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  Marco gave himself a moment to sort things out in his head. This sounded workable.

  Are you saying that you want me to be your Daddy, but you don’t want to use that term? Like, it’s just the word that bothers you?

  Greg nodded emphatically.

  OK, that was… that was just fine, actually. It was just a word, really.

  So, if I’m not your Daddy, what am I?

  Do I need a word? You’re just… you’re my everything.

  Something inside him that had been hurting since he met Greg was starting to heal.

  “Everything” doesn’t quite have the same ring as “Daddy.” Might get confusing, too. He let himself laugh now, when Greg would know that he was laughing with him.

  That wasn’t what I meant! But he was smiling, now. We could come up with another term if it’s important to you.

  I… think it would be nice, when we’re introducing each other maybe. But it’s not something I need. ASL didn’t usually use nicknames and honorifics when you were talking directly with someone like spoken languages did, but he still kind of wanted a name in his head.

  You take care of me… Greg wrinkled his nose when he realized the implications of Marco being his CARE-PERSON. But you’re not my babysitter!

  No, that’s horrible.

  Maybe you… keep me? My KEEP-PERSON? My Keep-er? The word for KEEP was only a tiny motion away from CARE, the same handshapes crossed together, but with a tap instead of a circle.

  Marco tried it out in his mind. I can be your Keeper. And what about you?

  Greg thought, his fingers jerking slightly as he mentally tested out signs without ever forming them.

  I… I commit myself to you. The word COMMIT had a lot of meanings. Promise. Devote. Make a covenant. The sign was a word from the lips, spreading out and taking form, then becoming solid as hit his other hand. I could be your COMMIT-PERSON. The way that Greg looked when he said, his eyes upward in supplication and adoration, inflected it with his deep devotion.

  God, that was beautiful, watching him sign that. I like that, my promiser. Marco tested it out with his hands. I don’t think you can say that in English, though.

  We need more Deaf friends, then.

  True. They both laughed. Marco loved seeing Greg so relaxed and free.

  Marco pulled Greg into his lap, happy to just hold him there. He stroked over his back, running fingers through his hair. Greg melted, nuzzling into him.

  God, today had been fucking intense. But it had also turned out better than anything he could have expected.

  Greg wanted him. Greg loved him.

  He was Greg’s… well, not his Daddy. But his Keeper. He could work with that. Especially since it was his plan to keep him forever.

  He was looking forward to figuring out how Keepers took care of their promisers. Maybe starting with a bath together… but not yet.

  Eventually, Greg stirred, pulling just far enough away to sign.

  Do you love me?

  Shit.

  Yes! Yes. I love you. He scrabbled for the words, fists almost hitting each other as he crossed them on his chest. I’m sorry I didn’t say it before.

  He felt really stupid now. Hopefully Greg would forgive him. I wanted that to be romantic, but I totally screwed it up.

  Greg just gave him a sleepy smile. That’s OK. I already knew.

  Well, that was kind of romantic, too.

  Chapter 16 Greg

  April

  When Valentine’s Day came and Greg asked Marco if it was their anniversary, he’d looked horrified and signed, God, no. I hate Valentine’s Day. Even if it was, I think we’d have to make up another date.

  He’d looked a little embarrassed after he said it, but Greg thought it was hilarious. He’d always taken the romance of Valentine’s Day for granted, but when Marco explained it, he could see how it seemed commercialized and artificial.

  So, they’d had a regular evening at home, Marco playing with his hair while they watched a movie and feeding him little bites of lemon cookie. It wasn’t what he’d been expecting. But it was Marco. And it was perfect.

  That didn’t mean that he hadn’t checked his text history the next day, though, to figure out when their real anniversary was. April fourteenth. The night he’d reluctantly let Marco take him out to dinner and started the course of his new life.

  He hadn’t said anything, though. With the way that Marco disliked Valentine’s Day, it was possible that he felt the same way about anniversaries. So, Greg let it go.

