[fic] i can tell you what i've seen; the hunger games, finnick/peeta; r
title; rating: i can tell you what i've seen; r
fandom, pairing; count: the hunger games, finnick/peeta; 1400
notes: for gigglemonster from my prompt post; spoilers for mockingjay
The four-five-one has barely gotten used to the idea of Peeta's presence in their camp when Finnick senses they may soon be on the move. He sees Boggs scribbling notes onto maps and taking phone calls in a hushed voice at the far edge of camp, and knows it won't be long. Finnick hopes their marching orders don't come too soon, however. Though the rest of the squad (including Katniss, surprisingly) has committed themselves to helping Peeta remember the truth about his life, not a one of them is quite yet ready to trust Peeta with their lives in combat -- no matter how staged or safe that combat turns out to be.
One night, Finnick takes two back-to-back Peeta-guarding shifts with Mitchell, both of them covering for Jackson and Gale who have gone off-camp to gather their regular supply drop.
Peeta rattles on, per usual, asking questions about his games -- things Finnick would know. Finnick patiently answers each one. Real. Not real. Real. Real. Real. The genuine memories far outweigh the false ones now, and Finnick wonders if anybody but him has noticed. He also wonders what other things Peeta might be remembering. A few times, he catches Peeta looking at him in a way that suggests he just might. But none of his questions suggest it. This back-and-forth goes on, and they're somewhere at the beginning of their second four-hour shift, when Mitchell finally cracks.
"Will you shut the fuck up, please?" he snaps at Peeta. "Christ, don't you ever sleep?"
There's a rustle of sound as all three parties around the fire pit react. Mitchell almost seems startled that he said the words out loud, but his jaw is set in a hard line of frustration. Finnick is surprised at the speed in which he's able to rise at the ready, given how tired he feels, and he places his body between Peeta and Mitchell who are much slower at this hour.
"Mitchell," Finnick's voice is a warning, and his stance is unflinching.
"Odair," Mitchell counters, and then he launches into a series of complaints that begins and ends with Peeta's non-stop yammering.
"Listen man, you're tired." Finnick softens his approach. "We're all tired. But, I've got my second wind. I can handle this. Why don't you catch some z's?"
There's a period of grunting and feigning protest, but Mitchell finally agrees and gathers up his things and heads toward his tent.
After a few minutes pass, Peeta and Finnick have both settled back down comfortably in front of the dying embers.
"Thanks," Peeta says, almost shyly. Finnick can't imagine what it must be like for him. Sure, to guys like Mitchell, Peeta's endless interrogation would seem taxing, but Finnick knows Peeta in ways that many in the squad don't understand, and he sympathizes with just how hobbled Peeta must feel right now, like someone cut off at the ankles. How can you go forward if you're not sure what's behind you, if you can't quite manage to get to your feet? He's had to ask himself that, and similar questions, endlessly about Annie, and now it gives him an extra level of patience that he's grateful for in this moment. But even he has a breaking point.
"Hey," Finnick says. "Wanna help me with cleaning munitions?"
--
An hour in the armory tent cleaning weapons by the light of a waning lantern, and Finnick can feel himself growing tired. He is quite aware of their noticeable proximity in the small available space, and he still manages to answer Peeta's questions as generically as possible without adding any details of his own. They come very close to past moments that Peeta and he once shared -- just the two of them -- but Finnick won't offer up the information himself. He figures if Peeta remembers, if he wants to know, he'll ask. Especially being alone, as they are.
Peeta doesn't seem to be tired at all, and he gets twice as much work done as Finnick.
"You know there was a time I thought I'd never hold a weapon in my hand again?" Peeta says, supporting a pistol between his knees as he cleans it. "There were a lot of things I thought I'd never do again. A lot of people I thought I'd never see again."
"Katniss," Finnick says, filling in the blanks naturally.
"Yes," Peeta agrees, but there's a hesitation in his voice. "Katniss too."
Finnick closes the crate in front of him and walks over to Peeta. He decides that he won't ask Peeta what he means by that. In fact, he tells himself that Peeta probably doesn't even know himself. "You almost done with that?" he asks instead. "I think it's the last one."
"Yeah," Peeta says, "It's done." He hands Finnick the heavy weapon, free of ammunition and shining like a polished thing. Their hands meet when they both grasp the cool metal at the same time and there is a brief hesitation before Finnick takes the gun and puts it into the last empty crate and closes the lid.
When Finnick turns around, he finds Peeta standing only inches from him. The yellowed, almost brownish darkness in the tent seems almost too dark in this moment, and Finnick barely has time to register the possible threat that Peeta presents before it's obvious that this is not an attack. Peeta reaches one hand around to the back of Finnick's neck and crushes their mouths together. There is no tentativeness to it, and Finnick finds himself tugging at Peeta's collar, accidentally catching Peeta's bottom lip between his teeth, and then running his tongue along the roof of Peeta's mouth.
