Ocean Eyes - Finnick Odair

Nine

TW: short mention of suicide and forced prostitution

Finnick stirs from his sleep first. After their private sessions the previous day, their scores were announced. Cashmere, Gloss, Brutus and, Enobaria scored exceptionally high alongside Marissa and Finnick but, Katniss and Peeta were assigned a score of twelve. They are the first to ever receive a score of twelve and, Marissa and Finnick are sure it is just to put bigger targets on their back. The couple had gone to bed swiftly after, neither of them discussing the outcomes of their scores other than the potential sponsors they may have gained.

Marissa is still sleeping, her head tucked safely into the crook of Finnick's neck. She had awoken from a nightmare in the middle of the night, strangled sobs escaping her throat and tears streaming down her face. Finnick struggled to calm her down but, when she finally started to take deep breaths and tangled her fingers into his hair, she had hidden her face in his shoulder and eventually fallen back to sleep. So, he lets her lie in for a change. Today is the only day they have completely to themselves. Tomorrow they have their interviews and, the day after that they will be thrown back into the arena.

Finnick gently begins to braid Marissa's red hair but, his movement disturbs her sleep. A soft groan leaves her lips and, she cuddles closer to Finnick's side, a smile playing on her face when his arms wrap securely around her waist. She savours the feeling of his arms around her knowing that, even with the extra safety they are being granted by Plutarch in the arena, either one of them could meet their end soon.

"Morning, love," Finnick whispers. His voice is thick, hoarse from having only woken up a few moments prior but, Marissa thinks it is unbelievably attractive.

"Hi," she replies quietly. She finally opens her eyes and, the golden boy laughs as her eyelashes tickle the skin of his neck.

"Are you feeling better now?" Finnick queries, his fingertips tracing shapes onto the skin exposed where her T-shirt has ridden up in her sleep.

"Much better," Marissa promises him. "I'm sorry I woke you up. I was being silly."

"Mari, you weren't being silly. You were upset and, I don't care that you woke me up," Finnick responds, his tone almost forceful. "I'd rather you wake me up when you're upset than have you suffering alone."

"You're too good for me."

"I think you'll find I'm too good for everyone," Finnick teases, snickering at his own words and, she rolls her eyes. She tries to turn away from him, but his arms tighten around her, holding her in place as he begins to pepper kisses along her jaw and down her neck. Her breath hitches, her hand grabbing a hold of his bicep and, he pauses. "Is this okay?"

Marissa nods and her boyfriend continues, smirking as his lips brush over particularly sensitive parts of her skin and her grip on his arm tightens but, he does not kiss her any further down than her collarbones. Marissa and Finnick, as often as they make out and tease each other, rarely ever make love. After years of prostitution for the Capitol, the act brings up uncomfortable memories for both of them. Especially Marissa.

Neither of them are particularly bothered by this predicament. They find that cuddling is much more intimate than sex. So, after a while of Finnick kissing Marissa, smiling proudly at every gasp that escaped her lips, he rests his head on her chest and closes his eyes.

"What do you want to do today?" Marissa asks him, fiddling with his bronze curls. He has a small smile tugging on his lips, her hands in his hair giving him a sense of bliss.

"We could sneak some food onto the roof," Finnick suggests. "A rooftop picnic?"

"It's a shame we can't throw ourselves off it," Marissa jokes, referring to the forcefield that prevents any tributes from committing suicide. "It would save us from a lot of hassle."