"Prrrp?"
Sören had just gotten in the door, and Snúður was there to greet him, tail held high. Snúður headbutted Sören's leg before rubbing against his legs, and Sören stooped down to pet his cat, chuckling. "Ó já, ég saknaði þín líka. Pabbi er heima núna. Nú er kominn tími til að þú fáir öll nuddin og rispurnar og ástina, já?" Sören kicked off his boots and made his way to the couch with Snúður trotting beside and then ahead of him, hopping up onto the couch and crawling to the side to make room for Sören to get on, then he climbed onto Sören's lap, purring loudly. Sören rubbed and skritched the cat, smiling fondly. "Já, hvað góður drengur. Já, hvað góður, ljúfur lítill strákur. Svo góður barnaköttur."
Then Sören's cell phone went off in his pocket. Snúður jumped, a reaction Sören found hilarious even though he felt guilty for laughing. Snúður gave him a withering look as he got off the couch and shuffled off to the kitchen; Sören took out his phone and saw it was Sharon calling. I need to get her a ringtone.
"Sharon, hi!"
"Hi Sören. Am I interrupting anything?"
"No, just my cat getting spoiled." Snúður was now crunching food loudly in the kitchen. "He's eating now. What's up?"
"Frankie and I are an item now."
"Congratulations!" Sören was genuinely happy for her. "So you had a talk, já?"
"More or less. And... well, she's even more interested in meeting you now. You want to come over this weekend? She's actually not working this weekend, she'll be around."
It was Wednesday, November first. "I think I can do that." He remembered that Dooku was going to Portland over the weekend. "I can try to coordinate a ride with Nico on the way down -"
"Oh, you're going to ask Nico to give you a ride, eh?"
Mind, gutter. We are NOT going to think about me on his cock... Sören shivered, his cock stirring, hole twitching around the plug inside him as his mind went there, a mental image of him bouncing madly on his best friend, crying out "Pabbi, Pabbi..."
"Jæja, I'll ask him if he wants to go down. Er, take me down." Brain, stop. Now the mental image of Dooku giving him a blowjob... "I think I'd prefer to have you take me back, though, so that way I don't have to be rushed with time... presuming I'm spending the night?"
"That's the plan, my dude."
"OK good. So we'll do that... I'll ask Nico what time he's leaving on Saturday so I can give you an answer about when I'm coming..." Sharon was snickering now and Sören couldn't help laughing too, his face on fire. "And you guys can bring me back sometime Sunday?"
"Works for me."
"I should have an answer about what time I'm coming tomorrow. I'd rather ask him in person, and he's at the gym..." Oh god, I didn't need to think about that, either. Dooku working up a sweat, then showering off... Sören shivered again, cock twinging. God dammit, could we not. "And Mark is coming over in a bit."
"Yeah, telling me tomorrow is fine, or even if you don't know till Friday, that's fine. Just wanted to confirm a yes, so we can be prepared and all that."
"Oh and um... I'll need your address. Need to know where it is I'm going."
"Oh, yeah, sorry, duh. You got a pen and paper handy?"
"Not yet, but..." Sören got up and grabbed it from the kitchen. "Go ahead."
Sharon gave him the address of a place in northeast Portland, and apartment number. They got into talk then of Sharon's job - anecdotes about her co-workers, some of the weirder and more annoying experiences she'd had with restaurant patrons. Sören told her what he'd been teaching lately in school, and related the tale of dressing up like Jon Snow for Halloween. "And Karen was Ygritte."
"Why have you not said anything to her?"
"Oh god, Sharon. I... I can't. I don't want to get into it, but she's... recovering from some stuff and I don't want to make her feel unsafe around me."
"Um, Sören? Her dressing up like Ygritte sounds like she, you know, is hoping you'll get the hint to say something to her."
"She didn't know I was going to be Jon Snow for Halloween."
"That..." Sharon took a deep breath. "Wow, Sören, that was the perfect costume for you. You not only look a lot like him, but you know nothing." Sharon giggled then. "Well, you know one thing."
