I. Paradise & Destruction

Life became good, and sweet, and normal.

Morning coffee without checking for threats. Afternoon swims in the buff… A casual observer might think at least one of them had some shorts. But none of them gave a fuck.

Evening dinners were always Pancho’s biggest worry. He was the main chef and he always tried to plan around Olaf’s appetite, hoping there’d be enough for everyone else to eat without having to cook a second meal. Tessy always had to put a leash on Olaf when he went overboard. They were kinky and loud about it.

“Der Tank” and his belly lived up to their reputation and size.

Some time had passed since Don and Grant tied the knot.

They kept up with each other, but Grant was getting better keeping up.

The once, skinny little shit with the beautiful green eyes from south side Chicago was now cut. He had pecs and Old Man was starting to have to actually “try” when they wrestled. Don always dominated though…and Grant loved it.

Old Man and Baby Boy always made it a point to eat dinner with the rest of the family. But other than that? They usually stayed in their room…The rumbling and grunting..the rhythmic slapping of flesh and banging of furniture made the rest of the house giggle. Don and Grant’s love was infectious and and made the rest all want to do the same with their respective loves….and they fucking did more or less.

Francisco and Gregorio still hadn’t shared that full type of physical intimacy. Pancho was so patient and understanding that Gregorio might not be ready. And if Pancho was honest with himself – he wasn’t entirely sure if he was either.

Regardless, the two fell in head-over-heels Love with each other…that stupid kind of love where it pisses you off because they look at each other in a way you could only dream of sharing with another soul.

They’d disappear with scuba equipment for hours and hours, other times they’d just be gone for days.

Everyone’s shit was finally coming together.

When Francisco asked Gregorio to marry him, the answer came through tears and laughter and a kiss that lasted until they both forgot to breathe.

The plans were going smoothly—until they realized they each wanted something completely different. Gregorio wanted it on the beach in matching white linen “calzones” – no shirts, Pancho wanted it at 200 meters – a favorite dive spot.

Gregorio had written all the details with care, so he could compare ideas with Pancho. Grant giggled when he saw “Calzones blancos” written in beautiful cursive.

“Wait, Greggy…you want to get married in tighty whities?!”
Gregorio guffawed and gave him a playful look of mock anger, sticking out his tongue.

Pancho called out from across the room without turning around “They’re white pants cabron! – read a history book!”

“Sorry tio….” Grant shrugged his shoulders.

Grant suggested they make a wedding wish board. He explained, spreading some white butcher paper across the kitchen table with the enthusiasm of someone who’d never planned anything but thought he was an expert.

Don, Francisco, and Olaf—sat in the sunken living room watching dark web security footage of a man being eaten alive by an anaconda from Brazil. Their elbows moved in unison as they leaned forward, transfixed by the sick spectacle as they scooped their soup. Olaf had at least two bowls of “something” on his little table.

“Look Greggy – this is all you have to do”

In a flash Grant was ripping and tearing out glossy Cartier ads, drunk with power as he furiously created this perfect “wedding wish board”—but it was all just shit Grant wanted.

He knocked over his soda and flung the glass.

CRASH.

“Thank you!” Francisco called out calmly without turning around.

“You’re welcome!” Grant chirped back.

“Sí, pero… Baby Boy…” Gregorio started. But nobody noticed that his beautiful art work had been shit on and nobody cared. He went outside to cry as Grant tried to convince the empty kitchen WHY he needed a Rolex.

“And because without one I can’t REALLY tell time…”

Baby Boy came back to reality as he noticed a little corner of the simple beach wedding Gregorio had drawn. It caught his attention

“Oh, what a kick to the nuts!” Grant said out loud.

Nobody turned.

“Jesus… this is fucking beautiful. Hey guys, look at this…”

a collective groan.

“No.” “What?” Burp.

“Look, dickheads! This is Gregorio’s own fucking work… it’s beautiful!”

They glanced over, grunted approval, then went back to their stories.

Grant rolled his eyes and went outside to apologize.

“Greggy… I’m sorry.” He sat next to Gregorio and put his head on Gregorio’s shoulder.

“Can you forgive me? This work is stunning, you asshole… why didn’t you bitch slap me?”

“I don’t like the violence, mi Baby Boy.”

“Neither do I, but I can give it and get it…..”

They both sat in silence thinking about how they could get Francisco to get real. But Pancho wouldn’t budge – he REALLY wanted it to be with sharks – crazy fuck.

An evil smile spread across Grant’s face as his eyes widened. He looked like a little boy who KNEW he was about to do something really, really bad.

“I’ve got an idea… follow my lead…”

He picked up a gold plated 9-iron and kicked the rest of the expensive set into the pool. The black and white “Sox” cap he liked to wear just a little to the side, the dimples his smile formed…the glisten in his eyes….those fucking eyes… the way his black Armani boxers peeked out playfully from the red basketball shorts, his white wife beater, the gold jewelry, his always clean black socks and those Gucci slides he’d worn to shit—but he refused to change because they were the first thing Don ever gave him…Gregorio knew from the look, the posture, the evil grin that something major was brewing in Baby Boy’s head.

Something burned in Gregorio… First the horror he felt when Grant handed him the switchblade, but then it turned into twisted erotic joy. They smiled evilly as their eyes communicated the intent.

