Grown Men

that much muck.” Runt laughed to take the chill out of the air between them. The custardy glop started to drip onto the sand beside Ox’s size twenty-three boots.
    “Thanks.” Runt crossed the doorway and made a joke out of it. “Oi! You go rinse off in your big bathtub so I don’t squirt in your supper.”
    Drip-drip . Ox grinned.
    “The eel pups love soy. And spunk.” Runt grinned back. He pointed at the ocean. “They could use fattening up. Careful they don’t nibble your knob.”
    Ox bobbed his head and peeled out of his slimy worksuit right there, then lumbered naked toward the waves.
    “And mind your burns.” Runt called after him.
     

     
    After supper, Runt tried to let Ox pick a holo-vid, but the big man didn’t want to choose. He shrugged and jerked his dimpled chin at Runt instead. Already, the sun had lightened the heavy stubble on his jaw.
    Runt squinted at him in disbelief. “D’you not like adverts?”
    Ox sat on the floor in front of the bench and thrust his fingers at Runt to make him pick.
    Runt grunted and rummaged through his favorites, looking for a little mindless advertainment that even a mutant could love: some girls, some gore, a couple cool products, maybe a little adventure or a crime. Guy friendly. Nothing too sad or too sexy.
    A cheeseball story where things turned out the way they ought. “When I was a kid I wanted to try my luck in showbiz. Huh? Dreaming up adverts . . . banging modded models in my mansion . . . red carpet product launches.”
    His enthusiasm proved infectious. Ox snorted and crossed his arms, already amused, apparently.
    “Besides, everybody knows showbiz is where the short people shine.”
    Ox smiled at that, a big slice of teeth in his sunburned face.
    “Hey . . .” Runt pulled up a big-budget heist-comedy advertising HardCell’s security division and theme parks.
    Here we go! This one featured a long cross-promotional car chase that always made his palms itch for a steering wheel. “You’ll love this one. Promise!”
    Runt sat down on the bench and squeezed Ox’s shoulder to let him know to get comfortable.
    Ox bumped a little closer so his side pressed against Runt’s calf through their clothing.
    As soon as the projection started, their habitat became a theme park strip-joint full of seedy characters. One of HardCell’s A-list spokestars fuzzed into three-dimensional life where the cook-space had been. Suddenly around Runt and Ox, a ring of crooks planned a jewel robbery of a rival corporation that had it coming. A one-eyed felon nodded at Runt and “spat” at Ox’s feet.
    Ox flinched, then relaxed once he tried to touch the holographic loogey and touched the bare floor. Ox’s Neanderthal forehead wrinkled as the flashy advert unfurled around them, making them part of the gang and part of the caper.
    Runt smiled. It felt good to vegetate after a day of hot work. He’d grown up stealing, but nothing this plush. HardCell sure knew how to plug their brands. The locations were glamorous, the ladies seductive, and the product placement inspired.
    Real entertainment .
    Ox took a while to relax, but pretty soon he was anticipating sneak attacks. He laughed with Runt and tensed with Runt, at one point pounding the bench so hard that the villains turned in surprise. He kept rubbing his sunburned back on the bench, almost like a cat marking territory. The rubbing seemed to calm him, especially with the holographic criminals clustered around them.
    Definitely distracting. Runt watched him fidget, not sure what to do.
    Ox apologized with a slow blink, but couldn’t get at the spot easily.
    In the end, Runt gave in and started scratching Ox’s shoulder blades for him, almost absently. Each time, Ox calmed instantly, absorbed again by the action.
    Fair enough . A little scratch for blissful vegetation seemed an even swap.
    In the end, the HardCell heroes cleaned out their competitors, of course, and the projection ended.
    The habitat’s pearly lights faded up, and Ox insisted on the bench again, pointing Runt toward his sleep-space.
    Runt felt too tired to argue. He fetched a polyblanket and left it on the hard seat.
    Ox stripped down with his back turned. Squeezed on the firm plastic, he passed out almost instantly, breathing softly and smoothly.
    Runt didn’t fall asleep for hours.
     

     
    On day three, Runt stopped testing Ox and decided to stick with him and take his measure from up close. Overestimating his partner seemed as stupid as