A/N: In which Finnick and Sil have their wedding night, minus all the normal actions newlyweds would usually partake in.
Anon: I am so glad that my story is making your life a little better. I hope everything gets better for you. And I hope that Finnick and Sil keep inspiring you :)
GBblahblahblah: Their official marriage was something I wanted to incorporate from the very beginning, and the heartbreak/comfort is exactly what I wanted to achieve through it, so I'm glad it came across. This chapter is a continuation of that. I really wanted to write their wedding night - hope it delivers! And don't lose hope on a genuine marriage later down the line. I do like happy endings ;)
nox06: Yup, you pretty much hit the nail on the head! You'll have to wait just a little bit longer for the escape though. This scene ended up being way longer than I originally planned, so I figured it made more sense to separate it into it's own chapter. But! Both the rescue and the reveal are very very soon!
spyinsecret007: I love Gemma so much that it didn't even cross my mind to kill him off, so don't worry! He is going to have a new lease on life soon enough, but I won't say much more on that right now because I haven't actually written it out yet!
DancingSouls: I couldn't see it either, which is why I decided to go with the plot that you're about to read in this chapter. I hope you guys aren't too upset with me. Sil kind of takes the easy way out because for some reason, she's too afraid of just being honest with Finnick. I know, it frustrates me too and I'm the author. What is this
remifoster1313: I'm definitely planning more for the marriage plot, but I'll keep my lips sealed on that for now! The wait is over! Sort of. The rescue will be featured in the next chapter because this one got too long on me. It might make you feel better to know that this chapter is the last one in which Finnick and Sil are together with their secrets. Well, her secret. The next time they're in the same room together, Finnick will know everything. And yes - her staying in the Capitol because of her Nightingale duties was the reason. I want to say more but...I'll wait until the next chapter is out before I reveal anything important ;)
As I mentioned above, the next time Finnick and Sil are together in the same room, Finnick won't be blind to Sil's identity any longer. This chapter basically exists because I wanted to write one more scene between them before everything goes to shit. On that note, enjoy! Lol
Chapter Thirty Eight | One
"Oh! Think! Think! Think! Of what she should do. The minutes flew on; in this awful stillness she could not tell how fast or how slowly; she heard nothing, she saw nothing; she did not feel the sweet-smelling autumn air, scented with the briny odor of the sea, she no longer heard the murmur of the waves, the occasional rattling of a pebble, as it rolled down some steep incline." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel
By the time four o'clock come around, Finnick and Sil finally arrive at their hotel, where they will be staying for three days. Or, well, where Sil will be staying, at least.
The Pantheon Hotel is true to its name – expensive and historic to the primary district of Panem. It's probably been around since the Capitol was a fledging city in the pre-war era. Built around pillars of carved stone that arch up into the ceilings of the main lobby, the hotel is a sight to behold. One would think that it's too much of a landmark for them to enter without notice, but the fact that the Pantheon is so famous is the main reason Sil booked a room there. Their guest's discretion is something they take very seriously. The other reason she wanted to come to this hotel in particular is because it's only a few streets down from the Capitol prison, where the other Victors are being kept.
Their room is lavish and located on the top floor of the building, secreted away from the other suites. The main room is more of a sitting room than anything else, with armchairs and sofas artfully strewn here and there around the space. Adjacent to it is a small balcony that overlooks an unassuming side street. Its stone railing seems to match the décor of the rest of the suite, which has more of a vintage, pre-war vibe to it.
"Nice place," Finnick comments as he drags their suitcases into the room. He shuts the door behind him and the telltale 'click' of the lock sliding into place seems to reverberate through the entire area.
Sil shuffles forward, intent on exploring the suite to distract herself from the fact that she is alone with Finnick, the man she has just married.
Gracious, but that is rather a lot to take in.
Walking through a doorless archway into the next room, Sil turns in a full circle, sweeping her eyes briefly over the large bed and focusing on everything else. She'd rather not think about the bed right now. She knows very well that they won't be doing anything in it, but it's still a bit frightening to look upon it, as if it is a hulking symbol of what a wedding night should bring.
Finnick follows her inside and crosses his arms, looking speculative. His eyes also take the room in, but unlike her, they don't shirk away from the bed. Instead, Finnick heads right to it without even a shred of hesitation.
"It's pretty comfortable," he informs her as he drops down onto the mattress, looking up at the velvet bedcurtains that drape over the four posters. He turns his head to catch her eye and gives her a winking smirk that makes her face heat up. He's not making this easy for her, clearly.
When she doesn't respond (instead opting to stick her nose in the air and turn to examine the furniture with more curiosity than she actually feels), Finnick snorts.
"Come on, Sil, don't be like that. We are married now," he chuckles, sweeping his hands behind his head as he shifts to get comfortable. After a moment he adds, "Plus we've been living together for the last few weeks."
