Love Language Read online

  Greg nodded. He could do that. It was… trust.

  Trust that Marco would figure out what his needs were and take care of them. Even if he did it in a way that pleased himself.

  Marco had already been eerily good at reading him.

  I would like that. He hesitated. He’d made his body language submissive, his signs small, using the non-verbal grammar of ASL to indicate his place in their relationship. He wanted to add some signifier like “Sir,” some name indicating that they were in a scene.

  He definitely wasn’t ready for “Daddy,” though. He wasn’t even sure if that was something he would like.

  But he could only turn his head downward so far and still see what Marco signing. It felt unnatural to be looking up.

  I don’t need a title, Marco said. Just your honesty and your submission.

  Greg signed his agreement.

  Follow me, then.

  Marco gently eased Greg’s feet to the floor, but his posture had already shifted. He was becoming more. Stronger. Commanding. Maybe even cruel, but in a temporary way.

  Greg didn’t know yet, and the anticipation buzzed in his veins. He wasn’t entirely ready. Maybe three-quarters ready. But God, did he need it.

  Marco started to walk out of the room, then paused for Greg to follow.

  So, Greg followed.

  Marco led him to a bedroom. It wasn’t showy or perfect. Just a regular bedroom. Lived in. The bed hadn’t been made and there were books, some coins, and an empty cup scattered across one of the side tables. It was clear which side of the bed Marco slept on.

  The dresser was topped with an equal amount of flotsam. A few pictures, mostly of Marco with a crowd of friends and a woman who could have been his sister. Receipts. Coins. The bits of daily life that found their way into pockets and didn’t quite get put away.

  It made Marco real. Human.

  Greg found that he liked it.

  It had been his job with Richard to keep their home spotless, and it still was, to this day.

  Greg’s space was just a bit more… relaxed. He wasn’t messy. The room was mostly clean other than a sweatshirt hanging over the back of a chair and a pair of shoes by what was probably a closet door.

  Marco went over to the door with the shoes and, yes, it appeared to be a closet. He pulled out a folded bed sheet from one shelf and a pile of carefully coiled lengths of rope from another.

  He put the ropes on the chair and handed the sheet to Greg.

  Help me put this on the bed.

  Surprised, Greg complied, unfolding the sheet while Marco hastily pulled the rumpled sheets and covers up over the pillows. Together, they went through the awkward motions of tossing the sheet into the air, only to have it settle completely askew and have to start over again.

  It was a bit like seeing behind the scenes.

  Richard would have had him kneel in the living room, tense and bubbling with nervous excitement, not sure what to expect. Coming into the bedroom, seeing it staged for him, would have been part of the production.

  That was… a little bit silly. But comforting, too. Like he didn’t need to take it too seriously.

  Marco gave him a little wink.

  Pick up the rope.

  Greg gathered up the bundles, taking the coils and offering them up, open handed, as if on a platter.

  Choose one and put the rest on the bed. Marco was stepping into Dom mode. Greg didn’t understand the purpose of the command, but he realized, freeingly, that he didn’t need to.

  There were four colors: several in black, two red, one blue, and one green. The blue was eye-catching, bold and bright, but still soothing in the way that most blues were. He put the others down and kept that one, holding it uncertainly.

  Touch it. Examine it. How does it feel?

  Greg took his time exploring the rope. It was both rougher and thicker than he had expected. Somehow, he’d thought that the rope would be slippery smooth. But while this wasn’t scratchy, it wasn’t slippery, either.

  It was certainly strong, he realized. Strong enough that he knew he wouldn’t be able to move.

  His breath hitched.

  It’s rougher than I expected.

  Marco nodded, as if pleased. By his honesty?

  This felt exactly like a scene, and yet not, at the same time.

  I’m going to tie you up with it. So that you can’t move. Marco’s eyes were dark, commanding.

  Greg’s heart stuttered. This felt like a scene.

  Put that on the bed, then strip.

