"Lemon Drop" (Finnick/Katniss, Rated NC-17)
Title: "Lemon Drop"
Author: skellywag
Fandom: The Hunger Games
Pairing: Finnick/Katniss
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Technically spoilers for Mockingjay, but in such a subtle way that you'd really only recognize the spoilers if you've already read it. Oh, and, um. Graphic het-sex.
A/N: Written mostly for tailoredshirt, but also for myself, because I have been shipping this pairing since forever (but secretly, in my head). This takes place during the events of Catching Fire, at some point during training week, after the opening ceremonies but before the interviews.
The woman had hair the colour of a lemon drop. Not the pale shade usually attributed to hair and associated with lemons, but the bright, unnatural, and translucent colour of the actual candy. It could have been a wig, except that the shoulder-length curls were mussed and haphazard, but not askew in the way a wig would have been, given the same treatment. Her age was uncertain, as was true for nearly any upper class woman in the Capitol; cosmetic surgery went with annual check-ups here. Her body was smooth, fit, absent of even the smallest scar. Every inch of her flesh was bare, visible, and there wasn't even a trace of a wrinkle. She could have been anywhere between twenty and fifty.
She writhed on the bed, violet-lacquered inch-long nails digging into and twisting the sheets. It was such a spectacle; she was so overly enthusiastic it was almost laughable. Her thighs were tight at Finnick's hips, legs wrapped around him, ankles crossed so that her heels could dig into the dimples just above his ass. She keened and crooned and gasped with each thrust. But it didn't even look like Finnick was that good a lover.
Finnick's hips moved with a perfect, measured rhythm, and he stood at the edge of the bed for leverage while she lay upon it. He didn't touch her any more than he had to. It was impossible to tell when, or even if, she reached her climax because she was already so vocal. Finnick, on the other hand, made no sounds, except to grunt softly when he finished. He pulled out, and a trickle of semen eased from her body, staining the sheets.
"Get us a glass of wine?" Lemon Drop trilled breathily, gesturing blindly towards the sideboard with her eyes closed. Her lips were the same colour as her fingernails, the make-up not even smudged. Unless her lips were dyed, it should have smudged, so probably Finnick had not even kissed her once.
He turned to do as she asked, and froze when he found the silent, unexpected third person in his room. For one perfect, timeless moment, Katniss watched his eyes widen, jaw slacken. Her own discomfort having accidentally walked in on this was temporarily nothing compared to Finnick's. Only a few days ago, she and the whole of Panem had seen him wearing nothing but a strategically positioned knot, but somehow he was flushing, and it had nothing to do with his recent physical activity. For someone who'd seemed such an exhibitionist, the reaction was inexplicable. He seemed to realize that, too, because in the next moment time caught up and a slow smirk spread on his lips. He raised a finger to them, indicating silence, and then pointed to the couch.
Katniss stared at him uncomprehendingly. Did he want her to stay? Was he telling her to hide behind the couch? She watched as he turned to the sideboard and began pouring wine as if nothing had happened, placed himself squarely between the door and Lemon Drop, so the woman wouldn't see they had company. Why wasn't Katniss leaving? Why hadn't she left as soon as she'd opened the door and saw what was going on? Why, after clearly being shocked by her presence, had Finnick invited her to remain? Was he trying to shame her into running? Katniss' lips tightened as she crossed quickly and silently to the couch, shrinking down to watch where she wouldn't be seen. She wasn't going to show any weakness, not with only a few days before the Games.
Lemon Drop had opened her eyes, pursing her lips in a pout until Finnick handed over her glass. "So," she purred in a high, girlish voice. Was that actually her real voice, or did she think that she sounded sexy? "How can I reward you for showing me such a good time?" She walked her nails up Finnick's arm. "I'd love to give you a little something you could wear as your token in the arena…"
Katniss made a face. This woman wanted to mark Finnick. Wanted to see him on screen, wearing something she'd bought for him. It was absolutely disgusting. She didn't even seem to care that it was quite possible-probable, Katniss told herself firmly-Finnick wouldn't survive.
"That's very kind of you," Finnick replied with a charming smile, "but I already have a token. My mother gave it to me, so as much as I'd like to wear something you gave me, I think it would hurt her feelings if she didn't see me wearing her token." He lowered his voice to something confidential, though Katniss could still hear him. "Besides, you know what I want…" He traced a finger lightly along her jaw.