"I'm looking forward to demonstrating my knowledge of that subject this weekend."
"Good. I'll talk to you tomorrow, probably?"
"Probably." Sören blew a kiss into the phone.
_
As it turned out, Dooku was more than willing to bring Sören down to Portland with him for Saturday, November fourth, but the protest he would be attending started in the early afternoon and he wanted to arrive with some time to spare, so Sören would have to leave at an hour earlier than he normally would have liked on a Saturday, preferring to sleep in on the weekends. Still, Sören felt bad about asking Sharon to do a round trip to Portland on Saturday to pick him up and bring him over, and he wanted to spend some time with Dooku, trying hard to not worry about him at the protest, and worrying anyway. Dooku offered to take Sören out to breakfast, which was an added bonus.
Mark was watching Sören's cat for the weekend, not that Snúður couldn't be left alone overnight if given enough food and water, but Sören didn't like the idea of leaving him alone overnight. Mark liked having the cat around and didn't mind, but Sören still felt a prickle of guilt, not wanting to impose. He was also aware this was another Saturday night he was spending with Sharon, and while Mark had said that an open relationship was fine and he didn't want to monopolize all of Sören's time, Sören still felt like he owed Mark next weekend for just the two of them. So Sören had decided to rent a cabin on Cannon Beach for that weekend. Mark's eyes lit up when Sören told him about the cabin - Mark not only had a draw to the sea, but renting a house together for the weekend was reminiscent of how they'd accidentally ended up as roommates sharing a house in Sausalito over the summer, where they had fallen in love.
It was a grey, gloomy day - not raining just yet, but the sky bearing the threat of it, and it was damp enough for fog, which made Dooku's commitment to this protest even more impressive to Sören. Dooku had classic rock on the car stereo as he drove, which further made Sören nostalgic for the summer as he reviewed pictures and details of the cabin online on his phone for seemingly the twentieth time or so since he'd made arrangements.
Dooku finally glanced over at Sören. "Ah, Cannon Beach?"
Sören nodded. "Mark and I will be going there next weekend. I rented a cabin."
"I see. Special occasion, or...?"
"Just wanted to do something nice and romantic. I never got to do any of that with Seth."
Dooku's nostrils flared at the mention of Sören's ex. "He didn't deserve it, anyway."
"No shit." Sören looked over at Dooku, feeling a little flutter at how handsome he was when angry. "You have plans for next weekend, yourself?"
"I'm going to another protest next weekend."
"I see."
"I apologize for not being able to give you a ride back this evening, by the time the demonstration is over it will have been long enough and I'll have been on my feet enough time that I'll want to check into my hotel and not drive..."
"It's all right, Nico, I told you, I've got a ride back." What Sören didn't want to tell him was that the ride back was tomorrow afternoon sometime and he was spending the night in Portland himself, for a different reason. It wasn't that Sören wanted to lie to Dooku about Sharon, but he didn't see a reason in parading around his sex life in front of his best friend either, who always seemed a touch uncomfortable with the subject.
"All right. If you're sure."
They were quiet then, which wasn't an unusual state of affairs for them - sometimes they talked about things, sometimes they didn't. Sören could see Dooku was pensive, probably reflecting on the state of affairs in this country that had led him to come out of semi-retirement with activism and start going to marches and protests again. And Sören, himself, was nervous for Dooku, not wanting him to run into trouble with the police or the far-right - today's event was an anti-fascist counter-protest of a fascist demonstration. Sören thought Dooku was incredibly brave - even though he could, indeed, hold his own with his size and conditioning. And it was that courage, and the strength of his convictions, that made Sören respect and admire him even more.
Before they left Corvallis to get on the highway for Portland, Dooku opted to take Sören to a family-owned-and-operated restaurant rather than a chain like IHOP or Denny's. Dooku opted for a Denver omelet with hash browns, toast, and a side of bacon, and Sören went with strawberry blintzes and hash browns. Sören stole a piece of bacon from Dooku's plate and Dooku kicked him under the table, but his eyes were smiling. Sören kicked him back. Then Dooku looked aghast as Sören dipped the bacon in the strawberry-whipped-cream mixture of his blintzes before eating it.
