A/N: In which Sil and Finnick share their second honeymoon.
Purplestan: I tried not to make it too sappy but honestly it's so hard not to with them ;)
xenocanaan: I'm glad you're smiling! I consider this a sign that I'm doing a good job with all this fluff! Lol
LoveFiction2019: Thanks!
hella-sirius: I had a lot of fun writing this chapter so I hope you enjoy! I figured it went along nicely with the theme of Sil and Finnick's previous wedding night ;)
Bharm: I have a couple of honeymoon chapters already written, so there will be more smut in the next update as well. I couldn't just not write the morning after scene! As for a potential Johanna/Tommy mini series, I'm thinking something along the lines of Tommy crashing into District 7 to start a new life, being completely out of his depth because he's a Capitolite and used to luxury, and Johanna snarking at him as he tries to figure out how to use an ax. Lol! Why is this so easy to picture?
I shall keep the author's note short this time. All I'll say is: #weddingnightgoals
Chapter Six | In the seven seas you sail on
On their first wedding night in the Capitol, beneath the weight of forced vows and political moves, Sil and Finnick had tried to make the most of their circumstances by playing childish games meant to take some of that weight away. On their second wedding night…well, Sil has plans, and they don't entirely include forgetting about their first honeymoon. She's a sentimental creature, at times.
Finnick smiles into Sil's hair, inhaling the scent of the sea that has taken a hold of her, and keeps her in his arms for a long moment before pulling back and musing, "Now. How shall we start the night?" Then, wagging his eyebrows at her with exaggerated humor, he slides his hands to her waist and squeezes her playfully. Sil shoots him a mischievous smile. She pulls herself out of his arms before he can stop her and heads into the kitchen to riffle around in one of the cabinets.
The kitchen unit is tiny, with just a small counter space and two bar stools that barely fit at the equally tiny island. Still, it's furnished quite spectacularly, with a full sized refrigerator shoved between the end of the counter and the wall, a stainless steel sink that gleams in the light, and an oven that takes up at least half of the cabinet space. Despite this, though, it's all positioned in such a way that it isn't overly cramped, and apparently, it's all outfitted with the proper glassware and dishes as well. If Finnick is surprised that his meticulous lover has managed all of this in such a short amount of time – while wrangling the very outspoken members of District 4 to keep their mouths shut about it – well, he doesn't look it. Sil is a force to be reckoned with, after all. He knows that more than anyone.
"Should I ask what you're doing?" he wonders as he takes a stand beside the small island. She clearly has something planned, for she's gone through two cabinets now and is looking a little frustrated. He crosses his arms and watches her with a raised eyebrow.
Her voice is muffled when she mutters, "Just a moment…those blasted sailors…hiding it on me…"
He quirks an amused smile at this and chuckles quietly to himself. When she lets out a victorious 'aha!' and pulls out a tall bottle of whiskey from the lower cabinet, though, Finnick's laughter takes a different turn.
"Okay first of all," he starts, holding up a hand as Sil happily sets it on the island across from him, "you've made me very skeptical about drinking anything on any wedding night we share." She wrinkles her nose and opens her mouth, but he swiftly cuts in to add, "Second of all, you've clearly not learned your lesson about whiskey, sugar."
Sil's response to this is an immediate and very staunch, "I was perfectly fine last night!"
"I had to carry you back to the cottage. You kept going on about washing your hair," he inputs dryly, and she pauses.
"I'd have done that regardless," she declares, and sticks her chin up. "All that salt is not good for maintaining healthy hair, Finnick darling."
As if he doesn't hear her, he adds, "Either way, I might end up drugged and shipped off to District 13 again."
Sil's mouth drops open indignantly, but then she sees the laughing way Finnick is staring at her and she just humphs, "We were in dire circumstances." Then, shrugging it off before he can argue any further (he looks about ready to), she slides two tumbles onto the island and says, "Besides, I thought it would be fun to play another game, and there is a sad lack of good wine around here so I had to resort to whiskey."
Finnick pauses, raises an eyebrow at her, and drawls, "I think I'd rather make you mine as soon as possible."
He is being awfully straight-forward tonight, and Sil immediately feels her face heat up at these frank words. There's an edge of a challenge in his voice that she certainly doesn't miss, and it's only furthered by the way his eyes flash at her from across the counter. She can't deny that she wouldn't mind exploring that particular avenue, but…well, their entire relationship has been so circular and convoluted that she also rather likes the thought of keeping to the course that's already laid out.
Besides, she has plans, and there's not a man alive who can stop Silver Lamprey Cornelius. Not even Finnick Odair.
Sil straightens out her shoulders and uncaps the bottle of whiskey with a huff. As she does, she says, "Truth or Dare would be boring, seeing as we've already done that on our first wedding night." He raises his eyebrows at her and watches her pour the whiskey into the tumblers, still not sure if he cares for how the night seems to be going so far, but also curious to see what his wife has in mind. He finds out when Sil casts him a gleaming smirk and purrs, "I was thinking a game of poker might be more…engaging."
His eyebrows raise even further, and in a slightly wary voice, Finnick says, "…I've seen you play poker, sugar, and it's scary."
Scary is, indeed, a good word for it.
Sil leans over the counter with a downright sinful smile and pushes his tumbler towards him. "I've never played strip poker before, though. I'm dying to give it a try."
Her eyes flash over his figure with such fire that he feels his entire body alight into a bright shiver. It must be fairly obvious, because her smile only widens as her eyes clash back into his, and Finnick's voice is a bit breathy even as he jokes, "Seeing as I'm a shit poker player, I'd say you were trying to get me naked."
Sil reaches up to cover her mouth as laughter overcomes her. The joking quality of Finnick's indignation is amusing to her, as is the way he seems so on guard at her suggestion. She doesn't know if he's really that bad at poker or just exaggerating, but she attempts to make him feel better when she leans back to gesture at her gown.
"You'd be an advantage, my love. You only need a few good hands to win."
Indeed, besides the gown, she's only wearing a few other articles of clothing. Surely he can't be that bad at poker.
