The morning after Sören's birthday, Mark woke up realizing this was the deepest, most restful sleep he'd enjoyed in thousands of years. He felt like a tremendous burden had been lifted from his shoulders... like missing pieces had fallen into place. Fëanor, Fingolfin, and Finarfin might be in different bodies now but it was still very much them, and the fire of their spirits had burned so brightly, so safe and warm, last night.
That delicious feeling of relief and contentment was quickly smashed to pieces by the falling weight of a new burden... the burden of truth. Mark knew Sören remembered his life as Fëanor, but he didn't know if Dooku had memories of being Fingolfin or if Anthony had Finarfin's memories. It didn't entirely matter - they were starting a new chapter in their lives, Mark had not gone there out of obligation to the past, but re-discovering them and falling in love with them all over again in the present. At the same time, the presence of those memories would be helpful if Mark accidentally dropped his glamour...
...and there was the matter of Mark's arrangement with the US government, needing to move every so often, changing not just location but identity, because of his immortality. He had found his uncles again, and sometime within the next two years he was going to have to leave Oregon. How to explain that? How to tell them that if they weren't also willing to uproot and start new lives, he would have to not merely leave them behind, but lose touch with them as the government made him disappear? How to make sense of that without revealing why, revealing his true self?
"Fuck," Mark said under his breath.
That woke up Sören, the last of the four to wake up, since he wasn't a morning person. Sören sat up with that adorably grumpy why-the-fuck-did-you-wake-me-up scowl on his face, and Mark tousled his messy curls and kissed his forehead.
"Hey babe," Mark said.
"You OK?" Sören furrowed his brow.
"Yeah." He knew, of course, that even though he'd simply muttered the word "fuck", Sören was more sensitive to the Song than most and he might as well have yelled it. For that matter, Sören seemed keenly attuned to his moods, and Sören was now raising an eyebrow at him, as if Sören didn't believe "yeah" was the correct answer to inquiring if he was OK.
Mark didn't want Sören to worry, so he smiled and said something he was genuinely happy about. "I still can't believe you told Nicolae how you feel."
"Jæja, you did tell me to tell him before the trip was over, or you would."
"I know, but that didn't guarantee you'd follow through. It seems fucking surreal that after all this time, you told him. You went there."
And then Sören smirked, sleepy brown eyes full of mischief, and Sören used ósanwe to speak into Mark's mind. ...Pation.
It took Mark a few seconds and then he figured out that Sören had finished the I see you quiver with antici- from yesterday. "Goddammit, Sören," Mark said aloud, laughing.
Sören grinned. Mark whacked Sören's ass with a pillow, and Sören shook his butt before putting on pajamas.
After breakfast, Mark asked Sören, "What do you want to do today, birthday boy?"
"My birthday was yesterday."
"I know, but we can keep celebrating." Mark wanted to spoil Sören.
"Second birthday," Anthony chimed in. "It's like second breakfast. Although, you're more elfy than hobbity."
Mark narrowed his eyes, wondering once again what, if anything, Anthony remembered.
Sören wanted to play in the snow again, but the fog was thick enough that they decided not to risk driving to Drake Park and instead opted for the yard they had right there at the cabin. Another few inches of snow had fallen last night, and it was perfect for building a snowman. Mark thought Sören, Anthony and Dooku looked adorable in their knit hats, and Sören lovingly patted one of the ear flaps of Mark's ushanka, which was practical not just for the weather but also so Mark could relax his glamour a little with his pointy ears hidden.
"I'm not sure how the artistic quality of the snowman will be with the fog," Sören said, frowning a little. "It's like pea soup."
The fog was so thick that Mark could barely see Sören, Anthony and Dooku a few feet away, like silhouettes in the swirling white mists. It was eerie, almost supernatural in nature, enough so that Mark felt a frisson down his spine, his skin gooseflesh under his layers, with the feeling like something was going on, but he didn't know what. I've probably seen too many horror movies, Mark thought to himself with a wry smile as he packed snow for the snowman.
Sören decided to forego artistic quality and just fashion a crude snowman - and a crass one, with an absurdly large penis that made Sören and Anthony howl with laughter as Dooku shook his head and rolled his eyes. Huan ran around in circles in his knit doggie sweater, yipping like he also found it funny.
