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Chapter Text

December 2017
Isle of Skye


"AAAAAAAOOOOOO."

"NYA! NYA!"

"MOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW? MOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW."

"NYA! NYA! NYA!"

"Jesus," Anthony said, feeling bad for the cats, who had mostly been quiet in their carriers on the long train ride from London to Skye, but now that they were in a rental car, they were really playing up their dislike of travel.

Nicholas was behind the wheel, Anthony was in the passenger's seat, and Sören was in the back of the Vauxhall, with the cat carriers. "Shhhhh, it's OK," Sören soothed. "It's OK babies, we're almost there and then you can come out." As if the cats understood him.

"NYA," Seumas yelled.

"I do hope they will calm down once they're let out of the carriers," Nicholas said. "I know we were told your aunt is a cat person, but I still don't want to make a bad first impression."

"Me either." Sören sighed.

Anthony wished he could climb over to the back seat and give Sören a hug. While he was happy that his mum had found someone and wouldn't be too lonely after his father's death, and it was an interesting coincidence that someone was Sören's aunt, and good Sören and his aunt Gitta were reuniting after all this time, he knew that the years of absence were a sore spot and not a wound that could be healed overnight. At least Sören knew now it wasn't Gitta abandoning him but was the meddling of that awful Katrín and Einar, but that just demonstrated an added layer of his guardians' cruelty, to keep him away from the woman who wanted to raise him, because of bigotry.

Anthony didn't want to think about Sören's guardians, or he'd get angry, so he made himself focus on the gorgeous landscape they were driving through. His breath caught at the craggy hills rising along the roadside - London was very flat, very urban, everyone packed in like sardines even in more landscaped areas, and here the land was still wild.

The bed-and-breakfast Gitta owned, started by her late partner, a Scot named Jane, was halfway between Portree and Dunvegan. When the GPS notified them they were there, Anthony let out a whistle at the property - he was sure his mum was as much in love with the villa as with Gitta herself. The eight-bedroom villa was single-story, a charcoal grey brick saltbox roof over white stone, in a lush garden with a grove of trees, and there was a lovely panoramic view of the surrounding countryside. The frost on the trees and the dusting of snow gave the property an enchanted feel. After Anthony climbed out of the car, he took a moment to lean on his cane and look around, taking it all in. His maternal ancestors had walked on this same ground, and eventually left this place for England. It seemed a pity they'd done so - he felt his hair standing on end, something quickening in him, welcoming him home.

His mum immediately rushed outside. Another woman walked out more slowly. Even without being introduced yet, Anthony knew it was Gitta - he could see the resemblance between Gitta and Sören, same curly black hair, same full lips, though Gitta's eyes were grey, not brown. Sören had one cat carrier in each hand - Nicholas took the third - and he paused as Gitta held out her arms. Anthony made a "give it" gesture and Sören handed him a cat carrier for his free hand, gave Nicholas a second cat, and rushed up to hug his aunt for the first time since he was five.

"Sjáðu þig. Þið eruð öll fullorðin núna." Gitta hugged him tight.

Sören rested on her shoulder for a minute - Anthony saw him tremble and knew Sören was starting to cry a little - and when he pulled back, Gitta took his face in her hands and smiled; she was starting to cry too. "It's been a long, long time," she said in English.

"Yeah." Sören snuffled, and wiped his face with his gloved hand. "I... I don't even know what to say."

"This is one of those experiences that defies words," Elaine said, taking the cat carriers from Nicholas, who went around to the trunk to get their bags. "Come on in, let's get you settled. We've got tea."

"NYA," Seumas yelled, as if to say hurry it up.

They were shown to their room, down at the farthest end of the villa, with the best view of the garden - their room was next to the back door where they could easily step out there. Anthony had no doubt that was intentional on his mum's part. Nicholas and Sören dropped off the bags, and Elaine put the cat carriers down on the floor. Anthony also put his down. Elaine stooped and opened up the cat carriers one at a time. Tobias came right out and up to Elaine for pettings, like he was thanking her. Miss Balls was more hesitant. For all that Seumas had been the loudest and most demanding about wanting out, he stayed in his carrier, eyes wide, like now he didn't want to come out.

"Oh come on, scaredycat," Anthony said. "It's OK."

"He'll figure it out. If he doesn't, we have bribes," Elaine said.

They followed Elaine back down to the greatroom. A fire was going in the brick fireplace - Anthony enjoyed the smell of woodsmoke - and the tea service was set up on the coffee table. They had come just in time for it to start snowing - through the picture windows, Anthony could see snowflakes lightly falling.

"Meals are served three times a day - nine AM, one PM, and seven PM. You can eat in the dining hall or in your own room if you want privacy, though it would be best to let me know in advance if you're taking your meal in your room so I don't set up a place for you at the table," Gitta said.

Anthony nodded.

"How many other guests are here right now?" Nicholas asked.

"Just one," Gitta said. "Most people visit Skye in the summer, and warmer places in the winter. As far as our guest... he's more a tenant, now. He's been staying here for the last couple of years, rather than renting a place in town, he pays a monthly rent instead of weekly or nightly fees."

Anthony found that curious. He wondered why someone would do that, rather than rent their own flat where they'd have a bit more privacy and control over the appearance of their surroundings. Anthony knew there could be any number of reasons for that, starting with Gitta seemed very nice, and he knew some landlords weren't so nice... but of course, the criminal defense barrister in him wondered if someone was trying to keep off the radar by not having their name on a lease. He sipped his tea, not wanting to be suspicious of someone he hadn't even met yet. Jesus Christ, this isn't a bloody novel where we're being snowed in with a criminal for the holidays.

Gitta went on, "He keeps to himself so you probably won't see him much, though... he does eat in the dining hall at least a couple times a week. And... he's entertained us, and the guests. He plays music, and he sings."

"He's very good," Elaine said. "I hope you'll get to hear him while you're staying with us."

"Since Christmas is coming, he'll probably do a set of Christmas songs like he did last year." Gitta smiled. "He did the Jólakötturinn song for me and his accent was perfect, like a native. I couldn't believe it."

"And he's not Icelandic?" Sören's eyebrows shot up.

"No." Gitta shook her head vehemently. "Not Icelandic, and not from another Nordic country as far as I can tell. English, I'm pretty sure."

"Shit." Sören sipped his tea. "That's impressive."

Seumas had finally come out, and tiptoed into the greatroom, sniffing around cautiously. He began to rub his face against the base of the grandfather clock by the picture window. There was a long silence as Seumas rubbed his face on the legs of the coffee table, then against the couches, before he hopped up on the couch where Sören, Anthony and Nicholas were sitting, to get spoiled with pettings. Seumas climbed up onto Anthony's shoulder and started purring loudly.

"He's adorable," Gitta said. "I hope they get along with my cats. They're sleeping somewhere..."

"I wanna see your kitties," Sören said. "What are their names?"

Gitta smiled. "Kirk and Spock."

Sören almost spat his tea. He put his teacup down and clapped with appreciative laughter. Anthony felt himself grinning like an idiot - already he liked Gitta very much.

"We bonded over a mutual love of Star Trek," Elaine explained. She made the Vulcan hand salute.

"I guess I come by it honestly," Sören said, looking Gitta in the eye.

A timer went off and Gitta jumped up from the couch. "Oh! Good! Wait here," she said.

Gitta ran out, and a couple of minutes later she came back with a tray carrying plates of brownies, fresh from the oven. "Your mum told me you love cake, Anthony, but I forgot to buy cake mix last time I went to the store so I hope this is acceptable."

"Very." Anthony was touched by the way Gitta wanted to make him feel at home. He took a plate from the tray and breathed in the chocolatey scent.

"Oh my, how thoughtful. Thank you, Gitta," Nicholas said, taking a plate.

"You're welcome." After Gitta gave Sören his brownie, she ruffled Sören's curls, and Sören gave a bashful grin that was so adorable Anthony couldn't help giving him a little kiss.

"There's more brownies in the kitchen if you'd like more. I made a huge batch," Gitta said, sitting down next to Elaine.

"You're not having one?" Anthony asked his mum, a little concerned.

"I had a big breakfast," Elaine said. "It'll be awhile before my stomach can handle more food."

Seumas climbed down from Anthony's shoulder, curious by what the people were eating, and made a "stink face" as he sniffed the brownie. Anthony gently pushed him away anyway, since chocolate wasn't good for cats. Seumas stalked off, like he was personally offended the people were eating "not food", and a minute later there was a cat screech down the hall, and a loud hiss.

"I see Seumas has met Kirk and Spock," Elaine said, facepalming.

"Are you sure it was OK to bring the cats?" Anthony narrowed his eyes. "I don't want to be held responsible if they get into so many fights stuff gets broken -"

"It's fine." Gitta waved her hand. "They'll get over it, or we'll find a way to keep them separated while you're here."

It was Monday the eighteenth; they were going to be here through January second. That was a long time to have to keep cats "quarantined" if they didn't get along.

Seumas came running back out, eyes wide. When Anthony finished his brownie, he held out his hands and Seumas came over and climbed back on his shoulder, headbutting him aggressively. "Prrp," Seumas said.

There was more hissing and "YOW YOW YOW YEEEEEEEEEOWWWWW", and the sound of something crashing, which suggested Tobias or Miss Balls had met Kirk and Spock as well. Anthony wanted to hide under the couch. "I'm sorry," Anthony said.

"It's all right. At least it's just the cats and not feuding with a guest." Gitta smirked as she sipped tea.

Just then, the door opened. There was the sound of boots in the foyer, and then, walking into the greatroom, was a man Anthony hadn't seen in eighteen years, but would recognize anywhere.

He was close to seven feet tall, raven-black hair to the middle of his back in soft waves. Piercing silver-grey eyes. A handsome chiseled face, thick eyebrows. He was wearing a black wool trenchcoat and had little snowflakes dusting his coat and sprinkled in his hair like diamonds. His eyes met Anthony's and his mouth opened, and Anthony knew he had recognized him too.

"Anthony?"

Anthony's jaw set. "Mark." This was just what he needed right now - bad enough the cats didn't get along, now this.

"You two... know each other?" Gitta looked shocked.

"Yes," Anthony said, trying to keep his tone neutral for the sake of politeness to his host, but there was ice and steel in that one word.

Elaine's eyes widened. Anthony had never mentioned the full name of the man who had sent him home from Cambridge in tears in 1999, but Anthony came by his eye for detail honestly, and he knew Elaine remembered the name Mark.

Anthony couldn't believe it. It was like seeing a ghost. Indeed, that was closer to the truth than just a figure of speech, since Mark looked exactly the same as he did the last time Anthony saw him in 1999. Mark had never given him an exact age when they were lovers - he'd said thirtyish, but nothing beyond that. If Mark was thirty in 1999, he'd be forty-eight now. If Mark was in his mid to late thirties, he'd be in his fifties. Mark hadn't aged at all, and didn't have any obvious signs of having work done.

Anthony was almost thirty-eight now, and looked closer to thirty than forty, he took care of himself, but he'd still grown into his face and body a bit since he was nineteen, most notably with a few barely-noticeable threads of silver in his short black hair. It was surreal Mark hadn't changed at all.

"Hello, Anthony." Mark cleared his throat. He walked over and put out a gloved hand - his right hand, where Anthony knew the glove was hiding a severe burn scar.

Anthony politely took Mark's hand, resisting the urge to break his fingers. He couldn't believe he was still feeling a flare of anger over something that had happened eighteen years ago, especially when those years had given him perspective on why someone like Mark might just run away. He didn't want to be angry, he didn't want to still feel like that hurt, lost boy he'd been, wondering why... and here he was.

Seumas climbed down from Anthony's shoulder, presumably to say hello to Mark... and turned around as if to let Mark scent him, then lowered his behind and pissed on Mark's coat sleeve, before he hopped down and ran off.

"Oh god." Anthony buried his face in his hands. "Oh god. Oh Jesus, cat..." He was mortified, even though he rather agreed with the sentiment.

When Anthony took his hands away from his face, Mark shook his head. "It's fine. The coat needs to be washed anyway."

"There's brownies in the kitchen, Mark," Gitta said, nonchalant, as if nothing extremely awkward had just happened; Anthony wondered what kind of weird shit Gitta had seen over the years to make her so unflappable. "They're still warm. I'd be happy to pick up the tab for dry-cleaning your coat, since I told them to bring their cats."

"There's no need, but I will accept a brownie. I'll take it to my room, though, I did a lot of walking and I want to write down a song that came to me while it's still fresh." Mark's eyes met Anthony's again and he attempted a smile that did not meet his eyes. "It's good to see you again, Anthony."

Fuck you, Mark. Anthony gave his fake courtroom smile in return.

A few minutes later Anthony went to the bathroom - a bathroom he would be sharing with Mark - to try to compose himself, splashing cold water on his face, taking some deep breaths. There was a knock on the bathroom door and Anthony barked, "Who is it?" hoping it wasn't Mark Fucking Lauer or he was going to scream.

"It's just me, elskan," came Sören's soft voice.

Anthony unlocked the bathroom door and opened it. Sören immediately shut the door behind them and pulled Anthony into his arms, held him tight. Anthony continued to breathe deep, fighting the surge of emotion. He wasn't going to cry over Mark.

Sören kept his voice down. "So... that's the Mark? Your first? The one who ghosted -"

"Yes," Anthony said.

Sören ran a nervous hand through his curls, rubbed his beard, and then leaned back against the sink, folding his arms, scowling. "Jæja. Just great."

"Yeah." Anthony sighed and looked down at his brogues. "I'm starring in bloody EastEnders or something." Then he facepalmed, knowing Sören was going to do his thing.

"Hi Starring In Bloody EastEnders Or Something -"

"I swear to god, Sören."

Chapter Text

"...you brought the pineapple."

"Well, just the gold one. The purple one's at home, keeping the plants company. But I had to bring Ananas." Sören pulled out Anthony's barrister wig from his suitcase and set it down on the dresser beside the gold aluminum pineapple. "George would have gotten lonely."

Anthony facepalmed, sides heaving, and sat on the bed, no longer able to keep his laughter silent. "Goddammit, Sören..."

"Besides, there's a pragmatic reason for why I brought Ananas with us." Sören lifted the lid of the golden pineapple, and pulled out the iridescent robin-egg-blue genuine Fabergé egg that Anthony's late grandmother, Anthea, had gifted him back in 2012. The egg was wrapped in silver flowering vines, and inside the egg, Sören kept the two glowing white jewels he'd found, one at Reynisfjara in Iceland, the other at Mount Vesuvius in Italy. "I needed a safe way to transport the egg, and the stones. I wasn't gonna leave the stones behind, in case our place got broken into or something while we're gone."

"You're so protective of those things." Anthony chuckled.

"They're mine," Sören growled, and then he clapped a hand over his mouth, a bit self-conscious over his reaction. But the thought of the stones being stolen - again, his mind helpfully supplied - filled him with rage as white-hot as the stones' glow. It was better to be safe than sorry, even if anyone else thought he was ridiculous for bringing the stones up here.

Sören had dreamt of the two mysterious stones - they were two of a set of three - long before he'd found them. He'd never seen anything like it in the waking-day world, before or since, and the stones had just come to them like they belonged to him. Anthony had also dreamt of the stones, part of a series of shared dreams of what felt like another time, another life, when Sören had made the stones, a tribute to the forbidden love he shared with his brothers.

Nicholas had finally been informed of all of this, while they were on holiday in Italy in October - Sören didn't want him to protest keeping the stones again, like he'd done at the end of 2016, which had driven them apart for awhile. As it turned out Nicholas shared some of the same dreams, knowing without being told that other-Sören had two brothers, and he dreamt of being one of them. The revelation was more unnerving than comforting, because now Sören couldn't dismiss this as just dreams, and that meant there was something going on here - they had been pulled into something much bigger than themselves, and the implications of that were terrifying. Sören was a doctor, a neurosurgeon, a man of science. He didn't believe in God, or gods; he played God in the operating theatre, saving lives. He didn't want to believe in past lives, souls, or any higher powers pulling the strings. The stones were living proof of that.

And yet, Sören couldn't bear to part with them. They were the unsettling, tangible evidence of a more complicated version of reality... but they were also born of the flame inside him, the love that burned for Nicholas and Anthony, so much so that it felt like a piece of him had gone into the stones.

Sören and Anthony looked at the two crystals now, glowing as bright as a lightbulb, casting rainbows all over the ceiling and wall. Sören walked over to the bed, sat down beside Anthony, and took his hand as they watched the jewels floating slightly above the back of the silver phoenix inside the egg where they rested.

"I love you, you know," Sören said quietly.

Anthony kissed Sören's hand and put an arm around him. "I know." He leaned on Sören. "I love you too. More than I can say." He looked down then, and sighed.

Sören had a feeling of why Anthony seemed troubled - his love for Anthony, burning as bright and hot as those stones, stood in direct contrast to the way Anthony's first love, Mark, had broken his heart almost twenty years ago. Mark, who was just a few rooms down.

Mark, who was unfairly gorgeous.

Mark, who Sören had also dreamt about. A son. Who had also become a lover, when the son was of age, after he had been gone for some time, traveling as a bard, and came back looking like a man, all grown up now. Sören didn't condone incest as a rule - he had a fraternal twin brother and the thought of fucking him was repulsive; he was horrified by stories of abuse - but this had been different, like the tales of mythology where the gods knew their own siblings and spawn as lovers. There was a similar feeling of equals among equals, a similar feeling of power. Yet, it was still uncomfortable to think that he'd fucked his own son, "back then", even though his son had been an adult, there was no grooming - Sören had never thought of him "that way" when he was young - and his son had been the one to seduce him.

But it bothered Sören for an additional reason.

It had been one thing to dream about the stones and find out they were real. It was another thing to dream about a person he'd never seen before, and come across him in the flesh... a person who Anthony had a history with. It felt like their paths had not crossed by coincidence. And though Sören had confided in Anthony, and eventually Nicholas, about the stones, just confessing the stones were a dream made manifest was difficult enough, never mind saying that about a person, never mind saying that about someone who'd hurt Anthony deeply close to two decades ago.

"I think I need some air," Anthony said, looking up, and out the window. "You want to go for a walk with me in the garden?"

"Sure."

Nicholas was taking a drive to go sightseeing on his own - they had just arrived on Skye yesterday, and Sören and Anthony both needed a day to decompress after the long trip from London, so they opted to stay behind at the bed-and-breakfast. They would be here through January second, so they had plenty of time for sightseeing on other days.

But, just the garden itself was magnificent. The icicles on the trees and the frost and snow on the shrubbery gave the garden an enchanted feel. Sören imagined the garden was even lovelier in the spring and summer with the flowers blooming. For now, it was majestic in its own way, quiet and peaceful blanketed in white and shimmering crystal. The view of the mountains through the patches of winter fog was breathtaking. Now that he had some time, Sören wanted to sit out here and sketch one afternoon before their holiday was over.

The only sound was their footsteps crunching in the snow, the click of Anthony's cane as he leaned on it, Sören's hand in his free hand. It was so easy to get mentally lost out here, taking in every thorn of ice on the glittering trees, the way leaves looked like they had been sculpted from snow, the silver mists swirling around them. Sören had heard Clan MacLeod - Anthony's maternal ancestors, who were from Skye - had something to do with fairies, and he could almost believe it in a place like this, which didn't even look real. It felt almost like something out of legend. Almost like something from the "time before".

Suddenly there was an extra crunch of footsteps. Sören froze and his heart beat a little faster. Mark had been avoiding them since last night and he really hoped Mark continued on that trajectory, not wanting things to be even more awkward than they already were. Please don't let that be Mark. Please don't be Mark -

"Hi boys, sorry to disturb you, but I made a pot of hot chocolate if you'd like some?" came Elaine's voice.

Anthony and Sören followed Elaine into the kitchen to discover she hadn't just made a pot of hot chocolate, but there was a tray of chocolate chip cookies fresh from the oven, sitting on top of the stove. Anthony's face lit up at the sight of them, and Elaine beamed. "Surprise," she said.

"Mum, how thoughtful." Anthony came over to give his mother a hug.

Elaine affectionately mussed his hair, and then, as she put cookies on a plate while Sören and Anthony sat, she said, "I must admit it's not entirely unselfish of me. I wanted some biscuits to have on hand for later in the evening when I get the munchies."

"The munchies?" Sören was confused.

Elaine nodded. Just as Gitta came in the kitchen from the pantry, Elaine explained, "Yes, when I toke up in the evening I want snacks."

Anthony's eyebrows shot up. He cocked his head to one side. "Since when do you smoke pot?"

"Since the 1960s." Elaine winked. Then she said, "If you mean when I started up again... just a few weeks ago, but it's become a nightly routine."

"I got her into it," Gitta said. "It helps with my arthritis, and a more restful sleep."

Sören didn't disapprove - his main concern was the legality and not wanting to see Elaine get into trouble with the law, even if she happened to know a good criminal defense barrister.

"I can't believe it," Anthony said, before nibbling on a cookie. Then he expressed Sören's one bit of worry. "I do hope you have a safe source for it. I don't want to hear you got arrested."

"Mark grows a couple of plants," Elaine said. "He gives us some as part of his rent."

Sören gave Anthony a curious look. Anthony put his cookie down, chewing more slowly.

"Are you all right?" Elaine asked.

"I'm fine, Mum." Anthony gave his fake courtroom smile before he took a sip of hot chocolate, expression neutral.

"No, you're not." Elaine sighed. "I didn't know, when I invited you here, that was... Mark."

"Of course not. It's a very common name, and I never gave you his surname. Even if I had, he's probably not the only Mark Lauer in the entire United Kingdom." Anthony resumed eating his cookie, no longer hiding his disgruntled facial expression.

"I don't think he expected you either, from the looks of it - he seemed very surprised to see you. I'd mentioned my son Anthony was coming with his two partners, but -"

"Anthony is also a very common name." Anthony nodded. "So there was no reason for him to assume it was me."

"No. I'm... sorry." Elaine sighed. "And I hope you understand, I don't feel right about asking him to go elsewhere while you're here. He does pay rent to live here full-time, and I especially don't want to boot him out just before the holidays -"

"It's fine. Really." Anthony sipped his hot cocoa. Sören knew it wasn't fine, and gently put a hand on Anthony's knee under the table.

"Perhaps you'd like to smoke with me later?" Elaine asked, glancing at Sören, then back at Anthony. "Might help take some of the edge off."

"My mum is asking me to do drugs with her," Anthony said, chuckling. "Wow."

"Marijuana's different," Sören said. "It should be legal, treated the same as alcohol. And I... would enjoy smoking up, yes. It's been a long time." The last time Sören had smoked pot, he was at university in Iceland.

"OK," Anthony said, nodding. "I'll try it."

"Try it? You've never...?" Elaine pursed her lips. "Not even with Mark?"

"No. I didn't know he smoked, either, though I suppose I shouldn't be terribly surprised, seems par for the course with musicians." Anthony sighed.

"Oh, honey." Elaine patted his shoulder. "I'm sorry, again, this is all so difficult."

"Me too." Anthony looked down.

Sören leaned in and threw his arms around him. "We'll get through this, elskan."

Mark took dinner in his room, which was a relief to Sören - he felt kind of guilty about it at the same time, since Mark was a tenant and he didn't want Mark to feel confined to his room like it was some sort of prison - but things were already tense enough, so much so that Sören found himself looking forward to the after-dinner gathering in the greatroom and getting high for the first time in years. Even Nicholas, who had never smoked pot in his life, was going to try it.

The fire crackled in the fireplace; Tobias, Seumas and Miss Balls sat with Sören, Anthony, and Nicholas on the couch. Kirk and Spock sat by the fire - at least Gitta's cats had learned to tolerate being in the same room with their cats, which was progress.

"I still can't believe we're doing this. I'm smoking pot with my own mother," Anthony said, blinking as he watched his mother light the spliff.

Elaine puffed and passed. "I can't believe you're so shocked. You know I was a flower child in the 60s and 70s. And you know it's been a rough year, and marijuana is good for anxiety and depression -"

"Well yes, I... I know. I'm not judging you." Anthony watched as Nicholas took his first hit from the joint, and then he took a long drag, holding it for a moment before exhaling. He started to cough violently, as did Nicholas. Sören tried not to laugh, and then had a severe coughing fit himself after he took a hit, enough where he thought about getting his inhaler, but his lungs quickly calmed down.

"Good. Because I'd hate for us to be on bad terms, but especially over something as trivial as this," Elaine said.

"It has medicinal purposes. It's got... uh... happy brain chemicals," Anthony said.

"THC," Sören said.

"Yes, that."

Elaine smirked as the joint came back to her. After she toked, she threw fake gang signs and rapped, "You down with THC? Yeah, you know me."

Anthony facepalmed, then buried his face in his hands, making wounded animal noises. He stopped after Nicholas had taken a hit and tapped him on the shoulder to let him know it was his turn. Anthony took another puff on the joint, passed it to Sören, and Sören exploded with laughter as the smoke came out of him. "I haven't heard OPP since the 90s, at least," Sören said.

"God," Anthony said. "I was, what... eleven? Twelve? When that song came out."

"You couldn't escape it," Elaine said. "Then there was that dancing bloke with the big pants, er..."

"MC Hammer," Anthony said. "Fuck me, I'm smoking pot with my mother and talking about MC Bloody Hammer, what has this world come to."

"Look on the bright side," Sören said, putting an arm around him. He couldn't help himself. "At least it's not Vanilla Ice."

"Stop," Anthony said.

Mark's voice came from the hall. "Collaborate and listen."

Sören fell off the couch, tearing up. He felt bad about it - he didn't want to encourage Mark interacting with them, he felt for Anthony... and he didn't want to like this guy. But it was too much. Sören wiped his eyes and climbed back onto the couch. Miss Balls immediately began giving him concerned sniffs and a headbutt with a tiny meow. Sören skritched her as he watched Mark come in, walking towards the door, bundled up in his trenchcoat and a scarf.

"I'm going to town for a bit. Does anyone need anything?" Mark asked.

Anthony narrowed his eyes, and Sören could practically hear the unvoiced for you to fuck off, but Anthony said simply, "I'm good."

"I think we're fine, Mark, but thank you for asking," Elaine said, nodding.

"Oh, while you're out in town, do you mind if I clean?" Gitta asked. "I seem to be the exact opposite of everyone who smokes pot - I want to clean and organize things instead of just laying there."

"I don't mind at all, and thank you," Mark said. "I'll see you in a couple of hours."

Mark gave a little wave before he walked out, and Elaine sighed. "He usually joins us," she said. She passed the spliff over to Nicholas, who took a long drag, then Anthony took an even longer drag, looking disgruntled again.

"Anyway, I'm going to tidy up your rooms - a little dusting, vacuuming," Gitta said, getting up. She gave Elaine a hug and took one last puff on the spliff after Sören passed it, before walking out of the greatroom, into the hall. A few minutes later Sören heard the vacuum turn on. Predictably, Tobias's ears flattened to his head and he jumped off the couch and crawled under.

"Poor kitty," Sören said.

"Indeed." Nicholas frowned. "As you know, he particularly loathes the sound of the vacuum."

"I can't blame him." Anthony cringed. "I'm really sensitive to sounds like that."

They finished the joint, and Elaine made another pot of hot chocolate as they settled into position, Sören and Nicholas sitting close together with Anthony stretched out across them. Nicholas put an arm around Sören and pet Anthony's hair, while Anthony stroked Sören's face and played with a curly lock. Curling up on the couch snuggling Anthony and Nicholas with two cats purring away, before a roaring fire, was as close as Sören could get to heaven. Already the pot was working its magic and Sören felt more relaxed than he had felt in months, if not a good couple of years. He thought about asking Elaine to ask Mark if they could have a couple of clippings to take back to London - Sören couldn't smoke within 24 hours of a shift, as he needed to be fully alert and sober to perform surgery, but on those "golden weekends" when he got two days off in a row, it was nice.

Suddenly, looking into the fire, Sören was feeling the urge to paint. He didn't want to get up just yet, or for awhile, savoring the togetherness with his lovers. But for the first time in months, Sören was feeling creative again, after being too burned out from too much work and not enough time to just be. His mind's eye blazed with mental images of the frozen garden... the mountains and craggy hills... thinking of the fairy lore of Scotland... an elven-like man, tall, long flaming red hair, fierce grey eyes, with a handsome face like Mark's, the build of a warrior, a sword strapped to one side. One hand.

A frisson went down Sören's spine. Someone else from before. But who?

Sören closed his eyes. He didn't want to start thinking again of how he'd dreamt of Mark, and how it seemed to be too many coincidences that Elaine's travels had brought her to Gitta, and Sören's family connection to Gitta meant an invite up here for the holidays for Sören and Gitta to reconnect, and here was Mark. He didn't want to fall down the rabbit hole of wondering what was going on with them, or why, how...

The vacuum was off now, and there was the sound of the hall closet door creaking open, which made Sören open his eyes. "She's getting the feather duster," Elaine explained.

"Ah, OK." Sören closed his eyes again and leaned against Nicholas, half-dozing.

A short while later Gitta came out from the hallway, sucking her thumb, brow furrowed. Through the thumb in her mouth she asked, "Elaine, have you seen the aloe vera?"

"Oh shit, I think I used the last of it on my eczema," Elaine said with a frown. "I'm sorry. Do you need some?"

Gitta nodded. "Yes, I burnt my thumb." She took the thumb out of her mouth to show a bright red first-degree burn. She gave Sören a suspicious look before glancing back at Elaine.

Sören swallowed hard. He had a feeling what that burn was from, and it bothered him, a lot. Elaine pulled out her phone, not asking how Gitta had burnt her thumb - which would have probably been Anthony's first question from someone with a burnt thumb who'd just been dusting - and Elaine said, "I'll text Mark and ask him to pick up some gel at the drugstore while it's still open."

"If they've got any." Gitta snorted.

"Mmm, yes, unfortunately. But it's worth a shot." Elaine's fingers began tapping on the keypad of her phone.

Sören really hoped Mark wasn't going to ask how Gitta burned her thumb, if the burn was from what Sören suspected it was from - this had the potential to get very, very weird very, very quickly and Sören was not in the mood for that. At all.

Despite the mellow calm from the marijuana, Sören had trouble getting to sleep. Indeed, as the high started wearing off, Sören felt a rush of anxiety, continuing to ruminate on how Gitta had burnt her thumb - that look she'd given him, that all but confirmed for him that it was on one of the stones. The stones threw off such heat that Sören was surprised he, Nicholas, and Anthony hadn't gotten burned handling them.

Sören decided to try the old tactic of distracting himself and doing something to occupy his mind until it finally cooperated and went to sleep. Instead of a book, or a game, Sören got out his Wacom tablet and tiptoed out to the greatroom - maybe he could draw some of what he'd been envisioning earlier, in preparation for a new painting.

To his surprise, the greatroom wasn't empty. Gitta was out there, Kirk in her lap; she was watching a program on TV with the volume turned down. "Oh, hello Sören," she said softly as he walked in. "I hope the TV isn't keeping you up."

"Oh no, I... can't hear it from down on my end," Sören said. "Um... do you mind if I take a seat?"

"Not at all. Is there anything you'd like to watch?"

Sören shrugged. "I don't care. I was just going to draw."

"Oh! Elaine says you're an artist and have done some lovely work." Gitta gave a sad smile. "I still have that drawing you made me when I left Iceland, of the sheep wearing a kilt."

Sören facepalmed before he shook with laughter. "Oh GOD. You still have that?"

Gitta nodded. Then she winked, her smile less sad. "And now I definitely should hold onto it, in case your art is famous someday, might be worth a fortune -"

Sören cackled. "No, I don't think I'll ever be famous. It's... it's just a hobby. One that I don't have a lot of time for." He frowned as he turned his tablet on.

"But you wish you had more time for it."

Their eyes met. Then Sören just nodded, with a wistful sigh. "I feel like I have to choose art or medicine, and I hate that. They're both a calling, but I don't have time for both. Anyway..." He gestured for her to join him on the couch. "I can show you my older work, if you like." He pulled up a gallery of files.

For the next while Sören showed Gitta dozens of paintings he'd done over the years - he deliberately did not show her the erotic art, thinking it unseemly to show his aunt; Elaine hadn't seen it either - but there was more than enough non-erotic art for her to see, and she marveled over each piece like Sören was the most talented artist who ever lived. The praise also seemed sincere, rather than Gitta's maternal instinct. Sören's cheeks burned like the fire in the hearth, especially when the show was over and Gitta said, "I'd love you to paint something for me. I'd be happy to pay you -"

"Oh, I'd do it for free. You're family, after all -"

"You should still be paid for your work, Sören."

Sören scowled. He wagged his finger, then he smirked. "Maybe you could pay me in brownies. Or weed."

Gitta laughed. "I'll talk to Mark about sending you home with a bag."

Sören wanted to add and clippings for our garden, but he didn't want to push his luck just yet. Instead his focus returned to the tablet. "Anyway, if you give me a subject, I'll try to get my brain to work. I haven't done much art this past year, it's been a rough year, but..."

"Sounds like you've had a lot of rough years."

Sören looked down. He didn't know what, if anything, Elaine had told her, but he also assumed she knew what his father's sister and husband had been like, and being raised by that had set him down a very difficult path in life.

He also didn't want to make Gitta sad by going over the various traumas he'd endured - like the rape that had made him leave Iceland in 2010. Instead he gently put a hand on her shoulder, feeling concern that she was still awake when she smoked pot to help with sleep. "And you're having a rough night, já? Are you in pain?" Bloody hell, I can't stop being a doctor for five minutes.

Gitta replied in Icelandic - it occurred to Sören they'd both been living in the UK for so long they defaulted to English even though they were in private where it wouldn't be rude. "A little. My thumb more than my joints, right now."

Sören exhaled sharply. Here we go. He lowered his voice, even though they were now speaking in their native language and he knew Nicholas didn't speak Icelandic, and Anthony only spoke a little of it; hearing that Mark had sung the Yule Cat song perfectly gave him some pause about Mark being able to understand what they were saying. "Gitta, how did you burn your thumb?"

Their eyes met. "I was dusting in your room, and I picked up the glass egg to dust there on top of the dresser..."

"Jæja."

Gitta looked away. "And the egg flipped open by accident as I was putting it down, and..." Gitta frowned. "Those stones inside the egg are very hot. Like lightbulbs." Her frown intensified as she met Sören's eyes again.

"I'm sorry," Sören said, sincerely. His heart began to hammer in his ears, and he felt slightly sick to his stomach. That had been exactly what he'd been afraid of. "I can put the egg inside the pineapple instead of having it on display, to make it easier for you to clean."

"Thank you, I appreciate it. Though..." Gitta raised an eyebrow. "What is that?"

"I don't know," Sören said, a half-truth. He'd dreamt of making the stones what felt like a long time ago, three of them, and they'd gone right to him in two completely different places. But he didn't entirely know what was going on with them - what they were made of, why they burned like that... the true potential. The power. It felt ridiculous thinking of them as some sort of magical artifact, like he was living in a video game or Dungeons and Dragons, but he couldn't shake the feeling that they were more than just stones, like the tribute of love to the men he loved - the force of that love, that passion, the way he burned for them and had expressed it in the construction of the glass jewels - held some kind of power...

...and Gitta burning herself on them by accident was a sign that they were possibly dangerous. Sören thought of Nicholas's admonishment it belongs in a museum a year ago. While Nicholas no longer pressed him to give the stones to science - and Sören wouldn't, not even with an incident like this - he was now inclined to agree that there might be some sort of hazard involved with the stones, if not to the three of them, then to others.

Sören put a hand on Gitta's hand, tenderly stroking the burnt thumb, like his touch had some sort of healing ability, when he knew it didn't. "Gitta, I need you to do me a really big favor. Don't... tell anyone how you burnt your thumb, if you haven't. That might cause problems for me, if more than my partners and you know the stones are... special."

"I don't like keeping things from Elaine," Gitta said, "but she hasn't asked, so -"

"If she does ask, you can tell her, but tell her the same thing I told you. No one else."

"You didn't steal them from somewhere, did you -"

"No." The answer came out so forcefully Sören was afraid he'd wake someone up, and he felt mortified - he didn't want to yell at his aunt, either - and he quickly gave her a reassuring hug. He stung at the accusation, but he also knew Gitta didn't know him well, and maybe she thought he had good reason to steal them.

In the back of his mind, he thought of other people thinking they - his family - had stolen them. They were stolen from us. From ME, Sören thought bitterly, and he immediately kicked himself internally, not wanting to go down that path... into darkness.

"They're rightfully mine," Sören said softly. "I made them. That's all I can tell you. That's all anyone needs to know. I'm sorry your thumb got burned."

Gitta nodded. "I believe you." She patted him. Kirk finally wandered over and gave him a headbutt. "And he does too."

"Good." Sören skritched the cat and said in English, "Don't throw me in the brig, Captain." Sören thought bitterly, I was already there. Too long. In his mind's eye he could see a prison of darkness, of nothingness, all alone, severed from the people he loved. Cold. Alone. Damned. He felt a wash of terror, and quickly forced his mind back to the present, but he still had chills despite the warmth of the fire. He had no idea what he'd just seen - what he'd just felt - and he didn't want to know.

What he knew was already too much. Something was happening, he was already in too deep, and he felt powerless to stop it.

Chapter Text

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 Text

The next day was the winter solstice, and Anthony, Sören and Nicholas got up well before the dawn to head out to the northwest coast of Skye and watch the sun rise at the Kensaleyre Standing Stones, close to the edge of a bluff overlooking Loch Eyre. The three of them stood a few feet away from the stones, oriented to the gap between, and Anthony held Nicholas's and Sören's hands as they watched the gold rays pierce the indigo darkness, then neon orange and hot pink blazing, clouds painting the waters. The sky felt much bigger here than in London, everything felt so vast instead of tightly packed in. The glory of the sunrise washed the whole world with color, making everything glow, and it was like seeing the dawn for the first time - Anthony's hair stood on end, his skin gooseflesh under his layers.

They watched in silence, close to reverence, and as the bright colors softened and faded, giving way to gentle blue, Nicholas finally spoke, relating the Gaelic folklore of the mythical warrior Finn using the stones to suspend a cooking pot over a fire, the pot so large that it held an entire deer.

Anthony couldn't help smiling a little. "I named my stuffed lion Finn."

Nicholas raised an eyebrow. "After the legend?"

Anthony shook his head. "No, I don't really know how or why I came up with the name."

Sören smirked.

"What?" Anthony narrowed his eyes.

"Oh, just..." Sören chuckled. "You're the Shark and you have a soft toy named Finn. Fin? Get it?"

Anthony and Nicholas facepalmed in synchronicity, then Anthony swatted Sören's ass. Sören laughed harder and gently elbowed him.

It was a good sign, though - after the tension between Sören and Nicholas yesterday, Sören was back to his usual self, and so early in the morning, even. Anthony couldn't help being a little relieved that Nicholas and Sören had smoothed over their rough patch so quickly, and he wanted to encourage that, not needing a repeat of what had happened last year around the holidays.

So in the interest of Nicholas and Sören continuing to work past yesterday's unpleasantness, when Sören decided he needed a nap later that afternoon, Anthony told Nicholas, "You should join him." He gave Nicholas a nudge-nudge wink-wink.

Nicholas gave Anthony a concerned look. "I wouldn't want you to feel left out."

"It's OK," Anthony said sincerely - he knew if Nicholas and Sören worked on bonding, it would be better for all three of them. "It's not like Sören won't find a way to get in some 'quality' time with me later." Anthony grinned as he made air quotes. "You know how he is." He'll probably even tell me about it. A little frisson went through Anthony at the mental image of Nicholas and Sören making love together.

Nicholas snorted. "Indeed."

"So go on then. Wear him out to make that nap really count."

Nicholas's eyes twinkled, and he gave Anthony a little kiss on his way to follow Sören to the bedroom.

Anthony thought for a moment about what to do with himself - read, maybe - but his footsteps took him to the kitchen, where Gitta and Elaine were busy. It was only the afternoon and a bit early to get started on dinner, unless they were making something really elaborate, but then upon a closer glance Anthony saw they had ingredients assembled to make vanilla biscuits, and a set of holiday-themed biscuit cutters, and different colors of frosting. Anthony made a little happy noise and then clapped his hand over his mouth, feeling like an idiot.

Elaine smiled when she saw him. "Come on in," she said. "You can help us make Christmas biscuits, if you like." Her smile became a bit wistful as she added, "You haven't helped me make biscuits since you were a small boy."

Anthony sighed and nodded. He had once loved baking with his mum, but being called a "mummy's boy" by his peers and mocked incessantly had broken him out of that. Not learning more about cooking from his mother had been one of his deepest regrets, as cooking at least sometimes might have helped when he was living with Sören in Kingston years ago and Sören was constantly overworked. Anthony sometimes helped Nicholas in the kitchen but it was more with preparatory work - Nicholas was the one who performed the magic of seasoning and getting things just right. Anthony still felt like his culinary skills fell short, especially when compared to people like Nicholas and his mother, who were practically wizards when it came to food.

But Nicholas never made him feel inferior when they worked together in the kitchen, it was companionable, and here and now, there was a yearning to recapture some of the magic of childhood, just helping for the joy of baking and the closeness to his mother. After losing his father this year, Anthony felt it was particularly important to let his loved ones know they were loved, so this was a prime opportunity to spend time with his mother.

Once the dough was rolled out, Anthony and Elaine cut it into shapes; Gitta waited at the end of the assembly line to arrange the cutouts on the baking sheet. Anthony smiled at the reindeer cutter. "I haven't seen this since I was a kid."

"I did worry if you would think it was too childish," Elaine said, "but Gitta was very insistent we should have proper biscuits for the holiday."

"The real fun is frosting them," Gitta said. "I even have candy to use for decorations." She cocked her head to one side. "Where's my nephew?"

"Sleeping." Eventually.

"Ah. I was going to tell you to fetch him, so he can help us decorate the biscuits, but if he's sleeping, don't wake him."

"It's just as well," Anthony said, looking at the container of gumdrops that ostensibly was being used for reindeer noses, snowman buttons, and balls on Christmas trees. "Sören would try to give the snowmen tits and cocks."

Gitta snorted and Elaine doubled over, tearing up, turning pink, before she nodded vehemently.

"Oh, so he does take after his mum." Gitta snickered.

"What was Sören's mum like? He rarely ever talks about her, I guess because she died when he was so young. I know she loved reading to him and she loved classic rock, and she used to crochet and knit and embroider and sew - she made that bunny," Anthony said.

"She was a very funny person," Gitta said. "She was fond of pranks and bad puns. Her name was Brynhildur, and Sören's father was named Sigurð -"

"Like the mythology."

Gitta nodded. "And when they got married, instead of 'The Wedding March' they had the attendants play 'Ride of the Valkyries' on kazoo."

Now it was Anthony's turn to double over. "Wow. So he comes by it honestly."

"Very much so. Right down to the off-color jokes, I see. Brynhildur could be quite raunchy. We Icelanders aren't hung up about sex and nudity the same way people are in the UK, or the States, but even by our standards, Brynhildur's mind was always in the gutter. Even when we were teenagers - she used to build snowpeople with tits and cocks, and sculpt snow penises. If she had lived long enough, she probably would have been the one to start the penis museum in Reykjavik."

"I've been there," Anthony said. "It was... really something."

"I've been back to Iceland a few times since I left. My late wife, Jane, was very insistent about seeing the penis museum, even though she'd never seen a penis before then." Gitta laughed softly. "I wish Brynhildur had gotten a chance to meet Jane. And had gotten to see her children grow up."

Elaine put an arm around her.

"I'm sorry," Anthony said, feeling awkward, not knowing how to respond. "I didn't mean to make you sad."

"It's all right, dear. I remember her laughing more than anything else, and that's how she would have wanted to be remembered." Gitta wiped away tears and smiled. "And that laughter lives on in her son. He is so much like her."

"You should tell him that," Anthony said.

"I will, eventually, when the time is right. He and I are still getting to know each other."

"Which isn't right. His aunt and uncle shouldn't have kept you from him." Anthony didn't want to get angry all over again - he found himself really digging into the dough, working the cutter like he was trying to stab Einar in the guts.

"No. But we can't undo what was done. At least now he knows I'm here, and with any luck you three will come to see us at least a couple times a year."

"You should come down to London to see us too," Anthony said.

"Maybe in one of the slow months," Gitta said. "I do feel guilty about leaving Mark alone to fend for himself."

"He's capable," Anthony muttered under his breath, stabbing the dough with the cutter again.

"Oh, I know he is. It's just..." Gitta took a deep breath. "I know you don't want to hear this - Elaine told me a little about, well -"

"Yeah."

"But he's like the son I never had, if that makes sense." Gitta made a vague hand gesture. "He's been keeping his distance because he doesn't want to make things difficult for you, but we were quite close to him before that."

Anthony sighed. That made him feel guilty, knowing that the tension between he and Mark was putting a strain on Gitta and his mother. He felt like the bad guy, even though Mark had been the one to break his heart close to twenty years ago.

They had come to the end of the first batch of dough; Gitta was making another batch. It was time for the first set of biscuits to go in the oven. As Gitta worked on mixing the ingredients in a bowl, there was a long, awkward silence. Anthony felt like he'd done something wrong for bringing up Brynhildur, even though he knew logically he hadn't, and it didn't seem like Gitta or Elaine was upset with him. And of course, there was the subject of Mark, which was fraught, perhaps even moreso because it was the holidays.

It was getting a bit warm in the kitchen, not just from the oven being on, but Anthony tended to get hotter under stress. "I need to step outside for a few minutes and get some air," Anthony said.

"All right." Elaine patted him, and their eyes met as if she understood.

Anthony grabbed his greatcoat on the way out. His cane clacked against the snow as his footsteps crunched, the only sound disturbing the peace of the frozen garden. He found the bench and sat, watching his breath steam the air, looking up at the way the sun made rainbows in the icicles hanging from the bare winter trees. The sky was more of an overcast grey now but pockets of sunlight gleamed here and there... and a snowflake fell onto Anthony's sleeve, then another, then another.

Anthony closed his eyes for a minute and remembered it was snowing on the December night when he'd first encountered Mark in 1998. He'd been at a coffee shop, watching the performers at open mic night. Mark's harp - and his voice - had touched him deeply. It was hard to believe almost two decades had passed since then.

When Anthony opened his eyes, there Mark was, walking into the garden. Anthony's heart skipped a beat, then beat faster, mouth going dry - it was unnerving to be remembering that first meeting and suddenly, there he was, like thinking of Mark had summoned him. Of course, that was ridiculous - they were sharing a living space and it was inevitable they'd bump into each other from time to time, but Anthony realized then how much Mark had been trying to keep out of his way that it felt strange to be seeing someone who actually lived there.

Their eyes met and Mark paused in his tracks. Anthony felt like he was intruding, even though he was there first. He'd stepped out to defuse an awkward moment and re-center himself... and stepped into something even more awkward and unsettling. Anthony leaned on his cane and got up from the bench. "I'll, ah. I'll give you some space," Anthony said, knowing Mark had probably come out here for a moment of peace.

"It's all right. I can go back in." Mark turned around in the direction of the villa.

And that was when it hit him, watching that little turn, the slight downturn of Mark's mouth, the way his eyes closed as if in resignation. Gitta had said Mark was like a son to her, and now Anthony had a vivid recall of a moment on the night Mark took his virginity.

"Everyone I've ever cared about is dead, Anthony. Except for you." Mark came closer. "And tonight, we're going to live."

"No... I'll... I'll go back in." Anthony leaned on his cane, shifting uncomfortably. "You live here, I don't want you to feel like you have to be confined to your bloody room."

Their eyes met again and Mark sighed. He rubbed his face. "I was honestly thinking of staying in a hotel on the mainland or something until you guys go back to London, to not get in the way of your time with your mum."