Finnick hums in speculation as he looks over her form, reaching out to draw his tumbler towards him. Strip poker aside, he's still not sure about the whiskey itself. He'd rather Sil be fully conscious tonight, because he intends on making it a night to remember. He makes sure to tell her this, too, when he drawls, "As long as we don't drink too much. I want to properly enjoy you."
Oh, he also enjoys the way Sil's cheeks blush prettily upon his statement. It's an endearing sight, especially after the many nights that they've shared each other's bodies since her arrival in District 4. They've been together more times than he can count, now, and yet she's still bashful about it. It's so incredibly captivating.
Swallowing back the wave of burgeoning desire that tries to set her off course, Sil sticks her hand out and says, "Deal," and Finnick gives her a skeptical look as he takes it. They shake on it as if they're bartering and selling, which is somewhat amusing to him even in the midst of his skepticism.
He really is a shit poker player, but then again, at the end of the night, he fully intends on ensuring that they're both naked anyhow. So, throwing caution to the wind as per usual, Finnick sighs, "Alright, fine. Bedroom, then?"
Sil promptly scoffs, "Dear me, no! You'd try to distract me. The living room is just fine, darling."
He sighs again. She's right, though. He would try to distract her. That she knows him so well is both beautiful and somewhat impeding. He doesn't complain, though, when Sil shoos him into the living room, which is just as tiny as the kitchen and only has room for one loveseat, an armchair, and a sleek coffee table. Sil makes a show of dragging said table out of the way, shoving it over to the side of the room so as to make space on the floor. She sits down on the rug with a tumble of gauzy skirts and gestures regally to a small corner shelf.
"Get the cards, darling," she commands, as if she is a queen.
Finnick purses his mouth to halt the smile that comes as a result of her show, and goes to collect the cards as ordered. As it is, he doesn't entirely mind Sil doling out commands. She does have a way about her and, well, he's a tiny bit smitten. Plus he figures that the pros outweigh the cons in this case. At least, they will, once he's suffered through the imminent ruination of his dignity concerning his shit poker skills.
Ah, he really hadn't been exaggerating said skills, which Sil is rather quick to pick up on. Thankfully, he at least remembers how to play. He's quite sure that she'd be far more amused than she ought to be if he'd needed a bit of brushing up concerning the rules.
"Now," Sil says as she expertly shuffles the deck, "What shall the stakes be, darling?"
Pausing at this, Finnick repeats, "…Stakes? You're taking this too seriously."
She raises an eyebrow and deals out the cards. "There's always something at stake, Finnick. For instance, if I win, you have to streak across the beach without a stitch of clothing on and throw yourself into the ocean."
Her eyes shine at him. He releases his breath in a deep sigh, tips his head back, and jokingly bemoans, "I'm married to an exhibitionist."
As for Sil, she aims a kick to his leg that he barely manages to avoid, and giggles, "There's no one here but me to witness it. Don't be dramatic."
There's something very contradictory about her calling him dramatic (well, sort of) that he's quick to call her out on. "Me, dramatic?" he demands, sounding just shy of facetious. As he arranges his cards, he wonders, "Are those your stakes, then?"
She opens her mouth, pauses, then quickly adds, "Yes, and you also have to let me repaint the bedroom."
Finnick laughs aloud at this demand. The horrid green paint that he'd chosen for the bedroom at the cottage has been a frequent source of debate between them for several months now. In truth, he has nothing against letting her repaint it, but their arguments regarding the topic have been amusing to him, which is why he hasn't given her his official support yet. It's just so much fun watching her get all riled up about his refusing all her suggestions and proclaiming at length about how she knows what's best concerning all matters of décor.
"I don't know if I can stand behind this," he drawls playfully, and she narrows her eyes at him. "Having you watch me run across the beach naked is already hard enough without giving up that lovely green paint."
"It isn't a worthwhile bet if it's easy to accommodate," she breezily informs him, and then freezes when Finnick's eyes flash at her.
"Is that so?" he slowly wonders. The smirk he sends her is one that she knows very well by now. It tells her that his stakes will be challenging to accomodate, too. "Hmm…if I win, you have to eat breakfast in the nude with me," he triumphantly tells her, much to her dismay. "And since you get two bets, you also have to let me take you out on a proper boat ride."
Sil's expression turns quite resolved at this, and he knows why. So far, despite having lived in District 4 for some months now, she's refused all offers to board one of the boats at the docks. He thinks it's probably more to do with her being stubborn rather than any lingering fear that she might have towards the ocean. Regardless, he'd still like to live up to his promise and take her out on a morning ride, with the sun at their backs and the sea ahead.
She humphs and says under her breath, "I'm going to crush you, Finnick Odair."
And, though he thinks that she probably will, he still snickers, "Bring it on, sugar."
The look she sends him tells him that she will do exactly that, and it also isn't an exaggeration to claim that she succeeds, quite thoroughly.
"The rules are simple," she murmurs as she looks from her cards to Finnick, who is leaning back against the leg of the nearest armchair. "Whoever has the worst hand by the end of the round removes an article of clothing of their choice."
Finnick though, adds, "And pays the ante."
Sil pauses for a moment before frowning, "We've already made our stakes, Finnick darling."
He smirks. "Sure, but those stakes are for the ultimate winner. I think we need multiple rewards." In truth, he's really only saying that because he knows he'll likely lose this game. He hadn't been lying when he'd said that Sil is scary when she plays poker. He's only seen it a handle of times at the various Capitol parties they've attended together, but if she can hold her own against men twice her age and still beat them, well…he needs at least a few rewards to dull the pain of his imminently injured pride.
Sil, though, looks skeptical, probably because she knows that Finnick is going to take advantage of it. It's not necessary either, seeing as the true ante will be the clothing that is removed after each round. Leave it to Finnick to make things even more complicated…
"You'll try to distract me," she frowns. He snickers. Apparently, her fear of him 'distracting her' is more potent than he'd thought.
"Don't be a coward, Silver," he purrs, and takes great delight in watching her shiver as she sits there in the middle of the floor with her gauzy gown fluffed out on all sides.
