It's Sunday; Anthony will be flying back to the States on Tuesday.
This is the longest Sören and Anthony have been apart since 2017 when, after two magical weeks in Iceland, Sören offered to move to the States to be with Anthony and spent the month of October getting ready after Anthony went back to the States, keeping touch via e-mail and video chat. Just a week feels like an agonizing eternity, like a limb has been cut off, a piece of his soul ripped out, the ache all the more intense for knowing Anthony is hurting so much from the loss of his mother.
At least Mark is there - it would be worse if Sören was alone all this time. The only good thing Sören can say about this situation is the time alone with Mark has brought them closer together, especially in the evenings after work when Mark plays music and Sören works on art; the synergy of their creative energy feels magical.
They've also had a lot of sex one-on-one - creating together makes them insatiable for each other. They made a video together, both for their subscribers on OnlyFans, but also to try to cheer Anthony up a little - and tease the hell out of him, hoping that Anthony will punish them for being sluts when he gets back.
Sören and Mark are sleeping in today, since the shop is closed with their new four-days-a-week schedule, and they were up late last night after they closed the shop, another art-and-music session that went for hours, followed by hours of passionate lovemaking. It's close to noon when Sören stirs awake, and smiles at the snow falling outside... and Mark watching him sleep.
"How long have you been up?" Sören asks, touching Mark's face.
"Maybe fifteen, twenty minutes. I got up to feed the cats then I came back to bed." Mark kisses Sören's brow and slides his lips down to kiss the tip of Sören's nose, making him giggle. Mark snuggles closer to Sören, pulls Sören close and gives him a squeeze. "You're so beautiful."
Sören smiles and giggles again. They rub noses and share a sweet little kiss, then another kiss - deeper, the fire of passion lit once more.
Mark starts kissing Sören's neck and Sören moans, louder when Mark licks and nibbles his neck. Their hands roam over each other's bodies, exploring, caressing. Sören loves touching Mark, feeling the sculpted muscles of his body - a warrior's build - and he knows Mark has starved for touch for so long, and Sören has an endless amount of love to give. As they kiss again, open-mouthed, tongues licking, they reach between each other's legs and start playing. They're still creamy wet from last night, and they rub each other in the same rhythm, looking into each other's eyes, breathing each other's breath, kissing and licking again and again.
Mark pushes two fingers inside Sören, finding his G-spot right away, and Sören does the same to Mark, fingers working in and out, making filthy suctioning sounds. They moan louder, and Mark kisses Sören's neck more insistently. A few minutes later, Mark sticks his fingers in Sören's mouth for him to taste himself, and Sören does the same to Mark. They suck and lick each other's fingers and palms, then their tongues tease some more as they get back to work, fingering each other. Soon their fingers are banging away, their dripping cunts loud and sloppy.
Mark leans down to draw a nipple into his mouth. He sucks hard, and Sören whimpers. Mark lashes the aching nub with his tongue and suckles harder, before turning to the other one, sucking, licking, tugging the nipple ring with his teeth and lapping and suckling some more. He goes back and forth, making Sören gasp for breath, getting closer and closer between the teasing of his sensitive nipples and Mark's long, elegant fingers playing him like an instrument, finding that perfect rhythm.
Their mouths meet again, kissing deeply, hungrily, then their tongues rub some more, and then Mark licks at Sören's neck. "You getting close, baby?" Mark whispers.
Sören nods, bites his lower lip, and whines.
"Yeah, you gonna come for me?" Their eyes meet and Mark kisses him again, then he licks Sören's neck, knowing how sensitive Sören is there. "Want you to come for me..."
Mark bites Sören's neck and Sören comes hard, howling as the pulsing pleasure surges through him. Mark comes too a few seconds later, contracting around Sören's fingers, squeezing, and Sören moans as he feels Mark's juices gush down his hand. They lick and suck each other's fingers clean again, then they laugh together as they lick each other's tongues before another deep kiss that promises more later.
They can't spend all day in bed, they need to tidy up and do some grocery shopping before Anthony comes back. After showering and changing they feed the cats, head out to the store, and after a detour to the park to get some fresh air and admire the snowy landscape, they come back take care of the catboxes, cleaning the bathroom, dusting and vacuuming, and doing laundry.