  Greg felt awkward as he put the rope on the bed and began to pull off his T-shirt under Marco’s steady gaze. He knew that his belly bulged, that his pecs lacked definition. He turned and put it on the chair, hoping that it was the right thing to do.

  He wanted to stay turned around, his back to Marco, as he slid off his pants. But he assumed that it wouldn’t be acceptable.

  He turned back and began unbuckling his belt and unzipping his jeans.

  Even though he didn’t look up, he could feel Marco’s eyes on him, burning into him.

  He was on display. An object. At the command of Marco’s hungry desires. His embarrassment turned to helpless arousal, as it always did.

  He could feel himself growing hard, which only made him more embarrassed. A terrible and thrilling cycle.

  He let his pants and boxers drop to the floor in one practiced motion, then toed off his socks along with the rest of the fabric that pooled at his feet. There wasn’t really an elegant way to take off your pants, so this was the best he could do. He was glad that he still remembered the trick.

  Now, though, he needed to pick them up. He wanted to bend forward, to hide himself.

  But what would Marco like?

  Turning first, he bent straight-legged to pick up the pile, knowing how he was exposing himself to Marco’s scrutiny. The Dom’s indrawn breath was a glorious reward.

  He placed the clothing on the chair, not quite folded, but reasonably neat. Then, he got into position, feet evenly spaced, one hand clasping the other behind his back, head slightly down.

  As he had expected, Marco strode up to inspect him.

  He walked around him, then trailed a few fingers over Greg’s shoulder. Even that small stroke ricocheted through him. It had been so long since he’d been touched.

  And not just touched, but in this delicious, impersonal way that said he was both objectified and treasured. A precious belonging.

  Marco’s hands caressed his chest. His ass. His belly. His neck. His dick. His arms. There seemed to be no pattern to it, other than Marco’s own enjoyment. Greg quivered under his fingers.

  Finally, Marco stood in front of him. Greg realized, with some far-off part of his brain, that Marco was much shorter than he was. Perhaps by five or six inches.

  Yet he was utterly in command.

  Kneel on the bed.

  Greg obeyed. He tried to slink into bed, making a show of it, but he felt a bit silly. The smooth movements that he had perfected for Richard as a young man felt disingenuous now. Hopefully, his obedience would be enough.

  He placed himself in position and waited, head tilted higher than normal so that he could see. Marco stood at the foot of the bed and looked him over.

  Very good.

  Greg’s heart swelled with the praise.

  If you need to safeword, you can either sign red or yellow, or just shake your head no. I’m going to bind your hands in front of you, and I won’t constrain your head. No matter where I am, I should be able to see one or the other.

  I understand.

  Do you have any questions? Anything else that you think I should know?

  It was new. And he probably had a million questions. But this not-knowing was part of what appealed to him. He didn’t know what was going to happen, which meant that it was Marco’s responsibility.

  Green, he said, instead.

  Marco’s eyes lit up, and he moved around the bed with confidence. He positioned himself behind Greg, whi
ch felt a bit weird because they couldn’t see each other. He didn’t expect that Marco would voice.

  Though perhaps no words were needed at all.

  Marco ran both hands down the underside of Greg’s arms, lifting them and spreading them out until he was holding them stable at shoulder height, like a T.

  Then, he began wrapping the cord. It somehow wasn’t at all like Greg had expected. He’d wandered past Shibari demonstrations, but never really paid attention to them. He knew there were a lot of knots and designs, but he hadn’t noticed anything about the technique.

  It was a little unexpected that the rope was doubled. No, quadrupled. Each pathway was made with several layers of rope that all wrapped around him at the same time. It felt thicker and heavier than he’d realized it would.

  And each time Marco moved, he jerked him around a little bit. It felt strange, and he realized that he’d been anticipating the finished product without considering the process. It felt like a lot of work for something so finicky. But maybe it was all about the designs at the end.

