It was Saturday, March seventeenth - the date Mark had given as his birthday so long ago back in 1999, although Anthony knew now that time reckoning had been different back when Maglor was born and March seventeenth was "close enough" to the date. Sören managed to get the day off from work so they could do something special; Mark had requested going someplace where they could spend time in nature, but not necessarily to the sea. "My days of singing sad songs by the sea are over," Mark said with a smile that broke Anthony's heart.
So it was that Anthony had suggested Wandsworth Common, about an hour from Blackheath, where his mum and dad used to take him when he was small to watch the waterbirds, especially the swans. Spring was almost here officially, and the land wasn't waiting for permission from the calendar - trees were starting to bud and crocuses were blooming. It would be a joy to visit the ponds and lake and see the birds that had returned from the south, as well as the mute swans that lived in England year-round.
It was one thing to make plans and another thing for London weather to cooperate, but it was a beautiful Saturday afternoon, with a blue sky of wispy white clouds and temps of 12 C which felt downright balmy after the chill of February. It was still cool enough that Wandsworth Common wasn't very busy, not too many people around. The park had changed a bit from when Anthony was a child in the 1980s, but not by so much - there was still a comforting familiarity there, all the more comforting with good food and music and the companionship of his partners, enjoying and sharing the beauty and majesty of the world with him.
Nicholas had packed a lunch of chicken bacon avocado sandwiches with an antipasto pasta salad, and red velvet cupcakes topped with cream cheese and strawberries. Mark brought his acoustic guitar and they found a nice spot by a grove of oak trees that were just starting to leaf, with cowslips and bluebells rising in the grass, where they could watch swans and ducks swimming on a pond a few meters away.
As Mark played a mix of original compositions and pop songs on his piano, his crystalline voice ringing out through the trees and over the water, birds chirped and Sören sketched. It made Anthony happy to see Sören getting back to his art again, after being too exhausted and stressed for so many months. It was as if they were all coming back to life, and the world was celebrating with them in the colorful glory of spring.
Anthony was feeling so good that he didn't even complain when Sören pulled him to his feet and they did a little dance together.
This thing called love
I just can't handle it
This thing called love
I must get 'round to it
I ain't ready
Crazy little thing called love
Suddenly, a large dark shadow fell over them, as if a raptor or airplane were flying immediately overhead, or there was an eclipse. Anthony knew he would have heard about it in the news if there was an eclipse today. Anthony and Sören looked up - Mark stopped playing - and Anthony's mouth opened as he saw a hideous creature that appeared to be made of dark grey smoke, with a face resembling Munch's The Scream and a body like a gnarled, twisted skeleton with long claws. The demon-like monster began to screech, sounding like several voices in one voice.
It was not a Balrog - Anthony remembered those vividly from his dreams of Finarfin dying in battle. Balrogs had just as much fire as smoke, if not more, and they were winged, with flowing manes and glowing eyes. They were almost beautiful, except for being corrupted, evil creations doing Sauron and Morgoth's handiwork. This was something else entirely, something never seen in Tolkien's legendarium.
"Are you seeing that too?" Anthony asked Sören, not able to believe it, wondering if he was hallucinating.
Before Sören could respond, the smoke monster swooped down and turned to the left. It clenched its fist, and plumes of dark smoke shot from its claws, aimed at the nearby oak trees and a patch of grass with wildflowers. Anthony watched with horror as the trees immediately wilted, barren like winter, the grass going brown, flowers shriveling and dying.
"Jæja, I saw that," Sören said, face murderous.
The smoke monster turned to them now and aimed a dark bolt at Sören. Anthony grabbed Sören's arm, shoved him down on the ground, and then dove on top of Sören, shielding Sören with his body...
...and his mind. Not thinking, just feeling, Anthony saw golden-white light in his mind's eye and felt himself pushing, making a bubble around them. He opened his eyes and through the haze he saw the dark energy hit the grass mere inches away, just outside the bubble of light, turning the grass brown, killing the flowers.