"You don't have to do that." As deeply as Mark had hurt him, Anthony had a scrap of compassion for someone who'd lost his entire family - it didn't sit well with him to force Mark away from new family of choice over Christmas. "It's Christmas. I... no. No." Anthony took a deep breath. "I can be an adult, Mark. I won't lie, it's been upsetting to see you again, but... a lot has happened since then."

Mark glanced down quickly at Anthony's cane, then off to the side like he wasn't supposed to be noticing it. Anthony got that reaction a lot from people, to the point where he was just used to it, but it felt very different coming from Mark, who of course had met him at a time when he wasn't disabled.

"I was in a car accident," Anthony explained.

"Ah. I didn't want to ask. I thought it would be rude."

Anthony shrugged. Not as rude as when you told me I was "too needy". Anthony kept that to himself, but he couldn't help letting loose with something else. "Probably not as rude as me asking why you still look... well... young." Mark had never given him an exact age - he'd only said he was in his thirties. The youngest Mark could be now was forty-eight, if he was thirty when he and Anthony met, and Mark had never felt like the younger end of thirties. Age could be kind to people - Gitta looked like she was in her early forties, not her fifties - but it wasn't this kind.

Mark gave a nervous little laugh. Then he quickly changed the subject. "If you're being truthful about what you call 'being an adult' and not wanting me to have to confine myself... Gitta asked me to perform some Christmas songs for her and your mother this evening. I've held off on accepting."

"Is that why you're out here? To talk to me?"

"No, I stepped out for a moment of peace and quiet. It got a little noisy on our end of the villa."

Anthony facepalmed, not able to keep from laughing a little, realizing Mark had heard Sören and Nicholas going at it. "Er. Sorry."

"I didn't know you'd be out here. I just assumed you were... in there."

Anthony's cheeks burned and he looked away. It made sense that Mark probably didn't want to be reminded of when they'd had sex, though Mark's "you're too needy" at the end and then just ghosting him made Anthony think Mark hadn't been too sad about the breakup. If it could even be called that. The tension in Mark made Anthony wonder now if Mark maybe had regrets about how things happened, if not the breakup itself.

"Anyway, since you are out here, I thought I'd ask if it would make you uncomfortable -"

"I think I would be more uncomfortable with my mum and Gitta being disappointed, and you feeling like you have to confine yourself or go away over the Christmas holiday." Anthony shrugged again. "So if that answers your question at all, it's not that I'm entirely comfortable with it, but it would be worse for you to decline."

"If you're sure."

"I'm quite sure."

"Thank you for understanding. You guys are... invited to the performance. I don't want you to have to isolate yourselves either."

"OK. Your music is always lovely, so it isn't like I'm being forced to sit through something horrible." Anthony cocked his head to one side. "Gitta says you can sing the Jólakötturinn song like a native Icelander. I'm sure Sören would want to hear this for himself." He found himself just as curious as to how Mark's pronunciation of Icelandic was that good, as he was about why Mark looked the way he did. A little nagging feeling in the back of his head vaguely suggested those two thoughts might be connected somehow. Anthony quickly shoved it aside - that felt absolutely mad.

Mark smiled a little. "I'll try not to disappoint."

Anthony reached out and found himself giving Mark's arm a reassuring little pat. Whatever had happened close to two decades ago, he was willing to put it aside for a few days for everyone to get through the Christmas holiday without incident. Christmas last year had been soured by Sören and Nicholas's spat, so he thought it was especially important to his partners to not have a bitter Christmas twice in a row.

There were so many questions Anthony had about what Mark's life had been like in his absence, what brought him up here to Skye - and he didn't want to go down the slippery slope of actually caring again about someone who had so deeply wounded him. It was enough that he was telling Mark he didn't have to isolate himself while they were here. That would have to do.

Anthony moved his cane forward and began to step towards the villa. There were still biscuits to be made.

And he had to get away from those silver eyes, that velvet voice... the part of him that still loved his first love.

Anthony had thought the most stressful part of Mark's performance would be just being in the same room as him, sitting with all the memories of their fling so many years ago. That, as it turned out, was the easy part.

Anthony had never really forgotten about the power of Mark's voice, or his music, but it hit him in a way he hadn't expected. What was supposed to be a medley of Christmas songs - something light-hearted, to spread holiday cheer - ended up very visceral for Anthony. He remembered that night in December 1998 when they first met, the way Mark's grief and loneliness came through in the songs he played, resonating with Anthony's own, so raw from the loss of his uncle. It was like that all over again - this time with the loss of Anthony's father, and the agonizing nearly two years separated from Sören, the trauma of the car accident and the long road to recovery, which was still an ongoing process, living with PTSD. And it was deeper still for knowing Mark's sorrow - the things Mark had shared with him when they were together. Anthony once again wondered what the last almost-twenty years had been like for Mark. Alone. No family, few or no friends. Wandering.

Mark seemed to have come home, here in Skye, and of course the safety of that home was threatened by his arrival. Anthony felt guilty, even though Mark had been the one to break his heart. There was so much regret in Mark's voice as he sang "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas" that it felt almost like an apology.

Almost.

After they turned down for bed, Anthony found himself laying there awake, thinking of Mark again... feeling sorry for him. He thought about knocking on Mark's door and asking him about what happened in 1999, why he'd disappeared.

But "you're too needy" had devastated him at the time, and had done a tremendous amount of damage long-term. It had directly contributed to the problems he'd had with Sören during their first attempt at a relationship, where Anthony had tried so hard not to be "too needy" that he'd suppressed his emotions and struggles until it was too late. Anthony took responsibility for his own failures and mistakes - the end of that relationship had been on him, and his wrongdoing. Yet at the same time, Mark held at least a tiny bit of the blame, pushing Anthony down that path of being self-reliant to a fault, not wanting to show his vulnerability, his need.

Anthony got up. It wasn't to go visit Mark.

First, he went to the liquor cabinet that guests were welcome to help themselves to. He poured himself a shot of Hennessy to settle his nerves.

Then he got out his laptop. He took it down to the greatroom, where a fire was going in the fireplace, and Kirk and Spock were curled up together in front of the fire, looking cozy.

Sören had wanted to spend the holiday just relaxing and not dealing with the big issues of figuring out who they were, where they came from... but he hadn't said that Anthony couldn't. Anthony didn't expect to figure things out right away but he needed something. He needed to distract himself from thinking about Mark.

Anthony spent the next hour researching elf and faery folklore from across Europe, and especially Scandinavia and the British Isles. Reading that mythology and folklore had inspired several authors, like Tolkien, Anthony decided to take a shot. He felt it was a bit daft reading about fictional sources, but then he knew it was impossible to know what ancient mythologies and folktales were originally someone's fanfiction about gods and spirits. If Sören could create art based on his dreams, which more and more seemed like they weren't "just dreams", it made intuitive sense to Anthony that maybe some author was channeling another reality and not quite aware of it.

But it still felt utterly mad.

His cheeks burning with self-consciousness, and every now and again glancing up and around to make sure he was alone and not being watched, Anthony opened several tabs to look up different authors on Wikipedia. He'd only read the Lord of the Rings trilogy and seen The Hobbit movies, he'd had The Silmarillion on his to-read list for years but never gotten around to it, and had no idea what it was about except "Elves, probably". Now in the firelight he looked at the white glare of the Wikipedia page, his eyes strained for an entirely different reason than the bright screen.

The Silmarillion has five parts. The first, Ainulindalë, tells of the creation of Eä, the "world that is." The second part, Valaquenta, gives a description of the Valar and Maiar, supernatural powers of Eä. The next section, Quenta Silmarillion, which forms the bulk of the collection, chronicles the history of the events before and during the First Age, including the wars over three jewels, the Silmarils, that gave the book its title.

A shiver went down Anthony's spine. Three jewels. He thought of the gold aluminum pineapple, holding two of the three stones Sören had made "back then", now being contained like they were hazardous.

He clicked on the link for Quenta Silmarillion and scrolled down.

In Aman, Fëanor, son of Finwë, King of the Noldor, created the Silmarils, jewels that glowed with the captured light of the Two Trees. ...Melkor killed the Two Trees with the help of Ungoliant, a dark spider spirit. Melkor escaped to Formenos, killed Finwë, stole the Silmarils, and fled to Middle-earth. ...Fëanor swore an oath of vengeance against Melkor and anyone who withheld the Silmarils from him, even the Valar, and made his seven sons do the same. He persuaded most of the Noldor to pursue Melkor, whom Fëanor renamed Morgoth, to Middle-earth. Fëanor's sons seized ships from the Teleri, killing many of them, and betrayed others of the Noldor, leaving them to make a perilous passage on foot. Upon arriving in Middle-earth, the Noldor defeated Melkor's army, though Fëanor was killed by Balrogs.

Anthony's jaw dropped. He felt like alarm bells were going off in his head.

Frantically, he typed "Silmarillion" into Google, and eventually found a PDF copy to download. He didn't care that it was late and he would pay for being up so late tomorrow - he needed to read this now.

Everything was at stake here.

Chapter Text

"Are you all right?"

"Jæja."

Anthony sighed. He walked over, cane clacking against the hardwood floor, and propped his cane against the desk to put both his hands on Sören's shoulders. After a moment he began rubbing, kneading. Sören exhaled and leaned into his touch. Anthony had a way of being able to calm and soothe him when the inner storms raged; Sören sometimes half-wondered if Anthony's touch was magic. Now he knew that half-wondering was his intuition whispering hints of what was going on with them, and the touch was a tangible reminder of the otherness. Nonetheless, Sören let himself take a little comfort.

"You're not fine," Anthony said.

"No. I'm not fine at all, I'm bloody Fëanor. Emphasis on the bloody."

Anthony stopped rubbing. He took his cane in one hand and Sören's hand in the other, pulling Sören up from the desk chair, leading him over to the edge of the bed. Nicholas was helping Elaine and Gitta in the kitchen, presumably working out his own complicated feelings about being Fingolfin through the chopping of vegetables and stirring of pots.

Sören looked into Anthony's eyes, and felt a twinge of sympathy for the tiredness he saw there. Anthony hadn't slept last night. He'd been up all night reading a PDF of The Silmarillion and taking notes. In the early morning, after Mark left to do whatever it was Mark did all day and he was sure no one would overhear, Anthony reported his findings and invited Sören and Nicholas to look for themselves.

As much as Sören had wanted to take the holiday to just relax and not speculate on the mystery of who and what they were, Sören was admittedly relieved that Anthony, with his keen analytical mind, had sought answers and figured things out rather quickly.

But the truth was disconcerting. First, there was the undeniable fact that their dreams - their memories of before - were fragments of The Silmarillion, a book none of the three of them had read at any point so there could be no counter-argument that they had been subconsciously influenced. They were fictional characters, which bothered Sören a lot, since fiction was supposed to be fictional, not reality. And yet, in Anthony's research, he'd turned up the little nugget that J.R.R. Tolkien's gravestone said "Beren" and his wife's "Lúthien" - Anthony's theory was that the professor had been Beren in a past life and his "fiction" wasn't fully fictional but was cobbling together memories.

Which was the other troublesome bit. While many facets of their memories aligned with canon, there were things that either weren't mentioned at all or contradicted the canon. Finarfin no longer walked under the trees of the Blessed Realm, but had been reborn as Anthony. Sören distinctly remembered that Feanor did not, in fact, hate Fingolfin and Finarfin, or vice versa - that had been a ruse to disguise their forbidden incestuous affair. There was no hatred at all.

Not until the end. Sören shuddered.

Sören closed his eyes and his mind's eye replayed one of his most vivid memories... when Feanor sent Finarfin back.

"You must go back," Fëanor says, stern, unyielding. He pushes Finarfin away, much as he wants to stay in those arms forever. "You must renounce me. You must tell them you were wrong."

"No, I will not deny you, I will not -"

"You will, or your children's blood will be on your hands... and mine."

Finarfin takes a deep breath, and then Fëanor sees that silver-gold mane billowing in the winter wind, rushing harder, faster, fiercer, and he sees something like a white fire around him for a few seconds. "You just want to get rid of me," Finarfin says. "You never have time for me anymore -"

"We're in the middle of a war, in case you haven't been able to tell."

Finarfin shakes his head. "You still have time for our brother." And then he sneers. "That's it, isn't it? You don't want me anymore. You just want him."

Fëanor looks into Finarfin's eyes and he knows that this is the only way to make him go, the only way to save Finarfin's life. "You're right," Fëanor lies, and he turns his back to Finarfin, both so Finarfin will think he is being shut out, and so Finarfin cannot see the lie in his face, in his eyes, cannot see the tears starting. "I don't want you anymore."

He hears Finarfin huff, and then he hears Finarfin's boots crunch in the snow. When he hears them a distance away, Fëanor finally turns around and he watches Finarfin keep walking into the freezing rain, not looking back, never looking back, until finally he disappears into the fog.

Fëanor hears later that Finarfin has left, along with his wife, and their brother's wife. "Good," Fëanor says, nodding.

What Anthony hadn't known back then was that their brother hadn't touched Sören in a very long time. After the reconciliation feast of Fëanor and Fingolfin, they had stolen away to make love, and as they burned together, the Trees burned, the darkness of Morgoth and Ungoliant spreading across the realm, as Morgoth stole away to Formenos to kill Finwe and steal the Silmarils. Fingolfin had been consumed with guilt for their father's death - if he and Fëanor had not been indiscreet, there would be no need to stage a public feud, resulting in Fëanor's exile, where it was easier for Morgoth to attack the remote Formenos with its limited staff, than the palace in the more densely populated Tirion. Fingolfin would forever associate sex with Fëanor with the death of their father and the burning of the Trees, giving into a sort of magical thinking that it was ill luck for them to be intimate.

In the cold of the Helcaraxë, after Finarfin left, Fëanor had turned to Fingolfin for comfort and been rejected once again. Fingolfin had also expressed regret that Fëanor had ever made the Silmarils. And it was then Fëanor snapped, and burned the ships of his brother's company, to keep them from following him. He and Fingolfin had never reconciled before the end.

A chill went through Sören, remembering. He understood now why he was so reactive, so defensive, when Nicholas said anything involving the Silmarils that seemed critical, or potentially heading there. It wasn't just that Sören was protective of his creation, and had a bad history in this lifetime with his aunt and uncle taking things away from him. On a subconscious level, the Fëanor part of Sören had been screaming not this shit again at Fingolfin.

Finarfin would have died for me, and I sent him away to live. Thinking I only wanted Fingolfin... who broke my heart. Maybe we'd still be alive, in Beleriand, if...

It was no use speculating on the "what ifs", and Sören didn't really want to go back to that time, even as life on twenty-first century Earth as a human had its problems.

Anthony was holding Sören close now, rocking him, petting him. "I know," Anthony husked. "I know it's... a lot."

Sören gave a bitter laugh. "It's too much. It's overwhelming." He pulled back, tears burning his eyes, feeling like he was breaking inside. "You must think I'm a monster."

"No." Anthony exhaled sharply. "I think Beren was an unreliable narrator, he made Fëanor and his family out to be worse than they were because he was jealous of Celegorm."

"Fair, but what we do remember is pretty bad. The kinslaying. The ship-burning -"

"Sören." Anthony touched Sören's face. "You do remember what I do for a living, yes? If you were on trial right now, I would argue the insanity defense. You were traumatized."

"It doesn't make it right."

"No. But you were - you are - so much more than that." Anthony looked down and away, and when his eyes met Sören's again they were too bright with unshed tears of his own. "My uncle Nigel, who I've told you about, who was very dear to me, came back from the Gulf with PTSD. He physically attacked someone when he was having a flashback. I don't see him as a monster, even though that act of violence was terrible. I remember him as the cool uncle who took me to concerts and on camping trips and always gave me a supportive shoulder when I needed one. As for us..." Anthony squared his shoulders, like he was arguing in court. "We grew up in a dysfunctional family, we turned to each other, but we lived in a world where we had to hide what we were, we were indoctrinated by religious fanatics, and you were verbally and mentally abused by your wife... all of that kept building and building. I'm not a psychologist but I think you had PTSD then, too, and it finally got to the flash point. You were literally not in your right mind when you led us on the exile. But before that... you loved your partners, your children, so much. You loved making gifts for people, you were generous. You made us laugh. You were much more sensitive than you wanted anyone to know. You still have that beautiful, sensitive heart, and I love you."

The tears spilled down Sören's cheeks, not able to hold them back any longer. Anthony's own tears came. They clung to each other and wept, rocking together. So many emotions spiraled through Sören - guilt, shame, rage, grief. The feeling of loss and the weight of the Doom echoing in that void space...

...the fear that history would repeat itself.

Sören regretted the kinslaying, the ship-burning. But Tolkien's narrative made it sound like Fëanor's greatest crime was cursing the Valar, his rebellion against them, his defiance - and Sören would do it again. He held the Valar to blame for Morgoth's treachery, who should have kept him on a shorter leash. And above and beyond that, the Valar had subjugated his people. Finwë had tried to protect his people but instead led them into a form of slavery, making them go against their nature to love as they would. The bright "purity" of Aman had a twisted dark core of corruption, and Sören had no regrets about calling it what it was and trying to lead his people to freedom.

His fists clenched as he held onto Anthony for dear life, feeling that anger seethe in him all over again. It was not wrong for him to refuse the Valar the Silmarils. He still felt, after all this time, that the Valar did not deserve them. If anything, he felt it even more strongly now.

"I love you," Anthony whispered, stroking Sören's curls. He kissed the top of Sören's head, buried his nose in Sören's hair. "I love you, my heart. I love you." He pulled back, took Sören's face in his hands, and gave him a fierce, determined look - stern, almost angry. "And I'm not going to lose you again. You're not going to push me away this time."

"I'm so sorry." Sören fell apart, weeping. "I'm so sorry, Anthony. I'm so, so sorry. I'm sorry..."

Anthony kissed Sören's tears, his own continuing to fall, silently. "Hi Sorry. I'm Finarfin."

Sören gave him a playful shove, tweaked his nose. Anthony let out a laugh that sounded very, very tired. Sören looked at the clock - it was after 1 PM; Anthony had been awake for over 24 hours.

"We should take a nap," Sören said. He'd gotten some sleep but Anthony had woken them up early with his findings and even if Sören had been a morning person, the weight of their newfound knowledge made him feel very old.

"Kay." Anthony leaned on his cane to get up, stretched, and started to strip down to his boxer-briefs. As exhausted as Sören was, he still admired the view. When Anthony caught Sören's gaze, he grinned, cheeks turning pink. "You're incorrigible, you know."

"Takk."

Anthony chuckled and threw his shirt at Sören. "You've always been incorrigible." He sighed deeply. "The more things change, the more they stay the same."

"My love for you has never changed, brother."

Their eyes held, then Anthony walked over and took Sören in his arms again. Sören's face rested against Anthony's stomach, and, not able to help himself, Sören kissed just above his navel, knowing he was sensitive there. Anthony's breath hitched. "I thought we were taking a nap," Anthony said.

"We are." Sören blew a raspberry into Anthony's stomach. "That was a sneak preview of later."

Now it was Anthony's turn to give Sören a shove, and then he put Sören in a headlock and gave him a noogie. Sören blew a raspberry into Anthony's arm.

"Such kingly behavior," Anthony said.

"The kingliest." Then Sören farted, which scared Seumas off the bed, and Anthony fell over on the bed, shaking, sides heaving; the tears were for a different reason now, his face lit up.

"Jesus Christ, Sören."

Sören couldn't help himself. "Such kings. Very Noldor. So Elves. Wow."

"Wow."

They laughed so hard Seumas meowed at them in concern.

Sören stirred awake to sweet, gentle little kisses raining over his face... the tickle of Nicholas's whiskers. When he opened his eyes he saw Nicholas leaning over Sören and Anthony tangled up together, kissing Sören's face as he pet Anthony. Anthony smiled and stretched, blinking his eyes open. "Hey," Anthony said, his voice husky from sleep.

"As you know, hay is for horses," Nicholas said, his eyes twinkling. He touched Anthony's cheek, then he kissed Sören's brow. "My boys."

Sören smiled too, and rubbed noses with Nicholas. "Hi, Daddy."

"Hello, sweetheart." Nicholas kissed the tip of Sören's nose. "Did you have a good nap?"

Sören nodded. Just before he'd dozed off he'd been afraid he would have nightmares about their past life, but if he'd dreamt, he couldn't remember it. And he actually felt rested, like the nap had hit a switch in his brain that helped with the exhaustion of the emotional fallout of processing everything.

"The two of you looked so precious curled up together that I was hesitant to disturb you, but I couldn't help myself." He took Anthony's and Sören's hands in his, and squeezed. "I feel like after what we've learnt, it's all the more important to tell you I love you." His eyes met Sören's, and held.

Sören bit his lower lip, feeling the tears start again. He didn't want to have another big crying episode, like he'd had earlier after they'd read the relevant parts of The Silmarillion. He withdrew his hand from Nicholas's, flung his arms around the older man's neck, and pulled him close, hugged him tight. Those words meant so much right now, Sören loving him so fiercely he felt his heart could break.

He felt a gentle nudge at his forehead, though Nicholas hadn't touched him, and then he heard Nicholas's deep, velvet voice in his mind. Especially you.

Now it was Sören's turn to rain kisses over Nicholas's face. "Oh, elskan." Sören skritched Nicholas's whiskers like he was a cat; Nicholas smiled, cheeks turning pink. "I know. I..." Sören took a deep breath. Nicholas needed to hear something as well. "I forgive you. I'm sorry I burned the ships. I was hurt, I was angry, feeling like I'd lost you made something snap in my head, and that's not excusing it but -"

"Hush." Nicholas kissed him deeply, fiercely. Sören's cock stirred in his boxer-briefs under the covers. When the kiss broke and they pulled back, breathing harder, Nicholas said, "I'm sorry too. I... shouldn't have given into superstition, magical thinking, like our love was to blame for our father's death. I'm sorry I turned from you. I'm sorry I hurt you. And now I understand why the stones - the Silmarils - have been such a fraught subject."

"Jæja."

Nicholas gave a nod. "I don't know how or why we ended up here, in these bodies, on this mortal coil."

"Well, I don't believe the Valar are trying to give us another chance," Sören said. He'd speculated about that for awhile after the information bomb dropped and he'd decided against the possibility that the Valar were trying to show mercy. "If they were responsible for... our lives here... weaving our fates... they have a lot to fucking answer for. The abuse I endured as a child. Being raped when I was twenty-five. Anthony getting bullied in school, getting into the car accident -"

Nicholas held up his hand and nodded again, giving him a look as if to say Fëanor, enough - he knew that back then as well as now, when Sören or Fëanor got going, he got going and would rant and fume for hours unchecked.

"And I doubt they are suddenly fine with the nature of our relationship." Nicholas's lips quirked as if that amused him, and then he sobered again. "I believe it would be giving them too much credit for us finding our way back to each other. Whatever the circumstances of our incarnation here, our love did lead us back together again."

"It did." Sören sighed, looking into Nicholas's dark chocolate eyes and melting for him. "And it's almost like your... soul, spirit, whatever... it knew that I needed a father figure, needed a daddy." Sören's lips quirked too. "And if I recall correctly, you played daddy to me back then too." Sören's mind's eye played a mental movie of Fingolfin carrying an exhausted Fëanor out of the forge, bathing him, feeding him by hand before spanking him for being naughty overexerting himself, then spoiling him with tender, sweet lovemaking.

Of course, it hadn't always been tender. Especially not with Finarfin involved. It tickled Sören in a perverse way that Finarfin had been treated as the most gentle and "harmless" of the three brothers in canon; Finarfin was harmless the way a poisonous plant appeared harmless, and he was probably the kinkiest of the three of them.

A frisson went through Sören, remembering those special, rare occasions when the three of them were able to get away together and make love. And fuck. The old passion between them was new again, like the phoenix rising that he'd tattooed on his back years ago. No matter how many times they burned together, it was never old, never the exact same way twice, going deeper and deeper into the consuming fire of their love, immolated, transformed.

Here and now, Sören needed action to back up words. He needed the hard proof that Fingolfin wasn't going to recoil from him again, wasn't going to recede back into the shadows of guilt and shame. The part of him that had died wishing he could have died in his brother's arms and not his son's reached out now, and it was hungry. Sören pulled Nicholas against him again, crushed their mouths together, tongues playing like the way Sören wanted them to play inside each other. Sören pulled back the covers and took one of Nicholas's hands and put it on the hard bulge in his boxer-briefs. Then he grabbed Anthony's hand and put it on top of Nicholas's.

"I need you," Sören whispered. He looked over at Anthony, who was watching with interest. "Both of you."

Nicholas's free hand cupped Sören's chin and he kissed Sören back, matching fire for fire, hunger for hunger. They both groaned into the kiss, Sören's cock leaping, throbbing, stiffening even more. Nicholas began to kiss Sören's sensitive neck as Anthony leaned in to kiss Sören, Anthony sliding his hand off Nicholas's to rub Sören's thigh and stomach, electrifying him with his touch. A few kisses later, Anthony and Nicholas leaned in to kiss each other and Sören moaned at the sight of them kissing.

Sören and Anthony quickly got out of their underwear as Nicholas stood up and undressed, giving them a show. Anthony let out an appreciative wolf whistle once Nicholas was fully nude, and Nicholas chuckled, blushing. Sören loved the way Nicholas's eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled and laughed. Sören's eyes raked Nicholas's body up and down, admiring the trim physique, the silver pelt. He didn't get to look for long - Nicholas quickly climbed onto the bed and began kissing Sören again, like he was starving for it, like his life depended on it. Sören whimpered, feeling his cock starting to drip with precum, almost painfully hard. He let out another little whine as Anthony kissed his neck. Anthony kissed up and down his neck, over his shoulder, taking little licks and nibbles, knowing how much that teased him. Anthony and Nicholas's hands ran over Sören's body, fingers brushing, walking, making Sören break out in gooseflesh, trembling to their touch.

Soon Anthony and Nicholas were kissing, licking, and caressing Sören all over, loving every inch of him as if to make up for what had happened ages ago - Finarfin leaving when Fëanor told him to, rather than doubling down and insisting to stay; Fingolfin withdrawing from Fëanor, rejecting him. To make up for all the nights when Fëanor lay there alone and lonely, aching to burn away the cold of the Helcaraxë with his brothers' love. As Anthony and Nicholas sucked Sören's nipples at the same time, he couldn't help crying out, even as they were trying to keep the noise down for the sake of the other people at the villa. The ancient hunger seemed to intensify every sensation, make everything more urgent, more lustful.

"You're not pushing me away a second time," Anthony said, looking up at Sören, before he drew Sören's nipple back into his mouth, sucking harder.

Nicholas touched Sören's face. "And I shan't ever reject you again. So long as I'm able to do so, I will never stop touching you." Nicholas slid over to kiss Sören's heart, bringing tears to Sören's eyes. Then Sören cried out again as Nicholas suckled at the other nipple, pulling it with his lips.

"Fuck," Sören panted. "Please, I need..."

"So do we." Nicholas's eyes twinkled with mischief. "As you know." His tongue fluttered at the nipple, licked around it in slow circles, and lashed hard before he sucked again.

"We'll get there, love." Anthony licked at Sören's nipple too, tugged the nipple ring with his teeth, soothed with his tongue, then suckled so hard it almost hurt. Sören whimpered, writhing, cock and hole both twitching, desperate for relief.

They lapped and sucked at Sören's nipples for a long time, teasing them into swollen, glistening nubs, driving him mad with pleasure. At last, when Sören was almost sobbing, they moved to kiss and lick his stomach, his thighs. Anthony took slow, deliberate licks at Sören's cock, while Nicholas licked and sucked at his balls. Then they traded places, Nicholas sucking him slowly as Anthony sucked on his balls, occasionally taking little nibbles.

Nicholas came up to kiss Sören, both of them watching as Anthony resumed licking at Sören's cock, then sucked slowly, his eyes locked with theirs. "What does our Spirit of Fire want?" Nicholas husked, before nipping at Sören's neck.

"You. Both of you. I want everything." There were too many possibilities of pleasure, all of them delicious.

"I want to take you," Nicholas said, stroking Sören's face, looking into his eyes. "I want to fill you. I want to be one with you. I need this, now more than ever."

Sören took Nicholas's hand and kissed it. He nodded - he couldn't speak, too overcome by desire and the fierce love that burned inside him.

Then Nicholas gave him a wicked little smirk, glancing over at Anthony, who let go of Sören's cock and smiled at him, as if they were on the same page. Nicholas looked back at Sören. "And I want to watch you suck him, like you're trying to make it up to him for pushing him away so long ago."

Sören's laughter rang out. "I might suck it right off, if that's what I'm trying to accomplish."

"Promises, promises." Anthony licked and nibbled at Sören's thigh, making him gasp, another quiver of pleasure going through him.

After they readied themselves, they got in position - Anthony laying on his back, propped up against the pillows, Sören on all fours face down ass up, his head between Anthony's legs, with Nicholas kneeling behind him. Once Nicholas was all the way inside Sören, he took Anthony in his mouth, sucking hungrily.

Though they tried to be quiet, they could still hear the slap of their flesh, the bed creaking and rocking against the wall, Nicholas smacking Sören's ass, Anthony's gasps and sighs of pleasure. The lewd sounds, and the look of ecstasy on Anthony's face, the way he grabbed Sören's curls and tugged possessively, combined with the intoxicating surrender to Nicholas's domination, thrusting hard and savage inside him, hitting that sweet spot just right, and Sören lost himself, going deeper and deeper into pleasure, the tension rising, tightening, keeping him on that edge where he desperately needed to come but he never wanted to stop giving himself to Nicholas, never wanted to stop servicing Anthony, needing them to use him, master him, claim him.

"That's a good boy," Nicholas growled, spanking Sören's ass again. "Such a good boy for Daddy."

Sören couldn't help the moan with his mouth full, almost coming from that. He rocked his hips back at Nicholas, matching his rhythm, working his ass in circles, teasing them both. Nicholas grunted in response, and his hand struck Sören's ass once more. Sören let out a whimper as the pleasure-pain stung through him. Sören sucked at Anthony harder, faster, bobbing his head up and down, working his cheeks and tongue, making slurping suctioning sounds.

Anthony grabbed Sören's curls tighter, started thrusting into his mouth, panting, eyes glazed. "Oh, fuck."

"That's it. Please your brother," Nicholas rasped.

"Getting close." Anthony tensed, trembling.

"Mmmmmmm." Sören's eyes locked with his. He kept the rhythm going against Nicholas's hips, the rhythm up and down Anthony's shaft. Sören was almost there himself, going out of his mind with lust and sensation. There was nothing else in the world that mattered, when the three of them were like this. And it was even more consuming now.

Anthony's breath hitched and his mouth opened. He threw back his head and gasped, shuddering as he spent into Sören's mouth. The sight of Anthony coming and the salty-sweet taste of him set Sören off, crying out around the cock and cream in his mouth as the throbbing started, pulse after pulse of relief, joy, delight.

"Darling," Nicholas moaned, and he stopped thrusting. Sören groaned as he swallowed down Anthony's seed, gratified by the feeling of Nicholas spurting inside him.

Sören rested his head on Anthony's thigh, and after Nicholas had slipped out of him, once Sören was able to move again he lay sandwiched between them, curled up on Anthony's chest, Nicholas spooning him. Their arms were tight around him, reinforcing that they would never let him go again.

"Good boy," Nicholas whispered, and kissed the top of Sören's head.

Anthony smiled, looking like he was high. It was infectious; Sören smiled back and kissed the tip of his nose. "Wow." Anthony chuckled. "That was good."

"That was... very, very good." Sören sighed and flexed his fingers and toes, started to knead a little like a contented cat. He made a purring noise, nuzzling Anthony, and Anthony laughed and skritched Sören's beard. "I love you both so much."

"And we love you." Nicholas's arms tightened, squeezing. "So very much."

Sören sighed again, grinning; he closed his eyes.

They rested for awhile, and then Sören felt Anthony's hand in his hair, petting. Anthony also rubbed Sören's shoulder. Sören smiled and tilted his face up to give him a sweet little kiss. One kiss became another and another and at last their tongues were playing together again, hands caressing each other's chests and thighs, hard cock rubbing hard cock. Nicholas's own cock rose back to life and Sören rubbed his ass against Nicholas's cock, moaning softly at the feel of Nicholas's hard cock sliding up and down his ass crack. Nicholas began to kiss Sören's neck and the sweet hollow where the neck and shoulder met, as Sören and Anthony kissed more deeply. When Nicholas tilted Sören's face to his, kissing open-mouthed, tongues teasing, Sören gave an urgent moan and bucked against them, cock and hole both twitching, throbbing.

"More," Sören breathed. "I need you both again..."

Nicholas and Anthony exchanged glances over Sören's shoulder, and then Nicholas cleared his throat and said, "This time I'd like to give myself to you. I claimed you as mine... and now I'd like you to claim me, as well."

Sören's breath hitched, cock jolting at that, remembering the tightness of Nicholas.

But even as Sören wanted, his entire body aching, hungering for release, he hungered all the more to express his love to the men he loved, a love that had burned for eons, that not even the Doom and the Void could quench. As Anthony and Nicholas lay back, kissing, idly stroking each other, Sören took turns kissing and licking them all over, tongue playing in their chest hair, lapping and suckling hard nipples, nibbling and sucking at the planes of their stomachs, nipping and licking sensitive inner thighs.

When Sören had his fill, shaking with desire, completely inflamed with lust for their gorgeous male bodies, his own cock dripping precum, they still took their time getting there - Sören and Nicholas fell into a sixty-nine, Sören on top of Nicholas, with Nicholas sucking Sören's cock as Sören's tongue played around the rim of his passage and inside him, getting him ready to be taken, fucked. Anthony positioned himself so his face was at Sören's ass and he ate Nicholas's cum out of Sören. Having his cock sucked and his hole licked at the same time made Sören crazy with pleasure and need, moaning into Nicholas's opening, not able to help himself. Anthony's skilled tongue and Nicholas's hungry mouth almost brought him off then, and Sören made himself hold back, knowing what was yet to happen would bring about an even more powerful release.

Nicholas lay back, a pillow propped under his hips, looking up at Sören with trust and love in his eyes. They kissed passionately as Sören's slick fingers worked inside him, preparing him, and Nicholas's hand worked lube over Sören's cock, massaging it, teasing. Anthony kissed and licked up and down Sören's spine, knowing how that made him weak and wanting, and Sören instinctively thrust his ass out at Anthony, who slapped it before he poured lube over the crack of Sören's ass. Sören and Anthony groaned together as the lube dripped into Sören's passage, and Sören shivered with anticipation as he heard the wet slurping sound of Anthony lubing up his own cock.

Several kisses later, Sören's cock was at Nicholas's channel, and their eyes held, breathing each other's breath as Sören pushed inside. It had been a couple of weeks since Nicholas had last bottomed for either of them so his passage gripped like a silken vise. Sören made himself go slow, not wanting to hurt him. When he was all the way inside, they kissed, and after resting for a moment, Sören took his first few slow thrusts. Nicholas gasped, eyes rolling back as the captive bead ring of Sören's Prince Albert piercing hit his prostate. Sören groaned, shuddering at the velvet heat clenching him, the texture of that nub inside Nicholas connecting with his exquisitely sensitized frenulum. "Oh god." Sören grit his teeth.

Then Anthony was inside him, Anthony's chest against his back, Anthony kissing the nape of Sören's neck, Anthony's cock rubbing that sweet spot inside him so deliciously. Sören moaned into Nicholas's mouth, trying to keep his thrusts slow, not just for the sake of Nicholas's tightness, but to not come right away. But soon Anthony was rocking away inside him and Sören matched his rhythm, and Nicholas's hands clutched at him, Nicholas panting, shaking. "That's it, love," Nicholas rasped. "Just like that..." He let out a moan, and Sören moaned too.

Three bodies became one, one rhythm, one need. There was no past, no present, no future, all space and time seemed to stop for them, going deeper and deeper into that sacred space of their passion. This had been why Sören had made the Silmarils, when he was Fëanor. The fire of their love, their ecstasy, had been the brightest light. Each thrust, each kiss, each sigh, was another spark of the flame, burning brighter and brighter, hotter and hotter. In those moments Sören felt eternal, transcendent... as if the dance of their bodies were enacting the Big Bang that exploded the universe into being, as if the fire between them were a forge of cosmic creation, more powerful than the Valar themselves.

Nicholas pulled Sören into a deep, fierce kiss, like he was kissing Sören's soul. Fëanáro, Nicholas spoke into Sören's mind. Never leave me again.

Never ever. Sören kissed him back.

Anthony exhaled. "Did I just... hear..."

You can hear us too. Sören couldn't believe it - and yet he knew he shouldn't be surprised it was possible.

Sören's hair stood on end, his skin gooseflesh. He felt ready to cry from the power of his love, the moment of awe that this was real, this was happening, this was really happening...

If you can hear us, say the number 'five' out loud, Nicholas said.

"Five," Anthony said, his voice shaking.

That's nothing. Sören needed a moment of levity, so he didn't fall apart, which was decidedly unsexy. I'm thinking of a number between one and seventy...

"Brat." Anthony slapped Sören's ass, laughing, and then he took a playful bite at Sören's neck. Sören gasped and bucked against Anthony, thrusting harder into Nicholas, electrified.

They held onto each other for dear life, fucking harder, faster, bed banging against the wall, not able to contain the grunts and moans of pleasure. Sören went deeper into the flames of pleasure and lust until he felt himself flying to that point of no return, right there...

They came together, all three exploding in unison, crying out with their release. The feel of Nicholas's seed shooting over his stomach and Anthony's inside him made Sören pulse harder, his prostate and cock throbbing together, pleasure spiraling through his own body, a flood of relief, radiant joy. Silent tears spilled down Sören's cheeks, and he was laughing too - it felt so damn good to be here with his brothers after so long.

"I love you," Sören said, the three of them clinging, rocking together. "I love you, love you, love you..."

"Love you too." Anthony squeezed him and buried his face in Sören's shoulder with a soft sigh. "God, I love you."

"Love you so much." Nicholas kissed Sören's brow. He smiled. "As you know."

I didn't know, at the end.

Nicholas's brow furrowed and their noses rubbed together, and Nicholas kissed him. I shall endeavor to remind you so often you get sick of hearing it.

I will never get sick of hearing it. Sören stroked Nicholas's cheek. Then he smirked. Or hearing other things.

Nicholas facepalmed; his cheeks were pink, eyes twinkling. I hope Elaine and your aunt didn't hear.

After two intense orgasms Sören felt like taking another nap, but dinner was less than an hour away, so he forced himself to stay awake by busying his mind, thinking of the sketch he was working on - the frozen landscape surrounding them but made even more harsh and brooding, which was being transformed into what Sören now knew was a piece of art representing the Helcaraxë.

He'd done a painting of the ship-burning, back in 2013 when things had started to go pear-shaped with him and Anthony. Sören thought about his other paintings - the visions he'd been able to see so clearly in his mind's eye, things that had just seemed like a powerful imagination at work, and now he realized were clues, the subconscious Fëanor part of him trying to share memories.

Sören heard himself musing aloud. "I wonder who else is out there."

"Yeah, I wonder," Anthony said, frowning a little.

Chapter Text

It was Icelandic tradition to go Christmas shopping on December twenty-third, St. Þorlákur’s Day, and Gitta wanted to take Sören to see some of the local stores, which would also be a prime opportunity for the aunt and nephew to continue getting to know each other. Elaine and Anthony were also invited along, and since the mother and son hadn't seen each other for months, it was a chance for them to catch up as well.

Nicholas, too, was invited, but he felt like he'd be intruding on family bonding... especially for Sören, who had been raised by alcoholics and deeply needed the sort of nurturing care that Gitta was offering. Besides which, Anthony was observant enough that it would be difficult to do any sort of Christmas shopping in his presence and hope for it to remain a surprise.

So it was that Nicholas went out in the rented Vauxhall to do some shopping of his own, which doubled as a chance to drive through the scenic wintry landscape of Skye and take it all in, peaceful and deeply relaxing. Today was a day of moody dark clouds - rain was expected later in the day - and the way the orange-brown heather paired with the dusting of snow and the silver-gold light through the clouds made the hills look like they were burning. At one point Nicholas had to pull over his car and snap a few photos of the craggy hills and mountains under the stormy sky. He knew Sören was probably enjoying it too, and wondered if he could expect new paintings from Sören soon.

And after hitting a few stores to browse and buy gifts for Anthony and Sören - as well as a small something for Gitta and Elaine to thank them for their hospitality - he found himself returning again to Talisker Beach.

Because of the ominous sky and the forecast of rain, Nicholas expected the beach to be deserted. Once again Mark was there, playing the harp, the melancholy minor chords and the haunting melody he sung, pain searing in his voice, fitting the troubled, choppy, dark sea. Once again Nicholas broke out into gooseflesh under his layers, hair standing on end, feeling like he couldn't breathe, captivated by the combination of Mark's song and the stark beauty of the silver shore under the steely sky.

Captivated by the beauty of Mark himself, the serenity on his face even as he sang of sorrow, his raven locks stirring in the sea breeze, long, elegant fingers flowing over the harp like he was weaving magic. Not even the ghastly burn on Mark's hand took away from how lovely he was.

Nicholas hung back, not coming closer, not wanting to disturb Mark, not wanting him to stop, completely enthralled by the show. He wished he could video record it for future enjoyment, without feeling like that would be creepy and inappropriate. After all, they were still mostly strangers.

Though, Nicholas couldn't shake the feeling that Mark was familiar, above and beyond being a fan of Mark Lauer's music for years. Mark was inhumanly beautiful, and for a brief instant Nicholas wondered if Mark, the harpist, was in fact one of the Eldar and that was why he seemed familiar - one soul acknowledging another - but surely that was too many coincidences? Surely not everything in his life was a connection to when he was Fingolfin?

Nicholas shivered.

Of course, Mark paused and turned to look at him, as if he had super-sensitive hearing and could hear Nicholas's light footfall on the sand meters away. For a moment they just looked at each other, and then Mark called out, "Hello again," and Nicholas awkwardly put up a hand in greeting. Then Mark resumed playing, this time a different song.

After awhile Nicholas strode towards him, spread out the blanket he carried under one arm, and took a seat at an angle where he could watch the waves and Mark at the same time. Mark continued playing like it didn't bother him to have an audience, and Nicholas savored every minute, every note, every resonance, getting lost in Mark's music, like the chiming harp and the crystalline tenor were its own little world. If Anthony had heard Mark play and sing, decades ago, Nicholas could see how Anthony could have fallen for him. That was a dangerous train of thought, but it was there nonetheless; Mark was a gorgeous man, all the more beautiful as he gave his gift of song, expressing a beautiful soul.

A few songs later, the promised rain began to fall, a few light drops then heavier ones. Nicholas got up, and Mark did as well. Nicholas opened his umbrella and gestured that Mark could share it, and together they walked under the umbrella, quickly to their respective vehicles - Nicholas was surprised by how fast Mark could move carrying a heavy harp.

By the time they made it to their cars it was really coming down, and Nicholas decided to let the windshield wipers work for a minute before he attempted to pull out of the parking space. Just before he could put his hands on the wheel, his phone vibrated. It was a text from Sören.

You doing OK?

Nicholas chuckled; Sören could be quite the mother hen, and he found it endearing. Yes, dear. It's only a little rain. As you know, I'm not going to melt.

Then Nicholas peered through the windshield as he waited for a response and saw Mark hadn't left the parking lot yet. Nicholas didn't think Mark was responding to any texts of his own, so he wondered what was going on.

He didn't have to wonder long. He watched Mark get out of his car, brow furrowed, and Mark took a deep breath before he walked over to Nicholas's car. Nicholas rolled down his window a little as Mark came closer.

Mark gave a nervous laugh. "My car battery's dead. You don't by any chance have jump leads in your rental, do you?"

"I don't, unfortunately, but I can give you a lift back to the bed-and-breakfast."

"All right, that will do. I'm pretty sure Gitta and Elaine can drive out to give me a jump later today or sometime tomorrow." Mark glanced back at his car. "Do you mind if I put my harp in your trunk? Do you have room? The likelihood of anyone messing with my car over the next 24 hours is slim but I get a little paranoid."

"I don't blame you. It's a magnificent harp. By all means, the trunk has room." Nicholas popped the trunk.

Nicholas rolled up the window, then watched as Mark walked back over to his car, got out the harp from the trunk, and carried it over. Once the harp was secured in the trunk of the Vauxhall, Mark got in the passenger's seat. Nicholas felt a little tingly and his cheeks burned. Self-conscious of his reaction to Mark's proximity, he gave a small, shy smile, cleared his throat, and began to pull out onto the road.

For the first few minutes of their journey there was silence, both of them watching the road and the rain, the haunting beauty of the dark sky weeping over the hills. Then Nicholas broke the ice, feeling nervous, but also not wanting to be rude. "Thank you again for the lovely performance. I hope I wasn't intruding."

"I didn't mind." Mark turned his head and smiled - that smile made Nicholas's heart skip a beat. "I would have told you if I did. I don't exactly mince words with my opinions."

"That's good to know."

"And thank you for being willing to drive me back. I know we don't really know each other, I'm not much more than a stranger."

"Well, you haven't murdered Gitta and Elaine." Nicholas couldn't resist the little bit of levity, hoping to further thaw the ice. "Yet."

Mark's eyes narrowed, as if he'd hit a nerve, and when Mark turned his head to look out his window, Nicholas exhaled, feeling like he'd put his foot in his mouth with the joke. Nicholas hoped he hadn't offended Mark, so after giving Mark a moment to look out the window, Nicholas said, "I'm sorry, that was in poor taste."

"It's fine," Mark said, steel in his voice.

Nicholas sighed. Then he decided to try to smooth it over with kindness. "Do you have any errands you need to run? Any last-minute Christmas shopping? I'd be happy to take you, while I'm out and about."

"I don't, but thanks for asking." Mark turned back to him and their eyes met - Mark had such extraordinary grey eyes, so beautiful - and then Mark said, "Actually... I'd like to buy you a coffee to say thanks for the lift, if that's all right with you."

"You don't have to -"

"I want to. There's a very nice cafe I frequent that has good toasties and pastries."

"When you put it that way..." Nicholas laughed.

After driving some more in silence, that now felt a bit less awkward, Mark gave directions to the cafe. It wasn't completely empty but it wasn't busy either, and they were quickly seated by a window. Nicholas looked over the menu while Mark told the waitress, "My usual, please."

Nicholas decided on a hazelnut mocha coffee with whipped cream, and a few slices of banana nut bread. He was impressed by the selection of cakes, and thought about ordering a couple of pieces to take back to Sören and Anthony, but then he mused aloud, "I should bring Anthony here so he can try cake in-person."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Nicholas regretted it, not wanting to hit another nerve by bringing up Mark's ex - if Anthony was still hurting close to twenty years later, Nicholas wondered if Mark had any wounds from that time also. But Mark just gave a sad yet fond little smile and said, "He still likes cake."

"'Like' would be rather an understatement."

Mark chuckled. Then he leaned back in his seat and said, "Thank you."

"For?"

"Taking care of him. He seems... less troubled than when I met him, even though he's clearly faced some adversity since our ways parted. It seems like you and... Sören, is it? Have been good for him."

It touched Nicholas that Mark still seemed to care about Anthony, in a way. "We all take care of each other," Nicholas said. "Anthony has been good for us, too."

"How did you meet, if you don't mind me asking?"

Nicholas found it odd that Mark wanted to talk about his ex, instead of avoiding a sore subject, but he didn't mind. "It's a bit of a complicated story."

"We're all complicated people. I understand some things about being complicated myself."

I'm sure you do, Nicholas thought to himself, trying not to look at the burn on Mark's hand. Nicholas quickly glanced away and out the window, and then back at Mark's eyes. "Anthony and Sören were in a relationship together. They were engaged to be married, then... difficulties arose, and they broke up. Sören and I met a little over a year later - I bid on him at a bachelor auction and we began a relationship thereafter - and then Anthony asked for a second chance. Sören insisted on testing the waters as friends first, and after a year, they got back together with my permission. Anthony became a fixture in our lives and I developed feelings for him too. The three of us started on this path in March and haven't looked back. It's unconventional, but it works."

