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dailypleaselikeme:

Nailed it.

“…Does that mean I still have to get out of bed? Things are pretty ace right now.”
“Mn. Eventually. But it doesn’t matter where we are, I will still love you. Close by, or from a distance, across the table, or cuddled up to you in bed – I will still be loving you. And you take that love, and wear it like armor, ok? And no matter how shitty your day is, it’s just D4 damage. It’ll roll right off.”
I chuckle. “Nerdy and completely sweet. So like you, Atherton. You make my heart just hurt with how much I love you. “
“I’m sorry. If I kiss you more, will it make it stop hurting?’”
“Nmmn no, I like this feeling. But you can keep kissing me anyway…”
“Well, if I must…”

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Captions are fictional. What series is this from? D4 damage is a reference to Dungeons and Dragons, referring to damage done from a small object.

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I had had sex before – one night stands, club hook-ups, Grindr rendezvous in new cities – but I had never let anyone make love to me, because I did not trust of those men with my love. I often thought perhaps I should be a bit embarrassed how much I liked the cheesiness, the sappiness of romance and secretly pined for it. I never told anyone how much I really wanted that, more than anything. Until, that is, I met Todd. When I met him, I honestly thought he was going to be like all the rest. I indulged him, this man who was seventeen years older than me and still out looking for fun at night. But it was Todd who pursued me days after we fucked. Todd who flirted with me, who actually cared about me beyond my dick…

And then when Todd got bad news, he pushed me away, and lord for whatever reason I ran right after him. Now here we are, the night before his brain surgery, sharing his bed and about to make love for the first time. We knew this might be the last time; god forbid something went wrong in the operating room. Yet, Todd decorated the room for me. He brought out the nice, high thread count Egyptian sheets in gold, my favorite color. He bought some lightly scented candles and lit them for ambiance. Gentle classical music played in the background. On the nightstand were our negative STD tests. No condoms in sight. Just nice, warming lube, wash clothes, massage oil, a few little toys, high quality bottled water… everything a couple could need in one room.

Although the passion and love that followed that night remained clear to me fifty years later as it did that night, the brightest memory I have is the moment just before we began. Todd and I were sitting in bed, both naked, the sheets up to our waists. He leaned into me; our heads touched. He put a hand on my arm, but said nothing. We did not need words to communicate. When I opened my eyes, I saw his were wet and he was holding back tears. I knew if I tried to say anything the same thing would happen to me.

I don’t think I said another word that night until he was inside of me, and I couldn’t hold back any longer. 

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Text is fictional. Source is the movie Truth.

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mytintinposts:

Mytintinposts

Maybe too queer, but still hot

“Jordy, it’s not too queer.”
“It is. I mean…we have both our hands over my penis.”
“…Jordy that was your idea.”
“I don’t know what I was thinking! I guess I just, like, let all my gayness cloud my judgement.”
“Jordy, honey have you eaten?”
“What?” he blinks.
“You’re getting manic, have you eaten honey?”
“…I ate a protein bar. And a latte.”
“Decaf?”
“…No.”
“Jordy, you need to eat real food.”
“How can I eat at a time like this!” he huffs, throwing his arms dramatically. “Why did I allow naked photos to be taken of us? They’re so…cheesy.”
I pick up the prints the photographer mailed us. “I think they’re sweet.”
“…Sweet?” Jordy repeats.
“Yes. I mean, look at us. It’s so clear. You are shy, scared to put yourself out there as you are – naked in both body and soul – for another man, but you clearly want to because you have puppy eyes for that man. Well, me, in this analogy. And the other man – me – is reaching out to say that being together doesn’t mean surrendering yourself entirely, it means learning to share yourself with someone because that can be wonderful and amazing and there’s nothing to be ashamed of. I love it. It conveys our relationship perfectly.”
“Oh my god.” Jordy replies softly, his voice still tinged with that dramatic, twinky tone of us. “You see that in this picture?”
“Yes, baby, I do. You are also damn fine, if I can say so.”
“Oh you can, you can,” Jordy cooes, reaching for me. I embrace him in a hug.
“Oh there there. It’s ok. I know it’s a little embarrassing putting yourself out there on film. I thank you for indulging me with pictures for anniversary. You don’t have to look at them again if you don’t want to.”
“….I don’t?” Jordy replies, pulling away and looking at me.
“Not if they make you that uncomfortable?”
“Well…I mean… when you put it that way…” Jordy shuffles through the photos on the coffee table. “Woah, this one has your penis in it! Ok, this one’s hot.”
I laugh. “Jordy. You can have my penis any time you want.”
“And I really appreciate that.
“But you don’t want to look at the ones of us together?”
“….Now you make me seem like an ungrateful diva bitch.”
“Well, if the shoe fits…”
“Uuughh I am such a virgo.”
“Jordy.”
Jordy crosses his arms and looks away. “I like them. I really do. It’s just weird to see a physical embodiment of the way you feel for someone.”
Suddenly he’s left me speechless. “Jordy…” I begin.
“But you’ll never get me to admit that again!” He grabs the naked photo of me and marches into the kitchen.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
I watch him magnet it to the fridge and smirk. “To make dinner.”
“That photo of me is not staying on the fridge.”
“I’m making you lasagna. It will stay there for now, and then I’m taking it to work and putting it in my locker.”
“…Jordy I’m not sure the other firefighters will like that.”
“Rick has a naked photo of a porn star in his locker! You can see her lips. I want to play too.”

I give him a look. He still won’t say ‘vagina’. Sometimes, Jordy’s just impossible, so I decide I’m done bickering with him and let him make me dinner. We went out for dessert, then came back, made love, and went to sleep.
When I came home from work the next day, the intimate photo of us that caused Jordy to freak out was displayed on our bedroom dresser in a beautiful silver frame.

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Text is fictional.

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There’s a photo I keep folded in my wallet. When smartphones
became a thing, I slid it between my phone and the case. It goes everywhere with me, a treasure thing. That print is a copy though, as is the 8 x 10 facsimile on the mantel in my parents’ living room. I
keep the original in a safe deposit box. The negative is long gone, and
if I lost the original cause I’d lost my phone, I’d be devastated.

I first saw the picture when I was 11. We had
been talking about genealogy in school and my parents took out the
albums to show me old family photos. Each of my parents had their own
albums, up until when they met, and then they merged into one. This photo
however, didn’t have its own page. It was in an envelope, with other
miscellaneous photos from college tucked in the back of an album. When I saw it, I
snatched it up from obscurity.

I still remember that when I first
saw it, I felt completely still. When you’re a child on the cusp of
becoming a self-aware individual, you begin to notice more and more how
your parents interactive with each-other. My parents had always been
close. Mushy, even. When I became into a teenager, I rolled my eyes a
lot and made lots of huffing noises about how they were embarrassing me, gawd! Still,
I was mostly giving them a hard time because I refused to let them see
how much that picture had impacted me. I was scared I would never find
someone who loved me like that.

Their lips aren’t even
touching in the shot, maybe an inch away. Their eyes are closed, and
they’re leaning into each-other. Daddy’s hand’s curled around Papa’s shoulder. Papa is pressed up against Daddy. The kiss is inevitable. What I like most about
them is how natural they look, so casual. Nothing is forced, or cheesy,
or over-thought out. They’re not holding hands or gazing into
each-other’s eyes like Disney characters. They’re just…them.

Papa has told me the backstory so many times I have memorized it by heart:

This was taken in 1958. It says so on the back, so it’s right. We’d just finished our sophomore year of university. Eddie
had a good part-time job at the auto repair center, and he’d repaired
this truck that came in with a bad transmission. Since the owner’s son
was back for the summer and could take over Eddie’s work, we decided to
take a summer road-trip before school started again.