When the snowman was finished, Sören and Anthony set to work constructing a snow fort. After the first wall went up, knee-high, Sören whistled at Mark. "C'mere, I have something to show you."
Mark came over - he had to get right up to see it, with the thickness of the fog - and on top of the wall was Hells the Unicorn, with the KISS action figures riding on the unicorn's back. Sören pulled out his cell phone and managed to take a few photos, including one of Mark's expression of mock annoyance.
"I can't believe you got those out here without me knowing," Mark said, and then he glanced up at another wave of fog rolling over them. "Well actually I can. I've never seen it that thick."
"That's what he said," Sören quipped, and Anthony fell over, rolling in the snow, laughing hysterically.
Mark facepalmed, trying to restrain his own laughter. He swatted Sören, who turned around and stuck out his ass. Mark swatted that too and Sören gave an exaggerated moan before he shook his ass.
"You walked into that," Anthony told Mark.
"Indeed I did. Right in the hole."
Anthony grinned. "That's what he said."
Sören doubled over, and Mark made a noise like he was in pain - he wasn't offended, though. On impulse, in the presence of his family and good, healing laughter, Mark felt a playful urge and he found himself rolling up a snowball and throwing it at Anthony, smacking Anthony in the chest. Then Mark packed a snowball and it got Sören on the shoulder.
"Oh, it's on now," Sören said, and Anthony nodded.
That was how Mark found himself on one side of the snow wall, and Sören and Anthony on the other. Sören and Anthony bombarded Mark with snowballs and Mark dove down, trying to dodge, quickly constructing more snowballs and tossing them rapid-fire. Soon Dooku joined Mark and assisted him in the snowball war - Mark never thought he'd see the day when Dooku would do something so undignified, all the more when one of Sören's snowballs hit Dooku right on the nose. The sour look on Dooku's face as the snowball fell into the snow and Dooku brushed himself off was priceless; Mark couldn't help laughing and with all the pride he could muster, Dooku quietly rolled a new snowball and tossed it in Mark's face. Mark continued to laugh through the icy sting as he took the snowball off his face and threw it back at Dooku. The snowball hit Dooku in the crotch and Dooku made a high-pitched noise. Sören fell over, wheezing.
Dooku's response was to roll up three snowballs, all for Sören - face, chest, crotch. Sören ducked just in time and put out his hand to catch the one aimed at his face, but what landed in his hand wasn't a snowball. It was a brilliant, golf ball sized orb of light, casting rainbows in the fog and snow. Mark gasped, tears burning his eyes as he saw the glowing orb in Sören's hand.
A Silmaril, Mark spoke into Sören's mind.
Dooku and Anthony watched, eyes wide, mouths open. Anthony made a strangled noise and Dooku began to shake as if he was afraid, pointing at the Silmaril with a trembling hand, trying to make words and failing. "You... you... that... you... the... that... you..." Dooku swallowed hard, silent tears rolling down his cheeks. "Er."
"Yes, er." Anthony nodded. "Very er. Much um. Such ah. Wow."
Mark started laughing. Laughing and crying. He came right over - accidentally destroying the wall in the process, since he just needed to go to Sören, not thinking about it, only feeling - and he hugged Sören tight. Sören laughed and cried with him, holding each other, rocking. Sören put the Silmaril in Mark's gloved hand. It was almost uncomfortably warm but not yet burning. Pulsing like a heartbeat. Everything was so bright. Rainbows everywhere. Mark's breath caught.
Dooku and Anthony were still watching them, haunted. Mark looked at Sören and back at Dooku and Anthony. Before Mark could say anything, Sören took a deep breath and said, "Let's go inside. I have something to show you."
Sören led the way, and Dooku was first to follow. Anthony walked alongside Mark, with Anthony carrying Hells as Mark carried in the KISS action figures. Huan trotted next to Mark, tongue lolling, tail wagging, happy as could be.
They took off their outerwear - Mark left his hat on for a reason - and then Anthony made tea while Dooku started a fire in the fireplace, and Sören rummaged around in his baggage. Once they were ready, Sören came out with the first Silmaril, which he'd found a year ago at Cannon Beach.
"You found two," Anthony said, his voice hushed.
Sören nodded. "I made three. A long time ago."
