"Nico?"
"Hm?"
Sören ran a nervous hand through his curls, then took a sip of coffee. They were on late morning break in the canteen. Mark had taken Sören to campus that morning, and even though Sören had only really been half-awake, through the fog of waking up Sören had been able to make a decision. It was one that needed help in the execution. "Can I ask you to do me a favor?"
Dooku raised an eyebrow. "Probably."
"All right." Sören put his coffee down and folded his hands. He took a deep breath. "After school today, when you take me home, I know we had plans to hang out anyway, but... instead of having a chill night at home, I... ah... I need help with something."
"What is that something, Sören?"
Sören pursed his lips. "You notice that when we get together, I mostly spend time at your place... and when I'm with Mark, I usually visit him at his house. I tried to change that last night, he was going to sleep over, and we ended up going to his place."
Dooku nodded. "I'd seen the both of you walking out to his car last night."
"Jæja, well..." Sören frowned. "My house feels like Seth. I know he and I have been done since December, and it's now October, but..." He made a vague hand gesture. "All the furniture in my house reminds me of Seth. The armchair he sat in, the ottoman where he put his feet up and ordered me around. The kitchen table where he insulted my cooking. The dressers that he had his clothes in when he moved himself in. The couch he raped me on. The bed he raped me on." Sören narrowed his eyes. "I need to do a purge, and I need to do it now. I've been putting it off for months because, well... it feels wasteful to get rid of all my stuff and, you know, I come from thrifty Scandinavian farming stock, and I'd bought all that furniture with my own money when I moved out of the studio apartment I was in, into that house, I was very proud to finally have things of my own so I'd been chastising myself internally about wanting to be wasteful with these things I was so proud to have been able to afford, but..." Sören shook his head. "It needs to go. And I know that it's a school night, and this would be a better job for the weekend but I can't fucking take it anymore." Sören blinked back tears.
Dooku took more than a few seconds to respond, and Sören worried for a minute that he not only was going to say no but was going to give him some kind of lecture, or worse, complain about feeling used. After all, Dooku was already driving Sören around most of the time, feeding him at least a couple days a week, and letting Sören use his washer and dryer.
But then Dooku nodded. "All right. Is it everything-everything, or..."
"It's just the pieces of furniture that I mentioned. But even that, I mean, it's gonna take time to, like, take my bed apart, and we have to figure out how to get it out of there -"
Dooku held up a hand. Sören stopped talking. Dooku took a few seconds to collect his thoughts. Then, after a sip of coffee - making a face, the canteen coffee was garbage and they drank it anyway - Dooku said, "This is what we'll do. After our classes finish, I'll bring you back home and I'll go back to my place. We'll need to change into more casual clothing." Dooku gestured to the dark grey suit and tie he was wearing today. "I will go rent a U-Haul, and come over and help you take the furniture apart that needs to be taken apart to be moved -"
"It's just the bed frame. I think we can get everything else in there with a hand truck or something."
Dooku nodded. "We'll load the U-Haul. Do you have any thoughts about what to do with the furniture you're getting rid of?"
"Part of me wants to just dump it outright because it has Seth cooties, but... we can take it to Goodwill, that's less wasteful, and more... charitable, I guess."
"And do you have any thoughts about where you're getting replacements?"
Sören shrugged. "IKEA? Reasonably priced, and it's not one of a kind items that I'm going to miss later if I move in with Mark."
Dooku sipped his coffee. "To be honest, I'm surprised you're not already living with him."
We agreed to wait on that because he's giving me time to decide if I want to throw my lot in with a wandering Elf and I'm not entirely convinced he's not going to up and bolt on short notice was not the sort of explanation Sören wanted to give. He settled on something that wasn't entirely a lie nor was it the full truth. "After Seth moved himself in last year, at the end, I'm a little gunshy of living with someone again."
"Ah." Dooku nodded. "I understand." Dooku gave a small smile. "Well, I'm not sorry that you'll be my neighbor for at least awhile longer."
"Hi Not Sorry That You'll Be My Neighbor For At Least Awhile Longer."
Dooku glared. Sören kicked him under the table, grinning.
"Even if you are a brat," Dooku said.
"If I were a religious or superstitious man I'd say the universe conspired for us to live next door to each other because it thought you needed an adjustment with that stick up your arse," Sören said.
"I do not have a stick up my arse."
"My bad, it's a branch."
"You know..."
"I know."
Dooku shook his head, his brow furrowed, but his eyes were smiling. Dooku opened his mouth as if he were going to say something, then closed his mouth as if he decided against it, took another sip of his coffee, and then he leaned back in his chair. "Yes, we can do IKEA. As you know, the only one around here is in Portland, so... we could deposit your old furniture at one of the Goodwill locations there, then hit IKEA. And grab a bite to eat while we're out?"
"That's a plan."
"And... I assume you'll need at least some of the new furniture put together, and will need assistance."