Tears came to Anthony's eyes. While he knew trees and plants didn't feel things the way animals and people did, he still imagined that whatever pain and distress they were capable of feeling, they felt as the smoke monster's dark energy drained them of life. Anthony heard the mute swans make their muffled trumpeting sounds, and the ducks were also in a frenzy. The smoke monster turned to look at birds on the pond and cocked its head to one side as if curious. Then it raised a hand.
Before Anthony could try to project the bubble of light all the way to the pond - his head was pounding just from the bubble wrapped around himself and Sören, like a cocoon - Nicholas finally stood up from where he'd been frozen in terror, sitting on the blanket. The smoke monster turned back to them and was about to aim for Nicholas. Anthony saw Nicholas's eyes turn from dark brown to orange, like his eyes were made of fire, and Nicholas raised his right hand, pointing his index and middle finger like a gun. Blue light bolted out of his fingers like lightning, hitting the smoke monster in the chest. The smoke monster let out a hideous, ear-splitting shriek, and another as Nicholas moved his hand up to shoot for the head. Anthony watched the smoke monster explode as the blue lightning hit it, thousands of dark wisps that immediately faded.
Nicholas reflexively took a couple of steps back, breathing hard. He looked at his right hand - which was now shaking - and then back at where the smoke monster had been hovering in the air, who was gone now.
Mark quickly began to pack their leftovers and rubbish into the picnic basket, every now and again pausing to take a wary look around. "We better get out of here in case it has any friends who want to pay us a visit," Mark said.
Anthony crawled off of Sören and sat for a moment, head spinning. He felt sick to his stomach. He looked around, still in disbelief - the agitated birds on the pond, the dead patch of grass nearby, the barren trees and wilted flowers in more dead grass in the distance. Whatever that thing was, it was powerful - and it had meant to kill them.
Nicholas helped Sören up. Nicholas was still trembling and now Sören was too. Sören looked at Anthony, blinking as if in disbelief, and then Sören cleared his throat. "You saved my life," Sören said softly, reaching out to touch Anthony's face. "You shielded me with yourself."
"I would die for you," Anthony said sincerely - it was something Finarfin had told Fëanor as well. It was why, he knew now, Fëanor had sent him back to Valinor.
"Well... I need you to stay alive for me." Sören walked over to the blanket and just as he was stooping to pick up his tablet, Mark waved his hand and the tablet floated over to Sören, who grabbed it.
Though Nicholas had driven them here, it was Mark who took the wheel and drove them back, as Nicholas was too shaken up. All of them were. Anthony knew he wasn't hallucinating - it would be easier in some ways if he had been, Anthony thought - they had all seen it... and there was a shared terror over what they'd witnessed, how close they'd come to being drained like the plant life in the park. A shared terror over what came next - how soon before the next attack. Anthony felt like a big target sign was on his back. He had dealt with bomb threats and death threats for some of the cases he'd handled in his career as a criminal defense barrister. The windows to his flat in Kingston had been bricked when it leaked he was the other driver in the accident that killed Justin Roberts, golden boy of football. This made all of that look like child's play in comparison.
In the shared panic, sitting with the knowledge of what they'd seen, and the speculation of what was to come, the drive back was painfully silent. Halfway there, Mark muttered under his breath and put on the radio. Classical music was usually relaxing, but Rachmaninoff seemed too ominous, so Mark turned the dial to an R&B station. A song by Drake was just ending, with the DJ saying it was "Drizzy Drake", and Sören kicked Nicholas's seat. Nicholas rolled his eyes but in the rear-view mirror Anthony saw Nicholas's lips quirk with a small smile.
"I need to laugh or I'm going to fall apart," Sören said.
"Hi Going To Fall Apart," Mark deadpanned.
"That's my boy."
At the house in Blackheath, Mark made tea. While Anthony and Sören were both still haunted and in a state of shock from what happened at Wandsworth Green, Nicholas was even moreso, and he sat between them - Sören got one of the weighted blankets and draped it over Nicholas. Tobias, sensing the distress, came over and sat on Nicholas while Miss Balls and Seumas lingered nearby.
