Love Language

by Reese Morrison

  Greg knew it was OK, but sometimes he just didn’t want to. Not to mention that Marco was supposed to be his sexy experiment or friend-with-benefits or whatever, not his shrink. He didn’t need to wallow in it like this.

  He should just change the subject. How’s the business?

  Marco radiated excitement about his two new clients, including a gay bar that wanted him to do their new logo and signage. He truly loved his work and it was beautiful to watch.

  And how’s FlexTech?

  Marco rolled his eyes.

  That good? Apparently, the start-up had too many people trying to weigh in on their look, and after three months they still hadn’t decided on anything. They also took forever getting back to Marco, and then hassled him when he set reasonable expectations for turn-around time. And while the first two people Marco had talked to had been cool with communicating through email, apparently some of the other people on the team were annoyed that he wasn’t available to call them on the phone.

  Marco was at his wit’s end with them, but he handled it with a level of grace and humor that always left Greg impressed.

  Maybe I’m not cut out for running my own business.

  That made Greg sit up straight. Of course, you are! I mean, some people like to work for larger companies because they get shielded from some of this crap, but if this is what you want, I think you can absolutely do it. You’re an excellent designer, you like people, and you usually love your job. You just have a crappy client.

  Marco looked defeated. Yeah, but there are always crappy clients. I left my old job because my boss over-promised what I could do to butter up the clients and then took it out on me. I thought it would be different on my own, but now I’m dealing with mostly the same shit but without a buffer or a team.

  You can always drop them as clients. You don’t owe them anything.

  Actually, they owe me several thousand dollars, payable on delivery of a finished product. And it’s already hard enough building up my reputation without dropping clients because they’re too disorganized to handle working with a consultant.

  Wow. Greg hadn’t realized that it was that bad. You should get them to pay you before you do any more work.

  Believe me, I’ve tried. It’s just hard because they can’t appoint a single person to actually take responsibility for working with me.

  Is there anything I can do to help?

  Marco just looked more miserable and shook his head. Greg hoped it was because he didn’t think there was anything that could be done, not because he was too proud to accept help from a sub.

  He hated seeing this bright, talented man look so defeated.

  How come we never hang out on weekends? popped into his hands. Well, that hadn’t been what he meant to say.

  Marco blinked, and then a smile grew on his face.

  Shit. Had he been waiting for Greg to ask? Now Greg felt even worse. He was so wrapped up in mourning Richard and getting his kinky needs met that he’d been a crappy friend.

  Would you like to hang out on the weekends? Marco asked eagerly. We could see each other on different nights of the week, too.

  Greg was totally an asshole. He knew that Marco had set up their schedule to help him feel comfortable about doing, well, whatever they were doing, and he hadn’t even thought about whether it was what Marco wanted.

  Marco was so different from Richard. He wasn’t used to thinking about what someone else might need, because Richard had handled all of that for both of them.

  I’d like that, he replied, trying not to let his shame and guilt seep through.

  But he must not have been very successful.

  Are you sure? We don’t have to.

  Asshole, exhibit A: Greg. No, I want to. Really. He smiled pleadingly. He really didn’t want to fuck this up. Marco was his best friend and ridiculously good in bed and just… exactly what he needed right now.

  Marco gave him a hot, flirty look. What are you doing this weekend?

  He almost shot back an equally flirty you, but then groaned. It’s my parents’ sixtieth wedding anniversary and I’m driving down to see them. I’ll be gone all weekend. Ugh. Terrible timing.

  Marco weighed his head to the left, then the right, thoughtfully. How long is the drive?

  Maybe four hours?

  Would you like some company? I mean, I don’t want to impose on your family event, but we could drive together and then get a hotel for the night.

  Oh, God. That was the sweetest thing Greg had ever heard. And it reinforced how much he’d been treating their friendship like some sort of… contract or business transaction or something. Even though he hadn’t meant to. Shit.

  Sorry, Marco signed quickly. That was way out of line.

  No, no! Greg cut in. That would be amazing. That’s really sweet. I’ll probably be hanging out with my family on both days, and I think they’d love to meet you.

  Marco’s eyes practically popped out of his head. Apparently, both of them had driven recklessly into this conversation with some unintended consequences.

  Good consequences, though, Greg hoped.

  You know that they’ll think we’re dating, right? Marco looked hesitant, but Greg wasn’t sure why.

  What did Marco want him to say? His family knew how torn up he’d been about Richard, and it would probably be a relief to them to think he was seeing someone. Probably, he finally agreed. Is it OK if they think that?

  Marco looked… well, Greg wasn’t quite sure what it was, but like something wasn’t quite right. Sure. It’s fine if they think that, he finally answered.

  Greg kept watching Marco, trying to figure out if he’d said the right thing. But he didn’t give any more clues.

  Tell me about your family, Marco said, instead.

  Alright, he could do that.

  The ride down felt like a road trip. Well, it technically was a road trip. But it felt like a TV depiction of a road trip.

  They’d each, separately, brought more snacks than they could possibly eat together in the four hours there and four hours back, and then they’d stopped anyway at a tiny little diner off the highway for some mediocre fries and surprisingly good burgers.