Lemon Drop giggled, squirming on the bed. "You naughty boy." She brought a finger to her lips, pouting them thoughtfully. "What are you going to do with all my secrets, anyway?"
"I'll keep them for later, to think about when I'm alone," Finnick rumbled in answer. Katniss covered her mouth, choking down a bubble of hysterical laughter. Did lines like that actually work on women in the Capitol? Apparently it did, because Lemon Drop sat up, leaned close, and cupped her hand around Finnick's ear as she whispered into it. And Finnick stared at Katniss while he listened, his eyes sparkling cold like emeralds.
Katniss dozed on the floor, temple rested against the arm of the couch. Apparently Lemon Drop had a lot of secrets, and she didn't hurry to tell them, making the most of her time with Finnick. And Finnick didn't make any attempts to rush her. Katniss could make out only one in five words-what she heard made little sense, but she couldn't imagine Lemon Drop's secrets were terribly important from what she did hear.
She wasn't sure how long she was sitting there, except that it was too long. One minute she was staring at Lemon Drop's garish hair brushing against Finnick's shoulder, and the next there was a hand light on her shoulder, shaking her awake. She opened her eyes, but stiffened when she saw who it was, leg lashing up and out, taking Finnick out at the knees. He landed hard on his back, and she crept up to his head, glaring down at him. "You should have known better than that," she muttered, sweeping a cursory glance down his body to find, with some relief, that he'd put on boxers, if nothing else.
"Yeah?" Finnick choked a laugh, voice rough and lacking the polish he'd used with Lemon Drop. "I can't believe you fell asleep in here in the first place." He sat up, forcing Katniss back a few feet to put a more respectable space between them. "What are you doing down here? Does your fiancé know where you are?"
Katniss certainly wasn't there to be interrogated, and she snorted instead of answering, watching the man's every move warily. Which she knew was fairly silly, since he could have done just about anything when she'd so imprudently fallen asleep in his room, but she still couldn't very well trust him when Peeta's survival depended upon this man's death. "I can't believe you'd waste your last few days with your revolving door of lovers." She honestly hadn't meant to sound so critical, but how could Finnick bear it? Lemon Drop obviously didn't care about him at all. Was he allowing himself to be used like this as some form of coping mechanism?
All trace of amusement dropped from Finnick's face, like flicking a switch. "Who are you to judge?" His grin was sharp, cynical, almost a grimace. "I've seen your act, my dear, and let me tell you, I don't find it convincing. You have your moments, but I don't buy for a second that you actually want to marry Peeta Mellark. So why don't you just tell me why you're here, in my bedroom, late at night?" He made it sound so salacious, when logically late at night in his bedroom was about the only time Katniss could possibly have spoken to Finnick privately.
After glancing around briefly, Katniss crept closer to Finnick; she wasn't sure what kind of surveillance the Gamemakers might have in the Tributes' rooms, but she was just as certain that there were cameras and microphones hidden. He went very still as she moved right up next to him, their hips inches from touching as she sat on the floor next to him, watching his eyes as if they might give him away. She was close enough to rest her chin on his shoulder, but she was careful not to as she spoke softly into his ear. "Haymitch wants me to take you as an ally, and I want to know why. Someone like Chaff, I understand-for as long as I can remember, I've seen the two of them together during the Games. But he suggested you, and he didn't say as much, but I could tell he felt strongly about it. From what I've seen of you, you'd be useful for your sponsors, but Peeta and I can get those on our own. So what do you suppose you could do for me?"
"'For us,' don't you mean?" he whispered back, before leaning away so that he could stare into her eyes. She didn't like the expression on Finnick's face; he couldn't read her mind, but it looked as if he could. "Your popularity makes you a target; if you're in the game, everyone else gets fewer sponsors. Taking you out will be a main priority. Unless you have allies to lend you some longevity."
Katniss smirked. "Or allies to stab me in the back as early as possible. Though, better to be stabbed early; I'd hate to think I might start to like you."
Grasping at his chest, Finnick collapsed backward, flopping flat on his back on the floor. "You wound me, Katniss," he laughed. "Most people find me quite pleasant to be around."
She could have pointed out that they'd be attempting to kill one another in just a few days. She could have pointed out that she wasn't "most people." But Katniss was embarrassed by his laughter. By the implication of just how pleasant time spent in his company could be and having witnessed it firsthand. She felt her cheeks redden, but her mouth pulled into a frown. "I believe you," she answered, trying for nonchalance but not quite making it. "That woman seemed to be enjoying herself. But that's more than I can say for you. Your act isn't so convincing, either…"
Finnick's lips tightened, and did he seem to pale, as well? "She didn't notice," he hissed under his breath, mouth barely moving. "That's all that matters."