  The really weird part, though, was that Marco wasn’t tying up his arms or legs. Wasn’t that the point of all this? He was just wrapping the rope around his chest. First, a coil at the bottom of his ribs, then another just below his armpits.

  He supposed that was why it looked so pretty. There wasn’t enough pressure that it was hard to breathe, but it was also impossible to ignore it.

  He felt Marco sliding his fingers under the rope, checking the tension he assumed.

  OK? Marco asked, with one hand in front of him.

  Greg nodded. So far it was… well, he didn’t really know what it was.

  It was tight. Definitely tight. Noticeable.

  And… he drew in a breath, feeling the mild constraint against his chest.

  Secure.

  That was it. It felt almost… safe. Like a visible manifestation of the way that he felt when he was kneeling sometimes.

  Marco continued pulling the ropes through, now moving diagonally down and back up his chest. He felt the path of each cord, the journey that it made across his skin.

  Greg breathed in deeply, getting a feel for the resistance against his muscles. It was a little like what he’d experienced before, pulling against a cuff on his wrist, but more subtle.

  He wriggled his shoulders experimentally. It was… nice?

  No, comforting.

  It was like he was searching for something, and he didn’t even need to move because it was already right there.

  He started to notice the knots on his back, the way that they pressed into his spine, pushing relentlessly. He didn’t think they would bruise. But he wondered if they might.

  The cords kept him contained. Secure. Focused.

  Marco added another row, further down on his belly. He let himself settle into the feeling.

  He kept his arms elevated, his posture erect, but inside, something let go.

  Shibari was wonderful.

  Chapter 5 Marco

  Marco held the last rope in his hands, trying to decide what to do with it.

  God, Greg was magnificent.

  Watching him go from cautious and tense to languid and pliant had been magical. Even more astounding that it had been so early on, just as he was completing the chest harness.

  If he’d know what effect it would have, he would have done something more complex, more holistic.

  But Greg was gorgeous just as he was.

  Marco had continued the lattice pattern down his belly, across his hips, and around his thighs, nestled against his groin. He’d formed an intricate ladder down his arms, lacing them together.

  Then, he’d moved Greg onto his back and bent each leg separately, calf to thigh, noting how Greg’s breath quickened and deepened at the positioning.

  He could tie his hands to his knees, locking all three together. But he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

  If nothing else, it would cover up that hard, red cock that had been near to bursting since they began.

  No, perhaps he didn’t need that last rope.

  He brushed a hand down Greg’s cheek.

  Greg looked up at him with glassy, adoring eyes. Gorgeous.

  OK? he asked.

  Greg nodded almost sleepily. It was always interesting to Marco how some people got keyed up, but some just slipped under.

  Greg was deep under.

  Do you want more?

  Greg nodded.

  Do you want to come?

  Greg’s forehead wrinkled. Not like he disagreed. But maybe like he couldn’t decide. Or couldn’t figure out what Marco was asking or why.

  Would you like me to decide?

  The wrinkles faded with Greg’s smile. He nodded, beatific.

  Marco dug quickly through his closet and returned with a fur-lined glove.

  Before he used it, though, he had another idea.

  He wanted Greg to see himself like this. To see the beauty of the knots, and his own expression, completely undone.

  He still had his phone in his pocket, and he quickly pulled it out and took a picture. He would never, never post it anywhere, and he would delete it immediately if Greg objected. But he liked to think that Greg would appreciate it.

  Marco would appreciate it, too. But only if it was alright with Greg once they talked about it later.

  He placed the phone on his side table and then returned to the sub’s side.

  Putting on the glove, he slid it experimentally over Greg’s chest and was rewarded with a deep shiver, a further relaxing into the sheets.

  Greg moved like a liquid, held together only by his bonds.

  Marco continued dragging the glove over his body, watching as his breath quickened, wishing, just for a moment, that he could hear him.

  He wondered if he was being loud and suspected that he was.

  Finally, he dragged it over his cock. Greg jerked up and then fell back.

