thecapitol | Honesty, Could It Be the Trigger That Makes Us Answer All at Once? [Closed]

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Honesty, Could It Be the Trigger That Makes Us Answer All at Once? [Closed]

WHO| Jason and Swann
WHAT| Jason meets Swann's dad, part two: shotgun edition.
WHEN| After the crowning
WHERE| Ilar Honeymead's place
WARNINGS| General Capitolite awfulness.

This time, there won't be cake-throwing. Jason's confident about that, at least. The rest is a different story; he and Swann have been bickering plenty lately, and it seems a coin-flip whether they'll be wildly in love throughout the day or snapping at each other, unable to contain their pettiness and annoyance. He hopes today's one of the former, because if it's the latter then dinner with Ilar is going to be a sham at best and a complete disaster at worst.

They've said some things in the last few weeks that cut deeper than they should have, never for any reason that they could trace back. Jason will forget why they were fighting with each other and only the slammed doors and cruel words that ended the fight. They're a mystery him, and the resolution always tends to be the worst prize ever.

But the good times are still some of the best days he's had in years, and that makes the bickering all the more terrifying. He doesn't want to lose resting his face in her hair while she sleeps three nights a week, or taking their Sunday and having Eta pack them food and going to a lookout point, or gossiping about their Tributes and co-workers over lunch every day. He feels wired to self-destruct, as if he can't help but snipe and snap at her, by some uncontrollable impulse that he has to repair by returning to her over and over with gifts and apologies that are becoming, with each passing week, more verbalized.

It's in this state of disequilibrium that he picks her up tonight, and unlike the last time they drove to Ilar's now Jason looks more visibly nervous, pressing his lips together and exhaling through his nose far more than necessary. He holds off on smoking because he doesn't want to get the smell on him before Ilar meets him, but he keeps clicking his teeth, up until they start to drive up into Ilar's palatial driveway.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Some things even Capitol technology can't seem to fix.

"I saw a dead fish once on the beach at Four." They would have cleared that right up in the Capitol. Roadkill practically vaporizes off the highway here.

"That's not true," he protests, although he can't find a rebuttal immediately. "I like you, don't I? And other things."

Science can only go so far, particularly out in another District where they can't put up UV protection shields.

"Well, it is the ocean," she jokes, although the thought is pretty disgusting. Swann's not entirely sure she's ever even seen a dead fish that wasn't already turned into food, since she's never actually gone grocery shopping all alone. Sure, she'll stop at a store and pick up whatever it is she wants, but that almost never finds her in the seafood section.

With a laugh, she moves her hand up to lazily pick at his belt, unbuckling it. "Me and the lake and Eta's cooking. What a long list of things! I think you win the crown for the Capitol's King of Liking Everything." She gets his belt open and pauses to glance through the windshield. "How much further?"

"I like things that are worth liking. There just ain't a lot in this place worth that." Being around Ilar has brought out his genteel verbal affectations a bit.

Sometimes Jason used to see his Tributes fawning over all the riches of the Capitol and he knew in his soul that Districters were fundamentally different than he was, because he couldn't imagine anything impressing him like that, couldn't imagine looking at the luxury around him and feeling anything but boredom and distaste and a general sense of pointlessness.

He reaches up and links his fingers in her hair. "Two minutes."

Swann actually likes his heavier affectations, they make her feel comfortable and warm, which is probably predictable given that she's been hearing the accent her whole life. "I like to think there's a little more than just that," she teases gently, although it's a bit sad to think that he can't think of anything else in the whole world.

Sure, she doesn't find the Capitol impressive so much as ordinary, just expected and as it should be, but that's not to say she never finds anything to like -- usually the parks and fountains, things that are more natural-seeming even when they're as manmade as everything else in the city. Maybe she's just an optimist.

"Okay," she says softly, smiling at him, and unzips his slacks. It only takes her a few quick movements until she's got him out and in her mouth, although she's going slow, lest he crash the car.

"There isn't. My tastes are pretty simple. I like keeping them that way." He's surprised when she moves as quickly as she does, when she can't wait for them to reach the lake, and by instinct he taps the brakes and slows a little, just to not take the curve too quickly.

"Oh- oh God." He almost feels lightheaded, with the way the entirety of his consciousness slips down to that warm, thick place there in her mouth. "Swann, not so- not so fast. I need to pull over before you- ah!"

Sighing, she pulls back until she's just licking him, hoping that he's satisfied with that slowing down -- she doesn't know how to go slower unless she just stops. And she's not exactly planning on that.

"You can drive in your sleep," she mutters, flicking her tongue, and looks up at him impatiently, every bit the actual spoiled Capitolite she is, annoyed to be denied anything she wants.

"I can't give you attention if I'm keeping us from keeling into a tree," Jason says between another moan that seems to just bubble up out of him when she runs her tongue along his shaft.

He does end up pulling over, hitting the brakes slow so as not to jostle her. He hits the button to move his seat back, to give them more room.

"Could be great if we hit the tree at the right moment," she jokes, but she's not paying much attention, not enough to notice that he's pulling over. She only notices his seat moving, and then she's pushing all the way back down, until her nose is touching skin, her eyes closed. Her free hand, the one not balancing her, is there to squeeze and rub everywhere else.

"I'd rather not get certain body parts amputated by your teeth and the dashboard," he says, starting to pant, thickening and flushing in her mouth. He throws his head back against the headrest of his seat, gritting his teeth because the pleasure overcomes some threshold of tension - not pain, but unbearable tension - to get there.

"Best mouth in Panem," he murmurs.

She hums around him, smiles a bit but keeps going, insistent as she always is when she's facedown in his lap. It's like she doesn't know how to go at this any other way than full-on -- she's never given a lazy blowjob in the sixteen years she's been performing them. They're the perfect act for her to indulge her need to be servile and loved and appreciated.

