Anthony had let Sören sleep in that Saturday morning - till noon, then gently woke Sören up, pointing out the drive to Brighton was two hours so he needed to get up so they could get a move on. Even with having been allowed some extra sleep, Sören was barely able to stay awake on the drive to Brighton, dozing off then coming back to himself whenever Anthony sped up or slowed down, or the car made a turn. Sören was half-asleep as they pulled into the parking stall near their beach house, and Anthony reached out to pet him, rub his shoulder. "Sören, love, we're here."
It was the fall equinox, September twenty-first, and already there was a chill in the air as Sören got out of the car. The beach was foggy, the sky overcast. This was far from the first time they'd been to Brighton when it was less than warm and sunny - Sören and Anthony seemed to both prefer cooler weather and overcast days on the beach, anyway - but it seemed to Sören as they walked from the car to the beach house that the weather was apt, reflecting his inner sadness and troubles. Sören also had a strange sense of foreboding as they stepped to the door: This will be the last time we come here.
Sören didn't like that thought, and he wanted to chalk up the sudden pessimism to the fact that he was just tired all the time now and not thinking rationally and everything felt catastrophic when he was in crisis management mode all the time at work. But he couldn't shake that feeling, that everything was falling apart.
Sören managed to put that thought aside as he and Anthony went out to the shingle beach. For a long time they just sat on the beach, cuddling together, watching the waves. Anthony was right that the salt air of the ocean would do him some good - Sören felt himself relax as he breathed in. The view of light peeking through the clouds, silver-gold, the ocean sparkling, the swirling mists on the beach, took Sören's breath away, as did the sight of Anthony in a forest green cashmere sweater and faded jeans, the green of his sweater bringing out the green of his eyes, smiling at him with love.
Finally they went for a walk down the shingle beach, hand-in-hand. It was late afternoon and there was an old-gold tinge to the air. High tide was coming in, and after they'd been walking for awhile, Sören took off his boots and socks and went out to the water's edge, letting the tide roll over his feet, which he found soothing. Anthony watched him from a few meters away and then Anthony did the same thing, coming up behind him, holding him as the water washed their feet. Sören wiggled his toes and giggled, and tilted his face up to Anthony, cheek to cheek. Anthony's arms tightened around him and they rocked a little, to the slow, easy rhythm of the tide.
"I've missed you so much," Anthony husked.
"I've missed you too."
They kissed, and Sören burned that memory into his mind, a perfect moment when Sören could briefly forget about how much he'd been working and all of the little conflicts they'd had the last few months. It was just them, and the beauty of the world they lived in, a balm for their souls. Once again, Sören thought about what life would be like when he was back to normal hours. He thought of a future with he and Anthony living by the ocean with a couple of cats, growing old together.
"I love you," Anthony said.
"I love you too."
They kissed again.
They carried their socks and boots back to the house, and as soon as they got in the door and put their footwear by the door, Anthony pulled Sören into his arms and kissed him deeply, hungrily. Sören felt torn - he knew Anthony wanted to make love, and Sören wanted it too, but he was still so tired. The extra sleep this morning and the nap in the car hadn't quite recharged him. The sea air and the peace of the ocean had relaxed him enough that he felt sleepy again.
But Sören wanted to at least try. He was angry with how much life he'd missed out on with his insane hours - he felt like he'd been robbed. He didn't want to just give Anthony some relief with sexual release, but he wanted it for himself, to feel like he was reclaiming something stolen from him... and just because he loved making love with his husband-to-be. He had been aching for Anthony's touch, aching to be one with him, aching for them to come together, that moment of transcendence where they felt infinite.
They kissed all the way to the bed. Anthony put on the gas fireplace in the bedroom, which created a nice romantic ambiance - and a nice cozy ambiance, relaxing Sören even more deeply. "I love you," Anthony said, kissing Sören as he reached for the button of Sören's jeans, feverishly undressing him. "Let me take care of you."