She narrows her eyes at him and huffs, "Fine, we'll make individual bets for each round. But they can't have anything to do with taking off more clothes than already allotted." Then, giving him a look, she adds, "Or anything pertaining to the usual honeymoon activities."
Finnick's mouth immediately drops open to argue, "What about a kiss?", to which Sil responds to a pursed, "That's still distracting!"
He grins boyishly at her and hums, "Well, I'm glad to know that I can distract you so thoroughly with just a single kiss, sugar."
His words work. Couple with the arrogant comment, his eyes flash with a challenge that Sil is simply unable to refuse. His smirk only widens when she sticks her nose into the air and says with an air of practiced righteousness, "Nothing further than that. Now let's get to it already."
He hums in agreement, his still flashing with a mischief that he can't buckle down, for his high-class lover has failed to realize the core of his suggestion: he hadn't specified where he might kiss her, should he get the opportunity. Distraction, indeed. He's good at playing games, too.
With a chuckle, Finnick looks down at his cards and, as he considers what he's got in his hand, he murmurs, "For the first round, my ante is…that you have to admit that you spend way too much money at Gigi's."
What's that saying? You've got to start small? In any case, it's enough for Sil to scoff at him and declare, "And my ante is that you've got to tell me when you first realized you were in love with me."
He pauses at this, glances over at her, and smiles. She fights back a smile of her own when he shrugs, "I call."
She eyes him for a moment, then rearranges her face into a proper poker mask. Then, after a moment, she says, "I'll raise you. And since we're not playing with chips, you've also got to make me breakfast in the morning. I want French Toast and sliced apples."
He shoots her a look and drawls, "Ah, right. Breakfast in the nude. I'm eagerly anticipating it." At her dry expression, he chuckles, "Deal. My raise is this: you can't wear any clothes tomorrow. At all."
Looking entirely disgruntled by this, Sil scoffs, "As if! You're the exhibitionist, darling."
Still, she doesn't argue the higher stakes. Finnick deals out another card for himself, hoping that it'll be a good one, and disposes another, setting it into a separate pile on the floor. Sil does the same, expertly flipping a card from the deck to add it to her hand before she splays them out onto the floor with a calm, "Flush."
Finnick grimaces and leans down to do the same with a muttered, "Damn. Two pair."
Sil smirks at him. With an exaggeratedly morose look, he reaches up for his tie and loosens it before tugging it off, sending her a challenging look as he throws it onto the nearby couch. Then, loosening his shirt a bit, he sighs and throws his cards into the center of the floor while she gathers them up for another round. As she does, he thoughtfully murmurs, "The first time I realized I loved you? Probably when I found myself in District 13 with a blazing headache from all the drugs you'd pumped into my system."
Sil raises an eyebrow at this, looking somewhat chagrined at the reminder of this, and says in a baffled voice, "Truly? You realized you loved me after I drugged you?"
He chuckles and points out, "Oh, I loved you long before that. It just wasn't until I found out who you really were that I let myself accept it."
She stares at him for a long moment, her eyes flashing with an indiscernible light, and then turns back to the cards to deal out another hand. As she does, she mumbles, "I suppose falling for my alter ego would have been quite embarrassing."
His eyes soften. For all her masks, poker or otherwise, Silver Lamprey Cornelius isn't so hard for him to read these days. He quietly tells her, "If you want to know when I fell in love with you, it was probably around the time when I asked you to marry me before the Quarter Quell." When she tentatively looks up at him, he adds, "When you rejected my proposal, I think I might've been heartbroken."
She looks understandably shocked by this. "…It was a fake proposal though. One you were forced into."
Finnick hums quietly. She deals him his hand and he picks it up, but doesn't look at his cards yet. Instead, he stares at her with a soft look in his eyes, and murmurs, "My heart didn't know the difference."
Well. Speaking of hearts, hers is bandying around in her chest as if it means to burst straight through.
"…Gracious. You're a sappy romantic, did you know that?" she asks him, hoping that her voice isn't as breathy as she thinks it is. Whether it is or not hardly matters though. Finnick sends her a quiet smile that only makes it beat all the harder.
And then, of course, he's got to turn the tables on her when he slyly says, "Here's my ante for the next round: if I win, you've got to go up to Johanna and call her a landlubbing bilge rat."
Sil gapes at him, partially confused at the foreign terms but mostly shocked, because even though she doesn't know exactly what they mean, she still knows that it's an insult from the way Finnick snickers, clearly amused by his own bet.
Spluttering, she exclaims, "Gracious! What on earth does that even mean?"
He bursts into laughter at her flustered countenance and scoffs, "You're a sailor's wife now, sugar. You'd better start learning our terms."
"I'm not sure I want to!" she tells him, and the disgraced tone she uses only makes him that much more amused. She narrows her eyes at the way he snickers at her expense and says, "If I win, I get to name your boat whatever I want and you can't refuse me."
At this, he stops laughing immediately and narrows his eyes at her, too. This particular matter has also been a much debated one over the last few months since Sil's arrival in District 4. Rory had been the one to inform her that Finnick had been waiting for her to pick out a name for his boat. Finnick had been somewhat embarrassed at the way his boss had jeered at his 'romantic pretty boy sailor' who was willing to play with fate by leaving his boat unnamed. Apparently, it's one of those District 4 superstitions. Having an unnamed boat is some sort of evil omen.
In any case, upon hearing this, Sil has been eagerly plucking potential names out of thin air for weeks now, but they've all been too girly for Finnick's liking. Now that she's here and that he isn't moping over her absence (in Rory's words), he's being far too stubborn about what is and isn't a proper name. In all fairness, 'Gigi's' and 'Sapphire' – her top choices – are fairly feminine.
He opens his mouth to refute her, but Sil just ploughs on to say, "We'll check this round. Lay down your hand."
He glowers at her and mumbles something about how she shouldn't get to decide whether they both check or not, but just throws his cards down with a grumble. Sil leans forward to look at them and murmurs, "A pair. Ah, and I've got three of a kind. I win."
She looks extremely pleased by this. Finnick just looks exasperated and a little bit afraid.