"I know that it'll probably be later in the evening when we get back, since it's an hour and a half there, an hour and a half back, and I don't want to keep you too late on a school night, but I at least need my bed assembled."
"We'll see what we can put together this evening. We could probably get more than just your bed assembled, probably not everything, but we can make decent progress -"
"And whatever we don't get to tonight, Mark can help me with tomorrow."
Dooku nodded.
"Thank you so much, Nico." Sören breathed a small sigh of relief. "I feel really bad asking, and on such short notice, I don't want you to think I'm trying to take advantage of you, considering you're always doing stuff for me -"
"I don't." Their eyes met. "I enjoy your company. And besides... this is for your mental health. To me, it's not that much different than taking you to your doctor's appointments, just more physical labor-intensive. And to be honest..." Dooku made a face. "I've been wanting to suggest something like this to you for months, because I rather observed you don't like being in your own house much and suspected you might have reminders of that bastard everywhere. I didn't want to offend you, didn't want it to come off as if I was judging your home decor..."
Sören laughed at that. "Like the way you judged my car?" Before the accident that totaled Sören's car and left him too spooked to drive, he had a neon green Mitsubishi Lancer with a spoiler on the boot. When Sören had started making decent money as a professor and decided to trade in the ancient clunker he'd been driving in Canada, he'd wanted something fun and a little flashy, not like something everybody else had, and his car was immediately recognizable around Corvallis. Dooku had admitted more than once that he'd found the car "garish" and "vulgar".
"Well... yes." Dooku nodded. "Your art is lovely, your ceramics are lovely, and your choice of vehicle was very much... not."
"I like color. But whatever, that car is gone."
"Yes. Anyway... I didn't want to make that suggestion lest you thought I was judging your taste in interior decorating. Those would be fighting words to a gay man, from what I understand."
"I'm bisexual, not strictly gay. That's pretty funny, though."
Dooku gave a small smile. "Your furniture isn't unattractive, my suggestion was more with the unattractive memories attached. I'm glad you eventually came to the conclusion that a bit of a home makeover would do your mental health some good."
"And you're sure this isn't going to be stupidly inconvenient? It's a fair amount of stuff, and we're just two people." Sören cringed, thinking of how his asthma limited his ability to exert himself.
"We shall manage. As you know, I'm quite physically active for my age."
"Já, you're fucking scary. Er, I mean that in a good way." Sören thought Dooku's vitality and stamina would be impressive for someone decades younger, never mind a man in his late sixties - not only did Dooku go to the gym a few days a week, he also practiced sport fencing and took the martial art of Krav Maga, which was notoriously brutal. Seth had been on the receiving end of that Krav Maga training. Sören always got chills thinking about it, seeing Dooku unleashing his inner predator, powerful and magnificent.
_
Taking trips from Corvallis to Portland was something Sören and Dooku did fairly regularly, so in and of itself going up to Portland together, even on a school night, wasn't unusual for them. What was unusual was going in a U-Haul. Dooku looked a bit ill at ease driving it, and Sören suspected it was just as much the "garish" orange striping on the white truck as it was Dooku being cautious in a vehicle that wasn't his own. That made Dooku's willingness to help him with all of this on such short notice all the more endearing to Sören.
Sören had changed into jeans when he got home, and he'd accidentally taken Mark's Metallica T-shirt home with him, finding that out when he reached for a clean shirt. It wasn't entirely clean - Sören could smell Mark on it and that was comforting to him, which made up for the shirt being big on him, with Mark being nine inches taller. Sören was also wearing the plug in his ass as usual, even though it was one of his and Mark's "off" nights so Sören didn't need to be open and ready for him, he was at a point where he found it easier to wear the plug every day rather than take a day off and try to get it in there... and he liked the feeling of being connected to Mark that way, Mark still dominating him even when they were off doing other things. And he liked the naughtiness of it, that slutty thrill of wearing it under his clothes as he walked around and went about his business. He felt sexy again, in a way he hadn't since things got bad with Seth, and indeed, sexier than he ever had before. It felt empowering, to reclaim his sexuality from the ashes, and share it with someone he loved so deeply.
Dooku was wearing khakis and a light blue short-sleeve button-down shirt. Sören always thought Dooku looked dapper and handsome in his usual suit-and-tie to school, but there was something about seeing him dressed down like this that made Sören not able to help stealing glances at him on the way into Portland. Sören felt a bit self-conscious ogling his best friend, but he had an eye for beauty, and he couldn't help admiring the definition he could see in Dooku's arms - sculpted biceps and triceps that were a nice size without being too bulky, veins standing out on his arms, a dusting of silver hair. The top two buttons of Dooku's shirt were undone and Sören could see a hint of silver chest hair. Mark was smooth-chested - apart from the flood of hair on his head and a luxurious pubic bush he was nearly hairless, as an Elf, and Sören liked his smooth, marble-like body, but Sören also really liked body hair and chest hair, virile and manly. Sören restrained the urge to give Dooku a platonic pat on his arm just as an excuse to pet the inviting, silky fur there.
