The drops of wax were hot on his skin, a quick flash of pain that felt more informational to him than anything else. He wished he’d thought to put some oil on first, because the wax was going to be annoying to get out of his arm hair.
Now, he could turn his attention back to Greg’s tensely quivering body.
Starting at the top of his spine, he allowed just a few drops to land. Greg bucked underneath him, and then exhaled a heavy breath.
Now that he was holding the candle, it was a bit harder to talk with someone who was twisted away from him. He used his other hand to wiggle his fingers along Greg’s chin. It took Greg a moment to realize that he was signing the word color.
Greg smiled in amusement at his body being used for half of a sign. Green, he responded.
After that, Marco let himself play. He sent long rivulets of wax down Greg’s shoulders. Greg arched and wriggled for him, trying impossibly to pull away and then leaning back into it.
Marco sent small flicks of wax everywhere, a dozen splashes hitting almost simultaneously. Greg’s face was blissful, his breathing coming in short gasps and then long, thick exhalations.
Marco let a bit of wax well up in the candle holder, and then pooled up a small, hotter puddle at the base of Greg’s spine. Greg bunched and bucked and clenched his fists, his face twisted in a yell that Marco could faintly hear. His face was nearly orgasmic.
Marco was wet and hard just watching him.
At last, Greg’s back held more wax than skin, and Marco exchanged the candle for an ice cube and a butter knife. This part wasn’t quite as much fun, but it could still be sensual.
He ran the ice cube over Greg’s back in long sweeps and swirls, then scraped off the wax without a pattern. The oil had mostly done its job, so the dull edge of the knife mostly started the process and he could finish with his fingers. When he occasionally pulled Greg’s back hair a bit too hard, Greg just clenched and shivered and then relaxed further into the mattress.
Greg seemed happy and relaxed, but Marco felt like he could take more. And he wasn’t done playing.
Turn over, Marco commanded.
Marco intentionally didn’t move from his position, giving Greg barely the radius he needed to shift. When Greg turned, he rubbed against Marco’s cock, pulling heat through his body.
And when he settled down onto his back, they were pressed together, Greg’s pulsing erection against Marco’s softer packer.
Marco wished now that he’d taken a moment to put in the insert, to show how incredibly hard he was in a way that Greg could feel, but it was too late now.
Greg didn’t seem to mind, if the heavy, enraptured look in his eyes was any indication. He pressed upward, thrusting mindlessly and minutely into the space where their cocks touched.
Marco pushed back hard, forcing Greg’s legs to still and grinding into Greg’s trapped cock. Greg tilted his head back, mouth open.
Yeah, Marco really wished he was wearing something that would transmit all that pressure right to his biological cock. But seeing Greg’s reactions was enough.
You want some more?
Greg nodded. Desperately. Needing.
Marco started again with the coconut oil, not taking time for a leisurely massage, but making sure that Greg was fully coated from shoulders to hips so the wax wouldn’t stick.
Then, he moved back and glided down to his cock, coating that too. He’d leave Greg to think about the implications of that while he got started. Whether he’d actually do it or not would depend on Greg’s responses.
Then, he began again. A few drops here and there. A long line across his belly. Each flash of heat swept through Greg’s body, and Marco couldn’t get enough.
He poured a flash onto one of Greg’s nipples and was rewarded with an arched back, that gorgeous, red mouth opened in a scream. Greg’s chest rose and fell, and then he looked up at Marco with those wide eyes that just wanted more.
So, Marco gave it to him. Longer pours. Splashes on the sensitive crease of his thigh. Heat on his other nipple. Greg panted and squirmed and dug his fingers into the mattress.
His cock was dripping, and Marco wondered if he could get off just from this.
He caught Greg’s eye and held the candle threateningly over his pounding erection. He wasn’t quite asking a question so much as giving Greg an opportunity to say no.
Greg drew in quick, thready breaths. And then he closed his eyes, giving himself over to the anticipated sensation.
Marco tilted the candle holder. The smallest drop fell, sliding down the side of his shaft. Greg tried to arch up but couldn’t move with Marco’s weight on his legs. He twisted to the side, shaking and shuddering in a rhythm that suggested he was only moments away from coming.
Marco was on the edge himself, watching Greg submit so fully to his desires.
He poured out a longer flow, a steady white line down the underside of Greg’s dick and along his tightened testicles.
Greg threw his arms out to the side and nearly bucked Marco off. His mouth opened in a roar and his arms thrashed. He was clearly at his limit, and Marco wanted to push him over.
Quickly setting down the candle, he stroked his cock once, and then again, and then Greg was pouring over him, thrusting recklessly into his hands.
Marco leaned over him, heedless of the wax. He needed to be close right now, to let Greg feel his weight.
Greg’s arms wrapped around him, his gasping breaths hot on Marco’s shoulder.
He turned his head, begging for a kiss, and Marco was more than happy to give it to him. He swooped into his ready mouth, licking and nibbling while Greg lazily followed his lead.
Marco cupped Greg’s softening erection, enjoying the slightly sticky softness in his hand. Hard-ons were sexy, but he always felt like there was something undeniably sweet about holding a man while he was soft.
