Love Language

by Reese Morrison

With some subs, he might have talked them through it, but he’d quickly realized that Greg preferred to be surprised.

  Stepping behind Greg, he grabbed the first item from the bed and then presented it to Greg. The handcuffs needed little explanation, and Greg extended his hands on Marco’s nod.

  He quickly slipped them on, then tied one rope to the center loop. Pulling on the other end of the rope, he monitored Greg’s shoulders as he forced his hands over his head. When they were as high as he could make them without forcing Greg to lift his heels from the floor, he tied off the rope to the other hook mounted on his wall.

  He watched Greg shift and then settle into the confinement. Already, he seemed calmer.

  Marco stroked his cheek. How are you doing, sweetheart? Are your shoulders OK? Wrists?

  Greg nodded, an encouraging smile on his face.

  You can grab the leather above the cuffs, he pointed out. Try it now.

  Greg complied, then let his hands dangle again. Marco held back a smirk at Greg’s innocent assumption that he wouldn’t need to use it.

  Show me your safewords.

  Greg shaped one hand into an R and shook it for red, then made a Y and signed yellow. He shook his head rapidly to indicate “no” as a third option.

  Very good. Marco stood on his tiptoes and Greg bent his head down for a quick, sweet kiss.

  Fuck, he was sexy like this. Completely vulnerable and open, bound and trusting Marco to give him what he needed. Marco felt his own body pulse with arousal.

  He walked behind Greg, dragging his hands eagerly over his soft belly and firm muscles. God, he couldn’t get enough of touching him.

  He took a moment to massage Greg’s back, remembering that it had been bothering him. This was more about pampering him than moving into the scene, but since he was the Dom, he got to do what he wanted to.

  He felt Greg relax, letting himself dangle a bit from the cuffs. Marco’s own body relaxed with it, getting in tune with his sub.

  Keeping one hand on him, he picked up the lube and applied a generous amount to two fingers. He started with one and enjoyed preparing Greg’s ready body. He kept his front pressed to Greg’s back, feeling each thrust and wriggle as his sub opened to him.

  When he introduced the lubed anal hook, Greg was tense but ready. He worked it in easily as Greg pressed back against him.

  He tied the other end to the rope, but didn’t yet pull it tight.

  He kissed and licked his way around Greg’s back, across his underarms, and to his chest, knowing that the light and sweet touches would provide a counterpoint to what he was about to do.

  He held up the clamps for Greg’s inspection, his heart thumping as Greg’s eyes widened. He was so open. So damn willing, putting both his nerves and his desire out there for Marco to hold.

  Marco nibbled and sucked at one nipple while matching the movements of the other with his fingers. When Greg was squirming and panting, he pulled out and affixed the first clamp and then its twin, letting the chain dangle between them.

  Greg’s eyes were wide and his mouth open, probably screaming. His cock was very, very hard, though and he gave no sign of wanting to stop amidst his gasping breaths.

  Marco felt his own cock surge, pressing against his packer. There was no other high like watching Greg squirm in front of him like this.

  He went to his knees, then, mouthing Greg’s balls and giving them little nips. He figured by now that Greg knew where the second pair of clamps were going. He attached one to each side, watching Greg shift from foot to foot as he absorbed the pain.

  Greg watched with curiosity as he threaded a separate string through each of the chains, and then tied them off on the hand weight the he placed at Greg’s feet. They were completely taut, but not tugging yet.

  Now he was ready for the fun part.

  Ready?

  Greg nodded, nervous but clear.

  Carefully watching Greg’s reactions, he gave the rope attached to the anal hook one long, smooth pull until Greg was forced onto his tiptoes.

  God, he was beautiful. His face contorted in delicious agony as he tried to decide whether to relieve the painful tugging on his nipples and balls or the intensity of the hook buried deeply inside him.

  He grasped the leather above his cuffs, pulling his weight up with muscles straining. And then he leaned forward, trying to get his chest closer to the floor.

