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Bundin við hjarta þitt

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Gen'rals gathered in their masses,
Just like witches at black masses

Ion Nicolae Dooku turned up the volume and, even though he was the only one in the jeep, still threw the horns. He smiled to himself as his jeep made the turn into Svalbarðseyri, the village where he'd been living for close to a year, blasting Black Sabbath into the village streets. The picturesque little village was golden in the light of the setting February sun - it was only five in the afternoon. He was returning from a trip into Akureyri to go food shopping, which he would have done earlier, but he'd lost himself in his writing.

At seventy years old, Dooku was retired. He actually hadn't planned on being retired this early, working as a criminal defense barrister in London, but he moved to Iceland to be with the man he married. He knew going into it that he wouldn't be able to continue work in law - there was one lawyer for every three hundred people in the country. After taking some time to just relax, he found himself feeling restless, a storm he and his husband Sören had to weather together. But at last, the answer of "what now?" came to him as he spent more time at the library - necessarily, since he'd parted with most of his impressive book collection. Sören ran an art studio with classes open to the public, including classes for children, believing that everyone can and should make art of some kind, and when Dooku shared his vision Sören was intensely enthusiastic and supportive. That vision was to become a novelist, drawing on his background in law much as John Grisham had, but also drawing upon his personal background as a gay man with a transgender sister-in-law, tackling themes of social justice alongside conflicts of the heart.

And though he would have balked at the idea of writing "filthy smut" even a year ago, Dooku found himself spicing up his novel with sex scenes between the protagonist and his husband, based on his own sex life. Writing erotica didn't come naturally to him at first; indeed, he'd been celibate for most of his life, putting his career above everything until he met Sören. So to learn how to write erotica, he began reading it. He found that overall there was more bad erotica than good - he and Sören started to have a lot of fun together with dramatic readings of the worst gay male erotica on the Internet. But when it was good, it was very good, and learning from these examples on how to phrase things (just as he'd learned from the bad how not to phrase things), and writing about sex, had the very pleasant side effect of heating up his marriage. Not that he and Sören had been lacking in that department.

"Thunderstruck" by AC/DC started just as Dooku pulled into the driveway of the cabin, and he turned off the jeep with a reluctant sigh - he had perishables to put away, and had to get dinner started. He was greeted at the door by Snúdur, their tuxedo cat, who chirped and began rubbing against him, headbutting his leg.

"Yes, you missed me, didn't you?" Dooku cooed as he reached down to stroke and skritch the cat. "I wasn't gone long but it felt like forever, didn't it? You little snugglepuff. Yes you are. Yes you are."

He checked the status of Snúdur's food and water - Snúdur had eaten all the food given that morning, so he fed the cat again to keep him out of the way as he puttered around the kitchenette of their cabin, which boasted a wood stove, hot plate, slow cooker, mini-fridge, a sink, and a shelf unit that served as both a pantry and a space for cookware. The slow cooker got frequent use, so Dooku could just throw meals in and not worry about it as he spent the day writing or indulging other pastimes - he gardened and biked in warmer months, hiked year-round, went to the gym three times a week, and when not browsing books at the library, went there to play chess with the locals. Today, though, Sören had expressed interest in fish.

As Dooku prepared the batter for the fish, he put on the app he used for learning Icelandic. Even though everyone around here spoke English decently, Dooku still felt obligated to learn the language, and truth be told he liked the challenge of it, and thought it was a beautiful language. Sören's accent had become heavier since returning home after living in the UK for over two years, and Dooku found it incredibly sexy; Sören had lately taken to speaking Icelandic to him when they made love, which was a huge turn-on. The minutes wore on and Dooku knew Sören would be home soon, and even the mundane questions and answers in Icelandic - today, about grocery shopping, something he'd just done - had a strong effect on him, enough that he was getting hard thinking about Sören.

At the sound of Sören's jeep in the driveway, Dooku's heart raced with anticipation. Sören walked in, all smiles, taking off his black trenchcoat and gloves to hang on the rack near the door. Today he was wearing a Nine Inch Nails "Pretty Hate Machine" T-shirt over a long-sleeved black shirt, and his usual faded skinny jeans and black Doc Martens boots. His mop of dark curls was up in a messy man bun. When loose, his hair was down to his shoulders, having grown since moving back home; his beard was also fuller. Two pairs of small silver hoops in each ear and the sparkly black nail polish on his fingers glittered in the light from the fireplace. When Sören was in Reykjavik, he was frequently assumed to be a rocker of some kind, though that was technically his sister Margrét, who led a goth-punk band. The thirty-four-year-old wasn't a rock star, but here and now in the doorway of their cabin, he was a sex god as far as Dooku was concerned.

Dooku found himself slamming Sören against the wall in a deep, hungry kiss. Sören moaned into the kiss, arms wrapping around Dooku. "I missed you too," Sören husked before kissing him back, pulling him closer. At the feel of Dooku's hard-on pressed against him, Sören chuckled and said, "Wow, you definitely missed me."

