Despite what the great Mr. McCafferty thought, he couldn't have made Fisher leave. He could have grabbed him and thrown him out, causing a scene and attracting attention. But Fisher knew that James wanted him to stay, and even if James had denied it, he wouldn't have gone. Sometimes he could dig his heels in and be stubborn as hell, and apparently he would need to with James.
It was true, James was scarred. His skin wasn't unmarked, it wasn't smooth and untouched. That didn't mean it wasn't perfect. While Fisher kept tracing his fingers on the other man, he squirmed a little beneath James' touch, a faint smile tugging his lips. "My skin isn't all smooth," he said, turning his forearms out to show the deep track marks on both arms. "I got these. And these I did to myself. I'm guessing you didn't flog yourself with a cat o'ninetails," he mused.