Spark to Flame: A Finniss Story

Pt I: Inferno to Ashes

She wakes up to the feeling of her hair moving.

He knows this, because he's the one responsible for it.

Finnick smiles down at the young brunette Victor as she slowly opens her eyes, careful not to let his mouth spread into a grin so as not to upset her.

He's lying next to her on his side, one hand propping up his head while the other shamelessly plays with her dark curls, and he watches her fully awaken with the fascination of a young child witnessing a butterfly escaping its cocoon. Her braid has long since been undone, and he'd be a shameful liar if he said he hadn't taken advantage of the opportunity to run his fingers through her thick mane even long after she'd fallen asleep.

He doesn't know why, exactly, but there's something about her in the mornings that is ridiculously attractive. Which he knows is strange, because she's not inherently pretty to begin with - her face is a series of hard edges and sculpted corners, and her cold demeanor and fiery eyes contradict each other to the point of hypocrisy - but she exudes a confidence that is unmistakably her own and she is one hundred and ten percent sure of herself and her beliefs, and he supposes that it isn't so much her shell as it is what lies beneath it, that quiet fire that burns just behind her eyes that he finds so alluring; and he doesn't mind it one bit.

Katniss squeezes her eyes shut and grunts softly, moving her arms above her head to stretch as she does so, and he can immediately tell she's not a morning person. The precious few seconds he's been granted of her 'Sleeping Beauty' phase is long gone, and he mentally prepares himself for the unwelcoming Troll that is coming to take its place.

"Ugh, what time is it?" She groans, bringing her arms down to press the heels of her palms into her eyes.

Her tank top stretches upwards as she moves her arms, exposing a fair line of skin, and though he knows it's not the best of ideas, he simply can't help himself as he reaches down and slides his hand up beneath the fabric, fingers skating across her skin like a spider before flattening his hand against her stomach.

She wastes no time in reprimanding him, though he relishes in her morning grogginess as she takes a split-second longer than usual to shove his arm away.

"Morning," he replies, smiling widely as he knows this vague answer will annoy her.

"Ugh...I know that," she grumbles harshly, blindly slapping him on the arm (a blow that was no doubt meant for his face). "I mean what time is it? Be specific, you jerk."

"Haha, woah!" He chuckles, brows rising in amusement. "Kitty's got claws! Who woulda thought Fire Girl was so good at being cold?"

She takes her hands away from her eyes to stare at him sardonically, and he in turn reacts the way she knows only he would do; he rolls the upper half of his body over, arms resting atop her curls and elbows encasing her head, as he dips his face towards hers, eyes drifting slowly down to her lips.

"Well," he begins, voice light. "At the moment, it's five thirty. But if you keep staring at me like that, it'll be seven or eight by the time you get outta here."

He grins, knowing that the cogs in her brain are working to decipher his rather suggestive insinuation, but he doesn't let her get that far – he quickly descends upon her mouth, capturing her lips in a kiss that is far too fiery for the cold, bland mornings of the Capitol.

She grunts in frustration and surprise and pushes him back past the barrier he has secretly come to call 'the safety zone', or the personal bubble of space which Katniss is hardly ever in the mood to give up (with the exception of last night, of course), and he swears his tongue burns and his lips tingle from contact with hers. He wonders if that's just her genuine taste or if she has fireworks in her mouth.