That small noise John makes right before he comes is one of the most beautiful and affecting sounds he's ever heard, a culmination of vulnerability and desperate pleasure, a sound he's honoured he can even draw out of a hardened army man like John.

Finnick watches John come, and it's even more beautiful- eyes closed, he's gone, somewhere else entirely. The cry of Finnick's name prickles sweat on the back of his neck and makes his gut twist. The curves of his sinewy muscle writhe beneath sweat-beaded skin as he grasps blindly for something, anything, and finds Finnick, holding him close and secure, ensuring he gets every last drop of the pleasure he deserves, until he's totally spent. It's long and drawn, and gives Finnick a deep sense of satisfaction, of gratification, even with his own cock still untouched.

As he comes down, he cradles John in his arms, petting his hair. Finnick laughs in return, kissing him deeply.

"Sweet man," he murmurs when their lips part, his thumb stroking John's cheekbone, meeting those soft brown eyes. "So beautiful."