"I don't judge," Mark said. "I've had some interesting relationships of my own." Now it was Mark's turn to look away. Nicholas wondered about that - the thought of Mark having a threesome with anybody was strangely erotic, and he didn't want to think like that about Anthony's ex - and then their eyes met again. "I'm glad you guys are happy."

"Thank you. And... thank you for not resenting me for... being with Anthony."

"I couldn't. I broke his heart, you and Sören put it back together."

Nicholas knew that Anthony had been the one broken up with, and that ghosting had happened, but he didn't know what prompted Mark to fade from his life like that. Nicholas wanted to ask what happened, but he felt like that was for Mark to tell him, volunteering the information unasked, he didn't want to be invasive and make Mark feel like he was on trial.

He also felt slightly disloyal for wanting to hear Mark's side of the story, but then, he had heard Anthony's when he crashed back into Sören's life. Nicholas knew from his years as a priest that sometimes good people made mistakes, and doing the math, Mark was probably quite young then and at a very different place in his life.

The waitress came back with their coffee and snacks - Mark's usual was a chocolate espresso with whipped cream, and a plate of scones.

"How often do you come here?" Nicholas didn't think it could be every day, or Mark wouldn't have the physique he had. Then Nicholas felt another twinge of self-consciousness, not wanting to notice Mark's physique.

"Once a week or so. Sometimes twice. There are other cafes on the island I visit, less frequently. I spend my days roaming around a bit."

"I see. You don't work?"

"I do put out the occasional album and my music generates sales. Nothing new in awhile. I also made some smart investments with my trust fund."

Nicholas detected the slightest defensiveness in Mark's tone, and also noticed that answer came quite quickly, as if it were an answer Mark had rehearsed for the inevitable question about his employment status. He knew that Mark did have a few albums - he owned them all - but nonetheless, something about that statement prickled him as being "off" somehow, the same sort of feeling he got in his priest days when someone was trying to confess or seek counsel and hadn't given the whole story. There were skeletons in Mark's closet, which seemed somewhat obvious, between the burnt hand, the sad songs, and living at a bed-and-breakfast in a remote place like Skye, like he was deliberately trying to avoid dealing with people... dealing with someone who might dig too deeply.

"What do you do?" Mark's voice cut into his moment of suspicion. "Are you retired?"

Now Nicholas was the one who felt himself bristle. There were, of course, plenty of retired people at his age, but Nicholas felt sixty-nine, as he would be in a few days, was too young to retire from teaching. "I'm a professor at UCL. I teach Classics."

"Nice. I approve. Ancient history is very important." Mark gave a wry smile. "Those who forget their history are doomed to repeat it."

If only you knew. Nicholas looked out the window again, watching the pouring rain. Tears unnumbered ye shall shed. He had found his brothers again in the sunset of his life, but at least he had found them, and he hoped with all his heart the worst was behind them.

"I taught at Merton College, but I downsized and came to London some years back," Nicholas said.

"So you're an academic's academic."

"I suppose. It's a subject I feel passionately about, anyhow. Like you said, history is important. I feel now more than ever, it is a relevant subject in the face of a changing world, to see both the glory and the folly of those who went before us. And... it's fascinating. I have been a Classicist since my thirties and I still feel there is much left to learn."

"That's a good attitude to have. You never stop learning. I'm still learning things myself."

"Well, you're also still young," Nicholas said, raising his cup of coffee. "I'm at that age where everyone under forty-five is 'the youth'."

Mark's lips quirked, but he said nothing in return, only raised his own cup and took a deep sip, looking out the window and shifting a little awkwardly in his seat.

Nicholas wondered about that, and decided he should probably shut up for awhile before he put his foot in his mouth again. The banana nut bread was delicious, especially for being warm straight from the oven, and even though Mark wanted to pay for both of them, Nicholas still felt like leaving a tip just to express his appreciation of the lovely banana bread. The banana bread gave him an excuse not to say much more in the cafe, and once they were back on the road, they watched the rain, soothing. But the peace of the rainfall didn't last long, with Nicholas once again feeling like he'd said or done something wrong, and though Mark was still barely more than a stranger and they might not see him again when they returned to Skye, Nicholas felt like there shouldn't be awkward tension with Christmas so close.

This time Nicholas tread more lightly, letting Mark take the lead in conversation if he wanted to. "Penny for your thoughts," Nicholas said.

"Oh." Mark leaned back in the passenger's seat. He took another deep breath, like he was about to make an announcement, and then he faced Nicholas, brow furrowed. "I thought about whether or not to say anything about this, I don't want to make things weird -"

"Oh god. You heard us, didn't you?" Nicholas's face was on fire now... all the more mortified for feeling a naughty thrill because of it, wondering if Mark had gotten turned on, remembering those nights with Anthony long ago. Wondering if that remark about interesting relationships meant Mark thought about what it would be like to join in...

Why are you thinking like that, you bloody pervert. Nicholas was mortified, not able to believe himself.

"Well... yes and no. I have heard that, yes -"

"I'm sorry. We'll try harder to keep it down -"

"-but," Mark raised his voice a little, "what I'm remarking on isn't the thing you're thinking of."

Nicholas raised an eyebrow, completely confused. If Mark wasn't referring to hearing their sex noises, then what had he heard?

"OK." Mark breathed again. "Here goes. Do you recall a few nights back, when Gitta and Elaine asked me to pick up some aloe vera while I was running errands in town?"

"...Yes."

"I overheard a conversation between Gitta and Sören where they were discussing how Gitta burned her thumb. They were trying to keep their voices down, and they were speaking Icelandic, but. Ég tala fyrir tilviljun íslensku svo ég skildi hvert orð sem þeir voru að segja."

Nicholas didn't speak Icelandic himself but he got the gist Mark was saying that he did, which Nicholas found very interesting considering Icelandic was such a difficult language to learn; Nicholas wondered where, how, and why Mark had picked up Icelandic. Before he could ask, Mark went on. "So yes, I know Gitta burned her thumb on a stone you have in your possession. I... would like to examine the stone you have." Mark waved his burned hand. "I had a similar experience with burning my hand on a stone a long time ago and I'd like to see if it's the same kind of stone or not."

Nicholas drove faster, even though his heart was racing and his hands were starting to shake and he worried he might crash the car in this state. This was exactly what he was afraid of - that sooner or later, someone would find out about the unique properties of the two stones Sören had found - that he had reclaimed, that he had once made - and they would want to investigate.

Or worse.

This was not good at all. Maybe Mark's curiosity was just innocent, or maybe Mark was going to report it to someone and then the stones would get taken away and Sören would snap. Maybe...

Nicholas decided to deflect. "I think perhaps you misunderstood the conversation. As you know, Icelandic is a very tough language for non-native speakers. I've been with Sören since 2015 and I still only know bits and pieces, mostly swear words." Nicholas gave a nervous laugh.

"Oh, I don't think so." Mark gave a knowing smile, but his eyes were not smiling. "I don't think I misunderstood at all. I think you're trying to protect the stone, which is... understandable. But I'd really like to see it. Please."

Nicholas sighed deeply. He pulled over. Mark's eyebrows shot up and Nicholas realized what it looked like - there was still a little ways to go to the bed-and-breakfast and it would be an even longer walk, Mark probably thought Nicholas was going to make him walk - but Nicholas needed a moment to pull himself together, completely disarmed, feeling trapped. He could barely breathe. After a moment he resumed driving and said, "It's not my stone."

"No, it's not." Mark's eyes narrowed.

Nicholas felt a defensive bristle - that felt like a challenge - and then Nicholas cleared his throat and said, "I have to address this with the owner of the stone and see what he says about showing you. He may not say yes. He is, as you put it, protecting the stone." Nicholas wasn't going to tell him whether the owner was Sören or Anthony, not wanting either of them to be harassed about it.

"Please do talk to him. I thought about just entering your room and trying to find it myself, but that seemed rather unethical."

And that seemed like a thinly veiled threat - Mark hinting at what he'd resort to if they didn't voluntarily show him. Not that "show me or I'll snoop around for it" was much of a choice. Once again, Nicholas's hackles raised.

"We'll see what he says," Nicholas said simply.

Once they reached the bed-and-breakfast, Mark took the harp to his room; Nicholas retreated to his own room and sat on the edge of the bed with a long sigh, feeling like he'd done something seriously wrong just by admitting they had it. They had two, in fact, but Nicholas wasn't going to tell him that.

Sören and Anthony got back from shopping a short while later to find Nicholas still sitting on the edge of the bed, stroking Tobias on his lap, staring at the floor.

"Elskan, what's wrong?" Sören asked, all worried brown eyes, going right to him. "Did something happen?"

"In a sense, yes." Nicholas looked up. Forgive me, he spoke into Sören's mind. "We have to talk." He lowered his voice. "It's about the Silmarils."

Chapter Text

Predictably, after Nicholas explained that Mark had told him he knew Gitta had burnt her thumb on the stone and had requested to see it - the request more like a demand - Sören lost his temper.

"Hvað er þetta skítkast? Fokk nei, heldur hann að við séum fokking heimsk? Hljómar eins og gildra fyrir mig. Mér er misboðið OG móðgað. Hann heldur greinilega að við séum fokking helvítis hálfvitar, að við ætlum bara að afhenda steinana til skoðunar, svo hann geti flúið með þeim. Hann hlýtur að halda að við fæddum fokking í gær -"

"Sören." Nicholas put his hands up. "Sören. He speaks Icelandic, and if he could hear you and Gitta talking about it whilst trying to keep your voices down, he might be overhearing this down the hall."

Sören glared. "How the fuck is his hearing so sensitive anyway? Can he hear dogwhistles and shit?"

Anthony remembered the night he went winter camping with Mark and Mark could hear him shivering and Anthony didn't think it was particularly loud. Then Anthony, feeling a surge of panic, felt himself pushing with his mind, in Mark's general direction. You're not hearing this. Nothing is going on. It felt insane, and yet there it was, pushing so hard with his mind that he started to get a little headache.

Nicholas exhaled. He and Anthony exchanged glances, then both looked at Sören.

"The fuck," Sören growled. He stopped pacing and flomped down on the edge of the bed. Seumas made a concerned "prrp?" and hopped up next to Sören, trying to give him headbutts to calm him down. Sören began to skritch the cat, but he was still scowling.

"Sören," Anthony said softly, "it doesn't do any good to get angry over his request to see them. It's over and done. We have to decide what we're doing about it."

"He wants to see the Silmarils?" Sören snarled. "I've got these jewels for him, right here." Sören grabbed his crotch. He got up from the bed and began pacing around again. Seumas walked over to Anthony for attention, and Anthony pet the grey tabby as he watched Sören pace around in circles, like a living storm. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't go down the hall and make it abundantly fucking clear who the stone belongs to -"

Anthony put up a hand. "Because, unless we want to effectively ruin my mother's and your aunt's Christmas, we have to maintain some modicum of diplomacy."

Nicholas frowned and nodded. "He's right."

Sören folded his arms and sat back down. "I don't fucking like it."

Anthony sighed. He loved Sören and he sympathized, and he hated being "the bad guy" here. "Nobody's asking you to like it. But we have to do what we have to do."

"I would suggest waiting at least twenty-four hours before we give him an answer either way," Nicholas said. "In his defense, he said he burned his hand on a stone years ago, and he wants to see if it's similar. That seems innocuous enough."

"That sounds like some trick motherfucking Morgoth would use to try to steal it again," Sören said.

"Do you really think we have Morgoth right under our noses?" Nicholas said, cocking his head to one side.

Not Morgoth. Something was setting off alarm bells in Anthony's head, but it wasn't those kinds of alarm bells.

"I think," Sören said, his accent heavy, his eyes wild, "that we need to have a little chat with our friend Mark."

"We will... when you calm down. Again, I strongly suggest that we sleep on it." Nicholas put a hand on Sören's arm.

"Like I can fucking sleep tonight knowing someone knows about the stone and is very insistent on seeing it." Sören huffed, his nostrils flaring.

Nicholas gave Anthony a pleading look, and then pinched the bridge of his nose. Anthony thought for a moment, really grinding the gears in his head, and then he decided to take an opportunity presenting itself. "Nicholas, why don't you take Sören for a little drive? Even though it's still raining, I'm sure he would appreciate getting out for a bit and seeing scenery."

"And you're... not coming along?" Nicholas asked, lifting his eyebrows.

"I need to look something up," Anthony said honestly. "It would be better if I didn't have distractions, like you two being sexy." He did find them sexy, but also he was hoping the flirtation would lift Sören's mood a bit.

It was telling that Sören couldn't even manage a smile at it. "I feel like a child being told to go play," Sören said, as Nicholas dragged him to his feet.

Nicholas slapped Sören's ass, continuing the theme of trying to cheer Sören up with flirting. "You want to be a good boy for Daddy, don't you?"

Sören muttered under his breath in Icelandic, but he finally gave a butt wiggle before he put his coat on. Anthony breathed a small sigh of relief; if Sören could wiggle his ass at them, the apocalypse was probably averted for now.

And it is told of Maglor that he could not endure the pain with which the Silmaril tormented him; and he cast it at last into the Sea, and thereafter he wandered ever upon the shores, singing in pain and regret beside the waves. For Maglor was mighty among the singers of old, named only after Daeron of Doriath; but he came never back among the people of the Elves.

"Bloody hell. Shit. Bugger. Fuck."

Anthony pushed his laptop off to the side and buried his face in his hands, feeling like an idiot for not seeing it sooner.

Macalaurë. Mark Lauer.

Anthony's mind replayed little clues from when he and Mark had been together in 1999.

"It's an old wound."

"Burn scar?"

"Yeah."

"How did you get it?"

"Something my father invented." Mark lowered his head. "Mistakes were made."

And even though Anthony was sure Mark didn't consciously know who and what he was dealing with, on a subconscious level he did know.

Mark crying out in his sleep, clinging harder. "No, don't go," Mark called.

"I'm right here." Anthony's arms tightened around him. He opened bleary eyes and saw it was a little past four AM. He turned his attention back to Mark, petting his hair, rubbing his back. "I'm here. It's OK."

"Don't go," Mark cried, voice thick from sleep. "Don't leave, Ara."

Anthony rained little kisses over Mark's face. "Shhhh. It's just a bad dream. You're here."

"Ara... Ara, don't go to Gondo-"


And later:

"Mark, who's Ara?"

Mark froze, with a "deer trapped in headlights" look on his face. He quickly composed himself, sipped his tea, and then he said, matter-of-factly, "The man I lost my virginity to."


The most damning moment of all had been when Anthony brushed Mark's hair and for a brief instant, saw one of Mark's ears was pointy. Then it changed to a regular human ear. Anthony had wondered then if he had been hallucinating. He had a feeling now he wasn't hallucinating at all, that Mark had done some sort of magic to disguise his ears.

Pointy ears that Anthony had dreamt of having himself, in a body with blond hair.

Some of Finarfin's memories diverged from canon - he was not still alive walking "under the trees" of Valinor, he had gone to Gondolin. He had fought alongside Ecthelion - Geir; they had been involved briefly - trying to avenge Fëanor's death, killed by the same Balrogs that had killed Fëanor. The dates of the War of Wrath and Gondolin had gotten mixed up; Anthony wondered if there was an unreliable narrator at work, perhaps one whose sense of time had been affected by trauma.

Mark had kept telling Anthony he reminded him of his uncle. Anthony realized Mark - Maglor - had lost his virginity to his uncle Arafinwë, when he was of age, after years of pining. Eons later, Anthony lost his virginity to Mark, a strange sort of symmetry.

When Anthony had been with Mark, he'd had recurring strange dreams - riding on a swan boat into golden light. He knew now he was dreaming Finarfin's memories, even back then.

Anthony shivered, even though the room was not cold at all. He took some deep breaths, trying to pull himself together, but he was shaken, and shaking. He was still shaking when Nicholas and Sören got back from their excursion.

It was close enough to dinner time that Anthony didn't have time to tell them what he'd found in his research while they were out. It didn't help that for the first time since they arrived, Mark joined them at the dinner table, as if he were playing some sort of psychological strategy to subtly send the message of I'm not going away and this isn't going away. Seeing Mark right across from him at the dinner table tied Anthony up in knots, barely able to string two coherent thoughts together, let alone try to have "The Talk" about who and what Mark was after dinner.

It especially didn't help that thinking about the little hints Mark had dropped when they were together made Anthony think about other moments when they were together. Cuddling, making love. Anthony's first time bottoming, his first time sucking cock, his first time topping. His first time tying Mark up and teasing him, unlocking a kinky side that he would explore during his break from school, touring Europe. That week they'd stayed in Mark's vacation home in Nice, France, making passionate love for hours, climax after climax. All of that a mirror of Maglor and Finarfin together, feasting on each other's bodies, taking each other, never too much, never enough.

If Anthony was being truly honest with himself, a part of him never stopped loving Mark, similarly to how he'd never stopped loving Sören while they were apart. He was still angry and hurt from the rejection in 1999 - if anything, he was even angrier now.

One thing was for certain. If they showed Mark one of the Silmarils, Mark would want to take it for himself because of his Oath. Explaining that the Silmaril was in fact in the possession of Fëanor, reborn as mortal, was going to be a hard sell, since it didn't seem Mark recognized them in their human forms. This had the potential to go even worse than Anthony had first thought when Nicholas delivered the news...

...starting with having to break the news of who Mark was, to Sören and Nicholas. He didn't feel ready for that, especially after the way dinner with Mark disarmed him, shook him up even more.

A couple of hours after dinner, Elaine and Gitta invited Anthony, Sören and Nicholas out to have hot chocolate by the fire. Inevitably, Elaine and Gitta rolled a joint and passed it around. The nice buzz of the marijuana was a much-welcome, much-needed relief from the tension of earlier, taking Anthony's mind away from the matter of Maglor and the Silmarils. He only recalled it again as they turned down the covers and climbed into bed, and he was high enough to decide they needed some sleep and the discussion could happen tomorrow.

By morning, the marijuana had worn off and Anthony had enough leftover adrenaline that he woke up before the alarm. He hobbled on his cane to the bathroom just in time to see Mark leaving the bathroom, fresh from the shower, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist and droplets of water all over his body...

...a body that was still toned, lean but muscular, well-defined biceps and pecs and abs, the veins in his forearms visible. Anthony had licked those arms before, tongue trailing down the veins.

Anthony's cock stirred uncomfortably in his pajama bottoms, face burning, not wanting to look at Mark like this. Not wanting to remember those nights they'd shared in 1999...

...or in the Years of the Trees, the First Age.

"Pardon me," Mark said. Anthony noticed the faintest hint of a smile on Mark's lips and in his eyes, like he'd noticed Anthony checking him out and was amused by it. Anthony tried to not watch Mark's ass on the way out, and he could have sworn Mark wiggled that ass just before stepping in his bedroom.

Like father, like son. Anthony's eyes narrowed, thinking of Sören's sass, so very like when he was Fëanor.

The bathroom was steamy from Mark's shower, and in addition to the nice clean soap smell, there was a lingering note of musky petrichor and sea salt, Mark's own scent. Anthony swore under his breath as he took his cock out to do his business, and the piss hard-on wouldn't go away. His mind's eye kept replaying Mark in that towel. What Anthony knew Mark looked like under that towel.

But, he was going to have to tell Sören and Nicholas about Mark today, and the dread of that conversation was enough to pacify his arousal. The noise of his cane clacking the floor made Sören and Nicholas stir, with Sören grumbling - Anthony couldn't help smiling a little, he found Sören's not-a-morning-person grump endearing, and comforting, one thing that hadn't changed with time. The cats decided the humans weren't allowed to go back to bed, with Tobias walking on Nicholas to give headbutts, and Miss Balls gently nipped Sören's face before grooming his beard. Sören gave a throaty, sleepy chuckle and skritched the old brown tabby. "Good morning to you too," he said, before giving the cat's whiskered cheek a kiss. Miss Balls nuzzled him before grooming some more.

Nicholas looked at the clock. "Well, we would have had to get up in roughly fifteen minutes anyway." He yawned, stretched, and sat up. "Hello."

"Hi." Anthony pulled out the desk chair and sat down; Seumas hopped onto Anthony and climbed up on his shoulder, aggressively headbutting Anthony's face, purring loudly. "And hi to you too."

"Brrr," Seumas said, and headbutted him again.

Anthony stroked the cat, putting one arm around him. He waited as Nicholas and Sören took turns in the bathroom; Nicholas came back with a tray of coffee. He put Seumas down on the floor to start getting changed, and Seumas repeatedly jumped up from the floor onto Anthony, wanting his shoulder. Anthony was amused by that, but also, Seumas latched on with his claws, and that hurt. Anthony already had tiny scars on the back of his neck and upper shoulders from Seumas, and he knew he was going to get some more. "Dammit, cat..."

Then Tobias ran to the window, and Seumas followed, and Anthony glanced over, thinking they had seen an interesting bird, but it was just Mark going for a morning walk, presumably having grabbed breakfast on the go. When they came out of the bedroom and went down to the dining room, Gitta confirmed it. "Mark went to get some air, but when he comes back, Elaine and I are taking him down to Talisker Beach to jump his car, so you don't wonder where we are."

Anthony and Sören's eyes met across the table. There was room for four people in that car, which meant someone else could go along with the ride... and have a talk with Mark at the beach. Sören opened his mouth, and Anthony kicked him under the table. Wait, he spoke into Sören's mind. I have something to tell you after breakfast.

Sören ate quickly, like Anthony's announcement couldn't come fast enough. Nicholas ate more slowly, giving Sören pointed looks as if to say I know what you're doing and we need to proceed with caution. Sören glared at him.

Once breakfast was done, they returned to the bedroom. Anthony closed the door and gestured for Sören and Nicholas to sit down. They took their seats on the edge of the bed, and Tobias and Miss Balls came over for love, while Seumas watched the window.

"All right." Anthony took a deep breath. "I didn't want to say this because it sounds completely mad, but Mark hasn't aged a day since 1999 when last I saw him."

Nicholas's mouth opened, then he closed it.

"When Mark and I were together back then, he claimed to be in his thirties - he didn't give an exact age, just thirtysomething - and he was at St. Edmund's as a mature student. Presuming he was thirty exactly when we got involved, the youngest he could be right now is forty-seven going on forty-eight, and as you can see, he doesn't look that at all, even if he'd gotten some work done and dyed his hair it doesn't account for why he doesn't look a day over thirty. So." Anthony exhaled. "When you two were out yesterday afternoon, evening... I poked The Silmarillion again. Mark is someone else we knew, too. Maglor. Not reborn as mortal, but he's still himself. It's why he doesn't age. I saw a pointy ear once, when we were together, and thought I was hallucinating. It wasn't."

Sören's jaw dropped. Nicholas's eyebrows went up.

"I feel like a fool for not seeing it when he told me he burnt his hand on a stone," Nicholas said.

"I feel like an idiot for suspecting it might be Morgoth in disguise. Especially with..." Sören's voice trailed off and he covered his mouth, like he said something he shouldn't have.

Oh boy, the plot thickens. Anthony raised an eyebrow. "Especially with?" he prompted.

"Oh god." Sören rubbed his face like an annoyed wet cat. He looked up and bit his lip, cheeks pink, like he was about to reveal something deeply embarrassing. "I... I've dreamt about him. Just like I used to dream about both of you, in Elven bodies, and you were blond, Anthony. And when I say 'just like', I mean that... I fucked him. He fucked me. I..." Sören facepalmed. "He was an adult, he was the one who initiated it, but -"

"But you had sex with your own son," Anthony said.

Sören nodded.

Anthony hadn't wanted to talk about this himself, but he decided to lay all the cards on the table now. "When we had our fling with Craig, I had dreams about back then, and that Craig was my youngest son - he too was an adult - and he was comforting me after I'd lost almost everyone. So if I judge you, I have to judge myself. Besides... I was intimate with Maglor too, back when I was Arafinwë."

Nicholas said nothing, but the flush in Nicholas's cheeks said it all for him. Anthony got the sense Nicholas was also remembering having sex with Maglor, back then. The corner of Anthony's mind's eye glimmered with the vision of a foursome - the three of them with Maglor, sweating, panting, licking and caressing each other's bodies, making each other spill, hours and hours of bliss.

Jesus Christ. Anthony's cock stirred again. Then the thought came, unbidden, of the three of them as they were now, inviting Mark to their bed. Anthony didn't like the way his body was responding to that thought. His pride hated it most of all. Family or not, Mark had broken his heart when he was nineteen, and the wounds had festered for a long time and had caused problems in future relationships. He didn't want to want Mark back. Not at all.

"God." Sören flopped back on the bed, covered his face with his hands, and made a strangled noise. "What a clusterfuck."

"You know now why he wants to see the stone," Anthony said.

"The Oath," Sören said through his hands, and took them away from his face. "He's not going to stop at seeing it. He's going to take it." Sören sat up again and folded his arms. "We have to tell him who -"

"We do," Anthony agreed, putting up his hands, "but this is like defusing a bomb. There's a right way and a wrong way to go about it. I don't know how he's going to take us claiming to be the reincarnation of his uncles and father, especially in the age of Tumblr when plenty of people are claiming to be elves and faeries and whatnot in human bodies."

"The Oath means he's not going to just forget about the Silmaril," Sören said, "and if we show him - or he searches our room and finds the two Silmarils - without us telling him, shit's going to hit the fan."

"I agree, but again, shit can also hit the fan if we are not very careful about how we tell him." Anthony stroked his chin, thinking for a moment. "I think maybe the icebreaker would be for us to first acknowledge we know who he is and that we know the stone is a Silmaril."

"I'll go on the trip to jump his car and tell him," Sören said.

"No," Anthony and Nicholas both said in unison.

Sören narrowed his eyes and scowled. He unfolded his arms and put his hands on his hips. It would have been comical if the situation were not so fraught; Anthony could practically see steam rising from Sören's head.

"We need someone who... can handle this diplomatically," Anthony said, not wanting to be rude, but it was the truth.

Nicholas nodded and put a hand on Sören's shoulder. "As you know, Fëanáro, you're a dick."

Anthony tried not to laugh. Sören blew a raspberry at Nicholas. "Aw come on, I'm not that bad, am I?"

"Fëanáro, your idea of 'diplomatic negotiation' involves matches, gasoline, and a flamethrower," Nicholas said.

Anthony put it slightly more tactfully. "When Nicholas told us yesterday that Mark wanted to see the Silmaril, you went off like a rocket. I know he's your son, and I know the part of you that is Fëanor loves him. But we really need someone for this job who has... less of a temper." Anthony took a deep breath. He couldn't believe this was happening, but here it was. "I volunteer for the job."

"I concur," Nicholas said. "As a barrister you seem best-suited for the job."

I sure fucking don't feel like it. Already, Anthony's stomach was churning. "I'll do my best. We'll have to go in baby steps - I probably won't tell him about the reincarnation bit while we're at the beach, that'll be later, with all three of us present. Where we can tell him together about the dreams, and things. But this will be the first step in that direction."

Seumas started to meow frantically, and all three men looked at the window. Mark was coming back from his walk. That meant he would be leaving for the beach in a matter of minutes.

Anthony leaned on his cane and rose, heart beating faster, mouth dry. Showtime.

The entire way out to Talisker Beach, Anthony felt like he was going to jump out of his skin. It didn't help that he had to sit in the back seat and the car felt cramped with four people in it, two of whom were men over six feet tall.

It was Christmas Eve, and Gitta opted to listen to Christmas music on the ride out. Mark sang along with the music, which made it even more difficult; Anthony could fall in love with him all over again just from that melting velvet voice. And of course, one particular song hit a raw nerve with Mark singing it.

Last Christmas I gave you my heart
But the very next day you gave it away (you gave it away)
This year, to save me from tears
I'll give it to someone special (special)

Once bitten and twice shy
I keep my distance, but you still catch my eye
Tell me baby, do you recognize me?
Well, it's been a year, it doesn't surprise me

Mark's voice was even sexier than George Michael's... and the lyrics felt like they were aimed at him, the irony being that Mark had been the one to break Anthony's heart. Anthony wondered once again what was going through Mark's head when he initiated the breakup. It seemed almost as if Mark had been hurting too, in their years apart.

Fucker.

The most agonizing part of the trip was when Mark's car battery was charging. Anthony tried to do his daily Duolingo lesson on his phone but he kept getting distracted, looking out the window at Mark pacing.

So much like the way Sören paced when he was anxious. If that apple was any closer to the tree it would still be in the bark. Anthony could start to see now all the ways his relationship with Mark had paved the way for him to fall in love with Sören. They weren't exactly alike, but Anthony could see now he had a type.

Relatives. Anthony facepalmed. He had already run the gauntlet of the incest taboo when he and Sören discussed dreams as brothers - and they still enjoyed calling each other "brother" during sex - but incest among humans wasn't something Anthony condoned. He'd had too many clients who'd been abused by their own family, sexually and otherwise. And yet... this hadn't been abuse. They weren't human, they didn't have the same culture, it was very different. It had been loving. It had been glorious.

Anthony still felt awkward about it, most of all because a part of him still wanted. He hated that once again, his mind was racing with memories of the ways he and Mark had each other, close to twenty years ago. His first love. His first passion.

When Mark's car was ready, before Gitta could start her car to head back, Anthony made the "wait" gesture, climbed out of the car, and called out to Mark before Mark could get in his vehicle. "Mark... a word, please?"

Anthony and Mark walked out to the beach, with Mark walking more slowly to accommodate Anthony limping along on his cane. Gitta and Elaine hung back at the car, and thankfully, the beach was empty on an overcast, bitterly cold day like this. The silver sea was choppy, almost angry.

"I assume you know why I wanted to speak to you privately," Anthony said.

"There's a saying that 'assume makes an ass of u and me', so no, I try not to assume," Mark said.

"Fair. Well, Nicholas told us that you... want to see the stone. That you heard the conversation Gitta and Sören had about her burning her thumb, and you think it's similar to what burnt your hand a long time ago."

"Correct."

Anthony leaned on his cane and put his free hand on his hip. "I recall you mentioning you burnt your hand on one of your father's inventions."

Mark did not react to that, but Anthony noticed the draw of breath and the way Mark's eyes looked out to sea.

Anthony was careful to only mention one stone, not that they had two of the three in their possession. "You and I both know what that stone is. You and I both know it's one of the Silmarils, Mark Lauer. Or should I say... Macalaurë? Kanafinwë?"

Mark froze, and that same "deer trapped in headlights" look that he'd had when Anthony asked him who Ara was, years ago, was back. Mark slowly turned towards Anthony, mouth slightly open, an eyebrow raised.

Anthony rocked back and cocked his head to one side, waiting.

Mark laughed, and for a moment Anthony thought he was going to try to deny it, but then Mark said, "OK, you got me. Nice work."

"I'm a barrister now. It is literally my job to dig and examine the details others might overlook, in case they're useful."

"I bet." Mark exhaled and folded his arms. "Well. If you know it's a Silmaril, you know about my Oath."

"I do." Anthony recited it from memory, having paid special attention to that part of Tolkien's text.

Be he foe or friend, be he foul or clean,
brood of Morgoth or bright Vala,
Elda or Maia or Aftercomer,
Man yet unborn upon Middle-earth,
neither law, nor love, nor league of swords,
dread nor danger, not Doom itself,
shall defend him from Fëanor, and Fëanor's kin,
whoso hideth or hoardeth, or in hand taketh,
finding keepeth or afar casteth
a Silmaril. This swear we all:
death we will deal him ere Day's ending,
woe unto world's end! Our word hear thou,
Eru Allfather! To the everlasting
Darkness doom us if our deed faileth.
On the holy mountain hear in witness
and our vow remember, Manwë and Varda!

Then Anthony realized by speaking the words aloud, as one of Fëanor's kin, he'd now finally taken the Oath himself - that was in fact exactly what he'd argue in court if someone in the same position was on trial. Oh, SHIT. He reflexively took a step back, all gooseflesh under his layers.

Mark nodded. Their eyes met. "Anthony... I hate doing this, but I don't really have a choice. You have three days to give me the Silmaril, or I'm going to take it by force. If you think you can get away by leaving Scotland and going back to London... I'll hunt you down. It won't be hard to find you. C. Anthony Hewlett-Johnson, of Lincoln's Inn. I even know that the C stands for Cornelius."

A shiver went through Anthony. If this had been anyone else, Anthony would take it as a threat on his life and go to the authorities. But what could he do in this case? Tell the police please protect me from Maglor, he wants to take our Silmarils. And Maglor was still family. Kinslayer, murderer that he might be, perfectly capable of making good on a threat to take them by force... there was still good in him. Anthony had seen it. He had spent his entire life defending criminals and knew there was still good in many people who had done bad things. In hindsight, that drive seemed to come from the Finarfin part of him most of all, with his kin being what it was. Anthony swallowed hard.

"The only reason why I'm allowing you three days is because of our history, and it's Christmas," Mark said, fire in his eyes. "But make no mistake - my Oath is my Oath."

Anthony just gave Mark his courtroom smile, and a little salute, before he walked away, heart pounding. Three days to convince Mark of who they were, or risk a scenario that might make the ship-burning look tame.

This is fine. This is totally fine.

Chapter Text

Christmas was typically a painful holiday for Sören. The Christmases of his childhood and teenage years had been ruined by Katrín and Einar's drinking and violence. As an adult, he'd spent most Christmases alone - the two with Anthony, in 2011 and 2012, had been happy for Anthony's company and that of his family. Christmas 2013 had been a particularly miserable affair less than two months out of his breakup with Anthony; Christmas 2014 had been better, and Christmas 2015 even moreso, but Christmas 2016 had been wrecked by the quarrel with Nicholas.

Therefore, it seemed particularly important to make this Christmas better. There was a perfect recipe for a lovely Christmas, up here on the beautiful Isle of Skye, with both Anthony and Nicholas, and not just seeing Elaine but getting to know his aunt Gitta. Christmas Day got off to a perfect start, with Sören, Anthony and Nicholas spending the morning in bed, sucking and slow, languid, sensual fucking. Four orgasms was a good enough Christmas present.

But in one way, this Christmas was more difficult than the years past - the problem of Mark. Maglor. Fëanor's own family, who didn't know who and what they were, might not believe them if told...

...who saw them as an enemy because they were in possession of a Silmaril. Two Silmarils, in fact, but Mark only knew about one.

Sören couldn't blame Mark for threatening to take them by force in three days - his Oath was his Oath. Indeed, Mark was being restrained, even generous considering his Oath, in allowing them three days to yield the stone. But the festive Christmas holiday was not exactly the best time to try to have the fraught conversation with Maglor about why the Silmaril was in the right hands, and it felt like a time bomb waiting to go off, the danger ever-present in the background as they finally climbed out of bed, showered, dressed, and began their day.

That sense of danger got all the stronger once Christmas dinner was in the oven and, while they waited, Gitta and Elaine wanted Mark to perform Christmas songs. Sören sat between Anthony and Nicholas on the couch, across from where Mark had his harp and stool set up in front of the fireplace; Gitta and Elaine curled up together on the loveseat, Kirk and Spock in their laps. It was an amazingly tranquil, cozy scene that belied the storm brewing with Mark. As the concert wore on, the situation with Mark didn't feel like a time bomb anymore... it felt like a leaking reactor about to explode.

The Silmarils were living proof that the dreams Sören, Anthony and Nicholas shared were real, memories of a past life. But for Sören, those memories had included Fëanor and Maglor making love. Consensual adults - very consensual, each of them begging the other - but still incest just the same. Sören didn't know how to broach the topic of what they remembered without the incest coming up, and asking Maglor "so, remember when you used to fuck Fëanor?" was awkward at best.

Made all the more awkward by the way Sören couldn't stop looking at Mark, mesmerized by the crystalline, liquid notes of his harp, and that silken, melting voice. Mark wasn't just gorgeous to look at, but if it was possible to fall in love with someone just from hearing them sing, Sören was most of the way there, barely breathing, stomach fluttering, mouth dry. In his devil-may-care days of casual sex back when he lived in Reykjavik, Sören would have thought nothing of propositioning Mark. Of course, that was a bad idea. Not only did he not know if the dreams of Maglor and Fëanor having sex were real or just the product of a horny imagination - just because their dreams had checked out so far didn't mean all of it was accurate - but he was human now, in a different body...

...and even if Maglor would still find him attractive like this, there was the matter of Anthony. Sören took Anthony's hand now and squeezed, a quiet show of solidarity. He imagined this was in fact how Anthony had fallen in love with Mark, close to twenty years ago, and it couldn't be easy for him to listen to that voice, that harp, and have it stir up all those old feelings.

I know the part of you that is Fëanor loves him.

Anthony's words from yesterday echoed in Sören's mind as his eyes met Mark's. The part of Sören that was Fëanor ached - though Fëanor had tried very hard not to play favorites with his sons, he and Maglor had both been creators and had a deep, special relationship. Sören could feel Fëanor's pride surging, bright and consuming as a flame, thinking Mark Lauer was one of the most talented singers and musicians he'd ever heard, thinking it a crime that more people didn't know about this talent, kept hidden here in remote Scotland. Sören had a feeling he knew why Mark kept a low profile and didn't court fame, it was easier to be outed that way, but it also felt tragic that Mark couldn't share his gift with the whole world. Sören was in awe of Maglor; of all of Fëanor's sons, Maglor was the one most strongly born of that flame, and the Fëanor part of Sören wished he could tell him that even now, thousands of years later, through tragedy and sorrow, his father was proud that fire had not gone out.

Sören ached for that, too. The Oath had cost his family no small amount of grief. He knew that he would do it again, if he had to, and while he regretted the kinslaying and the ship-burning, and the way Maglor was undoubtedly traumatized by the murders he'd committed later on, Sören refused to repent and submit to the Valar. If the Valar had kept tighter control of Melkor, Fëanor and his family might all be alive right now. This, ultimately, was on the Valar; the Silmarils had power, and the Valar were definitely the wrong hands.

Sören looked at Maglor's burned hand. He would do it again - but he still wished there was a way to spare his son from what he'd endured. His eyes teared up, chest tight, fighting the urge to go over and give Mark a hug.

"Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas" made it even harder to fight the tears, and Mark seemed to sense the change in the room. He bowed his head slightly and asked, "Any requests?"

Gitta beamed - she had no idea what was going on - and said, "Jæja, can you play the Jólakötturinn song?"

Mark smiled back, and laughed. "I had a feeling you'd request that." He glanced back at Sören, cleared his throat and flexed his hands - Sören could almost hear the watch this - and then Mark started to play and sing:

Þið kannist við jólaköttinn
Sá köttur var gríðarstór
Fólk vissi ekki hvaðan hann kom
Eða hvert hann fór

Hann glennti upp glyrnurnar sínar
Glóandi báðar tvær
Það var ekki heiglum hent
Að horfa í þær

Kamparnir beittir sem broddar
Upp úr bakinu kryppa há
Og klærnar á loðinni löpp
Var ljótt að sjá

Því var það að konurnar kepptust
Við kamba og vefstól og rokk
Og prjónuðu litfagran lepp
Eða lítinn sokk...

Mark was as good as a native speaker, and Sören wondered if Mark had ever lived in Iceland and picked up the language. Then he knew it wasn't that - something told him that, as the Song, Maglor could speak all languages. It was sort of a "superpower" of his.

Sören felt a shiver down his spine, breaking out in gooseflesh under his sweater. He wondered if Gitta suspected there was anything magical about Mark, having known him for the last couple of years.

When the song was over, Mark looked right at Sören and asked, "Any other requests?"

Sören grasped at levity - if he didn't make a joke, he was going to make a scene, crying and hugging Mark, and nobody needed that right now. Sören took a deep breath. "Play 'Jaja Ding Dong'."

"NO JAJA DING DONG," Anthony and Gitta shouted in unison.

Nicholas raised an eyebrow. "What's... 'Jaja Ding Dong'?" Then he pinched the bridge of his nose, realizing the very undignified words he'd just uttered. "Er."

Sören was very glad he wasn't eating or drinking anything right then, or he'd be wearing it. The words "Jaja Ding Dong" out of that deep, cultured, velvet voice...

Mark's lips quirked, as if he was trying very hard not to laugh, then he plucked a few chords on the harp and started playing and singing in earnest.

When I feel your gentle touch
And things are going our way
I wanna spill my love on you all day, all day

Jaja ding dong
My love for you is growing wide and long
Jaja ding dong
I swell and burst when I see what we become
Jaja ding dong
Come on, baby, we can get love on
Jaja ding dong
When I see you, I feel like ding-ding dong...

The only thing funnier to Sören hearing the words "Jaja Ding Dong" in Nicholas's voice, was Mark singing the song in his lovely tenor. Sören shook with silent laughter, tearing up for an entirely different reason now. Gitta's laughter was less silent, and little giggles gave way to a full-bodied laugh, snorting. That made Sören laugh harder too... also snorting.

Nicholas raised an eyebrow. "That isn't Icelandic."

"It's something we made up to troll American tourists," Sören said.

"It's not exactly Christmasy," Mark said, with an innocent smile that wasn't innocent at all. "One last request... something actually Christmasy this time, then my voice needs a break."

Anthony spoke, softly, a touch of steel in his voice. "'Last Christmas' by Wham."

There was a long pause, as if that suggestion had some weight behind it - the baggage of their past relationship. Sören waited, breath in a gulp, wondering if this was going to provoke a bad reaction from Mark. But then Mark just gave a nod and began to play and sing, like it was the most normal request in the world, not loaded at all.

Last Christmas I gave you my heart
But the very next day you gave it away
This year, to save me from tears
I'll give it to someone special...

At the end of the song, Gitta got up and quickly returned with some water for Mark. Then she hugged him tight and kissed both his cheeks. Elaine stood up to applaud, and, not wanting to be rude, Nicholas and Sören followed suit. Mark raised his water bottle in acknowledgment.

"It's a shame you don't have a bigger recording career," Gitta said.

Those words echoed Sören's earlier thoughts exactly, making him ache again. He fell back on his coping mechanism of humor. "Jæja, you should have been the other guy from Wham." Sören couldn't resist teasing some more as he picked up a Christmas cookie from the tray on the coffee table. "Maybe there's a parallel universe where you were the other guy from Wham."

Mark narrowed his eyes. Sören batted his lashes innocently before nibbling at the cookie.

"I agree with Gitta," Nicholas said. "I own all your albums, but you deserve to have much more recognition. You have truly given us a gift, with your performance."

"Well, it's... the least I could do, for the hospitality. Gitta didn't ask me to leave so she could have a more family-centric Christmas, and you guys have been very kind about me being here, even though I know it's rather awkward." Mark gave a polite smile.

"I think that nobody except the very wicked should be alone on Christmas," Nicholas said, "and though I have not been Catholic in a good long time, I think the time of Christ's birthday is a good time for reconciliation, or at least, peace." He glanced over at Anthony, then back at Mark.

"Yeah," Anthony said, and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Sören patted his knee, then glared at Nicholas for putting Anthony on the spot. Family or not, Mark had hurt Anthony deeply two decades ago and that needed to be dealt with...

...after the matter of the Silmarils. Sören sighed. What a clusterfuck.

But Nicholas either didn't catch the awkward tension, or he didn't care. "I have something for you," Nicholas said, and got up. Sören and Anthony waited, exchanging confused glances.

A moment later Nicholas returned with a gift bag from the Talisker distillery. He handed it to Mark. "I had bought a few extra bottles of Talisker when I visited the distillery, to take back to London, but I think you should have one, as a way to say 'thank you' for the enjoyment your music has given me over the years."

Mark took out a bottle of 18-year old Talisker. "That's very generous of you. It's my favorite brand, too, not that you would have known that."

"I could assume, with you living on the Isle of Skye." Nicholas chuckled.

"Thanks. I was starting to feel like a fifth wheel, being here on Christmas with all of you, but... less so now." Mark's smile was genuine, his eyes soft.

"Oh, Mark, honey, I'm sorry you feel like that," Elaine said, and got up to give Mark the hug that Sören wanted to give. Mark returned the hug, giving her a squeeze. "Here, I know what would help you feel more like part of the family. I should show you my family photo album. I've even got pictures in it from Sören and Nicholas, now. Maybe I could add a picture or two of you, as well."

Before Mark, or anyone else, could protest, Elaine dashed off, and when she returned, she had a handsome black leatherbound album, trimmed with silver scalloped borders. She dragged Mark over to the love seat on the other side of the couch, and started to go through the photo album one page at a time, passing it around for everyone to see, telling little anecdotes. "There's little Anthony dressed up like Elton John with big sunglasses and a sparkly beret, teaching himself to play the piano -"

"MUM. MOTHER. I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD."

Mark bit his non-burned hand, trying very hard not to laugh and failing at it. He composed himself long enough to say, "Anthony, I didn't know you played the piano."

"You never asked," Anthony said. He squirmed. "Besides, me trying to tell you about my piano playing would be like a little kid showing a crayon drawing to da Vinci."

"I doubt it. It's impressive you taught yourself."

Anthony was beetroot, and passed the album without even looking at it when it came to him. Sören tousled Anthony's hair, chuckling at the photos of small Anthony in his ridiculously flamboyant getup. "Wow, even back then it was obvious you were gay."

"Right?" Anthony managed to laugh at that.

The mood turned somber at pictures of Anthony's late father Roger, and his late uncle Nigel, who he'd been very close to, and Elaine's late mother Anthea, who Sören had been very fond of. Anthony also cringed a bit at photos of himself as a teenager, describing it as a "difficult and painful" time in his life.

At last, towards the end of the album, there were photos of Anthony and Sören from their first attempt at a relationship over 2011-2013 - those memories were bittersweet for them both - and photos over the last two years, of Anthony and Sören together, and Anthony, Nicholas, and Sören. There were also some older photos of Sören and Nicholas that they'd donated to the collection some months ago - in particular, a photo of Sören when he was twenty and hadn't grown a beard yet, and a black-and-white photo of Nicholas from the 1970s, when he was in his mid-twenties... also beardless.

At these two photos, Mark's mouth opened slightly, his eyes widening as if with alarm. He looked over at Sören and Nicholas on the couch, and then back at the photo album, and shifted in his seat. Before Sören could ask what was going on, Elaine asked, "Are you all right, dear?"

"Yeah, I'm..." Mark swallowed hard and gave a tight, thin smile that did not meet his eyes. "Would you excuse me for a moment?" He handed Elaine the photo album, quickly got up, and went down the hall.

Sören was confused, and a bit concerned, but he held his peace until Mark came back a few minutes later. Instead of going right over to the loveseat to sit with Elaine again and finish up the photo album - they still had cat photos to look through - Mark marched over to the coatrack and shoe rack, quickly put on shoes, and then his trenchcoat.

"Mark?" Gitta cocked her head to one side.

"I think breakfast is disagreeing with me," Mark said. "I'm going to go out for a bit and get some air."

With that, he walked out before anyone could say anything else. Anthony spoke the word Liar into Sören's mind, but Sören already figured that out himself.

Sören sat there for a moment, still confused, and in a bit of shock about the scene that had just transpired. Then it hit him, since Sören had PTSD himself - it was possible that seeing all the family photos in the album was triggering Mark because of having lost his entire family, and the reaction finally caught up with him. Once again, Sören felt that ache, wishing there was some way to fix things, some sort of comfort he could provide. It was always bad to be triggered, but Sören knew from personal experience there were few things worse than being triggered on Christmas.

This time, instead of sitting on his feelings in reserve, those feelings sprang Sören into action. He found himself leaping from the couch, grabbing Nicholas by his arm and dragging him over to the shoes and coats. "What -" Nicholas's eyebrows shot up.

Sören gave him a stern look, feeling impatient, like this shouldn't have to be explained. "I think he's triggered, we should go follow him to make sure, you know. He doesn't do anything rash."