First, we drove from upstate New York to Indiana to visit Eddie’s dad’s side of family. From
there, we just drove West, to see Yellowstone, and even though our
butts were sore, we kept going all the way to see the
Redwoods in California. And it was under one of those big trees that your Daddy asked
to marry me, even though it was a ridiculous idea and illegal at the
time.
[pause as Papa swallows his emotions] I must have been in
high heaven after that or something, cause I don’t remember anything
until until we made it to the ocean; we camped there for a few days
cause the truck’s oil pan was leaking and there was some problem with
the radiator.

The drive back was really long. We were both so sick of
each-other when we finally got back to New York.
[insert a laugh here] We
didn’t see much of each-other over the rest of the summer, cause we
were both working, but we moved in together for our junior year and
after that it was ok again.
[pause] My roommate at the time,
Judie, took this photo of us right before we left as a commemorative
shot. I looked her up some time ago. She married a banker and did
alright for herself. When I told her we were still together and had
adopted, she was not surprised one bit. Yeah…those were the
days. God, Eddie was so devilishly handsome at that age with all that tussled blond hair wasn’t he? [at this point, Eddie says: ‘What, I’m not still devilishly handsome?” and they laugh]

What’s
also ridiculous is that it now looks like this photo could have been
taken yesterday. It’s hard to believe that the
shot and the people in are now over fifty years old. I never tire
of looking at it though, because like love my parents share, the photo
is timeless.

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Text is fictional. Tracked the photo to Instagram but no IDs beyond that.

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We nuzzle, intoxicated by the warmth of eachother’s cheeks. We kiss. We’re on a public street, a little sidewalk cafe, but it feels like we’re the only ones in Paris, like the world revolves around us. My fingers are so intertwined with his own that I cannot even pull my hand away to pick up my glass. So I keep grasping, and kiss him again.

He’s wearing this cologne – just a dab – made of flowers grown specifically in France. He’s so French, so painfully French, and so fashionable in turquoise and leather slippers. I feel worthless and uninteresting in a grey suit, another American businessman bumbling through Paris trying to make a name for himself. I know I only have value to my company because no one else wanted to get on that plane for this three week assignment.

Yet, I am not angry that I got pushed into this trip. It’s been the best three weeks of my life. My head is still full of images and scenes from yesterday when I spent the night.

“Please don’t go back,” he begs, his voice full of so much hope and pain. I was so shocked that he would say those words to me. What does a Parisian boy need with an American lover? Aren’t we on a lower rung, in the ladder of accomplishment? Isn’t it usually the other way around, the boring American pining for a romantic European heartthrob? We kissed more, our ice melting in our glasses.
When I dodn’t answer, his voice grows tight with need. “Please…stay here. I cannot put you on that plane to Washington DC. I cannot, now that I know you exist.”
“Jean Luc…” I breath, weakened by his accent which was heavy during his confession. “Do you mean it?”
“Yes,” he whimpers, looking oh-so vulnerable. “You would crash with me. We’ll get some place bigger. Some place with a better view. Your French is getting better every day. You said your company wants to extend your visit right? Offering you a job here right? For gods sake, please, take it, or my heart is going to break.”

I think for a moment about what this all means. It is not a deep, philosophical event. I had already weighed these options in the shower this morning, because I suspected I would reach that state of lunacy by lunch. I had been right. It would mean packing everything up in my apartment and sending it overseas. It meant not seeing my family as often, but they would likely visit. It meant starting over. New cafes. New barber. New doctor, new optometrist. It meant breakfasts with fresh pastries and tiny coffees. It meant learning all the dirty French words first. It meant holidays around Europe and trips to the country-side where we would spend most of our time screwing in lavender fields, no doubt. It meant a life with Jean-Luc. I had known him for three weeks. He rescued me after I got lost after taking the wrong train, and he’d been by my side ever sense.

