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[Be careful with that shirt, he only brought the one to go home in. He does as he's told, anyway, pivoting in place to face Greed.]

So?

[He's being judged on his physique, right? That seems like a Greed thing to do.]

[Less judged (a little judged) and more simply inspected. It's been six months Ling's been coming to his bar, which means it's been five months and three weeks since he's wondered what Ling looked like beneath all those fancy clothes.

He rests his chin in the palm of his hand, grinning faintly as his eyes slide down his body. It's a nice body, way more muscled than he thought it'd be, but not overwhelmingly so. But defined, his arms nicely shaped, his torso long and his gaze more confident than Greed suspects he truly is.

He finally meets his eyes again.]

So . . . definitely worth the wait.

[Inspected, sure, whatever he wants to call it. Ling is confident, not minding at all the way Greed looks him up and down (honestly, can he stop wearing shirts? This is much more comfy), but he's got the plucky confidence of someone who's never really been taken down a peg. These abs aren't for show, but he breaks out of his own bedroom more than he does anything serious.

So... work in progress.

He reaches up to drape his arms over Greed's shoulders again, stepping closer in what little space he still has.]

Are you just trying to make me feel special? I won't complain if you are.

Nah.

[He really isn't. Greed leans in, pressing their foreheads together, not quite kissing him just yet. His fingers drag lightly over his shoulders, feeling the lines of his body out.]

I'm not gonna butter you up. You look good, why shouldn't I say it?

I'm only wondering. Why shouldn't I ask?

[It's been six months; Ling knows Greed flirts with whoever he wants and succeeds in winning them over pretty much without fail. He only wants to know if that's where he stands, for practical purposes. For paying-for-more-dates purposes. For don't look at him like that so closely, his little heart has no concept of logic and reason purposes.

Shut up and kiss him, basically.]

[He doesn't, in fact, shut up and kiss him. He tips his head back. He can't really get another proper look at him, not when he's pressed so close, but he can try. His eyes flit up and down him again, and one hand slides over him, dragging against his collarbone, up his neck, hooking beneath his chin so he can tip Ling's head up.]

You're a lot more interesting than some sorority girl. Believe me.

[Not what he wanted, but alright. He can't help but shiver under Greed's touch, anyway, despite himself - any attention is good attention, in the end.

All sorority girls are queens? Meh-]

I do. And so are you, but you knew that.

[And see, a shiver like that? Is worth everything. His mouth ducks down, dodging Ling's mouth so he can graze his teeth against his neck. It's not a bite, not yet, but it's the threat of one.]

Hmmm? Tell me, why don't you. I could use the ego boost.

[No, he doesn't need that.]

[Ah, he thought he was going to be kissed— teeth make him shiver even more, sliding one hand into Greed's hair. This man has never needed an ego boost in his life, the narcissist, and yet Ling is going to say--something.]

Tell you what? That you're very handsome? That I came into your bar to find some answers to my family's problem and I found you, instead, and so I kept coming back?

[Like some of those girls, probably, but a little bit more persistent. He thinks.]

Don't tell anyone, but I have a crush on the bartender.

[He hums softly at that first part-- yes, tell him things like that, exactly that, good job Ling-- and keeps his mouth moving. No kisses, not yet, but tongue replaces teeth, little licks tracing over the reddened marks he'd left.]

Is that right.

[That is unusual. Plenty of girls (and boys, sometimes) have wanted to fuck him; fewer have wanted to date him. He's not exactly boyfriend material. And no, that's not exactly what Ling said, but that's what a crush means, doesn't it? Which is . . . sort of worrying, honestly, if he thinks about it too long, which is why he isn't going to think about it.

Instead: fingers creeping up his torso, dragging against his back, touch feather-light and teasing, as he tips his head up, working just beneath his jaw.]

And what is it you're hoping he'll do, huh? Once he starts noticing you.

[He can tell Greed things like that until he's blue in the face- among other places, admittedly- as long as he's rewarded with whatever this is, affection or not. He's satisfied, for now; boyfriend material or not - and Ling doesn't have any standards to meet, technically speaking, which might not be the best way to be as a person... but whatever- boyfriend quality aside, he can live with this.

At least for now. He's already said he has no idea what he's doing, so-- who can blame him. Nobody! This will work out!]

