Be Mine

by Max Hudson

  Above, Tristan tensed. His hands tangled into Mark's hair, disheveling it. He beckoned Mark forward, arching his hips slightly as his fingers dug into Mark's locks.

  “Oh, please,” Tristan begged. “Please...”

  “I would love to.”

  Mark dragged his lips down Tristan's shaft. He felt the earthquake ripple through Tristan's body, the indication of pleasure that he loved to feel. It had been so long since he had been able to pleasure someone—it just seemed like the right moment. His heart was beating madly as his lips took on a life of their own, sensually and slowly massaging their way back up the tip of Tristan's cock.

  He moaned as he parted his lips. Tristan slipped easily inside, filling his mouth up and pressing against his tongue. While gripping the base of Tristan's cock, he suckled on the head and hummed gently, vibrating Tristan's cock as he began to stroke. A hunger deep in the pit of his stomach began to grow, inspiring him to follow his stroking hand with his lips. He sank and rose rhythmically, causing Tristan to teeter back slightly.

  As Mark steadied Tristan's hips, he continued sucking, aroused by the sensation of Tristan gripping his hair. He sucked diligently and dug his nails into Tristan's hips, giving himself leverage while pumping his mouth over Tristan's cock. He heard Tristan whispering, low at first, in intervals as his lips traveled up and down quicker than before.

  He surfaced to take a breath. “Are you all right?”

  “Oh, more than all right...Are you?”

  “I'm just fine.”

  “Would you like to…?”

  Mark looked confused for a moment. As he sat up further, he licked his lips and studied Tristan's gaze.

  Tristan raised his eyebrows. “You know...fuck?”

  Mark hummed in agreement. He rose from his seat and dropped his jeans, slipping his boxers down with them. He turned Tristan around carefully and propped him against the wall. He ran his hand down Tristan's torso and gripped Tristan's cock once more, teasing, as he pressed his own erect dick against Tristan's bottom. He pulled Tristan's briefs down the rest of the way and parted his legs with a foot. While still clinging to Tristan's cock, he withdrew his own and rubbed it against Tristan's entrance.

  “Do you have lube?” Tristan asked.

  “Oh...right.” Mark fumbled as he stepped back, looking down at his jeans caught around his ankles. “Shit.”

  Tristan chuckled. “I can go get it.”

  “It's the top drawer of my dresser next to the condoms.”

  When Tristan disappeared, Mark waited with his cock in his hand. He stroked himself in heated anticipation of Tristan's return, imagining how Tristan would feel wrapped around his cock. Tristan appeared and gently took Mark's cock, slowly applying a condom. He added lubrication and gently rubbed Mark into a shivering fit.

  Mark hissed. “I like your hands.”

  “I can keep rubbing.”

  “Please.”

  Smiling, Tristan leaned in close. He pressed his forehead to Mark's and sighed as he fondled Mark's cock, his hand gliding seamlessly up and down. Enraptured by the feeling, Mark wobbled on legs that felt like jelly, attempting to stand still. But there was no way to stand when Tristan was pleasing him like this. He could hardly get a word to surface, could barely even part his lips enough to groan.

  Tristan kissed him deeply, ravenously, relaying every tense desire that Mark had felt since they had met. Compulsively, Mark hooked his arms underneath Tristan's and hung on to Tristan's shoulders, whimpering while Tristan kept a steady stroking pace. He was overwhelmed, a ship ready to sink at the mercy of a tidal wave, and he was prepared to go down.

  Greedy with the urge to quench his thirst, Mark guided Tristan back to the wall. It took great strength to pull out of the oceanic depths that Tristan was dragging him down into. He hardly wanted it to stop, but his lust for Tristan's hole was more powerful. He carefully turned Tristan around, pinned him to the wall, and pressed his cock hungrily to his entrance.

  He huffed as he pushed in, reaching around in the same instant to grip Tristan's cock. Almost salivating with the lust he felt, his slow entry turned into a quick thrust of nervousness. He felt Tristan buck forward, his hips pulsating as he tried to regain control over his own primal urge.

  He shuddered. “Oh God...I'm sorry.”

