We go again. Jamie presses the mask into place, I pull, it releases. Then he starts hamming it up. Growling, narrowing his eyes, mean mugging.
"I am Rex," he grumbles in a terrible impression that sounds more like a constipated bear. "I am very angry and mysterious. Fear me."
"That's awful."
"Grrrr. I hate everything. Especially joy. And sunshine. And people who are nice to me."
I'm laughing so hard my hand slips and the mask clatters onto the workbench.
"See?" Jamie scoops it up, inspecting it for damage. "No harm done. The magnetic housing is reinforced. Even if you fuck up like I do, the prosthetic won't come off Rex's face and the other mask won't break."
"You two really thought of everything."
"We've had practice." His smile dims by a fraction. "Orion's golden skull has been through a lot of iterations."
"Did you make that one too?" I ask curiously.
He nods. "Orion was my client once upon a time." Then he grins. "I'm… um… not veryprofessional."
He's not wrong. He was inviting me to sexy game night within an hour of meeting them. I almost giggle before remembering Jamie has no fucking clue I'm an omega or a girl and I'm supposed to be putting on the cool beta male front. I practically choke on my own laugh trying to deepen it.
Cheeto's tail flicks.
Jamie laughs, too, oblivious.
"I think the trickiest part will be convincing Rex to let me practice on him," I say, looking down at the mask in my hands.
"Yeeeeah. Higher pressure situation for sure," he says with a wince and a sigh. "Just. Um. Do it a few thousand times to make sure you have it right. You think he'll let you practice on him?"
"Fuckno," I mutter.
"Practice on me."
The voice comes from behind the beaded curtain.
Jamie goes still. My hand freezes on the mask.
The beads click and rattle, and Orion ducks through the doorframe.
He's wearing a white tunic with pirate sleeves that makes him look like a vampire, and the golden skull as always, auburn hair loose around his shoulders, but his usually vivid green eyes are tired and flat. He has dark circles beneath them. His eyes find Jamie first—a quick, checking glance—and then, with visible effort, shift to me.
"Jamie doesn't care," Orion says quietly. "You need to practice on someone who's likely to pull away or resist instinctively. And I'm Rex's height. You need to get used to reaching up for this, and it's going to matter more when it isn't just practice."
"Love," Jamie murmurs. "You don't have to?—"
"I know. I want to." Orion glances at me again with obvious reluctance. "If it won't bother you, that is."
"What? No," I say quickly. "No, of course not."
"Hmm." He doesn't sound like he believes me, but he doesn't argue. He turns his back to me and his fingers find the buckles at his temples, and I watch the same deliberate ritual I saw last time. The slowing of his hands, the way his chest expands with one long breath, the micro-hesitation before the final clasp releases.
The golden skull comes away.
But I can't see him from this angle.
Jamie's hand drifts to the small of Orion's back. Orion doesn't acknowledge it, but his shoulders drop half an inch and he lets out a soft breath.
"The hinge is what 'atters," Orion says, his speech impediment back now that the mask isn't muffling his voice. He reaches for a small metal assembly on the workbench. It's a spare magnetic release housing, identical to the one built into Rex's performance mask.