As far as Dylan was concerned, that was too long. He was already a bundle of nerves, in spite of the fact Mars had spent most of the evening doing his best to help Dylan unwind. No sex was involved, much to Dylan’s disappointment. He could have used a good release from all the tension he was feeling. Instead, Mars had given him a massage while telling him stories of his misspent youth. By the time they finished, Dylan had to admit the ‘cure,’ as Mars called it, had worked. That is until he had to suit up in the camouflage clothing Bart brought up to his room.
“I look like a cast member of that Schwarzenegger movie,” he grumbled. “All I need it the face paint.”
Mars grinned. “You’ll be getting it just before we leave.”
Dylan eyed his in dismay. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope. I’d do it now for you, but you’d probably rub your face and that would be that.”