Once the tea was ready, Mark sat forward and steepled his hands. He waited for them to each finish a cup of tea - which took longer than usual, with Sören and Anthony petting and skritching Nicholas like he was one of the cats, trying to soothe him - then finally Mark cleared his throat. "OK. We have to talk about what happened."
"It was fucked up," Sören said.
Anthony nodded. He looked Mark in the eye, feeling a stab of guilt. "And it was supposed to be your birthday. I'm sorry it got ruined -"
"The day's still young. And this is hardly my worst birthday." Mark gave a sad smile. He leaned back. "You all seem to be in worse shape than I am right now, anyway."
"A bit," Sören said.
Nicholas took a deep breath. "What frightens me worse than what we saw out there - what it did, what it was capable of - is what I did." He pulled out his right hand from under the blanket, looked at it in awe, in fear, and his hand began to tremble again. His eyes misted. "I did not even wield that kind of power when I was in Quendi form, long ago."
Mark nodded. Then he cocked his head to one side. "I take it that's the first time you've done something like that?"
"Yes. ...No. Yes and no."
Anthony's eyebrows shot up, surprised and confused.
Nicholas looked down, then over at Sören, then at Anthony. "When Sören and I visited Iceland together in 2017, we had a chance encounter with Sören's uncle Einar, who had raised him."
"Einar was a piece of shit," Sören explained. "He drank. He got violent when he was drunk. The ink on my back covers up scars he put there."
Mark swore in Quenya under his breath. His fists clenched, his jaw set, and then he made himself calm down. "What happened?"
"He threatened Sören, and... I got in the way, and then... Einar dropped dead of a heart attack right there." Nicholas pinched the bridge of his nose, wincing like he was in pain. "Just before he did, I got the urge to kill him for the pain he'd inflicted on Sören, all the suffering Sören endured when he was a young, helpless boy. I had a brief fantasy of choking Einar to death. And suddenly, he was dead. I tried to dismiss it as coincidence - the man had been abusing his body with alcohol for years, after all - but it still haunted me. And now, seeing what I did to that demonic creature - feeling it, feeling the power of it... that same anger, wanting to smite that which threatened what was mine..." Nicholas's hand shook again. He closed his eyes and shuddered.
"I have something to tell you," Sören said softly.
Nicholas's eyes opened, and Anthony glanced over.
"Anthony, you remember back in 2016 when that asshole Steve you used to be friends with, when he took your cane? And I went after him to get it back while you sat in Starbucks?"
Anthony nodded slowly.
"Jaeja. Well... I had that same fantasy Nick had, I was choking Steve in my mind. And he started to choke, without me touching him. I, ah, stopped before he could drop dead. But there were witnesses. One of them, a young guy, approached me and said my eyes turned orange, like they were on fire." Sören's eyes met Nicholas's. "Your eyes turned the same color when you blasted that demon thing."
Nicholas's jaw dropped. Now it was Anthony's turn to shudder. He let out a low whistle, impressed. Freaked out, but impressed nonetheless.
"Your eyes turned silver for a moment when we did that... thing... to heal Nicholas," Anthony said to Sören, remembering it vividly. "Almost white. They're back to that pretty chocolate brown now, but it was really something."
Mark nodded, taking it all in.
"If only we had that kind of power back in the day, we might all still be our old selves," Sören said, then quickly added, "Not that I hate being me, or anything - it's an adventure, I guess, but -"
"I get what you're trying to say," Mark said, "and I concur. Even though you're in mortal bodies - well, two of you now, anyway - it's like you've become less vulnerable than you were as Quendi."
"We leveled up," Anthony said, and then facepalmed, realizing how nerdy that sounded, but he was a child of the 80s and grew up playing video games.
Sören began to hum the Super Mario theme song, which made Anthony laugh, and made Nicholas roll his eyes before Nicholas gave Sören a fond smile and tousled his curls.
