A/N: In which Elara and Gloss make use of that maintenance closet…
LoveFiction2019: Gloss has much to say ;) Actions definitely speak louder than words in his case
remifoster1313: Thank you! And no worries about not reviewing as frequently as before, I'm just glad to hear that you're still enjoying the story! And true, this could definitely backfire on her if she gets stuck in the Capitol. Either way, given the whole 'forbidden love' theme of this story, President Snow is probably not very happy about Elara's declaration. Anyway nice to hear from you and hope you're doing well :)
hella-sirius: I love writing scenes between Finnick and Elara, so yes to the solidarity. There's going to be a lot more with them and the other Victors once they enter the arena!
I've been slacking off a bit with the updates! To anyone waiting for the next chapter of The Seafarer's Wife, it will be up this weekend hopefully. I've decided to just post the epilogue and close the story, as I'm more inspired to write other things at this point, but it needs a bit more work.
Anyway - this chapter is basically all shameless smut minus the flashback scene. If that bothers you, you know the drill :)
Chapter Thirty Five | I'll start on bad and end on good, thereof,
"Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs;
Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;
Being vexed, a sea nourished with loving tears.
What is it else? A madness most discreet,
A choking gall, and a preserving sweet."
1.1, 189-193 Romeo and Juliet, Shakespeare
It's strange, looking at Gloss through a television screen. He is a celebrity first and foremost – a Victor from District 1 who the Capitol adores – but she is more accustomed to seeing him in a more casual setting. Typically, without clothes on.
Not tonight. Tonight, he is dressed to the nines, looking debonair and utterly gorgeous in a tailored suit. It's a little flamboyant with the usual dosage of over-the-top Capitolite sensibilities, but he still manages to pull it off like no one else can – glittering lapels and all. His sister is at his side, and as always, they make quite a pair. Caesar Flickerman is naturally beside himself.
"Your latest photoshoot in Capitol Weekly was to die for," he tells Gloss eagerly, leaning in and dazzling the man with a wide grin. "I swear, I ran to Gigi's the moment I saw you in that divine emerald suit because I absolutely had to have it."
Gigi's is the largest and most expensive department store in the Capitol. It is frequented by the wealthiest men and women and boasts a plethora of the top stylists and fashion designers in Panem. Whenever their new lines come out, they go to Gigi's first. Recently, Gloss and Cashmere were signed on to their contract. They've both done a number of photoshoots for Gigi's so far, but the Capitol is still going mad with excitement. Apparently, Gigi's stock has gone up dramatically too, probably because they've gotten a hold of two of the most famous Victors in the country to flaunt their wares.
Gloss laughs a bit at Caesar's words, looking far from uncomfortable. He exudes a natural energy that only makes people love him even more. It certainly makes Caesar love him, anyway.
"I think you pull the color off a little better," Caesar continues, leaning back with a dramatic sigh, "but I suppose we can't all be gorgeous Victors, can we?" He waves a hand in front of his face and winks at Gloss.
"It isn't easy being me, Caesar," Gloss replies with just the right amount of tempered confidence. Any more of it and he'd sound arrogant, but even then, the Capitol would probably love him. He can do no wrong.
Elara snorts at the screen and rolls her eyes, but doesn't look away from him. She's got a bowl of popcorn in front of her – a spur of the moment decision once she saw that the interview was coming up – and brings one to her lips. She chews mechanically, barely even aware of her movements as she watches Caesar laugh at Gloss's words.
She's so engrossed that Amelia, when she walks through the door, immediately scoffs at her.
"Really? Is this what you do while I'm at school?" she asks, sounding thoroughly unimpressed with the sight of her sister mooning over the television. She rolls her eyes when Elara doesn't respond, apparently too caught up in Caesar's next question to grace her with an answer. Amelia sighs and falls onto the couch beside Elara, kicking her feet up onto the coffee table and reaching for a handful of popcorn. She shoves it into her mouth rather inelegantly and, as she chews, mutters, "You're so lame. I really don't get it. What the hell does he see in you?"
Elara sends her a sharp frown and retorts, "You haven't even met him so how would you know?"
It's true. Amelia hasn't technically met Gloss face to face. It isn't as if the Victors are given free rein to visit the other districts. The only people who really travel between the districts of Panem are those who have clearance to do so. The average citizen really has no hope of seeing the rest of Panem, and usually, no desire to.
Anyway – Amelia hasn't met Gloss, but she has talked to him on the phone plenty of times. Even though he can't come visit Elara whenever he wants to, he can make use of the telephones that are hooked up to the Victor houses. Besides that, Amelia figures that she knows Gloss fairly well just based on his interviews alone. He is a popular Victor and he's always being asked to be interviewed or some such thing.
