Mark wakes up on Christmas morning and it's snowing outside.
It's a perfect moment of peace: a white Christmas in a picturesque small New England town, laying in a warm, cozy bed tangled up with two gorgeous naked men, and three sleeping cats are curled up with them. Seamus wakes up, yawns and stretches, and walks over to give Mark "good morning" headbutts, kneading and purring. Mark smiles and skritches the grey tabby, and breathes a little sigh of contentment.
It feels surreal. A far cry from last Christmas, which he spent alone, sleeping in his van. So many Christmases alone. Sometimes in years past, he would go play Christmas songs at hospitals, and sometimes it was just too sad. Even though Elvish holidays are different, the emphasis on Christmas being a time for family has always made it fraught for Mark...
...and now he has a home again. A family.
He feels that ache, knowing it won't last forever. Even if best-case scenario Anthony and Sören accept him if and when they learn he's not human, his lack of aging means he can't stay here forever lest people become suspicious, he will have to move on. That means leaving them behind... or if they were to follow him from place to place, they are still mortal. Anthony is forty-one, will be forty-two in February, his life is already half-over. Another forty, fifty years is long for a human, but not long at all for the Eldar.
Mark closes his eyes, cringing. OK, could you not with ruining this, worrying about the future, Mark scolds himself. Be here now. Let yourself enjoy this.
He opens his eyes and brings himself back to the present - to the smiling cat purring as Mark strokes and skritches him. Sören's long lashes and full lips. Anthony's mussed hair, the furry pelt of his chest and arms. Anthony blinks his eyes open and gives him a sleepy grin and Mark feels that fierce surge of love, looking into the mossy green eyes with gold flecks.
"Happy Christmas," Anthony whispers.
Mark leans in and kisses him.
A gentle, sweet good-morning kiss deepens, their tongues playing together, and Sören stirs awake. They take turns kissing, petting each other, and now the fever of lust is there as well. Mark can't get enough of them, feeling like he's at a banquet after years of starvation.
Mark slides down, kissing and licking his way down Anthony and Sören's bodies, and as Anthony and Sören make out, Mark goes back and forth, licking and sucking Anthony's cock, then Sören's, then Anthony again, then back to Sören, a couple dozen kisses here, and there. They taste so delicious after all the fucking last night and marinating in their musky sex juices overnight, and Mark licks his lips, savoring. Just as delicious are their moans and cries, the filthy slurping sounds as Mark eats at them, the wet squishing of his fingers working in and out of them.
Soon Anthony and Sören are rolling their hips, fucking themselves on his fingers, breathing harder. Mark stops what he's doing for a few seconds to maneuver their hips so their cocks are mashed together, and then he takes them both in his mouth, fingering them harder and faster. Anthony and Sören cling to each other, licking each other's tongues, moaning louder as Mark slurps at them harder, hungry for their hot little cocks, so lusciously engorged and fun to suck on. The wet sloppy sounds drive Mark out of his mind with lust. He loves watching Anthony and Sören trembling against each other, breath coming out in shuddery gasps, tongues rubbing, every now and again kissing and licking each other's necks. Anthony plays with Sören's nipples and leans down to kiss them, making Sören whimper - and then Anthony possessively grabs a fistful Mark's hair. Mark fights the urge to stop fingering them and play with himself, rubbing himself against the sheets, electrified, lips clamping down and sucking them as hard as he can, suctioning noisily.
After a long moment of wet noises and panting, broken cries, Anthony and Sören climax together in Mark's mouth, and Mark moans with his mouth full as he feels their cunts squeezing his fingers, pulsing, juices gushing down his hands. He takes a few licks at each of them and then as they lay there catching their breath, they watch him licking his fingers and hands clean, wanting every last drop of them.
Mark paws at himself - he's so hard and so wet, his thighs slick with cream - and then a few minutes later, as he's getting closer, Anthony makes a "come here" gesture.
Mark scoots up and kneels over them. Anthony and Sören work on him together, Anthony licking and sucking Mark's cock as Sören tongue-fucks him. Sören's moans of "mmmm, mmmmm" as he tastes, drive Mark wild and he tugs on Sören's curls; Sören responds to the hair-pulling by rubbing his tongue even harder.
Mark rocks his hips, fucking himself on their greedy mouths, grabbing the headboard white-knuckled, panting as they get him closer, closer. They trade places, Sören's lush lips on his cock and Anthony's wicked tongue inside him, and Mark gets closer still, panting for it, whimpering, gasping, groaning, needing to come but needing to keep feeling them, needing to be spoiled like this, after so long. He remembers Fëanor and Finarfin doing this to him, and the memory almost brings him off. He holds back, quivering, needing more. Needing to burn, after years of lonely cold.
