Master Salve: Gay Blog

“I know,” he said, his lips against my neck. “That’s why I’m not angry. That’s why I’m here.”

He paid. I don’t remember the walk to the car. I remember the cold air hitting my face, and then the blessed silence of the leather interior. Julian drove. He didn’t touch me. He didn’t speak. He knows that touch and sound are fuel for the fire when I’m in the white-hot center of a panic attack. He just drove us home, his presence a solid, silent planet in the driver’s seat. master salve gay blog

They couldn’t be more wrong. This life, our life, is the most careful, tender form of construction I have ever known. “I know,” he said, his lips against my neck

He turned me around. His face was grave, but his eyes were soft. He cupped my jaw in his surgeon’s hands, those miracle-working hands, and tilted my face up to his. “I am your Master, Marcus. Do you know what that means? It means your panic is my panic. Your fear is my fear. When you hide it from me, you are not protecting me. You are stealing from me. You are stealing my right to care for what is mine.” I don’t remember the walk to the car