A/N: All ownership disclaimed. Written for "Wicked Winter", prompt "Gale/Madge, quickie in her father's office".
Doesn't make much sense, intended just for fun. Yeah, I know I should be writing other stuff, please excuse my stupid prompt-prone imagination.
Lock and Key
Turns out Miss Undersee's not that bad after all.
(She's not far and gone, kissing a baker boy in a tacit promise to save his sorry ass.)
She's a good distraction.
(She's never gone a day without food, but her mouth on me was always hungry, and I was only too happy to grab at her blonde locks and push myself deeper in.)
She's a good lifesaver.
("I did it just because of Katniss," she'd said as I let her run her fingers along my hardly-healed whipping scars, my face hidden in her pillow and burning with shame at the realization that she – the Mayor's daughter – had saved my life. Her lie was smooth and sweet, and her touch soothing like the morphling she'd brought me then.)
She's a good ally.
("We all have a reason to fight, Gale," she'd said as the sound of a glass vial shattering upstairs filled her blue eyes with unshed tears, and I stared in disbelief at the bunch of keys she said she'd stolen from her father's office. We needed to know what's going on, needed to find out why the peacekeepers are suddenly leaving in droves, and whether the moment to strike is finally ripening.)
/
So here we are, creeping like thieves in her own house while the Mayor is off in the Justice Building, and the missus is dead to the world, alone with the morphling she needs for her own pain.
Most of the cabinets are already empty, though, or filled with useless crap, and we get more and more frustrated by the minute. Glancing up after the last vain search, I catch a glimpse of Madge leaning over by the desk, her back to me.
Well, we didn't get what we came for, but finding out what's under her skirt will still be worth both the time and the risk. As she slides her last drawer closed, I sneak up behind her and wrap one arm around her waist, effectively trapping her between me and the desk. She gasps in surprise, but I rest my hand over her face to mute the sound. We can't afford to be loud here.
What a shame.
Madge recovers at once, I can feel her lips stretching into a smirk against my palm. Arching back, she moves her head in my light grip, leaning on my shoulder. I let my hand slide down her front and cover her mouth with my lips instead.
As the kiss deepens, fueled by adrenaline, I run my fingers over her skirt to the hem, and then all the way up her inner thigh, encountering nothing but sticky desire.
She grins into the kiss, her fingers tearing at the buttons of my shirt.
Looks like she's come prepared for more than spying, too.
Yeah, that makes risking my neck or at least back here worth it.
Sure she's been better off than most of us, but I can't deny her anything anymore, not at all. And do my best to give her what she's craving now, grabbing her lovely hips and slamming my own against her delightfully smooth round pale ass.
(And it's fucking selfish, both the adoration and the ghost of resentment, but what isn't, what in this hell isn't?)
We finish together, for a dead little moment as united as we can be, all the differences between us erased in our shared explosion as if they never existed.
Then she turns in my embrace and grins up at me, her eyes alight with the glow of lamps from outside, vivid like fire and brimming with hope against all odds.
"We'll have to try the Justice Building as soon as possible," she says. "That will be more dangerous. But I'd say this was worth it."
"Absolutely."
/
No, Madge is not bad at all. She, too, makes the fight for a changed world worthwhile.
(For a world where I could dream of keeping her, of asking her to be my everything.)