Page 73 of Love Language

The red shirts were packed away in a box that he was pretty sure he would never open again. But he liked having them there. Just not where he could see them.

He hoped that their walls would be more colorful. Maybe with some of Marco’s art. He loved the idea of layering over Richard’s things with Marco’s, adding to the love in his life instead of completely replacing it.

Which was why he’d wrapped up a gift for Valentine’s day, which he hoped Marco would accept: a symbolic set of keys to his house (since Marco already had a perfectly functional set) and an offer to move in. They’d rarely spent nights apart over the past couple weeks, but Greg wanted to cut that down to never.

Right now, he was basking in the experience of just sitting at home, doing everyday things, with Marco in the room.

He’d felt like Marco had been, well, maybe a little distant for the past two weeks since they went out dancing. But he’d also been working overtime to get the book covers in and finish up the dreaded FlexTech project.

Not to mention that when they were seeing each other more, they were bound to spend more time doing mundane things.

Even if he didn’t call Marco “Daddy”—a moniker that still struck him as bizarre with their relative ages—he was eager for that affectionate control. He had a sense that they’d both enjoy it when Marco embraced the role more fully. That was another thing he wanted to talk about on Valentine’s Day.

While Greg didn’t need to be the focus of Marcus’s attention all the time, he buzzed inside when he got it. The rest of the time, he just wanted to be near him. To create their own habits and patterns together.

Which was why he was enjoying a lazy Saturday afternoon, just being home in the same room.

If anyone asked, he’d say that he was watching TV.

Though how anyone could watch TV when Marco was stretching and bending in all those impossible positions was beyond him.

Marco had laid out a yoga mat on the floor, his bronze skin glistening in the noonday sun streaming in from the windows. He was wearing the smallest, cutest, tightest pair of white shorts, and Greg sincerely hoped that he never wore them to the gym. The way that they showed off his bulge was obscene.

Greg shifted his own growing bulge, hoping not to draw attention to himself and stop the wonderful show.

Marco’s muscles rolled as he moved fluidly between the positions. Greg’s eyes followed his solid hips as his round ass pressed into the air. He imagined grabbing that flesh, or better yet, waiting helplessly as Marco pressed it against him.

Marco moved again, and his strong chest pressed forward as he gracefully arched his back. Greg wanted to lick those flat nipples, lick along the lines of his ribs and the barely-there surgical scars.

Marco folded over, his arms hanging down, and Greg smiled at the soft folds and swells of his belly. He enjoyed that Marco had a little bit of softness to him, the way that his body was real and there.

Marco planted his feet widely and twisted the top of his body, one hand on his splayed foot and the other in the air. Greg drew hungry eyes over his form. Even while practicing yoga, the subtleties of his movements suggested a bit of intentional femininity, contrasting with his solid, masculine frame and mat of black hair on his chest.

Greg marveled sometimes that such an exquisite creature had chosen him.

At just that moment, Marco looked up and caught him staring.

Greg looked quickly back at the television. He shouldn’t have felt embarrassed about watching his, well, his boyfriend, he hoped. Especially when he was exercising right in front of him.

But there was something about Marco’s look that had made him feel like he’d been caught doing something forbidden.

He studiously watched the TV, paying no attention to what was playing. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Marco sink to the floor and stretch his legs out to the sides in a split, his cock outlined alluringly in those tight shorts. He leaned forward, gripping the toes of his right foot with both hands.

Greg swallowed heavily, then dared to turn his gaze fully on him since his head was bent. God that flexibility was sexy. All of him was sexy.

When Marco sat up and found him watching, fire burned in his eyes.

Greg turned pointedly to the TV. He pretended not to notice as Marco stood and stalked toward him.

When Marco stood directly in front of him, blocking the television and invading his space, he couldn’t pretend any more. He looked up.

Like what you see? Marco sneered.

He looked angry, burning with aggression, in a way that made Greg feel deliciously trapped and weak. He logically knew that he hadn’t done anything wrong, but he let himself respond instinctively.

Sorry, he signed, his fist tight on his chest.

I’ve seen you watch me, Uncle G. It was Greg’s initial, but tapped in the middle of Marco’s chest. Not Greg’s name sign.