They trade places again, Anthony sucking him hard, Sören's tongue lashing furiously, and Mark throws his head back and cries out as his orgasm pulls him under, feeling like he's drowning in fire, one with the light of the memory of the Trees. He leans forward and pants as he keeps throbbing, pulsing, the relief deep in his bones, all the way into his fëa, bringing tears to his eyes. "I love you," Mark hears himself saying, as he catches his breath. "I love you. I love you. I love you, I love you..."
Mark comes down into their arms, and they take turns kissing him - Mark sighs with pleasure as he tastes himself on them, his cunt contracting again - and then they're both holding him close and tight, and Mark makes a purring noise, flexing his toes as he snuggles into the cocoon of their arms and chests, so safe and warm. Sören strokes Mark's hair and murmurs to him in Icelandic, and Mark cries silently, grateful to be loved, grateful to have this again for however long he can.
Eventually Anthony gets up to go to the bathroom, and then Sören and Mark take turns, and the cats get on them, meowing, so they put on pajamas and head down to the kitchen. After the cats are fed, Mark decides he wants to make pancakes, a nice big breakfast, special for Christmas, spoiling his mates a little. He makes each of them a big stack of banana nut pancakes, and there's real maple syrup from Vermont. It's simple but it feels downright decadent, after times of famine in centuries past, and peasant food where home-baked bread was coarse and bitter instead of being artisanal like today.
Though they opened gifts last night, they have stockings this morning - each of them has personal care products, candy, and little plushies. Mark smiles at the tiny unicorn in his stocking, a friend for Hells.
"He needs a name," Sören says.
"Eru," Mark mutters, though he's more amused than annoyed.
"Eru? That's a weird name, but OK -"
"No, no, not Eru." Mark is uncomfortable with naming a plush unicorn that. "Something else, but I can't think of what. Names are hard." He's like his father in that sense, who named them all -finwë, though his uncles were worse with "Hair Commander" and "Hair Champion", and he's not naming a unicorn after hair even if it's got a rainbow mane that the Noldor would have been impressed by.
Sören strokes his chin. "Well, your big unicorn is named Hells... so maybe Montero."
Mark is utterly confused, while Anthony facepalms, cackling. "Montero?"
"He doesn't get it," Anthony tells Sören.
Sören puts YouTube on the TV. "It's time to put the X in Xmas," Sören says, and shows Mark the video for "MONTERO (Call Me By Your Name)" by Lil Nas X, where the artist is riding a stripper pole to Hell and gives a lapdance to the devil.
The song is ridiculously catchy - Mark is a bit of a music snob who doesn't care much for today's pop music, hasn't really liked pop since the 80s, but he really likes this; it helps that "call me by your name" reminds him of his father and uncles - and Lil Nas X is nice eye candy. "Montero it is," Mark agrees.
Sören hits the replay button when the video is over. This time, Sören takes his shirt off and gives Mark and Anthony a lapdance, sensuously thrusting his hips, grinding up on them, every now and again turning around and shaking his ass. Mark and Anthony run their hands over his chest and arms and thighs, and take turns spanking Sören's ass and groping him; Anthony plays with Sören's nipples and tugs on the nipple rings, and when the song is over, Anthony draws a hard nipple into his mouth, making Sören moan, and Mark moans too, feeling randy again.
But before they can go back to the bedroom, Sören is ever the tease and makes them wait. He says, "Anthony, I have one more present for you."
"Oh?" Anthony cocks his head to one side.
Sören goes down the hall to the guest room that's now an art and music studio, and he comes back with a long, flat rectangular object in sparkly red-and-gold gift wrap that Mark guesses is a framed print.
His guess is correct. Anthony unwraps it and Sören explains, "I wanted to give this to you for our anniversary in September but I felt like it was missing something and I finally figured out what it was."
Anthony's eyes tear up as he examines the framed art. A long moment later, he puts it down on the coffee table, throws his arms around Sören and kisses him deeply. "I love it. Oh my god, you know I love swans. And I love you."
"You're my prince," Sören says, and then with a smirk he adds, "...and you are funky."
Anthony facepalms, laughing through his tears. "Goddammit, Sören." He kisses Sören's nose, and Sören bites his lower lip with a shy smile before he boops Anthony's nose and kisses him back.
