John enjoys the quiet moment of just...holding him, the hand in his hair curling around the back of his head to draw him closer, hold him securely, safe in his arms. It makes his chest tight, that simple and uncomplicated embrace, and reminds him why that isolation under the moon hurt so fucking much.
I will kill to keep this. I'll fight any war to hold you.
The violence of that silent promise to himself, and to Finnick, is strangely soft, tender, and dripping in so much blood he can almost taste it on the back of his tongue as he releases him to take the pendant and slip it over his head. He adjusts the cord so it rests well below his faction talisman and his locket, safe from tangling.
"It's bone--big coyote I took down." he explains. "Coyotes are trouble, but they're tricksters. Wily, smart, y'know? Smart made me think of you, and since Loki's a trickster, too, thought you'd enjoy that extra bit. Keep him close, too."
A token of his own love, and a quiet show of his acceptance--a reassurance that this form of commitment from Finnick: to love him and keep loving him, to protect his badly bruised heart at all costs, is more than enough for John.
Finnick touches his fingertips to it once it's on. It seems to fit perfectly. It feels right, sitting there below his collarbones.
"You're so sweet," he murmurs. It's thoughtful and so kind that he'd include Loki in the gift when he really didn't need to. "And quite the craftsman. I'll wear it with pride. How does it look?"
He smiles softly- his shirt is now way more unbuttoned than it had been at the beginning of the party, and his waistcoat is undone too, since he was feeling sweaty and too stifled. Thus, his chest is pretty exposed.
"Come up to my room," he takes John by the hand. "Your presents are in there." He'll help John carry the snacks and drinks up.
John looks him over--and it's hard not to do so with an appreciative eye. Not just because he's gorgeous, but because he's unkempt, tousled. This intimate view of him, just a little rumpled and relaxed and on display, both lovely glimpses of his body and how relaxed he is...
"Beautiful." he breathes, looking right into Finnick's eyes as he reaches up to smooth his hand over Finnick's cheek. He surrenders it almost immediately as Finnick indicates his room, letting him take John's hand as they both pick up some of their snacks and drinks.
"Lead on, Macduff." he replies, then remembering Finnick's world...
"That's, uh--from a famous play where I come from. Kind of slang for 'lead the way' if you wanna look smart."
John calls him beautiful, and somehow it's different from any other time he's been called it. It's clear John isn't just talking about his appearance, but his entire... Being. It makes him smile bashfully and duck his head a little.
Scampering upstairs, he feels a little giddy.
"Macduff is a funny name. You should call me that more often." Missing the entire point, Finnick, but okay.
Arriving in his room and putting all the stuff down, he pulls out a small box, and it's tied with a ton of pink and red and white ribbons in elaborate knots, bows, and curls. It looks beautiful, if a bit crazy.
"Kinda went overboard with this wrapping. It was fun. The other one isn't wrapped at all." He opens a drawer and pulls out a small succulent.
"I was shopping with Solas and he suggested you might like to have something to take care of. Y'know, other than me and Delmar and the roommates," he laughs slightly, half-sitting and half-leaning on top of his desk. "I thought the succulent was fitting because it grows in a harsh environment where it's not given much of what it needs, but it adapts and survives strong anyway, while retaining its beauty and softness. That reminded me of you. I didn't choose a cactus because you're not prickly, even though I think it would be fair if you were." He holds it out to John with a small smile. "And hey, maybe if you like having a plant you can get more. It could be a hobby, I thought."
John definitely needs some hobbies, and the only way to figure out what you like doing is to... Try stuff.
When he sees the plant, John’s chest gets tight, and it gets tighter by the moment as Finnick keeps talking. The thought and care he put into the gift, with no clue as to what else it might mean…
Reaching for the succulent, John tries to remember the last time he saw one back home and can’t. Not the trees, the sparse grass, the cacti. Touching one little leaf, he’s surprised to feel a tiny pang of homesickness for the familiar things that are worlds away from the humid jungles of Vietnam. The dry hot air, the earthtones…
He put so much thought into this, and he didn’t even know John was raised in the desert. When he looks up at Finnick, his eyes are shining but not spilling, and he’s smiling.