Mark makes portobello mushroom "burgers" for dinner with sweet potato fries and they curl up and watch Joy of Painting together on YouTube. As Sören snuggles into Mark's chest, his nose brushes the pendant he's seen Mark wearing lately, since Christmas. Sören pulls his head back and lifts up the pendant with his finger - his finger runs around it, feeling the cool metal and the texture of the eight-pointed star. "This is nice," Sören says. "You know, I didn't think to ask about your necklace. Was that a Christmas present from Joshua, or...?"
Mark chuckles. "No. My father made it."
Sören's eyes widen, realizing how long ago that was. "Oh wow. Holy shit." He touches the pendant again, not able to help himself, and it feels like the metal is throbbing underneath his fingertip, with a heartbeat of its own, even though that seems crazy. "You've had it all this time?"
Mark nods. "I didn't start wearing it again until recently because people can get weird about you being homeless if you're wearing jewelry, expecting you to pawn it for far less than it's worth rather than asking for help, because god forbid you own something of sentimental value."
Sören sighs and gives Mark a squeeze, hurting for him. "We wouldn't have judged you, elskan -"
"I know that now, of course. Anyway, there's no amount of money in the world that could get me to part with this. This, and my harp, are all I have left of my old life, my family."
Sören finds himself kissing the pendant, reverently, and he gets a little shock like static electricity that makes him squeak. Mark laughs, tousles Sören's curls, and kisses the tip of his nose.
"What the hell is that?" Sören asks.
"Mithril," Mark says.
"Does it normally zap people like that?"
"No, but I think it likes you." Mark grins.
Talking about an inanimate object like it's sentient feels so surreal, and yet makes a certain amount of sense to Sören, being an artist himself. Sören sits with thoughts he doesn't quite have the words for, and when the credits roll for the episode they're watching, Sören turns to Mark and says, "Do you want to play some music while I paint?"
That's what they do - they go to the studio, where Mark sits at his harp and Sören works on his tablet. Mark mostly plays original compositions, pouring out his heart through a language that Sören doesn't speak and yet understands in his heart, the shimmering notes of the harp like rain, like sunlight, like fire and the sea and the wind and green things pushing through the earth. Mark's music conjures life from death, beauty from ashes, and Sören gets lost in his mind's eye.
As Mark's music weaves past, present and future, Sören's stylus paints two trees of light, one gold and one silver, against a starry sky with iridescent gold and silver nebulas like labradorite. A symbol of hope, that day shall come again.
Hours pass - time seems to stop - and when Mark takes a break, Sören realizes the painting is done, after many little tweaks and adjustments to get it just so.
"Here," Sören says. He pats the space next to him on the futon, and hands the tablet to Mark. "Happy little trees."
Mark's eyes widen as he looks at the tablet. Sören's heart skips a beat, worrying that Mark doesn't like it.
After a long moment of that icy dread spreading over Sören's whole body, Mark's breath hitches and he gingerly puts down the tablet, then throws his arms around Sören, gives him a big kiss and a squeeze, and starts rocking him back and forth as Sören giggles with relief and euphoria.
"I love it," Mark says. He squeezes Sören again. "I love you."
"I love you too."
Mark gives Sören yet another squeeze. "Honey... you haven't read The Silmarillion yet, have you?"
Sören shakes his head. "No. Anthony and I had a talk about that when you told us what you are, and we agreed we'd hold off for a few months and get to know you better so we're not biased by someone else's account of you."
Mark nods.
Sören cocks his head to one side, his curiosity piqued by Mark's reaction. "Why? Is that... something from Tolkien?"
"Yes," Mark says. "This is going to sound completely unbelievable, but in the old world I come from, there were two trees that were a source of light. One was called Telperion, and glowed silver in what we would now consider the nighttime. The other was called Laurelin, and glowed gold during the day. There was a magical time of day called the Mingling, when both trees glowed at once -"
"Like labradorite." Sören looks back at his digital painting, then into Mark's unglamoured eyes. "I've. Ah. Dreamt of those trees, a few times."
"I know," Mark whispers.
Sören's mouth opens and he wants to ask Mark how he knows, but Mark adds then, "My father was... I wouldn't call it obsessed - OK, I'll call it obsessed. He was a bit fixated on the Treelight."
