Page 15 of Love Language

But then they’d collected their belongings and taken a break for the restrooms. Outside, they’d discussed the banal reality of addresses and cars and sending his location to a friend. (Brett, as if he would care.) And all that time, he’d felt himself drifting further and further away.

He could feel all his emotions swirling around inside—excitement about Marco, sorrow for Richard, anxiety that the whole evening would be a disaster, and arousal in the hope that it wouldn’t—but he was outside of it, too.

Observing.

He knew that it worried Richard when he got like this. Even when he was a little bit quiet or out of sorts, Richard would start to push in and fix it. First, Richard would push him to talk about it. Sometimes that annoyed him, but he knew that communication was important.

If he still didn’t engage, Sir would put him on his knees and give him a few smacks. It always brought him back. Eventually.

But Marco hadn’t seemed to notice.

He watched Marco’s graceful hands in the flicker of the streetlights that shone through the windshield. The darkness made communication difficult, even when he exaggerated his signs away from his body. But it was late enough that there wasn’t much traffic, so they didn’t need to stop talking so that Marco could concentrate on the road.

He watched himself handing over information to a stranger as Marco seemed to go down an encyclopedic list that he held in his head. Interests. Limits. Things he’d tried. Things he hadn’t.

None of it seemed real.

Maybe it was better that Marco didn’t notice. Since this was an experiment anyway.

At last, Marco explained that he was looking for parking, and then pulled into a spot the next block down.

Instead of getting out of the car, Marco turned toward him. Do you want me to take you home?

Fear shot through the soft cotton wrapped around Greg’s brain, a knife cutting a direct path to his encased emotions. No! No. I want to be here.

He realized suddenly that he did. Which didn’t make all those confusing emotions any clearer.

Marco gave him a long, appraising look. Let’s go inside and talk, first.

Panic still gripped him. Had Marco changed his mind?

Greg started to open the car door, anxious to get out before Marco could drive him home.

Marco’s warm palm on his thigh stopped him. He froze, then looked back.

Wait. I’ll come around and help you out.

Greg wasn’t quite sure what to do with that information. Clearly, he was going to wait. That was never in question. It was nice to have someone else make the decisions.

Sinking back into the seat, he realized that the simple command, and its message of nurturing, were already helping to calm him.

But that analytical part of his brain was noticing differences. Richard never helped him out of the car. Richard was Sir when they were in a scene, and still in charge most of the time when they went about their days, but he would never do something like this.

Or maybe it was already part of the scene? Was this a chivalry thing or a Daddy thing?

Somehow, Marco had already opened his door and he hadn’t even noticed.

Marco leaned into the car, their bodies pressed close by the confined space. Greg breathed in his scent, acutely aware of each place that their bodies touched.

Marco slid his hand across the seatbelt in his lap. It was an unexpected mix of tenderness and teasing, innocent but so close to where he wished Marco’s hand would go. Greg wasn’t quite sure what to think about it.

The seatbelt clicked open and Marco followed its path back across his shoulder, his wrist grazing Greg’s nipple. He shivered.

He waited, pliant, as Marco gently pulled him out of the car.

If this were with Richard, he would be flirting right now. Showing off his assets and getting them both revved up. Or bringing out a performative streak of disobedience to wind them both up for his eventual punishment.

This wasn’t either of those. This was quieter. Somber.