Portland was on Sören and Dooku's list of "nice to visit, but wouldn't want to live there" places, and for much the same reason. Sören was born and raised in Akureyri, Iceland, a town of less than twenty thousand people, and he'd eventually moved to Reykjavik, a city ten times that. Then he'd lived in Toronto, Ontario, a city ten times that. He'd felt suffocated, and Portland and Toronto were roughly the same size. Seth had regularly been after Sören to move to Portland, saying he could work at the university there, but Sören really didn't want to live in a big city like that again if he could help it. Corvallis was more his speed. Not as small as Akureyri had been - small towns had their own set of issues, one of which being very limited dating prospects for men seeking men. Just enough to have things to do, but still with a homey feeling to it that Sören found comforting, and, as importantly, lots of room to breathe. The Pacific Northwest was a balm for Sören's soul, with its forests and mountains. And he and Dooku had bonded over their love of the land, that same feeling of being smothered that Dooku had felt growing up in London. But they really liked doing things in Portland together, nonetheless. And some of that was just the drive, watching the scenery together, music playing.
What Dooku didn't know was that Sören liked riding around not just to watch the scenery, but the purr of the engine made the plug vibrate inside him a little, keeping him in a semi-aroused state. It added to the naughty thrill of wearing it. Sören sometimes wondered how Dooku would react if he knew Sören was wearing a buttplug most of the time these days, but it wasn't a conversation he was planning on having with Dooku, best friend or not. Dooku seemed uncomfortable with the topic of sex - as it seemed straight men tended to be when queer men brought it up - so Sören left it alone as much as he could.
The first ten minutes of the ride, Sören had been profusely apologizing because it took close to an hour for them to take his bed frame apart, and another hour for them to load everything in the back of the U-Haul. Sören had felt fairly useless, trying to do what he could such as taking half of the table to carry into the U-Haul, bringing the kitchen chairs into the U-Haul, but Dooku had done the heavy lifting - he'd had an expanding hand truck with him to load heavier items onto such as the armchair and couch and dressers, but the items still needed to be pushed onto the hand truck, and pulled out of the house to the U-Haul in front. Dooku told him to stop apologizing - Sören's asthma started up just from carrying out half the table - but Sören still felt bad. At least Dooku was strong. It was one thing to know Dooku worked out and another thing to see that in action, moving a heavy couch like it barely took any effort. And Sören had to admit to himself that even though he still felt bad for not doing as much, and having Dooku help him with this on such short notice, he couldn't be entirely sorry - watching Dooku in motion was a privilege like watching a large cat hunt, watching a deer prance, watching an eagle soar. Dooku was a force of nature, and as an artist, Sören quite enjoyed the show.
But even after Dooku had told Sören to quit apologizing, when they were getting close to the Portland city limits it started up again. "I'm sorry -"
"Sören, enough. I told you it was fine." Dooku glared.
"We've already taken so much time and we're nowhere near done with what needs to be done..."
"And the sun is starting to set." Dooku pointed out the windshield. "Look at that sky. We would have missed it if we were staying indoors."
Sören let out a little sigh at the beauty of the orange and pink that was starting to streak the sky, and watched as it spread, became many different shades, electrifying the blue. "I fucking love sunsets in fall. I love them year-round, but there's something about the way the sun sets in October and November..."
"Indeed. It's lovely. And it's nice having company who appreciates it."
Their first order of business in Portland was Goodwill. They drove around to the back for where donations were collected, and Dooku ran in to let them know what was coming in. A few minutes later a team came out and took everything out of the U-Haul, which was one less job for them to do.
Sören felt a strange flood of relief as he watched the last of it roll away into the Goodwill center. "Get thee gone, thou Jail Ho," Sören said under his breath, thinking of the way Seth had kept him prisoner that final, awful month.
They were near a few different restaurants, and Sören picked out a sandwich shop. A pop station was playing in the background - Dooku cringed at Katy Perry - but he didn't march Sören immediately out of there, and Sören gave him an apologetic smile, hoping the food would make up for Dooku having to endure the music selection. Over soup and sandwiches, Dooku checked Google Maps on his phone to plan the route to IKEA. Then, as Dooku was continuing to watch the fading sunset through the glass window near their booth, he pointed. Across the street was an antique shop. "We should go in there," Dooku said.
"Nico, I told you I wanted to go to IKEA. Those places can get expensive and I don't want to feel bad about parting with one-of-a-kind stuff if I move in with Mark down the road..."
"I wasn't asking you to shop there for everything, Sören. Maybe one or two non-essential items as, well, a sort of treat for yourself. Decorative things. A way to make your home feel more like your home, with a more personal touch."
"I suppose, but I already feel like I'm going to be spending enough on this -"
"I'll pay."
"Oh my god, Nico. You've already done too much..."
Dooku shook his head. "Consider it a belated 'congratulations on getting rid of the arsehole' gift, then."
Sören's laughter rang out. He reached across the table and patted Dooku's hands. "You helped a lot with that."
