Some might say they’re just words so why does it matter if he says it or not. They’re just words.
But for him, they’re not.
They’re real. They’re him.
What he doesn’t say is as important as what he does. And if he doesn’t say them, he’s holding back, and I’m not enough for him to say them.
If he loves me, he needs to find a way, invite me in. With words.
It’s not enough for him to get away with just feeling. He has to admit it. I want the opposite of denial. I know his language. But does he know mine? Reaper does. Knight knew it immediately.
And Dante?
He needs to try.
“I’m bored with this. I don’t need to spell anything out. You’re here. It’s enough.” He shifts, but doesn’t actually move.
“No,” I say, “it isn’t.”
“Sure it is. C’mon. it’s just Dante. He’ll come around.” Knight shakes off Reaper and steps to me.
But I don’t want someone to come around.
Yet I give it another go. One last leap. I know how he likes things. He needs the fight. The denial.
“I don’t want to stay,” I say. “Because of him.Dante.”
He doesn’t say a word. No one does.
“I don’t want him.”
I wait. I’m speaking his language. Denial. And with it, I’m offering him an easy ride. An easy path.
I’m giving him the chance to push me to the ground to take out his cock, to force me into admitting once more I love him, the chance to order me to stay so I know he feels love for me, too. To ease him into telling me after I told him.
Sure I said it, but I’ll say it again in his language, his way.
I’m fucking speaking denial to him. Denial of him, my needs, wants, my love.
And he should get it.
He should see.
Or… maybe he does.
And he just doesn’t want me.
Worse, maybe he thinks it’s enough I’m here to just scratch his itches, accept whatever he feels like giving me.
And maybe he doesn’t care at all.
Because he doesn’t say a damn word.
I gulp down air and look at my stuff.
No, I need it all, I realize. If he can’t even meet me half way, he has to go the entire distance, or not at all.
“Fuck you, Dante. This doesn’t work without you.”