Page 54 of Love Language

He cried for how that dance had been cut short, the music screeching to a halt, the dancers frozen in painful, half-completed steps.

And then he cried because he’d had to walk off the dance floor, step out of the dance, broken and bleeding. He cried for that horrible, ongoing realization when he knew that he had to go on, to live the rest of his life without his Sir.

He cried until there were no more tears.

And still Marco was holding him, petting him and soothing him.

Marco kissed along his cheeks, tasting his tears, pouring all his care into him.

He curled into that strong, warm body, letting himself drift.

Marco leaned over and grabbed a tissue, and Greg freed a hand to blow his nose.

And for some reason, that made him start crying all over again.

Not the great, howling sobs from before, but quiet tears spilling down his cheeks.

Because he’d just had an epiphany. Marco was taking care of him. Not just giving him the stupid tissue but taking care of all of him. All the time.

That was what Daddy Doms did, and Marco had chosen to do it for him.

This was Marco’s love language. Taking care of him. Meeting his needs when he didn’t even understand what he needed or how to get it for himself.

It shouldn’t have come as a shock, but Greg had been too wrapped up in Richard to see it before.

Putting it into words felt almost trivial, but it was exactly as simple and exactly as complex as this: Marco took care of him.

He’d built up these crazy structures in his head, fences and walls around what he could want and when he could want it. He’d tormented himself with fears about forgetting Richard, about being unfaithful to his memory.

And all this time, Marco had been there, taking care of him. Giving him exactly what he needed, whenever he needed it. Selflessly, because making Greg happy was what made Marco happy.

After that great surprise, it was only a little surprise to realize that he could love Marco. Or maybe he already did. If he didn’t, he was close to it, and the distinction probably didn’t matter.

Because while he’d been moping over Richard, he’d already been in a relationship with Marco, probably for a long time. Probably since Valentine’s Day.

He shifted to look down at Marco, that handsome face shiny and distorted by the tears that kept leaking from his eyes. His tears fell onto Marco’s cheeks, making his face wet, in turn.

And Marco was looking up at him with such adoration, such pride.

Probably, such love. It was like there were no barriers between them.

Greg felt something settle inside of him. Where there had been walls, now there were pathways. He could love Richard with all his heart and have this beautiful thing with Marco.

They weren’t competing, because Marco would never replace Richard.

Marco was completely different and that was… just what it should be. Marco was what he wanted and needed now.

Marco fit his calmer life, his confidence and experience of nearly fifty years, his despair over his lost love and his decision to move beyond it.

Marco could give him intensity, but he could also give him hikes in the woods and tender baths and funny stories over dinner at every restaurant ever to put a dish with lemon on its menu.

He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have Marco’s attention all the time, but he suspected it would be glorious.

He still missed Richard. God, did he miss Richard. But he wanted to reach for this new thing, too.

Marco swept the tears from his cheeks, and he ached for the beauty of the gesture.

Then, he let himself settle back down into Marco’s arms.