It's a rainy Saturday afternoon and the shop has been slower than usual today, enough that it's making Anthony tense and fidgety, worrying about business expenses... rent... bills. He doesn't want to have to cut Mark's pay or reduce his hours - he already feels bad enough Mark is working for less than minimum wage - and he tells himself to stop catastrophizing, that one slow day isn't going to hurt them that much. But it still weighs heavily on his mind, and he finds himself pacing around the store, putting away misplaced books, organizing and straightening shelves, dusting.
He gets caught up enough in wandering the shop tidying up that when he sees the big burly guy waiting at the cash register up front, he panics a little, hoping the guy wasn't there too long, getting impatient and pissed off. The panic grows as he says, "Hello, sorry to keep you waiting," and is met with a surly expression.
Anthony takes a moment to study the guy, a force of habit from his lawyer days. The guy is clean-shaven, with a square jaw, light blue eyes and a rugged, ruddy face, Anthony guesses forties or early fifties, and the guy is dressed in jeans and a red plaid flannel shirt worn open over a black T-shirt with a bald eagle flying in front of the American flag... and there's a red MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN hat on his head.
Anthony swallows hard at the hat - now all the alarm bells are going off in his head. Maine is a pretty liberal state - it's why he chose to move here from New York - but there are pockets of conservatives, especially in a small town like Bentham. And even though Biden won, plenty of Trumpers believe that was illegitimate and are stirred up like never before. Someone wearing a MAGA hat in October 2021 tells Anthony a lot about them, and that story can be summed up in a single word.
Danger.
Nonetheless, Anthony doesn't want to lose business on a slow day, so he forces himself to be polite to MAGA Guy. "Sorry again," Anthony says as he steps up to the counter. "Can I help you with anything? Are you looking for anything in particular?"
"I'm here to buy some books for my daughter's birthday," MAGA Guy explains, and adds. "Her mom thinks we should encourage her to read." He sneers.
Something about that is very off-putting to Anthony - like MAGA Guy thinks girls shouldn't read books - but he manages to keep composed, even though his anxiety levels are going up and up and up. "All right. How old is your daughter? Does she have any favorites?"
"She's thirteen and she likes stuff with magic. Like the Narnia books."
Anthony racks his brain for what would be age-appropriate. He leads MAGA Guy into the shop and tries to sell him on the virtues of A Wizard Of Earthsea by Ursula K. Le Guin - Anthony's own favorite author - or Garth Nix's Abhorsen series. Or Tamara Pierce's books about Alanna of Trebond, or Diana Wynne Jones's series Howl's Moving Castle. But finally MAGA Guy says, "You got any Harry Potter? Her mom is a big fan but lost all her books last time we moved."
Anthony takes a deep breath. He wants to lie and say no, but a few paces down there is a small display of used Harry Potter books, with a laminated sign Sören printed up that says: ALL PROCEEDS FROM ANY JK ROWLING TITLES WILL BE DONATED DIRECTLY TO THE TRANSGENDER LEGAL DEFENSE AND EDUCATION FUND. Anthony had not wanted to carry the books at all after statements Rowling made - he had been a big Harry Potter fan for years, and knowing the author hates people like him put a bitter taste in his mouth - but after recently receiving a couple boxes of used Harry Potter hardcover and paperback books with a dropoff of other used books, Sören had convinced him to keep the books and do something good with the money.
Sure enough, MAGA Guy finds the display, stops in his tracks, and makes a low "Hm."
Oh shit. Anthony's heart hammers in his ears. Here we go.
"Yanno..." MAGA Guy turns around and glares at him again. "I don't like fags or trannies."
"That was rather obvious from your attire," Anthony says. He clears his throat and straightens his shoulders. He needs business but not that badly. His blood is starting to boil, and his voice drops to a soft, icy monotone. "Please leave my store."
"What?"
"You heard me. Go find young adult books somewhere else, there's a Barnes and Noble in town."
At five-ten Anthony is tall for an AFAB person but MAGA Guy still has a few inches on him... and arms like pythons. Anthony stands his ground, locking eyes with MAGA Guy.