"You can't choose a name that has anything to do with District 1, Gigi's, or fashion. I've got a reputation to live up to," he quickly demands with an expression that clearly reflects his own wariness.
Sil just smirks and shrugs, "I'll choose whichever name I like, Finnick Odair. Now take off your shirt."
Her order makes him raise an eyebrow at her as some of his wariness turns into amusement. With a snort, he leans back and shucks off one of his socks instead, apparently more interested in disobeying her orders rather than heeding them. At least, for now, his shirt stays firmly in place.
"Nice try, sugar, but I get to choose how and when I strip," he snipes at her, and gestures for her to shuffle the cards. She purses her mouth at him and he holds back a smile at her obvious disappointment.
Yes, these days, Silver Lamprey Cornelius isn't very difficult for him to read at all.
"What's your bet?" she wonders as she shuffles.
Finnick hums, pausing thoughtfully before slowly saying, "If I win, you've got to take your dress off."
She gapes at him and grouses, "Excuse you! I get to choose how and when I strip, too!"
Finnick, though, just shrugs and drawls, "That's my bet, sugar. I guess you can always fold if you want. I'd love to eat breakfast in the nude with you."
At this, Sil glowers at him and mutters, "Fold? Ha! If I win you have to go up to Katniss and dish out the dirtiest limerick you know."
He smirks at this, unaffected, and chuckles, "Sounds like fun."
They play back and forth like this for a while, drawing cards and disposing of others, making ridiculous bets and flirting around the occasionally challenging way their conversation progresses. Sil manages to win most rounds, quickly learning that Finnick had certainly not been lying when he'd claimed to be a shit poker player. Before very long, she's got him down to his trousers, having been on a winning streak since the start of the game. So far, she hasn't lost a single round.
Finnick isn't overly happy about this.
"You're cheating, aren't you?" he demands as he eyes Sil. This time, he doesn't have a terrible hand. There were a few times he'd come close to winning, actually, but she always somehow manages to have a higher ranking hand than him. The testament to this is the fact that he's only wearing his trousers and briefs while she is still fully clothed. Unfortunately, he hadn't managed to get her dress off yet, and it's making him impatient.
At his accusation, Sil sticks her nose in the air and scoffs, "Darling, just because you're awful at poker – "
"I am not," he cuts in, though Sil just keeps talking.
" – doesn't mean I would lower myself to such debasing methods!"
He gives her a suspicious look that she doesn't appreciate, and says, "If I win, you have to sit in my lap for the next round."
Sil opens her mouth, looking a tiny bit flustered, but ultimately rises to the challenge with a scoffing, "If I win, you have to cut your hair."
Finnick freezes, reaching up to muss his bronze waves with a reproachful look on his face. "What's wrong with my hair?" he demands. Sil snickers.
"It's getting a bit long is all," she shrugs. He scoffs at her.
She looks very pleased with herself, especially when she lays down her cards with a confident, "Full house!"
Finnick stares at her hand for one long moment before his mouth curls into a smirk and he victoriously exclaims, "Ha! Finally! Four of a kind! Strip, sugar."
Sil's mouth falls open in shock, clearly not expecting him to beat her full house and looking quite ruffled by it. As for Finnick…he leans back against the leg of the chair with a satisfied smirk, reaches over to take a sip of his whiskey, and waits. The burn of the liquor is nearly as satisfying as the sight of Sil's pout when she stands up.
"…Gracious," she mutters, hands fluttering over her dress hesitantly. Finnick grins crookedly – until, of course, she ends up shucking her skirts up just a little bit and deciding to remove her underwear, instead.
"Hey – that's not fair!" he immediately splutters, leaning forward so quickly that he nearly spills his whiskey. Sil just shoots him a raised eyebrow and bends over to slide her underwear down her legs.
"It's perfectly fair, darling," she purrs, and proceeds to sit down so as to get the underwear the rest of the way off. For a moment, Finnick thinks that it isn't so bad after all – the sight of her bare legs is rather nice – but then she tosses the underwear off to the side and rearranges her skirts, ruining the view.
He frowns at her. "This is torture. I'll bet no other man alive has spent his wedding night playing poker."
Sil laughs and sends him a wink. "Consider yourself lucky that you've got such a well-rounded wife, then, my love."
He just shakes his head and murmurs, "You lost, so come here, sugar." He pats his thigh and Sil hesitates all over again, no doubt worried that he'll 'distract' her. The smirk that curls up his mouth at this is very amused. Sil just sighs as if she's being asked to sacrifice something of great value, and crawls forward. Finnick's eyes darken as he watches her, but his expression quickly takes a turn into laughter when she ends up getting snared in her dress and nearly falls face first into his knee.
"Careful there, sugar," he chuckles, and heaves her into his lap with a grin.
She settles against him looking a bit frazzled, and sighs, "You'd better not look at my cards, Finnick."
He just snorts, "I think I'd rather look at your other assets, Sil," giving her a thorough glance, and proceeds to grimace when she playfully slaps him upside the head.
They play another round, sipping their whiskeys and trying to keep their hands to themselves (their actual hands and their poker hands). Sil, unsurprisingly, wins.
With a smirk, she leans in to press a kiss to his cheek and purrs, "Too bad, my love. Looks like you've got to take your trousers off this time. There's nothing for it."
He pauses, then turns to face her as he hopefully wonders, "…How about my belt?"
Sil, though, just raises an eyebrow. "That's cheating, darling." And, just to ensure that she's being clear enough, she reaches down to fiddle with the zipper and breathes, "Shall I help you?"
He lets out a shaky breath and groans, "Not unless you want this game to end right now."
She grins vividly, but can't stop herself from leaning in to press a brief kiss against his mouth. The thought is tempting, really, but so is the thought of watching Finnick Odair streak across the moonlit beach and throw himself into the ocean. Ah, and repainting the bedroom is, of course, very good collateral.
"Mmm…I'm afraid I have too much at stake for that," she tells him, and shuffles herself off of his lap. Before she can, though, Finnick reaches out to stop her, hauling her right back into him with a heave of muscle and reaching up to drag her into a firm kiss.
