Love Language Page 11

  Greg combined two vegetable trays onto one and decided to just save everyone a few steps and set it down in front of the kids. Maybe if it was there, they’d eat something healthy, and he wouldn’t have to put it away.

  He almost walked into the living room when he saw his older brother sign Marco’s name to his sister. He knew he shouldn’t eavesdrop, but if they were talking about Marco, he wanted to know about it.

  I agree, his sister said, though he didn’t know to what.

  Greg’s so much happier.

  I’m glad he’s found someone. Well, not quite, but she didn’t need to know that.

  No, I mean, he’s happier with Greg than he was with Richard.

  Could that be true? Certainly not. He loved Richard. Richard was his whole world.

  Though he could see how his family would think that. Richard didn’t know any sign, so he felt left out of family gatherings. And Richard was a bit growly and stern in a way that Greg found sexy, but probably didn’t make sense to anyone else. In return, since he couldn’t be bratty around his family, he probably ended up looking more withdrawn.

  He remembered, during past family visits, being torn between staying close to Richard to interpret and keep him entertained, and just being with his family. It wasn’t a comfortable place to be, so it made sense that his family thought he looked a bit strained around him.

  So that probably explained it all. Didn’t it?

  His mind was spinning, and he ended up stumbling into the room before his siblings could continue their conversation.

  Their eyes turned to him, and he awkwardly held up the tray he was carrying. Veggies for the kids.

  Smart, commented his brother.

  He left the room quickly.

  For the rest of the day, he knew he was a little bit spacy, but he was still mulling things over.

  His siblings’ suggestion made him feel disloyal to Richard. They shouldn’t think that anyone could make him happier than Richard, even if it wasn’t true.

  Worse, though, was the possibility that it might be true.

  Richard and Marco were just so different.

  Richard wanted Greg to be sexy and obedient and bratty and vulnerable. He wanted Greg to just spill out all his messy feelings in a giant explosion that he could paw through before putting Greg back together again. Richard put himself first, and expected Greg to turn himself inside out to serve him in a breathtaking intensity.

  And Marco… Marco was sweet. He listened. He was still, undeniably, in control, but only some of the time. When they agreed on it or when it was just little details. He figured out what Greg needed, and he took care of him. Marco, he realized, put Greg first. Marco wanted him to be happy.

  But was that happiness?

  Could he even be the same person and thrive on both what Richard gave him before, and what Marco gave him now?

  Or was he actually a different person now? When he was young and wild, he’d needed an older man to tame and direct him.

  Now, he was older himself. Steady and sure of many of the parts of his life. Broken by sorrow, but still ticking along, and maybe ready to think about moving on. He didn’t really need intensity in his life, beyond the occasional scene, just comfort. Or at least that’s how it felt right now.

  He’d also thought that once people discovered their kinks, that was kind of it. He’d been confidently telling people for years about what he was into, and now Marco had turned all that on its head.

  Apparently, he could be into CNC and sensory play. If you’d have asked him when he was in his twenties, he probably wouldn’t have considered some of what Marco did to him to be a kink. It was certainly milder, intense but without that flash of fear.

  He still sank in just as deep, though.

  Did that mean that he was replacing Richard with Marco?

  The idea churned in his gut. He didn’t want to be a different person than the boy his Sir had loved. And he definitely didn’t want to believe that he could have another relationship like that again.

  Greg volunteered to drive on the way home, using the endless stretch of highway to let his mind drift.

  Marco, always attentive, seemed to pick up his melancholy mood. He asked him a few times if he needed anything or wanted to talk, but then left him alone.

  They stopped at another little diner, but the food was terrible, and then hit the road again.

  Marco decided to drive after the stop, but he was hesitating before getting in the car. He seemed a bit cautious, and Greg realized that it was his fault for pulling away.

  Which only made him feel guilty toward both Marco and Richard, and didn’t help at all.

  When they were both seated, Marco slid a white box with a bakery label onto his lap.

  Since the dinner wasn’t very good, I thought you might like this.

  Greg blinked. This wasn’t from the diner.

  I got it from the bakery when I helped your brother return the rental stuff from the party.

  Oh. That made sense.

  I… want to apologize. I think I did something wrong, and I’m not sure what. I probably shouldn’t have forced my way into your family trip.

  Greg shook his head instinctively. Marco hadn’t done anything wrong at all. He felt horrible. You didn’t do anything. This is all me.

  Marco gave him a quelling glare, telling him silently not to lie. And he wasn’t lying, or at least not quite.

  Sorry, Greg signed miserably. I should be over this soon.

  Marco signed. Go ahead and open it.

  Right. The pastry box.

  Inside was a lemon bar, with a white chocolate flute and a sparkling, translucent slice of candied lemon on top.

  Dammit.

  Because if Greg didn’t miss Richard so much, Marco would be perfect.

  Chapter 9 Marco

  November

  Marco clicked through the reviews of the two restaurants he was considering one more time. One had a lemon Thai basil dish. The other was across the street from a shop that had lemon sorbet. So, both of them could work.

  But was that really what he wanted?

