#Do we like slaughter squared for their poly ship name?

[bisexual-horror-fan]

"Feast." Vilmer Slaughter and Darla Slaughter X FEM! Reader.

Hey, hey, hey! It's Multi-May! Here we fucking go, another entry ready to go! A gift fic for a very speical someone in my life that has now been converted to be reader insert friendly. I hope you all enjoy this fucked up triads formation.

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Rating. Explicit. Length. 5.4K. Vilmer Slaughter And Darla Slaughter X FEM! Reader. She/Her Pronouns. Warnings: Canonical TCM Things (Violence, Gore, Cannabalism.) Teasing. Banter. Making Out. Fingering. Cunnlingus. Vilmer Is An Asshole. Vaginal Sex. Face Sitting. Cum Eating. Thigh Riding. Overstimulation. Multiple Orgasms. Dirty Talk. Threesome.

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You are putting items you want to bring home into your bag, the sound across the room pulls your attention to her. The sound of her chair moving, of her standing, you catch the very pleasant sight of her stretching, hands above her head, fingers interlaced, eyes closed and a sigh crossing her lips. She was standing just far enough out from her desk you get the full effect, eyes dragging from well manicured fingers, to her well styled hair, painted features. The small arch of her back and the way her ample chest caused the buttons of her blouse to strain just a hair, down the tight and short skirt that hugged her hips and thighs, down the long, long shapely legs, hot enough today she had forgone pantyhose, to the tall, almost precarious heels she walked so well in. 

The lines her body created were endlessly appealing, the soft glint of gold jewellery in the low light-

“You good, sweetheart?”

Your eyes snapped back up to her face, she wasn’t stretching any longer, you’d lingered too long, her hands were on her hips and her lips were stretched in a smile, pretty white teeth on display. You continue shoving your things back in your bag, eyes dropping and trying to will your face to not burn in shame over your embarrassment in being caught gawking at her. With a clearing of your throat, you say, “Yeah, I’m great.” 

She hums unconvinced, you hope she drops it.

Silence overtakes for a moment. 

You think you might get away with it until she speaks up again, “Because I think I saw you staring at me, pretty intensely, at that, sugar.” 

Shit. Shit. Fuck. 

“Was I?” You ask, voice pitching higher than it probably should be, you have all your items back in your bag, but you are rooting around in it, pretending to look for your keys, even though you know just where they are. 

You feel the weight of her stare. Finally, you look up, eyes meeting hers and the staring contest between you both across the room is held for almost a hair too long before she breaks, smile back and a laugh, “I’m fucking with you.” 

You smile back. Of course, she was, you laugh with a shake of your head.

Standing up, pushing your chair out, slinging your bag over your shoulder, you say, “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

You say this even knowing that there is a good chance she will call you tonight, it has been just long enough that she could call you anytime. “Yeah tomorrow, angel.” 

She hums it sweetly, that smile, slight cock of her head, and you both leave, she turns the lights off on the way out, locks the door and you both step away, walking towards your cars parked next to each other. A small hushed, “Night.” leaves you and her responding, “G’night.” 

The silence has overtaken, not heavy, but present between the both of you as you unlock your car and get in, the door slams in time with hers, both of you turn on your cars, headlights come on, you want to glance her way, you want to wave goodbye, but you’ve already technically said goodnight. Any more would be overkill and maybe read as desperate, and even though you're sure you were, you didn’t want to come across that way.

You pull out, and you go down the road one way, she goes down the other. 

Even when going in opposite directions, your mind is on her.

The friendship between you both grew quickly, naturally, since you started working together. She didn’t interview you, someone else did, you got the job and started, and she helped train you. Sweet and kind, funny, warm, she showed you the ropes and you and her talked over lunches, gleeful conversation made over tuna salad sandwiches and ants on a log and apple slices and whatever else was in your lunch bag and hers. She would bring her chair to your desk, set up camp, sit with you, beside you, talk and talk. 

That’s how it started, anyway. Friendly. Innocent. 

It turned much less so when he came into the picture. 

Curiosity about him was struck early, during the times when she would talk to him on the phone, calling him up asking him in that slightly more seductive timbre to go here or there or, “Could you please do this for me handsome?” 