“That’s—I love it.” He replies, laughing a little. “Surprised me…I grew up in the desert, where these come from. The fact that you put so much more thought into this…it means so much. So much—thank you.”
He pauses, then snickers as he leans in to kiss Finnick soundly.
"Oh, right!" He laughs. John had told him he grew up in the desert, but for Finnick that was so long ago that he'd forgotten. Funny how he'd coincidentally picked something relevant, or maybe some part of his subconscious remembered. "A piece of home, too, then." Finnick imagines if he was somewhere without the ocean he would love to grow, say, seaweed for the nostalgic smell.
He smiles and kisses John back.
"Yes! Open it!" He insists excitedly as he pushes the box into John's hands. "Uh. You might need your knife," he laughs again.
Inside the box, wrapped in paper, John will find a necklace made of seaglass with a cord tied into a celtic knot.
With a grin—and yes, to show off a little—John draws his knife from the small of his back where it’s sheathed and slices through the ribbons with the tip.
Yes, he was armed at the party. Strangers in his home, with his friends and loved ones…
Opening the package, John’s breath rushes out of his lungs at the sight of the pendant. The gleaming green sea glass with the delicately woven knot—the same kind he told Finnick he does so much better than John…
For a second, he’s reminded of Co’s Buddha pendant, and he wonders if he met her for this reason. A good woman who gave him so much hope, wearing her own beautiful green gem so he would know, when he found someone else who gave him as much as she did, know them by their gleaming green sea glass.
He knows, in that moment, he has to get the Buddha back. That it’s for Finnick—that this, them, that it’s forever. Open hearts and all.
“This…means more than you know.” He replies softly, beaming up at him. “You made this, too, didn’t you? It’s…fuck, it’s perfect. It’s so perfect, it’s gorgeous. I love it-here, help me put it on? Please?”
Finnick had assumed he was armed at the party, because... Well, it's part and parcel with John's whole deal.
His partner seems somewhat stunned by the gift, which- Finnick doesn't think it's that amazing, it's rather simple really.
"Of course I did. Oh-" He smiles and ducks his head bashfully. The praise feels overboard, but it's nice. "It's not all that, it was easy to make." He takes the necklace from John. It's adjustable, too, with well-placed tiny knots that act as stops to keep the string from letting out once tightened, but aren't so tight you can't still loosen it manually by pulling. He loosens it, lifts it over John's head, and then tightens it to hang right in between his collarbones.
"Looks perfect now that it's on you," he murmurs. The triangular glass almost emulates the shape of the anchor, and seems to suit John, somehow.
"Seaglass is one of my favourite things, as you can tell." He laughs slightly and gestures around his room at the seaglass that's accumulated on surfaces, in little jars, and displayed in art pieces. "So, only fitting to claim one of my most favourite people with it."
Claim. John likes how easily that falls from his lips, loves the way it makes him feel. Special and loved and…cherished.
…and wildly possessive in a way that brings some relief with it. Not of Finnick as a whole, but this bit of him. This little moment when he’s reading John like a book and treasuring every word, open and sharing and eagerly being his Valentine’s date for tonight.
“Property of Finnick Odair. Now that sounds like Heaven.” John murmurs, reaching up to touch the pendant where it sits against his chest. He catches the glass in his fingers, brings it to his lips to kiss, then releases it to pull Finnick in for another kiss of his own.
“I like being yours…and I like you being mine.” He admits softly against his lips. “My gorgeous sailor…my Finnick.”
He laughs softly, thinking of giving all his serious partners this kind of jewelry, as a way of signalling to others who they're involved with- like having a brand, again, but this time it's his choice.
"I'll try to treat you like the precious thing you are," he purrs.
He wraps his arms around John's neck, stroking the hair at the back of his head, kissing him slowly.
"I like it, too," he breathes. "My handsome, adorable sweetheart." He kisses John's cheek.
"You had another gift for me? Did you want to do that, or just relax for a bit?"
John is, understandably, a little distracted by having Finnick stroking his hair and pressing close and using that tone he can’t resist—the one that always makes him melt. So it takes a second for him to find the words to answer with a shy smile.
