John is coming undone, and Finnick's name is the only thing his brain will produce, and there's something so deeply gratifying about that. Like John could not think of anything but Finnick if he tried, and vice versa.

Finnick is coming undone too, especially with these final pleas, and the tightening around his cock. He can't speak anymore, and only moans, loud and wordless, a pleasured wail. He can only manage a few more hard, deep thrusts and harder strokes of his shaft before he bottoms out in John, spilling inside him. His hand grips brown hair, eyes closed and face twisted in ecstasy as he breathes several more moans.

"Fuck..."