Page 25 of Love Language

It was a cold April day, but he loved being outside, even in the gray light. Richard hadn’t much liked the outdoors.

He wondered if Marco did.

Greg pulled out his phone thoughtlessly, then very intentionally put it back in his pocket. He promised himself he wouldn’t open the text chain. Told himself that he already knew what was inside.

Then, he did it anyway.

Of course, the words hadn’t changed, and Greg could almost see Marco signing them. His grammar was the typical mixture of English and ASL glosses, and he appreciated that Marco hadn’t switched to English to text him.

Marco [Feb. 15, 5:03AM]: You still outside? Can stay.

Marco [Feb. 15, 5:04AM]: Make breakfast?

Marco [Feb. 15, 8:32AM]: I don’t want to bother you. Had good time. Text if you want meet again.

Marco [Feb. 15, 8:32AM]: Even hang out.

Marco [Feb. 16, 3:15PM]: Forgot I took this picture. If you want, I can delete from my phone. You were beautiful.

Marco [Feb. 17, 4:52PM]: Didn’t hear from you, so picture delete. Don’t want keep without your permission.

Marco [Feb. 17, 4:56PM]: Let me know you OK? Please?

Greg [Feb. 17, 9:48PM]: I’m OK.

Greg knew that he was being an asshole when he’d blown off Marco like that, but he’d felt trapped. He just hadn’t known what to do.

Even now, when he clicked on the picture, he felt the phantom caresses of ropes against his skin.

When he’d first seen it, he’d felt awash in arousal. It was… stunning. His body was wrapped in an elaborate web of ropes, blue and green on his chest, black on his legs, and red on his arms, bright splashes of color against his pale skin.

He could see in his own face the deep satisfaction he’d felt, arousal and serenity mixed seamlessly together. The care that Marco took with him was evident in every line that stretched across his body.

He’d never known he could look that way.

It still made him get a little bit hard every time.

But after clicking on that photo every day for nearly two months, he also took in the rumpled sheet on the bed, the cluttered dresser in the background, the coil of unused rope. The things that made the image real instead of perfect.

He could imagine Marco holding his phone, looking at him with desiring eyes. Thinking protectively about consent even when Greg couldn’t.

He wouldn’t have ever known that Marco had taken that picture, but instead of keeping it or just trashing it, Marco had told him about it and then deleted it.

It was a level of consent-based communication that should be typical for everyone, but Greg knew that it often wasn’t, and he appreciated it. It was like Marco was still taking care of him even after he’d ghosted him.

He kind of wished Marco had kept it.

And that brought his swirling thoughts back to where he was really struggling.

Marco had taken care of him. Not just for a few minutes in a scene, but in every way. He’d held him. He’d listened to him. He’d chosen a scene that would put him at ease. He’d taken him to unimagined heights. And then he’d slept beside him, clasped close all night.

It was just too… big.

Too sweet and gentle. Too perfect.

Because if this was what he wanted, what had he been doing with Richard?

Wasn’t that what he wanted? Who he wanted?