“Well, uh—depends if you still want a break before getting frisky.” He replies, nuzzling Finnick’s cheek. “It’s uhm…something you get to sit back and enjoy while I unwrap it for you.”
"Well, I can certainly sit back. Sounds like a nice break to me. Let me just get more comfortable."
Finnick smiles, gives John another peck, then takes off his suit jacket and vest, draping them on his desk chair. He grabs his drink and the little plate of cheese and such and splays out on his bed, sighing with relief to finally be off his feet. Slowly, he sips at the drink, nibbles at the food, and rolls up the sleeves of his half-buttoned floral shirt, allowing John to do... Whatever it is he's going to do.
John feels his heart start to race as Finnick settles in. It starts out as nerves, but by the time he’s rolling up his sleeves, putting himself on display in that casually intimate and nonsexual way, it’s more anticipation.
Having Finnick’s undivided attention like this—he feels a little crazy for the fact that he’s feeling just a little bit turned on and he’s still fully clothed.
A striptease isn’t something John can really…do, not without looking stupid, so he doesn’t try. He just reaches up and takes his time, slowly sliding each button of his shirt through each hole. One by one, he undoes them, and pauses to tug his shirt a little further open with each one. Slowly, his chest and stomach are laid bare to his gaze, one button at a time leaving John naked to the waist save for his faction talisman and Finnick’s pendant.
Then, taking a deep breath, John starts to undo his pants in the same way after kicking off his shoes…and slowly, the boxer briefs he finally settled on buying at Vestiture come into view, gradually revealed as John starts to slide his pants down off his hips.
Soon, it becomes clear what John meant by 'unwrapping', and Finnick's eyebrows raise suggestively. He settles in to watch John slowly reveal his beautifully muscled abdomen, in his own sort of shy endearing way.
"Oooooh," he says, once he starts to see the black mesh boxer-briefs, sheer enough to see some of what's going on underneath, but not all.
"Very nice..." He bites his lip with a grin, putting his plate to the side to watch while sipping his drink, propped on his elbow. He feels a little like a Capitol pig, but... A little voyeurism can be his little treat for being a good boy, right?
John is very aware of Finnick watching his every move. He can feel his eyes, and it’s like he’s physically touching John, the sweep of his gaze leaving heat in its wake.
Once he’s pushed his pants down his legs and bent to step out of them, he can’t resist picking them up and turning to drape them over a nearby chair, giving Finnick a chance to check him out from behind.
By the time he faces Finnick again, he’s visibly hard as he smiles, shy but with a hint of shaky boldness.
“Do, uh…do you like it?” He asks, half aware of absently smoothing a hand over his chest and stomach. “It’s—it’s not usually my thing, but I know you’re used to people sitting back and admiring the view. So, tonight, I wanted you to have something you thought was pretty to look at instead.”
And thinking about that even as he says it has John’s hand sweeping a little lower on his stomach as his hands slides over his belly, palm skimming over the waistband of his briefs as he feels his cock throb with a fresh wave of heat.
His eyes do sweep over John thoroughly, drinking him in. Every curve of that tanned skin, every shift of muscle under it.
And that ass. Oh, it's perfect, muscled and juicy and plump cheeks under that tight mesh, the curve of it illuminated well by the candlelight.
Perhaps most enticing, though, is the way John touches himself. Finnick's not sure what it is, whether he's thinking of his own hands doing it or if it's just the idea of John's skin being touched at all that's enjoyable... Or if it's the prospect of John making himself feel good with his own touch. In any case,
"I love it. You're beautiful, love, and very sexy." A small grin. His eyes glance to John's obvious erection.
"You like it, then? Me watching you? I don't want to make you uncomfortable."
The last thing he would want is for John to feel how he felt, drooled over like a piece of meat while naked and bared for the world. Sure, it could be fun at times, but it also had made him feel... Empty, like no one cared about the person underneath. Like he'd be worthless without his beauty.
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.
It makes sense that this is out of his comfort zone. He thinks back to Cinna saying that John has no idea how good he looks. He imagines it's hard for him to find the confidence to show himself off like this. Finnick's not sure if something or someone in John's past made him feel ashamed of his body, or if he's just not naturally very confident, but either way, it's nice that he's pushing himself to do something like this. Finnick will treat it with the care and sensitivity he needs and deserves.