Oui,” I say with a smile. “Yes.”
Jean-Luc gasps. “You really mean it?”
“Well, I have to talk to my office and tell them I accept their offer to extend my temporary assignment into a permanent post. Then, there’s visa issues to work out.”
He kisses me hard and squeezes my hand so hard I fear it might break. “We’ll work them out!”
“Jean Luc, just remember – I’ll have to go back to DC to pack. I have to give 30 days at my apartment. What if you fall out of love with me then? What if, after a week of not having me here, that you come back to reality and our chemistry is gone?”
“That will not happen.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because I am going to come back to DC with you.”
Now it is my turn to gasp. “Can you?”
“I have time off work, and I can telecommute for a bit. I want to see your American life before I steal you away.”
I gawk at him, my heart throbbing. It is true, what people say about the French being romantics.
“Yes,” I repeat. “A million times, yes.”

I am a lunatic. Maybe that is the American way, to confuse passion with irrationality. Maybe so, but right now, I am so happy I can’t even speak for fear of crying. Because it is the right answer. I am moving to Paris. I will be his.

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Text is fictional. From photographer Braden Summers’ All Love is Equal Project.

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bzork:

But it’s such a nice day!

You just mean it’s sunny.  Remember when there was that thunderstorm and you stayed in bed with us all day?  That was a nice day.

Exactly!  So I’ll save you for a rainy day!

All of us?  But we are so many!  Anyway, why get hot and tired and sweaty?  Stay in!  We’ll look after you.

But I want to go places.

We can take you places.  Middle Earth, Earthsea, Anarres, Flatland, Wonderland, Utopia.

Real places!

You mean like Alaska or Shanghai or Glastonbury or Constantinople or the Sea of Tranquility?  Because you won’t actually go to those places if you go outside, if you’re being honest with us.

I suppose not.

But we can give it all to you.  Just trust us.  Don’t leave us.

OK.  I guess.  I’ll stay in and read today.

You know it’s what you want.

I suppose.  Maybe I’ll go out tomorrow.  Did you — did you say Constantinople?

We did: come, let us tell you of illustrious Belisarius, the last true Roman.

I realized I’d been illustrating for nearly three hours and decided to take a break before my back cramped. I leaned back in my chair and stretched. I cleaned my paintbrush and tucked away my beloved watercolors. My client would be happy with this piece. I tilted my head and I listened for the sounds of Clark around the house. Silence. I wondered where he was.

I push away from my desk and stood up, seeking Clark. I check the kitchen, pausing for a glass of sweet tea, before inspecting the living room. I check our bedroom and found him there. He was so immersed in his books, he didn’t even hear me enter.
“Clark,” I say softly.
He glances over his shoulder, “Oh hi,” he said, with a smile, “You done with work?”
“Taking a break. You been reading?”
“Yep,” he says, matter of factly.
“Are any of em good?”
“Two in particular, I’ll leave them on your night stand later.”

I nod and lean against the door frame, watching him in passive wonder. There have to be at least a dozen books floating in mid air, all suspended in an open position. After a moment, all the pages turn at the same time. When you date a telekenetic, you have to adjust to fantastical sights and behavior because your boyfriend needs to have a place he feels normal and safe, where he doesn’t look like a freak. Clark’s brain requires insane amounts of stimulation. When bored for long periods of time, he can feel physically ill.

The library system in our town gave Clark a limitless library card so he can check out massive amount of books at the same time. He goes through about a hundred books a week. Two is a particularly low return rate for this bunch. He gives his favorites to me, so I can make a list of the authors and to read them for myself. 

“Is it still raining Clark?”
He pauses reading to lift the blinds and peer out. “A little. Wanna go for a rain walk when it’s over?” Clark loves the scent and sight of our rural neighborhood after it rains.