"That is not how you eat bacon," Dooku said.
"It is now." Sören smiled as he nibbled. "OM NOM NOM. MMMMMMMMMMMMM."
"You're such a brat. Though I suppose, it could be worse, at least you're not putting that on your hash browns."
"Oh, good idea." Sören mixed a bit of strawberry blintz with hash brown on his fork and put it in his mouth just to get a rise out of Dooku. He almost choked on the bite of food at the pained look on Dooku's face.
Sören took a sip of orange juice. "You know you need this. Why worry about run-ins with actual neonazis, when you can worry about food you don't think goes together being mixed up?"
Dooku laughed too. He reached across the table and patted Sören's hand, turning slightly pink as he did, eyes twinkling. "Puts a whole new meaning to bread and circuses," he said, passing Sören a piece of his toast. "There's a clown right here."
Sören stuck his tongue out at Dooku. "So what are you, the lion tamer?"
"Comparing the fascist filth to lions is an insult to such a noble beast. Nor am I sure that lions should be tamed, ethically. I rather like lions to be wild, as nature intended." Dooku sipped his coffee, and his eyes were intense now rather than mischievous. "With the way the world has been stirring me up inside, I feel more like the fire-eater."
Sören almost choked on his food again, this time for completely different reasons. Mind, gutter. His cock stirred at the mental image of Dooku "fire-eating", hungrily taking him into his mouth...
Could we not think these thoughts about our best friend? Sören's face burned. It didn't help that Dooku was dressed in a suit and tie to attend the protest, charcoal grey, and he even had a waistcoat. Sören thought he looked very handsome, especially in his trenchcoat and fedora.
Sören himself was dressed down since it was just Sharon and Frankie, and he imagined he'd be naked later anyway. He wore jeans, and a blue plaid flannel T-shirt worn open over a Rage Against the Machine T-shirt - wearing the band in part for solidarity with Dooku's activism, in part because it was clean and he hadn't worn it in awhile. He had on his black leather bomber, he was wearing his usual glasses to see, and his curls were in a loose, messy man bun. The two definitely made a strange sight together, different as they were, and Sören was always a bit amused by the obvious differences and yet, how close they were.
Dooku insisted on paying for them both, as he did, and he left a generous tip for their server, which was another thing Sören appreciated about him. On the way out of the restaurant, back to Dooku's Jaguar, Sören leaned in and gave him an affectionate squeeze, even though he knew Dooku was reserved about hugging - a lot of straight guys are, with being hugged by gay guys, Sören thought to himself. It just felt right, and Sören wanted to give some tangible expression of how much he cared about his best friend when Dooku was riding off to potential danger.
You will come back to me. Sören closed his eyes for a moment as his arms tightened around Dooku's waist, feeling a grip on his heart, not wanting to think about his best friend hurt or arrested or...
To Sören's surprise, Dooku reached back and ruffled what he could of Sören's curls with his hair up in a man bun, then patted the man bun, chuckling. Just the simple little touch sent fire coursing through Sören's veins and when they got to the Jaguar, Sören fought off the urge to slam Dooku up against the car, grab him, and kiss him as hard as he could.
What the hell is wrong with you? He wouldn't like that at all. Let's not ruin one of the few friendships we've got, dumbass.
The hour-and-twenty minute drive from Corvallis to Portland felt like torture, with Sören's worries of Dooku in various bad scenarios at the protest now being replaced with the mental image of kissing Dooku and Dooku reacting badly to the kiss. Sören tried to distract himself, but he kept coming back to that ache, and then trying to shove it away.
This was not good. This was not good at all.
Sören decided to reach for one of his other coping mechanisms than humor: music. Classic rock was something they could both appreciate, and Sören sang along with the songs that came up, with Dooku smiling fondly.
A few exits away from the one they were supposed to take into Portland, a charcoal grey Audi A7 began riding right on their bumper, and Sören could hear the sound of Jamiroquai bumping.
