On Tuesday, February sixth, Anthony went back to work, after the three-day weekend for his birthday. He felt a bit grumpier than usual when he drove his Vespa scooter from Blackheath to Holborn - lingering tiredness, like he could have used another day off.
As the day wore on, the fatigue intensified, despite having a few cups of coffee. It felt like the life was being slowly sucked out of him. By three PM, he had a dull, throbbing headache. Since he was done with court and client meetings for the day, he decided to go home early. Driving back he wished he'd taken a taxi and gotten his scooter towed, with the headache pounding once he was on the road with his helmet on, feeling lightly nauseated.
Once he arrived in Blackheath, Anthony wondered if he was coming down with flu, even though Anthony and Nicholas had both gotten their flu shots at Sören's insistence. But he knew what the flu felt like, having had it several times, and this felt different. This actually felt like the same sort of tired, headachy, nauseated feeling he used to get when he was in school, being bullied.
It was as if the tension with Mark had reached its breaking point. Anthony thought about how he hadn't seen much of Mark since they returned from Brighton yesterday afternoon - Mark retreated to his room, came out for dinner, and went back to his room to hide.
Anthony sighed. That was one thing about coming home early - unless Mark was running an errand or had gone somewhere, like the park, he was going to be home alone with Mark; Sören was also home, having worked night shift last night, but Sören wouldn't be up and about now unless he had insomnia or something had woken him up.
Anthony found himself scowling at Mark's Jaguar in the driveway. "Fuck," he said under his breath as he pulled in.
Anthony maneuvered to climb off the scooter, and took a moment to steady himself on his cane once both feet were on the ground. Leaning on his cane, he began to walk towards the door, heart sinking, more and more leaden with every step.
Think of Sören, he told himself, his mind's eye conjuring a picture of Sören sleeping... Sören waking and giving him a sleepy smile, love in those warm brown eyes. Think of Sören. You're going inside to see Sören -
The door swung open when he was still a few paces away; Mark was carrying a cardboard box full of vinyl records, and he hit a button on his keychain to pop the trunk. When Mark saw Anthony, Mark froze in his tracks and Anthony did too.
"Going somewhere?" Anthony asked.
Then he got a better look at Mark's Jaguar. The entire back seat was stuffed full of boxes of Mark's possessions. The trunk had a couple of suitcases and more boxes - clothes, books.
Anthony's jaw dropped. Now his stomach sank along with his heart. He felt like he was turning from lead to ice. Reflexively, Anthony took a step backwards, then pulled himself together to look at Mark again, who was still standing there... looking away.
Looking guilty as fuck.
"What's all this?" Anthony asked, trying to sound nonchalant, but he could hear his voice shaking.
Mark looked down.
Anthony's heart started pounding. He walked closer. Before he could get up in Mark's face, Mark put the box down on the step, turned and headed inside. Anthony followed him in, pausing for a moment in the foyer to remove his helmet and his brogues. When he entered the living room his mouth opened again. There were multiple boxes queued and ready to go. Mark's guitar case sat in one of the armchairs.
Anthony put a hand on his hip. "Is this what I think it is?"
Mark said nothing, and picked up a box from the coffee table. Anthony limped towards him, cane clacking on the hardwood floor. "No, put the bloody box down and look at me," Anthony said, his tone no longer neutral. His job trained him to ask questions and weigh the evidence before jumping to conclusions - to give the benefit of the doubt whenever possible - but there was no way to interpret this as anything but leaving.
Mark put the box back down on the coffee table, folded his arms, and glared.
"You mind explaining this to me?" Anthony asked.
Mark sighed. He pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbed his face, and looked down again. "I was hoping to be gone before you got here, so you wouldn't have to see this." He glanced over at the grandfather clock, then back at Anthony. "You're home early."
"Yeah. I had a headache, wasn't feeling well. Seems like I have some internal warning system that goes off when there's bullshit." Anthony scowled. "And you were... you were just going to leave without saying bloody goodbye."
Mark sighed again and looked away. "There's a note on the kitchen counter."
"A note. Because, you know, that's so much better than doing it in person." Anthony's blood was boiling. He heard his voice rising, though he tried to keep it down, not wanting to startle Sören out of sleep.
There was a long, awkward silence. Anthony got angrier and angrier, feeling ready to explode, fighting the urge to scream. Anthony forced himself to take a few deep breaths, not wanting to lose control. You need to treat this like you're in court, Anthony told himself.
But this was very different. This was personal. Too personal.
