The color of the object illuminated partakes of the color of that which illuminates it.
- Leonardo da Vinci
/He drapes her in sea green, a shade that always seems to compliment her hair that is the color of flames. It calms her deranged expression somewhat. No, not deranged, not yet.
Bemused.
Yes, her mind is merely addled, he concludes. Not quite deranged, not like me…/
/A drop of apricot on each cheek, and she is at his whim once again. He's not sure what it is about the fruit that calms her so, but it does, and that's all he needs.
He manipulates her body against his in the pale moonlight; enough to catch each heated glance, each lip quiver.
Two desperate minds clinging to each other, to reality—his agonized, yet ecstatic pants and her almost-cluelessness…/
/The blades were hidden in gunmetal for her safe-keeping…/
/He had wanted to touch her, to run his knuckles against her cheeks and soothe her agitation. Her mantis eyes turned jungle green at the sight of him. He wondered if she'd crumble under his weight. She didn't, but came dangerously close…/
/His trident, an arylide extension of his arm seems to glint in consummation. It'd hauled nearly 150 kipper that day. Annie's claps ring in the horizon, long after Finnick had lain his trident down beside him and took her up in his arms…/
/The blades were hidden in gunmetal for her safe-keeping. He wouldn't have given it any thought, had she not sliced herself onetime and another. He wasn't sure whether it was accidental or not. /
/He drapes her in sea green, a shade that always seems to compliment her hair that is the color of flames. It calms her deranged expression somewhat. No, not deranged, not yet.
Bemused.
Yes, her mind is merely addled, he concludes. Not quite deranged, not like me.
He clings to her in his sleep, harder than he intended to. He dreams of honeydew chiton and babies and painted dolphins. She awakens with fresh contusions painting her hips in swirls of burnt orange, taupe, artichoke, ultramarine, plum…/
(In the background, Finnick struggles against the restraints.)
/A drop of apricot on each cheek, and she is at his whim once again. He's not sure what it is about the fruit that calms her so, but it does, and that's all he needs.
He manipulates her body against his in the pale moonlight; enough to catch each heated glance, each lip quiver.
Two desperate minds clinging to each other, to reality—his agonized, yet ecstatic pants and her almost-cluelessness.
Shortly thereafter, Annie's screams of joy reverberate and bounce and echo and twist and alter and the blade drops to the floor. /
/He had wanted to touch her, to run his knuckles against her cheeks and soothe her agitation. Her mantis eyes turned jungle green at the sight of him. He wondered if she'd crumble under his weight. She didn't, but came dangerously close. And nevertheless, she kisses him, because she understands that with constant love comes consistent pain. /
/His trident, an arylide extension of his arm seems to glint in consummation. It'd hauled nearly 150 kipper that day. Annie's claps ring in the horizon, long after Finnick had lain his trident down beside him and took her up in his arms.
They fall asleep this way.
Annie wakes up in a bout of tears, a secret so scarring purring its way into her mindfulness. It steals the breath from her lungs and blots her skin in goose flesh despite the cold sweat forming at the crown of her forehead. She wants to scream, but a lump forms in her throat and all she can do is cry silent tears.
All Finnick does is watch. And then he falls asleep, a whispered, "Not monsters, just us."
Finnick rouses to empty arms and no sign of Annie's presence from the night before. /
The cat mewls its discontent, and Finnick rises to dump some kipper into the bowl.
In the background, Finnick struggles against Annie's arms.
Author's note: I posted this on Ao3 a few months ago, and forgot to post it here. :P So... your welcome.