Welcome to the sequel of The Sterling Nightingale! The epilogue has left us with Sil and Finnick boarding the train that will take them to District 4 to begin their lives together. Now, we will be exploring that life. I hope you all enjoy :)
Just to forewarn everyone: there will be multiple smutty scenes in this sequel.
Chapter One | Sailor, stop your roaming
District 4 is bustling. Sil has not met everyone in this district, nor does she expect to be on first name basis with every citizen here, but apparently your personal relationship with the occupants of this town does not matter when there is a celebration taking place, even if that celebration is in your honor.
She's gotten fairly used to the way things operate here. The open, friendly demeanor of the people are vastly different compared to what she is used to. In District 1, people keep to themselves. The city is far too sprawling and populated to be aware of everything that goes on with the neighbor's friend's cousins who live five blocks away. Not so here. Everyone knows everybody by name. And – everyone gets in involved whenever a wedding is held. It's almost as if the entire district stops running for a few days. People are eager for the chance to celebrate, and everyone knows who the bride and groom is. Complete strangers nod to her in the street whenever she leaves the cottage, sometimes stopping her to ask how the plans are evolving. Sil is always taken aback whenever this happens, though Finnick assures her that it's completely normal.
"It's a community," he tells her one night as they dress for bed. "And everyone loves a good party."
She can accept that. It's only that her idea of a wedding feast is vastly different from what everyone seems to be expecting. It surely doesn't last three whole days, and the honeymoon isn't supposed to be shared between the bridal pair and the entire district, interrupted by feasts and dancing that stretch on for weeks afterwards. She comes to the conclusion that the people here would do just about anything to sit back and celebrate. She doubts they'd even care what they were celebrating.
Sil huffs lightly as she walks passed a gathering of dock workers and merchants who have joined forces to construct the wedding bough that Finnick and her will stand under in only a few days. It looks like they're tipsy as they laughingly heave the structure into place. A few of the merchants stand back and loudly toss orders into the wind, voices peppered with such foul language that Sil nearly cringes. There's a bottle of some kind of alcohol propped up in the sand nearby. The unmarked bottle tells Sil that it's probably some of the homemade stuff that gets passed around the district like liquid gold.
She can huff at their antics all she likes, but in truth she finds these people rather endearing, in a strange way that she can't explain. This is not the polite socialite world of her youth. The people here do not fit into any generalization she has ever constructed, and sometimes she feels out of her depth in this new world. In many ways it is harsher and rougher than the one she's come from, and yet she finds herself falling for this district just as surely as ever. The people here love fiercely. Their loyalty is as strong as the oddly endearing way their children learn to curse before they can walk.
Her eyes hone in on one of the merchants in particular, and Sil makes a beeline for the beach. In the back of her mind, she thinks that the wedding will be nothing short of picturesque here on this stretch of sand with the ocean as their backdrop. However, her love of organization is not the reason she cuts across the sand with purposeful strides. The moment the men see her, they call out with loud, crass voices, greeting her in the very same rough-cut manner that Sil has grown somewhat accustomed to during her short reprieve here.
"What're you doing here, love?" one of the sailors asks, releasing his hold on the bough for a moment and getting a kick in the shin for the move as the whole thing begins to teeter backwards.
"She's here to reward us for our efforts!" one of them cackles. "A kiss for my labor, my sweet – gah!"
He gets shoved into the sand by another sailor, sprawling out over the beach with a hazy, drunken look in his eyes that makes Sil sigh. The sailor cusses something particularly foul at him and says, "Don't talk to the bride that way, you lecher. I've seen the way she punches."
Rolling her eyes, Sil turns to the nearest merchant and asks, "Is everything all set up?" She is not talking about the bough, but of something else entirely.
The man, an older fellow with greying hair and a cheerful dimpling face, chuckles, "As good as it's gonna get, missus. Everything's in working order at least. You'll 'ave to pretty it up a bit, but you'll have all the necessities."