"Yes, but you could have gone back to him. You had before."
Sören looked down and sighed, nodding.
"You've begun a new chapter of your life, this fall," Dooku said, "and it seems appropriate to give you something old, for something new."
"I already have something old." Sören affectionately tweaked Dooku's nose.
Dooku glared, but he also turned pink at that, his eyes smiling. "I am not quite an antique, Sören."
"Hi Not Quite An Antique..."
"YOU KNOW..."
Sören grinned. "I know."
Then Dooku cringed, as "Hotline Bling" by Drake came on in the background. "Although, moments like this, I do feel rather like an antique. Completely out of step with the times, with this Wyvern or whatever his name is -"
Sören almost spat his orange soda. "Drake. His name is Drake. He's from Toronto, where I used to live! Gotta love Drake, representing for the Six. Though I like The Weeknd just a little better." The Weeknd's songs of existential angst in the Toronto party scene were the soundtrack of a certain time in Sören's twenties, clubbing, taking ketamine and ecstasy, lots of one-night stands, the weekends being his time to self-medicate with sex and drugs through the stress and anxiety of working on his doctorate.
Dooku glared. "What even is bling? Why does it need a hotline?"
Sören teared up, his sides hurting. "Oh my god, Nico." He found Dooku's reaction to the song precious. He also couldn't resist trolling him. Sören fished out his cell phone from his pocket and went to his ringtone app.
"What are you doing?" Dooku raised an eyebrow.
"You'll see."
Sören bought a ringtone of "Hotline Bling" by Drake. He downloaded it and programmed it as the ringtone for Dooku's number. "Call my cell."
"Wh-why? You're right here."
"Call my fucking phone, Nico."
Dooku did, giving him an annoyed look, and Sören's phone went off, vibrating, with Drake's voice singing
I know when that hotline bling
That can only mean one thing
I know when that hotline bling
That can only mean one thing
"See? Now I have an actual ringtone for you." Sören grinned.
Dooku facepalmed.
They walked across the street to the antique shop, but there was nothing in there that Sören particularly wanted - plus everything seemed ridiculously overpriced for what it was, and even though Dooku was keen on giving him a gift, Sören didn't want him spending money on an antique unless it was something Sören was very enthusiastic about.
When they got back in the U-Haul to go to IKEA, Dooku was obviously disappointed that Sören didn't find anything he liked, and then Dooku said, "There's an antique shop back in Corvallis we could try. They should still be open when we get back in town..."
"Only if you don't mind the night getting later with the detour, since we'll have to put together my bed and stuff."
"I don't mind."
They were fortunate enough to find a parking spot close to the entrance and exit, with Dooku smiling a little as they got out of the U-Haul. Sören had found in his nearly-a-year of riding with Dooku that he had an uncanny knack for getting good parking spots when they went places, even places that were guaranteed to be full and where good parking was a crapshoot. It was starting to get a little weird now. Before this past summer, Sören would have chalked it all up to coincidence and just really good luck, but now he couldn't help wondering if Dooku had some sort of subconscious magical ability that he wasn't quite aware of and was exercising all the same, perhaps connected to why age had been kind to him, because even though he took care of himself, there were other active, fit people who age had taken out of commission.
He's not a Maia, is he? Gandalf? But that didn't feel right, and Sören was sure that Mark would have recognized him if so, and told Sören about it.
Sören felt crazy again, suspecting that there was more to Dooku than met the eye. It was bad enough thinking he was Fëanor reborn. Time to break out the tinfoil hat. And it was frustrating, not knowing quite what that was in Dooku's case, like it was on the tip of his tongue and still eluded him. It's probably not even a thing. Come on, thinking he's not-human-ish because he consistently gets really good parking? Come the fuck on. That shit is CRAZY.
It was still a feeling Sören couldn't shake, as they walked into IKEA together.
In its discomfort, Sören's brain went for humor as its default coping mechanism, and giggles bubbled out of him when Dooku was wheeling a hand truck around the store, with them looking at dressers first.
"What?" Dooku asked. "Is it something naughty in Swedish?"
That made Sören laugh even harder. "No, it's not that, though... I don't quite speak Swedish. Danish as a third language, which is close enough, but probably some things would get past my radar."
What was amusing Sören was the surreality - Here we have Fëanor, High King of the Noldor, walking around IKEA wearing a buttplug... The only way this would be funnier is if Fingolfin were here too. He sighed. I miss you, Ñolo.
"Speaking three languages is quite a feat," Dooku said.
"Well, you know. We have to start learning English young because the world doesn't speak Icelandic. And learning another one of the Scandinavian languages is traditional, if not necessarily obligatory. My Danish isn't as good as my English -"
"Your English is very good." Dooku's eyes narrowed. "When you're not saying things like 'YOLO' and 'bling'."
"Fo shizzle."
Dooku facepalmed and made a noise. Sören laughed harder.