Then MAGA Guy sneers and takes a step closer. And another. "You some kind of fag? Or tranny? Or tranny fag?" MAGA Guy looks him up and down and laughs, and Anthony knows he's been clocked. "You are, ain'tcha?"
And I'm still more of a man than you, you pathetic, Trump-loving slime. Anthony's brogues dig into the carpet. "LEAVE. MY. STORE. NOW."
"You gonna make me?" MAGA Guy struts up to the Harry Potter display, and then he picks out one of the hardcover books, and throws it at Anthony. Anthony ducks but the book still gets him in the shoulder. Then MAGA Guy throws more books at him and Anthony has to duck and dodge again, and again.
"STOP THAT RIGHT NOW OR I'M CALLING THE FUCKING POLICE." Anthony hates cops and would rather not have them show up at his store, but he doesn't know what else to do. He takes a few steps forward, even though he knows he might not be able to hold his own against this guy in a fight - but he's in full fight-or-flight mode now, and the instinct is to fight - and then MAGA Guy picks up the shelf unit the Harry Potter books are on, shakes the books onto the floor, and is poised to throw the entire shelf at him.
Mark and Sören are right there, marching towards him. Sören's sleeves are rolled up and he quickly puts up his curls in a man bun. "HEY! ASSHOLE!" Sören yells, looking ready to kill, like a Viking berserker.
MAGA Guy throws the shelf and Sören wrestles Anthony down to the floor, getting Anthony out of the path just in time. Mark runs right up to MAGA Guy, decks him hard enough to drop him, and once MAGA Guy is on the floor, Mark's steel-toed boot comes down on MAGA Guy's balls. MAGA Guy squeals like a little girl and Mark stomps on his balls again.
Mark's grey eyes meet Anthony's and a frisson goes through Anthony at the fire in those eyes. Mark was Special Forces, Anthony thinks to himself, remembering Mark's frightening accuracy with bowling and skee ball, the admission he had been a sniper in the Canadian Armed Forces. Anthony wonders how many people Mark's killed. He bets it's more than one.
In these moments Mark is terrifying to behold - like a predator in the wild...
...and beautiful. Anthony feels like he can't breathe, and it's not from the weight of Sören atop him.
MAGA Guy crawls away slowly. He's crying now. When he manages to get up, he points at them with a shaking finger. "I'm gonna call the cops on you!"
"Do it," Anthony jeers. "Everything's on camera. It'll be obvious we acted in self-defense... and just so you know, hate crimes carry a sentence of up to 364 days incarceration and a two thousand dollar fine, here in the state of Maine." Anthony smiles and makes fingerguns. "Hope you have a good lawyer."
MAGA Guy lets out a little sob of defeat and then he limps out of the store; Anthony, Sören and Mark follow behind to make sure MAGA Guy is actually leaving. Anthony considers calling the police, but he decides to let the guy go, not wanting the hassle of dealing with the police. Maybe he'll think twice next time before he decides to start shit with LGBT people, having gotten his ass thoroughly kicked.
When MAGA Guy is gone, Sören puts up the CLOSED sign and locks the door. "Elskan," Sören says, and hugs Anthony tight.
Mark hugs both of them. "Thank you," Anthony says, comforted by the two sets of arms... and still shaken. He feels the sickening drop in adrenaline and he is suddenly very, very cold and nauseated.
Mark glances out the glass door and windows with a wary expression, then his brow furrows as he looks back at Sören and Anthony. "You think Asshole is going to call the police?"
"Probably not," Anthony says. "I really wasn't bluffing about the security cameras, though I rarely check footage. It's there more as a deterrent, if people see the glowing red eye they're less likely to steal which means we're less likely to lose money."
Mark's question still raises some concern and Anthony hopes he's right, for all their sakes - a situation with the police could get very, very ugly with Mark being an undocumented immigrant, AWOL from the service in Canada.
For a brief instant their eyes lock again and it seems to Anthony that Mark's silver eyes flash blue-gold like labradorite - and then the illusion stops. Anthony tells himself that he hallucinated for a few seconds because of stress...
