A/N: This chapter contains the first very detailed smut scene in this story, so feel free to skip the flashback entirely.

Chapter Sixteen | A sea whose depth cannot be found.

"My ears have not yet drunk a hundred words

Of thy tongue's uttering, yet I know the sound."

2.2, 10-11 Romeo and Juliet, Shakespeare

It's strange. Elara's been with so many people, she can't keep track of them anymore. She is no longer the innocent young girl who hadn't known anything about the intricacies of sex. She has far more experience in this particular art than most, and yet she still feels like every encounter with Gloss is a new one. It's as if she's never before seen his body or touched his skin or felt the strange mixture of comfort and joy when he slides into her. She thinks maybe she's being a little too sentimental when she thinks of his body as home, but a part of her just can't help herself. He feels more like home than anything else does, at this point. When she's with him, she forgets how terrible her life is.

She'd like to think that the feeling goes both ways. His eyes are always so soft when he takes her, as if he thinks she's delicate and pure even though they both know she's not. Sometimes he's extremely gentle with her, so gentle that his touch is a mere caress that seems to transcend the limitations of human flesh. Other times he's rougher, wilder, but that's different, too. It isn't the same roughness that she experiences with clients, because even when he's rough, he's also gentle at the same time. It's a paradox she's only beginning to make sense of and a contradiction that she can't get enough of.

Maybe it's just him. She's never felt such passion for someone before, not like she feels for him. His body is addicting, like a drug. She could touch him all day, run her hands over his brawny chest and spin desire into his skin, and even after being fully sated, she still wants him. She's starting to figure out why, but the thought frightens her so much that she hasn't yet had the courage to face the truths of her own heart.

It's easier not to. Easier to pretend that the relationship they share is sexual only. That it doesn't mean anything else and never will.

He buries his face against her stomach, sighing out as his arm winds around her thigh and his hand slips over her hip. They've gotten comfortable with each other, so much so that it's nothing at all to hold each other like this. There is an intimacy behind their embraces that goes far beyond physical desire. At least, it does for her.

She runs her fingers through his hair and closes her eyes as she catches her breath. Her body is still smarting from the climax he had just spun through her, and her skin feels ultra sensitive. She can't hold back her shiver as he turns his head and kisses her hip, sighing out against her as if he's never felt more at peace than he does right now, in this moment, wrapped up in sheets and her.

She's never experienced this brand of pleasure. Her clients take but do not give. Gloss does the opposite. He seems to enjoy watching her unravel just as much as he enjoys being inside of her. It's another conundrum that she wouldn't have expected from him in the beginning, when she thought that he was just a merciless Career with no heart. She had been so black and white back then. She hadn't realized that Victors, no matter who they are or where they come from, are a breed all to themselves.

She sees Gloss differently now. He is no longer the golden Adonis of District 1, untouchable and flawless, beloved by the Capitol for being the killer who had made his Games so dramatic and inspiring. He is so much more than just that. He is haunted by his deeds, haunted by what he had done in the arena, by the deaths he had committed. He's no different from any other Victor, really, who bitterly regrets actions that were made in order to survive. Can he really be blamed for those actions? She doesn't know, but she does know that she won't be his judge.

She's different now, too. Years of this life have changed her, altered her with such permanence that she knows she can never go back to being the person she was before. The innocence she had, even after winning her Games, is gone. She has experienced too much to ever hope to reclaim her old self. She is okay with that, though, for the most part. At least, she's okay with it when Gloss is in her arms, reminding her in so many silent ways that she is not as alone as she sometimes thinks she is.

"Mmm…don't stop," he murmurs, voice muffled against the flat planes of her stomach. She's currently clawing her way through his hair, fingers tangled up in the light brown strands as her nails gently push and pull at his scalp. She's learned a lot about his body in the last few years of their clandestine affair. She's learned that he loves it when she kisses his neck and that when she bites his collarbone, he goes wild. She's learned that even if he's spent and satisfied, if she starts massaging his body it makes him hard and hungry for her all over again. She's learned that when she runs her fingers through his hair, he all but purrs like a cat and turns into a shivering mess.

With a soft chuckle, Elara continues her actions, massaging the pads of her fingers over his scalp and enjoying the softness of his hair and the deep, pleased sighs that he rewards her with.

"You're like a little kitten," she tells him, voice rife with teasing and humor. The effeminate choice of words makes him raise his body to glower up at her, apparently not appreciating her teasing tone.

