He was rummaging in the cabinets, the sunlight shining over his exposed back. He may not have worked out that much, but he still had a nice body. Tattoos over his collarbones and biceps. Lining his ribs and chest.

If Dax was anything, it was masochistic.

When you happened to stumble in, he looking up. Grinning like the Cheshire. “How’s my baby?”