The Hounds Of Love: Chapter 3

Sören slept well in his new bed - unfortunately, he'd been up late enough last night that he'd only managed to get six hours of sleep before his alarm went off, which wasn't nearly enough for him to feel rested. Still, the grumpiness he would normally feel at lack of sleep and mornings in general - trying even when he'd gotten adequate rest - was offset by the shiny new feeling of his home makeover. Already, the place felt better, like his space again. And he was touched by Dooku's generosity with the mirror, and the gift of his time and labor.

Most of all, he was excited to see Mark later - he'd be talking to Mark before the school day was over to invite Mark to his place, rather than going to Mark's place as usual. Making love to Mark in his new bed would be the next important act of reclaiming not just his physical space, but his mental space. He knew he'd never truly be "over" what happened with Seth, but the more of his life he reclaimed, the further he could push it away. He felt less powerless than he had mere months ago.

When Dooku was ready to go the campus and Sören got in his car, the first thing he did was throw his arms around his best friend. Dooku chuckled, turning a little pink.

"Good morning to you too," Dooku said. "What was that for?"

"Last night." Sören patted him. "You're such a good friend."

Dooku smiled. "So are you. You've brought a lot of happiness to my life, I wanted to do something nice for you."

"I'm not letting you get away with this without giving you something," Sören said, wagging his finger.

"You don't need to get me anything." Dooku watched the road, his face more flushed than before. "It was a gift. Freely given."

"In the Old Norse poem Havamal, it says Be a friend to your friend, and repay each gift with a gift." Sören raised an eyebrow.

"The Havamal also says not to trust women." Dooku's eyes narrowed, and he made a sniff of disdain.

Sören was once again tickled that Dooku, the ancient history professor, was someone he could discuss Viking history with sometimes, a subject Sören was very familiar with, growing up in Iceland. He grinned at Dooku. "Right, obviously it's flawed, and don't get me started on the flaws of the 'god' the poem is attributed to. With gods like Odin, it's no wonder the conversion to Christianity in Iceland was so peaceful, literally anybody looked like less of an asshole. Donald Trump looks less of an asshole by comparison."

Dooku's laughter rang out. "Sören, don't ever change."

"But, you know, there are nuggets of wisdom here and there. Even my crazy racist, homophobic drunk of an uncle was right about the world once in awhile." Sören rolled his eyes. "Just once in awhile. A stopped clock is right twice a day, and all."

"Did you... just compare Odin to your uncle Einar?"

"Jæja, I guess I did." Sören chuckled. "Fuck Odin. Fuck the gods."

"Hm, indeed. As you know, I fell away from the Orthodox Church in my youth because I could not reconcile the concept of a just and merciful god with the reality of evil in the world. As the years have gone on and I've gotten older and have seen even more of it, I find myself less able to believe, and if I am wrong and there are in fact deities, they have a lot to be held accountable for. They have earnt none of my respect, they have no right to my worship." Dooku frowned. "Sorry, it's probably too early in the morning for philosophy and religion -"

"Normally I'd say yes, but, you know, I had a pretty good night last night and it seems to be lasting into this morning."

"You did, did you?" Dooku glanced over with a little smile.

"I did. You helped." Sören narrowed his eyes back at Dooku. "I'm getting you something."

"If you must. As you know, I am well off and don't need anything, and I feel guilty about you spending money on me -"

Sören blew a raspberry.

"But if you absolutely insist..." Dooku glared. "Don't be extravagant."

Sören blew another raspberry.

Dooku was habitually early for his classes, arriving well before time, and while Sören had been a little grumbly about it when Dooku first started driving him to and from school - and felt bad since Dooku didn't have to drive him - Sören had gotten used to it and found the extra time valuable to set up for the day's work.

When he got in his classroom, after he put on the lights he sent Mark a text message, knowing Mark was up and about, and preferring to have this conversation by text while he was on campus, since he and Mark were still trying to be discrete about their relationship. He started by sending a heart emoji.

Mark sent one back.

Thank you again for last night, Sören texted, sending an eggplant emoji and a wink emoji.

The pleasure was mine, Mark replied, also sending an eggplant emoji with water drops and a wink.

Sören gigglesnorted at the surrealism of Maglor, the ancient Elf, sending a text message with a suggestive eggplant emoji in it. Not that Fëanor sending it out is much better.

