Page 77 of His Favorite Color is Blood
“No need to be mean. It’s just a question. I’m curious.”
“He’s more than his dick. He’s not a fling to me, he’s my … man.” Just like Misha wasn’t just the stumps.
Lucky scowled. “I never said he wasn’t. That’s your assumption.”
“I don’t want to talk about our sex life!”
The bell at the door rang when Grim entered in his all-leather outfit, pushing Misha’s dearly missed wheelchair inside. Misha couldn’t help but glance to the dick outlined so clearly in one leg of his pants.
“How are you two doing? I bet you’ve become friends by now.”
Misha put a hand over his face, flushing as he trailed his gaze up Grim’s powerful chest, all the way to the chiseled face. “My hair’s almost done.”
Grim smiled. “You look really nice. I’m not nearly as good at this as Lucky.”
“Grim! You’ve been here for a few days now, and we didn’t even get a chance for a chat,” said Lucky and reached out to him in greeting.
Grim stared at him for a split second but shook his hand. “I’ve been busy.”
“That’s a sign that you need to relax. Maybe I could tempt you with a treatment? On the house,” promised Lucky.
“I don’t know if we have time.” Misha looked over the back of the chair to catch Grim’s eyes and communicate his peril.
“Oh, you do, you do.” Lucky waved his hand with a smile and pushed Misha back into the chair when he rose. “I still have a hair mask to do on you.”
Grim sat in the other chair. “I suppose ...”
Misha couldn’t help glancing at the outline of Grim’s dick again. It was difficult to miss, especially when Grim shifted and the leather clung even tighter around the length.
“Here,” said Grim and put something in Misha’s lap. It was a folded leather garment, a plastic folder stuffed with paper, and an American passport on top. “Your new surname’s Babanin.”
Misha smiled and picked up the passport to look inside. His heart sped up, and he wondered how the Coffin Nails managed to do this. Did Grim have to bribe someone in the immigration department? For him? “Classy.” He looked through the document, ignoring the whole folder for the time being. The passport even had a picture of Misha’s that they took at a mall on the way here.
“And look at the cut. I had one of the girls sew on the patches.”
Misha gave Grim a quizzical look but quickly folded out the black leather. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of a row of letters that sent his head into a spin. The vest read, “Property of Grim.” Before he could say anything, Lucky whistled.
“Wow, things are getting serious in here.”
Misha ran his fingers over the patches, his skin tingling. “I guess they are.”
“You’ve got all your documents, your citizenship. We can get married now,” said Grim from his seat.
Misha’s voice got stuck in his throat, and for once even Lucky was deemed speechless, just silently working some gel into Misha’s hair.
“M-m-married?” Misha uttered with his eyes wide and squeezed the leather in his fingers.
“Oh, you might not know, but it’s legal now. We can just do it,” said Grim, wiggling his eyebrows.
Even Misha’s nape was getting hot from the conflicting feelings tearing through his chest. Could this even be called a proposal? Grim stated it so matter-of-factly as if they’d already talked about it. Was Misha’s memory failing him? Impossible. The concept of being married to another man was so completely foreign to him that he couldn’t even make up his mind whether he’d want to participate in such a non-traditional ceremony. He gave Grim a quick glance. Did he want to spend the rest of his life with that man? Yes, yes he did. But was this really the time to be discussing something so serious and personal?
Lucky thankfully opened his mouth again. “Haven’t you known each other for, like, a month?”
Misha swallowed. “There’s no rush, Grim. I’m not going anywhere.”
Grim looked up at him, and as a bit of light died in his grey eyes, it became clear that this wasn’t what Grim had expected to hear. “What does that even mean?”
When Lucky opened his mouth again, Grim silenced him with a single glare.
