started on such a bitter note.
"We can go all night and sleep in tomorrow, right?" Sören asked.
"Not too late. But I think we can manage one or two more rounds before we need to sleep like responsible adults."
"Party pooper." Sören blew a raspberry.
Mark blew one back into Sören's tummy, making him giggle, and then that giggle became a moan as Mark licked his stomach. "We'll make it count," Mark husked, before taking a lick at Sören's cock.
Sören grabbed Mark by the marriage braid, arching to him as Mark took the cock into his mouth.