...and noticing, again, how beautiful Mark is. How absolutely gorgeous Mark was in battle frenzy...
Anthony's face burns and he looks away. He takes a deep breath, staring at the CLOSED sign, then he looks at Sören, all worried brown eyes. "Do you really think it's necessary to close the shop?"
"At least for an hour or two, so we can all, ah." Sören makes a vague hand gesture; his accent is heavier which suggests it's harder for him to translate his thoughts into English under stress. "Recuperate."
Anthony can't help a little smile at the rolled r's. He tousles Sören's curls. "You look cute in your bun."
"No, I don't." Sören makes a face, takes his curls out of the man bun, and shakes them loose, tumbling down to his shoulders. Sören does look cuter with his hair down, but Anthony's compliment about the bun was sincere.
Anthony boops Sören's nose. "Thank you for shielding me with your body." He chokes up a little, knowing how things could have ended far, far worse. Sören could have gotten seriously injured for him -
Sören just hugs him again, tighter. "Ég elska þig, ástin mín."
Anthony leans against Sören and sighs. He loves his husband so much. He knows Sören would die for him, and that kind of love is almost frightening in its intensity, like being loved by a living supernova. And Anthony, like a moth, is drawn to the flame. Anthony finds himself remembering a line of poetry from Henry Rollins. I want you bad like a natural disaster.
As Mark walks away and begins to pick up the shelf display and the Harry Potter books strewn across the floor - carrying on like the soldier he was, the rage contained but still showing in his tense body language - Anthony feels a fierce, tight ache in his chest.
Mark is a natural disaster too.
For the next couple hours afterward, while the CLOSED sign hangs on the door of the shop, Anthony tries to relax. Sören makes him a veggie sub sandwich, toasted, and then Anthony plays Tetris on his phone for awhile, as he had been advised to do when triggered. Anthony finally calms down enough that they re-open the shop.
Anthony is managing until he has his back turned and a customer comes up behind him. Anthony jumps with a gasp, and though he quickly composes himself and is able to help the customer and make a sale, he's still rattled... and he can tell his startle response weirded the customer out.
Anthony rushes to the bathroom, face on fire, humiliated. The startle of having someone come up behind him brings back memories of leaving the cafe in New York City, on his way to his car, and getting tackled and stabbed in the parking lot. He runs the cold water, puts his hands under the water and splashes water on his face, trying to ground himself, taking deep breaths. Trying to bring himself back to the present -
The bathroom door opens and Anthony jumps again, this time with a little cry. It's just Mark. Anthony realizes in his haste to duck into the bathroom, he forgot to lock the door behind him. "Sorry," Mark says, and takes a step back, but before he can leave, Anthony hears himself exhale, and his eyes meet Mark's in the bathroom mirror.
Mark lingers. "Are you OK?"
"No."
"...Flashback?"
Anthony nods.
Mark comes in, the door swinging shut, and he quickly takes Anthony in his arms. Anthony leans on him, allowing himself to be comforted by the strength of those arms, the lean, wiry power of Mark's soldier's body. Mark's arms tighten around him and he starts rocking Anthony a little. "It's OK," Mark says softly. "It's OK. It's all right."
Anthony looks into those silver eyes and his cheeks flush again - this time not with the embarrassment of having a panic attack, but with another frisson through him, noticing how beautiful Mark is... how good it feels to be held by him.
His mind's eye replays the scene of Mark kicking MAGA Guy's ass, and as unpleasant as that encounter was, Anthony feels the stirring of arousal as he recalls the fire of Mark's fury, a modern-day warrior. He's acutely aware of the feel of Mark's body against his and he wonders what Mark is like as a lover. His mind's eye follows the memory of the brief violence in his shop, with a fantasy of wrestling Mark for dominance, while Sören watches tied up, to be fucked by whoever wins. The thought of Sören's animalistic passion unleashed with Mark's...
Anthony shudders. He pulls back a little, recoiling like he's been static shocked. He can feel himself getting hard and wet, heart racing, mouth dry, fighting off the urge to step back over to Mark and kiss him.