We're still on for tonight, right? Mark texted.

Sören answered: We most certainly are. Actually, that's what I wanted to talk to you about.

Oh?

Can we do my place tonight? Sören asked.

He waited. Mark's response took a little longer than usual, and then it came: We can, but Sören, I don't want you to feel obligated to have me there. You don't need to do that "man up" shit for me. I get PTSD. We've been over this.

Well aCtUaLlY, Sören replied, Nico took me out to IKEA to get new furniture last night. Already the place feels better.

Sören went on, This isn't about me trying to be "manly" and "just get over it", this is about me reclaiming my home, my life. I'd like to at least try.

A couple of minutes later, Mark sent back: OK. We can try. I don't want you to feel bad if you end up getting triggered, but we can try.

I need to try, Mark. I need to do this for myself. So 6 PM my place?

You got it. Then, a minute later: I still insist on cooking for you.

I won't object to that. A smile emoji. Your cooking is awesome. A wink emoji. I'll be the dessert.

Mark texted: You most certainly will. Last night gave me an appetite. I'm starving for you. A couple seconds later: hells

Sören grinned. Hi Starving For You! I'm Sören.

Mark sent back the middle finger emoji.

Sören kept a stereo in his classroom and some mp3 playlists. In a surprisingly bubbly mood for the morning, he put on his R&B playlist, helping to remind him of the promise of romance and passion later. A few songs in he turned it up, when "Nite and Day" by Al B. Sure came on. He was only a small boy when the song was new in 1988, discovering it years later when he was a randy young man.

Sören found himself singing along and doing a sensual little dance, slowly swiveling his hips and waist as he walked from table to table. The dance produced a little friction with his buttplug which was pleasant without being too arousing while he was at school.

I'll love you more in the rain or shine
And making love in the rain is fine
A love so good and I call it mine
Love is blind

I can tell you how I feel about you night and day
How I feel about you
I can tell you how I feel about you night and day
How I feel about you

Believe me when I say that I do care, I can tell you
I'd like to run my fingers through your hair, I can tell you
Baby, if you left I could not bear, I can tell you
Please don't share

Do you love me, please let me know, I can tell you
Don't hide the feeling, just let it show, I can tell you
A feeling so deep that comes within, I can tell you
What kind of love am I in, ooh...


All of a sudden Sören heard a little clear of the throat. He startled, jumping with a gasp, and he turned around to see Karen, who had the giggles. Today Karen was wearing a pale pink cashmere sweater and black trousers, her hair in a loose, messy ponytail, and she had small rose quartz crystals dangling from her ears and a larger rose quartz cluster pendant, matching her sweater. Sören also noticed she was wearing the barest hint of makeup today, a touch of lip gloss. Being startled would be bad enough on its own, but now he was flustered - she was so pretty, and here he was being a giant dork...

OK, could we not notice our TA is pretty? Huh?

"Jesus." Sören's face burned. "Er, ah..."

"I'm sorry I startled you." Karen grinned. "No need to stop on my account, that was... very entertaining."

Sören's face burned even more. "Oh god, how long were you watching that?"

"Long enough."

Sören facepalmed. "Well, you already knew I was a dork..."

"Yes, but also, you've got a good voice. If you hadn't gone into teaching art, you could have been a blue-eyed soul singer, maybe." Their eyes met. "Well... you've got brown eyes, not blue. But -"

"I knew what you meant." Sören nodded. He did an exaggerated, dorkier version of the dance he was doing, as the song wound down. "I'm pretty fly for a white guy."

"Oh my god." Now Karen facepalmed. "I remember that song."

"I was like..." Sören scrunched his face. "Almost fourteen? When that came out?"

"You heard that over in Iceland?"

"Of course!" Sören was always surprised that people thought Iceland was some remote, exotic place and not as connected to the rest of the world as it was. "It was just before my twin brother went away to Oxford and he was really big into all that pop-punk stuff at the time... The Offspring, Green Day, No Doubt, Blink-182... he was a skateboarder. Actually he still is." He remembered the occasional afternoon when he would accompany Dagnýr to a skate park in Toronto.

"Your twin brother went to Oxford?" Karen asked, blinking slowly. "And he was how old?"