A large smile splits across Sil's face. The men immediately shuffle in line, ogling the beaming way Sil stands there, hands on hips as she nods. There's something different about her, these days. Something far less orderly and far more relaxed. One of the sailors nudges another and loudly whispers, "She's gonna be holed up with Finn for days, doing unnatural things to him – "
"Unnatural?!" Sil exclaims, thoroughly amused by the word. "The only unnatural thing he's going to experience is the utter exhaustion that comes from not sleeping for several weeks."
The sentence makes the entire group loudly break into guffawing laughter as they suggestively eye each other, eyebrows waggling. One of them comes over to give Sil a smirk and offer her a drink from the bottle. She looks at it for a moment, then grabs the neck and tips in up, taking a generous sip. The men seem to love that, because they laugh uproariously.
As she swallows the homemade liquor, Sil loudly calls, "You had better not tell Finnick about any of this. It's a surprise."
The men snicker. One of them chuckles, "Our lips are sealed, love. For now."
That last addition makes Sil narrow her eyes. She glances at the merchant who helped her and haughtily asks, "What's the supposed to mean?"
He smiles widely and pats her on the back. "Oh, they'll keep your secret. Just make sure you lock the doors on yer wedding night unless you want shenanigans." The horrified look that enters Sil's face makes him laugh loudly and add, "It's tradition!"
Sil barks out a humorless laugh and grumbles, "Tradition! Honestly."
She storms off muttering to herself about this so-called tradition, ignoring the jeering laughter of the men behind her. This place will be the death of her.
"I've heard about not seeing the groom on the day of the wedding, but I didn't realize you people took it so seriously," Sil grumbles later on as she sits in Annie's kitchen and watches the very pregnant woman teeter around the counter, pushing a glass of water towards Sil. Annie laughs aloud at the petulant tone that Sil's voice takes on. Her eyes sparkle at her, glowing with happiness. She looks incredibly light despite being almost due. She's only got a month or so left of her term.
With a chortle, Annie responds, "It's – "
"Tradition, yes, I know," Sil rolls her eyes, stuck between being amused at the superstitious quality of life here and aggravated that she hasn't seen Finnick for more than a few minutes at a time these last few days. The wedding is several more days off and this so-called tradition is making Sil antsy.
Annie shrugs, smiling widely at Sil. "I'm sure it all sounds very silly to you, but we take our traditions very seriously around here. Besides – just imagine finally spending the night with him after all this separation. I'm sure it'll be incredible."
A few months ago, Sil might've blushed at that, or at the very least, she'd be a little uncomfortable talking about her sex life in casual conversation. Maybe it's the kind, unassuming way that Annie navigates the topic, but Sil's reaction this time is to groan and shake her head, not feeling embarrassed at all.
"Technically, we're already married," she points out with a grumble.
It's true, in a legal sense. Annie hums, "Yes, but that was something you were both forced into. Those vows don't really mean anything, don't you agree? This time around, they will."
Sil frowns petulantly and mumbles, "But why does Finnick have to stay at his house in the Victor's Village for a whole week?!"
The childish way the complaint leaves her lips makes Annie laugh loudly, snickering to herself at Sil's expense. Sil glowers at her. This is turning into a real issue to Sil, after all. This damned tradition is a form of torture. Not only is she unable to sleep by his side, but she can't even see him during the daylit hours. Between their work schedules and last-minute planning for the wedding, they already don't have much time together, and this silly tradition drags them apart the moment they have a spare minute. She's never heard of a tradition that separates the bride and groom for a whole week before the wedding. She's got no idea how it could possibly be beneficial.
"Well, you don't have to follow it to the letter, you know," Annie says suggestively, sending her an indelicate smile that is full of innuendo and laughter. Her voice takes on a conspiratorial tone when she leans in and murmurs, "You could always sneak over to the Victor's Village tonight and have your way with him – "
"Annie!" Sil interrupts, half mortified and half amused. Over the last few months, she's gotten to know Annie much better than she'd ever thought possible. The two of them have become faster friends than Sil had expected, and Annie's mind is far more redolent than she had anticipated for such a seemingly quiet woman. Sil laughs into her hand, trying to muffle her chortles, and says, "What a positively indecent thing to say! If anyone should be doing the sneaking, it should be him."