You’d heard many times her side while she was on the phone but once, she had to step out, something she had to see to, and you needed to be the one to call him, she’d left her Rolodex, the numbers you might need and when a tow was required and couldn’t wait, an accident blocking an arterial road, it was on you to make the call. 

Picking up the phone, fingers dial nearly on autopilot and after three rings the line comes to life with his voice, the first time you’ve heard it, “Darla darlin’ where d’ you need me to go now?”

He calls her darling? You don’t let it throw you, not stumbling, correcting him, “Uh no sorry, not Darla, she’s stepped out but I need you to go to the corner of Main and Jefferson, there’s been an accident near the bank, it’s blocking everything, need you to haul a car away.” 

At the silence that greets, you tack on a small, “Please?” 

“Oh it's you, the other office worker! Shoot, finally gettin’ to talk to ya, Darla’s mentioned you plenty. Sure, I can do that, sweets.” You can hear the smile in his voice, and it makes you do so in kind, you tell him, “Thank you so much! Uhm, give a shout when it’s clear?” 

The question is met with an affirmative hum and a confident, “Definitely, I’d loooove to talk to you again, I’ll call you when it’s done, buh-bye for now.” 

The click rings out and the line goes dead. You are still holding to your ear, thinking that the “buh-bye” sounded very fucking flirty. You thought he was just like that with Darla, or was he like that with everyone? 

When Darla came back you filled her in, and she beamed at you, “Ooh, thank you so much for calling Vilmer while I was out, that was the right thing to do, I knew I could count on you!”  

Her praise pours over you thick and sweet as honey, and you feel warm. 

The drive to your place that evening feels shorter than normal, with your mind running as it had been, soon you are in your driveway and getting out of your car. You take the three steps up to your front porch with your keys still in your hand, the door is unlocked and opened, it’s shut behind you and the usual evening routine is kicked off. 

Bag is dropped, keys in the bowl on the table by the door, shoes off, and you stalk towards the bathroom. It was a hot day, you needed a shower, desperate to wash away the grime and sweat of the day. You go into the bathroom, light clicks on, shower turned on, letting the water sit on the cooler side, you want to be clean but not overheat more than you already were. Clothes are stripped in short order and left in a heap at your feet, you click on the radio you keep in the bathroom, let the music of your favourite station fill the small space, turning it up so you can hear it over the sound of the water once you got into the shower. You get in, a slight shiver as the water runs over you, “Fuck-”

A small curse, it feels good, but it is a tad too cold, you adjust the tap and then your body sags in relief, a sigh as you lean further into it, letting the spray get your hair wet. You take your time cleaning yourself up, feeling much better by the time the water is shut off, and you are drying yourself. You dry your hair while in your robe and soon enough you are getting your currently open bottle of wine from the fridge, you pour a glass and then are on the couch, relaxing, not wanting to get up to make dinner quite yet. 

In your very relaxed state, you unintentionally end up dozing off. 

Before you fell asleep you had been thinking about them, dreaming about them was only natural and what you had dreamt of was the last time you went over to their place. 

Flashes of memories slip over your unconscious mind all about the terrifying tour you experienced. You recall being shown around the almost hoarder level house filled with broken machinery, almost falling apart in places, cracked and filthy baseboards, busted up windows, parts of bodies that were in such a state of decay you weren’t sure what parts they used to even be. 

Eventually you are seated at the table, the food they presented was, visually interesting to say the very least, but you are a good guest, and you don’t want to be rude.

You don’t even know what the food is that they put in front of you, and you don’t ask. 

Typically, in dreams you can’t taste food, but you can taste it here, clear as day, you can never forget how it tasted, thick fat, well seasoned and salted, butter soft, the knife slides through it easily, it tastes and acts like pork and so you tell yourself that is exactly what it is. Even though the longer you’ve spent with them and the more you get to know them, the less and less sure you are on that.

The meal isn’t where it ended, there was some more terrorising, and it was intense, a lot, and the most inexplicable thing? Is that you were allowed to leave after that night. The sun rose, and you ended up walking out of there, shoes in your hand, a bit dirty and worse for wear, exhausted and also unexplainably wet. 

Loud ringing from the phone is what makes you start awake, it takes you a moment, looking around a bit confused trying to get your bearings, you’d fallen asleep on the couch, still wrapped in your blanket. You struggle to get out of the tangled, fuzzy covering and miss the phone by one ring. You sigh and think, “Oh well.” 

