Page 7 of Love Language

The uncertainty made him feel guilty. And the guilt reminded him that his Sir wouldn’t have wanted him to feel that way. All the mixed-up feelings had been cycling around in his head that way for months.

He felt a warm hand on his knee. Not pressing, just offering comfort. Being there.

It was nice to have someone be there for him. His Sir had been his whole world for so long and he’d pushed away their friends after he was gone. It had seemed easier than being around people who knew what he’d been through.

Brett was a new quasi-friend who he didn’t know well, which was part of why the evening had been such a disaster.

But it didn’t feel that way, now. Marco was still there, his warm hand resting patiently on Greg’s knee.

He found that he actually wanted to talk about it.

The chances were that he wouldn’t see Marco again, so if he totally lost it, at least he wouldn’t have to deal with the ramifications later.

He opened his eyes to meet Marco’s gaze. Once again, he felt like the center of his universe.

My… And that was as far as he got. He didn’t know what word to use. He’d never tried to sign anything about his relationship with Richard to someone within the kink community and he was feeling a little too emotional to think it through.

My husband, he finally signed. But he wasn’t happy with it. It was part of what his Sir had been to him, but not the most important part. He signed it again and fingerspelled “sir.” My sir.

Your Dom, Marco suggested, fingerspelling and then locating one fist over another.

My Dom, he agreed. He felt relieved. He needed a word for the person who had been his heart and soul for almost two decades of his life. He could take ownership of that sign. My Sir.

God, how he missed his Sir. Kneeling with his face pressed to his thigh. Listening to his voice rumble through his chest. The way he smelled, though that memory was starting to slip away. The sex had been amazing, but what he missed the most now was drifting off to sleep at his side.

He blinked up at Marco, who mentioned gently that he could sign sub with the inverse sign, with the first locational fist moving beneath the second.

Greg tested out the sign. Yes, that felt good.

Marco watched him, not judging or pressing him to hurry.

My Sir—we were together for almost twenty years. He…

Greg couldn’t make the next sign. He’d always hated the word for death, like a fish flopping around out of water, desperate to breathe and then rotting in the sun. It was such a visceral sign, too literal for how he wanted to remember his Sir.

And then somehow, he was gulping in great, gasping breaths and Marco was holding him. He knew he was shaking, his eyes scratchy from the tears that he wanted to shed. He couldn’t stop himself.

Heart attack he finally signed. Another too-literal sign. A soft touch representing Richard’s beautiful heart, and then a fist smashing painfully through it.

He turned into Marco’s shoulder and let the feelings wrack through him. He wasn’t crying, not quite. It was something else, just on the knife’s edge before a good sob.

He wished he could cry. Let it all out.

And Marco, the fascinating, pretty man who was probably young enough to be his son, just held him. Marco ran light fingers through his hair and ran soothing hands down his back.

It wasn’t Sir’s arms around him, but it was more touch than he’d had in three years. He’d forgotten how good it felt. It was just… nice. Safe.

Gradually, his shudders began to ease and his breathing slowed. Marco dragged his thumb across his cheek, wiping away tears that weren’t there.

He handed him a napkin, clean except for a circular indentation where a cup had once rested. Good enough. Greg wiped his face, though he didn’t need to.

It felt unsatisfactory. A cry without crying. But still better to have let it out. To have someone else to carry the burden.

When Marco began moving his arms, he turned willingly. It should have felt strange, Marco’s lithe hands guiding his greater bulk. But it felt right.

He was too wrung out to think, and it felt too nice to have someone taking care of him like this.

They ended up with Greg’s back to Marco’s chest, sitting up with their legs stretched out along the couch. He leaned into Marco, hoping he wasn’t too heavy and needing to soak up the comfort he offered.