April 2018
"I can't believe I let you bring me here."
Sören patted his next-door neighbor, fellow professor, and best friend, Nicolae Dooku, who towered five inches above him. Though there was exasperation in Dooku's voice, his heavy-lidded dark eyes shone and crinkled at the corners, a small smile on his lips showing he was at least as amused as he was annoyed. Sören grinned at him and said, "You'll live."
"I'm not so sure of that. To paraphrase Oscar Wilde, 'Either the decor goes or I do.'"
They were waiting in line in Voodoo Doughnut on a Saturday afternoon, the line packed with Portlandians as well as tourists, even as it had been raining on and off. Dooku stuck out like a sore thumb, dapper in a charcoal grey suit with a waistcoat and pocket watch and black tie, while Sören wore a red plaid flannel shirt over a Joy Division T-shirt, faded jeans, and his usual Doc Martens boots. Sören nonetheless admired the way the silver-haired-and-bearded gentleman looked in a suit, handsome and distinguished. And Dooku's voice was also elegant - a rich baritone with a British RP accent; Dooku was from London originally and had moved to the US in the 1970s.
Sören kept stealing glances at him, in between gawping at the Pepto Bismol pink walls and the black velvet painting of Kenny Rogers. Sören thought Dooku was one of the sexiest men alive, and had one of the sexiest voices he'd ever heard. He had strong feelings for Dooku - Dooku frequently starred in his sexual fantasies - and he and Mark were in an open relationship, but Sören had yet to say anything to Dooku about those feelings. He wasn't sure of Dooku's sexual orientation, despite Dooku quoting Oscar Wilde - Dooku was very well-read, after all - and he didn't want to ruin their friendship.
They had just visited Powell's City of Books in Portland, where in addition to getting a few books for himself Sören had picked up adult coloring books, a sketchbook and colored pencils because he thought it would be therapeutic for Mark to color with him. Sören was also going to take some donuts home to share with Mark, and have a donut here in town.
The line was quite a bit long, in part because Voodoo Doughnut was a tourist attraction. Sören snapped some photos, including a couple of Dooku, one of Dooku giving him a look when he saw Sören was taking his photograph in a place like this. "You know..."
"I know." Sören loved making him make that face.
If Dooku was scandalized by the mere concept of Voodoo Doughnut, nothing could prepare him for Sören ordering the cock-and-balls donut for himself when it was their turn at the counter. Dooku went with the much more tame maple bacon donut; Sören got a dozen of those for himself and Mark.
When their order was finally ready, a couple was clearing out of a table and Sören dashed over to it and put his backpack down to claim it, hovering as Dooku carried the boxes over. They were originally planning on eating in the car - much as Dooku didn't normally allow eating in his car - because of how crowded the place was. But now they had a seat.
Sören grinned; this was absolutely perfect, and not just because he could sit across from Dooku and ogle him. Sören unzipped his backpack and Dooku raised an eyebrow as Sören took out Mark's stuffed unicorn, Hells, and Mark's set of vintage KISS action figures. Sören began to arrange them on the table.
"You're still playing that game." Dooku's eyes narrowed.
Last year, Sören had teased Mark about how his "KISS dolls" were performing all the time and never given breaks. He began to "liberate" the action figures, riding off on the back of Hells the unicorn, and sent Mark pictures of Hells and the KISS dolls in various locations. Sören took out his cell phone and snapped pictures of Hells and the KISS dolls surrounding the cock-and-balls donut, and peeking into their box of assorted donuts. Then he got up from his seat and made sure to get a picture where the pink walls and velvet painting of Kenny Rogers were clearly visible with Hells and the KISS dolls at the table.
Sören got back on the stool and sent Mark a text message with attachments. I think KISS found a Love Gun.
Sören was a few bites into his cock-and-balls donut when Mark sent a text back. Sören I swear to god
Sören gigglesnorted; he could see the look on Mark's face now.
"You are a horrible brat," Dooku told him.
"Takk." Sören cracked open his can of RC Cola and sipped it. "I try."
As Sören nibbled on his donut, he noticed Dooku was looking out the window, as if he were avoiding watching Sören eat something shaped like a cock-and-balls with cream filling. But every now and again their eyes met, and Dooku was beetroot. Sören thought about asking Dooku about his sexual orientation - a topic that had never come up one way or the other - and settling the score right then and there, but they were in a very public place and Dooku was very private.
And even when they were in private again, Sören worried that it was precisely because Dooku was so private, that he might take offense at being asked. Dooku wasn't homophobic at all, having a queer man as his best friend, but it had been Sören's experience that a lot of straight guys tended to take offense if their sexuality was called into question, no matter how many gay or bisexual friends they had.
