by Steve Berman
He moved with the deliberate power of a glacier, one hand thumbed into a work belt, the other swinging lazily at his side. He wore jeans and a muted flannel shirt he’d rolled up over forearms that looked almost too thick to be contained, and bushy with dark hair. More hair poked out from between the top two open buttons of his shirt, leading up to a full beard. This beard showcased a devilish grin under eyes sparkling behind thick-framed glasses. A trapper hat with its flaps up revealed what might have been a receding hairline, and he seemed to radiate a sense of stability and strength, like a sexy mountain that had just grown legs and sauntered over.
“You call for an exterminator?” the man called as he reached the cloud bank of Ben’s home.
“Yes, Daddy,” Ben whispered.
“Excuse me?”
Ben’s eyes shot wide, mind racing to cover his mouth’s poor attempt to hide his attraction.
“I mean, yes ... Danny?” Ben said, cringing. “Is ... is that your name? You ... uh ... look like a person I know. Named Danny.”
Smooth. The exterminator pursed his lips and took a moment looking Ben up and down.
Ben squirmed internally under the scrutiny, but willed himself still. Finally, the man’s gaze returned to Ben’s face, and he gave a roguish wink.
“I think I’d let you call me anything you’d like,” he said, “but my name’s Drake. I understand you have a problem?”
So many problems, Ben stopped himself from saying. A bed that was woefully empty. A fully stocked kitchen with no one to cook for. An ass that just wouldn’t quit.
“Humans,” Ben said. “Or maybe just one. I didn’t stick around to count. I just can’t stand the creatures!”
“Humans,” Drake said, slowly, almost a question. “And you didn’t just find them and grind their bones to make your bread?”
Ben rubbed the back of his head. Normally it wasn’t a deal breaker, but he knew he wasn’t exactly normal by giant standards.
“I’m a vegetarian,” Ben admitted.
“Ah, well,” Drake said with a shrug. “Does that mean—”
“I’d prefer live capture if possible. Hopefully nothing ... painful for them.”
Drake looked from Ben to the house, then gave a fleeting glance back toward the rainbow bridge before he stomped his foot and dismissed his conveyance.
“That’s fine by me,” he said, grinning again and giving Ben another wink. “I’m always up for a challenge.”
BEN SAT ON THE RECLINER, feet well off the floor, just in case. He scanned the room, from the blanket chest to the small collection of folded paper birds on the side table. So far there were no signs of the tiny invaders.
Drake was fiddling with a small black box in the kitchen.
“So you live here by yourself?” Drake asked.
The question might have been innocent, but Ben certainly hoped it wasn’t merely politeness. A thousand thoughts bubbled inside him. Almost all the giants Ben knew kept to themselves, dwelling in cavernous homes and covetously guard whatever treasures they had accrued on vacations. “Just me and Tyson.”
Drake shot him a glance, brow furrowed, eyes narrow behind his thick frames.
Jealous, Ben hoped.
“My goose,” Ben explained, even as a chill worked its way down his spine. His goose, who was still in her large cage in the bedroom. Who was probably none too pleased about still being locked up despite Ben’s arrival. Who was altogether too quiet.
“Your goose ... named Tyson,” Drake said, the firm edges of his expression softening back to humor. “Of course.”
“I should check on her. You’ll be okay here?”
Drake nodded as Ben took a deep breath and put his feet down slowly to the floor, then hurried on tiptoes toward the bedroom.
Please let there not be humans, please let there not be humans, please no— The mantra replayed in his head as he reached the door and opened it, hand tight on the knob in case he had to wrench it shut. But there was no sign of a human, no scurry of tiny shoes on stone. But neither was there the indignant honk of Tyson, which wasn’t a good sign.
The cage took up most of the space on top of his dresser. Tyson wasn’t exactly giant-sized, though she was large for a goose, a bit bigger than his fist. Most giants who kept pets had animals that had been magically altered to make them proportional to their people. But Tyson was a rescue, plucked from the court of a wicked king who had cruelly enchanted the poor creature to lay eggs made of gold. Ben had put a stop to that (part of his activism work to end animal abuse), and found that, though she was a cussing little devil, he could hear a bit of love in her honks.
Crossing the room, his fears were realized when he saw the door of Tyson’s cage hanging open. Had a human been in his bedroom? Was he going to have to burn the whole place to the ground? And did one of them steal Tyson?
Then came a honk. Ben jerked his toward the noise, and saw movement toward his open closet door. With only a slight hesitation, he rushed after it. “Tyson?” Ben asked, reaching for the small lantern he kept inside the door. With a practiced flick, it caught, and Ben froze.