Sören helped Anthony undress too, and with their clothing shucked to the floor in a messy pile, they climbed onto the bed together. For a moment they just held each other, naked and vulnerable in each other's arms, looking into each other's eyes. Then Anthony leaned in and they kissed, and Sören moaned into the kiss, again as hard cock rubbed against hard cock, Anthony's hands sliding over him, fingers walking over him as if Anthony was trying to feel every inch of Sören's flesh that he could touch, starving for him and needing it all. Sören felt a shiver down his spine at Anthony's touch, breaking out into gooseflesh, cock throbbing, nipples aching. He wanted. They kissed again, more passionately, and then Anthony was kissing Sören's neck and shoulder. "I've missed you," Anthony whispered. "I've missed this."
"Fuck me," Sören panted, spreading for him.
Anthony chuckled and stroked Sören's face, traced Sören's lips with his thumb. Sören sucked on Anthony's thumb and Anthony gave a little growl, heat in his eyes as he watched Sören's lips latch around it. Then Sören licked Anthony's thumb and drew Anthony's lower lip between his, sucking on that, too. "Fuck me," Sören rasped. "Take it."
"It's been long enough that I want to take my time and enjoy you," Anthony said, petting Sören's curls, looking into his eyes. "If that's OK."
As needy as Sören was to get fucked, he wasn't going to say no to that. Foreplay just made it better, and Anthony was certainly a master at it, knowing how to play Sören's body like a violin and build the sensation and desire until Sören was ready to explode. Sören wondered what Anthony was in the mood for - if he was going to get tied up and teased. Another shiver went through him at the delicious thought.
But then Anthony said, "Would you like a massage?"
"Oh, fuck." That was almost even better, with how stressed out Sören had been over the last month and a half, the stress accumulating in his body so now he just ached all the time in a way ibuprofen wasn't helping. "I'd love that, takk."
Anthony smiled and kissed Sören's brow, rubbed noses with him. "I told you I want to take care of you, sweetheart."
"God, I love you." Sören crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip.
Anthony growled into Sören's neck before he kissed it - Sören felt Anthony's cock jolt against his and smiled, then let out a gasp as Anthony nibbled at the sweet spot where Sören's neck and shoulder met, licked it, one of Anthony's hands straying so his thumb brushed a nipple, then rubbed it, rolled it.
Anthony leaned up and patted Sören's thigh, and Sören turned over, laying on his stomach, head resting on the pillows. Anthony went off to the kitchen and Sören heard the microwave, and Sören dozed off for a few minutes, waking up again when he felt Anthony's weight on the bed, waking up more when he felt warm liquid pour onto his back. There was a pleasant vanilla smell, and Sören smiled, despite his annoyance with himself for microsleeping again while Anthony was warming the oil.
Anthony straddled Sören's ass, and Sören groaned at the feel of Anthony's hard cock rubbing in the cleft. He groaned again, louder, as Anthony began to knead his shoulders. Sören's fingers and toes flexed involuntarily, and he heard himself sigh as Anthony's hands worked his shoulders firmly, deeply, the tension rolling off him in waves. Melting into the mattress. When Anthony's hands left his shoulders, they were tingling blissfully - his whole body felt like it was chiming, made of light. In Sören's mind's eye he saw Anthony in his father's garden, giving the plants tender loving care, and that feeling he'd had that they were somehow responding to it... the vision of "the time before", the place of their dreams, where other-Anthony's hands fed golden light into each plant in his garden and they soaked it up. His touch is magic, Sören thought to himself - even though as a doctor, a man of science, he knew that wasn't real - and he smiled at the thought.
Sören carried a lot of tension in his back, and Anthony's hands pressed in and rubbed in deep, hard circles, then more gentle waves, back and forth, back and forth. Sören was ready to cry, it felt so good, relief and relief and relief, so much relief that the urge to cry went away, there was no emotion at all, only peace. He was melting again, washed into the light, and then the darkness, deeper, deeper...
Sören was vaguely aware of Anthony tucking him in, kissing his brow. "Hrrnn?" Sören mumbled.
"You fell asleep," Anthony said, and patted him. "Have a good nap."
"Hrrnn." Sören felt the briefest pang of guilt - they were supposed to make love, and he'd fallen asleep during the massage, before that could happen - but then he faded back into sleep.