"I speak Romanian and French," Dooku said. "A Scandinavian language has been on my to-do list for some time but I have so many other hobbies, I haven't gotten around to it. They're delightful to listen to, though." Dooku glanced at Sören. "Say something in Danish?"
"Noget på dansk."
Dooku glared. "I'm pretty sure I understood that, you brat."
Sören's laughter rang out. He couldn't resist teasing Dooku, his reactions were priceless.
"I didn't mean literally." Dooku raised an eyebrow.
Sören grinned. "Du er slags smuk, når du er irriteret."
Sören went with all pine finishes for his dressers, kitchen table and chairs, and bed frame, reminiscent of the Scandinavian-style furniture his mamma had for the first nearly six years of his life in Akureyri. Dooku approved - something classic that went with everything. Sören had an oak table and chairs in his kitchen until today, that had looked nice with the warm yellow-golden-cream scheme of his kitchen, but he liked the pine even more. Sören picked out a deep blue sofa which would go with the pale blue walls in his living room - blue was his favorite color, and it matched better than his previous sofa, which had been a steel blue-grey. Sören also splurged on new bedding, going with a duvet and pillowcases in a dark blue plaid design that looked cozy, like the flannel shirts and pajamas he wore in colder months, and a second duvet and pillowcase set that had cheery gingko blossoms. He opted for a set of blue sheets and a set of red sheets to match his new bedcovers.
Before they went to the checkout, Sören dragged Dooku through the food section - Swedish food and Icelandic food wasn't quite the same, but there were still some things beloved across Scandinavian cultures, like gingersnaps and licorice, which he added on top of the stack on the hand truck.
On the ride back from Portland, Sören opened the bag of sweet-and-salty licorice and offered to Dooku.
"I'll try one," Dooku said.
Sören took it out of the bag and put it in Dooku's mouth, feeding him like he was giving Dooku's cat or Mark's dog a treat. Dooku gave Sören's finger a nibble too, with a playful growl that made Sören giggle but also flooded his cheeks with warmth.
When Dooku finished his piece of licorice he said, "That was tasty. The licorice was good, too."
Sören gigglesnorted, his face on fire now. Once again, he wondered how different things would be if Dooku was gay and had pursued him after the breakup with Seth. He was glad to be with Mark, but...
Oh here we go again, let's not start back down this road and make things awkward.
"I'm sorry, I'm normally not like this, but you've been such a brat more than usual this evening, I had to tease you back." Dooku smiled.
"Hi Normally Not Like This -"
"You know..."
"Have another?" Sören held out another piece of licorice. Dooku nommed on his hand again before accepting the treat, and Sören felt his cock stir. Fuck.
Sören had a few pieces before closing the bag up, not wanting to eat too many at once.
They managed to get to the antique shop in Corvallis in the last twenty minutes before closing time. The prices were more reasonable here, but once again, nothing particularly caught Sören's eye, until...
"Oh wow, that's a really nice mirror." Sören made a beeline.
"Oh, yes, indeed." Dooku's finger traced around the ornate floral-carved edge, wood with traces of gold and silver in the finish. "That's a baroque design."
"That would fit on the center dresser, you think?"
Dooku took a few steps back, as if calculating perspective in his mind. "I believe so. If not, it could be mounted on the wall above it."
"All right. I think I want this." Then Sören checked the price tag. "Ha ha ha... no. Never mind."
Dooku saw the price tag, snorted, and picked up the mirror from the display, hefting it over to the register.
"Oh my god. Nico. You do not have to spend this kind of money on me -"
"It's clear that my idea of expensive and yours differs. Even so, your friendship is priceless. I'm buying you the damn mirror."
Sören huffed, feeling like this was unfair to Dooku, but the shop clerk had come out - a short, wizened man who looked old enough to be Dooku's grandfather, wearing half-moon spectacles and going on about how the mirror was from Italy and showing the signature of the artisan, carved into the back of the mirror, a simple F.F.
Yeah, FFFFFF is right, Sören thought to himself, still not able to get over Dooku spending this kind of money on him.
Their next stop was to unload the boxes, bags of bedding and snacks, the mattress and box spring, and the mirror at Sören's place, then Dooku drove back the U-Haul and retrieved his own Jaguar, while Sören got a head start building a dresser so he'd have somewhere to put his clothes overnight. Dooku knocked when he came back - Sören still jumped even though he was expecting him, a startle response from PTSD. He was annoyed with himself for reacting like that, and Dooku seemed to know he was rattled without saying anything, giving him an assuring shoulder pat and squeeze as he walked in.
"How is the dresser coming along?" Dooku asked.
"Most of the way there. The instructions are pretty straightforward - stick tab A into slot B." Sören went there by force of habit. "I've had, ah, a fair bit of experience doing that." He snickered. Then he realized he was around Dooku, who looked away, turning a little pink. "Er, sorry."
Dooku made a noise, reaching for the box with the bed frame, which he dragged down to Sören's bedroom to set up there.
