“An ex-boyfriend taught you how to cook, right?” God said nonchalantly while opening the morning paper Day had snatched off the porch before coming into the kitchen.
Day rolled his eyes. “Why do you ask that every damn time I cook something?”
“I do not.” God harrumphed.
“Yes, you do,” Day argued. “Then you say, ‘Ummm, what was his name again?’ Then I say for the millionth time, ‘His name was Prescott Vaughan.’ And then you say, ‘Oh yeah, the miracle-worker chef.’ And I just shake my damn head.” Day couldn’t help but laugh at God trying to hide his gorgeous smile behind the metro section.
“He is a miracle worker. Wasn’t he like a great chef and then went blind, but somehow he magically built a huge culinary empire? I forget.” God peeked over the edge of the paper.
“It wasn’t a miracle, smart ass. He’s just talented.” Day looked over at God who was acting like he was no longer listening. “You know what else he can magically do? Those sexy boyfriends of his. He’s in a three-way committed relationship.” Day saw God peek back at him and then shrug.
“Uh-huh. They even let me join in once. Whew! Talk about fucking hawt.” Day hid his laugh by looking in the refrigerator for some ketchup. Next thing he knew he was being hoisted up by massive arms, spun around, and slammed into the refrigerator.
God’s eyes were electric. He held Day firmly against the cool appliance with his bulk and drove his thigh against Day’s cock. “You fucked three men at the same time?” God snarled and bit Day’s chin.
Day let out a startled grunt at the quick stab of pain, but it was quickly followed by a moan at the pleasure God's thigh grinding into his erection gave him.
“You thought they were hot, huh?” God thrust harder and grabbed a handful of Day’s sensitive balls and squeezed.
“Ugh! You motherfucker,” Day hissed. “No, Cash, fuck! I never fucked them. Hell, I’ve never even fucked Prescott. Jesus. Now put me down,” Day yelled.
God stepped back and Day dropped none-to-gently down to the checkered linoleum floor. Day saw God smirk at him before sitting back down. He picked up the paper like nothing had happened. Fucking bastard. Day couldn’t believe how insane God drove him. All that fucking brawn and strength was a crazy turn on for him.
Day plopped the plate down in front of his man, throwing him another eye roll before pouring fresh coffee. God had a regular sized mug while Day had a mug that resembled a soup bowl.
With all the condiments on the breakfast bar and their plates overflowing, they both began to eat as if they hadn’t eaten in days.
“I have a question, Leo.”
“Shoot.”
“You dropped everything and went to see Prescott Vaughan a few months back when you said he sounded depressed.”
“Yeah, and?” Day said around a mouth full of potatoes.
“Yeah, and, did you fuck him?” God asked, starring straight at him now.
Day swallowed his food, took a large gulp of his sweet coffee, and wiped his mouth before answering. “Didn’t I just say I’ve never fucked him? Never means never.”
God nodded his head like he understood. Day picked up their practically clean plates and put them in the sink. He was running some fresh dishwater when he heard God’s gravelly voice.
“I killed my stepfather, Leo.”
Now, Can You Handle the Truth?
God watched Day, checking his reaction to his confession. Day was a master at hiding his responses; it was what made him such a great interrogator. He never let his first reaction show. But God didn’t want that, he wanted the truth. He needed to know how his man would feel about him after he’d laid it all out there.
“I need the real you, Leo. Not the disciplined detective,” God stated.
He watched Leo turn off the faucet and dry his hands, never saying a word. He poured them two more cups of coffee, carried them by the handles with one hand, and grasped God’s hand with the other.
God let Day lead them to his beautiful back porch overlooking a manmade lake. The screened-in porch was moderately furnished and equipped with a TV and mini-fridge. Day’s house was definitely a bachelor’s dream pad.
God sat down while Day adjusted the thermostat to knock off the chill. When Day sat beside him—their knees slightly touching—he looked into God’s eyes.
“What did he do to you?”
God didn’t know how he was going to be able to check his emotions. If he didn’t already know he was in love with Day, he sure as hell knew at that moment. Day didn’t ask why he had done it. He already knew there had to be a good reason, despite assumptions by many that God had a hostile temperament. Day knew the kind of man he really was… he was caring, warm, and able to love. If he took a life, it was in defense of himself or someone he loved.