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Conversely, Seb had brought Holt the biggest T-shirt he could find to hide the cum stains on his pants. It was merch for Vince, and had a long greyish tongue curling down from the neckline that twisted around itself to spell out Rolling Rimmer. Printed on the back was a pair of roller skates dangling from a disco ball. It made Holt look like he was wearing a giant dress over his suit pants, and yet he still looked ridiculously hot.
I’d seen Seb smile for the first time when he’d returned and silently handed them over to us, politely ignoring the fact that I wasn’t wearing a shirt and Holt was draped over my lap. He’d also brought a cowboy hat—another piece of merch for Dullahan Dan, I was assuming—and dropped it onto my head with a tiny curve of his lips.
I’d gone pink, but Holt had immediately murmured, “Fuck yes, leave the hat on.”
We pulled the T-shirts on and went into the restroom attached to the office waiting room to clean up, both of us snorting with laughter for no particular reason as we washed our hands and tried to clean the lube and cum off our dicks at the sink. As we were walking back out, Larkin arrived with several bags of Chinese food hooked over his fingers. Holt had ordered a ridiculous number of dishes, but I realised why when Seb and Larkin started loading up their plates. Seb, I could understand—he was big and muscular, and probably had a fast metabolism as a werewolf. I didn’t know where Larkin put it all. He was tall and lanky, but his plate was piled just as high as Seb’s.
Larkin rolled his desk chair over to the seating area, while Seb settled in the armchair and Holt pulled me right into his side on the couch. Seb didn’t say much as we ate, while Larkin suggested pair-ups for matches to Holt and they bickered without any malice. It was really nice. Relaxed. I was shockingly comfortable and at ease, despite the fact that I was basically wearing a crop top and a cowboy hat.
But I was really happy. I hadn’t eaten dinner with other people in such a long time. I was used to sitting in front of the TV and eating my meals alone. Holt made sure to keep including me in the conversation, asking who I wanted to see fight this weekend now I’d met the wrestlers and knew they weren’t human, which made Larkin pout and whine about Holt ignoring his suggestions.
“I mean, I kinda want to see what Frank and Beans are like in the ring,” I said with a nervous chuckle.
“Oh yeah, you gotta see Frank and Beans.” Larkin nodded enthusiastically. “Cool little weirdos. The audience loves ’em. Hey, Holt, how about them against Kit?”
Holt grunted around a mouthful of fried rice. “Last time we did that, they almost broke Kit’s legs with their signature move.”
“What’s their signature move?” I asked, even though I wasn’t all that sure I wanted to know.
“Ooh, I’ll tell you. Don’t interrupt me this time, dude.” Larkin glared at Holt, then sat forward eagerly. “Okay, so, they have these redonkulously long dicks that come out of them, right? Like, seriously, I’m pretty sure they don’t have organs, they just have these dicks coiled up inside them until they unleash ’em. And their dicks have these weird tentacle things at the end, and what they do is, they line ’em up so the tentacles latch onto each other, so they’ve basically made, like, a limbo stick, right? Then they run sideways at the same time to swipe their opponent’s legs out from under them.”
I was staring at Larkin in stunned disbelief. And mild horror.
“It’s called the Double Docker Shocker,” he added around a giant mouthful of rice, several grains flying out and back onto his plate. “It’s sick, bro.”
“I… They dock their penises together?” I sounded like a scandalised Victorian lady. “Aren’t they… twins?”
“Ew, what? No, dude.” Larkin shot me a look that made me go red. “They’re not related. Kinda species-ist, bro.”
“Hey.” Holt laid his hand protectively on my thigh. “Taylor’s never seen anything like them before, and they do look really similar. Give him a break. When you started working here, you asked me what the fuck they are.”
“Well yeah, because no one knows what the fuck they are.” Larkin cocked his head and squinted in thought. “Maybe… some kind of goblin? Like a dick goblin? That’s just made of a giant dick?”
“You mean like what’s inside your skull?” Holt drawled. “Because there’s no brain in there. Just a big quivering dick where your brain should be.”
Larkin snorted, clearly not taking offence as he reached over to fist-bump Holt. “Noice.”
“You could pair them up with Brian,” Seb offered quietly. His table manners were more on par with mine—Holt and Larkin kept spilling rice onto the floor and occasionally throwing egg rolls at each other—and he was clearing his plate neatly and methodically.
“Why Brian?” Larkin asked, narrowing his eyes slightly at Seb. “Because he’s a werewolf? I didn’t know you were buds.”
“We’re not, but we’ve spoken a few times. Obviously,” Seb said calmly. “Why does that matter?”
“I dunno.” Larkin restlessly spun his chair side to side, then flicked a shrimp at Seb. It landed on his pant leg. He didn’t move to brush it off. “Just… Why is your suggestion the werewolf?”
“Why not?”
“Brian’s a good idea.” Holt gave Larkin an odd look. “He’s quick. And the audience likes seeing him bat Frank and Beans around the ring and whap them in the face with his tail.”
“Might be a little boring,” Larkin muttered, picking up his phone and staring down at it intently, effectively removing himself from the conversation.
I cast a quick glance at Seb, who was still eating calmly, then Holt, who didn’t seem to notice the sudden weird tension. He was too busy shovelling noodles into his mouth.
“How about Corey?” I blurted to keep the conversation going.
Holt rolled his eyes. “Well, he seems determined to have a two-on-one match against Biff and Gabe.”
“Ooh, yeah.” Larkin was suddenly invested in the conversation again. “That’d be hot, watching Corey beat those two into submission. Who do you think tops more often? Seems like it should be Biff, right? But I bet he likes pinning Gabe down and riding his dick like an animal. Shit, I’d pay to see that.”