Dooku kissed and licked down Sören's neck, his hard cock throbbing at the sound of Sören's breathy moans. Dooku nibbled Sören's ear, and whispered, "Ég vil sjúga þig." He claimed Sören's full, soft lips once more, tongue swirling more slowly and deliberately this time, and drew Sören's lower lip between his teeth before growling, "Ég er svangur að smakka þig."

"Fuck, yes." Sören reached down to unbutton and unzip his jeans. Dooku reached down to help pull them down, and Sören's silky black boxer-briefs with them.

He took Sören's hard cock into his hand, stroking it slowly as they kissed again; Dooku hooked a possessive finger through the captive bead ring in the head, his thumb stroking the frenulum. He resumed kissing Sören's neck, and then at last got down on his knees before his husband, eyes locking as he took Sören's cock into his mouth inch by inch.

When his cock was halfway in, Sören groaned, running his fingers through Dooku's hair. Dooku got to work, sucking hard, tongue lashing as he sucked. After a few minutes he focused on just the head, tongue working furiously on Sören's frenulum, one hand stroking the shaft, the other cupping and gently rubbing Sören's's balls. Sören was trembling, gasping for breath, leaning against the wall for support, clutching Dooku's head as he gently thrust into his mouth. "Sjúga mig," Sören rasped.

I love doing this to you, Dooku spoke into his mind, across their Force bond. I love pleasing you.

"God, you're fucking good at it," Sören gasped. "I'm gonna come soon."

"Mmmmmmmmm." Dooku took Sören's cock out of his mouth and began to lick the head, teasing him. Sören was leaking a lot of precum now, and Dooku lapped him hungrily, savoring the salty sweetness, eager for more. He pushed his tongue into Sören's foreskin as he took the head back into his mouth, swirling his tongue in the foreskin, and Sören threw his head back and cried out, knees buckling.

"Fuck..." Sören's hands were trembling as they held Dooku's head. "Nico... don't stop..."

Dooku worked his tongue faster, sucking harder, rubbing Sören's balls more firmly. Sören couldn't make words anymore, just animal noises, and Dooku reveled in it, loving the way Sören lost control. He couldn't resist one more round of teasing, gently tugging the Prince Albert piercing with his teeth before licking just the frenulum, giving a small, smug smile as Sören howled in a combination of pleasure and frustration.

"You fucking cocktease."

"I learned from you, my love." He lapped up more precum, and then took Sören's cock back in his mouth.

Sören fucked his mouth then, and Dooku found himself fumbling with his own trousers, consumed by pure sexual need. When Sören let go, screaming as he filled Dooku's mouth, the touch of his own hand brought him off instantly, moaning as he coated his hand with seed. In the Force, their pleasure wove together, flowing like water to water, shimmering, burning bright. Dooku rested his head against Sören's thigh, catching his breath.

Sören helped him up. Dooku brought his cum-soaked hand to Sören's mouth, who licked and sucked the fingers clean, and then licked his palm before planting a sweet, gentle kiss there. The look of love in Sören's dark eyes made Dooku's own mist, and the heat in Sören's gaze as those lips wrapped around his fingers and his tongue licked up the cum made Dooku feel a surge of randiness again, though he'd need time to recharge.

And it was time to start the fish already.

Dooku went to the bathroom and cleaned up to cook, and changed into his usual black silk pajamas. As he battered the fish, he stole glances at Sören taking his clothes off, admiring the rings in his nipples and the flame sleeve tattoo on one arm, the ocean waves on the other, leading to a design on his back of two phoenixes, one made of fire, one made of water. The phoenixes hid scars from physical abuse Sören had endured as a child, and were a metaphor for starting his life over again after trauma. Sören changed into a pair of blue plaid flannel pajamas, with matching blue bunny slippers, which would be horribly unsexy on anyone else, but somehow did not detract from his appeal at all. His hair was down now, and right after he sat down, Snúdur hopped up beside him and batted at a lock. Sören laughed and scooped up the cat into his arms, stroking him with his free hand; Snúdur nuzzled him and began to knead, purring so loudly Dooku could hear him across the cabin. Dooku smiled as he threw the battered fish on the frying pan.

"How was work today?" Dooku asked.

"Oh, you know. The usual." Sören leaned down to kiss the top of his cat's head and nuzzle the fur, then leaned back in his chair. "One of the adult groups is making winter landscapes and the ceramics group is doing vases. The kids are making snow globes and I don't think I'll ever get the glitter out of the art room."

Dooku chuckled. "I hope you didn't track any into the house. Or get it in your clothes. It's a lot like sand - coarse, rough, and irritating."

"Jæja, no shit. Although more accurately, glitter is the gonorrhea of craft supplies."

Dooku had taken that moment to drink water, and almost spat it out. Even after over a year of living with Sören's sense of humor, he still caught him off-guard. Sören grinned, satisfied by the older man's response.

"Speaking of," Sören said, "what's new in the land of gay male erotica? Anything brain bleach worthy?"

