In the dead of night, Clove leaned with a shoulder pressed against the broad glass wall that separated her from the rainbow like city of the Capitol. The monumental buildings of glass and stone glow soft changing colors, that seemingly touch all areas of the spectrum. The dark of the night is drowned by the balls of light that bubble from their lofty forms. The light of the stars has been overshadowed by white, flickering lights that dot the wide streets below the towering structures of the city.
Clove watches the animated citizens that saunter the streets with aversion. They pass from shop to shop- the dazzlingly bright colors of their hair and bodies giving them the illusion of aliens from another world. Though, perhaps it wasn't an illusion- these people were from another world.
Despite her home being the second wealthiest district, Clove couldn't say it had been anything close to this. These creatures of the Capitol would look entirely out of place in her world of stone houses built along steep mountainsides, and muscular masons with worn skin, hunched over their work like brooding giants. Food may have been plentiful in District Two, but life there was still hard, with days full of arduous, and often begriming labor. Even the young faces of the aristocrats who trained alongside her in the academy could not match up to this entirely new race of people; these ignorant little twits who knew nothing of pain. There could scarcely be found a hardship to weigh on their senseless lives.
As she watches them, Clove rubs her thumb against the hilt of the knife clenched in her hand.
Lyme would have been displeased if she had noticed when Clove slipped it into her boot as their dishes were being taken away at dinner. She probably would have thought Clove was going to use it to kill Cato, or their escort, or anyone else really. While Clove had mused about those possibilities, murder actually wasn't her intention; not tonight, anyway.
The knife was only something to play with on sleepless nights. Clove was no stranger to these.
Her inability to sleep for longer than one or two hours at a time used to disturb her greatly.
Even now, there were still many nights spent viciously tossing and turning, and staring into the red glow of a clock. For reasons unknown to her, her struggles with sleep had started when she was very young. As a child, she would wander into her town, roaming from alleys to the various grey, stone buildings, and pattering with bare feet down the chilled floors of their long hallways.
But eventually, she learned to live with it. As she grew, she took to practicing with various weapons- her precious knives being chief among them. Clove's lack of sleep had a minimal impact on her daily functioning, or at least as far she could tell. Sometimes, however, voices that weren't there would whisper into her ears. Sometimes, she would even respond to them. But she brushed these occurrences off as simply being small mysteries- trivialities.
Besides, after one years' Hunger Games in particular, she had begun to think sleep was something she was better off without. A boy from District 5 had managed to win by stalking his opponents, and waiting for them to fall asleep before he killed them. Clove had thereby come to the conclusion that sleep was another liability- a state of ultimate vulnerability.
Though sometimes, she found herself wondering what a dream would be like, or even a nightmare.
The cool silence hanging in the air of her suite was suddenly broken by the sound of light breathing, and the crack of an ankle bone. Cato didn't sleep well either.
Instantly, she hated herself for jumping at the noise. That had been his goal after all- to at least intimidate, let alone frighten her by moving soundlessly until he was right at her back. It was just to make a point that she could have been at his mercy. If this had been the arena, he could have sliced her throat, or skewered her straight through the heart. So many of their interactions were of this nature; one trying to unnerve the other. It was childish, but after all, were they not still children?
Cato peers over her now tense shoulder to look at the "borrowed" steak knife that's encased securely in her hand.
"And what do you think you're going to do with that?", the alto of his voice rumbles in her ears like a tremor. There was something in his tone that told her he had a clue as to what was running through her mind at dinner. Her heart is beating too fast, but she keeps her back to him. The wood beneath her bare feet gives slightly as he shifts his weight and creeps closer.
"Stealing silverware now?", he continues, "That seems a little desperate." His voice is playfully condescending, but Clove doesn't miss the trace of malevolence underlying his teasing tone. She could almost hear the sneer on his face before turning to actually see it.
Cato towers over her in height and width a considerable amount. They are close enough that she has to raise her chin to meet his eyes.
"At least I'm not breaking it", she breathes. The knife feels light in her hands as she places it to his abdomen, moving upward and grazing it across the defining line between the two fan-shaped muscles of his chest with deliberate slowness. She feels his muscles tensing under the blade, but she continues trailing it upwards. But when the blade reaches the curve of his thick neck, his fingers quickly latch around her wrist.
Clove pauses, and watches him. The protrusion his throat rises and falls as he swallows. His skin puffs slightly around sharp edge with delicate softness, as if it is pushing into a pillow instead of his neck. Her vision has started to darken again, black closing in on Cato from the peripheries.