And even if Dooku was gay, Sören didn't think Dooku would be interested in him, really. It was enough of a wonder that they were friends, as different as they were in background and personality. Sören found Dooku's quirks endearing - his excessive formality and refinement, being a bit pedantic and prone to lecturing, having a more serious demeanor. Sören knew that underneath that serious-business-all-the-time reserved nature was someone melancholy and sensitive, a kindred spirit in that regard, and Sören made it his life's mission to make Dooku laugh, even when he had to tease it out of him... especially when. Sören loved bantering with him, and he knew Dooku loved it too or wouldn't tolerate having him around. But it was one thing to have someone as a friend, and another thing to have romantic feelings. Sören doubted very much that Dooku would think of him as a suitable partner.
Even though they had been together in a past life. Sören had memories of his life as Fëanor, and the passion he had shared with his brother-lover Fingolfin. He was ninety-nine percent positive that Dooku was Fingolfin reborn. But as Maglor himself had once said, just because they were together in a past life didn't obligate them to be together now - they had to love each other for who they were now for that love to be genuine. Maglor loved Sören for who he was now, not just who he once was, and Sören loved Dooku before he realized his best friend - "brother in heart" - was Fingolfin reborn. It seemed to Sören that it was part of the curse of the Valar to dangle his beloved out of reach, that Dooku wouldn't even be attracted to men in this life, let alone attracted to him.
And that was without getting into where his other brother-lover, Finarfin, even was. One weekend last November he'd seen a man who he'd dreamed about, short black hair, green eyes, classically handsome, British. When he'd mentioned it to Mark, the suggestion had been made that the Englishman was one of Fëanor's brother-lovers. Sören was perversely amused that Finarfin had black hair this time around, when Finarfin had wanted the black hair of his brothers he idolized - and Sören had been wanting to go to Portland on the weekends when possible not just to spend time with Dooku and do things around the city but with the hope that he'd run into the man again. He didn't know the man's name, or anything about him other than English and drove an Audi, and was listening to Jamiroquai in the Audi, and had a rainbow flag bumper sticker and an Oregon license plate. He would think he was hallucinating the whole thing except Dooku had seen him too, albeit Dooku didn't know Sören had dreamed about him, and Sören had never discussed such things as past lives with him. Sören barely liked discussing it with Mark.
The cream in the cock-and-balls donut made a bit of a mess, and instead of using a napkin, Sören sucked the cream from his fingers and thumb. Dooku again kept looking away, but every now and again Dooku's eyes wandered back to him and his cheeks flushed pink. Sören hoped he hadn't made Dooku uncomfortable; it was just force of habit to savor those last bits of cream.
When Dooku was done with his maple bacon bar, Sören put Hells and the KISS dolls back in his backpack, and carried the boxes of donuts out to the trunk of Dooku's black Jaguar. Their business in Portland wasn't done yet - Dooku had suggested they go to the waterfront park if the rain let up, since the cherry blossom trees were in bloom. The rain had stopped, and Dooku drove them there now, with Sören smiling at the rainbow in the silver mists.
This was the highlight of Sören's day - the smell of petrichor in the air, the calm of the river, the pink cherry blossom trees in their ephemeral glory, knowing that already, their days were numbered with warmer weather approaching. Sören burned the scene into his mind's eye, something to capture with his paintbrush later. Walking with Dooku in the park, the romantic atmosphere made Sören ache for him even more, wishing he could stop, take Dooku into his arms, and kiss him. Tears stung his eyes, and he held them back, not wanting to disturb the peace of the walk by crying.
Tears unnumbered ye shall shed. It was hardly the most tragic thing that had happened to Sören Sigurðsson, but it felt like adding insult to injury.
One of Sören's ways of coping was humor, but it felt almost blasphemous to joke here and now. And on the drive back to Corvallis Sören was quiet, watching the greenery of spring out the window as Dooku listened to classical music. It was one of those companionable silences that felt wrong to intrude on.
As they got closer to Corvallis, Dooku turned to Sören and said, "You may select the music now if you like."
Sören couldn't resist trolling him and put on the R&B station. A song by Snoop Dogg came on and Sören began singing along, "La-da-da-da-dahh | It's the motherfuckin D-O-double-G (SNOOP DOGG!)"
"Brat," Dooku said.
"You love it." Sören reached out to give him a squeeze.
Dooku shook his head, chuckling. "We make such an unlikely pair of friends, don't we? It's still surprising that we even are friends - as you know, we didn't like each other at all, at first. I used to hear you coming a mile away, driving in with your rap music full blast, bass shaking the entire street. Which I swore back then you were doing purposely to annoy me. And the days you would play it at home -"
"That time we had the music war with 'Inna Gadda Da Vida' versus Snoop Dogg, for the entire block to hear." Sören's laughter rang out. "I remember."
