In a whisper of fabric, his shirt is pulled over his head and tossed to the floor. A silence hangs between them, taut, but not tense, as they stare at each other. Her eyes, normally the brightest of blues, are darkened, her pupils dilated. When he breathes, his chest brushes against hers and there's a sort of spark, a rush of excitement and the twist of a thrill.

Slowly, she licks her lips and breaks eye contact, lowering her gaze to his chest.

Her fingers follow the path of her eyes. They're cold to the touch as she traces a circle into the flesh of his shoulder, taking a moment to appreciate the muscle between the soft skin. Torturously, she drags her fingertips across his collarbone, his skin searing underneath the light pressure. The quick swift between hot and cold, it makes for the most peculiar sensation, but he relishes it, closing his eyes as she lays her hand flat against his sternum. Her skin is callused and raises goose bumps as she moves, fingers teasing.

She lingers over his heart, the left corner of her mouth quirking upwards at the frantic beating. She tries to mimic it, but there's no rhythm, so she plays her own into his skin, her thumb flicking over his nipple, which makes his stomach muscles tighten and then ripple as he exhales. For a moment, she hesitates, the tips of her fingers hovering above his skin before she follows the ripple, the motion so light, he isn't sure it actually happened.

It's only when her fingers skim his ribcage that he flinches. He's not ticklish, even though she seems to think that he is as she giggles and repeats the motion, but he reaches for her wrist and shakes his head. A furrow appears in her elegant brow, marring her otherwise peaceful expression. Though her eyes are still dark, hooded, he can see the question, the curiosity. He contemplates how much different she looks with her hair about her shoulders and the way she looks at him when she thinks no one, not even him, is looking,

He released her wrist, fingertips skimming over her pulse, which has spiked, racing. She hesitates, taking her bottom lip between her teeth, an uncertainty he's never seen in her before. He sees his own vulnerability reflected in her eyes, and it strikes something deep in him. Softly, slowly, he nods. Her gaze flickers from his eyes to his mouth and back again before she swallows visibly. Her touch isn't as sure, but it's just as searching as she retraces the path, agonizingly slow.

When she feels the raised skin, the uneven flesh, the roughness of it, the scar tissue, she doesn't gasp, even though it's her first instinct. Instead, she locks eyes with him, unwavering as she inches her fingers along the edge of the old burn, memorizing the way it feels. She doesn't question how he received it, and she can't imagine how much it must have hurt, so she doesn't. Instead, she moves closer to him, leaning her forehead in the crook of his neck and pressing a kiss into the smooth skin of his shoulder. With the pad of her thumb, she massages small circles into the ruined flesh, her own eyes drifting shut.

They stay like that for a long time.

He cups her arm and runs his hand up and down the length of it, admiring the suppleness of her flesh and the warmth she inspires within him. Eventually, her fingers drift away from the scar and dance along the band of his trousers, occasionally dipping beneath the waistband to tease his flesh. She raises her head and turns her face towards him, their lips just barely brushing as he flattens his hand against the small of her back, pulling her closer. Their bodies don't align perfectly, but her heartbeat is strong and his is sure, and when she tilts her chin, their mouths connect, and everything seems a little bit brighter.

A/N: Help, I've fallen into this ship and can't get up. There's really no reason for this drabble other than I have a thing for scars and sexy touching.