Rise: Chapter 3

After a hearty breakfast, Nicholas was well-prepared for their second full day on the Isle of Skye - he'd booked a tour of the Talisker distillery, and afterward there were plans to go to Talisker Beach. But he'd taken breakfast in his pajamas - Sören had difficulty sleeping last night and when he returned to bed, Nicholas had stirred awake, and Sören had quietly asked to set the alarm as close to breakfast as he could get away with, saying they should still have enough time after breakfast to change, and could shower in the evening.

Gitta and Elaine didn't seem to mind, and indeed, had said when they arrived they could take meals in their room; breakfast in bed was rather relaxing. But now Nicholas was awake, and wanted to get up and go, while the younger Sören seemed tired. More than that - though Sören had a serious default facial expression (indeed, they all did; Sören called it "resting bitchface"), Nicholas had learned him well enough by now to notice he seemed troubled, with tense body language, moving slowly and a bit cautiously, as if his mind was going too fast for the rest of him to keep up.

What confirmed it for Nicholas was when he watched Sören go over to the dresser, and put the glass egg holding the two bright stones, inside the garish gold aluminum pineapple Sören had brought to carry it, and for the sake of his eccentric brand of humor; the pineapple was "cuddled up" with Anthony's barrister wig. Sören loved having that egg on display and looking at the pretty stones, so the fact that he was putting the egg inside the pineapple - and scowling a little - told Nicholas that Sören was definitely troubled, and it had something to do with that.

Nicholas thought about last night, and Gitta burning her finger while cleaning, which seemed like a particularly odd thing to happen. At first he hadn't really thought much of it - perhaps she was changing a light bulb and the bulb was too hot - but those stones weren't just bright, they threw off a lot of heat. It was why Nicholas had initially told Sören to turn in the first stone to a museum.

Anthony and Nicholas exchanged glances, and Nicholas knew Anthony probably had the same observation - Anthony was a barrister, after all. Nicholas quietly walked over to Sören before the younger man could back away from the dresser, and Nicholas put a hand on Sören's shoulder.

"What's going on?" Nicholas asked.

Sören looked down and sighed.

Nicholas tilted Sören's head to face him and gave him the "I'm waiting" look, like a stern parent. Their eyes held, and Sören swallowed hard. Then Sören walked off to sit on the foot of the bed, in the middle, with space on either side; Nicholas and Anthony sat next to him.

"I had a talk with Gitta last night," Sören said, keeping his voice down, "and while she was dusting in here, she picked up the egg to dust off the dresser aaaaaaaaaaaand she burnt her finger on the stones."

There was a long pause. That was what Nicholas suspected... and was afraid of.

"I see," Nicholas said mildly.

"Jæja."

There was another long pause. Nicholas pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn't know quite what to say, but he felt it was better to be honest, since Sören had insisted on radical honesty from his partners. "As you know, this sort of thing is why I had asked you to give the first stone to a museum -"

"Oh, not this fucking shit again." Sören got up from the bed and started pacing. "The answer is no, Nick. We've been over this. I left you once before over this issue and next time I'm not coming back -"

"I'm not asking you this time," Nicholas said, hearing the hysteria rise in his voice - feeling like he was being stabbed in the heart, the gut, the soul. He couldn't deal with losing Sören again. "I shan't ask you to do that."

"So why did you even have to say that?" Sören whirled around to face him, hands on hips, brown eyes blazing. Nicholas felt a frisson go through him - Sören looked deliciously sexy when he was angry - but just the same, he didn't want Sören to be angry with him about this. Once had been bad enough.

"I hadn't finished my sentence. I was going to add to it that perhaps on future trips we should take better precautions with safeguarding them so accidents like this don't keep happening. Not just to avoid anyone getting hurt, but..." Nicholas felt a twinge of concern. "We don't want news spreading that you have unusual stones in your possession. Because then you won't have a choice about giving them to science. Others will make that decision for you."

"Gitta said she wouldn't tell anyone except Elaine and only if she asks," Sören said. "I trust Anthony's mum not to make our lives interesting by telling the world. Not that there's many people to tell, out here."

"I hope Mark didn't overhear any of this, or your conversation with Gitta last night," Nicholas said.

"Something tells me he's trying to keep a low profile," Anthony said, shifting uncomfortably.

