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3/8/14 05:13![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
65th_victorThey were supposed to be watching the announcement for the Quarter Quell. But they weren't. Instead, they were in the house in Victors' Village that they practically claimed as their own, filling up more and more of the living room over the years went by. There was still little there that marked it as personal, but it was certainly comfortable now, especially compared to when they had first started breaking in, sitting on the ground with only a blanket.
Finnick knew they would get into trouble if anyone found out that they weren't planted in front of the televisions with the rest of the country, listening intently to the president's announcement. He could feel these games cresting upon them both already, threatening to drown them. He didn't know why -- perhaps it was because this was the first Quarter Quell that he was old enough to be involved in, or perhaps it was because it had now been 10 years since his own games (17 dead District Four tributes and Annie), or maybe it was really because of Katniss Everdeen. He'd watched with a cold sense of disbelief from a club as she won her Games. He'd been waiting for the boy from One to kill them both, because it was too much to carry someone that injured through so much of the Games, and Twelve never beat One. It had been such a mathematical certainty in his head, that he was certain he had been more surprised than the rest of the country when they managed to not only outlast One, but then to trick the Capitol.
But it wasn't really a trick, because they all paid for the things they took. You never stole from the Capitol. You took your life from the Games and you spent the rest of it paying in kind. That was the unknowing deal they made. So, yeah, maybe he was dreading seeing this couple show up in the Capitol this year.
And maybe they were only putting off the inevitable of whatever horror this announcement was going to bring. (It brought a cold chill to his insides to think of mentoring four kids versus two), but he would take that small amount of time with Annie, where they were will protected and with each other.
He was balanced in between Annie's legs at the moment, mostly teasing her with his tongue, fingers balanced underneath her knee and on top of one of her hips.
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2/9/14 19:37 (UTC)"I won't let that happen," Finnick answered, his voice absolutely. He ran his fingers gently through her hair, hoping that it was calming. "You believe me?"
He leaned in, burying his face against her hair, pressing quiet kiss against her neck. He breathed slowly, trying to commit everything about her to memory. Tried to capture everything about her in essence: the tangled-swept feel of her hair, the smell of her skin, and the dip of her waist underneath his fingertips.
"Can you forgive me for what I'll do?" Finnick asked softly enough that he wasn't sure she could hear him. And even then, it wasn't the question he meant to ask: Can you still love me for what I'll do?
They both knew, all too well, that what went into the arena was never what came out. And he knew this time would be no different. This time, if anything, would be worse. He was known as the boy who betrayed his career pack, but this time he knew everyone who was going in. What kind of man was willing to kill his friends, people he had known for years, people who had often played a bigger role in raising him than his own parents had. He knew what he was taking away this time when he killed; last time, they had been all but strangers, blank slates with no backgrounds. This time, he knew who had children, and who had lost their families to Snow. He knew their own struggles after their Games, knew what hey had been forced to do inside and outside of the arena.
(no subject)
11/9/14 19:51 (UTC)At first Annie couldn't reply, her throat closed by the sudden weight of her sorrow, eyes filling with hot tears and head tipped back in an effort to contain them. Heart thudding in her thin chest, she stared at the darkening sky but found no answers there.
"Just come back to me," she managed, voice ragged and faint, her hand lifting to push into Finnick's hair where he was nuzzled against her neck. She hated herself a little for asking so much of him, but the words were compulsive, undeniable. It would be cold comfort to know that he had died a martyr; she could not find it in her to be noble, not about this. She could forgive him anything, she thought, except for leaving her in this hell all alone. She would rather go into the arena a hundred more times.
Twisting, she reached suddenly for Finnick's face, fingers pushed up under his chin to force his gaze back up to hers. "Come back to me," she repeated, more forcefully, and leaned in to press a fierce kiss to his mouth as her tears finally overspilled.
(no subject)
13/9/14 16:59 (UTC)"I'll come back to you," he repeated, looking up at her. He kissed her with the same intensity, able to taste the years that were streaming down her face. His hands tightened against her back as if holding her closer would do anything to protect them against what was going to happen, against what they were feeling.
He tried to blank out his mind again -- stopped trying to sort out who was going to go into the arena and what he knew about them. He stopped trying to calculate his odds and who would be likely to sponsor him again. What was waiting for him at home and the ridiculous mask he was going to have to wear to even comfort his mother and sisters a little bit. Instead, he tried to concentrate only on Annie, trying to pretend that they were only two people in all the world.
"We'll be all right," he murmured against her mouth, rubbing a thumb warmly over her damp cheek. Another lie, but there were always the only thing that kept Finnick going, so what was one more?