Let me take him to dinner and introduce me to his cat.

[Ha ha... okay, but really,] I thought maybe I'd be kissed by now, but I guess not.

Technically speaking, he did kiss you already. A few times, actually.

[But those aren't the kinds of kisses Ling means. Those were fun, but what Ling is oh-so-subtly asking for is a kiss that'll take his breath away. He wants a a kiss that he'll be thinking about for hours and hours, well into tomorrow when he goes home and does whatever socialite things normally occupy his time.

Isn't that a nice thought? Ling chatting with his family, listening to them prattle on about social events and subtle arrangements, and all the while thinking of a rough-and-tumble bartender on the other side of the city.

Yeah. Yeah, shit, that sounds perfect. But that kind of kiss needs build-up. He nudges him back, slipping down off the counter. He's still dressed up, suit and tie, which is . . . appealing, actually, in a subtle sort of way, as Ling stands there with his shirt off and his face lightly flushed.]

Come on.

[An order, and he strides forward, heading towards the corner of the studio apartment that he's designated as his bedroom, shrugging off his suit jacket as he does. That gets tossed carelessly onto a chair, and he sits on the bed, waiting for Ling to join him.

A slow buildup, that's the name of the game right now. Not kissing him right away, but working him up to it, getting him more and more flustered and eager, until he's ridiculously hungry for the kiss.

So: the moment he comes in close enough, he tugs at his wrist, dragging him down to the mattress and crawling over him in one quick movement.]

[Ling hums as he shuffles back and follows Greed without a second thought. This is probably boyfriend material, actually - Greed is still being sweet for Greed on this date, and it doesn't hurt that he looks so damn good in a suit and tie and somehow even better with the jacket off. Ling isn't so far gone that he's not thinking straight, but, yeah. Looking good.

He is absolutely ready to be flustered, laughing slightly when Greed pulls him down to the mattress. One hand immediately goes for his tie, love that, while he reaches up with the other to tug the tie out of his hair and ruin the neat bun for good. It's more comfortable!]

Now it's your turn— What are you hoping to do, hmm?

[Not even just the inevitable sex! Anything. More dates. Ahem.]

[It was inevitable sex, and indeed might still be, but the more time he spends with Ling, the more he realizes that his usual approach isn't going to work well.

He could do it, of course. He could grab his arms and pin them over his head and kiss him senseless before fucking him until dawn, and that'd be fun. They'd both get off on that, and Ling would definitely have a hell of a first time. But that seems . . . impersonal. Not cruel, exactly, but lacking in any kind of emotion or attachment, and that--

Well, obviously it suits him. That's how he does things, and that's great, he loves that kind of frantic, fast lifestyle, seeking out physical pleasure over some stupid emotional connection. That's fine.

But it doesn't suit Ling, and a guy's first time is important.

So he settles there, hovering over Ling, straddling his hips, and doesn't yet dart down to kiss him. He wants to, very much, in no small part because Ling looks fucking fantastic on his bed, his hair all flared out around him and his body half on display already. But all Greed does is drag his fingers against his cheek, a touch as admiring as it is lustful.

It's nice like this, he thinks. Ling looks good-- not just physically, although yes, that too. But it's just . . . he looks sweet like this, excited and eager, laughably inexperienced and yet absolutely game to try anything. The dim lights highlight his skin, enriching it rather than making him look sallow or sickish, as they might with others. His body is lean, lithe, and absently Greed's fingers slide down, tracing over the chord in his neck, over his collarbone, faintly down his chest.

And there's something undeniably infectious about his smile. It makes him smile, though of course that changes to grin almost immediately.]

Right now? I know for a fact I'm gonna keep you in my bed all night. And maybe I'll learn a little more about the kid who's so eager to take me out to dinner while he's there.

[Inevitable can be later, eventual— just like this, Ling is happy. All things considered, like for example, never going on a date he wanted to be on before, this date is going great! Greed hovering above him is something else he'll be thinking about long after he leaves here after tonight, and not just for how good-looking he is. Not just for how he looks at Ling either, craving, although that helps—

He's smiling, is the thing. Greed smiling earnestly at him is a precious commodity he didn't know about before tonight, one that warms him from the inside out and makes the way he wraps Greed's tie around his fingers more affectionate than anything like coy.