"Bah," Dooku said with a scowl, glancing into his rear-view mirror. "I'm already driving at the speed limit, he needn't drive so close behind. I'm tempted to slow down just to annoy him."
"You totally should." Let the games begin.
Dooku slowed down not by much, since they were in the fast lane, but enough that it made the Audi tailgating them honk in protest. Dooku drove with a small, evil smile on his face.
After a couple more minutes of driving a little slower than before, with the Audi continuing to honk, Sören watched from the passenger's side window as the Audi merged into the next lane over. Dooku resumed his usual speed just as the Audi zipped forward and merged back into the fast lane ahead of them, turning Jamiroquai up louder as if to say "fuck you guys".
You make me love you, love you baby
With a little L
Why does it have to be like this
I can never tell
"What a dick," Sören said. He noticed a small rainbow flag decal on the Audi's bumper. "Well, at least they're not likely to be going to the fascist bullshit."
"No, I imagine not. It's a cold comfort when it seems so much of the world has gone mad."
Sören paid attention enough to the road ahead to see the Audi take the exit into Portland, and then a few minutes later it was their turn. Dooku glanced at the dashboard and then over at Sören. "Before I drop you off at your friend's house, do you mind terribly if I stop for petrol? I was going to do it last night and I was a bit distracted."
"I don't mind." Sören grasped for levity again, needing to get his mind off... everything. "Though around these parts, people call it 'gas'."
"I'm aware of what the Americans call it. As long as I've been here, it's still a term I shan't use. Makes it sound flatulent. So vulgar. Then, what do I expect, this country elected Trump."
Sören threw back his head and laughed. "Don't ever change, Nico."
Dooku smiled, pleased with himself.
"They'd tell you to go home," Sören said, making a face, "even though this has, you know, been your home since the 1970s." Sören cackled. "Great Britain's not sending us their best people..."
"Oh, heavens."
Dooku stopped at the first gas station near the exit. Oregon was one of the only states to require gas stations be full-service, which meant having an attendant pump gas instead of customers doing it themselves. Dooku pulled in front of a pump, paid, and waited as his tank was filled.
The gas station had a convenience store attached, which Sören normally didn't pay much mind to - if you'd seen one, you'd seen them all. Then out of the corner of his eye he noticed the same Audi parked in front of the store. His eyebrow went up, as Dooku turned up a song by Fleetwood Mac that had just come on.
Listen to the wind blow
Watch the sun rise
Run in the shadows
Damn your love
Damn your lies
There was someone in the Audi, and Sören whacked Dooku's arm and said, "Hey, jerkface is getting out. I'm gonna, just..."
The man had his back turned to Sören as he got out of the car - leather trenchcoat, short black hair neatly styled. Sören got out of Dooku's Jaguar, put his fingers in his lips, and whistled. "HEY! ASSHOLE!"
The man started to turn around, as Fleetwood Mac continued blaring out of the car.
And if you don't love me now
You will never love me again
I can still hear you saying
You would never break the chain
"YEAH, YOU!" Sören didn't know why he felt so confrontational - he guessed all that nervous energy he was carrying had to go somewhere, and the tailgater was a convenient dump for it. Since the tailgater had a rainbow flag decal on his bumper, Sören went there. "SINCE YOU LIKE RIDING MY ASS SO MUCH, WHY DON'T YOU PUT A RING ON IT AND MARRY IT?"
And then the man was fully turned around, and Sören's lips parted, letting out a gasp when he saw the face of the man he'd seen in his dream set in the Harry Potter world. The man wasn't wearing glasses, but it was otherwise unmistakably him, right down to the green eyes.
Sören heard himself make a high-pitched "meep" like Beaker of The Muppets, ducking back into the car, face on fire, stomach churning. Dooku gave Sören a concerned look and Sören continued to squeak, "Meep meep meep..."
"Sören, are you all right?"