When they finally break for air, Peeta's eyes look clouded over, not with sadness, but with confirmation of the truth.
When Peeta opens his mouth again, Finnick knows the question is coming, just as he knows that Peeta already knows the answer to it.
"Real or not real?"
Finnick answers with a kiss of his own, and in a rush of motion, he finds the two of them heading toward the dirt floor. The few yards of open space in the tent that is not covered with crates and packs, will have to do for their purposes. He's hard against his trousers and he bucks into Peeta's hand when Peeta finds him there.
"Fuck," Finnick lets out a growl. Time in the field has been longer than he realized until now, and he can scarcely remember the last time he was touched. "Jesus, Peeta."
Finnick knows that neither of them will last long at this rate. Though he imagines pushing Peeta onto his knees, yanking down his pants and fucking him into the ground, he knows he's going to get a hand job out of this at most. In a few moments, Peeta's got him undone and is tugging his cock from his pants just far enough for access, and Finnick is doing the same when he hears someone coughing somewhere outside of the tent.
"Don't stop," he hisses, a groan escaping his lips after the words. Hook-ups are not all that uncommon in the squad, especially late nights like this. Most people just turn a blind eye. Finnick just hopes that whoever is walking by won't notice that they're missing from their post. He just hopes it isn't Katniss.
Finnick fists Peeta in his hands, at the same time thrusting into Peeta's callused fingers once more before he comes, biting down to keep the name from escaping his lips. A moment later Peeta joins him, a strangled cry escaping his throat as he deposits a hot sticky fluid into Finnick's palm.
They manage to find some strips of fabric to clean up with, and they re-dress themselves and climb back to a sitting position there on the ground.
Their shoulders pressed together, their heads lolled back against the stack of crates behind them, the two soldiers catch their breath. Peeta thanks Finnick, and Finnick chuckles at that before Peeta kisses him again to silence him. Their kiss this time is slow and wet and sloppy, their exhaustion bleeding through, their orgasms having taken any energy they may have had left out of them.
"Drink this." Finnick hands Peeta his canteen after taking a gulp of the strong, but cold coffee held inside. "We still have a couple of hours."
This time, Peeta laughs.
-fin
fandom, pairing; count: the hunger games, finnick/peeta; 1400
notes: for gigglemonster from my prompt post; spoilers for mockingjay
The four-five-one has barely gotten used to the idea of Peeta's presence in their camp when Finnick senses they may soon be on the move. He sees Boggs scribbling notes onto maps and taking phone calls in a hushed voice at the far edge of camp, and knows it won't be long. Finnick hopes their marching orders don't come too soon, however. Though the rest of the squad (including Katniss, surprisingly) has committed themselves to helping Peeta remember the truth about his life, not a one of them is quite yet ready to trust Peeta with their lives in combat -- no matter how staged or safe that combat turns out to be.
One night, Finnick takes two back-to-back Peeta-guarding shifts with Mitchell, both of them covering for Jackson and Gale who have gone off-camp to gather their regular supply drop.
Peeta rattles on, per usual, asking questions about his games -- things Finnick would know. Finnick patiently answers each one. Real. Not real. Real. Real. Real. The genuine memories far outweigh the false ones now, and Finnick wonders if anybody but him has noticed. He also wonders what other things Peeta might be remembering. A few times, he catches Peeta looking at him in a way that suggests he just might. But none of his questions suggest it. This back-and-forth goes on, and they're somewhere at the beginning of their second four-hour shift, when Mitchell finally cracks.
"Will you shut the fuck up, please?" he snaps at Peeta. "Christ, don't you ever sleep?"
There's a rustle of sound as all three parties around the fire pit react. Mitchell almost seems startled that he said the words out loud, but his jaw is set in a hard line of frustration. Finnick is surprised at the speed in which he's able to rise at the ready, given how tired he feels, and he places his body between Peeta and Mitchell who are much slower at this hour.
"Mitchell," Finnick's voice is a warning, and his stance is unflinching.
"Odair," Mitchell counters, and then he launches into a series of complaints that begins and ends with Peeta's non-stop yammering.
"Listen man, you're tired." Finnick softens his approach. "We're all tired. But, I've got my second wind. I can handle this. Why don't you catch some z's?"
There's a period of grunting and feigning protest, but Mitchell finally agrees and gathers up his things and heads toward his tent.
After a few minutes pass, Peeta and Finnick have both settled back down comfortably in front of the dying embers.