  But when he went to sleep on April thirteenth, with Marco holding him in their bed and pressing kisses to the back of his neck, he thought “tomorrow it will be a year together.”

  And when Marco woke him up a little early to wash him gently in the shower and make sure that his hole was extra clean, and then sent him off to work hard and needy, the thought, “this is our day. The day that my life started again.”

  And when he texted Marco to tell him how hard it was for him to concentrate at work and Marco made him go into the bathroom to take a picture, and then he really couldn’t concentrate, he thought, “God, I’m glad I texted him last year.”

  And when his boss asked him why he was smiling and when he got to tell her it was their anniversary, he knew he was grinning like a fool.

  And when they got home, and he’d wanted to kneel, but instead Marco led him to the table where he’d made lemon chicken, and it wasn’t the most special meal because Marco spoiled him all the time, but it was special because Marco had made it and it was in the home that they shared together, he figured it was still an amazing anniversary. Not once, but twice in his life, he’d been blessed with a perfect match.

  Then, just as he was finishing his last bites, Marco asked if he thought about going back to the club.

  Greg hadn’t thought about it, honestly. Maybe once or twice in passing, but not as a real consideration. He wasn’t sure if he knew anyone there anymore, and he had everything that he wanted at home.

  But when Marco mentioned it, he couldn’t help the pulse of excitement that raced through him. It was an easy decision. Yes. I’d like to go back sometime, if you want to.

  Marco looked troubled, though. I know that you’ll have… a lot of memories of him while you’re there.

  A year ago, the thought would have left him in a shrinking circle of despair. Six months ago, it would have made him nauseous with guilt, conflicted and anxious. Now, well, he just didn’t mind. He still missed Richard sometimes, but... We’ll make new memories.

  Marco’s smile was breathtaking. Would you like to go tonight?

  That, he hadn’t been expecting. You’d need to be a member. And I’m not even sure if I still am. Like, the payments were automatic, but I haven’t checked.

  Marco narrowed his eyes, a rebuke for doubting him.

  You already joined, didn’t you. It wasn’t really a question. That he’d also checked on Greg’s membership was a foregone conclusion.

  Of course. Now, would you like to go tonight?

  Yes, Keeper. He loved saying it, loved seeing the answering delight in Marco’s eyes. It wasn’t “Daddy” like Marco had wanted or “Sir” which would remind him of Richard, but it was perfect for them. He loved that their names for each other were entirely in sign, too.

  Marco sent him off to take a shower in the hallway bathroom with the instructions to take his time and relax, but not to touch himself. He already knew better, but hearing it sent a little shiver through him anyway.

  When he was warm and languid from the shower, he wrapped a towel around himself while he shaved. He could hear Marco in their bedroom and liked the idea of them getting ready to go out together. Of course, he wouldn’t be choosing his own clothes, and the idea made his heart swell.

  Feeling impulsive, he took off his towel before walking down the hall. He imagined that Marco would enjoy seeing him ready and bare.

  But when he opened the door, his breath literally caught in his throat.

 
; Marco was… stunning. No, exquisite. Somehow both ethereal and sensuous, innocent and dirty. Like a dark, seductive fairy that would disappear if he got too close, or maybe lock him away and keep him forever if he dared to touch.

  He wore, well, it must be lace, black lace, that adhered to his skin along his forehead and more spreading down his throat. But it felt organic, somehow, like it had grown from within through the will of his own imagination.

  His eyelids were iridescent, like a peacock feather, or like some fae magic had blessed him with the gift of Sight. He was poised, too, like some enchanted creature that might dart off into the woods at any time, frozen in a pose.

  We he… nervous?

  What do you think? Marco signed. Someone else might not have noticed it, but his posture was just a bit rigid, his lips pressed together too tightly.

  You’re like a work of art. Like some mythical creature.

  So that’s good?

  Wow. Marco was more nervous about this than Greg had realized. You’re gorgeous. I’m almost afraid to touch you, like I’ll wake up from some dream and you’ll fade into the mist.