It’s not that Ben had never been around humans. He would venture down into their lands occasionally—normally to free some magical cow from a cruel farmer or maybe to sink a few whaling ships while they were still in port. But he was always careful, because, well, humans were small. Tall ones maybe came up to the top of his boot. The one standing wide-eyed in the middle of his closet wasn’t a tall one. Maybe still an adolescent, or perhaps just short, almost as long as the tip of Ben’s middle finger, and somehow that only made the creature creepier.
Ben took a half-step back, unable to tear his gaze away from the small human, who seemed to sense his hesitation. Was it smiling? What the fuck? “H-help,” Ben said, unable to raise more than a whisper.
The human seemed to relax, gave a small stretch, and began walking boldly in Ben’s direction.
“Dra—”
But before Ben could call out for help, there was a new noise from deeper in the closet. An angry hiss. And then a violent eruption of feathers and honking as Tyson streaked out from the shadows and into the pendulous light cast by the lantern. The grin on the human’s face dissolved into terror as the unwanted visitor bolted directly past Ben, who cringed but managed not to hurl himself out of the room.
He kept his feet planted, knees locked. He couldn’t banish the thought of what it would be like to accidentally step on a human. The mess! The guilt! He shuddered, but recovered in time to reach down and pick up Tyson before she could follow the human out of the closet. She bit him, of course. Swearing, he moved her quickly back to her cage and bundled her in. She bit him again for good measure and then honked at him.
“Sorry about this,” he said, “but until this is taken care of, I need you out of the way. Can’t have whatever Drake’s doing accidentally hurt you, okay?”
She honked and tilted her head to the side.
“Drake’s the very sexy exterminator who’s helping to fix our human problem.”
She hissed.
“Don’t be jealous just because you’re not getting any right now. We’ll take you to the pond in a few days, and you can get as frisky as you like.”
A final honk, and she squatted and pooped, wiggling her tail feathers derisively.
Ben rolled his eyes and turned to the door—to find that Drake was standing there, leaning against the frame, a lazy smile on his face.
“Oh, hi,” Ben said. Shit. How long had he been standing there?
“Well, this very sexy exterminator is about ready,” Drake said, and Ben felt his face heat up as if he were living in that volcano. “I saw it scurry out and underneath the couch, so this will be a good test.”
DRAKE REPOSITIONED THE BLACK BOX again.
“What’s in that, anyway?” Ben asked. He was trying not to think that just across the room, there was a human underneath his couch. He stared at the dust ruffle, imagining their little eyes staring back from the thin
shadow where the fabric parted. His palms itched with the desire to bleach everything.
“The latest in humane human deterrence.” Drake popped the lid off the box and motioned Ben to peek inside.
Ben did so cautiously, half afraid that there would be some sort of tiny magical tiger that would leap out and attack whatever was closest. Not that it would be humane, but maybe it would only retrieve the humans and deposit them alive outside somewhere. However, the box didn’t contain anything so mobile. Instead, Ben saw what looked like a harp. Big by human standards, it would still barely fill a giant’s hand. Small knobs on the outside of the box appeared to connect to the delicate workings of the harp, allowing it to be manipulated easily without having to use forceps and magnifying lenses.
Ben thought of a soothing harp lullaby, and his eyelids felt heavy just imagining it. “Is it supposed to ... put them to sleep? So that we can gather them up and remove them?”
Drake grinned. “Even better,” he said, then replaced the lid and flicked a switch on the outside of the box.
Noise filled the castle. Intense, shuddering noise, like the box contained an earthquake of music and riot.
Ben gave a squawk, hands flying to cover his ears.
The kitchen, the entire castle, bounced from the deep bass and almost electric rhythm of the box.
“It’s magic,” Drake yelled over the ... Ben would have been generous and call it music. “Should be enough that any humans can’t stand it.”
As if to underscore his point, movement from the couch brought all their attention to the small figure darting out and toward the door, which they had left open.
Ben whooped as he noticed the human, too, was covering his ears. Another minute, and the human was out, and Ben was locking everything.
It was almost bittersweet that it had worked so well, so fast. On the one hand, it meant Ben could clean, and his daily routine could settle down, and he could put this all behind him. On the other hand, it meant ... all of that. That Drake would leave. That Ben would go back to being all by himself. That he’d be left as he was, too afraid to go out anywhere he might meet another giant, where he might do more than dream about being wrapped in strong arms, heavy and warm.
As he walked back to the kitchen, he waited for Drake to turn the harp off, but the exterminator made no move to do so.