"He went there at age fourteen. He's a genius - well, we both have high IQs but he actually, like, applied himself. I drew stupid cartoons and read a lot rather than trying to do science experiments in the garage and shit." Sören swallowed hard, remembering the awful conflicted feeling when he left for Toronto of missing his brother but finally getting out from his shadow, the feeling that he was a "fuckup" compared to Dag intensified by moving to Canada to stay with him following his breakdown and subsequent descent into some unhealthy behaviors, like occasional cocaine use. Sören hadn't touched that since he'd left Iceland in 2006 but he'd switched to ketamine and ecstasy partying on the weekends in Toronto. Since 2013 he only did pot, and that occasionally. "My brother's an astrophysicist."

"Wow," Karen said, in a hushed, reverent tone.

Sören nodded solemnly. "Wow is right. He's impressive." Sören shrugged. "Me, not so much. He worked on the Large Hadron Collider and has contributed to string theory and I, like... paint fairies and dragons and shit. And teach people to paint."

"That's still important." Karen scowled. "In my humble opinion, art is just as important to the world as science. Just as necessary. Science shows us the truth of what things are... art is the truth of how things feel. Science is the body of the world, art is its soul."

Sören's jaw dropped. His heart skipped a beat. Karen was already pretty to look at and lovely to be around but now, she took his breath away. His mouth went dry. He involuntarily licked his lips, and then just nodded. "That's. That's deep."

"That's deep." Right after "fairies and dragons and shit." Good going, Doctor. Good. Going.

"I'm babbling, sorry -" Karen looked away.

"No, you're not." That came out more forcefully than Sören intended, and she looked back at him. "No. That's..." Sören swallowed hard. "That was beautiful. Thank you for... your words. I really needed to hear that."

Karen reached out to pat his arm. Her touch sent a jolt through Sören. "I may not know you that well yet, and may not know your family, but don't sell yourself short. It's a joy working with you - you love your students, and they love you right back. What you do, it makes a difference in their lives, and that's so important. In this day and age the world needs the magic of the arts more than ever." Karen looked away, out the window, looking a little wistful. "Art is healing."

"It sure is." Sören nodded, thinking of how his art kept him together over the years. "It feeds that fire, in me."

"I can tell." Karen looked back at him. "You come alive when you teach, and... in the art of yours that I've seen, it's so intense. So much feeling goes into that. It's a calling, I guess you could say, to encourage that, nourish and uphold it - in you, in our students."

"Takk, Karen." Sören smiled.

"Verði þér að góðu." Karen smiled back.

Sören's face lit up. "Talar þú íslensku?"

Karen shook her head. "Bara nokkur orð." She smiled again. "Which I've been learning a little of and practicing to use on you, here and there."

"Awwww. I'm touched, but I speak English, you don't have to -"

"What if I want to? A gesture of good will to a colleague?"

"To a friend," Sören said, meeting her eyes.

Karen's smile got bigger. "To a friend."

Karen helped him finish setting up in companionable silence, and then Sören noticed her looking at him with a thoughtful expression, as if she was curious about something.

"Hm?" Sören raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, you mentioned your brother's taste in music as a teenager... yours was different, I take it? R&B, like what you have on now?"

"I actually got into that when I was a bit older, like late teens, early twenties. When I started, ah." Sören ran a nervous hand through his curls. "Never mind."

Karen snorted, knowing what he was about to say. "We're adults."

"Well, you're a friend but also still a colleague and, you know. I don't want to be creepy -"

"You're not. I'll tell you if that changes."

"Don't just tell me! Punch me, or kick me in the balls," Sören said, and meant it.

Karen laughed.

"Anyway..." Sören said. "Nah, what I listened to as a teenager was..." He bit his lower lip, feeling a little self-conscious. "I was very depressed, moody, growing up, so I had a goth phase. Not this emo shit that kids think is goth these days like My Chemical Romance and whatever but I mean... actual old school goth. Siouxsie Sioux and the Banshees. The Cure. The Smiths. Depeche Mode. Cocteau Twins. Dead Can Dance. Bauhaus. Joy Division."

Karen squeaked. "You like Joy Division?"

Sören nodded.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA, I love Joy Division," Karen said. "It's so rare to find anyone below a certain age who likes them, these days."

"Well then," Sören said. "I will have to break out my goth playlist for you."

"Yes. Please."

