[drabbles] I Loved You Then, The Taste That Your Lips Allow, & Lionheart
Alright, so this is a driveby post, but these are in the same universe Stardust, and the considerably longer and more beautiful Finnick!Kendall and Annie!James fic by lilahfrost. I'm kind of on a Finnick/Annie kick right now, so these are basically the fluffy precursor to some angsty, sexy shit to come. These have not been edited, and I'm not even sure they make sense, but I've got to wake up early to go see doctors with needles who terrify me, SO. Take them and go.
Titles are from Tongue Tied by Grouplove, Give Me Love by Ed Sheeran, and King and Lionheart by Of Monsters And Men. ...they don't really have anything to do with anything, except that they are on my Finnick/Annie playlist. Shhhhh I need musical accompaniment to everything.
I Loved You Then (And I Love You Now)
1,491
Kendall/James pre-slash
---
There is a small, pale girl staring at the rickety wooden dock like it might jump up and bite her with splintered teeth. Her friend, a tall boy with bronze skin and eyes that reflect gold tells her, "It's okay."
Kendall rolls his eyes, trying to focus on the Carrick Bend he’s attempting to learn. It’s too complicated. His fingers won’t work right, the line keeps getting tangled, and he keeps having to start all over again. At this rate, he’ll never have it down in time. He was hoping to go on deck tomorrow.
Looks like he’ll be stuck in the galley with his dad and the new guppy class.
Again.
The girl in front of him dips her toe in the water, testing. Wind stirs the chop like soup. It licks at her foot, and she jumps. Kendall sighs. “Look, kid. You’ll be fine.”
“Don’t call her kid,” the boy snarls. “We’re the same age as you.”
Kendall reassesses the situation. “Are we?”
“We’re in the same year at school!”
Kendall doesn’t pay much attention at school. Like, ever. But it doesn’t make sense. Maybe he would have overlooked the scrawny, frightened girl, but he definitely would have noticed this boy. Wouldn’t he? “Right. So how come I’ve been able to backstroke for a year and you’re both guppies?” He gestures towards the group of kids standing on the shore, squealing every time a wave crashes towards them. The first free swim always riles up the littles, even with neon floaties attached to their arms.
The boy falters, picking at his own inflatable wings. His ribs stick out at odd angles, too visible beneath the sheath of his skin. Kendall wonders if he hasn’t eaten, recently. His fingers fret with his line. “I had to help my mom at the shipyard.”
Kendall blinks. “You were scared.”
“I was not.”
“Were too,” he insists, because no mother in her right mind holds off on introducing her kid to the sea. Not unless she’s one hundred percent sure the kid in question isn’t going to try to make their own introductions. Too many children in Four go that way, sucked into a riptide without knowing how to fight it.
That’s what Kendall’s mom says, anyway. She would know; she’s been captain of her own trawler since, like, before Panem became a country.
"James wasn't scared!" The girl protests, her voice stronger than Kendall expected. She tosses her hair, haughty, and says, "He wanted to take the course with me."
"So...you were scared?"
The girl bristles. “So what? If human beings were meant to swim, we’d be born with gills.”
Kendall scratches behind his own ear, checking. Gills would be awesome.
Honestly, he doesn’t remember not being able to swim. Parents aren’t supposed to teach their kids how before their fifth birthday, but like most fishmongers’ spawn, he learned for real when he was three. His guppy classes last year were just a formality. District mandate.
Except for one thing.
Kendall may be one with the waves when he’s swimming in ‘em, but it took him a lot longer to adjust to life on top of them. Rooks alternate; one day in the sea, one day out in the sun. Kendall thrived at the former, but his first few months on a rundown sixty five footer weren’t exactly stellar. His face turned shades of green he hadn’t known were possible, his stomach lived in his throat, and all the while his insurmountable pride twinged. The son of a guppy instructor isn’t supposed to get seasick. It took Kendall ages to live down the mockery he got from that one, in school and over the dinner table, from his own parents.
He decides some secrets are best kept.
“Don’t be nervous. The water’s great.”
The girl bites her lip. James- Kendall likes that name- wraps his arm around her thin shoulders. Kendall thinks it must be nice, having a friend. She says, “The water swallows people. We lost my grandpa out there. Last year.”
Oh. That Kendall can understand. The devil lives in the deep blue sea. His mom says that too.
On the beach, the guppies are running into the shallow waves, giggling as they lap at their legs. One instructor lords over them with stern eyes. Kendall’s dad wrangles a few in his arms, swinging them up into the air before attempting to demonstrate a doggie paddle.
James says, “Why don’t you just leave us alone? She's allowed to be scared.”
He crosses his floatie-clothed arms and glares at Kendall in challenge. Kendall stands, shoving his disaster of a Carrick Bend into the pocket of his threadbare trunks. “Sure, okay. But I could teach you not to be. Scared, I mean.”
“Why would you want to?” James asks, eyes narrowing suspiciously.
Kendall shrugs. “The water’s home. No one should be afraid of it.”
It’s true; the sea is all he’s ever known.
"We don't need your help," James grits out.
The girl hesitates. “I’m Camille.”
