Year of the Rat

Chapter 7

The two men are once again settled on the couch, creating a familiar scene that occurred just a few days ago. Although this time Ging noticed that Pariston began sitting oddly close to him. It was uncomfortably close. Pariston really had no concept of personal space. Ging tries scooting away, sitting at the end of the couch, only to receive a chuckle from the blonde.

"I didn't take you for the shy type, Ging," the blonde stared into the brunette's eyes, making the situation only all the more uncomfortable.

Ging's only response was a twitch of the eyebrow, clearly not going to give Pariston the satisfaction of a retort. Pariston seemed to have realized this, as he stood up from his seat and approached his bookshelf. He pulled out a familiar-looking album. Oh God, don't tell me... and just as he thought, Pariston was offering to show him his stamp collection. Ging purses his lips, flitting his eyes around the well-kept room.

"Okay, cracker."

Pariston's eyes widen for just a moment, but he puts the stamp album away on the coffee table in front of them regardless. Ging inhales deeply, preparing to say something to the agitating man who sat back down next to him. However, before he could even utter a sound, he was cut off by a hand placed delicately on his thigh. As if it triggered something in his mind, Ging shot up and grabbed the collar of Pariston's shirt, bringing his face in close enough to feel his breath on his face.

"What the hell is wrong with you? Is this some kind of fucking joke?" Ging spat in Pariston's face, whose expression remained unwavered.

Instead, Pariston remarked, "Boy, your breath sure is bad. Care for a mint?"

This earned Pariston a heavy glare. In an unexpected turn of events, Ging pulled Pariston in for a deep kiss, surprising both men. The kiss lasted longer than it should have and Ging shamefully felt blood rush down to his crotch. Suddenly he could feel Pariston's tongue swipe at his bottom lip, undoubtedly asking for entrance, and instead of granting it, Ging pulled away.

"That tasted about as bad as it smelled anyways," Pariston remarked. Ging did not even have the energy to cuss him out, he was too busy scolding himself for initiating the kiss. His stomach churned and he felt sick. He hates that rat's guts, so why did he pull him in for a kiss? A hand on his nape snapped him out of his thoughts and he soon noticed that Pariston was pulling him in for another kiss. Ging tensed before slowly relaxing into it, this time allowing the blonde to explore his mouth, only to bite down on his tongue.

Pariston spoke against the scruffy man's lips, "Wanna take this to the bedroom?"

Ging rolls his eyes, but seemingly takes up on the offer, as he slings Pariston over his shoulder. The blonde giggles, surprised by the sudden manhandling, but brushes it off and directs him to the bedroom. On the way, Pariston was making back-handed compliments and even referred to the brunette as his "short king".