Page 39 of Love Language

He’d promised his therapist that he was going to get naked around his next boyfriend. That he would trust that nebulous, hypothetical person enough to reclaim his body that way, to explore it with someone else.

But Greg wasn’t exactly his boyfriend. And with everything else in their relationship so tentative, today felt like it was too soon. They’d only had one other scene, and afterward Greg hadn’t talked to him for almost two months.

Greg gave his arm the tiniest of tugs, not demanding, just reminding him he was there. He looked up and realized that while he’d been having an internal war, Greg was starting to worry.

Greg saw his expression and dropped his arm. Sorry, I can wash myself.

Oh, dammit. Now Greg thought that he didn’t want to shower with him. As if he hadn’t been dreaming for months about taking care of Greg in such an intimate way.

Marco pulled back the shower curtain without thinking and didn’t even realize until he was soaking wet that he’d inadvertently solved the problem.

Who cared if his briefs got wet? He could just keep them on for the shower and change when he got out.

He wrapped his arms around Greg’s back, taking the bottle of body wash out of his hands. Greg froze for a moment, and then relaxed into him.

Good. That was the way it was supposed to be.

Marco dribbled some of the body wash into his hand and then began “washing” Greg’s chest. He could spend all day gliding his hands over those smooth muscles and that soft belly. He dragged his fingernails through Greg’s chest hair and was pleased when Greg pressed back against him.

This was what he’d wanted, more than a scene and more than sex. Just Greg, in his arms, letting him take care of him.

He pressed a little kiss into Greg’s shoulder, praying that he’d still be there in the morning.

Until then, he was going to give him every ounce of care that he could.

Chapter 8 Greg

August

Greg stretched, turning away from the shaft of light pouring in through his bedroom window. Thursday, his mind supplied. Marco.

He snuggled under his covers and gave himself a moment to anticipate what might happen tonight. There were so many delicious memories just waiting for him, and he slid his hand past his waistband to slowly stroke himself.

The time when Marco had tied him up and run a feather over him, alternating with some horrible and arousing prickly thing. God, he’d been begging for mercy by the time that Marco let him come.

And last week when Marco had put the nipple clamps on him and fucked his face. Even though he knew he was giving a blowjob to what amounted to a dildo, it had felt right in his mouth, and he was proud of making Marco come. Yeah, that evening had been amazing.

Then, there was the time when Marco had spent a whole evening painting an elaborate sunset using his body as a canvas. It was erotic in its own way, being Marco’s masterpiece and the focus of so much of his artistic attention.

Four months of memories, eighteen Thursdays, swirled in his mind. He groaned as he spilled into his hand, wondering later if he should have made himself wait.

Would Marco want that? To control his orgasms? To tease him and then deny him until they came together? The idea sent a delicious shiver down his spine.

He didn’t know if he was ready for that, but it was starting to feel like he was ready for something.

He wasn’t quite sure why he still only saw Marco on Thursdays, but it had become their thing. The only exception had been a play and an ASL trivia night that fell on other nights of the week. Maybe he should change that, he thought.

Or was it part of their agreement? This “experiment” they were doing?

Did Marco see other people on the other days? Was it his place to ask? They hadn’t talked about it, really.

Marco wasn’t his boyfriend. And he hadn’t indicated that he wanted anything more.

Greg wasn’t sure if he was ready for anything more, either. He liked Marco, though, and not just for the kink. He liked hanging out with him. He liked the way he flirted and took care of him. Even as friends with benefits, surely they could hang out on the weekends sometimes.

With Richard, he’d never have thought to make a suggestion like that. Richard decided everything.

But with Marco, everything was just… easier.