Sören nods. "I can understand why. I would be too, if I had seen it. Just what I've seen in my dreams... and saw here, when you played..." Sören taps the center of his forehead. "I imagine it was even more amazing in person."
"Come on." Mark grabs Sören's hands and pulls him off the couch. "I want to make love to you." He holds Sören for a long moment, kissing him. Sören melts into the kiss and his hips instinctively thrust out against Mark's, feeling that surge of desire. Mark starts marching backwards to the bedroom, pulling Sören along with him, kissing him hungrily with each step. By the time they get to the bedroom they're both breathless, and Mark nibbles Sören's neck with a growl before he takes Sören's shirt off.
"Do you want to make a video to tease Anthony?" Mark asks. "And for our subscribers, of course."
Sören giggles and nods enthusiastically. "To think, you needed time to decide and now you're all in, like a porn star."
Mark grins. "It's fun." Mark kisses Sören again. "It's making art together, in its own way." He touches Sören's face. "What we have is beautiful, and it's nice to preserve the memory in some way."
"I agree." Sören kisses him back.
Mark takes off his shirt and Sören wolf-whistles, then Mark takes off his necklace with the eight-pointed star pendant. He clasps it around Sören's neck. "You can wear this, tonight."
A frisson goes down Sören's spine and he gasps - both from the touch of the cool metal and the way it seems to spark and pulse again... and from Mark letting him wear something of such sentimental value, something thousands of years old that's survived the rise and fall of civilizations, that's come with Mark from another world. Tears mist Sören's eyes but before he can fall apart crying, overcome by emotion at such a lovely, heartfelt gesture, Mark continues undressing, a feast for Sören's eyes.
Once they're naked they set up the cameras... and Mark puts Sören on a leash. Sören giggles happily and Mark swats Sören's ass before tugging him onto the bed on the leash. Once Sören is on the bed, Mark takes Sören over his knee. He looks into the camera and says, "I think this slut needs some spankings."
Sören wiggles his ass at Mark.
"Twenty spankings," Mark tells him, and Sören nods.
Mark hits as hard as Anthony, slapping Sören's ass with his bare hand, the left ass cheek and then the right, back and forth between them, making Sören's ass sting, radiating through his entire body... pain become pleasure. Sören rubs himself against Mark's thigh, panting for it, feeling like he's in heat, loving the thrill of surrendering like this. Mark loves it too - Sören can smell how aroused he is, intoxicating.
When all twenty spankings are delivered Mark's thigh is completely soaked from Sören's juices. "Clean up your mess, slut," Mark says. Sören does as he's told, taking long, slow deliberate licks at Mark's thigh, tasting himself, teasing Mark's sensitive flesh. Mark finally pulls Sören up by the leash into a kiss.
Mark ties Sören's leash to the bed, then he handcuffs Sören and spends a long, long time kissing, licking and caressing Sören all over, paying special attention to Sören's sensitive pierced nipples, his stomach, and inner thighs. Mark makes several rounds of Sören's body, taking his sweet time. "You are so beautiful," Mark whispers, giving a tender little kiss before his lips and tongue work their magic. "You are so fucking sexy."
Sören gets lost in sensation and all sense of time slips away. All that exists is Mark taking him deeper and deeper into a sensual haze of pleasure, his body tingling, all fire and electricity, flooding the sheets with the cream dripping down his thighs and legs. Mark teases and teases him, making Sören writhe and whimper, aching to come but never wanting to stop feeling Mark kissing, licking, touching him... feeling the love in each kiss, each touch. It's like a piece of Sören that he never knew was missing, being returned.
He feels like he's made of light, like the Trees he painted.
At last Mark sucks his cock, making those delicious lewd slurping sounds, and Sören is so pent up that it doesn't take him long to come, biting his lip and whining as the pleasure throbs and throbs. Mark kisses Sören and they both moan - Sören loves tasting himself on Mark's mouth. Mark lays beside Sören, petting him as he comes down, and then Mark sits on Sören's face and bucks his hips, fucking himself on Sören's eager tongue. Sören devours him, hungry for it, sucking for all he's worth until Mark comes too, crying out.
Sören's horny again from eating and sucking Mark, hornier still as they kiss. With Sören still bound, Mark straddles him, hooks a leg onto his shoulder, and starts to rub against him. Mark glances over at the camera and gives a wicked smile. "His boypussy feels so good. I bet you wish you could fuck him."
