She catches him off guard with her warmth as her lips melt into him, her arms encircling his neck like a snare. He'd never figure her to be the type to venture onto the slag heap and much less with him—a miner kid, covered in soot and dirt of the Seam. Yet there she is—Madge Undersee—as hungry as he's for her, she is for him; exploring each other's curves and crevices, balancing only narrowly on the bounds of decency.
Seeking his heat, she presses tighter into him while her golden curls swivel around his fingers like boughs in breeze.
When their lips part, and she eases off her tiptoes, her nose barely reaches the outline of his chin.
And then she blushes, barely breathing.
He's being rational where dreams fill her. They can never be.
To her, he's everything she's dreamed of—handsome and tall, capable and strong where town boys are meek; dangerous where others offer only complacency. He tastes bitterly of herbs and carries the aroma of pine that's been cut down during an especially cold winter.
To him, she's beautiful and privileged, which already sets them worlds apart. Her parents would never allow it, worse even—he wouldn't allow himself. Safe to say, he enjoys snatching away pieces of her dignity one kiss at the time—one touch of lips and a swirl of tongue, ragged breath and stifled moan. The knowledge that she would yield to him so completely was his own bit of privilege now. He could have her here and now, none too concerned with the consequences. He already devised the scenarios. Had he put a child in her, she'd be married off hastily to a boy of merchant class, their union glossed over with stories written and recited in shaky voice and tone. Then, a dozen months later, a child of dark hair and grey irises would roam the square. People would watch and gossip and speculate the fatherhood but she wouldn't be the first. She wouldn't be the first town flower wilted by coal dust of Seam. But the talk would persist.
The scenario spreads out within him in a vicious grin, lending him a momentary inebriation with power, but then he pushes her aside.
She was near; she was desirable, but... not what he wanted, not right now. His personal politics are unforgiving—even more so than those of the Capitol; especially since there is a more realistic option at hand.
As he walks away, he thinks of one thing—she tastes like strawberries.
A/N: I would like to apologise to all Gale fans in case they find him out of character - or bit of a douche, really - in this piece.