You curse yourself figuring it was Darla, you never miss her calls, you could call her back, but you had a feeling that it might not go over well. You leave it be.

After pouring yourself another drink and changing your robe for some clothing, a cropped tank and some shorts, you start on making yourself some dinner, nothing crazy or elaborate, a go-to lazy meal, but you were home alone, who were you trying to impress?

A half hour later, right around when you were plating up, there was a knock at the door. 

Curious.

You of course go to the door and open it and are totally startled to see Vilmer and Darla standing there. 

Vilmer spoke up first, “You avoiding us?” 

You knew it was them calling now for sure, your words almost stumbling over your tongue in your haste to reply, “Oh! No, I just…I missed your call, M’ sorry-”

“S’ fine.” He responds but the look is still harsher than you’d like in his eyes, you aren’t sure what to say.

Silence. 

He breaks it by asking, “You gonna invite us in?”

Jesus, where is your head at. You grip the doorknob and open the door wider, stepping aside and gesturing with your other hand, “Course, please come in.”

They come in, Darla is wearing a different outfit than she was earlier, a dress, tight, clingy, different heels, sparse but chunky jewellery, she looks stunning and well put together. You feel a little underdressed in your comfy lounge wear compared to her, next to Vilmer? Not so much, he was still dressed from work. 

Vilmer strides in first, Darla behind him, your eyes follow him as he strolls in like he owns the place, looking around, you don’t take your gaze from him as you close the door, but then Darla’s hand brushes your forearm. “Hey sweetheart, love the shorts.”

You could feel yourself flush just a little, a small shrug as you say, “Don’t look half as good as you.”

But who does? You thought to yourself as your eyes flick over her quickly, trying not to linger or leer.

You hear a scoff and your head snaps in the direction, Vilmer has made his way into your kitchen, you tear away, Darla laughs and follows, the click of her smart stilettos sound on the hardwood behind you as she trails along. You find Vilmer looking at your pot you had on the stove, a strong calloused hand has the pot handle in his grip, he is moving it around with a look that could be read as mild confusion and disgust. 

“Can I help you?” It slips out more playful than harsh, you fight to make sure that is the case, your hands rest on your hips, and he looks over at you, asking with raised brows, “This the kinda shit you eat when we don’t have you over?”

You don’t have time to defend yourself because Darla does, she is behind you in the doorway, her hands on your shoulders as she says, “Oh fuckssake, lay off her Vilmer-”

“Darla you ain’t even seen this shit-” He argued, face creasing slightly in a mix of anger and annoyance, shaking the pot, and she bit back, “I don’t have to, s’not like you’re any kinda cook worth writin’ home about!”

“Why you gotta act like such a bitch in front of other people?!” He fires at her, and she sounds like she is sneering, “Stop acting like a bitch first, and maybe I’ll consider it.”

“You act like this an’ I gotta step up in response! It makes me out to be some kinda asshole-”

You aren’t paying much attention because in their spat, he dropped the pot onto one of the now off burner, he has come forward, pinning you between Vilmer and Darla, both significantly taller than you, fighting over your head. You feel the differences between them. The strong wall of his chest and the smell of him from working all day, thick and masculine, a mix of sweat and musk and oil, and her, behind you, sharp nails in your shoulder, soft curves, the ends of her hair tickling your bare upper arms, and she smells floral, a little sweet, but not cloying.

You start to squirm, you are feeling flustered being so close to the pair while they are getting so heated. Do they fight like this all the time? The thought enters your mind, of them fighting, and it's escalating, turning to ripping off clothes and a struggle for dominance, one of them pinning and then riding the other into oblivion-

Wait.

It’s quiet. Too quiet, the fighting has stopped.

You look up from his face to hers, and they are both staring you down. Her hands wander before his, a slow meander, an offering, testing the waters. The sharp edges of her nails trace down your bare arms, goosebumps spring up in response, you shiver slightly and the more neutral and curious expression she had morphs into a smile. It is that same smile that makes you melt, warm, showing off her teeth. Her hands continue moving, fingers over the bare portion of your stomach, close to the hem of your cropped tank and Vilmer steps in, or rather, forward. 

