John flinches hard when he’s touched—but he jerks into the contact, head pressing back into the burning touch of fingers like an animal desperate for attention. It’s like fire, but the way his eyes slip shut as the other man starts to gently stroke and pluck away the tangles in every strand communicates no trace of that pain.
Nor does the way his breath hitches, and then comes a little steadier. Or the way his head presses back harder, more deliberately as he becomes a little more aware of his environment.
“Hurts.” He manages…then after another labored breath…
“It—it’s been…better. The…uh—didn’t have any…human contact for a…years. Been better, I’ve had more but uh—it’s like it was all…all just gone and it got bad again.”
The longer he touches John, the more regular his breathing becomes, the less labored his speech. He should pull away, get his shit together…but he can’t.
no subject
Nor does the way his breath hitches, and then comes a little steadier. Or the way his head presses back harder, more deliberately as he becomes a little more aware of his environment.
“Hurts.” He manages…then after another labored breath…
“It—it’s been…better. The…uh—didn’t have any…human contact for a…years. Been better, I’ve had more but uh—it’s like it was all…all just gone and it got bad again.”
The longer he touches John, the more regular his breathing becomes, the less labored his speech. He should pull away, get his shit together…but he can’t.
It burns, and he can’t get enough of it.