The next day, Sören and Mark decided to do their planned art-and-music session on the balcony of their now-shared hotel suite: neither of them were keen on the sort of crowd that would gather to watch if they took it to the beach. There was a time and a place for performance, and Sören wasn't necessarily opposed to the idea in the future, he thought to himself, then immediately cringed and wanted to kick himself for hoping they might stay in touch and reunite down the road after this trip was over. But here and now... this was something intimate, for the two of them.
Mark and Sören sat across from each other on the balcony - Mark had his harp, and Sören had his tablet. Sören had a pillow under his ass, which was still sore from yesterday's sunburn, though somewhat less thanks to Mark's aloe vera massages. Mark did some warm-up exercises first, and Sören found himself staring at Mark's long, elegant fingers again; even Mark's hands were beautiful, despite the burn scar on his right hand. When Mark was ready to begin, Sören snapped out of staring-at-Mark mode and mentally readied himself, taking some deep breaths and clearing his mind.
Sören came into this with no expectations of what Mark would play nor what he would produce, but his usual art trended towards brightly colored dreamlike, magical landscapes or seascapes, and he imagined that was the sort of thing Mark wanted to put up on his walls at home; the shimmering harp and Mark's crystalline tenor seemed to be the vocal embodiment of those other worlds. And yet, even without thinking the session would go one way or another, just going with the flow, Sören was still surprised by Mark choosing to play one of his original compositions - "my magnum opus," Mark said softly before he began - all melancholy minor chords, Mark's voice husky and raw with pain as he sang in a language Sören didn't recognize, but reminded him of the glossolalia of Liz Fraser of Cocteau Twins or Lisa Gerrard of Dead Can Dance or Jónsi of Sigur Rós, yet more hauntingly beautiful than any of these. And though Sören didn't understand a word of what Mark was singing, he somehow knew. He could feel the grief, the loss, the shame and the regret and the rage, the harp like raindrops, like falling tears.
Tears unnumbered, Sören thought to himself, sitting there with a lump in his throat, a tight ache in his chest, wishing he could give Mark the biggest hug and go back in time and fix whatever had driven him to compose such a sad song, gorgeous as it was. Despite the heat of the sun, Sören had chills.
At last the mental images came to him, and his stylus brought them to life on the tablet. Fog. A barren winter landscape. A horde of wanderers - exiles, Sören thought - wearing weather-beaten hooded cloaks, making their way through polar night across a treacherous frozen river, knowing one wrong step would be death by drowning. Unlike Sören's usual work, this was almost monochrome, many shades of grey.
Mark's song went on and on, close to an hour, different movements tied together by the same mournful refrain. By the time it was over Sören had tears in his eyes, and so did Mark. They noticed, and looked away, out to sea, for a long moment before Mark finally cleared his throat. "So," Mark said, simply.
"I. Ah." Sören exhaled. "I doubt this is the sort of thing you want to pay for a print of and hang up at your house, but this is what... came out." Sören passed over the tablet.
Mark's mouth opened and his eyes widened, and Sören's stomach turned to the ice in his digital painting. Oh no. He hates it. And things are going to get weird now -
Mark put the tablet down, got up, went over to Sören, and kissed him hard. A shiver went down Sören's spine as Mark kissed him breathless. When they came up for air, Mark looked into Sören's eyes and stroked Sören's cheek, then this thumb traced Sören's lips and beard as if he were trying to commit Sören's face to memory. "You captured the essence of my song so perfectly," Mark husked.
"Really?" The word came out in a squeak, and Sören's cheeks burned, self-conscious, but then Mark kissed him again, and rained kisses over Sören's face. Even though Sören was still shaken by the song - and the vulnerability Mark had shared in its melody - he felt that thrust in his loins, the passion stirring again. But Sören kept his hunger in check for the moment. "I mean, it's really different from my usual work -"
"That's part of what makes it so special, you were painting my song. I..." Mark took a deep breath. "I've been through a lot in my life, and I can't go back home, where I'm originally from, again. My father was murdered, his father was murdered, and my older brother committed suicide. I don't like talking about the traumas of my life, it always sounds so unbelievable, and it still hurts, all these years later... but you captured that feeling of..." Mark made a vague hand gesture. "Fleeing from somewhere bad into somewhere worse, just for the possibility of eventually getting somewhere else. Being lost in the fog and the darkness and the cold, but having to press on anyway."
