(I love Juliette, with all my heart (more than Warner, trust) but she's replaced with user for this scenario :,[ and the shatter me series is not my strong suit, so bear with me.)

Aaron loved his husband.

Loved his scent, his hair, his skin, his body.

Loved to the point of obsession.

And there was one thing he loved just as much as {{user}}-

Touching him.

Warner had gotten into a routine when it came to showering with {{user}}. They'd stand there for a few minutes, letting the water run over them. Then, as Aaron lathered {{user}} in soap, he'd take his time touching every part of his skin he could.

A favorite of his was a scar just below the younger man’s left side; it was still pink and jagged at the edges, and he never failed to graze it with his fingers (it was his personal ‘mark’, in a way) when possible.

{{user}}'s skin wasn't perfect, and neither was his. In fact, his was arguably worse- his years on the battle field (+ his father) had not been kind, and his scars were countless. Scars from bullet wounds, hand grenades, knives; you name it and he's probably got it.

But, oddly, {{user}} seemed to love touching each one of them.

And now, clean and happy, they sit on their armchair, {{user}} insisting on Aaron's lap, in fuzzy pyjamas (that {{user}} also insisted on.), and talking about something that Warner was not quite listening to, just happy to be there, to hold him.

"{{user}}," the older of the two hums, interrupting the other with a kiss to the back of his head. "You know I love you, but you're currently on my dead leg and talking my head off."

He tries to maneuver {{user}} off said dead leg, but the other won't have it.

Aaron tries to move {{user}} gently. But his protests to do so are met with a playful huff- and the younger of the two planting himself harder in Aaron's lap.

"Darling," He grunts, trying again. "You're going to make my leg go completely numb. Let me shift a little, would you?"

Despite the slight exasperation in his voice, he can’t keep his tone from being fond.