Fic: Moonlit Lullaby (The Hunger Games)

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Title: Moonlit Lullaby
Characters/Pairings: Finnick/Annie
Rating: R
Warnings: Implied sex, hints of unwilling prostitution (nothing that isn't in the books). Not betaed
Genre: Romance/Angst
Word-count: 397
A/N: I still need to finish 70% of the Christmas-prompts, but inspiration just hit me. I do so love this couple
Disclaimer: If I owned these books, let's just say the ending would have been a lot different
Summary: He holds Annie close in a worn-down house on the edge of the cliffs, the ocean in view from the window and a draft that kills seeping in through the cracks.

He’s watching her sleep. It’s comforting, when he wakes from the nightmares and finds he isn’t in the Arena or in the Capitol with some blue-skinned rich kid who’s bought their way into his pants.

No, he’s home, with her lying in his bed, naked except for the sheet hiding her form, a steady rise and fall of her chest a sure sign that she is still alive. She mumbles something he can’t hear and giggles and he hopes she’s thinking of last night.

Last night of skin sliding against skin and heated kisses and whispered promises. He’s oh, so good at the sweet-talk, but he tries not to, because he’s always scared these days, scared that she’ll think she’s nothing more than all the people in Capitol, out to have something to brag about. I did Finnick Odair. In a bed, on a chair, right there on the floor.

He holds Annie close in a worn-down house on the edge of the cliffs, the ocean in view from the window and a draft that kills seeping in through the cracks. He lets his mouth glide over her face and arms and stomach in this pathetic excuse for a home, and he sweet-talks (though he tries not to) and she smiles and whispers, words with no meaning except for his name, and she tells him, in those moments were there is a frightening clarity in her eyes that he always makes her happy.

He’s pretty sure that’s the only reason he can stand himself these days. If someone like him can make someone like her smile – can make someone like her want to be sane again, then he can’t possibly be that bad.

It’s not enough when he’s in the Capitol, but it becomes enough as soon as he’s back here.

He’s watching her sleep with an arm thrown over her, pressing her close against his chest. He’s watching her sleep with the soft strands of her hair sliding against his collarbone, tickling as it moves when her breath hits it. He’s watching her sleep while it’s dark, but he doesn’t need light to see Annie Cresta, just as he doesn’t need to have his eyes open to see the vivid, flashing images of the people he’s killed.

She giggles again, still asleep and he’s just grateful that after this, there won’t be another nightmare. Not tonight.