“Don’t you need to turn that off?” Ben asked.
Drake shook his head. “For best results, it should be left on for a day or so.”
Ben tried to force a smile, but probably only managed a grimace. A whole day of this? And yet maybe it meant he’d get to see a bit more of Drake. Maybe a lot more.
“What am I supposed to do?” he asked. “I can’t exactly sleep with this going on.”
Drake shrugged. “I’ve got some ear plugs if you want them. Though I’d recommend staying the night somewhere else.”
Ben felt something warm and fragile beat inside his chest. A chill followed sensations hot and hopeful and bordering on desperate. Everything inside him told him to run, to flee, to protect himself. There was no way this would end well. Giants were solitary, and even if he got a momentary release from that isolation, giants weren’t the settling-down types. And hoping for it, either reprieve from his loneliness, or more, just might kill him.
“Perhaps with a very sexy exterminator,” Drake continued, “after you take him out for a celebratory meal and drink?”
Ben’s mouth was a kingdom cursed with a hundred years of drought. He wanted so badly to say yes, to believe this was happening. He wanted to ...
he took a deep breath.
“Well, I mean, i-if that’s something you—”
“You’ll have to speak up,” Drake shouted over the noise. “I can’t hear you.”
Ben pursed his lips and glared. Arrogant, sexy bastard. He was enjoying this. Ben bit his lip, tried to channel his inner Tyson.
“Would you like to go out for dinner?” he said, loudly enough to be heard. “A-and afterward, would it be okay if I stayed the night at your place? And can my goose come with?”
There was no way that Tyson was going to tolerate being left alone with the racket for an entire day. It would be animal cruelty.
Drake broke into a rumbling laugh. “I would love to have dinner with you. And I’m sure I can find somewhere for you and your goose to sleep. I don’t live in a castle, but I think you’ll find what I have acceptable.”
A HYDRA BAND PLAYED SOFT jazz as jinn flitted around the room, indistinguishable from the cigarette smoke and sizzling steam off the steaks brought out from the kitchen by teams of sweaty incubi. Ben ordered asparagus and pasta with a wine reduction sauce, while Drake ate something he’d ordered in French and that looked heavy on mushrooms. It had been an age since Ben had gone out like this. He smiled to hide his nerves as Drake rumbled about some of the more interesting cases he’d worked.
The plates were a bit small, though. The club, while catering to non-human clientele, obviously wasn’t used to seeing giants out and about. A makeshift table had been erected in the back of the room, where the hastily-reinforced chairs still strained under their weight. The harpy manager kept stealing looks at them, a huge fake grin plastered on her face, as if all she could do was calculate how much damage their insurance would cover.
“The worst are the elves!” Drake said, slapping the table and earning them a worried look from half the room. “They always think they’re doing good. Some hapless retiree starts finding his home full of clogs, or dolls, or toy boats. They can try to sell them, sure, might even make a bob or two. But to the elves, that’s basically a contract, and now they’re owed for services rendered. Plus interest. And they’re even smaller than humans! I swear I have to go into places with tweezers sometimes.”
Ben’s laughter was genuine, though his mind was divided between trying to enjoy Drake and worrying about his home. The human was probably alone and had just been walking around, looking for things to take. Probably opened Tyson’s cage upon noticing the golden eggs.
Just one human, and Ben was ready to wash the entire place out with lava. Or maybe he was just trying to distract himself from thinking about what might happen next with Drake. What happened when the immediate problem was over and there was no reason for them to see each other again? Drake seemed to be having fun, seemed interested in all the right ways. But was this a one-night stand? Did it have to be?
“So, why extermination?” Ben asked. He needed to stop obsessing and get lost in the moment, but he also needed to know more about the man across from him.
Drake’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “I could say that it’s because I get to meet hot men in desperate need of me,” he said, and the heat in Ben’s face inched upward. “And that is a nice perk of the job, don’t get me wrong. I guess I like a bit that it’s so, well, unusual for a giant. But I can’t stand being locked up in one place for long. And I like the problem-solving. I’m a tinkerer. I like working with my hands.”
And his grin grew a bit as he said that.
The meal passed quickly, and the wine flowed. Their conversation wandered like a sheep without a shepherd, but it never got lost. And then they were on their feet and headed toward the floor near the stage. The manager looked ready to have a heart attack, but she didn’t stop them, just cleared out everyone she could get to move. The giants had to crouch a bit under the vaulted ceilings, but they danced, neither really leading or following, just getting used to their bodies close, their hands finding shoulders, waists.
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—g
iants 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.