Sören smiled. Already this was turning out to be a good day.


_


When Sören's classes were over and he was waiting for Dooku, he remembered what he'd forgotten to tell Mark this morning, and sent a text.

We got most of my new furniture built last night but the armchair isn't done. I'd ask Nico to help me when he gets out but he already did a lot and I feel bad.

Sören didn't expect a response immediately, since he knew Mark was in the middle of a class, but he still got anxious anyway, worrying that Mark would be annoyed, or worse, think he was a weakling for needing help. But on the ride back home the response came:

No problem, I'll put it together for you when I get there.

Sören replied: You sure you don't mind? I hate asking.

Mark sent back: It's gonna cost you. One kiss. With a heart emoji.

Only one? Sören felt himself grinning, relieved.

Mark replied with: To start.

As six o'clock approached, Sören felt downright giddy, like he and Mark were going on a first date, even though they'd been together since late July. He'd dressed down once he got home, putting on jeans and a Joy Division shirt to be more comfortable, but he found himself adding a little bit of fragrance, anise with cherry blossom that had a very sexual smell on him with the dry down. He also had in the buttplug, which he'd been wearing all day on campus.

Sören took out his bag of tealights and began to arrange candles on the kitchen table, and then on the dressers in his bedroom, and the bedtable that Dooku had given him back in late January when he found out Seth had thrown the one that used to be by Sören's bed and broken it, right before the accident. So that had been one less piece of furniture to buy. After setting up the candles, with matches ready in the bedroom and kitchen, he decided to migrate the bouquet of a dozen roses that Mark had brought over on Monday night from the kitchen counter to the bedroom. On impulse, Sören took out five of the twelve roses - so there were seven in the vase. One rose he left on the bedtable, and then he pulled down the covers on the bed and scattered rose petals onto the silk sheets, and a trail of rose petals from the bed to the bedroom door. Then he shut the bedroom door behind him as he walked out, to keep Huan out of there.

Sören was waiting at the open front door just as Mark pulled in. Mark came out in a leather jacket, a Def Leppard T-shirt and jeans, carrying Huan's leash with one hand and grocery bags with the other. Mark gave him a kiss at the door and Sören took a couple of the bags from him, bringing them into the kitchen. After Mark took off his jacket and his boots, letting Huan off the leash, he followed Sören into the kitchen and Sören watched as Mark's hair fell to his thighs and his silver aura began to shine.

"That never gets old," Sören remarked.

Mark took a bow. Sören laughed.

"I kind of wish you could, you know. Be like this all the time," Sören said. "Not that you look bad with your hair only to the middle of your back! It's just... this is you."

Mark shrugged. Then he affectionately tousled Sören's curls and tweaked his nose. "Your acceptance means a lot."

Sören gave him a fierce, tight hug, remembering how Mark had told him back in Sausalito that he'd had a few incidences of being rejected by partners or would-be partners, fear and mistrust of the Other. But for Sören, there was only beauty.

And that strange sense of familiarity. Once again, that feeling of My kind. My blood. Sören shoved it away, not wanting to deal with the latest go-round of whether or not he was Fëanor reborn or if he was crazy, and if he was Fëanor, would Mark's love turn to resentment with his current incarnation not measuring up to the glory of what he had been before. Sören was distracted quickly enough, seeing that Mark had brought the makings for chicken marsala, to be served with mushrooms, red potatoes, red and green bell peppers, and a touch of pancetta. "Oh, wow," Sören said. "That's going to be amazing."

"I thought about getting salmon, but I think I'll save that for the next time we get together."

"I look forward to that. You know I love my fish."

"Yes, I know you love your feesh, baby," Mark said, giving Sören a little squeeze, as Sören gave him a glare of mock annoyance - he wasn't actually offended. "And I love the way you say feesh. Your accent is so adorable." He leaned in and husked, "So sexy," before stealing a kiss.

When they pulled apart, Sören said, "Your voice is sexy." Sören felt heat rise in him as he thought of the phone sex last night. "Definitely did it for me last night."

Mark laughed. "You too," he said. He rubbed Sören's ass and swatted it. "I love listening to you get all worked up."

They stole another kiss and then Mark said, "Now shoo, since I need to not get distracted while I cook by you being all sexy..."