She snorts and says, "I know that he's probably the most gorgeous man in the country and that every woman is practically in love with him." The words are so unexpected that Elara swallows the popcorn the wrong way and starts coughing, but it hardly stops Amelia from adding, "Seriously. He could be with literally anyone. He's got the looks, the personality, and the status. And then there's you."
Elara laughs incredulously at this. She turns to look at her smart mouthed sister with a gaping mouth. Amelia immediately grimaces at her.
"See, this is what I'm talking about. Would you please swallow your food, Elara? It's disgusting," she complains, shoving herself to the very end of the couch as if she thinks that her sister has a disease and she doesn't want to catch it.
Elara glowers at her, swallows the popcorn loudly, and grumbles, "You're such a little shit, Amelia."
Her sister smirks and drawls, "I'm just saying it like it is. I mean, look at him."
She does, turning her gaze to Gloss as he laughs at something Caesar had said. Cashmere leans in to say something, but Elara is too busy staring at her brother to really hear her. He looks so perfect that it's almost hard to take it. As always, her heart flutters wildly in her chest at the sight of his muscled body and chiseled features. When he smiles like that, it does silly things to her. Her mind drifts to memories of him in her bed with all that tanned skin on display, looking up at her with those eyes that burn with confidence and affection, and she swallows tightly.
He really is gorgeous.
She's be lying if she said that she hadn't considered Amelia's perspective prior to this moment. Gloss isn't just handsome – he's got a magnetic way about him that is very forgiving to his occasionally crass personality. And even regardless of that, the Capitol loves his bluntness and his wry sense of humor. He's practically their idol. It would be a lie to claim that she's never wondered what he sees in her. She is, after all, a Victor from District 5 who has been tainted one too many times by endless clients.
She sends Amelia another edged look for putting these thoughts into her head and shoves another handful of popcorn into her mouth. Amelia just blinks over at the television.
Caesar is asking Cashmere about her latest work now, and Gloss is turned just so to listen to her response. Cashmere weaves a story about their recent combined photoshoot, which he adds to every once in a while. Their comfortable and familiar way with words has Caesar leaning forward in interest, literally on the edge of his seat as Cashmere tells an amusing little story that had occurred on the last set.
"You two are golden – golden!" Caesar exclaims at the end of the tale, laughing around his words. "I'm sure Gigi's is very pleased to be working with you."
"We're pleased to be working with them, too," Gloss says, and sends Caesar a friendly smile that makes his hazel eyes light up.
At her side, Amelia dreamily adds, "He's polite, too."
Elara grunts sarcastically. Polite isn't exactly a word she'd use to describe Gloss Augustine, but he does know how to win a crowd. Of course he'd be on his best behavior during an interview with Caesar Flickerman.
"What does he see in you? You're probably the rudest person I know," Amelia sighs breezily, as if she isn't insulting her sister in one breath.
Elara gives her a look, though it hardly makes Amelia quake with fear.
"Oh give it a rest, Amelia," she mutters. She pushes the popcorn into her sister's hands, deciding that she isn't really hungry anymore. Amelia doesn't complain as she scoops up a handful of it.
"Maybe he likes intelligent women," Amelia continues as if she hadn't heard. "I mean, that's pretty much the only thing you've got going for you."
Elara groans and pushes her in retribution. "I swear to god if you don't shut up, I will pick you up from school tomorrow and embarrass you in front of all your friends."
Amelia whips her head over at her so quickly that it looks like it hurts. "You wouldn't."
Elara makes a face at her and says, "I would."
"You're so sensitive. I was just kidding," she grumbles, much to Elara's silent amusement.
"Well how about we stop talking about my nonexistent love life," she tells her sister, and sighs.
Amelia, though, just gives her a weird look and snorts, "Nonexistent? Every time I see pictures of you two in the Capitol, he looks at you like you're a freaking Goddess. I don't think your love life is nonexistent. Stop complaining."
At this, Elara raises an eyebrow at Amelia, crossing her arms as she dryly asks, "Is it so hard to believe that he'd like me, then?"
Amelia rolls her eyes. "It's really hard to believe, but I never said I thought he didn't. I'm going to take a shower. This conversation is getting weird."
Elara snorts out a laugh as her sister stands up, leaving the popcorn on the table before striding quickly from the room. She looks like she can't leave fast enough, as if the thought of having such a genuine conversation with her sister make her want to vomit. Elara laughs to herself at her antics before turning back to the television. After a moment, she reaches for the popcorn again and gets comfortable, not even bothering to hide the look in her eyes as she studies the features of the man she loves.
