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“I shouldn’t.”
“I don’t see why not,” said Finnick. “You work a very high-stress job. You deserve to relax.”
Caesar Flickerman swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I wouldn’t want to give the appearance of favoritism.”
“If anything, not sleeping with me makes you look biased. Everyone else sleeps with me, and you won’t? Very suspicious.” Finnick tilted his head downward, accentuating his long eyelashes. “Besides, I haven’t heard you say you don’t want to, honey. Just tell me you’re not interested, and I’ll back off.”
“Finnick…” sighed Caesar. It was an impatient sigh, the kind a parent gives to an annoying child just before giving in and letting them eat dessert first.
Finnick took a step forward, angling himself so his groin brushed against Caesars. Caesar let out a very different sigh. “You want this,” said Finnick.
“I want this,” echoed Caesar, as Finnick dropped to his knees. “I’ve wanted this for a very long time.”
“How long?”
“Since the first interview.”
“The very first? When I was fourteen?” Finnick licked the underside. “You wanted that little boy to suck your cock?”
“Yes, yes,” breathed Caesar.
Clarity came after orgasm. It always did. “Someone put you up to this,” said Caesar. There was anger, but also a note of pity.
“I can get it up all on my own, honey.” Finnick stroked Caesar’s chest.
“No one should be telling you to…” He trailed off, unwilling to say aloud what they had just done. It wasn’t illegal, or even improper, not exactly. Finnick Odair was nineteen, sober, and willing. All Caesar had done was say yes.
“No one told me to. Is it so hard to believe I find you attractive? Have a little more self-confidence, Caesar.”
“I’m not stupid, I’m seventy-three and you’re a model.”
“Where was this self-awareness half an hour ago?”
Caesar frowned.
“For that matter, where is it when you sell kids every year?”
“I didn’t create the Games, Finnick.” He grimaced. “You know I do my best to make the interviews as painless as possible. I try to draw out the tributes’ strengths. I try to bring out what makes them lovable.”
“Love? Is that what you call it? What you try to make the Capitol feel for these children?”
Caesar’s eyes narrowed, clearly liking this turn of the conversation even less.
“Don’t pretend you don’t know. Why do they wax the tributes, Caesar? That’s not about lovable. That’s about sexy.”
“I don’t control that either. It’s not up to me what the stylists choose to do.” He pursed his lips. “And I don’t like what you’re implying. I have never touched a tribute.”
“But you jerked off to them, didn’t you?”
“I never did that either.” Caesar’s voice was thick.
That was when Finnick did something very strange. He sat up and grabbed his left foot, scratching at the underside. A little makeup got smeared and a translucent thread appeared. Finnick tugged on it. A tiny, thin piece of fake skin fell away, revealing a tiny, thin electronic device. He double tapped it.
“I’ve wanted this for a very long time,” said Caesar’s voice.
“How long?”
“Since the first interview.”
“The very first? When I was fourteen? You wanted that little boy to suck your cock?”
“Yes, yes.”
Caesar jerked away as if he had been burned. “What the hell is that?”
Finnick's voice and face grew hard. “You’re not going to ask Annie about her district partner's death during her victory interview. In fact, you're not going to mention Robin Marks at all. You’re barely going to bring up the Games. You’re going to fill the time with the most banal questions you can think of about food and trains and the weather in District Four.”
Caesar’s face contorted. “I can’t,” he hissed. “Do you think you’re the only one who has responsibilities?”
“I think I’m the one with this recording. I think if that clip isn’t enough, I can splice it together so you moan when I ask you about masturbating to children’s deaths.”
Caesar looked…betrayed. As if Finnick had violated some kind of friendship, some sort of loyalty. “Why are you doing this? I wouldn’t have been cruel. You didn’t have to force my hand.” But they both knew that kindness and gentleness only went so far. That without additional persuasion, he would have felt compelled to bring up Robin Marks’ gruesome death, and would have very kindly, very gently comforted Annie when she broke down on national television.
Finnick played his last card: guilt. “Don’t pretend to be a martyr. You know what I do. You know you’re not the first 73-year-old dick I’ve sucked. You knew that when I unzipped your trousers, but you let me do it anyway. Hell, you even asked me if someone had told me to do it. And you knew what was going to happen five years ago when you drew out my strengths and made me lovable.”
“I didn’t know. Not then. I only figured it out two years ago, when the tabloids showed Cashmere and Gloss…” He trailed off. There was no need to specify what Cashmere and Gloss had been “caught” doing together. “I know Gloss tried to kill himself afterward. That wasn’t public knowledge, but I heard about it and I visited him in the hospital. He never said they were forced, but I knew them both and I knew they would never have hurt each other like that, not if there had been any choice.”
Finnick didn’t back down. “You know we’re forced to fuck people and you still couldn’t wait to cum down my throat.”
“I’m sorry,” said Caesar. He sounded sincere. But of course, he was a performer. He would have sounded sincere no matter what. “I thought you wanted…not me exactly, but maybe my position, my celebrity. I thought there were worse people you could pursue. I thought at least I wouldn’t hurt you.”
“You did hurt me,” said Finnick. “I won’t let you hurt Annie.”
“Do I want to know where you’ve been?” asked Mags, glancing up from her tablet. Finnick didn’t normally have appointments before late afternoon, so if he had been out wandering the Capitol, it was likely due to his own free will and the poor judgment of youth.
“Caesar won’t ask Annie about Robin,” said Finnick.
Mags eyes went wide. “Finnick, you didn’t.”
“Tell Annie that he agreed not to bring it up so she doesn’t spend the whole interview thinking the question is coming. Tell her he agreed out of the goodness of his heart.”
“You didn’t have to do that. Please never think I want you to-“
“It’s done,” he answered in a tone the forestalled any further discussion. “Besides, there were a few things I’ve been wanting to say to him.”
Mags stood, walked to Finnick and embraced him. “You’re a good man,” she said. “You were meant for so much more than this.”