THE MEETING WITH HAYMITCH AND THE OTHERS LASTED ONLY TWENTY MINUTES— BUT THERE WAS STILL A DECISION TO BE MADE. Finnick dragged Drea back to his room after, to talk things over, but Drea really didn't see that there was anything to talk about, other than strategy. She was already decided. She was going along with the plan to save Katniss no matter what.
And of course, Finnick agreed, because who wouldn't? Not only was it a miniscule glimmer of hope for their own suvival (if everything went exactly according to plan, they'd be rescued), but it was also a chance to stick it to the Capitol, to destroy everything they'd built— a chance no one had gotten in seventy five years.
According to Haymitch, she and Finnick would be the ones closest to Katniss and Peeta, so a lot of the plan to save Katniss rested on their shoulders. That is, if Katniss even accepted them as allies... Haymitch assured them that wouldn't be an issue, but Drea wasn't so sure.
So Drea and Finnick's conversation did not last long, especially since they dozed off in the middle of it. In a cold sweat, Drea woke hours later in the dead of night swadled in the blankets on Finnick's bed, the man himself asleep just inches away.
Watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest calmed Drea's racing heart, though her thoughts still ran rampant. The darkness of the night forced a tough reality down her throat— the reality that just because there was a chance didn't guarantee they'd survive. In fact, their chances of survival were even smaller now that they'd have to protect Katniss, give their lives for her if it came down to it, and she would surely be on the top of some of the other victors' kill lists...
Drea had long since accepted the fact she probably wasn't going to make it out, but her entire being rebelled against the idea of having to lose Finnick. They hadn't been as close as they once were in a long time, but she had loved him all those years ago— she'd loved him so much... And perhaps a large part of her still did.
FIVE YEARS AGO
PRIOR TO THE 70TH HUNGER GAMES
As much as they both loved the ocean, the heat, and the sun, under the moon is where Finnick and Drea thrived. That's where they were that night, a few weeks out from Reaping Day, which was just barely far enough out from it that Drea wasn't forced to constantly think about it. She and Finnick would be mentors together this year, though they were only nineteen, only a year older than the oldest a tribute could be.
But that day was weeks from then, and ever since her Victory Tour ended around six months ago, Drea had gotten to actually move on a little bit and somewhat enjoy being a simple nineteen year old, one helplessly in love with the lean, tan-skinned boy that had been by her side for the last year.
Drea wasn't necessarily good at hiding it either. Her best friend, Annie, teased her a lot for the goo-goo eyes she constantly made when Finnick was around. What Annie always told her but Drea never believed was that Finnick looked at her the same way.
Her chest as warm as the damp sand beneath her, Drea sat at the edge of the waves, her toes in the sand and her knees drawn to her chest. Her laugh was as light as air, her eyes shining as she watched Finnick dance around in the waves before her, trying to catch a fish with his bare hands.
He could have caught one ages ago with his trident, but he continued the silly game simply because it made Drea laugh.
"You'd think someone whose lived in the water their entire life would know how to do this," Drea chuckled, grinning at him.
Finnick gave her a fake glare before he dove in the water suddenly, creating a large splash. He thrashed around in the water for a moment before reappearing with a sheepish look on his face.
"I almost had that one," he swore.
Drea laughed some more and Finnick eventually gave up, stumbling through the waves and collapsing onto the sand next to her, all gorgeous and glistening in the moonlight. His hair still dripped with saltwater, but it was starting to curl already, the water in it sparkling under the moon.
Once he was comfortable on the sand next to her, Finnick turned and lifted his hand to his chest, sticking something there. Drea frowned: "A starfish?"
After a moment, Finnick managed to suction the starfish to his wet chest, right over his heart. He smiled that charming, boyish grin of his and leaned toward her. "For you."
Drea giggled slightly and peeled the starfish off his chest, her eyes flickering up to his the closer they got to each other. Finnick's smile didn't fade, watching her inspect the starfish in her palm. If anything, his eyes went softer, his heart a little more tender, his love for her spreading like a wildfire.
Nothing he'd ever experienced matched what he felt for the girl in front of him— the girl who had lost so much, who had hurt so much. He'd do anything for her at that point, and they'd only known each other for a little less than a year.
When Drea turned, the glint in her eye threw him off. It was mischevious and playful and really pretty— then again, she was always pretty—
The starfish made a small splash when Drea tossed it back into the water. She grinned at Finnick and he dropped his jaw in faux hurt, pretending to be offended. "I can't believe you did that."
"It belongs in the water, Finnick," she giggled.
"I gave it to you!"
"I know..." She smiled softly at his dramatics."Is there anyway I can make it up to you?" she tried.
Finnick turned his nose upwards and away from her, playing into the melodramatics. "I don't know... My heart is broken, Drea, truly," he sighed.
Drea gently pulled on his arm, her touch on his skin enough to send fires throughout his body. "Finnick, please..." She poked her bottom lip out and gave him her best puppy-dog eyes.
Finnick softened, but kept up his act. "I don't think you'll ever be able to make it up to me."