What had started off as a game of sorts was turning into something else entirely. Clove finds herself enraptured with the moment. A buzz of excitement tingles its way up her spine, and throughout the the rest of her body, flowing down her arms and lingering in her fingertips.
Her jaw clenches tightly in focus, and her eyes widen slightly at the thought of spilling his blood. All it would take is one push. She could do it.
So she does.
With just a faint movement of her wrist, the blade sinks further into the soft cushion of Cato's skin. If he hadn't been holding her back, she could have slashed it all the way across, splattering his blood onto the pale walls in a contrasting spray of glistening red. Cato's thick fingers suddenly constrict around her thin wrist with potent force. A gasp from the harsh pressure exerted on her wrist escapes Cloves mouth before she has time to control it, and her fingers promptly loosen from around the hilt of the knife, which slips and clanks on the floor.
Her other hand, which she only now notices has been clenching the fabric of Cato's thin shirt, was quick to fly to his face in defense, only to be caught by the deadly fingers of his other hand as well.
The glow of the Capitol lights radiates through the massive glass window, as it transitions from violet to a bright red. The glare reflects into Cato's vacant eyes as they weigh down into Clove's.
An involuntary cry escapes her lips unchecked as his grip tightens, but this time she can't even bring herself to care. Like a trapped animal, she has reverted to basic instinct, struggling against his grasp to save her wrists before they shattered.
The hard line of his mouth bends into a smile at the sight of her desperation.
"I'd be careful with that thing if I were you", he mocks in a raspy whisper. He inches closer, forcing her body against the wall next to the glass. All her eyes can take in are his broad shoulders and neck, which was now marked with a thin, red line.
She grits her teeth and tries her best to sound threatening, and to keep the pain from showing in her voice, "Get off of me, Cato", she spits with derision.
He moves his chiseled face in front of hers, tilting it just slightly enough for his hot breath to brush her over lips. He lowers his blonde eyelashes over his pale orbs, keeping them locked on her dark onyx ones. Clove had never seen his features display this expression- one that could only be described as somewhere between lethargic and seductive.
"Or what?", he taunts in a low voice. The corners of his mouth curve upwards into an impish smirk, and he gives her wrists another hard squeeze, which makes the right one crack. The pain was suddenly unbearable; he was going to break her wrists.
Tears of agony spring to Clove's pinched eyes as she bites down hard on her lip to keep from screaming.
"I could kill you", he breathes. "Right now, I could kill you. It would be so easy to just snap that pretty little neck of yours, but that would be a waste, when instead...".
Cato's voice trails off, as his eyes flicker around her face. His hips are pressed against her, keeping Clove trapped against the wall. As he begins to loosen his right hand's stifling grip on her left wrist, she attempts to wriggle around him, but to no avail. He quickly spreads open his left hand to restrain both of her wrists, and moves his foot over hers, crunching down.
Clove instinctively draws her foot back, bumping back into the wall, and giving a perfunctory groan through clenched teeth. His right hand, now free, reaches for her throat. She squirms as his hot fingers slip around the smooth skin of her neck and squeeze lightly, as if he was considering choking her. But they loosen again.
Dark eyes follow his hand, perturbed, as his fingers slowly travel further down, grazing against her collar bones, and stopping at the middle of her night shirt. A disturbing sense of unease is quickly settling in. "What...?" Clove begins, looking as his hand clutches the silky, emerald material. She pauses in her tracks when her eyes fall on the front of Cato's pants, where a large and obvious bulge had formed a tent in the soft cotton. She only now notices it prodding at her lower stomach.
Her eyes flit back up to his face, her lips parted in a silent, panicked gasp. This was another expression she hadn't seen before; she wishes that she hadn't.
Cato's tongue slides across his lower lip hungrily. Clove freezes slightly when she meets his icy, feral eyes again. They appear strangely glazed- leering almost. Cato takes advantage of her momentary distraction, using it as an opportunity to free up his left hand, which held her wrists.
He hastily moves it to the other side of her night shirt, and grabs another clump of the fabric.
In one swift motion, he gives a hard tug to the sides of Clove's shirt. It flies open, exposing a flat, pale stomach. The sound of its metal buttons tapping the floor snaps Clove back into action. "Get the hell away!"
