"Then we should use the time while we can," he agrees, and self-consciously covers that bruise with his palm. There are many more on his arms, his legs, in dull scratches across his chest— but none fresh and livid as wounds should be after a werewolf attack. John locks the door and turns to regard Jack with a critical eye. "The bed is large enough for two."

There is nothing suggestive in his tone. Jack is smaller than Serph, particularly without the clumsy bulk of the wings, and John had managed to soothe Arthur's body to sleep even beneath those. The tails seem less a nuisance by comparison, and he rather likes their constant swaying.

It was... nice, sharing with Serph. Strangely pleasant. And they have already spent the night together: there is a certain satisfaction to finishing it in comfort.