Doc’s hand came back down, trying to retrieve his mask from Marcie.
Marcie held on tight, smiling gummily.
Marcie: 1, Doc: 0.
Grass rustled, accompanied by heavy footsteps. Hijinks gave a scandalized gasp. “You took both!”
When Doc spoke again, his voice was slightly muffled, the way it did when he was wearing a mask. “How about this?”
Ottis lowered the hand shielding his eyes.
Doc was wearing... what looked like the lacy red cup of a bra, stretched over a second mask. Across the second mask was a sentence printed in bold.
Come closer, and we can touch the tips of our wriggly love tentacles.
Ottis couldn’t help it. He burst out giggling. “L-love tentacles?”
Doc sighed. “I don’t want to know. I couldn’t turn the mask inside-out, because there’s an even worse line in there.”
“What is it?” Ottis perked up.
“You really want to know?” Doc squinted.
“Um, yes!”
“Well, give me a second.”
Doc began fiddling with his two masks; Ottis checked on Marcie. “Hey, hon. What are you doing with your stolen mask?”
She had one corner stuffed in her mouth, chewing and drooling all over it.
Ottis sighed. “I hope you don’t want your mask back right now. It’s covered in drool.”
“I’m fine with drool.” Doc laughed, low and rich. Ottis’ spine tingled.
Then a mask dangled in front of Ottis’ face, the opaque one. True to Doc’s word, there was a pickup line printed on the inside, an even longer one.
Our love rods should wrap around each other and do the thrusting snake dance. They will kiss each other on the tip and when the dance is over, they will shoot sperm confetti everywhere. Like wedding rice.
Ottis stared in horror. “What.”
“My thoughts exactly.” Doc huffed, reaching down to take the mask back.
Ottis couldn’t help it. He looked up.
Doc was still wearing the lacy red mask. It allowed a glimpse of his face, showing Ottis that same flash of mottled, craggy scar tissue, half-hidden under swirls of embroidered flowers. Doc froze.
“Wow, you’re pretty like that. Wearing a bra, I mean,” Ottis said, and cringed. “I mean, wearing a bra on your face. No, that doesn’t sound any better. But you’re still pretty.”
Doc gaped. Mortified, Ottis buried his face in his hands, but that didn’t feel like enough. Instead, he threw himself onto the grass and rolled around, hoping to distract Doc from the things that fell out of his mouth. “Why, oh why does my mouth do this to me?”
“Ottis, sweetheart,” Doc said after a pause. “I don’t mind what you said.”
“Really?” Ottis stopped next to Marcie, who grabbed his hair and patted his face. “But I... I also accidentally looked at your face! I didn’t mean to!”
Doc drew a slow breath. Then he came closer, grass rustling under his feet.
He crouched in front of Ottis and caught his chin, tipping his face up with those warm, calloused fingers. “Look at me.”