She rolls her eyes. Living together as a forced couple and living together as forced spouses are quite different things. Sort of. Well in any case, she doesn't want to talk about their marriage duties. The phrase in and of itself is fairly archaic anyhow.
When she still doesn't respond, Finnick sighs and rolls over, propping himself up on his elbow and looking over at her. She's staring out of the window with a strange look on her face. Her expression is almost bitter, almost sad, and definitely not hopeful. He can't entirely blame her. Marriage hadn't seemed like a big deal before the Games, when he'd told the Capitol that they'd had a secret ceremony at the last minute. But now…well, now it's a different story, and it is no longer secret and no longer a lie to appease the masses. He is truly married to her now. Her husband. And Sil is his wife. It's legal and binding.
Yet for some reason it doesn't seem as terrible as it had that morning. Now that the wedding is over and done with, the world almost seems peaceful. A part of him is happy for it. Now, he has a real reason to want to protect her from the coming rebellion, for what husband would abandon his wife to the whims of war?
He sighs, allowing his eyes to trail over her figure. Her heavy skirts have been replaced by a much gauzier fabric which shucks around her legs in soft curtains and hits the floor like little clouds. There must have been some sort of contraption in the hem of the corset, because when she had reappeared at the reception hall, she had been transformed. It must be far easier to walk around in compared to the weighted drape of her wedding gown.
The corset still remains, studded with pearls sewn into the hems. They match the pearl that she still wears on her finger, though now it represents more than a mere false engagement that can easily be broken off. No, now there is a permanence to that symbol; a certain heaviness that fate's own hand has played a role in.
He studies her almost cautiously. She looks like an image of grace, standing in the greying light of the early setting sun.
"You're staring," Sil suddenly says, and turns her face to his with a raised brow. Finnick grins boyishly.
"Just admiring my new wife," he quips. Her face falls just a tiny bit and he inwardly cringes. He supposes it's still a bit early to joke about their new status – though he also wonders if he is even joking at all. Sil isn't aware of his inner turmoil though. She's swept up in a turmoil of her own.
With a sigh, Finnick rolls up into a sitting position and then stands, brushing out the wrinkles in his dress slacks before going to join her at the window. She doesn't expect him to wrap his arms around her from behind, nor does she expect for his embrace to feel quite so…warm.
"It'll be alright," he tells her softly. The words are pressed into the silken tresses of her hair, which smells faintly of the perfume she favors. Night dream, was it? He can't remember, but the scent is both alluring and comforting, and he tightens his grip around her waist.
Her hands flutter up to lay flat against his. Their fingers entwine of their own accord. She wonders when it had become so normal and so easy to be in such an intimate position.
"Will it?" she asks, tipping her head to look at him. Finnick smiles at her and leans in to kiss her cheek with a sudden burst of affection. She's surprised at the move, surprised at the way she seems to crave it, and at the way she'd like nothing more than to huddle closer to him and remain forever in the safety of his arms.
The coming weeks will be dreadful without him. The realization of this comes crashing into her like a wave, and her fingers tighten around his.
"Yes," he says firmly, unaware of her thoughts. He presses his cheek to her forehead and sighs. "I'll take care of you. I vowed I would."
Vows. She wonders just how far they extend.
"…But do you even want to?" she asks slowly. The question comes unbidden to her lips. She hadn't meant to ask it, but she's glad she had. It's a question she'd very much like an answer to.
He falls silent for a moment. She waits with baited breath for his answer. And then –
"I do," he whispers, and she cracks a small smile because he's clearly taking his earlier vow and turning it into a new direction. A more honest one.
He chuckles and pulls away, but keeps his hand in hers as he pulls her with him.
"Come on, let's get comfortable. New married couples usually spend their wedding night bonding, don't they? Should we tell each other secrets?" he asks with a wink, and she smiles wider.
"I'm sure that's not quite the type of bonding husbands and wives usually partake in on their wedding night," she drawls, but doesn't argue when Finnick loosens his tie and shucks off his jacket.
"Do you have something to change into?" he asks, glancing at her dress with a critical eye. "As beautiful as you look, that corset can't be comfortable."
Sil gives him a cringing look and complains, "Gracious. It's been digging into my stomach for hours now." Then she sniffs and adds, "Of course it's a small price to pay for looking fashionable, I suppose. Do you like my gown? It's a Linault St. Claire."
Finnick's expression makes her burst into laughter, and she raises a hand to her mouth to mock-gasp, "My favorite designer, Finnick darling! How could you possibly forget?"
He rolls his eyes at her. "I don't care who made it, only that you wore it. And I do like it, by the way. When you stepped into the hall, you glittered like diamonds. The pearls were a nice touch."
