"I'm really bad at this, sorry." Sören shifted awkwardly in his seat. "I feel like the most cringe person alive."
Suddenly, from over where the mariachi band was playing, came a guy's voice: "RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRICO." Then: "...Suave."
Mark and Sören both glanced over - like watching a wreck - and there was a white guy with dishwater blond hair, blue eyes, glasses, a very rectangular face on a big head, and a beer gut, who reminded Sören vaguely of a real-life version of Hank Hill from King of the Hill. He had gotten up in front of the band and was doing a bad dance with jerky arm movements and random kicks, out of rhythm with the salsa music. The guy yelled out again: "RRRRRICO. Suave." Then a middle-aged Latina woman with obviously dyed blue-black hair came over, grabbed him, and dragged him away, shaking her head.
Mark and Sören looked at each other again and Mark smirked. "I promise you, you're looking pretty good compared to Gringo Suave over there."
Sören busted out laughing, and relaxed a little. He raised his glass of pineapple juice, Mark raised his mojito, and they clinked glasses.
Then the Hank Hill lookalike and his girlfriend were making their way past Mark and Sören's table and Sören almost retched at the smell of cheap cologne with an undertone of cigarette smoke. Mark made a face. "And smelling better too," Mark quipped, taking a sip of his drink.
"That's a really low bar, my dude."
Now it was Mark's turn to laugh. The way Mark's face lit up when he laughed gave Sören the flutters - and another rush of nervousness. "But anyway, I'm socially awkward," Sören said. "I'm somewhere on the autistic spectrum." As much as he hated disclosing that right off the bat - and hated how the Internet had turned autism into this quirky fun thing as opposed to a hot mess of sensory issues and interpersonal difficulties - he also felt it was better to explain it instead of coming off as rude.
Mark made a dismissive hand gesture. "I already figured that out when we, ah, met... and as you can see, I still asked you out." Mark smirked.
Sören gave a sheepish grin and tried to relax again. "OK. But like... I suck at small talk."
"So do I." Mark nodded. "But then, I also had a feeling there was depth to you, and again, I asked you out."
Sören smiled into his pineapple juice.
"So here's an icebreaker... what brings you from Iceland?" Mark raised an eyebrow.
"Well, I've been living in LA for the last few years."
"Really."
Sören nodded. "I came to the US in 2016."
"And you didn't go back after Dorito Mussolini became President? I hope you're not MAGA -"
Sören almost spat his drink, laughing at Mark's nickname for Trump, and shook his head vehemently. "No, fuck that guy. I did actually consider going back after that asshole got elected, but..." His voice trailed off and he glanced over where Gringo Suave was having a heated argument with his girlfriend about the cost of her meal.
"That's a big but," Mark said.
Sören couldn't resist cracking a joke. "I like big buts and I cannot lie."
Mark snickered.
Sören sighed. "Well, I could tell you why I didn't go back but it's... a lot, and I'm not sure you want to hear something this heavy this soon."
"Try me," Mark said.
"OK. My parents died when I was real young, and I was raised by my aunt and uncle, who are abusive drunks. Abusive enough that I needed to put a lot of distance between us."
"That explains why you went with pineapple juice and not something stronger." Mark cocked his head to one side. "I hope me having a mojito isn't triggering -"
"No, it's fine. I won't lie, I'm not the biggest fan of people being drunk around me, but drinking in moderation is different, it's just... something I can't really bring myself to do. Anymore." Sören frowned. "I was self-medicating with alcohol for a bit, you see, because I learned it at home. I realized it was a problem and I stopped before it became more of a problem and decided it was better if I don't drink at all. I'm what you call 'Cali sober' now, I smoke weed once in awhile..."
"Ah, I gotcha. OK, well, I'm not running away screaming yet."