Their eyes met and Anthony's mind's eye replayed that last day in 1999, when Mark took them out to Christ's Pieces because they needed "to talk".
"Anthony." Mark put up his hand, then sighed and shook his head. "Look. I like you a lot. I'd be lying if I said this meant nothing to me. But... it freaks me out, a little, that we've only known each other for a few months -"
"Since December, and it's May now -"
"A few months," Mark reiterated. "And you're... talking about wanting to live with me, or follow me around the world. You barely know me. You're too attached. You're..." Mark exhaled. "You're too needy, Anthony."
"...oh."
"I still want to be friends with you, OK? I wasn't... just using you to get your cherry and then got bored."
Mark took a small notebook and a pen out of his pocket, and jotted a number down. "That's my cell, which I only give away for business purposes, but you're welcome to call me over summer break, OK? Come on, I'll take you back to your dorm."
Once they got to Cripps, they lingered. Mark finally gave Anthony a hug. "I'll see you around," he said.
It was the last time they saw each other.
It felt like it was yesterday instead of close to eighteen years ago. Anthony's eyes stung with tears. He thought about the conversation they had with Mark in this very living room last month.
"Arafinwë is mentioned in canon as being alive to this day," Anthony said.
"There are a number of things I didn't tell Tolkien," Mark said. "He would not have been able to handle discussion of incest and homosexuality, bisexuality. And... I couldn't bear to tell him that you died, Ara. I could talk about the death of Fëanor, the death of Ñolofinwë... but discussing yours was... I couldn't. The wound was already bleeding too much."
Anthony's fist clenched. He gripped the cane tighter, white-knuckled, a lump in his throat, chest aching, fighting back tears. He did not want to give in, but Mark's eyes were too bright as well, watching him.
That made Anthony explode. "So did any of us say something, do something? I would think someone who's been alive for thousands of years would, you know, be a sodding adult and tell us if we'd stepped on your toes instead of just taking off like this while nobody's watching -"
"Anthony, lower your voice, my father is sleeping."
Anthony noticed Mark referred to Sören as his father. That wasn't incorrect, but it did hint at... something. That Mark saw them as being a continuation of their old selves, rather than different people who happened to once be them in a past life but had changed too much. For some reason that made Anthony even angrier - that Mark would reunite with the family he'd lost and truly view them as family rather than a "close enough" substitute... and he would still abandon them like this.
"Oh, are you afraid Sören is going to wake up and read you the riot act? You bloody deserve it -"
"He deserves to be able to get some rest with the hours he works. You know this." Mark exhaled and rocked on his heels. "Come upstairs with me."
Anthony really didn't like stairs, preferring to do them as little as possible after his accident, but nonetheless he followed Mark to the second floor, to the bedroom. Even though Anthony had been somewhat prepared for this with the boxes and guitar down in the living room, it was still a shock to see Mark's stereo system in the process of being packed up... Mark's harp in bubble wrap.
Mark sat on the edge of his bed. Anthony pulled up the chair from Mark's desk.
There was another long, painful silence. Finally Mark shook his head and said, "None of you said or did anything wrong, no. It's me who's wrong."
"I'm afraid I don't follow."
Mark looked down and when he looked back up, his eyes were starting to brim. "I don't think I can deal with this."
"Deal with what?"
"This." Mark made a vague hand gesture. "Do you know how hard it is for me to be around the three of you, and feel like I'm part of the family but... not quite yet reinstated in full? Do you know how hard I was when I went with you to Brighton for your birthday and had to hear the three of you -"
Anthony gave a bitter laugh. He felt ready to scream again. "Oh, that's rich."
Mark gave Anthony a look.
Anthony glared right back.
Anthony was seething now. He heard the edge in his voice as he went on, "Do you know how much you bloody hurt me back in 1999 when you told me I was too needy? When you said you still wanted to be friends and you gave me your cell number and then you fucking ghosted me, I called you and the number was no longer in service, I never saw or heard from you again? And it's not like I've been hiding all these years, you can Google me and find my profile at Garden Court Chambers complete with my e-mail address. You were going to walk out of here again with a note on the bloody, sodding kitchen counter, you were going to ghost me all over again, and you sit here acting like we're the ones breaking your heart?"
Mark said nothing - Anthony wasn't sure if that made it better or worse. Mark just sat there and took it.