Sören thought about how Mark never talked about his background - not where he was from, where he'd gone to school, anything he'd done before the record store - and what little he knew of Mark, the man had traveled a lot... then he wondered if Mark eschewing a music career wasn't just because of the pressures of fame in the age of social media. "Mark, ah... I probably shouldn't ask this, but is your family, like... in a gang or some sort of organized crime?"
"Sort of? It's complicated." Mark looked out to the sea again. "There were some... unsavory people interested in my father's art, specifically the one piece he wouldn't part with for any amount of payment."
On the one hand, it really did sound like a tall tale, on the other hand Sören had no idea why Mark would make something like that up - Mark didn't seem like a con man, especially when he'd been so generous with his money - and not even the best actor could fake the kind of pain he'd heard in Mark's voice, in Mark's harp... the kind of pain that had inspired Sören's most melancholy work so far. Something told Sören to believe him - Sören found himself tracing the burn scar on Mark's hand, knowing it was tied to the violence he'd tried to flee, wandering the world but never able to outrun the memories.
Their eyes met again, and Sören lowered his head. "I'm sorry that..." His voice trailed off, not able to find words to say what he wanted to say - feeling like no words would be the right words. "Shit."
"Well, my life hasn't been all bad - I met you. You have a beautiful soul, Sören. I hope you know that."
Now Sören was the one to initiate the kiss, throwing his arms around Mark and kissing him deeply, passionately. Mark returned fire for fire, pulling Sören out of the chair and leading him from the balcony to their suite, towards the bed, kissing with each step. As they approached the bed, they began to undress each other, feverishly, running their hands over freshly exposed skin, needing to touch, needing to feel. Sören might not be able to go back in time and unbreak whatever had been broken in Mark's life - nor could Mark do the same for him - but the two of them could fuck the pain away, together.
They tumbled onto the bed and fell on each other again, kissing, hands exploring. A few kisses later, Mark pulled back and gave Sören a quizzical look. "Sören?"
"Hmmm?"
"I, ah. I want to feel you inside me."
"Oh! I mean, I brought a strap on the odd chance I'd get to use it, but it's kind of big and I don't want to hurt you, you said it'd been awhile -"
"No, not that." Mark reached down and his index finger gently caressed Sören's hard clit. "You're pretty big down there."
Sören shuddered - the thought of taking Mark with his own natural equipment almost made him come right then. He also felt a glow of pride; he liked his bottom growth, it was one of the best things about going on T, it might not be as big as most cis men's cocks but it still looked and felt like a cock... and now he was going to fuck another man with it. Not just any man, not settling for what he could get, but this absolutely gorgeous man with his mane of hair and perfectly sculpted body, a work of art made flesh. A man who had the most beautiful singing voice Sören had ever heard... and someone he'd shared the intimacy of creation with, deeper than sex. Sören wished they had more time together, even as he still felt stupid, needy and ridiculous for feeling that way about a fling. It was too easy to get lost in those silver eyes, the window to a diamond-bright soul; Sören thought Mark's soul was beautiful, too, more than he had words for.
Though Mark had said he didn't like to share much about his life - and for good reason, it seemed - Sören still felt that deep connection with him, like they'd known each other for a long time. He'd seen inside Mark spiritually, and now he would be inside Mark physically. But Mark had also seen inside him, with the art made live and in-person, and it was only fair if... "I want you inside me, too."
Mark gave a shy, sweet smile, biting his lower lip adorably. "I haven't had as much bottom growth as you -"
"I know how to make it bigger." Sören gave a mischievous cackle as he got up and sauntered over to his carry-on duffel bag, where he kept a clit pump. He twirled it around as he came back to the bed, and Mark's face lit up, laughing delightedly. "You down?"
"Hell yeah."
Sören went first, to demonstrate to Mark how the pump worked, and as he pumped up his clit, he and Mark kissed, then Mark kissed and licked down his neck and lapped and suckled at one pierced nipple, then the other. Mark tugged on one ring wit his teeth, a hungry look in his eyes, and did the same to the other, before sucking each nipple harder, pulling on it with his lips. Sören's hard, aching clit twitched as Mark teased him, his breath ragged.