  Marco had intended to keep going with the glove, but he wanted too desperately to feel Greg’s body with his own hands.

  He pulled it off and touched smooth, hot skin, loving how it was interrupted by the rough bands of rope. He loved the contrasts, how Greg’s muscular arms held just the slightest tension around the bonds, while his soft belly bulged between the carefully tied triangles.

  Seeing him like this, completely under the spell of the ropes and at Marco’s mercy, was intoxicating.

  He ran one hand lazily up Greg’s erection, enjoying the soft skin over the harder core.

  Settling between Greg’s bound knees, so that he could take in both his handiwork and the reactions on Greg’s face, Marco began to play.

  He used soft touches and rougher ones, dragging his nails down Greg’s thighs and then circling the tip of his cock with a feather-light touch. He bent down to taste, licking at his belly, then letting the scruff on his face brush Greg’s shaft.

  Greg’s chest rose and fell rapidly, longing clear on his face. It wouldn’t take much to make him come. But he never struggled, never thrashed against the ropes.

  He held tension in his body, anticipation, but also the infinite, relaxed patience of a sub who was exactly where he wanted to be.

  Marco wanted to see him shatter.

  After one more smooth pass down Greg’s body, he began licking at his cock, then sucking it hungrily.

  Marco knew it wasn’t the perfect blowjob, but this was his own reward—the taste of Greg in his mouth, the expressions on Greg’s face.

  He thrust his hand into his own jeans, past his packer, and rubbed hard. He was close to the edge himself, caught up in the rush of endorphins. It wouldn’t take much to tip him over.

  He continued to suck, swirling his tongue around the tip and digging his fingernails into Greg’s thighs as Greg writhed, mouth open, holding nothing back.

  And then Greg came in Marco’s mouth, a bitter rush of salt, and shudders that wracked his frame.

  Marco stroked himself harder, a few more times, and came with that gorg
eous cock in his mouth.

  Marco sucked Greg until he was limp, and then just a little longer because he could, while Greg gazed at him with an ecstatic, pleading look in his eyes.

  Because Greg was bound for him. Because Greg was his.

  At least for the moment.

  With gentle hands, he began removing the bonds, rubbing against where they’d pressed and enjoying the lasting grooves in Greg’s flesh. He hadn’t tied anything to chafe or bruise, and he almost regretted that all of this would fade within a few hours.

  Greg was still floating when Marco slipped quickly away to the bathroom for a warm washcloth and then cleaned him up.

  Marco hadn’t thought about what might happen after their scene, but Greg was drowsily compliant as Marco encouraged him to drink a glass of water, and then manhandled him toward the top of the bed so that he could pull the blankets down.

  It seemed that he would have an overnight guest.

  He never much cared whether hookups slept over—in his mind it didn’t mean anything beyond convenience—but he was glad that Greg would stay.

  The sub was in a fragile place, and he’d just shared a lot with Marco. It made Marco feel protective and aroused his Daddy side.

  He turned his bedside lamp to its dimmest setting so that Greg wouldn’t be disoriented later, and they could communicate in the night if need be. Then, he slipped into bed.

  Pulling Greg into his arms, he breathed in his clean, sweaty smell. He placed a small kiss on his shoulder, just feeling close to him and following his instincts.

  Then, he dropped off to sleep.

  He felt Greg stir later, sometime in the gray early hours of dawn. He pulled him closer.

  Bathroom, Greg signed.

  Marco grunted and reluctantly let him go. He curled into his pillow, drifting between sleep and wakefulness, while he waited for him to return.

  It was only when he felt the distinctive shutter of his front door slamming closed that he jolted awake.

  And by then it was too late.

  ◆◆◆

  Marco forced himself to concentrate on the logo he was working on and stop looking at his phone.

  Greg hadn’t texted him back, and that was absolutely his right. It was, well, honestly, kind of shitty. But Marco had known going into it that it was probably just a one-time thing and that Greg was dealing with some heavy stuff.