  His gut said yes. Anything to see Greg smile. And Greg would definitely smile at him. Even without the lemon gelato.

  They would laugh and talk through a wonderful dinner. And then he would take Greg home and edge him until he screamed and melted into a puddle for Marco to kiss and cuddle. For one night, it would be perfect.

  Then Greg would go home and pine after his dead husband.

  And Marco would spend the rest of his week wondering, again, why he wasn’t good enough. Why he was just a placeholder, a cheap substitute, to the man that he could otherwise see himself falling in love with.

  For once, it wasn’t because of his Deafness or his transgender status or even the idea that he could be both a Dom and a makeup-wearing twink. Greg had accepted all of those without blinking.

  It was because he couldn’t compete with a ghost.

  That was what he was really deliberating, not where to go for dinner.

  Should he keep tormenting himself every week with someone who could never love him back? Or should he cut his losses and try to find someone else?

  Not that he hadn’t tried. He and Greg didn’t have any sort of agreement to be exclusive. Back in the spring he’d played around with a few other people, gone on a few dates.

  Even now, half a year later, he kept his eyes open, kept his profiles updated.

  The trouble was, nobody else was Greg.

  His sweet, broken boy.

  God, he was a sucker for those hurt eyes. And the way that he could turn that sorrow into joy, at least most of the time.

  He didn’t even care if Greg still missed Richard. In fact, it probably wouldn’t be healthy if he stopped.

  He just wanted a place in Greg’s life, too.

  Should he just wait longer? Or was it hopeless? There was no way he could know.

  The Thai place, he finally decided.

  At least one decision
was easy.

  But when he got there, and saw Greg waiting for him at the table, he knew they couldn’t stay.

  Greg looked miserable. Haunted.

  Marco didn’t even sit down. Do you want to go home?

  Greg nodded immediately, that crying-but-not-crying look on his face that broke Marco’s heart.

  He pulled Greg to his feet and wrapped an arm around him, ushering him to the door.

  A waiter came up to them and Marco made a quick apology, not even bothering to speech-read what the waiter said in return.

  They had both driven to the restaurant tonight, but Marco didn’t want to let Greg out of his sight like this. Instead, he commandeered Greg’s keys and folded him into the passenger seat of his own car.

  He buckled the seatbelt and pressed a kiss to his forehead, wishing that he knew what to do. Should he suggest that Greg see a therapist? Would that be helpful? Or would he be overstepping his role?

  Greg still seemed to enjoy his company, most of the time. But recently it seemed like he was getting worse instead of better.

  Marco pulled out into the street, watching the gray light of the evening spill over Greg’s haunted face from the corner of his eye.

  Do you want to tell me what’s going on? he finally asked at a stoplight.

  It’s the anniversary. Both anniversaries.

  Marco tilted his head for Greg to go on.

  We met on November 9. And we got married the same day. And he… Greg couldn’t continue, but it wasn’t difficult to fill in the blanks.

  When?

  November 7. We were going to go to Cancun.

  So, today was the anniversary of Richard’s death. No wonder Greg had seemed unusually morose for the past few weeks.

  But, Cancun? Marco couldn’t imagine Greg at Cancun. It was for drunk college kids, for pretty gay boys and gym-bots with oiled muscles to hook up and forget each other the next day. Greg must have been a really different person around Richard.

  What do you need from me? It was something Marco asked all the time. It seemed like his signature line with Greg, his eternal plea to be allowed to take care of him in some meaningful way.

  I don’t know.

  Marco turned his eyes forward. He didn’t know what Greg needed, either, and it was killing him.

  If he could even come close to providing it, though, he would.

  He tapped Greg’s shoulder at the next intersection, making sure that he had his full attention. No matter what this evening turned into, he needed to know that Marco was ready to step in and take charge.

  When we get back to my house, you’re going to kneel, and you’re going to tell me what you need. You have ten minutes to figure it out, so use your time wisely.

  Greg’s eyes widened. Then, his gaze seemed to turn inward. Good. At least he’d gotten one thing right.

  When they got back to Marco’s apartment, Greg still seemed to be thinking. He waited for Marco to open his door and allowed Marco to lead him inside. Marco couldn’t decide if he was feeling more submissive, or just distracted.

  Marco turned on the light, strode to the middle of his living room, and pointed to the floor.

  Greg sank to his knees eagerly.

  He held his pose perfectly, though that practiced grace wasn’t anything that Marco cared about. It meant something to Greg, though. Or at least it was comfortingly familiar.

  Marco didn’t move, giving them both time to sink into their roles. He had no idea what Greg was going to ask for, and he wanted to be ready for anything from whipping to a warm bath.

  He knew that how he played was completely different from Richard, but fundamentally, he was a Daddy Dom and not a sadist. He hoped that he could be enough for whatever Greg wanted.

  That was his other niggling fear. He’d agreed not to do the same types of things that Richard would have done to avoid bringing up old memories, but it also protected him a bit. If what Greg really wanted was someone harsh and cold and punishing, he couldn’t provide that.