For a moment, Sil completely forgets those stakes. The way Finnick kisses her, all deep and commanding, is enough to make her brain utterly fog over. She forgets everything but the warmth of his chest and the movement of his lips and the way his fingers tangle into her hair, holding her in place.
But then…
"Your trousers, Finnick," she whispers, voice muffled against his mouth, and he groans again.
"Truth or Dare was more forgiving," he bemoans, but this time he lets her go.
Sil chuckles, sliding out of his lap as she repeats, "Forgiving?"
Finnick just spears her a look as he stands up and lowly murmurs, "To my sanity."
Ah, sanity indeed. He does look a bit crazy, especially with his hair all mussed up from the countless times he'd run his fingers through it and his eyes all dark and passionate. She doesn't entirely blame him. She feels a bit crazy herself. The sight of him half-dressed does have an impact on her, though she makes a sterling effort at hiding it. When he stands up and slowly undoes his trousers, though, she's afraid that it isn't quite as easy to hide her desire from him. He sees it clear as day, and Sil knows it. She watches him like a hawk as he takes his sweet time in removing them, shucking them down his legs and kicking them off to join the growing pile of his other lost articles of clothing. What a state they're in!
"Satisfied?" he drawls, and tries to memorize the expression on her face, all hungry and eager. It's enough to make him shiver as the familiar brush of desire burns through him.
Sil hums lowly, and the burn gets worse.
"Very," she purrs. He swallows thickly.
He watches as she reclaims her spot across from him with an air of superior glee, and thinks that if this had been torturous before, it is most definitely worse this time around, because the way she eyes him makes him want to give up entirely so as to take her into his arms.
"Now," she says, and begins to shuffle the deck as if she's already gotten over his nearly-naked state, "This is the last round, darling. Are you ready?"
He purses his mouth. "Oh, I'm ready, sugar." The innuendo in his voice makes her flush a bit.
"Don't be crass," she tells him, though it hardly does any good. Finnick just smirks wickedly at her and gestures for her to deal the cards. "No ante this round, since whoever wins has to fulfill the ultimate bets," she tells him. He doesn't argue. Breakfast in the nude and a morning boat ride (he shoulda made that in the nude too - ) are good enough for him. As for Sil, she's quite content with the idea of making him streak across the beach, which doesn't necessarily make her an exhibitionist! (Gracious.)
"Deal the cards, then," Finnick drawls. She throws them with an exuberant confidence and smirks at him. As he lifts his into his hand, he mutters, "I'm getting you out of that dress one way or another, sugar."
She laughs and rearranges her cards. "Mmm, well it is our wedding night and I do intend on having you at some point darling."
This breezy declaration makes his desire all the more apparent. It also makes him sarcastically reply, "That's good. I was starting to wonder."
She sends him an unimpressed look that he just smirks at, and they begin to play. After some minutes, Finnick throws down his hand and declares, "Straight flush. I win. I can't wait to eat breakfast without – "
"Don't be so hasty, darling. You've actually lost," Sil cuts in with a simper, and throws down a royal flush.
Finnick immediately pauses, then quickly leans forward to stare at her hand with a shocked expression. Sil smirks. He just gapes.
"Luck of the draw, Finnick my love. Fortune does favor me, you know," she purrs, and grins at his baffled face. Then, leaning back to eye him, she murmurs, "I suppose you've got to throw yourself into the ocean now. I wonder how cold the water is at this time of night." He's still staring in shock, so Sil adds with a snicker, "Also, I'm thinking of a nice robin's egg blue. For the bedroom, of course."
He narrows his eyes at her and playfully growls, "I'm going to freeze my ass off out there. I hope you're prepared to nurse me back to health."
Sil hums, eyes flashing. "Fear not, darling. I know the perfect method to accomplish that."
If anything, her words only make him narrow his eyes even more. "I really hope so."
Sil giggles and stands up, fluffing out her skirts with a smug look. She catches his eye, laughs again at the dry expression he's sending her, and holds out her hand. He sighs before he takes it, but he takes it none the less.
Together, the walk to the front door. Finnick makes sure to unlock it before they step out onto the beach. Being locked out on their wedding night hardly seems like something he'd like to experience. This isn't, either, but a bet is a bet. Noblesse oblige, and all that.
The moment they're on the beach, Sil crowds into his figure, reaching for his briefs with a laughing, "Hurry up, Finnick!"
He barely manages to holds her off, grappling her hands before she can do any permanent damage and lightheartedly saying, "Alright, alright – jeez, sugar, I know you love me naked but give me a minute to work up my courage."
She pauses to raise an eyebrow at this and repeats, "Work up your courage? What have you got to be afraid of?"
He gestures to the water with a harried wave of his hand and exclaims, "It's freezing cold! I probably won't even want to seduce you after this. I'll be too concerned with not dying of hypothermia."
Sil bursts into laughter upon hearing these very dramatic words, which Finnick only partially appreciates (since he's only partially joking). The other half, which is entirely serious, just grumbles something about conserving his energy, and Sil only laughs all the harder.
"It can't be that cold," she chuckles, and traipses down towards the ocean curiously. "Why, I'm sure you're exaggerating, darling. Besides, I'll warm you back up – that's frigid!" she yelps, dancing back from where the water is lapping at her feet. She tugs her skirts over her ankles lest the bottom of it gets wet, and exclaims, "Gracious!"
Finnick, unsure if he should be amused that Sil's optimism has gone wrong or wary about her claims that the ocean really is frigid, just stands behind her with his arms crossed, and sighs deeply.
There's only one thing to do.
"Move aside, sugar," he says, and leans down to kick off his briefs. Then, straightening out again, he sends Sil a roguish smile that makes her heart flutter, and declares, "I was practically born in the ocean. This is no big deal at all."
Sil is, admittedly, impressed with this strong statement. At this moment in time, Finnick Odair exudes masculinity at its finest – bare as the day he was born in the rugged, untempered elements of nature, with the moon's fair light making his skin glow. Yes, she is quite impressed with him. Until he starts running into the ocean.