  They’d talked about where they’d traveled and where they wanted to go. They’d played stupid car games, like competing to find letters and license plates from different states while they drove.

  Greg had brought his pack of car trip CDs, the only purpose he still had for CDs, really, and had fun singing and signing them to Marco while he sat in the passenger seat. There was an art to ASL poetry, combining distinct words into new hybrids that better expressed the emotions and intentions of a song, and Greg hadn’t gotten to do it in a while.

  He definitely wouldn’t be performing anywhere, but it was fun, and Marco appreciated it. Especially when the songs were really corny or repeated the same lyrics so he looked like a dufus trying to sign the same few words in increasingly elaborate and meaningful ways.

  And then, between one bit of conversation and another, Marco had casually told him to take out his dick.

  Like, right there in the car where anyone driving by could see them.

  To be fair, Marco was driving in the right lane so someone would probably have to drive onto the shoulder to see into Greg’s window, but still.

  He’d been helpless to resist.

  And Marco just kept chattering on about the scenery and the plight of small farms in America while interspersing casual commands like pinch your nipples and circle just the tip.

  Greg could barely walk when Marco had taken the exit for an uninhabited scenic overlook, guided him just far enough away from the small parking lot that they couldn’t (probably) be observed, and then sucked him off with his back against a boulder.

  So… quintessential road trip stuff.

  When they’d finally arrived at Greg’s parents’ house, Greg was happy and sleepy and flushed and, well, having a lot more feelings about Marco than he probably should have been.

 
Greg’s family, of course, adored Marco. He helped out in the kitchen with Greg’s brother and sister-in-law. He sat with Greg on the couch and listened to his mother’s stories. He discussed marketing with Greg’s other brother. And he handled the inquisition from Greg’s sister with graceful aplomb.

  The younger kids clambered all over him, and somehow Marco and Greg ended up walking around the house with little nieces and nephews clinging to their ankles in some sort of ad hoc swamp monster game.

  And throughout the day, Marco would rest a hand on his shoulder, casually touch his arm, lean against him on the couch.

  It felt like… family.

  Greg also realized that he’d never actually seen Marco around other Deaf people, people who he could communicate with freely.

  When they went out for dinner, Marco voiced and speech-read with confidence, but there was always something a bit pinched and reserved about him. Not that anyone would expect him to have in-depth conversations with waitstaff or other diners maneuvering past chairs.

  But now that he could sign freely with everyone in the room, Greg could see the charismatic extrovert come out.

  It made him wish that he’d made more of an effort to meet Marco’s friends, to get involved with him in the Deaf community back home.

  Man, was he racking up asshole points this trip. But he could at least do something about it when they returned.

  They stayed up way too late watching movies with Greg’s teenaged nephews, who were growing up to be quite interesting people.

  Greg privately suspected that Jason was gay, but he wasn’t going to mention anything unless Jason brought it up. He just waited until Jason was looking at them, caught his eye, and gave Marco a soft kiss on the cheek.

  Jason blushed and looked away, but Marco gave Greg an adoring smile and turned back to the movie.

  Yeah, way too many feelings.

  That night, in the hotel room where Greg had been anticipating all sorts of kinky shenanigans, they just… slept.

  Not that they hadn’t slept together before. In fact, Greg had started keeping a change of clothing and a toiletries bag in his car so that he could leave for work directly from Marco’s place.

  But sleeping together without doing anything else first was new.

  Greg thought he liked it.

  ◆◆◆

  Greg looked around, trying to figure out where he was. He was in a large room with plenty of people. No, it was a bar. Except, it was obviously the club. Everyone was in fetish gear, so it was a wonder he hadn’t realized it sooner.

  He looked down at his own body. Tiny red shorts, trim red leather boots, and nothing else except the comforting weight of a collar around his neck. He couldn’t see it, but he knew it by weight and feel. It was red, Sir’s signature color.

  Mindful of the eyes upon him, he walked carefully across the room. Finding the right chair, he sank to his knees on a familiar black cushion to wait.

  And wait.

  And wait.

  He usually didn’t have to wait this long.

  And then he remembered. Sir was out of town.

  Shit. He wasn’t supposed to be here at all. He never went to the club without his Sir. He felt panic closing in.

  He’d thought they were supposed to meet here, but actually Sir wouldn’t be coming because he was in Tokyo. Or London. Shanghai? Well, it didn’t matter because he needed to be home immediately.

  He didn’t have his phone, because of course he had to leave it at the desk when he came to the club.

  He might have missed Sir’s call.

  Anxiety closed at his throat. He had to make it across the room, check out, get his phone… But of course, he wasn’t looking where he was going and he crashed right into someone.

  Now there was some cold, sticky liquid all over both of them, and he had to apologize, and help the other sub back onto her feet.

  One of the bartenders hurried over with a towel and offered it to him, and he knew he should take it and clean up, but he just wanted to get to his phone. He took a cursory swipe over his body and handed it back.