Mark leans over to look at the painting, and his jaw drops.
The sky is gold, reflecting into the ocean - like the light of Laurelin - and there are three swan ships floating in the distance on shimmering water. There's Anthony at the water's edge with two swans...
...and Anthony is dressed in a green tunic with a green cloak embroidered with golden knotwork, wearing a golden circlet around his head, and unlike the short black hair he has in real life, this painting's version of Anthony has long blond hair, a paler silver-gold. Anthony is glowing softly, making everything else around him radiate with light, the way Mark shines when he's unglamoured.
Anthony looks exactly like Finarfin.
A shiver goes down Mark's spine. He gets chills, hair standing on end, heart beating faster as his brain makes the connection.
The reason why Anthony keeps reminding him of Finarfin is because Anthony is Finarfin, reborn as mortal. Finarfin died in the War of Wrath, which never made its way into canon - Tolkien's version of events from his memories of having been Beren - and instead of being re-embodied as an elf, he had been reincarnated here in Middle-Earth. It didn't make sense, and yet Mark was sure of it.
And the beautiful, photorealistic art with its attention to detail and color... Sören is Fëanor. Mark thinks of the paintings he's seen with the Silmaril, that Sören's dreamt of without knowing what it is... Sören telling him about the recurring dreams of burning to death, why he has flames and a phoenix inked into his skin. Sören's sense of humor, his passion, his... everything.
All time seems to stop for a minute as Mark sits there with the weight of it hanging over him, past and present colliding. Sören and Anthony turn to look at him and Sören's smile turns into a concerned frown. "Are you OK?"
"Yeah." Mark gives a nervous laugh and nods. "Just... that portrait is fucking incredible. You have a gift." He comes over and hugs and kisses Sören himself, blinking back tears, not wanting to fall apart as he realizes he's holding Fëanor again. "You are a gift."
"I'm so touched," Anthony says, eyes too bright, his voice husky. He strokes Sören's face and hair, smiling.
Sören smirks. "Hi So Touched, I'm -"
"DAMMIT, SÖREN," Mark and Anthony yell in unison.
Anthony starts crying, and that breaks the dam and Mark cries too. They hold each other, the sensual mood turned to clinging to each other like a life raft on a sea of emotion. Everything is beautiful, and everything hurts. Mark can't believe it, he's found his way back to them - it's not exactly the same, but then it can't be, he's changed since then too.
"Fuck." Anthony wipes his nose with his sleeve, then realizes what he's done and grabs tissues. He dabs at Mark's face too. "I have too many feels."
"Awwww, you guys." Sören pats them and tousles their hair, then he steals a little kiss from Anthony.
"Here, this calls for tea," Anthony says.
When the tea is ready, Anthony brings it over, and studies the painting some more, looking quietly awed. Sören finally says, "So you like it, really?"
"I love it." Anthony grins. "I always wanted to be an elf."
Mark almost chokes on his tea.
Anthony takes the painting and walks around, trying to figure out where to hang it. At last he decides on hanging it above the "comfort corner" at the front door, where they have a waterfall rock fountain, a few scented jar candles, and succulents growing in a bowl. He hangs the painting and then he chokes up again, and Sören and Mark come over for a group hug.
"I'm sorry I keep crying," Anthony says. "It's... it's beautiful, and..." Anthony puts a hand on his heart. "The Welsh have a word for this, hiraeth. Longing for a home that you can't return to, or was never yours."
Mark closes his eyes and silent tears spill down his cheeks. He bites his tongue, resisting the impulse to tell Anthony there's a reason you feel like that.
"But you are my home," Anthony says, putting an arm around Sören. "And you, too." He puts his other arm around Mark.
"I'm glad it touches you, but I feel bad you're crying so much," Sören says. "I have an idea to distract you from the feels overload, though."
"Another lapdance?" Anthony leers.
Sören gigglesnorts. "And you say I have sex on the brain. No, something else. We have snow gear and we haven't played since before I had COVID. It's snowing. You want..."
"OH MY GOD, YES," Anthony shouts.
They get dressed - Mark still keeps most of his clothes in the closet in the guest room, and he goes there. While he's there, he finally takes out the necklace of the Star of Fëanor that he's had since the Years of the Trees, and for the first time in literal ages he puts it around his neck. He holds the pendant between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand - his burned hand - and feels the weight and shape of it, strokes it with his thumb...