Sören gave a throaty chuckle, and tweaked the pointy tip of Mark's ear poking out between locks of hair, knowing how sensitive Mark was there. Then he tugged on Mark's sleeve, remembering. "The armchair..."

"Oh shit, that's right. Let me go fix that."

Sören and Mark sat on the living room floor together, Huan curled up nearby, watching as they looked at the IKEA manual. It took under an hour to get the armchair assembled, and then Sören frowned as it went up next to the couch.

"What is it, baby?" Mark asked, putting an arm around him. "Are you triggered..."

"No." Sören pointed at the floor. "I didn't get an ottoman yesterday." He facepalmed.

"Oh."

"Jæja, you... kind of need that to put your feet up." Sören pouted. "I'm sorry, Mark."

"Hey, it's no big deal." Mark pulled Sören towards him and planted a kiss on the top of Sören's head, and lingered, rubbing his nose in Sören's curls. He cupped Sören's chin in his hand and made Sören look at him. "Seriously."

"I wanted you to be able to put your feet up and relax..."

"We can do that on the couch for tonight? But in the meantime..." Mark gave Sören a gentle shove towards the couch. "I want you to put your feet up and relax. I'm going to make dinner now."

"Hi Going To Make Dinner Now -"

Mark grabbed Sören's nose, and then he swatted Sören's ass.

Mark had brought a travel container of dog food with him and Huan ran into the kitchen as Mark put out food and water. Then Mark poked his head out of the kitchen and said, "Hey, Sören, honey? If you have any newspaper or old flyers hanging around it might be a good idea to put those down. Huan has been trained to let me know if he needs to go out but I don't want to take any chances."

Sören got up, took some old flyers out of the bin he'd be taking to the recycling can when the bin filled up some more, and spread them out near the back door. Then he climbed back on the couch, and zoned out to a Star Trek: The Next Generation rerun while Mark cooked. He realized as he curled up, Huan cuddled on him, that he wasn't waiting on anyone - the opposite, Mark was handling dinner. Sören wasn't in servitude like he'd been with Seth. And unlike the way Seth had treated him when Sören waited on him, Sören made sure to tell Mark he appreciated him and his tender loving care.

It was a nice feeling. Sören smiled as he rubbed the dog's belly. He definitely was feeling more at home now.

At last dinner was ready, and Sören lit candles at the table. Before he sat down he also put on the stereo, with the living room stereo hooked up to his Pandora playlists. He chose one of more sultry music now, a combination of R&B with some slow, sensual, romantic songs from other genres.

"Well, this is nice," Mark said.

"I'll say," Sören said, looking down at his plate of food. "This is lovely." He reached across the table and took Mark's hands. "You're lovely."

Mark's thumbs stroked Sören's hands, which sent a frisson down Sören's spine. Just the little touches could get Sören worked up. "You're my love."

Sören was tempted to say fuck dinner, grab Mark, and invite Mark to take him on the table, but Mark had gone to all of the trouble to make this and he wasn't sure Huan wouldn't take advantage of the unoccupied food, nor if the new table would hold up with him getting pounded on it.

He couldn't say he had any regrets with going ahead and eating, anyway. Everything Mark cooked was good, and this was another spectacular meal. Sören complimented profusely and Mark smiled over his glass of wine.

"I'll do dishes since you cooked," Sören said, getting up to clear the table.

"No," Mark said, still sitting, holding out an arm as Sören walked past. "I won't stop you if you want to do that down the road but for tonight..." Mark looked up at him. "I want to be the one to wait on you."

Mark, of course, knew how Seth had treated Sören.

Sören felt an ache - in a good way - and a flutter, touched by the little ways Mark showed his love. Sören put his arms around Mark and just held him for a moment. "I love you, you know."

"I love you too." Mark reached up to stroke Sören's face. He took Sören's hand and kissed it. Then he swatted Sören's ass. "Go. Relax. I'll be there soon."

Sören took a detour to the bathroom, and when he returned to the living room he was carrying a hairbrush. Playing with Mark's hair was one of his favorite things, and Mark liked it too - Mark's enjoyment of it, and the way he melted to it, was the least Sören could do for him tonight.

When Mark came out from the kitchen, he joined Sören on the couch. He pulled Sören's legs up and onto his lap, and began to rub Sören's feet. Sören moaned, soothed and aroused all at once by Mark's long, elegant fingers kneading, hitting all his pressure points just right so relief flooded his body. Sören's moans and sighs brought heat to Mark's eyes, and Mark's touch and the look of lust on Mark's face made his cock wake up.