She jabs her knee into Cato's bulging groin as hard she can. He promptly shoves her down and staggers back some steps, howling and cradling his injured crotch. The dull thud of Clove landing hard on her side rattles the air along with Cato's voice. Clove begins scrambling to her feet,
with Cato doubled over several feet away, hissing obscenities.
The knife she stole at dinner still lies on the ground where she dropped it earlier. Stretching out her bruised arm, Clove manages to wrap her fingers around the discarded utensil. She would very much like to use it to carve the bastard's eyes out of their sockets, but getting out of this situation right now seems like the wiser choice. She can save the revenge for the arena. Avoiding the risk of further injury to her already damaged wrists was imperative.
Half stumbling, half running, Clove begins making her way to the door of the Capitol suite. Cato has recovered enough from the blow, and she can feel each of his heavy footsteps behind her as they cave the wooden panels. Her fingers reach frantically for the doorknob; three, two, one...
one more step.
The full weight of Cato's body slams her to the floor. Something cracks, and her head smashes against the hardwood with a thud. Shit. The impact is dizzying.
"Thought you could get away?", he says in a huff. "You're going to pay for that, and I know a most fitting way," the anger in his tone contorted into a sneering gibe.
Cato's words are partially muffled by the dull swishing sound that laps around the inside of Clove's skull. Brain swimming, she attempts to crawl to her knees, but finds that she can hardly move.
Cato is sitting on her back- his hulking form unyielding. His hands have her wrists pinned above her head again, and she groans as he pushes down, grinding them into the floor. Clove's lungs struggle to expand- suffocated by the pressure of his weight, and the dense heat emanating off of his body. In an uncomfortable contrast, the smooth wood of the floor feels cold on her exposed stomach, and sends a slight chill through her torso.
She tilts her chin up, looking at one of the broad, periwinkle walls with blurry eyesight. Was the room vacillating, or her head? Clove's leaden body sinks the into wood, and the faint smell of polish tingles her nose as she inhales achingly. Cato's smug voice vibrates in her ears again. "Hey, don't get too comfortable. The real fun hasn't even started yet."
"The real fun", Clove's foggy mind repeats back. The twisted connotation of his words rings over her semi dazed state. Was he actually being fucking serious?
This confrontation feels like it has lasted hours already. But in a way, it has. There has been a fixed tension between the two since the day they were reaped- the moment they shook hands on the podium.
Cato's knees dig into the floor beside her shoulders, and the heavy, lulling heat resting on Clove's back suddenly lifts; a flush of the room's cool air sweeps over where he sat. He has raised up from the sitting position, with only his left hand detaining her wrists. This, she thinks, could be her last opening to get away from this sadistic asshole tonight.
She quickly maneuvers her sore wrists out of Cato's weakened grip. Just as she starts scooting out from under him, he grabs her by the forearm and yanks back, whirling her around with ease. Her back thumps the floor as she lands back down on it, this time facing Cato.
Everything aches as she pushes herself up onto her elbows with difficulty. Cato begins bending over from his kneeling position to crawl over her again.
She kicks at him wildly, knocking him in the neck and jaw with as much force as she can muster. But the blows only thwart Cato's advancement momentarily.
He captures her legs in his massive palms, and pulls them down, draping them on either side of his hips. The colorful city lights streaming through the large glass frame have begun to blear. He leans over her; his hardened visage darkens and warps in Clove's fuzzy vision.
Clove heaves a sigh as she collapses from her elbows. The pounding in her head reverberates off of the wood it now lays on.
Cato's hand flutters across her neck and her concealed breasts. He hooks a finger underneath the seam in the front of her bra, and pulls. The hooks at the back dig into Clove's skin, leaving scratches as he tears the article of clothing away from her chest. Eagerness fills his eyes as they roll over the soft mounds of her bosom.
Even in her barely cognizant state, Clove knows what will happen next. She just feels so... off. It was likely the bash to the floor that her head took earlier draining her of energy, but another quaint feeling weighs her down.
The position of their bodies seems too intimate; it feels strange. The desire to snap her pinned arms over her chest nags at her, as she feels heat rising to her cheeks. Cato's hand brushes along her stomach, as he trails it further down to the silky band of her night pants matching the shirt he'd torn open.
Clove stills as he slides them down her slender legs. Once her lower body has been cleared of the clothing, Cato immediately begins running his hands up the smooth skin. Shudders stream throughout Clove's body from the points his hands blaze across.
