Sören usually didn't sleep well in new places, and with his anxiety over his loose plans to set up Anthony and Nicholas with each other - and pining for both of them - it was a miracle he slept at all. But, even though Sören was very much not a morning person, he was up before eight AM, roused by adrenaline. He heard the sound of rain falling outside and let out a groan - he knew there was a chance of showers this weekend but it had looked like a small chance. He didn't mind rain, personally - he was from Akureyri, which got a healthy amount of rainfall each year - but he knew it might put a damper on plans to see Walden Pond.
Or not. Sören made his way to the bathroom to do his morning business, and the bathroom door opened with steam rolling down the hall... and Nicholas stepped out, clad in nothing but a towel. Sören gasped, startled - and flustered.
It was his first time seeing Nicholas shirtless. He could already tell from the way Nicholas's clothes fit him that he had a nice trim, fit physique, and sometimes Sören got a delicious glimpse of the silver pelt on his chest and arms... but now he got to see the hairy chest and stomach in all its glory, with sculpted pecs, a washboard stomach, and thick nipples that made Sören's mouth water.
"Er, sorry," Sören said.
"My apologies. I didn't think you'd be up for at least another hour," Nicholas said. "I would have brought in a robe -"
"I mean, it's your house," Sören said. He tried not to lick his lips. His face was on fire.
"Even so, I'm sorry."
Don't be, Sören thought to himself, going mad with lust.
Nicholas quickly walked across the hall to his bedroom, giving Sören a view of his shapely back, water droplets clinging delectably, begging to be licked off... and even under a towel Sören could tell Nicholas had a firm ass. After Nicholas closed the door behind him Sören realized he was just standing there open-mouthed. He tried to compose himself and marched into the bathroom. He could smell the woodsy scent of the soap Nicholas used and Sören felt like he was going to come in his pants just from the smell alone, never mind the mental images on repeat of Nicholas's glistening body, the damp chest hair, hard nipples...
Oh, Daddy, FUCK.
Sören fought the urge to masturbate as he relieved himself. He wanted to smack himself for being such a pervert, ogling Nicholas like this, but the more he tried to fight his lust the hotter it burned.
This is going to be a long fucking weekend.
Once Anthony was up and the cats had been fed, Nicholas made them omelettes for breakfast. Sören and Anthony offered to do the dishes since Nicholas cooked, and Nicholas tutted them. "As you know, you are guests in my home. You don't need to do chores to earn your keep."
Nicholas had a morning routine of yoga to keep in shape - so did Anthony. Sören pretended to draw on his Wacom tablet and not notice them practicing yoga together... which inevitably led to fantasies of them showing off how yoga had paid off, how limber they were, naked, sweaty, panting, fucking in different positions. Sören bit his lip - and wondered if he might get away with asking them to pose nude for him sometime this weekend, for art purposes, and see where it went from there, if he could get them into sensual positions and watch them...
In any case, Sören was glad they had something to bond over, and when Nicholas put away the yoga DVD, he had Anthony and Sören come along to the library in case there was anything they wanted to watch while they waited for the rain to stop - hopefully. Nicholas had an impressive collection of DVDs, three large shelf units completely filled with movies and TV series, but his book collection was even more impressive. Nicholas loved to read - it was one of the things Sören had in common with him, it had been one of the foundations of their friendship - and Anthony did too. Now Nicholas and Anthony were discussing literature, everything from their favorite modern authors like Stephen King and Ursula K. Le Guin, to works by Camus and Nabokov, Dostoevksy and Tolstoy. Nicholas's favorite book was The Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov, which amazingly Anthony hadn't read yet. Nicholas took a handsome hardcover copy down from the shelf and handed it to Anthony.
"You may borrow this," Nicholas said.
Anthony's face lit up. "Thank you! I promise to return it in good condition. I'll even keep it safe from Seamus."
As if on cue, Seamus had wandered into the library and he looked up at Anthony and said "Nya?" as if to say Would I do something wrong?