Grant’s lean frame, a little more chiseled since the beginning, emitted brilliance as he swung the 9-iron menacingly. Gregorio followed with abandon… drawn like a ship towards a siren’s song.

“OK… use that blade to FUCK that gross lama hair pillow UP—the one Pancho loves… but wait for me to start.”

Grant calmly put on safety glasses and handed a pair to Gregorio. Gregorio put them on and act one began.

Grant stood by that’s stupid round glass table from some Czech artist that cost 10k.… “10k! for some round glass on top of a black metal frame!” Don always grumbled about the absurdity, while covering Grant’s toes in 24k gold from Cartier.

Grant was ready and he winked with a single nod at Gregorio….It was on.

Gregorio did a random, but beautiful ballet spin, entrancing the three older men. Then he snatched the pillow from under Olaf’s arm with dramatic flair with his own evil grin.

Everything moved in slow motion as Don’s opera played in Baby Boy’s head—Cavalleria Rusticana.

Grant’s movements were graceful as he slowly smiled at Gregorio, the green vanishing from his eyes through blinks as he looked at the three older men who now gave their full attention.

All three had turned around, stunned that Gregorio had the balls to snatch the pillow from Olaf’s massive arm. The music stopped—dead silence as the two little boys looked at their protective fathers, just smiling.

“Why are you—” Pancho started, looking at Grant by his priceless glass table wearing yellow lensed eye protection.

Then.

SNAP.

The switchblade flung open and all hell broke loose.

Fucking Grant and that gold fucking golf club. He raised it while looking at Francisco—saw Olaf’s evil smile of approval at what was about to happen and then locked eyes with Don as he POUNDED the fucking thing through the priceless furniture.

CRASH!

The glass table shattered as Grant shook his ass like a gleeful menace. The crunchy, broken bits under his slides scratched the grout from between marble floor tiles… Pancho wept… a silent single coo as his grandma’s vase floated through time and space before vanishing into a thousand pieces on the ground.

Now Don smiled, like Olaf as he enjoyed the show. “Fuck, he’s so fucking…..perfect” Don thought to himself.

BAM! BAM! BAM!

Three holes into the recently frescoed wall. Gregorio just stayed on his knees. “¡Ahí tienes tu pinche almohada!” stabbing and ripping and throwing and crying.

The three older men watched as Gregorio cried and Grant laughed through vicious burns. “Look Greggy!” He laughed. “The old geezers think their 3 pm supper’s been ruined!”

“Yea, efack jour supper!”

Grant laughed hard.

“Yeah, fuck your supper!!”

Only Don would admit that he was the smartest of the five—and he saw it right away. He crossed his arms and gently lowered his head with a devilish grin, letting the opera scene continue.

Francisco knew he fucked up before it even started. Olaf had been smiling for that very reason and enjoyed the smashing sound of glass, watching Pancho’s precious belongings revert to dust.

“Welcome to married life, meine friend.”

“Should we stop them?” Francisco whispered, watching his alpaca pillow’s guts fly through the air.

“Absolutely not,” Don murmured, eyes twinkling. “This is foreplay, Pancho. They’re showing off to each other.”

Olaf’s massive head swiveled toward Don with his trademark grin. “Ja… to be young…”

“Look at them.” Don gestured with his scotch glass. “Really look.”

“The fucking idiots probably can’t even hear me…”

“Hello???”

Don waved his hand to both of them—nobody answered.

“That’s no longer Baby Boy—that’s Grant fucking Wallace… and he’s perfect.”

Don sat back down and took a little sip of the fine scotch.

The way Grant’s muscles flexed as he swung the iron. The way Gregorio’s eyes never really left Grant’s body, even while stabbing furniture. The way they moved around each other like dancers, creating beautiful chaos together.

The odd tension was thick in the air.

Don raised his glass in salute as Grant demolished another lamp. “Let the kids play.”

Francisco looked between his destroyed house and Don’s amused expression. Pancho’s lower lip trembled as he tried to laugh it off.

Francisco caught Gregorio’s attention—he apologized sweetly in Spanish before they walked off to their room.

Grant broke one more light fixture for good measure then grabbed his nuts toward Olaf and Don. Don began to laugh, Olaf almost spit out his soup as Grant casually flung Francisco’s club out the window and into the pool with the rest of the set.

Olaf turned to sit down—his stories were still on… Grant wagged his finger at the old man to get up and he did.

“You are magnificent, Grant Wallace.” Don’s hands squeezed Grant’s butt cheeks next to Olaf’s face.

They kissed.

“Mmm, is that strawberry, old man?” Grant licked his lips as he asked.

“You’re a sweet, dirty little pig.”

Olaf was trying to watch the TV and their stupid bodies were ruining his supper/entertainment combo.

“OK THEN GO DO IT!!! Olaf is trying to watch his stories!… go make your hot unt stinky already!”

Don smiled at him and picked up Grant. As Don turned away from Olaf, Baby Boy’s smiling face emerged as he was carried away. He gave Olaf the finger with a huge grin as he shrunk into the distance.

“FINE!!! GO!! NOBODY NEEDS TO LOVE POOR OLAF, JA!?” Don and Grant screamed lovingly in unison “JA!” as their door slammed shut.

He smiled, showing the adorable gap in his teeth as a bear killed an asshole who fucked with a cub. “Ja! Der dark web security cam guy is der gute!…” he continued eating from his bowl… happy with life…

MJL
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