Page 26 of A Merry Christmas for Art… and His Tentacles

Dean

The weekend flew by in a rush, and somehow it’s another Monday. We went back to Art’s Saturday night and had another round of mind blowing sex (although blow jobs are still on the to do list). I ended up staying over again Saturday night, but Sunday morning we headed our separate ways.

Lisa stopped by Sunday and asked when I would be departing. I was used to Art, so I knew she wasn’t trying to be rude, but I also realized I needed to grocery shop, do laundry, and get myself situated for work on Monday. Plus, I didn’t want Art getting sick of me.

Still, I missed his tentacles wrapped around me when I fell asleep on Sunday night. I’m growing really attached to those suckers—every pun intended.

I also told Art about the rumor. He didn’t seem concerned, which I suppose is good. But Frank seems to have it out for Art, so I think it might be best if we beat any office gossip and tell the company we’re dating.

Which is how I find myself fidgeting outside the HR office first thing on Monday morning, waiting for Art to join me. I’msure he’s already up in the lab since he’s always at work before me, so I text him when I’m walking in to let him know I’m here.

Before I can get too worked up, the elevator dings, and when the doors open, there’s Art. I breathe a sigh of relief.

“Dean Miller. You look anxious. What is wrong?” Art asks.

He seems completely at ease, which is… baffling. Art is way too important to the research to be fired, though, so maybe he’s right not to worry. Me, on the other hand… I’m just a human in a cryptid company, and my expertise is probably something they could find elsewhere.

I breathe out again. “Just nervous about how this will go.”

Art joins me at the door to HR. “What is there to be nervous about? I reread the company handbook last night, and there are no guidelines against dating colleagues. We do have a sexual harassment policy, of course, but I am not your boss, and both of us are entering willingly into being temporary mates, so I do not see how that would possibly apply. What concerns you?”

I resist the urge to kiss his confused face. He would reread the company handbook just to make sure we won’t get in trouble. People are not always logical, however, and I don’t think my worries are unfounded. There’s no reason to make Art paranoid, though.

“Let’s go in and see, then,” I say, pulling open the door and making an ‘after you’ gesture to Art.

I’ve never been in the HR suite of offices before—all the forms I had to fill out and any onboarding was done through email. It’s got a long hallway with a few closed doors, but Art confidently walks up to the first door, which has a plaque announcing it’s the office that belongs to the head of HR. He doesn’t even knock before he enters, which makes me cringe a little. Shit, I hope we don’t get off to a bad start.

“Good morning, Harry Ebershoff,” Art declares, and I follow him in, shutting the door behind me. He takes a seat in one ofthe chairs and gestures me to the other one, seeming totally at ease. It’s so confusing.

I look over at the desk, which is piled high on both sides with papers, handbooks, and folders. In the middle of the mess there’s a very old man with a long white beard, and he merely grunts at both of us, not bothering to stop typing.

Art seems content to sit and wait, so I follow his lead. He called the guy by name, after all, so maybe he knows him.

Harry eventually finishes typing and looks up. “What have you done now, Art?” he grumbles. His voice is low and craggy, and he sounds a bit like he’s gargling rocks. I’m betting he’s not human, but I’m not really sure what he is.

“Dean Miller and I have entered into a temporary mate partnership,” Art states.

Harry peers up at him, then over at me. “Have you now?” he asks me.

I nod my head. “Yes, we’re dating, and I thought maybe it was best if we let HR know to avoid any issues.”

“Hmph,” he grunts. “Were you getting it on in the workplace?” he asks.

“I… what?” I sputter.

“Bumping uglies. Fornicating. Playing where’s the sausage. Knocking boots. In other words, having sexual relations involving genitalia, mouths, and/or hands.” He stares at Art for the last part of that statement.

“We have not engaged in any sexual activities in our workplace, although the handbook does not expressly forbid such things. I did read it again last night,” Art comments.

“Policy H5402 clearly states—” Harry starts, but Art cuts him off.

“We shall not have any sexual relations in the lab, of course. That would be highly unsanitary, and it might disrupt the samples. The sexual harrassment policy also makes it quite clearthat we cannot engage in any relations which might make others uncomfortable, so of course we would not have sexual relations in an area where others might stumble onto us. That would be inappropriate,” Art says stiffly.

“Hmph,” Harry grunts again. “Well, at least you know that much. Although I shouldn’t be surprised. Your species has always been more private. Not like the damn vampires or the sprites. Still, you can’t be doing the deed on company time, either.”

“As long as we put in our allotted work time each day, our breaks cannot technically be governed by the company, as long as we are not engaging in illegal activities or imbibing mind-altering substances,” Art says.

“Tell that to the demons,” Harry mutters. Then he adds, “Yes, I suppose so. And you always put in plenty of overtime. Alright then. Anything else?”

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