“Kendall,” Kendall says, holding out a hand to shake. Camille's fingers flop into his like a fish on dry land, unsure what to do. Kendall snorts. “We’ll work on that too.”
He takes them both to his favorite tide pool, half a mile down the beach. James drags his feet, but Camille follows closely. The sun is baked into the sand, warm between their toes. These are Kendall's favorite kind of afternoons, when there isn’t any school and all his work is done for the day. At the pool, he splashes right in, salty cool enveloping his ankles. Foam settles across the surface of the calm, fluffy white and yellow with the age of hours.
James and Camille stand safe on the sand, staring.
“Come on,” Kendall calls.
Camille shakes her head. James stays adamantly by her side.
“It doesn’t get any deeper,” Kendall promises. Neither of them budge.
Kendall figures out quick that he will have to coax them into the shallows. A flash of color catches his eyes, neon pink against the grainy sand. Kendall grins and carefully scoops it up. He offers it to James in the palm of his hand, like a rose.
“What’s that?” James asks suspiciously.
“An urchin.”
Camille takes a step forward, on the edge of the still water. “It’s so bright. Can I touch it?”
“Sure,” Kendall says. He does not move.
Reluctantly, the duo approaches, glued at the hip. James wasn’t kidding about working in the shipyard. Motor oil slithers from the skin of his ankles in a rainbow black slick. Kendall is still pleased. He shows them both how to stroke over the spines of the urchin without getting pricked. When that loses its appeal, he heads further out into the pool, beckoning Camille forward with sand dollars and sea stars. He recaptures James's attention with a stray ray, all rubbery smooth skin. Kendall uses the empty shell of a horse shoe crab, stained blue with blood, to pull his new friends close to the mountain of rocks that shelter their tiny slice of sea life from the ocean that would wash it all away.
“A gull got at it,” Kendall explains while James turns the husk this way and that.
Camille is almost eager when she asks, “What else is there?”
“I can show you.” Kendall grins. He clambers up onto the rocks and over, crashing straight into the water on the other side, diving beneath the surface with ease. Fractured sunlight color blocks his skin, from peach to pale gold to somewhere in between. He bobs back up to algae slick rocks and tells James and Camille to jump in, happy as a sea lion.
“I can’t,” Camille replies, watching him, aghast. The surf isn’t nearly as rough on this end of the beach as it is down near the docks, but the waves batter against the sharp jut of stone, sending spray everywhere. It clings to Kendall’s eyelashes and his cheeks and the plush of his lips.
“The wings’ll keep you floating. And I’ll keep you safe."
Resolute, James squeezes Camille's hand and adds, "I will too."
Before Kendall can object, he cannonballs right on top of him. They tumble under the waves, limbs tangled like seaweed before James's water wings buoy them to the surface. Kendall wheezes salt water, surprised by James's reckless idiocy.
James lies back, floating easily, grinning. "What? I never said I was scared. Camille, c'mon! This is fun."
"Please,” Kendall urges. He has no urchins to offer this time, so instead he gives up a gap toothed smile. James echoes it, as radiant as the sun playing off the ocean. Beneath the water, his hand brushes against Kendall's arm, and he squeezes. It feels like a thank you.
Camille's jaw goes tight, her little chest puffing out.
“If I drown, I’m going to be so mad at you guys,” she says. She takes a deep breath.
She jumps.
---
The Taste That Your Lips Allow
845
Kendall/James
---
The wind whips James’s hair back and forth like a pennant. Steel rivets lump under his palms. The blowtorch in his lap is still warm to the touch. The crow’s nest sways. From this height, James can see everything in Four, from the thin strip of white sand that curves into the horizon to the tin roofs in town, spotted with age. The salt air eats through everything. It runs through his veins and settles, abrasive against his bones.
He aches to swim, but he’s still got hours of work left if they’re to finish this order. The unforgiving sun beats down against his shoulders. James makes to stand. A flash of gold catches his eye amidst the piles of scrap, where everything is silver; iron and steel and tin. Sweet. James has never been so excited for company.
“Kendall,” he shouts down to the shipyard, trying to catch his best friend’s attention. Kendall’s eyes raise up, up, up, and he grins.
“What are you doing up there?”
“Welding.”
“That sounds boring.”
James shrugs. He’s not a big fan of hard labor in general. “Are you going to come up?”
“I’d rather you came down.”
“Don’t be a chicken.”
Kendall glances sharply to the left and then to the right, checking to see if anyone has heard this challenge to his manhood, but it’s just them, the scrapheap, and the half-finished hull of the boat James is perched on. He obediently scampers up the rope ladder dangling in the breeze, but pauses at the base of the crow’s nest. “Are you sure you don’t want to come down?”
James beams. “I like it up here.”
Kendall grudgingly scales up to James, wincing when the nest sways. It can barely hold the weight of two twelve year old boys. “This is dangerous.”
“So are lots of things,” James replies. “Aren’t you supposed to be working?”
Kendall makes a face. “Katie’s sick. I’m supposed to stay home and watch her until mom gets back. We’re going to end up eating butterfish for dinner again.”
