finnick/johanna - 'its hard to be a saint in the city'
Title: its hard to be a saint in the city
Author: candlelitdusk
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Finnick/Johanna
Category: not really angst, not really romance but something in between and far from romantic.
Summary: Finnick and Johanna meet in a Capitol nightclub.
Author's note: so this was originally written for this prompt and it is also, coincidentally, my debut in the hunger games fandom! I'm excited and nervous so comments and feedback are greatly appreciated. Enjoy!
He is dressed in the resplendent silver os come softer than silk material, stretched across his broad chest, the buttons strain as his chest puffs out. He steps into the club. He becomes Finnick Odair, the Victor. He doesn’t look anyone in the eye but he feels their gazes burning holes in his shirt, devouring the sight of his taut posterior in flawlessly tailored trousers. He appraises the room. An azure-skinned girl at the bar spills her drink as briefly, momentarily, their eyes meet. He skims straight past and lets his eyes fall on his mirror image, the same purposeful haughtiness, appraising the room. Johanna smirks as she too catches sight of him. You’ve outdone yourself, her eyes seem to say as her face twists into a smirk; she rakes her eyes down his frame and feels them on his skin like nails down his back in a moment of passion. She too has outdone herself. He lets his eyes wander as he saunters towards her. Her dress wraps around her like a coal-black flame, beginning at her chest in two peaks over her breasts and twisting around her, leaving her back to the open air and only just covering her arse. Her skin glows blue under the dance floor lights and, for a minute, Finnick almost stalls - for a moment she is unrecognisable, she looks just like the Capitol socialites he spends every waking hour fucking into headboards. But the moment passes, the light shifts and under the too-warm yellow she looks again like Johanna - Jo - flawless skin, cupids bow lips and stormy eyes.
“Finn.”
“Jo.”
An avox strategically draped in an iridescent toga proffers them a tray of brightly coloured, deceptively flaming shots - compliments of the house. Silently they each raise a glass to each other and let the cool liquid run down their throats. Neither can get used to the fruity essence of Capitol liquor, none of the bite of anything either of them are used to from home. But remaining nonchalant they down another. Finnick nods dismissively at the avox who them shrinks away. Both of them feel the irony like knives to their throats - Princes and Princesses to the very masses they are enslaved by.
So later, when they fuck in one of the club’s spacious toilet stalls, even when a hand with a camera surreptitiously appears under the door, they don’t hold back. They forget the names of people and places that weigh down on them in every other moment - Annie, Four, Seven.
And in a dark, shadowed corner of their hearts, they have both resigned themselves to the fact that their hearts and minds have turned to stone.
Now as they crash and grind and chip away at one another, in the same dark shame-filled shadows of that hidden place, they each excuse themselves in a moment of complete unbridled humiliation. Its hard to be a saint in the city.
~~~
comments and feedback are greatly appreciated x
Author: candlelitdusk
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Finnick/Johanna
Category: not really angst, not really romance but something in between and far from romantic.
Summary: Finnick and Johanna meet in a Capitol nightclub.
Author's note: so this was originally written for this prompt and it is also, coincidentally, my debut in the hunger games fandom! I'm excited and nervous so comments and feedback are greatly appreciated. Enjoy!
He is dressed in the resplendent silver os come softer than silk material, stretched across his broad chest, the buttons strain as his chest puffs out. He steps into the club. He becomes Finnick Odair, the Victor. He doesn’t look anyone in the eye but he feels their gazes burning holes in his shirt, devouring the sight of his taut posterior in flawlessly tailored trousers. He appraises the room. An azure-skinned girl at the bar spills her drink as briefly, momentarily, their eyes meet. He skims straight past and lets his eyes fall on his mirror image, the same purposeful haughtiness, appraising the room. Johanna smirks as she too catches sight of him. You’ve outdone yourself, her eyes seem to say as her face twists into a smirk; she rakes her eyes down his frame and feels them on his skin like nails down his back in a moment of passion. She too has outdone herself. He lets his eyes wander as he saunters towards her. Her dress wraps around her like a coal-black flame, beginning at her chest in two peaks over her breasts and twisting around her, leaving her back to the open air and only just covering her arse. Her skin glows blue under the dance floor lights and, for a minute, Finnick almost stalls - for a moment she is unrecognisable, she looks just like the Capitol socialites he spends every waking hour fucking into headboards. But the moment passes, the light shifts and under the too-warm yellow she looks again like Johanna - Jo - flawless skin, cupids bow lips and stormy eyes.
“Finn.”
“Jo.”
An avox strategically draped in an iridescent toga proffers them a tray of brightly coloured, deceptively flaming shots - compliments of the house. Silently they each raise a glass to each other and let the cool liquid run down their throats. Neither can get used to the fruity essence of Capitol liquor, none of the bite of anything either of them are used to from home. But remaining nonchalant they down another. Finnick nods dismissively at the avox who them shrinks away. Both of them feel the irony like knives to their throats - Princes and Princesses to the very masses they are enslaved by.
So later, when they fuck in one of the club’s spacious toilet stalls, even when a hand with a camera surreptitiously appears under the door, they don’t hold back. They forget the names of people and places that weigh down on them in every other moment - Annie, Four, Seven.
And in a dark, shadowed corner of their hearts, they have both resigned themselves to the fact that their hearts and minds have turned to stone.
Now as they crash and grind and chip away at one another, in the same dark shame-filled shadows of that hidden place, they each excuse themselves in a moment of complete unbridled humiliation. Its hard to be a saint in the city.
~~~
comments and feedback are greatly appreciated x