Anthony continued. He wasn't done yet. This wound had been festering for a very long time. "Can you comprehend how much psychological fucking damage you caused me when you did what you did back in 1999? I took years off school to cope with the pain. Not a gap year, years. Plural. Then, when I was with Sören, I fucking blew it. When he started working hundred-hour weeks and things were falling apart, instead of communicating my needs with him so we could try to fix things, I held back because I didn't want to be 'needy'." Anthony made air quotes. "Now, I'm not blaming you for what happened, I take responsibility for my own actions, I fucked up. But -"
"But you were still influenced by the damage done." Mark gave a nod. "I do get it, Anthony."
"No, I really don't think you do, because you were planning on leaving before Nicholas or I got home from work. Just taking off with a little note on the counter, never to be seen or heard from again. If I hadn't gotten that headache I wouldn't have come home and you'd be gone. So now we talk. And you're telling me that you feel shut out. Really. Did you ever stop and think that maybe the reason why you haven't been invited to our bedroom is because I was precisely afraid of this? That someday you were just going to ghost us, like you did before? And sure enough, history bloody fucking repeats itself." Anthony folded his arms, clenching his fists, nails digging into his palm hard enough to draw blood. "You weren't just going to leave without a proper goodbye, you were going to leave without a proper apology."
"There's an apology in the note on the counter for how things ended in 1999."
"Is there. And you didn't have the bollocks to apologize to my fucking face, all this time. You had to make a note and then run off like a coward."
Mark's breath hissed. He spoke through clenched teeth, eyes wild. "I. Am. Not. A. Coward."
"So what exactly do you call running off like this, making an apology on paper instead of to my face... after being here a month? You know, it's a damn shame. I don't know what happened to you, the Macalaurë that Arafinwë used to know, I don't know if you're fading or what, but you never used to run. You were confrontational just like your father. Now here you are -"
"Enough."
Mark's voice rang out like the chorus of a thousand voices. Anthony's hair stood on end, his arms breaking out in gooseflesh under his suit. Anthony's mouth opened, feeling like he couldn't breathe. It was not the first time he'd heard The Voice - the Finarfin part of him had heard it before - but it was the sort of thing one could never get used to. It was magic. It was power.
Mark blinked back tears, but they still spilled anyway, silently running down his cheeks. Watching Mark cry, Anthony gave into his own tears, not able to help the sob that came out of him, like his heart was being ripped out of him. He'd kept Mark at an arm's length, not wanting to be hurt again, but even from afar, the part of him that still loved Mark had fallen in love all over again, much as his pride hated it. And losing Mark a second time...
Anthony couldn't help one last twist of the knife. "You had all this time to apologize for what happened... to try to bridge the gap from your end if you were feeling shut out and you didn't. What, were you afraid that we'd be too needy?"
Now Mark sobbed too, weeping, doubling over, head in his hands. Anthony almost felt sorry for him - but he was too angry. Too hurt. Anthony wept as well, scalding tears, hot shame as his mind's eye replayed all the "love em and leave em" nights of his twenties, not wanting to get attached... and then when he did, his vulnerability with Sören had terrified him. It was a miracle that Sören had given him a second chance.
"Anthony." Mark picked his head up and looked Anthony in the eye. "What I told you, back in 1999... was a lie. It was a line of bullshit. I did it for what I thought was the right reasons, but it was still wrong."
Anthony blinked and leaned back. He wasn't expecting that.
Mark took a few deep breaths to pull himself together. He wiped his eyes and sat up straighter, squaring his shoulders. "I don't age. I've looked exactly the same as I do now, since the Renaissance. Since the Black Plague. Since ancient Rome. Since ancient Egypt. Since woolly mammoths existed. Eventually, when I'm as old as Círdan, I might be able to grow a beard. That's... the extent of it. I can affect an aged appearance with glamour, but it expends a tremendous amount of energy to maintain, and there are always rare people with what's been called 'the Sight' who can see through it... and even if I'm using glamour to look old and wizened, there's going to be people's children, and their children's children's children, who will wonder why I'm still alive. So I move around by necessity. All that 'wandering' I do as my ambiguous canonical fate isn't really by choice. I've been around the world many times over. With the rise of photography and video, and especially with surveillance after 9/11, I have to be even more careful."
"And..." Anthony wasn't following along.
"And, that's not a life I wanted for you. You were nineteen. You were brilliant. You had this entire bright future ahead of you and I felt like if I dragged you around with me, I would be ruining your life and worse, you'd come to resent me for it." Mark shook his head. "I have connections with some very shady people to procure me with illegal documentation and to help me with disappearing when it's time to go again. Which is another problem, as when I knew you back in 1999 you had expressed interest in a career as a criminal defense barrister - which you are now - and you don't need someone tracing connections between my contacts and you, that could be very ugly for you and hurt your reputation if not outright get you disbarred."