Dooku's eyebrows shot up and his jaw dropped again. Before he could say anything, Anthony's breath hitched and Anthony sat back, blinking. Now his own eyes were too bright with unshed tears. "When you say a long time ago, you mean..."
He knows something. Mark cleared his throat, and all eyes were on him. "This works better if you turn off the lights," Mark said, then he looked at the two Silmarils resting on the coffee table. "Well, I suppose you can't turn those off."
Sören chuckled, and got up to hit the lights. When he sat back down, Mark took off his ushanka and shook his head so his hair fell behind his back. As the three gentlemen on the couch watched Mark's hair fall from a little past his shoulders down to his thighs, Mark pushed his hair behind his ears to reveal the pointed tips. Then he let his glamour go entirely and Mark began to glow in the dark, like a living lamp. A fainter light than the Silmarils on the coffee table, but still burning bright.
Dooku spilled tea on himself, hands shaking as he put the cup down. He was too startled to even try to dab it up right away, sitting there with his hand over his mouth, shaking again. Anthony's jaw dropped and now the tears he'd been holding back started coming, crying in the way that reminded Mark of Catholics on pilgrimage thinking they'd witnessed a miracle. Sören put his arms around Anthony and made soothing noises.
"I served in World War One alongside a man by the name of John Ronald Reuel Tolkien," Mark said. "Years later, I came to visit him and helped flesh out details of something he'd been working on. Something from his own memories as a man named Beren, of a life he'd lived before. The Silmarillion is the history of my people, the Noldor. Not everything in canon is true, and not everything true is in canon. But it's not fiction. Enough of it is real. Enough of it really happened. I am Macalaurë Kanafinwë Fëanorion, the last of the Noldor in Middle-Earth."
"I've never read The Silmarillion," Anthony said with an apologetic smile.
"Nor have I," Dooku said. "Though I am familiar with Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit -"
Mark nodded. "The Silmarillion is a dense book, and a tragic one, so it's not uncommon for Tolkien fans to only be familiar with his more popular, and uplifting, work. In any case, here is the condensed version. My father, Fëanor, made a set of three stones. They weren't merely stones, but they possessed a piece of his soul. They burn with eternal light. In that light, there is power. There is life. The stones were stolen by an evil god named Melkor."
"Morgoth," Sören muttered. "Call that jail crow looking-ass motherfucker Morgoth -"
Mark went on, "Melkor was known for making trouble but the gods of our people, the Valar, didn't keep him on a short enough leash. Fëanor not only blamed Morgoth, but also the chief god, Manwë, for allowing this to happen. I believe that more than anything else Fëanor did, this is why Manwë cursed him. Cursed all of us. All of Fëanor's kin."
"Wait." Anthony put up a hand. He looked at Sören, then back at Mark, then back at Sören. "You said you made the stones a long time ago, but... Mark... Macalaurë... just said his father Fëanor made them."
"Yes," Mark said. "Fëanor was killed by an ambush of Balrogs - like fire demons, only far worse - and many thousands of years later, he was reborn as human. I was not looking for him, I'd given up hope of ever seeing him again, but I found him anyway."
That had been one of the most potentially difficult parts of this narrative - the incest. Mark braced himself, knowing this could end badly.
But instead, Anthony cocked his head to one side and asked, "Did Fëanor have a brother?"
"Two brothers, to be precise," Dooku said.
Mark could have leapt for joy. They remember. They know. "You already know the answer to that, I think."
Anthony started crying again, and now Dooku did as well.
"I keep having dreams," Anthony choked out. "I dreamt of you, Sören, before I met you. I thought I was just dreaming about Jon Snow but it wasn't set in Game of Thrones at all. It was different places, with different things happening. Then I saw you that day at the petrol station and you were real. Then I started dating Nicolae and we met formally, our paths crossed again."
"I also have dreams." Dooku wiped his eyes, but more tears came. "The most vivid of them are traveling with a large group of... our kind... along a frozen river, through a barren arctic wasteland. So cold. So tired. So defeated. And you, Sören, kept reaching out to me for comfort and I kept pushing you away, because I felt as if our passion, our sin, had already cursed us, with the death of our father. I thought those dreams were symbolic of denying my feelings for you but they felt so real."