How could that possibly be all that mattered? Just what kind of game was Finnick running? Katniss' first brief thought was that this was how he planned to procure his sponsors. But that wasn't right. From the rumours, he split his time between four or five different lovers each time he visited the Capitol, for years. Well before the terms of the Quarter Quell had been announced. He would have plenty of past lovers as sponsors, if they didn't feel too jilted, but it would be a misconception to think that this was what he'd had in mind when he'd first started.
He shifted closer, reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear as he spoke into it. "Jealous? You were clearly expecting to have my undivided attention when you came in without knocking."
Katniss shivered at the strange, incongruous gentleness, twitching her head away, but just a little. "What's to be jealous of?" she snapped. "I'd rather be with someone who actually cared I was enjoying myself. Who actually enjoyed being with me, too." She found herself flushing at the way Finnick's eyes widened, a slow smile creeping onto his face.
"Why, I didn't realize you cared," Finnick purred. They were already sitting so close, and the man barely shifted to lean in and kiss her. She froze in shock, jaw loose and lips pliant. His fingers on her cheeks and neck were rough with callus from a lifetime of knotting rope, but the touch of them was light, completely unassuming.
The smart thing would have been to pull away. To break all contact and then maybe slap him for good measure, though any physical violence before entering the arena was strictly forbidden. She was distracted by the light pressure of his tongue tracing her lower lip, her own darting reflexively to touch. Finnick tasted of wine. "You didn't kiss Lemon Drop," Katniss mumbled, pulling back only enough to enunciate.
The man's nose wrinkled with brief confusion before he puzzled out what she meant. "Would you be jealous if I had?" Finnick asked, fingerprints mapping the blood vessels of her throat.
"No," she sighed, wishing with some small part of her that she could trust him enough to close her eyes. Wishing that he didn't look so much as if he could read her thoughts.
Finnick chuckled softly, the sound more amused than happy. "Trying to figure me out? I wouldn't bother; you don't have the time. Why would I fuck a woman but not kiss her? Why would I kiss a girl who wants to kill me?" Katniss choked a soft, involuntary noise that sounded suspiciously of denial. "Let's not lie to one another." She bit her lip at the thoughts that admonition summoned: roses and blood. "You may not want to kill me right this moment, but you'll get there. The answer is, much as you will want to kill me in a few days time, I still like you more than that woman."
"There's nothing you can say or do that will make me trust you," Katniss murmured slowly, realizing it was true at the same time the words fell from her lips. After all, it had taken so long for her to recognize that Peeta had never had any intention of killing her in last year's Games. A temporary alliance was nothing more than an agreement for betrayal as soon as your ally was more valuable dead than alive.
"I won't bother correcting you," Finnick said carefully holding her gaze a beat longer than necessary. "You should go back to Peeta, now." His fingers trailed down her collarbones, grazing the sides of her breasts. They were warm and dry against her ribs as they tugged her tunic up just enough to touch.
"With Peeta, it would have to mean something." By inches, she allowed herself to reach out, and his shoulder was warmer and more solid than she'd expected. This would still mean something, she recognized as she leaned in to taste the soft skin of his throat, careful not to bite. Finnick's callused fingertips dragged against her as he pulled her tunic up over her head. The room was kept warm enough that her bare skin hardly registered a chill though gooseflesh rose unasked for.
The roughness of his fingers aroused and ignited nerve endings Katniss hadn't even realized she had. She looked into Finnick's impossibly green eyes and knew this would mean something, though she was unsure exactly what. But at least it wouldn't have to mean everything, and unequivocally she was certain she'd still be able to kill him later on, if someone else in the arena didn't first.
Shivers chased each other up and down her spine and Katniss shifted, straddling one of Finnick's thighs. Her nostrils flared in a sharp gasp when her knee pressed tightly against the telltale hardness in his underwear. She broke eye contact to drop her gaze to it, examining the shape with at least as much curiosity as vague desire.
"Your first time?" It wasn't exactly a question though Finnick inflected it like it was. She flushed and refused to meet his eyes, her fingers seeking his waistband defiantly. "I still think you should go back to Peeta."