After Mark was done rubbing Sören's feet, Sören reached for the hairbrush on the coffee table - another item that Dooku had replaced months ago, the previous one something Seth had trashed in one of his fits. Sören pulled Mark close, and it was Mark's turn to moan and sigh as Sören brushed his hair. There was so much of it, and Sören lost himself in it, the beautiful blue-black color, the clean, woodsy scent, the silky texture. "You're so gorgeous," Sören husked. "A living work of art."

Mark blushed. He gave Sören a little kiss. "You're beautiful too, baby." He took the brush from Sören and began to brush Sören's curls, playing with them, rubbing his nose in Sören's hair, kissing the curly locks.

"Oh, Mark. I'm just this guy. You're like a god."

Mark glared. "Not this shit again."

Sören sighed.

"Do you know how hard I came thinking about you last night?" Mark asked. "You. The very clear mental image of you in my head." He ran a hand through Sören's curls, stroked Sören's beard, traced the full lips with his thumb, which Sören found himself sucking on, making Mark groan. "I really, really wish I could get it through that thick, stubborn skull of yours that I find you exquisite. It's like what's here..." He placed a hand on Sören's heart. "Was made manifest." He stroked Sören's face again.

"I'm sorry. I know I angst a lot -"

"And I know you've had a lot of shit thrown at you. A lot of people tearing you down." Mark leaned in and kissed him. It was a deep, passionate kiss, one that Sören thrilled to, moaning, his body coming alive even more. "But now..." Mark rained little kisses over Sören's face, making him giggle, also making him even harder. "Now, I want to help build you back up." Mark's hand strayed to the bulge in Sören's jeans. "I think we've already started on up." Mark grinned.

"I think so." Sören grinned back. Then Sören came closer and whispered, "You said you wanted a kiss for building the armchair."

"Yes, I want a kees." Mark kissed the tip of Sören's nose. "I will collect my kees now, elskan mín."

Sören nipped Mark's nose. "Butt."

"So are you."

They kissed. One kiss became two, and Mark pushed him down on the couch. And this time, Sören wasn't triggered by the memory of Seth. This was a brand new couch. A brand new chapter of his life. A new dawn. Mark was all that existed, hard cocks grinding together through their jeans as their tongues teased, hands roamed, fingers played.

It was starting to get too warm in the living room. Sören thought about taking it to the bedroom but he didn't want to get up just yet - wanted to relish this newfound pleasure of making out with Mark on the couch. Sören pulled off his shirt and tossed it onto the coffee table. Mark grabbed him and kissed him harder, fingers walking over Sören's bare skin. When Mark began to rub his nipples, kissing and licking his neck, Sören's moans got louder. And louder still when Mark bent his head to lap at one, Mark groaning, grinding more insistently as his tongue licked the nipple into an aching peak.

You're ruling the way that I move
And I breathe your air
You only can rescue me
This is my prayer
If you were mine
If you were mine
I wouldn't want to go to heaven

I cherish the day
I won't go astray
I won't be afraid
You won't catch me running
You're ruling the way that I move
You take my air

You show me how deep love can be


Mark had Sade on the night he seduced Sören, back in Sausalito. Her husky contralto in the background would have been right for the mood anyway, but now it added poignancy, a callback to the first time they made love. This would be the first time they made love at Sören's house. Sören sighed, playing with Mark's hair, wanting to rest in this moment as long as possible.

He cried out when Mark's tongue laved the other nipple, his fingers rolling and plucking and pinching the nipple he'd just licked and suckled. Sören cried out again as Mark tugged the ring with his thumb and finger, before Mark took his mouth off the other nipple and tugged that ring with his teeth, then resumed lapping.

"Oh god, Mark..." Sören bucked against him, rubbing back at him. "Mark..."

"Mmmmmmmmmmm." Mark went back to the first nipple, licking around and around the aerole, licking the nub more slowly than before. Sucking it harder. Then tongue lashing it faster. He suckled again. "Mmmmmmm." His eyes met Sören's as he licked. "I really, really wanted to do this to you last night."

"You weren't kidding."