"I dreamt about the frozen place too," Anthony said, "and Sören told me to go back. I had a beachside palace with a garden. And swans. He told me to renounce him publicly, to spare myself and my children. I also thought that was symbolic of not wanting to complicate everything with my own developing feelings, but..."
"But," Sören said, nodding, tearing up.
"Even as I denied you," Dooku said, touching Sören's face, looking into his eyes, "I still loved you. And I am so, so sorry for that. After what happened I... had to avenge you. I fought that evil god he mentioned. As you know, I didn't win." Dooku lowered his head. "Forgive me."
"Oh, Ñolo," Sören husked. He kissed Dooku's forehead then picked Dooku's head up. "We get to start over again, now." Sören smiled through his tears as he kissed the tip of Dooku's nose. "It's like you knew I needed a daddy, in this life."
Dooku pressed his forehead against Sören's and they rubbed noses, breathing each other's breath. Kissed each other's tears. Then their mouths crushed together, kissing with all the fire pent up over eons. Mark's cock hardened, watching them, a sight just as erotic now as it had been when they were in Elven forms. They were still so beautiful, so magnificent together, male perfection.
Anthony was male perfection too, who now leaned in to steal a kiss from Sören, then another, then another, making Mark's cock stiffen even more, throbbing. "I love you," Anthony said. "And you're not sending me away this time, dammit."
"I told you to stay put in Valinor," Sören said, giving him a playful swat. "You didn't listen."
"Nobody in this family listens," Mark laughed.
Anthony kissed Sören again, and hands began to wander, with one of Anthony's hands going right down to palm the hard bulge in Sören's jeans. Before they could get too far into foreplay for a reunion fuck, though, the words you're not sending me away this time struck a nerve in Mark. He knew that eventually he would have to tell them about who and what he was - and especially that the US government knew he wasn't human and they had a choice to make in light of that information - but he hadn't been expecting it to happen this soon. Mark knew it was probably just as well, that they lay it all out here and now before they went too much further - before they got even more deeply involved, which would hurt even more if they, understandably, decided Mark's nomadic life wasn't for them. Even so, his heart beat faster, his mouth dry, as he prepared himself to drop the bomb.
"There's something else you should know," Mark said.
Anthony pulled back. Sören took Anthony's hand and Dooku's hand in his and squeezed tight - Sören knew what Mark was about to say.
"In the 1960s and 1970s I was involved in radical civil rights activism. When I was arrested and detained, it was discovered that I'm not human. I have an arrangement with the US government. Because I don't age, and I can only do so much with using magic to mask my appearance, I have to move from place to place. Otherwise it arouses too much suspicion. So the government pays for me to relocate, and does all the work involved in making me disappear in one place and resurface in another. Post 9/11, this is a lot more complex than it used to be. What I'm getting at here is that my 'shelf life' in Oregon is about to expire. I will have to leave by or before 2020. You ought to know now that the government allows me to bring people I designate as family - partners, friends - because they understand it's better to keep me occupied and out of trouble. But if you come with me when I move, you pay the price of having to reboot your life, just like I have to reboot mine. If you don't take the full step of your death being faked, and make no mistake the government would prefer to give you a new identity, to not blow my cover... you're going to have severe restrictions on contacting anyone who isn't us. Like your parents, Anthony. All conversations will be monitored. If you're allowed to visit - and that's a big if - those visits will be supervised. Your parents will be under surveillance by MI6 for the rest of their lives to make sure our secret is kept."
"Jesus," Anthony said under his breath.
"It's a lot," Mark said, nodding. "And that's just the tip of the iceberg. There's more. Much more. Changing career once every ten years or so. Living under a new name. Making sure you keep your story straight about who you are, where you come from. Having to leave friends behind. After awhile you wonder why even bother making them if you're going to lose them. If you have to lie to them, they can never know the real you, the one under the fake name and the fake backstory. It's a hard life. It's not one I would choose for someone else. And it's not a decision I expect you to make right away. The FBI expects me to report to them by February first of next year with how many people are coming with me and where we're going, so you have a little over two months to decide. If you decide not to come along... it will hurt, but I also can't blame you."
There was a long silence. Mark knew Anthony and Dooku were processing all of that... feeling the weight of it. Dooku's eyes met Sören's and Mark knew Dooku understood what was at stake.
"Where are you thinking about going?" Anthony asked finally.
