Page 20 of His Favorite Color is Blood
“It’s just too soon. And I’ve met creeps. You’re not one.” Misha looked down at his knees, embarrassed he’d said such nasty things when Grim, despite his obsessive behavior, was not forcing himself on Misha and even let him go. “I still haven’t shaken Gary’s breath off me. I’m not ready for sex. It doesn’t mean I don’t think you’re handsome. Or that your dick isn’t actually a massive turn-on.” Heat flooded his face at the last confession.
Grim exhaled. “You called me a creep, and it was half an hour ago.”
“I was angry.”
Grim played with the upholstery of the sofa. “You’re like a fucking unicorn.”
Misha dared to look up, unsure whether it was devotee slang. “What?”
Grim met his gaze calmly and combed his hair, which for once was a bit out of place. “There’s not that many guys I really like. I mean ...” He gestured at Misha’s stumps and cleared his throat, ungluing his eyes from them with obvious strain. “And then, most are straight, or they don’t have the right personality. Even porn is sparse, so I end up watching some with women.”
Misha sighed. He supposed that liking the stumps didn’t make Grim an inherently bad person, and it was Misha’s own aversion to them that made accepting this kind of adoration so difficult. “If you could find a gayguy you really liked and he liked you back and you got him to have an accident, where he loses his legs, and he’d never know it was because of you, would you do that?”
Grim’s face twisted, and he took a deep breath. “Why would you even say that? Who would want that to happen to someone they care about?”
“Someone selfish.”
Grim shook his head. “I don’t want anyone to deal with that.” He looked up, swallowing, and in the light of a single lamp by the television, Grim seemed deflated. “But there is this need in me to find someone who already lost his legs. Make it all up to him ...”
“I’m sorry I said mean things. I … never met a devotee who wouldn’t also be a terrible human being. Some people would say fucked-up shit to me online.”
Grim reached out his hand toward Misha. “I can be scary, I get it. But it’s so fucking hard to meet someone who’s my type. It just is.”
Misha wheeled closer and grabbed Grim’s hand. “You’re intense. That’s all.”
Grim kissed each of Misha’s knuckles and kept his hand by his face, breathing in its smell. That didn’t feel so bad or scary at all.
“So what do you like about the amputations?” Misha asked quietly, watching Grim’s harmonious face. When he’d lost his legs, he’d been sure he’d never have a hot guy interested in him ever again. He had fantasized about escaping Gary and imagined how a life outside could look for him. How he would only get pity fucks at best, but maybe that wasn’t all the world had in store for him?
Grim smirked and nudged Misha’s palm open with his fingers before brushing his lips against its center. “Can I really tell you, or will you hate me if I’m honest?”
Misha was afraid of what he would hear, but he brushed his thumb over Grim’s lip. “No, tell me. I want to understand.” Over the years, he’d heard many disturbing confessions from devotees, but also pure adoration, which he couldn’t understand, and he needed to know where Grim stood.
Grim’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he looked at Misha from above the hand he kept gently kissing on the sensitive inner side. “It’s like I’m conditioned to spot people who ... lack body parts. Even something as small as a finger ... I notice it right away. It’s different and draws me in. But that’s like liking a specific hair color, I suppose. What really pulls me toward amputees is that they are”—he chewed on his lip, as if searching for words—”helpless. I know that most people want to be independent, but I love how it feels to carry a man who can’t move around on his own.”
Misha didn’t like to think of himself as helpless, yet he couldn’t deny feeling like that sometimes, even tonight, when he left the hotel. Half an hour alone, and he had craved Grim’s protection. And to think that for Grim it wasn’t a burden but a turn-on was … reassuring.
“But you wouldn’t use that against someone, right?” he said even though by “someone” he obviously meant himself.
Grim’s tongue flicked over the middle of Misha’s palm, sending a shiver down his spine. “No. I can’t see people like you suffer. I donate to charities,” he added after a few seconds, searching Misha’s face with his eyes, as if waiting for approval.
“I’m really fucked up, and I don’t know if I can ever be pieced together. But when I feel like I’m ready to do something sexual, you’ll be first on my list, okay?”
Grim smiled and pulled Misha’s wheelchair closer until one of the wheels bumped against his shin. “Deal. I can be your Prince Charming. How about that?”
Misha didn’t have the words to express his relief, so he nodded and held on to Grim’s shoulders as he used his stumps for leverage and crawled into Grim’s lap. Around Grim, he didn’t feel useless and pitiful anymore. That solitary trip was enough for him to understand he needed a protector. He couldn’t do this alone, because no matter how he imagined life when he still lived in the relative safety of Gary’s apartment, he was no hero. All he wanted was to hide somewhere where he wouldn’t be found.
Grim put his hands on Misha’s hips and supported him during the transfer. The way his eyes strayed lower, to the stumps, didn’t bother Misha nearly as much as it did an hour ago. Moments later, he was wrapped in those strong arms with Grim’s heart thudding against his arm, as they pulled close. His hand slid to Misha’s thigh and slowly made its way toward his knee.
Misha put his face against Grim’s neck. “But not lower, okay?”
But despite his words, Grim’s breathing became heavier and his fingers trailed down to the stump. Misha didn’t wait any longer and grabbed Grim’s wrist. He pulled back to look into Grim’s face with a frown. “I said, ‘not lower.’”
Grim let out a low growl and clenched his fingers on Misha’s knee. “Fine,” he muttered eventually, but his mouth was at Misha’s ear within a split second. “How about higher than that?”
Misha’s face heated up in an instant, and he pushed on Grim’s shoulder. He reached out for his wheelchair to pull it close, so he could transfer into it. “Some Prince Charming,” he grumbled.
Grim grabbed his jaw, forcing Misha to look into his eyes. “Am I a creep again? I thought we had that behind us.”