Dooku pinched the bridge of his nose, laughing and cringing at the same time. "I actually haven't visited that site today. I spent all day working on the chapter. Besides... you know I have more fun reading it when you're around."

"Someone to share your pain."

Dooku nodded solemnly. "After dinner we should see if the latest installment of that horror is up today."


They ate fish and chips together, ignoring Snúdur's whines like he hadn't been fed in days, and then, cuddled up, Sören sketched and Dooku visited the erotica website. Sure enough, the latest chapter of Secret Confessions Of A Cum Dumpster was available - Dooku marveled that it had twenty chapters and was still going.

Dooku began to read the chapter aloud to Sören with as much serious dignity as he could muster, his RP basso making everything sound much more dramatic and important than it really was. He kept as much of a poker face as he could, but at the phrase "turgid nips" his composure cracked. And then, a few sentences later -

"I licked my lips at the sight of his drooling purple mushroom head."

"Mushroom head? What is this, Super Mario?" Sören cackled, and began humming the Super Mario theme song, which then turned into "bow chicka bow wow".

Dooku took a deep breath, forcing himself to go on. "I screamed as he began forcing his thick love pole into my poop chute. 'Oh yeah! Give me that man meat!' I shouted, grindining on him furiously. 'I love taking that cork! Bread me good!'"

Sören doubled over, laughing so hard he scared the cat. "Who... the fuck... writes this..."

"I wish I could say 'one random individual with no taste' but these turns of phase and typos are all too common. I don't know how anyone finds 'poop chute' arousing."

"Well..." Sören leaned in and nibbled on Dooku's jaw. "Anything sounds sexy when you say it."

"Poop chute does not sound sexy when I say it. It does not even sound sexy when you say it, and you know how I feel about your accent."

"Hej elskan, þú vilt setja þinn kjöt stang í kúkur göng minni?"

Dooku laughed and rolled his eyes. "Well, when you say it like that..."

Sören kissed him, laughing too. Sören's laugh was like an aphrodisiac to Dooku, lighting up his entire world; soon they forgot about the bad porn, kissing passionately, hands roaming, lost in each other. Sören dragged Dooku off the couch and to the bed. 

They couldn't get their pajamas off quickly enough, and Sören used the Force to grab their lube from the bedtable. He climbed on top of Dooku and slowly worked lube over Dooku's cock as they resumed kissing. Now it was Sören's turn to kiss Dooku's neck, down to his chest, teasing the sensitive nipples with his tongue, sucking them hard.

"You are so delicious," Sören said, licking his chest hair.

Dooku groaned and stroked Sören's face, pet his curls. "I love you."

"I love you." Sören came up to kiss him, and then he impaled himself on Dooku's cock, taking it slowly. When Dooku was all the way inside, they sighed together, taking each other's hands.

Sören began to ride him slowly. Dooku loved the sight of him, watching his cock slide in and out of Sören's tight hole, watching Sören work his hips, his lithe, willowy, creamy body moving so fluidly, gracefully, like a dance. Sören liked looking at him too, running his fingers through Dooku's chest hair and over his six-pack abs; Dooku moaned at Sören's touch, all the right places.

Sören leaned down to kiss him. Then, before Sören could fully rise up again, Dooku sat up a little to lick Sören's nipple, playing with the captive bead ring with his tongue, giving a little tug with his teeth before suckling. Sören cried out, and Dooku playfully slapped Sören's ass, making him cry out again. He worked on the other nipple, licking fast then slow, sucking hard, his hand playing with the ring of the nipple he'd sucked previously, before turning his mouth back to it. Playing with one nipple ring as he licked and sucked on the other. When their mouths met again, Sören began riding him a little harder, faster, and Dooku growled into the kiss.

"Ég elska þig svo mikið," Sören whispered, trailing kisses over his beard, then down his neck. "Eiginmaður minn. Hjartað mitt. Sál mín."

Dooku gripped Sören's hips and started pounding away. Sören's nails dug into Dooku's sides, Sören panting "yes, yes, yes" as he bounced on Dooku's cock, riding him like a wild bull. The headboard slammed against the wall. Dooku's hands slid up from Sören's hips, over his stomach and chest, and back down. Sören was glistening with a fine sheen of sweat now, his cock dripping precum onto Dooku's stomach. Sören reached down and collected some of the precum with his fingers, pushing them into Dooku's mouth to taste. Dooku moaned, savoring the taste of his beloved, shivering with anticipation of the inevitable release.

Dooku's right hand stroked Sören's cock, and the left rubbed Sören's chest, plucking, rolling, and pinching his nipples, and enjoying the feel of the petal-soft skin, the muscles rippling as Sören rode him. He rubbed Sören's belly, and back up again, relishing every touch, every feel, every inch of the man he loved.

They were both so close now, but holding back, not wanting it to end. The mattress creaked underneath them, the wet slurping sound of their fuck and the slap of Dooku's balls against Sören's ass filled the cabin. Sören's sharp little cries and Dooku's deep grunts and groans, the shuddering gasps... all of it added to the heat, the need, the hunger, intensifying the pleasure of Sören's channel gripping and stroking his cock as he hit that magic spot inside him again and again.