Nicholas wondered about that - he didn't know much about Mark, or what Anthony's relationship with Mark had been like. Only that Mark had been Anthony's first lover. The thought of Anthony and the beautiful Mark making love together was... quite alluring. Nicholas made himself focus, re-center his thoughts on the present.

Sören helped with that, all fire and fury. "Nick, do you think I'm a fucking idiot?"

"Well, no. As you know, you're a neurosurgeon -"

"That's right. My entire fucking job is about calculating risks and not half-assing the fine details. And yet, you're treating me like some dumbass who doesn't know enough to take stricter precautions next time we go on holiday, like that wouldn't have already occurred to me." Sören's Icelandic accent was starting to get heavier, and Nicholas wondered if Sören was going to temporarily lose his English and fall back on his native language, as Sören was wont to do when emotions ran high. "And even though you say you're not telling me to give up the stones to science, you still think it."

"I don't. After you told me about the dreams, I couldn't ask you to do that." Nicholas finally was able to pull on the string of thought he'd been reaching for. "But if science isn't going to study the stones, we certainly should. It would be safer that way -"

"You're acting like they're fucking radioactive or... or... infectious. I made them, I think I know they're not going to blow us up or turn us into zombies or something."

"There are plenty of people throughout history who've invented things and not been fully cognizant of the full capability of their invention. With all due respect, you may have made something that not even you knew the power, the potency, thereof. We should try to compile a list of what we do know, and perhaps dig deeper. Try to jog our memories further. Perhaps comb any historical records - even mythology, folklore - to see if there's a mention of something somewhat like the stones."

Sören covered his face in his hands and took some breaths, like he was about to lose his temper and was desperately trying to get himself under control.

Now Nicholas felt his own annoyance flaring. Gitta had just burnt her thumb on the stones - Nicholas got the sense the potential for injury was far worse than that. While he didn't want to pry Sören away from his creation, and he didn't want to disrespect the very fine craftsmanship of the stones, he also felt like Sören's reluctance to address any of this was contributing to the problem and that offended his conscience similarly to how Sören's refusal to give the first stone to a museum had bothered him.

Sören pulled his hands down and folded his arms. "You realize we're on fucking vacation right now? That Christmas is in four, five days, right around the corner? Now is not the time to be doing memory retrieval experiments and... and... fucking research. You would think that with how much of my fucking brain I have to use at my fucking job day in and fucking day out, seventy hours a week, that I could catch a fucking break for Christmas and just chill and relax and not have to worry about serious fucking business. But no. First we have to deal with the drama of Anthony's ex showing up out of the blue, now you start drama about the stones again -"

"I am not starting drama. You make it sound like I'm a teenager on Tumblr calling the stones 'problematic'." Nicholas hated that he even knew about any of that, thanks to his students.

"Do you see how fucking worked up I am?" Sören held out his hands, which were shaking slightly. "What do you call this, if not drama? The fact that you had to even answer me back and you can't just fucking drop it and say 'I'm sorry' -"

"You ask that your partners be honest with you, and I was expressing a concern in honesty. At no time did I say we should try to learn more about the stones immediately. You needn't put words in my mouth -"

"Enough. Both of you. Jesus Sodding Christ." Anthony waved his arms like a referee.

Nicholas felt another frisson go through him - a sense of déjà vu, like Anthony had done this before... in the other life of their dreams - and then he felt the sharp ache of guilt. He didn't want to hurt Sören, and he didn't want Anthony to be caught in the crossfire and stressed out.

Nicholas sighed deeply and gave a nod. "All right. I've said what I have to say."

"Good." Sören scowled.

Nicholas looked at the clock - he was more or less ready to grab his coat and head out the door, but Sören was in a sweater and his underwear, he hadn't put on his jeans yet. "We need to get going," Nicholas said. "I don't want us to be late for the Talisker tour -"

"I'm not coming," Sören said.

"What?" Nicholas's eyebrows shot up. He felt that annoyance flare again. It hadn't been terribly difficult to book the tour of the Talisker distillery, just a few clicks online, and it was only forty-five pounds, but the distillery would be closing for the holidays and it was their only chance to take the tour while they were up here this time.

"I... am not in the mood," Sören said. "I was fine with going until this started but now I need some space to calm down."

