Ohhh, yes. This was multitudes better without the sweater vest in the way. Char suddenly found himself fighting a mighty internal battle over how much he could actually allow himself to enjoy this. It was nice. It was astoundingly nice. Better, even, than the rare few behind-the-horn scratches select few were allowed to give.

All the same, though, he was a stubborn creature through and through. He couldn't possibly expect to be intimidating or unapproachable if a few little scratches to one spot turned him into jelly. The very fact that he had lived on this earth for two decades without ever actually knowing that he liked his chest scratched was somehow a little bit shameful in itself, too.

His reaction, at first, was so tryhard it veered into comical. He stood stock-still, neck straight and head high, tail actually quivering from the effort of trying to hold back the wags and squirms dying to run through it. Blue, however, was most definitely an expert dragon-scritcher; before long, his defenses crumbled. Despite his best efforts, Char matched her happy hum with a low rumble, head drooping down to rest on her shoulder.