Annie bites her lip and chuckles, "I think you like the idea of taking him off guard a lot more than you're showing." She eyes Sil with a knowing look, and Sil purses her lips to prevent a smirk from spreading over her face.
Huffing dramatically, Sil quips, "I shan't be doing any sneaking. Those days are over."
The reminder of her role as the Sterling Nightingale makes Annie's eyes light up thoughtfully. Sil studies her expression. She knows that look. It's a look that she's learned to be wary of, because it usually bodes some sort of mischief that oftentimes takes Sil by surprise. On the outside, Annie doesn't look like she's got a mischievous bone in her body, but that isn't entirely true. She assumes it's Finnick's influence. Being friends with him since childhood must have rubbed off somehow.
"What are you thinking?" Sil asks, not really sure she wants to know.
Annie smirks. "Oh nothing. Just wondering if you've still got that black outfit you wore around the President's mansion after we won the war. Finnick couldn't keep his eyes off your butt whenever you turned around."
To her horror, Sil feels her cheeks redden at the implications of Annie's suggestive words. She remembers that outfit too – tight, black, with leather padding at the knees, shoulders, and chest – but she doesn't recall Finnick's wayward attention to it. She stares at Annie speechlessly and Annie laughs loudly at the expression.
"Well? Do you still have it?" she prompts, lips curling up with far more mischief than Sil expects to see.
She splutters, "I – well yes. Somewhere."
Despite living in District 4 for about six months now, she still doesn't have all her belongings figured out. There are a few things back in District 1 that she's been meaning to collect, but it hasn't been the first thing on her mind. As for her clothes, though, she vaguely remembers shoving that outfit into her duffle bag when she had moved all her things out of her Capitol apartment some months prior.
Annie's smile is downright shameless when she shrugs, "You should consider digging it out of your closet. I bet Finnick would defy every single tradition keeping you apart if you showed up in his bedroom wearing it."
Sil stares at her for a very long minute, caught between amusement and embarrassment, until she haltingly says, "I never knew you were so coy, darling."
Annie's smile widens. "Just don't let anyone see you going over there or you'll never be free of the embarrassment. They'll never let you live it down."
Apparently it's fairly common, breaking the tradition, which Annie tells her as the two women start preparing dinner together. Since Sil is so new to the atmosphere here, she doesn't know how to conduct herself concerning this sort of thing. Annie assures her that nearly every couple sneaks around before their wedding. In fact, it's almost a game. If anyone happens to catch them, the laughing jeers and jokes at their expense lasts for ages afterwards. The trick, Annie tells her, is to not get caught. Sil thinks it's a rather horrifying game. The high-class part of her would never even consider it…but another part of her has to admit that the thought of partaking in this wayward act seems rather fun. She's the Sterling Nightingale, after all. If anyone is up to the task, it's her.
She finds the outfit pressed into the furthest corner of the closet in the seaside cottage that Finnick and her now share, though the man in question is not currently staying at the house. He's been living at his home in the Victor's Village for the last few days until this silly tradition wears off and they can finally be reunited in all the ways a married couple would be. The cottage feels empty without him in it, as it has for the last few nights, but tonight Sil does not grumble about it or idle in the empty rooms or wallow in bed and wish she could be in his arms. She's got other plans tonight.
The black outfit fits like a glove when she pulls it on after taking a quick shower. Normally she would have worn something underneath it to ensure that it doesn't chaff, but…the normal rules do not apply tonight. She zips it up only part of the way, studying herself in the mirror as she turns to and fro. With her hair unstyled and waving over her shoulders and the dark lipstick she's wearing, she looks downright sinful, especially with the ample amount of cleavage currently on display, peeking through the black suit.
"Gracious," she murmurs, not used to seeing herself like this. She can't recall ever making such an effort before, not like this. Certainly not with her Nightingale gear, as if the articles of her old life are now little more than party tricks. And yet, in a way, that's exactly what they are. She isn't the Sterling Nightingale anymore, not really. That role is over. She might as well give this suit a little more use, right?