In the doorway, Amelia makes a face at the sight and rolls her eyes. She stands by what she'd said. She really doesn't understand why a man like Gloss would fall for someone like her sister, but then again, she figures she's allowed to wonder at that. She is Amelia Winston, after all, and no one else has the right to judge her sister the way she does.
With a nod, Amelia steps away. Despite her prior disgust at Elara's mooning eyes, she feels a small smile spread over her mouth as she makes her way upstairs.
Elara feels a little silly, waiting in a maintenance closet for Gloss. Still dressed to the nines in the custom made gown Ignatius had created for her, she's sitting on one of the small tables that's pressed against the wall. It's a tiny thing, hardly large enough to even hold her weight, but it's better than standing up in her stilettos. Her feet are already aching from standing so long on the stage while the other Victors were interviewed, and besides, she isn't sure when Gloss will come. It's already a little past nine o'clock, which was when he said he'd meet her, and she can't help but chew on her bottom lip as she nervously wonders if he'll even show up at all.
They barely had a chance to say two words to each other in lieu of the fiasco at the end of the interviews. Peeta had dropped a bomb on the audience, claiming that Katniss is pregnant with their child. The entire room, large as it is, had erupted into such outrage that Caesar had been utterly beside himself trying to calm everyone down. Peacekeepers had to come in to settle the room, and even they had a hard time. In wake of the uproar, the Victors had been rushed off the stage by more Peacekeepers and escorted to their individual floors. Elara was far more focused on not tripping indignantly over her gown than finding Gloss in the ensuing chaos. As a result, she isn't entirely sure if he's displeased at her for her interview. She hadn't gotten a good feel for his emotions about it before. The short glance he had given her had only lasted for a few brief moments before she was forced to turn back to the audience.
She sighs and leans back, swinging her legs in front of her and listening to the table creak beneath her weight. One of the lights that hangs overhead flickers every few seconds. The many years spent learning about the basics of electricity and all things that accompany the subject tells her that one of the wires is loose. It's an easy enough fix. Just a quick jostle to ensure that the wire is properly in its socket and it should stop flickering.
She stares at it for a few long minutes that seems like an eternity before pursing her lips and standing up. She's so bored that she might as well fix it before it drives her to insanity.
There's a board of switches by the door. She steps over to it and tests them out until the overhead light turns off. There are two others that control several more lights on the wall. She keeps those ones on and kicks her heels off, dragging the small table directly beneath the overhead light and carefully stepping on top of the surface of it. It shifts a little under her weight, but when it holds steady and doesn't crumble beneath her, she turns her attention to unscrewing the light bulb.
When it comes loose, she stands there for a moment holding the lightbulb in her hand, looking for somewhere to put it while she fiddles with the wire. She's about to just shove it into her cleavage so that she doesn't have to climb down from the rickety table when suddenly the door opens, and Elara turns with a startled inhalation as Gloss quietly enters the small room. He looks just as startled as her when his eyes alight on her figure, but after a moment, dry amusement takes precedence in his expression.
As he shuts the door, he raises an eyebrow at her and drawls, "I'm pretty sure there's a great joke to go along with this scene."
Elara rolls her eyes at him and impatiently gestures for him to step forward. When he does, she shoves the lightbulb into his hands. "Hold this. I've just got to…" she trails off, eyes narrowing as she reaches into the socket and looks for the loose wire. When she finds it, she wiggles it back into place and mutters, "There. Lightbulb please."
She blindly holds her hand out, and Gloss slides it into her grasp and watches as she screws it back it. Once it's in place, she says, "Turn the switch on."
Gloss quips a smile at her and sarcastically murmurs, "Yes ma'am," before stepping away to flick it on. It lights up immediately, with no flickers in sight.
She crosses her arms and nods, "Much better. That was really bothering me – "
The table shifts a little and her balance is displaced. She probably would have fallen had Gloss not steadied her, grasping her legs to keep her where she is. She grabs his shoulders, leaning over him with a startled gasp, which turns into laughter when she realizes how ridiculous this situation is.
"Come down from there before you hurt yourself," Gloss murmurs, sounding exasperated. He grabs her waist and lifts her down from the table, enjoying the press of her body against his a little too much. The feeling is apparently mutual, for Elara doesn't hesitate to wrap her legs around his waist as he lowers her back to earth.
For a moment, they just stare at each other, inches apart. And then, very quietly, Gloss murmurs, "…The man you love, huh?"