  “It's okay,” Tristan gasped. “Keep going.”

  With a grin, Mark gripped Tristan's hip with one hand while repositioning his feet to get better leverage. He sank deep inside Tristan as he vigorously stroked Tristan's cock, tightening his grip as he reared back for another thrust. He was shivering, shaking, attempting to hang on and keep himself from coming too soon. The overwhelming urgency of his own eruption couldn't be helped. It drove him to slide his hand rapidly over Tristan's cock, caressing every inch that was exposed just for him.

  Tristan arched his back and raised his hands up on the walls, bracing himself against it. As Mark sank deep once more, Tristan grunted and threw his head back to rest against Mark's shoulder. The movement caused Mark to dive further and he growled, attaching his lips to Tristan's neck. He suckled on Tristan's skin and unleashed his hips, rocking them forward in short, quick thrusts.

  Each pump prompted Mark to groan in short bursts, the sound muffled by Tristan's neck. Tristan bayed as he sank his nails into the wall, knocking down a painting that was hanging near his hand. When he readjusted his grip against the wall, another painting fell, and then another, each one echoing as it struck the ground.

  “I've heard romance destroys art,” Mark grunted between thrusts. “But this is new.”

  Tristan chuckled but quickly gasped as Mark thrust harder, forcing him forward. Bursts of moans erupted from him as he pressed his cheek to the wall and arched his back more. He seemed to welcome each pump from Mark and whispered little encouragements, some of them incoherent.

  Mark, overwhelmed with his lust, sank his teeth carefully into Tristan's skin and squeezed his eyes shut, homing in on the sensation of his cock repeatedly sliding into Tristan's entrance. There was nothing more exquisite for him than this moment—nothing could compare. His own body shuddered under the weight of rapturous delectation, waves of hot and cold goosebumps rippling over every inch of his skin.

  With a great flicker of energy, he reared back and slammed deeper into Tristan's ass, arching back as he gripped Tristan's hips. Tristan rapidly replaced Mark's hand with his own and vigorously stroked himself, sliding slightly down the wall. His other hand flew back to pull Mark close, to clutch Mark's back and keep Mark pressed against him.

  Mark groaned. “I think I'm close.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Come for me.”

  “You first.”

  Mark chuckled. “Not the right time for this game.”

  While giggling, Tristan nodded in agreement and returned his head to Mark's shoulder. A bay erupted from him as his hips wiggled and his legs shook. His entire body took on a shivering fit, an indication to Mark that he was practically on the edge of orgasm. Mark felt his own eruption coming and he gripped Tristan's hips harder, groaning in short spurts as his gut tightened.

  His thighs tensed and, after a few quick thrusts, he unleashed his orgasm. As he plunged deep, he came while seizing Tristan's hips, digging his fingernails into Tristan's skin. A low, guttural moan took over his voice and he gasped as he collapsed against Tristan's back, listening closely to the sounds of Tristan erupting and shuddering against the wall.

  When Tristan finished, the only sound left was him gasping. Mark fluttered with elation as he withdrew his cock from Tristan and took a weary step back. “God.”

  “Yes, my sentiments exactly,” Tristan agreed.

  “You're just...”

  “So good?”

  “Mmm...”

  Tristan flipped around and rested his head against the wall. His knees wobbled and his legs looked like they were about to give out. Lovingly, Mark swooped in and pressed his lips heavily to Tristan's, drinking in the rest of the pleasurable
shivers that were left. He kicked off his pants from around his ankles and led Tristan back down the cramped hall into the expansive studio where cool air greeted them both. He continued pulling Tristan toward the bed, laid him down, and wrapped him in a thin blanket.

  As Mark climbed up on the bed, Tristan smiled. “Should I stay?”

  “Only if you want.”

  “I could stay for another hour, but I have to get home. I need to get ready for Friday.”

  “Friday?”

  “Mhm, that's when your surprise date happens.”

  “I thought it would be tomorrow.”

  “Unfortunately, I couldn't make it happen tomorrow.”

  Mark pouted dramatically. “Oh dear. What will I do until Friday?”

  “Well, you can imagine all the wonderful things that might happen on our wonderful date. You could paint how today made you feel. You could do a lot of things.”