They are standing in the always-winter wasteland, the freezing rain. The three brothers have been sharing a tent when they make camp, but Sören asks for a word with Anthony alone and they step outside. Sören has Anthony follow a few meters behind, using his keen senses to make sure nobody else is following.
Every step feels like lead. Every step it feels like more and more of the darkness and cold of the winter is swallowing him, with the inevitability of what he must do. What must be done, even as Sören desperately does not want to, his heart shattering like broken ice.
Finally Sören turns around and Anthony comes closer, and Sören stops him a few paces away.
"You have to go back. You can't come with me."
Anthony swallows hard, a stricken look on his face. "Why?"
Sören takes a deep breath. "You know why. Because they will kill you. They will kill your children."
Anthony shakes his head vehemently, clenches his fists, like the little boy he once was being told "no". "I told you I would stand with you, fight with you, die for you -"
"I know, dear brother." Sören comes closer, and now he kisses Anthony's brow. He takes a moment to look at Anthony, magnificent in his rage, all golden fury like the sun going nova. He burns this into his mind's eye, knowing it is the last time they will see each other, so he will never forget. "It is easy enough to die for me. Go live for me. You may be the last of our blood when this is done. Someone needs to carry the fire."
And then Sören shoves him. "Go."
Anthony steps forward and tugs at the hem of Sören's tunic, tugs at his cloak. "I'm not leaving you!" Anthony's arms lock around him, tight as a vice. "I will not. I will not, will not, will not..."
The voice seems to echo over the mountains. For the briefest instant it sounds like a second voice is joining his, male, like their father's but somehow not, and then it is gone. Anthony is breathing harder, tears pooling in his eyes. Sören once doubted that Anthony had the same fire as him and their other brother, but many times over the years Anthony has proven he does, and this moment most of all. Anthony is seething.
"You must go back," Sören says, stern, unyielding. He pushes Anthony away, much as he wants to stay in those arms forever. "You must renounce me. You must tell them you were wrong."
"No, I will not deny you, I will not -"
"You will, or your children's blood will be on your hands... and mine."
Anthony takes a deep breath, and then Sören sees that silver-gold mane billowing in the winter wind, rushing harder, faster, fiercer, and he sees something like a white fire around him for a few seconds. "You just want to get rid of me," Anthony says. "You never have time for me anymore -"
"We're in the middle of a war, in case you haven't been able to tell."
Anthony shakes his head. "You still have time for our brother." And then he sneers. "That's it, isn't it? You don't want me anymore. You just want him."
That isn't true - Sören loves both of them deeply, fiercely, madly. His love for them both inspired his greatest work. His love for them both is why he is trying to find a new home for them, to live free. Sören is stung by Anthony's accusation that he's somehow less to him than their brother, that his love for Anthony is not as strong, not as deep, not as wild. Sören loves them differently - his relationship with their brother is very different from his relationship with Anthony - but they are both important to him. Indeed, nothing is more important to Sören, save his sons, and his brothers' children who are like his own. The reason why the theft of his great work is so bitter - and why Sören strives at all costs to get it back - is because of how much he loves the both of them. It is not merely a piece of his soul that went into it, but his soul on fire with their light.
And yet, as much as it pains Sören, he looks into Anthony's eyes - the reflection of the white flame aura - and he knows that this is the only way to make him go, the only way to save Anthony's life. "You're right," Sören says, and he turns his back to Anthony, both so Anthony will think he is being shut out, and so Anthony cannot see the lie in his face, in his eyes, cannot see the tears starting. "I don't want you anymore."
He hears Anthony huff, and then he hears Anthony's boots crunch in the snow. When he hears them a distance away, Sören finally turns around and he watches Anthony keep walking into the freezing rain, not looking back, never looking back, until finally he disappears into the fog.
Sören hears later that Anthony has left, along with his wife, and their brother's wife. "Good," Sören says, nodding.
But it isn't good. Sören keeps thinking of watching Anthony walk into the freezing rain, and he thinks of how cold Anthony's life will be when he returns, living in a loveless marriage... living without the love of his brothers.
