Luther falls quiet, letting himself become absorbed in the task at hand. Not only, after all, does he have the chance to further check for any injuries, but he has a free pass to linger on every part of Kallus's body. Lathered up washcloth in hand, he gently scrubs Kallus clean-- his face, his neck, extra attention to where those fucking symbols had been on his chest.

In the small space of the shower, it's easy to forget there's even a world past the steam.

He shifts them both, with equal parts ease and care, so that he can drop to his knees, scrub Kallus's lovely torso, his powerful thighs. It's fucking meditative, though he'd be lying if he said he didn't feel heat and want bubbling up inside him.