Sil doesn't expect the sincerity of his words. She looks at him for a moment, taken aback at his honesty. He seems to know what she's thinking because after a moment he smirks and says, "What, you think I'm completely blind?"
With a small laugh, Sil shakes her head. "No, I certainly don't. You looked quite handsome as well. Though I do have to admit that I like your hair a bit less styled."
She glances up at his now mussed up hair and grins. After the ceremony, Finnick had run his hands through it to push it back to how it normally falls, much to her amusement. He clearly hadn't liked the formal style either.
"Mmm…you and me both, sugar," he says, and starts unbuttoning his shirt.
She stares.
"What are you doing?" she asks, feeling a bit flushed as she watches him drag the fabric off. Glorious bronzed skin on full display, the air in the room suddenly feels like it's closing in on her.
He snorts at her expression. "Relax. I'm not trying to seduce you. We can change in front of each other now that we're married, right?" He winks for good measure and Sil glowers at his teasing.
"I'm changing in the bathroom," she says shrilly, and powerwalks to her suitcase.
Behind her, Finnick laughs and watches her go, amused at her prudishness. Still, he doesn't complain, and changes into a pair of pajama pants and a soft white Henley tee before flopping back onto the bed to wait for her. It feels disconcerting in a way, especially when his brain tyrannically whispers that he's not waiting for just anyone – he's waiting for his wife.
Trying to think about something – anything – else, Finnick moves to sit against the pillows, throwing back the blankets and pulling them over his legs. He leans back with his hands behind his head and closes his eyes, hoping that he looks more casual than he feels. He's been in a similar position too many times to count, but all those other women had been clients that hadn't meant anything to him. Sil is not a client, and she means more to him than he ever thought she would.
She finds him there when she returns from the bathroom looking fresh faced and wearing a pair of plaid pajama pants and a soft button down. She'd washed the makeup from her face and had unraveled the braids in her hair, letting her fancy updo hang down into her usual waves. Her hair is wilder than usual after having it braided for hours at a time, and Finnick thinks she looks utterly enchanting.
"You look comfortable," Sil drawls, because frankly she's not sure what else to say. Seeing him waiting for her in the bed induces emotions within her that takes her breath away. Her heart thuds in her chest and she tries to appear as if she's not completely taken in by him. She wonders if she succeeds.
Finnick sends her a smirk and lifts the covers in a clear invitation. She hesitates, but doesn't deny him, and slips beneath the covers like a deer slowly creeping toward an unseen danger. He bites back a smile at the sight she makes and slides an arm around her shoulders, dragging her into his side with a force that she's not expecting. Because she's not anticipating it, Sil ends up flying forward into his chest with a gasp.
She stills against him, a chunk of hair in her mouth and her eyes wide as she looks up into his face. "…Gracious," is all she mutters.
The sight of her sends him into a laughing fit that she soon joins in.
"So," he says once their laughter has died down and Sil has allowed herself to rest more comfortably against him. "…It's not even five o'clock yet. What should we do?" He wags his eyebrows at her jokingly and she elbows him.
"You said you'd tell me all your dirty secrets," she responds lightly, feeling a bit out of her depth in his arms. This isn't exactly how she'd expected the evening to go, after all. She rather thought they'd separate into different rooms and try their hardest to ignore each other, not get into the same bed and joke around and play pretend.
Finnick huffs, "That goes for the both of us, sugar. Secrets are what I excel at, but you have to match them."
She raises her eyebrows at him. This is a dangerous game he's playing. She's got too many secrets, built one on top of the other. But – high from the warmth of his arms and the love she feels threading through her body, Sil sighs and agrees.
"Yes, alright. Though my life is rather boring, I'm afraid," she shrugs innocently, inwardly smirking. "I doubt any of my secrets will be of much interest to you."
Finnick hums thoughtfully and says, "I'll be the judge of that. Now let's see…did you know that Snow has sores in his mouth from drinking poison, when he was trying to get the presidency? That's why he's partial to roses - he thinks they hide the scent of blood."
Sil makes a disinterested grunt and responds dully, "Every Victor knows that, Finnick darling. It's hardly a secret."
Finnick rolls his eyes at her. "Okay fine. Then it'll be easy for you to match it with your own secret, won't it?"
She taps her chin and thinks. Then says, "Mmm…I don't actually spend as much money at Gigi's as you think I do. How's that?"
He looks down at her with a ridiculous expression on his face and she starts laughing. "What?" she asks, "I told you before, I don't have very many secrets."
He gives her a glower and mutters, "I don't even want to know how much money you spend there. You practically bought the whole store when we went there together before the Games."
She purses her lips and chuckles.
"Clearly I have to drag your secrets out of you. I know you have more of them than you'd like to admit," he sighs, and then slowly says, "…When I was a boy, I used to be completely in love with Annie Cresta."
Sil pauses. She hadn't expected that to come out of his mouth. She hesitates only a moment before propping herself up to look at him.
