Dictatorship Chapter 7 – Crime and Punishment
A/N: this chapter contains counter-slash and sweet-lemon; read with caution.
A/N: text in bold is known to all four characters; text in regular is only known to two.
"So," Clove began halfheartedly, sitting adjacent to Glimmer, "how do you think your district partner is currently befouling my district partner?"
"Befoul?" Glimmer says, not so much as raising an eyebrow, "I rather think 'belittle' is a word that fares much better at describing the situation, dear."
"Really, dear?" Clove asks a non-question, "I was hoping, in vain perhaps, that we settled this silly little quarrel and play these Games like we're supposed to."
"That, dear friend," Glimmer replies with a non-response, "comes only through either co-operation or subjugation. The former brings publicity, and the latter victory; but since the latter is inevitably bestowed upon someone, only the former is worth seeking."
"How true, dear Glimmer."
Marvel hobbles over to the food-ordering portal.
"Deußenberry Blue, 2 please," Marvel orders laxly and silently into the speaker. Marvel returns to the bed and snuggles himself into the covers with Cato.
"Aaaarrrarararrraghhhhaaahhh –," Cato shouts.
"Ooooouuuuuuchhhhhhyyyyyy – ," Marvel echoes.
"Marvel," Glimmer says as she abruptly stands up, looking at the closed door at Cato's porch, "you seriously don't need some help?"
"Cato," Clove says in replication, "the same?"
"Glimmer, I'm OK."
"Clove, the same."
They toast.
"Oi! Cato, you broke my favourite cup! You're going to paaaayyyyy for this~"
Marvel stops and punches Cato's fluffy pillow, producing a noise akin to a muffled punch against flesh.
"Mar~vel~ What was that for? Imagine how you are going to be begging for mercy when I drop the dressing table on you~"
Cato goes off the bed and slams the clock on the night table, making a frightful racket.
"Cato! Guess what~ I may be bleeding like crazy, but I'm still going to fight you like a man~" Marvel feigns, bashing his limbs against the bed.
Glimmer and Clove visibly draw in a deep breath as they continue to root for their respective partners in the campaign for the leadership.
"Marvel," Glimmer says worriedly, knocking on the locked door, "you sure you don't need an ambulance?"
The answer is in the negative but heavily dossed with masculine indifference.
"Thanks, dear," Marvel says softly as the drinks appeared through the delivery window. He hands one to Cato.
"Here's to your health," Cato says, raising his 70th drink this evening to the heavens, "and to the winner of our fight."
"Hic," replies Marvel.
"Hic?" asks Glimmer, who just sat down at her chair, restarting the footage of the 20th Games.
"Hic? I mean Heck! Cato! I won't wash my shirt when it has your blood all over it. I'll put it in a frame and use it as a decoration for my son's room." Marvel bellows, huffing and puffing especially conspicuously.
"This is good stuff, Marvel," Cato comments thoughtfully, marveling at the golden filtrations of the amber ambrosia that Marvel had ordered for him."
Glimmer has, for another hour, paced impatiently in the living room, listening to the punching and gasping from the two males shielded from their scrutiny.
"Dear Clove," she spouts, "would you not agree that any fight with Career-intensity ought to have been decided by now?"
"I couldn't agree more, dear Glimmer."
Marvel keeps his ears pasted to the door.
"Cato," Marvel whispers with urgency, "they're beginning to think that we're done fighting! Make some noise!"
"Aaaarrrrraaaaaggggghhhhh!" Cato moans as though he were in pain.
Glimmer and Clove exchange a nod of acknowledgment and an unspoken scheme, most dark and spiteful. They move the furniture to the door of Cato's chambers, and sit thereon. They begin speaking in a… hyperbolical manner.
"I am rapidly coming to the conclusion," Glimmer states, "that the 'screams of exertion' emanates from an activity of considerable difference in nature than that which we had believed to have been taking place."
"What sort of activity?"
"An activity that involves intimacy instead of hostility."
"Care to elaborate your deductive mind, dear Glimmer?"
"An activity particularly and ostensibly unsuitable for our underaged eyes and ears, and unworthy of our patience and respect."
"Which is…"
"Susceptible to derive pleasure rather than pain."
"Dear Glimmer," Clove says in false disbelief, "you are surely not suggesting that they… they"
"Precisely."
"Cato!" Marvel says, "They're beginning to think that I'm befouling you!"
