Carlisle closes his eyes as Glacius works at washing away the blood and ink that coats him, his mind now far, far away from the thought of the shears in his back, or how they pushed against the skin of his chest from the inside, or how unsightly his hair is. While he knows he should be more embarrassed by the amount of skin he is showing, or with how visible those scars that run down his abdomen are, he can't find it in himself to care at that moment. Everything just ebbs away with the warmth emanating through his veins.

"That feels really good, actually," he mumbles himself as Glacius takes care of his wounds. He should do the same, shouldn't he? It's only right for him to make amends, his intoxicated mind says, trying to get onto a familiar track of thinking.

His limbs are still obviously stiff as he reaches forward to put his hands on Glacius' jaw, his fingers searching the alien's neck for that scar.