John needs no encouragement—he’s already moving as he leans in again, lips parting as his free hand drifts up to slide through Finnick’s hair gently. That barely there brush of his tongue before they come together again…

…oh, wow.

John’s hand slips from Finnick’s hair to settle on his nape, torn between holding on and pulling him closer and ending up sort of kneading taut muscle. That prickle of stubble is more intense, he can tell Finnick has just…done more kissing than John has in his limited experience with women, and he’s a really great kisser.

John can’t quite stifle the barely there moan against Finnick’s mouth as his head spins pleasantly, and John just clings tighter where their hands are still joined, like that can somehow keep him grounded.

And John’s not sure he wants to stay grounded.