She immediately feels herself blush a little, despite her best efforts not to. She shouldn't be surprised that he would bring this up. Her interview had shocked the entire audience, so why not him as well? It isn't as if they've ever exchanged that particular word to each other. Not completely. Not fully.
She pauses, then gives him a wicked smile and whispers, "Mmm…after the interviews, Olive told me that she's very happy for Finnick and I."
Gloss frowns immediately growling, "Finnick? Seriously? I don't know if I'm offended or happy that these people are so stupid."
Elara chuckles, leaning down to kiss him. Against his mouth she says, "Well, Finnick did have that romantic poem he told the audience, about his one true love, so it makes sense that she's assume I was talking about him. You just talked about how the Capitol loves you."
Gloss's immediate reaction is an abrupt, "They do love me – " His second is a low groan when Elara slides down his body and steps back to the floor.
She chuckles at him and pushes his jacket off his shoulders, slowly dropping it to the floor with a swish of fabric. He glowers at her and makes no effort to assist her, even when she slowly pulls his tie off and tosses it to join the jacket, her movements just shy of licentious.
"Let's see…I'm also frustrating, single-minded, and I drive you insane. Did I get that right?" he asks in a low voice, herding her backward until she meets the edge of the table she'd just nearly fallen off of. As he crowds around her figure, caging her against the edge, Elara gives him a smirk that makes his eyes flash. The familiar lure of desire tugs at him, wrenching through his veins like wildfire. She hums, head tilted back, lips very close to his. Her eyes are narrowed shards of blue that pool with heat, and suddenly he'd like very much to see if the rest of her is the same way.
"You do drive me insane," she tells him lowly, her voice just a hum of sound. Her hands drift over his chest, dragging over the expensive fabric of his shirt and lingering on the buttons. She doesn't undo them just yet though, preferring to just enjoy the moment. She might not get another chance like this for a long time. Maybe not ever.
Gloss reaches down to caress her legs, fingers warm against her thighs. Her skirts feel silken beneath his touch. He can feel the heat of her skin through the fabric and can clearly imagine, with much certainty, that the rest of her is equally as soft. With that thought in mind, he reaches up to grasp her waist and lift her onto the table with a sudden display of strength, heaving her abruptly off the floor. He quite enjoys the little gasp she gives him at the move, but instead of making mention of it, he just growls, "I'll have to live up to your description of me, then."
He gives her a sinful smirk and hikes her skirts up, hands smoothing over the bare skin of her legs as he does. The fabric gets caught on his wrists the further up he goes, until the entirety of them are on display for him. Then, he pulls her to the very edge of the table and leans in.
Their breaths are already heavy with dampened desire when he whispers, "Lift your hips."
She does as he says, not looking away from him as he grapples with her underwear and slides it down her thighs. When it gets to her knees, she helps him kick it off and nearly sighs out with pleasure as he smooths his hands over her inner thighs once more, staring at her with a hungry light that definitely makes her feel insane – in the best way possible.
When he drops to his knees in front of her, the twist of it only gets worse.
She presses closer to the edge of the table as he kisses her inner thigh, dragging his tongue over her skin and sighing out against her. The heat of his breath dances over her and makes her swallow thickly. It's nothing compared to the way he spins his touch over her core seconds later though, his movements sure and firm as he laps at her, tonguing over her folds and bringing her into his mouth. He sucks at her, hands tightly clenching around her thighs as she parts her legs for him and leans back on the table. Her hips lift to his mouth and her head falls back, breathing hard as he pushes pleasure through her entire form.
"Gloss…" she murmurs, opening her eyes to look down at her. She can't not look away – the very sight he makes, nestled between her legs like this, makes her crazy. When his eyes flicker up to hers and their gazes lock, she moans again at the sheer desire that turns his hazel eyes darker, like molten honey.
He must see something in her face – some flash of desperation, some inexpressible bliss – for he presses closer. His tongue sinks against her faster, and Elara inhales sharply as shivers roil through her, nearly throwing her back with the fury of her own desires. Her breathing is a ragged mess that tells Gloss more than mere words alone could manage, and he only presses faster as he watches her begin to unravel above him.
He has long ago decided that Elara Winston is utterly gorgeous when she's in the throes of bliss. When she comes, her expression melts with waves of such passion that it grips the whole of him to bear witness to it. And, to know that he is the one who has cultivated this within her, to know that he is the cause of the moans that spill from her parted mouth and the heady shift of her hips as they punctuate her end – it's like nothing he's ever known, and he doubts he'll know the like of it with any other woman.