His mechanically altered leg is between yours and your eyes go wide, dropping to look at the new point of contact he was creating, the light brush of well-worn frayed cottony canvas of his coveralls on your sensitive inner thighs sends small sparks through you that make your fingers twitch. Darla’s hands hadn’t stopped, she was cupping your chest, and you leaned into her touch just as Vilmer adjusted, pressing his knee up to your clothed cunt, your bottom lip caught in your teeth. He rocks his knee forward once, and you let out a small moan, and he finally comments, “Oh, she’s cute.” 

“Isn’t she?” Darla muses, and Vilmer hums, he moves his leg again, more pressure, and he says, “And passive too, she’s just lettin’ us do this-”

“She obviously likes it.” Darla whispers, you shiver and Vilmer piped up, “Betcha she’d let us do whatever we want-” He turns his attention from looking at Darla over your shoulder, to your face, “-wouldn’t ya?”

He doesn’t wait for a response however, choosing to hook calloused fingers in one of the straps of your tank top, he uses it to move you, drag you away, almost like it’s a leash, tugging you towards the table in the small breakfast nook, tucked between the kitchen and living room. Darla allowed him to do this, watching amused as he shoves you onto the hardwood surface, the napkin holder jostles, the salt and pepper shakers knock over, and he touches you again. A rough hand cups you, fondling through the thin material of your top, he all but groans, “God, she’s soft.” 

“I know.” Darla sighs, “S’ hard not to touch her at work all the time. She’s just begging for it.” She had come over to join him, her fingers brushing your outer thigh before gripping harder, fingers digging into plush skin. Your nipples are responding to his rough treatment, the pinching and twisting and pawing, your legs spread on instinct as she plays, and you look up at them, you want more, want to ask, but the words are hard to find. Part of you wants to see what they will decide to do with you on their own, so you hold your tongue. 

The pair of them don’t stop playing, they do start kissing. A possessive messy thing as she toys near the top of your shorts and his fingers suggest the idea of finally getting some real skin on skin contact going. His tongue goes into her mouth first and her hand is cupping you between your thighs, your hips stir, push into her, needy, and he pushes up your shirt, he breaks the kiss with a lustful sound that makes you tense, “Fuck, look at that.” 

You are sure the view of you is a good one. Your short little shorts hugging you just so, tits on display, hair spilling over the table, face flushed and eyes practically pleading to be touched. 

“You are killing me.” Your hands were up near your head, he pressed his hips forward, clothed erection now up against the side of your fingers, letting you feel what you had done to him. 

You are killing him? You feel like you’re the one dying, your panties feel plastered to you from how wet you are, your neglected clit throbbing for some serious attention, as if sensing that Darla’s fingers find their way into your shorts, trace up over the soaked defined slit and press. The timing is just so, the increased pressure exactly over your clit makes you want to melt into the table-top below, the moan that rips from your throat makes him pulse so hard you feel it through the layers of fabric. 

“Okay, I can’t take much more a this teasin’ shit.” His hands come up, and he opens his coveralls in one smooth motion, your eyebrows raise at the exposed skin, fuck he was toned, eyes move down his chest and stomach but as you follow those lines over his hip bones, that defined V, your breath catches, he isn’t wearing anything else under it. Where you’d expect to see the band of whatever underwear he’d prefer, you see the beginnings of dark honey toned rough hair. His hand slips in and a firm grip on his base, and he pulls himself free, hard cock very close to your face, you can see the pre-cum glistening at the tip and the ridges of veins running along his shaft.

“She needs to lose these damn shorts next.” Darla wastes no time, fingers hook, and she says, “C’mon, help me out.” You rush to arch your hips, and she pulls your shorts and panties off with little effort, discarding them. 

This is all happening so quickly, but somehow still not fast enough, or that is the brief thought that you had before you felt Darla’s mouth on you. Fingers seemed like the natural progression, her touching you softly and easily, instead you felt the warmth of her breath and the slight dampness of her saliva on your inner thigh. You look down and see her between your thighs, lips dragging up, lipstick imprints on your pale skin, you squirm, heat flaring much brighter inside of you. 

Vilmer, ever impatient, takes your hand and brings it to him, wraps your fingers around his shaft as he asks, “You can multi-task, can’t you sugar?”

A quick glance up to him, and you say, “Ye-yeah of course I can-” Darla picks that moment, while you are distracted to make her move, leaning up and in closer, her lips pressing to your soaked core, and you jerk with a moan, “Fuck!”