Right. She can do this. She's not afraid of seducing Finnick. They've been together more times than she can count. It's just that she's never looked so wanton or shameless before. It's a little fun, and a little unnerving at the same time. Swallowing a wave of nervousness that Sil feels is probably misplaced, she swings up her ammunition belt and tightens it around her hips. She might as well look the part, even though she won't be bringing anything that would use the ammo. Then, before she can talk herself out of this frankly ridiculous idea, Sil flicks the lights off and starts towards the Victor's Village.
Gracious, but she must be insane. She's never done anything like this before. Finnick will probably think she's acting so shameless – and he'll probably love that, granted, but it still makes her nervous. She keeps to the shadows as much as possible, blending into the street corners and ducking between buildings whenever possible as she navigates around any potential problems. Thankfully, the Victor's Village isn't so very far away, and she slips between the gates before anyone catches wind of her or detects her dark figure in the night. The mortification she'd feel at being caught certainly motivates her into being as silent as possible.
Finnick is just exiting the shower when he sees her. His startled reaction would be hilarious, had Sil been particularly disposed towards humor at this moment. As it is, she's slightly distracted at the sight he makes with his towel slung low around his hips, his broad chest on full display as the soft light of the room turns his skin to bronze. As for Finnick, he's slightly distracted by the fact that his morally upright, elegant, high-class lover is half suspended on the windowsill of his bedroom, wearing an outfit that should frankly be outlawed.
"…Finnick," she drawls as way of greeting, head tilted back to rest against the edge of the windowsill. She watches him scan her figure and suppresses a heavy shiver when she sees the gathering hunger in his gaze.
As always, Finnick navigates sensuality like it's the easiest thing on the planet. He calmly turns to her, lips pulled back into a curious smile as he takes in the sight of her, and slowly asks, "Did you climb up my balcony like some roguish version of Romeo? Am I to be your Juliet tonight?"
The lighthearted question makes the last of her nerves dissipate like falling rain. She hums in amusement and haughtily returns, "Heavens, no. I walked through your front door. I just got my nails done, darling."
She flashes them at him with a simper and watches him swallow tightly. He's clearly more affected by her sudden presence than he outwardly shows. She's not blind to the way he studies her, eyes lingering on the ample cleavage on display. With a purr, Sil swings her leg over the windowsill and stands up, unfolding herself slowly as he peruses her body.
"Annie informed me that it's common to break this ridiculous tradition," she murmurs, approaching him with dark eyes. When she's only a foot away from him, she tilts her head and breathes, "What do you think, Finnick darling?"
She catches his eye boldly and reaches out to press her palm against his abdomen. His muscles immediately flex, body taut as he closely watches the way she steps around him, dragging her hand over the jut of his hip. Her touch is liberal, fingers smoothing over his back, his shoulder blades, his neck – until he turns to face her with eyes that are so dark that the sea green coloring of them seems almost nonexistent.
"…I think I should probably thank her," he says lowly. His voice is still calm, but there's a current beneath his words; an inexplicable weight that drags his tone into something resembling a storm. She quite likes the sound of it.
Sil gives him a vivid smirk that makes him visibly twitch, body shifting abruptly as if a spike of adrenaline shoots through his veins. Her eyes dip over his body like she's seeing him for the first time, lingering on the edge of his towel. As her fingers dart down to trace his skin just above it, she murmurs, "This is a good look on you, but I think we can do better."
She hooks her fingers into the towel, only for Finnick to capture them before she can do permanent damage to his present state of dress. Darting her eyes up to his, she raises a challenging eyebrow.
He chuckles, glances down at her, and says, "That's a good look on you, too, sugar. Very imaginative." He smirks, eyeing the swell of her breasts against the partially unzipped fabric. He looks like he wants to reach out to touch her, but he doesn't. He is content to take her in for now. It's not every day that he gets to witness such a tantalizing sight. Sil, who is always so exquisitely dressed no matter the occasion, wearing something so scandalous? It's as if she's walked right out of his dirtiest fantasy.
