Ottis kept talking anyway, because this wasimportant.
“What if—mmph—he hires some wizard to drop flesh-eating slugs—mmmph!—on you? What if he makes someone summon—mmmm—ghosts? Or, or chimpanzees? Or—mmmph—maybe crazy robots—”
Doc huffed, warm air puffing straight into Ottis’ mouth.
Only then did Ottis realize that Doc’s lips were pressed against his own, withnothing between them.
No mask.
In broad daylight.
His brain stuttered. “Um.”
Doc kissed him again. “Have I distracted you enough?”
“You’re not wearing your—your mask.”
“I am. Kind of.”
Ottis pulled away to look, only to remember at the last second that Doc didn’t want anyone seeing him. He scrunched his eyes shut, but not before he saw the full extent of deep scarring over half of Doc’s face, fading up into gentler scars, then unblemished skin.
“I didn’t mean to look!” Ottis squeaked, slapping his hands over his eyes.
Doc laughed. “Well, you can tell me how—how bad you think it is.”
His tone was light, but his heart pounded loudly between them.
Ottis frowned, offended on Doc’s behalf. “You can’t possibly think I’m going to leave now, right after I’ve seen your face.”
“People have done that before.”
And that—that was just unfair. Ottis had also experienced similar reactions because of his limping.
“Okay,” Ottis said. “Okay. Why don’t you let me look, and I’ll tell you.”
Doc swallowed. With his eyes still shut, Ottis reached out, feeling around for Doc’s hands.
When he found them, he grasped them tightly. “I promise I’m not leaving.”
“Don’t make a promise you’ll regret, sweetheart.”
“I won’t regret it,” Ottis said mulishly.
Doc chuckled quietly and leaned in. Their lips met again, a slow, soft kiss that made Ottis’ heart race. It felt like affection, like intimacy, and a last kiss in case Ottis changed his mind.
Then Doc pulled away, sighing through his nose. “Go ahead, I suppose.”
Ottis cracked his eyes open.
In the pale sunlight, Doc’s eyes were dark, his lips pressed together, red lace hanging from one ear. There was a certain beauty to him, in the uneven scars across his face, like a turbulent wave crashing over a gentle shore.
Ottis took Doc’s face in his hands, rubbing his thumbs over the dry scar tissue. “You look like the beach.”
Doc raised an eyebrow. “The beach?”
“Yeah! This looks like a wave.” With a fingertip, Ottis traced the edge of the deep scarring, following it across one cheek, over Doc’s nose, to the other cheek. “Everything below this line is the wave, all the ripples and eddies of swirling water.” He brushed his thumbs over the scars, drawing squiggles and swirls. “Above that is the wet sand.” Ottis petted the silvery scars between Doc’s deep scarring and his unblemished skin, before sweeping his thumbs further up—to the rest of Doc’s face, perfect save for some light scarring. “This part is all dry sand, the rest of the beach.”
Doc stared at him for a long while. “Should I be concerned?” he asked eventually. “I have a resting beach face?”
