Love Language
Reese Morrison
Love Language by Reese Morrison
Copyright © 2020 Reese Morrison
Cover Design: AngstyG LLC
All rights reserved. No part of this story may be used, reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the copyright holder, except for brief quotations embodied within critical reviews and articles.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, locales, or actual events is purely coincidental. The use of any real company and/or product names is for literary effect only. All other trademarks and copyrights are the property of their respective owners.
This book contains sexually explicit material which is suitable for mature readers only.
Author’s Note
I didn’t know what I was getting into when I started writing a book with Deaf characters and most of the conversation in ASL. It turns out, it is extremely difficult to represent ASL in English, much harder, I think, than translating between spoken languages.
A single ASL word could be translated into English in dozens of ways, just based upon someone’s facial expression. For example, the sign for UNDERSTAND might be translated as a concise “I understand” but it could also be a snappy “I gotcha,” a smooth “I’m with you,” an affirmative “yeah,” a snarky “why do you keep explaining this when I already know?” or a clinical “you’ve made your point clearly.”
In the reverse direction, so many words in English are just unnecessary in ASL. Not just the articles, prepositions, and other interstitial language, but also many adjectives and adverbs. They just don’t make sense when you can say so much with the size, speed, placement, and emphasis on a word. ASL also doesn’t really use terms of endearment or honorifics the same way (even SWEETHEART is mostly used to describe someone you’re dating to a third party) and writing without those terms is incredibly difficult. Add to that the completely different grammar (ASL often uses the same pronoun at the beginning and end of a sentence, for example), and you basically want to give every interpreter that you meet a medal.
I realized, probably about four sentences into the first conversation, that I basically had to turn off my ASL-brain to write good English dialogue. As soon as I started thinking in ASL, I started writing the gloss (the base word, sometimes with a note about the expression) for the sign, and it sounded terrible. The best way to show the smoothness of communication in another language, it turns out, is just writing smoothly in the one that you’re using.
However, I did want to share some of the depth, complexity, and beauty of ASL through the pages, so I’ve described a few signs when they felt particularly poignant or appropriate. If you’re curious about what they look like, I encourage you to type “ASL” followed by the word into a search engine—plenty of videos should show up!
I also mention cued speech a few times in this book. Cued speech is a small set of eight hand motions that you make near your face to indicate each syllable of a word in a spoken language. Unlike ASL, which is a rich and complex language that takes years to master, cued speech is usually taught in a handful of short classes and used as a support for learning spoken languages.
For those of you who are curious, I am not Deaf (or deaf), and I mostly know ASL through several years of taking classes, attending social groups and religious services, and volunteering at a Deaf school. I was honored to be given a sign name at the time but wouldn’t feel authentic using it now. As my life has moved on, I’m no longer involved in the Deaf community and only occasionally sign with a few friends who live out of town.
I still have a lot of love for the community and the language, though, and I hope that it shows through in these pages.
-Reese
Chapter 1 Marco
Valentine’s Day
Marco didn’t want to be here.
He’d known when Cameron texted him earlier that it was going to suck. Hanging out at a BDSM club on Valentine’s Day with a bunch of hearing people that he didn’t know and without a date was going to be a colossal waste of time.
First, it was going to be covered with tacky hearts and flowers, which, just, yuck.
Second, he was going out with a group of hearing people, which meant that even if Cameron cued, he still wouldn’t be able to understand most of the conversation. And even when Cameron bothered, he’d feel like he was being babysat.
Third, he knew that Cameron would abandon him as soon as he found a willing partner. And given that Cameron was a switch and made it sound like he knew everyone, he was virtually guaranteed to find someone as soon as he walked in the door.
But Cameron was being whiny, and Marco didn’t have that many friends who were willing to use cued speech or ASL and were also kinky, so he finally caved.
He’d never been to Escape before, but apparently Valentine’s Day was a guest night. Which, again, really? Valentine’s Day?
It was exactly as tacky as he expected. There were too many people, and even though he obviously couldn’t hear anything but a low hum with his hearing aids out, it felt noisy.
Cameron waved him over to a cluster of low couches with a tangle of strangers. Marco took a seat at the edge, but the set up was terrible for speech reading. He waved hello to Cameron’s friends, but after the first round of introductions, they fell back into conversation and he didn’t feel like making the effort.
He knew that he could probably find a willing sub, but just the idea of it was exhausting.
He wasn’t up for dealing with the language barrier tonight. He could probably find someone who’d be able to remember to look at him so that he could speech read, and it wasn’t that hard to teach someone to sign red and yellow for safewords.
But he didn’t know the subtle social customs of the new space, Cameron had clearly already forgotten that he was here despite sitting just a few cushions away, and dealing with it all was just tiring.