  I’m very real, he signed, trying to joke, but Greg could see how relieved he was.

  Greg couldn’t think of any response, couldn’t think of any way to explain how beautiful Marco was, how impossibly happy he was that Marco had chosen him when he so clearly could have had anyone that he wanted. There were just no words.

  He followed his instincts and took a few steps closer to his Keeper and then sank to his knees.

  Marco approached him slowly, then pulled him tight, pressing Greg’s cheek to his belly.

  Greg noticed now that Marco was wearing a pair of tight black jeans, cut low on his hips. Every eye in the club would be on him. And somehow, miraculously, he wanted Greg.

  He nuzzled into Marco’s belly, feeling dazzled and fortunate and somehow very small. Marco trailed soft fingers across his shoulders, then tilted his head up so that they could communicate.

  You really like this, don’t you? Now Marco looked like he believed it.

  I think I’m in awe, Greg answered honestly.

  It’s not… too much?

  It’s absolutely too much. Everyone will be watching you and wishing you were theirs.

  Marco grinned. But I’m all yours. And you’re mine.

  Then Marco pulled him to his feet dressed him carefully, lovingly, in a new iridescent blue thong that matched his eyeshadow. Like Greg was just an accessory to Marco’s look.

  He said as much and Marco smirked. I planned it that way. I want everyone to see my promiser, he explained. That you’re gorgeous and you belong to me.

  And, even though Marco was breathtaking and young and impossibly sexy, Greg felt then that he was gorgeous and knew that he belonged to Marco.

  By the time they were in the car, Greg’s awe had faded just enough that he thought he could maybe breathe again. And he was a starting to feel curious. Marco had said before that he didn’t worry, or even think much, about his gender presentation anymore. But that clearly wasn’t quite true.

  Are you thinking about exploring a more feminine look? I haven’t seen you dressed up like this before.

  Marco waited for a stop light and then gave Greg a assessing look. It amazed Greg how Marco could be so confident most of the time, his dominance natural and innate, and then still have this vulnerability about his gender. Maybe not often, but sometimes it still came back.

  I… I don’t know, I don’t think I really have a plan. I just… I worked so hard to become male, to have everyone see me as a man. And I’m happy with my body now, really. Or, like, almost all of it. But I feel like being traditionally masculine isn’t quite all of me, either. Is that… OK?

  Greg nodded. If someone had asked him about something like this in the abstract, he might have needed some time to think. But with Marco, there wasn’t a question.

  I think that you’re gorgeous and I absolutely adore you. I’m glad you feel comfortable enough to show me yourself. Do you want to tell me more about it?

  Marco shrugged. I think that… it’s like I was chasing masculinity like it was the holy grail or something. And now that I’m here, it feels a little… one dimensional. Does that make sense? Like, I spent years dreaming of being able to wear a tie to work, and now that I can, that feels a little limiting, too. The colors are just so boring. I feel like, I’m definitely a man. But maybe my gender’s a bit bigger than what “male” means to other people.

  That made sense. I think I knew that about you from the first night, Greg responded. You’ve always been a bit larger than life, a bit more than one gender could hold. But I definitely see you as a man.

  Marco concentrated on the road for a moment, but he looked happy with that.

  So, does this mean you’ll dress up like this for me every night? Greg teased. He certainly wouldn’t mind.

  Marco laughed. Only on special occasions.

  At the club, Greg’s prediction came true: every head turned to Marco. Men and women and those outside of either designation—everyone was watching Marco. Admiring him. Wanting him.

  Greg felt exactly like an accessory in his shimmering blue thong. Marco guided him through the crowd with a hand at the small of his back, sometimes dipping down to caress his bare ass. Because Greg belonged to him, and this embarrassingly sensuous display of ownership was exactly what they both wanted.

  Even before they opened the door, the whole experience was completely different than would have been with Richard, and Greg felt at peace with that.