"I think you do, too," he murmurs slyly with another look to John's erection.
Then something happens- Finnick isn't quite sure what, but John reacts.
"Found something that feels good? Try doing it again," he encourages gently.
John knows he likes being told what to do, the strange, delicious way it messes with his head. This isn’t it, doesn’t bring the golden fog. The gentle question and encouragement smooth away the mild embarrassment of his knee jerk reaction, leaving just the pleasant heat of a blush and that low, electric hum of excitement he’s discovering when he’s being watched when he’s on display like this.
So, very deliberately, he does it again. Running the edge of one nail very gently along the scar highest on his chest, the sparks of sensation make him shiver pleasantly as he sighs. Heat pools low in his belly, and it feels so good he just—
John opens his eyes before he can be swept away by that urge: to slide a hand down to palm himself through that sheer material, tease himself, get himself off with Finnick watching him. Just thinking about it…
…makes him realize he wants it. To let Finnick have that moment, where he was forced to be this for other people, John wants to be for him tonight. Not to play with power but to let Finnick be the one indulging himself with John. To know he can ask for anything and get it, and that John will enjoy it.
So he moves closer to the bed, close enough to touch—to reassure him with a greater sense of intimacy that he’s giving Finnick a gift still and not playing games as he smiles down at him shyly…and gently scratches that scar again with a hum of pleasure that isn’t remotely exaggerated.
“That does feel good. What, uhm…what else should I do? That you think might feel good, or—y’know—that you just want to see?”
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I will kill to keep this. I'll fight any war to hold you.
The violence of that silent promise to himself, and to Finnick, is strangely soft, tender, and dripping in so much blood he can almost taste it on the back of his tongue as he releases him to take the pendant and slip it over his head. He adjusts the cord so it rests well below his faction talisman and his locket, safe from tangling.
"It's bone--big coyote I took down." he explains. "Coyotes are trouble, but they're tricksters. Wily, smart, y'know? Smart made me think of you, and since Loki's a trickster, too, thought you'd enjoy that extra bit. Keep him close, too."
A token of his own love, and a quiet show of his acceptance--a reassurance that this form of commitment from Finnick: to love him and keep loving him, to protect his badly bruised heart at all costs, is more than enough for John.
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"You're so sweet," he murmurs. It's thoughtful and so kind that he'd include Loki in the gift when he really didn't need to. "And quite the craftsman. I'll wear it with pride. How does it look?"
He smiles softly- his shirt is now way more unbuttoned than it had been at the beginning of the party, and his waistcoat is undone too, since he was feeling sweaty and too stifled. Thus, his chest is pretty exposed.
"Come up to my room," he takes John by the hand. "Your presents are in there." He'll help John carry the snacks and drinks up.
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"Beautiful." he breathes, looking right into Finnick's eyes as he reaches up to smooth his hand over Finnick's cheek. He surrenders it almost immediately as Finnick indicates his room, letting him take John's hand as they both pick up some of their snacks and drinks.
"Lead on, Macduff." he replies, then remembering Finnick's world...
"That's, uh--from a famous play where I come from. Kind of slang for 'lead the way' if you wanna look smart."
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Scampering upstairs, he feels a little giddy.
"Macduff is a funny name. You should call me that more often." Missing the entire point, Finnick, but okay.
Arriving in his room and putting all the stuff down, he pulls out a small box, and it's tied with a ton of pink and red and white ribbons in elaborate knots, bows, and curls. It looks beautiful, if a bit crazy.
"Kinda went overboard with this wrapping. It was fun. The other one isn't wrapped at all." He opens a drawer and pulls out a small succulent.
"I was shopping with Solas and he suggested you might like to have something to take care of. Y'know, other than me and Delmar and the roommates," he laughs slightly, half-sitting and half-leaning on top of his desk. "I thought the succulent was fitting because it grows in a harsh environment where it's not given much of what it needs, but it adapts and survives strong anyway, while retaining its beauty and softness. That reminded me of you. I didn't choose a cactus because you're not prickly, even though I think it would be fair if you were." He holds it out to John with a small smile. "And hey, maybe if you like having a plant you can get more. It could be a hobby, I thought."