Squeezing his thigh, she shifts slightly, rebalances herself, but never stops sucking and moving her head.

It doesn't take her long to tease the orgasm out of him. It's either the right combination of licks and sucks and strokes, or the relief of having impressed her father or at least not humiliated himself, or the actual beauty that even he can recognize of the forest outside their car all at once- but he bucks back, gasping as he fills her mouth, melting entirely into her.

"Jesus, Swann..." he moans.

Swann purrs and swallows, doesn't pull away until he's gone soft in her mouth, then she sits back with a sigh and wipes the corner of her lips delicately. She rests her head against her seat, smiling at him, and just waits him out, her legs tucked neatly under her skirt. She doesn't even notice the trees and moonlight outside of the car, can't see anything beyond him because he fills every available inch of her conscious.

Jason's so spent that he's shaky when he turns his energy to her. He turns the car on, feeling a sheen of sweat on his forehead, an impossible lightness to his bones and a heaviness to his flesh.

"Let's go to the lake. Lie down on the grass." He reaches over and fingers the waistline of her skirt. "You need some attention too."

"Okay," she murmurs, touching his wrist, and settles back in her seat until they reach the lake, the vibration of the car pleasant and relaxing around her. Swann doesn't remember the last time she felt this low a level of stress, honestly, but at least for tonight, everything seems to be all right, doesn't make her tremble with anxiety or fear.

She only feels happy with him.

It isn't far, and Jason doesn't get immediately out of the car once they're there. Instead he takes a moment to wait with her, to just enjoy sitting there in the dark, lights on the car shut down, nothing but the expanse of sky and stars peeking out from the treetops and reflecting in the lake.

Then he gets out and opens the car door for her. "Come on. I think there might not even be too many mosquitoes."

She peers around, her eyes wide, because it's more of nature than she's seen before, at least like this. It's quiet except for their breathing and the sound of crickets, distant.

Jason opens the door and she gets out, only halfway paying attention to what he says, too fascinated with being someplace dark and quiet, really dark and quiet, not made so artificially.

"Your shoes won't get you far on this hilly grass," he says. "I'm not looking to take you home with a broken ankle."

He lifts her up and carries her in the darkness, probably no more coordinated than she would be, groping with his toes and heels to not slip. Soon they're down by the edge of the water, and he kicks off his shoes and sets her down. It isn't sand but stone out here, as private as anything gets in the Capitol that isn't an official blind zone. A bird calls somewhere in the distance, and the reflection of stars and moon is broken by the slight waves drifting over the shore.

The water laps at their toes.

He picks her up and she doesn't protest, just holds to his shoulder and watches the lake get closer and closer, until he sets her down and water on her feet makes her shiver a little. Swann leans against him, though she's watching the water crest and break. It's calming, makes her exhale and let a little more of her weight rest of him.

"I don't think I've ever been somewhere this dark. I mean, like naturally."

"I don't know that there's anywhere else this dark in the Capitol." Jason once went to that sensory-deprivation restaurant when he was having a migraine, hoping the dark and quiet would soothe his aching head, but the smell of the food ended up making him feel sick. "It's almost like the rest of the world don't exist at all."

He lays her back on the stone, arm underneath her, the other resting momentarily on her stomach before starting to travel downwards towards between her legs.

Swann never goes to that restaurant; she finds the idea of sitting in darkness and trying to eat to be uncomfortable. It sort of makes her feel like she'll poke herself in the eye with a fork. "I wish it didn't," she murmurs, turning her face to his shoulder, laying one hand on his chest.

She sighs and shifts a little, because they're on stone, turning just a bit more toward him. Her eyes are open, but she's really sort of looking past him, past the rise of his chest and to the sky, her eyelids low and lazy.

"Me too," he whispers. He settles closer to her, feeling nothing but the warmth of her body and the water along his ankles at the highest point, the night breeze wicking away the wet patches when the waves recede.

He finds the patch between her legs only somewhat wet, and teases at it with his fingers to try and bring some of that humidity back to her, elsewhere nestling his face in her hair.

She bites her lips and sighs, muffles a noise through her nose, then presses her face to his side, his shirt. It's instinct to move, accommodate his hand better and press her hips down to his hand until she's squirming, pink in her cheeks and her fingers curling on his chest.

"Jason..."

"You don't have to be quiet. There's no one here. Not even microphones." It's one of the few blind spots he and some of his older acquaintances found as teenagers, before he was old enough to drive, him and his older siblings and the Nadir boy and other youths too upper class to be hooligans, relishing a patch of shore where they could speak their mind as much as they trusted each other instead of as much as they trusted the ever-present cameras.

"Say my name," he whispers, breaking from her for just a moment to take off his shirt and then returning, tracing old shapes inside her with his fingers and kissing her neck.

Swann grew up with far more blind spots than most people, even other high-ranking Capitolites, and yet she could never have imagined using them to talk -- she spent her teenage years trying to fill up the hole inside herself by using her bedroom and father's office for sex and drugs and every other self-destructive thing she could come up with that she thought might make her friends, earn their love. But being loud isn't something that comes very naturally to her, never has, even when she has the freedom. If noise is what he wants, he'll have to push her into it.

"Jason," she says, and she whines because he's pulled away, because even that few seconds is too much. Wiggling against him, she opens her eyes and they shine in the dark as she looks at him, puts one hand on his cheek.

He gets up on top of her, too spent to fuck her with his whole body but closing in the space around her. He lowers himself down her body, gets his bare knees in the water as he trails kisses down her collarbone and then her stomach, only removing his fingers again when it's time to use his mouth instead.

"Louder," he whispers. "Say whatever you want. No one to hear you but me."

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#capitolprivilege

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