He watches her, watches the way her fingers grip the edges of the table, the way they blanch white with force. He watches the graceful arch of her body as passion overmasters her and sends it reeling – neck unfurling, breasts curving forward – she's like a paper crane that is being unfolded, piece by piece, the edges smoothed out, the wrinkles glazed over, until every pristine hollow unravels before him, just as immaculate as ever.
He thinks he's never seen someone as beautiful as her. It isn't the physical aspects of her that captures him so profoundly, though she is pleasing to look at with all her fine lines and refined angles. But – there is something more to her that has him falling over and over again, tripping head first into her arms despite every single reservation he has ever had. It is a magnetic thing, a blistering thing. She bewitches him like an enchantress and as she gasps his name and reaches up to tangle her fingers into his hair, Gloss falls willingly under her spell.
He lets her come down from the spin of pleasure, pressing idle kisses to her thighs and slowly making his way up her body. She's still tipped back, and all he wants to do is get her out of the dress that's still covering her figure. He wants skin and warmth and her.
He settles instead for a lingering kiss that he lowers to her still parted mouth, lifting a hand to brush aside a strand of her hair and tucking it behind her ear. There is a strange solemnity to his movements. He gazes at her with almost hesitant eyes, taking in the sight of her and caressing her cheek with his fingertips. He is hesitant because…
He is not sure if they will ever be together again, like this.
Elara slowly opens her eyes, lashes fluttering as she locks her gaze with his and sees his emotions clearly showcased on his face. She lifts a hand to place it over his as it rests on her cheek, and tilts her head to the side to press a slow kiss into his palm. He exhales. Then he purses his lips and lets his forehead drop to hers, and together, they stay like that for several moments before Elara begins to slowly unbutton his shirt.
"…Elara," he breathes, not sure what, exactly, he's going to say. Only he thinks he'd like to do something or say something that might take this sudden hesitance away. Something that might bolster the edges of this moment. Soften them, perhaps, into something less painful.
Because it is painful. There is something poignantly heart wrenching about it. He thought he knew what this pain felt like. Thought he'd already experienced it a thousand times by now from all their bitter goodbyes and lengthy absences. But to his consternation, he suddenly finds that those moments are nothing in comparison to this one. Those moments are bygone memories that were forced upon them, but they always knew that they would see each other again, on another dark night in these dreary streets. They always knew that, though the distance between them was nearly inseverable, it was not unconquerable.
This is nothing like that at all. Despite the plans and the hope for the rebellion, there is still a very good chance that one of them will die in that arena.
Elara pulls his shirt off, revealing broad shoulders and familiar musculature. Her fingers trail down his body to undo his belt, and her lips tilt up to capture his. Against them, she whispers, "Don't say a word."
He swallows back a harsh wave of sorrow that threatens to knock him down, and leans forward to grasp the edges of the table as Elara pulls open the belt and unbuttons his trousers. He nearly buries his head against her neck when she shuffles the fabric off of his hips and takes him against her palm. One hand reaches up to his arm as he exhales tightly and stumbles into her. She grasps his bicep as if she means to steady him, but he fears that he might never be steady again. She has a terrible tendency to have that sort of effect on him, but he's never felt it so strongly before.
As she strokes him, she presses her lips to his skin – his shoulder, his neck, and brushes her tongue over his collar and breathes into his hair as if she's trying to memorize every inch of him. His hands begin to move too, slowly unlacing the ties that hold her dress up and sighing out as he pushes the fabric away. It pools at her hips, and when he reaches up to palm her breast, Elara breathes his name with such soft yearning that shivers erupt through the entirety of him.
"I want you," she whispers, voice trembling. He breathes out again at the sound of it.
Drawing back to look at her, Gloss drags a hand over her skin and gives her a small smile, eyes crinkling at the edges.
She smiles back, sadly.
He pulls her to the edge of the table and draws her legs around his waist, pressing into her with a low exhale that quivers with need. They grasp onto each other, limbs tight, fingers clenching, and as he begins to thrust, Elara groans and tips back to better accommodate him. One of his hands moves to her lower back to hold her in place – to keep her exactly as she is, for in this moment, he's never seen her more perfect.
He wants to tell her that he loves her. He wants to hear her say those words too. He wants to say that he'd like to grow old with her, to have her every day like this, to be able to wake up beside her and listen to her drawling sarcasm at all hours even though it sometimes drives him crazy. But…
Sometimes, the spoken word is not as poignant as the unspoken one.
Instead he just loves her now, presses pleasure into her and takes his pleasure too, until they're both gasping into each other and letting their passions overmaster them. And even though the backdrop to their love is not luxurious or fine, even though the room is small and cramped and dusty, and even though they don't have a comfortable bed or soft pillows or fresh sheets –
It doesn't matter; they have each other.