“Could be worse,” James comments, because he has known hunger his whole life. Kendall’s never really understood how lucky he is to be the son of fishermen. It’s been hard for him since his dad died, but his mom still smuggles home part of her day’s catch every evening, and Kendall’s got an apprenticeship of his own to steal from. Combine all that with their pay and the Knight’s table is never empty.
It’s hard to resent Kendall for it, though. He is generous. He is kind. Every new skill he picks up, he passes on to James. He shares his lunch at school. He drags James on all his solo expeditions, from crabbing to spear fishing. He knows how to dodge Peacekeepers and the whipping post instinctively. Kendall treats poaching from the Capitol like it’s a game, like danger can’t touch him. It’s hard not to believe him when they’re lying sprawled together in the sand, laughing, nets flush with fish.
“You’re right. We could let mom do the cooking,” Kendall agrees, nose wrinkling. “Anyway, I was thinking about swimming out to the reef for real food. You coming?”
“What about Katie? Wait.” James glances around. “If you’re supposed to be watching her, where is she?”
“Out front, trying to convince your dad to give you the rest of the day off.” Kendall replies easily.
“She’s six.”
“So? She’s smarter than us.” Kendall says, all open affection. James sometimes thinks becoming a big brother was the proudest moment of his life. “You didn’t answer the question, Diamond.”
“Sure, if dad says I can go.”
“He will,” Kendall replies, algae-bloom eyes shining, convinced of his own majesty. It makes James’s heart skip a beat.
Or maybe that’s the way the crow’s nest pitches dangerously to the left.
“I want to get off this thing,” Kendall informs him immediately, his face paling. James snorts. It’s nice to know that Kendall isn’t completely fearless.
“Alright.”
Kendall’s hair catches the sunlight as James sets his blowtorch aside, ready to follow him down. He is gold, gold and green, his features cut like the statues of mermen that they keep in town square. He skitters down onto the ladder, awkward, long limbs, and James catches the scent of brine that clings to his skin. James breathes deep. He really loves that smell.
He really loves this impish, impulsive boy, too.
“Hey, Kendall?”
Kendall pauses, balanced carefully on the metal rungs that lead down to the bow of this incomplete ship. “Yeah?”
James leans across the rivets he’s just finished installing, one hand on the rail. The kiss is barely more than a brush of their lips, soft and sweet and perfect.
It still makes Kendall’s grip slip. One second he is there, staring at James in open mouthed awe, and the next he is plummeting straight down to the deck. He ends up with a broken arm and bruised ribs and a smile that takes months to dissipate.
That is how James always remembers their first kiss.
---
Lionheart
1,558
Kendall/James
----
Kendall dives so deep the pressure makes his skull throb. An eel wends in and out of a coral jungle to his left, where he cut his foot only minutes before. It sniffs at the blood he left, occluding the water like squid ink.
Stupid coral. Something so pretty shouldn’t be so damn sharp.
He clears his nose, his ears, rinsing the fog from his grimy goggles. There. Poking out of a mound below a soft bodied jungle of anemones. Kendall digs his fingertips into the dirt, catching the rough, gray shell. This makes exactly twenty oysters; more than enough for a picnic.
His lungs burn for oxygen, the water pressing in around him, weighing heavy on his chest. He pushes up off the soft sand of the shelf, his ascent slow. Diving is always dangerous work, properly equipped or not, and District Four’s only decompression chamber broke down a long time ago. Kendall swims up through halos of yellow light, school of fish fluttering around his calves. He breaks into day, gulping down fresh, cool air.
A dark spot in the distance catches his eye. James slices through the water like a shark.
“Find anything?” Kendall yells.
James holds up a fist full of green, and even from afar Kendall can tell his expression is rueful. He jerks his head, signaling the swim back to shore. It’s a little less than a mile from here, so close to the drop off into open water. They’ve nearly gone too far. If a Peacekeeper patrol ship had found them, they’d be whipped, or worse. Kendall’s stomach rumbles. He thinks, it would have been worth it.
They clamber out of the waves, on up to the shelter of the dunes. There they lay, panting. Kendall asks, “Kelp, really?”
He cannot keep the fondness from his voice. James jokes, “It reminded me of you. Your head is full of the stuff.”
Kendall makes a face. “Can we eat already?”
He’s hungry, so hungry. His mom is weathered, rusted through like the hull of her ship, and lately it has been falling on Kendall to forage for food. He doesn’t mind. District Four is more bountiful than the pathetic places they see on TV every year, but poaching is beyond illegal. Which Kendall gets, kind of. Overfishing is such a big problem. Just. He never realized how hard his parents worked to keep him fed until his dad disappeared into the sea.
They are fortunate now that most of the Peacekeepers are deployed past the continental shelf, watching, always watching, to see if anyone will try to make a break for it. They catch a small boat, occasionally. The large trawlers and the research vessels and the people who operate them have clearance to sail on out towards the horizon. Clearance and GPS trackers. Kendall always stares at the nub of his mother’s, protruding from her blue veins, and wonders why she doesn’t try to cut it out.