Anthony sat with that information for a long moment of silence, feeling like he'd been punched in the gut. He didn't know how to react, whether he should feel relief that Mark truly didn't think he was too needy - or even more anger that he'd been lied to, and that lie had cost him so much.
Mark went on. "I had learned how to be alone. I've had a few partners, companions... mortals who I've watched die, who I've buried. I was determined to never go through that again, the last time. And then there you were, and even as my conscience was telling me no, I couldn't resist you. I fell for you. I tried to put off the inevitable heartbreak as long as possible, and then you asked if we could live together -"
"Oh, so this is my fault -"
"No, I didn't say that." Mark's teeth clenched again. Mark took another deep breath, then held his hands out, a gesture of resignation, surrender. "You gave me strength, after being alone for so long - you felt like home. And you were my weakness. So I did what I thought I had to do. I lied."
"How very noble of you." Anthony sneered. "Well, you see the hurt it caused, the problems it's brought me."
"I do, but Anthony... you and I both know that if I'd told you the truth, you would have thought that was bullshit. 'Oh yes, I'm an immortal Elf and if you come with me, you'll never put roots down anywhere, your entire life will radically change at least once a decade, and by the way I can't stand to watch another partner die.'"
Anthony scowled. He didn't want Mark to be right.
"And I told you - even though what I did was for what I thought was the right reasons, I was wrong. I know I was wrong. I'm sorry I lied to you. I'm sorry I ghosted you - if I had kept seeing you it would have been impossible for me to resist you, and we would have fallen back into bed. I'm sorry I hurt you -"
"You're so sorry, and yet here you are leaving again." Anthony started to cry once more. As much as he hated it, his heart was breaking all over again.
"I don't know what else to do. I shouldn't have come here, because now I'm attached. Now I'm the needy one, and I can't bear the inevitable of having to move again, or watching Nicholas decline and die, or any of you -"
"So you thought leaving and knowing you would hurt us - doing irreparable harm - was preferable to sitting down and having a discussion with us about whether we might want to come with you when it's time for you to move along? You'd rather leave Nicholas now, after a month... you'd leave your own father behind, after thousands of years alone? I don't mean to make light of your pain, but Sören and I willingly took up with Nicholas knowing we'd get maybe ten, twenty years. I understand time passes differently for an Elf, but you're acting like you're the only person in the bloody universe that's lost someone. My father died last year, and you know my uncle Nigel killed himself the year we met. I would not shave off a single day of the years I'd known them to spare myself the hurt of losing them. And I certainly wouldn't be able to live with myself knowing I'd abandoned them if I'd run away. I don't know how you live with yourself, but your logic is the daftest thing I've ever heard, absolutely bonkers, and some of my clients are literally certifiably insane. So I ask you, are you smoking crack?"
Mark's mouth opened like he was going to reply to that, but Anthony felt sick. Disgusted. He was shaking. He felt like taking Mark's harp and throwing it across the room. Head spinning, heart pounding, Anthony rose up on his cane and began to limp towards the door.
Before he could get there, Mark was right there behind him and grabbed his wrist. "Where do you think you're going?"
"Oh, you're the one yelling at me for leaving now, are you?"
Anthony wrenched free of Mark's grip. Just before he could step out the door, Mark stepped to the side to close the door. Anthony glared -
- and then Mark pushed him up against the door, Mark's body on his, Mark reaching to grab him and pull him closer, their mouths colliding.
Despite himself, Anthony's lips parted, welcoming Mark's tongue. Their tongues met for the first time in close to eighteen years, licking, tasting, playing. One of Mark's hands came down from Anthony's face and slid down his chest to rest on his heart. Anthony's free hand reached up to cover Mark's hand. Anthony didn't want to give in, he was still so angry, so hurt, but his body betrayed him, kissing Mark back, hungry, needy.
His heart betrayed him. His soul betrayed him. He still loved Mark, after all this time.
"I'm so sorry." Mark kissed Anthony's forehead. "I am so, so, so sorry. I know words don't undo what's done. I wish, so much, there had been another way for us."
"There's still another way if you stay." Anthony couldn't believe he'd just said that, but there it was. He looked into Mark's eyes, too bright, burning with the same tears that stung his own eyes. "Don't leave. Don't run. I know it will hurt when... the time comes. But if you leave now, you'll hurt us all and you'll live with knowing that you did."