  He couldn’t have them both.

  Shivers raced through his body and he tossed his head, mouth open.

  Marco ran a gentle hand down his side, drawing his attention.

  Greg’s eyes were riveted on him, needy and helpless and pleading.

  You’re doing so good for me, he encouraged. Taking everything I give you.

  Greg gave him a smile, his face still wild.

  And you know how to get out of this. All I need is your tears. I don’t care if you come or not, he added with false cruelty, because we can do this all night.

  That was another little lie. He would stop after about half an hour to avoid doing serious harm. But Greg didn’t need to know that.

  The only thing you need to do is cry. He ran a gentle hand down Greg’s cheek and across his throat. Can you do that for me sweetheart?

  Chapter 10 Greg

  Greg felt mindless, wild. He was bombarded by sensations, shaking and panting.

  He’d thought that Marco was sweet, for all the usual care that he took with him.

  But this was agony.

  His nipples throbbed, pulled impossibly far away from his chest. His testicles burned in two sharp points of fire. Pain seemed to arc between them, the rest of his body just a corridor.

  And that damned hook, filling him up so completely and then pulling the wrong way. It was somehow too hard, too much, too intense. And it wasn’t moving at all, not giving him the slightest bit of pleasurable stimulation.

  His arms were starting to burn as they strained to hold his weight. The leather wrapped around the chains wasn’t enough, couldn’t possibly give him the relief he needed no matter how hard he pulled.

  And his feet felt like they could cramp any minute, his toes unaccustomed to taking the weight of his whole body.

  He bent his left knee, seeking relief, but it only changed the angle of the wretched hook, pulled more tightly on his left nipple. His own screams echoed in his ears.

  Maybe if he just pulled a bit more with his arms, made himself take one more minute of that sharp torture to his nipple and balls…

  It was horrible.

  And it was everything.

  Marco kissed gently along his clavicle and Greg leaned into him despite the pain.

  Marco. Marco. Marco was touching him. Taking care of him. Giving him everything that he needed.

  Marco pulled back enough to sign. You’re beautiful. So gorgeous for me. I want to taste your tears. Give them to me and all this will end. Make me proud of you.

  That’s right. Crying. He needed to cry, and then Marco would be pleased with him.

  He could feel the emotions boiling up in him. Some sort of aching euphoria, a consuming wave that would wash away all his grief and leave him clean.

  He just needed tears.

  He gritted his teeth and lowered himself to his heels. His arms were starting to feel rubbery and his nipples were already so battered that they ached even as he decreased the pressure.

  And that hook… He didn’t even have words for it. It was just so there. So hard inside him. Dragging him upward by his most vulnerable place in a direction that he just shouldn’t be pulled. He couldn’t think of it in any way but relentless, the dull pain a constant throb that intensified as he forced it further into himself to relieve the other points of pain.

  He sought out Marco with his eyes, needing his Dom’s encouragement.

  So good, sweetheart. I know you can do it.

  The intensity, the torment, swirled around inside him and gained purpose. Focus.

  For Marco he could do this.

&
nbsp; He gripped the leather-wrapped chains again as Marco gave delicate licks down his chest. That was part of the mind fuck, how sweetly Marco was touching him even though he was the source and the purpose of all this torture.

  Marco was on his knees, now, looking up at him with fire in his eyes. Cry for me, sweetheart. Give me your tears.

  And then he took Greg’s cock in his mouth.

  Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. It was too much. Too good and too terrible.

  He’d lost his erection when Marco first strung him up, then slowly regained it as he sank into the sensations.

  Now he was horribly hard, writhing in bliss while the chains jerked and shook, and that relentless hook just pulled at him as he dangled on its axis.

  Marco licked his tip and smoothed one hand down his legs, in no way relieving the muscles that were close to spasming.

  It was sublime and impossible, sending his thoughts scattering as his body was pulled into too many sensations at once.

