His hands are always hidden by his gloves, so it is a rare sight to see them bare as she sits down next to him. He's trimming and cleaning his nails, such an oddly, humanly mundane task, but he's having trouble with one nail in particular, so she takes the knife in one hand and one of his massive hands in her own.

She could remark on a great many things about them--the size, the scales that shrink so small on his palm that his flesh there feels more like pebbled lizard skin than scales--but instead she frowns and murmurs "they're so cold."

He must think she dislikes it, so he starts to say something and pull his hand back; since this isn't what she meant at all, she holds on, her dragon curse strength keeping him still. Calling on a seed of heat from the curse's memory of dragon flame from years before, she takes her free palm and presses it against his, sending the heat into every scale and tendon.

"Ah," he murmurs after a moment, curling his fingers around hers, "it's warm."

She smiles and holds onto his hand until she drifts off against his side.

(I know that's way too many sentences, shh, I know.)