"In all seriousness," Mark said, "that's not a terrible analogy. The four of us being reunited after so very long... there's a bottomless hunger as we rediscover our bond, and a fierce, feral determination not to be separated again. It makes sense to me that those intense feelings awakened some sort of power in us, and comes out without us even thinking about it when any of the pack is threatened." Mark's eyes locked with Anthony. "Even you. I saw the light when you covered Sören with your own body."
Anthony gasped. He knew what he felt, of course - he still had a dull headache left over from pushing that kind of energy - but it was another thing for someone else to see it. Nicholas nodded, acknowledging he'd seen it as well.
"It felt very warm," Sören said. "I mean, yeah, it would feel warmer with your body on top of mine..." Sören grinned and wiggled his eyebrows; Anthony laughed. "But it was more than that."
"And that brings me to the next point of the discussion." Mark sat back and folded his arms. "I'm pretty sure our little friend was a present from Sauron, and there's going to be more. If our power is stronger now... that also makes us show up better on the cosmic radar, so to speak. We're more easily found than we were. Not that Sauron seemed to have a problem finding you anyway."
"It's like he checks in," Sören said. "Like he's got something similar to a palantir or Galadriel's Mirror that he uses to stalk us and see what we're up to."
"Fucker," Anthony muttered, still furious about the car accident.
"My theory is that he sent that thing instead of facing us himself because if there were witnesses, it would be harder for him to keep his cover in London. If witnesses saw the smoke monster, it's harder for them to tell authorities about it without sounding utterly bonkers. He knows what he's doing." Mark scowled. "It probably won't be the last time we encounter one of those things unless we make a shield, like what you were doing at the pond, Anthony."
"Just keeping that bubble over myself and Sören was very taxing," Anthony said. "I want to be able to help..."
"As you know, you have all of us to amplify the power," Nicholas cut in. "And the Silmarils. And Macalaurë's Song."
"I have faith that if we work together, we can protect ourselves." Mark nodded.
"It's worth a shot," Sören said. "If I never see anything like what we saw at the pond today, ever again, it'll be too soon."
"All right." Anthony nodded. Even though his head still hurt, time was of the essence - he didn't know if Sauron would try to send another smoke demon again today or not, and he didn't want to err on the side of assuming he wouldn't and be caught by surprise. "Let's do this."
Sören and Mark went upstairs to get the Silmarils and Mark's harp. Once they were back downstairs, Sören started a fire in the fireplace and lit seven votive candles in crystal holders along the mantle. Nicholas gathered pillows and blankets to make a cozy spot for sitting by the fire. Mark pulled over a chair and his harp. When they were ready, Sören, Anthony and Nicholas sat on the pile of pillows and blankets by the fire, Sören sitting in the middle, Anthony between Sören and Mark. Sören, Anthony and Nicholas each held a Silmaril. The three cats came over to rest by the fire, purring in harmony. Before Seumas curled up, he made a curious "Prrrp?" and tapped the Silmaril that Anthony was holding. Anthony laughed, harder when Seumas headbutted the Silmaril and rubbed his face against it.
Mark warmed up by doing scales, then he began to play an improvised melody - bright, ethereal major chords that went up and up and up, down into stormy minor chords, then rising again. Joy and sorrow, sorrow and joy. Sören took some deep breaths, staring intently into the flames - Anthony watched the flames rise and wondered if Sören was doing that. At last Sören gave a nod.
Anthony started to push again, conjuring the golden light in his mind's eye once more, weaving it around himself and then out and around all of them. The Silmaril pulsed in his hands and started to glow brighter. He felt something like ripples of heat radiating out from Sören and now he could see the golden haze around them, thicker when Nicholas's energy joined theirs. Mark once again sang in Quenya but Anthony somehow knew what he was singing. Mark's voice was like a choir of several voices, giving him chills.