“Let’s,” James decides, rubbing his hand over his stomach. His ribs are no longer visible, hidden beneath a healthy layer of muscle. His family eats often these days. Poaching may be illegal, but it also easy. And James is lethal in the water.
Well. Usually. Tomorrow’s a Reaping Day. James is allowed to be a little off.
They crack the oysters and eat them raw, sliding slippery down their throats. The kelp they leave to dry, letting it crack with sea salt before shoving it in their mouths. As sunset overtakes the sky, Kendall raps shells against each other, the pearlescent red, blue, and indigo insides flashing as he makes up a melody.
“You’re good at that,” James says, humming along.
“I’m good at everything,” Kendall snarks back. It’s not strictly true, but James doesn’t argue.
They’ve been best friends since they were six years old, since that very first swimming lesson with Camille. Sure, they hit some rough patches in between; James went to class the next day and took to boating like he was born to do it. Kendall’s dad wouldn’t shut about him, which inspired more than a little jealousy on Kendall’s part. But he’s long since gotten over that. He’s watched James grow from a scrawny shipyard rat into a strong, broad shouldered man-boy, into this shining young god who makes all the girls swoon.
Kendall’s pretty enamored himself. He has no idea how it happened. Somewhere between running down the beach, blowing on conch shells, bickering, and more midnight swims that Kendall can count, James crept up on him. Like a wave.
Like a storm.
Like love.
Kendall doesn’t know if that’s what this is. Just the idea of it makes him feel small and unprepared and like he’s falling from somewhere high up, their first kiss all over again. Every time he thinks about the L-word too seriously, James chases away the lines on his face with the bow of his lips. He always sends Kendall’s head spinning.
He does it now, pushing his mouth insistent against Kendall’s over their tiny camp fire, soft. “Worried about tomorrow?”
“No.” Kendall says, and he isn’t. His name’s been in the lottery all of three times, and his baby sister, Katie, is only eight. She’s not eligible for anything yet. “M’happy.”
He moves his lips against James’s, salty and familiar. James deepens the lazy kiss, rolling on top of him, hitching their hips together. He sends frantic electricity spiraling out through Kendall’s limbs. “Me too.”
It’s too easy for things to get out of control, for James’s fingers to play against the waistline of Kendall’s trunks, pressing hard into Kendall’s thigh. Passion comes so easy to James, who thinks with his heart and his dick instead of his head.
Kendall feels it too, can’t think of anything he’d like more than to see James naked and desperate and panting only for him. But. They're both barely teenagers. He’s not ready yet. Kendall exhales, shaky. “Slow down.”
James whines, trying to get more friction between them, arching into Kendall in this sinful sweet way. “Don’t wanna. Want you.”
Kendall almost caves. Almost, but not quite. “Not yet. Not today. We’ve got all the time in the world.”
James groans into the skin of Kendall’s throat, squirms in a way that means he’s still hot beneath his skin. He says, “Promise?”
“Promise,” Kendall says, pulling James close to his chest. They lay there for a long time, turned on but not doing anything else about it, listening to the thunder of the waves and their own heartbeats. Night brings whale song lullabies, haunting in their beauty. James hums along, his voice reverberating through Kendall’s ribcage. Without meaning to, he falls asleep, curled into James’s warmth.
Kendall wakes up the next morning alone. He expects to see James at the Reaping, but on the way there, he bumps into James’s parents, standing at the back of the crowd. “Uh, hi, Mrs. Diamond. Where’s James?”
“Deathly ill,” she explains. “Something about a bad oyster?”
Kendall blanches. Shit. “Is he okay?”
“He’ll be fine, but he couldn’t make it today. The Peacekeepers tried to give us a hard time about it until he puked in one of their faces.” Kendall huffs a laugh without meaning to. She allows a smile. “It was rather spectacular.”
Kendall bids her goodbye, unhurried, not worried. He waves to Camille across the square, and then another friend from school. He thinks that he owes James an apology for the oysters, but mostly he envies that he gets to stay home. That’s rarely allowed. Kendall wishes he’d seen that poor Peacekeeper’s expression.
The day smells of low tide, dead fish and decay. The first Tribute culled is a girl Kendall vaguely recognizes from school - he still does not pay much attention there- named Kat. She stalks up on stage brave, self-assured. She is already a winner. Or maybe not. Because the second name that rings out over the loudspeakers is one that Kendall did not expect to hear.
His.
Kendall thinks about whale song.
Kendall thinks about waiting.
Kendall thinks about James.
After he steps up on stage, their District chaperone asks for volunteers. He is met with silence, and Kendall is not surprised. Kat is the most courageous of her friends, and the only person who would take Kendall’s place is tucked safe in bed, fever hot and doubled over in pain. He sends his thanks to the sea for that, grateful for bad oysters and dried kelp.
The one thing he regrets is that he will not get to say goodbye.
Which is why Kendall decides, then and there, that he will win. He may not be one of those kids whose parents have trained him for this for his entire life, but he also will not go meekly to his death. He is bigger, stronger, and better fed than most Tributes. He’s been spear fishing in the rivers that feed into the ocean for almost as long as he’s been swimming. And if there’s water, he knows how to stay fed. Deep sea trawling is the most dangerous job in all of Panem, which makes Kendall the most dangerous boy in the Games. He is a Career, in every sense of the word.