Nicholas frowned. He couldn't force Sören, and he wasn't going to be an overgrown child who threw a fit if he didn't get his own way... but he had been looking forward to doing the distillery tour and seeing the beach with both of them.

Nicholas turned to Anthony. "I'll hang back with Sören," Anthony said softly.

"You can go if you want," Sören said. "I was just gonna, like, draw, or try to."

"I don't mind. Besides, I like watching you do art." Anthony gave an encouraging little smile.

Nicholas sighed again. He wasn't really surprised, just disappointed. And he knew that if this escalated and Sören walked away again - Anthony was going with Sören. He also knew if the situation was reversed and Sören and Anthony were going to break up a second time, he himself would go with Sören. Nicholas loved Anthony, and he knew it was mutual, but they both loved Sören just a little more. Nicholas couldn't fault Anthony for his loyalty to Sören, and indeed, if Anthony wasn't that doggedly loyal, Nicholas would have had issues about Sören and Anthony getting back together in the first place. But now, the very real possibility that he could cross another line by saying the wrong thing, overstepping his bounds, and losing them both... it hurt. Losing Sören the first time was like losing a piece of his soul. Losing Anthony would also feel like that.

Sören wants to take the day apart from you to try to calm down. That's the opposite of things escalating. Sören's trying to fix things too.

Nicholas still wasn't entirely convinced. But he was going to give Sören his space. The distillery and the beach would be less fun without his partners, but he'd been single for most of his life and done plenty of things on his own and enjoyed himself, so... he would enjoy what he could. "Very well." Nicholas rose and headed for the bedroom door. Before he walked out, he stopped and reached out to Sören.

Sören gave him a hug, and Nicholas rubbed his back, patted him, and kissed his cheek. "I love you," Nicholas said - which was true, and Sören needed to hear it.

"I love you too." Their eyes met.

Nicholas needed to hear that just as much, if not more. Nicholas gave a tight smile, not wanting to cry with relief, and waved to Anthony before he walked off to begin his journey.







It was approximately a half-hour drive from Gitta's bed-and-breakfast to the Talisker distillery in Carbost, and just the drive alone was an exhilarating experience, seeing the dramatic craggy landscape touched by the frosts of winter.

The tour of the distillery took a little less than an hour, and Nicholas found it intellectually satisfying to see how the whisky was made. At the end of the tour there was whisky-tasting - Nicholas had just enough to taste and savor, not enough to be impaired driving, but the warmth of the whisky mellowed him and put him in somewhat better spirits when he visited the gift shop. He decided to buy a bottle of Talisker as part of a Christmas present for Gitta and Elaine, and two bottles to take back to London.

From the distillery he went to the beach. It was an overcast day, and the sky was a very interesting mix of silver clouds and golden light, making the sea sparkle - even from afar as Nicholas walked from the carpark along the trail out to the beach, the view took his breath away.

But something else was just as compelling. As Nicholas got closer to the beach, he began to hear the shimmering chimes of a harp... and a lovely male singing voice, sounding like he'd been classically trained. The song was nothing Nicholas had heard before and yet it felt achingly familiar. His hair stood on end, a chill going through him despite his outerwear and layers and the lingering warmth of the whisky. The song was minor chords, and the voice was singing in a language that wasn't English - or anything else Nicholas recognized - but the sorrow in his voice was still understood and deeply, deeply palpable.

As Nicholas approached the beach, he finally saw who was playing the harp. Mark Lauer was sitting on a stool, playing a large harp, his hair stirring in the sea breeze. He had a look of intense concentration on his face that still seemed serene - a similar expression Sören got on his face when he drew and painted - as if Mark were elsewhere and yet everywhere all at once.

Nicholas's face burned and his heart skipped a beat, his mouth suddenly dry.

He didn't want to react like this to Mark, to the man who had given Anthony his first heartbreak and caused lasting damage. It felt disloyal. But Nicholas had an eye for beauty, and Mark was that, both the rich, all-enveloping song of despair, and the chiseled face, the raven hair, the elegant fingers working magic over the harp strings. Mark was like a statue brought to life, or one of Sören's paintings. If Sören could sculpt, Nicholas would have thought Sören made him, such was Sören's gift for beautiful, enchanting works of art.