"I dare you to say that again," he mutters, spearing her with a challenging gaze that she should probably take heed of. Neither of them is particularly surprised when she doesn't.

With an evil smirk, Elara murmurs, "A purring, happy little – mmph! Gloss! St-stop – "

She collapses into laughter as he starts tickling her, fingers spinning over her skin relentlessly. She tries to catch his hands, but he overpowers her as easily as breathing, and she can do nothing but try to kick him off of her as she gasps around her laughter.

"Th-this isn't fair - !" she laughs, squealing and trying to roll over and away from him. But he just catches her, pinning her down underneath him as he crawls up her body, and for a split second Elara is completely amazed at how comfortable they are with each other. The second passes though, when he continues his torturing with renewed vigor.

She grapples with his hands and exclaims, "Okay, okay – I take it back – "

He smirks victoriously and stops, sitting on top of her with a hum and drawling, "You take it back?"

Elara chuckles, entangles her fingers with his, and nods, "You're more like a lion anyway."

He rolls his eyes at her and squeezes her fingers for a moment, before lifting their hands up and shoving them over her head. He lowers himself down over her body and growls, "And you always have to have the last word."

She smirks up at him and shrugs. Her eyes flicker over his face and linger on his lips as she whispers, "Is that such a bad thing?"

He watches her, fingers tangled, body stretched out below his, staring at him with that astounding desire that always takes his breath away. With a small smile, he murmurs, "Not always."

She chuckles and brings her leg up, wrapping it around his waist and pressing him against her until he's nestled between her thighs. Then, with a voice full of mischief, she wonders, "Shall I make my lion roar?"

Gloss raises a sarcastic eyebrow at her, but he can't deny that there's something innately appealing to her words. Maybe it's the way she's referring to him as hers, as if he belongs to her. Maybe he likes that a little more than he should.

"That was so cringeworthy, Winston," he mutters to her, resurrecting the usage of her last name, which he rarely says these days. Lately, he's found that he much prefers calling her Elara, and watching the various types of shivers that overcome her body when he uses different tones to say her name.

She laughs and licks her lips idly. His eyes dart down to her mouth as she whispers, "Let me up."

He's half temped to ignore her. He quite likes this position, half captured by her leg and welcomed against her body like this. He likes the taut stretch of her underneath him and the way her warm skin feels against his. He's not sure he wants to move.

Elara huffs at him and untangles her fingers from him to lay her hand against his chest. With a gentle push, she says, "I promise it'll be worth your while."

He grunts and finally allows her to have her way. Lately, he's been letting her do whatever she wants with him. He can't deny that there's something very compelling about handing over the control to her. He's found that he usually enjoys it far more than he expects to.

As he settles back into the pillows, Elara pulls herself over his body and leans down to kiss him. Their lips melt against each other, warm and slow, as if they haven't kissed each other in weeks. It isn't true – they've spent the whole night kissing and touching and loving, and they'll probably spend tomorrow night in a similar state because they're both free and don't have any other commitments.

He loves how she rests her whole body against his, surrendering her weight to him and pushing him down into the pillows. There's something so arousing about it and it shows in the way his body hardens against her, his length pressing up against her thigh. A little shift of her hips ensures that it soon rests against the crevice of her clit, and the heat of her makes him groan. He reaches for her hips to drag her down against him, grinding himself against her body as he lays prone beneath her. When she leans back to continue his efforts, circling her hips over him, Gloss inhales raggedly and clenches his fingers around her flesh tightly.

"Worth my while?" he prompts, reaching between them to grasp his hardened cock. He sweeps it against her, dipping into her wet slit and watching as her eyes flutter with pleasure.

Elara has other plans for him, though. She knocks his hand away and replaces it with her own, wrapping her fingers around his girth and thumbing her way up the length of him. He has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep his moan from spilling out.

"You're so impatient," she teases him, flicking her thumb over his tip and enjoying the way he shivers beneath her as a result. He glowers at her from the pillows, both loving and hating her teasing. He wants to be inside of her, to feel her heat clench down around him, to thrust deeply into her core. It's only a temporary way of marking her as his, but the thought of filling her like that is far more appealing than anything he can think of in this moment. He wants to make her his, even if only for tonight.

"Elara…" he growls, flexing his fingers around her hips. She's right: he is impatient. Can he really be blamed? He's got a beautiful woman sitting on top of him, utterly naked and aroused because of him and him alone. He'd be a fool not to want her.