Mark shrugged. "To be honest, Sören and I haven't really discussed that much, I guess because it's such an uncomfortable subject, we've been trying to put it off to the last minute. But maybe we shouldn't keep putting it off." Mark folded his hands in his lap and looked out the window at the snow. He had first found the Helcaraxë beautiful until it turned into a living nightmare. But wintry forests were still glorious, and now would always hold the memory of when he found his family again, after so long. They had been split asunder in the winter, and put back together in the winter, full circle. "Alaska, maybe, or northern Canada."
"I've always wanted to see Alaska," Anthony said.
While that answer made Mark tingle with hope, he shook his head firmly. "Like I told you, I don't expect you to decide right now. Take time. Really think about it because once you're on this road with me, you're stuck with it, and I don't want you to end up resenting me when you're living a lie in the 'new normal' with a new alias, keeping people at an arm's length so they don't dig too deeply and so you don't get too attached and get hurt, and hurt them... because if you're stuck with me and you hate me, there's no way out. The government will do what it has to do to keep my identity under wraps, and I don't think I need to explain to you what will happen if you decide five years, ten years in this really sucks and you want out and you try to escape, or you try to contact Wikileaks or something."
"He was concerned for me, too," Sören said. "And not just for me, but... for himself. Even when we'd been together for awhile, after I got sick at the beginning of this year, it spooked him and I thought he was going to leave so he wouldn't be in the position of eventually watching me die."
"I have left other people before," Mark admitted softly. "I regretted it, but I thought it was the right thing, both for my companion and myself, to spare us both heartache. And it kills me to know you still worry about that being a possibility, Sören."
"We have to worry about it too, now," Anthony said. "That you might just take off and we'll never see or hear from you again, before we've given you an answer -"
"I won't." There was a defensive edge in Mark's voice and he hated it - he didn't want to be angry with Anthony for speaking the truth of his concerns. Especially when it was literally Anthony's job, as a lawyer, to find those structural weaknesses and probe them. Finarfin had been like that too, suspicious to a fault, impossible to bullshit. "I'll give you time to think and decide." Mark meant it. As much as it would hurt to watch them die - they might get two good decades with Dooku, he might have four or five decades with Sören and Anthony; that was hardly anything in the lifespan of an Elf, the reunion all too brief - it would hurt far worse to leave them now, after having missed them, grieved them, ached for them for so long. He could at least make this time count and savor it, the way a sunset or sunrise was no less magnificent for its ephemeral nature.
"Really." Anthony turned to Sören. "Will you vouch for him?"
Sören's eyes misted - Mark knew that Sören still had that worry, even though they were married now, even though Sören knew how seriously Mark took the concept of oaths and vows - but then Sören's lips quirked and Mark knew Sören was about to let out a real zinger; Sören coped by using humor, just as Fëanor once had. "I don't know. Maybe we should tie him up to make sure he doesn't run away."
That was not what Mark had been expecting... but it was better. His cock leapt at the suggestion. He was usually the dominant one with Sören, as he had been with Fëanor, but once in awhile they turned the tables - and it felt completely and utterly right to yield to them in perfect love and perfect trust, now that the reunion was official. To surrender, to give himself... to be claimed.
They led Mark to the bedroom, kissing and groping all the way, and once in the bedroom, the three of them undressed him, kissing, licking, nibbling and caressing exposed flesh, driving Mark mad with lust and need. Mark lay back on the bed and Sören and Anthony took turns kissing him while Dooku went across the hall; Dooku came back with two black bathrobe ties. Sören continued kissing him, cock rubbing cock, as Dooku bound one of Mark's wrists to the headboard and Anthony tied the other. When Mark's wrists were secure they had him test the bonds to make sure it was neither too loose nor too tight.
Then they fell on him, taking turns claiming his mouth. Kissing and licking him everywhere, three sets of hands sliding over his body, fingers walking, brushing. Teasing Mark's neck, his nipples, his stomach, hips, and inner thighs, behind the knee. Mark's body sang to their touch, tingling, feverish, electrified, cock so stiff and balls so tight it almost hurt. Hearing himself moan and whimper and growl, shuddery gasps for breath, as they took him deeper and deeper into sensation, exploring his body, such sweet torment of tongues and lips and fingers leaving no part of him untouched. Loving him. After so many thousands of years alone, with only pockets of comfort, he was here with his adar and uncles again, and they were breaking him so beautifully, putting him back together, their kisses and touch of fire making him whole.
