“So why don’t you?” Kirk asked, letting Frank do his work without complaint other than a few winces when his wound was agitated.

He raised his free hand, slipping his fingers along Frank’s cheek and then around and up into his hair, carding through the thick, dark hair. Gently he massaged the back of Frank’s head and down to his neck.

“Talented hands.” Referring to himself or Frank? Who really knew, but did it matter.