Before Anthony and Sören could head back to the DVD shelves to pick out something to watch, Nicholas's collection of chess sets caught their eye. Sören knew Nicholas played - they usually had a game of chess together over lunch, while they talked about things - and he'd seen photos of Nicholas's chess collection but it was different to see them in real life. Each chess set was under glass - presumably to protect it when Nicholas had a cat - and Sören and Anthony marveled at all the different sets. Some were more elegant, simple marble or glass. One was made of carved gemstones. One was carved rosewood with lifelike detail, like tiny statues - Sören especially liked the knights on horseback. One was where the pieces were all cats and dogs, which made Sören smile. There was one all of mermaids and mermen. His favorite of all was dragons forged in bronze and pewter.
"Makes me want to take up smithing," Sören said, hovering and studying the dragons. As exquisite as the little metal sculptures were, Sören's mind's eye was already improving on it, thinking about setting the eyes with jewels, having each dragon hoard little crystals.
"I think you should," Nicholas said. "I'd be happy to sponsor you if you found a blacksmithing or silversmithing class in the area."
Sören beamed - this was one of the reasons why he loved Nicholas. Nicholas was not an artist, but he still had a passion for art, enough to own a gallery these last few decades. Nicholas got it. And Nicholas appreciated his art sincerely, which was so nourishing after his aunt and uncle had disapproved and called it a "waste of time".
"I would offer a match," Anthony said, "but only two can play and there's three of us and I don't want anyone to feel left out."
Sören swallowed hard and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, cheeks burning. Oh Anthony, if only you knew.
"I have other board games," Nicholas said.
Anthony grinned. "Let's see."
And that was how the three of them decided on Scrabble. Though English wasn't Sören's first language, he had begun learning it in school at the age of six, and after having lived in the States for two years he was thinking half in Icelandic, half in English. It felt good to be able to keep up with them, and even better when he made large words for hefty scores. But it was also an awkward turn-on to see Anthony and Nicholas flexing their brains with their vocabulary - Sören liked intelligence, it was a big draw, Anthony's and Nicholas's minds excited him.
Sören was especially turned on by Anthony putting on his glasses for the game. The sight of Anthony in glasses drove Sören up the wall, now more than ever, as the gears in his mind continued to spin with how to push Anthony and Nicholas at each other, the deliciousness that would ensue. And it was obvious as the game wore on and they bantered, that there was a definite spark between Anthony and Nicholas. Sören could tell they liked each other, they were genuinely hitting it off and not just to be polite for their mutual best friend's sake.
After three rounds of Scrabble, the rain let up and they finally did what Anthony and Sören had come to Concord to do. First they went to the Ralph Waldo Emerson Memorial House and took a tour of the property, which included a presentation about Emerson's life. Then they went to Walden Pond via the Emerson-Thoreau Amble. It was muddy from the damp weather, but it was still a gentle walk and put Sören in a contemplative, reflective mood, taking time to notice the trees and the grass and the way the beads of rain gleamed in the silver mist, the song of birds.
When they reached Walden Pond, a light rain began falling. "Shit," Sören said, not wanting to leave just as soon as they'd arrived at the pond.
"It's all right," Nicholas said. "I'm not in a rush to get back, I shan't melt."
Sören's lips quirked at the shan't - he found Nicholas's old-fashioned vocabulary to be charming.
"I'm originally from London," Anthony said. "This is what we call a nice day back across the pond."
Sören's smirk became a grin, and Anthony said "oh shit" under his breath, knowing what was coming. "Hi Originally From London This Is What We Call A Nice Day Back Across The Pond," Sören said, putting an hand on Anthony's arm. Then he turned to Nicholas and reached out his other hand. "Hi Not In A Rush To Get Back I Shan't Melt. I'm Sören."
"SÖREN NO," both Nicholas and Anthony yelled in unison, then they glanced at each other and started laughing, and Sören smiled at the pink flush in Anthony's cheeks. Oh yeah, he likes him.
Then Sören felt that tight ache at his chest - hoping for his best friends' happiness... and grieving his own loss and loneliness.
Arm in arm, Sören began walking around Walden Pond with his two best friends, watching the soft rain make little puddles in the pond. While Sören was hoping to see Walden Pond in the sunshine, there was nonetheless something lovely about the silver sky, the mist and the tiny puddles, a quiet enchantment. And it reminded Sören of home, perhaps because he was with the two men who felt like home.
