The first time she had toyed with his scars, he had been frenzied and mad from lust. He had thought his reaction was because of that, but the brush of her tongue and the feeling of her breath against his torso made him shiver. Eyes shut for a moment as the image of daggers is replaced by lips. What was a cold and sharp memory ebbed away in the face of her tenderness.

He doesn't move to stop her or discourage her from what she's doing. This felt like a revelation. He had been ashamed of what happened, but the more she toyed with him and explored his scars, the more he found he liked this. His hips rock up again, this time less playful and more needy for friction.

He held her still for a moment, lifting her chin so he could smear a dab of crimson paint along her lips. He wanted the colors to mix, for the blue of his scars and torso be joined with the red of her mouth.