“I’d love to, babe,” I say, and set my glass on a coaster on the nightstand. Clark nods and turns his attention back to his task.
I walk over to him and sit down behind him with my legs crossed, and wrap my arms around his warm torso. He sighs in contentment as I rest my head against the back of his neck. For a moment, I’m content to listen to his heart beat and feel the heat radiating under his skin. Then, my hands start to wander over his abs and his thighs.
Clark mutters a half-hearted protest, “Benjamin,” as if scolding a misbehaving child. I ignore it and continue on, pushing up his shirt with one hand. My fingers find a nipple and thumb it; Clark gasps and one of the books falls to the floor with a bang.
I snicker and rub the crease between his thigh and his crotch with my fingertips, enjoying feeling him shudder and squirm under me..
Ben,” he protests again, a bit more breathy this time. Another book slowly descends and rests on the floor.
“mm what?”
“You’re very distracting.”
“I love the way you smell,” I say instead. “You smell like warm mint tea. And a hint of sandalwood, and your own scent. It makes me horny.” I oh-so-gently cup his unrestrained bulge in his shorts.
Thud.
Ben!” he gasps.
I chuckle and begin to kiss his neck and nibble on his ear. “How about you save your books for bedtime and we kill some time before the rain ends hm?”
“Goddamn,” Clark whispers, closing his eyes as he enjoys me fondling him between the legs. After a moment, he says, “Ben?”
“Yes?”
“I don’t know if i ever told you this, but you know when you touch me – like how you are now – I can’t multitask anymore. It’s like you shut that part of me off. It’s so strange and liberating. Hey, maybe that’s your super power.”
I scoff. It’s be a long-running inside joke that I had an undiscovered superpower too, we just hadn’t found it yet. “I don’t think so, Clark. I think it’s just being a good boyfriend.”
“Mmnnf it feels good,” he admits.
I watch as the other books begin to sink toward the floor. I press my fingers on either side of his cock still tucked in his shorts and stroke until a wet strain starts to flourish. Clark leans back in my arms and I slide my hand into the leghole of his shorts and cup his balls.

Two of the books crash to ground, one bouncing off the bed. Clark’s eyes fly open at the noise. He curses. “Shit, Ben. Hold on.” He closes the literature and organizes the books in a neat pile on the floor. When the last book is in place, I feel the tension in his body melt away and that barely audible hum stops as well. I liken it to the sound of leaving the cable box on when the TV is off, only the off button for Clark is between his legs.

Clark lifts his legs and shimmies out of his shorts; his half hard cock bounces upward and I catch it in my hand. He groans and reclines against me, allowing me free reign to explore. I unfurl my legs and scoot up so he’s pressed flushed against my front so it’s less strain on my back and arms. His skin is so hot, especially his testicles, and despite that it almost feels uncomfortable to be in contact with such high temperatures, I can’t resist the heft of them. I roll them between my fingers between gentle tugs while holding the base of his cock in my other hand. I press kisses up the side of his jaw.

Soon, Clark is begging me to stroke him. A bead of sweat forms on his temple, and there’s a soon a sheen to his hairline. I begin to work his cock slowly, waiting for it to full harden and push out the ridges of veins hiding under silky skin. He whines in impatience until I start to piston my hand. He arches up into my fist, begging for me not to stop. I swipe my thumb over the slit to wipe away the seed leaking and he moans loudly.