He’s still petrified. Kendall does not know how to kill.
He supposes he will learn.
Just like he promised, he and James will have all the time in the world.
Titles are from Tongue Tied by Grouplove, Give Me Love by Ed Sheeran, and King and Lionheart by Of Monsters And Men. ...they don't really have anything to do with anything, except that they are on my Finnick/Annie playlist. Shhhhh I need musical accompaniment to everything.
I Loved You Then (And I Love You Now)
1,491
Kendall/James pre-slash
---
There is a small, pale girl staring at the rickety wooden dock like it might jump up and bite her with splintered teeth. Her friend, a tall boy with bronze skin and eyes that reflect gold tells her, "It's okay."
Kendall rolls his eyes, trying to focus on the Carrick Bend he’s attempting to learn. It’s too complicated. His fingers won’t work right, the line keeps getting tangled, and he keeps having to start all over again. At this rate, he’ll never have it down in time. He was hoping to go on deck tomorrow.
Looks like he’ll be stuck in the galley with his dad and the new guppy class.
Again.
The girl in front of him dips her toe in the water, testing. Wind stirs the chop like soup. It licks at her foot, and she jumps. Kendall sighs. “Look, kid. You’ll be fine.”
“Don’t call her kid,” the boy snarls. “We’re the same age as you.”
Kendall reassesses the situation. “Are we?”
“We’re in the same year at school!”
Kendall doesn’t pay much attention at school. Like, ever. But it doesn’t make sense. Maybe he would have overlooked the scrawny, frightened girl, but he definitely would have noticed this boy. Wouldn’t he? “Right. So how come I’ve been able to backstroke for a year and you’re both guppies?” He gestures towards the group of kids standing on the shore, squealing every time a wave crashes towards them. The first free swim always riles up the littles, even with neon floaties attached to their arms.
The boy falters, picking at his own inflatable wings. His ribs stick out at odd angles, too visible beneath the sheath of his skin. Kendall wonders if he hasn’t eaten, recently. His fingers fret with his line. “I had to help my mom at the shipyard.”
Kendall blinks. “You were scared.”
“I was not.”
“Were too,” he insists, because no mother in her right mind holds off on introducing her kid to the sea. Not unless she’s one hundred percent sure the kid in question isn’t going to try to make their own introductions. Too many children in Four go that way, sucked into a riptide without knowing how to fight it.
That’s what Kendall’s mom says, anyway. She would know; she’s been captain of her own trawler since, like, before Panem became a country.
"James wasn't scared!" The girl protests, her voice stronger than Kendall expected. She tosses her hair, haughty, and says, "He wanted to take the course with me."
"So...you were scared?"
The girl bristles. “So what? If human beings were meant to swim, we’d be born with gills.”
Kendall scratches behind his own ear, checking. Gills would be awesome.
Honestly, he doesn’t remember not being able to swim. Parents aren’t supposed to teach their kids how before their fifth birthday, but like most fishmongers’ spawn, he learned for real when he was three. His guppy classes last year were just a formality. District mandate.
Except for one thing.
Kendall may be one with the waves when he’s swimming in ‘em, but it took him a lot longer to adjust to life on top of them. Rooks alternate; one day in the sea, one day out in the sun. Kendall thrived at the former, but his first few months on a rundown sixty five footer weren’t exactly stellar. His face turned shades of green he hadn’t known were possible, his stomach lived in his throat, and all the while his insurmountable pride twinged. The son of a guppy instructor isn’t supposed to get seasick. It took Kendall ages to live down the mockery he got from that one, in school and over the dinner table, from his own parents.
He decides some secrets are best kept.
“Don’t be nervous. The water’s great.”
The girl bites her lip. James- Kendall likes that name- wraps his arm around her thin shoulders. Kendall thinks it must be nice, having a friend. She says, “The water swallows people. We lost my grandpa out there. Last year.”
Oh. That Kendall can understand. The devil lives in the deep blue sea. His mom says that too.
On the beach, the guppies are running into the shallow waves, giggling as they lap at their legs. One instructor lords over them with stern eyes. Kendall’s dad wrangles a few in his arms, swinging them up into the air before attempting to demonstrate a doggie paddle.
James says, “Why don’t you just leave us alone? She's allowed to be scared.”
He crosses his floatie-clothed arms and glares at Kendall in challenge. Kendall stands, shoving his disaster of a Carrick Bend into the pocket of his threadbare trunks. “Sure, okay. But I could teach you not to be. Scared, I mean.”
“Why would you want to?” James asks, eyes narrowing suspiciously.
Kendall shrugs. “The water’s home. No one should be afraid of it.”
It’s true; the sea is all he’s ever known.
"We don't need your help," James grits out.
The girl hesitates. “I’m Camille.”
“Kendall,” Kendall says, holding out a hand to shake. Camille's fingers flop into his like a fish on dry land, unsure what to do. Kendall snorts. “We’ll work on that too.”