When the first of the three dressers was finished, Sören used Dooku's hand truck to wheel it down to the bedroom, where Dooku was on his knees, hard at work assembling the bed frame. He looked flushed and a little sweaty, so after Sören brought in the dresser he went to the kitchen and poured ice water for both of them. Dooku accepted his with a thanks, and Sören went back to the living room to pick up the mirror and bring it down. It sat on top of the dresser perfectly, looking like it belonged there.
"Oh yes, that is very nice," Dooku said, nodding.
"Nico?" Sören walked over to Dooku and threw his arms around Dooku's neck, holding him close for a moment. "Thank you. I know you say that kind of money's no object for you, but it's... it's still a big deal to me. I really don't want you to feel taken advantage of -"
"I don't. You haven't had a lot of nice things, Sören. I like being able to do what I can for you." Dooku patted him before he pulled apart, his face more flushed than before.
"Are you all right?"
Dooku nodded. "Just very warm in here - it's always warm in your house for some reason - and putting this bed together."
"OK."
Sören set to work building the next two dressers. By the time those were done, Sören's bed frame was ready, and Sören and Dooku dragged the mattress onto the hand truck, with Sören needing another puff from his inhaler. Dooku came back for the box spring by himself. Dooku and Sören put the box spring on the frame, then the mattress. Sören reached for the blue plaid bedding bag and opened it.
Dooku took it from him. "That needs to be laundered first, before you put it on your bed."
"OK. Uh..." Sören looked at the time. "Washing and drying that now, that's gonna keep us up awhile longer. But I really don't want to keep the sheets I slept on with Seth on this bed..."
"I have a solution. I'll take your new bedding to my place to do tonight and tomorrow, and in the meantime you can borrow one of the sets that's in my closet, not currently in use. In fact, you can keep it if you like it."
Dooku went back to his place with the IKEA bedding, and returned with a duvet, a blanket, sheets and pillowcases. The duvet was blue paisley, the blanket was solid blue cashmere, with deep blue silk sheets.
"Jesus Christ, Nico, you're spoiling me to death," Sören said.
Sören made the bed, while Dooku went to the living room to start assembling the sofa. Sören began assembling the kitchen table and chairs in the kitchen. He was working up a sweat himself - he didn't know why his place was always so warm, he rarely had the heat on even in winter. He stopped for more iced water, bringing it out to Dooku, who was now quite sweaty.
After a few sips of iced water, Dooku said, "Sören, I hope you don't mind, but I... I need to take my shirt off." He raised an arm, presenting pit stains with his nice blue shirt. "I'm normally much more modest, but..."
"Pffff," Sören said. "I'm Icelandic, you could go around naked and it wouldn't be a big deal to me. I think I'll take my shirt off too, because Jesus Christ, it's hot in here." With that, he pulled off Mark's Metallica shirt on the way back into the kitchen, leaving it on the kitchen counter.
He came back with another round of iced water since Dooku was sweating so much, just in time to see Dooku undo the last two buttons of his shirt and pull it off. Immediately, Sören regretted saying that nudity was no big deal to him. Ooh, Daddy, was Sören's immediate reaction at the sight of Dooku shirtless. It was one thing to know Dooku worked out and took martial arts and was a swordsman, and see his arms and the way suits fit him, it was another thing to see him like this. Sören couldn't help looking at his pecs and a tight six-pack abdomen, and the silver pelt covering them, heavier on the chest, more fine over the stomach. The rosy nipples peeking out through the chest hair. The silver hair was striking with his olive complexion, and his skin was surprisingly clear at his age, only a little weathered.
And he was glistening with sweat.
Fuck, he's hot.
Sören felt his cock stirring and his hole twitching around the plug inside him. This was dangerous, looking at his best friend this way.
Sören chugged iced water as heat flooded him, this time not from the temperature of the house or the exertion of building furniture. Dooku looked at him as he drank - Sören was shirtless and sweaty too, and Sören's pierced nipples were starting to harden as the air felt cooler with no shirt on, as well as from that frisson of arousal. Then Dooku looked away, intensely studying the IKEA couch instructions, his face beetroot. Sören imagined Dooku was modest enough to be embarrassed to be shirtless - though he had not a damn thing to be embarrassed about - never mind having a shirtless queer man in the same room with him.
God, this is awkward. Awkward still because every nerve in Sören's body was screaming to go over there and pet that chest hair, run his hands over the muscles...
"You lift, bro?" The words came out before Sören could stop himself, trying to dial down the tension, but somehow the thought of Dooku working out did nothing to calm his raging arousal.
Dooku nodded, still studying the IKEA manual. "I can bench 300, squat 400 and deadlift 500."
Sören let out a low whistle. "So you could pick me up and carry me around without it being much effort." Sören was just over 170 pounds at six feet tall, wiry from hyperactive, nervous energy that made him pace a lot. Then the thought came unbidden: You could manhandle me.
"Er, yes, I suppose." Dooku's brow furrowed as he brought the IKEA manual closer to his face, squinting at it.
