Dean had the dexterous, capable fingers of a professional – they were those long, strong, slightly knobbly type that were somewhere between delicately slender and clearly perfect for a truly masculine man (nails tastefully smooth but fairly short on all but two fingers). He skritched with his long nails, scrubbed with his short, massaged with all – getting under fur, around tense muscles, just as if he were giving a human a rub down. Of course, all of this was under the pall of the power he’d absorbed.<br/><br/>Leaning over the wash basin and the Aza, Dean was a shadowy, mysterious figure practically bursting with amorous power. His very aura could be considered a type of aphrodisiac at this point, his body sculpted to fit his thoughts rather than any *real* proportions that a man should have. Thankfully, his subconscious wasn’t in control now, or he’d have been downstairs, joining the pair below.<br/><br/>Privately, Dean hoped that Donovan gave as good as he got – the drow looked quite formidable, with the sort of springsteel body that could milk a whole herd of suitors dry without even clenching. Part of him, a vertical slice that included the new innocence that controlled his actions, wanted to watch out of curiosity, to cheer (or jeer) as things progressed.<br/><br/>But Donovan would want privacy, at least for now, and the poor animal was all dirty and had looked quite taken aback before he’d scooped her up. “Ah, but now you enjoy it, don’t you girl?” Dean said in his smoky, enchanting voice as his hands slid up her neck. “Now, this is just getting in the way of me giving you a proper scrubbing. I’m sure your former mistress won’t mind.” Forearms bunching with effort as Dean struggled to find the clasp – found it – disengaged, drawing the collar away from the little creature, one hand already sliding up her newly bared neck to work the scruff.<br/>