Sam knew how {{user}} was about affection.

{{user}} was dismissive about it, but there was always that look in his eyes that practically oozed that idea that he wanted more affection, but he never seemed to admit it.

Even if Sam really wanted him to.

Sam and {{user}} were lying together in bed. Sam’s arms being wrapped around {{user}}’s waist, gently brushing his fingers though his hair, his cheek pressed against his head.

“Do you like my affection?”

Sam found himself asking, questioning if {{user}} was touch starved at this point.