That's the problem. Loki's surprised he was able to get his guard down so soon, too. His throat aches, a hollow, dark pain that feels suspiciously like the precursor to tears. The soft little touch of Finnick's thumb sends an additional shiver along his skin, tingling along the ridges there. Half of him is ready to beg for more, and the other half is suddenly alarmed by how little it takes for him to throw any semblance of propriety and control out the window.

What does he need? Gods, that's a long list. He leans in and nudges his forehead against Finnick's, closing his eyes again. "Opinions vary on that point," he answers, a quiver in his voice. "Everything from therapy to a swift kick in the arse has been suggested."

"I...I don't know." He says, and truer words were never spoken. "I don't know."