She raises her chin, eyes flashing, and quips, "You're stalling. Take this off." She pulls at the towel again, but he clenches her fingers down with a calm exhalation.
"If I take this off, I'll be at a distinct disadvantage," he responds, mouth upturned in amusement. Her impatience is lovely against the backdrop of the sensual atmosphere she has so effortlessly cultivated. He's rather addicted to it.
She scoffs, "You've always been at a disadvantage, my love. You're simply too prideful to admit it."
She steps closer, pressing her body into his. The feel of her warmth, coupled with the soft shift of leather, is intoxicating. Finnick takes a deep breath and slowly drawls, "Are you trying to give me a heart attack, sugar?"
She laughs at that, dragging her hands over his chest. She can feel the beat of his heart against his skin. The quick pulse makes her smirk. She leans closer to kiss his collar, scrapping her teeth over his skin and enjoying the way he immediately clenches his hands around her hips, drawing her closer with one forceful pull.
"That wasn't my intention," she whispers into his neck, licking her way over his adam's apple on her quest to reach his mouth. She feels him swallow and moans lightly against him, knowing that the sound will further test his self-control, which is far more arousing than she cares to admit at this moment.
Pulling away to catch his eye, Sil lowly tells him, "I'm far more interested in seducing you. Is it working?" The question is needless and rhetorical. She knows it's working. She can see the hunger plain as day on his face, and if that isn't enough, she can feel the hard press of his erection through his towel.
He exhales heavily and says in a strained voice, "That's funny. Usually I'm the one doing the seducing."
Her eyes flash. With an upturned smile, Sil chuckles and drawls, "You are very good at seducing me, my love, but…" she kisses his jaw, biting it gently and whispering, "tonight you're dealing with the Sterling Nightingale, which rather changes the game a little, don't you agree?"
He groans, fingers digging into the leather around her hips, and tightly says, "This is basically my filthiest daydream coming true. You do know that, don't you?"
Sil gives him a wolfish smile that doesn't seem to help his state of mind in the least, and draws back to tell him, "Oh, I know. You're not so difficult to read, Finnick Odair."
His breathing is ragged and she's barely even touched him yet. It makes her feel powerful and intoxicated. The thought of having such a potent effect on him is incredibly compelling, and she fully intends on enjoying the moment as much as possible.
Sil takes a few steps back, drawing away from him completely and crossing her arms. The movement pushes her cleavage up a little, and his eyes dart down her frame again because he can't really help himself. She watches him watch her for a moment until she gets impatient, and abruptly says, "Well don't just stand there, darling. Take off the towel."
His eyebrows raise. This might be one of his fantasies, but he's nothing if not stubborn. He crosses his arms too, imitating her stance, and drawls, "What are you planning?"
Sil narrows her eyes at him. "You'll never find out if you don't do as I say. I assure you, my love, you'll enjoy every second of it."
His eyes flash into hers, warring between his stubbornness and his eager desire to see how she navigates through this incredibly arousing situation they've landed themselves in. Sil doesn't usually take the lead, not like this. Concerning intimacy, she's no longer as shy as she'd been in the very beginning, but this is something else entirely. This is boldness and dominance at its finest, and he's slightly caught off guard by it all. Not enough to make him waste the moment, though.
"Oh, orders? That's kinky," he quips playfully. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say this is one of your dirty fantasies too."
The accusation doesn't have the effect on her that he expects. Instead of a blush and an adamant denial, Sil just hums low in her throat and responds, "It is one of my fantasies, Finnick."
It's the sound of his name more than anything else that really does him in at that point. The honesty is arousing in and of itself, but the way the low tones of her voice drag through his name is what makes desire spark through him like a bolt of lightning. He stops breathing for a second, trying not to make his arousal overly obvious with the raggedness of his breath, but from the way Sil's eyes flash at him, he doubts he's very successful. Perhaps she's right. Perhaps he really isn't all that difficult to read.
She slowly murmurs, "Now stop being stubborn and lose the towel, darling."
