On the night of Saturday, June second, Dooku had been invited to have dinner with Sören and Mark. In the last almost-year since Sören had returned from his vacation in California to announce he and Professor Lauer were now dating - much to Dooku's chagrin, who had been planning on telling Sören of his feelings for him when Sören got back from vacation - he had been invited to do things with both of them a handful of times, and he accepted. But as gracious as it was for Mark to want to be welcoming to the man Sören considered his best friend, and as much as Dooku enjoyed spending time with Sören, it was nonetheless painful, feeling like a bit of a third wheel... seeing the obvious love and desire between the two of them, feeling the sharp sting of what he could not have, dangled just out of his reach.
Dooku still managed to be gracious in return. He'd made a nice big Greek salad to bring to Sören's as an appetizer. Sören's face lit up when he answered the door and saw the bowl of salad. That smile always made Dooku's heart skip a beat, feeling giddy like a stupid lovesick teenager. Those sweet brown eyes...
"Oh, takk!" Sören bit his lower lip. "You didn't have to make anything, you know, you're our guest, but it's appreciated just the same. It looks delicious."
So do you. Even dressed down in a T-shirt and jeans, Sören had a certain presence to him that made Dooku watch his every move. He tried not to stare as Sören turned around, the jeans hugging his shapely ass just right. He tried not to think about what Sören's ass would look like bare. What Sören's ass would look like thrust out at him, on his hands and knees, begging Dooku to take it...
Get a hold of yourself, you dirty old man. Dooku followed Sören inside. Mark was in the kitchen and called out "Hey," from inside. Sören took the salad to the table and then he brought out fresh lemonade for Dooku, who sat on the couch. Sören's tuxedo cat Snúður came out to say hello, and Dooku spent a moment fussing over the cat.
"I'm making parmesan-encrusted chicken," Mark informed Dooku, sticking his head out from the kitchen.
"That sounds lovely. Thank you."
"OK, good. That salad looks great, by the way. If you ever retire from teaching, you should open a restaurant."
Dooku chuckled. He noticed the way Mark phrased it - "if" - as if Mark understood teaching was a full-time calling and, though Dooku would be turning seventy in December, one that he planned on upholding until he couldn't anymore. He took care of himself, so hopefully he had at least another good decade left - he'd just been to the gym that morning.
Mark went back to the kitchen. The cat crawled onto Sören's lap and Sören stroked and skritched him, talking in Icelandic baby talk, which made Dooku smile. It seemed to Dooku that Sören would make a good father, and he wondered if Sören and Mark were ever going to adopt. But then, that implied a rather permanent sort of commitment, and that thought hurt, even as Dooku wanted to be happy for Sören, especially after the disaster that was Seth - he wanted Sören to be with someone who was good to him, and it seemed that Mark certainly was. It was just that Dooku wished it was him.
And looking at Mark, tall and beautiful, with that luscious mane of hair, those intense eyes, Dooku found himself wanting both of them, which seemed even more unrealistic than winning Sören's heart alone.
"Nico," Sören said finally, "as you know, you don't like small talk, so... I'll cut to the chase. We don't need an excuse to invite you to dinner, we like having you, but we did want to make an announcement."
That sounded vaguely ominous. Dooku braced himself.
Sören gave him a mischievous grin. "You know how you think 'Gucci Gang' is the most horrible song of all time? I found something even worse." Before Dooku could protest, Sören took out his phone and a group began to sing, "Hard to see, ooh | The hang ups we have today | Said we need to strive for more liberty | Lift yourself upon your feet, let's get it on." Then there was a thumping beat with an obnoxious autotuned chirp.
"OH NO, NOT THAT SONG." Mark winced like he was in pain. "I CAN'T EVEN CALL THAT A SONG, THAT'S AN INSULT TO MUSIC. HELLS."
It was already pretty bad; Dooku had a feeling it was going to get worse.
Kanye West began to rap:
Poopy-di scoop
Scoop-diddy-whoop
Whoop-di-scoop-di-poop
Poop-di-scoopty
Scoopty-whoop
Whoopity-scoop, whoop-poop
Poop-diddy, whoop-scoop
Poop, poop
Scoop-diddy-whoop
Whoop-diddy-scoop
Whoop-diddy-scoop, poop
Dooku sat there with his mouth open, not able to believe what he just heard. It was like the sonic equivalent of witnessing a trainwreck. When he was able to make words again, he said, "Did he... did he... say... poopy-di scoop." He couldn't believe he was speaking the words aloud.
Sören nodded, grinning through tears of laughter.
"I..." Dooku pinched the bridge of his nose. "I." He couldn't make any more words.