"This is what I mean, baby." Mark went to the other nipple, teasing with slow, deliberate circles around the aerole, then slow, deliberate brush strokes back and forth on the hard nub. "When I tell you I find you exquisite. Delicious." His voice got lower, huskier, sexier. "You say I'm like a god, but it's you I want to worship, Sören." He sucked the nipple, groaning as Sören cried out again, pulling his hair.

Sören pulled Mark up to kiss him. Their kisses were deep, hungry. They moaned into each kiss, and Mark's fingers and thumbs continued to play with Sören's nipples. When Mark's lips and tongue made their way down Sören's neck, Sören felt like he was dangerously close to coming.

Kate Bush purred in the background:

To where the water and the earth caress
And the down of a peach says mmh, yes,
Do I look for those millionaires
Like a Machiavellian girl would
When I could wear a sunset? mmh, yes,

And how we'd wished to live in the sensual world
You don't need words--just one kiss, then another.

Stepping out of the page into the sensual world
Stepping out, off the page, into the sensual world.


Their eyes met. Sören pleaded with his eyes, and found his words. "Take me to bed."

They kissed until the song finished, then Mark was the one to turn off the stereo. They got up from the couch - Sören was shaking, breathless. Sören glanced over his shoulder to make sure Mark had snuffed out the tealights on the kitchen table as Mark began pulling him towards the bedroom. Then the little lightbulb went off in Sören's head and he got ahead of Mark and made a "wait here" gesture. Mark gave him a suspicious look as Sören went off to the bedroom.

Sören lit the candles, shucked the rest of his clothing, and then stepped out, gesturing for Mark to come in.

Mark took it in: the vase of roses by the bed, the single red rose left on the bedtable, the rose petals scattered on the floor, on the sheets, the candles burning around the bedroom.

"Oh, Sören." Mark's breath caught.

"I. Ah." Sören ran a nervous hand through his curls. It was such a romantic cliche, but he was a secret romantic at heart. "Wanted this to be special for you."

"It would have been special anyway, but..." Mark put his arms around Sören's waist, pulled Sören towards him and kissed the top of his head. "You're so sweet." Their eyes met.

Sören helped Mark undress, and when they were both naked, standing in front of the dressers, they held each other, kissing, hard cocks rubbing together. Then Mark noticed the mirror out of the corner of his eye, and Sören noticed him noticing.

"You didn't get that at IKEA," Mark observed.

"No. That was a gift."

"It's gorgeous." Mark ran his thumb around the glittery wooden edge, the floral carving.

"It really is."

Mark grabbed Sören and brought him closer to the mirror. "And we're gorgeous in it." He came behind Sören, and Sören watched in the mirror as Mark wrapped his arms around him, one hand playing with Sören's hard, dripping cock, the other caressing Sören's chest and stomach. Sören reached his arms up and around Mark's neck. "We're beautiful together, my love."

Sören couldn't deny that they made a nice-looking couple. Mark was playing with Sören's nipple rings again, then his fingers traced the ink on his arms, before playing with the nipple rings some more. As Mark's fingers stroked, Mark kissed and licked Sören's neck, glancing occasionally into the mirror, eyes hooded with desire. Sören's cock got harder, watching the sensual play between them.

"Here, baby." Mark took Sören's hands then. "Let's break in the new bed... and watch ourselves together."

A frisson went down Sören's spine, his cock twinging, and his hole twitched around the buttplug. Sören climbed on the bed and Mark gently guided Sören into position, so Sören was laying on his stomach, with his head at the foot of the bed. He folded his arms and rested his head, wiggling his ass when Mark got on behind him.

They watched in the mirror as Mark kissed, licked and nibbled the back of Sören's neck and shoulders, grinding against him. Sören moaned at his kisses - breaking out in gooseflesh - and the feel of Mark's hard cock rubbing in the crack of his ass. His moans got louder as he watched Mark kissing his back, tracing the tattoos on his back with his tongue and fingers, then kissing and licking down his spine. When Mark pulled the plug out of Sören's ass and began rimming him right there in the mirror, Sören screamed, and Mark growled into him, slapping Sören's ass, then rubbing it. Sören couldn't get over how hot Mark's face was in his ass, watching him kissing it, the sensual enjoyment visible on Mark's face, loving to give as much as Sören loved to receive.

