Page 48 of Love Language

He buckled the seatbelt and pressed a kiss to his forehead, wishing that he knew what to do. Should he suggest that Greg see a therapist? Would that be helpful? Or would he be overstepping his role?

Greg still seemed to enjoy his company, most of the time. But recently it seemed like he was getting worse instead of better.

Marco pulled out into the street, watching the gray light of the evening spill over Greg’s haunted face from the corner of his eye.

Do you want to tell me what’s going on? he finally asked at a stoplight.

It’s the anniversary. Both anniversaries.

Marco tilted his head for Greg to go on.

We met on November 9. And we got married the same day. And he… Greg couldn’t continue, but it wasn’t difficult to fill in the blanks.

When?

November 7. We were going to go to Cancun.

So, today was the anniversary of Richard’s death. No wonder Greg had seemed unusually morose for the past few weeks.

But, Cancun? Marco couldn’t imagine Greg at Cancun. It was for drunk college kids, for pretty gay boys and gym-bots with oiled muscles to hook up and forget each other the next day. Greg must have been a really different person around Richard.

What do you need from me? It was something Marco asked all the time. It seemed like his signature line with Greg, his eternal plea to be allowed to take care of him in some meaningful way.

I don’t know.

Marco turned his eyes forward. He didn’t know what Greg needed, either, and it was killing him.

If he could even come close to providing it, though, he would.

He tapped Greg’s shoulder at the next intersection, making sure that he had his full attention. No matter what this evening turned into, he needed to know that Marco was ready to step in and take charge.

When we get back to my house, you’re going to kneel, and you’re going to tell me what you need. You have ten minutes to figure it out, so use your time wisely.

Greg’s eyes widened. Then, his gaze seemed to turn inward. Good. At least he’d gotten one thing right.

When they got back to Marco’s apartment, Greg still seemed to be thinking. He waited for Marco to open his door and allowed Marco to lead him inside. Marco couldn’t decide if he was feeling more submissive, or just distracted.

Marco turned on the light, strode to the middle of his living room, and pointed to the floor.

Greg sank to his knees eagerly.

He held his pose perfectly, though that practiced grace wasn’t anything that Marco cared about. It meant something to Greg, though. Or at least it was comfortingly familiar.

Marco didn’t move, giving them both time to sink into their roles. He had no idea what Greg was going to ask for, and he wanted to be ready for anything from whipping to a warm bath.

He knew that how he played was completely different from Richard, but fundamentally, he was a Daddy Dom and not a sadist. He hoped that he could be enough for whatever Greg wanted.

That was his other niggling fear. He’d agreed not to do the same types of things that Richard would have done to avoid bringing up old memories, but it also protected him a bit. If what Greg really wanted was someone harsh and cold and punishing, he couldn’t provide that.

He gave himself another moment to take in the steady rise and fall of Greg’s chest. The beginnings of grey hair at his temples that Marco always wanted to kiss. His gently closed eyelids, the curve of his lips.

God, Marco wanted to give him everything.

He stroked a hand through Greg’s short hair, then gripped more tightly to tilt his head upward. He was aiming for enough of a pull to sting, to assert his control, but not enough to really hurt.

Greg’s eyes were clear and focused. Good.

What do you need? Marco signed one-handed.