Nicholas exhaled sharply, and spoke into Sören's mind, As you know, the man has been carrying his grief for thousands of years. I don't think he would self-harm or try to take his own life now, after all this time.

Everyone has their breaking point, Sören shot back, thinking of facing the Balrogs, knowing he wasn't going to survive... willing to go out fighting. Wanting his death to count for something.

Wanting to die, wanting the pain to stop.

And then he'd been sent to the Void, punished for eons, finally released into a mortal body, during an age of turmoil. Sören's mind recalled the Völuspa:

Evil be on earth, an Age of Whoredom,
Of sharp sword-play and shields’ clashing,
A Wind-age, a Wolf-age till the world ruins:
No man to another shall mercy show.

He didn't want a worse fate for Maglor, reborn in a vulnerable human body when climate change was causing famine and societal upheaval on a mass scale. Yes, Maglor had endured thus far. But Sören knew people could only be strong for so long. He knew that very well indeed.

Not thinking, just feeling, Sören dashed down to the bedroom, took the two Silmarils out of the glass egg inside the gold aluminum pineapple, and put them in his coat pocket. He could still feel the stones pulsing, burning like there was a hot-water pack in his pocket. Once he returned to the greatroom, Anthony limped over on his cane as quickly as he could, and Sören helped him bundle up. Then, after a quick explanation to Gitta and Elaine that they thought Mark might be having a flashback and they wanted to go keep an eye on him, they went out to the Vauxhall; Mark's car was already gone.

Soon enough, they caught up to Mark on the road, following close behind him. Mark drove faster; Nicholas matched his speed, a fierce look of determination on his face.

"I can't believe we're doing this," Nicholas muttered.

Sören patted the Silmarils in his pocket. "Neither can I." He would not yield them to science, nor to the Valar - but if it meant saving Maglor's life, he would give them. His eyes stung with bitter tears, reluctant to part with them, but the thought of Mark's light going out from the world hurt even more.

On and on they followed Mark down the roads. It was a grey, overcast day with a strong chance of rain, and the snow-capped craggy hills were shrouded in swirling mists that seemed to echo the melancholy mood. Sören had no idea where Mark was going, but it felt like they were driving an excessively long time across the Isle of Skye.

At last, there were signs indicating the Fairy Pools were near, and Mark's car went in that direction. Nicholas followed, and it seemed to Sören they finally had an answer about where Mark was going. Sören had wanted to see the Fairy Pools while they visited Skye, but not like this.

Then again, maybe Mark really was just going out to get some air and clear his head, in a picturesque setting. That was what Sören hoped for. Nonetheless... his hand rested on his pocket, over the warm, pulsing jewels. He took a few deep breaths, heart racing with anticipation.

At the car park, Mark got out of his car first, then they did, and caught up to him on the trail. Not looking back at them, Mark asked, "So you're stalking me now?"

"You left so abruptly and looked so... perturbed that we thought it might be best to check on you," Nicholas said.

Mark shrugged. "I'm fine."

"Bullshit," Anthony said.

Mark stopped in his tracks. Now he turned around. Mark and Anthony regarded each other for a long moment and then Mark said, "OK, I'm not fine. But you really didn't have to -"

"Yes, we did," Sören said.

Mark raised an eyebrow at Sören. He turned back around and kept walking, not saying anything.

The walk out to the Fairy Pools was longer than Sören had been anticipating, longer still because they had to exercise some caution with the trail in the slippery winter weather. Anthony had to stop and rest every ten minutes or so, and after the second stop Mark also stopped - even though he hadn't looked back, he had acute enough hearing to know they took a pause. For all of his seeming annoyance at being followed out here, Sören thought it was a decent gesture for Mark to stop and allow Anthony a rest break.

Sören didn't mind the stops, not just because he wanted to accommodate his partner, but also the walk to the waterfall was gorgeous, even in winter, even with the thick, swirling fog - perhaps especially with, which gave the place an enchanted, haunted feeling that seemed evocative of the fairy legends of old; Sören kept half-expecting to see a fairy or nature spirit walk out of the fog...

...besides Mark, who looked like he belonged there, surprisingly serene after the earlier emotional storm.

"I like to come here when I need to breathe," Mark explained once they got to the fall.

"I can see why," Sören said, his voice hushed, reverent. The view of the mountains in the distance and the fall cascading down frosted rocks into an icy pool was magnificent, making his hair stand on end, gooseflesh under his layers. "Fuck, I should paint this." Then he blurted out, not thinking about it, "I'd like to paint you, here."

Mark laughed.

"Seriously." Sören pulled out his cell phone from the pocket opposite the Silmarils. "Can I take a few photos of you, as a reference?"

"I normally don't allow photos of myself but... sure, why not. You already know what I am." Their eyes met, and Mark opened his mouth again, like he was going to say something, then closed his mouth like he'd thought better of it.

Just before Sören could get the camera application ready, the mist moved and made a wall between them. It was easy enough to step out of the way, but then Sören saw an intensely bright light in the mist that was not the eye of the cell phone camera reflected - far brighter. For a moment Sören worried that one of the Silmarils had escaped his pocket and flown up, as they could float at times, defying gravity - but a quick pat-down indicated they were both still there. The bright light came closer, closer...

...It was indeed a Silmaril, just like the other two. It went right into Sören's hand.

The mist fell away, and Mark stared at the glowing orb in Sören's gloved hand, then glared at Sören, looking murderous. He took a step forward, moving his hand in the "give it" gesture; Sören reflexively took a step back, putting away his phone, and then Anthony limped forward on his cane, with Nicholas beside him, getting in the path between Mark and Sören.

"I'm sorry, but I shan't allow you to attack him," Nicholas said.

"Nobody has to get hurt if you hand over the Silmaril -"

"Macalaurë." The name came out of Sören without thinking about it. He stepped around them and put his hands up, with the Silmaril floating just above his shoulder. "If you really, really want it - if it will give you peace, if it will keep you... safe... keep you from doing something like taking your own life... you can have it. You can have all of them." Sören took the other two Silmarils out of his pocket, put one in each hand, and held them out. "But first, let me explain -"

"How..." Now it was Mark who took a step back, eyes wide, the same stricken look as when he'd seen the photos. "How do you have all three?"

Sören gave a nervous laugh. "Oh shit. OK... this is going to sound completely crazy, but..." Sören took a deep breath. "I'm Feanor. Reincarnated as human, but I am your father."

Mark's mouth opened.

"When I was four, I started having dreams about burning to death. Terrible, horrible nightmares about being ganged up on by a pack of fire demons. Nightmares no small child should have. There was no explanation for that - there were no fires in my town, in my neighborhood, when I was a kid, I didn't see it on TV, and the abuse hadn't started yet, this was when my mamma was still alive." Sören realized then Mark didn't know anything about his life. He went on, "Years later, I was in med school, and I almost didn't make it. I struggled with self-harm and feeling suicidal. The dreams returned, stronger, like they were daring me to kill myself."

Even though it was bitter cold outside, Sören handed each of the Silmarils to Anthony and Nicholas, and began undoing his coat. Before Anthony could finish the question "what are you doing", Sören's coat fell to the ground and he pulled his sweater up over his head. He turned around so Mark could see his back, the firebird and waterbird following the path of the sleeve tattoos up his arms - flames on one side, ocean waves on the other.

"I got the phoenix tattoo and the flames as a way to... channel that fire, I guess, to not let it destroy me. The water was for temperance." Sören put his sweater back on. "Anthony and Nicholas also have had strange dreams."

"We dreamt of being brothers," Anthony said. "I was blond."

"I dreamt of making these stones," Sören said, "to honor my love for my brothers. And when the first one showed up, came to me... it proved these weren't just dreams."

Mark's hand covered his mouth.

"There's art," Sören said, nodding. "I can show you my portfolio if you come to London. I know how crazy this sounds, but -"

"I believe you," Mark said, his voice shaking.

Sören's fists clenched, feeling that ache again, but sharper this time... a fierce, gnawing feeling. The mixture of pain and relief in Mark's voice threatened to undo him, tears burning his eyes again.

"I... believe... you," Mark repeated. He gave a shuddery sigh, looked down, and then up. He blinked back tears, but after a moment of silence, they spilled down his cheeks, and his jaw trembled when his eyes met Sören's again. "When I saw those photos, it spooked me. You look so much like Fëanor." He turned to Nicholas. "And you, Ñolofinwë." He turned to Anthony. "And you reminded me of Arafinwë, both in personality and looks - well, a black-haired version, but still. By itself, that was just a very big coincidence. But then seeing those photos of the two of you..."

Another chill went through Sören. There was a strong resemblance between a young Nicholas and the dark-haired brother-lover of his dreams - the major difference was the length of hair and the intense blue eyes, like flame - but it was one thing to dream it and another thing to have that confirmed by someone who was there, and still alive to tell the tale.

"The Silmarils are yours," Mark said. "You... you can have them." With that, he broke down crying.

Sören finally gave into the urge he'd been fighting for hours. He walked forward, and took Mark into his arms. Mark fell to his knees, weeping harder, and Sören dropped down with him, holding him close, holding him tight, rocking him.

"I know that even though I'm still your father here," Sören said, a hand on his heart, "I'm different, and it's... not a replacement, really. But... I'd like to try to give you something back. A family. A home. Why don't you come to London with us, when we go back? Stay at our place for awhile? We have room."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Sören cringed, realizing he'd just invited Mark to live with them - Mark, Anthony's ex - without asking Nicholas and Anthony first, without consulting them, without even a discussion. Once again, he'd acted on impulse, one of his major faults.

But to his relief, Nicholas and Anthony looked at each other, then they nodded together and also stepped forward and around Mark, each putting a hand on Mark's shoulder.

"Come home, Macalaurë," Sören said, and leaned in to kiss the top of his head.

Mark sobbed, heaving, and Sören rocked him, pet him, crying along with him, wanting to make it stop hurting, the Fëanor part of him grieving, raging, for his beloved son, for the Song born of his Flame, who deserved so much better than to wander for eternity alone and lonely, haunted by memories of what he'd lost, what he'd done.

At last Mark looked up and simply nodded. He wiped his eyes. "OK," he said.

"Yeah?"

Mark smiled through his tears. "Yeah."

Sören threw his arms around Mark and hugged him harder. They laughed and cried, and then, Sören helped him up. Nicholas and Anthony hugged him too, and for a moment the four of them hugged, and suddenly the mists lifted and the sun broke through the clouds, shining over them in silver-gold light.

Chapter Text

On Tuesday, January second, 2018, Sören, Anthony and Nicholas returned to their home in Blackheath with Mark driving them down, so they didn't have to take the train. Since Anthony's parents' home - which was theirs now - was four floors, they had a lot of extra rooms that weren't being used, especially because Anthony's handicap made it difficult for him to go past the second floor. So Mark was given carte blanche to take any of the available rooms as a bedroom for himself, and he was also welcome to set up a music room if he saw fit.

For the next two weeks, Sören, Anthony and Nicholas worked on discovering the balance between giving introverted Mark his space but also making him feel welcome and included and part of the family. And while the reunion between Maglor and the reincarnations of his father and uncles had been intense, they were also allowing Mark to get adjusted to the new pace of life in London, and the rhythm of the household - especially with Sören's schedule at the National being so erratic - before they broached the topic of their history again.

But they couldn't avoid the subject forever.

After dinner on the night of Friday the nineteenth, Mark started clearing the table without being asked. When Nicholas raised an eyebrow, Mark said, "If you're letting me live here rent-free, I could at least pitch in with chores."

"I shan't object to an extra pair of hands, since the three of us work so much, but you're not a servant. You're family. We brought you here to take our family home, not because we were looking for a housekeeper." Nicholas folded his arms.

Mark chuckled. "I know. So if you want me to feel like part of the family, let me do things like you guys do."

After the table was cleared, Mark began rinsing dishes to load the dishwasher. While Nicholas wanted to take Mark's explanation at face value, he couldn't shake the feeling that chores were something Mark had learned to offer as a survival skill in his long, lonely travels - that he would attract less suspicion and encounter fewer problems if he were perceived as useful. Nicholas wanted Mark to be able to relax and feel safe, but he knew this would probably take time, with Mark wandering for ages.

Even so, Nicholas wanted to help that relaxation along, so once the dishwasher was running, Nicholas led him into the greatroom with a white dessert wine. With a glass of wine and Tobias purring away on his lap, Sören sitting next to him, Nicholas felt at ease. Perhaps too at ease, because he found himself speaking without thinking first, just saying what was on his mind - in this case, something that had been on his mind since Mark took them back to London.

"What do you want us to call you?"

Mark leaned back in his chair. "Beg your pardon?"

"Your name. As you know, your canonical name is Macalaurë, or Kanafinwë. Do you have a preference?"

Mark gave a nervous chuckle. "To be honest, I'd rather you just call me Mark."

Nicholas was surprised by this, even a little taken aback, blinking.

"You might have gathered that I try to keep a low profile. It's easier for me to do that if I use aliases that are close to my real name - Mark Lauer, Magnus Larsen among others - so that way I'm not having a delayed reaction to someone calling my name, or worse, saying 'who?' which looks sketchy. I won't object to you calling me by either version of my given Quenya name in private, but Mark is OK too, and... continuing to go by Mark in private makes it less likely to have a slip in public. You're more likely to accidentally call me Macalaurë in public if you're referring to me as that in private. So make it an occasional-use thing."

"All right." Nicholas nodded. He thought Macalaurë was a particularly beautiful name, much nicer than Mark, but he would respect Mark's wishes - the reasoning was sound. It also made him wonder if that reasoning was born of hard experience. How many close calls Mark had over the centuries. It hurt to think about Mark wandering all that time, alone, missing his lost family. Even this reunion would be all too brief, with Nicholas in the sunset years of his life.

Nicholas sighed.

"You OK?" Mark gave him a concerned look.

"I'm fine." Nicholas smiled - though he wasn't really fine, he was screaming internally for what Mark had gone through - and then he said, "I just want you to feel comfortable." After a moment of thought, reflecting on what he knew of Tolkien's work, he added, "Thou hast endured the ways of others for so long that I trow thou shouldst be treated in the manner of old thou wert accustomed to."

Mark started laughing, silently at first, then a full-bodied laugh - so much like the way Sören laughed it was a little unnerving. He laughed so hard, shaking, that he had to put his glass of wine down on the coffee table. He covered his mouth, face turning red.

Anthony was trying not to laugh too. Sören wasn't even trying; Sören let out a snort that made Mark laugh even harder.

Nicholas narrowed his eyes.

"Why are you talking like that?" Mark asked, taking his hand away from his mouth, grinning mischievously.

"Thou once spake in this way, didst thou not?"

Mark doubled over. He pulled himself together a minute later and he said, "That was a stylistic convention Professor Tolkien used to evoke stories of ancient myth... like the Bible. None of us actually talked like that." Mark wiped tears from his eyes.

Nicholas felt like an idiot; he was just trying to be welcoming and make Mark feel truly at home. Sören patted him, then leaned in and kissed the tip of his nose. "You tried," Sören said.

Anthony reached behind Sören to also pat Nicholas. "Thou triedeth."

"As you know, that is not proper archaic grammar," Nicholas scolded. "That was painful."

"Oweth," Sören said, and then he and Anthony fell on each other, wheezing in hysterics.

Nicholas gave an exaggerated sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose; he truly didn't hate it anywhere near as much as he pretended to. Sören ribbed him just like a brother would, and it was strangely comforting.

Just like before.

Sören skritched Nicholas's beard like he was a cat, smiling indulgently - Nicholas couldn't help smiling back - and then Sören's own smile became wicked as he turned to Mark and said, "You'll have to excuse Nick here. AS YOU KNOW, he teaches Classics at UCL and he lives for that old-timey, ancient shit." Sören turned back to Nicholas, eyes dancing. "Probably because he was there."

Nicholas put his wine glass down and tweaked Sören's nose, making Sören giggle. He spoke into Sören's mind. I'll spank your bottom until you're as stiff as one of those ancient statues, you brat.

Promises, promises. Sören bit his lower lip.

Nicholas pushed away the delicious mental image of spanking Sören and turning his beautiful bum red - making Sören whimper and pant, begging to be fucked - and returned his thoughts to the conversation. Mark chuckled at their banter and Nicholas felt a touch of wistfulness, not wanting to find Mark so attractive when he smiled and laughed like that.

Mark picked up his glass of wine. "The more things change, the more they stay the same, I see. The two of you had quite a comedy routine back then." Mark sighed, and sipped his wine. He sat back, stretching out an arm on top of his chair. "And in fairness, you were always a bit more formal than the others, Ñolo. Not quite as formal as the thees and thous the professor was fond of, but formal enough." He shook his head, laughing again. "You even still say 'as you know' like you used to. It's unbelievable."

Anthony exhaled. He put his glass down - he only had a small bit of wine, since he was on an antidepressant - and he steepled his hands. Immediately, Nicholas knew that the time for relaxing was done and they were about to have the conversation they'd been avoiding, about the past. "You seem very sure of the fact that Tolkien's choice of archaic language was a stylistic convention. Am I correct in assuming that you met John Ronald Reuel Tolkien while he was still alive?"

"You are correct," Mark said, nodding. "He already started worldbuilding before we'd met - fragments of his own memories. We served together in World War One, I saved his life, and visited him years later to help flesh out details."

"You said... his own memories."

Mark smiled. "He quite literally has the name Beren on his gravestone, and his wife Lúthien." Then Mark's smile became a frown. "It makes me feel like an idiot that I didn't put things together sooner, about why you had a Silmaril in your possession. I should have realized who you were."

"It was hard enough for us to come to terms with all of this," Sören said, "never mind still being a living relic of that time. You lived for so long without your family, I'm not surprised you closed yourself off to the possibility of ever finding us again."

Mark nodded. "And yet..." His eyes met Anthony's. "When we were together, a part of me knew, I think. You reminded me so much of Arafinwë."

"You told me a few times, without mentioning him by name." Anthony folded his arms. "Then one night you had a nightmare, calling out the name Ara, telling me not to go to someplace called Gondo - well, I interrupted you before you could finish, but I know now from reading you were going to say Gondolin." Anthony raised an eyebrow. "And when I asked you who Ara was, you said..."

"The man I lost my virginity to. I remember what I said, Anthony." Mark's voice was quiet. He downed the rest of his wine in one gulp, put his glass down, and folded his hands between his knees, looking down, pensive.

Nicholas spoke now, wanting to be reassuring, not wanting Mark to fear being turned away from his new home. "We shan't judge you for that. As you know, none of us are exactly in a position to do so."

"Yeah, I know." Mark looked up and gave a wry smile. He sighed. "You no doubt have had memories of this, but... we were all intimate. It was not the usual custom of our people, and it is not something I would condone among humans..."

"Of course not," Nicholas said; Sören and Anthony nodded.

"But with us, we were consenting adults, and... it was devastating to lose you all."

"That leads me to my next point," Anthony said. "I'm - well - Arafinwë is mentioned in canon as being alive to this day."

"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."

"I understand," Anthony said, his eyes too bright. Nicholas reached across Sören to put a hand on Anthony's knee, knowing this conversation had to be stirring up old feelings. Complicated, painful feelings. Sören's hand covered Nicholas's.

"Are there... any others from canon, still present in our world?" Nicholas asked.

Mark nodded solemnly. "One of the Maia, Olórin. You're likely more familiar with him by the name of Gandalf."

Sören gave a low whistle. "Gandalf is real?" Then he covered his mouth and turned pink, like he knew how that sounded. "God, I'm an idiot. I'm bloody Fëanor, asking if Gandalf is real..."

Mark smiled in that faux-innocent way that Sören did. If that apple was any closer to the tree it would still be on the branch, Nicholas thought to himself, once again not wanting to notice. Not wanting to remember, not wanting to feel. Then Mark quoted from Tolkien. "For Fëanor was made the mightiest in all parts of body and mind: in valour, in endurance, in beauty, in understanding, in skill, in strength and subtlety alike... The professor failed to note some of the sarcasm."

Nicholas snorted.

"Jæja, fuck you," Sören said, not unkindly.

"Later." Nicholas smirked.

"OK, guys, we're having a serious discussion," Anthony said.

"Right." Sören sat up very straight, with an almost-predatory look of concentration on his face. Nicholas couldn't help laughing, and a moment later Sören joined him. Anthony laughed too, rolling his eyes.

"Do you still see Gandalf? Olórin," Anthony quickly added.

"Once in a very great while. I believe the last time our paths crossed was in the early 1990s. He's still around - he pokes me with ósanwe, what you would call telepathy, more often than that - he's in London, in fact, and he knows I'm here, so you may receive an unexpected visitor in the coming weeks or months."

"I take it that like you, he uses an alias and... a human disguise," Anthony said.

Mark nodded solemnly. "Right now, if I recall correctly, he's using the alias Edmund Billingsley, and works as a -"

"That's the name of my sodding, bloody therapist." Anthony's eyebrows shot up and his mouth opened. "Bloody fucking hell."

"Ahhh. That explains why he said he was on an assignment but wouldn't elaborate. I guess he's been keeping an eye on you."

"Just a bit."

There was a long, awkward pause. Anthony looked perturbed - Nicholas could only imagine how it must feel to realize that one's therapist was actually a Maia in disguise, who knew what he was all along and was observing from that distance.

How it must feel to realize that the world was far stranger than they knew. Here sitting before them was an Elf who had wandered among mortals for centuries, millennia. Anthony's therapist was a Maia. How many more non-humans were there, hiding in plain sight?

"There is one other Elda who has not returned to Valinor. Círdan. He's hanging around waiting for me to leave Middle-Earth, to ask him to take me home, as if I would grovel before the Valar." Mark's fists clenched in defiance. "I still agree with Fëanor that Manwë let everything happen, and then expected us to be good little thralls."

"Good," Sören said. Then he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and added, "But I know what this cost you. You have some living family there, like Artanis -"

Mark shrugged. "If Galadriel's acceptance of me as her kin hinges upon my reconciliation to the Powers that fucked over everyone I was close to, that isn't really acceptance, is it?"

"Even so, it's been a long time to be all by yourself," Sören said. "I'm not saying you should go there, just saying that while I admire your convictions, I know they come at a price."

"They do." Mark nodded. "But eventually, the price paid off." He held his hands out to gesture at the three of them. "I did find you again."

"I have no idea why we're here," Sören said.

"It says in the text that Fëanor would be released from Mandos at the end of days, before the Dagor Dagorath. Surely you see what's going on in the world."

"And what am I supposed to do about it? I'm just one man. Just one man, only human. As it is, I can't even save every patient I perform surgery on." Sören scowled.

"That may be the point," Mark said. "They may have wanted to break you, by putting you in more vulnerable, human forms. They tried to keep you apart by incarnating you in different generations. One of you even from another country. And you still found your way to each other, despite that. And... I know you, Father. You have already made it this far. You are so defiant. I can still feel that fire burning in you - transmuting what would be a weakness, into a weapon. What would be a curse, into a blessing."

Nicholas wanted to believe that - he knew more about Sören's life than Mark did and it was indeed remarkable that Sören had endured such adversity and trauma in his early life and still managed to become a successful neurosurgeon, with successful relationships. There was something in Sören that refused to break, refused to die.

But he also could feel the weariness in Sören's voice - the limits of what they could accomplish, in these mortal forms. All three of them, Nicholas, Sören, and Anthony, had been driven to professions to help others - Nicholas first as a priest then as a teacher, Sören as a doctor, Anthony as a lawyer. They had, undoubtedly, changed lives with their work. And yet, there was only so much they could do. The ills of the world, the impending Dagor Dagorath, was bigger than all of them. Bigger still for being mortal, human, more prone to injury, sickness, and death. Nicholas was old; at best he had maybe another twenty or thirty years left to live and that was because he was in good shape for his age, he took care of himself. He also knew he would likely start to decline within the next ten.

There was another long silence - Anthony seemed troubled as well - and Mark seemed to pick up on that, because after awhile he said, "Whether you were re-embodied as Elven or human, you're still you. And I'm glad I'm here, with all of you."

"So am I," Nicholas said sincerely. Though he was still getting to know Mark, part of him knew Mark already. He wasn't quite a stranger. Mark was indeed where he belonged.

He just hoped that eventually Anthony would see that; he knew this had to be exceedingly difficult for Anthony, with their past history.

Anthony leaned on his cane and got up, stretching. "I had a long day in court," Anthony said. "I'm going to shower and then I think I need to turn in."

It was still early, but the nights felt longer in the wintertime. Before Mark could get up to give his long-lost uncle - and ex-lover - a hug, Anthony limped away, his cane clacking on the hardwood floor.

Sören put a hand on Nicholas's shoulder and then he followed after Anthony.

"Well, that leaves us." Nicholas felt a twinge of anxiety - though Mark was familiar, he was also new, and Nicholas felt suddenly shy.

Like a schoolboy with a crush. Dangerously close to the shyness he'd felt around Sören when they were becoming better friends... that he'd felt around Anthony when Anthony became a fixture in their lives.

Cheeks burning, Nicholas reached under the coffee table and produced the chess set he kept there, sometimes playing against Sören or Anthony. "Game?"

Mark nodded. "You're on."

In the middle of the night, Nicholas's bladder woke him up, as it was wont to do at his age, and as he walked down to the bathroom, he heard movement from further down the hall. He waited until he was safely relieved and washed up, then he headed towards the kitchen to see what was going on. They lived in a quiet neighborhood and the chance of burglary was slim, so Nicholas wasn't worried about that, but they had three cats and Nicholas knew they could - and frequently did - get up to mischief in the night.

The noise was just Mark, unloading the dishwasher and putting the dishes away. Nicholas folded his arms and leaned against the kitchen wall, by the door frame. Mark was bent over the dishwasher and stood up. "Oh." He gave a sheepish smile. "I hope I didn't wake you up -"

"No, I was already awake. Nature calls." Nicholas laughed. Then he gave Mark a stern look. "But remember what I told you earlier. I don't want you to feel like a servant who has to earn his keep."

"I don't."

"And yet, it is almost three in the morning and here you are unloading the dishwasher."

"I did the catboxes too."

Nicholas sighed.

Mark also sighed. His brow furrowed. "Look. Anthony is disabled, I couldn't help but notice you have a little arthritis, and Sören works batshit crazy hours. I'm not employed - I don't need to be, I have money - and you guys are family. This is me trying to do what I can for my family. If you truly want me to stop, I'll stop, but -"

"I didn't say that." Nicholas put up a hand. "I simply don't want you to feel like you're a housekeeper instead of a family member."

"I told you, I don't. If that changes... well, I am Fëanor's son, I'm sure you know what he's like when he dislikes or disapproves of something. I'm much the same way."

Nicholas couldn't help chuckling. "I am indeed... very familiar with that." He sighed again; their eyes met. Such beautiful eyes, like the sea on a rainy day. "And part of me does remember how you were. How you are. Though, part of me is also still getting to know you, and with all new people I am a bit careful."

"I understand."

"I'm also concerned," Nicholas spoke honestly. "While I remember that Elves don't need as much sleep as humans, they do require some sleep, and that you are not sleeping at this hour makes me wonder if something is wrong."

"Yes and no," Mark said. "I have a lot of nervous energy and I needed to do something with it. So, chores."

"And you have nervous energy because..."

"The talk this evening. It was... a lot. Even though it didn't get terribly in-depth with the differences between my lived experience of history and the fictionalized, 'canon' version of events - or more accurately, Beren as an unreliable narrator who had an axe to grind against my family because he was jealous of Turcafinwë..." They both chuckled at that. "Just the bare surface was incredibly deep, and a bit painful. Moreso because..." Mark's voice trailed off and he looked down.

Nicholas finished Mark's sentence for him. "Anthony."

Mark nodded. He looked up, and away. "I fucked up, back in 1999. I broke his heart. I did the wrong thing for what I thought was the right reason - he was willing to throw his life away for me, and I didn't want to see that happen, didn't want to force my vagabond, nomadic exile lifestyle on him, especially that young. But he doesn't know that. I'm still the bastard who took his cherry and ran, I'm pretty sure."

Nicholas exhaled. He felt caught in the middle. He wondered if this was how Anthony felt when he and Sören were apart the first few months of last year. He wondered if this was how Finarfin felt when Fingolfin and Fëanor argued. "I'm probably not the one you should have this discussion with. Anthony needs to hear what I'm telling you now."

"He does," Mark said, nodding again. "I'm not disputing that. But the timing of it is also... rather wrong, considering I just admitted earlier in the evening that we had all been lovers. I don't want him to think I'm making a play for him, like we can pick up right where we left off as if nothing had happened."

"Indeed. Sören and Anthony had broken up in 2013, and after they reconciled in 2015, Sören still needed a year to trust him again, before they could be anything other than friends. I don't know how quickly Anthony will forgive."

"Not to mention that..." Mark sighed. "If he reads my apology as coming onto him, I don't want him to think I feel obligated to be with him because of what we were to each other in his past life. Yes, you are all still who you were, but you are also who you are now, and I respect that. Any connections would have to be based on this lifetime, getting to know each other again."

"I agree." And then Nicholas's cheeks burned, as he drank in the sight of Mark, still model-gorgeous even in a Pink Floyd "Dark Side of the Moon" T-shirt with blue plaid flannel pajama bottoms, his mane of raven-black hair disheveled from chores. He didn't want to notice Mark this way, and reading between the lines, he got the sense Mark said what he did as a rebuff - stating he wasn't interested in rekindling old passions, without coming right out and saying it, not wanting to be rude. It stung, even as Nicholas didn't want to get his hopes up over Anthony's ex. Attraction to Mark was a recipe for disaster, and Nicholas felt the little spark of hope fading, and it hurt, but he knew it was for the best. He spoke what he was sure Mark would not explicitly say. "I shan't fault you for not being interested in me. I know I am an old man now, not the beautiful god-like Noldo so much like yourself, that you were used to."

There was another one of those long, awkward silences, and Nicholas's face burned, wishing he hadn't said that, not wanting to sound self-pitying - after all, Sören and Anthony were perfectly fine with Nicholas as he was. But even more than that, he realized his statement hinted at a one-sided attraction - a resignation that it would not come to anything. He had admitted being interested in Mark without directly saying so. Nicholas wanted to crawl into the floor and hide.

Mark closed the dishwasher, and then he came around to where Nicholas stood, and looked him up and down. "You're not too old at all," Mark said. He grinned and chuckled, eyes gleaming. "You do realize I'm thousands of years old, right?"

"I meant in terms of aging."

"Yeah, I know. I was trying to make a joke."

Like your father. Nicholas thought of Sören - the playful humor was one of the things he loved most about the younger man.

Mark sighed. Then their eyes met, and Mark put a hand on Nicholas's shoulder. "More seriously, though." Mark's voice was husky now, as that hand reached up to touch Nicholas's cheek. "I think you're very handsome. I like your silver hair, your beard... that chest hair I see peeking out. You're a white wolf."

And just like that, Mark came closer, and Mark's mouth was on his. Their lips parted, their tongues met, swirling, brushing, licking, teasing. Mark's lips were full and soft, his mouth sweet. Nicholas groaned into the kiss, a shiver down his spine, arms breaking out in gooseflesh, cock stirring in his pajama bottoms. His heart beat faster as his mind raced with the delicious memories of the ways they'd had each other before - the delicious possibilities of having each other again. That kiss was like fire, melting the bounds of past and present, melting away all resistance, stripping everything away to the fire in Nicholas, raw, hot need. Mark's hands slid down Nicholas's chest, a thumb gliding over a nipple through the fabric of his shirt, the kiss deeper, more insistent.

Mark pulled back, patted Nicholas on the shoulder again, and brushed by as he walked off. Nicholas stood there, mouth open, stunned, as he heard Mark's footsteps on the stairs. He couldn't believe what just happened. Maglor kissed him, right there in the kitchen.

He was going to have to tell Sören and Anthony that Mark kissed him - Sören was going to work in two and a half hours, and Sören was not a morning person, so the conversation would have to wait until later.

It was just a kiss, nothing else had happened. He and Mark hadn't even really had a conversation about starting anything. Nothing had changed.

And yet, everything had changed.

Chapter Text

The next day, Sören was at the National all day, and Anthony found himself missing Sören more than usual. And he knew why.

While he hadn't objected to Mark living with them, and he would feel guilty about turning Mark away knowing now he was family, it was still awkward and uncomfortable. He knew that the breakup with Mark still stung close to twenty years later, but he hadn't expected the wound to be this raw and festering, like the breakup had happened two years ago instead of twenty. Being around Mark was a reminder of the rejection - Mark saying he was too "needy" when Anthony had offered to live with him, travel with him - and the way that one word had impacted him for years and years, right down to setting Anthony on the path to breaking Sören's own heart for not speaking up about his needs and getting them met elsewhere that one foolish, regrettable time.

Anthony also felt like a hypocrite, carrying a grudge against Mark like this when he'd arguably done far worse to Sören in 2013, and Sören had forgiven him and eventually welcomed him back, taken him back into his arms, into his bed. It was also abundantly, painfully clear that the last near-twenty years hadn't exactly been a picnic for Mark - that Mark had probably fared worse than he had.

But the heart felt what it felt, and try as he did to motor through and not show any outward signs of bitterness and resentment, it was there, simmering quietly.

Sören was a constant in his life. Something he never took for granted again after 2013, but nonetheless, Anthony was certain he and Sören were mated for life, like two swans, and that gave him comfort. After last night's revelation that Maglor had not told Tolkien about Finarfin's death because it hurt too much - which was damn close to a love confession - Anthony felt even more troubled with Mark's presence, and wished Sören was there to hold him, kiss him, reassure him that though Mark had left long ago, and there was the lingering threat that he would do so again, Sören himself was not going anywhere.

Anthony kept checking the clock, and his watch, like it would somehow make Sören get home faster. The day dragged on and on. Anthony helped Nicholas with chores, as they typically did on weekends when Sören had to work, and while that was usually a distraction, getting Anthony out of his head for awhile, now it just trapped Anthony even more in his head and made the day feel longer. It didn't help that he could hear Mark upstairs playing music - it sounded like Mark was composing something new. Something beautiful. Every now and again, the chord changes made Anthony break out into gooseflesh, tears stinging his eyes. Maglor had a gift. And in 1998-1999, Anthony had loved him for it.

A part of Anthony still did, if he was being very honest with himself, and he hated it. His pride hated it most of all.

What made things even worse was that there was something off about Nicholas. Nicholas was quiet - which was usual for him, not a red flag in and of itself. What was different were the frequent glances off to the side, the even more frequent little smiles. Something was going on, and Anthony thought about pausing the chores and asking, but he didn't.

Mark had wanted to help with tidying and organizing, but Nicholas said he needed to do some things himself for the sake of his pride - and Anthony felt that way too, even as close to three years after the accident, he was still slowed down, on a cane. Nicholas conceded that Mark could make dinner instead, and Anthony could vouch for Mark's cooking. He was very good at it. Mark used to cook for them when they were together.

Yet another reminder of old times.

When Sören got home, Anthony went right to him, not even allowing Sören the chance to wash up first before they hugged and Anthony rained kisses over his face. The cats circled, meowing for attention, and after a minute Anthony backed off to let Sören stoop to pet them. Seumas hopped up on Sören's shoulder and rode all the way down to the bathroom for Sören to wash his hands, staying perched there even with the water running, undaunted.

Anthony came behind Sören, rested his cane against the sink, and wrapped his arms around him. "Hi, Brown Eyes." He nuzzled Sören's neck and leaned in to kiss his cheek. "How was your day?"

Sören blew a raspberry. He continued scrubbing his hands thoroughly then he said, "One of those days that makes me question my sanity with this job. I had emergency surgery all day, and one of the nastier cases I've seen."

"I'm sorry."

"Jæja. Me too." Sören sighed. "I'm home now." He gave a sad smile in the mirror. "It's good to be home. It'll be nice to relax and just... not have to deal with any serious shit tonight."

As Sören and Anthony walked out of the bathroom - Seumas still riding on Sören's shoulder, headbutting him over and over again - Nicholas came out from the master bedroom, carrying a feather duster. "Ah, there you are, dear." Nicholas walked up to Sören, kissed both his cheeks, then kissed him full on the lips. Anthony's breath hitched as he watched the kiss deepen, their tongues playing together - that never got old, never failed to turn him on - and he heard himself moan as Nicholas nipped at Sören's lower lip. Then they nuzzled, and Sören giggled and kissed the tip of Nicholas's nose.

"Hey, elskan." Sören's nose twitched. "Something smells good."

"Mark is making dinner. Chicken parmigiana, I believe." Nicholas put an arm around Sören and then he put a hand on Anthony's shoulder, looked at Anthony, and back at Sören. "Now that you're home, sweetheart, I... need to talk to both of you."

Sören's face fell. Anthony could hear the unvoiced there goes not having to deal with any serious shit tonight.

Nicholas led them to the stairs - if they were going to the lounge on the second floor rather than the greatroom or the master bedroom on the ground floor, then this was not something for Mark's ears, though Anthony had a feeling Mark's hearing was that sensitive that he would still probably be able to hear it.

Anthony's heart beat a little faster, his mouth dry. He knew something was up... and here it was.

"Mark kissed me last night."

Sören's jaw dropped. Anthony blinked slowly.

Anthony tried not to react right away, though he felt a flare of anger starting at Maglor. Anthony took some deep breaths. He was a criminal defense barrister by profession, his entire life was dedicated to presenting another side of the story, that of the accused...

...and in Anthony's own personal life, he knew well that this was far less than the wrong he'd done in 2013, when he'd looked for a no-strings-attached quick fuck to relieve himself when Sören was working hundred-hour weeks and too exhausted and grumpy for sex, and hadn't talked to Sören about it first.

Sören raised an eyebrow and before he could speak, Anthony found himself switching over to lawyer mode. "So... are we talking about a peck on the cheek? A kiss on the lips? Or..."

"A French kiss," Nicholas said, nodding.

"Right." Anthony already knew that, but he didn't want to assume. He went on, "And what prompted it? You say he kissed you, so he initiated it, it wasn't the other way around? What was going on that led to the kiss?"

"Calm your tits, Jaws," Sören muttered.

Anthony would have died laughing at that if the situation weren't so fraught - he'd earned the epithet "the Shark" years ago, and he supposed he was looking like a shark who'd smelled blood and was circling its prey.

Nicholas exhaled. "I got up to visit the bathroom last night and heard noise in the kitchen. It was Mark unloading the dishwasher. We had a short but intense conversation about... well, the conversation we had last evening. And, though I feel Mark should tell you this himself, Mark expressed regret for breaking your heart in 1999, Anthony, and he also said he worries that an apology might be misconstrued as wanting to get back together out of a sense of obligation that we must do things exactly as they were done before, instead of forming connections based on getting to know each other again here and now."

Anthony's eyes stung with the beginning of tears. Even though he knew he didn't have to "be strong" in front of his partners, who had seen him cry before, he still composed himself, for the sake of his pride. Mark had broken his heart, badly. It had damaged him for years. And yet, knowing Mark was sorry for it went straight to that wounded place, like a balm that hurt at first, but would begin to cleanse and heal the wound.

Sören seemed to know right away, and took Anthony's hand, squeezed.

Nicholas also seemed to know, giving Anthony a sad smile, before he went on, "I assumed that Mark's statement about us not being obligated to each other because of before was a polite way of rejecting me without having to directly reject me... due to my age, and all."

"Oh, elskan." Sören frowned. "You know how fucking sexy you are to me?"

"And me too," Anthony said, nodding.

Nicholas's brow furrowed. "As you know, not everyone shares your tastes. In fact, a majority of people think seniors like myself are 'gross' and -"

"Jæja, fuck them," Sören said.

Nicholas chuckled. Then he sobered. "Mark told me he didn't think I was too old at all. He said he found me handsome. And then he walked over and kissed me. Nothing else happened - he just went upstairs. But I thought it was best in the interest of honesty to tell you that it happened, and Anthony I apologize since this seems to affect you a bit more with your history, but I wanted to wait until Sören was home and tell both of you at once."

"Thank you for telling us," Sören said.

Anthony nodded. Although, a part of him wished he didn't know because things just suddenly got a lot more complicated.

Nicholas sighed. He pinched the bridge of his nose and winced like he was in pain. Then he squared his shoulders, a look of stern determination on his face. "I shan't lie. I am attracted to him. But out of respect for you, Anthony, I don't think it would be a good idea for me to do anything further with him until and unless you and he work things out."

Anthony gave a thin, bitter smile, and shrugged. "There's nothing to work out. He told me I was too needy when I was nineteen. If anything, the pain and trauma I've endured since then have made me clingier, needier."

Nicholas sighed again. He frowned. "He didn't tell me what he said to you, but he said you were going to, I quote, 'throw your life away for him', so perhaps that was not the truth -"

"And maybe it was. In any case, you're the one telling me this, not him, and that speaks bloody volumes, doesn't it? He's been here since January second, it's the twentieth now, he's had over a fortnight to come to me and tell me what he said wasn't what he meant, if that was so." Anthony heard the fire and ice and steel in his voice, and he took a few deep breaths, trying to get his anger under control. He didn't want to lash out at Nicholas - though he was a little upset that Nicholas was attracted to Mark, he couldn't blame him, Mark was still maddeningly attractive, and still so much himself that it was difficult not to feel those old feelings... and in any case, Anthony believed Nicholas that it had been Mark to initiate the kiss, so the blame was not on Nicholas.

Sören patted him, and put an arm around him. "If this helps at all - I also think Mark is sexy as hell, and I like him, and if circumstances were different, I'd probably pursue him. But you are my partner, you have been a part of my life since 2011, so your feelings are a priority to me. I'm with Nick here, I don't think it's a good idea to try to rekindle past relationships till you and he have had a heart-to-heart, and maybe, ah, some other parts-to-parts."

Anthony was torn between wanting to laugh - he loved Sören for being Sören - and wanting to scream in frustration. "You sound so bloody sure that he and I are going to get back together. It's done, it's been done for close to twenty years. Just because you forgave me for a more severe offense doesn't mean I can, or should, forgive him for breaking my heart, breaking my life eighteen years ago -"

Sören put up his hands and moved back a little, flinching like he'd been hit. Anthony's face burned, realizing how hysterical he sounded, not wanting to be this angry, this upset, and make his partners feel like they'd done something wrong.

"All I'm saying is," Sören said softly, "I think Nick and I are in agreement, neither of us are going to do anything with Mark without your say-so."

"I don't own either of you," Anthony said. "And I don't want you to feel like you're being held back and resent me for it. So go on, if you want to go there with him."

Sören shook his head. "Just because you say it's fine, doesn't mean it is fine." He cocked his head to one side and scowled. "We've been down this road before, Cornelius Anthony Hewlett-Johnson, and it leads nowhere good."

Anthony exhaled, and flopped further back on the couch, covering his hot face in his hands.

Nicholas stood up, walked over to Anthony, and kissed his forehead. "I meant what I said, dear. And it's not something I could resent you for. On the contrary, thank you for not being angry with me over the kiss."

Anthony took Nicholas's hand and tried to smile. Then Nicholas tousled his hair, then Sören's curls, before stepping back. "I'm going downstairs to see if Mark needs help with anything."

Anthony watched Nicholas walk out of the lounge - admiring the still-taut ass in his trousers - and then Sören cupped Anthony's chin in his hand, turned Anthony's head to face him, and gave Anthony a stern look. "Remember what I told you back in 20-fucking-15 about this? Not doing the stiff upper lip, macho no-feelings-we're-English bullshit?" Sören put his hands on his hips. "If you're not very honest with your feelings about what's happening with Mark, it has the potential to cause problems all over again. I really don't want us to end up having fights because you say it's fine, it's fine, and it's not fine."

Anthony knew Sören was right - he'd lost Sören before because of it - and the thought of losing Sören a second time tore at him. He owed Sören the truth, and now their eyes met and Anthony swallowed hard, no longer trying to fight the tears, letting them sting his eyes, roll down his cheeks. "I don't want to be too needy," he choked out.

"Oh, elskan." Sören's own eyes were too bright now. Anthony let out a sob - the sight of Sören crying for him undid him. Then Sören took Anthony's face in his hands, leaned in closer, and began to kiss Anthony's tears, even as his own slid down his face.

"Sören. I didn't mean to upset you -"

"Shhh." Sören kissed the tip of his nose. Their lips brushed, and then crushed together, parted, tongues meeting, playing, teasing, sending a shiver of fire through Anthony's body, cock waking up. Sören's hands wandered from Anthony's cheeks down his chest, rubbing slowly. When Sören's thumb caressed a nipple Anthony groaned into the kiss.

Sören pulled back slightly to catch his breath, and looked into Anthony's eyes again. "I need you to need me," Sören husked.

Now it was Anthony who grabbed Sören and kissed him hard, letting Sören feel that need, all-consuming, bottomless. Their tongues swirled, lashed, more insistent. Sören began to undo the buttons of Anthony's shirt, and with a growl Anthony nibbled Sören's lower lip and reached for the hem of Sören's scrub top, rucking it up, not caring if dinner was soon. This was what he needed, and he needed it now.

Sören lifted his arms and Anthony pulled the top over his head, tossed it to the floor. Then Sören helped Anthony out of his shirt. As Anthony undid his jeans, he watched Sören yank down his scrub pants and boxer-briefs; Sören turned around and gave a sassy butt wiggle and Anthony saw that Sören was wearing the butt plug.

"You little minx." Anthony slapped Sören's ass.

Sören giggled and turned around to help Anthony up. Anthony kicked off his jeans and boxer-briefs, hard cock standing proudly at attention. With a wicked grin, Sören shoved Anthony back on the couch, then Sören got on his knees on the floor before a sitting Anthony, looking at Anthony's cock, then into his eyes.

Anthony's breath hitched as Sören took a long lick from the head down the shaft, then back up. Anthony moaned as Sören's tongue swirled around and around the head. Then Sören drew the head of the cock into his mouth, kissing it, making Anthony moan again, cock pulsing, Sören's lips and tongue working magic. Sören took more of it in his mouth, halfway, and began to suck slowly, moving his head back and forth, as his head rubbed up and down the bottom of the shaft. It felt incredible, and Anthony's arousal was intensified by the sight of those full, luscious lips on his cock, the heat in Sören's eyes, the way Sören hummed with pleasure around the cock in his mouth - watching Sören's right shoulder move, knowing he was so turned on by doing this he was stroking himself.

Anthony sighed, and shivered. "You are so bloody fucking good at this."

"Mmmmmmmmm." Sören sucked a little faster.

Sören's head bobbed up and down, fucking Anthony with his mouth. The pleasure built and built, Anthony's balls tightening. All of the pain of just a short while ago melted away in Sören's mouth, so eager to please. Then Anthony heard the wet rattling sound of Sören jerking himself off and he needed more.

"I want to suck you too," Anthony said.

Sören pulled the cock out of his mouth and licked it, making a streamer with the flowing precum. "Yeah?"

"Need you." Anthony was surprised by the breathiness in his own voice.

Sören got up; Anthony scooted into position, laying on his back. He watched Sören take out the plug, tossing it on top of their clothes, and then Sören climbed on top of him, head between Anthony's legs, cock, balls, and ass in Anthony's face.

Anthony sucked him hungrily, lost in the sensation of being sucked and the lust of sucking the man he loved, worshiping the magnificent cock before him. They moaned with their mouths full, Sören sucking harder and faster, making a delicious filthy slurping sound as he sucked. Anthony needed to tease him back. He took Sören's cock out of his mouth, licked it, then licked and sucked at Sören's balls. Moved his head back to Sören's ass, open and ready. His tongue lapped around the hole, tasting strawberry lubricant and the lingering notes of soap. When he pushed his tongue inside, Sören cried out around the cock in his mouth.

Anthony ate at him, fucking Sören with his tongue. Every few licks he smacked Sören's ass. Soon Sören was going wild, working his hips, riding Anthony's tongue. Anthony loved that, moaning into him, licking faster, reaching around to stroke Sören's cock.