Even if Sören was fine with the idea of having a threesome with this guy, Mark might feel taken advantage of, like he's expected to be some sort of sex slave to earn his keep. Anthony swallows hard. If Mark is interested at all. Anthony knows Mark is bi, but he doesn't know if that being into men includes trans men as well as cis men - Anthony has known other trans people who only want to date and fuck cis people, after all.
It feels like opening a big can of worms, and Anthony desperately tries to put the lid back on the can. But as the day wears on, he keeps noticing Mark, getting flustered and giddy like a teenager with a crush... like his first few weeks and months with Sören.
Despite Anthony's arousal and sexual frustration, he's exhausted by the time he and Sören go to bed, feeling completely wrung out by the attack at the shop and the subsequent flashbacks of the stabbing and the startle panic. He starts to wonder if he's cut out for working with the public - it feels like a part of himself is still there in that parking lot in New York City - and maybe he should close the shop and try to find something else to do with his life, like work from home for an insurance company. That thought bothers him, it feels like defeat - indeed, it feels like defeat to even be thinking this way at all, never mind planning it - but the thought of going back to the shop as usual tomorrow for another round of panic attacks makes him feel sick to his stomach.
Sören is as always very understanding. "I like holding you," Sören says, snuggling him. Anthony smiles at his husband and lets himself melt into the safe, cozy warmth.
"I love you," Anthony says, meaning it like never before. Sören shielded him with his body in the shop... and now Sören's body is a living shield wall all over again, his fortress, his refuge.
"I love you." Sören pulls Anthony's head onto his shoulder and pets Anthony's hair, rubs Anthony's back.
Sören falls asleep before Anthony does, and in the darkness Anthony lays there, once again feeling concerns about the future of the shop, between the slowness on a Saturday and the anxiety about people. He logically tells himself he has a greater chance of being struck by lightning than being stabbed again, or being the victim of another hate crime. And yet he knows he came very close to that today - that even here in a small town in Maine, where nothing really ever happens, it's possible.
Anthony feels like he's made of lead. But at last, seeming to sense his distress, Seamus comes over, flops on them, and kneads, purring until Anthony falls asleep.
Anthony wakes up to the feel of Sören's lips peppering his face with kisses, and the sound of rain. He smiles as he opens his eyes, and sighs happily at those sweet brown eyes looking at him with so much love.
"Hey," Anthony says. He looks at the clock - the alarm isn't set to go off for another hour and a half. He winces as he stretches and feels his joints pop, the beginning of arthritis. Getting old.
"Hi." Sören kisses the tip of his nose.
"You're up! And you hate mornings." Anthony tweaks Sören's nose. "You OK?"
Sören shakes his head. "Didn't sleep well. Kept waking up, needing to make sure you were there." Sören frowns.
Anthony's heart aches at how much Sören loves him, and he feels that love right back. He reaches up to touch Sören's face, plays with an errant curly lock. "I'm sorry you didn't sleep well."
"Jæja, it happens. I finally couldn't get back to sleep after the last one so I just... watched you sleep." Sören takes Anthony's chin in his hand and traces Anthony's lips with his thumb. "You look goddamn delicious, and I couldn't take it anymore." Sören starts kissing Anthony's neck. "Want you, elskan."
Anthony shivers and moans and instinctively arches to him, spreading his legs, tilting his hips. "Sweetheart."
Their mouths crush together fiercely, hungrily. A few kisses later they're tugging off each other's T-shirt and boxers, and once they're naked Sören kisses his neck again, hands sliding over Anthony's body.
"You're so beautiful," Sören whispers. He slides down and begins kissing and licking Anthony all over, fingers walking and brushing in the trail of his mouth. Between kisses Sören sings, his voice husky:
Sunday morning, rain is falling
Steal some covers, share some skin
Clouds are shrouding us in moments unforgettable
You twist to fit the mold that I am in
But things just get so crazy, living life gets hard to do
And I would gladly hit the road, get up and go if I knew
That someday, it would lead me back to you
That someday, it would lead me back to you
That may be all I need
In darkness, he is all I see
Come and rest your bones with me
Driving slow on Sunday morning
And I never want to leave
"Oh, honey." Anthony's eyes mist. He grabs Sören, pulls him up, and into a kiss, holding Sören tight, kissing him deeply, wanting to give back love for love. Wanting to touch, wanting to feel, wanting to connect.
