“I want you to touch me.”

A few words left you staring at the man in front of you, his hat held so tightly in his bare hands, his eyes pleading for your attention and hands, his gorgeous face held so perfectly in front of you.

The leader of the team, the overlooked, the one left out, stood before you, telling you what he wanted at this very moment in this slit of time. A request that left you both breathless and breathing hard.

Years went into the friendship of you and John. Years. Years in the field, years in the training room, years in the barracks- hell, years in your own head, even in the heartache of him pushing you away, only to crawl back because you were the only one who understood.

“You want… what?”

There’s no way you heard him right. There’s only a few times he let you even close enough to touch him, and that was when you were training, sparring, or when you scratched his back those few times.

“Make me feel like I am breathing,” John‘s words left him as if it were his breath, stepping just an inch closer to you as his vulnerability shined through his begging gaze, “Feel like… I am human…”