We carry the fire
Ere a light to the good
But the foul, the evil
Are burned up, blown away
Begone, unclean demons
And their twisted masters
We carry the fire
We walk in the Light
The light got brighter and brighter, the Silmaril throbbing, so warm it almost hurt. The Silmaril started to rock in Anthony's hand like it wanted to be let go, and Anthony watched as the Silmaril rose up and up and up, joining the other two. The Silmarils then burned as brightly as they had the day they'd healed Nicholas, adding their light to the light surrounding them, enfolding them. Anthony felt like a wave of heat was rolling over them, everything too bright, until the gold was all rainbow-white, and everything washed out, only pure light and pulsing echoes.
The light faded, Mark's song ended, and the Silmarils sank back into their hands, glittering, throwing off rainbows on the walls and ceiling. Anthony caught his breath, tears in his eyes, hair standing on end, skin gooseflesh, head spinning, feeling like he was going to fall apart from the rush of emotions, deeply in awe of what he'd seen, what they'd done. Even though it was the second time they'd done something like this consciously, Anthony didn't think he'd ever get used to it. He felt something almost like hysteria, reality shattering again, but mixed with a childlike wonder, humbled to be loved so much by these people that the force of that love could do something so beautiful, so terrifying, so amazing.
Seumas came trotting over, curious again, and before Anthony could stop him Seumas knocked the Silmaril out of his hand and started batting it around the floor. "Prrrp? PRR-ROWWWRR. ROW. ROW. ARO. ROWOWOW."
Sören laughed so hard he fell over, tearing up. "They make great cat toys, I guess."
Miss Balls got up, yawned and stretched, and climbed onto Sören, walking over his chest to gently nip his cheek.
The next few days passed by uneventfully - no new visits from the smoke monster. There was also no news report of the dead grass patches at Wandsworth Common, which made Anthony a bit sad, knowing that it was probably assumed to be pollution and thus not newsworthy, such was the state of the world that it was so commonplace. Though Anthony was not angry with Gandalf for incarnating them as mortal, it did seem that Gandalf had chosen interesting times, when the world seemed to have gone mad.
On Wednesday the twenty-first Anthony had his worst day in months, not due to anything supernatural but due to problems all too human - a man he was defending, who Anthony believed was truly innocent, was not merely found guilty but also given a much harsher sentence than Anthony thought was appropriate. Anthony started to cry on the scooter ride home, feeling angry and helpless and getting more and more worked up at the injustices of the world. I could heal one of my partners and shield another and I couldn't prevent this innocent man from going to prison. Though Anthony tried to pull himself together as he entered Blackheath and headed for home, once he arrived at home and saw Sören's sweet brown eyes, he fell apart.
"Oh, elskan." Sören pulled him close, held him tight, started rocking him. "What happened? Bad day at work?"
Anthony nodded. "One of my clients is going to jail, and he doesn't deserve to. I really don't think he did it. I've defended people I know are guilty, but not this guy." Anthony sobbed on Sören's shoulder. "I hate it. I fucking hate it. And I hate getting like this when I lose a case, like a spoilt brat throwing a temper tantrum."
"It's different than a kid who doesn't get his own way, Anthony." Sören smoothed Anthony's hair and kissed his brow. "You've seen how I get the few times I've lost patients. It never gets easier. We always feel like there's something more we could have, should have done, and we're powerless, and it's the worst feeling in the world."
"Yeah." Anthony felt a tight ache in his chest, knowing Sören got it. His arms tightened around Sören, giving him a squeeze.
Anthony tried to calm down again, now that he was home and had his partners and his cats, but he started to get upset again over a cup of tea, sobbing with anger, doubling over, holding back the screams inside.
"Maybe we should take you out to do something, get your mind off things," Sören said, rubbing Anthony's back.
"I don't want to go where people are and have them see me like this, and I might bite someone's head off."
Sören stroked his chin and then he said, "How about we go to Wandsworth Common again? That way we can also really test the, ah, shields, make sure they're still working, because if Sauron wants to send more of those demon things, that would be the place to do it."
Anthony hesitated, and then he nodded as the gears in his brain turned and he saw the logic of it. And this was something where he had some power, some control - a situation he could do something about, unlike today's court case.
