Love Language Page 17

  We can still go out dancing, Greg suggested. Maybe even pleaded.

  Is that what you want?

  I’d really like to. I think I need a distraction. And I want us to have a good time together.

  That was encouraging, even if Marco wasn’t in the mood for dancing any more.

  But if Greg wanted it, he would deliver.

  Chapter 14 Greg

  The Weekend Before Valentine’s Day

  Greg relaxed on the couch. He could hardly believe that it had been almost a year since he and Marco had gotten together. Or at least, he liked to think of it that way. Even if he’d been an idiot for the first few months, this was kind of their anniversary.

  The past year had been a slow transition for Greg, like a pendulum swinging in slow motion, as his attention shifted from Richard to Marco. Richard was still there, but Marco was… weightier. More present. The focus of his days.

  When Greg woke up and went to sleep, when he saw something funny or had a rough day, his thoughts immediately turned to Marco. Marco was his center.

  Greg looked at the picture hanging on the wall. The splash of color brought so much life to the room. Just like Marco had.

  His house still echoed with Richard’s presence, but over the past few weeks Greg had quietly been going through the rooms. He kept the things that he loved and donated or threw away anything that wasn’t as meaningful. When Richard had left him, it seemed like every shampoo bottle and sock was a memento. Now he kept pictures and a few of Richard’s favorite things.

  The red shirts were packed away in a box that he was pretty sure he would never open again. But he liked having them there. Just not where he could see them.

  He hoped that their walls would be more colorful. Maybe with some of Marco’s art. He loved the idea of layering over Richard’s things with Marco’s, adding to the love in his life instead of completely replacing it.

  Which was why he’d wrapped up a gift for Valentine’s day, which he hoped Marco would accept: a symbolic set of keys to his house (since Marco already had a perfectly functional set) and an offer to move in. They’d rarely spent nights apart over the past couple weeks, but Greg wanted to cut that down to never.

  Right now, he was basking in the experience of just sitting at home, doing everyday things, with Marco in the room.

  He’d felt like Marco had been, well, maybe a little distant for the past two weeks since they went out dancing. But he’d also been working overtime to get the book covers in and finish up the dreaded FlexTech project.

  Not to mention that when they were seeing each other more, they were bound to spend more time doing mundane things.

  Even if he didn’t call Marco “Daddy”—a moniker that still struck him as bizarre with their relative ages—he was eager for that affectionate control. He had a sense that they’d both enjoy it when Marco embraced the role more fully. That was another thing he wanted to talk about on Valentine’s Day.

  While Greg didn’t need to be the focus of Marcus’s attention all the time, he buzzed inside when he got it. The rest of the time, he just wanted to be near him. To create their own habits and patterns together.

  Which was why he was enjoying a lazy Saturday afternoon, just being home in the same room.

  If anyone asked, he’d say that he was watching TV.

  Though how anyone could watch TV when Marco was stretching and bending in all those impossible positions was beyond him.

  Marco had laid out a yoga mat on the floor, his bronze skin glistening in the noonday sun streaming in from the windows. He was wearing the smallest, cutest, tightest pair of white shorts, and Greg sincerely hoped that he never wore them to the gym. The way that they showed off his bulge was obscene.

  Greg shifted his own growing bulge, hoping not to draw attention to himself and stop the wonderful show.

  Marco’s muscles rolled as he moved fluidly between the positions. Greg’s eyes followed his solid hips as his round ass pressed into the air. He imagined grabbing that flesh, or better yet, waiting helplessly as Marco pressed it against him.

  Marco moved again, and his strong chest pressed forward as he gracefully arched his back. Greg wanted to lick those flat nipples, lick along the lines of his ribs and the barely-there surgical scars.

  Marco folded over, his arms hanging down, and Greg smiled at the soft folds and swells of his belly. He enjoyed that Marco had a little bit of softness to him, the way that his body was real and there.