Vilmer snaps his fingers, causing you to jump as he says firmly, “Focus.” 

“Right! Sorry.” You start to move your hand, starting to jerk him off, rhythm is a little clumsy because Darla is starting in on you properly, her tongue is running from your leaking hole, up, and up and when she passes over your clit you let out this shuddering moan, eyelids becoming heavy, vision unfocused. You have to keep your hand moving, you do all you can do to keep the motion going, but Darla isn’t making it easy. 

She moans against you from the taste, eyes falling closed as she slides her tongue back and forth over the most sensitive part of you, she is doing some slow circles but as you respond, shift and moan, it’s like it becomes harder to keep composure. She gets messier with it, sloppy, so into it, you can feel her breathing harder, hot puffs of air against your lower stomach from her nose as she buries herself deeper, gets closer. 

Your hand tightens, grips harder and Vilmer responds positively from the change, “God yeah, you don’t gotta be gentle.” 

That helps, you grip harder, the rougher touch and more friction seemingly makes up for your lack of finesse at the moment. You are moaning from the pleasure rolling through your body, trying to hold on, you need more of a distraction honestly, so you make a move of your own. You lean forward and put your own mouth to work, tongue flicking over the tip of his dick, he stiffens, moans louder, “Fuck yesss-” His hand finds your hair, twists and tugs, “Keep goin’, jus like that dolly.”

It encourages you, lets the pleasure go a bit more on the back burner, you swirl your tongue over the head of his dick and get sloppy, similarly to how Darla was. You kiss messily, lick and suck, let drool slip out and use it, your hand is working his shaft, keeping your mouth busy with the head of his cock. You moan against him as she is practically eating you alive, drinking straight from your cunt and seemingly loving every drop. 

“You both look incredible.” Vilmer breathes, and you want to preen from the praise, the pleasure stops short, Darla is getting up, standing, she leans over, a manicured hand on Vilmer’s shoulder, and she pulls him close. She kisses him, shares the taste of you with him, and you keep going, eyes on them making out as you continue giving him a spit slick hand job that was just getting wetter from the amount of drool coming from your over excited mouth.

He is the one who pulls back, hand leaving your hair, “Get back, I gotta fuck her.”

It wasn’t a question, it was a statement, Darla gives an indulgent smile and steps aside, your hand falls away, and he gets into position, between your spread legs, one hand rests on your knee and the other grips the base of his shaft. You are nearly trembling with want, beyond ready for this, you feel him press up against your hole, there isn’t any easing into it, as soon as he is lined up he is pushing in, rough and hard, making you take him, and it causes your back to arch with a moan. The stretch burns but in a way that feels more good than bad, sensation that makes it harder to breathe, you want more all the same. He doesn’t stop until his hips are flush against you, and he is buried totally inside, he pulls out about halfway before thrusting back in, and you gasp out, “Vil-Vilmerrr-” 

“You ain’t leaving me outta this.” You glance over to see Darla hiking up her dress and holy fuck she isn’t wearing anything under it, you see how wet her thighs are just from eating you out and watching what you did to Vilmer and your eyes go wide. She joins you on the table, one leg swings over, she is on her knees over your face and your hands reach up to rest on her hips, you tug her down, mouth watering once again, desperate for a taste.

She sits on your face and once she is settled, and you have traced through her folds just once, Vilmer’s patience has officially run out, he thinks you’ve gotten adjusted plenty and starts to find his rhythm fucking you. It’s a hot and pleasure filled blur, the taste of Darla is heady, makes your head swim, you can hear her moaning your name above, you are glad you are holding onto her because the way Vilmer is fucking you is causing your entire body to rock with the movement, the table is shifting, you don’t give a shit if it breaks from under you. 

“Christ, she’s tight, s’ a fuckin’ fight to keep in her.” Vilmer is really able to give it to you, can hear the mechanical movements of his leg, the extra strength and leverage it provides, putting in a lot of the work. His hands grip your waist, and he grits out, “An’ how much she’s squirming ain’t helping neither.” 

Darla reaches back, fingers fist in your hair, and she tugs, “Try to keep a bit more still sweetheart and don’ stop what you are doing with your tongue right now, holy shit-” She gasps and grinds her hips down, and you try to listen to them both, but fuck it is hard as Hell.