My own erection is pushing into his back but I don’t stop. I continue to seduce him and draw out his pleasure until he’s panting ragged breaths and his cock begins to twitch.
“This – this was a good idea,” he hisses.
“You’re going to cum soon,” I reply.
“Yeah I am.” He chuffs through his nose. “Don’t stop, Ben, please. I wanna cum.”
I don’t answer and instead nibble on his earlobe. I rub his glans between my fingers while stroking his shaft with my cramped fist fixed around it, faster and faster until Clark’s body vibrates and he erupts. I watch in fascination of the cords of muscle twitch and tense; his balls rise high and taut in their sac and his cock jumps in my hand. Milky fluid shoots out of him and splatters onto the wooden floor.
“Ben!” he exclaims through gritted teeth as the orgasm courses through him. “Don’t stop!”
And I don’t, even as he begins to descend. I push up from the base of his cock to wring the last drops out of the tip. He gasps and mewls as it becomes more sensitive, but I don’t stop touching him until Clark puts his hands on top of mine and begs me to abate. I let my hands retreat to his thighs and he rests against me, trying to catch his breath.
“Good?” I ask.
“Feel wonderful,” he replies. “You’re still hard.”
“Mmhmm.”
Clark reaches behind himself until he finds my cock still in my pants. He gives it a few squeezes; I hear that hum again. The pressure feels fantastic, and I gasp as cum floods my underwear.
“Oh wow, Clark! Oh!” I feel a bead of sweat drip down my back. We both sit there a moment, recovering. The hum stops again.

“I think the rain’s stopped,” Clark says after a moment. I watch the blinds raise themselves and the scene outside confirms he’s right.
“Why don’t we go clean up and go for that walk you wanted?”
“Sounds wonderful,” he replies, nuzzling me. “I love you Ben.”

I freeze, not exactly sure I heard him right. “You…you do?” It’s the first time he’s ever said it to me. It’s hard for Clark to trust people and I’ve had to learn to be patient being in a relationship with him.
“Yes, I do. You make me feel human.”
“You are human,” I remind him. “My human. I love you too Ben.”
“Not as much as I love you.”
I wrap my arms around him and give him a hug.

After a moment he says: “….Will you be weirded out if I telekinetically move the cum off the floor into the trash?”
“Yes!” I laugh, “Don’t be gross. Go get the shower ready, I’ll be in there a minute after I clean up.”
Clark laughs too, relieved that I understand his sense of humor. He twists around and kisses me, and I can see the love in his eyes.

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Text is fictional. Source NA.

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“Mmmnn!…mmnnnff you taste nice. You taste like wine and chocolate.”
“You just taste like you.”
“Oh the shirt’s coming off. I like. I love your body babe,” I murmur, exploring his torso with splayed hands. “So fucking sexy. Makes me horny.”
“I love that you think I’m sexy,” he says in a low, sensual voice. “You know what I’m gonna do to you?”
“Mmm what? Kiss me?”
He presses his soft lips to mine. “Yes, and?”
“And what?” I ask, half paying attention.
“I’m going to take you to bed and touch your penis,” he whispers in this rich voice that makes goosebumps rise on my skin.
“Are you now?” I manage, my mouth dry.
“Yeah baby. We’ve been so busy lately, it just drives me nuts to have it be so close to me yet trapped in your shorts where I can’t get it.”
“You like touching my cock?” I whisper into his mouth.
“Yeah I do baby. It’s so fat and thick, it fits perfectly in my hand. I love to make it silky and hot, and I love to feel it grow under my fingers.”
I moan, my pants feeling two sizes too small.
“And you know what I’m going to do after that?”
“What?” I beg.
“I’m going to touch your testicles.”
I moan even louder.
“I’m going to roll them in my fingers, move them around in your sac. Make you nice and horny for me, turn you into a pliant little succubus.”
“Then are you gonna fuck me…?”
“If you don’t spill all your seed, you horny little boy, then yes. I know you haven’t been filled properly in way too long.” He punctuates this with another kiss. “You will beg for every inch I g-”

WWWWWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!

We both jump a little, then emit twin groans of sheer frustration. I lock my fingers behind my neck and puff out my cheeks, he just balls his fists and counts to ten.
“Fuck,” he spits. “We just put her to bed, why is she crying so early?”

WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHh WAAAHH!