The man with the Audi was walking towards their car, looking like he was about to give Sören a piece of his mind. Sören's heart hammered in his ears. On the one hand this was the man he'd dreamed about, and something told him to stick around, on the other hand he felt humiliated and more than that, he had the resurgence of that feeling that he was going crazy and all of this, everything, was a trick of his mind, hallucinations.
Then a raven swooped down onto the hood of Dooku's Jaguar, croaking, and a second one swooped onto the trunk of the Audi. "What the..." The man ran over to his car and began yelling at the bird in a powerful baritone with a decidedly British accent. "Shoo! Get lost! I don't bloody have time for this!"
Oh my god, what the fuck. What in the goddamn FUCK.
Dooku started the windshield wipers to scare away the raven that had landed on his hood, and the raven flew off with a croak that sounded almost like a laugh, feathers flying.
"If you've got your gas, let's go," Sören hissed. "Let's go let's go let's go..."
Dooku shot Sören a look, but he began to pull out, and then they were back on the road. Sören was visibly shaking, breathing harder, head spinning, heart pounding. The Fleetwood Mac song was in its final, soaring refrain.
Chain, keep us together
Running in the shadows
Chain, keep us together
Running in the shadows
Chain, keep us together
Running in the shadows
Chain, keep us together
Running in the shadows
Chain, keep us together
Running in the shadows
"Sören." Dooku's expression had gone from concerned to stern. "Are you all right."
"Nico, I think I'm losing my fucking mind," Sören said honestly.
Dooku's eyebrow shot up. "How so?"
Sören didn't even know how to tell him about the man with the Audi seeming to materialize from one of his dreams and I blew it because I'm a fucking idiot. "I think I've been, ah, hallucinating."
"You don't seem like you've been hallucinating, Sören. You seem perfectly lucid to me."
"So I wasn't hallucinating the ravens, just now."
"No." Dooku's brow furrowed. "Pesky little buggers, aren't they? It used to be that you'd see plenty of crows out this way but a raven only rarely... that was indeed a strange incident."
Yeah. Now this. ...Thiiiiis. "Incident" would be a mild way of describing what just happened here.
"So no, you weren't hallucinating," Dooku said, looking back over at him. "Whatever gave you that idea? You saw me start the windshield wipers to scare it away. You saw our tailgater yelling..."
"And the man with the Audi? He was British, tall, black hair, green eyes, looked like something out of GQ..."
"Londoner judging by the accent, I don't read GQ so I have no frame of reference, and I didn't look closely enough at the eye color, but he did have short dark hair, yes." Dooku gave Sören another concerned look. "Were you having a flashback of Seth when he started walking towards the car?"
"No." Sören gave a nervous laugh. "No, he doesn't look a thing like Seth, and I didn't feel threatened, really." This is worse. I was never in love with Seth. Sören swallowed hard, remembering that dream with the man in it, how real it had felt... how much love he'd felt in the dream... And apparently Nico saw the guy, so I wasn't hallucinating that into the waking day.
"All right. No, he doesn't look like Seth, and he seems to have far better taste, even if his driving manners leave something to be desired." Dooku's eyes met Sören's. "So... what is it, then?"
"It's just..." Sören shrugged. "I don't know how to explain it. My head has felt kinda wonky lately."
"Well, I won't presume to dictate the symptoms of your bipolar to you, you're more aware of what's going on with you than I am, but you seem to be functioning fairly well. Let's do a little test. What's the day today?"
"Saturday."
"The date?"
"November fourth, 2017."
"Where are we right now?"
"Portland, Oregon, United States."
"And who's the president?" Dooku looked like he was sucking a lemon.
"Dorito Mussolini."
Now Dooku's laughter rang out, a big grin on his face, delighted. Sören was pleased that answer pleased him, and managed a small smile. Dooku patted his shoulder. "You're fine."
Sören wasn't so sure.
It didn't take long to get to Sharon's apartment complex in northeast Portland. As Sören grabbed his duffel bag out of Dooku's back seat, Dooku asked, "Are you sure you don't want me to walk up with you, carry your bag?"
"I'm sure, thank you for offering." Sören reached in and touched Dooku's hand for a moment, wishing instantly he hadn't because it was like touching a live wire. "I'll see you Monday?"
