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?”
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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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.
no subject
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.
no subject
"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?
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
"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.
no subject
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?”