"Holy fucking shit - " he starts to say as the water laps around his legs, and then in his freezing state, he trips over something and goes flying headlong into the water.
Ah, it is a sight that Sil will never, ever forget.
When he wrangles himself back to the beach, shivering like a leaf in a hurricane and looking very sorry for himself, Sil is caught up in a fit of laughter that seems to have no end. She's crouched down on the beach with her head between her arms, laughing harder than Finnnick's ever seen. She's still chuckling as she stands up and walks over to him. Of course, when she reaches out to grasp his arm, her chuckles vanish.
"You're freezing, Finnick!" she exclaims, and proceeds to gasp quite loudly when he scoffs and reaches out to drag her against him, not caring in the slightest that he's soaking wet. She halfheartedly begins to complain about her dress, but to be honest, she doesn't really care that much. She's a bit too conscious of two rather pressing facts: one, Finnick is completely bare and he's got her shucked up against him in a manner that is making her heart shake. Two, he's shivering into her and, when she reaches out to lay her hands against his chest, she gets cold too, just from touching him.
"Gracious! You need a hot shower," she says, and pulls away to tug him towards the house.
"I need more than that," he mumbles to himself. Sil shoots him an amused laugh but chooses not to respond, and heads off to the bathroom to get a shower ready for him. As the water heats up, he hopefully wonders, "Are you joining me, then?"
Sil, though, just sends him a coy smile and hums, "No, darling. I shall be waiting for you in the bedroom."
At this, Finnick pauses, and amid his shivering, he smirks eagerly and squeezes her waist. "Oh, will you?"
Sil giggles, "Mmhmm. Don't take too long."
Finnick laughs and jokes about it being the fastest shower in history. He isn't entirely wrong about that, either. The moment he's got some warmth back into his body, he gets out and starts to towel himself off. He's still running the towel through his hair when he steps back into the bedroom to see a sight that makes his throat run dry. He stops in his tracks and stares at Sil with eyes that are quickly growing hungry. Then, with practiced calm, Finnick continues forward and slowly murmurs, "Let me guess: limited edition, Linault St. Claire?"
At this, Sil laughs and simpers, "Gracious no! Linault's sworn off lingerie ever since the bad publicity of his last line. Honestly, darling, did you not hear about the scandal he was in?"
Finnick, though, has absolutely no interest in hearing about some famous Capitolite designer. Not when his wife is currently waiting for him in bed wearing a silk robe that he's quite sure is covering up a very skimpy set of lacy lingerie. After the loud wedding reception, the two mile trek down the beach, the lengthy poker game, and the fulfillment of his bet, he can think of only one way he'd like to spend the rest of the night.
"You don't want to hear about the scandal, then?" Sil asks as she edges backwards on the bed, giggling when he tries to pull her closer. After a moment of this, Finnick successfully wraps his arm around her waist and drags her against him with a heave of muscle, ducking down to kiss her very soundly. She lets out a breathless noise that makes his blood run hot, warming him up very thoroughly, and eagerly pulls him into her. She makes another breathless sound when he slides between the crevice of her legs and removes all the spaces between them.
"I'm more interested in this," he tells her, smiling crookedly as he plays with the thin strap holding the lace to her chest.
Head spinning from his attention, she wonders, "Do you like it?"
"Mmm…" he murmurs, trailing kisses down her neck and flipping open the front of her robe. He was right: skimpy lace. The sight makes him swallow hard and groan, "You look gorgeous."
Her breath catches when he slides his hand up her body, enjoying the feel of lace and silk. She does look gorgeous, mainly because he doesn't think he's ever seen her in lingerie before. As he hooks a finger beneath one of the thin straps, he muses, "This is a new look, sugar." Then, chuckling, he jokingly wonders, "Did you do this all for little old me?"
Sil, though already breathless, raises an eyebrow at him and somehow manages to sarcastically simper, "No darling, I did it for my other husband."
Finnick pauses, raises an eyebrow too, and purses his mouth playfully. A gleam flashes through his eyes. "Your other husband? I didn't realize I had competition," he hums, leaning down to kiss over the edge of the lace as it dives across the top of her chest.
Sil isn't entirely sure what game they're suddenly playing, but as Finnick lifts a hand to cup her breasts through the flimsy fabric, she arches into him a bit and playfully purrs, "Mmm…no need to worry, my love. He's just some fisherman I met down by the docks."
His gentle touch turns a shade firmer as he squeezes her with a scoffed, "Just some fisherman? I'm sure he'd have words for you if he heard that."
She giggles at him and catches his eye, loving the way his marine gaze twinkles into hers as he hovers over her. He looks amused, with a heavy helping of mock offense. She reaches up to capture his shoulder and drag him down for a kiss, and grins as he allows her to set the pace of it. Then, slowly moving her mouth with his in a way that reminds him of smoldering flame, she whispers, "I don't want words tonight."
He sinks into her kiss with a groan, fitting his body against hers with an almost desperate desire. He feels displaced, like a boat adrift in an open sea, bandied back and forth by tall waves that crest his heart. The contents of it overflow. He is left with the distinct impression of a happiness too great to put into words.
Skimming his hands over the lace that has so captured his attention, Finnick throatily murmurs, "I'll bet this fisherman of yours has never been with a girl in such racy lingerie. We're morally uptight people around here, you know."
Sil giggles, but her laughter is quick to turn into a moan when his hand slips between her legs to rub over the silky panties she's wearing. Her head tips back into the pillows, white-blonde hair spilling over the fabric as Finnick kisses and bites his way down her throat. He can't seem to get enough of her and it's invigorating.
"…Mmm…morally uptight?" she repeats with another laugh-turned-moan. She threads her fingers into his hair and hooks a leg around his waist, tilting her body into his. It's a silent plea for more, and he doesn't ignore it. As his movements turn a shade firmer, she breathlessly whispers, "…Are you sure…mm, that we're talking about the same people?"
Finnick chuckles into her neck. He can't stop touching her, but neither can he stop himself from continuing with their charade for a while longer as he lifts his head to catch her eye and smirks, "I guess I'd better figure out how to get this off…you know, so I can make sure that fisherman knows how it works. Teach him the ropes, as it were."