But she doesn't bring him inside of her like he yearns for her to do. Instead, she kisses his chest, flicks her tongue over his skin as she makes her way down his body. She takes her time exploring the dip of his muscles and the planes of his stomach, even though she's already memorized him a long time ago. She doesn't rush her way down to his cock, though that is the obvious trajectory of her path as she blazes a trail down his hip with her mouth. She's slow and careful and so thorough that it takes his breath away and turns him into an aroused mess as he watches her. By the time she arrives at her destination, he's so hard that he feels like he might burst at any second.

It isn't just her touch that inspires such desire to blossom through him; it's the way she touches him. Her lips are a cadence of passion that far surpasses physical lust. She is almost lyrical in her want of him. He's never been kissed with such desire or worshipped with such devotion. When she turns her eyes to his, the sheer reverence in her gaze makes him groan just from seeing it there, in the crease of those blue eyes.

No, it isn't just her touch. It's every emotion that he feels behind it.

When she wraps her lips around his cock, he completely loses it. He groans again, her name set in the low tones of his desire, and reaches to sweep the curtain of her hair out of her face. He wants to watch her devour him, wants to see more of that beautiful emotion in her eyes, as if she isn't merely touching him but rather paying homage to whatever it is that shudders through the air between them.

"Elara," he murmurs, tangling his fingers into her hair and locking eyes with her. The sweep of mischief in them makes him exhale sharply, jaw clenching around the desire that he seems to have no control over. When it comes to her, he can't control any of his desires. It seems that they go haywire, spiraling off into the unknown before he can ever get a handle on them.

She takes as much of him into her mouth as she can and wraps her fingers around the base of him. With every upward shift of her lips, she drags her hand up too. Her tongue flattens over his tip and spins back down the ridges of his skin, lapping over him until she takes him back into the heat her mouth and starts all over again.

When she traces her fingers over his anatomy further down, massaging her touch against him, Gloss grits his teeth as his hips shudder into her. His fingers clench down into her hair and he can't stop his moan from bursting into existence. She's become very comfortable with his body and he loves it, but right now it's almost torturous. He wants to come so badly but he doesn't want to do it here and now.

"Damn it Elara for fuck's sake – " he starts, and she pulls away to chuckle.

"That's pretty apt," she purrs, hot breath wavering over him. "For fuck's sake, I mean." She chuckles again and he glowers at her, pulling her face against him impatiently because she can't just stop, damn it.

With a glare, Gloss grinds out, "You're too fucking good at this."

She smiles, kissing the tip of him with mischievous intent and then sweeping her hand firmly up his cock. She watches him shiver into the mattress and loves every second of it. Seeing him in this state, helpless almost, is astoundingly erotic to her. Knowing that she is responsible for it, that he's letting her have her way even though he could overpower her at any moment – it's addicting. And, to add to her pleasure, his compliment is very appealing to her. Not that she can't already see that he's enjoying her touch, but there's something very delicious hearing him say it out loud.

"Do you want me to fuck you?" she murmurs lowly, catching his eye as she hovers over him. He shivers again – God, it's a beautiful sight – and clenches his jaw so hard that it almost looks like he's angry with her. But she knows that it isn't anger shuddering over his face. No, it's something much more enchanting.

With a glower that only makes him more attractive to her, Gloss growls, "Should I say please and thank you?" His sarcastic tone makes her laugh.

She pushes her hand up his hip, smoothing her fingers over his side on her path back up his body. As she nestles herself back over him and leans down to kiss him, she playfully whispers, "Only if you want to." Their lips brush together just barely, and she shuffles her hips over him until she feels his cock against her heat.

He growls at her again, but doesn't say anything at all when he reaches for his length. She doesn't need him to say anything. Gloss isn't really the 'please and thank you' type of person, and she's already teased him enough for now. As he lines himself up to her, she pushes her body back to take him into her and closes her eyes as she feels him stretch out her inner walls.

He watches her as she takes him. There's just something about her expression whenever he fills her like this. Something so addicting that he can never look away from her face when he pushes his cock as far into her as he can. It's like she's never felt so at peace than she does when they become one. Like she's lost every other second of the day, and the only time she feels complete is when she has him buried deep inside of her.

He can relate to that feeling. Being inside of her makes him feel like he's whole, too, as if she's a sanctuary that's his and his alone.

He knows it isn't true. They don't really belong to each other, not truly. If anything, they are merely a small haven of comfort that never lasts beyond the confines of these four walls. In public they are strangers at worst, friends at best, but never really together. Not like this. Not in any way that matters.