I feel like crying too. “I’m never gonna get my dick touched again at this rate.”
He kisses my forehead. “Yes you are. I’m going to go see what she wants.”
“Isn’t it my turn?”
“Stay,” he commands, using that bossy voice I like so much. I huff in frustration and collapse onto the bed, waiting for Romero to come back into the room. I brush my teeth and fondle myself through my shorts to keep my half erection alive. Romero returns about fifteen minutes later.

I sit back down on the bed. “Remind me why we adopted a baby again? Why not a four year old? We could have skipped all of this.”
He raises an eyebrow at me. “Because you’re baby crazy, and because a baby needed us at that time. She’ll know nothing else but us. We’ve raised her since her 3rd day of life, it makes her ours more than anything.”
“Still can’t believe Elyse is actually ours,” I say. Romero has sat next to me and I nuzzle noses with him.
“Mm she’s pretty wonderful isn’t she? I just changed her and got out that burp we didn’t get after her last bottle.”
“You’re such a good daddy.”
He doesn’t hesitate to respond. “Because you give me the courage.”
“Do I?” Our lips meet once more. “So…does this mean, in thanks, you’re going to touch my dick now?”

Romero tugs on the waistband of my sweatpants. “Oh, that’s inevitable.”

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Text is fictional. Source unknown.

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Greg had been listening to his boyfriend’s heartbeat for the last forty minutes. It was so soothing to be so comfortable, so warm and snug on a chilly spring night. Yet, he couldn’t fall asleep. Normally he was out like a light – wasn’t there something he’d forgotten to do? It nagged at him. Jesse was asleep too half under him, and Greg had been listening to the soft sounds of him breathing the entire time. He liked having quiet moments like this to appreciate his lover and to just snuggle – his previous boyfriend didn’t like to snuggle – but Greg wanted to join Jesse in sleep now. What was the deal?

He ran through his night routine – turn off the light in Jesse’s beloved aquarium downstairs, lock the doors, turn off the porch lights, put the meat from the freezer on a plate to defrost in the fridge… he’d done all that. Go upstairs, check. Brush his teeth, check. Floss, check. Give his boyfriend his good night kiss, ch… wait a second. Greg furrowed his brow. No, he hadn’t. They’d been talking about Greg’s pregnant sister when they turned off the lights, and Jesse had dozed off. That’s what it was. Greg felt warm when he realized it. He couldn’t sleep without his goodnight kiss. Jesse meant that much to him.

Greg tilted his head up and pressed his lips to Jesse’s soft, open ones, their stubble brushing together. He couldn’t wait to tell Jesse in the morning… and that was his last thought before he fell off into deep sleep.

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Text is fictional. The actors are Tom Cullen and Chris New, and this gif is from the heartbreakingly beautiful gay film Weekend.

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Having a deaf boyfriend can be frustrating sometimes. I was attracted to him when I saw him reading in the park, but it was difficult to get his attention without verbal cues. I had to ask him out using a pen and paper. There are small adjustments too – like you forget he can’t read lips if he’s behind you. You can’t yell “watch out” or anything either, and you can’t call, only text. When things began to get serious, I had to buckle down and learn sign language since it’s hard for him to talk clearly. I am terrible at memorizing things, so it was a frustrating painstaking process.

Yet, having a deaf boyfriend has some amazing upsides. I’ve worked harder at this relationship than any before, and we are so close. I can play music at any volume or bang around the kitchen without waking him. Plus, he is amazing with his hands and a great kisser. Did I mention I love how goddamn loud he is in bed? He’s a screamer, that one. The best benefit came with learning this new language though. We could be standing anywhere in public, like in a metro stop or in the grocery store, and he will give me a sly smile and sign the dirtiest things, like he wants my cock in his ass. It always makes me crazy horny, and he is not against fucking in public.

Right now, I am working on learning how to sign this speech I wrote and the gestures for, “Will you marry me?”. Judging by the hints he’s been dropping lately, I know he’s gonna say “yes”.

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Text is fictional. At Stagecoach, so I will add source later.