Page 33 of Love Language

Marco was such a goner.

The next Thursday was just like always. Marco chose a cute little Dominican restaurant with hand-made mosaics on the tables and amazing mangú.

It was clearly a family-run place, and Marco had a rare chance to use his Spanish.

Greg was impressed, since he remembered nothing from four years of high school French and wished he’d learned another language.

Marco sighed and explained a bit more about his childhood. Greg already knew that he was the only Deaf person in his family, but in the past, he’d only told funny stories.

At home, though, it hadn’t been easy. Marco’s mother was a janitor and his father cleaned out tanker trucks with horrid chemicals. They both worked long hours and came home exhausted.

His mother hadn’t been able to learn ASL, which was taught only in English, but someone from the Deaf school that he’d eventually attended had taken the time to teach her cued speech. So, she cued with him in Spanish and treated him mostly like her other two children, in her frustrated, strict, distracted way.

Marco’s father, however, maintained that Marco just wasn’t trying hard enough. That he needed to learn to speech read, in both English and Spanish, so that he could get a job. Marco could see, if he was feeling charitable, that he had done it out of love based on his own limited views of what Deaf people could do in the world. But hadn’t felt like it.

It had been a relief to finally attend a school for the Deaf, even with two hours on the bus each way, to find people who understood him.

He’d probably learned more ASL on the bus than he did in his classes, anyway, he joked.

Greg shared his own stories of going to a Deaf summer day camp with wretched long hours on the bus. It was apparently where he’d learned most of the dirty words he knew and had his first kiss at the adorable age of eight.

Greg shook his head and rolled his eyes. It had been with a girl. He gave a mock shudder.

Marco mostly didn’t actively think much about his gender most of the time, but it was nice knowing that if girls grossed Greg out, even in jest, that he didn’t include Marco in that category.

When they finally pushed their plates away, Marco was almost too full to get dessert. But he’d read good things about their dulce frío con limón, which was part of why he’d picked the restaurant. He ordered some anyway.

No lemon? Greg teased. He leaned toward Marco and held his gaze long after he might have dropped it.

It felt like being on a date.

But instead of going anywhere, it was all just unresolved chemistry with a guy who was increasingly becoming his... best friend? And who he happened to know shared at least one of his kinks.

OK, so it was kind of agony.

I didn’t forget. Marco smiled indulgently.

Greg loved lemon. So much that Marco had taken to finding restaurants that had lemon-based dishes on the menu. Fish with lemon sauce. Lemon ricotta pancakes. Lemon rosemary chicken. And especially gooey-sweet lemon bars and crisp lemon gelato.

Or dulce frío con limón.

When their dessert arrived, he watched Greg scoop up the first bite. He watched his lips close around the layers of cake and candied fruit and cream. Marco told himself to look away, but of course he didn’t. He never could.

And now Greg was… God. His eyes were closed in ecstasy, head back and throat exposed. His lips just played at a smile, all his attention on the flavors on his tongue.

Marco wanted to eat him up.

He loved finding Greg these little treats, but it had nothing on what he wanted to do with him to make him look that way.

Greg gave Marco a sunny smile. Did you choose this place just for this, um, this thing? He gestured with his spoon, clearly unable to manage the name of the dessert.

He was just… ugh. How could Marco not want to give him everything? Maybe, he replied, flirtatiously.

Something flashed over Greg’s face. That pained look that he got when he was thinking of Richard.

Greg closed his eyes and took several rapid breaths, then seemed to forcibly settle himself. Marco waited, knowing that there was a good chance that Greg would be morose for the rest of the evening, their lovely dessert ruined.

Greg looked at him, almost unhappily. We could, I mean… Greg started. I trust you. If you still want to play some time…