She moves over him like a wave, undulating to the tempo of his thrusts as he grapples with her hips and presses up to meet her. He doesn't seem to know where to look, what part of her to watch. Every part of her is beautiful.

He drags one arm over her waist and brings her down against him, enjoying the feeling of her breasts pillowing out over his chest. She buries her face into his neck as he holds her in place, pinning her against him. Then, moving both his hands down to firmly grasp her ass, he pivots his hips into her with an almost angry intent, filling her with hard thrusts that turns her into a gasping, keening mess against him. She raises herself up a little, pushing her elbows on either side of his head to give him more momentum, and moans his name loudly with such passion that he swears he's never heard a more appealing sound in his life.

This is what being with her feels like: it's like coming home after an excruciatingly long, tiring day. Like being rejuvenated so completely that he can't even remember how exhausted he had been, before, or how much abuse he has endured at the hands of the Capitol, or how lonely he is sometimes, when the nights are long and endless and his nightmares play out horrific memories that he wishes he could erase. It's like sitting in the sunlight of District 1, back before he had foolishly volunteered for the very thing that has ruined his life so irrevocably. It's like feeling warm in a world that is cold, like feeling wanted for more than the person he pretends to be when he's in public and has to act a certain way. It's like feeling loved even though he knows he doesn't deserve it, after what he's done and the lives he's taken, but somehow he does and – he doesn't really understand why, but he can't bring himself to turn away from it.

"Gloss, mmm…Gloss," she moans, her voice nearly a whisper of sound, so soft and beautifully reverent that he changes his mind. This is the most beautiful sound he's ever heard. This quiet, worshipful sound that leaves her lips and sequesters itself against his skin. This harrowingly exquisite sound that makes him moan and hold her tighter and turn his head to watch her expression as he feels her clench around him and come.

Her face is a masterpiece of passion. She breaks for him, locking her eyes with his as if she's transmitting herself into him in just the same manner as he's doing to her. This equality, this reciprocity that shudders through their connected bodies – it's unlike anything he's ever experienced. It's an ocean of give and take, an even exchange of something that he still can't quite define, but isn't so mysterious to him anymore. It's the edge of something that should frighten him, but he's far too gone in the depths of his own passions to question it, or to wonder why it seems to bridge the gap between their bodies in such a potent way.

He spills himself into her with a low moan, muffled against her neck as she cranes her body over his. For several astoundingly perfect seconds, his hips shudder against hers. Release overpowers him, and he can do nothing but surrender to the pull of it. He can hardly breathe around the enormity of this feeling, and even when their bodies slowly cease and she lays down on top of him with a deep sigh, Gloss can only lay there and hold her against him as if she is a lifeline that he hadn't known he needed.

Neither of them says anything as they lay there. After several lengthy minutes pass them by, Elara turns her head and kisses his jaw languidly. She starts to roll off of him but he doesn't let her, and merely holds her tighter as their legs tangle together.

She chuckles. "You know I can't stay much longer," she murmurs against him. She's already stayed nearly the whole night. Dawn is fast approaching, and sleep has been entirely optional. They needed this. It's been several weeks since they'd last seen each other.

But she's right. She can't stay. Sometimes they're able to get away with slow mornings and breakfasts and sleeping in till noon, but this morning they both have busy schedules. He has a big photoshoot with one of the more upscale companies in the city, and she has an interview. She needs to make sure she gets a little sleep for that, otherwise the magazine that is interviewing her will have a field day with all their speculations.

Gloss only hums sleepily and drags a warm, callused hand up her back. He tangles his fingers into the back of her hair and turns her face to his, leaning in to kiss her. Their lips move effortlessly, like the softest hint of a breeze.

"Stay a little longer," he whispers against her mouth, and rolls them over so that they're side by side, wrapped up in the warmth of the other's body.

She sighs out contentedly. "…Just a little…" she breathes, wrapping her arm around his back and hooking a leg over his waist. She nestles herself against him and tilts her lips back to his, pressing chaste kisses over his mouth.

This. It's beautiful. And she thinks, as she lays there in the protection of his arms, that if she was ever allowed to love someone, it would be him.

It would be him.

"What the hell are you doing?" Amelia asks, standing at the entrance of the gated garden that spans the side of their house. She's staring at her sister with cautious eyes. Her expression is slightly horrified.

Elara looks over at her and rolls her eyes. "What do you think I'm doing, you brat?" she demands, and pulls out another tall tuft of grass that's overgrowing throughout the entire space. There's already a tall pile of them next to her kneeling form and she's barely a quarter of the way finished.