  He kept his eyes fixed on that dark hair, though, needing that additional connection to the person who was now the center of his world.

  Marco looked up at him, mouth still full of cock, his face deceptively soft and adoring. You can come anytime you want. But this will probably feel worse if you do. I’m still waiting for your tears.

  Greg squeezed his eyes shut, trying to pull that little bit of concentration back to doing his Dom’s bidding. Were there tears there? Surely, there must be.

  He blinked a few times but felt nothing in his eyes. Why was this so hard?

  Marco traced gentle hands over the quivering muscles in his thighs, the heaving gasps in his belly.

  You’re doing good, for me baby. But you’re not giving me everything. Give yourself to me. Give me everything.

  That was it. That was the key. It wasn’t about crying. It was about giving himself up. Submitting.

  He let himself slip into that place where he wasn’t thinking, just reacting.

  He pulled himself up when his body demanded, rested on his heels when he couldn’t take it, left himself horribly hanging between the two, and just accepted it.

  Marco began sucking him in earnest, setting up a slow but constant rhythm that shook through him, each small movement echoed in those five points where Marco was tearing into him, tearing him open.

  He moved to Marco’s rhythm, giving himself up, diving into the agony that Marco gifted him instead of pulling away.

  It was glorious.

  Marco took him deeper, and he swayed into him, thrusting with the little bit of space he had available and absorbing the agony.

  Pleasure welled up inside him, an unaccountable feeling of bliss that filled him and poured out through him.

  And then he was coming, shooting into the heat of Marco’s tight lips and stroking tongue. And it was magical. Impossible.

  And Marco was holding him through it all, giving him this beautiful moment when everything was floaty and perfect and complete.

  He felt his muscles starting to shake, his body exhausted and overwrought, just on the verge of being too sensitive.

  Marco caressed him gently with his tongue, milking the last of his cum. His body ached and burned, but he was whole now, at peace. Done.

  Only Marco didn’t stop.

  Greg realized with startling clarity that this was what he meant.

  With gentle lips and soft hands, he kept stroking Greg’s spent dick, mouthing it lovingly even as Greg tried to pull away.

  He couldn’t do this. What he’d thought before was agony had nothing on this. This horrible, too-much feeling of oversensitivity, the throbbing in his balls no longer pleasure-pain, but searing pain.

  “No,” he mouthed the word, testing it out. Because it wasn’t his safe word. Because Marco couldn’t hear it and would ignore it if he could. “Noooooooo,” he screamed.

  He’d thought it was too much before, but it hadn’t been at all. He hadn’t known what too much could be.

  It was wretched, his pleasure turning on him, betraying him.

  For Marco. Because Marco was sucking so terribly gently on him, watching him with hungry eyes, waiting for him to cry.

  Something broke inside of him, like a crack spreading through the thick ice, letting out the raging river below. It spilled over him. Drowning him. The shards of ice puncturing him from inside.

  He sucked in gusts of air, lungs burning, mouth aching. He screamed and screamed, horrible wrenching sounds.

  Until he realized that he was sobbing. The hot trails on his cheeks were tears.

  He cried while Marco pulled off the clamps and pressed firm hands to his aching flesh.

  He cried while Marco lowered him to his unsteady feet, removing the hook that had gone slack.

  He cried while Marco opened the cuffs and gently chafed his wrists while he kept one steadying arm around his waist.

  Somehow, Marco was bundling him into bed, pulling him to his chest, and all that time, great, wracking sobs shook loose from within him somewhere.

  He felt small and lost, adrift in his own devastating howls.

  And Marco was his anchor, his lighthouse.

  He curled into him, soaking up his presence, pushing into him because even though their bodies were tangled together, he just couldn’t get close enough.

  But Marco was here. Marco was holding him and keeping him safe and he could finally cry.

  So, he let himself cry for Richard. For that horrible gaping hole in his chest where his Sir used to be. For all those nights he’d spent alone, his bed too empty, his life without meaning.