  He started walking away, but a sudden pain sprang up in his foot. He’d twisted his ankle. So now he was hobbling, cold and dripping, toward the exit while faceless people tried to help him but only slowing him down.

  A voice he didn’t recognize called his name. He ignored it.

  Sir would be so disappointed in him. And he would be disappointed in himself because with the time difference he might be missing their only chance to talk today.

  He could see the exit.

  But then, it turned out that they’d re-arranged the tables and done some construction or something, and now the only working exit was out the back, through the demonstration room, and he had to turn around and start again.

  “Greg!” The unfamiliar voice was louder now, closer. Someone grabbed his elbow, and he shook them off, but looked up.

  And it was Marco. Standing there, tugging at him, with concern in his eyes.

  I have to call Sir, he signed frantically.

  And Marco looked disappointed, but he took hold of Marco’s hand and tugged him efficiently toward the exit, which had been right there all the time.

  He knew Marco would take care of everything, and started to calm down.

  Except that the guy at the front desk was the same bartender who’d been so unhelpful to Marco before.

  Marco was explaining that he needed Greg’s phone, and the guy was saying that they hadn’t checked out properly and only Greg could get his own phone, even though that had never been a rule before.

  And Marco was getting frustrated because the guy wouldn’t look at him so he could speech-read and then Greg had to step in to interpret.

  And it felt exactly like being a little kid again, having to translate for his parents about things that he didn’t really understand when they were at the bank or the grocery store or whatever, and he hated that.

  And then Marco was tugging at his arm again, and he heard that odd, unfamiliar voice again. “Greg! Greg, wake up!”

  He jerked awake, heart pounding. He was… he was in a hotel. With Marco.

  Those were Marco’s strong arms wrapped around his sweaty chest. It was Marco’s unfamiliar voice that had jolted him awake.

  Stripes of dim light slanted over the walls from the window blinds, but it was too dark to see. The clock read almost 4AM.

  Turn on the light? he requested.

  Marco complied, then wrapped around him again, his smaller body nuzzled up against his side.

  Do you want to tell me about your dream?

  With shaking fingers, he related what he could remember.

  You really miss him, don’t you?

  Every day. It was true. Even if it wasn’t the same way he’d missed him before, not a day went by when he didn’t think of him.

  Marco kissed his forehead. And even though he missed Richard with an ache that tore through his chest, he knew that Marco would take good care of him.

  Eventually they went back to sleep as the sun began to lighten the sky.

  When he woke up, he felt groggy, but Marco washed him gently in the shower. He’d become accustomed to Marco wearing his boxers all the time, and now it just seemed normal when they showered together.

  Marco also stopped to pick up an overpriced coffee on the way over to his family’s house. He wasn’t sure what he had done to deserve such a caring man in his life.

  The party was a low-key brunch with family friends and his parents’ colleagues, some of whom he hadn’t seen in years. It was nice, but a bit overwhelming.

  Greg made a point of talking with his hearing brother-in-law, since his signing was adequate but not always up to the family conversations. Since his wife, Greg’s sister, was hearing, though, it was impressive that he’d learned at all. He liked the man, and appreciated his commitment to keeping the language alive with his children.

  Otherwise, he made the rounds, talking lightly about his work, introducing Mar
co when it was appropriate, and steering far away from any conversations about Richard when they came up.

  Since he was visibly with Marco, it mostly didn’t, for which he was extremely grateful. He didn’t know or care what they thought about seeing him with a new man, and he was just glad not to have to talk about his loss.

  After they cut the cake, Greg’s brother projected a slideshow of pictures from their childhood. Marco sat next to him, and they laughed together as family members stood up to tell stories to accompany the photos.

  Greg took a moment to reflect that his parents had been together for sixty years. It was mind-boggling. He tried not to think about how he and Richard had been on that trajectory. The echoes of the morning’s dream still shook him, but he wanted to be present for his family.

  He looked at his parents, thinking about time, and realized that, somehow, they had gotten old. They were in their eighties, and while they were alert and engaged, they didn’t move as easily as they had the last time he visited a few years ago.

  Even comparing them to the photos from their fifty-fifth wedding anniversary five years ago, they looked older. More tired.

  Not tired of life, just plain physically exhausted.

  Greg’s father had always fallen asleep in front of the TV, but Greg realized that he had dozed off multiple times yesterday afternoon. His mother had slipped away to take a nap yesterday, and she looked like she was about due for one now.

  His sister and older brother who still lived in town probably knew all about it, but he realized it hadn’t occurred to him to ask. He’d need to check in with them, see if they needed any help.

  He couldn’t move down, but he could easily visit every month or two and support them financially if they needed it.

  Maybe Marco would drive down with him again. No, that wasn’t reasonable. As much as Marco seemed to get along with his family, he couldn’t monopolize his friend’s time that way. He stuffed the thought away.

  After the party was over, Greg and Marco hung around with the rest of the family to clean up while his parents napped.

  The kids were all piled up in front of the TV, and the adults were wandering around with trash bags and half-eaten trays of food that couldn’t possibly all fit in the refrigerator. There was a washing-and-drying team going in the kitchen and it sounded like someone had started to vacuum somewhere.