Mark swallowed hard and looked away. "What about moving around? You have a career here -"
"Nicholas is going to retire when he's seventy-five. He's talked about wanting to move to Iceland then and, well, Sören's in favor of that. I wouldn't mind living in Iceland myself. But, I've done some research and there's one lawyer for every three hundred people in Iceland, so I'm probably looking at having to go back to school and change careers once we're out there. That's maybe just as well because my father died of a heart attack so there's a first-degree family history of heart problems and the statistics in my profession indicate I'll go the same way unless I look at a career change before I'm fifty. So, all that is a very long way of saying things are not as set in stone for staying here as you might think." Anthony pursed his lips.
Mark looked back at Anthony. He didn't react right away - Anthony could tell he was taking it in, considering. Before Mark could reply, Anthony said, "But us coming with you - or you coming with us - is contingent on..." Anthony gave Mark a little shove. "Stop your shit. I really mean that. No more running. No bullshit excuses. I know that the last several thousand years have been difficult. But you need to allow yourself some peace, even if it's just for 'a little while' by your standards of time. I don't want to risk getting re-involved with you if you're just going to leave next week, a year, five years, because you can't deal."
Mark sighed, and nodded. "I'll stay," he said softly. He stroked Anthony's cheek. "I love you."
It didn't undo what was done - nothing could - and forgiveness was an ongoing process, not one-and-done. But that was what Anthony needed to hear. This time he led the kiss, moving forward, putting an arm around Mark, pulling Mark down to claim his mouth.
As the kiss deepened, Anthony found himself pushing Mark backwards, slowly marching him towards the bed, tongues lashing fiercely, desperately. Anthony's cock was ragingly hard, and he could feel the erection through Mark's jeans bumping up against his. For a split second Anthony's mind cautioned him that Mark still had boxes downstairs and that note on the kitchen counter and Nicholas was going to panic when he got in, if Sören didn't wake up and find it first. Then all caution was thrown to the wind as Mark's hands reached down to undo Anthony's belt, his trousers, before coming up to undo Anthony's tie. Before Anthony's tie could be completely undone, Mark grabbed the tie and took charge of the kiss, unleashing a consuming fire that had been contained for close to two decades.
Anthony's response to that was to push Mark onto the bed. With trembling hands he took off his suit jacket, then undid the buttons of his shirt one by one. He watched with hungry eyes as Mark took off his leather jacket, then pulled his Pink Floyd shirt over his head, revealing exquisitely sculpted biceps, triceps, pecs, and a washboard stomach. Anthony's breath hitched and his cock jolted, throbbing. Mark yanked Anthony's trousers down, then the boxer-briefs, before undoing his own jeans, taking off the jeans and boxers, freeing his hard cock, already dripping precum.
Mark lay back on the bed, raven-black hair spilling down his back and over his shoulders as he propped himself up on one elbow, looking at Anthony expectantly. Anthony rested his cane against the bedtable and climbed on. Mark pulled him close and for a moment they just lay there, skin to skin, cock to cock, looking into each other's eyes like they couldn't believe this was happening.
Anthony leaned in for another kiss. He shuddered as he felt Mark's hands roaming over his body, Mark's fingers brushing the hair on his arms, his chest, his thighs. They pressed against each other harder, cocks rubbing more insistently, both of them groaning into each deep, fierce, passionate kiss. When Mark pinched and tugged on one of Anthony's nipples, Anthony's cock twitched, dripping precum onto Mark's cock. Anthony looked down and his breath hitched at their slick cocks making streamers, rubbing and rubbing. Mark drew him into another kiss, and tugged the other nipple, then strummed it; Anthony heard himself cry out into the kiss, cock throbbing. It was like they had never stopped being lovers, with the way Mark knew Anthony's body, knew how to tease him.
Mark sucked on Anthony's lower lip, then began to kiss and lick Anthony's neck. Anthony's hands slid over Mark's powerful chest, those strong arms, the thighs that could crack walnuts. He rubbed and squeezed the firm bubble of Mark's ass, then gave it a playful smack. Mark chuckled before he nipped at Anthony's neck, making Anthony gasp. Then Mark took a long, slow lick up Anthony's neck, looking up at him with lust in his eyes.
"You're stuck with me now," Mark whispered, before he took another nibble.