She almost forgets herself, but Cato's voice stirs her, "It was more exciting when you put up a fight. Come on, don't bore me by going docile so soon.", he says snarking.
His hands continue to roam Clove's body; hot fingers teasingly skitter against her inner thighs, and graze up the flat of her stomach. Her breasts feel especially small when he cups them in his massive palms.
The tips of his fingers circle her nipples, and pinch lightly. Clove exhales a soft moan that feels retrained upon its release. An odd sense of indignation settles in. The brute was toying with her. The alterations between gentle and rough were too confusing.
Clove keeps her eyes closed, because opening them will reveal a sight that she may not want to see. His fingers dance across her skin too quickly to entirely process in her state. All she can do is feel; a warm finger circles around her naval similarly to the way they had her nipples. When it purls around the inside unhurriedly, Clove finds herself stifling a gasp.
She was loosing her grasp on her mind, and she knew it, but the need to withhold any possible satisfaction from Cato still burned within the haze. She couldn't let him see whatever it was that this was doing to her.
Cato slips two of his thick fingers under the laced fabric of Clove's panties. They teasingly slide along the band until they reach the curve of her hip. Then he suddenly pulls back. Clove slowly allows her eyes to peel open, curious as to what would be Cato's next action.
She watches, feeling all the more naked under Cato's lustful gaze as it drifts over each curve of her body. His glacier blue eyes bore into her chest and nether regions; a salacious smirk plays at his lips. His hand now addresses the front of bulging his trousers. He slides them down just enough to free his swollen erection, veins pulsating under the soft, pink skin which has stretched thinner with his increase in size.
He now moves his hand to the thin article of clothing covering the last of Clove's privacy. With a single finger, he pushes the black piece of cloth to the side,
revealing his prize. Something in her mind screams at her to move, as he guides his member to her untouched entrance.
"Do something, something!"
The words resound around Clove's brain like an alarm, but they choke more on the murkiness with each echo. Her body stiffens when she feels the hard tip of Cato's manhood come into contact with her now slick folds. From where it touches, he already feels too large to fit; this would definitely be an uncomfortable ordeal.
Her teeth are already gritted in preparation for what will inevitably come next. He shoves his hips forward, burying himself completely inside of her, and relishing her yelp as the tight cavity stretches to accommodate his girth. Cato can't help but give a smirk of gratification at Clove's face twisted in agony, trying desperately to keep from whimpering. Every second of watching that pained expression arouses him to new heights.
She writhes in discomfort at the painful intrusion, and attempts to push him away by his shoulders. Cato only recaptures one of her arms, and pins it above her head. Dark welts form on the pale skin underneath the crushing grasp of his fingers. Trickles of blood smear on his manhood as he resumes the task at hand.
Cato pants as he quickens the pace of his thrusting; he craved her, and tonight, he would spare no mercy in sating the hunger.
*In, out, in, out*. Every movement feels like being torn apart inside. "This," Cato growls, "This is what I've always wanted to do. On the train," *thrust*, "at dinner",
*thrust*, "in the training center", *thrust*, "and right now! What could be more satisfying?!"
Clove gets some relief when the rending pain gradually lessens into tinging, and her body begins to adjust to the tempo of Cato's thrusts. *In, out, in out*, harder now. A peculiar sort of pressure weaves itself within the tinges of pain, as Cato fucks her. It feels... no it couldn't, it shouldn't; not like this, not from him.
The sprouting sensations from Cato's ramming inside Clove's cunt prickle up her ankles and chill her spine. It feels strikingly similar to the buzz she had felt when she placed the knife at his throat. Uncontrollable shockwaves of pleasure fire throughout her entire being, as Cato continues ravishing her how he pleases.
This wasn't right, but then again, since when have either of them ever cared about what was right or wrong? Cato's cock throbs inside of her sopping slit, which he redoubles his efforts into breaking in. The pleasure coils inside of their lower abdomens, winding tighter and tighter with each thrust. Hells, this was becoming too much.
In a flash, it springs free. Cato releases a deep moan as he retracts himself at his climax, and his thick, white seed spurts onto Clove pale skin. However, she barely notices, the waves of ecstasy from her own orgasm rocking her into oblivion.
UPDATE: Someone, please review! It's been over three weeks since I posted this.
Thanks in advance for any reviews, positive and negative.
Yes, this is a fanfiction of a fanfiction.
The theme I was trying to create was- elegantly graphic (don't know how well I did that). If you do review, I'd appreciate feedback on what you think it came across as.