This wasn't the first time Nicholas had heard Mark Lauer's music. As a classical music aficionado, Nicholas owned the few CDs Mark had released, both of original compositions and more well-known pieces. Nicholas had loved Mark's music for over a decade, finding him vastly superior to many other classical performers, and had lamented that the musician seemed to be a bit of a recluse - not much was known about him; in this day and age of the Internet, Mark was notoriously reclusive, no photos of himself, no interviews, no social media presence. He didn't give concerts, which was a shame, as Nicholas would have loved to see him perform.

Now he was finally getting his wish, but not at all in the way he wanted, hurting for Anthony. And yet, the sadness in that voice made Nicholas wonder if Mark had been hurt too, in some way, traumatized perhaps - he knew from his days as a priest that people who had deep inner wounds rarely had successful personal relationships. Sören was one of the few exceptions and even then, it was work.

Nicholas didn't want to empathize. And he certainly didn't want to be so captivated by Mark's physical beauty enhanced by the beauty of being taken over by the music - as if it were playing Mark, instead of Mark playing it - that he wasn't doing what he'd come here to do, which was look at the seascape.

Mark abruptly stopped, as if he sensed he was no longer alone on the beach. He turned his head. For a long moment he and Nicholas just looked at each other, not saying anything. Nicholas's heart beat faster, as if he were a teenager again with an awkward crush on another boy. Get a fucking hold of yourself.

"Er, hello," Nicholas said.

"Hello yourself," Mark said.

"I... wasn't expecting anyone else to be here," Nicholas said, feeling like he was an intruder rather than exercising his right to walk on a public beach.

"Neither was I." Mark looked back out at the shining sea.

Nicholas's discomfort intensified - now it wasn't even so much that he felt like an intruder, but he felt like he'd witnessed something holy and wasn't worthy of it. It was a reverence he had never felt as a priest, much as he'd tried to cultivate piety... and now he understood the feeling. "I can go," he said, instantly regretting the words, feeling like an idiot - he'd come all this way and he was running scared?

"No, you don't have to," Mark said. "I don't own the beach."

"But you came here to be alone?"

Mark shrugged. "I came here to be by the sea. I've dealt with tourists in summer." He looked back at Nicholas. "I would feel bad asking you to leave. It's not like we're not already sharing a house for a bit."

"There is that." Nicholas took a deep breath. "I hope I'm not making you feel too uncomfortable to keep playing, if that is what you came to do. Your music was... lovely. I could hear it along the trail. It was as if a siren was in the sea."

Mark smiled. "I'm a different type of cryptid."

Nicholas laughed at that - though his mind recalled Sören's paintings of the elven-like men, and how Mark was as beautiful as they were, and he had a mad moment of wondering If we were indeed not human in a past life, do non-humans live among us? Is Mark one of them?

Nicholas wanted to smack himself for thinking like that. Yes, and next you'll be saying aliens built the pyramids and Elvis is still alive and the Illuminati is real. Between the tension of interrupting Mark and not wanting to like Anthony's ex, and the madness of briefly speculating if Mark was not human, Nicholas desperately needed a pressure release. He found himself defaulting to Sören's tactic - humor. "Hi A Different Type Of Cryptid, I'm Nicholas."

Mark facepalmed, and when his hand moved down from his face he was smiling. Then he sobered and said, "Ah. I was wondering which one you were. We weren't really formally introduced."

"Oh, yes, you're right. My apologies, that was rather rude."

"It was understandable, given the circumstances. When Elaine said her son Anthony was coming to visit, I didn't think it would be that Anthony." Mark shrugged. "You must hate me."

"Hate is a strong word for someone I don't know," Nicholas said. "Cautious and wary, yes, I'll give you that. But the past was twenty years ago, and your music is here and now. I'd like to hear more, if you were comfortable playing some more."

"I could do that," Mark said, nodding. He cocked his head to one side. "Do you have any requests?"

Off the top of his head, Nicholas did not. He'd always thought if he'd gotten to see Mark Lauer in concert, he would have a list of selections he'd like to hear live... and now he was here in-person and Nicholas could barely string two coherent thoughts together that weren't the beauty of Mark playing his harp...

...or the deliciousness of Mark and Anthony making love together, close to two decades ago. Nicholas shivered, feeling that familiar thrust in his loins. He did not need to be entertaining lustful thoughts like that.

