"Get in here, Wyrmblood, and don't waste the hot water lapping it up," Gaius says; God, he's fucking beautiful. Like a feral animal is in the wild -- a real wolf, gleaming white and magnificient but also liable to tear your arm off.

He had his scars, too -- chasing up both arms, across his chest, leaving welts where the armor had seared it's patterns into his body. Both kissed by flame, both coming away from it all the harder for. "You need soap and water, and a soak. I promise you, we'll both feel better for it."