Katniss shoved Finnick down on his back, his head giving an audible thump even against the high pile of the carpet. "Shut up," she growled, attempting to bruise his lips to hers. "I won't make it harder for him to live without me…" she added in a barely intelligible mutter that would be impossible to hear or lip read by anyone spying. Finally, after thoroughly plundering his mouth, his lips impossibly red, she sat up and stared down at him. "If you're going to kick me out, do it now."
Her words didn't even seem to register initially; Finnick's gaze seemed blank, pupils blown and impossibly dark, seeming to devour the iris. Then he blinked, and though his eyes kept their drowning look, he'd gathered some awareness. Quite abruptly, Katniss found herself on her back, Finnick quite handily dispensing with her trousers and underwear. And then he went still. "What are you staring at?" she asked, halfway between indignant and bashful.
Finnick's hands swept lightly down her bare thighs, fingers grazing back up the insides in the next moment. "It slipped my mind that you have a prep team like everyone else. Wasn't expecting you to be as waxed as Capitol women." He smirked, hand rising further to tease her soft, smooth folds. Katniss gasped, eyes losing focus as she shivered, and Finnick pressed his advantage, rolling her clit between his fingers, pinching lightly. She hissed softly, hips squirming as her nails found the back of his neck and dug pale red half-moons into the skin. The flat pads of two fingers rubbed her in slow circles, using her own fluids to slick and increase his pace.
A faint sheen of perspiration beaded Katniss' brow as her breathing hitched. She held her breath between faint exhalations that were not quite moans. Her fingers were rigid with tension, but she fought for control regardless; Katniss wanted nothing in common with the oh-so-vocal Lemon Drop. She closed her eyes, arching her neck as her heart beat seemed to stutter. Pressure built low in her abdomen, pleasure cresting from each swirl of Finnick's fingers, but just as every muscle in her body clenched simultaneously, he pulled his hand away.
Katniss choked, eyes flying open, and the sound lodged in her throat wavered between keening and a snarl. Finnick was fast though. Before she could consider bringing herself off, he'd shed his underwear and wedged himself between her thighs. He paused there a moment, and she knew it was to give her a last chance to object. But tributes were given a pharmaceutical cocktail to bolster their immune systems until they hit the arena; there were no diseases she could catch. Pregnancy was the only possible side effect to their joining, but she wouldn't be alive long enough for that to matter. And there were no other considerations to make. She tilted her chin defiantly, and Finnick thrust himself in, groaning low in his throat at the slow, wet slide.
He'd taken his time working her up-she was absolutely soaked-but there was still some discomfort as her body stretched around him. It was pretty clear he wanted to move, but he held still anyway. If Katniss had been capable of anything but shallow breaths, she might have snorted. She wriggled her hips, causing Finnick to grit his teeth, eyelashes fluttering before he succumbed to the urge to thrust. This time he was not so quiet, though he was far more reserved than Lemon Drop had been. He groaned softly, in time with the movement of his hips, but under his breath as if he didn't want Katniss, or more probably the microphones, to hear.
Katniss nibbled her lower lip, trying not to make any noises of her own, not of pain or pleasure. There was no real pain though, just a stretching that could not be accounted as pleasant. Her nerve endings were still alive, electric, though the sensations seemed rewired, and her hips met Finnick's of their own accord, countering his rhythm. The pressure in her lower belly hadn't completely dissipated, and as he moved it began to increase again. Sweat slicked her skin and his, their soft gasps punctuated by the sounds of damp flesh slapping together. And then, when Katniss wasn't sure she could take anymore, Finnick slipped a hand between them and stroked her until she finished, choking down her moans as well as she could.
She pulsed and clenched around him, and it only felt better as he continued pumping into her a few more valuable moments until he climaxed with a low grunt. Finnick shuddered a little as he held himself suspended above Katniss, forcing himself to balance. Katniss winced a little when she felt the brief surge of heat inside her, and growled as she shoved the man up off her with barely space enough for a breath in between.
Her hand grasped Finnick's throat, but lightly, and she pushed him down to crouch over him. A few drips of semen trickled from her body to pool on his stomach, but she ignored the uncomfortable sensation to stare into his eyes. "I'm not like Lemon Drop," Katniss told him hoarsely. "I won't pretend this is anything more or anything less than what it is. I wanted you to know." She grinned, and it was bitter. "I think I just might respect you too much for that. You should stick with sugar cubes." She kissed him hard before staggering to her feet and hastily dressing. And though she didn't exactly hurry from his bedroom, she was still running away.