"I'm surprised we didn't kill each other."
"Well, I'm glad we didn't." Sören bit his lower lip and crinkled his nose. "I like to think I'm more considerate now, too. I was going through a bit of a rough patch then. Very angry all the time."
"Yes, that Seth character..." There was a predatory look on Dooku's face, one that made Sören's cock stir. "Putting the fear of God into that filth was one of the more satisfying moments of my life."
"Jæja, let's not talk about my asshole ex right now." Seth was the reason why Sören had gotten in the car accident. Not only did Sören not want to revisit the hell that was his relationship with Seth, he didn't want to get aroused thinking about Dooku beating Seth within an inch of his life after the accident.
Dooku took one hand off the wheel and patted Sören's shoulder, and Sören took his hand and squeezed, Sören's stomach doing flip-flops again, a frisson down his spine at feeling Dooku's touch.
Sören needed a moment of levity. He turned up the music as the next song came on, "99 Problems" by Jay-Z. "I got 99 problems but a bitch ain't one," Sören rapped along, then he quipped, "And by a bitch, I mean Seth."
"Indeed." Dooku rolled his eyes. "I have 99 problems and all of them are my best friend's taste in what you call music."
"Oh, Nico, please." Sören snorted.
"I suppose it's better than that infernal 'Hotline Bling' song that you have as your ringtone for me." Sören had set that up as Dooku's ringtone after he complained about the song once when it was playing while they were at a sandwich shop. "Nothing is worse than that."
"Oh..." Sören felt puckish, definitely needing a distraction from the thoughts of Seth. "There's definitely worse things than that."
"No. No there is not." Dooku began to drive.
Sören turned down the music, got out his phone, pulled up YouTube, and a video of a song he'd heard his students listening to.
Gucci gang, Gucci gang, Gucci gang, Gucci gang, Gucci gang, Gucci gang, Gucci gang (Gucci gang!)
Spend three racks on a new chain
My bitch love do cocaine
I fuck a bitch, I forgot her name
I can't buy a bitch no wedding ring
Rather go and buy Balmains
Gucci gang, Gucci gang, Gucci gang (Gucci gang!)
Gucci gang, Gucci gang, Gucci gang, Gucci gang, Gucci gang, Gucci gang, Gucci gang (Gucci gang!)
The look on Dooku's face was priceless. Sören shook with silent laughter, his face and sides hurting.
"What," Dooku said, "is. That."
"That," Sören said, "is Lil Pump."
"Little... Pump."
"No, not Little Pump. Lil Pump."
Dooku pinched the bridge of his nose. "I can't understand anything he's saying other than 'Gucci Gang.'"
"That's why it's called mumble rap."
"Mumble... rap..." Dooku closed his eyes for a few seconds and then refocused on the road, looking like he was in pain. "That's an insult to mumbling. That would imply he can speak words. His mother is likely waiting on his first word."
Sören loved it. He howled and clapped.
"Yeah, that's what the zoomers are into now. Makes me, a millennial, feel ancient." Sören rolled his eyes.
"Oh, thank you." Dooku also rolled his eyes. "I wonder if the kids these days even remember the music of my youth. Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix..."
"Well, I do." Sören patted his arm and wished he hadn't, the touch like a live wire. "My mamma raised me on that and Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, ELO... before she died, anyway." Sören sighed. It still hurt, all these decades later.
"I can hardly imagine the youth of these days raising their children on this... this... mumble rap." Dooku cringed. "If climate change doesn't destroy civilization, this will."
"I told you there were worse things than 'Hotline Bling'."
"I'm beginning to think you're a bit of a sadist."
"No, I'm usually on the receiving end of pain." Then Sören realized he'd blurted that out without thinking about it, and he clapped his hand over his mouth, face on fire.
Dooku turned beetroot and cleared his throat. "Er."
"Sorry, that was TMI."
"Well..." Dooku's lips quirked. "At least it wasn't 'Gucci Gang.'"
Sören felt downright evil now. "That's your new ringtone." He searched for the ringtone on his app for ringtones.
"No. You shan't."
Sören grinned as he downloaded the ringtone.
"You are a little shit," Dooku told Sören after he installed the "Gucci Gang" ringtone.
"Takk."
"But you're my little shit, I suppose." Dooku rolled his eyes.
I'm yours if you want me, Nico. But Sören didn't say it, couldn't say it. He'd lost too much in his life already, he didn't want to potentially lose Dooku too.