Page 85 of Love Language

I… I don’t know, I don’t think I really have a plan. I just… I worked so hard to become male, to have everyone see me as a man. And I’m happy with my body now, really. Or, like, almost all of it. But I feel like being traditionally masculine isn’t quite all of me, either. Is that… OK?

Greg nodded. If someone had asked him about something like this in the abstract, he might have needed some time to think. But with Marco, there wasn’t a question.

I think that you’re gorgeous and I absolutely adore you. I’m glad you feel comfortable enough to show me yourself. Do you want to tell me more about it?

Marco shrugged. I think that… it’s like I was chasing masculinity like it was the holy grail or something. And now that I’m here, it feels a little… one dimensional. Does that make sense? Like, I spent years dreaming of being able to wear a tie to work, and now that I can, that feels a little limiting, too. The colors are just so boring. I feel like, I’m definitely a man. But maybe my gender’s a bit bigger than what “male” means to other people.

That made sense. I think I knew that about you from the first night, Greg responded. You’ve always been a bit larger than life, a bit more than one gender could hold. But I definitely see you as a man.

Marco concentrated on the road for a moment, but he looked happy with that.

So, does this mean you’ll dress up like this for me every night? Greg teased. He certainly wouldn’t mind.

Marco laughed. Only on special occasions.

At the club, Greg’s prediction came true: every head turned to Marco. Men and women and those outside of either designation—everyone was watching Marco. Admiring him. Wanting him.

Greg felt exactly like an accessory in his shimmering blue thong. Marco guided him through the crowd with a hand at the small of his back, sometimes dipping down to caress his bare ass. Because Greg belonged to him, and this embarrassingly sensuous display of ownership was exactly what they both wanted.

Even before they opened the door, the whole experience was completely different than would have been with Richard, and Greg felt at peace with that.

He knelt at Marco’s feet, but he wasn’t silent and still like he would have been with Richard. Marco had him snuggle against his leg while they chatted with another Deaf couple, the ones that Marco had met at the munch the previous year.

They were a lot of fun, but Marco had been completely right in describing them… so much drama. Brett was wild and colorful and unfiltered, always trying to make trouble. Dustin, his Dom, was staid and quiet, a strong foundation that Brett probably relied on. He seemed amused by Brett’s antics, but there was a strain around his eyes, sometimes, like he wanted to reel Brett in closer but wasn’t sure how to do it.

Which was funny and a little sad, because it was clear that Brett was only being such an outrageous flirt with Marco and Greg because he wanted to get Dustin’s attention. Every time he said something just a little over the top, he’d look back and Dustin to get his reaction.

Greg sure hoped that they figured themselves out. He liked the idea of hanging out with them more and could tell that Marco agreed. It would be nice to have some kinky, Deaf friends.

After that, they walked around and watched the demonstrations, often getting as many looks as the people on stage. Marco was riveting and Greg floated in his orbit.

As they wandered around, Marco stood behind him and signed dirty things against his chest. He hoped they would do a scene, but Marco seemed to be enjoying teasing him, keeping him on edge.

They wound up in one of the public rooms, not the one where anyone could join in, but where anyone could watch. At one end of the room, a sub was being fucked by one of her Dommes while she ate out the other. Greg wasn’t typically attracted to women, but watching the sub bound and helpless to do anything but obey still made his own pulse quicken. He could almost feel the bands around his own wrists.

At the other end of the room, a Dom was whipping his sub. Her back was already layered with welts and he guessed from the intensity of the strikes and the blissed-out expression on her face that they were nearing the end of the scene.

Marco still stood behind him, signing suggestions about what he’d like to do to Greg. He was doing that thing again where he signed on Greg’s body instead of his own, and even though it was out in public, it was private, too, because no one knew what they were saying.

They could probably see Greg’s blush, though. A fact which Marco made sure to point out, much to Greg’s illicit embarrassment. Even on the sidelines, they were getting some appreciative glances due to Marco’s striking appearance.

God, Marco wasn’t even really touching him, just standing behind him with their bodies pressed together, and he was going to explode. Were they going to do a scene? He hoped so.

When the whipping came to its glorious end at one end of the room and the Dom carefully wrapped up his sub to carry to a quieter space, Marco gave him a little nudge.

Help me carry this chair. Greg looked around. The chair Marco wanted was heavy wood with a padded seat made of some black, easy-to-clean material. It was armless, larger than most typical chairs, and looked heavy. Making him help carry it was very Marco—practical, sweet, and straightforward.

Yes, Keeper, he said, even though Marco never insisted on it. Just because he liked saying it.

They settled it into the middle of the “stage” that was demarcated by a simple circle of black paint on the floor. Greg was pretty sure the paint was supposed to show the safety zone when someone was wielding a whip, but people generally treated it as a stage. Once you walked inside, you were on display.

People who had started to leave the room or gravitate toward the other end started to watch them. God, all those eyes, just on the two of them. Greg felt the familiar mixture of nerves and anticipation rise inside of him.

Marco sat down and had Greg straddle him, then gave him a slow, lingering kiss. That was just for him, and the rest of the world faded as he gave himself to his Keeper.

Then Marco pulled him back far enough that they could talk.

Is this OK, promiser? Marco made the sign for PROMISE with infinite care. The name still took Greg’s breath away sometimes. Especially like this, when he knew they were starting a scene.