"Well, look at this shitstorm."

Cinna groaned to himself as he re-entered a room he had hoped not to see for a little while. But what was worse, it was in absolutely no condition for him to work. The remains of sketches and fabrics strewn about, his staff all but gone, and new trunk loads of materials sitting unopened were littered about the room.

Several new faces mulled about, the usual Capitol mercenaries...flitting and floating and gossiping and eyeballing. They were attempting to clean up the mess that Cinna just stood in the middle of. Hands on his hips. Toe tapping. Biting the inside of his lip. Wondering what on earth could possibly be coming down the pike.

"So you're the one everyone is talking about?"

A salty, sultry voice came floating over his shoulder from behind him, beckoning him to turn. It was followed by a slow tongue clicking of disapproval.

Finnick Odair.

As Cinna turned in slow motion, Finnick arched an eyebrow and met his gaze, but only briefly. Cinna uncontrollably let his eyes wander from Finnick's, down past his bare navel and then get lost somewhere along the way. Cinna had seen Finnick, sure. Who hadn't. But in person his surfer boy charm and swagger was all the more appealing. Finnick cleared his throat to regain his attention.

"Cinna. I presume? I guess I thought you'd be...taller." Finnick dripped sex, taking a few steps towards the older man to close the space between them as he offered an insult that still managed to roll off his tongue like flirtation. He continued walking when he met Cinna, brushing past him to the coo of several women nearby, working diligently on preparing a dressing room for him.

"Ladies..." He sneered and awful grin, matched it with a wink, and both women reacted with audible approval and child like giddiness. Cinna could barely keep his eyes from rolling. Finnick had made his way to a couch across the room. He lounged on it and it's blue velvet made his golden skin and sea colored eyes all the more vibrant. The shirt that he wore hung open around his chest and Cinna, who was taking it in, tried to disguise it as work.

And he was determined to keep things just that: work.

"You'll be wearing blue tonight, I take it, so I thought maybe something similar to what you have on. But..."

"Bluer?" Finnick finished the question as he rose and took his white shirt off, tossing it to the couch. He walked to Cinna, who was struck by his immodesty and cockiness. He knew he'd be cocky. But this was absurd. He felt under attack and it unnerved him.

"I'll take a quick measurement."

Cinna moved to his table and grabbed his tape measure before pulling it gently through his fingers and stretching it at arms length as he moved behind Finnick.

"Arms up. Please."

Cinna requested, careful to remember his place.

"Such manners..." Finnick replied through a smile as he raised his arms level, his muscular upper back supporting a long wingspan. Cinna's fingers grazed his shoulders and back as he ran the tape across Finnick's skin.

"Lovely. Turn."

Cinna commanded Finnick, who obeyed even without the aforementioned manners. Cinna knelt in front of Finnick to measure his inseam and even though his light brown skin would mask a blush he felt his cheeks get hot. His nose was just a breath away from Finnick's groin and he was sure he even saw it twitch as he placed a finger over his thigh to run the tape down the inside of his leg. Cinna's face was fiery, and he felt himself let his eyes linger for too long on the outline of Finnick's cock through his pants. And it didn't go unnoticed.

"You like what you see?" Finnick chortled slightly, sensing Cinna's embarrassment immediately. Cinna rose to his feet, unwilling to be put in his place by an arrogant twenty one year old who seemed to think he ruled the world.

"I was taking an inseam measurement, you're the one with an erection. Maybe you like what YOU see?" Cinna rose directly to Finnick's face in a blatant display of machismo, wrapping his tape around his knuckles as he did. Finnick raised his brow and and bit at the inside of his lip. His voice came at Cinna hot and heavy.

"Maybe I do..."

And his reaction knocked Cinna right back off of his game, making him stutter quietly for a moment and then rock backwards on his heels to escape Finnick's glance. Or worse, what has grown into a wide, white toothy grin. A smile that could sink ships.

Cinna moved to his table and busied himself.

"Go amuse someone else, boy. I'll have this for you in a minute."

Cinna was both unnerved and annoyed. He was used to handling frightened teenagers whose entire lives who had been taken from them and whom he had to groom to be slaughtered for public enjoyment. Not some uppity peacock who seemed to think he had managed to outdo the Capitol. Cinna had a growing desire to show him what the real world looked like even after only a few minutes of his company.

But even Cinna, who could remain cool and collected in the dizziest of storms was rattled by Finnick Odair. Undone not only by his striking appearance but an underlying charm that threatened to disarm anyone he came in contact with. Keeping his eyes on the prize would prove challenging.

He heard Finnick saunter out of the room after several long moments when the younger of the two simply stood, hands crossed against his bare chest, watching the man in black go about his work as if he wasn't there. Being ignored wasn't a familiar feeling for Finnick.

Cinna was able to piece things together, allowing himself to forget that no matter how beautiful the drape of the fabric or how just-right the pants might cling to Finnick's muscular but lean frame, their destiny was a pile in the floor and they would come back in bad shape if thy came back at all.

When Cinna emerged to greet the rest of his team, suit draped loosely over his elbow, Finnick was being fluffed and rubbed down. Like some elaborate play thing. His hair was still tousled but slick, his bronze skin irridescent. He stood from his chair in nothing but underwear as Cinna requested his crew make themselves scarce.

They flung from the room as if by a sling shot.

Finnick turned to look at at Cinna, his eyes landing on the material he was carrying. Cinna held the items up one by one, only mildly relieved to not have to tell him how to use them to survive battle.