An idea flickered behind Drea's eyes, and her gaze dropped to his lips. "Can't I try?"
She lightly touched his chin with her fingertips, leading his face to hers, her eyes, round and dark, glimmering and curious, cautious, searching his for any sign to stop...
And when Finnick gave her none, Drea kissed him. Finnick melted against her instantly, his lips tasting like the sea and feeling like heaven. Their kiss was soft and sweet at first, shallow like the waves lapping at their feet, testing the waters. But just like the ocean that was home to them both, the longer they pushed and pulled the deeper they got, the further out they got strung along.
Drea's skin felt like hot fire everywhere Finnick touched— her cheek, her neck, her shoulder. His hand slipped beneath the soft sleeve of her cotton shirt and slid along her skin easily, under her bicep and pulling her closer. He cradled her like she was precious seafoam, his touch delicate but with intent.
One of Drea's hands splayed across his chest when he pulled her closer, but the other remained firmly tucked into his hair. The air was hot between them, their breath mixing, eyes closed in the bliss of the moment. Finnick kissed her like she was air, his lips sticking to hers like the sand on their skin.
And Drea couldn't help it. She tugged him in further, over and over, until she finally gave in and found herself straddling his lap. He was still wet from his fishing attempts and sand stuck to their skin in weird places, but neither of them cared because all they knew in that moment, all they could think of was each other. Drea, with her eyes like obsidian, shining above him in the moonlight— and Finnick, with his arms wrapped around her waist, his hands too respectful to dip much lower.
They moved in sync, bodies rocking into their flurry of kisses like they were made to, hands sliding and gently moving over shoulders, jawlines, cheekbones. He was like a drug, silently addictive, in the way his body moved and his lips kissed, in the way his lips parted in a soft pant when their lungs no longer cooperated with their desires. Drea was sick to her stomach with him, the feeling he gave her so overpowering she felt as if she could keel over in any moment.
When she could bear it no longer, Drea unfurled her arms from around him and shed her soft cotton overshirt. Her skin was a cool-toned brown in the moonlight, but the hint of warmth was still there. Drea was warmth, she was the sun, she was home to him— and not even the moon could make him forget that.
Finnick's eyes danced all across her body for a moment, his pupils large and round so that there was only a thin ring of green left in his eyes. He kept his hands at her waist, and his thumb ran back and forth on her ribcage comfortingly— but Drea had never been like this to anyone before, never been so bare, so vulnerable. It welled in her throat, the urge to take it all back, to apologize for kissing him so abruptly, to say she hadn't meant it, though it would have been a lie— but he drew her into another kiss before she could, feeling her impending sentence fade on his tongue.
His lips trailed down her jaw to the column of her throat, kissing towards the dips of her collarbone, and Drea arched against him, her entire body buzzing with the feeling of him.
Finnick got lost very quickly— lost in the fervor that was Drea against him, Drea with her lips on his, Drea and her quiet sighs, Drea silhouetted against the moon, Drea, Drea, Drea.
"Finnick?" Her voice was so soft he almost didn't hear it.
She gently nudged his eyes up to hers by cupping his cheek and tilting his head that way. Finnick's mind spiraled until he was brought back to Earth, where his entire body had stiffened, his hands clenched on Drea's hips, his jaw tight. He hadn't even realized, but he'd shut down for a moment, lost in the feeling of her, in the feeling of this.
Sex was a tricky thing for Finnick. From the moment he turned sixteen years old, Snow had been parading him around like a prized cow, giving him away to whoever paid the right price, even though he'd been a child. So for years now, sex had been nothing but an exchange, an exchange Finnick had to comply with otherwise all the people he cared about would be killed— Drea now included— an exchange he'd tried to find an escape from but never, ever could.
Perhaps that's why he'd gotten so lost before, because of what Drea was actually giving him, something no one had ever given him before.
He was lost for a moment because he'd never really been in this position before, the position of choice.
And Drea knew. He'd never told her, but she knew. She knew from the way his hands bunched up into tight fists whenever he returned home from a visit to the Capitol, where on the news it announced some new lover he was courting. She knew from the way he flinched away from her on those days he got back, before eventually he settled into the realization that Drea didn't want to hurt him, that she would never hurt him. She knew from the achey-looking bruises that sat very visible on his neck and the scratches on his shoulders that made him wince with every small movement. She didn't know all of it, but she knew some.
That was why she stopped him— why she wanted him to come back to her, to shut off autopilot and realize what this was: a choice. And whatever he chose, she would respect it and she would honor it and she would love him, no matter what.
It was so good that she had, because Finnick wanted to be sure. He didn't want this to be an exchange, a simple build up of pleasure and then that was the end. He didn't want this to be another exchange— because Drea was different. She knew him and she loved him, not for how he looked or his reputation. No, she loved him in spite of all those things, in spite of his occasional arrogance, in spite of his guilty conscience, in spite of all his flaws.
And Finnick realized that's how this was supposed to feel. He wasn't supposed to feel trapped and smothered. He was supposed to feel passion, desire, love. He wanted to feel those things. He wanted to feel her, only her, for the rest of his life.