It's definitely her voice, he decides as he braces himself against another deep shiver. It's also her eyes and the dark way they take him in. There's something predatory about her that he's not sure he's ever seen in this light. A certain hunger for him that drives him insane.
With a short exhalation, Finnick decides that being stubborn is not in his best interests for now. He wants her to touch him. He wants to feel that leather against his skin again, shifting over his body while her hands explore the contours of his. He's not sure he's ever wanted anything so intensely in his entire life. Lifting his hands to his towel, he untucks the fabric and lets it drop.
He watches her the entire time, eyes locked to her expression. The burst of desire that fills her gaze is consuming. She slowly lowers her eyes to peruse his form, lingering on the jut of his arousal with a hungry expression. His expression is equally hungry when she lifts her eyes back up to his, but if it impacts her in the same way it does him, she doesn't show it. Instead, Sil calmly murmurs, "That's better."
Of all the things to say, those words are probably the last that he expects. With a short laugh that's strained with desire, Finnick questions, "Is it? I'm glad you think so."
He smirks at her and she smirks back, matching him completely. She approaches him almost casually, eyes dipping over him as if viewing a work of art. And, like a work of art, she doesn't touch him. He grows tired of her measured perusal after a few moments of it, deciding to break the moment as he reaches out to haul her against him.
The kiss he delivers to her mouth makes her inhale sharply, but just as he expects, Sil sinks into him without a fight, melting into his arms with a moan as his tongue rushes out to rub against hers. He shivers against her, overcome by the dizzying sensation of that leather against his skin. He's quite sure it's the single best thing he's ever seen her wear, extravagant gowns included.
She ends the kiss too quickly for his liking, pulling back abruptly. He tries to follow, but Sil pushes him backwards with intent movements, breathlessly saying, "Your efforts to distract me are admirable, Finnick, but you'll have to try harder."
He laughs at the tone of her voice, suspecting that his 'efforts' are working a little better than she wants to admit, and quips, "Is that a challenge – "
His words get swept up in a surprised exclamation when the back of his knees suddenly crash into the edge of the mattress, and he falls rather inelegantly onto the bed with a harsh breath of air. Sil looks viciously triumphant as he lays prone on the edge of the bed. She wastes very little time as she kneels down in front of him and kisses his thigh, mere inches away from his erection.
The suddenness of it all makes Finnick groan, pushing himself up onto his elbows and saying, "Sil – " Once again, though, his voice is swept away, this time into a groan when she pulls him into her mouth.
He roughly exhales at the blistering pleasure that shudders through him, staring down at her in half hearted protest while she wraps her lips around him and sucks at him. It's unexpected, which makes it all the more arousing, and he barely manages to sit up and tug her closer as he threads his fingers into her white-blonde hair.
He watches her closely, addicted to the sight of his erection disappearing between her lips. She's only done this once before, that first morning after they were intimate, but it feels different this time. This time, it's far more chaotic, far more surprising. Instead of a slow build, Sil is all but devouring him. The sight is intoxicating and irresistible. He could come so easily right now.
Utterly breathless, Finnick clenches his jaw tightly. Strained moans and haphazardly construed phrases of encouragement spill from his lips. He hardly knows what he's saying. His words are a mumbled mess of quilted desire that seem endless and encompassing. He can feel her tongue rubbing against him, feel her fingers pumping at him whenever she comes up for a breath of air, and he's never felt more undone that he does now – never.
Before he even knows what he's doing, he's murmuring, "I want…I want – " breaking off into groans every time he approaches the rest of his words, and Sil is pulling back to darkly ask, "What do you want, Finnick?"
Their eyes clash and he wants to kiss her, badly, but instead his eyes dart down to her cleavage, which is spilling out even more prominently in her current position. Kneeling beneath him as she is, he can practically see right down to her naval. His eyes flicker with a desire that Sil sees clear as day, for she drawls, "Tell me. Say it out loud."
He exhales sharply and gives a strained laugh, not used to being on the receiving end of this madness. Usually he's the one coaxing such things out of his lovers, playing whatever role they want – but with Sil, everything is different.
"You're making me crazy," he breathlessly tells her.