"I have no requests," Nicholas said, feeling self-conscious that he didn't have at least one - he probably looked like an uncultured boor. "Whatever you feel like playing." That, at least, was the deeper truth. Even if he could think properly of requests, he didn't want to make Mark play something he wasn't in the mood to play. Things were already awkward enough.

"Do you mind something somewhat more modern? I like to mix it up."

"I don't mind." Then Nicholas quickly added, "Er... if you mean somewhat more modern, please nothing like Justin Bieber or Lil Wayne -"

Mark's laughter rang out, echoing over the waves. Mark vehemently shook his head. "No worries about that."

"Good." Nicholas got his thoughts back, just a little. "I enjoy quite a bit of classic rock, the music of my youth."

"Me too," Mark said. He flexed his wrists and fingers. "All right. This is the first song that came to mind, for some reason."

Mark turned back to the harp and after a few seconds Nicholas recognized the arrangement, translated from guitar to harp. Mark's rich, crystalline tenor began to sing:

Carry on my wayward son
There'll be peace when you are done
Lay your weary head to rest
Don't you cry no more...









Nicholas ended up staying through a dozen songs, some of them classic rock or 80s pop, a few classical pieces, a couple of original compositions. Nicholas found Mark's original pieces the best, and would have liked to hear much, much more, but time was getting on and he wanted to get back to the bed-and-breakfast before the sun went down.

Mark chose to leave the same time Nicholas did and they walked the trail together back to the carpark. While Nicholas felt a little guilty for being so cordial with Anthony's ex, Mark was pleasant enough and Nicholas didn't want to be unfairly rude to Mark, either. But it was surprising how natural it felt to walk together...

...natural and familiar, as if they'd done this before.

That of course was ridiculous; they'd only met just a couple days ago, and briefly. Nicholas knew next to nothing about him. And yet, he felt in a way like he did know Mark, through years of appreciation of his music. Mark had a rare gift for emoting - so much of modern music felt lifeless, hollow - and making the listener feel things as well, immersed in the song.

Nicholas couldn't help lingering a little as they went to their respective vehicles - Nicholas was trying very hard not to look at him, not to notice him, but he couldn't help it. It also seemed like Mark was moving somewhat slower, getting his harp into the trunk, even though he looked strong.

"Do you need a hand?" Nicholas asked.

Mark shook his head. He turned and said, "No, I'm just tired. I need more coffee." He chuckled wryly.

"I see. You didn't sleep well?" Nicholas hoped that Sören's late-night conversation with Gitta hadn't woken Mark up, or kept him up... he hoped it hadn't been overheard.

"No," Mark said. Their eyes met, and held.

Oh shit, he knows something. Nicholas's heart skipped a beat; he swallowed hard. He took a deep breath and quickly composed himself. It was possible that he was just being paranoid and Mark hadn't heard anything about a stone burning Gitta's thumb. But...

"I'll... see you later," Mark said, raising a hand.

"Yes. Thank you, very much, for the concert." Nicholas went for it, even though he felt as shy as when he'd been courting Sören. "I wouldn't mind a repeat performance."

"I wouldn't mind giving one. But Anthony might."

"I could talk to him." Nicholas was not looking forward to that conversation.

"All right." Mark waved again, and walked to the driver's seat.

The drive back to the villa was even more beautiful than the drive out as the last light gleamed golden over the snow-dusted hills. Nicholas wished once again Sören and Anthony could have seen the beauty of the grey sand gleaming silver in the overcast light, the silver-and-golden clouds over the sea, and could see the golden wash of the countryside. But of course there had been reasons for that... reasons he was going to have to address now, well before he spoke of anything to do with Mark.

Anthony was helping Elaine in the kitchen, and Sören was sitting outside in the garden with his Wacom tablet. Sören was so engrossed in his work that he startled when Nicholas stepped beside him, dropping his tablet on the ground.

Nicholas stooped to pick it up, arthritis be damned, and when he handed it to Sören their eyes met, their fingers lingered.

"How was it?" Sören asked.

"The beach was nice." Nicholas touched Sören's face before he rose up, knees cracking. "It would have been nicer with you."

Sören looked down and sighed. He turned off his tablet.