Finally their eyes met, Sören's wild and almost feral. Tortured. "I need..." he whimpered.

A few thrusts, and then Dooku stroked Sören's cock hard and fast, his hand a blur. "Come with me, sweetheart."

"Nico." Sören let out a wordless howl, shooting all over Dooku's chest and stomach.

"Yes, Sören, yes my love..." Dooku roared as he spent into Sören, his toes curling, feeling Sören clench and pulse around him. Sören shot another arc of cum over him at the feel of Dooku coming inside him, and Dooku groaned, loving it when Sören came on him.

Sören collapsed onto Dooku's chest and they kissed, before Dooku pulled him close, smiling at the feel of Sören nuzzling his chest hair. Soon Sören was licking the cum off him, and kissed him again. If Dooku hadn't had such a shattering climax his cock would wake up again at the taste of Sören's cum in his mouth, but instead both men sighed happily and then Sören curled up on his shoulder, as Dooku fondly stroked his curls, gently rocking the younger man in his arms.

Sören drifted off into a nap, as he sometimes did after a powerful orgasm. Dooku thought about getting back on his laptop and working on more of the chapter, but he also felt lazy, warm and content, and enjoyed watching Sören rest, looking peaceful and ethereal. It was the cat who woke Sören up, climbing up on the bed and headbutting him. The sweet smile on Sören's face as he blinked his eyes open and reached out to skritch the cat warmed Dooku's heart.

"You know," Dooku said after watching Sören pet the cat for a moment, "you never did tell me the story of how you got him."

"It's not a terribly exciting story," Sören said.

"I'd still like to hear it."

"When I was staying with my cousin Ari last year, back when Margrét was in the UK for her lawsuit against Kylo Ren... one of Ari's yoga students died. She had a cat. Ari took in the cat with intent to rehome him, since he has a small apartment in Reykjavik and already has a cat. And I got attached. So when Margrét came back and had enough money to help me start over again, I took Snúdur with me. He gave me a reason to keep going after my heart was broken from... all of that."

Dooku winced, and squeezed Sören's hand before bringing it to his lips, planting a kiss in the palm, and squeezing it again, resting the hand on his heart. "Letting you go was the biggest mistake I ever made in my life." He stroked Sören's face. "And coming back to you was my best decision. Well... that and marrying you."

"And here I would have thought your best life decision was spending hours of your time reading about poop chutes and turgid nips and drooling purple mushroom heads."

Dooku pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking with silent laughter. "You know..."

"I know." Sören grinned.

Then Sören traced the one tattoo Dooku had, on his left wrist, which he'd gotten on their one-year anniversary in November. It was the vegvísir, an Icelandic magical stave intended to help the bearer find their way through rough weather - chosen for the symbolism of their love finding a way, against all odds. Dooku never thought in a million years he'd ever do something like that to his own body - he'd come of age during the hippie era and though he grew a beard, he kept his hair short and was a "square", silently disapproving of the counterculture. Now he had gotten a tattoo just before his seventieth birthday. And here he was working on a career change, writing erotica. Openly gay, married to another man, after being so closeted and afraid of repercussions on his career that he'd refrained from relationships all his life. Sometimes his life felt surreal, like he was having a really great sex dream he didn't want to wake up from.

But the pain of their three months apart had been all too real. And still lingered, even though they'd been married since September. Dooku looked at the calendar hanging above his small workspace in the cabin. They had broken up shortly after Valentine's Day, and Valentine's Day was soon. Three days' time, in fact.

"I want to make it up to you," Dooku said, stroking Sören's face.

"Oh, Nico." Sören smiled, and kissed the tip of his nose. Then he laughed softly. "We've already had all the makeup sex. Not that I'll turn down more..."

"I know Valentine's Day isn't a big deal in Iceland, but I still want to do something special to show you how much I care."

"You show me every day."

Dooku narrowed his eyes. "Will you just let me fucking spoil you."

Sören pressed his hand to his forehead and made an exaggerated sigh. "Oh, all right." Dooku glowered, and Sören laughed louder. "You're so cute when you make that face."

"I am not cute."

"Hi Not Cute, I'm -"

Using the Force, Dooku hit Sören with a pillow. Sören got a mock indignant look on his face, and then he also used the Force to throw a pillow. Dooku dodged, and then grabbed Sören and tickled him. Sören shrieked and tried to tickle him back. Snúdur got between them, jealous that they weren't petting him anymore, and the two resumed petting him, talking baby talk to the cat, who looked almost smug as he curled up, purring loudly.

"You're still cute," Sören said, and booped Dooku's nose.


The next day, Dooku got an early start on his chapter. A roast, potatoes and vegetables simmered in the slow cooker, and Dooku intended to have a productive writing day. But by noon, he needed a break. He went for a walk, the crisp February air invigorating him - though he was in great shape for his age, as a Force sensitive and a physically active man who took care of himself, he had occasional joint pain back in the UK, and over the last few months he felt better than he had in years. He'd been worried enough about his mortality a year ago to break up with Sören, not wanting to condemn him to life with an old man dying. Now he felt like he had at least another twenty years left, if not more, and he intended on living them to the fullest. If there wasn't so much snow on the ground he would have liked to go for a motorcycle ride.