Oh, but the heat pooling in her gaze is enough to make him delirious.
Sil hums beneath her breath. Her legs fall open to accommodate him. When he hooks his fingers beneath the silk to feel her properly, she bites back a gasp as shivers roil through her.
"That's very…very considerate of you, Finnick," she manages to breathe, somehow.
The way he hums in agreement, studying her closely as he sinks his fingers into her heat – well, it certainly has quite an effect on her poor, overworked heart.
"I live to please," he whispers lowly. His voice is sin itself. It skirts around the edges of temptation at its finest.
Sil smiles in the face of it. Her smile only widens when Finnick begins searching for a closure that will put him out of his misery, and fails to find one. His eyebrows crease in concentration. Curious, skimming touches become frustrated gropes, and even though Sil is rather disappointed when he decides to employ both his hands in his search, she finds that the payoff is worth it. The sight of her impatient husband makes her amusement brim to the surface.
"Doesn't this thing have a zipper or something?" he demands, slipping his hands beneath her back to feel for said zipper. Sil does nothing to assist him, and just smiles smugly as she lays there, looking far too satisfied. He notices, of course. It would be hard not to.
With narrowed eyes, he accuses, "You planned this."
She laughs. "I did not."
"You did too. What is this? A night of torture?" he mumbles, and turns to eye her barely clothed but still overdressed body with a longing gaze.
Well, torture is a bit much, but Sil does suppose that she hasn't made it easy for him tonight. Their game of strip poker had been challenging for her, too, especially the more rounds she won and the less Finnick had worn. It had been a lesson in self-control. This, however, is merely a slight oversight – one she did not necessarily plan, but had of course considered. Gracious, but she does enjoy the sight of Finnick all riled up.
"I suppose that fisherman of mine will be relieved once you figure out this very complicated garment, Finnick darling," Sil purrs playfully, and giggles again when he turns his aggrieved gaze back to hers.
He makes a noise in the back of his throat that sounds a bit petulant, and muses, "I could just rip it off."
At this, Sil's expression is wiped of her playful teasing. In its place, she looks utterly scandalized. "Rip it off? Do you know how much this cost?"
She sits up, then promptly squeals when Finnick grabs her and rolls her back down, laughing as he presses her into the mattress and skims his hands up her thighs. "Mmm. I don't think I want to know. It's no matter, though," he murmurs lowly, and hooks his fingers around the waist of her panties to tug them down, since they're a separate piece that is not attached to the rest of the lingerie. "I think I can still manage," he chuckles.
Despite her efforts, Sil shivers. She doesn't stop him from dragging the flimsy panties down her legs. Neither does she stop him from kneeling between them and spreading her thighs. He takes one look at her thoroughly ruffled self and jokingly hums, "Yeah, I think it'll work just fine."
And – despite herself – Sil bursts into laughter. Finnick is quick to join her.
"Are you quite sure?" she laughs. Until, of course, he lowers his body down to hers and she feels him against her. Amusement isn't her primary emotion, at that point.
He sends her a wolfish grin and whispers, "Quite sure, sugar."
She shivers so brilliantly that he feels it against the entirety of him, and, well – he doesn't waste very much time after that. Of course, before he can test out whether it really will work or not (gracious, she has full faith in him), Sil slides her hand to the side of the lingerie, where a hidden flap of fabric is hiding the small, invisible zipper that holds it all up. Finnick raises an eyebrow at this truly mind-boggling feature, but ultimately doesn't let her unzip it.
Instead, he brushes her hand away and whispers, "Leave it."
And Sil – well, as he slowly enters her, she sighs out and does as he says.
Sleep seems not to apply to them tonight, for neither Sil nor Finnick get much of it. Finnick does manage to figure out the lingerie, though Sil doesn't think it counts since she'd helped. Anyway – between her ceaseless desire for him and his wish to make the most of their official wedding night, sleep is the farthest thing from their minds.
"Touch me."
Sil shivers and closes her eyes with a short, breathless laugh. "Gracious, Finnick. You're going to make me crazy."
His mouth curls up. With a hum, he leans closer, moving his hand to her leg to heave it up around his waist. His fingers are hot against her skin, and when they linger to spin circles against her upper thigh, shivers capture her body.
"I like when you're crazy," he tells her with a smirk, and then suddenly rolls over, pulling her on top of him with an abrupt force that makes her gasp. He chuckles up at her as he gets comfortable, and pats her leg. "You said you knew how to nurse me back to health. I'm still cold, you know."
It's a lie. In fact, his body is burning with heat. Desire licks through his veins, and any remnant of the ocean's chill has long ago disappeared. Sil obviously knows it too, but she humors him. It's rather difficult not to, with him looking the way he does now.
Tanned skin on full display, half-lidded eyes trained solely to her, and the jutting press of his desire making her insane.
Sil takes a deep breath around her own desire, which pumps through her with a ferocity she is no longer surprised at. Then, beginning to kiss down the length of his body, Finnick reaches towards her to push her hair out of her face as he watches her descent.
"…You know I wasn't necessarily talking about that," he gruffly informs her, but lacks the willpower to actually stop her. Several strands of her hair brush against his thigh and send shivers ricocheting through him. If that isn't enough all on its own, the sheer sight of her as she kisses and licks her way over his hip makes his head spin uncontrollably.
Sil glances up at him and raises an eyebrow challengingly. "You don't want me to?" she wonders innocently, but her eyes flash at him and he knows that his desire is very apparent.
He purses his lips. "That's not – Sil – " he chokes, and curses as she brings him into her mouth without warning. She's hot and perfect and all he can do is twist his fingers into her hair and try to remember to keep his eyes open, because she looks so incredibly amazing and he doesn't want to miss a single second of it. Still, he wants more. He always wants more, but when Sil is doing this to him, he can't really think straight.
He relaxes against the pillows and settles for watching her instead. There's no need to rush anything. He's got no intention of sleeping tonight, and from the eager way Sil is touching him, she doesn't either. No, but he does intend on ensuring that she enjoys herself, too.