...and suddenly, he has a vision, as if touching the pendant after literal ages is like taking a hit of a psychedelic drug. His mind's eye transports him to the Halls of Mandos and he sees Fëanor, Fingolfin and Finarfin. Manwë walks around them in a circle, then stands before them and his voice rings out, You will choose how you are reborn.
You will give us time, Fëanor said.
I owe you nothing, Spirit of Fire, but in our mercy I will concede that to you.
After Manwë walks off, Fëanor scoffs, rage flaring in him. Do not speak to me of mercy, you who let the Jail Crow torment our family and then would blame us for fighting back.
Mark watches as Fëanor remembers his life - the secret marriage vows with Fingolfin, and Finarfin. Creating the Silmarils in honor of the light of their love, one Silmaril for each Finwion brother, one for Maglor, his secret display of submission to them. Fëanor looks out at the weave of worlds and sees Maglor alone, wandering, grief-stricken.
I will go where my son is, Fëanor says. He dwells among Men now... I shall become one so he is not alone. Not just a mortal, but one born a daughter who becomes a son, as he is, in solidarity with him, to honor his beautiful transformation, a living work of art. I am sure my life will not be easy. But I will not leave my one surviving son alone, in the world. And our love for each other, the fire in our blood, is strong. I believe we will find each other at the appointed time.
I will do the same, Finarfin says. I will stand with you and Kanafinwë... and perhaps the magic and power in my transformation might help bring more justice to the world, so that our struggle as mortal will not be in vain.
You will lead, and I will follow, Fingolfin says, a hand to his heart. Always.
The three brothers - the three lovers - join hands.
Mark comes back to himself with a gasp, and then he leans against the wall to not fall over as the tears come. He tries to keep them silent, lest he scream, not wanting to make this day sad.
Briefly, he wonders where Fingolfin is, but he knows they will probably find him in due time.
For now... this is enough. More than enough. He loves them even more now, in the light of this revelation. He kisses the pendant and lets go, and walks out to where Sören and Anthony are waiting.
They go to the Bentham Botanical Garden, which looks like an enchanted winter wonderland with ice crystals sparkling on bare trees, frozen fountains, and frost-covered shrubbery. There are hills that overlook the town, and they drag their sled and snow tubes up the hill. Sören and Anthony coast downhill on the sled, with Sören on Anthony's lap, Anthony's arms around him like a seatbelt, and Mark spins downhill in one of the tubes, laughing and howling as the world rushes past in a blur.
They do it again, and then they trade - Sören and Anthony each take a tube, and Mark rides the sled. Then Sören sits on Mark's lap on the sled while Anthony zips downhill in a tube.
They take a breather from pushing the sled and donuts uphill, and build a snowman together. Sören crafts a crude snow penis and puts it on the snowman, which makes Mark and Anthony laugh, then Sören holds up an index finger, takes the penis off, reshapes it into a unicorn horn like Mark's dildo, and puts it back where the penis was, and Mark and Anthony laugh harder.
Then Sören makes a snow sculpture of a large cat... who bites off the snowman's penis. "He didn't get clothes for Christmas, so the Yule Cat is eating him," Sören explains.
Mark has to go there. "The next time a fundie asks me if I know what the reason for the season is, I'll tell them 'Yeah! Vore!'"
Anthony falls over in the snow, wheezing. "Why are we like this."
Being "like this" with Fëanor and Finarfin makes it even funnier to Mark.
They take a few more turns riding the sled and the tubes, and Anthony accidentally crashes the sled into Sören's snowman. Sören throws a snowball, and that gets Anthony and Sören into a snowball fight. Then they roll around in the snow like two cats play-fighting, shrieking with laughter, and Mark feels that ache in his chest, loving them so much.
They finally head home, and Mark feels peaceful as he watches the snow fall in the light of golden hour. He can finally enjoy the beauty of winter, instead of feeling the discomfort and fear with being homeless in the cold. They go up to their safe, cozy love nest and have hot cocoa, snuggling together in a blanket heap with the cats purring away.
"Did you get everything you wanted for Christmas?" Anthony asks, petting Sören's curls.
"Jæja. Well..." Sören smirks. "I didn't get anything to wear, so the Yule Cat might eat me now." As if on cue, Solly grabs Sören's wrist with her front paws and gently noms him, and he chuckles and strokes her some more.
Anthony gives that cheeky grin that Mark loves so much. "The Yule Cat can't eat you if I eat you first."
Sören leers. "Promises, promises."
And that's how they end up in the bedroom. Anthony gets out the leashes, puts a sheet protector on the bed, and sets up the cameras again, and when everything is ready, Sören and Mark kneel and Anthony attaches the leashes to their collars.