  He cried for Richard’s smell just after a shower. He cried for the dreadful, wonderful anticipation of seeing a red shirt hanging on the closet door. He cried for Sir’s large hand petting his hair while he knelt on the floor. He cried for the rightness of making Sir’s tea in the morning, the comforting certainty of putting away his shoes just so.

  And he cried for those early days when they had first met, dancing around each other and revealing their desires. He cried for their years together, when he knew every one of his Sir’s needs and wishes as intimately as his own. He cried for how they’d moved seamlessly together through life, each day a joyous dance.

  He cried for how that dance had been cut short, the music screeching to a halt, the dancers frozen in painful, half-completed steps.

  And then he cried because he’d had to walk off the dance floor, step out of the dance, broken and bleeding. He cried for that horrible, ongoing realization when he knew that he had to go on, to live the rest of his life without his Sir.

  He cried until there were no more tears.

  And still Marco was holding him, petting him and soothing him.

  Marco kissed along his cheeks, tasting his tears, pouring all his care into him.

  He curled into that strong, warm body, letting himself drift.

  Marco leaned over and grabbed a tissue, and Greg freed a hand to blow his nose.

  And for some reason, that made him start crying all over again.

  Not the great, howling sobs from before, but quiet tears spilling down his cheeks.

  Because he’d just had an epiphany. Marco was taking care of him. Not just giving him the stupid tissue but taking care of all of him. All the time.

  That was what Daddy Doms did, and Marco had chosen to do it for him.

  This was Marco’s love language. Taking care of him. Meeting his needs when he didn’t even understand what he needed or how to get it for himself.

  It shouldn’t have come as a shock, but Greg had been too wrapped up in Richard to see it before.

  Putting it into words felt almost trivial, but it was exactly as simple and exactly as complex as this: Marco took care of him.

  He’d built up these crazy structures in his head, fences and walls around what he could want and when he could want it. He’d tormented himself with fears about forgetting Richard, about being unfaithful to his memory.

  And all this time, Marco had been there, tak
ing care of him. Giving him exactly what he needed, whenever he needed it. Selflessly, because making Greg happy was what made Marco happy.

  After that great surprise, it was only a little surprise to realize that he could love Marco. Or maybe he already did. If he didn’t, he was close to it, and the distinction probably didn’t matter.

  Because while he’d been moping over Richard, he’d already been in a relationship with Marco, probably for a long time. Probably since Valentine’s Day.

  He shifted to look down at Marco, that handsome face shiny and distorted by the tears that kept leaking from his eyes. His tears fell onto Marco’s cheeks, making his face wet, in turn.

  And Marco was looking up at him with such adoration, such pride.

  Probably, such love. It was like there were no barriers between them.

  Greg felt something settle inside of him. Where there had been walls, now there were pathways. He could love Richard with all his heart and have this beautiful thing with Marco.

  They weren’t competing, because Marco would never replace Richard.

  Marco was completely different and that was… just what it should be. Marco was what he wanted and needed now.

  Marco fit his calmer life, his confidence and experience of nearly fifty years, his despair over his lost love and his decision to move beyond it.

  Marco could give him intensity, but he could also give him hikes in the woods and tender baths and funny stories over dinner at every restaurant ever to put a dish with lemon on its menu.

  He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have Marco’s attention all the time, but he suspected it would be glorious.

  He still missed Richard. God, did he miss Richard. But he wanted to reach for this new thing, too.

  Marco swept the tears from his cheeks, and he ached for the beauty of the gesture.

  Then, he let himself settle back down into Marco’s arms.

  He wasn’t sure how to ask for what he wanted. And he wasn’t quite ready to admit his feelings. But he drifted peacefully in the idea that Marco would figure it out for both of them.

  Chapter 11 Marco

  January

  Marco gave a little dance step as he straightened his tie. He actually loved salsa dancing, even though he couldn’t hear the music, because the rhythm was so compelling. He did a few little moves across his bedroom.