The pleasure continued to build, Sören's mouth driving him closer. He needed to make Sören come with him. He put Sören's cock back in his mouth and sucked for all he was worth, the two of them moaning and groaning and grunting again, viciously devouring each other, going hard for that release.

Then Anthony heard footsteps at the door of the lounge, and a startled breath. Anthony stopped what he was doing and looked to see Mark standing there with his mouth open.

"Oh god," Anthony said. "Er, sorry -"

"No, it's. Ha ha." Mark ran a nervous hand through his hair - something Sören did too - and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, looking off to the side. "I came up to tell you dinner is ready, but -"

"We should have, uh... been more discrete and not done this in a common room."

"It's all right. I should have let Nicholas come up to tell you but I wanted to be mindful of his arthritis with the stairs."

And I'm sure he loves that, Anthony thought to himself sarcastically, knowing Nicholas's pride and insistence on still doing as much as he possibly could.

Before Anthony or Sören could say anything in response - Anthony realized his hard cock was out of Sören's mouth, in full sight of Mark - the ancient Elf turned and headed down the hall.

Sören put Anthony's cock back in his mouth like nothing had happened, and went back to work. A moment later Anthony did the same, trying not to let what happened phase him.

And then, the thought that Mark had seen them sucking each other - the thought that Mark was just minutes away from watching them come, the thought of Mark seeing them come in each other's mouths - sent Anthony rushing to that point of no return, trembling. Sören was there too - Anthony had a feeling Sören was just as turned on by Mark having seen what he did - and Sören cupped and rubbed Anthony's balls with one hand, taking Anthony's hand with the other.

"Mmmmmm," Sören moaned, working his hips again, fucking Anthony's mouth. "Mmmmhmmm, mmmmm, mmmmm..."

They were both right there. Wanting, needing. Closer, closer, closer, and then there it was. Anthony cried out around the cock in his mouth, throbbing and throbbing with ecstasy, relief. A few seconds later Sören whimpered and flooded Anthony's mouth with hot, salty-sweet seed. Anthony drank, swallowed, licked Sören's cock clean, licked his lips, savoring.

They lay there for a moment, dazed, catching their breath, coming down from the powerful orgasm. Sören climbed off, helped Anthony sit up, and sat next to him, and they kissed and kissed, tasting each other, themselves, combined so deliciously. The kisses were sensual and playful, a reminder there was more later.

But first...

"We better go downstairs." Sören laughed and touched Anthony's cheek. "Don't want dinner to get cold."

"We were very naughty, having dessert first." Anthony gave Sören one last kiss.

Sören grinned. "And a lovely dessert it was."

"Yes indeed."

As they put their clothes back on, Sören busted out laughing harder. Anthony raised an eyebrow and Sören said, "Oh, Mark. Considering the debauchery we got up to back then, he was like an easily shocked Victorian aunt."

"Not just back then," Anthony said without thinking it, and then he covered his hand with his mouth. Even now, eighteen years later, he had such vivid memories of what it had been like with Mark. Doing the same thing he and Sören had done just now. Doing so many things. Mark had taught him how to make love, had made him the lover he was today.

Dinner was going to be awkward, but it would be worse to avoid it. Sören took Anthony's free hand, Anthony's cane in the other hand, clacking on the hardwood floor as they made their way to the stairs. Anthony heard Sören's voice in his mind, clear as day.

I have no regrets. I love loving you.

Anthony squeezed Sören's hand, and smiled.

The next day Sören had off, and after a lazy morning of lovemaking, Nicholas and Sören went grocery shopping together. Mark was off on a walk, leaving Anthony at home alone.

Anthony felt restless and fidgety, but doing his daily Duolingo lessons and some extra, and playing with his fidget spinner wasn't helping. The nervous energy wasn't just mental, it was emotional. He had too many feelings that increasingly were harder and harder to hold back.

He found himself putting his fidget spinner in his pocket and doing something he hadn't done since before they went to Scotland. There was a grand piano in the second floor lounge, and he went up there now to play. He'd felt too self-conscious to play since Mark had come back with them, outclassed by Mark's skill, but Mark wasn't home right now.

So Anthony played like he was making up for lost time. A few pieces by John Coltrane... then by his wife, Alice. It had been Mark who introduced Anthony both to the music of Alice Coltrane and to the musician, taking Anthony to see her in concert and queuing to get her autograph. The memories came flooding back to him and he found himself crying, and eventually not able to finish the song he was playing because its bright, ethereal mood clashed with his melancholy, his pain.

But there was something that seemed to express the ache of those romantic memories, the lingering feelings, the struggle. Anthony started to play "Moonlight Sonata" by Beethoven, letting all that darkness and brooding come out in each note. Losing Mark, losing Sören. Loss, loneliness, heartache.

Anthony was so lost in his song that he didn't hear the footsteps up the stairs, and he jumped with a little cry when he saw Mark standing in the door of the lounge, quietly watching him.

"Jesus Christ," Anthony said when he caught his breath, pulling back from the piano.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you." Mark gave a shy smile. "I guess this is twice in two days I've interrupted a private moment."

"Well, the first is nothing you haven't seen before," Anthony said, then realized his brain-to-mouth filter had dissolved in the startle, and covered his mouth, face on fire. Not wanting to think about all the times Mark had seen his cock. Sucked his cock. The times Anthony had sucked him, eaten him.

Mark laughed, and then he gestured, waving a hand before he folded his arms, leaned against the doorjamb. "This, though. I've never seen you play the piano."

"Yeah." Anthony looked down. "I told you it was like a kid showing a crayon drawing to da Vinci."

"Not at all. You're good."

"You're just saying that."

Mark snorted and rolled his eyes. "Anthony, you know how opinionated I am about music. I wouldn't give you false praise, even with our history."

Anthony wanted to believe that. He almost did. He rubbed his chin and squirmed awkwardly in his seat at the piano. "I'm sorry about yesterday. We should know better than to do stuff in a common room now that it's not just the three of us -"

"Like you said, it's nothing I haven't seen before. And I don't want you to cramp your style because of me. I'm a guest in your home."

Somehow, that bothered Anthony more than if Mark had objected to what he'd seen. Anthony realized it was Mark calling himself a guest. Technically that was true, but Mark was also family, even if it was only from a past life. The way that was worded troubled him, like Mark still didn't quite feel at home yet.

Not that Anthony could blame him. He knew it would take time, after all those thousands of years alone. He knew, too, that their history in this life made it more challenging to feel settled.

They needed to talk, though Anthony wasn't sure he was ready yet to forgive Mark, even as he felt like a hypocrite for feeling that way after Sören had forgiven him for that one cheating episode in October 2013, that had been far worse. Anthony got up from the piano, grabbed his cane, and walked over to the couch, the same couch where he and Sören had their sixty-nine yesterday. Mark sat in the armchair.

For a moment they just looked at each other and didn't say anything, like both of them were trying to figure out what to say, how to say it. Anthony took out his fidget spinner and played with it. Then Anthony heard himself blurting out, "The other night, you mentioned Olórin is around. ...Disguised as my therapist."

"Which mean he's observing you." Mark scowled; Anthony observed he had the same bitchface as Sören and Nicholas, it was uncanny.

"Do you think he thinks we're dangerous?" The thought seemed preposterous.

"Or in danger. Or both."

Anthony dropped his fidget spinner.

Mark exhaled and suddenly the spinner moved from the floor to Anthony's lap, without being touched. "The lore states Fëanor's fëa would be released from Mandos before the Dagor Dagorath. Something's going on."

"Some... thing." Anthony felt like an idiot, but he was too shocked.

Mark nodded and got up. "Interesting times ahead." He started to walk off, but lingered at the couch, putting a hand on Anthony's shoulder. His touch made Anthony tingle. Their eyes met, and held, and then Mark walked away. No further explanation. No apology, either.

It was perhaps just as well. Anthony sat there reeling, both in disbelief of watching Mark use telekinesis, and the implications of what Mark had just said.

Is this why we're here, now? To be here at the end of the world?

Chapter Text

Sören took a deep breath as he pulled his Vespa scooter into the driveway. All the other vehicles were there, which meant everyone was home unless someone had gone for a walk. Of course, this was the expected time they'd be home - it was after seven PM - but even so, it added to the weight on Sören's shoulders. As much as he loved his partners, he was not in the mood to deal with other people right now.

He took off his helmet, and came in as quietly as he could. The cats began to hover, wanting attention. They followed Sören down to the bathroom, where he scrubbed his hands.

Sören heard Anthony's cane clacking down the hall. "Shit," he said under his breath.

Before he could duck out of the bathroom, there was Anthony, smiling so sweetly. "Hey, lovey."

Sören attempted a smile. "Hi, elskan."

Anthony limped forward for a kiss. Sören put his arms around him, leaning in, not wanting to reject him... wanting to let himself accept comfort, even as he was still feeling brittle, reactive, from his last patient of the day.

When they pulled back, Anthony noticed. "You OK?"

"Jæja, I'm fine." He wasn't fine, and as much as Sören had criticized Anthony's stiff-upper-lip tendency, here he was doing it too. "Need to get out of these clothes."

Sören took his hair out of his man bun, shaking his curls loose, and then walked down to the master bedroom. He fished out a heather grey T-shirt and red plaid flannel pajama bottoms, taking off his scrubs and putting those on... and then he just curled up on the bed in the fetal position, face in his hands. The upset of his last patient was intensified by being embarrassed that he was this upset, too sensitive, knowing that his patient would have lashed out at anyone, not just him. He didn't want to take it personally, he didn't want it to hurt - and this wasn't the first time a patient had gone off on him. But this whole situation with Mark being here, feeling like it was a time bomb being defused all too slowly, was putting him more on edge. All the conflicts in the world, amplified.

A reminder of the way it was before. Finwë's hatred and resentment of him for "killing his own mother". Morgoth's hatred and obsession. The punishment of the Valar for calling out the truth, that Manwë had failed in his job. Born into a vulnerable mortal body, abused and bullied during his formative years. Now he was an adult, and one patient made him feel like that hurt little boy all over again, wondering what he'd done wrong when he was just trying to be good.

"Fucking fuck." Sören held back a sob, but the tears rolled down his cheeks.

"Brrr?"

Sören opened his eyes and saw Miss Balls sitting on the floor by the edge of the bed, looking up at him. The old brown tabby gingerly hopped up on the bed, and, with her tail raised in greeting, she came over to Sören and brushed against him, rubbed her cheeks and nose against his arm and hand, then came over to his face, nuzzled, and gently nipped his nose.

Sören laughed and began to stroke the cat, soothed by her purr. Miss Balls settled into a loaf next to his head, and he continued stroking and skritching. The cat leaned into his touch, smiling. Sören leaned in and kissed the cat's head, rubbed his nose in her fur... buried his face in the soft, warm fur and let himself cry a little, trying to keep it down.

He heard the clack of Anthony's cane down the hall again, and then there was a knock on the bedroom door. "Sören?" came Nicholas's voice.

"Jæja."

Nicholas opened the door and walked in, Anthony following. They paused when they saw Sören laying there in the fetal position, petting Miss Balls. Sören blinked back tears, but he knew they could see his face.

"I knew you weren't fine." Anthony pursed his lips.

Sören looked away, his jaw trembling.

"Do you need us to leave you alone?" Nicholas asked.

Sören sighed. He didn't like crying in front of other people, even his partners who had seen him cry many times, but he didn't want them to feel rejected... and he knew it wasn't healthy to isolate. "You can come in," Sören said in a small voice.

Anthony came around the side of the bed, climbed on, and got behind Sören, spooning him, Anthony's chest against his back, strong arms around him, holding him safe. "I've got you," Anthony whispered, nuzzling Sören's neck. The soothing embrace undid him and Sören cried harder, letting it out.

Nicholas sat on the edge of the bed. "What is it, little one?" He started to rub Sören's shoulder, then Sören's tummy, in slow, lazy circles. "Did you have a bad day at work?"

Sören nodded. "At the end." He snuffled. "A patient, uh, blew up at me."

"Oh, sweetheart." Nicholas rubbed Sören's scalp, skritching his curls, sending delicious tingles and shivers through him. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"It might help to talk, love." Anthony played with a curly lock, and leaned in to kiss Sören's cheek.

"OK." Sören took a deep breath. He looked into Nicholas's sad dark eyes.

Nicholas scooped up Miss Balls and climbed onto the other side of the bed, facing Sören. Miss Balls settled onto Sören's hip, kneading and purring, and Sören continued to weep as Anthony and Nicholas held him, pet him.

At last Sören found his words, replaying the scene in his mind's eye. "Last case of the day was a woman in her forties, two teenage kids. MRI and CAT scans say she has a brain tumor. I talked to her about the test results, and the course of treatment - surgery. Well, she started yelling at me, told me she wasn't having surgery... that she was just going to pray and do Reiki and take herbs. I told her that if she doesn't have surgery to remove the tumor, it's going to get bigger, it's going to spread, and eventually it will probably kill her. She said it wouldn't, and called me a quack -"

"Someone who thinks prayer and Reiki will cure a brain tumor thinks you're a quack," Anthony mused.

Sören nodded. "And she said I should have my license revoked for 'pushing' surgery on her, and she compared brain surgery to rape, and... and..."

"Oh my god."

Since Sören had been raped, in 2010, he was very sensitive about things that weren't rape, being compared to rape. "She wanted to talk to my supervisor, so eventually Ed came in and she told him I was 'forcing' her to have surgery and..."

Nicholas rolled his eyes, huffed, and kissed Sören's forehead. "That's terrible."

"I don't even understand why someone would go to all the trouble of having tests done if they were just going to refuse the treatment protocol," Anthony said, sounding indignant. "That's wasting time that could be spent on patients who actually want to be treated. It's not like the NHS has a plethora of neurosurgeons available."

"Right, that's part of why I'm upset, I feel like my time was wasted. But she was just so... hateful. You know, for someone who seems to be into all that 'natural' woo stuff, those peace and love types, she was so nasty." Sören shuddered. "I started having flashbacks of my aunt Katrín yelling at me." He wept afresh; Anthony's arms tightened around him. "And I hate it. I'm thirty-three fucking years old, and it's like being thirteen again. It makes me feel so small, so helpless... it makes me feel unprofessional, to let a patient bother me like that."

"It's a normal human reaction to get upset when someone is overreacting and scapegoating you," Nicholas said, rocking Sören. "If someone cuts you, you bleed. It's the same with the heart."

"I still feel like it shouldn't be like that." Sören sobbed into Nicholas's shoulder. "I shouldn't be so sensitive."

"You actually give a damn about your patients," Anthony said. "That's why you're a good doctor. Your sensitivity is a feature, not a bug." Anthony put a hand on Sören's heart. "Your heart is one of the things I love about you."

"Me too." Nicholas stroked Sören's face, and began to kiss his tears. "I'm sorry you had to deal with that. But you're home now. You're with people who love you. You're safe."

"I just try to help people." Sören closed his eyes, feeling drained and defeated, like that last patient had been a microcosm of his eternal struggle, like there was something inherent in him that made people respond in such an extreme way sometimes.

"You were a good boy," Nicholas said softly. "You're Daddy's good boy."

That broke Sören. He wept so hard the sobs tore at him, doubling over, sides heaving, face hurting, eyes stinging with the salt of his tears. He needed so badly to hear that, like cleaning a festering wound.

Nicholas continued petting and rocking him. "My good boy. Daddy's good boy. Daddy's here, little one. You're safe with Daddy and your brother. We love you. You're such a good boy."

"Sweetheart." Anthony's arms were so tight. "It's OK, lovey. You're home now. The mean lady isn't here. It's just us."

"Just us and the kitty." Nicholas gave Miss Balls some pets, and then Miss Balls walked up Sören's side, perched on his shoulder, and started cleaning Sören's face. Her sandpaper-like tongue tickled, and Sören laughed through his tears.

"Cat," Sören said.

"That's a good cat." Nicholas skritched Miss Balls's whisker pads.

"Thanks, cat, now I don't need to exfoliate." Sören kissed the cat's cheek.

Then Mark was in the doorway. Sören hadn't even heard his footfall down the hall. He startled, and Mark gave a sheepish, apologetic smile before he cleared his throat.

"Sorry," Mark said. "I just wanted to let you know dinner's ready."

"All right, we'll be out in a few minutes?" Nicholas nodded at him.

"That's... that's fine. Take your time." Mark looked them over, and his shoulders fell with a sigh. It seemed that Mark looked a little wistful, and Sören ached for him - enough to fight the urge to invite him over and join the cuddle pile. He knew that would probably be awkward for Anthony.

Mark walked away, and Sören's tears were subsiding. He still lay there for a few minutes, sandwiched between their partners, walled in their loving arms, like a living fortress. He drank in the safety, the comfort, letting it drive away that raw, vulnerable, helpless feeling. Miss Balls got down and walked out, presumably going to the kitchen. Sören thought about getting up and following her, but he lingered in that tight embrace, leaden, not wanting to move. Letting himself take from them what they were offering.

"Good boy," Nicholas repeated, stroking his hair. "Daddy's good boy. Daddy's good, special boy."

That was starting to get Sören a little horny, and he didn't want dinner to get cold. "Will you show me how good, later?"

"Oh yes. I think Daddy's got a sweet for you. And maybe a horsey ride."

"Yay, horsey ride." Sören crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip.

Anthony laughed, and swatted Sören's bottom. "Then when he's done, your brother wants to play."

A shiver went down Sören's spine. Already, he was feeling a little better. "Good."

"Shall we go to dinner, before thinking too much about dessert?" Nicholas's lips quirked.

"Yes, Daddy."

Nicholas got up, took Sören's hand and helped him up, and then they helped up Anthony together. The three walked out to the dining room. Miss Balls chose then to walk from the kitchen to the dining room - Tobias was waiting for them, and he came forward to touch noses with Miss Balls. Sören squeaked with delight - he thought it was so cute when they did that - and then he covered his mouth, self-conscious of the ridiculous noise he made, but Nicholas just gave him another hug and some more skritches, chuckling. Anthony gave him a kiss.

Mark rose and watched the display of affection, once again looking a little sad, a little wistful, but he tried to smile. "Hi."

"Hi," Sören said, taking a seat. He smiled at the beef bourgignon, hearty on a cold January night. "Looks good."

"Mark used my recipe," Nicholas said.

Sören couldn't help going there. That's not all he used, Sören spoke into Nicholas's mind, sharing mental images - wicked memories of eons ago, threesomes and foursomes with Maglor.

Nicholas's cheeks turned pink. He kicked Sören under the table as he reached for the ladle in the stew pot. You seem to be somewhat recovered.

Sören kicked Nicholas back. As you know...

The next day went much more smoothly, if one could define a twelve-hour complex spinal surgery as "smooth". Sören felt like all the life had been sucked out of him on the ride home, but he was still in better spirits than he'd been yesterday, and this time after he scrubbed and changed, he went out to the greatroom and sat between Nicholas and Anthony on the couch.

Anthony was working on a Duolingo lesson, and Mark and Nicholas were playing chess. Anthony put an arm around him and Nicholas began skritching his scalp, as Miss Balls hopped up onto his lap, purring.

It would have been the picture of contentment except for Mark, who merely looked serious as he concentrated on the chessboard, but now had that wistful look in his eyes again as he glanced over at the three of them.

Nicholas seemed to notice it too. While he waited for Mark to make his move, Nicholas got up, patted Sören, and headed off to the kitchen.

From Anthony's laptop came a voice: Paret reiser gjennom landet på ei flygende ku.

It was Norwegian, not Danish, but it was similar enough that Sören's mind translated it into his third language and he doubled over, snorting, scaring Miss Balls off his lap.

"What in the actual fuck is with that Norwegian course," Sören choked out, wiping his eyes, shaking, sides cramping up.

"Oh, that's not even the weirdest one." Anthony grinned and then he said, "Kriminaliteten falt etter at kyllingen ble statsminister."

"I mean, a chicken would do a better job than Theresa May."

"Yeah." Anthony cringed.

Now even Mark laughed. It was so good to see his face lit up. "You liked languages in your life as Arafinwë," Mark said softly. "You picked up Telerin very quickly."

Anthony nodded. "Linguistics make sense. People, and the way they say things, not so much."

Mark looked away and squirmed in his seat a little.

Just before Sören could get up, drag Mark by his pointy ear, and knock his and Anthony's heads together, Nicholas came in with a tray of mugs. Sören clapped with happiness as he saw whipped cream floating on the mugs.

"Hot chocolate," Nicholas said, putting the tray down, and handing Sören the first mug. "I thought it would be cozy after a long day, yes?"

"Very much." Sören gave Nicholas a kiss as Nicholas sat back down beside him. "It's a good start to unwinding."

"How about... some music?" Mark looked over at his acoustic guitar, resting by the door in its case - he liked to take his guitar down to Greenwich Park - and then looked back at Sören. He gave Nicholas an apologetic little smile. "I can't concentrate on the game right now, sorry."

I wonder why. Sören kept that thought to himself, giving Anthony a raised eyebrow before he slurped at the whipped cream floating in the hot cocoa.

"Music would be lovely," Nicholas said, then turned to Sören and said, "If you think it would help, of course."

"Oh, sure." Sören nodded. "I love it when you play, Mark." Sören's eyes locked with Mark's, letting Mark know that statement was loaded with innuendo.

Mark's cheeks turned pink. He ran a hand through his hair - Sören couldn't help smirking a little, enjoying the obvious fluster - and then Mark cleared his throat and went over to the door. Sören watched the tight ass in those jeans, remembering what it looked like unclothed. Remembering what it tasted like, the way Maglor moaned when -

Mark grabbed his guitar, and sat back down, opening the case. "Do you have any requests?" he asked. He looked at Sören again and cocked his head to one side.

Sören stroked his chin, thinking. Decisions were hard, and it seemed almost impossible to think of a song to request. But then the answer flared within him, a curiosity since he'd looked at The Silmarillion.

"Can you play the Noldolantë?"

It wasn't an immediately obvious choice for a relaxing song - indeed the song of their people's sorrow seemed the opposite of relaxing - but Sören knew it was Maglor's magnum opus, and he wanted Mark to be able to share.

Mark nodded. He put the guitar on his lap, took a few deep breaths, and began to play a lovely, haunting progression of notes.

The song seemed familiar to Sören, even though it had been composed long after Fëanor died. It took him a minute and then he recognized it -

"You're playing 'Careless Whisper'," Anthony said, before Sören could say it aloud. Anthony put down his mug, folded his arms and gave Mark an exasperated-but-amused look. "You're taking the piss -"

Mark narrowed his eyes, looking equally exasperated. "Here we go."

"What do you mean, 'here we go'?"

Mark continued to play like Anthony hadn't just called him out. "For your information, I had this running in my head when I was at a pub where George Michael happened to be. We had a one-night-stand, and I suppose I passed on the song in my head without meaning to."

"You had sex with George Michael?" Sören's jaw dropped. "Was it good?"

Mark facepalmed, turning beetroot. Anthony had started to pick up his mug of cocoa and he laughed so hard he had to put it back down. "Sören, even after all these years you still amaze me."

"Don't tell me you're not curious."

Now it was Anthony's turn to go pink.

"Can I play the bloody song, or are we going to play 21 Questions?" Mark asked.

"Can we do both?" Sören gave Mark an innocent face that wasn't innocent at all.

Mark resumed playing like it was the most normal thing in the world. The sax solo from "Careless Whisper" played on the guitar gave it a haunting quality, and despite having heard the pop version of the song many times, there was something about the way Mark played it - like he was speaking through his guitar - that went straight to Sören's heart. He really didn't need to cry again, after his meltdown yesterday that left him feeling exhausted all day.

Sören found himself getting up - Mark was still playing - and he dashed down the hall to the bedroom, to the wardrobe of Anthony's suits and barrister robes, where Sören knew Anthony kept his wig. "Hi George," Sören said as he took out the wig. He carried it down the hall, and once he was back in the greatroom, before he sat back down he put George next to the gold aluminum pineapple Anthony had given him as a gag gift a few years ago, that Sören had affixed googly eyes to - now holding wrapped hard candy rather than the Faberge egg with the Silmarils... and a wooden kazoo that Anthony had also bought for him. Sören opened the lid of the pineapple bucket to take out the kazoo, and once the lid was on, he sat down, and played the sax solo of "Careless Whisper" on the kazoo along with Mark's guitar.

"Hells," Mark said, stopping the song.

"I'm sorry." Sören doubled over - so did Anthony - and teared up. The look of aggravation on Mark's face was so exaggerated as to be comical... which was quickly replaced by confusion.

"Why did you put that wig next to the pineapple, and..."

"Jæja, they're boyfriends. George, Ananas, this is Mark. Macalaurë, this is George, the wig, and Ananas, the pineapple. Please, resume serenading them."

Mark continued, and then a moment later Sören accompanied him again on the kazoo. Mark stopped playing, gave Sören a deadly serious look, and then he gave into laughter of his own.

"Atya, you're a shit," Mark said.

"Takk."

Mark sighed, shook his head, and leaned back. "Are you going to behave yourself?"

Sören put down the kazoo, folded his hands as if in prayer, and batted his lashes. Mark laughed again, then a pillow floated out from behind Mark and flew in the air, aimed at Sören. Sören dodged just in time, but spilled hot cocoa on his shirt.

Sören and Anthony composed themselves and let Mark continue. The song sounded a lot like "Careless Whisper", but not exact... and Mark singing in Quenya made Sören break out in gooseflesh. He could see a movie in his mind's eye, like Mark was either sharing what he was thinking of as he wrote the song eons ago, or projecting. He saw the exile, the hunger and cold and fear and despair on the Helcaraxë. He saw, he felt, the madness of Fëanor, turning Finarfin away, as Fingolfin withdrew from him. The burning ships. Maglor and Maedhros clinging to each other, feeling utterly alone. Maedhros throwing himself into the chasm. Maglor tossing the Silmaril into the sea. Wandering alone. Never going home again. Never finding home, wandering endlessly.

Maglor thinking of taking his own life as Maedhros had done, but needing to keep the memories of his family alive - needing to keep the love alive - through the Song. Like a torch burning, to try to light the way home.

Sören's eyes filled with tears. His heart broke for Mark all over again. My son, if I could have spared you. He ached to go to him, hold him, tell him he was home and safe now...

...and there was Anthony, stern-faced, bristling with grief of his own. Not yet ready to let Mark back in, even after he knew Mark had been alone - and so hungry for love, so starved for touch - for so long. Because Mark had it, and had broken him. Had sent Anthony into his own mental form of exile, afraid to come home, afraid to let himself need somewhere, someone, to belong to.

You idiots. Sören once again wanted to knock their heads together. This was getting ridiculous. He wanted to scream.

When the song was over, Nicholas stood up and applauded. Sören and Anthony applauded as well. Mark took a small bow.

Sören grasped at levity again, trying to avoid a meltdown. "This isn't helping to disprove my theory that there's an alternate universe where you're the other guy from Wham."

Mark gave him a look, then he laughed too.

Nicholas put a hand on Sören's shoulder. He looked at the clock, then at Sören. "It is past time for me to start dinner. As you know, I still insist on doing it some nights, I shan't have Mark do everything."

"I'm still doing dishes, though," Mark said.

"Of course." Nicholas walked off to the kitchen.

Mark looked at Anthony, then at Sören. "Any other requests? Something happy this time?"

Sören took a minute, then he said, "Queen?"

A flourish, then Mark strummed and sang:

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...

With the way Mark was looking at him as he played - and wiggled his eyebrows during the chorus - Sören got the feeling Mark was flirting with him. His cheeks flushed and his stomach fluttered. Two could play that game, even as it was playing with fire, with Anthony right there, and Sören's promise not to pursue Mark until and unless he and Anthony had reconciled. There was a little bit of whipped cream still floating on Sören's cocoa, and he licked it up with long, slow, deliberate strokes of his tongue, wanting Mark to think about what else that tongue was capable of.

Then Anthony started shaking, trying to keep his face serious, but his eyes sparkled, and when Sören gave him a confused look, Anthony let himself laugh aloud. He waited until the song was over.

"You have whipped cream on your nose," Anthony said.

"Oh."

Before Sören could dab it off, Anthony leaned in and licked it off Sören's nose - his tongue playful, sensual, caressing, making Sören shiver, his cock stirring. All the more for knowing this was Anthony's response to the flirting, his own subtle form of domination, reminding Sören who he belonged to.

Mark had that sad, wistful look on his face again.

Just then, Nicholas came back in the greatroom, frowning. He walked over to the coatrack without saying a word, and reached for his trenchcoat.

"Nick, you OK?" Sören asked, wondering if Nicholas had felt the tension from the kitchen.

"I'm out of potatoes," Nicholas said.

"Oh, sorry, I used the last of them yesterday and forgot to add them to the grocery list," Mark said. "It's still not something I'm used to, having to make a list, sorry -"

"It's fine," Nicholas said, buttoning up his coat.

As Nicholas sat to put on his shoes, Mark asked, "Do you want me to go to the store for you, so -"

"That isn't necessary. I don't mind. As I keep telling you, I need to do some things still. I am old, but I am not an invalid." Nicholas's tone had a bit of an edge to it. Then Nicholas looked over at Anthony. "Would you like to come along and keep me company?"

"Sure," Anthony said. He gave Sören a little kiss then rose up on his cane and limped over to the coats and shoes.

Once Anthony and Nicholas were out the door, and Sören heard Nicholas's car start, it was just him and Mark. Sören was still worked up from Anthony licking his nose - so silly and yet so hot - and he felt like he had to do something to make Mark feel better. Like flirting.

"Any other requests?" Mark asked.

"Sade?"

Mark's lips quirked. He took a deep breath and strummed a sexy rhythm.

If I tell you
If I tell you now
Will you keep on
Will you keep on loving me?

If I tell you
If I tell you how I feel
Will you keep bringing out the best in me?

You give me, you give me the sweetest taboo
You give me, you're giving me the sweetest taboo...

Sören melted to Mark's husky tenor, smooth and sensual. He knew the choice of "The Sweetest Taboo" was deliberate, teasing at the taboo of what they had been to each other before. Sören's face was on fire by the time the song was done, heart racing. It was all he could do to not undress and beg Mark to take him.

Mark launched into another song without being asked - slow, sad. His lashes swept down, like he was reflecting on the past again, coming out in each note.

He told me sweet lies of sweet loves
Heavy with the burden of the truth
And he spoke of his dreams
Broken by the burden
Broken by the burden of his youth

Sören's breath hitched. The words went right to his heart, breaking it all over again.

Mark continued to play and sing, with Sören barely able to keep from tears. And then, at last, the tears came.

I remember his hands
And the way the mountains looked
The light shot diamonds from his eyes
Hungry for life
And thirsty for the distant river

Like the scar of age
Written all over my face
The war is still raging inside of me
I still feel the chill
As I reveal my shame to you

I wear it like a tattoo...

Though the song was by Sade, it might as well have been by Maglor himself. Sören wondered if Maglor had influenced the song the way he'd influenced "Careless Whisper".

He couldn't stop staring at Mark's burned hand, scarred by the Silmaril. The tears rolled down his face and when the song was over, Sören heard himself bubble out, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry..."

Mark put his guitar down and went over to the couch, sitting next to Sören. Not yet touching him. "I don't blame you, Atya. I blame Morgoth. I blame Manwë... and myself."

Sören finally reached out to touch Mark's face. His other hand took Mark's burned hand, thumb tenderly stroking the scar. "What you went through. You've suffered so much, for so long. And I'm sorry that you're here now and the promise of comfort is dangling right in front of you and you still can't -"

Mark grabbed Sören, and for an instant Sören wondered if Mark was going to kiss him as he kissed Nicholas - Sören wanted that, even as he knew he shouldn't, he knew it would hurt Anthony after the promise made - and instead of a kiss, he pulled Sören close, held him tight. Mark started to shake with silent tears, and when Sören fell apart, weeping, Mark sobbed with him.

"I know you need this," Sören said. He looked up and took Mark's chin in his hand. "Don't you?"

"It's been so long since I've been held," Mark said. "Not since..." Mark let out a shuddery sigh, then another sob.

Sören broke again, crying into Mark's chest. "Not since Anthony." He finished the sentence for him. "That's a long time."

"And longer before that. I've had one-night-stands, but I hadn't allowed myself an actual partner in many years." Mark's voice shook as he explained. "I don't age. I can glamour an older appearance but that still only works so long before I have to reboot my life, reinvent myself... go someplace else where I won't be recognized. With the dawn of cameras, that shelf life has gotten a lot shorter. It's not a life I want to inflict on somebody else. But I let a few people come with me, over the years. And watched them age, watched them sicken and weaken, watched them die. I couldn't let Anthony throw away his education, his career, to follow me in exile around the world. And I couldn't bear to watch him die. I didn't know back then who he was, consciously, but a small part of me knew, knew it would be losing Arafinwë all over again -"

"So you pushed him away."

Mark nodded, and let out a plaintive wail, doubling over, crying as brokenly as Sören had ever heard someone cry.

"Mark. Macalaurë. You have to tell him."

Mark sighed. He closed his eyes, the tears spilling more silently.

Sören decided to stop pressing it for now. Mark needed comfort, not a lecture. Now it was Sören who pulled Mark against him, held him close, held him tight, pet the glorious flood of raven hair. Sören tucked a lock of hair behind Mark's pointy ear and tenderly kissed the tip. The way Mark shuddered - the way Mark's breath hitched - let Sören know he probably shouldn't do that casually. Once again, Sören's mind raced with the desire to get naked and let Mark claim him, offering Mark release. But he knew it wasn't the right time.

And sometimes, people needed to just be held. So that was what Sören did, hugging him, rocking, petting. The cats joined them on the couch, purring in stereo. Sören found himself whispering what Nicholas had said to him many times before, when he needed to hear it:

"My good boy. Such a good boy." Sören kissed the top of Mark's head, rubbed his nose in Mark's hair. "Atya's good boy. My good boy. Good boy."

Mark cried a little more, then sighed again, his breath slowing; Sören could feel him practically melting. The background Fëanor part of him felt like it was glowing, warm, like an inner fire. It was the best feeling in the world, to hold someone he loved, to love them.

"Good boy," Sören whispered, rocking Mark harder, who had stopped crying now. "Good boy. My good boy. Such a good boy."

Sören kept holding Mark, and Mark kept clinging, letting himself be soothed, until Nicholas's car pulled into the driveway again. Mark got up, bent down to kiss Sören's brow - that gentle little kiss made Sören's cock throb - and Mark took his seat before Nicholas and Anthony walked through the door.

"We got a few extra things," Nicholas said. "Including ingredients for a cake for our birthday boy."

"Right, Anthony's birthday is soon." Sören facepalmed; it was less than a week away, coming up on February fourth. He had exactly one day off between now and then - February first. "How about we go shopping on the first, after you guys get off work? I haven't bought anything yet and if I order something online I don't know if it'll get here on time."

"All right," Nicholas said, nodding. "Where would you like to go?"

Sören needed a place that had everything. "Selfridges?"

Nicholas made a face like he was in pain, but managed to smile. "As you wish."

Sören cackled; Nicholas was such a snob sometimes. I love you too, Ñolo.

"We should split up," Nicholas said as he found a place to park at Selfridges. "Anthony, if you pick out something you want, I'll buy it for you. Left to my own devices, I wouldn't buy anything here, I'd prefer a more independent shop, or antiques, something with more character -"

Sören snorted and rolled his eyes, but truthfully, he found Nicholas's affectations endearing. Most of the time.

"But Sören, I know you want to surprise him, so you and Mark can team up."

That caught Sören off guard, but he wasn't opposed to it. It was a chance to spend more time with Mark. Continue getting to know him.

Get to look at him.

Sören's heart beat a little faster, his stomach fluttering, his mouth dry. He desperately fought back the old memories of Maglor seducing Fëanor, bodies writhing, sweating, feverish kisses, hands exploring, teasing, tasting each other, taking turns inside each other, the breathy cries...

Even though Mark blended in about as well as a near-seven-foot-tall man who was strikingly gorgeous, with long, luxurious black hair and startling silver eyes could blend in, he still looked around like an alien who had just landed, not knowing what to make of Selfridges. Sören found himself reaching out to pat Mark, that old paternal instinct kicking in, wanting to be comforting, reassuring... though touching Mark was like touching fire. Fire that went straight to his cock.

"It's OK," Sören said. "I get nervous in crowds."

"I do too." Mark nodded. "I enjoy performing, but there's always that anxiety beforehand, thinking about all those people. Here..." He waved his hand, gesturing at the people coming and going. "There's no thrill of sharing music and touching others to serve as a reward for offsetting the anxiety."

"No," Sören said, nodding in agreement. "But we're here to get stuff for Anthony's birthday. Hopefully making him happy is enough of a reward."

"Yeah." Mark looked down.

Sören knew he'd hit a nerve without meaning to. He put an arm around Mark - again, regretting it a little as it made him tingly, made his cock throb - and the familiar touch was to offset the stern look and words that came next. "You know, you need to talk to him about what happened in 1999."

"I know. I will. Just... in due time."

Sören scowled. "I know maybe you think 'proper timing' is everything but on the human scale of things, where 'in a little while' doesn't mean five years, the longer you let this go, the longer it's going to fester. You've been living with us almost a month. You -"

"His birthday is very soon and I really don't want to ruin his birthday with emotional fallout of a heavy conversation." Mark gave him an equally stern look. A sexy look. A shiver went down Sören's spine. He didn't want to find Mark this attractive, especially not with Anthony hurting, it felt disloyal.

"Fine. But I'd really like you to do it before Valentine's Day." Sören had to go there. "Then maybe you and him can spend Valentine's -"

Mark groaned loudly. He facepalmed, but he was smiling and shaking with silent laughter. "You're terrible, you know that?"

"Takk."

"And you sound so very sure of yourself that he and I will go back to the way things were."

"I'm pretty sure you want that," Sören said, looking him in the eye, "and I know Anthony, and I know a part of him still loves you. Just like he still loved me, when we were apart. That doesn't mean things will be easy. But -"

"OK, could we not have this discussion right here and now?" Mark put up his hands. Then he pointed to a display of men's clothing. "Let's look around for something for Anthony."

Sören browsed through the cashmere jumpers, knowing it was the sort of thing Anthony would wear. But it was too easy, and not special enough. Sören decided if he didn't find something else he'd come back to that as a last resort, but he was hoping he wouldn't have to.

Sören had the same reaction through the rest of the menswear, and looking at various accessories. When he'd had enough, he and Mark walked away from the clothing.

Sören's stomach started to growl - it was after six PM, and Sören hadn't eaten since breakfast, even though he'd been home all day and there was food in the house. He realized his body was reacting to the smells of the different restaurants. Nicholas had suggested they should eat at home rather than here, and Sören was regretting having agreed to that.

To try to get away from the tempting smells, Sören and Mark walked in the opposite direction. And that was how Sören found himself standing in front of Tiffany & Co, the sort of luxury brand Sören would never see himself browsing in a million years, and here he was now, deciding it couldn't hurt to look around this once.

Anthony didn't really wear jewelry; he had a Rolex watch that he wore every day, and that was the extent of it. Nonetheless, Sören looked at the men's jewelry, thinking a jewelry gift from Fëanor might be poignant. Nothing really seemed like something Anthony would wear, however, and the background Fëanor part of him was mostly unimpressed with the very bland, minimal designs.

Then something did catch his eye - the rings. At Christmas 2012, Anthony had given Sören an engagement ring - a platinum band, with little diamonds around the band in an eternity setting. Anthony had kept the ring after the engagement was broken, and gave it back to Sören after they'd gotten back together; Sören wore the ring on a chain as a promise that when Nicholas passed on, Sören would marry him - out of loyalty to Nicholas, he didn't feel right about doing it sooner.

Now Sören was looking at the engagement rings, and realized this was why he was here, even though consciously he was just getting away from the food smells and ended up here without meaning to. Subconsciously, background Fëanor was guiding him.

Anthony had gotten Sören an infinity band in part for the symbolism and in part because of the NHS dress code - a ring set with a single larger stone would not have been permitted. Anthony had no such restrictions at his job. Sören flagged the clerk to get prices on the engagement rings. One in particular, with sleek curves and a small but brilliant diamond, spoke to him. That one was set in platinum.

Sören and Anthony had hands the same size, so Sören was able to pick out the ring size from his own hand. As Sören took out his bank card, he couldn't believe he was about to do this - the ring was one of the most expensive things he'd ever purchased - but this was what he wanted to do for Anthony's birthday. He wanted to give him the tangible evidence that they were mated for life.

That there would be no running, no pushing away.

Mark's expression was neutral but as Sören paid for the ring he caught that wistful look in Mark's eyes again. Enough that on their way out, Sören stopped and gave Mark a hug.

"What's this for?" Mark asked, returning the hug, giving Sören a squeeze.

"Because I know," Sören said softly. "You feel like you're on the outside looking in, still."

Mark sighed and looked down.

Sören held him tighter and started rocking him a little. "It's OK. And you know..." Sören put his hands on Mark's shoulders and looked up into those silver eyes. "It's OK to ask me for a hug, when you need it. Or just... come over and hug me. Anytime."

"Not anytime." Mark shook his head gently and pursed his lips. "There are times when it wouldn't be appropriate. Especially when..."

Sören finished the sentence for him. "I'm cuddling with Anthony." Sören pinched the bridge of his nose. He couldn't force Mark to sit down with Anthony - or he could, but he risked making the situation even more awkward, as well as being resented for interference.

"So no, not anytime." Mark led the way out from Tiffany. "Anywhere else you want to look before we go to where we're supposed to meet up with them?"

Sören needed a silly gift to offset the serious weightiness of the engagement ring. He went to someplace he'd always wanted to go, but never had the balls to before now - Build-A-Bear Workshop. Years ago, Anthony had given Sören a stuffed tiger named Tony, that Sören still had. Anthony had a stuffed lion from his childhood, and Sören had a stuffed bunny that Nicholas had repaired.

"You're getting him a soft toy." Mark chuckled.

"And one for me too. Bláberja needs a friend."

As Sören looked around the seeming-infinite display of assorted plush animals, it occurred to him that he should get a friend for Mark to hug when Mark needed someone to hug. It wasn't the same as hugging another person, but it was better than nothing.

While Mark was in another aisle looking at the stuffed animals with an incredulous look on his face, like he couldn't believe he was doing this, Sören thought about what would be appropriate for Mark. He decided Mark needed a mythic, cryptic creature.

Anthony did as well, having been Finarfin in a past life. And Sören couldn't leave Nicholas out. He picked out three dragon plushies, one for each of the Finwion brothers. Three heads of the dragon, he thought to himself as he collected the dragons for assembly. As he walked around with the three dragons, a passing woman started humming the Game of Thrones theme song at him. Sören gave her a look.

A fourth dragon would have been the easy choice for Mark, to go along with his father and uncles, but it didn't seem right somehow. Then the idea came to Sören like a flash of light. A unicorn! Unicorns were a symbol of virtue, only revealing themselves to the pure in heart. It was a way to reinforce to Mark that he was a good boy, that Sören knew his heart was still good, after everything.

Sören plucked a purple unicorn with a glittery pink horn and a rainbow mane and tail. He got to work with stuffing the toys, and picked out different outfits for them.

When Sören met Mark outside the shop, Sören saw that Mark had bought something from Build-A-Bear as well. Sören wondered if it was for Anthony. He didn't ask.

At last they met up with Anthony and Nicholas, and walked out to the car together to go home. Once in the car, Sören's stomach growled again. Anthony heard it.

"Wow, your stomach sounds like a dragon," Anthony said.

Sören gave a nervous laugh and scooted his legs closer to the Build-A-Bear bag he was hiding. "I'm kinda hungry, yeah." Sören sighed, knowing nothing had been cooking in the crock pot during the day and that meant dinner would take at least one or two hours from the time they got home. He decided to test his luck. "Do you think we could stop at a drive-thru and get a snack to tide me over?"

Anthony's eyebrows shot up. "McDonald's?" He liked chicken nuggets, though he didn't indulge often.

That sounded perfect to Sören. "McDonald's."

Anthony and Sören began to chant together. "McDonald's! McDonald's! McDonald's!"

Nicholas made an exasperated noise. Mark looked over his shoulder and said, "As you know, we have food at home."

Sören and Anthony refused to give up. "McDonald's! McDonald's! McDonald's!"

"Hells," Mark said.

Nicholas relented. He drove to the nearest McDonald's and pulled into the drive-thru queue. When it was their turn to order, Nicholas ordered a single black coffee.

After Nicholas received his black coffee, Sören started kicking Nicholas's seat. "You twat!"

Nicholas smirked at Sören in the rearview mirror. "As you know, Fëanáro, you're a dick. It was time I paid you back for some of that." He raised his cup in salute.

Sören kicked Nicholas's seat harder, and Anthony jeered, "Fuckin' BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO."

Nicholas chuckled, and when Anthony attempted to stick a wet finger in his ear, Nicholas laughed harder and pulled back into the queue.

Sören said "fuck it" and just ordered a meal with cheeseburgers; Anthony ordered nuggets. Mark passed the bag back to them and Nicholas tutted... harder when Sören and Anthony started eating out of the bag right in the car.

"Barbarians," Nicholas teased.

"Jæja, I'm descended from Vikings and he's part-Scottish," Sören said through a mouthful of fries.

Back at home, Nicholas made croque monsieur for himself and Mark - Sören felt slightly envious, but he knew he'd already eaten and Nicholas was making a lighter meal for two people. When dinner was over, as Mark rinsed dishes and loaded the dishwasher, Sören came up to him to give him another hug, and asked, "Can I see you upstairs for a minute?"

Mark went up to his room, and a few minutes later Sören came up with the Build-A-Bear bag. He was going to wait till Anthony's birthday on the fourth to unveil the dragons, but he wanted to give Mark his present now.

Sören took a moment to look around at Mark's room, the way it had changed in the almost-month since Mark had come back with them to London. He hadn't painted the room yet, so the walls were still a dove grey, but he had a canopy bed with a black gauze curtain strung with fairy lights, and colored lanterns hung from the ceiling in different shapes and sizes. He had a dark grey plush rug by his bed, presumably so his feet didn't touch a cold floor first thing waking up, a few silver-trimmed black area rugs, and along one wall there was a Danish modern rosewood desk with a laptop and some notebooks, a matching bookcase of what looked like very, very old books... and the piece de resistance, a matching shelf unit that held a record player with a state-of-the-art speaker system, including subwoofers.

The room still seemed a bit on the spartan side - lived-in, much moreso than Sören's flats when he was single in Bromley, then Holborn - but like Mark hadn't completely settled in yet. The space of someone who looked like he felt he might be here longer-term, but everything could be packed up on a day's notice.

Sören frowned a little. The room needed more personal touches, like art on the walls, and other decor. This wasn't quite decor but it was the first step to making Mark's room more his own. Mark watched as Sören set the Build-A-Bear bag down on his desk, Sören's heart racing, hoping Mark didn't hate it.

Mark's eyes widened with surprise as Sören took out the purple unicorn, wearing a sparkly, glittery rainbow tutu, and a flower crown.

"What in the world?" Mark started laughing.

"It's for you. I. Ah. Wanted to get you a friend to hug, when I'm not available to hug you. And I thought something mythological would be appropriate." Sören made the unicorn hop around. "Unicorns only show themselves to the pure in heart, so this is my way of telling you -"

Before Sören could finish his sentence, Mark grabbed Sören, hugged him tight, and spun him around. He kissed the top of Sören's head, and then he accepted the unicorn, giving it a few loving pats... before he gave Sören a few loving pats that made Sören tingle, wanting to throw Mark down and ride him.

Then Mark was laughing again, hard enough to tear up.

"What? What's so funny?" Sören was confused.

"Unicorns are associated with virgins, Sören."

