John's whole face lights up like the sun as Finnick moves to stretch out beside him--he just wanted to be able to put his hands in his hair, feel and touch and lose himself further. The act of obeying just feels so good, letting go of control and taking orders without fear of what those orders will be...knowing he can just stop thinking and do what he's told, and it will be good for both of them. That he can ask for permission, and even if Finnick says 'no,' it will still lead somewhere wonderful.

Finnick won't ask him to do more than this: be with him, be for him, and it's frighteningly easy to get lost in that.

Realizing what this might be for Finnick, what a question like that might mean, sort of wakes John up a little in a really nice way. He can feel that pleasure with more intention, and as he reaches up to just bury his fingers in Finnick's hair he obeys to the letter.

He lets his hands move down over the sides of his face, his neck, his chest. He rolls to the side and presses his cheek to Finnick's, shoves his hands under his shirt to trace the muscles of his back and slide over his belly. He curls a hand down over his clothed ass, firm sweeps of his hand just to memorize those planes and curves.

Doesn't kiss. Doesn't taste...just touches, feels, sinks even deeper into that heightened sensory experience that comes with letting go of everything, punctuated with softer moans and happy sighs as he just lets himself explore his beloved's lover's body without any more expectation than doing as he's told.