thecapitol | The Binding of Isaac

"Well, that's clearly your first mistake." Porrim returns Sam's smile easily--it's never been hard for her to smile at him, even when she's normally more controlled with her expressions. His reminder, however, she shrugs off. She pulls out a compact and a soft-bristled makeup brush.

"It's the least I can do. I couldn't not help," she says softly, popping over the compact and loading up the brush with silky black powder. "Wild horses couldn't have kept me away."

"Pretty sure putting myself in your hands is never a mistake." Sam chuckles, trying to keep his face still for whatever makeup she's about to do to him, though he isn't a hundred percent successful.

"How did I know you'd say something like that," he murmurs back, not even bothering to keep the affectionate respect off of his expression. Maybe he'd have to be more careful about how he looks at her out in the Capitol, but with what they're gearing up to go do? Screw that.

"Because I'm predictable," she jokes, leaning forward and assessing Sam's face with a faux-critical eye. It's hard not to get wrapped up in looking at him, to make an attempt to memorize how he looks now in case the worst should happen. Porrim huffs out a little breath, and then motions toward his face with the brush.

"Close your eyes." She begins lining his eyes carefully in smoky black, giving him a raccoon's mask from the tops of his cheeks up to his eyebrows. "And keep still," she adds. "I don't want even a hint of that dazzling smile of yours."

"Because you're amazing," he counters, one corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk. Despite the teasing tone, he does mean it. And he's trying not to worry too much about her because of it.

Sam obediently closes his eyes, and it's a little easier to keep still once he does. "See, now that's not fair, flirting with me and then telling me I can't even smile for it."

"Flatterer," she retorts. But really, it makes her heart do strange things in her chest to hear him say things like that to her. Maybe because she can remember all too well the things he said when they met in the museum--Because I like you, a lot--and maybe because she believes him when he says it. It's not just a ploy to get on her good side. Sam says things and he means them, because he's a good man. And she's never been sure whether or not someone like her, someone who used to buy into the whole yearly death toll, deserves a man like that.

"I'm a cruel woman," she warns him, but there's a smile in her voice, one that he should be able to hear even with his eyes closed. Her brush works quickly, methodically, the touch firm but then feather light, blending all that black outward, working in a golden-brown to blend it with his skin tone. After a moment's pause, she goes on. "I hope it doesn't bother you, Sam. Me flirting with you all the time. It's just--" She hesitates. "I care about you. And it's hard, when I am who I am, and you are who you are. I don't want to make you feel like you can't say no to me."

His lips twitch a little, because he really wants to smirk at that, but he manages to keep a straight face, even when he really wants to have a comeback for that 'cruel woman' part.

Sam holds still while she moves the brush over his face, but not for long. He can't help but open his eyes when she starts actually talking about something, something that isn't just them flirting. Something that he's been thinking a hell of a lot about, too, although not exactly in the same way.

"Porrim, I - I am real damn grateful for what you do, for the help you give me in the arena. But if you're thinking I feel like I need to flirt with you to get ahead - the arenas don't mean a thing to me, except as something I gotta get through so I can keep being here. And I'd die a dozen times if it meant I was entertaining enough for them to keep bringing me back, so I can keep doing things like this. This is what matters to me, and here?"

He closes his hand over hers, fingers curling around both her hand and the brush. "Here you and me are the same. We're both rebels just trying to make this world a better place, and risking everything to do it."

And that's what worries him, at least as far as she's concerned.

Porrim's brow furrows, and her brush lowers slightly, listening to what he's saying with a faint twist in her stomach. She'd known that he wouldn't feel like he had to flirt with her to stay ahead of the game in the Arenas, she'd sort of figured that he didn't really care about them on the whole. But when his hand closes over hers, her gaze flickers downward, and she's almost embarrassed that she'd even felt the need to say that.

"Well," she replies softly. "I'm glad to hear it, then. Not that I ever thought you'd flirted with me to keep ahead, but it's just something one worries about when they're in a position of power over someone else, you see. Especially when that someone else is...well, something else." Her hand shifts inside his to give it a little squeeze. "And I'm honored to get to work alongside you."

"Yeah, well. You worrying about it is one of the things that makes you some damn special." Especially coming from a place like the Capitol. It's not that he hates most of the other Capitol citizens, or even that he understands them - it's just that he knows what kind of environment the Capitol is, and that just makes the kind of person Porrim is all the more amazing.

And that's not just because he likes her. But maybe this next bit is, because he smiles a little, tilting his head so he can press a small kiss to her hand.

"I'm honored to work alongside you, too."

Porrim just shrugs, averting her gaze, modest but not modest enough to refute what she's saying. She grew up here, she knows that most Capitolites on principle don't worry about things like consent when it comes to Districters or Offworlders, unless it's their job to do so.

And then Sam is kissing her hand, and her head lifts, smile a little incredulous. She looks at him like he's some kind of miracle, someone who'd show her such a sweet gesture of affection and not expect a damn thing in return.

"Glad the feeling's mutual," she says lightly, taking her hand back and studying it for a moment like she's forgotten what she'd been doing. It's ridiculous, someone as experienced at herself getting all giddy over a kiss to the hand. "Now, eyes closed, you, or we're never getting your makeup done."

Oh, that smile is a dangerous thing. That smile makes him want to show her how much more affection he'd like to give her, how much more she really deserves. Someone like Porrim should never be incredulous because someone cares about them without wanting anything in return.

It makes his chest ache a little, that her reaction to a simple, impulsive gesture of affection is to look at him like he's the miracle, when goddamn she should know it's her. Maybe everything between them is complicated as hell, because they're literally from two different worlds, because of the power imbalance between staff and Tributes, because of their new laws, because getting involved in this rebellion could get her killed - but this isn't.