"Oh. Oh god." Sören facepalmed, feeling like an idiot. "Jæja, you're... obviously not a virgin." Sören's face burned - he knew that all too well, Fëanor's memories flashing through his mind, deliciously obscene. "Well, I can take it back if -"

"No, it's... it's fine." Mark hugged the unicorn. "It's a gift from you. It's a very... fatherly thing to do. Thank you."

"You're welcome. I know it's kind of ridiculous -"

"You're kind of ridiculous - always have been - so it's appropriate." Mark grinned and booped Sören's nose. Then his voice got softer, huskier. "Really, it means a lot that you wanted to give me something to cuddle with when I need it."

"Someone," Sören corrected. He gave Mark a mock stern look. "You should name your friend."

"I should, yes. But a proper name takes time -"

Sören grabbed Mark and started shaking him, giggling. "Give him a name. It's not that deep. Just name him. He needs a name before you can start hugging him. None of this 'takes time' shit because I know Elven Standard Time will take weeks, months, years."

"So adamant."

"Naaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaame hiiiiiiiiimmmm."

Mark rolled his eyes and chuckled. "Hells..."

"That's it!" Sören made the unicorn nod its head. "Hells!"

Mark facepalmed. "No, I -"

"Hi Hells." Sören gave the unicorn a hug, then thrust the unicorn at Mark.

Mark swatted Sören with the unicorn, then kissed his brow. "I stand corrected. You're not ridiculous." He grinned again. "You're super ridiculous."

Sören gave him another hug... fighting the urge to give him a kiss as well. I love you too, Sören thought to himself, and hoped Mark didn't hear it. It wasn't the right time for a confession of feelings yet.

Hopefully soon. As he felt Mark's lean, muscular, strong body against his, Sören's cock stiffened, every nerve in his body screaming for that last piece to fall into place.

Chapter Text

It was Sunday, February fourth, Anthony's birthday.

Yesterday afternoon as soon as Sören had gotten out of work, the four bundled themselves and the cats into Mark's Jaguar and went to Brighton, to the vacation home that once belonged to Anthony's parents and now belonged to Anthony himself. Though Brighton was more popular during the summer, Nicholas thought the beach had its own charm in the winter, and the others agreed. They would be heading back Monday morning - Anthony and Nicholas were both taking the day off from work, and Sören didn't have to go into work until Monday night. Even so, the visit felt all too brief; Nicholas would have enjoyed a full week's holiday.

But they were determined to make the most of it, so after sleeping in on Sunday morning, they spent Sunday daytime visiting the city and its quirky shops and the Royal Pavilion and the Palace Pier. Anthony had to use his wheelchair if he was going long distances - his partners' acceptance of him had helped to ease his self-consciousness, but Nicholas could tell some of that anxiety had returned, with Anthony glancing frequently at Mark, trying to hide those glances. Mark was very nonchalant about it, however, and when Sören wanted to go on some of the rides, Mark offered to hang back - which made Sören drag Nicholas along to join him. Nicholas found himself having fun despite his misgivings on the rides... and it was good to see Mark sitting with Anthony, the two of them chatting and joking like there had never been any bad blood.

On their way back to the cottage, Nicholas's curiosity got the better of him. Have the two of you talked about... things? Nicholas spoke into Anthony's mind.

There was a pause, then Anthony let out a sigh and simply shook his head where Nicholas could see it in the rear-view mirror.

Drat. Nicholas folded his arms. He gave Mark a disapproving look, who continued focusing on the road. Nicholas continued, I was really hoping that perhaps the two of you could reconcile for your birthday -

If you want me to have a happy birthday, let's not have this discussion, OK? Anthony kicked Nicholas's seat.

It started to drizzle when they arrived at the beach house, raining harder once they'd gotten inside. The cats meowed in protest of them being gone during the day, and after some pettings and skritchings and a fresh can of food, the three cats were mostly content. Nicholas got dinner started, working on Elaine's recipe for a chicken and rice casserole that was one of Anthony's comfort foods. Yesterday, Nicholas had baked a cake for Anthony - lemon, with buttercream frosting and a ring of strawberries - which was sitting in the fridge.

As dinner cooked, Nicholas and Mark played chess while Sören and Anthony played Sonic the Hedgehog. Nicholas noticed that every now and again, Mark looked over at them with wistfulness in his eyes. After the fifth time, Nicholas heard himself make a noise. Sören and Anthony glanced over, and Nicholas cleared his throat.

"Pardon me. I think I need a cold beverage." Nicholas got up and walked to the fridge. "Does anyone want anything while I'm up?" Nicholas spoke into Mark's mind. A glass of courage?

Mark snorted, and then covered his mouth. Anthony raised an eyebrow, a sign that he knew something had been communicated.

Let Anthony have peace on his birthday, Mark shot back.

Nicholas sighed as he got out a bottle of Perrier.

When dinner was close to being ready, Nicholas called Sören up so Sören could do the honors of putting candles on Anthony's cake. As Sören was adding the candles, Anthony wandered over and stole a bit of frosting from the edge of the plate, sucking his finger with a naughty look in his eyes. Sören swatted Anthony's bottom and Anthony limped off, chuckling.

Anthony was turning thirty-eight this year, and Sören remarked on it once all the candles were on. "I met Anthony when he was thirty-one. Hard to believe it's been that long."

Nicholas put a hand on Sören's shoulder. Just the few short years they'd been together - since February 2015 - felt like decades. Nicholas knew it felt like longer than that for Sören and Anthony.

After dinner Sören lit the candles on the cake and carried it over. Sören, Nicholas and Mark sang "Happy Birthday", and at the "and many more" Mark looked away, wincing as if he were in pain.

As it turned out, the birthday cake candles Sören had bought were the trick candles that relit when they were blown out. Nicholas facepalmed with a groan and a chuckle. "I should have known better than to let you buy the candles, Fëanáro."

Sören grinned. "As you know -"

Anthony plucked off a strawberry and shoved it in Sören's mouth.

After a few attempts the candles went out for good, the cake was cut, and pieces served. With the cake, it was also time for Anthony to receive his birthday gifts.

Nicholas went first. He had gotten Anthony an antique pocketwatch like his own. "I thought this might look well with your suits, if you felt like leaving the Rolex at home one day."

Anthony hugged him and gave him a little kiss. "That's such a fatherly type of gift." He turned pink. "Thanks, Dad."

Now Mark went beetroot, and looked away again. Nicholas gave a soft sigh, wishing Mark and Anthony would just have it out already. Not the least of which being, Nicholas was aching for Mark to join them in their pleasures like he had done so long ago.

Mark's gift was Alice Coltrane on vinyl, autographed. "To go with your other records of hers... and what she signed when I took you to meet her in 1999."

Anthony's eyes were too bright, and he swallowed hard. "Th-thank you, Mark. I..." Anthony tried to smile. "That's very thoughtful."

And poignant, Nicholas thought to himself, hurting for Anthony and Mark all over again, the love that had blossomed and died too soon but had been, to all accounts, so very beautiful in its brief life.

"I have two gifts for you," Sören said. "The first, is something for each of us. Mark already got his a few days ago." Sören pulled out a Build-A-Bear bag from under the coffee table. He handed a plush dragon to Anthony, then one to Nicholas, then put his own on his lap before hugging it. Seumas came over to sniff and rub his face on the soft toys, marking his scent.

"What in the world?" Nicholas laughed softly. It was ridiculous, but also adorable and heartwarming - much like Sören himself.

"They're brothers, like we are." Sören continued giving his dragon a wiggly hug. "And now Finn and Tony and Bláberja can have friends."

Anthony kissed the tip of Sören's nose. "You're so fucking cute."

Mark raised an eyebrow. "Finn?"

Anthony turned pink again. "Er, my stuffed lion."

Mark laughed softly. "You named him Finn."

"Yeah, I know." Anthony laughed too. "It's amazing what a part of me knew, even back then."

Mark and Anthony's eyes met, and held, and Nicholas felt like screaming. Nicholas's eyes met Sören's across the room and Sören shouted into his mind: I KNOW. THESE FUCKING IDIOTS.

Sören made Anthony's dragon hop around. "A muppet, for a muppet."

Anthony swatted Sören with the dragon. "Oh you."

Sören turned to Mark and explained, "So one night, a few years ago, Anthony went out drinking with the circle of friends we used to have -"

"Oh no, not this." Anthony laughed, rolling his eyes, turning red.

"And he got really shitfaced, and when I called him, he answered his phone, I am not joking, 'Anthony Muppet-Johnson'."

Mark doubled over, shaking, tearing up. He nodded vehemently. "That sounds like something a drunk Anthony would do. Even sober, he's something else."

"Sounds like you have a story," Nicholas said, his curiosity piqued. "Or stories."

"A few. Off the top of my head - Anthony and I went punting around the river at Cambridge and there were swans hanging out in back of St. John's and I told him that the fellows of St. John's are the only people in England legally allowed to eat swan besides the royal family and he got all wide-eyed and screamed, 'NO! SWANS ARE FRIENDS, NOT FOOD!'" Mark grinned, laughing harder. "It was precious." Then he realized what he'd said and looked away again.

Nicholas and Sören both laughed. Nicholas gave Anthony a fond smile. "That he is."

Anthony buried his face in his hands, made noises, and then he took his face out of his hands, laughing too. Sören opened his mouth and before Sören could say anything - like telling them to just kiss already, or fuck - Anthony tugged on Sören's shirt sleeve. "What's the other thing? You said you got me two gifts."

Sören cleared his throat. Nicholas and Mark watched as Sören got up, pulled a small box out of his jeans pocket, and then got down on his knees in front of Anthony. Anthony's mouth opened and his eyes widened as Sören opened the box to reveal a curved platinum band set with a single sparkling diamond. "I'm not asking to do this now, while Nicholas is still with us, but someday, when..." Sören's voice trailed off; he looked over, gave Nicholas an apologetic smile, and Nicholas smiled back. Sören turned back to Anthony. "You asked me to marry you, but now it's my turn: Cornelius Anthony Hewlett-Johnson, will you marry me?"

Anthony covered his mouth and for the briefest instant Nicholas worried Anthony would say no, not wanting Sören's hopes to be crushed - and then Anthony reached his arms out for Sören, who rose up, into Anthony's arms. Anthony kissed him passionately before he broke down crying, nodding. "Yes," he choked out. "A thousand times, yes."

Sören let out a sob and they kissed again, holding each other tight, rocking, crying, kissing. Mark gave a slow clap and now it was Nicholas's turn to tear up, genuinely happy for both of them...

...happy and relieved. Nicholas's mind's eye played a vision of the past, when they were in exile on the Helcaraxë, and Fëanor sent Finarfin away. Finarfin had been such a stabilizing influence on Fëanor, and with him gone, Fëanor descended into his trauma, his grief, his rage, and it was then the ship-burning happened. Almost killing one of his sons in the process. It was the last time Fëanor and Fingolfin had seen each other. Nicholas knew, of course, that his own pushing away of Fëanor after their father's death - believing they had been punished for their sin - was part of the problem, and in the few brief days Nicholas and Sören had been apart in late 2016, it was like losing a limb, both of them the worse for their separation. But Nicholas knew that losing Finarfin had utterly destroyed Fëanor, the final blow, and what had happened with Sören and Anthony in this life had devastated them both. Now Nicholas didn't have to worry history would repeat itself. He knew how seriously Sören took his commitments, how fiercely loyal he was - loyalty that he inspired, and expected, in those closest to him. To know Sören and Anthony were willing to put the power of the law behind their bond did Nicholas's heart good. He had worried about Sören slipping into depression once he was gone in ten or twenty years. Anthony would be there, in sickness and health, for richer or poorer.

"Good," Nicholas said. He went to the fridge to break out the champagne he'd been meaning to serve tonight, waiting for the right time. "Very, very good."

After Nicholas handed out the champagne glasses, and took his seat on the other side of Sören, Anthony reached over and put a hand on Nicholas's cheek.

"And you're... you're OK with this? Maybe you and Sören should get married first..." Anthony bit his lower lip, giving Sören a nervous glance, then back at Nicholas.

Sören turned to Nicholas as if to say well?

Nicholas chuckled, feeling like he'd been put on the spot. The thought of marrying Sören had some appeal, but he had been a Roman Catholic priest for the better part of a decade - what he understood now was a holdover from his life as Fingolfin, believing in his latter years he had been punished by the gods, seeking atonement - and even a secular marriage ceremony performed by a Humanist officiant still felt a little too much like upholding the religious institutions he had turned his back on so bitterly. "Sören and I don't need a piece of paper," Nicholas said, and then he quickly put his hand on Anthony's arm, realizing how that sounded, not wanting to invalidate his and Sören's need to make this official someday. "I am truly fine with it. I encourage it, you two have been a part of each other's lives a long time now."

"You're sure." Anthony cocked his head to one side.

"I would not say it was fine if it wasn't. As you know, I shan't restrain myself if I have a negative opinion, you know me by now."

Sören and Anthony exchanged amused glances, and Nicholas could almost hear it: There he goes again.

"Well, you needn't worry," Sören said, smirking, leaning in to kiss Nicholas's cheek, then the tip of his nose. "I don't want you to feel in any way shape or form like you're being left out, like I'm playing favorites between the two of you -"

"I don't." Nicholas tousled Sören's curls. Sören's love was overwhelming, like being immolated.

"And like I said, this is after..." Sören sighed and looked down. "Not that I want it to be any time soon. Or, you know, like, ever. I..." Sören looked up, eyes misting again. His jaw trembled. "I..."

"It's all right, sweetheart, I know." Nicholas took Sören's hand and squeezed, also tearing up - even with having Anthony, Nicholas knew his eventual loss would wound Sören, and he hated that. He'd gotten over feeling like he was robbing Sören by not being younger, but he would rather cut out his own heart than cause Sören any pain. "As I said, I'm not offended. I know you're not wishing to hasten my death, but I am sixty-nine now -"

"Nice," Anthony said.

Sören snorted, and Nicholas shook his head. Anthony tried to keep a straight face but his lips quirked and his eyes crinkled at the corners.

Don't encourage him, Nicholas spoke into Anthony's mind.

Like he needs encouraging.

"ANYWAY," Nicholas said, pretending to be annoyed, trying not to laugh himself - then Sören wiggled his eyebrows and he was done, spilling champagne on himself as he shook. "Brat."

Sören stuck his tongue out.

"Fëanáro, we are trying to have a serious discussion."

"I agree." Then Sören farted.

Nicholas facepalmed, and gave Mark a pleading look.

"He was always like this," Mark said, and added, "...as you know."

Anthony cackled. Nicholas gave an exaggerated groan. When they composed themselves, Nicholas said, "It is better to think realistically about the future. As you know, I shan't be around forever. I would rather know there are plans... that you will be taken care of."

Sören leaned on him. "If I could make you immortal, I would."

"If I could make you all immortal, I would," Mark said softly.

Nicholas was deeply touched by both of those sentiments - enough that he blinked back tears. Sören and Anthony got misty too, and then Anthony smiled and said, "So what, we'd be your immortals?"

Sören started giggling. Anthony laughed too. "Oh no," Anthony said.

Sören turned to Nicholas and put up his middle finger. "Prep," he said.

Anthony laughed harder.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING, YOU MOTHERFUCKERS?" Mark yelled.

Sören and Anthony fell on each other in hysterics. Nicholas was utterly confused, and raised an eyebrow.

"There's a very bad Harry Potter fanfiction called My Immortal," Mark explained to Nicholas. "It's... somewhat infamous. Even I've read it. We just quoted from it."

"I see," Nicholas said.

"You'd hate it," Sören said.

"Indeed."

Sören wiped his eyes and looked at Mark. "Speaking of fanfiction... do you ever read any about yourself?"

"I have. I try not to because most takes just make me angry," Mark said.

"What about the porn?"

Mark went beetroot, and so did Anthony.

"There's... porn about us?" Nicholas's jaw dropped.

"Oh, my sweet summer child," Mark said, and took a sip of his champagne.

Nicholas didn't know if he was disturbed or intrigued to know there was Silmarillion erotica. It was obvious Sören and Mark had read some. He shifted in his seat, cheeks burning as his mind once again replayed memories that were probably far filthier than any author of Silmarillion erotica had ever dared write.

Then Anthony cleared his throat. "Back to the serious conversation." He patted Nicholas's knee. "Thank you, again, for... being cool with this."

Nicholas nodded. He sipped his champagne, and as he swirled it in his glass, he spoke honestly. "Truth be told, I feel a bit like I'm standing in your way. You two have been together for so long that it seems somewhat wrong to ask for you to hold off till your forties or fifties to make it legal."

"Oh, elskan. You're not in the way." Sören frowned.

"No, not at all." Anthony sighed. "If polyamorous marriage were legal -"

"It's not," Nicholas said, "and even if it was, I'm still uncomfortable with institutions personally. Even if it would make it easier for you to inherit from me, when..."

Sören's frown deepened.

Nicholas stroked his chin, reflecting on the matter of inheritance - that was important, even though Anthony was a high-paid attorney and Sören was comfortably middle-class as an NHS doctor. There had to be some better way of making them his heirs without simply listing it in a will. Then it came to him. "What if you don't wait until I'm gone to get married? What if I... adopt both of you? I believe adopted siblings can still marry each other under UK law -"

"Yes," Anthony said, nodding. "But... you won't mind?"

"I wouldn't offer if I minded, Anthony."

Sören's eyes widened as he realized what Nicholas was saying. "Then you'd really be our daddy." Sören looked at Anthony, a smirk on his face. "And we'd really be brothers. Well, you know what I mean. In this life."

"Yeah, we would." Anthony went pink, and smiled.

Nicholas smiled too.

"That's so fucking kinky," Sören husked.

"It is, isn't it." Nicholas finished his champagne, proud of himself for coming up with an elegant solution. "But that way you can marry each other sooner, and you can legally inherit from me, and..." His voice lowered, also husking as he stroked Sören's face. "Yes, this will make me your father, and you my sons."

Sören's breath hitched. He kissed Nicholas hard. Nicholas groaned into the kiss, cock stirring to life. Then he watched Sören and Anthony kiss, a most delicious sight, making his cock stiffen even more.

Sören leapt up. "It's time for the next phase of the birthday celebration."

Nicholas thought Sören was going to march them to the bedroom - and hopefully drag Mark with him - but instead, Sören walked over to the stereo system. They waited as Sören selected music, then he dashed back...

...and the sax solo of "Careless Whisper" began to play.

Sören started to swivel his hips, doing a sultry dance to the beginning of the song with such an ultra-serious, smoldering look on his face that it was comical. Sören licked his index finger and thumb and ran them over his eyebrows before wiggling them. He sauntered over to the couch and got closer to Anthony and Nicholas, slow dancing up on them.

Mark turned red, wheezing, shaking. "Sören..."

Nicholas still felt guilty for finding it amusing that the Noldolantë had turned into a Wham song. He tried not to show amusement for Sören's shenanigans now - clearly he was never going to let it go. He put on a stern face and smacked Sören's bottom. "Sören, it's not nice to tease Mark."

Sören turned around to look at Mark, who was laughing. Mark also tried to compose himself and give Sören a glare, but his eyes were still shining.

"Allllll riiiiight," Sören groaned, and stomped back to the stereo. He hit a button and "Careless Whisper" changed to "Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go".

"Oh no," Nicholas said.

Sören turned around and wiggled his ass to the opening of the song. Then he turned back to face them and began unbuttoning his shirt, continuing to do a sexy, gyrating, thrusting dance. He skipped over to the couch, took Anthony's hands, and ran them over the part of his chest that was exposed. He guided Anthony's hands to undo the rest of his buttons.

As ridiculous as the song was - and Sören stripteasing to the song - Nicholas's arousal grew at the sight of Sören's bare chest, nipples hard in the evening air, and Sören's playfulness was always a turn-on to him. Even moreso when Sören moved over to Nicholas, taking Nicholas's hands to caress his chest. Nicholas's thumbs rubbed Sören's nipples and Sören bit his lower lip with a little growl.

Sören began undoing the belt of his jeans, then took his jeans down, and danced around the living room in a lacy black thong. He came closer to Mark, but only just so, and before Mark could put his hands on Sören's body, Sören danced a couple of feet backwards and turned around to give Mark a sassy butt wiggle before he danced over to the couch and started giving Anthony a lapdance.

Nicholas groaned as he watched Anthony's hands roam over Sören's body, exploring, caressing. Sören moaned softly at the play of Anthony's fingers over the planes of his stomach, the hard thighs. Sören had an obvious erection in his thong and Anthony's palm rubbed it in slow circles as his hand rubbed Sören's stomach in circles, then up to Sören's chest, pinching a nipple, flicking it, making Sören tilt his head back and moan louder.

As the song wound down, Sören lapdanced for Nicholas as well, grinding against him as Nicholas's hands worshiped every inch of him. Nicholas and Anthony were both hard and Sören reached to tease their cocks through their trousers as Nicholas's fingers brushed everywhere he knew Sören was sensitive, watching the gooseflesh, the little shivers, the way Sören's breath caught.

Nicholas saw a spot of wetness on the black lace outline of Sören's hard cock. He wanted to taste it. Badly.

Then he saw Mark watching the show, pupils blown wide, lips parted, breathing harder. Mark was hard as well.

The song stopped and Anthony used the remote control to turn off the stereo. Sören pulled him up and Anthony kissed Sören hard once he was on his feet. "Now," he growled, seizing Sören's wrist with one hand as he reached for his cane with the other.

As badly as Nicholas wanted to join them, he looked over at Mark, who knew he wasn't invited, and Mark looked away. Nicholas felt a pang of guilt about leaving Mark out here, even though he knew Mark knew the three of them were inevitably going to have sex without him this weekend.

Nicholas looked over at the dishes from the birthday dinner and cake. "You two go on," Nicholas said, "and I'll join you in a bit. I should take care of these dishes so I don't have to do them last-minute before we drive back to London."

"I can do them," Mark said.

Nicholas narrowed his eyes. "What did I tell you about still needing to do some things? Let me have my pride, Macalaurë." That wasn't the only reason, or even the main reason, but he didn't want to admit that he felt like Mark would feel abandoned if he took off with Anthony and Sören just yet.

"OK, see you in a bit." Anthony patted Nicholas, then he and Sören headed off to the bedroom, giggling and kissing all the way.

When the bedroom door closed, Nicholas and Mark looked at each other.

"As you know, if you had apologized, you likely could have joined them," Nicholas said.

Mark shrugged. "You don't know that for a fact. That operates on the assumption he'd accept my apology and want to pick up where we left off right away, that he wouldn't need time... if he were to forgive me at all. I took that sensitive heart and I destroyed it, Uncle, and you know as well as I do that regardless of what we are to each other, there are consequences to our actions."

"I know that very well," Nicholas said, thinking of the burning ships. "But -"

"No buts." Mark put up a hand. "Weren't you going to do some dishes?"

Nicholas sighed, got up, and went to the sink.

As Nicholas started the dishes, over the running water he could hear Sören and Anthony moaning down the hall. His cock twinged painfully - he was still hard, balls aching for relief - and for a moment he regretted his conscience, not wanting to leave Mark behind.

He heard the sound of the door, and looked over his shoulder at Mark stepping out. Then, through the large window, he saw Mark striding out to the shingle beach. Nicholas sighed - he knew Mark was trying to get away from the sounds of Sören and Anthony making love. The delicious, obscene sounds that made his own cock throb, starting to leak precum in his briefs.

Nicholas finished loading the dishwasher and after he started it, he went not to the bedroom, but to the door, putting on his coat and shoes. He walked outside and saw Mark standing at the shore, hair blowing in the sea breeze. The sky was silver, the sea a choppy steel, with little drops of rain falling. Slowly, Nicholas stepped onto the shingle beach and made his way over to Mark. For a moment they just stood side by side, watching the waves, the endless tide - pushing and pulling endlessly like the four of them, as if they were four parts of a whole that had been ordained before time itself.

At last Nicholas put an arm around Mark. "I know," he said simply.

Mark nodded. He let out a shuddery sigh and Nicholas saw that Mark was crying, a little. Mark took a few breaths and then he replied, "It hurts."

"It doesn't have to hurt this much. It -"

"Please." Mark turned, and Nicholas's own eyes filled with tears at the tears in Mark's eyes, the pain, the haunted look. "It's the wrong time, the wrong place."

"Sören was flirting with you."

"Yeah." Mark chuckled. "I'd got that." He looked back out to sea and laughed again, wiping his eyes with his sleeve.

Nicholas couldn't help but smile. He needed to lighten the mood a bit, for both their sake. "I feel I should apologize for him, teasing you about 'Careless Whisper' -"

"No, you shouldn't. Sören... Fëanor... is a brat. He always has been, he always will be. And that's why we love him."

Nicholas's jaw dropped. Mark had essentially admitted to loving Sören.

Their eyes met and Mark nodded. "Yes, I love him," Mark said. "Even if he wasn't Fëanor, it's... it's hard not to love Sören. But he is. He very much is." Mark put his hand on his heart, then he took Nicholas's hand. "And you are still very much yourself." Mark's lips quirked with the hint of a smile. "As you know."

Nicholas chuckled. "As you know."

"Even if I apologize to Anthony, it won't make the issues go away, that made me push him away. He wasn't too needy. I was too needy. I didn't want to force my life on him, making him move around with me from place to place. I didn't want him to feel guilty for the inevitable aging, while I don't, and start losing my mind at losing him. I'm still afraid of getting too attached to the three of you, worried that you'll end up hating, resenting me, when you can't put down roots anywhere for very long, that Sören and Anthony will be burdened by my grief when you -" Mark couldn't finish the sentence.

The tears came again, spilling silently down Nicholas's cheeks. He felt like his heart was being torn up. He wanted so badly to say something, do something to fix this, to put them all back together and love like there was no end... and he was powerless. He had fallen before Morgoth; he had been reunited with the three loves of his life just to fall slowly before Death. Mark was used to being alone, but Nicholas knew one never really truly adjusted to loneliness. And it was cruel to find the three of them again just to have them yanked away, one by one, as before - Nicholas wanted to scream and rage at the heavens for the grief in Maglor's eyes.

Nicholas had no words, no lectures, no platitudes. He could only offer his arms, holding them out now, to let Mark lean on him for a little while, take what comfort he could.

Mark stepped into Nicholas's arms... and then he took Nicholas's face in his hands and kissed him hard. Kissed him like it was their first kiss, their last kiss, full of hunger and desperate, wild, stormy fire. Their tongues met, brushing, lashing, both of them moaning into the kiss, deeper, hotter, like they were trying to devour each other, consume each other's souls. Nicholas's knees trembled and he moved closer against Mark to steady himself, which was a mistake, feeling Mark's hardness through his jeans. They pulled back to catch their breath - breathing each other's breath - and then they were on each other again, lips locked, tongues teasing, hands wandering over each other. Nicholas grabbed a fistful of Mark's hair - like he'd done so many times before in his life as Fingolfin - and started kissing him back fiercely, wanting this so badly it hurt.

And then the kiss was done, and Mark took a step back, blinking as if in shock. "I'm sorry," Mark said softly. "I shouldn't have done that."

That was two kisses now - three total, two of them after Nicholas had sworn to Anthony he wouldn't do anything with Mark until they'd reconciled. Nicholas wanted to smack himself for giving in, even though it was just a kiss, nothing more.

Before Mark could say anything else - before Nicholas could be tempted to do anything else, cross lines that shouldn't be crossed, that they couldn't go back from - Nicholas turned on his heel and strode inside. His balls felt ready to explode. As soon as he got in, he took off his shoes and coat, and marched single-minded to the bedroom, opening the door to watch Sören riding Anthony. Nicholas closed the door behind him and started undressing, his hands shaking as he took off his clothes.

At least he could make this a good birthday for Anthony. Nicholas walked to the bed and climbed on, kissing Anthony as he had kissed Mark, moving Anthony's hand down to his pulsing, slick cock.

Chapter Text

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 Text

The day after Anthony and Mark reconciled, Sören spent an agonizing day at work sexually frustrated.

It wasn't that Sören had gone without - Sören and Nicholas had a couples' night just to themselves for the first time in months, and had made love a few times before falling asleep in each other's arms. It was that thinking about Anthony and Mark making love together had made Sören insatiable last night, and today his libido started up all over again, wanting to see it in action. Wanting to do more than just see it. Wanting to feast on their three bodies, and be feasted on, consume and be consumed, devour and be devoured. Sören managed to compose himself enough to perform surgery and do a couple of consults, but as the clock counted down to the last hour of his shift, it got more difficult to push the lewd fantasies out of his mind. By the time he scrubbed out for the day he was half-hard, and riding home on his Vespa scooter just made it worse, feeling the vibrations of the engine against his cock and ass.

Unfortunately, release would not be immediate. Sören and Anthony had a Shibari class tonight. After Sören showered and changed, they had dinner, then Nicholas drove them out to central London and dropped them off. The class made Sören even hornier, with Anthony tying him up. Anthony knew it, too, unable to resist teasing Sören with a kiss here, a caress there, breath hot and feather-light against Sören's sensitized flesh, making lots of eye contact. As they rode back to Blackheath, Sören and Anthony made out in the back seat, feverishly kissing, groping, fondling each other's hard erections through their jeans - it was all Sören could do not to unbuckle his seatbelt, climb on top of Anthony, and grind till he climaxed, but safety was a concern.

Mark was sitting on the couch reading when they got back. He looked up and gave a shy smile. Before he could ask Sören and Anthony how the class was, Sören marched over and kissed Mark for the first time. It was hot and needy and explosive, like desire had been pent up for years instead of a mere two months. Mark kissed Sören back just as hungrily, his hands sliding over Sören's chest, brushing a nipple through Sören's sweater, hands moving down to rub Sören's stomach, then his thighs. Sören groaned and grabbed a fistful of Mark's hair, kissing him harder, cock throbbing, hole twitching.

Mark's hands continued to play over Sören's thighs, and then Mark pulled back, breathing harder, to undo Sören's belt, then his jeans. Mark reached in and pulled out Sören's cock. He gasped, eyes widening at the Prince Albert piercing with its captive bead ring. Then he grinned as if it delighted him. "Beautiful," he husked.

"You like iii - oh, fuck." Sören's question was interrupted by Mark taking Sören's cock into his mouth.

Their eyes met, and locked, and Sören shuddered, grabbing onto Mark for dear life as Mark sucked in earnest, making filthy slurping sounds. Sören sighed and pulled Mark's hair again, gently fucking his mouth. "Oh fuck," Sören panted. "That's so good..."

"Mmmmmmmmm." Mark sucked harder, faster, then took Sören's cock out of his mouth and licked at it. Their eyes met again as Mark drew Sören's cock back in his mouth.

Anthony cleared his throat and tapped his cane on the floor. Sören glanced over - he'd been so caught up in the heat of the moment that he'd forgotten they just got in the door.

"I have an idea," Anthony said with an amused smirk. "How about I practice some of my rope skills on Mark?" He cocked his head to one side. "Should tie him up to make sure he doesn't try to leave again."

"Indeed," Nicholas said.

Mark stopped sucking and nodded enthusiastically. Sören's laughter rang out. "You are evil," Sören said. "I like it."

Anthony took a small bow.

When they had moved into the house in Blackheath last year, they'd made one of the second-floor bedrooms a dungeon, with a custom-made bed frame that had many slats at head and foot for ropework, as well as a top canopy that could be used for eventual suspension, when Anthony was ready to start suspending Sören. A St. Andrew's cross was against one wall, a spanking horse against the other, a collection of riding crops and floggers mounted on a rack. Candelabras with candles for wax play or just providing ambiance. There was also a small set of drawers that contained an assortment of rope in different colors, as well as aftercare supplies such as a first aid kit and aloe vera.

Nicholas lit the candles around the room and then they undressed, taking turns helping each other until they were all naked. Sören felt ready to come just from seeing them all naked and hard, feeling impossibly pent up. The tension built as they admired each other's naked bodies, then paired off - Sören and Mark kissing, caressing, cock rubbing cock, as Anthony and Nicholas kissed and played, rubbing against each other, then Sören and Nicholas kissed, hands wandering, while Mark and Anthony kissed and teased, and at last Sören and Anthony kissed and rubbed together, hands exploring, fingers walking, as Nicholas and Mark kissed, hard cocks grinding, hands roaming.

When Anthony had enough, he led Mark to a chair. Sören and Nicholas sat on the bed, watching Anthony use black rope to tie an intricate series of knots and loops around Mark's chest, making a beautiful pattern. Every now and again Anthony kissed Mark and let his hands stray to brush a nipple, or Mark's stomach or thigh, take a few strokes at Mark's hard cock. Every now and again Sören and Nicholas kissed, not wanting to take their eyes off Anthony's work too long, yet hungry for each other. Each time Sören and Nicholas kissed, Mark's breath hitched, cock jolting, and Sören couldn't help but laugh a little. A few kisses later, Mark moaned whenever they kissed, a sound so urgent and lewd that Sören had to resist the urge to snatch Mark away and pound him.

At last the chest harness was done, and Anthony led Mark to the bed. As Mark lay back, Anthony sat beside him to tie more rope from the chest harness leading up to Mark's wrists... tying Mark's wrists to the bed. Anthony stopped every few minutes to ask Mark if he was OK, and reward him for his submission with a little kiss. Sören's cock throbbed, more and more aroused by the sight of Anthony in his element as a dom, gently commanding, and Mark so beautifully submissive, looking up at Anthony with trust and worship in his eyes.

When Mark's wrists were fully secure, Anthony looked back at Sören and Nicholas. He laughed a little. "The two of you look like hungry wolves that have seen fresh meat."

"That meat's looking very tasty," Sören said, glancing at Mark's hard, slick cock, dripping precum.

"Well..." Anthony tapped his fingers on his other arm. "What shall we do with him? I'm of a mind to make him lay there and watch while the three of us go at it, since he was such a bad boy yesterday, trying to leave..."

Mark whined.

"He looks too delicious not to touch," Sören said, "and the poor thing has been deprived for so long. We can torment him by making him watch another time."

Nicholas nodded. Then he raised an eyebrow and asked, "Anthony, did you take Mark yesterday?"

Anthony shook his head. "The lube was downstairs in the master bedroom and I didn't want to go down the hall to take the lube we keep in here. So we did other things. Mostly we held each other last night."

"Other things?" Sören's mind was racing. "Give us deets, now."

Anthony laughed. "You're such a pervert, Sören."

"Takk."

"We sucked each other, we frotted. No fucking. Why do you ask, Nicholas?"

"I thought perhaps with your history with Mark being what it is, you should have first right to take him," Nicholas said.

Sören nodded. As badly as he wanted to be inside Mark - and have Mark inside him - he wanted to cede that to Anthony, it just seemed right. Besides, the idea of Anthony fucking Mark got Sören even more worked up, cock throbbing, dripping precum. Sören couldn't help stroking himself a little, going out of his mind with lust.

"What do you think, Mark? Do you like that idea?" Anthony leaned in to give Mark a kiss.

Mark kissed him back and nodded, looking so eager it made Sören laugh. "Yes. Please." Mark's cock twitched. "Please, take me..."

"And what about the two of you?" Anthony glanced back at Sören and Nicholas. "What would you like?"

"Well, what would you like?" Sören asked, mind racing again with too many luscious possibilities. "You're the one in charge."

Anthony stroked his chin, considering. Finally he said, "I want one of you to fuck me while I'm fucking Mark. Like you, Sören. And Nicholas can fuck you while you fuck me."

"God, yes." Sören's cock leapt and his hole twitched. He had to stop playing with himself or he was going to come too soon.

"But first..." Anthony's finger traced around Mark's nipple in slow circles. "I don't think this naughty thing here should get what he wants right away. I think a bit of teasing and torment is in order."

Mark whined and more precum dripped down his shaft.

They fell on him, taking turns kissing him, then got to work on his body. Nicholas kissed and nipped at Mark's neck while Sören and Anthony licked and sucked Mark's nipples at the same time. Then Anthony kissed and licked Mark's stomach as Sören and Nicholas lapped at and suckled Mark's nipples together, sucking harder than before, making Mark writhe against the bounds, panting, moaning. Sören, Nicholas, and Anthony licked Mark's stomach and hips, kissed and licked and sucked at his inner thighs, behind the knee, licked his calves. Mark's broken cries turned to begging. "Please. Please. Oh gods, please. Please, please."

"Please what?" Anthony asked.

"Fuck me, take me, please, I need it, please..."

Anthony grinned at Sören, and Sören knew what Anthony was going to do - the same thing Anthony had done to him many times. Anthony bent Mark's knees, spread his legs, splitting him like a peach, and began to eat at Mark's ass, tongue-fucking him, making Mark cry out, almost sobbing, quivering. As Anthony licked at Mark's passage, Sören and Nicholas licked Mark's cock all over, tongues dancing on the head, brushing up and down the shaft, taking turns licking at his balls, one sucking at the head while the other licked and licked at the shaft. Mark screamed, bucking against them. The sight and sound of Mark completely lost in teasing pleasure made Sören mad with lust, stroking himself again, his hand replaced by Anthony's, stroking more slowly, keeping control.

When Anthony stopped licking Mark's channel, he looked up at Mark and smiled, as if he was going to relent and finally give in to Mark's wishes. Then he grinned at Sören and made the "have at it" gesture. Now it was Anthony's turn to lick at Mark's cock, sharing it with Nicholas, as Sören worked his tongue like a hurricane, rubbing that sweet spot inside him, making Mark cry out even louder. After awhile Sören slowed down, ever so slow and deliberate. Nicholas sucked at the head of Mark's cock and Anthony's tongue chased the precum down the shaft, then Anthony grabbed Sören by the curls and their tongues licked together, sharing the taste of Mark's precum. Mark gave a plaintive, wordless howl, followed by bellowing, "FUCKING FUCK ME, DAMMIT, DAMN YOU, FUCK ME..."

Anthony and Sören laughed, and their tongues teased a little more before Anthony made an exaggerated groan, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead and slumping. "I suppose," Anthony said.

Mark growled through clenched teeth, eyes wild.

Anthony chuckled and came up to kiss the tip of Mark's nose. "I see we've got a live one here."

They readied each other while Mark watched, tied up and helpless - Sören and Anthony kissed while Anthony worked lube over Sören's cock, Sören stroked lube onto Nicholas's cock, and Nicholas's hand massaged Anthony's cock, slicking it with lubricant. Then Sören and Nicholas kissed and Anthony lapped and suckled Sören's pierced nipples as he stroked Nicholas's cock and Nicholas stroked Sören's cock and Sören stroked Anthony's cock. The sight of Nicholas and Anthony kissing almost undid Sören as more lube was poured over their cocks and worked in, getting them very wet for the utterly debauched fuck that was about to happen.

Sören and Nicholas moved off to the side so they could watch Anthony take Mark. Sören shivered as he saw the tip of Anthony's cock at Mark's entrance, and his cock and hole both twitched as he watched Mark's passage take Anthony's cock inch by inch. Mark breathed deep, and Anthony stroked his face, their eyes locked, Anthony going slow and tender - Sören knew it had been awhile for Mark. When Anthony bottomed out inside Mark, they kissed deeply, and Sören and Nicholas kissed too.

They continued to watch the first few minutes, Anthony thrusting slowly, Anthony and Mark kissing again and again, whispering "I love you" between kisses. It brought tears to Sören's eyes, so beautiful - and made him want to scream with sexual frustration.

When Sören couldn't take it anymore, he positioned himself behind Anthony. His arms encircled Anthony from behind, a hand resting on Anthony's heart as he pushed inside. Anthony gasped and when Sören was fully inside him, Anthony gave a deep groan.

Sören followed the same slow rhythm - just as much for himself, not wanting to blow his load right away in Anthony's silken heat. He leaned in closer and started to kiss Anthony's neck, his hands sliding over Anthony's chest, thumbs brushing nipples, enjoying the feel of Anthony's silky chest hair. Anthony moaned and began to move a little faster; Mark moaned too, rolling his hips back at Anthony.

Soon Nicholas was inside him, tugging on a fistful of Sören's curls with one hand, smacking his ass with the other. At the feel of Nicholas nibbling on his neck, Sören moaned and thrust harder into Anthony. Anthony kissed Mark hard and started pounding him, making Mark cry out into the kiss, whimpering, bucking, rocking his hips, matching Anthony's rhythm. Sören licked Anthony's neck, kissed and nipped where the neck met the shoulder, holding Anthony tight, caressing him. Anthony tilted his face and Sören leaned in to crush their mouths together. Mark watched them kiss and moaned; Anthony reached to stroke Mark's cock.

Sören loved the feel of Nicholas's cock rubbing that sweet spot inside him, as Anthony's channel gripped and sucked at his cock again and again. Hearing Anthony and Mark get louder - Anthony fucking Mark the way Sören was fucking him - drove Sören wild, wilder still when Nicholas gave in and stopped being a gentleman, letting his beast out to play, hips smacking against Sören's, balls slapping balls, driving into Sören with abandon. Sören whimpered and growled as he bit Anthony's neck, pinched his nipples. Anthony's hand was a blur on Mark's cock, making a wet rattling sound. Sören knew when Mark was right there, and Sören's own balls tightened, bracing himself.

Sören watched as Mark climaxed, crying out over and over again as his chest heaved, pearly drops splattering his stomach. Anthony collected some of Mark's cum with his fingers and brought them to Sören's lips to taste. As Sören sucked Anthony's fingers, Sören and Anthony came together, Anthony's passage contracting, milking Sören's cock, Sören pulsing inside and out, whimpering his release. A few thrusts later Nicholas came too with a deep groan, spilling deep inside Sören, the feel of Nicholas's hot seed making Sören clench and shiver again, giggling as the euphoria washed over and through him.

"Oh, god." Sören gave a deep sigh as he involuntarily flexed and kneaded a little, like a contented cat. "Oh, fuck, holy shit, wow."

Anthony and Mark kissed, and the sweetness of Mark's smile took Sören's breath away, made Sören tear up again, aching so fiercely for Mark to feel that joy, that peace, after so long.

"Welcome home," Anthony said, and kissed Mark's forehead.

Of course, they weren't done. After Mark was untied and they'd been laying there for awhile in a loose tangle of arms and limbs, Sören's eyes opened to the puddles of seed on Mark's stomach and he decided to lap them up before they dried. Savoring a taste that was new and different yet also strangely familiar, as if the Fëanor part of Sören still remembered all these ages later.

Mark moaned softly, and Sören knew Mark was getting turned on again by the feel of his tongue, and watching his enjoyment. Sören licked his lips. "Can't let any go to waste now." He came up to kiss Mark, and after a deep, hungry kiss they shared another kiss, open-mouthed, tongues flirting, teasing. Their cocks hardened up again and Mark took them both into his fist, stroking slowly. Mark's other hand caressed Sören's chest, plucked one pierced nipple, then the other.

"You're even more beautiful than I fantasized about," Mark husked, looking down at Sören's nipple rings then up into his eyes. He stroked Sören's cheek. "And you have lovely eyes. It's like you fashioned your human form to be something exquisite, a living work of art."

Sören's cheeks flushed, and he bit his lower lip, getting choked up, not knowing what to say. He took Mark's scarred hand and kissed it, before holding it for a moment, squeezing it. His lips brushed Mark's brow. Then he found words. "And you, are a song made flesh."

Mark grabbed Sören and pulled him down into another kiss. "Make me sing again, Atya."

Sören kissed and licked Mark's neck, then down to his nipples, playing with one as his tongue lashed at the other, as his lips sucked hard, tugging on it. Anthony and Nicholas watched with interest, stroking themselves. Sören resumed licking Mark's stomach, tasting the lingering notes of his cum. "So good," he purred. Then he spread Mark's legs, cock jolting at the sight of his open hole, dripping with Anthony's cum. Sören dove in and ate Anthony's cum out of Mark's passage, lapping like a hungry cat, playing with himself as he ate, as Mark moaned and bucked and shuddered, panting, pulling Sören's curls.

"Atya," Mark breathed. "Oh gods, Atya..."

"Mmmmmmmm." Sören's tongue lapped and lapped, knowing how it must feel for Mark, teasing that button inside him again and again. "You want more, elskan? You want Atya to fuck you?"

"Gods, yes. Please..."

Sören came up, roughly seized a handful of Mark's hair, and rolled him onto his stomach. With Mark's hair in one hand, Sören straddled Mark's ass and pushed in as Mark panted "yes, yes, yes..."

Anthony and Nicholas were stroking each other now, stealing kisses as they watched Sören ride Mark's ass, pounding him into the mattress, pulling Mark's hair. It was an act of claiming, and Mark loved it, rocking his hips back at Sören, fucking himself on Sören's cock, making desperate noises. Sören's free hand stroked up and down Mark's spine, fingers walking, brushing, enjoying the way Mark shivered beneath his touch, the precious little whimpers. "That's a good boy," Sören purred, giving a groan at the sound of their hips slapping together, the slick suctioning sound of their fuck. "Such a good boy for your Atya."

"Atya. Atya..." Mark's fists clenched the sheets. "Atya, fuck me... more, Atya, please, more, don't stop, don't ever stop..."

But they could both only last so long. Mark's tight ass wrapped around him got him closer, closer, until Sören was shaking, seething, trying to hold back. He stopped rubbing Mark's back and slapped his ass. "Come for me, boy." It felt so strange to be calling an Elf many thousands of years old "boy" and yet it came out from the depths of his soul.

Mark went into spasms, body jerking, twitching, heaving, as he sobbed out his release. "Yes, yes. Fuck, YES..." Mark laughed and cried, his channel contracting around Sören's cock, pulsing so deliciously it brought Sören off, coming with a fierce cry, collapsing onto Mark's back. A moment later he felt hot cum spray over his face and back, Nicholas and Anthony moaning as they came together, shooting over him. Sören trembled again, throbbing.

Sören's arms reached up and over Mark's arms, his hands covered Mark's hands. Their fingers linked and their hearts beat together. For a moment it felt like they were one, in their own pocket of space-time... in the heart of creation.

I love you, Sören spoke into his mind.

Mark squeezed Sören's fingers with his. I love you too.

They still weren't done. When Sören could move again, he rolled off Mark and Mark lay on his side, holding Sören close. Just before Sören could drift off, he felt his face being licked - not by one of the cats, but by Anthony, who was licking his and Nicholas's cum from Sören's cheeks and nose and chin. Sören giggled and gave Anthony a kiss. One kiss became another, and another, and soon they were kissing Mark in turn, while Nicholas dozed next to them.

Sören thought about waking Nicholas up for another round, but he decided to let Nicholas rest. Sören and Anthony were both kissing Mark's neck now, playing with his nipples, making Mark moan softly. Anthony's hand rubbed Mark's stomach in circles and Sören played with Mark's cock.

"What would you like?" Anthony asked Mark, before licking up Mark's throat.

"Yes," Mark said, and laughed. Sören laughed too.

"Apple doesn't fall far from the tree," Anthony teased, glancing at Sören before looking back at Mark.

Sören looked down at Mark's cock - almost an exact copy of his own, but without the Prince Albert ring - and said, "More like a banana tree."

Mark facepalmed, laughing harder. Anthony tweaked Sören's nose, then nipped it, before giving Sören another kiss.

"I want both of you inside me," Mark said.

Anthony let out a low whistle. "You've just had toys all this time, since we broke up. You're pretty tight. You sure..."

"You both opened me up a bit. Please."

Anthony looked at Sören. On the one hand Sören didn't want to hurt Mark, on the other hand Sören knew his own limits pretty well and figured Mark did too. "If you're sure," Sören said.

"Now," Mark said, biting Sören's lower lip hard enough to draw blood.

Sören chuckled, impressed, and then he bit Mark's lip back, then kissed him hard, cock jolting at the thought of both he and Anthony inside Mark's tight, slick hole...

Sören lay on his back. Mark got into position, his back against Sören's chest. Sören gripped Mark's hips and Mark sank down on Sören's cock, then Sören's arms moved up to lock around Mark's chest, holding him tight as he began to thrust. "Atya's got you," he whispered, resting a hand on Mark's heart, the other hand playing with a nipple. He kissed and licked Mark's neck, cock throbbing at the way Mark shivered and moaned. "Atya's got you."