"Thanks," Peeta says, almost shyly. Finnick can't imagine what it must be like for him. Sure, to guys like Mitchell, Peeta's endless interrogation would seem taxing, but Finnick knows Peeta in ways that many in the squad don't understand, and he sympathizes with just how hobbled Peeta must feel right now, like someone cut off at the ankles. How can you go forward if you're not sure what's behind you, if you can't quite manage to get to your feet? He's had to ask himself that, and similar questions, endlessly about Annie, and now it gives him an extra level of patience that he's grateful for in this moment. But even he has a breaking point.
"Hey," Finnick says. "Wanna help me with cleaning munitions?"
--
An hour in the armory tent cleaning weapons by the light of a waning lantern, and Finnick can feel himself growing tired. He is quite aware of their noticeable proximity in the small available space, and he still manages to answer Peeta's questions as generically as possible without adding any details of his own. They come very close to past moments that Peeta and he once shared -- just the two of them -- but Finnick won't offer up the information himself. He figures if Peeta remembers, if he wants to know, he'll ask. Especially being alone, as they are.
Peeta doesn't seem to be tired at all, and he gets twice as much work done as Finnick.
"You know there was a time I thought I'd never hold a weapon in my hand again?" Peeta says, supporting a pistol between his knees as he cleans it. "There were a lot of things I thought I'd never do again. A lot of people I thought I'd never see again."
"Katniss," Finnick says, filling in the blanks naturally.
"Yes," Peeta agrees, but there's a hesitation in his voice. "Katniss too."
Finnick closes the crate in front of him and walks over to Peeta. He decides that he won't ask Peeta what he means by that. In fact, he tells himself that Peeta probably doesn't even know himself. "You almost done with that?" he asks instead. "I think it's the last one."
"Yeah," Peeta says, "It's done." He hands Finnick the heavy weapon, free of ammunition and shining like a polished thing. Their hands meet when they both grasp the cool metal at the same time and there is a brief hesitation before Finnick takes the gun and puts it into the last empty crate and closes the lid.
When Finnick turns around, he finds Peeta standing only inches from him. The yellowed, almost brownish darkness in the tent seems almost too dark in this moment, and Finnick barely has time to register the possible threat that Peeta presents before it's obvious that this is not an attack. Peeta reaches one hand around to the back of Finnick's neck and crushes their mouths together. There is no tentativeness to it, and Finnick finds himself tugging at Peeta's collar, accidentally catching Peeta's bottom lip between his teeth, and then running his tongue along the roof of Peeta's mouth.
When they finally break for air, Peeta's eyes look clouded over, not with sadness, but with confirmation of the truth.
When Peeta opens his mouth again, Finnick knows the question is coming, just as he knows that Peeta already knows the answer to it.
"Real or not real?"
Finnick answers with a kiss of his own, and in a rush of motion, he finds the two of them heading toward the dirt floor. The few yards of open space in the tent that is not covered with crates and packs, will have to do for their purposes. He's hard against his trousers and he bucks into Peeta's hand when Peeta finds him there.
"Fuck," Finnick lets out a growl. Time in the field has been longer than he realized until now, and he can scarcely remember the last time he was touched. "Jesus, Peeta."
Finnick knows that neither of them will last long at this rate. Though he imagines pushing Peeta onto his knees, yanking down his pants and fucking him into the ground, he knows he's going to get a hand job out of this at most. In a few moments, Peeta's got him undone and is tugging his cock from his pants just far enough for access, and Finnick is doing the same when he hears someone coughing somewhere outside of the tent.
"Don't stop," he hisses, a groan escaping his lips after the words. Hook-ups are not all that uncommon in the squad, especially late nights like this. Most people just turn a blind eye. Finnick just hopes that whoever is walking by won't notice that they're missing from their post. He just hopes it isn't Katniss.
Finnick fists Peeta in his hands, at the same time thrusting into Peeta's callused fingers once more before he comes, biting down to keep the name from escaping his lips. A moment later Peeta joins him, a strangled cry escaping his throat as he deposits a hot sticky fluid into Finnick's palm.
They manage to find some strips of fabric to clean up with, and they re-dress themselves and climb back to a sitting position there on the ground.
Their shoulders pressed together, their heads lolled back against the stack of crates behind them, the two soldiers catch their breath. Peeta thanks Finnick, and Finnick chuckles at that before Peeta kisses him again to silence him. Their kiss this time is slow and wet and sloppy, their exhaustion bleeding through, their orgasms having taken any energy they may have had left out of them.
"Drink this." Finnick hands Peeta his canteen after taking a gulp of the strong, but cold coffee held inside. "We still have a couple of hours."
This time, Peeta laughs.
-fin