Author: skellywag
Fandom: The Hunger Games
Pairing: Finnick/Katniss
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Technically spoilers for Mockingjay, but in such a subtle way that you'd really only recognize the spoilers if you've already read it. Oh, and, um. Graphic het-sex.
A/N: Written mostly for tailoredshirt, but also for myself, because I have been shipping this pairing since forever (but secretly, in my head). This takes place during the events of Catching Fire, at some point during training week, after the opening ceremonies but before the interviews.
The woman had hair the colour of a lemon drop. Not the pale shade usually attributed to hair and associated with lemons, but the bright, unnatural, and translucent colour of the actual candy. It could have been a wig, except that the shoulder-length curls were mussed and haphazard, but not askew in the way a wig would have been, given the same treatment. Her age was uncertain, as was true for nearly any upper class woman in the Capitol; cosmetic surgery went with annual check-ups here. Her body was smooth, fit, absent of even the smallest scar. Every inch of her flesh was bare, visible, and there wasn't even a trace of a wrinkle. She could have been anywhere between twenty and fifty.
She writhed on the bed, violet-lacquered inch-long nails digging into and twisting the sheets. It was such a spectacle; she was so overly enthusiastic it was almost laughable. Her thighs were tight at Finnick's hips, legs wrapped around him, ankles crossed so that her heels could dig into the dimples just above his ass. She keened and crooned and gasped with each thrust. But it didn't even look like Finnick was that good a lover.
Finnick's hips moved with a perfect, measured rhythm, and he stood at the edge of the bed for leverage while she lay upon it. He didn't touch her any more than he had to. It was impossible to tell when, or even if, she reached her climax because she was already so vocal. Finnick, on the other hand, made no sounds, except to grunt softly when he finished. He pulled out, and a trickle of semen eased from her body, staining the sheets.
"Get us a glass of wine?" Lemon Drop trilled breathily, gesturing blindly towards the sideboard with her eyes closed. Her lips were the same colour as her fingernails, the make-up not even smudged. Unless her lips were dyed, it should have smudged, so probably Finnick had not even kissed her once.
He turned to do as she asked, and froze when he found the silent, unexpected third person in his room. For one perfect, timeless moment, Katniss watched his eyes widen, jaw slacken. Her own discomfort having accidentally walked in on this was temporarily nothing compared to Finnick's. Only a few days ago, she and the whole of Panem had seen him wearing nothing but a strategically positioned knot, but somehow he was flushing, and it had nothing to do with his recent physical activity. For someone who'd seemed such an exhibitionist, the reaction was inexplicable. He seemed to realize that, too, because in the next moment time caught up and a slow smirk spread on his lips. He raised a finger to them, indicating silence, and then pointed to the couch.
Katniss stared at him uncomprehendingly. Did he want her to stay? Was he telling her to hide behind the couch? She watched as he turned to the sideboard and began pouring wine as if nothing had happened, placed himself squarely between the door and Lemon Drop, so the woman wouldn't see they had company. Why wasn't Katniss leaving? Why hadn't she left as soon as she'd opened the door and saw what was going on? Why, after clearly being shocked by her presence, had Finnick invited her to remain? Was he trying to shame her into running? Katniss' lips tightened as she crossed quickly and silently to the couch, shrinking down to watch where she wouldn't be seen. She wasn't going to show any weakness, not with only a few days before the Games.
Lemon Drop had opened her eyes, pursing her lips in a pout until Finnick handed over her glass. "So," she purred in a high, girlish voice. Was that actually her real voice, or did she think that she sounded sexy? "How can I reward you for showing me such a good time?" She walked her nails up Finnick's arm. "I'd love to give you a little something you could wear as your token in the arena…"
Katniss made a face. This woman wanted to mark Finnick. Wanted to see him on screen, wearing something she'd bought for him. It was absolutely disgusting. She didn't even seem to care that it was quite possible-probable, Katniss told herself firmly-Finnick wouldn't survive.
"That's very kind of you," Finnick replied with a charming smile, "but I already have a token. My mother gave it to me, so as much as I'd like to wear something you gave me, I think it would hurt her feelings if she didn't see me wearing her token." He lowered his voice to something confidential, though Katniss could still hear him. "Besides, you know what I want…" He traced a finger lightly along her jaw.
Lemon Drop giggled, squirming on the bed. "You naughty boy." She brought a finger to her lips, pouting them thoughtfully. "What are you going to do with all my secrets, anyway?"