Anthony watched them fuck, stroking himself, and finally he came forward, settling on top of Mark. Sören groaned as he felt the tip of Anthony's cock against the base of his shaft. Mark's passage tightened as Anthony pushed in and in and in, and once Anthony was inside, both Sören and Mark cried out. They gave Mark a moment to adjust, and then Mark nodded.

Sören and Anthony's cocks rubbed together inside Mark, the tight channel gripping them so sweetly. Mark moaned and sighed as they found that perfect rhythm of push and pull, and at last Anthony drank Mark's cries, kissing him deeply. Sören's and Anthony's hands wandered over Mark's body as Anthony and Mark kissed, and Sören licked and nibbled Mark's neck and shoulder and sensitive pointy ear. "We've got you," Sören husked. "You're home now. You're safe with us."

"We're all safe with each other." Anthony leaned over Mark's shoulder and kissed Sören hard. Sören moaned, his cock pulsing against Anthony's.

They kissed and kissed, cock teasing cock. Sören had never felt closer to Anthony than now, sharing Mark with him, making their boy safe - reaffirming that bond as old as time that the Powers could not quench. Sören resumed kissing Mark's neck as Anthony kissed and licked down Mark's throat, thrusting harder as he licked and sucked at one nipple, then the other. Mark turned his face to Sören and their mouths met, and one of Sören's hands moved down to take Mark's cock, working it in time with their thrusts.

It wasn't long before all three of them were moaning, panting, the mattress creaking. Nicholas roused from his nap and watched them, stroking himself - the sight of Nicholas propped up on one elbow, hand working his hard cock, made Sören thrust into Mark harder, rubbing faster on Anthony's cock. Anthony matched Sören's rhythm, leaning over Mark's shoulder to kiss him again. Their tongues licked together between kisses and a few kisses later Mark's tongue was joining theirs, lapping, teasing, driving Sören mad with lust, thrusting even harder, balls slapping away.

Anthony's hand joined Sören's on Mark's cock, and their free hands stroked Mark's nipples, as they took turns kissing each other. When Mark tensed and whimpered, Sören knew he was there, and Sören nibbled Mark's pointy ear. "Come for us," he whispered. "Come for Atya and Ara..."

Mark came hard, spraying Anthony with cum, and himself, shooting cum into Sören's face. The sight of Mark climaxing and the feel of that pulsing channel made Anthony and Sören come together, cock throbbing against cock, hot cum pouring. The mental image of their cocks coming together, cum flowing down their shafts, made Sören spill again, making a strangled noise.

This time it was Nicholas who licked Mark clean, and shared the cum with Anthony and Sören, kissing each of them in turn. That made Sören harden right up again, but Mark was well-used and Sören didn't want to hurt him.

He offered himself instead. "Now it's your turn," Sören said to Mark, who was also hard again from being licked, and looking at Sören's hard cock. "You want to fuck me?"

"Yes." Mark flashed Sören that beautiful smile.

"What about you... you up for one more?" Sören glanced at Anthony, then Nicholas.

Anthony laughed and nipped Sören's nose. "Insatiable."

"That's not an answer."

Anthony laughed harder.

"The two of you can take him if that's what you're asking," Nicholas said. He leaned in and kissed Sören. "I'd like to suck you."

Sören groaned and kissed Nicholas back. "Fuck, yes."

Anthony lay back and after more lube, Sören straddled Anthony's hips and sank down. For a few moments it was just them, Sören riding Anthony slowly as Anthony looked up at Sören with love in his eyes, letting Sören feel the love in his touch as his hands caressed Sören's chest and stomach and thighs, and back up. Then Mark knelt behind Sören and Sören's breath hitched as he felt the tip of Mark's cock at his entrance.

It was a tight fit, almost too tight, almost painful, but Sören adjusted and soon he was bouncing feverishly, riding Anthony hard, as Mark's hips smacked against his. Now it was Mark's turn to pull Sören's hair, bite his neck, claiming as he had been claimed. Sören loved it. He loved it even more when Nicholas lay down to take Sören's cock in his mouth and give both Mark and Anthony a good show. Nicholas stroked himself as he sucked, more insistently than before. Sören pet him, skritching his whiskers, rubbing his chest hair. "Daddy," Sören moaned. "Oh Daddy, so good..."

They got closer, but held back just a little longer, completely lost in the debauchery. Anthony's and Mark's cocks stroked Sören to fever pitch, and knowing their cocks were rubbing together - that they were making love to each other this way, not just him - made Sören crazy. Nicholas's mouth was hungrier, moaning around the cock in his mouth, and Nicholas's hand slid up to join Anthony's and Mark's hands on his body, slowly exploring, playing, pleasing.

And then Sören was at the point of no return, balls tightening. Anthony tugged on one of Sören's nipple rings. "Come, elskan," Anthony growled.

Sören threw back his head and cried out as he filled Nicholas's mouth, pulsing, melting, flying. Mark came first, arms almost crushing Sören as he howled into Sören's neck, and Anthony came a few seconds later, letting out that shuddery sigh Sören loved as his body heaved and his cock throbbed and spurted and twitched.

Nicholas sat up and kissed Mark with his mouth full of Sören's cum, and Mark reached down to stroke Nicholas's cock - it only took a few flicks of his wrist and Nicholas started to quiver. Before he could erupt, Sören came down just in time and wrapped his mouth around Nicholas's cock, greedily drinking the seed that poured. Nicholas groaned, trembling as he pet Sören's curls. There was so much cum it spilled down Sören's chin. He kissed Anthony with it, then Mark, before collapsing on his side next to Anthony, laughing as the room spun. Everything was too bright. Everything was too beautiful.

Nicholas spooned Sören and Mark cuddled up to Sören and Anthony, held by both of them as they also snuggled each other. Nicholas pet Mark's hair, rubbed his back, and the four of them rocked together as they crested down from their release.

"Like old times," Mark said. "But all the more precious for being new."

"This is just the beginning," Sören said.

Anthony laughed and shook his head. "No more tonight. I can barely walk as it is."

Sören giggled. "I didn't mean that literally."

"With you it's hard to tell." Anthony kissed the tip of Sören's nose. "Not that I'd have it any other way." Anthony took Sören's hand and kissed it.

Sören kissed Anthony's cheek, and snuggled closer, smiling. For now, any worries about Mark trying to leave again - or whatever else the future might throw at them - were far away.

Chapter Text

"As you know, Sören, that doesn't go with anything in our house."

Sören shrugged. "Who even said that dishes had to match the dining room decor? Who the fuck invented that rule? For that matter, who even decided that all dishes on a table had to match? Why can't people have different color plates and mugs and different designs of silverware? Taste the rainbow, bitches."

"Probably because it would take away too much from the artistry of the food. Too busy. Too distracting."

People were starting to stare at them now, and finally Sören glared at the starers and said, "Yes, we're gay."

Nicholas facepalmed, but he couldn't help laughing - it was a terrible stereotype but they fit it for the moment. Nicholas put an arm around Sören and kissed his cheek. He was normally quite reserved about public displays of affection, after a lifetime in the closet - a decade as a priest - and his face was on fire, but it nonetheless felt right to give Sören that little kiss now...

...and a discrete swat on the bottom. Sören took a couple of steps forward and shook his ass so only Nicholas could see it.

Nicholas looked around at the collections of dinnerware and cookware and sighed. "Anyway, everything here is so... commercial."

"Jæja, we're in a store."

"Indeed." Mark and Anthony were having a night to themselves, and then this weekend they would trade off, with Nicholas spending some alone time with Mark, and Sören and Anthony having couple time. It was good and healthy to do things in pairs as well as the four of them together... so Sören and Nicholas were doing a bit of shopping before their dinner reservations at Balthazar in Covent Garden. They were at a boutique specializing in housewares, but everything felt too sleek, too modern. "I think perhaps we should go elsewhere."

"Elsewhere?"

"There are antique shops in the area." Nicholas hadn't been antiquing in Covent Garden since they'd moved to Blackheath, but it had been a hobby of his; almost all the furniture and housewares and decor he'd owned in his old flat was vintage.

Sören laughed softly. "You're such a hipster, Ñolo."

They visited a few different shops, looking at furniture, china, vases, and statuary. Nothing really seemed right until they came across a tea service, black, painted with fiery phoenixes and flaming roses like the tattoos Sören had. Sören's eyes lit up and Nicholas smiled - it was perfect. He was loath to use the Wedgwood tea service Anthony's grandmother had gifted Anthony except on very special occasions, and the regular tea service felt too plain. This was just right.

The price tag did make Nicholas hesitate, however - it wasn't that they were hurting for money, but Nicholas disapproved of the way so many well-to-do threw money around like it was water, spending on lavish, ostentatious items that served no real purpose but to show off. It was a beautiful tea service, to be sure, but he had been living modestly since his priest days and he still felt a touch of self-consciousness about spending so much on a tea service that they didn't actually need. If it had just been for Sören, Nicholas wouldn't have minded - only the best for the man he loved - but this was slightly different, enough to give him pause.

It wasn't a hard no, however. "How about we visit one last shop to see if there's anything there we like better, and if not, we'll come back and buy this?" Nicholas asked, and Sören nodded.

That one last shop was called Curious Goods, an antique shop that had been in Covent Garden at least four years, but that Nicholas had never visited before now. As they approached the shop, Nicholas noticed Sören's shoulders heave with a deep sigh, and when they came to the door, Nicholas held the door open for Sören and he hesitated.

Nicholas furrowed his brow. He really didn't want to have an argument with Sören, especially not over a tea service and wanting to think about something and consider options rather than act on impulse. "What?" Nicholas asked, trying to keep his tone neutral and non-accusatory. "Is something wrong? If you really insist on that tea service, I'll buy it, but I thought it would be nice to do one last bit of looking -"

"It's not that," Sören said, and then his jaw set before he gave a dry chuckle. "I'm not insisting on anything, Ñolo. But -"

"But."

Sören took a deep breath and lowered his voice. "I don't like this place. Bad vibes."

"I see."

There was a pause, and then Sören shrugged and reached out to pat Nicholas. "Well, I suppose it doesn't matter. It's our anniversary and you wanted to come here and look around, so we will, já?" Sören tried to smile and stepped through the door.

Little bells rang as the door closed behind them. The first thing Nicholas noticed as they walked in was that the shop was colder than outside, as if the air conditioner was on even though it was the middle of February. The next thing Nicholas noticed was how dark the inside of the shop was. He was used to stores erring on the side of bright light - even a bit harsh and glaring - so one could really observe all the details of an item. The lighting in this store seemed deliberately low, and the walls were painted black, which made it seem even darker.

Dark corresponded to the store's items, as well. Furnishings in heavy dark wood and wrought iron. Rugs and tapestries in black and deep violets and reds, with no lighter or cooler colors. Stern-faced statuary like gargoyles and sword-wielding angels. Nicholas could see why Sören didn't like this store - it was like whoever owned it was trying too hard to be "goth" or "emo", as the youth called it, and it felt quite a bit pretentious. And a bit unsettling, as he walked through the middle of the store, and noticed four gargoyles were positioned on pillars to make a rough diamond shape around the middle of the store, watching.

Before Nicholas could take Sören's sleeve and quietly march him out of the store, a very tall man - taller even than Nicholas - sauntered forward. He had warm golden-white hair down to his waist, and wore black sunglasses, indoors. He had high, sharp cheekbones and features reminiscent of a Renaissance painting or a statue. He was dressed with the same dark, dramatic flair of the items in the store - a long black tunic of a silken fabric, embroidered with violet lotuses, and violet pants that matched the same shade of the flowers. Tall black boots, leather, expensive-looking. There was a ring on his left index finger of a stone that looked like black opal, but with much more flash, and it was set into a spider's back.

Nicholas had a brief flash of recognition - this had been the other man to bid on Sören at the bachelor auction in 2014. It was quite a coincidence to run into him again, even though Nicholas knew the man was probably local to London.

"Good evening," the man said, his voice deep and resonant. "Are you looking for anything in particular?"

"We're just looking," Nicholas said, his heart beating a little faster - a twinge of anxiety, even though he normally didn't react like this to strangers. "Or, we were. We're on our way out, I'm afraid -"

"So soon?" The man chuckled. "You've been in the store less than five minutes."

"It's... not really our style," Nicholas said, and Sören nodded vehemently.

"Are you sure about that? You haven't seen everything." The man's voice was almost a purr. "Come around to the back with me, I've got some things that might change your mind."

Against his better judgment - and feeling annoyed with himself for having that judgment - Nicholas followed behind the shopkeeper. Sören waited, and Nicholas glanced over his shoulder at Sören with his arms folded, looking annoyed.

I'll only be a minute, then we can leave, Nicholas spoke into his mind.

The back room of the shop was even darker than the main storefront. Beeswax candles burned in wrought iron candelabras and stained glass votive holders. The items for sale in the back seemed to be mostly occult paraphernalia. There was a glass display case of Tarot decks by different artists, which made the dim lighting all the stranger, surely one would want to get a close look at the art. There were two long shelves along the left and right walls made of knotwork-carved rosewood, and on the top shelf of each were small mirrors, each in a unique frame of carved wood, wrought iron, or sculpted pewter or copper. Between each mirror was a crystal ball, some glass, some stone - one looked to be rainbow obsidian. On the shelves below the top shelf of mirrors and crystal balls were curio boxes, glass and wood and stone and metal, each handmade, each unique. Along the back wall were mounted several swords, and a larger mirror made of black glass in a frame of pewter spiderwebs, with a large jeweled spider on top of the frame. Below the mirror was a table of chalices and bowls, and a grey marble statue of Baphomet.

Nicholas shuddered. None of this was anything he wanted. He wasn't a priest anymore - he saw Christ and the Devil as both products of fiction - and yet, the Valar and Eru were real, and something felt very sinister, very off about this place. He once again thought about the coincidence of running into this man again, years after the bachelor auction. Before he could turn and head out the door and drag Sören with him, the man was ushering him towards a dragon carved of rosewood, resembling ancient Viking designs. The dragon's eyes were made of the same fiery black stone the man wore in his ring.

"What do you think about that?" the man asked.

It was lovely craftsmanship and yet it still felt as wrong as everything else in the room. And then, before Nicholas could step away, the dragon's eyes seemed to flash and Nicholas froze, like a deer trapped in headlights. For a brief instant he felt as if a sticky cobweb had been thrown over him, with a musty ammonia smell like an old catbox. Nicholas recoiled in revulsion and took a step back, and before he could bolt, the man's left hand, the one with the ring, was on his shoulder. Nicholas startled - the touch was like burning dry ice, even through the thick wool of his trenchcoat.

"Well?"

"I..." Nicholas blinked. His mind drew a blank, not able to make words - he just wanted to run; even if it was his mind playing a trick on him because of the horror movie-like atmosphere of the shop, he was still spooked and wanting to get away as fast as he could. Something in Nicholas pushed back and he wrenched free of the man's grip, but his shoulder felt pins-and-needles, most unpleasant. "I don't think any of this is my style, really, sorry." Nicholas tried to give a polite smile.

Before he could step away, the man's right hand pushed a business card into one of the pockets of Nicholas's trenchcoat. "In case you change your mind."

Nicholas gave a curt nod, and then he walked away as quickly as he could without making a scene by running - he didn't like that he was having this reaction, it felt like the people who claimed to see the Virgin Mary in their toast, he didn't want to be rude. Sören was waiting by one of the gargoyles, and as soon as Nicholas was there, he put an arm around Sören and started pulling him to the door.

When they got outside, Nicholas took a few deep breaths. His heart was pounding, and as he looked into Sören's eyes, his heartbeat slowed.

"Are you all right?" Sören frowned and put his hands on Nicholas's shoulders.

Nicholas nodded. "I'm fine. Just a little unsettled, is all."

"Jæja, now you know why I don't like that place. We're gonna buy the tea set now, já?"

"Yes indeed." Nicholas cursed himself internally for not buying the phoenix-and-roses tea service to begin with, price tag be damned.

They went back to the antique shop with the tea service and Nicholas purchased that, and then they went to Balthazar for dinner. Over a good meal of Beef Wellington, with Sören flirting, Nicholas's anxiety subsided some more, and he chalked his reactions in Curious Goods up to the creepy atmosphere of the shop and the equally creepy demeanor of the shopkeeper. But on the drive back to Blackheath, Nicholas's mind replayed the encounter in the back of the store, the all-too-real flashing eyes of the dragon, the way he froze as he briefly felt that cobweb-like energy, briefly smelled that foul smell... the way the shopkeeper's touch felt like dry ice even through his layers. He normally wasn't one to hallucinate, and he had learned over the last few months that reality was far stranger than he'd given credit - if reincarnation was real, and the Valar were real enough to curse them, it begged the question of what else Nicholas had dismissed as superstitious nonsense, that was actually real. Nicholas had been trying to avoid that question, avoid digging too deeply. But now he wondered if he'd detected the presence of something evil, something demonic, and that not-quite-right feeling both he and Sören had was their intuition - the part of them that had known things all along - warning them.

Nicholas shivered, even though the heat was on in the car.

"You all right?" Sören cocked his head to one side and pursed his lips.

Nicholas gave a nervous laugh. "You keep asking me that."

"Jæja, you keep acting like something's wrong."

Nicholas didn't want to get into a deep discussion of spiritual fact and fiction, what was real and what was fantasy, and especially not on Valentine's Day, their anniversary. He didn't want to lie to Sören either - Sören wasn't just his partner but a doctor, Sören had been trained to observe discomfort. Nicholas took a deep breath. "I'm still a little shaken up by that creepy shop. I feel a bit ridiculous saying it, like a child afraid of monsters under his bed -"

"It's OK, Nick, I get it." Sören reached out and patted him. "I told you I don't like that place either, even though it's just a store and a weird pretentious dude. I felt like it would be stupid to tell you not to go inside, so it wasn't really about feeling forced." Sören shrugged. "At least now you know."

Nicholas nodded. "We shan't go in there again."

"No." Sören's lips quirked. "And I don't think you're silly or stupid for being creeped out. It's a creepy place. It seems like the sort of place you'd expect vampires to have a club, or something."

"Indeed."

As Nicholas pulled back onto the road, Sören chuckled. Nicholas raised an eyebrow and Sören said, "Oh, nothing."

"What?"

Sören grinned. "You'd make a good Dracula."

"As you know, I do not wear costumes."

"Too bad. That could be some fun kinky roleplaying." Sören wiggled his eyebrows. "Bite me, Daddy Dracula."

Nicholas tried not to laugh, but his belly shook as he continued down the road. "If you keep that up, young man, I just might."

Sören attempted a wink that was more of a clumsy blink - Nicholas always found that awkwardness endearing and a bit sexy. "Promises, promises."

As soon as they got home, Nicholas slammed Sören against the foyer wall and bit his neck with a growl. After several deep, fierce kisses, Sören took Nicholas's hands and led him towards the master bedroom, not even bothering to stop to take off his coat and shoes. "If you're going to bite me, you might as well go all the way and eat me."

Nicholas laughed again, leaning in to nibble Sören's neck at the bedroom door. "With pleasure."

A slow, sensuous sixty-nine, followed by Sören riding Nicholas's cock, was exactly what the doctor ordered to chase away the residual discomfort of the visit to Curious Goods. After two orgasms and some sweet cuddles with Sören, Nicholas fell asleep with a big smile on his face.

But when his alarm went off the next morning, Nicholas felt himself scowling so hard his face hurt. All of him hurt. It hadn't been the sex, or the walk, both of which he was used to. Every joint in his body ached, and he had a dull headache. He was a little too warm, and this was after stripping down to just a sheet, sleeping in the nude.

Sören was already at work, or Nicholas would have asked Sören to bring him his phone. Nicholas sat up, head pounding, and groaned as his body protested with little twinges. As he went over to the dresser where his phone charged overnight, he started to shake, warmth replaced by chills. It seemed that even though he'd had a flu shot at Sören's insistence when flu season began, it wasn't 100% effective. Whatever it was - cold, flu - Nicholas knew he wasn't going to be capable of coming into UCL today, nor did he want to risk spreading whatever it was he had to others.

As Nicholas waited through the rings to reach the campus, he felt himself starting to doze again, startled awake by the secretary's voice. He explained that he would need the rest of the week off - it was Thursday, he very likely wouldn't be a hundred percent on Friday - and when the call was over, he set about putting on pajamas. Just the simple act of dressing himself felt like a marathon. He was almost ashamed of how exhausted he was, and this after a full night's sleep.

Tobias hopped up on the bed and made a concerned "Prrp?"

"I know," Nicholas said, hearing the raspiness in his voice. He could use some water, but he felt too worn out to even attempt to make the short walk to the kitchen. He made a mental note to call Mark's cell later. First, he got under the covers. Maybe a bit more sleep would do some good. Tobias settled next to him, kneading and purring, and made another concerned whine. "I know, little one. It's as if the life has been drained out of me, isn't it?"

And then Nicholas's mouth opened, his mind's eye once again replaying the visit to Curious Goods. The dragon's jeweled eyes flashing. That cobweb-like feeling. The smell. The way that man's touch was freezing and burning all at once. It had to be just a coincidence that his mind had played tricks on him in such a manner and now he had what appeared to be a cold or flu - viruses were going around, after all.

Nicholas shivered, and pulled the covers up tighter around him. Tobias climbed up on the pillow beside him and began grooming his whiskers until Nicholas laughed and gently moved aside. He held out his index finger, and Tobias wrapped his paw around it, kneading, purring harder. Nicholas closed his eyes, stretching - it felt so good to stretch, even as much as he hurt everywhere - and he let himself fade, drifting away and away from the what-ifs, away from anything at all.

Chapter Text

Both Sören and Anthony took time off from work starting Friday, even though neither of them had flu symptoms - they didn't want to take the risk of carrying it and spreading it to others.

They both expected to be back to work by Monday, with the worst of Nicholas's symptoms gone, but by Monday he was still running a fever at 38.3 C, and despite their best efforts to get fluids into him, and ibuprofen to bring down his temp, he wasn't drinking as much as they'd like. He was also sleeping very deeply, enough that Anthony worried it was a coma and periodically poked or shook him to make sure he was still responsive.

On Monday afternoon, after Anthony called work to let them know he'd be out the rest of the week, he saw Sören standing out in the garden, watching snowflakes fall, and he put on his coat and stepped out to join him. For a few moments they stood there side by side, snow falling softly, silently. Anthony finally took Sören's hand in his and cleared his throat.

"I think he should be admitted," Anthony said.

Sören sighed, and then shook his head vehemently. "That's a bad idea for a few reasons. If he gets worse, yes. He's not getting better, just yet, but he's not getting worse. If he goes to the hospital, he could get worse, being exposed to other people's viruses and bacteria. I've known of people who've gone to the hospital for flu and ended up getting pneumonia in the hospital and dying. We also need to reserve beds and staff for people who need it. The NHS is always strapped."

"He's not getting worse, but he's still very, very sick, and it's been five days. He's at an age where the flu is possibly deadly. It could well turn into pneumonia here at home." Tears stung Anthony's eyes - he wasn't ready to lose Nicholas. Nicholas had been remarkably healthy, in good shape, for his age before this happened. Anthony had expected another five, ten years at least before they had to worry about the decline. It felt too soon, especially when Anthony was still grieving his father, who had died suddenly last year.

Sören's own eyes were too bright too. "I still think we should wait and see before we make that call. I'm worried too - this is worse than the flu he had three years ago - but I don't know that sending him to the hospital would be the right decision. And, there's also -" Sören's voice trailed off and he put his hand over his mouth like he was about to say the wrong thing.

Anthony raised an eyebrow. "And there's also what?"

Sören looked off to the side. "Never mind."

Anthony scowled, but he decided to not press it. Not just yet.

Sören and Anthony curled up on the couch together watching TV as Mark made dinner. Sören started to cry, trying to keep it silent, but Anthony noticed him crying and that made Anthony cry too, once again torn apart with the fear of losing Nicholas... and hurting for Sören, who had been with Nicholas longer, knowing how much it would destroy Sören. Mark made grilled cheese with tomato soup - nothing fancy, but it was Sören's comfort food. Anthony didn't have much of an appetite due to the stress, but made himself eat anyway. After they ate, Anthony and Sören brought dinner down to Nicholas, trying to wake him up to eat or at least drink something, but Nicholas was sleeping too deeply. And still burning up. Sören took his temperature with an infrared thermometer and shook his head - 38.3 again.

Anthony helped Mark do the dishes, needing to distract himself before he had a meltdown. He heard the shower running down the hall and a couple of minutes later the sound of Sören sobbing in the shower. Mark put his hand on Anthony's shoulder. "You should go to him," Mark said softly.

Anthony let himself in the bathroom, quietly undressed, and opened the glass door to push in his shower chair, then maneuvered with the support bars and sat in the chair. Sören cried harder, and Anthony reached out and grabbed Sören's waist, pulled him close, held him tight as the water rained down over them. Anthony cried too, weeping bitterly, feeling like his entire life was falling apart.

When they had prune skin, Sören helped Anthony out of the shower. They went down to the bedroom to get their pajamas. Once again, Sören and Anthony tried to get Nicholas to wake up and drink. Nicholas made a noise of protest and rolled over, then he started shaking, his teeth chattering. Sören sighed and gently shook him. "Nick, come on, elskan. Drink this and you'll feel a little better, OK?"

Nicholas made another grumble and turned away.

Sören sighed. "He's going to get dehydrated if this keeps up. If he isn't already."

"And this is why he should be admitted, Sören."

Sören glared, and then composed himself, as if he understood right away lashing out at Anthony was not what anybody needed right now. Sören got up and started down the hall. Anthony followed as quickly as he could, and before Sören could reach the stairwell and start the climb - presumably to his studio to be left alone - Anthony called out, "Sören, wait." It was time to press what he hadn't pressed a couple of hours ago.

Sören paused.

Anthony caught up to him. "OK, look." He exhaled. "Earlier, when we were in the garden, talking about your reasoning for not wanting him admitted, you started to say 'and there's also'. Then you stopped yourself. From the context, it sounds like you have an additional reason for wanting to hold off on admitting him besides not wanting him to be exposed to germs that would make him worse, besides not wanting to take up a NHS bed and staff and resources if it can be avoided. I want to know what your other reason is."

Sören looked off to the side, and then he started humming the Jaws theme.

"Sören, I'm being deadly serious."

"Jæja, I know... and you know humor is how I cope." Sören sighed and looked down at the floor. When he looked up, his eyes were misty again.

"What is it? I know it's something."

"It's going to sound daft."

"I think you overestimate what sounds daft anymore, considering the three of us are reincarnated Elves from a fiction book in possession of three magic stones from said book, living with an Elf who was alive when the last Ice Age ended." Anthony's free hand touched Sören's face. "You can tell me."

"OK." Sören sat on a step, and Anthony sat next to him. Sören took a moment to gather his thoughts and then he said, "So, Nick woke up with flu symptoms on Thursday morning."

"Yes."

"On Wednesday, as you know, he and I went on a date. We went out to dinner and before that we went shopping. Nick wanted to go to antique shops."

Anthony nodded.

"One of those shops is this creepy place called Curious Goods. When I say creepy, there's the obvious that it tries too hard to look like something out of a horror movie, with overly dramatic dark lighting and dramatic furniture and decor but also the dude who runs the place is... a weirdo. Just really bad vibes. I didn't want to go in there but I didn't want to tell Nick no, because I thought this was just me being snobby about fake goth shit. Well... Nick went in back to look at some stuff and he was badly spooked by it, and he felt stupid for having that reaction, but now..." Sören shook his head. "This is what I mean, it sounds daft as fuck, but what if -"

"You think there was some sort of malevolent energy or spirit in the place that attacked him and that's why he's sick." The gears in Anthony's head turned madly, putting it together.

"Jæja. Like I said. That sounds crazy. I'm a fucking atheist, or I was, until recently. I don't like speculating on what else is real if reincarnation is real, if the Valar are real. I don't want to believe in ghosts and demons and witchcraft and all that shit. I'm a doctor, I'm a neurosurgeon. I'm a man of science. I know the flu is caused by a virus. But Nick had the flu shot, and none of the rest of us are sick - I mean, Mark can't get it, but you know what I mean. It..." Sören rubbed his face like an annoyed wet cat. "I hate even speculating on this, but -"

"But this is why you're hesitant to admit him, because you think if this was caused by magic or a demon, conventional medicine won't help him."

"Yes." Sören broke down sobbing again. "Fuck."

Anthony put an arm around Sören and began rubbing his back. It did sound crazy, but Anthony thought it also sounded true. He too was uncomfortable with the deeper layers of reality, but it seemed like they didn't have a choice but to peel back some more layers and examine them, at a time like this.

"It would really help to know what exactly happened when he went in the back room," Sören said. "All I know is he was creeped out. He wouldn't get into detail. So even though I suspect something attacked him, I don't know for sure because I wasn't there. I wish I had, like... video evidence or -"

Mark cleared his throat from the top of the second floor.

Sören scooted over and Mark came downstairs, carrying a towel. After he climbed off the bottom step, he leaned against the wall, his hands behind his back. "I couldn't help but overhear," Mark said.

"I take it you have an opinion," Anthony said.

"I think it's worth looking into further," Mark said. "It happens that I have something that isn't video evidence, but functions like video evidence." Mark moved his arms and showed them what he'd been hiding behind his back - he lifted up the towel and they saw something that looked like a crystal ball, made of iridescent violet-black glass. Instinctively, not thinking about it, Anthony reached out to touch it. The surface of the glass was warm, and it pulsed underneath Anthony's fingers.

"You have a palantir," Sören said, his voice hushed.

Mark nodded solemnly. "I have very few things from the Years of the Trees that survived this long, through everything. This is one of them. You made this, Atya." He moved the palantir in front of Sören, holding it out. "Go on, take it. Look and see."

Mark walked off - Anthony thought it was a bit silly to give them privacy considering he'd heard the discussion, but he realized it might also be to not break their concentration. Sören held the palantir so he and Anthony could both look into it. For a few minutes there was nothing, only the dark, shimmering glass. Then the glass sparkled with what seemed like millions of tiny stars, giving way to colored nebulas. And at last, there was the inside of the shop. It was even worse than Sören had described - it was cheesy, but there was nonetheless a sinister feeling. Anthony and Sören watched Nicholas follow a very tall man with waist-length white-blond hair into a back room, the back room filled with mirrors and crystal balls... swords and a spider-and-web-frame mirror on the back wall, above a statue of Baphomet on a table with many bowls and chalices. The vision drew them over to a wood statue of a dragon that looked like it had been made during the Viking era, except for two bejeweled eyes.

What do you think of that? the man asked.

The dragon's eyes flashed, and Sören and Anthony watched as a net of dark energy shot over Nicholas. As Nicholas startled and stepped back, the man put a hand on Nicholas's shoulder and sent out another pulse of dark energy.

"Tíkasonur, blóðugur móðurfokk helvíti," Sören snarled.

The vision quickly faded from the palantir. Sören looked ready to throw it in his rage, baring his teeth - Anthony snatched it away just to be on the safe side - and Sören's fists clenched. "Fokkið þessu helvítis kjaftæði, FOKK!"

Mark came over to collect the palantir. "I take it your suspicions have been confirmed."

Sören growled. Anthony would have been turned on if he weren't so upset.

"Fuck," Anthony said.

Sören nodded. "In a way, it would be easier to deal with if he hadn't been attacked. If it was just the regular, normal flu virus. At least then we could have him admitted tomorrow if he doesn't recover and they could maybe give him an antiviral and some fluids or something. But this..."

"Yeah." Anthony sighed. He felt once again like his world was crashing down around him... and like his brain was breaking. He didn't want magic to be real. He didn't know why someone would attack Nicholas, who appeared on the surface to be a harmless old man. Unless...

Anthony shivered, not liking the implications of this. It seemed that most people claiming to be capable of magic - like the witches on Tumblr - couldn't magic themselves out of a wet paper bag. Anthony still thought a lot of paranormal phenomena was fraud, like fortune tellers or psychics who were just people doing cold readings. He himself, as a lawyer, had mastered that art, paying attention to the little details - what he now understood as training himself to compensate for the ways being autistic made it harder to read others.

This was not someone LARPing on Tumblr. This was a man the same height as Mark - itself noteworthy, not many people were that tall, not even in Sören's home country of Iceland where people ran tall as a rule. A man with very long hair and a striking appearance, like an Elf. Or something similar. This was someone who knew what Nicholas was, probably because they were not usual themselves. Who could possess that sort of power?

Anthony made himself focus on the here-and-now. They could figure out who this guy was, and his motivations - what he knew, what he was hoping to accomplish - later. Right here, right now, Nicholas was ill and not getting better, and the fact that this was magic and not the flu suggested it might be deadlier than the flu.

Sören seemed to share that sentiment. "I don't know what to do for him." Sören gave a bitter laugh. "I can fix people's brains, their spines... I'm totally fucking helpless to do anything to fix this. To undo this... fucked up magic shit." Then Sören glanced over at Mark, gave him a pleading look. "I seem to recall you have some healing ability. Do you think..."

"I tried already," Mark said, with a frown. "I've tried a few times. I can't heal everything, anyway - I couldn't regenerate a new arm for my brother, I've had a couple human partners die of plague. There are limits to what I can do. I can try harder... I can sing a Song of Power... but I don't think that, on its own, will be effective. It needs something to go with it."

Sören stroked his chin, deep in thought. He closed his eyes and took a few breaths - if Anthony didn't know better, he would have sworn Sören was meditating. Then Sören's eyes opened wide and his jaw dropped. He made a strangled noise.

"Hm?" Mark's eyebrows shot up.

"The Silmarils," Sören said. "Even before Varda hallowed them, they were still... the manifestation of Light. In fact, blasphemous that it might be... they would have power without her hallowing." Sören shook his head and made a sneer of disgust. "Morgoth wouldn't have stolen them, you wouldn't have sworn the Oath as terrible as it was, Yavanna wouldn't want me to hand them over if they were just three shiny rocks. They have power. It's more than just the Light of the Trees. They're sparks of the Flame Imperishable."

"Yes," Mark said softly.

"It's crazy," Sören said, "but it's worth a shot. The Silmarils... and your song. Maybe the Light can dispel whatever the fuck it was that creeper did to him."

Mark and Sören went upstairs while Anthony waited at Nicholas's bedside. This was indeed craziness - the craziest thing Anthony had ever participated in - but they had to try something. Nicholas's breathing was more labored now, and tears came to Anthony's eyes again, not wanting to lose him. It felt like the four of them were each part of a greater whole, and for that to be ripped asunder was devastating, a wound that would never heal. Anthony found himself tenderly rubbing Nicholas's back, stroking Nicholas's cheek, noticing he felt hotter than before. Tears silently rolled down Anthony's face, heart breaking, soul screaming as a piece of it was being ripped out. He couldn't bear this loss, after everything else. It wasn't time. They had only just found each other again, after so long.

Mark came in lugging his harp, and Sören carried the glass egg that held the Silmarils. Sören set the glass egg down on the dresser where they kept their cellphones when not in use, and Anthony watched as the egg opened on its own and the Silmarils floated out and towards Sören. No matter how many times Anthony had seen the Silmarils fly in the air on their own, defying gravity, it never ceased to amaze him.

The room was much brighter now, and warmer, like five other lamps had been turned on. Nicholas made a noise of discomfort and squirmed under the covers. Sören climbed on the other side of Nicholas on the bed and pushed the covers back, exposing Nicholas in sweat-soaked pajamas. Sören took one of the Silmarils and handed it to Anthony. The stone throbbed in his hands and was warm to the touch without burning, like holding a hot plate of food. Rainbows flashed over his shirt and arms and pajama pants, and Anthony squinted against the glare.

Mark began doing scales to warm up, and when he signaled that he was ready, Sören rolled Nicholas onto his back, opened the first few buttons of his pajama top, and rested one of the other Silmarils against his heart. Nicholas instinctively reached for it, his hand settling atop it, which made Anthony smile through his tears.

The cats came over, all three of them, and joined Sören, Nicholas, and Anthony on the bed, purring in chorus.

Mark began to play, a progression of minor chords then major chords, singing in Quenya. Though Anthony did not speak Quenya in this lifetime he still somehow understood what Mark was singing.

Your heart knows the way
Though the trail might be dark
Your heart knows the light
And the light will lead you home

In the silence, remember the laughter
Remember the voices and the singing
Keep it burning like a flame
And that flame will light the way

There is no darkness greater than the light of love
Our love lights the way
Our love seeks your love
Our fire calls to your fire

There is no hatred that can prevail
Against the strength we share when we are strong together

We will find you, you will find us
We are bringing you home
Safe and sound
Where you belong

Mark's voice rang out like many voices. Anthony's hair stood on end, his skin gooseflesh. He felt himself breathing harder. Felt himself pushing, with every ounce of his will. Come on, damn you. Heal. Get better. Anthony started to break a sweat, his body tensing.

The Silmaril in Anthony's hands throbbed, beating like a heart... pulsing in the rhythm of Mark's song, as if it were acknowledging the power in it and amplifying it, somehow. Anthony watched as the Silmarils grew brighter and brighter, the room fading to white...

Just before everything flashed out, Anthony noticed Sören's eyes were glowing a pale silver, almost white, and Sören leaned in and tenderly kissed Nicholas's brow. The words Sören spoke next were neither English nor Icelandic.

"Oiala ar illumë melmenya."

Chapter Text

It was now the last day of February, early evening. Sören was zoning out on the couch watching TV while Anthony worked on Duolingo lessons, the three cats cuddling on the couch with them. Mark was making dinner in the kitchen...

...and Sören kept checking the clock, waiting for Nicholas to get back from his walk. Nicholas had wanted to take a walk to Greenwich Park to watch the sunset. Sören would have gone with him, but he was too tired after a long surgery. Sören was wishing he'd gone now, because it had been less than two weeks since Nicholas had recovered from his illness - what Sören now knew wasn't the flu, but a magical attack sustained at Curious Goods - and Sören still had concerns about Nicholas overexerting himself.

There was the sound of trumpets, signaling Anthony had successfully completed another lesson, and Anthony looked up from his laptop and over at Sören - then at the clock, and back at Sören. He raised an eyebrow.

"As you know," Anthony teased, "you're being a mother hen."

"Jæja." Sören sighed, and shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

Anthony put an arm around him and gently kissed the tip of Sören's nose. "Sweetheart, I know you're worried. I can't blame you for that, Nicholas gave us all a good scare a couple of weeks ago. But I also feel like... it's like watching my mum after I was in the accident. I think Nicholas knows his limits, and he does need to start doing things again."

"You're right, but -"

Anthony put a finger to Sören's lips. "No buts."

"But."

Anthony rolled his eyes then he gave a little smirk and tousled Sören's curls. "All right. But what."

"I worry that he is overdoing it to try to, I don't know, compensate for the fact that he could have died. It looked pretty scary just before we... you know." Sören still couldn't believe what they'd done - the way the Silmarils responded to Maglor's Song of Power and the force of their will. It had been a beautiful experience... and terrifying. Sören got chills thinking about it.

"And yet, he did recover. What we did worked. And..." Anthony took a deep breath. "I haven't wanted to say this, because, to quote a certain doctor I know, it sounds daft -"

"Jaeja."

"But... I've been noticing some things. Nicholas goes up and down the stairs faster and easier than he did before, like his arthritis isn't bothering him as much, or at all. He bends and stretches more easily. I don't hear his joints pop the way they did. And he seems to have more energy - like wanting to go for a walk today. He has more energy than I do." Anthony chuckled, then he got serious again. "Past a certain point, him overcompensating for his brush with death doesn't make sense, because it wouldn't explain... this."

Sören's brow furrowed. He started to get gooseflesh, his hair standing on end. The implications of that - what it could mean, what they had done - were even scarier than just healing him from the malevolent energy trying to kill him. He opened his mouth and before he could speak, the door opened and after pausing in the foyer to remove his coat and shoes, Nicholas stepped into the greatroom.

It was a clear, cool night, and Nicholas was wet. He smelled of sweat - arousing rather than offensive to Sören, but also alarming, like he had in fact overexerted himself. Nicholas's face was pink, and he was breathing a little harder, more signs of exertion -

- and he was smiling, eyes shining, crinkled at the corners.

Sören put his hands on his hips.

"I went for a bit of a run," Nicholas explained.

Sören's brow furrowed. "A... run."

"Yes, a run." Nicholas gave a small nod.

"You... don't run." Sören cocked his head to one side. He didn't want to be insensitive, but the doctor in him was all diagnostic concern. "You said you used to when you were younger, but when you got older your arthritis stopped you."

Nicholas said nothing, but started down the hall. Sören got up and stomped after him, wanting to give him a lecture about overdoing it, how his brush with death didn't mean he had to grab life by the horns this hard... and he remembered what Anthony said about noticing Nicholas was moving more easily, looking like he felt more energetic. Sören's eyes stung with tears, frightened and confused, head spinning.

Nicholas paused outside the bathroom, hearing Sören follow behind him. "I'm going to take a shower, freshen up for dinner." His eyes twinkled merrily as he gave Sören a saucy grin over his shoulder. "If you care to join me, consider yourself welcome."

Which was the other thing - Nicholas had been randy since recovering from the attack. Nicholas always had a healthy libido, of course, but he'd went from being able to do one or two rounds of lovemaking before needing a full night's rest, to being able to keep up with Sören, matching him round for round, fucking him with the power and vigor of a man years younger.

Sören's cock leapt at the thought of Nicholas in the shower, and the ways they could tease and please each other in the shower, like an appetizer before the main course of later lovemaking. But as Sören stripped down in the bathroom, he tempered his desire with concern. And when he joined Nicholas in the shower, Nicholas saw the stern look on Sören's face, the tense body language.

Nicholas put his hands on Sören's shoulders. "What is it, dearest?"

Sören made a sweeping gesture at him. "You. Just... you."

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

Sören took a deep breath and tried to assemble his thoughts, heart racing. "I know you almost died, I get it that you want to live life to the fullest, but running? If evil magic didn't kill you, overexertion just might." Sören pursed his lips.

Nicholas chuckled. When Sören glared, he quickly sobered. "Darling, I know this may be hard to believe, but after... whatever it was you did... well..." Nicholas looked down, then up, and into Sören's eyes. "I feel the best I have in years. I feel young again. I don't know how to explain it, but my arthritis pain is gone. I don't feel as tired. I -"

Sören broke down sobbing. He wanted to believe Nicholas - he wanted to believe this was real and not some sort of placebo affect with recovery from a serious illness giving him a new lease on life - and he was also terrified of what it did mean if it was true. The implications... the new depths of strangeness of their reality.

"Oh, love." Nicholas reached out and pulled Sören against him, rubbing his back, rocking him. Nicholas held Sören for a long time under the water, the two of them clinging together, rocking. Sören listened to the strong beat of Nicholas's heart, felt Nicholas's breath against his skin, felt the strength in those arms holding him so tightly... and he dared not hope. He dared not wonder.

When Sören's tears subsided, they lathered each other. But there was too much residual anxiety for Sören to get into a sensual mood, as tempting as Nicholas's naked body was. And Nicholas seemed to know it - once the shower was done and they had toweled off, Nicholas once again pulled Sören close to him, rubbing his nose in the damp curls, holding Sören tight. "You're a good boy, being concerned for Daddy," Nicholas whispered, and kissed the top of Sören's head. He cupped Sören's chin in his hand and stroked the beard with his thumb, then Sören's full lips. "Such a good boy, trying to take care of your Daddy. But Daddy's better now. Daddy would be honest with you if that weren't the case."

"I hope so." Sören frowned. "You don't have anything to prove to me, Nick. You knew when we got together I love you old age and all, arthritis and all." Sören took Nicholas's hand and kissed it. "You don't have to pretend to be someone younger -"

"You don't see me wearing jeans or listening to Justin Bieber and that Dragon fellow, do you?"

It took Sören a moment and then he facepalmed and shook with laughter. "You mean Drake."

"The one who sings, what's it called, 'Hotline Bling.'"

"Yes." Sören grinned, laughing harder. "Dragon. His name is Drake. Or Drizzy, if you prefer."

Nicholas glared, and Sören elbowed him. As Nicholas led the way out of the bathroom, Sören squeezed Nicholas's ass through the towel and said, "You know, you'd look good in jeans."

"As you know, I shan't wear jeans."

"You should reconsider that stance. You've got a great ass."

Nicholas shook his head and rolled his eyes, but his cheeks were pink and he couldn't restrain a smile as they entered the master bedroom.

As they got changed, Mark arrived at the bedroom door and gently cleared his throat, trying not to ogle the half-naked men. Sören gave a sassy butt wiggle. "Dinner's ready," Mark announced.

What was supposed to be a relaxing meal felt tense - Anthony knew Sören's concerns, and it seemed Mark did as well. Both of them kept glancing at Nicholas, then each other, as if they had some sort of discussion while Sören and Nicholas were showering and were waiting until after dinner to bring up whatever it was they were talking about. Sören started to feel more and more uneasy, wondering what it was... wondering what would change.

Sure enough, over after-dinner drinks, Mark finally went there. "Anthony and I had a talk about, well, you, Uncle, and how you've been doing since we healed you from whatever it was that was trying to kill you."

Nicholas waited, keeping his expression neutral.

"I told him I notice you've been moving better, like you're not in chronic pain," Anthony said. He leaned back in his seat. "And then you went for a run tonight, for the first time in how long?"

"Not since my forties," Nicholas said.

Anthony and Mark looked at each other. Mark turned back to Nicholas and Sören. "We have a theory that whatever we did to free you from the curse... might have been a little too effective. The powers of Flame and Song, combined."

"A little too effective how?" Nicholas raised an eyebrow.

"We don't know, but we want to test something," Anthony said.

"Test... what."

Mark got up and started clearing the table. He went to the kitchen, but instead of starting the dishes right away, Sören heard the sound of movement - drawers open, silverware and kitchen tools clinking and rattling as Mark searched for something - and when Mark came back, he had the sharpest kitchen knife in hand.

"What in the world." Nicholas recoiled at the sight of the knife.

"I won't hurt you... much. And not without your consent." At Nicholas's look of alarm, Mark went on, "As you know - well, if you remember any of this... Elves are hard to injure, hard to kill. We can be permanently injured, permanently maimed -" Mark raised his burned hand. "And my brother Maitimo is proof of that. And we can be killed - the three of you are proof of that. But it takes much more effort, much more power and strength, as we heal quickly from wounds that, for a human, would require stitches and at least a week or two of healing time."

"So you're..." Nicholas blinked. "Going to do what. Wound me?"

Mark nodded. "Our theory is that whatever we did with the Silmarils and my song not only freed you from the curse put on you at the antique shop, but it... turned you into an Elf, only without the transfiguration, so no pointy ears, you look the same, but -"

"But it stopped or severely slowed down your aging process, and reversed certain human illnesses Elves don't get, like rheumatoid arthritis, which is an autoimmune condition," Anthony finished.

Sören's jaw dropped. His ears started ringing. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. He was a doctor. It was one thing for them to do what they had done two weeks ago with the Silmarils and the Song of Power, and for Nicholas to recover. It was another thing to arrest his aging process and make his constitution hardier, more able to withstand things that would severely hurt and kill humans. He felt like everything happening right now was going against all of his training, everything he knew to be true. And yet, he couldn't deny what was happening right in front of him.

Mark held the knife out to Sören. "You know how to make a surgical incision."

"Jesus fucking Christ," Sören said. "Do you know how unethical this is?"

"It's not like anyone at your job is going to know," Mark said. "It would be more unethical for you to not investigate what's happening, don't you think?"

