Hell & High Water (THIRDS 1)

“Yeah, but it’s vintage Ralph Lauren, and that makes it sophisticated.” Sloane wriggled his eyebrows, and Dex let out a snort.

“If you say so.”

“Since Maddock invited me and Ash over for Christmas dinner with you guys, and I’ll be wearing mine, I thought I’d get you one.” Sloane plucked the large red gift bag up from the floor and held it out to Dex.

“You expect me to wear a sweater with reindeer on it?” He arched an eyebrow at Sloane and took the bag from him. “We’re getting off to a rocky start already.”

Sloane laughed. “Just check it out.”

Dex rolled off Sloane’s lap and reached into the bag. He pulled out a red and black knit sweater. Oh God, here we go. He held it up, his eyes going wide. “What the—”

“You like it?” Sloane asked hesitantly.

“This is fucking awesome!” Dex jumped from the couch, holding his sweater up. It was red with a black collar and sleeve cuffs. It had various patterns of snowflakes and baubles repeated horizontally in black and white, but the coolest part was the two old school robots in the center. One of them had a Santa hat on and the other a striped scarf, and they were facing forward looking like they were about to high-five.

“I thought you might like it.” Sloane sat back, beaming up at him.

“How’d you know?” Dex pulled off his sweatshirt and pulled on his new sweater. It fit perfectly. This was the coolest, ugliest sweater he’d seen in a long time.

Sloane scratched the stubble on his chin. “Just a lucky guess.” He pointed toward the huge box. “You can open that if you like.”

Dex was so excited he thought he might hurt something. He got down on his knees and tore through the fancy wrapping paper like a cat wigging out on catnip. Once the gift was revealed, he let out a huge, drawn out gasp, his voice coming out high-pitched. “Duuude!” He wiped an imaginary tear from his eye. “You bought me guns.”

Sloane smiled broadly. “It’s a laser tag set.”

“I am so going to kick your ass at this,” Dex said, jumping to his feet. He ran to his tree and came back with a medium-sized box. He handed it to Sloane, a big dopey grin on his face.

“Are these,”—Sloane peered at the wrapping paper—“stripper Santas?”

Dex wriggled his brows. “In thongs. Pole dancing.”

“Sometimes I worry about you.” Sloane shook his head, before tearing through the paper. He opened the unmarked white box and took out a bust. He held it up in front of him, his brows drawn together in concentration. “You got me a…. What is it?”

“It’s a Death Trooper!”

“A what?”

“A Storm Trooper zombie.” Dex pointed out the intricately painted decay. “Hence, Death Trooper.” Sloane stared at the bust with wide eyes, and Dex held back a smile. “Come on, you can be honest with me. I won’t judge you.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Dex dropped down onto the couch facing Sloane. “Please, you’re totally a closet geek! You think I didn’t notice the bowl you put your keys in by the door is the bottom half of the Death Star? The bookends holding up your Star Wars movie collection is the Mos Eisley Cantina scene! Han totally shot first, by the way, and if you state otherwise, we’re over.”

Sloane arched an eyebrow at him and with a sigh, Dex stood and wrapped his arms around Sloane’s head, petting him. “Hush now. I’ll help you come out. It’ll be okay. I know it seems scary, and not everyone will accept you, but I will. Come out and spread your wings like a little red, angry bird.”

“Angry birds don’t spread their wings,” Sloane muttered.

Dex continued to pet his head, speaking softly. “You’re only strengthening my case.”

“You’re such an ass.” Sloane laughed, pushing Dex away. He held up the bust again, his bottom lip between his teeth. A slow smile crept onto his face, and he shifted his gaze to Dex. “This is pretty fucking amazing.”

“Ha! I knew it!” Dex punched the air a few times while Sloane laughed at him. He’d taken a chance, but he’d seen enough of Sloane’s apartment to recognize the signs. Under all the sleek sophistication lay a complete movie geek. Oh the arguments that awaited them. The loud thundering theme of an emergency broadcast cut through Dex’s happy dance, and he turned to the TV screen.

“We interrupt your scheduled programming for this breaking news update. A disturbing video has gone viral, and officials are stumped as to where it’s originating. If you have small children in the room, you’ll want to send them out with a loved one.”

A figure shrouded completely in black stood against an aging stone wall, his voice using some form of enhancer when he spoke.

“Good evening, New York City. While you sit in your homes, sipping your eggnog, unwrapping a gadget that will be obsolete in three months while rolling your eyes at yet another commercial to replace the word “Christmas” with “Holiday” so as not to offend the hippies, a disease is spreading through our beloved city, a disease that can no longer be ignored. They believe themselves to be the next step in Human evolution, but they’re not Human. They’re animals. And what do you do with an animal that is putrid and infested with disease? You put it out of its misery. Fear not, The Order of Adrasteia is here to help you.”