Giriko is a pain to live with. He is obnoxious and messy and he sprawls, expands to fill Justin's apartment until the space seems far too small for one person, much less two. There is always a leg thrown over the back of the couch or an arm stretched over the entire countertop, cans on the coffee table and scuff marks on the walls, idly shredded newspaper on the floor, table, chair, dirty dishes in the sink and the sound of Giriko's voice keeping Justin awake at night.
Justin loves it.
The space that was so empty before, the apartment that held his body when he didn't have an assignment, feels like a home now. The presence of another person makes him feel alive, like he can taste the air he breathes instead of just using it to exist. He does things now, cleans or argues or stares instead of quietly existing; before he would sometimes spend hours sitting still, staring out the window or at the wall with little regard for what he was seeing. Now all his blood is moving all the time, racing under his skin and through his veins like Giriko is the motor Justin's clockwork needed to become an actual person instead of an automaton.
He spends days watching the other weapon, tracing the angle of his jawline or the curve of his shoulders or the twist of his wrist with his eyes. Giriko has three metal earrings through his left earlobe, one through his right, and a flat inlay over the bridge of his nose; they are colored silver but probably steel in actual composition. His teeth are symmetrical and sharp-pointed, like every one is a canine, and his dark eyes are always shifting, bored after a few seconds of watching any given subject.
Giriko has gotten bored of Justin when the priest finally approaches. He watches the other weapon longer than most things, glaring at his eyes or staring at the hem of his robe, but he has collapsed back on the couch and is watching the TV, one hand playing with the chain around his neck while the other is tucked behind his head. Justin leans over the back of the couch, glances at the television for a moment before disregarding the show - a soap opera, he thinks - in favor of watching Giriko watch it. The other weapon's mouth is curved down into his usual frown, eyes flickering over the images on the screen. Justin fixes his eyes on the corner of Giriko's mouth, the dip of lip over teeth; he stares for several seconds, going on a minute, before the other weapon looks up sharply.
"What the fuck do you want?" he snaps, quick with habit. His eyes flicker down to Justin's jaw, shoulder, back to his eyes. Justin reaches out to lay his hand against the side of Giriko's face, holding the other weapon still; Giriko nearly jerks away from the contact, Justin can feel the muscles of his neck tighten, but keeps himself still and settles for glaring instead. He opens his mouth to say something else, almost certainly vulgar, and Justin closes the distance to match his lips to Giriko's.
The other weapon freezes. Justin can feel the tension under his hand, against Giriko's jaw and throat and lips. Justin is close enough that he would feel his eyelashes if the chainsaw blinked, would feel his breath if he breathed. He does neither.
Giriko tastes like rust and oil and Justin's heart shouldn't race like it does at the flavor permeating the air against his lips, but it does. He blinks, his eyes focus on the metal loop in front of his eyes, and when he slides his tongue past Giriko's lips he can feel the razor-edge of those impossibly sharp teeth. The chainsaw huffs an exhale at the touch of Justin's tongue against the roof of his mouth; for a moment Justin thinks he might bite down but he doesn't, just stays impossibly still, more still than the chainsaw has ever been that Justin has seen. Their lips catch together, stick for a moment when the priest pulls away. His mouth is full of the taste of Giriko, his tongue tingling with the pressure from those teeth. When he pulls his hand back his palm is hot with borrowed heat, his skin prickling with the sensation of stubble and the texture of unfamiliar skin.
Giriko stares at him, mouth still open, eyes wide and shocked as Justin has never seen him and stunningly silent for the first time. Justin smiles. The motion is strange, pulls at his face as it doesn't usually; he can feel his eyes turning up at the corners, like the curve of his smile is reaching his whole face.
When he unfolds, leans up and away from the couch, Giriko follows, sitting up as Justin retreats as if they are connected by invisible thread.
"You-" the other weapon starts. Justin waits for more but nothing is forthcoming, vulgarity or affection both absent. After a moment Giriko huffs an exhale, drops back down to the couch and turns away to face the television. The chainsaw doesn't move or speak until the episode is over. It is as quiet as Justin has seen him since they came back to Death City.