He takes them both to his favorite tide pool, half a mile down the beach. James drags his feet, but Camille follows closely. The sun is baked into the sand, warm between their toes. These are Kendall's favorite kind of afternoons, when there isn’t any school and all his work is done for the day. At the pool, he splashes right in, salty cool enveloping his ankles. Foam settles across the surface of the calm, fluffy white and yellow with the age of hours.
James and Camille stand safe on the sand, staring.
“Come on,” Kendall calls.
Camille shakes her head. James stays adamantly by her side.
“It doesn’t get any deeper,” Kendall promises. Neither of them budge.
Kendall figures out quick that he will have to coax them into the shallows. A flash of color catches his eyes, neon pink against the grainy sand. Kendall grins and carefully scoops it up. He offers it to James in the palm of his hand, like a rose.
“What’s that?” James asks suspiciously.
“An urchin.”
Camille takes a step forward, on the edge of the still water. “It’s so bright. Can I touch it?”
“Sure,” Kendall says. He does not move.
Reluctantly, the duo approaches, glued at the hip. James wasn’t kidding about working in the shipyard. Motor oil slithers from the skin of his ankles in a rainbow black slick. Kendall is still pleased. He shows them both how to stroke over the spines of the urchin without getting pricked. When that loses its appeal, he heads further out into the pool, beckoning Camille forward with sand dollars and sea stars. He recaptures James's attention with a stray ray, all rubbery smooth skin. Kendall uses the empty shell of a horse shoe crab, stained blue with blood, to pull his new friends close to the mountain of rocks that shelter their tiny slice of sea life from the ocean that would wash it all away.
“A gull got at it,” Kendall explains while James turns the husk this way and that.
Camille is almost eager when she asks, “What else is there?”
“I can show you.” Kendall grins. He clambers up onto the rocks and over, crashing straight into the water on the other side, diving beneath the surface with ease. Fractured sunlight color blocks his skin, from peach to pale gold to somewhere in between. He bobs back up to algae slick rocks and tells James and Camille to jump in, happy as a sea lion.
“I can’t,” Camille replies, watching him, aghast. The surf isn’t nearly as rough on this end of the beach as it is down near the docks, but the waves batter against the sharp jut of stone, sending spray everywhere. It clings to Kendall’s eyelashes and his cheeks and the plush of his lips.
“The wings’ll keep you floating. And I’ll keep you safe."
Resolute, James squeezes Camille's hand and adds, "I will too."
Before Kendall can object, he cannonballs right on top of him. They tumble under the waves, limbs tangled like seaweed before James's water wings buoy them to the surface. Kendall wheezes salt water, surprised by James's reckless idiocy.
James lies back, floating easily, grinning. "What? I never said I was scared. Camille, c'mon! This is fun."
"Please,” Kendall urges. He has no urchins to offer this time, so instead he gives up a gap toothed smile. James echoes it, as radiant as the sun playing off the ocean. Beneath the water, his hand brushes against Kendall's arm, and he squeezes. It feels like a thank you.
Camille's jaw goes tight, her little chest puffing out.
“If I drown, I’m going to be so mad at you guys,” she says. She takes a deep breath.
She jumps.
---
The Taste That Your Lips Allow
845
Kendall/James
---
The wind whips James’s hair back and forth like a pennant. Steel rivets lump under his palms. The blowtorch in his lap is still warm to the touch. The crow’s nest sways. From this height, James can see everything in Four, from the thin strip of white sand that curves into the horizon to the tin roofs in town, spotted with age. The salt air eats through everything. It runs through his veins and settles, abrasive against his bones.
He aches to swim, but he’s still got hours of work left if they’re to finish this order. The unforgiving sun beats down against his shoulders. James makes to stand. A flash of gold catches his eye amidst the piles of scrap, where everything is silver; iron and steel and tin. Sweet. James has never been so excited for company.
“Kendall,” he shouts down to the shipyard, trying to catch his best friend’s attention. Kendall’s eyes raise up, up, up, and he grins.
“What are you doing up there?”
“Welding.”
“That sounds boring.”
James shrugs. He’s not a big fan of hard labor in general. “Are you going to come up?”
“I’d rather you came down.”
“Don’t be a chicken.”
Kendall glances sharply to the left and then to the right, checking to see if anyone has heard this challenge to his manhood, but it’s just them, the scrapheap, and the half-finished hull of the boat James is perched on. He obediently scampers up the rope ladder dangling in the breeze, but pauses at the base of the crow’s nest. “Are you sure you don’t want to come down?”
James beams. “I like it up here.”
Kendall grudgingly scales up to James, wincing when the nest sways. It can barely hold the weight of two twelve year old boys. “This is dangerous.”
“So are lots of things,” James replies. “Aren’t you supposed to be working?”
Kendall makes a face. “Katie’s sick. I’m supposed to stay home and watch her until mom gets back. We’re going to end up eating butterfish for dinner again.”
“Could be worse,” James comments, because he has known hunger his whole life. Kendall’s never really understood how lucky he is to be the son of fishermen. It’s been hard for him since his dad died, but his mom still smuggles home part of her day’s catch every evening, and Kendall’s got an apprenticeship of his own to steal from. Combine all that with their pay and the Knight’s table is never empty.