"I'll keep them for later, to think about when I'm alone," Finnick rumbled in answer. Katniss covered her mouth, choking down a bubble of hysterical laughter. Did lines like that actually work on women in the Capitol? Apparently it did, because Lemon Drop sat up, leaned close, and cupped her hand around Finnick's ear as she whispered into it. And Finnick stared at Katniss while he listened, his eyes sparkling cold like emeralds.
Katniss dozed on the floor, temple rested against the arm of the couch. Apparently Lemon Drop had a lot of secrets, and she didn't hurry to tell them, making the most of her time with Finnick. And Finnick didn't make any attempts to rush her. Katniss could make out only one in five words-what she heard made little sense, but she couldn't imagine Lemon Drop's secrets were terribly important from what she did hear.
She wasn't sure how long she was sitting there, except that it was too long. One minute she was staring at Lemon Drop's garish hair brushing against Finnick's shoulder, and the next there was a hand light on her shoulder, shaking her awake. She opened her eyes, but stiffened when she saw who it was, leg lashing up and out, taking Finnick out at the knees. He landed hard on his back, and she crept up to his head, glaring down at him. "You should have known better than that," she muttered, sweeping a cursory glance down his body to find, with some relief, that he'd put on boxers, if nothing else.
"Yeah?" Finnick choked a laugh, voice rough and lacking the polish he'd used with Lemon Drop. "I can't believe you fell asleep in here in the first place." He sat up, forcing Katniss back a few feet to put a more respectable space between them. "What are you doing down here? Does your fiancé know where you are?"
Katniss certainly wasn't there to be interrogated, and she snorted instead of answering, watching the man's every move warily. Which she knew was fairly silly, since he could have done just about anything when she'd so imprudently fallen asleep in his room, but she still couldn't very well trust him when Peeta's survival depended upon this man's death. "I can't believe you'd waste your last few days with your revolving door of lovers." She honestly hadn't meant to sound so critical, but how could Finnick bear it? Lemon Drop obviously didn't care about him at all. Was he allowing himself to be used like this as some form of coping mechanism?
All trace of amusement dropped from Finnick's face, like flicking a switch. "Who are you to judge?" His grin was sharp, cynical, almost a grimace. "I've seen your act, my dear, and let me tell you, I don't find it convincing. You have your moments, but I don't buy for a second that you actually want to marry Peeta Mellark. So why don't you just tell me why you're here, in my bedroom, late at night?" He made it sound so salacious, when logically late at night in his bedroom was about the only time Katniss could possibly have spoken to Finnick privately.
After glancing around briefly, Katniss crept closer to Finnick; she wasn't sure what kind of surveillance the Gamemakers might have in the Tributes' rooms, but she was just as certain that there were cameras and microphones hidden. He went very still as she moved right up next to him, their hips inches from touching as she sat on the floor next to him, watching his eyes as if they might give him away. She was close enough to rest her chin on his shoulder, but she was careful not to as she spoke softly into his ear. "Haymitch wants me to take you as an ally, and I want to know why. Someone like Chaff, I understand-for as long as I can remember, I've seen the two of them together during the Games. But he suggested you, and he didn't say as much, but I could tell he felt strongly about it. From what I've seen of you, you'd be useful for your sponsors, but Peeta and I can get those on our own. So what do you suppose you could do for me?"
"'For us,' don't you mean?" he whispered back, before leaning away so that he could stare into her eyes. She didn't like the expression on Finnick's face; he couldn't read her mind, but it looked as if he could. "Your popularity makes you a target; if you're in the game, everyone else gets fewer sponsors. Taking you out will be a main priority. Unless you have allies to lend you some longevity."
Katniss smirked. "Or allies to stab me in the back as early as possible. Though, better to be stabbed early; I'd hate to think I might start to like you."
Grasping at his chest, Finnick collapsed backward, flopping flat on his back on the floor. "You wound me, Katniss," he laughed. "Most people find me quite pleasant to be around."
She could have pointed out that they'd be attempting to kill one another in just a few days. She could have pointed out that she wasn't "most people." But Katniss was embarrassed by his laughter. By the implication of just how pleasant time spent in his company could be and having witnessed it firsthand. She felt her cheeks redden, but her mouth pulled into a frown. "I believe you," she answered, trying for nonchalance but not quite making it. "That woman seemed to be enjoying herself. But that's more than I can say for you. Your act isn't so convincing, either…"
Finnick's lips tightened, and did he seem to pale, as well? "She didn't notice," he hissed under his breath, mouth barely moving. "That's all that matters."
