Air dry or no air dry, we need towels. Between all of your hair and Eugene's mop, the mattress-

[Jack trailed off from rummaging in the cabinets for towels, looking back at Zevran at the first hint that he wasn't following. Or goosing one of them. Or sinking right into the heat of the bath and soaking it in. Armful of fluffy towels against his chest, he looked over his shoulder, perplexed by Zev's hesitation and the look on his face until his eyes followed hands trailing down the first scar. And the second. And- ah. Maybe that was it.

Stooping, he set the towels down by the bath, freeing his hands to reach out and take both of Zev's off of the litany of new injuries, kissing rough-skinned knuckles on one side and then the other in turn.]

Come on, handsome. In you go.