"You coming with us, Nick?" Sören asked, glancing over at Nicholas, who put down his book and nodded. Then Sören looked at Mark.
"You guys can go on," Mark said. "I'll start dinner so it'll be ready when you get back."
Anthony changed out of his court robes into a sweater and jeans, and they were off, with Nicholas driving them there. Anthony hoped for everyone's sake that there wouldn't be another smoke monster, not just in and of itself, but because Nicholas had been too spooked to drive home last time and Sören only drove a scooter in the UK and Anthony hadn't been able to get behind the wheel of a car since his accident.
The woods glowed golden in the last hour before sunset, giving the place a tranquil atmosphere that was in direct contrast to Anthony's memory of the attack and the evidence thereof. Seeing the patches of dead grass and the barren trees among the budding trees hit Anthony harder than when he'd first seen them on Saturday - he'd been in a state of shock then, having narrowly escaped death-by-demon. It was like looking at carnage. Anthony had taken up gardening when he was still a small boy, thanks to his father, and Anthony had a way with plants thriving under his care that Anthony knew now was a holdover from his life as Finarfin. Finarfin had been acutely aware of the life force in all things, the way plants had a language all their own, and this came rushing back to him now, like the land remembered the attack and it hurt and -
Anthony started crying again, ashamed of himself for crying so much today, even as he knew neither Sören nor Nicholas expected him to "man up" and not be so sensitive. Sören and Nicholas put their arms around him right away, holding him, but he could feel them shaking with tears of their own and that made him cry all the harder.
"It's so senseless," Sören said, looking over at the dead trees, the dead grass. "So brutal."
"As you know, such is the way of our enemies," Nicholas said. "They have always been like that."
"Those poor trees." Anthony snuffled. "God, I'm an idiot."
"No." Sören looked him in the eye. "You care, and I love that about you." Sören looked over at the place where Anthony had shielded him, the dead grass and flowers that could have been them. "You cared enough to save my life. You could have died -"
"I would die for you." Anthony had said it before and he'd say it again. Sören needed to know. Fëanor needed to know, after everything.
"I need you to live for me," Sören said. "I need us to be alive." With that, Sören took Anthony's face in his hands and kissed him deeply.
One kiss became another, more and more, hungering for it, desperate in the face of what they'd survived together, needing each other, needing the passion to drive back the lingering dark. Soon Nicholas was taking turns kissing them as well. There was no one else around, and they fell on each other, undressing quickly like their clothing was offensive to them and it was right and proper to be naked here in the spring by the pond in the golden haze before sunset. Sören and Nicholas looked even more magnificent in the last light, and Anthony wanted them, going out of his mind with lust, feeling like a man possessed.
He took them by the hands, but before he could drag them down into the grass, Sören made a "wait" gesture. Anthony and Nicholas got a lovely view of Sören's firm, peach-shaped ass as he bent over and rummaged about in his jeans. When Sören rose up, he had a small translucent blue gauze drawstring pouch with the Silmarils in one hand, and a travel-sized bottle of lube in the other, his face lit up in a big, mischievous grin.
Anthony facepalmed, tearing up for a reason other than sadness now, heaving with laughter. "Goddammit Sören." He wheezed. "You brought the Silmarils and lube?"
"I felt like I should take the Silmarils just because. It was an intuitive feeling that didn't really make sense but I went with it. And I carry lube around now out of force of habit, in case we feel frisky and can't wait to get home," Sören said with a shrug. Then he started laughing too. "'Silmarils and lube.' You make it sound like the Silmarils are sex toys or something." Sören's grin got bigger. "I guess they could be anal beads."
Nicholas rolled his eyes, trying not to laugh. "As you know, they -"
"Jæja, Ñolo." Sören strode over to Nicholas, naked as the sky, and Anthony watched their hard cocks bump up together as Sören silenced Nicholas's protest with a kiss. Anthony's cock leapt and throbbed, wanting them so much it hurt. Wanting them now.