"There's more." Sören looked around to make sure other people weren't eavesdropping - everyone seemed to be pretty wrapped up in their own company, or attempts at finding company. He didn't want to disclose this here and now either, but he also knew he was going to have to tell Mark sooner rather than later if Mark was interested in hooking up. "Iceland is a small country, and the queer population is... very small. And I'm trans, and the percentage of queer guys open to trans men is... so tiny as to be nonexistent. So I came here - not just to get as far away from my guardians as possible, who didn't take my transition well and tried to make my life miserable, but I figured I would have better luck somewhere like the US. And yet, as you can see, I'm still single. Even in LA with its huge LGBT community, I..." Sören swallowed hard, looking down. "Yeah."
There was a long, uncomfortable silence, enough where Sören was convinced he'd blown his chance with Mark and Mark was going to call for the check and bolt. But then their eyes met and Mark said, "Guess what. I'm trans too."
"What."
Mark nodded.
Sören shook his head. He'd seen Mark shirtless on the beach. "I never clocked you. You have no scars... you must have had the best top surgery ever."
"Yeah, it was out of this world." Mark looked away and gave a nervous laugh. Their eyes met again. "For what it's worth, I couldn't tell with you either."
"But you must have noticed my top surgery scars on the beach -"
"I didn't assume it was that. I mean, you look like a Viking, so the scars could have been from a fight or an accident while doing something badass. Or perhaps something tragic." Mark showed Sören his right hand, and Sören finally noticed what looked like a burn scar - Mark still had use of his hand, but it was surprising he did with that level of scarring.
"I won't pry and ask you what happened," Sören said. "I imagine it was... unpleasant."
Mark nodded. "We've both had hard lives. I'll leave it at that."
"I can hear it in your music." Sören thought of the pain in Mark's voice when he sang more melancholy songs.
"Music is a good outlet."
"So is art."
"See? We already have a lot in common." Mark smiled again. "Not hard, is it?"
Sören found himself going for another moment of levity. "Too bad."
It took Mark a few seconds, and then his laughter rang out and he kicked Sören under the table... before playing footsie.
The waiter finally brought their food over, and they paused to eat. Sören had a plate of chicken tacos with a side of rice and beans, and Mark had a large chicken burrito with a bowl of black bean soup. They shared a basket of tortilla chips and salsa. Sören had somewhat better from Mexican food trucks in Los Angeles, and less expensive, but the food was still good, and looking at Mark was delicious. Sören wanted him for dessert.
Sören had never been with another trans guy before. Theoretically, he was open to both cis and trans men, but he hadn't knowingly encountered a lot of other trans guys, just a few when he moved to Los Angeles, and the few he'd met were either only into women or they behaved in such a stereotypical macho manner, like overcompensating, that it turned him off. It was even worse online. While they didn't know each other all that well yet, Sören's vibe checks were usually right, and he got the sense Mark wasn't a tryhard, letting himself just be, without getting wrapped up in whether his gender performance was "correct" or not, which made his masculinity seem more authentic.
Especially his hair. Despite having a beard, Sören had experienced judgmental bullshit from other trans men for having long hair - "ew, long hair is for girls" - and Mark's glorious mane made him seem more manly than anyone else in the room. Sören really wanted to touch Mark's hair, play with it... he wanted to paint Mark, a living work of art.
I want to paint him with my cum. Sören's cheeks burned as his mind conjured a very vivid image of them eating each other out and grinding, getting wet and sloppy. Sören's cunt twinged at those thoughts, going hard and slick. Most of his fantasies over the years had been of cis men - and of himself with a penis, sucking and being sucked, fucking and being fucked - but now he realized the idea of being with another trans man appealed to him even more. Unless Mark had bottom surgery, which Sören doubted since it was still fairly uncommon, they had the same equipment and they would know how to please each other.
Fuck. Sören finished his pineapple juice, wondering what Mark tasted like.
After they finished their meal, paid and left a tip, Mark and Sören walked back to the hotel. Mark and Sören took their time, enjoying the cooler air with a nice breeze going, the view of the moon over the ocean, a few stars twinkling in the night sky. For awhile they walked in silence - companionable this time rather than awkward, as if they both knew to let the other take in the scenery, and have a moment of peace. But at last Mark spoke. "You know, you never actually answered my question."