"You're not still in love with her, are you?" she asks, demands, almost. Her mind suddenly buzzes back to the dinner party they'd had back in District 4 all those months ago. How he and Annie seemed to know each other so well. They were so comfortable around one another. She remembers hearing rumors about them and a relationship they'd had before, but she hadn't been very interested in Finnick Odair back then, and she can't quite recall what said rumors entailed.
Finnick, for his part, looks a bit taken aback by the insistence in her eyes. If she hadn't expected his admission, then he certainly doesn't expect the adamant demand of her question. Warmth spreads through him at the sight of her looking at him like that, and he quips a small smile.
"Why, are you jealous?" he murmurs, smoothing his hand over her hair. Sil glowers at him and he laughs, "No, I'm not still in love with her. That was a long time ago. We're good friends now, and that's all we'll ever be. I'm a married man, you know."
She stares at him, then feels at once foolish for her question and folds herself back against him, burying her face against his chest. Finnick grins and draws her closer, encircling his arms around her firmly. He plays with a strand of her white blond hair idly.
"Your turn," he tells her, mostly to spare her own embarrassment. He's got a feeling she's a little chagrined at having asked him that with such adamancy. He'll let her off the hook for now, because he's feeling too happy that she seems to care so much if he likes another woman. He won't tell her he's got eyes only for her, despite some of her more questionable morals and Capitolite sensibilities. For some reason, he feels as if now isn't the time for those heartfelt confessions.
Sil grumbles incoherently into his chest and sighs. "I haven't actually gotten drunk once since becoming a Victor."
His hand in her hair stills curiously. "…I've seen you drunk a number of times, Sil. You're supposed to tell me a secret based on a truth."
She harrumphs and mutters, "Just because you thought I was drunk doesn't mean I was actually drunk. I don't go to those parties because I want to. I go to them because Snow makes me."
He looks down at the top of her head with a strange expression on his face, though she doesn't see because she's playing with a button on his shirt, twisting it around her fingers idly.
A thought hits him then – a memory really. He frowns and wonders, "You know, I just remembered that time you stayed the night at my apartment. You said you were drugged but never told me why."
She stiffens a little in his arms and he knows he's stumbled onto a secret that's worth hearing. He slides his fingers through her hair and murmurs, "Would you tell me now?"
She doesn't answer right away, but after a moment of silence, Sil whispers, "If you tell me something in return."
He thinks for a moment, ponders what she'd possibly want to know, before finally saying, "Okay, sounds fair. What do you want to know?"
She glances up at him and catches his eye, opens her mouth, and then quietly asks, "Tell me why you're a part of the rebellion."
His entire body turns tense in a matter of moments, and he stares down at her like a deer caught in the headlights. How did she…? His expression turns into a blank canvas and Sil sighs.
"Honestly, Finnick," she complains, making sure to add a layer of whining to her voice. She wants to sound more childish, more naïve. She doesn't want him to read too far into her knowledge, and so she mumbles, "It's hardly a shock, you know. I'm sure every Victor is somehow in on it. Even Beetee had some sort of plan in the arena, didn't he? So you must have, too."
He purses his lips and looks away from her. She sighs and adds, "I know you don't trust me after what you've heard, but I would never…I mean, I'd never say anything to anyone about it. You mean far too much to me."
The honesty in her words and in her eyes makes him deflate. She hit the nail right on the head. He had been thinking about the way she has traded the names of rebels to President Snow, and she had clearly seen where his thoughts had fled.
"…You're more perceptive than people give you credit for, Sil," he mutters, and she hums happily, as if he's just given her the nicest compliment in the world.
"Thank you," she chirps, but the seriousness doesn't leave her gaze. She truly does want to know. Why had he agreed to join the rebellion? Out of all the Victors, Finnick has more reason than most to join such an organization, but is his desire to change his own circumstances the only reason? Being so deep into the going ons of District 13 herself, Sil finds herself craving to understand his perspective.
He glances at her and sighs. "Why wouldn't I join? If I can help make the world a better place, if I can stop the Hunger Games from happening in the future – from stealing the lives of more children – wouldn't it make sense that I do whatever I can to help?"
He feels bare beneath her gaze, like she's the one unraveling all his secrets and not the other way around. He's not used to being in such a position. It's frightening, and yet somehow fulfilling in a way he cannot explain.
"Even at the cost of your life?" she whispers, placing her hand on his heart.
He immediately reaches up to grasp her fingers and responds firmly, "Yes. And now – now that we're married, it's even more important."
She stares at him in confusion and he quips a tiny smile that feels a little strained. "…I want the world we live in to be a better place. I want to be able to make a good life for you, even if our marriage doesn't have the same foundations as most do."