How could that possibly be all that mattered? Just what kind of game was Finnick running? Katniss' first brief thought was that this was how he planned to procure his sponsors. But that wasn't right. From the rumours, he split his time between four or five different lovers each time he visited the Capitol, for years. Well before the terms of the Quarter Quell had been announced. He would have plenty of past lovers as sponsors, if they didn't feel too jilted, but it would be a misconception to think that this was what he'd had in mind when he'd first started.
He shifted closer, reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear as he spoke into it. "Jealous? You were clearly expecting to have my undivided attention when you came in without knocking."
Katniss shivered at the strange, incongruous gentleness, twitching her head away, but just a little. "What's to be jealous of?" she snapped. "I'd rather be with someone who actually cared I was enjoying myself. Who actually enjoyed being with me, too." She found herself flushing at the way Finnick's eyes widened, a slow smile creeping onto his face.
"Why, I didn't realize you cared," Finnick purred. They were already sitting so close, and the man barely shifted to lean in and kiss her. She froze in shock, jaw loose and lips pliant. His fingers on her cheeks and neck were rough with callus from a lifetime of knotting rope, but the touch of them was light, completely unassuming.
The smart thing would have been to pull away. To break all contact and then maybe slap him for good measure, though any physical violence before entering the arena was strictly forbidden. She was distracted by the light pressure of his tongue tracing her lower lip, her own darting reflexively to touch. Finnick tasted of wine. "You didn't kiss Lemon Drop," Katniss mumbled, pulling back only enough to enunciate.
The man's nose wrinkled with brief confusion before he puzzled out what she meant. "Would you be jealous if I had?" Finnick asked, fingerprints mapping the blood vessels of her throat.
"No," she sighed, wishing with some small part of her that she could trust him enough to close her eyes. Wishing that he didn't look so much as if he could read her thoughts.
Finnick chuckled softly, the sound more amused than happy. "Trying to figure me out? I wouldn't bother; you don't have the time. Why would I fuck a woman but not kiss her? Why would I kiss a girl who wants to kill me?" Katniss choked a soft, involuntary noise that sounded suspiciously of denial. "Let's not lie to one another." She bit her lip at the thoughts that admonition summoned: roses and blood. "You may not want to kill me right this moment, but you'll get there. The answer is, much as you will want to kill me in a few days time, I still like you more than that woman."
"There's nothing you can say or do that will make me trust you," Katniss murmured slowly, realizing it was true at the same time the words fell from her lips. After all, it had taken so long for her to recognize that Peeta had never had any intention of killing her in last year's Games. A temporary alliance was nothing more than an agreement for betrayal as soon as your ally was more valuable dead than alive.
"I won't bother correcting you," Finnick said carefully holding her gaze a beat longer than necessary. "You should go back to Peeta, now." His fingers trailed down her collarbones, grazing the sides of her breasts. They were warm and dry against her ribs as they tugged her tunic up just enough to touch.
"With Peeta, it would have to mean something." By inches, she allowed herself to reach out, and his shoulder was warmer and more solid than she'd expected. This would still mean something, she recognized as she leaned in to taste the soft skin of his throat, careful not to bite. Finnick's callused fingertips dragged against her as he pulled her tunic up over her head. The room was kept warm enough that her bare skin hardly registered a chill though gooseflesh rose unasked for.
The roughness of his fingers aroused and ignited nerve endings Katniss hadn't even realized she had. She looked into Finnick's impossibly green eyes and knew this would mean something, though she was unsure exactly what. But at least it wouldn't have to mean everything, and unequivocally she was certain she'd still be able to kill him later on, if someone else in the arena didn't first.
Shivers chased each other up and down her spine and Katniss shifted, straddling one of Finnick's thighs. Her nostrils flared in a sharp gasp when her knee pressed tightly against the telltale hardness in his underwear. She broke eye contact to drop her gaze to it, examining the shape with at least as much curiosity as vague desire.
"Your first time?" It wasn't exactly a question though Finnick inflected it like it was. She flushed and refused to meet his eyes, her fingers seeking his waistband defiantly. "I still think you should go back to Peeta."