  He knelt at Marco’s feet, but he wasn’t silent and still like he would have been with Richard. Marco had him snuggle against his leg while they chatted with another Deaf couple, the ones that Marco had met at the munch the previous year.

  They were a lot of fun, but Marco had been completely right in describing them… so much drama. Brett was wild and colorful and unfiltered, always trying to make trouble. Dustin, his Dom, was staid and quiet, a strong foundation that Brett probably relied on. He seemed amused by Brett’s antics, but there was a strain around his eyes, sometimes, like he wanted to reel Brett in closer but wasn’t sure how to do it.

  Which was funny and a little sad, because it was clear that Brett was only being such an outrageous flirt with Marco and Greg because he wanted to get Dustin’s attention. Every time he said something just a little over the top, he’d look back and Dustin to get his reaction.

  Greg sure hoped that they figured themselves out. He liked the idea of hanging out with them more and could tell that Marco agreed. It would be nice to have some kinky, Deaf friends.

  After that, they walked around and watched the demonstrations, often getting as many looks as the people on stage. Marco was riveting and Greg floated in his orbit.

  As they wandered around, Marco stood behind him and signed dirty things against his chest. He hoped they would do a scene, but Marco seemed to be enjoying teasing him, keeping him on edge.

  They wound up in one of the public rooms, not the one where anyone could join in, but where anyone could watch. At one end of the room, a sub was being fucked by one of her Dommes while she ate out the other. Greg wasn’t typically attracted to women, but watching the sub bound and helpless to do anything but obey still made his own pulse quicken. He could almost feel the bands around his own wrists.

  At the other end of the room, a Dom was whipping his sub. Her back was already layered with welts and he guessed from the intensity of the strikes and the blissed-out expression on her face that they were nearing the end of the scene.

  Marco still stood behind him, signing suggestions about what he’d like to do to Greg. He was doing that thing again where he signed on Greg’s body instead of his own, and even though it was out in public, it was private, too, because no one knew what they were saying.

  They could probably see Greg’s blush, though. A fact which Marco made sure to point out, much to Greg’s illicit embarrassment. Even on the sidelines, they were getti
ng some appreciative glances due to Marco’s striking appearance.

  God, Marco wasn’t even really touching him, just standing behind him with their bodies pressed together, and he was going to explode. Were they going to do a scene? He hoped so.

  When the whipping came to its glorious end at one end of the room and the Dom carefully wrapped up his sub to carry to a quieter space, Marco gave him a little nudge.

  Help me carry this chair. Greg looked around. The chair Marco wanted was heavy wood with a padded seat made of some black, easy-to-clean material. It was armless, larger than most typical chairs, and looked heavy. Making him help carry it was very Marco—practical, sweet, and straightforward.

  Yes, Keeper, he said, even though Marco never insisted on it. Just because he liked saying it.

  They settled it into the middle of the “stage” that was demarcated by a simple circle of black paint on the floor. Greg was pretty sure the paint was supposed to show the safety zone when someone was wielding a whip, but people generally treated it as a stage. Once you walked inside, you were on display.

  People who had started to leave the room or gravitate toward the other end started to watch them. God, all those eyes, just on the two of them. Greg felt the familiar mixture of nerves and anticipation rise inside of him.

  Marco sat down and had Greg straddle him, then gave him a slow, lingering kiss. That was just for him, and the rest of the world faded as he gave himself to his Keeper.

  Then Marco pulled him back far enough that they could talk.

  Is this OK, promiser? Marco made the sign for PROMISE with infinite care. The name still took Greg’s breath away sometimes. Especially like this, when he knew they were starting a scene.

  Yes, Keeper. Very. Greg just couldn’t get over Marco’s dramatic, beguiling look. He had all of Greg’s attention and probably everyone else’s.

  You like all those eyes on you? Everybody watching?

  It felt different, bigger, when Marco pointed it out. Greg knew he was blushing. But he did like it. It made him feel squirmy and shy and so damn hard. I like it.