Fucking him, the prep—John has no experience, but he did get exposed to a few things in Thailand during the war. Enough to know what goes where, and extrapolate the rest…
…and the admission about wanting John to choke him is almost enough to sober him up. Not quite all the way, he doesn’t feel the garrote at his neck or smell the jungle air, but it claws at something in his chest that—it’s not quite possessive, but it’s close. It’s…hunger is the closest descriptor he has.
It’s all he can come up with for the hot need that has him thoughtlessly sliding that hand back into Finnick’s hair, stroking him just a little faster, sharing his air as he stares into his face.
“No choking. Not gonna hurt you—I wanna take care of you for being good to me.”
He gives Finnick’s hair another firm tug, kissing him hard and deep and rocking into his grip, fucking the circle of Finnick’s fingers as his breathing starts to get erratic.
“And you’re being so good to me…for me…”
It’s a little odd, but it feels right to say.
“…but I—fuck—I’d love to fuck you…love to help you…s’ it feel good? The…uh…the prep?”
He’s trying very hard not to come like a teenager—and he is still blushing. Shut up, don’t judge him.
“Wanna help you if it makes you feel good.” He breathes, shutting his eyes as he blushes and pants and tries to slow down a little, to make this last. “God, I wanna make you feel so good…”
CW: mentions of PTSD flashbacks and past torture
…and the admission about wanting John to choke him is almost enough to sober him up. Not quite all the way, he doesn’t feel the garrote at his neck or smell the jungle air, but it claws at something in his chest that—it’s not quite possessive, but it’s close. It’s…hunger is the closest descriptor he has.
It’s all he can come up with for the hot need that has him thoughtlessly sliding that hand back into Finnick’s hair, stroking him just a little faster, sharing his air as he stares into his face.
“No choking. Not gonna hurt you—I wanna take care of you for being good to me.”
He gives Finnick’s hair another firm tug, kissing him hard and deep and rocking into his grip, fucking the circle of Finnick’s fingers as his breathing starts to get erratic.
“And you’re being so good to me…for me…”
It’s a little odd, but it feels right to say.
“…but I—fuck—I’d love to fuck you…love to help you…s’ it feel good? The…uh…the prep?”
He’s trying very hard not to come like a teenager—and he is still blushing. Shut up, don’t judge him.
“Wanna help you if it makes you feel good.” He breathes, shutting his eyes as he blushes and pants and tries to slow down a little, to make this last. “God, I wanna make you feel so good…”