"Sil," he murmurs, and sits up to capture both her attention and her body. He guides her back up so that she's lying next to him on her side, and rolls over to face her. She looks a bit confused, until Finnick reaches out to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear and throatily whispers, "You don't have to stop." He grabs her hand to pull it back against him, and then twists his arm around her hip, fingers splaying briefly against her inner thigh before shifting up to her heat.
Her eyelids flutter. Finnick rather likes this position, because he's close enough to see every single emotion pass through her gaze. He's close enough to feel the length of her body against his and feel the shivers that pass through her form. He's close enough to kiss her, which he does.
As his lips slide over hers, Sil moans breathlessly against him and whispers, "I want you…"
Those three strained, barely heard words have the potential to crumble his willpower entirely. He has no idea how he doesn't let them.
"Not yet," he whispers back, and swallows her next moan as his fingers gently thrust into her. The breathless shards of sound that leave her throat is a symphony that he's addicted to hearing; a delicately yearning soundtrack that, by listening to it, makes his entire soul feel like its overflowing.
He spins pleasure into her intently, watching her closely and loving the way her expression crumbles for him with every pass of his fingers. When his thumb brushes over the top of her clit, she releases the most beautiful gasp. When his fingers sink into her heat to rub at her inner walls, the way she moans his name is enchanting.
"Finnick please."
His mouth curls up into a smile. He's never known a sound more gorgeous than the sound of her yearning for him.
"Not yet," he tells her again. He's enjoying this far too much to stop. He wants to press this memory into his mind until it will never leave – to never forget the sight and sound of her in his arms, body twisted around his, arching against him as her eyes flutter and her mouth parts. He wants to hold onto this moment for as long as he's able, and to fall into this torture until he can no longer take another minute of it.
For it is torture. Just the sight of her is torture for him. His self-control is a shaky thing when it comes to her, and every second that he's not inside her is a trial of the highest order. It's torture because she doesn't know it, but the shaky way her still-healing hands grasp his length is perfectly wonderful, and when she slides him against her palm and pumps him through her trembling fingers, the gentle caress is enough to make his body alight with shivers so intense that he can hardly breathe.
Yes – the most potent torture is often the subtlest.
Sil whimpers at him and frowns, edging closer to pull his length against her. She's a stubborn creature, made of wind and grace. She knows how to torture him the best.
"Silver," he growls, but doesn't stop her. How can he? Her heat is a blistering fire that scorches him to the bone, and the way she rubs him against her folds is far too much for his already fragile self-control to take.
She breathes out with a low moan and murmurs again, "I want you," and, well…
His willpower has never been overly strong. For her, it breaks and shatters again and again, like a crashing tempest in the open ocean, forever shifting.
Three words, and he's groaning out and pushing her onto her back. Three words, and he's drawing her hands away to replace them with his own. Three words, and he's sinking into her again and wrangling her wrists above her head, pressing her down with an adamance that makes her bite her lip and push her head back with a moan.
"Ah – Finn – " she groans, and he decides that this sound is far better. It is the crescendo of the symphony; the staccato notes that all blend together with such fast-tempered grace that it sounds like a single wave of sound. The notes merge, flying forward, and even though it is so quick and thunderous in composition, it perfectly reflects the sound of one's soul breaking free from all earthly barriers.
He moves over her like a wave, lifting her leg to bandy it around his waist and leaning down to press his forehead to hers. Sil grasps at him, hands fluttering over his shoulders and down his arms. She palms over his chest and delves lower to grasp at his lower back, pulling him into her with every downward thrust and sighing out every time he fills her. She doesn't know how it's possible to want him as much as she does, but she can't stop her body from coming alive in his arms and she has no desire to stop it.
She makes sure to tell him that.
"I won't stop," he responds when she does, breathless and gasping, and buries his head into her neck with a muffled, "I can't – "
She moans again at the sound of his shaky voice lowly murmuring into her ear, depositing his words against her skin. She feels him everywhere, inside and out. She feels his lips brush just so over the crux of her neck, and feels his breath against her skin, and as his body shifts over hers with earnest passion, she feels the slivers of his moans as if they are tangible things, ardent and weighty. But – most of all, she feels the way his soul crashes with hers, tangled together with such intensity that she thinks they might never part again.
"Tell me you love me," he whispers to her, pulling back to catch her eye. The depth of his gaze is as deep as an ocean and she falls into it without question.
As if she could ever deny him anything.
"I love you," she tells him, and he grins.
"Mmm…yeah?" he wonders breathlessly, and lifts himself over her to angle his thrusts in a different way. She immediately gasps as he fills her and reaches out to grab his arms, which form a cage around her head.
How has such a creature fallen for her? She wonders at the pleasure that he presses into her and draws her touch up his biceps to palm his chest. She lingers there for a long moment, grappling with the startlingly powerful desire that he can so easily draw from her, before gently pushing him back with a burgeoning smile.
His confusion at her sudden move lasts only a moment before he's allowing her to roll him over. The brief complaints that are ready to be voiced are even quicker to dissipate when he watches her pull her body onto his with an almost supreme expression, as if he belongs to her and she is merely reclaiming her rightful spot. It is endearingly amusing and it makes him chuckle.
"Tell me you love me too," she commands, and brings him into her again.
He hums out with pleasure as she begins to move over him. Her body is a storm and he is a sailor lost in the center of it – her eyes, the stars, glimmering above like a compass that guides him home.
Finnick squeezes her waist and, as she leans forward to press her chest against his, he reaches out to thread his fingers into her hair and deposit a kiss to her temple. He swallows around the pleasure that she's spinning into him and breathes, "I love you," and the answering smile she sends him is perhaps even more potent than the way it feels to be inside her.
Well, almost.
He doubts that there is a feeling in the world that is like this one, for it isn't just the physical pleasure that races through them, but –
It is everything he's never said, and everything he has. Quiet words pressed into quiet corners. The despair of the past and the hope for the future. The fact that Silver Lamprey Cornelius is finally, finally his.
Yes, it is everything.