But eventually he came in from the cold, and put on tea to warm his bones. As he drank tea he reviewed the latest offerings on the erotica website. One title in particular - Making It Up To You - stood out at him, almost like it was meant for him to read. Dooku clicked on it, and spent the next hour reading a story about two star-crossed lovers who broke up based on a misunderstanding, got back together, and as an act of demonstrating trust, one partner consented to be tied up.

Dooku found it fascinating, though the idea of being tied up appealed to him less than the thought of tying Sören up. Fantasies flashed through his mind. He thought of spanking Sören as "punishment" for all of the jokes, especially the dad jokes. Then tenderness, after being rough. "Let me take care of you." Spoiling him, kissing and licking every inch of his body. Teasing him. The look of trust in Sören's eyes as at last he was taken, filled, yielding, surrendering. Taking the anniversary of when things went sour and making it sweet. Making it right.

Dooku went hard at the thought of Sören tied, teased, trembling, begging for it. He pulled out his smartphone - Sören had finally gotten him to replace his damn flip phone, and taught him how to use the infernal contraption. He took a picture of his hard, dripping cock, and texted it to Sören with the message thinking of you.

Two minutes later Sören texted back: oh myyyyyyy. I'll have to go in the bathroom to keep people from seeing this.

Dooku texted a reply. Whatever shall I do with this?

Sören was quick to respond. Show me what a dirty slut you are.

Dooku groaned; he loved it when Sören talked to him like this. He stroked himself thinking about Sören, and just before he could climax, he shot a short video of his cock spurting, and sent it to his husband.

I am climbing the fucking walls right now, Sören texted back.

He didn't have any late afternoon or evening classes, and as soon as Sören got home he found Dooku naked in bed, waiting for him, propped up on one elbow, hard again. Sören stripped as fast as he could, leaving a trail of clothes to the bed. He wasted no time getting Dooku's cock in his mouth, then rimmed him like he was starving for it, Dooku arching and moaning, thrusting against his husband's face. Sören lubed him up, and then, with Dooku on his back, Sören slid into him, the two of them kissing as they were joined, body and soul. That was where the gentleness ended, Sören pounding him into the mattress with Dooku's legs on his shoulders, watching as Dooku stroked himself again, coming as Dooku came on him.

They curled up together, Dooku laughing as he felt Sören's cum leaking out of him. "I'll have to go to the laundromat tomorrow," he lamented.

Sören patted him. "It could be worse. At least it's not blood. Or other stuff."

Dooku cringed. "As I discover the world of erotica, I find myself grateful you're not into certain activities."


Now seemed like an opportune time to broach the subject of his earlier fantasy. "Although..." Dooku propped himself up on the pillows. "What do you think about things like being tied up once in awhile?"

"Like some Fifty Shades shit?"

"No, not like Fifty Shades of Grey. For starters, we have a healthy relationship, and this would be explicitly consensual."

Sören snickered. "Awww, and here I was hoping I could say 'my inner goddess is turning cartwheels right now' or something equally cheesy."

Dooku facepalmed. "Dear god."

"So..." Sören's fingers walked over Dooku's chest, idly playing with the chest hair. "Do you mean like a full-time master-slave thing, expecting me to wear a collar and kneel and all that, or do you just mean occasional kinky fuckery?"

Dooku rolled his eyes at the "kinky fuckery" reference. "I definitely mean occasional. A bit of fun once in awhile, to spice things up. Not for all the time."

Sören nodded. "I think we could try it."

"Would you like to try it soon? For example, part of our romantic evening for Valentine's Day?"

"What did you have in mind?"

"Spanking you for being such a brat. Then tying you up." Their eyes met, and Dooku waited.

Sören was quiet, and looking serious, considering. Finally, he gave a slow nod. "I think I could get into that."

"Good." Dooku kissed him softly, and Sören kissed him back harder.

Then Sören cackled. "Look at you, taking a walk on the wild side." He grinned. "I like it."

"That makes two of us." Then he rolled Sören onto his back, nibbling his neck with a growl.


Valentine's Day 2019 fell on a Thursday, and Sören still had classes to teach. Their plan was for Dooku to pick Sören up at Logifugl Listaskóli, and the two would go to an early dinner and proceed from there.

Though they were going to a more casual establishment - Serrano, the Mexican restaurant where they'd eaten the night that they fucked for the first time - Dooku still wanted to look elegant for his husband, so he opted on a flowing brown cape over a black tunic and trousers. He arrived at Logifugl Listaskóli just as Sören's last class was finishing up, schoolchildren working on snow globes. The parking lot was full of parents waiting for their kids, most of whom by now recognized Dooku and greeted him on his way in.

Sören was wearing a black button-down shirt and black trousers, and had taken caution to wear an apron over his good clothes to avoid getting paint or glitter on it; even in a grey apron stained with paint, Sören still looked sexy to him.

