As the hand clasps his throat without pressure, Finnick's breath hitches, his eyelids fluttering for a moment as he looks up at John. Call it a conditioned response. He's Pavlov's dog drooling.

Then John is stepping back, which is a little confusing, and tells Finnick to strip, which takes him completely off-guard, enough to laugh breathily in surprise.

"Well, alright then." He's not sure how he feels about being told to strip in general (not entirely positive), but coming from John, it's just fine. Finnick takes off his shirt in one fluid motion, then fishes the lube out of his pants pocket before removing them. Yes, he keeps lube on him, because of who he is as a person, okay.

Finnick gets completely naked in a way that is perhaps suspiciously quick and nonchalant, not a hint of shame or awkwardness whatsoever. He then stands against the wall, facing John, erection jutting out toward him, holding the lube and awaiting further instruction with a small glint in his eye.