They make love slowly, sweetly, grinding against each other cock to cock, kissing, caressing each other, as the rain falls outside. The attack of yesterday feels a million miles away as Anthony loses himself in the heat in Sören's eyes, the kisses of those soft lips above and below, the delicious teasing rubbing, hot and hard and slick for each other. They keep the pace slow until they're both trembling, panting and giving little shaky gasps against each other's mouths, taking each other's hands and squeezing as they're both right there, working their hips, the bed rocking against the wall, slapping slurping sounds rising. When Sören contracts, gushing, it sends Anthony over the edge, coming with a stifled moan...
...and for the briefest instant he wonders what it would be like to feel Mark's cunt on his, to feel Mark coming - what it would be like to watch Mark and Sören rub together, wet and sloppy, primal rutting - and that just makes Anthony come harder, face burning as he tries to shove that fantasy away.
He doesn't want to sink down the spiral of shame, so he makes himself focus on his beloved. Sören's face is lit up with the euphoric bliss of release, and Anthony smiles back at him, nuzzling tenderly.
They hold each other and listen to the rain. "I really don't want to work today," Anthony confesses.
"You know, Mark and I could hold it down today, if you need a mental health day. It's OK."
"No, it's not." Anthony frowns. "I don't like running from my problems." Even though you're running from your feelings from Mark, Anthony lectures himself.
"One day isn't going to hurt, elskan. And it's very understandable you'd need a day off after that shit."
Anthony sighs. He shakes his head. "I need to make myself do it today, or this is going to set a pattern of avoidance for me." He remembers what happened after the stabbing, and how he tried to make himself keep working but he had panic attacks and called out more, and eventually he was calling out more and more because the more he avoided his job, the worse the panic was when he showed up.
"If you insist, then OK, be a stubborn ass." Sören wrinkles his nose and sticks out his tongue, and Anthony sticks his tongue out right back. Then Sören playfully licks Anthony's tongue and their tongues flutter, which gets Anthony going again. He looks at the clock.
"Maybe I could be a little late today," Anthony says with a smirk, and looks back at Sören and wiggles his eyebrows.
Sören laughs. "Maybe." Sören sobers up and says, "If you're making yourself go in today... I still think you need a mental health day. Maybe we could do a two-day weekend for once, and take Monday off, not just Tuesday?"
Anthony nods. That's a decent compromise. "OK. You're on."
Sören pats him.
"I just..." Anthony sighs. "I don't want to get to the point where I'm less and less motivated to keep the shop running. Not gonna lie, yesterday scared the shit out of me."
"I know. And, I mean, we could... always cut it down to four or five days a week and make up for it with more OnlyFans videos?" Sören purses his lips. "Some people do OnlyFans full time."
"Mark needs a job," Anthony says, and lowers his voice. "He doesn't even know we're... what are the kids calling it now? Thots?"
Sören's laughter rings out, and Anthony can't help laughing either at the ridiculousness of the situation. Then with a wicked grin on his face, Sören says, "An-thot-ny."
"You shut it." Anthony heaves with laughter.
"Anyway," Sören says, also lowering his voice, "I wasn't talking about full time, that's too much of a gamble, and yes, I agree, Mark needs a job. But I think if we went down to four or five days with the shop and more OnlyFans content, we would be all right... and less stressed out."
"I'll think about it," Anthony says. And I'll try not to think about us having a threesome with Mark on-camera. Their subscribers would love that, he's sure... but he's still reluctant to head in that direction. He doesn't know how Sören would feel about it, he doesn't want Mark to feel obligated... it's just too complicated, and Anthony is still sorting out trauma from a few years ago, never mind the emotional work that goes into fitting a third person into the relationship.
But as they kiss and start a second round of rubbing together, Anthony can't help thinking about what it would be like for Mark to join them.
He knows he's falling for Mark Lauer, as hard and messy as the rain pouring outside.
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