Katniss shoved Finnick down on his back, his head giving an audible thump even against the high pile of the carpet. "Shut up," she growled, attempting to bruise his lips to hers. "I won't make it harder for him to live without me…" she added in a barely intelligible mutter that would be impossible to hear or lip read by anyone spying. Finally, after thoroughly plundering his mouth, his lips impossibly red, she sat up and stared down at him. "If you're going to kick me out, do it now."
Her words didn't even seem to register initially; Finnick's gaze seemed blank, pupils blown and impossibly dark, seeming to devour the iris. Then he blinked, and though his eyes kept their drowning look, he'd gathered some awareness. Quite abruptly, Katniss found herself on her back, Finnick quite handily dispensing with her trousers and underwear. And then he went still. "What are you staring at?" she asked, halfway between indignant and bashful.
Finnick's hands swept lightly down her bare thighs, fingers grazing back up the insides in the next moment. "It slipped my mind that you have a prep team like everyone else. Wasn't expecting you to be as waxed as Capitol women." He smirked, hand rising further to tease her soft, smooth folds. Katniss gasped, eyes losing focus as she shivered, and Finnick pressed his advantage, rolling her clit between his fingers, pinching lightly. She hissed softly, hips squirming as her nails found the back of his neck and dug pale red half-moons into the skin. The flat pads of two fingers rubbed her in slow circles, using her own fluids to slick and increase his pace.
A faint sheen of perspiration beaded Katniss' brow as her breathing hitched. She held her breath between faint exhalations that were not quite moans. Her fingers were rigid with tension, but she fought for control regardless; Katniss wanted nothing in common with the oh-so-vocal Lemon Drop. She closed her eyes, arching her neck as her heart beat seemed to stutter. Pressure built low in her abdomen, pleasure cresting from each swirl of Finnick's fingers, but just as every muscle in her body clenched simultaneously, he pulled his hand away.
Katniss choked, eyes flying open, and the sound lodged in her throat wavered between keening and a snarl. Finnick was fast though. Before she could consider bringing herself off, he'd shed his underwear and wedged himself between her thighs. He paused there a moment, and she knew it was to give her a last chance to object. But tributes were given a pharmaceutical cocktail to bolster their immune systems until they hit the arena; there were no diseases she could catch. Pregnancy was the only possible side effect to their joining, but she wouldn't be alive long enough for that to matter. And there were no other considerations to make. She tilted her chin defiantly, and Finnick thrust himself in, groaning low in his throat at the slow, wet slide.
He'd taken his time working her up-she was absolutely soaked-but there was still some discomfort as her body stretched around him. It was pretty clear he wanted to move, but he held still anyway. If Katniss had been capable of anything but shallow breaths, she might have snorted. She wriggled her hips, causing Finnick to grit his teeth, eyelashes fluttering before he succumbed to the urge to thrust. This time he was not so quiet, though he was far more reserved than Lemon Drop had been. He groaned softly, in time with the movement of his hips, but under his breath as if he didn't want Katniss, or more probably the microphones, to hear.
Katniss nibbled her lower lip, trying not to make any noises of her own, not of pain or pleasure. There was no real pain though, just a stretching that could not be accounted as pleasant. Her nerve endings were still alive, electric, though the sensations seemed rewired, and her hips met Finnick's of their own accord, countering his rhythm. The pressure in her lower belly hadn't completely dissipated, and as he moved it began to increase again. Sweat slicked her skin and his, their soft gasps punctuated by the sounds of damp flesh slapping together. And then, when Katniss wasn't sure she could take anymore, Finnick slipped a hand between them and stroked her until she finished, choking down her moans as well as she could.
She pulsed and clenched around him, and it only felt better as he continued pumping into her a few more valuable moments until he climaxed with a low grunt. Finnick shuddered a little as he held himself suspended above Katniss, forcing himself to balance. Katniss winced a little when she felt the brief surge of heat inside her, and growled as she shoved the man up off her with barely space enough for a breath in between.
Her hand grasped Finnick's throat, but lightly, and she pushed him down to crouch over him. A few drips of semen trickled from her body to pool on his stomach, but she ignored the uncomfortable sensation to stare into his eyes. "I'm not like Lemon Drop," Katniss told him hoarsely. "I won't pretend this is anything more or anything less than what it is. I wanted you to know." She grinned, and it was bitter. "I think I just might respect you too much for that. You should stick with sugar cubes." She kissed him hard before staggering to her feet and hastily dressing. And though she didn't exactly hurry from his bedroom, she was still running away.