"Which is..." Sören was confused.
"What brings you here from Iceland. I know why you came to the States, but I don't know why you came here, to Cancún. This doesn't exactly seem like Viking-friendly weather."
Sören laughed. "Jæja, it's not. I thought it wouldn't be so hot in May compared to July or August, but I was wrong. At least I haven't gotten burned yet, I made sure to stock up on sunblock before I came."
Mark nodded.
Sören went on, "Honestly, I came to get laid." He gave a nervous laugh, then ran his thumb and index finger over his eyebrows and wiggled them, making Mark laugh too.
"Is that all, though? I know you said you haven't had the best luck in LA, but it seems like you had an even smaller pool here, yeah?"
Sören nodded. "Well..." He stopped in his tracks, took a moment to look out at the dark waves, and decided to tell Mark more about his sad little life, since Mark hadn't run away yet. "So, I work for an insurance company, which I do from home on my laptop, and it's decent money but the cost of living in LA is so high that you either need to be rich or have roommates."
"Right."
"So, I was sharing a house with a few other people. All artists like me, and all some flavor of queer. That sounds like a really friendly, supportive environment, jú?" Sören laughed bitterly. "Hahahaha noooooo."
"Dude, tell me about it. Artists are temperamental assholes. Both my parents were artists, and they didn't have issues, they had subscriptions."
"Is everyone in your family artistic?"
"No, much to my father's chagrin." Mark chuckled. "Just me and one of my brothers got the creative genes, and the rest... well."
"Are you still in touch with your folks?"
"Father's dead, and I've been no-contact with my mom since my parents got divorced. She was a bitch, and I'm pretty sure her emotional abuse drove my father to a breakdown. Like, he was already there, he lost his mom young and he snapped when his dad was murdered -"
"Shiiit."
"And I loved my father dearly, but he wasn't a saint either. He threatened one of my uncles with a sword at a family gathering."
"Jesus Christ."
"Yeah." Mark shrugged. "So now you can see why I'm not really put off by you telling me a bit about your own life. And... I interrupted you to talk about myself, sorry, that was very Kanye of me."
Sören snickered and gave him a reassuring pat. He felt a pang of sympathy for Mark, wanting to give him a hug, but he held back. He continued on. "So, I lived with Sophie, a trans woman, a couple of enbies named Rook and Shadow, and a cis lesbian named Tina. For the first few months it was great, I felt like I had a chosen family. Then it got toxic. It was little things at first - everyone being like 'ew, men,' 'I hate men,' then saying 'oh, I don't mean you' to me, everyone referring to me as they/them even though my pronouns are he/him and they knew that, which started to feel like they were intentionally misgendering me..."
Mark made a face. "Rude."
"And Sophie and Tina saw old photos of me and both of them said I was pretty before I transitioned and I should detransition and be a girl again..."
"WHAT."
"And then when I was having problems with cisgay guys on dating apps, Rook told me a guy has to be bi or pan to date me - which implies I'm not really male - and Shadow said I come off too feminine because I'm sensitive and this and that and should relabel myself non-binary, and Tina suggested that I'd be happier with women, told me I had to be in denial about being into chicks because of internalized misogyny, and said to my fucking face, I quote, 'most trans men are lesbians in denial anyway' and Sophie actually fucking agreed with her."
Mark's mouth dropped open.
"Then someone in the house started stealing from me. Food, art supplies, cash, here and there. I still don't know which one of them did it, because everyone but me was, like, on pills, or doing nitrous, or whatever. But when I had an entire box of Prismacolor markers go missing, and that shit ain't cheap, I knew it was time to get the fuck out of there. So I started saving up for a new place... and a vacation, to give myself a couple weeks to decompress - hopefully get laid and get some endorphins going - and think clearly about where I'm going to go from here rather than trying to make decisions in a panic."
"Makes sense. I'm really sorry you went through that. What the actual fuck? It's so disappointing other queer and trans people can be like that."