Anthony groaned, cock twitching against Mark's. More precum dripped from his cock onto Mark's cock. Mark continued kissing and licking Anthony's sensitive neck and shoulder, playing with Anthony's nipples as Anthony's hands explored the musculature of Mark's body, at last stroking the silky waves of black hair, remembering how it felt before, needing to feel everything he could touch, feel this was real, really happening, not just a wishful fantasy.
Their mouths met again, then Mark kissed the sweet hollow of Anthony's neck and shoulder, nipped at it - Anthony knew there would be love bites later. More precum flowed, and Mark collected it this time, tasted it from his fingers, licking and sucking like he was savoring every drop. Anthony shivered, cock jolting, pulsing, mind racing with the memories of all the ways they'd had each other - all the things they could do to each other now. Anthony wasn't as limber as he used to be, with his spinal injury, but he could still do plenty of things, and he wanted them all.
Mark's fingers scooped more precum from Anthony's cock, and then Mark anointed Anthony's hard nipples with it. Anthony cried out as Mark drew a nipple into his mouth, sucking hard. Then Mark turned to the other and suckled that one as well, so hard it almost hurt. Mark lashed with his tongue, like he wanted to taste the lingering notes of precum, one nipple then the other, back and forth between them, lapping fast and furious before suckling again, harder. Then slow, teasing strokes of his tongue, looking up at him with lewd, naughty eyes again.
Mark shoved Anthony onto his back. "Fuck, I need to taste you," he growled. He nibbled Anthony's neck and husked, "I need to taste all of you."
Anthony lay there, panting, gasping, writhing, as Mark licked him all over, fingers following the wake of his tongue. Mark licked at the hair on Anthony's arms and chest and thighs and calves, kissed and sucked at his nipples, his stomach, his hips, his inner thighs and behind the knee, everywhere Mark knew Anthony was sensitive. "You're so beautiful," Mark whispered, planting a kiss over Anthony's heart, tongue sliding down from Anthony's heart to his navel, taking a nibble. "I've missed you so much."
Anthony teared up, touched by those words - what he could feel in Mark's voice - but he didn't want to start crying again. Not that he could think and reflect for very long. Right after Mark said that, Mark got on his knees at the foot of his bed like he was praying, and he drew the head of Anthony's cock into his mouth.
The sight of Mark's beautiful lips wrapped around his cock, the heat in his eyes, almost set Anthony off right then. Anthony let out a little cry, bucking against him. "Oh god." He shuddered as Mark began kissing the head, sucking it, working his tongue. "Oh god. Ohgodohgodohgod Mark -"
"Mmmmmm." Mark took Anthony's cock out of his mouth, gave a few slow, deliberate licks, tapped the head against his tongue before he put it back in his mouth, sucking slowly. "Mmmmmmm."
"Oh, fuck...." Anthony quivered and made a noise that was half-mewl, half-growl. He was almost ashamed of how much he wanted this.
Mark took more of Anthony's shaft in his mouth and worked his head back and forth, sucking harder, faster. His hand rubbed the bottom of the shaft. Anthony thrashed about, gripping the sheets white-knuckled, and at last seized fistfuls of Mark's hair, pulling it just like he remembered Mark liked it. Now it was Mark's turn to cry out around the cock in his mouth, sucking even more hungrily. Anthony saw Mark's shoulder moving and knew Mark was stroking himself, which drove him mad with lust. He tugged Mark's hair harder and gently fucked his mouth, panting.
"Mmmmhmmm." Mark slurped at it, sucking like he was trying to make up for lost time. The hand rubbing the base of Anthony's shaft rubbed the balls as well, Mark's other shoulder moving faster; Anthony could hear the slick rattling sound of Mark jerking himself off.
"Oh god, Mark..." Anthony gave a shuddery gasp. He was already so close and he didn't want this to end. Mark's mouth wasn't just pleasing him but soothing old hurts, giving back something that had been stolen from both of them. He needed this. "Oh god, I need."
Their eyes met. For an instant Anthony's heart seemed to stop, the world about to crash down, confessing something that Mark had pushed him away for eighteen years ago. But Mark just responded to it with a more urgent "mmmmmmm," sucking even more hungrily, growling around the cock in his mouth like he was claiming it as his own.
Anthony grabbed Mark's hair even harder, then realized he might be causing Mark pain, and tenderly touched Mark's face, stroked it... tucked a lock of Mark's hair behind a pointy ear, freely exposed. Not thinking, just feeling, Anthony reached for the point of Mark's ear, wanting to express with his touch how beautiful he thought Mark was - how much he accepted him, as he was...
