John makes a low, broken sound of pleasure before he’s shifting closer—not a loss of control of his libido, but to press his face into Finnick’s shoulder for a moment as he takes that breath.

“Men are new, but…this is, too. Still.” He admits, lifting his head to steal another of those soft, chaste little pecks before leaning his forehead into Finnick’s. “There was someone, recently, but—she left. Didn’t have long…before that? Pushing twenty years.”

And the way he shuts his eyes and lets out a shaky breath, it’s pretty clear: the man isn’t just excited, he’s pretty severely touch starved.