Mark came out, patted Dooku's shoulder - his touch made Dooku's body tingle, cock stirring in his trousers - and Mark handed him a frosty cold Dos Equis. Dooku wasn't much of a beer drinker, he preferred wine, but he wasn't driving, being that Sören lived right next door, and right about now alcohol was needed.
Mark sat on the other side of Dooku on the couch, with a Dos Equis for himself. Sören sipped his lemonade, and Dooku was reminded Sören was a light drinker because of the medication he was on. The cat came over to Mark, and Mark held the cat like a baby, petting, the cat purring louder. It was like a splash of holy water after a demon visitation.
Sören was still shaking with silent laughter, tearing up. "Your face." Sören's laughter was no longer silent, bubbling out in giggles. "Your. Face. Oh my god."
It said something about the depth and intensity of Dooku's feelings for Sören that even after that horror, Dooku was still in love with him. He cursed himself internally. "Sören, that was terrible, even for you."
"I try." Sören took a small bow and leaned back in his seat.
"That was cruel and unusual punishment," Mark said, giving him a stern look, though his eyes were smiling. "I'm going to call the Hague and have you tried for war crimes."
Sören crinkled his nose. "Hi Going To Call The Hague And Have -"
Mark buried his face in his hands and made noises. The cat meowed with protest, and Mark chuckled and resumed petting and skritching. The cat wrapped his paws around Mark's wrist like he owned him, giving a gentle love nibble.
"Besides..." Sören cocked his head to one side. "There might be a parallel universe out there somewhere where, like, you inspired that song, somehow."
Mark gave Sören another look. "Don't even joke like that."
"I'm just saying."
The thought of them existing in other universes was intriguing and disturbing. Dooku had a feeling if that was true, Sören was probably a troll in all of them. And I'm probably hopelessly in love with him in all of them. Dooku sighed and sipped his Dos Equis.
"Your announcement wasn't really about that Kanye West abomination, was it?" Dooku hated that he recognized it was Kanye.
"No." Sören shook his head. He put his lemonade down. "OK." He looked at Mark, then back at Dooku. "Mark asked me to marry him over Memorial Day weekend, and I accepted."
Dooku tried to smile. "Congratulations." He felt like his heart had turned to lead and was sinking down, down, down, down, into a crevasse made of ice. Shit. He truly, truly wanted to be happy for Sören, but he felt like any last lingering chance he had was blowing away on the wind, blowing into ash.
"You're not just invited, but... Mark and I were talking, and we'd like you to be the best man."
That wasn't an unreasonable request; Sören was his best friend, after all. "Of course. When is the date?"
"July twentieth, which falls on a Friday." Sören glanced over at Mark, eyes soft. "That's our one-year anniversary."
Dooku tried not to think about what it must have been like for Sören and Mark to make love for the first time; the thought was delectable and excruciating all at once.
"We'll have formal invitations printed out soon," Mark said. "We're inviting some of the other professors, and Sören's family, a couple of Sören's friends."
"But we wanted to tell you first," Sören said, "not just have the news sprung on you with an invitation. Especially with asking you to be the best man."
"I'm honored." Dooku was already dreading it, knowing he was going to have to keep his composure very tight indeed as he watched Sören walk down the aisle, into the arms of another man. "Oh... where is the wedding?"
"That's the other thing we thought was better to tell you in person. We're getting married at Voodoo Doughnut. Dress code is casual."
Dooku blinked. He realized he shouldn't be surprised by this - it was a very Sören thing to do - but he still found himself reeling anyway. "You... you are getting married at Voodoo Doughnut."
"Jæja. They do weddings there."
"It was his idea," Mark said, pointing to Sören.
"I'd got that," Dooku said. Then he narrowed his eyes. "When you say casual dress... are you getting married in jeans."
"No." Sören laughed. "Though that idea doesn't offend me."
"Casual dress for the guests. We'll... be less casual," Mark assured him.
"I'm not wearing a tuxedo, though." Sören made a face. "Hell no."
"I assume you won't totally be breaking with tradition and will have a proper honeymoon." And lots of sex. Dooku decided to be charitable. "Do you need me to watch the animals?"
"No, we're going to take them with us in the car, but thank you for offering," Mark said.
"But if you want to be helpful..." Sören took a deep breath. "I could use an extra pair of hands helping me move my stuff over to Mark's place."
"Oh, so you... you're moving in with him?" Dooku knew he shouldn't be surprised by that, either - Mark had the larger of the two houses, he'd been there for dinner before. But that final blow hit him harder than the news of the wedding itself. After years of Sören being next door, which made it convenient to continue to spend lots of time with him, Sören would be moving to the other side of Corvallis. Time would tell if Dooku and Sören would continue to spend as much time together, or if Sören would begin fading from his life. As much as he ached and each visit made that pining worse, the thought of losing Sören's friendship was unbearable.
"Yeah, I gave the landlord notice so I'll be out by the end of the month."