"You shall."
"Stay safe."
Sören was wheezing by the time he got up to the fourth floor, made worse because his heart was still beating fast, first from seeing the guy from his dreams and then those damn ravens. The door opened before he could knock - apparently he was wheezing that loudly - and in the doorway of Sharon's apartment stood a very short girl, a full foot shorter than Sören, with flame-red hair in a pixie cut, big grey-blue eyes behind glasses with black rectangular frames, an eyebrow ring and a ring in her septum, wearing a fuzzy white sweater open over a navy camisole, and lighter blue plaid pajama pants. She was on the chubby side, very busty. Sören tried to not stare at her tits.
And then he got a better look at her face. Over the summer he'd painted Sharon's original character Marilwen, a female paladin, based on a small description and what his mind's eye had conjured, and Sharon was beyond thrilled with it.
"Holy fucking shit, you got her just right." Sharon took the painting, blinking slowly as she studied it.
"I tried."
"Jesus." Sharon's voice shook. "It's like you took the image right out of my mind, and I didn't give you any references or anything, there was just a very brief description... and here you got her face..."
Sören smiled, feeling that warm glow of pride.
Their eyes met. "No, seriously, Sören... she's been showing up in my dreams for years. When I say you took the image right out of my mind, I really fucking mean that." Sharon looked at the painting again, then at Sören. "That's actually kind of creepy, like... you're psychic or something."
Sören blinked slowly. His painting had come to life - just like he'd dreamed about the Englishman and there he was in the Audi.
I'm not crazy. I'm not crazy...
"Well, you just gonna feckin' stand there, or are you gonna feckin' come in?" Frankie put a hand on her hip.
Then Sharon was there, wearing a tie-dye T-shirt and jeans and a smug smile. "Hey, Sören." She put a hand on Frankie's shoulder and made a "come in" gesture with her free hand. "Get yer ass in here."
Sören stepped inside, and Frankie closed the door behind him as Sharon pulled Sören into her arms. Sharon kissed his cheek. "Surprise!" She grinned.
Frankie smirked at Sören. "So, when do we feck?"
Sharon facepalmed and laughed so hard she wheezed, belly heaving, turning pink. "MARY FRANCES O'RIORDAN."
Sören giggled and patted Frankie's shoulder, and then on impulse, reached up to stroke her cheek. He could feel himself already hardening, a return of the devil-may-care attitude from the days when he used to be able to have casual sex... but this wasn't casual, really. He felt like he already knew her.
"Sharon has told me a lot about you. I hear you're very talented." Frankie gave him a pointed look, letting Sören know on no uncertain terms that went a couple different ways.
Sören looked at Sharon, then back at Frankie, then back at Sharon, raising an eyebrow. "Has she seen..."
"Yes, I've seen the painting. And Sharon told me she dreamed about me." Frankie nodded.
"I dreamed about you too," Sören said.
Frankie's eyes locked with his. "You want to know what's scary? I've dreamed about you, too."
"She totally fucking has," Sharon said. "I never physically described you to her - the first time I brought up this Scandinavian guy I knew named Sören, and before I showed her the painting, she told me she dreamed about..."
"Scandinavian fella. Tall, about the same height and build as you. Same curls, same face, same beard, same lips... same beautiful brown eyes." Frankie gestured to him. "And here you are."
Sören's jaw dropped. "Am I... am I having this conversation? Is this really real?"
Sharon pinched his ass hard enough to make Sören squeak. "Seems real enough, right?"
Sören found he now had more questions than answers, but now was not the time for questions. And indeed, something in him was singing, relief giving way to elation. And arousal, as Frankie threw her arms around him and pulled him down into a kiss like she'd been waiting her entire life for that kiss. Sören groaned as his cock leapt to attention, and he growled as Frankie groped the hard bulge in his jeans with one hand and began shoving him towards the bedroom with the other.
"Come on," Frankie husked, "let's go make some magic together."
_
Crickets, the moon.
The next day...