Gently, Finnick cupped the sides of Drea's face and brought her down to his lips, kissing her firmly but sweetly. Drea smiled against him, letting her eyes flutter shut as they delved into each other once more.
Fingers catching on the strap of her swim top, Finnick laid back in the sand and tugged her down with him, their lips never once breaking. It caught her off guard, though, nearly knocking her off balance and sending a little gasp to part her lips as she went to catch herself on his shoulder— but Finnick just chuckled which got her going, too. Then they were stealing each other's laughter, gentle, quiet, giddy laughter at the joy of just being there, being together.
For another moment, they stopped and opened their eyes, gazing at one another fondly, trying to commit every bit of the moment to memory. Finnick smiled wide, breathless, his hair a bronze halo around his head. Drea, sitting over him, framed by the moon still, with her eyes mirroring the night sky— black and shimmering with stars.
Finnick brushed a thumb over her cheek, his grin softening into more of a gentle smile this time. "Beautiful," he whispered, his voice surprisingly hoarse.
He brought her down to him, kissing every square inch he could reach— her lips, her cheeks, her nose, her jaw, her neck— all the while muttering sweet nothings onto her skin. Drea mulled over his words but could never stay focused for long, the desire in her stomach gnawing at her until she just gave up and asked. "Finnick?"
"Hmm?" he hummed against her collarbone. His fingers played with the tie of her swim suit.
"Kiss me again, please."
And he did.
｡･:*:･ﾟ★ ｡･:*:･ﾟ
THEIR FIRST DAY OF TRAINING WAS TO START AT A BRIGHT AND EARLY TEN O'CLOCK, but Drea didn't roll out of bed until 10:30. She didn't care about training— everyone knew it was a fluke if you learned anything in training that saved your life. And she'd already been through it once, why would she do it again?
Still, Finnick insisted, so they went and discovered that many of the other victors had the same mindset that they did, which was... What's the point?
Only about half of them bothered to show up at all, but the routine was just the same. Atala, the woman who ran the training, was still giving the spiel when Finnick and Drea showed up, telling them about all the stations and such.
Feeling like she needed a little breath of home, Drea spent most of her morning at the knot-tying station. Katniss must have remembered the trainer there because they kept up a friendly conversation, all while tying knots that were much too easy for Drea's skilled fingers. She abandoned the station when Finnick showed up and flirted with Katniss— which was one strategy, she guessed.
However, Drea had a different strategy for getting Katniss and Peeta on their side; she was simply going to ignore them.
Or rather, she was going to let them come to her. Katniss actually seemed averted to Finnick because of his forwardness, so Drea decided to play it a different way. She remembered what the first year of being a victor was like, and she was not apart of a star-crossed lover's crowd hit like they were. They probably didn't want to be around anyone who acted like they were big hits, who coddled them and praised them for their bravery and tragic story like the Capitol did.
Drea saw bits of herself in Katniss, too— the girl was a recluse. Haymitch had warned them she was steely, not quick to trust (rightfully so, Drea thought); she probably didn't even want allies, especially not any that danced around her like she was something special.
This strategy obviously worked, because after lunch, when Drea took up a spot at the fishing station, Katniss appeared next to her. They didn't talk at first, but it was Katniss who made the first comment.
"Is he always like that?" she asked, a slightly bitter edge to her voice.
Drea glanced up from her fishhook to see who she was talking about. "Who? Finnick?" she smiled, amused. The corners of her lips tilted upward, watching her district partner's attempt at shooting arrows nearby. "Always like what?"
"Always so... provocative," Katniss said, sounding digusted with herself for even thinking about it.
Drea chuckled. "Not always."
Katniss shook her head and continued to try and follow along with the trainer, who was showing them how to make a simple fishhook. "I don't believe you."
"Most people don't," Drea commented lightly, not paying any attention to the trainer and instead focusing on having fun— fun— making whatever she wanted. Drea could make fishhooks better than anyone in the room, save maybe Finnick. Her attention was really focused on Katniss, trying to get a feel for where she stood in the younger girl's mind.
A few minutes of silent work later, Katniss gave her her answer. "That was brave, what you did," she said quietly, not looking up from her fingers. "Volunteering for that girl."
Drea's lips quirked into another soft smile. "Call me inspired," she half-way joked.
An image of a pretty young girl with honey blonde hair and Katniss's eyes popped into her head— Primrose Everdeen, her sister. Maybe she and Katniss really were more alike than she'd orginally thought. "Annie is like my sister."
Katniss smiled, too, and Drea finished off her fishhook, before turning to look at Katniss's. "Do you want some help with that?"
And that was all they talked of things like that, much to both of their pleasure. The conversation was easy after the initial introduction, and Drea felt pretty good about her odds of getting Katniss to trust her, at least to a certain extent.
With Haymitch's plan, maybe it would be enough.
a/n:
another little glimpse into finnick and drea from before!
that night on the beach becomes very important, so don't forget it!
please don't be afraid to comment, vote, and share! I love hearing feedback from you guys! <3