Bonedust

earshot.
    “I’ve never even heard of one.”
    “They’re a troll hybrid of sorts, I guess. Not sure what they’re mixed with. Don’t care to know either. Elementals. That guy could turn your dick into an icicle with the snap of his finger. Word of advice—don’t stare if you don’t know what you’re staring at.” He cracked a grin, though, and it was contagious.
    Marissa was a very plain girl compared to the hulking Iriami. She looked better suited to paperwork than him, but her brown eyes shielded behind wire-rim glasses were sharp as a fox’s. She gathered equipment, handing them each a set of headgear and goggles.
    As they walked down the aisle towards the shooting range, Marissa explained that the goggles were to protect their eyes from lead and gases ejected from the gun and the earmuffs were to shield their eardrums from the blast. “Because being deaf isn’t fun,” she said, matter of fact.
    She left them to their own devices after checking their weapons and the two men stood together, looking out over the range. The room was long with three sets of targets set up at the opposite end of the building. Each target was human-shaped and organs were painted different colors. The heart was blood red—that was where Gabriel would be aiming.
    “Alright. Here we go.” He was hyper aware of Urban sidling up behind him. Urban touched his sides gently with both hands. “Equipment on. Hold your weapon and aim it downwards. Like that. Okay.” Following instructions, Gabe pulled back the slide, loading the chamber. It gave a metallic thunk. “Hold the gun like this. Make sure your grip is firm.” Urban’s voice was distant through the headgear, placing his hands in the right positions, then had Gabriel try it a few times on his own. He stepped back and showed Gabriel how to stand, with his legs shoulder-width apart and the dominant foot in front. “Lean forwards a little bit—there you go. Now watch.”
    Urban cocked his gun and aimed for the target, one eye closed as he leveled the gun with the bull’s eye. He pressed his finger against the trigger and in a matter of moments, there were three holes clean through the head of the target. “Your turn,” he said, instructing how he did it: Keeping pressure on the trigger and timing the shots with his breathing.
    Gabriel gripped the gun to keep his hands from trembling, doing everything Urban had instructed. He felt a bead of sweat burst and trickle down his neck, giving him a chill. He pressed his left eye shut, leveled the sight with the heart of the target, and pulled the trigger. The gun kicked, exploding in his hand. The bullet grazed the side of the target. Swallowing, he looked up at Urban, who nodded. He shot another round.
    The more he fired, the easier it became. He soon anticipated the pistol’s jump and readied himself. By the time they’d shot all their rounds, the targets were peppered with bullet holes—heart and head included. Gabriel locked his gun and knocked off his headgear, wiping sweat from his brow.
    Urban grinned at him, his eyes vivid with excitement. “Perfect. You could use a little more practice, but I’d say that’s enough for the day, eh?” He leaned forwards and placed a chaste kiss on Gabriel’s lips before the other man could refuse. Then he darted away, giddy like a child, and cast a glance over his shoulder that said: ‘Whatcha gonna do about it?’
    The outside air held a sharp chill as dusk got closer. The sun was a red and gold haze in the sky and Urban bumped his shoulder against Gabriel’s. “Whaddaya say we hit a movie? Theatre popcorn sounds positively orgasmic. We can still get back to the hotel before dark,” he added quickly as Gabe opened his mouth to argue. He flashed a quick, perfectly white smile. “I promise. You’ll be safe. Trust me.”
    Trust me. The words echoed in Gabriel’s head. “Alright,” he agreed.
    They ended up seeing a B-rated film about a horde of fake-looking zombies and blood that appeared more Day Glo orange than red. The dialogue was cheesier than the makeup and Urban spent the entire second half of the movie making up his own and it was okay because they were the only people in the theatre besides a couple up at the very top of the stadium seats having sex. Their moans were more lifelike than the zombies’ and Gabriel couldn’t remember a time when he’d laughed so much.
    “Pan’s gonna have to piss like a racehorse,” Urban said idly as they got off the bus,