"There's good people and bad people in every group, so yanno, it's not really surprising there are some bad apples in the queer community, just... I found a few of them all at once. And the fucked up thing is I can't really vent about it to too many people or I get accused of being enbyphobic or transmisogynistic even though I myself am trans, but in the years since I transitioned I've noticed trans men are being treated like we're part of the patriarchy or something." Sören shook his head. "I hate even saying it because I sound like one of those redpill 'men's rights' douchebags -"
"You don't, and..." Now it was Mark's turn to give pats. "I don't know if this will make you feel better or not, but I kind of give the queer community a wide berth. I tiptoed in to queer spaces online a few years ago and ran the fuck back out. Like, I'm queer, I'm trans, but it's not my entire personality, and I feel like a lot of people do make it sort of a brand..."
"Yeah, like most of the people I lived with."
"And people are so insecure in their identities and doing it 'right' that they turn into toxic gatekeepers - like your ex-housemates - and I'm not about that life. I remember when we didn't have any civil rights, which really wasn't all that long ago, and Trump is trying to take them away again and instead of banding together to fight like the queer community did in the 80s and 90s during the AIDS crisis, all queer folks can get motivated to do these days is attack each other over gender performance or hairsplit over microlabels that nobody else in the world gives a shit about. No, thank you."
"I don't blame you for wanting to stay the fuck away from that."
"You're actually the first other trans man I've met."
"I've met a few, and talked to more online, but it's... what you said. A lot of us are really toxic and judgy."
Mark took Sören's hand with his burned hand, and Sören found himself running his thumb over Mark's burn scar, a tender gesture.
They were approaching the hotel. Now that Mark had opened up a little more, Sören felt less invasive by asking. "What brings you to Cancún?" He decided to make his interest more apparent, if it wasn't already. "Hopefully, also to get laid."
Mark laughed, his face lighting up again. "That wasn't my primary motivation."
"Even though you're queer and staying at a resort that's listed on all the gay male travel guides as a gay hotspot, right near a beach popular for gay cruising and..."
Mark nodded. "This is going to sound stupid, but..." Mark rubbed the back of his neck, looked down, looked up and away, then back at Sören. "I've traveled a lot. I have a thing with visiting beaches. Different countries, different continents, different oceans, all over the world. I haven't traveled in a few years, since I moved to Maine - I can visit the beach anytime I want and that killed some of the wanderlust - but in the last few months I've, ah..." Mark made a vague hand gesture. "Again, this is going to sound stupid, this is going to sound crazy, but I have this feeling that travel might get a lot harder to do for awhile sometime within the next couple years. I don't know what the circumstances will be, and I swear to you I'm not one of those phony psychics here to try to con you out of money, I'm not trying to get you to join a cult, it's... it's just..."
"Spidey sense," Sören said.
"Something like that, yeah. The last time I had a feeling of imminent doom like this, 9/11 happened a few weeks later, so as much as I'd like to be wrong about there being some sort of travel restrictions coming for... whatever reason..." Mark pursed his lips.
"I mean, Dump keeps talking about wanting to build that wall on the Mexican border." Sören snorted.
"Yeah. Maybe it's something to do with him, maybe it's something else. But I decided - because Trump is so anti-Mexico, and this is one of the few places I haven't been, I would finally take myself on a Mexican beach vacation for a few weeks. It was either going to be Puerto Vallarta or Cancún, I flipped a coin, and Cancún won. Which turned out to be fortunate, because..." Mark put his hands on Sören's shoulders. "I met you."
Sören gave in to his urge to hug Mark. Mark returned the hug, arms tight around him. Sören's body thrilled to the feel of Mark's body against his, but even more than that, Mark's muscular strength made him feel safe. And it felt so good to get a hug, after months of being around people and yet feeling so incredibly lonely and alone.
When they pulled apart, looking into each other's eyes, Sören's entire body was tingling, and he was wet. As much as he didn't want to come off like a creeper with only one thing on his mind, he still thought it was the right moment to make his move. "So, even though you didn't come here with the main intention of getting laid, I hope that you're not opposed to the idea either."