Her breath whooshes out of her body. His eyes are sincere. Does he really want to make the most of their circumstances? Even when he knows that war is coming and that they could very well dissolve their marriage once it's all over – go their separate ways without anyone forcing them together? She feels her eyes water a little bit and he smiles.
"Does that answer your question?" he asks softly. Sil feels herself nod, and Finnick chuckles lightly. "Good. Now I believe you were finally going to tell me why you were drugged that night."
The reminder breaks apart the little haven of peace and hope that had settled over her shoulders. Sil lets out a breath and turns her eyes away from his, returning his fingers to the buttons of his shirt to give her something to do. This is a secret she knows he won't like, and she herself won't like reliving it either, even just through words.
"Alright," she says quietly. "…In the past, Felix has…drugged my drinks before. He'd take me to his apartment, or to a hotel room and…well, I hardly think I need to explain it all. It's not so – "
"He drugged you and forced himself on you?" Finnick suddenly asks, and to her surprise, his voice is hard with a fury she finds almost out of place in the smooth folds of his usual tone. Surely he can't be so shocked. He must have known that her explanation would have a darker light to it. And besides, he knows Felix well enough by now to know what sort of man he is.
Sil glances up at him and nods slowly.
He clenches his jaw, wraps his arms around her, and pulls her tightly to his chest. She lets him without struggle, not knowing if he's trying to comfort her, or trying to comfort himself.
Burying his face into her hair, Finnick mutters, "Is this a regular occurrence?"
She threads her fingers into his hair and whispers, "It hasn't happened since we've started our little relationship."
She makes no mention as to how often it had occurred before then, but Finnick doesn't seem to notice. He sighs against her and nods, seemingly content with her answer despite the stiffness still overtaking his shoulders.
"…Why didn't you tell me before?" he asks after a moment of silence. She pauses and traces the back of his neck with her fingertips.
"It hardly compares to the horror you're forced to go through every night," she sighs. "And besides, Felix hasn't pulled a stunt like that in a while."
He pulls back, takes her face in his hands, and sternly says, "You tell me if this ever happens again. He can't just get away with something like that without consequences."
She swallows. What's the point of making a promise like that when, if the plan goes the way it's supposed to, Finnick will be out of her life come morning? It doesn't matter if they'll ever see each other again, or even how they really feel about each other. If he's not around to protect her, then why bother promising him this?
But – he doesn't know that. He doesn't know that he'll be on a plane to District 13 in a matter of hours. He doesn't know that, if the plans holds, Annie Cresta will be on that very same hovercraft, erasing all the threats that Snow had given him regarding her and the Nightingale. She wonders, if he did know, would he have the same reaction as he does now? Would he even want to leave?
Such thoughts are dangerous, and Sil only nods. She cannot fall prey to wondering such things. It will only hurt that much more when he is gone.
"Okay," she murmurs, and he sags in relief and pulls her back against him.
She thinks it's strange that he is so willing to initiate these embraces, though she wouldn't complain even if she wanted to. It feels heavenly being in his arms, feeling the safety of him envelope her. She never wants to pull away. Never wants morning to come.
But it will, and she has to be ready for it. It's almost amusing, the way he is so fixated on her complicated past with Felix. It almost makes her hesitate as she reaches for the bottle of wine she'd ordered for the night, under the pretense that it might loosen them up and make them feel better about their new marriage. But it's just that: a pretense. It's also only wine, for now.
She's thought long and hard about how to get Finnick from their hotel room to the rendezvous point, and this was what she'd come up with. Mr. Dorsey had given her a few ideas as to what she might mix into his drink to make it easier to get him in place, but that will come later, when he's tipsy enough not to question why he wine seems stronger and tastes differently. And then, of course, there's Tommy's part to play in all this, but that will come later as well.
It suddenly feels a bit…disparaging, doing this to him right after a conversation about how she herself had been drugged. She feels a twinge of guilt as she lifts the wine bottle and forces a light, airy smile onto her face.
"I think we could use a drink after that, don't you?" Sil suggests. Finnick leans back on the pillows and hums his agreement, watching closely as she reaches for two glasses. She hands him one and fills it halfway up before doing the same for her own and placing the bottle back onto the nightstand.
"I thought you liked white wine?" he questions as she comes back to settle against his chest. His arm returns to its place around her shoulders as naturally as if they have snuggled like this for years.
Sil shrugs. "Red is stronger. I thought we'd need it." She raises an eyebrow at him and he muffles a laugh, tipping the rim of his glass against hers before drawing it to his lips.
"Very perceptive," he murmurs once he's swallowed, referring to his words from before. Sil chuckles.
"You know," she says after a moment. "It wasn't so bad. Marrying you, I mean."
Finnick laughs and nudges her playfully. "Marrying me is only every woman's dream. Of course it wasn't so bad."