A twin brother and sister pair, around nine or ten years old, whose mother had called earlier to let Sören know she'd be a little late, were staying behind and helping Sören clean up the art room. Dooku also helped them, with Sören giving the children instructions in Icelandic.

Finally the girl paused, staring at Dooku. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, obviously a little nervous, and then she said, "I'm learning English. Can I practice?"

"Yes, milady," Dooku said, restraining the urge to correct her with May I practice.

The girl proceeded to talk about her dog, and showed him the snow globe she'd been making, and told him her mother was a nurse and this was "very 'portant."

"Important," her brother corrected.

"It's important but it's really..." She wrinkled her nose, searching for the right word. "It's gross. She pokes people with needles a lot and sees a lot of blood."

"I... see." Dooku frowned slightly.

Then the girl said, "Maybe I shouldn't be telling you about blood."

"It's fine," Dooku said, though it wasn't really the sort of thing he wanted to discuss before a meal.

Then the girl blinked and said, "But are you Count Dracula? You look like Dracula, but really old."

Across the art room, Sören was trying very hard not to laugh, and failing, shaking with silent laughter, his face flushed, eyes shining. Dooku glared at his husband, and then he said to the girl, as solemnly as he could, "I am not a vampire."

"Of course he's not a vampire," her brother scolded. Dooku expected him to say something like "vampires aren't real", but instead he said, "He doesn't even sparkle."

Sören snorted, and immediately covered his face, shaking harder at the look of exasperation on Dooku's face. Dooku tried to mask it, and he was grateful when the children's mother showed up in her nursing scrubs, thanking Sören profusely for staying with them.

"Bye," Sören said, in English, for the benefit of Dooku. "Be safe driving in that twilight."

When they were out of earshot, Dooku huffed, "You know..."

Sören beamed. "I know."

Sören took off his apron on the way out, and they got in the jeep. "Whatever are they teaching children these days?" Dooku complained as they rolled out. "Vampires. Do. Not. Sparkle."

"Edward Cullen does."

"Why. Why."

Sören's response was to turn on the music. "A Whole Lotta Love" by Led Zeppelin was just ending, and then "Bohemian Rhapsody" began. Sören and Dooku looked at each other, and Sören began singing along.

Sören sang by himself until the middle of the song, when Dooku took over, in his rich bass-baritone, gesturing imperiously like he was in an opera.

I see a little silhouetto of a man,
Scaramouche, Scaramouche, will you do the Fandango?
Thunderbolt and lightning,
Very, very frightening me.

Sören sang in falsetto:

(Galileo) Galileo.
(Galileo) Galileo,
Galileo Figaro

They sang Magnifico-o-o-o-o together and then traded off, in Dooku's deep voice and Sören's tenor:

I'm just a poor boy, nobody loves me.
He's just a poor boy from a poor family,
Spare him his life from this monstrosity.

Easy come, easy go, will you let me go?
Bismillah! No, we will not let you go. (Let him go!)
Bismillah! We will not let you go. (Let him go!)
Bismillah! We will not let you go. (Let me go!)
Will not let you go. (Let me go!)
Never let you go (Never, never, never, never let me go)
Oh oh oh oh
No, no, no, no, no, no, no
Oh, mama mia, mama mia (Mama mia, let me go.)
Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me, for me, for me.

They headbanged together as they pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant, and waited until the song was over, swaying together, with Sören taking out a lighter, flicking it on and waving it.

Sören put an arm around him as they walked into the restaurant; Dooku not-so-discretely grabbed his husband's ass, making Sören give him a playful swat, giggling.

"You used to be such a gentleman," Sören mock-scolded.

"I still am a gentleman, most of the time." Dooku smiled over his menu. "Most of the time."

"But not tonight, I see."

"I will neither be a gentleman nor a gentle man, later."


Dinner was fairly straightforward, and then Dooku drove them to the Nature Baths at Lake Mývatn, where they'd gone the night they'd fucked for the first time, and had been a few times since Dooku moved to Iceland. Dooku was still a bit self-conscious about having to shower naked in public, but not enough to keep him from his objective. Dooku and Sören waded into the hot spring and were served ice-cold beer, cuddling up together as they enjoyed the heat of the water and the sea of stars draped over them.

And then, just as had happened on that magical night in 2017, the aurora glowed in the night sky, shimmering green with bands of violet, magenta, aqua and gold. Dooku and Sören both broke out in gooseflesh, watching in awe for a few moments before they looked into each other's eyes and kissed, just as they had that night. Dooku's hands traced the phoenix tattoos on Sören's back, and Sören's fingers traced the vegvísir on his wrist.

"Ég elska þig þar til andinn minn fer frá þessum heimi," Dooku told him, stroking his face, his curls, wanting this moment to never end.

"Sál mín mun finna ykkur yfir allt rými og tíma."