Anthony ties Mark's leash to one of the bedposts and handcuffs him, and puts a rabbit vibe inside him, on its lowest setting. Mark is made to watch, the vibe teasing and frustrating him, as Anthony eats out Sören, and Sören gets more and more vocal, writhing, whimpering, and Anthony slurps at him louder and louder, fingers banging away inside him, making those filthy wet sloppy sounds. When Sören comes, contracting, Mark almost comes too. Almost.
Anthony uncuffs Mark, and has Mark lay beside Sören. Then he kneels over them, but instead of sitting where they can eat him out together, he lets out a stream of piss over their faces and bodies. "Now you have something to wear," Anthony says with that naughty grin again. "Merry Pissmas!"
Sören and Mark laugh hysterically... and moan. It feels so utterly debauched, Anthony marking his territory like this, claiming them, and Mark loves it.
It feels like a baptism, like a sacrament, being covered in his beloved uncle's brine. He and Sören kiss, sharing the salty taste of it, and then they lick it off each other's bodies while Anthony watches, touching himself.
Then Anthony tugs on Sören's leash. "Now it's your turn. Piss on that slut. Make him ours."
Sören kneels over Mark, and Mark paws himself furiously as Sören pisses on him. It's one of the hottest moments of Mark's life, so deliciously filthy. It feels absolutely right to do this with them, as if Sören and Anthony know subconsciously and are reinforcing their bond, a show of defiance of the Valar that through tears unnumbered, they are together again. They made it. They are fitting together once more. They belong together.
Anthony pulls Mark's leash. "And you. Go on, you know you want to."
Sören lays back and spreads his legs, bending his knees, tilting his pelvis up, letting Mark get a good look at how engorged and creamy he is. Mark groans at the luscious sight of it. He kneels over Sören's chest and sprays him, then scoots back and another arc of piss hits Sören's cunt, and Sören pulses with another orgasm, crying out. Mark grunts, electrified by the sight of Sören coming from his piss, and he almost comes too.
Anthony moans appreciatively. "Time for some slut-on-slut love."
Anthony holds their leashes as he watches them fuck, pussies slapping together, making wet sloshy sounds. Mark and Sören cling to each other, crying out, panting as they rub harder and faster. This always feels good, but it feels even more primal and animalistic this time, after what they've just done. They fuck feverishly, the wet smacking louder and louder, bed rocking against the wall. They kiss and lick, and then Mark starts kissing Sören's neck, knowing how sensitive he is there - just like Fëanor was. When Sören gets that look in his eye, desperation on his face, Mark knows he's right there, and he bites Sören's neck... another act of claiming. Sören goes off, contracting against him, and Mark comes with him, both of them screaming with pleasure as they gush and throb. They kiss deeply, and Anthony sighs.
"That was beautiful," Anthony says.
They need to go at it again, as if the primal act of pissing on each other has unlocked savage, insatiable need. Mark hooks Sören's leg on his shoulder and fucks him hard, and with their leashes still in his hand, Anthony gets behind Mark, wearing his new strapless strap-on. He turns on the vibe and thrusts inside Mark a couple dozen strokes, then inside Sören. Back and forth, fucking Mark, fucking Sören, pushing their juices inside each other. The purring of the vibe inside them intensifies the pleasure of their cocks rubbing together, and Anthony moans too as the part of the dildo that fits inside him also buzzes away.
For once, Anthony comes first, gasping, leaning on Mark's shoulder as he shudders and lets out a precious little whimper. That sets Mark off, and as he keeps rubbing through his orgasm, Sören also comes, nails raking down Mark's thighs as he squirts, moaning.
They take some time to recover, cuddling, kissing and petting, and then Anthony smiles and says, "Gotta pee again."
"Jæja, me too." Sören grins back and steals a kiss.
Anthony pisses on Sören and Mark together, then Mark goes for it, pissing on both Sören and Anthony, and then as Anthony and Mark kiss deeply, Sören pisses all over them. The three of them kiss open-mouthed, tongues teasing, and they take turns licking piss from each other's shoulders, nipples and stomachs. After another sensual tongue-licking three-way kiss, they fall into a triangle, Sören's head between Anthony's legs, while Anthony eats out Mark, and Mark eats out Sören. All of them so hungry for each other, tongues lashing wildly, sucking each other hard, slurping and shaking their heads as they viciously devour each other.
Snow falls outside, and inside they make fire, their love burning like the unconquerable sun in the heart of winter.
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