A/N: Hello and thank you for reading!I was going through my hard drive and came across this little gem that somehow escaped posting, until now. I do not own Hunger Games or any associated characters, just borrowing them to play. Please leave a review, it's the only thing I stand to make off posting.
She gets up from the sweaty messy tangle of sheets, finding the space between their bodies once more. She doesn't look back at her partner, sprawling, comfortable in the disarray behind her. Cracking a window, she leans against the wall to let the breeze cool her burning skin. Not long ago, she might have flinched from being naked so near a window, so indecent, so exposed. There's no point anymore, who in Panem hasn't seen everything Katniss Everdeen has to offer?
He watches her, silhouetted against the murky sky outside. Voices carry on the breeze, rinsing away the smell of sweat and sex. They intrude into the comfortable silence resting between them, the survivors, then dissolve in the mournful whistle of a train, far away, melding back into quiet. He props himself up on one elbow, watching the shifting lights of the city around them dancing along her sweat-slicked skin, harsh shadows and soft highlights. "Who do you think about? When we're fucking, I mean."
Katniss turns from the window, and gave her last friend an empty look. She returns to the bed, perching on the edge. "Does it matter? They're all dead." Dead, or gone, or worse. They are the survivors: Everdeen and Odair. Maybe it would have been better to die in the arena, or in the rebellion. Maybe it would have been better to die in the rebellion. It's too late; now they are the Capitol's. Now they are nothing.
"Humor me," he tugs her shoulder until she lets herself fall back against him, dark hair tickling his shoulder, his chest. "Who do you imagine it is, when you close your eyes? Whose lips are kissing you, in all those places we hide from everyone? Whose fingers touch you, who pleasures you?" His breath is hot against her ear.
The first time he asked this question, she got angry. He asked it many more times before she understood why. "Are you going to sulk if I say it's not you?" As though either of them had feelings left to hurt. She likes the feeling of his soft laugh against her hair. The rare moments that she's truthful with herself, she finds her fantasy man a chameleon. Some nights he has Peeta's eyes, or smells a bit like Gale. Some times he's a tribute from her first Games, other times a stranger. Small and vulnerable in the face of this introspection, she curls against Finnick's smooth chest, digging her fingers into his hip. He's the last thing in the world she has to hold onto, and only at the Capitol's say-so. "It doesn't matter. Say something charming." Even now, his ability to say the perfect thing on command puzzles her.
He gives the top of her head a sorrowful look, petting her hair gently. He's never sure why he kept coming back to that question. It had been a moment of healing, when he had discovered one last thread to Annie Cresta in his small companion. He could breathe in those moments, buried deep inside a woman who, in another life, might have been Annie. It felt like freedom, whatever lie it might be. He wanted that for her, dreams of freedom would never be as good as freedom, but it was better than the stark reality of their despair. "If I had known we'd end up like this, I'd have tried harder to seduce you when we first met."
Katniss slaps his arm lightly, but manages to laugh none the less. "You ass." She needs him for this, needs him like she's never needed anything in her entire life. He is the only good thing left in her life, as she is the only thing left in his.
"And a damn fine one it is, too." He agrees, tugging an erant lock of her hair fondly. "Go to sleep, girly. Our keepers will be back before you know it."