John definitely needs some hobbies, and the only way to figure out what you like doing is to... Try stuff.
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Reaching for the succulent, John tries to remember the last time he saw one back home and can’t. Not the trees, the sparse grass, the cacti. Touching one little leaf, he’s surprised to feel a tiny pang of homesickness for the familiar things that are worlds away from the humid jungles of Vietnam. The dry hot air, the earthtones…
He put so much thought into this, and he didn’t even know John was raised in the desert. When he looks up at Finnick, his eyes are shining but not spilling, and he’s smiling.
“That’s—I love it.” He replies, laughing a little. “Surprised me…I grew up in the desert, where these come from. The fact that you put so much more thought into this…it means so much. So much—thank you.”
He pauses, then snickers as he leans in to kiss Finnick soundly.
“And I still got the box to open, shit…”
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He smiles and kisses John back.
"Yes! Open it!" He insists excitedly as he pushes the box into John's hands. "Uh. You might need your knife," he laughs again.
Inside the box, wrapped in paper, John will find a necklace made of seaglass with a cord tied into a celtic knot.
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Yes, he was armed at the party. Strangers in his home, with his friends and loved ones…
Opening the package, John’s breath rushes out of his lungs at the sight of the pendant. The gleaming green sea glass with the delicately woven knot—the same kind he told Finnick he does so much better than John…
For a second, he’s reminded of Co’s Buddha pendant, and he wonders if he met her for this reason. A good woman who gave him so much hope, wearing her own beautiful green gem so he would know, when he found someone else who gave him as much as she did, know them by their gleaming green sea glass.
He knows, in that moment, he has to get the Buddha back. That it’s for Finnick—that this, them, that it’s forever. Open hearts and all.
“This…means more than you know.” He replies softly, beaming up at him. “You made this, too, didn’t you? It’s…fuck, it’s perfect. It’s so perfect, it’s gorgeous. I love it-here, help me put it on? Please?”
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His partner seems somewhat stunned by the gift, which- Finnick doesn't think it's that amazing, it's rather simple really.
"Of course I did. Oh-" He smiles and ducks his head bashfully. The praise feels overboard, but it's nice. "It's not all that, it was easy to make." He takes the necklace from John. It's adjustable, too, with well-placed tiny knots that act as stops to keep the string from letting out once tightened, but aren't so tight you can't still loosen it manually by pulling. He loosens it, lifts it over John's head, and then tightens it to hang right in between his collarbones.
"Looks perfect now that it's on you," he murmurs. The triangular glass almost emulates the shape of the anchor, and seems to suit John, somehow.
"Seaglass is one of my favourite things, as you can tell." He laughs slightly and gestures around his room at the seaglass that's accumulated on surfaces, in little jars, and displayed in art pieces. "So, only fitting to claim one of my most favourite people with it."
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…and wildly possessive in a way that brings some relief with it. Not of Finnick as a whole, but this bit of him. This little moment when he’s reading John like a book and treasuring every word, open and sharing and eagerly being his Valentine’s date for tonight.
“Property of Finnick Odair. Now that sounds like Heaven.” John murmurs, reaching up to touch the pendant where it sits against his chest. He catches the glass in his fingers, brings it to his lips to kiss, then releases it to pull Finnick in for another kiss of his own.
“I like being yours…and I like you being mine.” He admits softly against his lips. “My gorgeous sailor…my Finnick.”
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"I'll try to treat you like the precious thing you are," he purrs.
He wraps his arms around John's neck, stroking the hair at the back of his head, kissing him slowly.
"I like it, too," he breathes. "My handsome, adorable sweetheart." He kisses John's cheek.
"You had another gift for me? Did you want to do that, or just relax for a bit?"
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“Well, uh—depends if you still want a break before getting frisky.” He replies, nuzzling Finnick’s cheek. “It’s uhm…something you get to sit back and enjoy while I unwrap it for you.”