For the briefest instant there was a nagging caution in the back of Anthony's mind - someone could see you and then you'll get busted for public indecency and one of your learned friends will have to defend you - but there was still no one around, and then without thinking about it Anthony felt himself giving a little nudge, rippling the shield further out, as if to ward off anyone who might be inclined to stroll through this way the next while.
Sören pushed Anthony down into the grass and settled atop him, their hard cocks grinding together as they kissed passionately. Nicholas got down behind Sören and started kissing and nibbling on Sören's neck and shoulder as Sören and Anthony continued kissing, rubbing. Anthony's hands wandered over Sören's body, enjoying the silken steel of him, and he trembled at Sören's touch, exploring, teasing, knowing everywhere he was sensitive after all these years. Anthony moaned as Sören kissed and licked his throat, grinding more insistently. Then one hand was rubbing a nipple, thumb rolling it, fingers pinching it, as Sören's other hand slicked up Anthony's cock. As their mouths met again, out of the corner of his eye Anthony saw Sören hand the lube to Nicholas, and Anthony groaned into the kiss, realizing he and Nicholas were going to take Sören together.
A few kisses later, Sören straddled Anthony's hips and sank down. Anthony's breath hitched at the sight of his cock sliding into Sören's open passage inch by inch. Sören gasped, breath shaking, and when Anthony was all the way in they moaned together, and Sören leaned down to kiss him again.
Nicholas watched for a few moments, stroking himself, as Sören rode Anthony slowly, hips rolling in a sensuous circular motion, fluid and graceful like a dancer. Anthony's hands reached up to slide down Sören's chest and stomach, over his thighs, and back up. He played with Sören's nipples, rubbing, pulling, tugging on the nipple rings, watching Sören's mane of curls, the sweet brown eyes, the full lips, the art on his body, soft golden radiance as the sky began to burn with the first kiss of sunset. "You're beautiful," Anthony husked.
"So are you." Sören's fingers ran through Anthony's chest hair. "Both of you." Sören gestured to Nicholas.
Nicholas got behind Sören, and Anthony moaned as he felt the tip of Nicholas's cock against the base of his own shaft. Nicholas pushed in and in and in, and at last Nicholas was inside, Sören's passage tight around them, the feel of Nicholas's cock luscious against his. Sören reached for the drawstring pouch, put a Silmaril in Anthony's hand, and one in Nicholas's hand, before taking one for himself, gripping it tight in his fist. With the Silmarils pulsing, warm, shining bright, Sören began to ride harder, faster.
They found their rhythm, Nicholas's cock sliding against Anthony's, teasing, as Sören wrapped around them, bouncing in circles, feverish, moans louder and louder. Anthony's free hand seized Sören's cock, his own cock pulsing at the sight of Nicholas turning Sören's head to kiss him, Nicholas kissing and licking Sören's neck, Sören's face in ecstasy.
As they got closer, Sören leaned down to kiss Anthony, tongues playing between kisses, and then Nicholas leaned in and kissed Anthony over Sören's shoulder. Sören bucked harder, and Nicholas slammed into him, balls slapping against Anthony's. Anthony groaned, rocking his hips back at them, watching Sören and Nicholas kiss again, watching the sky blaze with magenta and coral and wisps of lavender and gold across the deepening blue, lost in the beauty of the moment, giving his all, his passion an act of worship of the glory of the men he loved, the glory of life, the trees, the flowers, the pond, the sweetness of spring. All of the stress of the day and the terror of the weekend faded and there was only this, only pleasure, only lust, only need, only life. They fucked feverishly, animal, primal, working up a sweat, aching for release but wanting to make this last, to rut, to mate, one flesh, going deeper and deeper into sensation until it was all that existed.
Anthony's eyes met Sören's as they climbed to that edge, right there, ready to surrender, trying to hold back just a little more, needing each other, needing this. Sören took his own cock in his hand, stroking madly. Anthony's free hand reached up to touch Sören's face, then Nicholas's. He had never felt closer to them than this moment, fucking out here in nature with the sunset burning over them, the Silmarils burning bright. "Mine," Anthony said, taking Sören's hand in his, Nicholas's hand covering theirs. "Mine..."