At least he will be alive. Sören flexes his fingers. I am already dead inside.
His light is gone. He has their other brother, but for all that Anthony thinks he was being pushed out, love him as Sören does, it isn't the same without them both there. And now it is freezing rain in Sören's head all the time, all color drained from the world, the fire in him guttering as low as it ever has.
It is time to relight that flame. He is even angrier now with the sowers of discord among them, disloyal when Anthony would have died for him.
"Burn them all."
"Sören, honey, wake up and eat something."
"Mmmf?"
Anthony gently shook his shoulder. "I made dinner."
"What time is it," Sören mumbled.
"Eight PM."
Sören was just alert enough to do very brief mental math and realize he'd been asleep for three or four hours roughly. "OK," Sören said. "In a minute."
He went back to sleep.
Some time later he was roused half-awake by the feel of Anthony climbing in bed next to him. "Sören, dinner's in the fridge to heat up in the microwave if you wake up and get hungry."
"You're going to bed now?"
"Yeah. It's a little after eleven PM."
"Oh. Shit," Sören mumbled. Again that brief pang of guilt, but before it could hit him too hard, he slid back into sleep.
He was aware of the light of morning, a cool space opening beside him. He picked his head up and saw Anthony getting dressed.
"Good morning," Anthony said, pausing to look at him.
"Hrrrnnn?" Sören squinted his eyes against the light coming in, and then he looked at the clock. It was seven AM. "Oh fuck."
Anthony said nothing but continued getting dressed. When he was fully dressed he sat on the edge of the bed and tousled Sören's curls, leaned down to kiss the top of his head. "Shall I heat up what I made last night? Or do you want breakfast instead?"
"Uh... whatever would be easier for you." Sören gave a nervous laugh, feeling terrible that he'd fallen asleep before they could make love, and had slept the rest of the day away, leaving Anthony alone. "Shit, I'm sorry."
"You're overtired, you needed your rest." Anthony tousled his curls again. "I'll be back in a little bit with breakfast in bed, OK?"
"Sounds good, takk."
Fourteen hours still wasn't enough, with the kind of schedule Sören had been working. He fell back asleep. Anthony gently shook him awake and said, "Here, love, you need to eat something."
"In a minute." And Sören passed out again.
At last Sören's body woke up on its own. For a good while Sören just lay in bed, not able to move just yet, slowly coming out of that space between waking and sleep. When he finally sat up, his head was pounding, his mouth was painfully dry, and he ached as if he hadn't gotten a massage at all yesterday - laying down for a long time had made him stiff and sore.
Sören needed some coffee and juice to take care of the headache, which he knew was equal parts caffeine withdrawal, dehydration, and low blood sugar. He threw on a T-shirt and boxer-briefs and after he went to the bathroom, which felt like it took forever, he stumbled out to the living room, where Anthony was quietly reading a book. Anthony put the book down on the coffee table when he saw Sören walk in, and for a moment they just looked at each other, not saying anything.
Sören broke the silence. "Hi."
"Hi."
"Hi."
"Hi."
"Hi."
"Hi."
"Jæja." Sören looked at the clock - it was almost one-thirty in the afternoon - and then at Anthony. He ran a nervous hand through his curls and rubbed his beard. "Shit. I'm sorry. I'm really -"
Anthony put up a hand. "I told you yesterday. You're overtired, having worked the kind of hours you've been working for so long, not getting enough sleep. Your body needed to catch up." Anthony was looking away as he said it, out the window, at the beach.
"Well, we're gonna have to head back soon, and I feel like I wasted this entire weekend..." Sören sighed. "I feel like I wasted your time."
"I got some quiet time reading." Anthony's voice was quiet as he put a bookmark in the book on the coffee table, closed it, and put it back in his suitcase near the coffee table. "Do you want to go for a walk on the beach before we go? Though maybe we should eat something."
"Yeah, I feel bad that you cooked and I..."
"It's OK, Sören." Anthony quickly got up and before Sören could see any reaction on his face, Anthony's back was turned as he made his way into the kitchen.
