After the Botanical Garden, they drove out on the Ring Road to the Goðafoss. More than anywhere else in the surrounding area, it had been here that Sören escaped to when things got bad at home, the endless gush of the falls a reminder that life goes on. It felt right to bring Magni here, one wounded soul to another, and together they stood at the cliff's edge, looking out at the rushing water through the mist and rainbows, listening to the roar.
"You said you had something to show me," Sören said, thumb tenderly stroking over the burn scar on Magni's hand.
Magni gave a nod. "I do. But not here."
Sören was perplexed, but he went with it. They stayed awhile longer at the falls, soaking up the peaceful vibes, before Magni took them to the Dimmuborgir.
The lava formations looked like ancient ruins; it was thought at one time that elves or trolls had dwelled here. They spent awhile just walking around - no matter how many times Sören came here he was still impressed by it, indeed he'd painted it more than once, and it felt right to share this with Magni, too.
They walked through an arch and then Magni put a hand on Sören's shoulder. "Stay here," he said. He turned Sören around, made the gesture for Sören to wait again, and then he climbed up, back under the arch.
Sören watched as suddenly, Magni's hair grew from the middle of his back down to his thighs, and once again the pointy tips of his ears were revealed. His silver eyes glowed with an iridescent blue-gold flash like labradorite. There was a faint aura of silvery-golden light around him.
Sören felt like he couldn't breathe. Magni was the most beautiful man he'd ever laid eyes on...
...and not human.
"You're one of the huldufólk," Sören said, heart hammering in his ears, trembling. He felt himself falling to his knees, not of terror, but of awe. Those old superstitions Icelanders had about elves were real, and he was looking at one.
Sören thought of what he'd witnessed in the Botanical Garden, and remembered he'd had a vision of it weeks ago - it felt like ages, like they'd known each other forever - the first time Magni had come over to his flat. Sören's hair stood on end as he recalled the vision clearly, Magni's music making him see and feel things. That vision had come to life, today - it was as if Sören had seen into the deeper reality of Magni, even then.
Sören recalled another very vivid vision he'd had - their afternoon at Tjörnin, when Sören had sketched Magni as a sword-wielding warrior. Sören's mouth went dry; Magni had his family had made powerful enemies, worse than the mafia. Now that sounded almost supernatural in nature, a conflict far beyond the scope of mortal men.
Magni gestured for Sören to come closer, and when Sören did, climbing up beside him under the arch, Magni took Sören's hands in his. "I have to disguise myself in public for obvious reasons," Magni said. "But I wanted you to see. I thought you had a right to know, before we go any further than this."
Sören grabbed Magni, pulled him down and kissed him hard. That kiss was acceptance - Magni was Magni, and Sören thought he was magnificent - and that kiss was the closest Sören Sigurðsson had ever come to an act of worship, surrendering himself completely to awe and devotion, adoration, wanting Magni to feel Sören's joy that Magni existed, just as he was. "You're beautiful," Sören husked, and kissed him again. "You're beautiful."
Magni's eyes shone, captivating in their jewel-like brilliance. He took Sören's hands and kissed them, then gently kissed Sören's brow before he pulled Sören close. "I have to make myself look normal again, so tourists don't see this."
"OK."
A moment later the glow faded, Magni's hair was back to its usual length, and his eyes were grey. But he was still gorgeous, and Sören couldn't help laughing a little. "You still don't look normal, Magni. You look like a fucking supermodel."
Magni smirked and as they walked out of the arch, Magni began to sing in English, "I'm too sexy for my shirt, too sexy for my shirt, so sexy it hurts..."
Sören had to. "Hi Too Sexy For My Shirt Too Sexy For My Shirt So Sexy It Hurts -"
Magni facepalmed, rolled his eyes, then elbowed Sören, chuckling.
"So, ah." Sören looked around - there weren't too many tourists but there were a few, some meters away, and Sören knew they needed to be careful. "Your name isn't really Magni, is it?"
"No."
Sören had to rib him some more. "And it's not Too Sexy For My Shirt?"
Magni gave him a look. Sören stuck out his tongue. Magni gave Sören noogies and then he slapped Sören's ass before he put an arm around him. Sören's hole twitched in response. "Magni is close enough to my... elf name. Macalaurë."
"Macalaurë." The name sounded musical, which Sören thought was fitting for Magni with his gifts. "That's lovely."
"Call me Magni in public, to be on the safe side, but if you want to use my real name in private, that's fine with me," Magni said.
Sören nodded and gave Magni a squeeze. "I can't believe elves are real."
"There aren't very many of us in your world anymore. Most of them went home."
They paused and Sören looked into Magni's eyes. "What about you?"
Magni shrugged. "I can't go back to where I came from. This is my home."
That felt tragic - Sören couldn't imagine what it would be like to have to leave Iceland and never return, not even for a visit - and yet, he wanted Magni to be here with him, and felt guilty for his selfishness.
"Seems like you're my home, now," Magni said softly, leaning in to steal a little kiss as they walked through the grass on their way to where Magni parked his car.
Sören couldn't stop glancing over at Magni - Macalaurë, Sören corrected himself, wanting to make his mate as comfortable as possible. Even though Macalaurë was necessarily disguised to blend in with mortals, Sören still had the vivid mental image of what Macalaurë had looked like without the magic illusion. It seemed almost criminal that Macalaurë had to hide himself.
They went to a restaurant, and Sören's head spun at the surreality of a non-human, an elf, eating food right in front of him. Macalaurë finally kicked him under the table with an amused look.
"Sorry," Sören said. "Just... you know." He looked around at the other restaurant patrons and lowered his voice. "An elf eating chips."
