Page 31 of His Favorite Color is Blood
“It’s fucking ugly, Pat.” Misha nodded and slurped the rest of the sauce straight from the bowl. He was an animal.
“If you could have any kind of house, what would it be?” asked Grim with his mouth full, and this time, it didn’t feel like a mocking question that was actually meant to agitate Pat. Misha took a minute to think as he swallowed the rest of his meal. “It would have to be accessible. With a big garden.”
Grim smiled. “That sounds nice. You might like my place.”
“We’re still going there?” It sounded nicer every time Grim mentioned it.
Grim nodded. “It’s west from here.”
Misha acknowledged the lie with a smile. “This is the best date I’ve ever been on, and I’ve been on two.”
Gim laughed. “You heard him, Pat. We gay men are just like you breeders. We go on romantic dates, we try to get into each other’s pants on date one, and we too get to marry and have a picket fence if we want to.”
“If I had vodka, I’d drink to that.” Misha hesitated, but put his head on Grim’s arm. It was as if the heat of that strong body was beckoning him closer.
“Yeah? That’s what you want?” Grim asked in a surprisingly soft voice.
Misha nodded. He was certain a toast of liquor would taste of freedom. “I mean, I’d even take whiskey or whatever he has.” On day one, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to get drunk around Grim, but after pulling this off, his reservations were melting away like snow in July.
Grim was silent for several seconds, but he quickly walked back to the kitchen, returning with several bottles. “Whatever you want. You know I’m here to please.”
Misha snorted and reached out for a bottle of cognac. “Candle-lit dinner with a surprise guest, and now this? You’re outdoing yourself.”
Grim showed off his healthy-looking teeth and poured some whiskey into a cup with the image of a horse. “I need to keep you happy so that you don’t leave me again.”
Misha shook his head and smelled the alcohol, looking up at Grim’s powerful body, all clad in black. With the mask, he looked like a movie supervillain, yet in Misha’s book, he was the hero.
They drank, talking about their imaginary sex life, just to make Pat more miserable, but by the time Misha’s head was too soaked to take any more liquor, Grim decided it was time to go. He helped Misha back into his wheels and gathered the dishes they used, carrying them into the kitchen. Misha followed him into the large kitchen, full of all kinds of stuff that didn’t belong there. There was not a single space left on the large table because it was littered with open boxes and tools. Working past the haziness in his brain, Misha watched Grim deposit everything in the dishwasher and then switch the machine on. He turned around, and hisgaze settled on Misha for what seemed a bit too long, but then he put his index finger across his lips and winked.
Misha crooked his head, leaning back in his chair as Grim opened Pat’s fridge and pulled out a huge bottle halfway filled with amber-colored liquid. According to the label, it was apple juice, but the moment Grim pulled down his zipper, Misha understood what his plan was and put a hand over his mouth to keep the drunken giggle quiet. And yet, the moment Grim’s hand pulled out that monstrous column of flesh, the giddiness in Misha was replaced by a flash of heat that coursed throughout his body as he watched Grim’s piss drizzle over the inner wall of the container, mixing with the juice.
Once he was done, Grim tapped the head of his cock against the broad mouth of the bottle. He smirked as he looked at Misha and slowly offered him the bottle that had steamed up from the heat of Grim’s urine. Misha felt guilty, but the thought of touching the warm plastic now had him revved with excitement. He quickly pulled his cock out of his sweatpants and accepted the container. Laughter rose in his throat again as he relieved himself into the bottle, and he made a point of swaying it in the air, making sure the piss would mix with the juice properly. He wished he could stay a bit longer and watch Pat quench his thirst with his favorite apple juice, only to wonder why it tasted the way it did. He shared a quiet giggle with Grim as the bottle was returned where it belonged, and that was that.
Grim helped Misha off the porch and disappeared inside the house for another few minutes before emerging with a soft whistle. They continued a lazy conversation the whole way back to the truck, enjoying the fresh, cool air and the bright stars above.
“Are you sure he won’t report this?” Misha asked, annoyed by the slur in his own voice as he looked on the blurred edges of the road ahead.
“He’d be an idiot if he did,” said Grim. “He saw the back of my cut at the mall.”
“I never got to hit back anyone who hurt me,” Misha mumbled as Grim helped him into the cab of the truck. His head was light but his limbs heavy, and he enjoyed that there was someone with a tolerance for liquor that was much greater than his own to take care of him.
Grim carefully adjusted the seat belt on Misha and took off his mask and gloves before joining him inside the cab. He petted Misha’s head. “You will from now on.”
The world did a turn in front of Misha’s eyes when Grim started the truck. “There are so many people I would just …” he finished with a growl and squeezed an imaginary neck in front of himself.
Grim started driving away from the scene of their crime as soon as they were back on the asphalt road. “Who?”
“Gary … no. He’s dead. Fuck. The others,” he finished, and even saying it left such a sour taste on his tongue that he had a sip of cognac straight from the bottle he took from Pat’s. The silence that came after was so overwhelming that it might have as well pulled them into a black hole.
“What others?” asked Grim in the end.
Misha took a gulp of air, fighting back his sorrow and the onslaught of memories he wished he didn’t have. “After I lost my legs. Before Gary saved me—fuck. He didn’t save me for shit. He was a fucking shithead.” Misha hid his face in his hands. Grim was right. Hewasbroken.
“Misha?” asked Grim quietly as they drove between the fields with not a single light in sight.
“What?” Misha looked through the windshield, sure that he looked as miserable as he felt. It had to be a comedown after the adrenaline rush before.
“What others?”
