“Raisins?” Ozzie slurped at his drink. “There’s fucking raisins?”
“Yes! Which have tartaric acid in them!”
“Everything you say just makes them sound more and more gross.”
Tuesday giggled and lightly slapped Ozzie’s arm. “Mmm, my species can’t metabowl… metaboleeee. Hmm. That word. We can’tthat wordinto stuff for other stuff and yeah! It intoxicates us!”
“Man, this is hilarious. You’re buzzed as hell.”
“Oh, oh, oh!” Tuesday cackled. “It’s actually lethal to some aliens in high enough doses!” He laughed harder. “One bite can kill them!”
“Okay, that’s dark. But hey, it’s kinda like how Spock gets drunk on chocolate.”
“Spock! Ooo! I know that one!” Tuesday giggled a bit, humming noisily. “Mmm. Metab. Mmmetaboleee. Metable. Metaboleeee?—”
“Okay, Metaboleee, maybe we should slow down on the cake.” Ozzie pulled Tuesday’s plate away.
“What?” Tuesday whined. “Nooo!”
Ozzie grabbed Tuesday’s glass. “I am drinking both of these so I can catch up with you.”
“Do some stuff and prosper,” Tuesday intoned, making his voice deeper as he raised his hand to make the classic Vulcan sign.
Wait.
He had one hand holding a piece of fruitcake, one reaching for the plate, and still one more making the—oh God, Tuesday had too many hands.
A nervous laugh bubbled up from Ozzie’s chest, and he quickly reached out to guide the extra hand down and lace their fingers together. “Sure, sure. Very prosperous. So, uh, quick question. You don’t by chance get gooey if you’re drunk, do you?”
“What? No!” Tuesday giggled. “I mean, huh, I guess it’s a little harder to concentrate. Being gooey feels so nice, and it’s so relaxing.” He sighed, and another arm reached out to squeeze Ozzie’s leg under the table.
Ozzie’s cock twitched at the touch, already quite conditioned to Tuesday’s touch. He cleared his throat, saying, “We can get outta here right after my boss does his speech thing, and then you can be gooey.”
“Yay, gooey!” Tuesday leaned his head over on Ozzie’s shoulder and sighed happily. “I like being gooey.” He seemed to notice he had too many arms and put the extra one away as he snuggled against Ozzie’s side.
Ozzie closed his eyes and smiled, enjoying the closeness as he listened to the very, very annoying Christmas music.
Maybe it wasn’t so terrible with Tuesday here.
“When’s the speech?” Tuesday asked loudly.
“Probably not for a while.” Ozzie shrugged. “Gerald usually waits for everyone to show up and at least get through one round of food before he starts blabbing. I’m pretty sure it’s the same speech every year. I think he just changes a few names so people think it’s fresh.”
Tuesday frowned. “Do you really know everyone here?”
“Most of them.” Ozzie gave the crowd a cursory glance and immediately regretted it because someone caught his eye and waved at him. He acted like he didn’t see it, switching his focus back to Tuesday.
Tuesday arched his brow. “And how many of them do you want to talk to?”
“Exactly zero.”
“Are those presents real?”
“Under the tree? No idea.”
“Is Santa real?”
“No, baby.”