...and Mark whimpered as Anthony's thumb and finger played with the pointy tip of his ear. Mark's shoulder shook violently, the slick rattling sound louder, deliciously filthy, and Mark whimpered around the cock in his mouth again, sucking for all he was worth.
Anthony was right on edge, and he knew Mark was going to bring himself off. As hot as that was to him, he needed to make up for lost time too. "I want to taste you too," he whispered. "Get over here and let me suck you."
Mark took the cock out of his mouth, laughed softly, and climbed back onto the bed. They took a moment to kiss - tasting his own precum on Mark's mouth made Anthony's cock twitch - and then Mark got into position, laying on his side with his head between Anthony's legs.
Anthony took a long lick down Mark's shaft, chasing Mark's precum with his tongue. It had been so long and yet he had never really forgotten the way Mark tasted. He shoved as much of Mark's long, thick cock in his mouth as he could without choking and sucked feverishly, playing with Mark's balls as he sucked, while Mark's mouth drove him back to that edge, that place where only sensation existed, only pleasure mattered. They moaned around each other's cocks, viciously devouring each other, gently fucking each other's mouths. Mark's hands clutched at Anthony's hip and thigh, nails digging in, and Anthony shivered.
Still cupping and rubbing Mark's balls with one hand, the fingers of Anthony's other hand slid to that sensitive place between balls and ass, brushing, tracing. Mark gave an urgent whimper around Anthony's cock. Anthony groaned in response, and moved in for the kill, pushing one finger inside Mark, finding that spot right away, massaging it, finger moving up and down, rubbing, as Anthony's mouth clamped down on Mark's cock tighter. Mark's balls tightened and Mark's cock throbbed in Anthony's mouth, and then there it was, Mark howling around the cock in his mouth as he flooded Anthony's mouth with sweet, hot seed.
There was so much that Anthony almost choked on it, seed spilling out of the corners of his mouth. Mark coming in his mouth was such a turn-on that Anthony gave in to his own release, shaking as he melted into pulsing waves of bliss and relief. Mark made a noise of contentment. Anthony swallowed Mark's cum and licked Mark clean, Mark's cock twitching with each stroke of his tongue, and Mark did the same for Anthony, licking and giving one last suck until Anthony was too sensitive, pulling back, laughing as the world spun.
Mark maneuvered next to Anthony and for a few minutes they lay there, an arm around each other, catching their breath. Finally Anthony turned to face Mark, looking into those inhumanly beautiful eyes like labradorite. He touched Mark's cheek, and Mark put a hand on Anthony's heart. Anthony moved in closer and they kissed again, sharing the lingering notes of their cream. Mark's hand slid down from Anthony's heart to rub his stomach in slow, lazy circles, and Anthony reached out to pull Mark closer against him. One kiss became another, and another, and their cocks rose to life again.
Anthony started kissing Mark's neck, breathing in musk and petrichor. Mark moaned and started grinding against him. Anthony moaned back, enjoying the feel of Mark's velvet steel against his cock.
Anthony glanced over at the bare bedtable. "I suppose you don't have lube in here."
"No. I did, but it's packed up with my toys." Then Mark turned pink, and bit his lower lip.
Anthony laughed, delighted by that - and his cock twitched at the mental image of Mark fucking himself with a dildo. "You have toys?"
Mark nodded and gave a sheepish grin. "I have a couple of dildos and a vibe and a stroker - what do they call it - a Fleshlight."
The idea of an Elf thousands of years old owning a Fleshlight made Anthony laugh harder, tearing up, sides heaving. He tried to compose himself, not wanting to offend Mark or make him feel ashamed, but Mark laughed too, blush deepening.
"It's been awhile for you?" Anthony cocked his head to one side.
Mark nodded solemnly. "There's been no one since you, Anthony. Just my hand and... toys." Mark grinned again. "I fucked myself silly listening to the three of you on your birthday."
"That's fucking hot." Anthony kissed him again. "What did you think about?"
"Each of you taking me, fucking me hard. Making me your fucktoy, your slave."
Anthony had figured out back in 1999 that Mark had some submissive tendencies - Mark had been the first person he'd ever tied up - but didn't realize it went that far. Anthony's cock leapt, and Mark laughed harder, before kissing Anthony back. Anthony moaned as he felt Mark's cock pulse against his.
