The first touch was like a brand, red hot from the fire, digging into the open wounds, his whole body jerking with it. The groan, mercifully muffled, ripped from his throat before he could swallow it back down.

For a moment, he swore he could smell the seared flesh and something hot and bitter washed up from his gut.

The second... wasn't as bad, the sharp edge dulled by expectation. As he braced for it. The pain dissolved into a full-bodied throb, radiating from his back. His skin rippled, muscles fluttering and rolling across the broad shoulders, along the deep line of the spine bisecting his back, but he finally turned his head. Enough to breathe.

Enough to mutter weakly, his face pale, "I wish I had." His eyes rolled, tucked into the corner where he just make out Max's profile as the man bend over him. "I'm sorry, Max."