Ben has a problem. His home is his castle -- literally, given it’s a fortress floating in the clouds -- and it’s been invaded. By humans. And though he’s a giant, a human infestation is nothing he wants to be a part of. So his only real choice is call up an exterminator and hope that they have a non-violent way of clearing out his home of unwanted guests.
What he’s not expecting is for the exterminator to be ... so very hot. Drake is funny, kind, and gentle when it comes to Ben and his delicate sensibilities. But the humans prove to be a bit more persistent than either of them anticipated, and with Ben and Drake’s flirting becoming more serious, shy and awkward Ben’s problems seem giant indeed.
Ben let himself lean forward against the powerful expanse of Drake's chest. He had never been on a real date. A part of him was terrified he was doing it wrong, that he didn’t know how. Perhaps, despite all his pining and his hopes, Drake was secretly laughing at his inexperience. But when he looked into Drake’s eyes, he didn’t see cruelty. He saw a heat that must have reflected in Ben as well. The rest of the bar seemed to hold their collective breath, waiting for something to go wrong -- giants were not known for their restraint when dancing, or their grace. But that didn't mean they didn't have any. They danced, close, while the hydras played and the night’s possibilities beckoned.
By the time they got back to Drake's place, though, most of their grace was spent and their restraint abandoned like a prophesied baby on a woodcutter's doorstep. They stumbled through the apartment, Drake's lips like fire, his hands managing to deftly unbutton Ben's shirt without just ripping the damn thing off. Ben’s fears and uncertainties were still present but muted by the wine and the need for this, the immediacy of Drake’s hands and body. The rest he’d just deal with tomorrow. They aimed for the bedroom, entangled and panting, pausing at the closed door only long enough to throw it wide and --
A trumpeting ball of feathers erupted at face height, and Drake swore as Ben, pants already halfway down his legs, got caught trying to back away and tumbled to the floor.
"Bloody hell!" Drake shouted as the vengeful poultry landed, pivoted, and launched herself at his chest.
Ben managed to pull up his pants and stand, reaching to catch Tyson before she could hurt herself or either of them. Hissing, she twisted out of his grasp to crash on a nearby table. Before she could recover, Drake grabbed Ben and half-ran, half-fell back into the vacated bedroom, shutting the door behind them. A second later came a thud and more angry honking as Tyson attacked the door from the other side.
"I think she might be upset from all the stress today," Ben said.
"You think?" Drake's eyes were wide, though there was still a fire burning in them when he looked at Ben.
They were just inches apart, bodies heaving, clothes still hanging off them. Ben bit his bottom lip. They had made it to the bedroom, after all. As if sensing his thoughts, Drake leaned in.
A new crash broke the moment, and in the apartment beyond, there was a shattering of glass and further irate honking.
"I guess that means we probably can't ..." Drake said, grimacing.
Ben wanted to close the distance between them. He leaned just a bit closer. Maybe, if they were quick ...
A louder crash this time, and both men winced. No, if Tyson kept this up, she would probably destroy Drake's apartment and accidentally injure herself. Ben sighed and pulled away.
"I guess not," he said, then took a deep breath. "That is, if you value your stuff."
"Hard call," Drake said, glancing down Ben's body. "Really hard call."
They both shared a look full of frustrated longing. Then they squared their shoulders, and got ready to open the door.