"I'd like to make that a reality sometime," Anthony said. "In the meantime, our lube is down in the master bedroom and Sören is sleeping and I don't want to wake him -"
"It's all right. We can do other things." Mark kissed him again.
As they kissed, Mark's hand reached down and took them both into his fist. The tightness of Mark's hand gripping them, the silk of Mark's cock rubbing against his, got Anthony to that edge right away. Trembling, gasping, panting, Anthony tried to stay there as long as he could, not wanting to come so soon, wanting to make this last... needing to keep feeling Mark. They looked into each other's eyes, breathing each other's breath between kisses, moaning together as Mark's hand stroked them hard and fast. The past faded away and there was only this, the lust of Mark's body and those sexy eyes, that hot cock on his, streamers of precum, the teasing pleasure building and building, higher, deeper, tighter, ready to explode but needing just a little more, needing cock on cock, man on man, cock fucking cock inside that fierce grip...
Mark's eyes rolled back and he shuddered. "Oh shit, Anthony."
Anthony knew Mark was right there. Mark's cock throbbed against his, and Anthony's cock twitched in response. Anthony's hand caressed up Mark's chest, thumb resting on a nipple before rubbing in circles. He licked Mark's throat. "Come for me," he whispered.
Mark threw back his head and cried out, and the sight and feel of Mark's cum flowing over his cock brought Anthony off too, kissing Mark hard, moaning into the kiss as his body shook and his cock spent and spent, throbbing in ecstasy. Anthony sighed and shivered, toes curling involuntarily, feeling that giddy rush of joy that gave way to deep, deep contentment.
"I love you," Mark breathed.
"I love you too," Anthony said, and kissed him again. Then he swatted Mark's bum. "Arsehole."
Mark smirked. "You might have to punish me for my bad behavior."
That idea was delicious, but Anthony was too spent. He laughed and nipped Mark's nose. "You're as bad as Sören, you know that."
"It's almost like I'm his son or something." Mark stroked his chin, looking deep in thought.
They laughed together, and then Mark pulled him close, cradling Anthony into his chest, stroking Anthony's hair and rubbing his back as Anthony listened to the thunder of Mark's heart, slowing to a more gentle, soothing rhythm. Anthony closed his eyes and let himself drift, feeling like he was made of jelly, like he was resting in a cocoon of light. Things weren't entirely resolved, but they were better.
Through the haze of afterglow, Anthony heard the muffled sound of Nicholas's deep register, then an explosive burst from Sören in Icelandic. Anthony's eyes opened and he realized they'd found Mark's goodbye note on the kitchen counter.
Two sets of footsteps banged upstairs and before Anthony could get a sheet pulled over them - feeling a little sheepish about that instinct considering Sören and Nicholas had seen him naked many times - Nicholas and Sören were at the door. Before the door even opened, Nicholas was outside the door scolding - he rarely raised his voice but he was bellowing now. "MACALAURË KANAFINWË FËANORION." A hand on the doorknob. "AS YOU KNOW, YOU SHAAAA -"
The door opened to the sight of Anthony and Mark curled up in each other's arms, naked... painted in each other's cum. Sören's expression went from murderous rage to wide-eyed surprise to silent, heaving laughter, while Nicholas stopped mid-shan't and stood there with his mouth open like he'd never seen two naked men before.
"Er," Nicholas said.
"Er," Anthony replied.
Mark waved.
Sören folded his arms, trying to give Mark a stern look and failing, not able to wipe the smirk off his flushed face. He glanced over at Nicholas, who was utterly dumbfounded, and his laughter was no longer silent. At the glare Nicholas gave him Sören quickly pulled himself together and tried to be nonchalant. "So, Anthony, I take it you, ah... talked... Mark out of doing something stupid?" Sören's eyes looked Anthony up and down, noticing the splattered cum.
Anthony nodded.
Sören nodded too. "Everything's cromulent, then?"
Anthony blinked with disbelief - he'd never heard Sören use that word before. Hearing Sören, of all people, say "cromulent", and in his Icelandic accent no less, sent Anthony into hysterics, wheezing, sides shaking, starting to cramp up as tears blinded him. "Oh shit," he gasped, wiping his eyes. "Jesus Christ, Sören..."
Sören clapped Nicholas on the shoulder. "Kay. We'll leave you two lovebirds alone to finish, uh, catching up."
"Indeed," Nicholas said, raising an eyebrow with a smirk of his own before Sören hauled him away by the tail of his shirt.
chapter 14 | return to Learning To Fly | return to Other Tolkien Fic | return to index