"Don't worry about it," he soothes, half-closing his eyes as Fever touches his face. There's a bit of bristle there from stubble he hasn't bothered shaving, and he bears no scars on his face, but there's just a little bit of weathering from a life that hasn't always been roses and cakewalks. The hand on her hip trails up over her ribs, his thumb tracing across the texture of scars, and comes to feel at her breast, kneading it in hand.

"Whenever I get a shot I start screaming before they even put it in. Just bad with pain, that's all. You're doing terrific. I mean look at you- what a body, eh? C'mere- I want to see if your lips are still as good as they were in the hot springs."