This is simple and easy, and he needs to make sure she knows it before they go into this.

"Better do this before I have something on I can mess up, then," he replies, and leans in to press a soft, sweet, very nearly chaste kiss against her lips. "Thank you."

She's not exactly sure what she was expecting, but for Sam to actually lean in and kiss her is pretty much at the bottom of her list. Her breath catches, and her head swims, and everything in her aches for this the way it had that day in the art museum, and many, many days before that. It's not the biggest, grandest kiss, but that's not what counts, here. None of that matters. He pulls back and Porrim lets her forehead rest against his, just for a moment.

"No, you're the one that I should be thanking," she corrects him gently. And because they're here, and because she can, and she wants to, she leans back in for one more kiss. Just in case it's her last chance.

It’s probably a terrible idea, but Sam isn’t thinking all that logical right now. If they both make it out of this, they’ll have to pretend this never happened, to go back to skirting a professional relationship, pretending they don’t have any kind of bond that’d been forged tighter being on the same side of a war neither of them should have to be a part of.

But they are. She’s not a civilian anymore, not after this, and she means too much to him.

When she pulls back from the second kiss, he’s smiling, and he lets go of her hand so he can run it over her hair.

“What’re you thanking me for?”

Porrim is well aware of the implications of all this, if Sam does come back after this mission--which she's very much hoping he does. She can't bear to lose him, or Initiate, for that matter, but this kiss has complicated things thousandfold. She knows very well that the two of them will need to act like none of this ever happened, especially given that she's already under scrutiny for less-than-appropriate Tribute liaisons.

But she also knows that if she lost Sam, she'd never forgive herself for never having a chance to show him how much he means to her. So she can't regret kissing him, even if she probably should.

His hand in her hair has her sighing lightly, smiling with her eyes resting shut for a moment. "For...showing me that there are other ways to live," she says after a moment's pause. "And for giving me hope that we can build something better than this."

Her reply makes his chest tighten a little, makes something in him ache. He's not sure he wants to take credit for all of that - hell, he's not sure he can take credit for it. Maybe he gave her a few nudges along the way, but he's pretty sure she had all of that before she ever met him.

But he'll accept it anyway, at least for the moment. His hand lingers in her hair, just for a little bit longer, before he reluctantly pulls away.

"I guess we both gave each other a little hope, then. Thank you for reminding me there are people here worth fighting for."

Porrim needs to remember this. She needs to soak it all in, she needs to etch it in her memory, just in case. Just in case she has to go back to pretending this all never happened. Pretending she hasn't fallen for Sam in a way that's more than a little alarming to someone who hasn't said the l-word to someone else in a decade or so. And that thought, she finds, is the hardest one of all to comprehend.

Sam's words bring her back to present, and she shakes her head a little. "I like to think so." Porrim heaves a sigh, turning back to her makeup brushes and setting back to her work matter-of-factly--but she can't seem to keep that little smirk off her face, now.

They are going to have to go back to that, Sam knows that. He also knows he's... not exactly the best at that undercover shit, but for her, he's going to do it. It helps that everything is complicated enough that he knows he can't act on anything anyway, and that it's probably no secret that the two of them might be harboring some not entirely professional feelings for each other.

...all right, definitely no secret, according to Celebrus.

But it's still hard, not to be able to talk to her the way he really wants to when they're back in the Capitol.

And even harder to let this go, to switch back into mission mode and let her do her thing, but they have to. A lot of people are counting on them.

Still, he smirks back at her. "More than a little. And we're giving hope to a hell of a lot of people doing this, so I guess I better get back to holding still."

"Guess you better," Porrim agrees softly, dabbing at the black around his eyes now, blending it out across his cheekbones, masking his features a little more. She's good at what she does; it's hard, from an outside perspective, to see why she quit being a Stylist, but she has her reasons. And besides, if she hadn't changed jobs, well, she wouldn't be here right now.

It's not long before she finishes, and she pulls away reluctantly. "There. You're beautiful."

He lets her move back, equally as reluctantly. What he wouldn’t give to just be able to pull her back in, hold her close and forget that everything is complicated and uncertain - but they’ve already done enough of that tonight, and they don’t have time for any more pretending.

Like it or not, they have to go back to the real world.

“Of course I am. How could I not be with you as my stylist?” He grabs her hand one last time, presses a kiss to her knuckles before he lets go. “Wish me luck?”

Porrim watches, eyes wide and not without a touch of fear, as Sam kisses into her knuckles. God, if she let herself, she could really lose herself with him.

Her face is serious now. "Good luck. Be safe. Please--you need to come back to me. To all of us," she amends quickly. But the sentiment stands. "But most importantly, kick some ass, alright?"

Oh, now why'd she have to go and ask him that. He doesn't want to lie to her, because there's no way he can promise that he'll make it out of this, but-

But looking at her kind of makes him want to lie.

"I've got a hell of a lot of incentive to come back," he murmurs, eyes locked on hers. Not just her, of course, there's no way he wants to go out without seeing this rebellion through and he's got family here. But somewhere along the way, she became a part of that. She's one of his, there's no way around that.

Then he gives her a little smirk. "I'll take down a few extra Peacekeepers, just for you."

"Good." Porrim huffs a breath. "Good." She dusts herself down, the backs of her hands covered in makeup swatches and obscuring her tattoos in places, and stands, offering a hand to Sam to help him up. Suddenly there's a lump in her throat and her chest is tight, and she's pretty sure if she talks to Sam any more about this she's going to get misty-eyed and make a fool out of herself. So she takes a deep breath.

"I should go. Check on my other charges, do some last-minute touch-ups." Quickly, without warning, she pulls Sam into a tight hug. "See you when you get back."

The Binding of Isaac

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