They kissed again, more deeply, more hungrily. Then they nuzzled, their foreheads close, breathing each other's breath, their palms and fingertips touching, feeling the Force flowing between them, almost as if they were inside the aurora, the aurora singing their souls. In that moment they could feel something greater than themselves, like the aurora was a door to other worlds than these, and in all of those worlds, some way, somehow, they were together.

"Ég er þitt og þú ert mín," Dooku said, kissing his hands, pressing them to his heart.

They looked up at the aurora again, tears falling silently; quiet, electric joy.

On the drive back to their cabin in Svalbarðseyri, the Northern Lights continued to play in the sky. Sören put on Cocteau Twins, which seemed the right kind of ambiance. Even though Dooku was eager for what would happen when they got back to the cabin, he was also in no rush to get back, savoring the beauty of the night, feeling the Force as strongly as he ever had, everything so alive.


They were naked now, and stood in front of the bed, admiring each other in the golden glow of the fireplace. Dooku took a step forward - suddenly feeling almost bashful, as if he were making love for the first time all over again - and he stroked Sören's face as they kissed.

They just kissed for a moment, hard cocks rubbing together, holding each other tight. When they pulled apart, Dooku looked into Sören's eyes and said, "Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?"

Sören nodded. "Absolutely."

"I don't want you to just go along with it because you feel you have to in order to make me happy -"

"Nico. I want to try this, too." Sören grinned, and then let him feel his enthusiasm across their Force bond, which he'd been holding in check all day, not wanting to get too worked up around his students or out in public.

"All right." Dooku nodded. "It seems we should have a safeword, just in case something happens that you don't like."


"Red for stop, yellow for slow down, green for go?"

"Sounds fine to me."

"Good." They kissed again, and then Dooku grabbed a handful of Sören's hair and ground out, "You're overdue for going over my knee, brat."


Dooku sat on the edge of the bed and yanked Sören down across his lap. He admired the curve of Sören's bubble butt, taking a moment to caress it. "I'm going to give you twenty-five spankings. Safeword if you need it."

"God, yes."

Dooku knew Sören responded favorably to the occasional ass slap when they had sex, but the way Sören was grinding against him now in anticipation was something else entirely. Dooku's hand struck Sören's ass, hard. "One."

"Fuck." Sören was already breathing harder.

Slap. "Two." Slap. "Three."


"Such a brat that you enjoy this, don't you?"


Slap. "Four." Slap. "Five. You naughty boy."

"Very naughty." Sören wiggled his ass provocatively, grinding against Dooku's thigh some more. "I've been so bad..."

Slap. "Six." Slap. "Seven."

"So bad..."

Slap. "Eight. So depraved." Slap. "Nine." Slap. "Ten." He slapped harder for the eleventh, and Sören cried out.

"Are you all right?" Dooku asked, mildly concerned, watching the red handprint bloom.

"Green. Fucking green."

Dooku smiled to himself, and slapped Sören's ass again. "Twelve." Slap. "Thirteen." Slap. "Fourteen. My... you have such a lovely arse, and it looks even lovelier when I can see where I've been."

"God, yes. Green. Green."

Slap. "Fifteen." Slap. "Sixteen." Another very hard slap. "Seventeen."


He gave Sören what he wanted, slapping his ass harder, aroused at the sight of Sören opening to him, presenting, wanting this as badly as he did if not more. "Eighteen." Slap. "Nineteen."

Sören whimpered, digging his nails into Dooku's other thigh, rubbing harder against him; Dooku could feel Sören's cock leaking precum.

Slap. "Twenty." Slap. "Twenty-one. You are like an animal in heat, aren't you?"


Slap. "Twenty-two. Brat." Slap. "Twenty-three. Naughty, naughty brat."

"I'm your brat..."

Slap. "Twenty-four." One last, intense slap, the hardest he could give. "Twenty-five."

Sören was trembling, and Dooku gave him a moment before tenderly rubbing Sören's red ass. He helped Sören climb onto the bed, and then he used the Force to bring over a salve he'd bought yesterday in anticipation. He cradled Sören close, petting him with one hand, rubbing salve onto his ass with the other, as Sören nuzzled him with a glazed look in his eyes as if he was high, smiling euphorically.

"It's time to take care of you now," Dooku said when he was finished with the salve.

Sören nodded.

They had agreed to just tie Sören's wrists and not his ankles. Dooku produced two black silk scarves he'd bought for this evening, and with the Force, he tied Sören's wrists tight to the headboard. Once Sören was securely tied, Dooku leaned in and gave him a sweet, lingering kiss.

Sören looked into his eyes and husked, "Ég treysti þér."

Across their Force bond, Dooku could feel he meant it, and those words were more precious to him than gold. After the pain he'd caused a year ago, even after the work he'd done to rebuild trust... here, now, was closing whatever remaining wounds there were. They kissed again, and again.

Dooku began his work, kissing down his husband's neck, then making love to his nipples, licking, suckling, nibbling, playing with the nipple rings, spending a good twenty minutes just on Sören's nipples, delighting in the way they pebbled, the way Sören arched and moaned, writhing, whimpering.