They are both using your body for their respective pleasure, and you don’t think there is a single place you’d rather be. You are just getting to a point you think you have a handle on it when you feel it, Vilmer’s hands lift, you guess you stopped squirming enough, one of his hands is under your knee and the other one is between your legs and his thumb presses to your clit. You moan into the wetness covering your mouth, eyes rolling back as your legs jerk, “Hold on.” 

He picks up the pace, fucks you much harder, thumb rubbing up and down over your clit and the edge creeps up, builds much faster than you are prepared for, your mouth slows, but Darla takes over, helps out. Her hands are on your chest, and she is grinding her cunt on your mouth, you can hear her moans getting louder, you think she is close, sounds like she is going to cum before you can. You refocus, your impending orgasm backs off just a bit as you put all your energy into redoubling your efforts with your mouth, it works, you hear her all but yell, a crying call of how good it feels, a plea to keep going, and it encourages you, finally, you are rewarded after another minute, she cums against your lips and chin, her head pitching forward and her body shuddering with your name on her tongue.

Your mouth slows and your body starts to play catch up, it’s going to happen and there is nothing you can do to stop it, feeling almost light-headed, Darla’s orgasm has subsided, she slides off of your face. You take a deep gulping breath of air and on the exhalation it happens, you tip over the edge and cum. Vilmer forces himself deep inside, as if worried you’d force him out during your own orgasm, he grinds more into you rather than thrusting in and out, his thumb keeps stroking over your clit, working you through it. Your mouth is a mess, soaked with Darla, as you are nearly sobbing a strange mixture of their names so loudly you are thankful your neighbours live so far and won’t hear you. 

Finally, the pleasure stops and pain and more overstimulation starts to set in, you try to knock Vilmer’s hand away and beg for a breather, “No way, M’ not far off, not stopping till I fill you up.”

Darla was on her knees by your head, she brushes some hair off your sweat slick forehead, “Yeah, don’t you want that?”

You did, dear God you did, you nod, an incoherent moan of the affirmative, Darla touches you softly, plays with you, gentle rolling of your nipples, light circles on your hypersensitive clit. “God she’s fuckin’ good, wild little thing, gonna have to do this again an’ again-”

His praise sinks into your bones, his pace is getting sloppy and uneven, you are mumbling out a weak and rambling chant, “Again an’ again, please, please, please-”

“We will don’t worry, many times as you want.” She assures, and he grits out, “Fuck, gonna cum.”

There’s no time to beg because he is, holding to the hilt he unloads in you, head hanging forward with a groan you feel the warmth spill into you. The shudder that runs up your spine isn’t something you can help. 

Catching your breath and untangling takes a while. 

But soon enough you find yourself on the couch with him. It had started innocently, you leaking cum, sitting next to him, his arm around your shoulders as he was praising you, talking about how good you felt wrapped around him, how much he liked the sounds you made, somehow it had transitioned to him toying with you again. 

Darla is in the kitchen making something for you all to eat and here he is, having you perched on his mechanically enhanced leg, making you ride his thigh, because according to him, “Cummin’ just once is unacceptable baby, you gotta at least one more time, my ego jus’ won’t settle for less. You understand, yeah? C'mon now, don't keep me waitin’, I know you want to-”

The command is spoken into the hollow of your throat, the drag of his lips, the slight scrape of the very minimal stubble is doing everything for you, cumming again so soon should usually be impossible, but he is too good, plus there is some setting on his leg setup that has it vibrating against you, and you are finding yourself shaking through another peak just as Darla is bringing your food in. 

“Awe he wringin’ nother one outta you? He’s being so generous tonight.” She coos, her heels are off now, she sits on the couch next to you, watching your tired body roll and work through your second orgasm of the evening. You slump against him, and he is stroking up your back, “Good fuckin’ girl, so loud too, I love it, could listen to you all night.” 

Darla nudges you and takes your wrist, she pushes the plate into your hand, and you numbly take it, breathing out a weak, “Thank you.” 

“Don’t worry about it.”

You sit up a bit more and look down to see the grilled cheese she’d made, you pick it up realising how ravenous you felt, Darla watches as you start to eat, and with her hand that isn’t holding her and Vilmer’s plate she reaches out and cups your ass, asking, “You gonna be a good host and let us spend the night?”

It would be rude to turn them away now, you supposed, and it seemed like the night was far from over.