Obvious, then, when he taps the end of said tie against Greed's cheek, raising his eyebrows.]

I thought you already knew me well. Do you want to know my favorite color? Or how many times I sprained an ankle trying to sneak out?

[it's time for the newlyweds game!!]

Hey--

[Stop that. Go back to being coy, that was cuter, and he bats a hand, frowning vaguely. Ling's gentle teasing doesn't help-- it's not like it hurts, but there's a part of Greed flying by the seat of his pants, and he doesn't appreciate this mockery.]

I know you generally. That's different then getting to know all the detailed stuff.

[He settles in a little, resting his weight on one forearm so his free hand can slide against Ling's face.]

I knew everybody's life story within a day of them working for me, but I didn't get to know them until a few months had passed. It's two different things. So yeah, kiddo, tell me all that, why don't you?

[Is this not cute?! He'll stop playing with the tie, or at least stop hitting Greed in the face with it; he does need something to do with his eager hands, here. It's gentle and affectionate mockery, besides. Don't be a baby.]

Four times! [Cheerfully, as he tilts his face into Greed's hand a little. Yes, loving that, keep doing this cute thing.] And it's yellow.

[Which explains some of his more questionable fashion choices. It's actually fortunate that he hasn't purchased his own car, or a banana yellow monstrosity would be sitting in front of Greed's apartment building right now.]

Your turn to tell me something I don't know.

[Stop calling him cute, what the hell. He will, at least, keep stroking his face, but it's purely for his own pleasure.]

Mm . . . I've got six siblings.

[Shitty, shitty siblings. He doesn't say it with any real vitriol or relish, but there it is: a fact he doesn't know about him. Greed's hand lifts, brushing through his hair again, sliding one black strand through his fingers.]

[He is cute, being affectionate like this. He can believe it's all for his own sake all he wants, Ling is still going to enjoy it.]

I've got more, [is his answer to siblings, though, and in this particular timeline that's probably just due to regular infidelity and not questionable politics... but also still a little bit questionable politics.] My cousin is probably actually my half-sister, but we don't talk about it around her.

[Rich people, right??]

Gross.

[There's not much actual judgement, but also: yall be nasty.]

Which side of the family?

I know. [Ling has judgment!! It's fine, this is why he sneaks out and only cares about a select few family members. Spite fuels him.] Guess.

[it's not a hard mystery to crack, babe.]

Both?

[It's definitely possible.]

I should hope not... Just my father, as far as anyone knows. We don't talk, like I said, so I don't really care.

[But not his mommy... let him have one decent parent, universe.]

Hmm.

[Which is a noise that means boy, rich families are messed up and your father sounds like a piece of shit and god I'm glad I burned that bridge, speaking of fucked up fathers. It's a hum with a lot of meaning packed into it, and it buzzes in his throat as he leans down and settles more fully atop Ling.

He's warm, the heat from his bare skin seeping in through Greed's shirt. It's a nice feeling, and he smiles as he tips his head up, nosing against his jawline. Hello, and just to be sure it isn't too soft an action, he nips lightly at the skin, leaving little red marks.]

Well, shit. There's one worry off my plate.

[He stretches out, one leg slotting lazily between Ling's, hand splaying against his torso. Greed's head tips back, and he's grinning as he drags his teeth against his neck.]

Your daddy can't exactly be mad at you for sleeping around when he's doing the same thing, huh?

[Well, he can only guess at two of those hums, but two out of three isn't bad (Meatloaf discography playing muffled from the apartment downstairs). Ling shifts to get comfortable beneath him, but it's more just making sure his hair isn't caught under any limbs than trying to out-maneuver Greed in any way. He's more than content with this arrangement; Greed is a comfortable weight pressing down on him, and the leg between his is an added bonus.

It's all very... slow, somehow, slow and intimate punctuated by those nips of his teeth that keep Ling from getting too relaxed. It isn't a bad thing at all; he likes the extra bit of tension, like a string somewhere on him that keeps getting pulled taut when he isn't expecting it.

Nice.]

He can, [dads, man.] but he still won't talk to me about it, if he finds out.

[And will he find out...? Maybe, honestly, but probably not.]

hey don't

you're welcome

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