"Please," Mark called out, needing relief, needing to come. Needing to pulse for them, the heart of the Song, giving back worship for worship. "Please, please..."
"Your beauty is to be savored, like fine wine," Dooku said, before kissing Mark's side just above his hip, seeming to know from old where Maglor was sensitive.
"Dammit, Uncle..." Mark's breath hitched, quivering. "Please. Please. Please..."
Anthony looked up from where he'd been kissing along the seam of Mark's crotch - maddeningly just out of reach of Mark's cock, and he raised an eyebrow. "Are you going to be a good boy and not run away from us?"
It was so strange to be called "boy" by a man only thirty-eight years old, Mark was many times that - but those green eyes were so much like Finarfin's and Mark could feel the old soul there, still looking out for him after all this time. Mark let out a little whine, cock twitching at them. "Yes. Please, please just take me, fuck me, I need..."
Anthony smirked. "I don't know. I think we have to make really, really sure. Let you see what you'll be missing if you run away from us."
Mark begging just seemed to inspire them towards more wickedness. Dooku came up and began kissing Mark, tongues sensually licking between kisses, as Anthony sucked Mark's cock ever so slowly, and Sören's tongue lightly fluttered inside him. After a few minutes they traded places, with Anthony kissing Mark's mouth, Mark tasting himself on Anthony, while Sören slowly sucked Mark's cock and Dooku's tongue teased his channel in slow, teasing strokes. Then Sören came up to kiss, lick, and bite Mark's neck, lap and suckle one nipple as he played with the other, while Dooku slowly sucked Mark's cock and Anthony's tongue rubbed slowly inside his passage. Mark writhed against the restraints, howling, panting, letting out broken cries that were almost shameful in their desperation.
"Sing for us, songbird," Sören husked, before sucking on the sweet hollow where Mark's neck and shoulder met.
"Please. Gods, Hells, please, please. Please. I need. I need you all so badly, please, please..."
Mark was so close to coming but they kept his release just out of reach. Building and building the pleasure, until at last he let out a sobbing scream of frustrated torment.
Sören licked up Mark's stomach to his heart, making Mark tingle and quiver again, cock throbbing, and then he planted a tender little kiss over Mark's heart, with a soft smile that made Mark's eyes mist. Sören gave an exaggerated sigh and untied Mark's wrists. When Mark was freed from his bounds, he flexed his wrists and arms and then put his arms around Sören's neck, pulling him into a deep, fierce kiss, wanting Sören to feel how much he was loved, cherished.
"I want all of you," Mark said, kissing Anthony, then Dooku.
"At once?" Sören asked.
Mark nodded solemnly. While the thought of getting on all fours, face down ass up, and letting them fuck him in succession - Sören, then Dooku, then Anthony with a strap-on - was a delicious idea, Mark wanted to feel all of them at the same time. He confessed the most debauched craving he had. "You and Nicolae inside me, Anthony riding me."
Sören's eyes widened and he laughed, seemingly delighted by how kinky that was - then he sobered for a moment. "Me and Nico both inside you at the same time? Double penetration? Are you sure you can take that? You're always pretty tight when I -"
"I can take it, Adar. Elves are... flexible."
Sören gigglesnorted, but he calmed down and quietly got out the lube.
Dooku lay on his back against the pillows and Mark climbed on, with Dooku's hands guiding him so he lay with his back against Dooku's chest. Sören guided Dooku's cock to Mark's channel and Sören and Anthony watched, playing with each other, as Dooku pushed in. Mark groaned at the feeling of the long, thick, veiny, slightly upcurved cock filling him, and when Dooku was all the way in his arms held Mark tight and Mark turned his face so they could kiss.
Dooku went slowly, sensually, hands caressing up and down Mark's chest and stomach as his cock teased Mark's passage. Dooku kissed Mark's neck and shoulder. Mark groaned and sighed, savoring each thrust, each touch, each kiss. It was so good. So right.
All the more when Anthony straddled his hips, and sank down on Mark's cock. The soft, wet kiss of that pussy almost undid Mark right then, and watching his cock glide in and out of Anthony, lips welcoming it again and again, intensified his pleasure, his lust, his want.