Sören grumbled, got up, went to the bathroom to wash his hands, and came back with a bottle of hydrogen peroxide. He led Nicholas, Mark, and Anthony to the kitchen counter. He sterilized the counter, then he sterilized the knife, and Nicholas's arm. While his specialty was spines and brains, he had practiced on many cadavers during med school and knew how to cut other parts, too. The arm was less problematic than trying to slice open Nicholas's back. He hoped he wasn't going to have to do stitches. Even though that meant...

Sören pushed that thought out of his mind - what it would mean if Nicholas was like an Elf now, no longer aging, no longer susceptible to the same mortality of humans. One thing at a time, he told himself, positioning the knife. "I'm sorry," he said. "This is going to hurt, and it's not like we have anaesthesia."

"Do it," Nicholas said.

Sören took a deep breath and cut. He watched a river of red pour down both sides of Nicholas's arm, dripping onto the counter. Drip-drip-drip-drip. Anthony watched with wide eyes and bated breath; Mark had an arm around Anthony, his jaw set, a look of determination in his eyes.

Nicholas held his arm still even as he was breathing faster and harder from the stinging pain of the deep gash. Blood continued to flow and flow, seemingly endless. It was starting to look like Mark and Anthony's theory was wrong and Nicholas would need pressure - possibly a tourniquet - and stitches. Sören didn't want to wait too long to make that call, with how much blood was pumping out, but kept himself in check just a little longer, barely breathing, heart pounding, head spinning, watching the blood puddle expand in size on the counter, creeping closer and closer to the edge.

Then, before Sören's eyes, the wound began to stop bleeding... and started to close on its own, no stitches. Sören gasped and dropped the knife. He took a couple of steps backward, shaking - Mark waved his hand and the knife rose from the floor just in time.

Nicholas raised his hand and the knife flew over to it.

Sören fell over, taking a spill on the hard kitchen floor.

The next few minutes passed in a blur, with Sören not really fully aware of what was happening, feeling like he was floating outside his body. When he came to he was sitting on Mark's lap, Mark cradling him and petting him, Nicholas sitting on one side of Mark, Anthony on the other. Sören fell apart, sobbing, babbling, screaming. There were too many conflicting emotions, too many questions.

"Deep breaths," Mark said, his voice like silk. He rubbed Sören's scalp. Nicholas rubbed Sören's back and Anthony rubbed Sören's stomach. "It's OK."

"No it's not." Sören wept again, heaving so hard it hurt.

Nicholas took Sören's hand in his. "One thing at a time, my sweet. What is foremost on your mind?"

Sören tried to pull himself together. Treat this like you're diagnosing. It was too personal for that, of course, but he needed to try. He took deep breaths with Mark - it felt almost like Mark was breathing for him, like a golden light was piercing the dark storm clouds inside him, clearing the way for his thoughts. "So... we kind of made you immortal."

"I suppose so." Nicholas chuckled.

"I'm sorry." Sören touched Nicholas's face. "We forced it on you, you didn't consent -"

"And the alternative was to let me just die?" Nicholas shook his head. "I don't blame you for doing what you did to save my life, even if it worked a little too well."

"Do you not understand how this is going to complicate your life?" Sören pointed at Mark. "You're going to have to live like him now. Moving around whether you like it or not because you don't age. Outliving everyone you build new connections with."

"At least..." Nicholas turned to Mark. "Macalaurë won't be alone now." His eyes softened.

Mark leaned in and gave Nicholas a kiss. A sweet, gentle little kiss quickly turned sensual, their lips parting, tongues playing. Sören moaned as he watched them kiss, his cock stiffening and throbbing. Anthony's breath hitched and they looked at each other; Sören's cock and hole both twitched at the heat in Anthony's eyes.

Before Anthony could kiss him, Nicholas tugged Sören by the curls and pulled him into a deep, needy kiss. Sören whimpered into the kiss, kissing Nicholas back with all of the passionate fire of his being, wanting Nicholas to feel how loved he was, wanted - that despite Sören's guilt about accidentally making him immortal, he was glad Nicholas was alive, and glad Nicholas was free of pain, glad that Mark would still have companionship in fifty, a hundred years.

Mark and Anthony were kissing now, and Sören whimpered again, balls aching at the erotic sight of their mouths together, hands on each other. Then Mark kissed Sören, loving and tender, and Anthony kissed Sören, fierce and hungry.

Sören got up, took Anthony's hands, and pulled him to his feet. Nicholas rose and came over to Anthony, taking Anthony in his arms and kissing him with such abandon that Sören felt like he was going to come just from watching them kiss.

There was more that needed to be discussed about Nicholas's newfound immortality and what this meant for Nicholas - for all of them - and what to do about the power of the Silmarils, but right here and right now, all that mattered was their love for each other, the way they wanted each other, needed each other. Nicholas had almost been stolen from them and they needed to celebrate his triumph.

Sören ached to express his love with his body. Full brother in heart, he spoke into Nicholas's mind, and then, You are my heart.

Nicholas was kissing Sören again. Kissing, kissing, kissing, walking them to the bedroom, not able to stop kissing, not able to stop touching, the two of them needing to touch every part of each other, feel, have and hold.

Once in the master bedroom, the four undressed, and then Sören, Anthony, and Mark fell on Nicholas like a pack of hungry wolves, pushing him down, taking turns claiming his mouth as the other two kissed and licked and nipped at his neck and shoulders, running their hands over Nicholas's naked body, enjoying the firm, trim musculature, the silvery hair, the raw maleness of him. Sören's hand strayed to Nicholas's cock, already hard, rubbing up and down the shaft slowly.

Mark kissed Nicholas's mouth, tongues licking between kisses, as Sören lapped and suckled Nicholas's nipples into hard, plump peaks, and Anthony sucked Nicholas's cock. Then Anthony came up to let Nicholas taste himself, kissing deeply, as Mark sipped at Nicholas's nipples and Sören slurped away at Nicholas's cock. Sören and Nicholas kissed, with Sören nibbling on Nicholas's neck and shoulder every now and again, as Anthony sucked Nicholas's nipples hard, pulling on them with his lips, biting them, while Mark licked and sucked Nicholas's cock and balls. All the while Nicholas moaned, panting, arched to them, shivering. When Nicholas got closer, Mark reached up to grab a fistful of Sören's curls and dragged him down to finish Nicholas off, while Mark and Anthony took turns kissing Nicholas, playing with his nipples. Nicholas grabbed Sören's head and gently fucked his mouth and Sören growled around the cock in his mouth, stroking himself furiously as he rubbed Nicholas's balls with the other hand, feeling them tighten, feeling Nicholas's cock pulse in his mouth. At last Nicholas cried out and his cock twitched, shooting cum, flooding Sören's mouth, Sören almost choking, so much of it. With his mouth full of Nicholas's seed, Sören came with a cry of his own, spilling over his hand and shooting on Nicholas's leg.

Sören kissed Mark, then Anthony, sharing the cum with them. Then Sören kissed Nicholas deeply, hand rubbing Nicholas's chest and stomach, finally resting on Nicholas's heart as the thundering slowed. Nicholas covered Sören's hand with his and they rubbed noses, sharing a tender kiss before Mark and Anthony came in for more kisses, kissing Nicholas over and over, then each other, then Sören.

The four of them curled up together - Mark and Anthony hadn't come yet and were both still hard and slick with precum, and after cuddling and petting for a few minutes Sören's cock rose again, aroused by the sight of them. Mark and Anthony made out, feverishly kissing while they caressed each other's bodies, as Sören sucked both their cocks, and Nicholas sucked Sören's cock and tongued his opening. When Nicholas licked and kissed Sören's balls, Nicholas started working his fingers in and out of Sören. "Do you want more, sweetheart?"

"Mmmhmm." Sören pulled the two cocks out of his mouth. "Please Daddy, fuck me. I need Daddy's cock."

"Daddy needs you too, love." Nicholas kissed one of Sören's butt cheeks before smacking it, making Sören giggle.

Nicholas and Anthony both lay on their backs, side by side. Sören poured lube over Nicholas's cock before handing the bottle to Mark. Sören worked the lube over Nicholas's cock while Mark readied Anthony's cock. Sören licked his lips at the sight of them - and Mark too, standing at attention. Wanting them all. Wanting to do everything. But right here and right now, he wanted to give himself to Nicholas... the Fëanor part of him giving himself to Fingolfin.

Sören straddled Nicholas's hips and Nicholas's cock slid inside, inch by inch. When Nicholas was all the way in, Sören put his hands on Nicholas's heart. "I love you," Sören husked, a lump in his throat.

Nicholas took Sören's hands and kissed them, squeezed them. "Oiala ar illumë melmenya," he said, repeating the words Sören had spoken during the healing two weeks ago - words that had come through Sören, the truth of his soul.

Sören began to ride Nicholas's cock, and Mark began to ride Anthony's cock. As Sören rose up, Mark pushed down. As Mark pulled up, Sören sank down. Nicholas and Anthony tilted their heads and kissed, driving Sören mad with lust. Soon Sören and Mark were kissing too, playing with each other's cocks as they bounced away, harder and harder.

Nicholas grabbed Sören's hips and slammed into him, balls smacking Sören's ass, matching his fierce rhythm with frenzy of his own. Sören cried out and pinched Nicholas's nipples, thumbs rubbing before he pinched again. Mark scooped Sören's precum on his fingers and stuck them in Anthony's mouth. Anthony made an urgent noise with his lips wrapped around Mark's fingers, tasting Sören, and bucked into Mark. Anthony and Nicholas kissed again, then Mark and Sören were kissing, stroking each other. As Sören got closer, Nicholas's hand took over, while both Sören's and Anthony's hands worked on Mark's cock. The bed slammed against the wall, the sound of bodies smacking together almost as loud as grunts and growls and broken cries.

Sören's balls were almost painfully tight, his cock throbbing as Nicholas's cock rubbed that sweet spot inside him over and over, so deliciously. He needed to come, but he ached to make this last, wanting to stay lost in this space of worshiping Nicholas with his body, giving himself completely, wanting to feast his eyes on Nicholas's sweat-glistening sculpted, furry body, wanting the intimacy of being joined as one flesh, one rhythm, one passion, one need. But at last the need for release won out, the need to come undone together, to share ecstasy. Sören climaxed, spurting over Nicholas's chest, which in turn set Mark off as he watched, crying out. Anthony and Nicholas came together, and Sören moaned as he felt Nicholas's seed rush deep inside him, Nicholas's cock pulsing in time with Sören's contractions.

Breathless, sweaty, Sören collapsed onto Nicholas's chest. Nicholas held him close and rained kisses over his face, rocking him. Anthony reached for one of Sören's hands and squeezed, and Mark stroked Sören's curls. Sören sighed deeply, toes curling, feeling content as could be with his three loves surrounding him... safe in Nicholas's arms. Arms that would live, if not forever, for a long time yet.

Sören hoped it would be worth it. That the world would not become such a bleak, hostile, brutal place that Nicholas would resent what had been done. But looking into those warm dark chocolate eyes, shining with love, crinkled at the corners, he felt Nicholas's gratitude. Nicholas kissed Sören's brow, and then their lips met, tongues dancing in a hard, powerful kiss that made Sören's body start up again, wanting. Nicholas had slipped out of Sören and now he guided Sören's hand to his cock, which was also hard once more. Sören grinned with delight.

I could spend an eternity making love to you and it would never be enough, Nicholas spoke into Sören's mind.

Sören was deeply touched by that - but also needed to flirt, to play, to not be overwhelmed by emotion.  So he smirked and kissed Nicholas back. Promises, promises.

Nicholas growled and bit Sören's neck.

As arousing as that bite was, making Sören's cock and hole both twitch, craving more, Nicholas biting his neck reminded Sören of something and Sören exploded with laughter.

"What," Nicholas said.

"Remember how I was making jokes about you being Daddy Dracula, on Valentine's Day, before shit happened?" Sören laughed so hard he snorted. "Well..." He gestured to Nicholas. "You're not undead, and it wasn't by blood, but, ah, you were turned."

Nicholas shook his head and facepalmed, but his sides heaved with silent laughter.

"I guess we can call him Daddy Drac now," Anthony teased.

"No no." Sören grinned, thinking of ribbing Nicholas earlier. "Daddy Drake."

Anthony grinned back. "Drizzy Drake?"

Nicholas smacked Sören's bottom. "Could you not encourage him," Nicholas said, glaring at Anthony, even though his eyes were sparkling and crinkled at the corners.

"Like he needs encouragement," Anthony said, and pulled Sören over into a kiss.

Nicholas swatted Sören's bottom again. Sören shook his ass.

Chapter Text

Two days later, on Friday, the second day of March, Nicholas felt restless when he got home from a day at the UCL campus, rather than exhausted, and decided to get a jump start on some chores so he could have more time free on the weekend for leisure. He began dusting the greatroom. A few minutes into the job he felt like putting on music. Instead of opera, classical or jazz, he opted for the music of his youth, since he was feeling young again.

It's not unusual to be loved by anyone
It's not unusual to have fun with anyone
But when I see you hanging about with anyone
It's not unusual to see me cry
I wanna die

Sören got off the couch, where he'd been curled up with the cats zoning out after a long day of surgery, and Sören began to dance, stepping from side to side, swinging his arms and snapping his fingers. Anthony looked up from his book and hit himself in the forehead with his book, chuckling.

"OK, Carlton," Anthony said.

"What?" Nicholas was utterly confused.

"Never mind," Anthony muttered, and went back to his book.

There wasn't a huge amount of dust - between the four of them, they tried to stay on top of keeping the house tidy - but Sören had asthma and was still sensitive to it, and a few songs later Sören stepped outside to get some air. Nicholas took a break and joined him, and soon Anthony was out there as well, cane clicking on the front step. It was one of those evenings when spring was definitely in the air, warm in the golden haze of the hour just before sunset. Nicholas put an arm around Sören and Anthony, grateful to have them close by... grateful to be alive, and share this moment with them.

As many uncertainties as the future held - what the world would look like in the coming decades with climate change and political upheaval - Nicholas still felt like he had just embarked on a great adventure. A few years ago, Sören had injected his life with fun and humor and passion. Now Nicholas was even hungrier for what life had to offer, feeling young and strong again. He hoped that somehow, Sören and Anthony would be able to join him and Mark in the years to come, exploring the world together as playmates. In the meantime, he would never take a single moment for granted, basking in the living hearth fire that was the love they shared.

The peace of the moment was disturbed as a brown Vauxhall with Grateful Dead decals pulled into the driveway. Nicholas wasn't expecting visitors, and he felt on edge as he watched the driver step out of the car.

"Holy shit, is that The Dude?" Sören whispered.

Nicholas's eyebrows shot up, confused. "The... Dude."

"The Big Lebowski." Sören patted him. "Never mind."

Immortal that he might be now, healed from his arthritis, Nicholas still felt utterly old from the reference he didn't catch for the second time today.

"That's not Jeff Bridges," Anthony said, and he stepped forward. "Edmund!" He narrowed his eyes and said more quietly, "Or should I say Olórin."

The man laughed. "You got me," he said, putting both hands up.

Nicholas knew of course that the Tolkien movies weren't necessarily representative of reality - of the Lord of the Rings movies, the only actor cast as an Elf who actually looked like one was Liv Tyler playing Arwen - but whatever he was expecting Gandalf to look like, it wasn't this. The man was a few inches under six feet, with a slight potbelly that the youth called a "dad bod" nowadays. He had stringy shoulder-length grey hair that was thinning on top, and a bushy grey beard that was longer on his chin. He wore a brown leather jacket over an obnoxiously bright rainbow-colored tie-dye T-shirt and faded, scuffed jeans, with penny loafers, a quartz crystal point necklace, and a bodhi mala on his left wrist. He took off red sport sunglasses to reveal merry grey eyes.

He doesn't dress like that for work, does he? Nicholas imagined that even in the more relaxed setting of therapy, the NHS still had a dress code.

No, he wears suits and puts his hair up unless it's a chat session then it's a sweater. Anthony chuckled. He still gives off major hippie vibes, though, he has a rock garden in his office and singing bowls and bonsai trees and stuff.

The man - Edmund Billingsley... Gandalf, Nicholas corrected himself, still in a state of shock - slowly sauntered towards the house. At the surprise on their faces, Gandalf said, "You act like you've never seen a wizard before."

"We were expecting someone taller," Anthony quipped.

"Yeah." Gandalf put a hand on his hip and looked Anthony up and down. "I was expecting someone blond."

Anthony rolled his eyes. Sören chuckled, and Nicholas smiled. Then Gandalf said, "Is now a bad time? Am I interrupting anything?"

"Mark is at the store," Nicholas said, "if that's who you came to see, but you can come in and have tea with us while you wait -"

"Actually, I came to speak to all of you," Gandalf said, "not just Mark, but we can wait to tackle the serious business when he arrives. Tea sounds good, thank you."

Nicholas gestured and led the way inside, barely believing what was happening.

Nicholas made tea and brought it out in the phoenix-and-roses tea set he'd bought for his and Sören's third anniversary. When he came out from the kitchen he found that all three cats were sniffing Gandalf and allowing themselves to be petted, like they recognized an old friend. Nicholas found that very curious.

Gandalf was sitting in one of the armchairs and after Nicholas handed Gandalf his tea, he went to the couch to sit on the other side of Sören, who leaned back and put an arm around Nicholas and Anthony. Nicholas watched as Gandalf took a few sips of tea, quietly looking around the room. The cats went over to the couch. Seumas climbed onto Anthony's shoulder, Miss Balls sat on Sören's lap, and Tobias climbed onto the arm of the couch next to Nicholas, leaning into his touch as Nicholas skritched him.

"I apologize for just showing up and not texting or ringing you first, Anthony," Gandalf said, "but I felt it was better to just come and say what I have to say rather than plan for it. Life is what happens when you're making other plans, and your lives have been interesting enough that I didn't want to take the risk there would be interference."

"Interference." Nicholas didn't like the sound of that.

"Yes, you heard me."

Mark's car pulled in. They went back to quietly sipping tea, while the word interference echoed in Nicholas's head, wondering what that implied. There was the rustle of bags and the jingle of keys just outside the door, then the door opened and shut and Mark set his bags down on the floor as he took off his boots and jacket. When he came in he saw Gandalf sitting there and his eyes widened, but Mark managed to keep composed.

"Olórin. Hello. Please allow me to get the perishables put away and then I'll... join you," Mark said.

"That's fine."

Nicholas felt ready to jump out of his skin with anticipation. After a few minutes that felt like an eternity, Mark walked out and took the other armchair. "I knew you would eventually come but your timing is always a surprise," Mark said.

"Well, it shouldn't be that much of a surprise. You know I would feel the surge of power a fortnight ago. I gave you this long to get settled."

"When you say surge of power..." Nicholas cocked his head to one side. "Do you mean the attack? Or what they did with the Silmarils? Or -"

"Both." Gandalf nodded solemnly. "I would have intervened if they hadn't, Ñolofinwë, but I knew it was better for several reasons to let them figure out what the Silmarils are capable of... what the four of you are capable of. So I made myself hold back and not interfere, which was very difficult. I'm glad you've recovered... and that the three of you are finally starting to awaken."

"So you felt the attack." Sören scowled and folded his arms. "Why didn't you stop it from happening in the first place?"

"That, Fëanáro, is what I'm about to get to, but first, let me answer your question with a question. The attack happened at an antique shop called Curious Goods, yes?"

"Yes," Nicholas said. "I thought my mind was playing tricks on me when it happened, that I was reacting to the horror movie atmosphere of the shop. I found out after the fact that Sören and Anthony had watched what happened in the palantir." Nicholas sighed. "Sören had told me he didn't like the shop. I didn't see the harm of going in. I wish I hadn't."

"Had you been there before?" Gandalf glanced at Sören.

"So..." Sören took a deep breath and gave a nervous laugh. "In November 2014, I did a bachelor auction to raise money for the Children's Hospital. Two guys got into a bidding war over me. The creepy guy who owns the shop, and Nicholas."

"You bought nothing at the shop?" Gandalf asked.

"Correct," Nicholas said.

"So there's nothing that could have come home with you that could be used as a sort of homing device."

Nicholas found that strange - but then, if he'd been magically attacked in the store, that wasn't such a bold assumption. After a minute Nicholas remembered something. "There's a business card he put into the pocket of my trenchcoat. I forgot it was there -" He got up and went to the coatrack.

Just a simple little business card gave him an uneasy feeling, even though the temperature was normal and it didn't feel like it was throbbing. It looked like a normal business card, heavy card stock, a plain black background with an elegant silver foil script below small caps denoting the name of the store. The proprietor's name was Marion Allendale.

Nicholas handed the card to Gandalf, who frowned at it, then the card floated over to Mark. Mark's eyes widened and he swore in Quenya before the card floated back to Gandalf. Gandalf pointed his finger and they watched as a beam of white light shot out and made the card disintegrate.

"Marion," Mark growled, and shook his head. "I should have realized."

"Wait," Anthony said. "That sounds like Mairon."

"Yes," Gandalf said. "Marion Allendale - like Mairon Ainulindalë. He's using a similar playbook to you, 'Mark', I suppose, with aliases."

"Sauron runs the bloody antique shop?" Nicholas couldn't believe it, even though it made too much sense.

"Yes, Ñolofinwë. That was who attacked you. ...Who tried to kill you recently."

"Wait wait wait, hold up." Sören put up a hand and started glaring again. "Motherfucking Sauron has been running an antique shop in London all this time, and you've just... done nothing? Do you not care? Do you not have any powers anymore? Or is there some sort of con going on with Manwë and Morgoth and you're in on it -"

"Now, now, Fëanáro, let's not jump to conclusions." Gandalf floated his empty tea cup over to the tray on the coffee table. "The correct answer to this is 'none of the above'. Something else entirely."

"This better be fucking good." Sören looked ready to kill.

"It starts with why you're here." Gandalf gestured at the three of them. "In some universes, you were re-embodied in your original Quendi forms. In some other universes, the Valar presented you with a choice about how you would be reborn, whether you would be re-embodied as Quendi again, or if you would prefer to take another form. Nienna thought that giving you an option to be re-embodied as something else would perhaps ease the trauma of what you'd endured, which is why you had a choice while others did not. You, Fëanáro, chose to be mortal when you saw your son was wandering the world of Men, all alone. Naturally your brothers followed suit."

There was a long pause, as Sören, Anthony, and Nicholas considered what had been said. Nicholas knew how much Fëanor loved his sons, especially Maglor, there was nothing Fëanor would not do for his sons. It made a lot of sense that Fëanor would choose a human incarnation for the sake of finding Maglor and reuniting with him, and a lot of sense that Fingolfin and Finarfin would go wherever Fëanor did. That was beautiful to Nicholas, in a sad way.

Mark's eyes misted. Sören teared up too, and Sören attempted to smile at him across the room, as Nicholas squeezed Sören's hand. Then the scowl was back on Sören's face. "You said... 'some other universes.' Not this one?"

"You were not given a choice in this world," Gandalf said. "But I had seen the other worlds where you were, and so... it was my choice, when you were released from Mandos, to send you here, so Macalaurë would not be alone. But more than that, Fëanáro."

"I'm afraid I don't follow with what this has to do with why you've just let Sauron hang out in London for however the fuck long he's been here," Sören said.

"I was about to get to that, if you'd let me finish," Gandalf said.

Sören folded his arms.

"You were severely wronged by Melkor. I know you also blame Manwë as being ultimately responsible and I'm not here to try to argue with you about that. After the War of the Ring, Sauron's body was destroyed and because the One Ring was destroyed, he could not re-embody himself. But then... Melkor found a way to break through the Door of Night. He re-embodied his chief servant, Mairon, himself, and Sauron has been quietly gathering power for the last five years with the shop he owns. He chose London because all three of you are here. He has tried, and failed, to kill each of you."

Anthony's hand covered his mouth and when he pulled it away, he was shaking. "Did he... the accident..."

"Justin Roberts was a destructive idiot on his own, a real bad apple, but he had recently been to Curious Goods and was under Sauron's influence from a good-luck charm he'd bought. You were meant to die in that car accident, Arafinwë. Because Sauron used a human agent to do his dirty work for him, it was hidden from my sight until it already happened." Gandalf lowered his head and closed his eyes. "Forgive me."

"And he would have won the bachelor auction if Nicholas hadn't," Sören said. "Killing me might have been the least bad thing he'd do to me."

Gandalf nodded. "He probably would have kept you alive for a time as... well, never mind. I think you all know what Sauron is capable of."

"Jesus." Anthony shuddered and held Sören tight. Nicholas clung to them as well, not wanting to think about it, glad that Sören was here with them, safe. Beloved.

"You still haven't explained why -" Sören looked ready to kill again.

"I'm about to get to that." Gandalf gave Sören a stern look. He went on, "I have been doing damage control - trying to track down the people who buy things from the shop and intervene before they can be seriously harmed, or harm someone else. It's much easier said than done, Sauron has everything specially shielded to keep us from tracing. We have been too late, too much of the time. As I said, I didn't know about Justin Roberts until the thing had been done. And yes, I could attempt to fight Sauron. But Sauron's work in this world is empowering Morgoth, feeding on what happens to Sauron's victims, and it seemed to us that it would be much more fair and just and right and proper for you to deal with Sauron yourselves, when you were ready and capable of doing so. A blow to Sauron is a blow to Morgoth. I did not feel it was right to take that away from you. I can, and will, assist you if you need it. But it would be much better if you found a way to take care of it without my help."

That also made sense to Nicholas, and that answer seemed to satisfy Sören. "Much more satisfying to kill him myself than let you do it," Sören said, "after all that fucker did."

"Exactly."

"We should go to Curious Goods and kick his ass." Sören's jaw clenched.

Nicholas put a hand on Sören's arm - as much as he loved that fighting spirit in Sören, he knew from before what kind of trouble it could get into. Before he could say anything, Gandalf shook his head. "I would exercise great caution and restraint, Fëanáro. You are more powerful than you know - and yet, you know how powerful your enemies are."

"He's right," Mark said. "Think of what was done to Maitimo. That's just a taste of what they're capable of."

"Other universes," Anthony said. He raised an eyebrow. "Can you tell us what you've seen, if there's anywhere else we've taken them on...?"

"I haven't seen every universe," Gandalf said. "The ones I have... it's a bit tricky. The universes all flow on different times. There is, for example, a universe I know of where you all are present and it's already the year 2034. There is another universe where you entered the timeline earlier and it just got done with World War II."

"OK, and..." Anthony narrowed his eyes.

"There is a universe where the three of you were re-embodied as Quendi and you fought Morgoth and Sauron at the Dagor Dagorath and... well, they lost, but everyone lost. That universe was destroyed. It was like two great powers having a nuclear standoff, but with magic."

"Fuck." Anthony pinched the bridge of his nose, while Sören sat there open-mouthed. Nicholas closed his eyes and saw the vision of a black hole whirling... ripples through other dimensions, like entire universes contained within galaxies. Nicholas opened his eyes and shivered. He suddenly wanted to be elsewhere very, very badly. Somewhere there was a blue pill, where he could unsee what he'd just seen.

"There is a universe where you fought Morgoth, and other gods, and won... but... you are the worse for wear. Especially you, Sören. Very deeply traumatized. The battle is never over, in your mind. That would be the universe where it's currently the year 2034."

"I see." Sören slumped in his seat and looked down.

"I have no easy answers for you about how you should go about taking on Sauron, only that it needs to be your job... and there is a great risk involved. Not just to your bodies, but here." Gandalf put a hand on his heart. "There is a saying, 'Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.' Sauron needs to be stopped, but unleashing the sort of power and ferocity it takes to stop him is... a dangerous prospect, especially with your tendencies, Fëanáro. Once you release the wolf from his bonds, it is very hard to put him back in."

Another long silence, and finally Gandalf asked, "Do you have any other questions for me?"

Nicholas had a lot of questions, but he didn't think any of them were the sort that Gandalf could answer. Sören had something more to say, but it wasn't a question.

"Maybe the Silmarils should be donated to science, like you suggested," Sören said, looking into Nicholas's eyes. "They healed you. I perform surgery most days a week on people with life-threatening conditions. Some of them don't make it. Imagine if I could heal -"

"That's a bad idea," Mark said.

Gandalf nodded. "He's right."

"How is it a bad idea to heal people, exactly?" Sören asked.

"Because it's one thing to heal them and another thing to make them immortal, like an Elf." Mark shook his head. "Most people wouldn't be able to handle it. Some people... shouldn't be immortal. You and I both know that the first people who would be given access to the Silmarils and their power are exactly the sort of people who would put themselves in power for eternity. Like Donald Trump. Do you really want God-Emperor Donald Trump taking over the world?"

Sören made a noise of disgust while Anthony and Nicholas cringed. "OK, fuck that idea."

"It would also change your lives and not for the better," Mark said. "You would get government attention for having found the Silmarils. They would find a way to make you disappear... and then try to figure out what exactly you know. What exactly you're capable of. I try to keep as low of a profile as I possibly can to keep that from happening, and that's without the Silmarils complicating things. You don't want that kind of publicity, Atya."

"There may be a time and a place where it might be appropriate to aid individual people, if you think you can do it without getting caught," Gandalf said. "But as much as you want to help, consider carefully that you'd be doing more harm than good, to try to make them public use. Not just immortality being granted to the wrong people, or to those who think they want it and don't understand what they're getting themselves into. It would shake up the entire structure of the world, as religions were undermined and new ones were created, with new dogma and new holy wars. You would see governments destabilize. It's not a pretty picture. The Holy Grail has ever been a mystery for the chosen few, and so it must be with the Silmarils as well. To do otherwise is to burn the world down and watch who fights to rule the ashes."

Nicholas was in shock that for the briefest instant, Sören had actually considered what he'd suggested back in 2016 after the first Silmaril had been recovered. Nicholas was very glad now that Sören hadn't listened to him. The world was going to be a difficult enough place to get adjusted to over the coming decades without the Silmarils becoming public knowledge and being used by those in power.

I love you, Nicholas spoke into Sören's mind, followed by you stubborn arse.

It takes one to know one, Sören shot back, with the mental image of Fingolfin standing against Morgoth in single combat, knowing the odds were against him. Fingolfin fighting to avenge Fëanor, feeling like he had nothing left to lose. Nicholas felt the Fëanor part of Sören aching. I love you too.

We shan't let them win this time. Nicholas leaned in to give Sören a kiss.  No one, nothing, will take you from me again. But that means we must be careful.

"Any further questions?" Gandalf looked around.

Anthony gave a wry smile. "Sounds like we're in court, doesn't it."

There was nothing - except Nicholas wanting to be polite and give a little something back to someone who had given them such valuable knowledge and insight. "Would you like to stay for dinner?"

Chapter Text

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 Text

Sören felt like he could sing and dance when he got out of work, and not just because it was Friday night and he finally had both Saturday and Sunday off for the first time in too long. Tonight, they were going to make magic.

Before Sören left the National, he stopped in the restroom, went into a stall, and put in the plug. On the scooter drive home, the purr of the engine made the plug gently vibrate inside him, teasing him more and more, his mind racing with delicious fantasies of what Nicholas, Anthony and Mark were going to do to him... and each other. By the time Sören pulled into the driveway of their home in Blackheath, he wasn't just rock hard, his scrub pants tented, but there was a wet spot from precum, leaking right through his boxer-briefs.

Soon, Sören told himself as he climbed down from the Vespa, cock throbbing, hole twitching around the plug, his heart pounding. Very soon.

He couldn't get in the door fast enough, so horny and pent up that his hands trembled and fumbled as he tried to put the keys in the lock. Just before he could try again, Mark opened the door. Mark pulled Sören against him right away, kissing him deeply. Sören shivered at the feel of Mark's body against his, those strong arms holding him... Mark hard through his black jeans, grinding up on him as they kissed, letting Sören feel he wanted this just as much.

"Hi, Atya," Mark said, and leaned in to kiss Sören's forehead, then the top of his head. He gave Sören a squeeze.

"Hey, elskan." Sören got up on tiptoes to kiss the tip of Mark's nose, which made Mark grin and laugh. "Let me wash my hands and I'll be right with you, OK?"

Mark nodded, grabbing Sören's ass as Sören brushed by.

Once Sören was washed up, Mark led the way upstairs to the dungeon room on the second floor. Sören knew Anthony and Nicholas were waiting there - they'd been planning this for weeks - but he still gave a little gasp of surprise as he saw a trail of red rose petals leading down the hall, and then scattered over the floor of the room. Candles were lit in standing candelabras and wall sconces, and though Mark was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, his usual attire, Anthony was in a black suit with a white shirt and black tie, and Nicholas was in a tuxedo with tails. Sören laughed, delighted.

"Wow," Sören said. "So special."

"Well, it is Feanor Day," Anthony said with a smile.

Nicholas gave him a confused look, raising an eyebrow. "Fëanor... Day?"

"It's 4/20," Anthony explained. "When people blaze it."

"Is that a marijuana reference?"

Sören laughed harder, finding Nicholas adorable in his perpetual dorkiness. He came over to give Nicholas a kiss. "You're so cute," he teased.

Nicholas glared. "I am not cute."

"Hi Not Cute -"

"I think we shall commence straightaway with the spanking," Nicholas said, marching over to the spanking horse. He yanked Sören's scrub pants down, then his underwear. "What would be very cute is your arse all red."

Sören bent over the spanking horse and wiggled his ass at Nicholas. "It ain't gonna spank itself, Ñolo."

Nicholas swatted Sören's ass hard, with his bare hand. "That's one."

Sören's cock leapt and he moaned. Nicholas gave Sören's ass another slap and Sören's fists clenched the spanking horse, hole twitching as the sweet sting radiated through his cheeks. Another smack, and another. Nicholas counted them: five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Each smack harder than the last, Sören's ass sensitized, the plug teasing him even more with each blow. "Shall I stop?" Nicholas asked after the tenth swat.

"More, Daddy," Sören begged.

Nicholas growled - that sound made Sören's cock throb - and Nicholas spanked him again. Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. After the fifteenth slap Sören let out a squeal and Nicholas stopped. "You poor dear," Nicholas said, rubbing Sören's sore ass, as tender as he'd been fierce. Then he pulled out the plug. "Let Daddy kiss it better."

Nicholas got down on his knees, spread Sören's cheeks, and began to lick around the rim of his opening. Sören cried out, and again when Nicholas's tongue dipped inside, fluttering. Nicholas's wicked tongue teased and teased, light playful strokes, then harder and faster, fucking, switching back to lapping delicately. Sören howled and screamed, rocking his hips back, fucking himself on Nicholas's tongue. He glanced over and saw Mark and Anthony had their cocks out, stroking each other, kissing every now and again as they watched Nicholas eating Sören. That just made Sören even hotter.

"Please, Daddy, please, fuck me, please," Sören wailed, knowing of course they had only just begun.

"As you know, Daddy is fucking you, darling." With that, Nicholas's tongue lashed away inside him, Nicholas shaking his head to really get in there, rubbing that sweet spot, making Sören sob and pant, quivering, feeling like he was going to die of sexual need.

At last Nicholas pulled back, his hand caressing Sören's ass again, before one last smack. Shaking, Sören clung to the spanking horse until Anthony and Mark led him away.

Anthony peeled off Sören's scrub top, and his hands roamed over Sören's body, eyes appreciative. Sören looked at Anthony still clothed in his suit - though Anthony's cock was out, rock hard and dripping precum - and before Sören could touch it, Anthony swatted Sören's hand away. "I think a brat like you needs to be teased some more before we give you what you want," Anthony said, stroking Sören's face.

"Yes, Sir."

Anthony led Sören over to the bed and had Sören sit on the edge. Sören watched as Mark got out lengths of black rope.

The heavy canopy of the custom frame was specifically designed for suspension play - with a mattress just a couple feet down to break the fall if there was an accident. But Sören felt Anthony knew what he was doing... and Sören trusted him.

Sören began to do warmup stretches, and when he was ready, Anthony started to work the ropes, doing an intricate series of knots that was both aesthetic and practical for securing Sören to the bed frame and supporting his weight. With each knot, Sören's anticipation grew until his heart was hammering in his ears.

Sören hung in the air, laying on his stomach, arms and legs bound. Each little movement made him swing. Even though he wasn't very high up at all, there was the sensation of flying, the dizziness of the world below. Sören laughed and cried at the same time, adrenaline pumping, an intoxicating mix of fear and confidence, vulnerability and surrender and euphoria.

Anthony finally undressed, pausing a moment to let Sören look at his naked body, and then he climbed onto the bed and lay under Sören like a mechanic, flicking a feather over Sören's bare skin. First his forearms, then his calves, then his stomach, then his nipples. Anthony used the lightest touch, making Sören break out in gooseflesh, shivering. His nipples and cock stiffened almost painfully, his hole twitching, aching to be filled. Anthony made two more rounds with the feather on its own, and for the fourth round his tongue followed the feather. Sören gasped, panted, moaned. "Oh god, please..."

"Is it too much? Do you need to safeword?"

"Don't stop," Sören ground out. He could feel his cock dripping, and Anthony licked that too, making Sören cry out.

Then it was just Anthony's hands and mouth, exploring all over, Sören's flesh exquisitely sensitized from all the teasing, going deeper and deeper into sensation. Deeper and deeper into submission, letting himself fly for his first love. Anthony licked at Sören's cock some more and then it was in Anthony's mouth, sucking slowly, as Sören hung there, helpless to the slow, sweet torment. "Fuck," Sören sobbed.

"Don't you dare come without permission." Anthony reached up to smack Sören's ass, then Sören's cock was back in his mouth and Anthony sucked just a little harder and faster, daring him to climax.

Mark and Nicholas were both naked now and had been stroking each other, watching the show, and now they put on a show of their own to torture Sören further. Sören watched as Mark got on his knees and took Nicholas's cock in his mouth, sucking from the side so Sören could get a good look at Mark's mouth full, Mark bobbing up and down as he sucked Nicholas hard, Mark's hand playing over Nicholas's chest hair and hairy thighs, Nicholas's face in ecstasy as he moaned and gasped. Sören whined and Anthony hummed around Sören's cock, slowing down the sucking, as Mark sped up on Nicholas.

Sören's eyes locked with Nicholas's across the room. Sören felt himself edging, trying to hold back, but Anthony's mouth was too good and Nicholas was too sexy. "Please," Sören begged again. "Oh god, please, please, please, Anthony, I can't take it..."

Anthony made an exaggerated noise of frustration. He licked Sören's cock again, and then he rose and began the process of untying Sören from the canopy. Mark stopped sucking Nicholas and the two stood by in case Anthony needed help, but he managed to get Sören safely on the bed unbound without incident. Sören could feel the burn of where the ropes had been, and he stretched some more, since he'd been up there for awhile and he was sore all over.

Not too sore to want. Now they lay him back and the three of them licked the rope burns, as Sören writhed and panted underneath them, cock twitching, throbbing, needing to come desperately. When Sören dug his nails into Anthony and bit him, absolutely feral in his lust, Anthony laughed and patted Sören. "I suppose we can give you what you want now."

Nicholas and Mark couldn't resist teasing Sören just a little more, with Nicholas working lube over Mark's cock. Then it was Nicholas and Anthony's turn to tease, laying on their sides on the bed, kissing and caressing each other, cock rubbing cock. Mark gently pushed Sören down and grabbed a fistful of Sören's hair, guiding Sören's head to where Nicholas and Anthony's cocks were kissing. Sören's mouth wrapped around them as Mark began to push inside Sören.

Sören sucked the two cocks together in time to Mark's thrusts, slowly at first, then harder, faster. When Mark slammed away into Sören, he growled and spanked Sören's ass, and Sören sucked Nicholas and Anthony for all he was worth, making a filthy slurping sound around the cocks in his mouth as his head moved up and down, up and down, cocks gliding in and out of his mouth. Nicholas and Anthony moaned as they kissed, hands pawing. Sören whined around the cocks in his mouth as he watched Anthony lower his head to lick Nicholas's nipples. When Anthony sucked on them, Sören whimpered, rocking his hips back at Mark, fucking Mark's cock, their hips slapping together furiously. Sören was going mad with pleasure and lust, and he gave a little sob of relief and torment as Mark's hand came around to play with his cock.

As they got closer, the Silmarils floated towards them. Sören seized one, white-knuckled, while Nicholas and Anthony held the others. He watched as Anthony used a Silmaril to rub Nicholas's nipples, then down Nicholas's stomach, hip, and thigh, and back up. Nicholas did the same, teasing Anthony's nipples in circles. Sören knew they could feel the stones pulsing, and that made Sören even wilder. He brought the Silmaril he was holding over to their balls, and as he sucked he caressed one sac with the glowing, throbbing, warm stone, then the other.

Nicholas and Anthony didn't last much longer after that. Anthony came first, letting out that shuddery sigh Sören loved, just before he began to shoot in Sören's mouth. Nicholas kissed Anthony, groaning into the kiss, and now Nicholas was spurting too. Tasting them made Sören come, screaming around the cocks in his mouth as he contracted hard. Three thrusts later Mark came with a cry, and Sören shivered at the pleasure of feeling Mark's hot seed spill inside him.

Sören swallowed, savoring the taste of them, and then Nicholas and Anthony dragged him up by his hair to kiss him in turn. Mark sank down to cuddle with them and he kissed Sören deeply.

They weren't done yet. A few kisses later they were all hard again, ready for more. Now it was time for Mark to yield himself. He lay on his back as Anthony bound Mark's wrists to the slats in the head of the bed, every now and again stopping to check and make sure they weren't too tight, and Mark was doing OK. When Mark's wrists were securely tied, Anthony had Mark test the bonds and, satisfied, Anthony gave Mark a sensual kiss that made Sören's cock start leaking precum again.

Nicholas sucked Sören's cock, getting him ready, as Anthony put Mark's legs on his shoulders and ate at his opening. When Sören and Mark were both slick with spit, Nicholas worked lube over Sören's cock and Anthony poured lube into Mark. Anthony and Nicholas gently guided Sören into position, Sören throwing one of Mark's legs on his shoulder as he guided his cock to Mark's entrance.

Sören moaned when he was all the way in, loving the silken heat embracing him. Mark sighed and trembled. "Atya," he breathed.

"I love you," Sören rasped, and began to thrust.

Sören put the Silmaril he'd been holding on Mark's heart. Nicholas and Anthony added theirs. Sören continued to thrust, watching the Silmarils glow on Mark's chest, watching Mark's eyes glow, watching the awe and joy on Mark's face as Sören hit that note inside him again and again with the ring in his cock.

"Atya." Mark gave a wordless moan, then a more insistent "Atya."

"That's it, my songbird, sing for us."

Anthony got behind Sören and when he was inside Sören, that was Sören's cue to thrust harder. Harder still when Nicholas was inside Anthony and set the pace, slamming into him. Three sets of hips smacked together, Sören's balls slapping Mark's ass as he drove fast and furious, lost in lust and pleasure, wanting to give Mark pleasure as well. Mark sobbed and screamed, rolling his hips back at Sören. "Yes yes yesyesyesyesyes Atya, yes Atya yes, more..."

"Oh god." Sören whimpered. And again, when Anthony nibbled on his neck.

Anthony's arms encircled Sören from behind, the hairy chest at his back, strong and safe. "I've got you," Anthony whispered, kissing Sören's neck, licking it. "Got you, baby."

Hearing Nicholas grunt made Sören even crazier. He reached down and started stroking Mark's dripping, glistening cock in time with his thrusts. Mark got even louder, the Silmarils burning brighter and brighter.

When Sören couldn't hold back anymore he leaned down, grabbed a fistful of Mark's hair with his free hand, and jerked Mark's cock as fast and hard as he could, before claiming his mouth in a deep, fierce, hungry kiss. Mark cried out into the kiss, and so did Sören.

"I'm so close," Sören whispered. "Need you to come with me."

Mark kissed Sören back and they shattered together, Mark's cum spraying Sören's stomach as Sören shot load after load into Mark's pulsing channel, clenching so sweetly. A moment later Anthony came with a hoarse shout and then Nicholas did with a deep groan.

The Silmarils glowed so bright everything went white. For an instant it felt like the four of them were one pulsing heart of the universe, and all that existed was love. A love that burned so bright no darkness could approach it. Sören pushed with his mind, visualizing the light rippling out beyond the walls of the house, all the way around London, the city in a bubble of brilliant, pulsing light. He could see in his mind's eye how Sauron's presence had created a dark shroud over the city - people were perfectly capable of evil nastiness on their own, but something about Sauron being here in this world had driven up the negativity, the hatred. Sören saw the light cutting through the darkness, grinding it down, melting it away.

Let there be peace.

Three weeks later, Curious Goods shuttered. Sauron was still out there somewhere - Sören could feel it, like the buzzing of a fly in the far end of a room - but for now he was gone from London. The papers reported that the crime rate was the lowest it had been in years; Anthony's colleagues were starting to joke they'd be out of business if this kept up.

To celebrate, Sören, Anthony, Nicholas and Mark went out to dinner at Balthazar in Covent Garden, and then they took a drive to Parliament Hill. Anthony used a wheelchair to get up the hill and once they were at the top they sat in the grass and looked down over the city of London as the sunset faded to twilight.

Even with Sauron gone, Sören still had plans to further reinforce the magical wards they'd put up over the city. He pulled out his phone and showed a photo that he'd copied from his tablet - a sketch of something inspired by the baptismal font at Hallgrimskirkja, a column of Icelandic basalt topped with crystal. Mark had spent the last three weeks building Sören a workshop on the side of the house, and in his spare time Sören had been reading up on how to work with glass and stone, which jogged Fëanor's memories. "The Pillar", as Sören had taken to calling it, would amplify the shielding. They would put it in the garden...

"...And when we eventually have to leave London, we'll find a public place to erect the Pillar, and I'll build a new one that can come with us to Iceland, and then... a new one when it's time to move on." Sören looked at Mark and put a hand on his shoulder. "I guess someday there'll be Pillars around the world. Maybe at least one on almost every continent."

Mark took a moment to respond, realizing what that implied. "So you're not just going to come with me and Nicholas when it's time, to stay with us... you're going to turn yourselves immortal as well."

Sören and Anthony looked at each other and then they nodded. "We've been talking about it and I think that's what we've decided," Anthony said. "When the Pillar goes live... we'll make the change." Anthony smiled. "And the cats, too. It's a package deal, we need our kitties." Anthony swallowed hard, eyes misting. "I know it won't fix my spine - this isn't autoimmune or aging-related, it's an injury, immortality didn't save Maitimo's hand, after all.  But I can live with it.  I didn't think I'd be ever saying something like that a few years ago after the accident, but..." Anthony wiped his eyes.  "Jesus."

Sören pet him - he was so proud of Anthony it hurt - then he found his own words. "It's taken us this long - since February, after what we did to Nick - because it's, you know. Complicated. Not something to decide lightly. I don't know what the world is going to be like in a few decades, a few centuries. I just know that I love you and don't want to lose you again." Sören sighed, meaning that with all his heart. So long as they had each other, they would be all right, somehow.

Mark hugged them both, and then Nicholas pulled them all into a hug. "That means a lot," Mark said, his voice husky as he got choked up. "It's not an easy life, running like this every decade or two."

"No," Anthony said, "and I understand why you didn't want that life for me at nineteen. But... this is my choice, now. And maybe it's... not running, anymore."

"What do you mean?" Mark cocked his head to one side.

Anthony stroked his chin, gathering his words. "Maybe we're going from place to place to where we're needed, to keep driving back the darkness. To keep healing the world, where the land and people need that energy."

Mark let out a low whistle. "That's a beautiful way of putting it." Mark gave Anthony a little kiss. "You're beautiful." He tousled Sören's curls and rubbed Nicholas's beard. "All of you."

"You make it sound like we're superheroes now or something," Sören said, booping Anthony's nose, amused and delighted by the concept. Then Sören's laughter rang out as he remembered something from the 1990s.

"What?" Nicholas narrowed his eyes.

Sören couldn't resist, knowing it would get a rise out of Nicholas. "By our powers combined, we are Captain Planet."

Nicholas facepalmed, shaking with silent laughter. He rolled his eyes and smiled. "Shan't."