There are a handful of scars on him, pink and tan marks on pale skin--burns, cuts, awkwardly healed breaks, a single white circle that indicates where a bullet punched into him. They stand out thanks to how thin he's let himself get, how far he's pushed himself recently for the sakes of those around him.

He can't really find the brainpower to spare for self-consciousness, though, because Molly's pushing his shirt down off his arms with smooth warm hands and it's so erotic he actually trembles a little.

No wonder there's so much murder over this. Though possibly it's just that everyone's as frustrated they can't be as improbably effective at it as Molly Hooper, he manages to think.

"Substantially," he nearly growls, as much a clear and open invitation as the way he leans in and kisses her bare shoulder, just below the strap of her camisole.