What were all these people doing here, anyway? Shouldn’t they be out having fancy dinners with their true loves, or drowning their loneliness at home with chick flicks and double-chocolate ice cream?
Not to mention that guest night probably meant a lot of inexperienced gawkers. Granted, he was a guest, but that was because he’d only moved to the area recently.
He’d been intending to check out Escape and probably join at some point, but he wasn’t in a hurry. He was more interested in getting involved in the Deaf community, and then looking for someone to play with or date from there.
For tonight, he’d just wanted to put in a few more hours on the project he was working on, then read a book and maybe head to bed a little early.
He couldn’t care less about Valentine’s Day. Even when he was dating someone, he thought it was a stupid, commercialized holiday and mostly went through the motions of a nice dinner and a gift because it was expected.
It didn’t help that Marco had grown up Catholic and associated the Feast of Saint Valentine with the brutal clubbing of a martyr, which really put those chalky candy hearts in perspective. He imagined his macabre amusement would surprise a lot of people.
Marco stood up abruptly. The whole evening was just as sucky as he’d expected. Everyone was voicing quickly without making any effort to look at him, and Cameron had given up on cueing.
“I’m going to order drinks,” he announced, not worrying about cutting off their conversation. “Does anyone want anything?”
Everyone looked at him for long enough to communicate that they wanted beers. Grea
t. He could order a pitcher.
Only, of course, he couldn’t order a pitcher.
The bartender had a thick mustache and beard and wouldn’t look at him when he spoke. He understood that it was a busy evening, but he didn’t think that ordering a pitcher of beer would be that hard.
After a few rounds of back-and-forth that were equally frustrating for both of them, Marco was pretty sure that there was a drink limit for people who wanted to play, and the bartender needed to keep track of it in some way.
He was also certain that the bartender was an asshole.
If he’d just look at Marco, the way that he explicitly requested, this whole thing could have been over already.
He caught motion out of the corner of his eye and turned to glare at the person who was intruding on his space. Only then did he realize that the motion had been the downward wave of a hand that was used in ASL to get someone’s attention.
The interrupter immediately apologized and offered to interpret for him.
Marco was still annoyed, but not too annoyed to notice the man’s sad eyes, framed by the beginning of soft wrinkles.
The older stranger didn’t look like he wanted to be there any more than Marco did. He was dressed more for an evening at home than a kink club, and he’d made no attempt to tame his salt and pepper hair.
For some reason, his rumpled appearance made him kind of adorable.
Marco placed him somewhere between forty and fifty. With his large build and tentative mannerisms, Marco assumed that he was probably a visitor and wannabe Dom. Ugh.
It was too bad because he was probably the only other person in the club who was fluent in ASL and having another regular member would make him more likely to attend.
It wasn’t until their short conversation was nearly over that Marco’s mind caught up to the coded ribbons on his wrist and realized that he was a sub. His old club didn’t use wrist bands like this, so he wasn’t used to checking them. This one used red, yellow, and green for interest in being asked to play, and then black, grey, and white for Dom, switch, and sub.
Once he figured out what that flash of white meant, Marco felt warmth begin to pool in his belly.
He also felt like an asshole for assuming. He of all people knew better than to judge someone based on their looks.
This sub, strong and solid, yet also shy and eager to please, was exactly his type. His type was just so rare to find that he hadn’t been looking.
He kept his mind barely on their conversation, but really, he was watching his stranger. The way he signed. The way he moved. And those eyes…
God, he was a sucker for sweet, sad eyes like that. He found himself smiling, wanting to cheer him up. Wanting to make a connection.
The stranger’s returning smile was blinding, completely transforming his face. He wasn’t just sweet. He was gorgeous.
Unbidden, images flashed through his brain of those bright eyes looking up at him adoringly while the stranger kneeled at his feet. Or curled up in his lap while he ran gentle fingers through that rumpled hair.
Unfortunately, his other wrist band was red, indicating that he wasn’t looking for a hook-up. The sexy, older sub probably already had a Dom, and Marco wasn’t about to impose on someone else’s territory.
While he’d enjoy chatting with someone who spoke his language, and maybe dreamily watching those soft gestures on that strong man, he knew when to quit.
He’d already figured out his drinks, so there wasn’t that much more to say.
Marco wanted to make him smile again, though. If nothing else, to let him know that he appreciated that he’d stepped in to explain the nonsense with ordering drinks.
So, he offered to pay for his drink. And God, that sub’s blush was beautiful.
When he saw him responding like that, it made him wonder if maybe he wasn’t with someone after all.
It was too bad he didn’t have an excuse for a longer conversation.
He returned to Cameron and his friends, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the older man with the sad eyes.
He looked around and finally found him sitting with a group of people, but clearly not participating in their conversation. He looked just as miserable and lost as before.
Maybe they’d have more to talk about after all.
