When Finnick finally, finally starts to move, John’s world shatters.

Everything is new—every sensation, every touch, every wave of pleasure is different and thrilling with Finnick fucking him, inside him, body caressing John from within. That tiny, distant, brain dead sliver of his psyche that had felt even a trace of shame or uncertainty about letting another man taking him like this dies as Finnick cradles him close and just fucking falls into him.

He’s as lost in John as John is in him, there’s no part of them that isn’t connected, and even barely coherent with passion Finnick is being so careful with him. Everything is movement and heat and feeling beyond the physical pleasure with John meeting every thrust as best he can, and John knows he’s going to spend the rest of his life kicking himself for letting his world, his father, deny him even a second of this ecstasy—

Then one of Finnick’s deep, slow, driving thrusts finds a spot inside of John he wasn’t fully aware was there, and John clings to Finnick with a hoarse cry against his lips as his nails dig into Finnick’s shoulders under a wave of pleasure so intense his vision nearly whites out.

“Fuck, fuck Jesus fuck please…more, please, Fin, please…”