It was intimate, somehow, in a way that surpassed sex.
Greg looked like he had melted into the mattress, his limbs completely relaxed.
Reluctantly, Marco sat up a bit so that he could start to remove the wax. He intermingled his work with soft touches, not hurrying and trying to avoid using the ice cube when he could. This was a time for closeness and comfort.
Greg watched him with half-lidded eyes, an easy smile on his face.
Marco could so easily fall in love with this sweet, broken boy, who sometimes seemed to be healing before his eyes.
When he’d removed as much of the wax as he could, he gave Greg’s hand a meaningful tug.
You need a shower, sweetheart. You can’t sleep with all this wax on you.
Greg shook his head, which drew a smile to Marco’s lips. He liked how Greg was becoming more relaxed around him, not standing on protocol.
Marco lifted himself off Greg’s slack body and stood beside the bed. Come on, up you get. I’ll help you.
Greg shook his head again in a dramatic show of exhaustion. But he was already slowly swinging his legs over the side of the bed.
Marco guided him into the bathroom and turned on the shower while Greg pressed into his side.
He didn’t think he’d ever get enough of this cuddly side of Greg.
It’s warm now, he said after a minute, guiding Greg toward the tub.
Greg stepped in but slid his hand down Marco’s arm as he did to catch at his hand. Shower with me.
Marco sighed. He was, more or less, alright with his body. He liked his flat chest and mostly ignored his surgical scars, which at this point were barely visible. He enjoyed the hair that he could now grow and the lean muscles that showed when he flexed. He liked how Greg looked at him and didn’t think there were any complaints so far.
It was his lower anatomy that made him hesitate. He felt good about his options for sex. He had packers that he could use to please a partner, and his favorite one had a little nub on the back of the inserted rod that would stimulate his biological cock while he was getting off.
And when he was alone, he was actual
ly fairly pleased with his body. He’d been born with a body that wasn’t right for him, but with enough testosterone and patience and a quick surgery, he’d grown a cock that, at least in his opinion, looked pretty good. It was small, of course, but he liked knowing that it had been in his body, just waiting all this time.
He liked touching himself, liked feeling the difference in his flesh between his length and his tip. He didn’t even try to imagine that it was bigger or different as he stroked himself with two fingers and his thumb.
What he struggled with was sharing it with somebody else, especially in these in-between times with casual physical intimacy. Times when a cis person would have just stripped and stepped into the shower. Would Greg be disappointed? Curious? Awkward?
He’d promised his therapist that he was going to get naked around his next boyfriend. That he would trust that nebulous, hypothetical person enough to reclaim his body that way, to explore it with someone else.
But Greg wasn’t exactly his boyfriend. And with everything else in their relationship so tentative, today felt like it was too soon. They’d only had one other scene, and afterward Greg hadn’t talked to him for almost two months.
Greg gave his arm the tiniest of tugs, not demanding, just reminding him he was there. He looked up and realized that while he’d been having an internal war, Greg was starting to worry.
Greg saw his expression and dropped his arm. Sorry, I can wash myself.
Oh, dammit. Now Greg thought that he didn’t want to shower with him. As if he hadn’t been dreaming for months about taking care of Greg in such an intimate way.
Marco pulled back the shower curtain without thinking and didn’t even realize until he was soaking wet that he’d inadvertently solved the problem.
Who cared if his briefs got wet? He could just keep them on for the shower and change when he got out.
He wrapped his arms around Greg’s back, taking the bottle of body wash out of his hands. Greg froze for a moment, and then relaxed into him.
Good. That was the way it was supposed to be.
Marco dribbled some of the body wash into his hand and then began “washing” Greg’s chest. He could spend all day gliding his hands over those smooth muscles and that soft belly. He dragged his fingernails through Greg’s chest hair and was pleased when Greg pressed back against him.
This was what he’d wanted, more than a scene and more than sex. Just Greg, in his arms, letting him take care of him.
He pressed a little kiss into Greg’s shoulder, praying that he’d still be there in the morning.
Until then, he was going to give him every ounce of care that he could.
Chapter 8 Greg
August
Greg stretched, turning away from the shaft of light pouring in through his bedroom window. Thursday, his mind supplied. Marco.
He snuggled under his covers and gave himself a moment to anticipate what might happen tonight. There were so many delicious memories just waiting for him, and he slid his hand past his waistband to slowly stroke himself.
The time when Marco had tied him up and run a feather over him, alternating with some horrible and arousing prickly thing. God, he’d been begging for mercy by the time that Marco let him come.
And last week when Marco had put the nipple clamps on him and fucked his face. Even though he knew he was giving a blowjob to what amounted to a dildo, it had felt right in his mouth, and he was proud of making Marco come. Yeah, that evening had been amazing.
Then, there was the time when Marco had spent a whole evening painting an elaborate sunset using his body as a canvas. It was erotic in its own way, being Marco’s masterpiece and the focus of so much of his artistic attention.
Four months of memories, eighteen Thursdays, swirled in his mind. He groaned as he spilled into his hand, wondering later if he should have made himself wait.
Would Marco want that? To control his orgasms? To tease him and then deny him until they came together? The idea sent a delicious shiver down his spine.