Chapter 2 Greg
Valentine’s Day
Greg didn’t want to be here.
He’d come to the club at the insistence of a colleague, Brett, who he was rapidly realizing was not someone that he wanted to befriend. Now he felt trapped.
Every day of the last three years had been painful enough and coming to Escape on Valentine’s Day was like rubbing salt in a wound.
For nearly twenty years, he and Richard—his Sir, his husband, and the love of his life—had celebrated all their holidays and milestones here.
His heart had always leapt when Richard mentioned going to Escape, because his Sir made it new and special for him every time. Dressing him up. Planning scenes. Giving him time to chat with his friends, but making sure that he had every one of his depraved needs taken care of before they went home together.
And now, even after three years, he wasn’t sure he was ready to be back.
He’d known when they started dating that the almost twenty-year age gap probably meant that he would outlive Richard.
But he’d expected to say goodbye when they were older. Maybe when Richard was a hundred and he was a bit over eighty. Or even when Richard was eighty and he was sixty. He could have handled that.
Losing Richard at the age of sixty-seven, when Greg was only forty-six, just wasn’t fair. They’d had their whole lives ahead of them.
Which is why it still felt like his life was over, even three years later.
He’d be looking at his fiftieth birthday this year. That age had once seemed impossibly old to him, though he’d loved celebrating the milestone with his distinguished Sir. And now here he was.
Too old for a relationship and too young to die. Not that he wanted another relationship anyway. Who would want a fifty-year-old man for a sub, anyway?
He’d kept in shape for his Sir, but he knew he’d let himself go in the past few years. His hair was too long and probably unkempt. He didn’t know and he didn’t really care.
Brett had tried to talk him into wearing his old clubbing clothes, but they’d all been too small. This hadn’t come as a surprise, as he observed his gut every day when he stepped out of the shower.
He’d had a little paunch before, which Sir had teased him about, but not cruelly. His belly now was a good deal more substantial.
Tonight, he was wearing a loose pair of black jeans and a black t-shirt that was too tight only because he hadn’t bought any new ones. It was the closest thing to club-wear that he could find in his closet and didn’t remind him too much of Richard.
It wasn’t like he could attract a Dom anyway. Even if he wanted to.
So, instead, he sat heavily in his seat, wondering how long it would be until he could leave. Brett was sitting on his Daddy’s lap, deeply involved in a conversation with another couple that he didn’t know, talking about yet more people that he didn’t know.
He hoped that Brett’s Daddy would hurry up and take him away for whatever scene they’d been planning. That would certainly mean it was alright for him to leave. It was tempting to leave now, but he had a feeling that he’d hear Brett whining about it in the hallway at work on Monday.
Why had he come here, anyway? He didn’t really know Brett, and the more time he spent with him the more annoying he found him. In retrospect, he couldn’t figure out how he’d ever allowed Brett to drag him here.
He idly scanned the room, but looking at all the happy couples just made him feel more alone.
He missed Richard.
Maybe he needed a drink. He was allowed only one if he intended to play, and an infinite number if he didn’t.
He’d never ordered anything harder than soda when he was here with his Sir
.
Catching Brett’s eyes for a moment, he motioned that he was going up to the bar. He should probably be considerate and see if anyone else wanted something to drink, but the idea of making conversation, even trivial conversation, with new people felt too overwhelming.
He walked slowly toward the bar, dragging out the activity for as long as possible.
Out of all the din, a voice jumped out to him. A little bit louder than necessary, the tones slightly flattened and some of the consonants blurred in a way that was instantly familiar to him. “You have to look at me or I can’t understand you.”
The man sounded frustrated, and Greg instantly identified him at the bar and sped up. Waving his hand in the man’s peripheral vision, he waited to be recognized.
The dark eyes pinned him to his spot, the stranger’s aggression and frustration burning a hole into him.
That intensity sent a pulse of desire through him, though he quickly shoved it away. It was completely inappropriate, and he knew it didn’t mean anything.
Excuse me, he signed meekly, would you like me to interpret?
He was taking a risk interfering in someone else’s conversation. The stranger could clearly voice competently, and he might not appreciate someone stepping in.
But the stranger’s eyes softened, and then his face lit with a smile.
He really was attractive, Greg realized, in a twink-ish sort of way.
The first thing that caught Greg’s eye was his makeup. A delicate blue on his eyelids, and a touch of darker pink outlining his cheeks. It made an intriguing counterpart to his neatly trimmed beard.
His hands, when he signed, were as small and delicate as the rest of him. His chest and waist were slender, but compact, highlighted by the skin-tight mesh and leather he wore. His black bow tie, worn without any kind of shirt collar, drew Greg’s eyes to his graceful neck. But even though he was smaller than Greg in every dimension, he absolutely radiated dominance.
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