  He gave himself another moment to take in the steady rise and fall of Greg’s chest. The beginnings of grey hair at his temples that Marco always wanted to kiss. His gently closed eyelids, the curve of his lips.

  God, Marco wanted to give him everything.

  He stroked a hand through Greg’s short hair, then gripped more tightly to tilt his head upward. He was aiming for enough of a pull to sting, to assert his control, but not enough to really hurt.

  Greg’s eyes were clear and focused. Good.

  What do you need? Marco signed one-handed.

  I want you to make me forget.

  That was good, but not focused enough. Greg needed a little more. What else?

  I want you to make me cry.

  Oh, fuck. Greg’s words sent a bolt of lust through his body. Not at the idea of causing pain, but at that level of trust. At the gift Greg was giving him.

  He let Greg see his desire. I want to give you that.

  It’s hard for me to cry, Greg added.

  Lucky bastard. Even on T, Marco knew that he cried more easily than most cis guys.

  What could I do to make you cry?

  Greg tilted his head. A lot of pain, I guess. Fear, maybe. Greg didn’t seem sure.

  Marco wasn’t sure either. Pain he could dole out in measured quantities. Fear, not so much. This might not be as easy as he thought.

  Looking back, he’d never seen Greg cry. Not when he’d had the nightmare. Not that first night, when he’d assumed the handsome stranger was balling in his arms. When Greg had pulled back, his eyes had been dry.

  If it was that difficult for him to cry, Marco wasn’t actually sure he could stomach beating him that much. Spanking someone into a state of euphoria was one thing, but tears of anguish were quite different.

  Maybe he really couldn’t live up to what Greg needed.

  The only thing he could really think of was finding some way to push Greg to his emotional and physical limits before applying pain, and then using it judiciously.

  Which meant… predicament bondage.

  Marco absolutely loved it, but he hadn’t tried it with Greg yet. Hopefully it would be what he needed.

  Marco spun through the options in his head. There were quite a few positions that he could use where Greg would be laying down or kneeling, but if he was gearing up to cry, he would need to start with something a little more intense.

  He paused for a moment to make sure that he had a solid plan in his head. And look absolutely confident. Greg needed that from him.

  We’re going to try something different tonight. Before we begin, I want to check in about your body, because this is going to be intense. Do you have any pain anywhere? Even if it’s your little toe I want to know about it.

  Greg closed his eyes, taking stock, and then shook his head. I probably sat for too long today without stretching my back, but it’s fine.

  Marco made a mental note to work on that later. Good. You have ten minutes to use the bathroom, take a shower if you want, and then present yourself naked in the bedroom. Do you understand?

  Greg signed his agreement, his breath already speeding up and his eyes alight. He needed this.

  Marco couldn’t help but lean down and kiss his forehead before he allowed him to stand. You’re going to make me so proud.

  Marco went quickly to his bedroom, knowing that Greg would be frantically preparing himself in the bathroom as soon as he left the room. He needed to gather a few things from around the apartment, but most of what he needed was in his closet.

  Quickly, he laid everything out on his bed and then covered it with a scrap of fabric. He wanted this to be a surprise.

  He grabbed a step stool from the kitchen, laced two long ropes through the hook on his ceiling, and then tested one of them with his full weight. He’d tested the hook when he put it in, but he absolutely needed it to be safe for Greg tonight. Then, he hid one of the free weights that he kept in his office under the corner of his bed.

 
This was the part of a scene that wasn’t as sexy, and he smirked remembering Greg’s amazement when he’d gotten to “peek behind the curtain.” He didn’t see the need for all the theatrics most of the time, but tonight he wanted to build the anticipation.

  It had been about ten minutes, so he just stood in the room and waited, playing through the scene in his mind.

  Marco first knew that Greg was coming when he felt the thunder of his feet when he raced down the hallway, and then abruptly slowed to a walk outside the door. Absolutely adorable.

  He hadn’t meant to make the ten-minute limit a challenge, just keep Greg from getting sucked back into his memories while he got ready. It sounded like that part had been successful.

  When Greg burst through the door, he was wet and tousled, cheeks flushed from the heat of the shower and the sprint down the hall. His limbs swung without coordination and Marco could visibly observe him transition into the intentional grace of a trained submissive.

  The trained responses were sexy, but it was that unconscious eagerness, the run down the hall, that made Marco’s heart melt.

  He wondered if he could train Greg back out of all that training, but that was a question for another day.

  Greg slowed to a halt, shoulders back, legs evenly holding his weight, one hand clasping the other behind his back. His whole body was on display, and Marco couldn’t help following the line of his chest hair, just starting to gray, as it led down to his half-hard cock.

  Greg looked down, then remembered that Marco didn’t like that and looked up to meet his eyes.

  Come here, Marco signed with two fingers.

  Greg glided over to him, then resumed his perfect posture. He was standing now directly under the eye hook in the ceiling. He must have noticed the rope that dangled beside him, but he hadn’t given any indication.

  Marco took a moment to study his face. He could see the sorrow that haunted his eyes, but also the excitement for what was coming and the trust that he held in Marco. He’d asked to cry, but he wasn’t being reckless, so Marco felt comfortable moving forward.