  Marco planted his feet widely and twisted the top of his body, one hand on his splayed foot and the other in the air. Greg drew hungry eyes over his form. Even while practicing yoga, the subtleties of his movements suggested a bit of intentional femininity, contrasting with his solid, masculine frame and mat of black hair on his chest.

  Greg marveled sometimes that such an exquisite creature had chosen him.

  At just that moment, Marco looked up and caught him staring.

  Greg looked quickly back at the television. He shouldn’t have felt embarrassed about watching his, well, his boyfriend, he hoped. Especially when he was exercising right in front of him.

  But there was something about Marco’s look that had made him feel like he’d been caught doing something forbidden.

  He studiously watched the TV, paying no attention to what was playing. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Marco sink to the floor and stretch his legs out to the sides in a split, his cock outlined alluringly in those tight shorts. He leaned forward, gripping the toes of his right foot with both hands.

  Greg swallowed heavily, then dared to turn his gaze fully on him since his head was bent. God that flexibility was sexy. All of him was sexy.

  When Marco sat up and found him watching, fire burned in his eyes.

  Greg turned pointedly to the TV. He pretended not to notice as Marco stood and stalked toward him.

  When Marco stood directly in front of him, blocking the television and invading his space, he couldn’t pretend any more. He looked up.

  Like what you see? Marco sneered.

  He looked angry, burning with aggression, in a way that made Greg feel deliciously trapped and weak. He logically knew that he hadn’t done anything wrong, but he let himself respond instinctively.

  Sorry, he signed, his fist tight on his chest.

  I’ve seen you watch me, Uncle G. It was Greg’s initial, but tapped in the middle of Marco’s chest. Not Greg’s name sign.

  God, they were really doing this. He’d given up expecting it. Maybe even given up wanting it, when Marco had so many other ways to make him lose his mind. Predicament bondage, especially, turned him inside out with the way that Marco forced him to do these things to himself.

  But here and now, Greg felt his pulse race, his body reacting in fear to the threat of what Marco could do to him.

  Except this wasn’t Marco. This was someone else. His nephew.

  I was just watching TV, M. He signed an M, but down his opposite arm. A new name sign, invented on the spot, without a spoken equivalent. His way of letting Marco know that he understood the scene they had started and wanted to play. I wasn’t looking at you.

  I don’t believe you.

  Greg squirmed, unable to meet M’s eyes. He felt himself slipping into the role. Uncle G had been perving on his nephew. It was filthy and wrong.

  And he was as hard as a rock.

  He subtly pressed his legs together, trying to hide the evidence.

  If you weren’t watching me, how do you explain this?

  M forcefully yanked the front of Uncle G’s sweatpants down. His slim hands gripped G’s cock and twisted it upward violently. He waved it around with no regard for how he might be hurting his uncle.

  G sucked in a gasp. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.

  That’s not good enough, M signed with one hand, the other hand still brutally strangling his dick. What do you think Aunt C would say?

  No, don’t tell C. He was sinking into the illicit fear of the role, every nerve
alight. He could hear his pulse pounding in his ears. Please. I won’t do it again.

  M dragged his hand up Uncle G’s cock, his touch almost too light to feel. His face was menacingly speculative. He ran one finger around the tip in a slow circle.

  I think you need to make it up to me.

  How? What should I do? G was leaking, his arousal visible to both of them.

  I think you need to pay me back. Suck me.

  No! His disagreement was strong, instinctive. His whole body shook, torn between fear and desire. That would be wrong. We’re family.

  M leaned into his face. So, you want me to tell Dance that you’ve been watching me? Do you think she’d feel safe around you again?

  That just made it all the more real. Uncle G must have a daughter, or maybe a niece, who’d been given the name sign Dance. A whole personality that he was now beholden to.

  Don’t tell Dance. She’s innocent, he signed frantically.

  But M was anything but. I think you know what to do, then.

  G’s hands lurched forward, but then stopped. He was always eager to touch his boyfriend Marco, and he was drowning in desire from their roleplay. But this persona, the story that they were wrapped up in, made him hesitate.

