Page 61 of Love Language

The drive down to his parents’ house was calm and sweet. Marco packed for him and dressed him and bundled him into the car.

He didn’t ask him to do anything, just be.

Marco talked when Greg wanted to talk and focused on the road when Greg wanted to stare out the window or nap with his seat reclined. When he woke up, he was covered with the ugly, but soft, orange blanket that Marco kept in the back of his car and there were lemon poppy seed muffins waiting for him.

It occurred to him that Marco was stepping in to take care of him in his grief, but that Marco might want to do this for him all the time. The idea was heady and kind of amazing.

When Greg saw his family, he absolutely collapsed into his sister’s arms. But then there was laughter with the tears. They all stayed up late, drinking the absolutely horrid butterscotch schnapps that his mother had loved.

Marco was always at his side, joining in the laughter, listening intently to each of the stories, holding him tightly in moments of sorrow.

Greg’s family accepted Marco like he’d always been there, including him in their stories. No one blinked when he volunteered to take the smaller nieces and nephews with him to the grocery store to pick up some extra things for dinner.

Greg was eternally grateful that Marco had joined him on that first spontaneous weekend so that he’d gotten to know his mother while he had a chance. It meant a lot to him, too, that his mother had gotten to know the man who he hoped to, if he was lucky, spend the rest of his life with.

At the funeral Marco held his hand tightly and pressed a soft kiss to his temple. But at the reception he was everywhere, taking care of the small details so that Greg could focus on family and friends. He heard the rare strains of Marco’s voice as he instructed the caterers and accepted condolences from some of his mother’s hearing colleagues. His gift for supporting Greg seemed to be endless.

For two more days, Greg’s life was filled with family. He’d expected to feel mostly grief, but instead he felt connected. Even happy. His mother had a full life with plenty of love and a beautiful, adoring family. It felt good to remember her that way.

And in the quiet times between, in their hotel room, there was Marco. He let Marco wash him in the shower, feeling cherished and adored. Marco dressed him in soft pajamas before cuddling him close at night and clothed him in the morning, his hands running gently over his body as he fastened buttons and straightened collars.

It was nothing like when Richard had laid out clothes for him to wear so that his toy would be adorned to his liking. No, this was about being close. Being cared for. The clothing was just a prop for showing that care.

Greg found that he loved it. It was so liberating to give up all his decisions to Marco.

Even with all that support, the weekend was exhausting. As they turned onto the street where he lived, his mind was still whirling and looping, the sorrow and pain mixed with hope and comfort. Memories of the past and dreams for the future collided and spun. He felt overstuffed with emotions, like a balloon about to burst.

He waited for Marco to walk around and escort him out of the car, clinging to that last little bit of tender control as Marco opened his seatbelt.

He knew that Marco had to get home. He’d already taken off two days from work and his customers had expectations. It was just going to be hard going back to sleeping alone after five nights together. Not to mention giving up that floaty feeling of being dressed or that spark of warmth in his belly every time Marco brought him a plate of food.

He took the duffle bag that Marco handed him and trudged back into the house, weighed down by more than the luggage.

Marco led him to the couch. Tell me what you need.

Greg didn’t want to be greedy. He’d already had Marco to himself for most of a week. Nothing. I’m fine.

Marco glared at him. It had to be pretty obvious that he was lying. And essentially saying “I don’t need you” was probably not what a Daddy Dom wanted to hear. He was fucking this all up.

Disappointing Marco felt horrible. But would it really be alright to ask for what he wanted?

Stay? he finally begged.

Of course, sweetheart, like it had never been in question. Marco gathered him into his arms. Now, tell me what you need.

Greg shook his head, relief coursing through his body. Marco would take care of everything. I don’t know. I just want to… get away from everything.

Marco held him close, snuggling and petting him. He couldn’t get enough of it.

This is just an idea, but would you still like to try sounding?

His cock made a little jerk before he’d even fully made sense of the question. He’d completely forgotten what they had planned for the weekend. And if Marco still wanted to do it with him…

You want that?

I would love that. Whatever my boy needs.

Greg felt his cheeks warm. The idea of… that. And Marco had just called him his boy, which he was pretty sure he’d been holding back from doing before. Even though he was older by more than a decade, it felt good.