"What?" Cato replies in obvious panic, "They couldn't possible think that!"
"In fact," Clove suggests wildly, "if they have decided to admit each other as their dearest and closest and consequently abandoned us, why should we even pretend to maintain a relationship with those two gentlemen?"
"Indeed," Glimmer puts forth, "if they are permitted to adulterate our confidence, why should we defend theirs in light of their iniquitous treatment to that of ours?"
"Exactly, Glimmer," Clove recommends, "if they derive pleasure from each other, why shouldn't we be able to do the same?"
"How gratifying, Clove, to have a lady of your mental constitution to enlighten the both of us."
"What?" Marvel shouts in outrage, "they… they… they…. We must go out and clear our names!"
"No," Cato replies, "that'll make them think we bow to their requests. They're doing it because they want to make us jealous!"
"Then we must make them jealous instead!"
"Exactly, Marvel," Cato bellows in fellowship, "we are not to permit those little whores to engage in this outrageous, scandalous activity."
"Alone."
"Precisely."
"Item, 1 undressed Clove," states Glimmer, "check."
"Item, 1 flower vase, I understand you like it big," states Glimmer, "check."
"Item, 2 pieces of rope," says Marvel, "check."
"Item, 1 naked Cato," repeats Marvel, "check."
"And, now, for the finishing touch, follow my lead," instructs Glimmer through whispers.
She starts moaning in a highly erotic fashion. Clove imitates her, and produces disturbing noises.
The two gentlemen then move from their position on the floor to opposite ends of the sofa.
"Wait," whispers Cato, "who's going to be, you know, at the top?"
"Does it matter?"
"It might."
"Right. I'll flip a coin. Heads or tails?"
"Heads."
He flips it.
"It's tails."
"It looks like I owe you a favour then."
"Fine. I'm a great actor."
Marvel stands up.
"Cato," Marvel continues in his normal voice in an increased volume, "I've tied you to the bedposts. There's no escape!"
"Come on, man, you don't have to do this to me!"
"Oh, yes, Cato, you're going to be executed by impalement, you know."
"That's such an exaggeration," Cato whispers.
"No, Cato, think of something crazy to say."
"Well," Cato resumes his normal volume, "bring it on, Marvel! I can take everything!"
"We'll see about that!"
"Cato, scream." Asks Marvel.
"Ouch! Aaarrrraaaagh! Arrrrararaaaaaaaaarrararghghghgh!"
"Couldn't even take it up to here? You'll see how painful it would be with all 32 ½ inches of it within you!"
"32 ½? Is that even possible?"
"Well," gasps Marvel, "we're trying to make them jealous, right? No point in stopping short."
"Cato, you're so tight!"
"Stop it, Marvel, you've hit the spot repeatedly, and I think I'm going to pass out!"
"Yeah? I've said that my insane ability to torture you with my body would not stop until the seeds of life are emitted!"
"Hah… heh… you look so smexy without your clothes on, Marvel, yeah, harder!"
"You're a better actor than I thought," says Marvel in a whisper.
"Thanks."
"I know, right?" Marvel continues amid emitting hard, masculine grunts of a profoundly embarrassing nature, "I'm like the god Adonis! Let's see how much longer will it take for you to beg for mercy!"
"Wow," states Cato in amusement, "this is completely incoherent."
"Of course; we won't want them to know that it's actually not happening, do we?"
"Well, Cato, what do you think? I'm pounding away at your tenderest areas, and your member looks as though it were the Statute of Liberty compared with the World Trade Centre!"
"Show me what you've got, Marvel, oh yeah, yeah…"
"Scream harder," Marvel directs.
"Argh! My posterior really can't take it any more, Marvel…"
"Well too bad, you need to be punished! You're the one who's going to explain to Clove why you can't sit down!"
"We can't lose to this abominable buggery going on in that cursed room!" mutters Glimmer to Clove, who is beginning to get short on breath with her heaving.
"Aw geez… not even Enobaria was this good with it," states Clove in corrupted exhaustion.
"Why," Cato says in utter surprise, "I did not know that Enobaria is such an inbred, incest-ridden hag! Besides, she's more than 40 – having this sort of behaviour with 13-year-old Clove is utterly immoral and atrocious."
"Indeed," Marvel echoes, "are you thinking… trespass…"
"Vi," continues Cato.
"Et…"
"ARMIS! Hell yeah!"