  “I guess I could.”

  “Don't pout.”

  Tristan extended his hands and cupped Mark's face, planting sloppy kisses all over Mark's lips until Mark smiled and broke into laughter. “Fine!”

  “There he is.”

  “You're the only one who has had ever had that effect on me.”

  “I'm glad I do.”

  “So, shall we commence cuddling?”

  Tristan smiled. “We shall.”

  With a contented sigh, Mark curled up under Tristan's wing. He inhaled the wonderful scent of vanilla and immediately relaxed. All the muscles that had been tensing and cramping from their vigorous sexual encounter were now fully at ease. He could feel the calm permeate his bloodstream, spreading from his heart to every limb in his body.

  For the first time in a long time, he felt perfectly at peace.

  Chapter Eight

  Friday—the day that meant everything for Tristan. After Mark had fallen asleep in his arms, he had sneaked into Mark's closet room and plucked a painting from the ground that would be fitting for a gallery piece. Though he didn't entirely condone stealing, he wanted to surprise Mark with a lavish display of affection—and show Mark that his art was worth displaying.

  As Tristan stood outside on the sidewalk thinking over the events that had led to this glorious day, he watched the last few rays of sun winking over the horizon as he waited for Mark. He twirled a red rose between his fingers, occasionally touching the petals to his nose to feel their silky touch. It was a calming sensation that provided some relief from his anxiety and kept his spirits up when Mark's blue Honda pulled up to the curb.

  Mark stepped from his car. “The museum, eh?”

  “Sur-pri-i-se,” Tristan sang while gesturing wide with his arms. “What do you think?”

  “Well, I was thinking we might have gone sailing.”

  “Sailing?”

  “Sure. You told me to imagine the surprise. My mind went straight to sailing for some reason.”

  Tristan grinned and extended the rose as Mark approached. “Well, I'll keep that in mind for next time.”

  “You're quite the gentleman.”

  “I try.” Tristan held out his arm for Mark to take. “Shall we?”

  Mark grinned as he entwined his arm with Tristan's. As Tristan led the way up the steps, he beamed with joy. His plan was coming together, the romantic venture that he had been wanting to put into action ever since their date at the restaurant. It was exciting and overwhelming all at the same time, an emotional roller coaster that would only grow stronger the closer they got to Mark's series of surprises.

  At the booth, Tristan procured their tickets for the museum without hesitation.

  Mark regarded him with a grin. “You're always prepared, aren't you?”

  “Always.”

  The attendant gave them their wrist bands and smiled, wishing them a good visit. Tristan felt the exhilaration in his belly grow stronger. It was like a series of knots forming from his solar plexus down into his pelvis, creating a long rope that felt like it might snap at any moment. He led Mark through the Rock and Roll exhibit first, taking the route that would reveal his gift at the very last moment.

  “Donnie Marks—what a guitarist,” Mark commented. He left Tristan's arm to study the series of black and white photographs framed along the wall. “I didn't know he learned on his own. Damn.”

  “Most of my favorite artists were self-taught.”

  “I didn't know I was your favorite artist.”

  Tristan smiled warmly. “You're self-taught?”

  Mark nodded.

  “That's incredible. I took way too many classes.”

  “Well, your education is evident in your work. The fact that you took what you learned and rolled your own creative spin into it speaks volumes.”

  Tristan blushed. “Stop it.”

  “My apologies.”

  Mark returned to Tristan's arm and offered a smile. “Let's check out those guitars on the other end. I want to see Donnie's.”

  “Absolutely.”

  Tristan strolled forward at a leisurely pace, taking his time to inspect each of the photographs and paintings along the way. His anxiety peaked a bit as they approached the long line of instruments ranging from guitars to drums to various instruments that artists had created on their own.

  “Ugh, look at that—it's like a trinket from heaven,” Mark groaned. He pointed at the guitar that belonged to Donnie Marks. “I can't even believe it's within reach.”

  “Go ahead. No one is looking.”

  Mark turned with a suspicious grin. “You wouldn't tell on me?”

  “No way.”