She glowers at him and mutters, "You were supposed to say, 'it wasn't so bad marrying you either, Sil'." She huffs.
He chuckles. "I need a few more drinks before I'm that honest." Then he pauses and murmurs, "But I suppose it wasn't so bad. There are worse ways to spend the night."
As if the words remind her, Sil glances over to the clock and is shocked to see that a whole hour has passed them by. Finnick follows her eyes and smiles, knowing what she's thinking immediately. He drains his wine and holds it out for more in a silent order. She gives him a dry look but doesn't argue. She's glad that he seems to want to drink. She'd rather not force it down his throat. He's making this nice and easy for her, she thinks.
"Should we play a drinking game?" she asks, and smirks mischievously up at him. He raises an eyebrow.
"I thought you said you never get drunk," he slowly muses, though he doesn't look entirely against the idea.
Sil shrugs daintily. "I have a high tolerance. Should we or not?"
He hums thoughtfully and says, "Okay…what did you have in mind?"
She beams and chirps, "Twenty questions! I play it all the time at my parties. I ask you something, and you have to answer it or take two big sips of wine."
He snorts and mutters, "That's not a very interesting game. How about we change it up? Truth or dare?"
It's her turn to raise her eyebrow as she wonders, "Truth or dare? Alright, but if you refuse to take part in the dare, you have to drink an entire glass of wine in retribution."
He purses his lips to hide a smile and mumbles, "It sounds like you've got some scary dares up your sleeve."
Sil just lifts her eyebrows knowingly and hums.
"I'll go first," she says, sitting up into a cross legged position and nursing her wine glass between her legs. Finnick watches her from his perch against the pillows and gestures for her to go on.
"Let's see…" she trails off, scrunching her nose in a way he finds utterly adorable. As always, she doesn't seem to realize what she does to him, because she totally misses the flash of reverent admiration that briefly shoots through his gaze.
She straightens up and says, "Okay. Truth or dare? I've got some good ideas."
He looks doubtful, but drawls, "Dare," anyway. No point starting the game without a bold move, right?
Sil cackles and he wonders if he should be worried. He's never heard such a mischievous laugh leave her lips. He raises an eyebrow.
"I dare you to walk onto the balcony and recite Romeo and Juliet."
He gapes at her, then smugly says, "I haven't memorized Romeo and Juliet. Have you?" The added on question is a tiny bit reluctant because he suddenly remembers that she's been schooled in the classics. Sil smirks widely.
"Shall I give you the lines?" she questions, looking downright impish as she leans an elbow onto her knee and props her chin in her hand. She blinks at him.
(He's a bit taken with the sight of those mischievous eyes, that smirking laugh, the way her entire face changes from bashful naivety to intriguing enchantment.)
He immediately sighs and says, "Fine. I accept." He's never been one to shirk away from dares, after all. He puts his wine glass on the side table and stands up.
Sil laughs and follows him, grabbing a jacket and passing it to him. They don't want anyone to know they're here in this particular hotel, but then luckily the balcony is facing a nondescript, empty side street where there's really no one around to place them. Of course it makes for a rather poor dare given the circumstances, but Finnick doesn't seem to care for the lack of audience. As always, he puts his all into it.
She recites the phrases from memory – which he's just a little impressed with – and Finnick repeats them in a dramatic voice as he leans over the balcony, playing the rather feminine part of Juliet so well that Sil is breathless with laughter by the end of it.
He joins in as he makes his way back to her, catches onto her waist, and whispers, still dramatic, "Truth or dare, my lady?"
And Sil, still laughing, says, "Dare, I suppose. I shan't have you one-upping me."
Finnick's smile turns predatory. "Hmm…I dare you to make a prank call."
Her face turns horrified. "A prank call? I couldn't. I – " the expectant look on his face makes her glower and grudgingly mutter, "Fine. I will."
"You've never done this before, have you?" he asks as he watches her walk over to the phone resting on a table against the drawn curtain of the far window. Sil huffs and doesn't answer, which is really all the answer he needs. His amusement only grows when she picks up the phone, dials a random number, and starts rattling on about some kind of obviously made up epidemic that's apparently running rampant around the Capitol and what preventative actions one must do to avoid the disease.
He has to admit, she comes up with some entertaining prevention methods on the spot.
Then she turns to him and asks, "Truth or dare, my love?"
He tilts his head and answers, "Truth."
"…Who taught you how to dance?" she asks. The question makes him smile in nostalgia.
"My mother," he answers, and starts telling her about how his family used to attend the monthly festivities in District 4, where the old fishermen would come with their fiddles and the townsfolk would spin around in the main square. He fondly remembers it as some of the best times of his life. Sil watches his face happily and wonders to herself if they still do those monthly dances now that there's a rebellion brewing, and if perhaps she might ever get to go to one with him, should she ever be so lucky.