Before Sören could come from Mark's tongue, Mark was kissing his back again, and Sören watched as Mark poured lube into him, fingers working in and out of him as Mark's kisses on his neck and back got hungrier, more insistent, Mark nibbling and nipping now.

At last Mark got on his knees behind Sören, and Sören lifted his ass a little. They both moaned as they watched the obscene sight of Mark taking him, pushing into him slowly, Sören's passage kissing Mark's cock. When Mark was buried to the hilt, they moaned again.

They put on a good performance, Mark holding Sören's hips as he slammed in and out of him, Sören's hips rocking back against Mark's. Sören loved watching Mark's body, the almost-angry look of lust on his face as he took, harder and faster. Sören loved watching himself, curls disheveled, face flushed, pupils blown wide, a wild look in his eyes, panting, in complete surrender to pleasure and hunger and desire. He looked so wanton, a far cry from the days Seth had forced him on the old bed and complained he was "a dead fish".

Mark saw it too. He grabbed a fistful of Sören's curls as he thrust harder. "Look at you. I love watching you in the throes of passion, like this."

Their moans got louder, the bed rocking against the wall as Mark drove into him and Sören gave it right back. The slap of their flesh competed with Sören's broken cries, his desperate, frenzied litany of "more, more, more, fuck me, Mark, fuck me, get it, take it, fuck me, claim me, more, Mark, more!"

Mark answered with deep grunts and growls, shuddering gasps, panting, occasional slaps at Sören's ass.

"Oh god..." Sören grabbed the covers for dear life, white-knuckled. "Oh god, oh Mark, oh god that's so good... more, more, I need this, I need it, more, don't stop, fuck me, FUCK ME!"

"Sören." Mark shivered, and let out a wordless groan. "I'm almost there, baby."

"Oh god." Sören was almost sobbing now, close to orgasm himself. "Oh god. Mark. Mark. Fuck me. Fuck me, don't you fucking stop, I need this so fucking bad, need your big fucking cock to tear my ass up..."

"Sören." Mark made a menacing growl. "Sören." His eyelashes fluttered; Sören could feel him tensing, slamming away as hard as he could.

Sören gave a high-pitched whimper, and a deeper, husky moan. "Mark. Oh god. Ohgodohgod Mark... Mark..." Sören felt himself bearing down, tension about to explode. "Right there right there right there oh fuck ohfuckohfuckohfuck -"

"Sören." Mark growled again. "Sören. Come with me." He grabbed Sören's hand and squeezed. "Come, my love."

They shouted together as they shattered, Mark collapsing onto him, panting as he trembled and twitched. Sören moaned with each contraction, his cock and ass both throbbing as the tension spiraled out of him and gave way to bliss. Sören sighed, and Mark cupped Sören's chin, the two of them breathing each other's breath just before a kiss. But before they kissed they glanced into the mirror and Sören's breath caught at the sight of them, both of them smiling with joy, looking triumphant, radiant.

Sören kissed him as hard as he could. Mark kissed him back, matching passion for passion. Enough passion that Sören's body started up again, wanting more.

Mark knew it, too. He pulled out of Sören, and pulled Sören into his arms. "Ready for round two?"

"Yes."

They kissed again, and Mark lay back, pulling Sören down with him.

When they were finished hours later, laying side by side, spent, giggling at nothing in the afterglow, Huan came into the bedroom, whining.

"Ah shit, he needs to go out," Mark said.

Sören pouted, but he understood. Mark quickly pulled on his clothes. "I'll be back in a few minutes," Mark said. Sören heard Mark get Huan's leash on the way out.

Sören lay there, dazed - the tealights had burned out already, and the nightlight glowed. He knew he needed to get up to take his night meds, but he didn't want to get out of the warm nest just yet. Or at all, his bones still feeling liquid from all the orgasms.

And then his cell phone went off.

Sören thought about getting up to answer it, wondering if it was important - someone in his family, maybe a family emergency, Sören thought with a prickle of worry. But then the deep, deep relaxation post-orgasms settled back in and Sören closed his eyes, letting the phone go to voice mail. Whoever or whatever it was, he'd deal with it tomorrow. And he'd ask Mark to bring his meds, which Mark had done many times in Sausalito.

It was nice to feel so cozy and safe in his own bed.

chapter 4 | return to Under The Rose | return to index