Sören sat on the couch and waited as Anthony heated up the leftovers from what he'd made last night and what he'd made this morning. Sören felt even worse because Anthony had actually attempted to cook something more than canned soup and grilled cheese - he'd made Sören jacket potatoes with bacon and mushrooms last night, and a cheese, potato, and mushroom omelette this morning. As good as the food tasted - as sweet as the effort was - there was a bitterness to it, Sören feeling like he didn't deserve it... like he didn't deserve Anthony, feeling like he was the most selfish asshole in the world for having slept all weekend.
Anthony was packing Sören's things as Sören ate, and when Anthony came out with Sören's duffel bag he was all smiles, as if to assure Sören he didn't think any less of him for sleeping. "Are you all done? I'll get your plate..."
"Oh, elskan, you cooked, I should wash dishes -"
"You've been burning the candle at both ends, let me wait on you."
As Anthony did dishes, Sören took a shower, brushed his teeth, and got changed, putting on jeans and his Joy Division shirt, with a blue plaid flannel shirt over it. Once they were ready, they went out to the car so Anthony could load the trunk with their belongings, and then they headed out to the beach for one last walk on the beach before they went back to London.
It was sunny today, unlike yesterday, and while it wasn't quite the heat of summer, Sören still felt overdressed in his flannel shirt, enough that halfway into their walk he had to take it off and tie it around his waist. They paused to watch the sunshine sparkle on the waves, standing side by side, and Anthony put an arm around Sören, and Sören leaned on him.
"I love you, elskan," Sören said, a lump in his throat, wondering if Anthony had ever had the dream he'd had last night... if Anthony needed that extra reassurance of how very much he was loved. I don't want to lose you again.
"I love you too, Sören."
Sören stepped away and then in front of him. "You OK?"
Anthony nodded. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"Uh, because we were supposed to come here for some romantic weekend and I slept all fucking weekend, we didn't even make love -"
Anthony pulled Sören close and held him tight. "Sören, I worry about you not being OK." Anthony rocked him a little, petting Sören's curls as Sören's face rested in the crook of Anthony's neck, breathing in his cologne. "You're going through hell right now. I understand." Anthony kissed Sören's brow.
They walked back hand-in-hand, in silence. When they got in the car, Anthony began to drive away in silence... as if in reverence, but for what was the question. Sören felt uneasy, thinking of his dream last night, Anthony inscrutable as he focused on the road, driving into the sunshine, aviator sunglasses hiding his eyes.
"Can you put on some music?" Sören asked.
Anthony nodded. "Any preferences?"
"Classic rock, if you don't mind?" Something sexy like R&B was just going to make Sören feel bad that he'd fallen asleep during the massage.
Anthony put on the classic rock playlist, and when they got onto the highway and the sun burned brighter, "Boys of Summer" by Don Henley came on the playlist.
"Oh, shit." Sören reached out to turn it up. "That's fitting, since it feels like the end of summer now."
Sören had heard this song hundreds of times, but today it felt like he was hearing the song for the first time, and today it felt like the song was directed at him.
I never will forget those nights
I wonder if it was a dream
Remember how you made me crazy
Remember how I made you scream
Now I don't understand
What happened to our love
But babe I'm gonna get you back
I'm gonna show you what I'm made of
Sören thought of all the nights of passion he and Anthony had shared... and in the time before, in their dreams. And how in the end, before, it still hadn't been enough for Anthony to not think he was being cast aside in favor of their brother.
Out on the road today
I saw a Deadhead sticker on a Cadillac
A little voice inside my head said:
"Don't look back, you can never look back"
I thought I knew what love was
What did I know?
Those days are gone forever
I should just let them go
Sören remembered his dream-vision, Anthony walking away into the freezing rain and the fog, never looking back.
He thought of them finding their way back to each other now... the power of their love stronger, fiercer than anything or anyone wanting to keep them apart. And yet, it felt doomed all over again.
Please. Sören wasn't a religious man, wasn't a praying man, and here he was, pleading to whatever it was that had brought them back to each other.. and whatever it was that had ripped them apart.
chapter 43 | return to Learning To Fly | return to Other Tolkien Fic | return to index