"I can eat anything you can eat," Macalaurë said, and then he wrapped his lips around the bottle of ginger ale he was drinking and Sören's mind went right into the gutter, thinking about Macalaurë with a cock in his mouth. Macalaurë caught it, kicked Sören under the table again, and then his boot slid up Sören's leg, as he winked. "You're terrible."
"Thank you." Sören grinned.
The flirtatiousness in the restaurant made Sören want to go back to the hotel and maul Macalaurë, but since they would have to go back to Reykjavik in the morning and Sören's schedule probably wouldn't let him return for some months yet, they needed to get as much out of this trip as they could, and it seemed just plain wrong to visit Akureyri without taking a trip to Lake Mývatn.
Having to get naked in the required pre-springs shower did nothing to cool Sören's libido, looking across at Macalaurë's exquisite ass, and once he turned, the finely cut pecs, abs, and biceps, the generously hung cock in its thick dark bush. Sören whimpered - he could smell how aroused they both were above the sulphur of the hot shower and the soap - but he managed to behave himself as they made their way into the hot spring.
Mývatn was an especially popular tourist destination in the summer, with the sun shining all night, though Mývatn was significantly less crowded than the Blue Lagoon in Reykjavik at any given time. Sören counted fifteen other people in the lake, most of them couples, with a few individuals just here to relax. He felt a little uncomfortable, even though the lake was big enough that they were meters away from anyone else; Sören realized he felt a twinge of resentment that Macalaurë had to conceal his true nature in public.
Sören glanced over at Macalaurë, who for some reason had his eyes closed and was taking deep, measured breaths as if he was meditating. Sören could have sworn he heard distant whispered chanting, but Macalaurë wasn't saying a word.
As the moments wore on, the other tourists began to leave a few at a time, until it was just Sören and Macalaurë in the hot spring, and the attendants farther outside the lake. Sören's eyes widened and Macalaurë smiled.
Sören threw his arms around Macalaurë, giggling. "I don't know what you did," he said softly, "but thank you."
"A little magic," Macalaurë said. "I could sense your discomfort with other people around, so I thought I'd help." Macalaurë pursed his lips. "I can't always do something like this, I don't like pushing suggestions into people's minds if it's not an emergency, but I thought just this once it wouldn't hurt."
Sören kissed him, and then he pulled back slightly, his mind catching onto the first part of what Macalaurë had said. "So wait, you - said you can sense my discomfort?"
"Yes."
Sören felt his eyebrows shoot up. "You can read minds?"
"Sort of? To an extent. It's difficult to explain."
Sören felt a stab of self-consciousness, wondering what else Macalaurë had picked up on over the time they'd known each other... hoping that his anxiety and depression wasn't too "loud". You're such a downer, always sulking, his Alpha ex had scoffed. You drain the life out of a room just by being in it. Another time his ex had called him "too intense, too much". The very last thing Sören wanted was for Macalaurë to feel any of that, who had been through enough. He wanted to give Macalaurë joy, and peace, after the pain he'd known.
Macalaurë now seemed to sense Sören's worry and he kissed Sören's brow. "You're not too intense for me," he said. "You're not too much."
Sören bit his lower lip.
"Knowing what you're thinking or feeling isn't always a bad thing," Macalaurë said.
Sören needed levity to offset his worry. "I'm thinking of a number between one and seventy."
It took Macalaurë a few seconds, then he splashed Sören. Sören splashed him back, and squealed, darting away as Macalaurë lunged. Macalaurë chased him around, splashing, and Sören splashed back, harder and harder. Then Macalaurë grabbed Sören's toe and began tickling his foot as Sören thrashed around helplessly, shrieking with laughter, and at last Macalaurë pulled Sören towards him, into his arms, and took Sören's face in his hands, kissing him deeply. With no one else in the lake and the attendants distracted, Sören tucked Macalaurë's hair behind his ears, exposing the pointy tips, before he put his arms around Macalaurë, holding him tight, kissing him fiercely.
Sören moaned into the kiss as he felt his cock rise, grinding against Macalaurë's own hard erection, their tongues lapping with the promise of the rhythm of their fuck, later. Sören shivered despite the heat of the spring, his nipples aching, cock throbbing, hole twitching, feeling the slick start to drip as he breathed in Macalaurë's Alpha musk. Macalaurë's hands slid down from Sören's face over his chest, lingering to brush and rub the nipples, then down over his stomach, around to his ass and up his back. Macalaurë started kissing Sören's neck, and Sören's nails dug into Macalaurë's back, hearing himself let out a strangled little sob, desperate to feel Macalaurë inside him, taking him, knotting him, claiming him.
Macalaurë kissed him again, then traced Sören's lips with his thumb - in the fever of their lust, Macalaurë's disguise had dropped just a little bit, his grey eyes tinged with faint blue iridescence. Macalaurë blinked as if he realized what was happening and his eyes went back to grey, but lighter, like silver fire.
"I hate to cut this short," Macalaurë rasped, "but maybe we should go to the hotel now."
Sören would have let Macalaurë fuck him in the parking lot, in the back seat of the rental. Somehow they made it back to the hotel without pulling over and fucking, but the hour drive felt like hours, days; Sören was quivering when they got out of the car, his boxer-briefs and jeans soaked through the liner. As soon as they got in the hotel room they fell on each other, undressing each other as quickly as possible, leaving their clothes strewn messily by the door, kissing and caressing all the way to the bed, cock rubbing cock. Sören was the one to push Macalaurë onto the bed, climbing atop him, kissing madly, and Macalaurë's hands slid down Sören's back, teasing his sensitive spine, before he slapped Sören's ass cheeks with both hands and then grabbed Sören and rolled Sören onto his back with a growl.
"Fuck me," Sören panted. "Fuck me, now..."
Macalaurë laughed and muffled Sören's words with another kiss.
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