  He dropped his hands, even as the burned to touch everything that he thought he had been denied. I can’t. It’s wrong.

  I think you can. M grabbed his hand and placed it on those tiny, white shorts. His hand was filled with cock, soft on the surface with that hard pressure underneath. He closed his eyes for a minute, feeling what he had been secretly, filthily dreaming about for so long.

  M let go of his hand and yanked his chin upward, signing with the other hand. If it’s so wrong, why are you so hard?

  G tried to drop his head with embarrassment, but M wouldn’t let him go.

  Thinking it and doing it are different, he finally signed. I can’t touch you. You’re my nephew.

  Fuck, it was hot saying that.

  G placed both of his hands over M’s, using G’s hand to massage his cock through the thin shorts. M sat frozen, allowing himself to be used.

  Open them.

  G was pulled between fear and need, the conflicting tensions driving him higher. Tentatively, he peeled back the fabric, making sure not to dislodge the jockstrap underneath that tethered M’s dick in place. At last, the fabric rested below the delicious length, so large on M’s small frame.

  G was staring at his nephew’s cock.

  M stroked himself, hands running over the bluish veins and angry, red tip, bending his cock until it was completely erect. It looked exactly like a biological dick, indistinguishable in the fantasy.

  Saliva pooled in G’s mouth, even as he pulled back and hunched his shoulders, making himself small. He wanted to touch, and he knew it was forbidden.

  Suck me, M commanded. The sign was graphic, a greedy mouth approaching a dick.

  G looked up helplessly. I can’t.

  You can.

  I can’t. G shook his head. I don’t know how! he finally burst out.

  M’s devious grin grew. Don’t worry. All you have to do is follow my instructions.

  M dragged G’s head forward, both hands fisted in his hair. It hurt when he complied, and even more when he struggled.

  “Open,” he voiced. G jumped at the sound.

  Greg never wanted or expected Marco to voice, but when he chose to use his slightly flat speech like this, another tool in his arsenal of dominance, it turned him inside out.

  He opened his mouth, helpless to do anything else.

  I don’t know what to do, he signed again.

  M dragged the back of his first two fingers twice across his own cock, the sign lewd in its placement. Lick.

  G started licking. He both hated and loved the feeling of that thick cock in his mouth, the silky softness and the hardness beneath. The taste was slightly plasticky, but he was close enough to smell M’s own scent.

  He licked up higher, pressed harder with his tongue so that M would feel it, be pleased with him, wanting and not wanting it at the same time.

  M’s hand in his hair loosened, pulling him back. Is that good enough, M? He asked, his persona praying that it would be enough.

  M laughed aloud, a harsh, dark sound. Not even close. I said suck.

  He opened his mouth and then closed it, hesitant to make that first move. M had no such reservations.

  He tightened his hand again in G’s hair, the pain flashing through G like lightning. Then, he pulled him forward, holding him in place while he thrust inside.

  Greg knew how to deep throat, but he didn’t apply any of that finesse this time. In his innocent persona, he gagged and shuddered, sucking sloppily and trying awkwardly to please M while he fucked his mouth.

  He felt gloriously abused, taking whatever he was given without any ability to refuse. His jaw ached and his neck was bent at an awkward angle. The tears that streamed down his face were a mix of pain and joy.

  At last and too soon, M pulled away. G struggled to catch his breath, struggled to put himself back together.

  M didn’t give him a chance, though. Dragging mercilessly up and down G’s cock, he pushed G back with his other hand. It looks like you’re enjoying this, Uncle G.

  G felt his face heat with shame. Did I do OK? Is that it? he asked, knowing that it wouldn’t be enough and hoping that it would be at the same time.

  You did very well. For a first time.

  G’s eyes opened in shock. This was going to happen again? So, are we done, now? he asked hopefully, dripping and panting in need.

  Oh, no. I haven’t come yet.