It’s hard to resent Kendall for it, though. He is generous. He is kind. Every new skill he picks up, he passes on to James. He shares his lunch at school. He drags James on all his solo expeditions, from crabbing to spear fishing. He knows how to dodge Peacekeepers and the whipping post instinctively. Kendall treats poaching from the Capitol like it’s a game, like danger can’t touch him. It’s hard not to believe him when they’re lying sprawled together in the sand, laughing, nets flush with fish.
“You’re right. We could let mom do the cooking,” Kendall agrees, nose wrinkling. “Anyway, I was thinking about swimming out to the reef for real food. You coming?”
“What about Katie? Wait.” James glances around. “If you’re supposed to be watching her, where is she?”
“Out front, trying to convince your dad to give you the rest of the day off.” Kendall replies easily.
“She’s six.”
“So? She’s smarter than us.” Kendall says, all open affection. James sometimes thinks becoming a big brother was the proudest moment of his life. “You didn’t answer the question, Diamond.”
“Sure, if dad says I can go.”
“He will,” Kendall replies, algae-bloom eyes shining, convinced of his own majesty. It makes James’s heart skip a beat.
Or maybe that’s the way the crow’s nest pitches dangerously to the left.
“I want to get off this thing,” Kendall informs him immediately, his face paling. James snorts. It’s nice to know that Kendall isn’t completely fearless.
“Alright.”
Kendall’s hair catches the sunlight as James sets his blowtorch aside, ready to follow him down. He is gold, gold and green, his features cut like the statues of mermen that they keep in town square. He skitters down onto the ladder, awkward, long limbs, and James catches the scent of brine that clings to his skin. James breathes deep. He really loves that smell.
He really loves this impish, impulsive boy, too.
“Hey, Kendall?”
Kendall pauses, balanced carefully on the metal rungs that lead down to the bow of this incomplete ship. “Yeah?”
James leans across the rivets he’s just finished installing, one hand on the rail. The kiss is barely more than a brush of their lips, soft and sweet and perfect.
It still makes Kendall’s grip slip. One second he is there, staring at James in open mouthed awe, and the next he is plummeting straight down to the deck. He ends up with a broken arm and bruised ribs and a smile that takes months to dissipate.
That is how James always remembers their first kiss.
---
Lionheart
1,558
Kendall/James
----
Kendall dives so deep the pressure makes his skull throb. An eel wends in and out of a coral jungle to his left, where he cut his foot only minutes before. It sniffs at the blood he left, occluding the water like squid ink.
Stupid coral. Something so pretty shouldn’t be so damn sharp.
He clears his nose, his ears, rinsing the fog from his grimy goggles. There. Poking out of a mound below a soft bodied jungle of anemones. Kendall digs his fingertips into the dirt, catching the rough, gray shell. This makes exactly twenty oysters; more than enough for a picnic.
His lungs burn for oxygen, the water pressing in around him, weighing heavy on his chest. He pushes up off the soft sand of the shelf, his ascent slow. Diving is always dangerous work, properly equipped or not, and District Four’s only decompression chamber broke down a long time ago. Kendall swims up through halos of yellow light, school of fish fluttering around his calves. He breaks into day, gulping down fresh, cool air.
A dark spot in the distance catches his eye. James slices through the water like a shark.
“Find anything?” Kendall yells.
James holds up a fist full of green, and even from afar Kendall can tell his expression is rueful. He jerks his head, signaling the swim back to shore. It’s a little less than a mile from here, so close to the drop off into open water. They’ve nearly gone too far. If a Peacekeeper patrol ship had found them, they’d be whipped, or worse. Kendall’s stomach rumbles. He thinks, it would have been worth it.
They clamber out of the waves, on up to the shelter of the dunes. There they lay, panting. Kendall asks, “Kelp, really?”
He cannot keep the fondness from his voice. James jokes, “It reminded me of you. Your head is full of the stuff.”
Kendall makes a face. “Can we eat already?”
He’s hungry, so hungry. His mom is weathered, rusted through like the hull of her ship, and lately it has been falling on Kendall to forage for food. He doesn’t mind. District Four is more bountiful than the pathetic places they see on TV every year, but poaching is beyond illegal. Which Kendall gets, kind of. Overfishing is such a big problem. Just. He never realized how hard his parents worked to keep him fed until his dad disappeared into the sea.
They are fortunate now that most of the Peacekeepers are deployed past the continental shelf, watching, always watching, to see if anyone will try to make a break for it. They catch a small boat, occasionally. The large trawlers and the research vessels and the people who operate them have clearance to sail on out towards the horizon. Clearance and GPS trackers. Kendall always stares at the nub of his mother’s, protruding from her blue veins, and wonders why she doesn’t try to cut it out.
“Let’s,” James decides, rubbing his hand over his stomach. His ribs are no longer visible, hidden beneath a healthy layer of muscle. His family eats often these days. Poaching may be illegal, but it also easy. And James is lethal in the water.
Well. Usually. Tomorrow’s a Reaping Day. James is allowed to be a little off.
