The hand smoothing over his chest and stomach starts to linger over his chest, feeling and seeing Finnick’s eyes moving over him making him feel warm all over in the best way possible. The compliments still get a shy smile, still make him blush, but the color creeping down his neck and chest is as much arousal as it is bashfulness.

He feels anything but empty or devalued. He feels like his every movement is being catalogued, studied, memorized like poetry or music. Like he’s the center of the universe, Finnick’s own personal sun to orbit.

“I’m…outta my comfort zone.” He replies honestly. “Not comfortable, but not a bad thing. Just not used to this, and…yeah. I do, I think, like you watching me like this—“

The way he’s touching himself does feel nice, maybe a little self soothing, but is still mostly unconscious. Then his fingers slide just so, his nail catches on the edge of one of his scars, and John discovers that apparently that is an erogenous zone he didn’t know he had.

His eyes shut with a gasp, shoulders dropping as he reflexively tries to chase that delicious shock of sensation, and his hips just barely cant forward like they’re looking for something to press against.