  Mark glanced around quickly and then turned with a mischievous grin back to the guitar hanging on the wall. He reached over the red line and carefully touched the bottom edge, shivering as he withdrew. “Wow.”

  “That was intense.”

  Mark glimmered with joy. “So intense.”

  “Let's keep moving before they notice us touching the art.”

  When Mark rejoined Tristan's side, Tristan felt his elation double. He hummed a tune under his breath as they continued walking and even took a moment to rest his head on Mark's shoulder as they looked over a painting in the next gallery.

  “'David Spitsman,'” Mark read out loud. “'A true visionary of our modern age and beyond.'”

  “I honestly can't tell what it is.”

  “I think that's the point.”

  Tristan leaned in to get a better view and pointed. “Is that a spaceship?”

  “Not sure. There are so many globs of paint that I could probably pick it up by the amount shoved on there.”

  “Yeah, it's a bit...”

  “Messy.”

  Tristan nodded. “Chaotic.”

  “Disturbing.”

  “We should move on.”

  “We should.”

  Tristan chuckled and motioned toward the exhibit on the other side of the hall. “We haven't seen this one yet.”

  “Oh, I hadn't even noticed it.”

  “'Local artists,'” Tristan read on the sign outside. “Maybe we'll find something familiar here.”

  “Oh, I highly doubt that.”

  “You don't like local art?”

  Mark shrugged. “I wouldn't say that.”

  Tristan remained silent as they both stepped inside, parting ways to take the pathways on either side of the room. While walking along, Tristan couldn't help the grin that formed on his face. It cut right along his cheeks and up to his ears, making his muscles ache from the joyful anticipation he felt. When he made it to the corner where the paths intersected, he found Mark gaping at a painting hanging under a small light.

  There was no sound, only the feeling of absolute elation.

  Tristan approached slowly, carefully, keeping his eyes on Mark's features. He kept his lips shut while studying the way Mark's features lit up and sank like the rays of sun striking the clouds floating through the skies.

  Mark sniffled. “God...”

  “That's how I felt when I saw your paint
ing.”

  “How did you do this?”

  “Very carefully.”

  Mark scoffed. “I never thought I'd see the day.”

  “Well, here we are.”

  As Mark reached out to lovingly caress his painting, a security guard on the other end of the room said, “Don't touch.”

  Huffing, Mark retreated. Tristan took his hand and kissed his ear.

  “Thank you,” Mark whispered. “Thank you so much.”

  “You're welcome.”

  “Where did you even find the time for this?”

  “I have my ways.”

  “I love it. I love it so much...”

  Mark blinked away the tears that were welling in his eyes. As he wiped the corner of his right eye, he smiled wide. Tristan didn't want to say anything else. The silence of the room was perfect; whispering a word would ruin their moment together. He waited patiently as Mark's eyes flitted over the painting and settled on one focal point.

  “I always liked calling this one 'Magnanimous,'” he whispered.

  “Why's that?”

  “Because of the colors—they all clash together in a joyful union in the center with that splatter of red just outside. It's abstract, but it makes me feel so...”

  “Big.”

  “Yes.”

  Tristan grinned, turning his eyes to the painting. “It makes me feel open, yet closed.”

  “It's a wondrous feeling. Constriction and freedom all in one place.”

  “Like the shadow and light sides of a personality coming together.”

  Mark purred in agreement. “Exactly. You get it.”

  “Shall we move on to the next surprise?”

  Mark's eyes widened as he turned to face Tristan. “You're kidding.”

  “Absolutely not kidding. Let's head upstairs.”

  Tristan, with his heart pounding and his soul soaring, motioned for Mark to follow him toward the security guard that had just chastised them. The guard led them to a side door, unlocked it, and pushed it open, holding it for Tristan to walk inside and Mark to follow. Inside the wide, stone staircase, Mark took Tristan's hand and Tristan replied with an assuring squeeze.

  Tristan headed up the spiral stone steps with Mark trailing behind, keeping his hand wrapped around Mark's. He trailed his free hand along the stone to feel its texture and coolness hidden away from the modern world beyond. When he reached the top, he stepped aside so Mark could see what had been waiting for them.