Sören went back to the kitchen to continue work on the table and chairs... and kept stealing glances at Dooku working on the couch in the living room. Dooku had to move around to fit pieces together, and when his back was turned, Sören found himself staring at the muscle definition in Dooku's back as well. Fuck. Me. His cock throbbed and hole twitched again.
Sören had no choice but to either go to the bathroom and jerk off, or attempt to conceal his erection. He grabbed the Metallica shirt he'd put on the counter and tied it around his waist like a makeshift kilt. That only sort of disguised it. Sören went to the sink to splash cold water on his face. Margaret Thatcher, he told himself, his go-to erection killer. Margaret Thatcher. Margaret Thatcher... It helped somewhat, but Sören could still feel himself sporting a semi. Not one that would be noticed under the Metallica shirt kilt, but one he himself felt all the same.
Finally the couch was done, and Sören and Dooku pushed it against the wall. They took a few steps back and Sören gave the thumbs up. "Perfect."
Then they looked at the time. "If it wasn't a school night I'd stay to finish the armchair," Dooku said, "but -"
Sören nodded. "No, this is good enough. Mark can help me put the armchair together when he comes tomorrow. We got most of it done which was more than I was expecting. Thank you, again, so much."
Dooku put his shirt back on and buttoned it, his hands shaking a little.
"You OK?" Sören, concerned, went to the fridge and came back with a small bottle of Gatorade. "Here, have some electrolytes..."
"Thank you." Dooku took the bottle. "All right. I should be on my way, at this hour..."
Sören walked him to the door. "See you tomorrow!" he said, waving.
As soon as the door was closed, Sören leaned against it and "oh fuck oh fuck ohfuckohfuckohfuck" poured out of his mouth.
Sören put his cell phone on its charger on the bedtable, took his night meds, and a shower. Usually a shower at night would relax him and help him get to sleep, but lathering his body only seemed to make things worse, and by the time Sören was out of the shower, he was sporting another full erection. He kept thinking about Dooku's muscles rippling, that chest hair, the fact that Dooku was strong enough to pick him up...
Sören got into bed. Being in the same sheets that had once been against Dooku's gorgeous, Greek god like body, did not help whatsoever. He needed to take care of this, but he wasn't going to fall down the slippery slope of masturbating to his best friend.
Sören found himself taking the cell phone off its charger and speed-dialing Mark's number.
Mark picked up after two rings. "Hey, baby," he said, voice husky from what sounded like sleep or getting on his way there.
"Mark. Hey."
"Hey."
"Hey."
"Hey."
"Hey."
"Hey."
"Hey."
"What's up, Sören? It's late, you OK?"
"Jæja, I'm fine." Sören gave a nervous laugh and rubbed his beard, not believing he was about to do this. "I'm just, ah. Really horny."
Mark gave a shuddery little sigh. "Babe, if it wasn't this late I'd come over and get you off, but I'm probably too dead to drive right now."
"Jæja, I know. I... ah..." Heat flooded Sören's cheeks. Here we go. He had never done this before. "Wanted to hear your voice, as I. Ah. Take care of myself." His cock was already in his free hand.
There was a pause, and then Mark chuckled. "Oh, my. So you want to have phone sex, basically."
Maglor the Mighty, the power of his voice could be heard across land and sea... now using his voice for phone sex. "Is that OK?"
Mark cleared his throat. His voice got lower, huskier, smoother. "What are you wearing?"
Sören and Mark both lost it, Sören giggling into his pillow. Somehow, the dorkiness of the moment didn't make him lose his erection. "God..."
"All right, all right. Let me get... all serious now." Another clear of the throat. "Are you naked, baby?"
"Yes."
"Hard?"
"Very."
"Mmmmm. Start stroking yourself for me, Sören."
Sören did as he was told. He let out a moan.
"Good boy," Mark said. "Keep stroking yourself, baby."
"Mmmm, Mark..." Sören gave a little whimper. "I wish you were here right now..."
"I do too. If it wasn't so late and I was safe to drive, I'd come over... get in your bed with you... start sucking on you..."
"Ooooh." Sören liked that mental image, continuing to stroke.
"Sucking you slowly. Watching your eyes. Hearing your moans. God, Sören, thinking about doing that to you has me hard now, too." Mark groaned. "Now I've got my cock out..."
"Are you stroking it?"
"Yeah." Mark groaned again. "Mmmmm."
"I wish I was sucking you, too." That mental image made Sören harder, and he stroked faster.
"If I was there with you we'd be sucking each other. And then I'd put my tongue inside you... you wore the plug today, didn't you?"
"Yes."
"Good boy. So you'd be open for me, and all sensitive... work my tongue, eating you..." Mark groaned. "Fuck, Sören."
"God." Sören shuddered.
"Suck your cock some more... as much as I want to taste you, though, having my tongue in you makes me want to put something else in you. So I'd lay you down, climb over you... my cock rubbing on yours as we kiss..."