Alright, she'll admit that she isn't much of a gardener. She's planted a few things here and there in the summer months. Some tomatoes and cucumbers and other vegetables, mainly. Actually tending to the garden isn't something she necessarily enjoys though. It's been far too long since she's gone out to weed. Amelia had probably forgotten that there were even plants in here to begin with.

"You look like you've been rolling around the dirt," Amelia deadpans, crossing her arms. It's misting very lightly, which is pretty normal for District 5. The weather around here is usually damp and wet.

Elara glowers at her and quips, "Well if you actually did something besides tagging buildings with your damned graffiti, I wouldn't have to get this dirty."

It's a slightly round about thing to say, she'll admit that. It's just that she'd recently gotten another notice from Amelia's school, informing her that she's been failing several of her classes and hadn't even bothered showing up for a few days in a row while Elara was in the Capitol. She's aggravated at the girl for being so irresponsible. She can't keep doing this. If she keeps getting into trouble, something is bound to happen. Elara isn't sure her reputation as a Victor will be able to fix everything, especially considering how Amelia's teachers seem to be disregarding it more than not lately.

Amelia raises an eyebrow at the frustrated tone of Elara's voice. She shrugs offhandedly and says, "I do plenty of things. You're just not around to see it. You're in the Capitol all the time."

Her voice is matter-of-fact, but it only annoys Elara that much more. The subject of her Capitol summons always puts her in a bad mood, especially right after she returns from one of her prolonged visits. She glares at Amelia and snaps, "Get your head out of your ass, Amelia. You know I can't keep saving you forever – "

Amelia cuts her off with a surprisingly vindictive, "Seriously?! You're not around often enough to keep me out of trouble, Elara. You're gone all the time, fucking around with random men – "

"It's not like I asked for this life!" Elara shouts, standing up in the middle of the garden and glaring at her sister with furious eyes. Amelia only glares right back, just as furious.

"What the hell do you want from me?" she demands, grasping the iron gate with white knuckles.

Elara laughs cutting and shrugs, "Oh I don't know. Maybe for you to grow the fuck up and stop tagging buildings and skipping school like a child. You're eighteen years old, Amelia. When I was your age – "

"You're gonna play the age card with me?" Amelia sneers. "When you were my age you were a goddamned mess. You're have absolutely no right to pretend like you're my mother. Our mom is dead, and it's your FUCKING FAULT!"

Elara jerks back like she's been slapped and stares at Amelia with shocked eyes. Her heart lurches in her chest. The truth of her words is astoundingly clear and almost concrete. They feel like solid weights that hang around Elara's neck like a curse she can't get rid of. It's a truth that she's carried with her for years, blaming herself for their parent's deaths because she couldn't have just said yes the first time Snow asked her to sell her body to strangers in order to fund his great city. She just had to pretend that she still had some free will. That she had control over what she did and didn't so. What a joke it is. She has no more free will than a dog on a leash.

Amelia deflates after her shout, turning her eyes to the ground as if she feels somewhat bad for the words that had risen so quickly to her lips. If she could take them back, she would. But like a festering wound, they hang in the air between them and only grow in strength as the silence continues its unrelenting passage.

"…Elara, I – " she begins to say, but Elara just laughs and shakes her head.

It's a humorless sound. Painful almost. She stares at the cluster of weeds she's still gripping in her hand and tosses them to the ground. Her eyes have turned expressionless and dull. It's a sight that Amelia is somewhat used to seeing, and it isn't one that she likes.

Her sister is a ghost. She's not the same person she used to be, before she was Reaped into the system that has taken everything from her. She's been stripped her away and left as a husk of who she was before. She's gone half the time, catering to the whims of that system, doing indescribable things that makes Amelia sick to her stomach. And she does blame her, a little, for the deaths of their parents, but she understands too. She knows that she is the reason Elara goes to the Capitol so often. She knows that if Elara refuses again, then she'll be the next target.

"I'm going to the dock," Elara says, and ducks her head as she passes Amelia on her way out of the garden. Amelia doesn't try to stop her. She just watches her walk away and frowns.

The sister she used to know died when their parents died. The sister she is left with is this broken creature made of dirt and mud. There's only one thing that puts a familiar spark into Elara's eyes. Only one person who can make her smile with the same sense of self that she used to possess, back when she was happy and confident and ordinary. But he isn't here, and he never has been, and he never will be. Gloss Augustine is as much broken as Elara Winston is. Maybe that's why they work so well together – because combined, their broken souls resemble something a little more complete.