Sören groans - that's going to drive Anthony nuts. That means they're really in for it when Anthony gets back. Sören can't wait.
Their pussies slap and slurp together, louder and louder, Sören and Mark panting and moaning. Sören can't get enough of feeling Mark's cock rubbing his, their lips kissing, their cream flowing back and forth. When they get closer, shaking, giving little broken cries, Mark slows down, grinding on him more sensuously. Sören howls with frustration and Mark laughs. He leans down to kiss Sören, and their tongues lick playfully, then Mark rises up again and keeps grinding slowly, until they can't take it anymore and Mark rides him hard, bed rocking against the wall, wet sloppy noises rising above their moans and cries.
Sören comes, screaming, and Mark comes a few seconds later, gasping for breath. He collapses onto Sören and they kiss. Mark uncuffs Sören and Sören wraps his arms around Mark.
They're still not done. They really need to earn that punishment when Anthony gets back.
Still on the leash, Sören gets on all fours, and Mark takes him from behind with his unicorn horn strap-on, holding the leash in one hand and a fistful of Sören's curls in the other. He fucks Sören hard, and Sören begs for more, grabbing the sheets white-knuckled, rocking his hips back at Mark, desperate for it. When Mark senses Sören is right there, he reaches around and plays with Sören's cock until Sören comes, gushing all over Mark's hand.
Mark makes Sören suck the juices off the strap-on cock, and Sören gets worked up again. Mark gets the double dildo and they're both on all fours, asses slapping together as they fuck themselves and each other, feverish, not able to get enough. This time Mark comes first, and feeling Mark's contractions sets off Sören's own release, almost sobbing as his orgasm rips through him.
They sixty-nine, lapping at each other, all wet and sloppy from all the fucking, sipping, slurping, craving each other's cream like a drug. When they get closer they finger each other too, sucking harder, and they come together - Sören loves that, feeling so close to him.
They go for one more round, and rub against each other again, more slowly to start, kissing, savoring the taste of their essence on each other's tongues, looking into each other's eyes, holding each other. It's so sensual, so intimate. They made magic out there with their music and art, and now they make magic with their bodies. Making love not just with their bodies, but their souls.
"Atya," Mark moans.
Sören's eyebrows shoot up - he doesn't recognize that word, and assumes it's from Mark's native language. He smiles to himself. It must be good if he's losing his English. Sören replies, "Elskan."
Mark kisses Sören hard, then bites Sören's neck, licks it, growls into it. "Atya," he rasps, more insistently.
"Yes, elskan."
Something about that moment makes them cling together, rocking their hips wildly, rutting frantically, urgent, fucking harder and harder. Mark nips the skin right underneath the pendant, growling, and Sören goes off like a rocket, his nails raking down Mark's back. "Atya!" Mark screams as he squirts, and Sören sighs, toes curling, blissful full-body relief.
Sören drifts off - he's vaguely aware of Mark getting up to turn the cameras off and feed the cats, and he makes a little whimper of protest at the cold spot in the bed when Mark steps back into the bedroom. Mark chuckles, pulls Sören close, and their legs braid together. Listening to Mark's heartbeat, Sören falls asleep, still wearing the necklace.
Sören wakes up with a start, heart pounding, drenched in a cold sweat. Mark is sleeping like a log, and Sören doesn't want to disturb him - he knows Mark tends to be a light sleeper after years of homelessness and trauma, so he quietly, carefully walks to the bathroom to do his business.
As he sits on the toilet, fragments of his dream play in his mind's eye. The glowing rainbow-white stone he's dreamt of before, painted before, but this time there's three of them, and he's the one making them in a forge. Then the pack of fire-demons is on him again, whipping him until he dies in Mark's arms, going up in smoke and ash. His soul ascending over Reykjavik, then Akureyri, like a bird, landing in a blaze like a spaceship crashing to Earth... like a phoenix.
Sören splashes cold water on his face. Even though he and Anthony had mutually agreed to hold off reading The Silmarillion for awhile and Sören knows next to nothing about what Mark's life in the old world was like, he finds himself putting on pajama pants and going out to his laptop. He finds a PDF of The Silmarillion and starts reading.