When his story is complete, he playfully turns to her as he sits down on the edge of the mattress, and drawls, "Your turn."
In wake of his previous dare, Sil decides to go with truth this time around. Finnick's question is immediate, as if he's been waiting to ask all night.
"Your middle name. Tell me," he says, smirking at her. Sil raises her eyebrows at him.
"Gracious, I told you before, I only tell lovers my middle name," she complains, leaning back in the chair that she has yet to remove herself from.
Finnick just shrugs and snarks, "We're basically lovers at this point. You are technically my wife, after all."
The reminder makes her stomach do a little flip. Of excitement or nervousness, Sil doesn't know. She never seems to know with Finnick.
Grumbling to herself, Sil gives in and tells him, "It's Aurelius."
Finnick tilts his head and repeats it, testing the sound of it out on his tongue. Then he puts it all together, murmuring, "Silver Aurelius Lamprey Cornelius. It doesn't sound very District 1."
At this, Sil laughs, "On the contrary, darling! Aurelius means golden. It's an old family name from my district."
The information makes Finnick raise both eyebrows dryly. "Your parents named you after Silver and Gold? Seriously?"
Sil gives him a haughty look and humphs. "I told you – it's a family name. It comes from my mother. And besides, the Cornelius family traditionally names their children after precious stones. It's part of the trade."
He gives her a look. "The trade?" he questions, voice still sardonic.
Sil rolls her eyes at him. "The jewelry trade, my love. My family has always been involved in it, even before the War."
Finnick hums and mutters, "Don't know why I even ask…"
Sil just throws a pillow at him and laughs when it hits him right in the face. He's clearly not expecting it and glowers at her.
They battle back and forth for a while. Whenever he chooses 'dare', Sil tries to think of things that are so ridiculous that he'd have no choice but to drink a full glass of wine. By the time another hour passes, she'd only managed it once, when she had dared him to streak through the lobby shouting like a madman. To that, Finnick had muttered something about how too many Capitolites have seen him naked already and decided that the wine was a better option. Sil hadn't argued.
Eventually they return to the bed. The bottle of wine nearly empty, Sil thinks they've probably had at least three glasses each, and she is definitely starting to feel it. Finnick too, it seems, for he is becoming less sarcastic and more happy as the time goes by. She's sure it has something to do with the powder she'd snuck into his last glass. It's doubtlessly had some kind of an effect on him.
He starts telling her all sorts of dirty limericks from District 4 and soon they're both collapsed on the mattress in heaps of laughter, laying side by side. He's just finished telling her one about fishermen, which apparently every young boy learns before elementary school, cuss words and all, when he rolls over to face her. Sil turns her head to look at him curiously, a smile still brightly etched into her face. Her eyes shine and she feels lighter than she has all day. She's not sure if it's the wine or if it's Finnick – or both.
His laughter fades into a happy smile. "This isn't such a terrible wedding night, is it?" he asks, as if he needs the confirmation.
Sil giggles and raises her arms over her head in a stretch. Then she turns her head back to face him and murmurs, "It certainly isn't boring."
The corners of his eyes crinkle up. He pushes himself onto his elbow, hovering over her as he grins boyishly. "Are you having a good time?"
She pauses only a moment before allowing her mouth to curl up with a soft laugh. "Yes," she replies, quietly looking up at him. The way his gaze cuts down to her makes her heart thud erratically in her chest, tempered by emotions too vast to put into a single word. She thinks she would need an entire book to describe the tumultuous things she feels for him.
She reaches up to draw her hand over his arm, fingertips dancing from bicep to shoulder. The soft material of his shirt is warm beneath her touch. She wonders what it might feel like to drag her hand over bare skin, and feels herself blush quietly at the thought of having a real wedding night with him, full of a passion that she can only dream of.
She thinks of many things in the span of that second. Things that make her both happy and sad at the same time. And then, turning her eyes to catch his, which are studying her in that gentle way she often finds herself wondering at, Sil whispers, "…I hope you can forgive me, Finnick."
The words make him tilt his head. He looks confused when he whispers back, "For what?"
She pauses again. Should she tell him now? Surely, it would be better to tell him herself rather than having him find out through other means. Her gaze flickers back and forth between his eyes as if she's reading the pages of a novel; paragraphs of heart and soul that she has not yet been allowed to breach.
She opens her mouth, inhaling deeply. The words are at the tip of her tongue, ready to be driven into existence for good or for bad. She swallows back the rising tide of fear, but at the last second, she wavers.
Gracious, but it is not a simple thing, baring yourself to another person.
Finnick's mouth quirks up at the corner. He raises an eyebrow at her silence and reaches out to draw his fingers over her cheekbone as he hovers over her. His eyes, which always seem to reflect the ocean, as if there are pieces of sea and salt forever trapped within the blue, shine at her softly.
