John huffs out a silent near-laugh at that, moving and shifting with every touch with a pleasure that’s more animal than sexual, neck arching into his hand, shrugging his shoulders to press into the palms smoothing over them. He’s every bit the personification of a cat being petted.

“This…s’ good, thank you.” He assures the man—and falls silent for a few moments. The longer he’s touched, the further the pain recedes until those greedy presses turn to more relaxed stillness, the shaking fading to almost nothing.

“…I have people here. A—well, I want him to be a partner. To be mine…it’s complicated. I’ve been recovering…then it got dark, a-and the moon came out, and…I just knew no one would ever want to touch me again. It happens—I worry, it hurts, spirals if I can’t stop it. This time…I didn’t even try. I don’t know why.”