He kissed and licked Sören's stomach, and sucked and nibbled on Sören's hip, kissing and caressing a thigh, a calf, then back up the other leg, the other hip. He hovered over Sören's wild, dark curly bush, breathing in his scent, before burying his nose in it, nuzzling, licking. He took Sören's cock in his mouth, sucking slowly, his eyes watching Sören's reactions, his own cock throbbing with each moan and sigh.

He took Sören's cock out of his mouth to lick up and down the shaft, and then just swirled his tongue all over the head, driving Sören even crazier when his tongue rubbed the prominent frenulum. He licked Sören's balls, and the sensitive place between balls and ass, and then he pushed his tongue inside Sören and licked very, very slowly.

He lost all track of time down there, eating Sören's ass as long as he could, slowly, then faster, faster, working his tongue like a hurricane, edging Sören to the brink of climax just to slow down again before Sören could lose control and come. He edged Sören like that again and again, slow then fast then slow, until Sören was almost sobbing in his need, shaking, his cock leaking so much precum it was dripping onto his stomach and down his thighs. Dooku relented just a little, lapping up the precum, before coming up to kiss Sören, sharing his taste with him.

Dooku slipped two lubricated fingers into Sören's channel, pressing and rubbing the prostate. He looked into Sören's eyes. "You want me inside you, sweetheart?"

"More than anything in the world."

Their eyes still locked, Dooku poured lube over his own cock - he enjoyed the way Sören's eyes riveted on him, going even crazier, and Dooku made a bit of a display of it, stroking himself, moaning with pleasure, letting precum drip down his cock.

"You're sure you want this?" Dooku couldn't resist continuing to tease.

"If you don't fuck me right fucking now, I swear when you untie me I'm going to... like... tie you up and subject you to one of those 10 hour Rickrolls or something."

A pause. Then Dooku said, his tone dry even as his eyes smiled, "Hello there, I'm going to, like, tie you up and subject you to one of those 10 hour Rickrolls or something, I'm -"


Dooku's laughter rang out. "You know, I don't have to give you this cock. I can just pleasure myself..." He resumed stroking.

Sören screeched, and Dooku laughed again. "You poor dear," he teased.

"Ion Nicolae Dooku. Fuck me right now."

Dooku laughed, and made an exaggerated sigh. "I suppose."

The head of Dooku's cock pushed against Sören's opening, and he slid in just the tip. And then back out. Just the tip. And out again. It was teasing them both - every nerve ending in Dooku's body was screaming to plow Sören into next week - but he reveled in the way Sören whined and writhed, almost feral in his lust.

Finally Dooku relented, pushing all the way in. They both cried out, and Dooku just rested there, lest they both come too soon. When he started moving, he went slowly, keeping them both under his control. His hands caressed the length of Sören's body up and down, slow and sensual, in time with his thrusts. It all felt fluid, liquid, languorous, even as the intensity was building, both of them exquisitely sensitized from all the buildup.

When Dooku gave in to his passion, driving into Sören fast and furious, Sören met his thrusts, bucking against him, screaming wildly. Dooku grunted, completely overcome by lust for Sören's body, and the feeling of love and trust between them. The past was so far away now, these moments, their need was all that existed, primal, white-hot, searing them into their souls. The slap of Dooku's balls against Sören's ass and the wet suctioning sound of his cock pumping in and out of Sören's ass was almost as loud as Sören's cries, the bed rocking violently against the wall, the cabin shaking. Dooku was glad there was a walk between the cabin and their nearest neighbors, though something told him they could probably still hear some of it. His hand reached to stroke Sören's cock in time with his thrusts, so fast and hard Sören's cock rattled in his hand.

Their eyes met again, and Dooku could feel it, like a jolt of electricity between them. Sören's breath caught, and then he gasped out "Nico..."

"Yes, love."

"Nico!" An arc of cum blasted out of Sören's cock, over Dooku's chest. "Oh, fuck... FUCK!"

Dooku gave a shout as his climax hit. He kept thrusting, Sören's channel milking him for all it was worth.

"Fuck... that's it, breed my arse..." Sören panted.

Those words made Dooku's orgasm even hotter, his climax throbbing hard, feeling himself shoot into Sören again. Sören's cock let out another jet of cum, and Dooku throbbed again at the cum painting his chest and abs. He collapsed onto Sören with a groan, and Sören sighed deeply as he continued cresting.

Dooku rested for a moment before using the Force to untie Sören's wrists. Sören flexed his wrists and Dooku gave him a concerned look. Sören nodded and said, "A little sore, but OK." He wrapped his arms around Dooku and squeezed him tight. "Thank you. That was fucking amazing."

"Thank you." Dooku looked into his eyes, stroking Sören's face before kissing him. "I love you so very much."

"I love you." Sören took his hand and kissed it. "This has been one of the best nights of my life."

"Same here." Dooku kissed his nose. "There will be many more, as we grow old together."

Snuggled in each other's arms, legs entwined, they fell asleep. 

In the morning, Dooku was awakened by the sound of "Never Gonna Give You Up" by Rick Astley.