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“The second this is over, you’re shaving that off,” Laurent said, eyeing the way Damen was scratching at his newly grown facial hair.
Laurent liked his husband with a hint of morning stubble (just enough to leave the backs of Laurent’s thighs tingling after a particularly…passionate evening), but the mustache and beard Damen had been growing out for days was starting to irritate both of them. The last thing Laurent wanted was for his husband to start resembling his father-in-law. Or heaven forbid, his uncle.
Damen kept scratching. It drowned out the sound of the tinkling muzak filtering in through the elevator speakers as they rode up to Laurent’s office alone.
“You’re the one who told me to grow it,” Damen reminded him. “And you’ve never let me come to your office before. Not even to drop off your lunch.”
“Never let it be said that I don’t commit to the bit,” Laurent said, reaching up to adjust the padding on Damen’s shoulders. “We’re winning this costume contest so I can get those extra paid vacation days Herode is giving out as a prize.” 'And prove to Lazar that you’re not a figment of my imagination,' Laurent kept to himself.
“You could have chosen another Halloween costume,” Damen noted as he studied Laurent’s legs, which were barely covered by a sparkly pair of black shorts, peeking out from an equally sparkly white sequined shirt. A black fedora covered his blonde hair and most of his face, but Damen knew if Laurent looked up, he’d see a competitive glint in his blue eyes. “You don’t even listen to Taylor Swift. You walk out of the room whenever the Rep songs come up on my workout playlist.”
“It was sort of last minute,” Laurent defended. “Travis and Taylor are topical, easily recognizable, and, as you put it, ‘adorable as hell.’ It will give us an edge. Besides, you already had the football padding from your college days. All we needed was the Chief’s jersey and Hobby Lobby’s entire supply of glitter and friendship bracelet making kits.”
The elevator gave a small lurch before the doors opened to reveal a beige hallway covered in cobwebs, plastic spiders, and felt bats. Laurent pulled Damen through his office with barely restrained determination.
“So you want to win, but you didn’t want to put in enough effort to make your coworkers think you care about winning?” Damen clarified.
“Yes.”
“Even though you once spent three weeks getting Auguste to teach you how to throw the perfect fast ball for your company baseball game?”
Laurent rolled his eyes. “You know me too well.”
Music that sounded suspiciously like The Nightmare Before Christmas soundtrack floated through the empty rows of cubicles as they made their way through the office.
“Shouldn’t this count as Christmas music?” Damen wondered aloud, secretly scoping out the pictures on each desk to figure out which one belonged to Laurent.
“We’re not having this discussion again. Come on, I think everyone is in the conference room. We’ll get in, eat some pumpkin themed baked goods, win the contest, and get out.”
***
Laurent had hoped that the darkened conference room obscuring their entrance would keep them from having to mingle for a few minutes, but unfortunately for his sanity, they only made it as far as ‘get in’ before they were noticed.
“Holy hell, he’s real! Guys, Laurent’s husband is real!”
Damen instantly felt five or six pairs of eyes lock onto him with laser-like precision. The person who had spoken, a tall man with shaggy brown hair and a smile that could only be described as ‘charmingly roguish’ was looking at Damen like he was an actual celebrity, instead of just dressed like one.
“Blink twice if he’s holding you hostage,” the man said seriously. “Or if you’re being paid to be here.”
Laurent rolled his eyes for the second time that evening. “Astonishingly enough Lazar, my husband is a real human being made of flesh and blood, as opposed to an anime body pillow like you’re so fond of telling everyone.”
Damen reached out to shake the man–Lazar’s–hand, a feat that was easier said than done due to the massive stuffed snake wrapped around the Veretian’s arm. Lazar seemed to be wearing shorts made out of leaves and no shirt. It didn’t leave nearly enough to the imagination.
“Was there no dress code for the occasion? This is technically a work function,” Laurent sneered.
Lazar looked straight at Laurent’s legs and replied, “You’re one to talk, blondie. I didn’t peg you for a Swiftie. Pallas listens to her all the time.”
“I’m not.” Laurent tilted his head towards Damen. “He is.”
“It’s me. Hi. Who’s Pallas?” Damen asked.
Lazar pointed across the room at a muscular Akielon wearing a matching pair of leaf shorts holding a comically large foam apple.
“Pallas is Lazar’s husband,” Laurent explained. “What are you two supposed to be anyway?”
“Adam and Steve,” Lazar smirked. “We’re winning this costume contest and going to Vegas for the weekend.”
“To relive your drunken hallucination of a wedding? How romantic,” Laurent said, barely keeping the sarcasm from leaking into his voice. “Unfortunately, I don’t think being practically naked counts as a costume.”
Lazar’s eyes roamed up and down Damen’s body. “We’ll see about that.”
The moment Lazar walked away to join his husband, Laurent narrowed his eyes and muttered to himself, “We’ll see indeed.”
***
“I can’t believe we fucking lost to Adam and Steve,” Laurent fumed as he threw himself into the car after the party. In the end, they’d only managed the ‘eat some pumpkin themed baked goods’ part of Laurent’s foolproof plan.
Damen just shrugged and grinned from the driver’s seat. He had known it was over the moment he saw Pallas flex at one of the judges. Extra vacation days with Laurent would have been nice, but at the end of the day, he was just happy to finally meet some of his husband’s coworkers…even if a startling amount of them thought Laurent had hired him as an escort for the sake of winning a costume contest.
“The risk you took was calculated, but you’re not that good at math, sweetheart.”
Laurent blew a stray strand of hair out of his face and said with a frightening amount of conviction, “I’m not letting Lazar get the last laugh. Next year we’re going as Moana and Maui. Does Kastor still have that tattoo gun?”
Damen gripped the steering wheel and sighed. “Very funny.”
“You think I’m joking?”
“Not anymore.”
Laurent cracked a smile. “This is nothing. Just wait until our annual ugly Christmas sweater party.”