One hour becomes two, then three, and by the end of it Sören's head is pounding and he curls up on the couch in the fetal position, feeling sick to his stomach, trying not to cry and wake up Mark.
I'm Fëanor, Sören thinks to himself.
He doesn't want it to be true. It sounds crazy, like those people from Tumblr who think they're faeries and dragons. He doesn't want to believe in gods, reincarnation, and all of that, even though Mark said Professor Tolkien was a reincarnation of someone named Beren from long ago.
And yet, there's too much there. Sören keeps dreaming of his past life, keeps painting from his visions of before. His path crossed with Mark's not by coincidence, as if their souls were tethered together.
It doesn't entirely sit well with Sören, knowing he was Mark's father and now is Mark's lover... and he can't shake the feeling that they were intimate then, after Maglor had become a man. That Anthony, his "swan prince", was Finarfin, that he was incestuous with his own brothers. Sigrit was raped repeatedly by Uncle Einar while growing up, the thought of incest between humans horrifies Sören, having survived it - having dealt with gatekeeping when he first started to transition, being accused of "only wanting to be male because he was molested"; if Sören hadn't been persistent he wouldn't have gotten to transition at all.
And yet there's something different about this, not just that it was enthusiastically consensual between adults, but also it was like the mythology of ancient pantheons where relatives were lovers. The Eldar were like gods, and somehow the Valar knew this, knew the power of their love, were jealous of it, and wanted to break them.
Sören still doesn't want to talk to Mark about it, on the odd chance that he's wrong, and he comes off like someone claiming to be affected by a tragedy when they're really not, to try to grift, he doesn't want to hurt Mark and make him run away - Mark needs a safe, stable home, he needs a family.
But the weight on his shoulders is crushing him, and Sören sits there in the darkness with his laptop glowing on him, the words on the screen feeling accusatory. And Mark finally rises, seeming to sense the disturbance in the living room, and Sören closes out the tab before Mark can sit down.
Mark still knows Sören was up to something. "What were you doing."
Sören sighs and decides not to lie to him. "I had another bad dream and I decided to read your canon."
Mark folds his arms, looks down, and nods. He turns on the light. "So now you know I'm a murderer."
"I also know you were deeply traumatized by everything that happened and sometimes when people aren't in a good place they make bad decisions." Sören thinks of the ships burning, like a Viking funeral. "And I think you're trying to be a better person now... and there are two sides to every story and you haven't really gotten to tell yours." Then Sören facepalms. "Well... apart from the. Ah. The. That song." He forgets the name - he can barely remember his English right now, as deeply affected as he is.
"The Noldolantë." Mark looks at the clock - it's a little after four AM. "You want to wake and bake?"
Getting high seems like absolutely the right thing to do right now; Sören feels like his brain is breaking. He nods.
Mark finds their stash of weed, packs a pipe, and at 4:20 they start smoking, leaning on each other. Sören doesn't know what to say, where even to begin, and Mark seems to understand how disturbed Sören is by what he read and gives Sören his space to just be.
But when the pipe is done and the buzz is kicking in, Mark takes Sören by the hand and leads him down to the studio. He sits at his harp and says softly, "This is the Noldolantë."
Haunting minor chords, a melancholy melody that brings tears to Sören's eyes. Once again, he doesn't understand the language Mark is singing in, but he knows. His soul remembers. Silent tears spill down Sören's cheeks - tears unnumbered ye shall shed - as Sören thinks of all they'd lost, and Mark carrying the fire across ages, defiant.
When it's done, Sören hugs him tight and Mark cries onto Sören's shoulder. Sören holds him, rocks him, and lets him cry, petting his hair, weeping with him silently, wishing there was something he could say or do to fix it. It's tempting to tell him I'm right here and confess what he thinks he's found, but he doesn't.
Instead, he grasps for levity, trying to make Mark smile - a memory glimmering in the back of his head of Fëanor trying to comfort sensitive Maglor with jokes. "Thank you for sharing that with me. I feel really honored that you played... uh." He knows what it's called now but he still plays dumb. "The Wetasspussë."
Mark facepalms and falls over, heaving and wheezing with laughter, tearing up for an entirely different reason. "Goddammit, Sören."
"Sorry."
"You're not sorry, you brat." Mark throws a futon pillow at him then pounces Sören and starts tickling him mercilessly.
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