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Finnick smiles, gives John another peck, then takes off his suit jacket and vest, draping them on his desk chair. He grabs his drink and the little plate of cheese and such and splays out on his bed, sighing with relief to finally be off his feet. Slowly, he sips at the drink, nibbles at the food, and rolls up the sleeves of his half-buttoned floral shirt, allowing John to do... Whatever it is he's going to do.
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Having Finnick’s undivided attention like this—he feels a little crazy for the fact that he’s feeling just a little bit turned on and he’s still fully clothed.
A striptease isn’t something John can really…do, not without looking stupid, so he doesn’t try. He just reaches up and takes his time, slowly sliding each button of his shirt through each hole. One by one, he undoes them, and pauses to tug his shirt a little further open with each one. Slowly, his chest and stomach are laid bare to his gaze, one button at a time leaving John naked to the waist save for his faction talisman and Finnick’s pendant.
Then, taking a deep breath, John starts to undo his pants in the same way after kicking off his shoes…and slowly, the boxer briefs he finally settled on buying at Vestiture come into view, gradually revealed as John starts to slide his pants down off his hips.
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"Oooooh," he says, once he starts to see the black mesh boxer-briefs, sheer enough to see some of what's going on underneath, but not all.
"Very nice..." He bites his lip with a grin, putting his plate to the side to watch while sipping his drink, propped on his elbow. He feels a little like a Capitol pig, but... A little voyeurism can be his little treat for being a good boy, right?
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Once he’s pushed his pants down his legs and bent to step out of them, he can’t resist picking them up and turning to drape them over a nearby chair, giving Finnick a chance to check him out from behind.
By the time he faces Finnick again, he’s visibly hard as he smiles, shy but with a hint of shaky boldness.
“Do, uh…do you like it?” He asks, half aware of absently smoothing a hand over his chest and stomach. “It’s—it’s not usually my thing, but I know you’re used to people sitting back and admiring the view. So, tonight, I wanted you to have something you thought was pretty to look at instead.”
And thinking about that even as he says it has John’s hand sweeping a little lower on his stomach as his hands slides over his belly, palm skimming over the waistband of his briefs as he feels his cock throb with a fresh wave of heat.
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And that ass. Oh, it's perfect, muscled and juicy and plump cheeks under that tight mesh, the curve of it illuminated well by the candlelight.
Perhaps most enticing, though, is the way John touches himself. Finnick's not sure what it is, whether he's thinking of his own hands doing it or if it's just the idea of John's skin being touched at all that's enjoyable... Or if it's the prospect of John making himself feel good with his own touch. In any case,
"I love it. You're beautiful, love, and very sexy." A small grin. His eyes glance to John's obvious erection.
"You like it, then? Me watching you? I don't want to make you uncomfortable."
The last thing he would want is for John to feel how he felt, drooled over like a piece of meat while naked and bared for the world. Sure, it could be fun at times, but it also had made him feel... Empty, like no one cared about the person underneath. Like he'd be worthless without his beauty.
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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.
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"I think you do, too," he murmurs slyly with another look to John's erection.
Then something happens- Finnick isn't quite sure what, but John reacts.
"Found something that feels good? Try doing it again," he encourages gently.
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So, very deliberately, he does it again. Running the edge of one nail very gently along the scar highest on his chest, the sparks of sensation make him shiver pleasantly as he sighs. Heat pools low in his belly, and it feels so good he just—
John opens his eyes before he can be swept away by that urge: to slide a hand down to palm himself through that sheer material, tease himself, get himself off with Finnick watching him. Just thinking about it…
…makes him realize he wants it. To let Finnick have that moment, where he was forced to be this for other people, John wants to be for him tonight. Not to play with power but to let Finnick be the one indulging himself with John. To know he can ask for anything and get it, and that John will enjoy it.
So he moves closer to the bed, close enough to touch—to reassure him with a greater sense of intimacy that he’s giving Finnick a gift still and not playing games as he smiles down at him shyly…and gently scratches that scar again with a hum of pleasure that isn’t remotely exaggerated.
“That does feel good. What, uhm…what else should I do? That you think might feel good, or—y’know—that you just want to see?”