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Nevada Ramirez speaks three languages: Spanish, English, and sex.
That’s what he told Caractacus the first time they met, coupled with a crude comment about how crucial the tongue was to making the language flow . Caractacus had politely declined Nevada’s offer to demonstrate.
Caractacus eventually found that Nevada’s confidence wasn’t at all misplaced or exaggerated, something he proved to Caractacus time and time again after he got under his skin and got him into his bed.
Nevada saw Caractacus as a challenge but not something to be conquered or to own or have but something to explore, to share .
It took words in all three of his languages, but Nevada managed to woo Caractacus. He made promises with every single syllable, promises that he was prepared to follow through on, promises he did make good on.
Caractacus made promises to Nevada too, promising to blow him and his mind at the same time. Nevada regarded him with suspicion and doubt, but he followed through spectacularly, and after that, Nevada trusted Caractacus’s mouth and tongue implicitly.
Unlike Nevada, Caractacus only spoke two languages: English and love. The first came easy, without much thought but still precise, always clear in thought, occasionally biting but with the ability to soothe a wound with ease.
But the second dripped from his tongue deliberately, reverently, flexibly. This was by far Caractacus’s favorite language to speak. He made that clear to Nevada from the day one, even in the way he declined advances. He wanted more than fast and dirty. He wanted to share his fluency.
He communicated this with words; he communicated it with the passion and ease and sensuality he brought to fulfilling his promises every single time, without fail. He was strong and confident in what he said, what he did.
In every kiss, there was a prayer. From supplicating to worshiping to servicing, Caractacus demonstrated his fluency, and Nevada learned to understand it, sometimes even parroting it back unintentionally, soft at first but growing in intensity until Caractacus couldn’t miss it, until Nevada was even comfortable expressing it. They were learning to speak each other’s languages, and it was beautiful.
And once they gained proficiency, their languages began to blur, between themselves, between each other, like angels singing.
And one night, it happened. Just when they finished, both at the same time, reaching new heights, a new level of togetherness, that’s when Nevada said it.
“I love you.”
It slipped off the tongue, the same way the rest of his words do, easy, just like a waterfall.
Caractacus raised his eyes to meet Nevada’s and blinked. Once. Twice. If it were anyone else, Nevada would’ve been tempted to slap that dumbfounded look right off his face. But it was Caractacus, and the only thing he felt was warmth blooming in his chest and butterflies in his stomach.
“You mean it?”
He wondered for a moment whether that was the right word to use. Whether he was conveying what he meant to. Suddenly, he wasn’t confident in his language anymore. Any of them.
And beyond that, he wasn’t even sure if it was the right moment. Nevada knew Caractacus found his impulsiveness endearing most of the time, and Nevada often took pride in it, but in that particular moment, he was afraid . Not a new feeling, especially when you’ve had a gun pressed to your temple on multiple occasions. But never in this context. Never in this way. The word ‘afraid’ suddenly had a new meaning.
A million thoughts began to race in his mind. He hadn’t considered at all what Caractacus’s response would be. He could lose everything. Everything he had never known that he’d wanted.
And then he met Caractacus.
Caractacus.
Crackpot.
Some weird man in an even weirder suit with two scrubby kids that were just as weird as their father. All things he hated.
A warm touch against his thigh brought him out of his mind, and he looked up to Caractacus looking at him softly, maybe the softest he’d ever seen.
And there it was . He didn’t need to be afraid because, well, it was Caractacus. So, against every instinct he had, he decided on honesty, and before he could stop himself, a “yes” slipped from his lips, just as soft as Caractacus’s expression.
Caractacus blinked again.
Suddenly Nevada was in tune with his own body, his own mind. A faint high-pitched buzzing started tickling his ear, almost so deep it touched his brain, where he could almost feel synapses firing on double-time. His heart was running double-time too, but his blood felt cold. And he had no words. It wasn’t right.
Before Caractacus could speak, could get in a single word, Nevada doubled back, tried to retract.
“That’s not the right word. That’s not what I meant,” he admitted. “It’s not enough.”
“What do you mean?”
“‘Love’ isn’t enough.”
“So what is?” Caractacus asked.
Nevada paused to consider, thinking carefully, not wanting to fuck it up again, wanting to get it right . And then the answer occurred to him, and he knew the exact language to convey what he wanted.
So he leaned over, placing his hand gently on the side of Caractacus’s face, tilting it up to him with his thumb. And he kissed him. Slow and deep, using everything Caractacus had ever taught him about his native language.
He pulled back to look at Caractacus
“I know. Me too,” Caractacus breathed.
“Yeah?” Nevada asked, scanning Caractacus’s eyes to make sure that he got it, that he really got it .
“Yeah,” Caractacus whispered, and Nevada was absolutely sure.
He got it.
They were on the same page.
They spoke the same language.