"Oh god." Sören shuddered and let out a deep gasp. "Oh shit, oh god, oh fuck, I can't hold back -"
"Come, sweetheart," Nicholas rasped, and kissed the hollow where Sören's neck and shoulder met.
"Come, baby." Anthony reached up with the Silmaril and caressed one of Sören's nipples with it, down over his stomach.
Sören threw back his head and screamed as he climaxed, shooting over Anthony's chest. The feel of Sören's passage contracting around him set off Anthony's own orgasm, intensified by Nicholas's cock spending over his. Sören and Nicholas were so beautiful when they came, euphoric, and Anthony felt love so fierce it hurt. Love that soared with each pulse of his orgasm, the Silmaril beating stronger in his hand, like a heartbeat made of stone...
...the Silmarils glowing brighter, brighter, until everything began to fade into the light and there was only light, only heat, only love.
When the light faded and the Silmarils were just sparkling normally, Sören was resting with his head in Anthony's chest, Nicholas's head on Sören's shoulder. The last traces of scarlet and violet lingered in the deep blue. Anthony felt like he was made of jelly - even though it was getting cooler now, it was still March, and they were laying there naked in the grass, he didn't want to get up, he wanted to stay there for awhile, enjoying the blissful peace.
Anthony looked into Sören's eyes, and the shy but radiant smile Sören gave him took his breath away. Anthony pet Sören's curls, skritched Nicholas's whiskers, and sighed, stretching like a content cat. Then out of the corner of his eye he looked at the nearby patch of grass that had been withered by the smoke demon and saw it was green again - shorter than the surrounding grass, like new shoots had risen from the earth, and there were tiny budding flowers. Anthony gasped and when Sören looked over he gave a little scream. Nicholas finally looked and said "my... god."
"We..." Sören clapped one hand over his mouth and the other point-point-pointed, his finger shaking. Anthony's heart hammered in his ears. Sören's eyes were too bright when they met Anthony's eyes. "We did that. We... we did... that..."
"Holy fucking shit." Anthony knew that they had released some sort of power when they came, the Silmarils responded to it, but that was something else. "I. I can't. Fuck."
Sören laughed and cried at the same time, and then Anthony was joining him. Silent tears spilled down Nicholas's cheeks.
Sören curled up against Anthony again and Nicholas pet both of them. They spent a few moments in silent awe and finally Sören expressed his thoughts. "Remember when Gandalf came to visit and he expressed concern about us fighting Sauron with my, ah, temper, I guess?"
Anthony nodded solemnly. It wasn't an unfounded concern - when Sören was provoked to wrath it was like being around a small reactor.
"There's a saying that only love can conquer hate," Sören said. "And another saying, make love not war."
"I hope you're not suggesting that we fuck him." Anthony cringed; that thought was so horrifying he couldn't even conjure a mental image of it.
"No, no, that's not what I'm saying at all." Sören also cringed. "What I'm saying is... Sauron expects a fight, já? He expects us to try to go to him. He won't just be ready for us with tricks and traps and god-like sorcery... he'll try to use my anger against me as a weapon. Drive me mad. What if we... don't give him that. What if we keep doing what we've, ah, been doing, and try to drive the darkness back with the Light."
"Like sex magic?" Anthony raised an eyebrow.
"Kind of like that." Sören nodded.
Anthony considered - it made a lot of sense. Too much sense. Anthony started laughing. "That is the most you thing you've ever suggested."
"Indeed." Nicholas chuckled too.
"Is that a yes, then?" Sören grinned.
"Yeah." Anthony leaned up to give Sören a kiss. "It's a hell yes."
Sören kissed him back, giggling, and Anthony hugged Sören and Nicholas tight.
chapter 20 | return to Learning To Fly | return to Other Tolkien Fic | return to index