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Mason was fond of saying that there was more than one way to skin a cat, but, as Adam knew, there was only one way to skin Mason Eckhart.
Mason already looked half-naked when Adam started, having disposed of his garments, but Adam had seen him without his latex--he knew better. This wasn't nude. This wasn't even close to naked yet.
Adam started with the face, found the edge of the latex at Mason's temples, peeled it down his cheeks, and Mason kept his eyes closed and didn't breath as Adam pulled it down. Mason's skin was always startlingly pink underneath: it was pale compared to anyone else's, but it had so much more color than the latex it hid under.
From there, with Mason's mask hanging under his chin, Adam walked around behind him to find the seam at the nape of his neck, to pull it apart all the way down his spine. Adam rolled latex forward over Mason's shoulders, and Mason caught it there, pulled it from his collarbones and started rolling the sleeves down his arms. Adam had to help him when he'd pulled it down to his hands, though; his fingers invariably got tangled in the mass of latex.
And then Adam knelt to slide the latex down Mason's hips, and Mason was always impatient by this point, wanted to just yank and kick it down if he could, but it would bind him like a rubber band if he tried. Slowly, carefully, Adam rolled latex down Mason's thighs, his knees, his calves, and then Mason lifted his feet one at a time for Adam to pull the latex off like socks.
And then Mason was completely naked, while Adam looked up at him through the hard plastic face plate of his contamination suit, partially fogged with his own breath.
Two months had passed since the accident. The frustration was starting to wear.