"…For everything I've done to you so far, and everything I have yet to do," Sil breathes, and nearly cringes at the way the words come out, all breathless and shallow.
Gracious.
He hums, now threading his touch into her hair and idly twisting a silken strand around fingers, and throatily murmurs, "You're casting a pretty big net there, sugar."
Sil swallows tightly and tries to laugh, but the sound comes out a bit strained. She isn't sure if it's because her secrets are so difficult to say aloud, or if it has to do with the way he's looking at her now, as if he wants nothing more than to devour her.
Grasping his shirt, she shakily breathes, "…You'll let me know if I've caught anything, won't you?"
Quite suddenly, she doesn't think they're talking about secrets and forgiveness anymore.
Finnick's eyes flash at her. It is difficult to describe the cocktail of emotions that spiral through him; difficult to put into words the catalyst for the desire he suddenly feels. He has been used so often that the spin of true desire feels foreign to him now. Is this what it is supposed to be like? He thinks, as he looks down at her and wonders at the fire casting shadows through his body, that perhaps it is. And he thinks also that he's been caught in this particular net for a long time now, only he hadn't realized just how tangled he'd been in it or how patiently he's been waiting for Sil to draw that net up and put an end to this strange waiting game they've been playing for far too long.
He smiles down at her and chuckles. The way she smiles back makes his heart falter, because for once it isn't cast in the falsified too-wide expression that she often arranges her smiles in. This time, her eyes shine with sincerity.
Cameras and Capitolites; tabloids and manipulation. These are the things that have become the backbone of their relationship. How is it possible to feel so strongly for her, when everything has been against them from the very beginning? What has happened to him? He feels, suddenly, as if he is a different person.
Perhaps it is that feeling that makes him lean closer. Perhaps it is the realization that he has never kissed her – really kissed her – just because he wanted to. All of their romantic moments have been fake, born from a need to appease the Capitol crowds. He has only ever kissed her when they were in view of a camera.
"…Sil," he whispers hoarsely, watching her closely. His fingers return to her cheek, knuckles drifting over soft skin. When his gaze lingers on her mouth, Sil swallows.
When he kisses her, it feels like the rain. Not a hard rain, when the skies are torn with grey, and the air is frigid and you get pelted with droplets that fall like bullets to the earth. No – this is like a summer mist, when the sun is peeking out just so behind a distant cloud, and the light of it causes the very air to glimmer as if fairy dust has been strewn over the sky. Every droplet is a rainbow to itself, shimmering and dancing as it falls, and you decide to forgo an umbrella and coat because it's warm and you want to dance in it, too.
Sil feels like that, as Finnick's lips curve over hers.
Falling silent with subtle surprise, she stares at him. His eyes are closed, and he's kissing her gently, almost so gently that his lips feel efflorescent against her own, barely there and wonderful. When he pauses, opens his eyes to look at her, and then leans in to kiss her deeper, Sil's eyelids flutter and she finds herself kissing him back without permission. But once she starts, she cannot stop.
Finnick groans softly and pushes himself onto his elbows, rolling over her without breaking the kiss. The change of position only serves to deepen it even more, and before long he is kissing her hard and pressing her body into the mattress with the weight of his own.
Their hands tangle together beside her head, fingers entwined. The kiss turns hungry, possessive almost. Sil moans a little when his tongue darts out to rub against hers, and the sound seems to make him crazy. It's a beautiful crazy. A powerful one. She could get lost in this kiss just as desperately as she gets lost in him on a daily basis, and yet it's so much more dangerous than usual, for so many reasons.
Reasons that, at this moment, Sil forgets. She tangles her hand into his hair and pulls him closer, moaning again when he drags her bottom lip into his mouth and sucks at it, his teeth scraping sinfully over her with just the right amount of force. Her touch falls to his shoulder, then his arm, and she clutches at his muscled bicep shamelessly.
She barely remembers to breathe when his touch drifts over her, too, palming down her side with a diligence that makes her chest heave from the want. He grasps her waist, her hip, pulls her thigh up to nestle himself more comfortably against her. He hums against her mouth and they both wonder why they've never done this before.
To be honest, the kiss is a little messier than she'd expect from the smooth Finnick Odair, but she's not bothered by it. She can only lose herself in the tides between them, which seem to shorten at every moment – until suddenly Finnick lets out a strangled sort of sound and stops moving.
His head rolls to the side, resting on her shoulder. Sil's expression crests into confusion as she blinks over at him…only to find that he's passed out on her.
"…Finnick?" she hesitantly asks, nudging him. He doesn't move. Doesn't even make a sound.
"Gracious," she whispers to herself, and carefully extricates herself from his dead weight, which is suddenly crushing her. "Well that worked a little too well…" she mutters, and sighs.
Of course the drugs would take effect just when he'd started kissing her like that…
She has the worst luck.