He didn’t know if he was ready for that, but it was starting to feel like he was ready for something.
He wasn’t quite sure why he still only saw Marco on Thursdays, but it had become their thing. The only exception had been a play and an ASL trivia night that fell on other nights of the week. Maybe he should change that, he thought.
Or was it part of their agreement? This “experiment” they were doing?
Did Marco see other people on the other days? Was it his place to ask? They hadn’t talked about it, really.
Marco wasn’t his boyfriend. And he hadn’t indicated that he wanted anything more.
Greg wasn’t sure if he was ready for anything more, either. He liked Marco, though, and not just for the kink. He liked hanging out with him. He liked the way he flirted and took care of him. Even as friends with benefits, surely they could hang out on the weekends sometimes.
With Richard, he’d never have thought to make a suggestion like that. Richard decided everything.
But with Marco, everything was just… easier.
Greg wandered over to his closet, thinking about what Marco might like to see him in.
He told himself to only look at the clothing on the left. The side he was supposed to focus on.
His subconscious wasn’t listening, though. His hand drifted, as if under its own volition, to one of the red shirts that belonged to Richard. Well, they were for Greg’s body, but his Sir owned them, and when Greg had worn them, it was a reminder that Sir owned him, too.
He pulled a sleeve to his cheek, the soft fabric catching just a bit on his scruff. Just feeling it against his skin always sent him tumbling back into memories, his throat closing and his eyes going scratchy.
Sir would wake him up with a kiss, send him into the shower with a light spank on his ass. And then… he’d come back into the bedroom and the everyday shirt that Greg had hung on the doorknob of the closet would be replaced with a red one.
Greg would hold position, sometimes for a few seconds and sometimes until he was almost late for work, until Sir would come over and dress him in it.
Sometimes Sir would fondle him or even blow him until he was hard and aching, and then get him dressed as if he weren’t on the edge of insanity.
Sometimes Sir would have him brace his arms on the closet door, watching himself in the mirror, and spank him until his ass was heated and red. He’d have to sit down carefully all day at work, trying not to give himself away.
Sometimes, when he was very lucky, Sir would use his ass and then send him to work with cum leaking out, still hard and desperate for just one more touch.
And sometimes, none of those would happen at all, and Greg would spend all day secretly rubbing the fabric on his chest and cuffs, wondering what torment Richard had planned for him later.
Those days were the most common, and he thought that’s why Richard loved putting him in those shirts. He’d spend all day in nervous and aroused anticipation, wondering what was coming next. Sometimes Richard would send him hints over text, and sometimes he would act like nothing unusual was happening and then startle or attack him when he was least expecting it.
He’d worn them to work with such pride, no one knowing their secret meaning, living in that constant state of fear and desire while everyone else went about their business.
Greg pressed the scarlet sleeve to his mouth, though he wasn’t sure if he was kissing it or covering a sob. Tears stung his eyes, but he knew they wouldn’t fall. Moments like these made him miss Richard so much that he ached.
His Sir had programmed him to respond to these shirts, and it had been glorious. Now that he was gone, the response was still there, but Richard wasn’t. And it was just… horrible.
He slammed the closet door.
Now even his evening with Marco felt tarnished and dripping with his sorrow for Richard. He’d wanted a nice shirt, and now he just… couldn’t.
He forced himself to get his act together and brush his t
eeth. Hopefully, he told himself as he stepped into the shower, he hadn’t put away his dry cleaning in the living room and he could find a shirt there.
Because if not, it was going to be a T-shirt, everyone in the office be damned.
By the end of the day, though, he was more on an even keel. His dry cleaning had been in the living room, and he’d put on a plain, white shirt that was blessedly free of memories.
The morning had been rough, but not as rough as they used to be.
Work was a nice distraction. His authors, editors, and proofers all mostly on track, and he’d managed to schedule more book tours than he’d expected. It was nice to get lost in the little details that he could either control or firmly acknowledge were beyond his responsibilities.
By the end of the day, he still felt a little grim, but mostly resigned.
And lonely.
He could do this, though. He’d been doing it for more than three years. So, he was fine.
But when he saw Marco standing outside the restaurant, one that he privately thought that Marco didn’t care for, but which had the best lemon chicken soup, he just collapsed into his arms.
Marco just held him for a few minutes, calmly stroking his back, as if this were the most natural thing in the world.
Greg crouched on his knees a bit and leaned forward to burrow his head into Marco’s shoulder. As always, a little part of his mind marveled that Marco’s much smaller body could offer him so much comfort and security. He always saw Marco as having such strength.
Finally, he pulled away enough that they could at least get into the restaurant, Marco’s hand firm and confident at the small of his back.
They were seated at a small table, their knees touching, before Marco tried to ask him about it. Greg always appreciated that little bit of time, Marco’s lack of hurry and readiness to listen to whatever he shared.
Want to tell me what’s going on, sweetheart? he signed with gentle eyes.
Greg felt tired. Tired of carrying it all around. Nothing new. I miss Richard. I was getting a shirt out of the closet and… never mind.
Never mind? It’s OK if you want to talk about it.
Love Language Page 9