Sören went inside and Nicholas followed. They walked to their room, and Sören gently closed the door behind them. Once the door was shut, Nicholas led Sören over to the foot of the bed and sat down, turning to face Sören.

"I'm sorry about earlier," Nicholas said. "I didn't mean to upset you."

Sören waited.

Nicholas went on, "I don't think you're stupid." He realized now his concerns had come across that way, and he hated that it had hurt him - Sören had regularly been called an "idiot" and similar names by Einar growing up, which stuck with him even as a successful neurosurgeon. "On the contrary. You have a keen mind. I wouldn't be with you if you were just a pretty face. It's here, too." Nicholas tapped his temple.

Sören continued to listen in silence, not reacting.

"I do, however, feel protective of you," Nicholas said. "While you are my lover -"

"As you know." Sören's lips quirked with the hint of a smile.

"As you know," Nicholas said, smiling a little too. "I also feel... paternal towards you. Like I'm your lover and your father, at the same time. And sometimes, that urge perhaps comes on a bit too strong. I did not mean to be condescendingly paternalistic, as if you cannot look out for yourself, and I hope that you'll forgive me." Nicholas's tone softened - he had a feeling Sören needed to hear what he was about to say next. "Daddy loves you, and wants to keep you safe. Daddy was just trying to take care of his boy."

There was a pause, and then Sören put his arms around Nicholas. Nicholas sighed, leaning into the hug, comforted by the feel of Sören against him. His arms tightened around the younger man, aching to hug all the hurt away of the past, all of the insecurities that were still there and made Sören reactive like this.

And not just from this lifetime. Nicholas knew that when they were brother-lovers, their father had been unpleasant, singling Sören out for criticism, scapegoating him. Nicholas was younger than Sören then, but he looked the most like their father, and eventually became like a substitute father, giving Sören the tender loving care he had missed. But it was more than that. There were missing holes in the narrative of his dreams, memories that Nicholas felt it was imperative to recover if they would know the truth of what the stones were - but even as he didn't remember everything he was almost certain that at some point in that lifetime, he had hurt Sören deeply, he had done some sort of wrong that had caused Sören great pain...

...contributed to why they weren't in those bodies, that world, anymore, and their souls had been reborn into human bodies.

The thought that he had hurt Sören and set off a chain in motion leading to Sören's death, their deaths... brought tears to Nicholas's eyes. "I'm sorry," Nicholas said, his voice cracking, not wanting to cry, but he couldn't bear to hurt the sweet, sensitive boy in his arms, like a star that had fallen and was his to keep safe, looked strong but was more fragile than anyone knew. "I'm sorry -"

Sören silenced him with a fierce kiss. "Hi Sorry." Then Sören smiled - his own eyes were too bright - and he nuzzled Nicholas. "I'm sorry too."

"Hi Sorry Too."

Sören kissed him again, deep and hungry. Nicholas responded with his own hunger and need, craving those kisses like a drug. One kiss became another, and another, and soon they were undressing, hands touching freshly exposed skin, needing to feel every inch of each other, like they were claiming each other with touch.

Nicholas lay back against the pillows, cock hard and ready, and Sören climbed over him. Nicholas pulled Sören down into another kiss and they both moaned into the kiss as Sören's hard cock kissed his, rubbing together slowly, silken. Sören ran his hands over Nicholas's chest, fingers playing through the chest hair. He kissed and licked down Nicholas's neck, began to playfully groom the silver fur with his tongue... then lapped at a nipple, mischief in his brown eyes. Nicholas groaned.

Sören suckled, and licked some more before turning his head to the other nipple, tongue lashing, full lips tugging hard. Nicholas's cock jolted, urgent to feel Sören wrapped around him.

Sören kissed back up Nicholas's neck, one hand stroking their cocks together in his fist, his other hand rubbing Nicholas's chest in slow circles, pinching and plucking his nipples. "I really am sorry," Sören said. "The stones are still a sore spot for me because of what happened, you know, this time last year."

"I know." Nicholas pet him.

"I know I should take you at your word that you're not going to ask me to give them up again."

"I couldn't. Not with what I know now." Nicholas pressed his forehead to Sören's. "But I would be lying if I said I wasn't worried they would be -"

"Taken?" Sören gave a bitter laugh. "Nobody worries about that more than I do, trust me."