  G moaned. Do you want me to suck you again? he asked hopefully.

  You are starting to please me, Uncle G. But that’s not what I want right now.

  What? My hands? Do you want me to touch you?

  M chuckled. Lay down and I’ll show you what you can do for me.

  Slowly, every muscle tense and pulled together, G turned and laid back along the couch. He kept his legs together and knees bent, protecting himself. His arms hugged his chest.

  He felt the layers of the role play press down on him. His desire for his nephew. His fear of this unfamiliar, lewd sexual act. The desire that burned behind the taboo, if only M would make him do it.

  M shucked off his white shorts and knelt at the end of the couch, towering over him. He ran his hands down G’s legs, using the motion to remove his sweatpants and boxers, then stroking back upward. The sweet caresses were at odds with his commands.

  Has anyone ever fucked your hole?

  G shuddered and shook his head. No. You can’t do this. He felt frightened and hungry for it at the same time.

  I think I can do this. I think you want me to do this.

  No, please don’t. G knew that whimpers were dripping from his mouth, his emotions spilling out in every direction. He could only do it if M forced him, and the secret desires of his persona burned for it.

  Spread your legs.

  He shook his head.

  M calmly spread his legs for him, inserting his small body between them. G knew that he could fight M off at any time, could even say a safeword and call everything to a stop. Yet he reveled in the feeling of powerlessness.

  Still hard for me, M commented, now caressing his cock lovingly, making G press up into his hand to chase that beautiful sensation.

  M stroked him faster, adding a twist at the top. G thrust and moaned, so turned on from sucking M’s cock that he was afraid that he would come.

  Then, M stopped, leaving G desperate and wanting.

  M looked him over, making him feel dirty and ashamed.

  M seemed to like what he saw. Since this is your first time, he explained, I’m going to go easy on you and use lube. M fished around in the couch cushions and withdrew a capped tube.

  Greg felt his heart swell. Marco had planned all of this! He’d thought it was all spontaneous, as the best-planned scenes often seemed, but the care and thought that
Marco had put into it really touched him. The yoga exercises, the tight shorts, the uncle-nephew relationship… all of that had been planned for him!

  He was so overwhelmed that it took a moment to sink back into his persona. When he did, he tried to press his legs together, but only succeeded in squeezing M’s hips.

  M shook his head in warning. This won’t hurt as much if you relax for me. He paused, running one gentle hand up G’s leg. But if it does, I might enjoy that, too.

  G shuddered, feeling his cock leap. No, M. You can’t do this. It won’t fit.

  M made a show of squirting the lube onto two fingers. Let’s see how tight you are.

  Once he found his way to G’s hole, he didn’t hesitate at all, pressing one insistent finger immediately inside. G arched, wanting to pull away and also seek out more of that rough intrusion.

  M twisted his finger around and tugged at the rim, taking things slightly too fast for G to accommodate.

  Uncle G panicked. Greg loved it.

  M pressed inside with another harsh finger and G screamed. “Nooooooo!” he voiced and signed, the burn so exquisitely painful, so much more than he was ready for.

  You dirty slut, M signed with his other hand. You told me you’d never done this before, but your ass is so ready for me.

  No, it’s not ready. It hurts! Please stop, it hurts!

  M’s only response was to turn his fingers, pressing hard against G’s prostate and sending ropes of fire through his body. He arched back, keening as the forced pleasure raced through him.

  M pumped in and out of his body, pausing only for a moment to add more lube. Without warning, he forced another finger in.

  No! Please too much! Stop!

  His pleas meant nothing.

  M pumped his fingers in a few more times and then withdrew, leaving him bereft and empty.

  Ready for your nephew’s cock?

  No! That’s wrong. You can’t…

  But M was already hitching his legs up over his shoulders, pressing his thighs back. He aimed himself and then slipped inside in one fluid movement.

  G’s hands clawed at the couch, the glory and the pain of the intrusion too much for him to absorb. It was too fast, too much.