"This shirt, in this blue, should fit you perfectly and be comfortable as well. We will drape it with this golden belt and cuffs. Next time I'll have a little more preparation. So nothing spectacular. The pants are a slim fit. They should fit well, but..."

Cinna stopped, unsure of how to choose his next words. Finnick watched him suffer for a moment, always amused that someone could become so easily discombobulated.

"You won't have room for much under them, and it's my understanding that was a request."

Cinna was impressed at how the words came. Much more thread together out loud than they had been in his mind.

The words hadn't so much as left his mouth and Finnick had dug his thumbs into the waistband of his dark grey underwear and eased them down over his slim hips and let them fall. He took two steps out of them, and towards Cinna. He stood like some soft of Greek sculpture. Chiseled and posed and perfectly unafraid of being naked in front of a near stranger. Cinna was not so comfortable, and fumbled over the buckle on the pants allowing it to be a welcome distraction and reason not to stare.

Finnick finally reached for the pants and met Cinna's hand, with every intention of yanking the pants from him and doing it himself. But instead Cinna's other hand snapped to his wrist and turned it. Stopping him from attempting to take over and more importantly, to shame Cinna for not being able to do his job.

"I got this." Cinna hissed as he turned Finnick's hand over, pulling his fingers from the fabric which he accidentally proceeded to drop. Finnick's smile turned into a giggle and he ran his tongue over his teeth flirtatiously. Cinna felt himself bristle at it and lowered his eyes from Finnick's until they fell on the hand he was clasping. He had Finnick's strong arm by the wrist and he noted immediately a distinct scar there. Vertical. Along the veins in his wrist. A serious attempt at a suicide, not a cry for help. Cinna's brain had started to reel and process this latest information, as Finnick pulled back hard...freeing himself from Cinna's grasp and putting space between you.

"That's...some scar." Cinna watched Finnick's face as he talked, non-verbally communicating that he knew exactly where that scar had come from. Finnick didn't flinch, but puffed up his chest...still standing naked in front of him.

"It's none of your business." For the first time Finnick's voice wasn't flirtatious or coy, it was commanding and stern. Cinna bent to pick up the pants before walking them to Finnick and holding them out.

"Actually, President Snow made your body my business." Cinna was impressed by his own witty comeback until...

"President Snow made my body everybody's business, now didn't he?"

Finnick shut Cinna down cold, interrupting him and halting him from any further pushing. Cinna felt the bottom of his stomach drop with the tinge of guilt.

"Thanks for the clothes. I think you're job is done here."

Cinna had turned some kind of corner he wasn't sure he intended to and it must have been painted all over his face because Finnick immediately let the smile creep sexily back over his.

"I mean, you're welcome to stand there and watch me dress. Maybe that's your thing..."

Cinna felt his head get hot and he immediately attempted to saunter away. Before he had let himself totally out of Finnick's room he turned to offer him a reminder.

"I'll be here waiting when you get back, that was President Snow's request as well."

Finnick was pulling his pants up over his hips, finally (for the sake of Cinna's train of thought) concealing himself. He shook his head slightly as he grabbed for his shirt.

"That's funny." He offered.

Cinna cocked a curious eyebrow and leaned against the door frame.

"What's funny?" he shot back, crossing his arms.

"You said 'President Snow's request.' We both know there's no such thing. You're as much a prisoner here as I am."

Cinna studied Finnick for a moment, wondering if that was his callous way of admitting he was being prostituted out. Maybe he had become too cocky and self assured to let himself just come out and say it. So Cinna sighed a little and clicked his jaw.

"Well someone's got to babysit you, I guess this time around it's me." Cinna was glad to see Finnick smile at his words. In fact he almost blushed and lowered his head to avert his eyes slightly. Cinna offered a last comfort, continuing, "Look...be safe tonight. Try to take care of yourself...even if it's just so I don't have to."

Cinna nodded at him and Finnick nodded along in quiet understanding before pulling his shirt over his shoulders and slipping past Cinna in the doorway, casually brushing him which unnerved them both.

Cinna turned to watch him leave with a familiar feeling of guilt and loss usually reserved for his district's tributes. He had come to hate that helpless pit of a feeling.

He walked back to his work tables, intent to fill the passing hours with drawing, sketching, looking through what he already had and what he needed to send out. Instead he found two large metallic trays with instructions left by someone who much have been on his team.

There was gauze, two bags of IV fluids, some pills, some ointments. Cinna was curiously looking over it. And thumbing through instructions.

"Not every night is like this," a female voice came from behind him, startling him.

"Snow has a nasty of habit of welcoming Finnick back to town in some pretty sadistic ways. Likes to remind him it's his penance for his quiet time at home in Victor's Village. It can get a little...intense."

She shivered a little as she spoke and then showed herself to the door.

"Good luck..." she called back. Cinna waved her off and took a sign of relief as he heard the door slide shut. He silently wondered why Snow was putting him in this position and then immediately cursed himself. He knew now, more than anything, it could obviously be much, much worse.

He sat at his table and tried to concentrate on his sketching. But all he could draw was the naked frame of Finnick Odair. He stared at it. And as he drew...the detail of the tousled bronze mane, the swimmers physique, the crystalline ocean colored eyes...he found himself focusing on the vacant expression of the face he drew. Not the gleaming Adonis of the Capitol's Finnick Odair. But a face that was lost and confused and trapped.

Cinna knew this was going to be much, much harder than he realized.