Nicholas felt a twinge. Whatever had happened back then, was traumatic for all three of them. He wished he could undo the damage done. But here, now, they had a second chance. And...

"I'm sorry, Daddy." Sören pouted adorably, putting his chin on Nicholas's shoulder and looking at him with those sad puppydog eyes.

"Yes, you were a bit of a brat." Nicholas swatted Sören's ass.

Sören moaned, and Nicholas restrained a grin at the feel of Sören's cock throbbing against his.

Nicholas slapped Sören's ass again. "Yes. As you know, you are a brat sometimes."

"If you're going to respond to my brattiness like this, I can be a brat all the time."

Nicholas tried not to chuckle - he really didn't want more incidents like this morning - but he did so love spanking Sören's ass. He grabbed Sören and pulled him across his lap, over his knee, and rubbed Sören's ass, enjoying the red imprint of his hand on the pale, perfect peach. Then he smacked Sören's ass again, and again. Sören began to grind against him, panting.

"Yes, Daddy. Yes, Daddy, please..." Sören whimpered.

Nicholas slapped Sören's ass over and over until he had his fill - until Sören's beautiful ass was red and rosy and Sören's hole was twitching, Nicholas's cock so painfully engorged he felt he would explode. Sören frantically reached for the lube they kept discretely tucked into a box on the bedtable, and they kissed feverishly as Sören worked the lube over Nicholas's cock.

Sören straddled Nicholas's hips, and Nicholas watched as Sören sank down, his cock swallowed by Sören's hole inch by inch. They both moaned when Nicholas was inside him all the way. Sören gripped Nicholas's shoulders and began to ride, slowly at first, kissing him deeply, sensually. "I love you," Sören husked. "I love you, Daddy..."

"I love you very much, sweetheart."

Soon the passion overtook them and Sören held onto Nicholas harder, white-knuckled, as he bounced away, working his hips in circles, driving them both mad with sensation and lust. Nicholas's hands played over Sören's body, his eyes feasting on the beauty of Sören completely lost in their fuck...

...his heart melting in the consuming fire of Sören's love, expressed with every motion of his hips, rocking and rocking and rocking them into that place where nothing else mattered, where their love and longing for each other was all that mattered.

It was like an ancient sex ritual. It was, indeed, like something ancient... the fires of old, primordial, awakening something in them.

Nicholas's hands latched onto Sören's face and he pulled Sören into another kiss. I love you, he thought to himself, like he was speaking with his heart.

I love you. Sören's voice was in his head, as clear as if Sören had spoken aloud.

Nicholas wondered if he was hallucinating... but his hair stood on end, a shiver down his spine, real as anything had ever felt. His cock pulsed, balls tightening, feeling himself close to that point of no return. Come, Nicholas thought, feeling like he was pushing the thought at Sören.

Sören's eyes widened as if with shock and before he could cry out, Nicholas covered Sören's hand with his mouth, not wanting Gitta and Elaine - or Mark - to hear them. Sören shuddered, hot seed splashing over Nicholas's chest. Nicholas threw his head back and gasped as the pleasure washed over him, pulled him under, then he was soaring over, the entire world throbbing, glowing, one heart, fully alive.

They kissed, taking each other's hands. Then they were holding each other again, rocking.

Nicholas felt like he would be seen as mad for asking, but since they had shared dreams, and there was the strangeness of the stones, at the very least Sören couldn't fairly judge him if he'd been wrong. "Sören, did you..."

"Hear you?" Sören nodded, lips parted, looking like he'd witnessed something he couldn't believe.

It was a relief to know he wasn't crazy, it wasn't a hallucination...

...and also disturbing. He'd truly wanted to discount belief in anything supernatural. They were falling further and further down the rabbit hole of this... whatever it was.

But for now, he was falling in love with Sören all over again, lost in those sweet chocolate eyes. They nuzzled and kissed some more.

I love you, Daddy, Sören spoke into his mind.

I love you so much. Nicholas squeezed his hand. Always.

And whatever he had done back then... he was going to try to make up for it, somehow. Some way.

If he didn't fuck everything up first by ogling Anthony's ex.

chapter 4 | return to Learning To Fly | return to Other Tolkien Fic | return to index