Page 93 of Wrath

“You know I have to ask now. Do you really mean that? Dying is our job? That’s what you think the point of everything is?” he asks.

“That’s what I said.”

“I’m not judging, dude. I don’t even know what I think. I just want to get it. I want to know what you think.”

I swallow. “Let me say this. If dying’s not the point, then the setup’s all wrong?” I laugh. “You feel me?”

He frowns at the windshield, and I barf up more words. “In my better-case scenarios I like to think we graduate to something better. Sort of how the little babies don’t know what the fuck is going on, and then they grow up and their brains, their consciousness like…refines its focus on speech and all this complex social behavior. I feel like maybe it’s the opposite with death. Maybe our brains are too narrowed when we’re human, framed in by the senses we have, and once we die and ditch the meat bag, those walls are busted down and we can see more. Maybe it’s a level-up thing.”

He snickers. “Meat bag? You mean bodies?”

“Yeah, whatever.”

He chews on his lip. “That’s deep, dude. I think I like it.”

“Just my little bullshit theory.”

He gives me a crooked smile. “Mine is hoping I don’t go to hell for wanting dicks in my ass.”

I’m not prepared for the way his words go straight to my cock.

“Oof. Miller one and Masters zero.” I cup myself, shaking my head with a choked laugh, and he puts a hand over his face.

“Fuck, I’m sorry. That was too much. I don’t really want—”

“Oh no you don’t! You can’t say you want a dick in your ass and then recant. That’s not okay.”

Miller swoons into the passenger’s side window, drawing his knees up and covering his head with his arm. “Pardon me while I expire and check your theory for you.”

That makes me laugh. It’s a real laugh, and it sounds strange in the quiet of the car. When I dare a look at him, he’s grinning.

“I want both,” he says softly. “Or I should say I don’t know yet. I’ve never tried…you know?”

Fuck me, my dick is standing at attention. When I laugh, it sounds hoarse. “Miller. Jeezus, brother. I’m about to wreck this thing and then we’ll both be finding out which way is up.”

“Top or bottom, Masters?”

My last name hits me like a slap, and I say, “Ezra. Ezzie, Ez, or angel will work, too.”

He bites his lip. “Sorry. Angel.” He gives me a small smile.

“I don’t know either, Mills. How would I? Maybe top?”

“I heard it’s all bullshit with Cara,” he says, looking out the window.

“Yeah. It was.”

“So you’re gay?” He’s whispering. I can tell he’s nervous by the way his body freezes as he asks the question.

“If I’m not, I sure am acting faggy, yeah?”

I see his face go pensive as I hang a right onto the county road that will take us to the pizza place. “Why do you say that?” he asks.

“I don’t know. It’s just a bullshit word. It’s a weak insult, so I use it how I want to. You don’t like it?”

“It’s like the verbal version of a slap…to me, at least.”

“I won’t say it again.” An awful thought hits me. “You get called that before?”

---