Mark smirked, and played with a lock of Sören's curls. "No, I'm not. But I do need to walk my dog."
"That's fair. I also need to feed my cat. I fed him before I left, but he's going to pretend he's starving."
Mark laughed. He nodded, and Sören nodded, and they kept nodding at each other for a long moment before a nervous laugh together. "Tell you what," Mark said. "How about you bring your cat over to my room tonight, and you can join me for that dog walk... and we can take it from there."
"That sounds good. Although..." Sören thought of how Snúður didn't like Tina's chihuahua, and it was mutual. "I don't know if Snúður will react badly to your dog or not."
"Huan is very well-behaved and friendly - he's my PTSD service animal - and he has a way of putting people at ease, even people who don't like dogs. Something tells me this might extend to cats, too."
"We can try it."
Sören and Mark stopped at Sören's suite to collect Snúður and his supplies for the night. Instead of heading right over, they took a few minutes so Mark could greet the cat and get the cat a little bit used to him, offering pettings and skritches, talking baby talk. "That's a good boy. That's a pretty kitty. Oh yes, you're a good kitty." Snúður purred loudly, rubbing his face on Mark's hand, giving it a few headbutts, and Mark gave the OK hand. "I think your kitty likes me."
"My kitty definitely likes you." Sören gave Mark a pointed look.
Mark winked. "Gooooooood."
After they dropped off Snúður and Sören opened a can of food, they let the cat start sniffing around Mark's suite, rubbing his face against things, and Mark clipped a leash into the collar of a big dog with a wavy tan coat and floppy short ears - the dog sort of resembled a terrier but too tall and long. Soren let the dog sniff him and gave some pats. "Hello there," Sören said; the dog licked his fingers. Sören laughed, delighted. "Awww, what a sweetie. His name is... Juan?"
"Huan, with an H."
"Interesting. Is that Chinese or something?"
"No," Mark said, and didn't volunteer what language it was.
"What kind of breed is he?"
"Wolfadoodle."
Sören snorted. "A... a what."
"Wolfadoodle. Cross breed between a wolfhound and a poodle. Their coats are hypoallergenic, and they're wicked smart and trainable. They make good service animals." Mark patted Huan. "OK, who's a good boy? Who wants walkies?"
Huan barked, and began to wag his tail, tongue lolling happily.
They took Huan on the beach. Every few paces Huan stopped, wanting more of Sören's attention, happy to make a new friend. Sören enjoyed spoiling the dog with pettings - while he was a cat person, he liked dogs too, and wished he could have both a cat and a dog, but besides concern for Snúður after Tina's aggressive chihuahua, it was going to be hard enough to find an apartment that would let him have just the one cat.
The tide rolled in and Huan ran out as far as the leash would allow, running through the water - stopping to take a piss - then came bounding back and shook off all over them. "Thanks, dog," Mark said, rolling his eyes. "Great way to make a first impression on my date here."
Huan yipped, made a face like he was laughing at Mark, and immediately sat down in the wet sand, lifted a leg, and began licking his privates.
"Smooth. Real smooth, little dude," Mark called out.
Huan yipped again.
Back at Mark's hotel room, they sat on the couch drinking lemonade and watched Huan and Snúður make each other's acquaintance - amazingly, Mark was right that Huan was gentle enough that Snúður didn't perceive him as a threat - and at last, Mark turned to Sören. "So."
"So."
"Yeah."
"Jæja."
They laughed again, and Mark moved in closer... closer. Sören leaned in, a frisson through him, aching for that kiss. But just before their lips could touch, Mark pulled back. "I'm sorry, I'm bad at this," Mark said.
Sören tried not to let the disappointment show on his face, but a little noise escaped him.
Mark sighed. "It's not you."
"OK. I'm sorry if I came on too strong with too many hints and made you feel pressured -"
"No, no. I..." Mark sighed again. He touched Sören's face; Sören leaned into his touch, melting a little. "I've never been with another trans guy before."
"Is my original plumbing a turnoff for you, or..."