Sören pumped up Mark and did the same thing to him - kissing, then kissing, licking and nibbling Mark's neck, playing with one nipple as he licked and sucked on the other, thrilling to the way Mark arched to him, panting, quivering. When the pump was done, Sören looked down - Mark had grown almost an inch, jutting out proudly, and it looked delicious. Sören couldn't help himself and dove down, taking Mark's erect clit in his mouth, sucking hard. Mark grabbed handfuls of Sören's hair and made guttural noises.
After a few minutes of Sören sucking on Mark, they sixty-nined, lapping and sucking, getting their clits even harder... getting wetter, which Sören knew would feel absolutely divine when they fucked. When they couldn't take it anymore, they came up to kiss - a playful, sensual open-mouthed kiss, tongues rubbing, making streamers with their cream - and then Sören lay back, legs spread; Mark grinned as he straddled him.
Then Mark sank down on Sören's clit-cock, and Sören almost climaxed just from the erotic sight of watching his cock enter Mark's cunt... the feel of Mark's tight, silken inner walls kissing his cock. Mark worked his hips, Sören's cock gliding in and out, and Sören dug his nails into Mark's thighs, trying not to lose control and come too soon. Mark rode him slowly, then faster, moaning. "Fuck, that's good," Mark growled.
Just as Sören was about to come, Mark stopped riding his cock and pulled back, letting it slip out. Mark thrust his hips again, this time fucking Sören's clit with his clit, both of them moaning, their cunts making juicy squishing sounds. Then Mark's clit pushed into him. It was like being fingered, except even better because it was Mark's cock inside him. Mark fucked him slowly, then faster, groaning and grunting as he got into it, and Sören bucked underneath him, playing with his own clit furiously, electrified by being taken, fucked. Once again, when Sören felt himself almost there, Mark stopped and began rubbing against him again, clit to clit, teasing them both, a wicked smile on his face - Mark knew exactly what he was doing.
Mark built up the tension again, taking Sören's cock, riding it, then their pussies fucked some more, before Mark's clit was inside him, this time for the finish. When their eyes met, Mark took Sören's hands and they climaxed together, crying out, Mark's cock twitching as Sören's cunt contracted, clenching it. "Fuckkkk..." Sören shuddered, throbbing and throbbing, feeling like he was falling, flying, melting.
Mark leaned down and kissed him deeply. Sören threw his arms around Mark and kissed him hard, feeling so close and connected with him, more than he'd ever felt with anybody. It scared him a little, but it was exhilarating at the same time.
For awhile they lay there, cuddling, nuzzling, and when Sören felt less like his brain had turned to mush, they started kissing again - tender little kisses at first, then more passionate ones. It wasn't long before they were both ready to go again.
This time Sören was on top, and he started with taking Mark. Nothing had ever felt so luscious as being inside another man with his own cock, Mark's silken heat rippling around him with each stroke. Sören grit his teeth, growling as he fucked... fucking harder when Mark played with his clit, looking so hot. Before he could fly over the edge, Sören slowed down, and then he gave Mark a taste of his own teasing, rubbing his clit against Mark's clit, up and down, back and forth, cock frotting cock, making sloppy streamers. Sören rode Mark's cock for awhile, until Mark took charge, grabbing Sören's hips and bucking like a wild bull, making Sören work for it, grabbing the headboard to stay on, their cunts smacking together. Sören was right there again, needy to come, but trying to hold back, wanting more, wanting to stay lost in their hot, primal fuck forever.
Sören stopped just as he was about to climax, and their clits fucked again, teasing and teasing. When Sören's clit was inside Mark again, Mark pawed himself furiously, and Sören held nothing back, fucking hard. Mark came first with a strangled sob, and the feel of Mark's cunt contracting, walls gripping him and pulsating, set Sören off, coming hard with a deep snarl of satisfaction.
Sören sank down and Mark held him tight, rocking him, raining kisses over his face. Sören buried his face in Mark's chest, listening to his strong heartbeat, tears in his eyes with the deep release washing over him... and the moment of truth, the thought I think I'm falling in love with you rising to the surface of his mind, though he dared not say it aloud.
Sören lay in Mark's arms, trying to just sit with that thought and not say or do something that would scare Mark away. He had come to Cancún for a vacation from his problems, and now everything was complicated, crossing the boundary from a hookup to catching feelings... and wanting to see where it went.
"Fuck," Sören huffed, just before he closed his eyes and dozed off.