"When I lived in Iceland," Sören said, "on rainy days like this I used to go to the Goðafoss, just outside my hometown of Akureyri - big, beautiful waterfall - and I would watch the rain and the falls and it would remind me that life goes on." He remembered how helpless he felt living with his aunt and uncle, abused, and bullied in school... feeling trapped in the wrong body. Art was his refuge, inspired by the beauty of nature, the reminder there were good things in the world.
Anthony nodded, and patted Sören's shoulder. "I used to go on holiday to Brighton as a kid and I felt the same way watching the waves." Anthony had also been bullied in school, Sören knew.
"Indeed, there is something very soothing about the rain," Nicholas said. "Like the tears of Mother Earth, washing the world's wounds."
"Wow, that's deep," Sören said. "And you don't even smoke pot."
Nicholas smirked. "Not in a long time, but I used to partake." Nicholas gave a small frown. "My ex used to grow it."
"Mark?" Sören wanted to hug Nicholas, knowing how much he loved and still missed the man who suddenly left him.
Nicholas nodded. "He was a musician, it was rather par for the course."
Sören gave Anthony a knowing smile. "I should have brought our weed with us. Oh well, maybe next time." As much as Sören thought Nicholas would probably be quite entertaining while high, he wanted Nicholas and Anthony to be sober. Then Sören realized what he'd said aloud with "next time" - "Er, I shouldn't have invited myself over -"
"It's quite all right. I enjoy having you," Nicholas said. "I'd be open to doing this again. Perhaps the weather might be more pleasant next time. Though the rain is peaceful."
"I like rain," Sören said, and then he covered his mouth, feeling like an idiot saying something trite, remembering the I hate sand line from the Star Wars prequels. Come to think of it, Nicholas looked a lot like a somewhat younger Dooku... and his surname Decaux was somewhat similar. Wow, maybe he's Dooku in another universe where Star Wars is real. Haha, maybe Tolkien is real in another universe, too. Sören looked back at the rippling pond... like little universes touching other universes. He wasn't high either and he was thinking deep, ridiculous thoughts.
But I am high. On love. Even if they would end up with each other and not with him, Sören loved his two best friends enough that he wanted them to be happy, and seeing them make the first little connections was joyous and giddy even as it was also sad... a touch of wistfulness reflected in the melancholy grey weather.
They spent awhile longer at the pond, watching the rain, literally soaking in the peace of the day. When they decided to head back, it began raining harder, and by the time they reached Nicholas's cottage, it was pouring. They rushed inside, and once they got dry and the cats were fed, Nicholas made tea.
After tea, Nicholas got up to start making dinner, while Sören and Anthony sat with the cats on the couch and watched Good Omens. Partway into the first episode, there was a loud clap of thunder and Sören jumped with a little squeak. He facepalmed. Way to go, that sounds totally manly, he berated himself.
But Anthony just chuckled and patted him. "It's OK." Anthony reached over and gave him a hug. Sören leaned on him, welcoming the touch even as it made the ache for him worse.
There was thunder again a few minutes later, and Sören startled once more, but less intensely with Anthony still holding him. The lights flickered and Sören looked around, feeling a touch of concern about the power possibly going out with the thunderstorm.
Sure enough, by the time dinner was ready, the storm was bad enough that they lost power. Nicholas lit candles and lanterns and Anthony helped, and Sören tried to be brave, snuggling the cats, but a particularly loud clap of thunder that sounded like the storm was right there made him yelp.
Sören was ashamed of himself. Even though he knew it was bad for men to suppress their feelings and act stoic and pretend to be brave all the time, it was also a hard expectation to shake. Fortunately, both Anthony and Nicholas not only didn't make fun of him, but after quietly talking amongst themselves, they got a pile of blankets out of the hall closet and worked together to construct a blanket fort. When it was ready, they crawled into the blanket fort and ate the Greek poutine Nicholas had made for dinner, with feta and chicken.
Then Nicholas got out Monopoly. The blanket fort faced the bay windows and as the storm lessened in intensity, Sören was able to look out the windows between turns and watch the lightning show with less fear. It was quite beautiful, streaks of bright blue that reminded him of the kyanite in his collection of gemstones for his "unbirthday".
Blue lightning like flame, the fire that burned bright and seemingly eternal for the two men he loved and could not have.
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