She chuckles. "I'm well aware."
Now that she's not sucking at him with such determination and twisting his mind into a shattered mess, he can think straight. He's not shy at all when he reaches down to cup her breast through the black leather. His voice is confident even despite the shaky quality of his desire, which rattles through every syllable when he murmurs, "I want to be inside you."
She had anticipated his request, but a blush still spreads over her cheeks at the low admission. It's abruptly endearing to him in the midst of all this hard passion. He sees the rest of her nature starkly – the sides of her that are purely Sil. The posh, District 1 Victor who much prefers planning parties or hammering out jewelry or painting the walls of her grand estate to engaging in such intimate acts. He smiles and runs his fingers through her hair, tilting her head back to kiss her the way he's been wanting to, slow and deep and steady, and the kiss feels rather like an anchor that binds them together even as they sink.
He squeezes her clothed breasts with eager fingers, lifting their weight in his hands. She moans against him and bites his lower lip, dragging it into her mouth to suckle at him as his thumbs rub over the taut imprints of her nipples through the fabric. Breathless, she edges closer, pressing one hand over his and tilting her head back to kiss him more thoroughly. He breathes out against her lips as she shuffles closer and fiddles with the zipper of her outfit. He lifts one hand to gather her hair and pulls it back, gently tugging at her scalp as his finger slides the zipper down her naval. His hand palms the skin of her stomach and just that little touch makes her entire body erupt into a fierce shiver.
Panting now, Sil shudders into him. Their kiss slowly dissolves as Finnick peels back the leather from her shoulders and arms, gingerly slipping it down her frame. When the material catches on her elbow, they both chuckle. As ravishing as Sil looks in this getup, it isn't very practical for what's to come.
"I want you so much," she tells him, eyeing him fiercely and loving the way his expression melts at her words, passion overcoming his features. She pushes him back and whispers, "Lay down."
His eyes, which had been half-lidded before, now jolt open. Watching her closely, he raises his eyebrows at the order but doesn't complain, instead opting to push himself further up the bed and settle into the cascade of pillows by the headboard. Then, spread out in all his glory and looking far more sinful than he has any right to, he watches her shuffle out of the skintight outfit until she is just as bare as he is. The fact that she's not exactly wearing any underwear certainly doesn't help his case.
As she crawls up his body, he wonders how she's kept such a wanton side of her to herself all this time. He's never seen her so eager to make love to him. Not that she's ever been uneager, but tonight she's full of confident and determination, and it's a startlingly beautiful look on her. When he tells her this, Sil laughs, "I haven't had you for days now. I don't think you realize how much I like your body, Finnick."
He smirks, watching her adjust herself over him, and jokes, "I've created a monster."
Sil smiles wolfishly at him. The sight makes his cock twitch in her hands. As she starts to take him inside her, she responds with a breathless, "Just wait until the honeymoon, darling. You have no idea what I'm planning to do to you."
The warning makes his eyes flash with aroused excitement. She takes him all the way inside her, hilting him fully, and sits there atop him for a moment while she gets accustomed to the way he stretches her inner walls. He takes the opportunity to tell her in a strained voice, "If it's any more of this, then I'll be completely at your mercy, sugar."
She laughs, breathless, and starts to move. His expression crumbles into pleasure, hands grasping her hips tightly. She murmurs, "I'll keep that in mind, my love."
He groans, "Please do – " and gathers her up in his arms, pulling her down against his chest as his hips thunder up to clash with hers, not content to let her do all the work. She's supposed to be the dominant one, but she really can't complain as she moans against his chest and pushes her hips down to connect with his, body shaking with every hard thrust that he administers. Stars cloud her vision. She finds it difficult to breathe.
As he thrusts into her, he whispers to her in a voice tight with passion, murmuring how crazy she makes him and how he can't wait to marry her properly and how thankful he is that she came to him tonight because he is so overcome with pleasure that he can't even see straight –
And neither of them really notices the crescendo of their voices or the way their moans intermingle as they crash into the best finish either of them can remember, arms tightly wrapped around the other as they fall into the dark depths of their love.