"Nah, it's not that. I do worry that I'm going to, like... unintentionally set off dysphoria if I use a word you don't like, or do something you don't like..."
"I get it." Sören nodded. "Now that you mention it, I'm worried about that too, I was just too horny to think about all that until now."
"It would seem easier to be with another person like us, but in some ways we're also more complicated."
Sören continued nodding.
"And," Mark went on, "it's been a long time for me with... anybody."
"Me too," Sören said. "The last time for me didn't go too well." The guy was done in two minutes, and Sören hadn't gotten off. Then the guy ghosted him, and Sören caught him saying transphobic shit on Facebook a few weeks later.
"I'll tell you what." Mark kissed Sören's cheek. "How about we watch a movie or something to keep relaxing, so we get out of our own heads, stop being so self-conscious and just let things flow naturally, and see what happens?"
"Sounds good to me." As much as Sören wanted to rail Mark into next week, he appreciated that Mark was being careful with him - it made him like Mark even more - and he wanted to be careful with Mark, too.
They looked for something to watch, and decided on The Princess Bride, which was starting in fifteen minutes. They changed into T-shirts and boxer briefs, brushed their teeth, and climbed into bed together. Snúður and Huan joined them.
Soon, Mark and Sören were cuddling - leaning on each other at first, holding hands, then Mark put an arm around him and gently rubbed Sören's back. After awhile, Mark pulled Sören against his chest, holding him. And Sören realized that even more than he wanted to get fucked, he wanted to be held. It felt so good to just be held, be pet, that Sören almost started to cry. But he didn't cry. He let himself soak up the tender loving care, that moment of serenity like a rainbow after months of storms. With one of his favorite movies playing, a purring cat, and a gorgeous man letting him just be, just rest, in a little bubble of safe space, it was almost as if all was right with the world.
Sören closed his eyes and zoned out during the commercial break. Then he was yawning, and started zoning out again during the movie. He tried to pay attention, but all the tension was draining from his body and at last, Mark's heartbeat lulled him to sleep.
Sören typically wasn't an early riser, but the breaking dawn stirred him. The feel of another body in bed with him made him realize he wasn't in his own suite, and then he remembered last night. There was Mark, laying next to him, face-to-face - they still had an arm around each other. Sören was still in his T-shirt and underwear, and as far as he knew, nothing had happened last night. They'd cuddled, and Sören had eventually fallen asleep during the movie.
It was the first time Sören had slept with someone. He'd overnighted with hookups before, but he'd never felt safe and relaxed enough to actually fall asleep, restless and somewhat hypervigilant. He and Mark hadn't had sex, but the cuddling felt almost more intimate. It was definitely an act of intimacy - of trust - for Sören to fall asleep in Mark's arms.
Sören tried to be quiet as he yawned, but Mark opened his eyes. "Sorry," Sören said.
"For what?"
"Waking you up."
Mark shook his head. "You're fine." Then he tousled Sören's curls, making him smile. "There are worse ways to wake up than seeing you."
"Awwww."
Mark moved closer, and planted a kiss on the tip of Sören's nose, then peppered Sören's face with little kisses. "Good morning, sunshine."
Sören giggled, and kissed Mark's nose in return.
Their lips finally met, and the fire in the sky was no match for the passion and desire that surged through Sören as their tongues played together, swirling. Mark grabbed Sören's ass and pulled him closer, and the kiss deepened. Sören moaned into the kiss, and Mark moaned too. They caught their breath, looked into each other's eyes, and kissed again. And again.
Mark started to kiss Sören's neck, sending electricity down his spine. Sören's cunt throbbed, and he clutched at Mark, breath ragged as Mark kissed and licked up and down his sensitive neck, almost paralyzed with sensation. "Oh, fuck..."
Mark claimed his mouth again, and his thumb brushed one of Sören's pierced nipples, hard through the T-shirt.
"Fuck me," Sören panted, not caring how desperate that sounded.
Mark smiled and kissed Sören's forehead. "As you wish." Then they kissed again, and Mark took hold of Sören's boxer-briefs and began pulling them down.