Finnick's hands kneaded into soft, downy fur and no obvious breasts underneath — just a flat, masculine chest. Angel leaned into the touch eagerly, two of his hands raised to gently cup Finnick's cheeks and tilt his head up to look him in the eyes.

"You know," he started, expression surprisingly soft for those few seconds he spoke. "I get it, if you don't want to come out of retirement, so to speak. It doesn't — we don't have to make it a thing." As much fun as a competition would be, he didn't really want to forced Finnick to act like he would with a customer either. "I can't really turn it off."