At last Sören got in place, kneeling behind Anthony. Mark felt the tip of Sören's cock at his entrance, and he took deep breaths as Sören started moving in, inch by inch. It was so tight, stretching him, but Mark could take it, and once again was almost undone when he felt Sören's cock fully joined with Dooku's inside him.
Sören took Dooku's hands as they found their rhythm, cock rubbing cock, pushing and pulling inside Mark's channel. "Oh, Ñolo, your cock feels so good on my cock," Sören breathed. Dooku groaned and squeezed Sören's hands.
The thought of Dooku's and Sören's cocks rubbing together inside his tight walls, the two of them making love to each other this way, not just him, made Mark buck his hips and cry out, almost coming. Dooku laughed softly and nipped the sensitive pointy tip of Mark's ear, and tilted Mark's head to steal a kiss, arms tightening around him, hand straying up for a thumb to rub an aching nipple.
As badly as Mark needed to come, they kept the pace maddeningly slow. So slow, Anthony rising and falling on Mark's cock, teasing Mark by clenching his inner muscles, while Dooku and Sören thrust gently, one cock dragging up and down the other, one cock rubbing his prostate, then the other, slowly, sweetly. Teasing and teasing. Mark let out ragged little howls in between Dooku's kisses. Anthony guided Mark's hands to his chest, and Mark ran his hands over Anthony's chest and stomach and thighs, enjoying the feel of the silky body hair and the steely muscles, so deliciously male. As Mark caressed Anthony's gorgeous body, drinking in the sight of him, Sören put an arm around Anthony and began kissing Anthony's neck and shoulder, making Anthony moan. Then Anthony and Sören were kissing, tongues licking between kisses, and the sight of them kissing made Mark rock his hips harder, going out of his mind with lust.
Anthony rode harder, and Sören thrust into Mark faster. A few thrusts later and Dooku was matching Sören's rhythm, Dooku's thumbs playing with Mark's nipples as they kissed and kissed; when Dooku kissed and nipped at Mark's neck, Mark watched Sören and Anthony kissing, Sören's hand joining Mark's in exploring Anthony's body, wandering, pleasuring. Sören's other arm reached around and Sören began to play with Anthony's cock. Anthony moaned into a deep kiss and bucked harder. Sören's hand worked faster on Anthony's cock, already familiar with how Anthony liked it. Mark groaned, rolling his hips, the pleasure building around his cock and on that sweet spot inside him. He was so close, so very close, but he held back just yet, needing this. Needing to connect, needing to be claimed, be theirs, after so long.
Sören took his fingers, slick with Anthony's juices, and Mark watched as Sören licked his fingers, with Anthony looking over his shoulder to see Sören enjoying the taste, and then their tongues rubbed together, Anthony tasting himself on Sören. Sören's hand worked even harder on Anthony's cock, viciously rubbing, and Anthony growled into the kiss and bounced away, frenzied. Sören's hips rocked hard, Sören's balls slapping, and now Dooku's hips were slapping against Mark's as Dooku held him tight and matched Sören thrust for thrust, ramming harder and harder. The tension and pleasure wound to breaking point and held there, Mark whimpering, grunting, making animal noises in pure animal lust, wanting them all so fiercely, utterly lost in their fuck, where nothing else mattered but glorious sex, the glory of their bodies together, sensation more and more delicious.
Sören bit Anthony's neck and Mark felt Anthony pulse around him, contracting, gushing, letting out a shuddery gasp. The pulsing on his cock set Mark off, coming with a cry. Dooku kissed him, Mark still crying out into each hungry kiss, and then Dooku was groaning, growling, as Mark felt hot seed blast inside him. Sören screamed into Anthony's mouth, trembling as he held Anthony tighter. There was so much seed flowing Mark could feel it spill right back out of him, a puddle on the sheet. Mark sighed deeply, flexing his toes involuntarily, as each throb of ecstasy sent a wave of relief through him. Relief, bliss, contentment.
He was home. Wherever he went in the world, so long as he had his family, he would be all right. It might be all too brief, but he would take it. He would treasure it. The intense, all-consuming fire of their love could give him light for eternity. Immolated in their passion, Mark felt reborn, like the phoenix on his father's back.