Page 190 of Property of Necro
“No,” Coffin barks. “We’re brothers. She’s our wife. We are not husbands. I didn’t say vows to your dumbass. I made vows to her. I don’t see an R carved into my chest, do you?”
Rot waggles his brows and grins at Coffin, baiting him. “There could be.”
“Would you stop? I’m gonna murder you.”
“Why? This is the best day of my fuckin’ life. Givin’ you shit when you can’t stab me is the cherry on top.”
“I hate you.” Coffin stares at the ceiling and moves his lips like he’s sending up a silent prayer to a deity none of us believe in.
Rot blows Coffin an air kiss. “I love you, too, husband.”
“Ugh. You’re not gonna stop, are you?”
“Not on your life.” The shit stirrer grins.
Ignoring Rot, Coffin swings his attention to me. “Explain to me… Why he’s part of the package deal.” He flicks his gaze over to our brother in question.
Family,I sign, tryin’ not to laugh at their childish bullshit.
“So, we pick up an annoying asshole in foster care, and suddenly we’re all married to the same woman.”
“Yep. It’s amazing, isn’t it?” Rot sings, lying back in bed, arms tucked behind his head, a smug smile firmly locked in place.
Sighing, Coffin pushes a curl off Sola’s forehead, and when he sighs a second time, the tension in his shoulders deflates as he touches her cheek, and she continues to suckle him even in her sleep. “Yeah. It’s somethin’.” Coffin smiles softly, and that is why this works… why we’re brothers… why she’s ours… why I’m still alive.
Sure, there are bad days.
Days I don’t want to live.
Days I hate myself.
Days that my past erodes the present.
But today ain’t that fuckin’ day, and with Sola and my brothers, those days are less and less as of late.
“You know what I was thinkin’?” Rot comments wistfully, crossing his ankles, his soft cock resting against his thigh.
What?I sign with one hand, perched on my side as my other holds my head.
“If we hadn’t gotten snipped and Sola still had her uterus, we could have a baby.”
Coffin makes a choking sound. “Shut the fuck up.”
“What? You wouldn’t want a little redhead running around here?”
“Fuck no… and I’ve got a little redhead. Our old lady.”
“Fine,” our brother pouts.
“Seriously, Rot. There’s some shit to daydream about. Havin’ kids ain’t it. We have chickens. They’re your kids,” Coffin explains.
Rot looks at me and arches a brow like I might back him up on this, but I’m stayin’ out of it. There’s no way I’d want kids, not with Sola or anyone.
When I don’t reply, Rot huffs and tucks his arms across his pecs. “Fine. The chicken’s work.”
They’d better work.
He spent so much of our lives focused on finding us a match. Now that we have one, this ain’t the time to find a new dream of parenthood. That’s where I’ll pull the Prez card.
