John's warm fingers around his wrist sent another shock of warmth through him. He let the man guide him a few steps closer, then felt the pads of his fingers press against John's bare stomach, just above where he had soiled himself.

His fingers were still, then he moved them infinitely slowly and gently around the skin. He could see the bullet wound in the man's shoulder, and he ached to asked questions, but he kept his mouth still and moved his eyes back down his body, toned but still slightly soft with age.

He gasped when his fingers first touched the milky stickiness on John's lower stomach. He ran his index finger through it, and before he could talk himself out of it, brought it to his lips and took a tiny taste.

"Ohhhh...."