They crack the oysters and eat them raw, sliding slippery down their throats. The kelp they leave to dry, letting it crack with sea salt before shoving it in their mouths. As sunset overtakes the sky, Kendall raps shells against each other, the pearlescent red, blue, and indigo insides flashing as he makes up a melody.
“You’re good at that,” James says, humming along.
“I’m good at everything,” Kendall snarks back. It’s not strictly true, but James doesn’t argue.
They’ve been best friends since they were six years old, since that very first swimming lesson with Camille. Sure, they hit some rough patches in between; James went to class the next day and took to boating like he was born to do it. Kendall’s dad wouldn’t shut about him, which inspired more than a little jealousy on Kendall’s part. But he’s long since gotten over that. He’s watched James grow from a scrawny shipyard rat into a strong, broad shouldered man-boy, into this shining young god who makes all the girls swoon.
Kendall’s pretty enamored himself. He has no idea how it happened. Somewhere between running down the beach, blowing on conch shells, bickering, and more midnight swims that Kendall can count, James crept up on him. Like a wave.
Like a storm.
Like love.
Kendall doesn’t know if that’s what this is. Just the idea of it makes him feel small and unprepared and like he’s falling from somewhere high up, their first kiss all over again. Every time he thinks about the L-word too seriously, James chases away the lines on his face with the bow of his lips. He always sends Kendall’s head spinning.
He does it now, pushing his mouth insistent against Kendall’s over their tiny camp fire, soft. “Worried about tomorrow?”
“No.” Kendall says, and he isn’t. His name’s been in the lottery all of three times, and his baby sister, Katie, is only eight. She’s not eligible for anything yet. “M’happy.”
He moves his lips against James’s, salty and familiar. James deepens the lazy kiss, rolling on top of him, hitching their hips together. He sends frantic electricity spiraling out through Kendall’s limbs. “Me too.”
It’s too easy for things to get out of control, for James’s fingers to play against the waistline of Kendall’s trunks, pressing hard into Kendall’s thigh. Passion comes so easy to James, who thinks with his heart and his dick instead of his head.
Kendall feels it too, can’t think of anything he’d like more than to see James naked and desperate and panting only for him. But. They're both barely teenagers. He’s not ready yet. Kendall exhales, shaky. “Slow down.”
James whines, trying to get more friction between them, arching into Kendall in this sinful sweet way. “Don’t wanna. Want you.”
Kendall almost caves. Almost, but not quite. “Not yet. Not today. We’ve got all the time in the world.”
James groans into the skin of Kendall’s throat, squirms in a way that means he’s still hot beneath his skin. He says, “Promise?”
“Promise,” Kendall says, pulling James close to his chest. They lay there for a long time, turned on but not doing anything else about it, listening to the thunder of the waves and their own heartbeats. Night brings whale song lullabies, haunting in their beauty. James hums along, his voice reverberating through Kendall’s ribcage. Without meaning to, he falls asleep, curled into James’s warmth.
Kendall wakes up the next morning alone. He expects to see James at the Reaping, but on the way there, he bumps into James’s parents, standing at the back of the crowd. “Uh, hi, Mrs. Diamond. Where’s James?”
“Deathly ill,” she explains. “Something about a bad oyster?”
Kendall blanches. Shit. “Is he okay?”
“He’ll be fine, but he couldn’t make it today. The Peacekeepers tried to give us a hard time about it until he puked in one of their faces.” Kendall huffs a laugh without meaning to. She allows a smile. “It was rather spectacular.”
Kendall bids her goodbye, unhurried, not worried. He waves to Camille across the square, and then another friend from school. He thinks that he owes James an apology for the oysters, but mostly he envies that he gets to stay home. That’s rarely allowed. Kendall wishes he’d seen that poor Peacekeeper’s expression.
The day smells of low tide, dead fish and decay. The first Tribute culled is a girl Kendall vaguely recognizes from school - he still does not pay much attention there- named Kat. She stalks up on stage brave, self-assured. She is already a winner. Or maybe not. Because the second name that rings out over the loudspeakers is one that Kendall did not expect to hear.
His.
Kendall thinks about whale song.
Kendall thinks about waiting.
Kendall thinks about James.
After he steps up on stage, their District chaperone asks for volunteers. He is met with silence, and Kendall is not surprised. Kat is the most courageous of her friends, and the only person who would take Kendall’s place is tucked safe in bed, fever hot and doubled over in pain. He sends his thanks to the sea for that, grateful for bad oysters and dried kelp.
The one thing he regrets is that he will not get to say goodbye.
Which is why Kendall decides, then and there, that he will win. He may not be one of those kids whose parents have trained him for this for his entire life, but he also will not go meekly to his death. He is bigger, stronger, and better fed than most Tributes. He’s been spear fishing in the rivers that feed into the ocean for almost as long as he’s been swimming. And if there’s water, he knows how to stay fed. Deep sea trawling is the most dangerous job in all of Panem, which makes Kendall the most dangerous boy in the Games. He is a Career, in every sense of the word.
He’s still petrified. Kendall does not know how to kill.
He supposes he will learn.
Just like he promised, he and James will have all the time in the world.