James hears his voice breaking on a no, though it's nonsensical, more instinctive than anything. He almost pulls his hand away, but Steve's touch is gentle and firm and James is too tired and broken to do anything but let him coax his hand away from his hair. Then he feels something warm, and it takes him a too-long moment to realize that it's Steve's breath on his fingers and Steve's lips there, too.

James turns a little, disbelieving even when he sees it. His chest is still heaving, his eyes a little wide, but his breathing slowly evens out as Steve kisses along his hand. He's almost glad that he can't crane his neck enough to see the expression on Steve's face, because the gesture communicates so much that he doesn't think he could stand more than that.

Maybe it doesn't heal, but the way Steve touches him is full of a nearly biblical kind of grace. He doesn't know how Steve can touch him like that and not taste every foul thing he's ever done. Maybe he does. Or maybe all he can taste is James' skin, ordinary in every way.

James sinks back against him, his breath still hitching a little. He's long past shame, but he thinks Steve will do him the favor of pretending not to notice.

"Can-- Can we go to bed?"