Dooku tried not to sigh. "I'd be happy to help."
"Takk." Their eyes met, and held. "We'll have to start scheduling when we hang out, but... you'll be a piece of furniture at the house, too." Sören flashed him that grin again. Then he got more serious. "Don't worry, I won't be one of those married people who only ever spends time with their spouse."
Dooku appreciated that Sören was trying to be reassuring about still making time for him - Dooku wondered if Sören had any idea how deep the fear of abandonment ran, how much he was truly cared for. "The two of you are always welcome at my home, as well." And in my bed. But he knew that would never happen.
"Jæja, definitely want to come over... see the kitty." Sören smirked. "Play you new Kanye West songs."
"Dear god." Yes, I am completely hopeless.
"See, you're not getting rid of me so easily."
Dooku gave a tight smile before he nursed his beer some more.
_
When Dooku returned to his own house later that evening, he found himself opening a bottle of wine and having a glass. What was meant to be one glass to take the edge off turned into two, and three, and four, and then the entire damn bottle. Dooku sat there, drinking, crying, feeling like a piece of his heart was cut out. Sören was going, going, gone.
He hadn't drank like this since the day Sören had told him about the relationship with Mark; as a rule, Dooku was a moderate drinker - wine was to be tasted, savored, harder to do in excess. But here he was again, almost a year later, getting drunk because his hopes of a future with Sören were smashed, harder this time. At least last time the relationship had been new enough that there had been the tiniest chance it wouldn't work out and he could pick up the broken pieces. Now...
Dooku drank enough that it made him sleepy, and when he climbed into bed, he continued to weep bitterly, crying himself to sleep. After he'd been asleep for a couple of hours he was woken up by a shout from next door, Sören's voice crying out "oh, FUCK!"
Dooku's eyes opened, feeling a surge of alarm - but he quickly figured out what was going on when he heard Sören yelling "more, more, oh fuck, like that, just like that, MORE..."
Dooku's cock hardened up right away. His cock throbbed as heard a deep grunt that sounded like it came from Mark. There was a slamming sound like a bed rocking against the wall. Sören was making wordless broken cries now, followed by Mark's deeper groans.
They did try to keep it down when Mark slept over - Dooku had remarked on the noise once, months ago - but they didn't always succeed. They definitely were not succeeding tonight. Sören's cries of "Mark, Mark, fuck me, fuck me, oh god, fuck me, harder," made Dooku painfully hard, his cock leaking precum without even touching himself. He could just see it in his head, their beautiful bodies together, Mark thrusting in and out of Sören as Sören stroked his cock, face in ecstasy...
He took himself in hand, jerking his cock hard and fast. He was so ashamed of this, listening to them, getting aroused, but god, he wanted. He wished he was there with them, sucking Sören's cock as Mark fucked him. Or perhaps fucking Mark as Mark fucked Sören, commanding him to fuck Sören harder, grabbing that lovely hair, pulling... perhaps eating Mark's seed out of him before taking Sören himself, open and ready, giving him a more slow, sensual, languid fuck as Mark watched them, stroking himself like Dooku was pleasuring himself now.
Mark's groans and grunts got louder, Sören's cries more high-pitched, and at last Sören made one long deep growl that rose into a howl, primal, animal. Dooku felt himself fly off that edge, spilling all over his hand at the thought of Sören in the throes of climax, and he and Mark both cried out "Sören!" together.
"Káno," Sören called out. "Kanafinwë..."
Dooku's eyebrows shot up. Was Sören trying to say Kanye to troll Mark? Was he that much of a troll to cry out Kanye West's name in bed? (Yes, Dooku thought to himself, yes he bloody is.) Or was Kanye their safeword? Dooku couldn't even believe his mind was suggesting they got up to BDSM activities - he couldn't believe he even knew about BDSM - but there it was. Sören was mangling Kanye's name. Except... that didn't seem right. There was something vaguely familiar about the name Kanafinwë, besides its resemblance to Kanye, but only just so. Dooku couldn't put his finger on it, why that name sounded familiar.
That bothered him. But what bothered him even more was the mess of his cum, the evidence that he'd had an orgasm fantasizing about Sören... and Mark... again. This was hardly the first time he'd masturbated to them, but he wished this could be the last time. He had never felt so pathetic as he did tonight.
"Poopy-di scoop," Dooku drunkenly muttered as he cleaned himself up, then rolled over to go back to sleep.
_
December 2022 note: I wrote this chapter long before Kanye West began to express antisemitic views, Holocaust denialism, and praise of H*tler publicly. I do not have the spoons to edit the chapter at this time, but I felt it necessary to make a disclaimer that I do not agree with Kanye West's views at all, I do not stand for antisemitism, N*ZIS FUCK OFF.