"Fuck." Sören stroked harder, loving the mental image.
"Take our cocks into my hand like the way we're stroking ourselves now..."
"Yes..." Sören shivered and let out a whimper. His cock was slick with precum and starting to make a rattling sound in his hand.
"Oh baby, I can hear you. You're all wet, aren't you?"
"Mhm."
"Take some of that precum and rub it on your nipples, baby."
Sören did as he was told. "Oh, god..."
"Keep rubbing your nipples for me."
"Mmmmm..."
"Thinking about you teasing yourself like that gets me so. Fucking. Hot." Mark groaned. Now Sören could hear the wetness of Mark's cock, too, and Sören licked his lips, thinking about the sight of Mark's cock glistening wet. "Tug your nipple rings, Sören."
Sören tugged one, then the other. "Oh god..."
"Pinch them."
"Fuckkkk..."
"Rub them some more, baby. Think about my tongue on them, my lips on them, teasing those sexy little nubs..."
"FUCK!" Sören's nipples were hard-wired to his cock, and his cock jolted as he played with his nipples.
"It's a school night but I would be so tempted to just lick those nipples for hours, worship them..." Mark moaned. "So hot, Sören. You make me fucking crazy."
"Mark, please..." Sören whimpered. "I need to come..."
Mark sighed. "Stroke that cock, baby. Think about my cock rubbing yours..."
"Mmmmmm...."
"Kissing you... kissing your neck... kissing and licking your nipples... cock rubbing cock..."
"Mark..."
"Your pre gets all over my cock, and mine all over yours..."
Sören whimpered again.
"And with my cock slick from your precum, I push inside you... start fucking you slowly..."
"Oh, fuck..." Sören groaned, feeling ready to climb the walls at the thought of Mark inside him.
Mark groaned too. "My hand is tightening on my cock, thinking about your hot little ass... which would feel so much better than my hand... but it'll do for now. Oh Sören, you feel so good. Oh, god, I love fucking you..."
"Mark, fuck me..." Sören stroked harder, fast and furious, wanting Mark inside him, wanting to watch Mark's gorgeous body in motion as he pistoned in and out. He shivered, breaking out into a sweat again, wrist aching from how hard he was jerking his cock. He was panting, heat flooding his body. "Fuck me, Mark..."
Mark growled. "Watching you stroke yourself as I fuck you... stroke that cock for me, Sören. Stroke that beautiful cock, love looking at it when I'm inside you..."
"Mark... oh god... ohgodohgod Mark... Mark..." Sören whimpered.
"I can hear your cock, baby." Mark lowered the phone to his own so Sören could hear the sounds of him strokiing. Then Mark brought the phone back up. "You're gonna come soon, aren't you?"
"Mmhm!"
"So am I. Thinking about you coming..." Mark growled. "Want to come inside you..."
The thought of Mark's cock shooting, watching Mark's face in the throes of climax, hearing him... Sören could feel his balls tightening, that tensing feeling like he was about to spring and fly off. "I want your cum inside me... want to come all over your gorgeous body..."
"OH, Sören." Mark groaned. "Oh, Sören. Sören. I'm so close..."
"So close." Sören gave a shuddery gasp. "Almost there."
"Stroke it, baby. Stroke that beautiful cock for me... I'm about to come in your hot little ass.."
"FUCK. Fuck, fuck, fuck..."
"You want it?"
"So bad." Sören moaned. "Mark..." He whimpered. "Mark..."
Mark growled. "Fucking you so hard. Taking what's mine..."
"Mark!" He could see it, he could almost feel it. Mark slamming into him, balls slapping against him as his cock pumped in and out... heat in his silver eyes, the almost-angry look of lust on his face... Sören shivered, cock jolting, twinging. "More..."
"Yes." Mark growled again. "Mine. Gonna breed you, claim you..."
"Ohgodohgod Mark ohfuck..." Those dominant words, the thought of Mark spending into him... Sören made an inhuman noise, feeling his body tense even more, thighs quivering, balls tightening to the point of no return, ready to explode.
"Come for me, Sören."
"MARK!" Sören threw his head back and gave a wordless shout. Then a high-pitched whimper, a deep growl. "Mark. Mark..."
"Oh, Sören..." Mark cried out too. "Sören." Another cry. "Oh, fuck, Sören..."
They panted together through their release. Sören's hand was all sticky and he'd made a mess over his naked body.
"Taste yourself, baby. If I was there I'd be kissing it off your tongue," Mark whispered.
Sören licked his hand clean, and had an aftershock as he thought of Mark doing just that.
Mark laughed softly. "Better?"
"Just about. I think I can sleep now."
"Me too."
"I'll see you tomorrow night."
"You will."
"Thank you, Mark. I... I needed that."
"I love you."
"I love you too."
Sören held the phone to his heart when the call ended. It wasn't quite as good as if Mark had been there bringing him off himself, but it was good enough. With the tension melted out of him, Sören hit the pillows and fell right asleep.