Explicit content ahead.
x. incandescent
As a child, when Clove misbehaved or didn't do well enough in the Academy rankings, she would be locked in the closet, her cries and pleas to be let out ignored by her parents. Ever since, it was safe to say she had a strong aversion to confined spaces and the dark.
In District Two, having fears were considered a sign of weakness. Hence, over the years, Clove had forced herself to confront them. Any activity that involved her being in a tight cramped area, she would sign herself up. Trekking alone in the dark outskirts of Two? She would be there. By fifteen, she was proud to say that she'd conquered them.
Or so she thought.
She was in the dark. Why couldn't she see anything?
Breath quickening, Clove tried to lift her hands up to rub at her eyes, to find out what the hell was blocking her vision, only to realise that her hands weren't responding.
What the fuck was going on? What was wrong with her? Why couldn't she move?
Distantly, panic began clawing up her chest and she frantically commanded her brain to do something—anything. The longer none of her limbs were able to respond, Clove began to hyperventilate. Her mind began screaming for her to open her mouth to gulp down some much needed air. But of course, it didn't help. She thought she might actually start to choke to death right there and then until awareness flooded through her senses.
Someone was screaming. And no. It wasn't her.
"...fuck is wrong with her?!"
"Please, move aside—"
"Lay a single finger on me and I'll rip you apart with a fucking smile on my face!"
Clove knew that voice. But somehow, she couldn't picture the face that belonged to its owner.
"...heart is too fast…she's panicking…."
"She's awake?! Clove!"
"Boy, move it...not helping... let the professionals…"
God, why the fuck couldn't she open her eyes? She knew that second voice too.
"She dies, I die! Remember that! Now fix her!"
A sliver of blinding brightness entered her eyes and she winced, shrinking away. Despite wanting to flail about and scream to show she was awake and conscious, everything turned black when she felt a slight pinch in her arm. Soon enough, Clove found herself being thrown into oblivion.
Upon awakening, the first thing Clove noticed was the pink-skinned man standing to her left. He was a Capitol clone—skin dyed a horrible shade of fuchsia, obnoxiously long white eyelashes fanning over his cheekbones when he blinked. From the way he was dressed, she guessed that he had to be some sort of doctor.
When she met his gaze, she furrowed her brows, unsure if the white-clothed figure was just a figment of her imagination. She didn't recognise him, nor the room she was in. However, when he moved, tapping furiously on the tablet in his hand, she froze, mind whirring into action as jumbled scenes flashed through her mind at rapid speed.
Killing Twelve. The Capitol mutts. Bread Boy screaming. Cato getting hurt. The revocation of the amended rule.
But most of all, she clearly remembered slitting a knife across her throat, killing herself. So why was she still breathing?
She can't have imagined slicing her own neck, not when she can vividly recall the brief flash of pain, of her sweaty palm clutching the wooden handle of the blade, heart and mind feeling terribly numb and hopeless. Nor could she have dreamt it up, despite the lack of a raised scar on her throat where one should be. Exactly how was she still alive?
Unless…
Her mouth parted as her jaw worked involuntarily.
Cato had died.
Lower lip trembling, she fisted her hands into the sheets on her sides, pulling her knees inwards. No. That couldn't have happened. Cato couldn't be gone. She wouldn't accept it. She can't. But that didn't explain her being alive. The Games only allowed for a single winner and if she was still breathing, it meant that Cato had to be dead.
The back of her eyes stung and Clove inhaled shakily, frantically grabbing at her chest as though the mere action would ease the agony of her heart from being rendered into two.
Together or nothing.
Compelling herself to get some fucking control or at least for the moment, she jerked upright, releasing great gasping breaths and cast wary eyes around the room. Surely, there had to be something here she could use. Something she could use as a weapon. Something she could use to kill.
Spotting a plastic ruler on a metal table not far from her bed, she chanced a glance back at the pink-skinned man and tensed, gearing herself to attack, body poised to strike.
"If you would remain still for a moment—"
Her eyes flashed and she hissed, baring her teeth before lunging. Pushing herself off the bed, Clove ignored her shaky knees, forcing them to bear her weight as she reached for the piece of stationary. With a quick twist of her wrist, the ruler broke, revealing a sharp jagged edge. While her makeshift weapon wasn't as effective as her knives, she knew with great certainty that this could still do quite a fair bit of damage.
Without hesitation, she whirled around, arms reaching for the man to shove him to the ground. Pinning him down with her knees pressing into his gut, she ignored the man's cry and jammed her elbow into his windpipe, effectively blocking any further attempts to get help.
With the broken edge of the ruler positioned at the jugular of his throat, Clove tilted her head and was about to dig it into flesh when Peacekeepers burst through the doors, guns out and aimed right in her direction. Though the sight of the six armed and armoured man didn't make her flinch, what stopped her from pursuing her suicide mission was the sight of Enobaria marching in a few seconds later.
"Girl, put that down," she ordered, eyes narrowing. "Now," the older woman added forcefully when she didn't move.
Clove didn't respond. Didn't move. Didn't do anything, really.
"Put that down. It's fine, I'll explain everything—"
"I was supposed to be dead," she interjected, voice hoarse and throat scratchy from not being used in days. Or was it weeks? She didn't know.
"Just put that down—"
"No!"
"Clove, I'm telling you—"
"I'm supposed to be dead," she snarled, ignoring the stillness of the doctor beneath her or the way her heart was just a raw broken mess in her ribcage. "Cato was supposed to win and go home! Why didn't you bring him back instead?"
Enobaria's lip flattened into a thin line as she took a step closer but Clove reacted faster. Without breaking her gaze away from her Mentor, she squeezed the man's throat, digging crescent-shaped marks into flesh, eliciting a pained whimper.
"Stay away," she warned lowly, tilting her head to the side. "I may not have a knife but anything sharp is a good replacement to kill."
"You don't have to," Enobaria snapped. "You're not in the Arena anymore. You're safe."
Not even caring about the Peacekeepers who were no doubt close to yanking her off and putting bullets through her skull, Clove shrugged. "I don't care. I was supposed to die and Cato was to win the Games. But he's dead. And now, so am I. Go ahead and shoot me."
Her Mentor opened her mouth but Clove turned away. She didn't need to hear anymore. She had said all that had to be said. She was ready.
Wetting her lower lip, she straightened, mentally preparing herself for the inevitable pain of being torn apart by rapid gunfire. Looking down at the whimpering man, she closed her eyes, steadying herself and—
"Cato's alive!"
Eyes snapping wide, Clove froze. When she spoke, her voice was a hairbreadth away from a whisper. "What?"
"He's fine!" Enobaria hissed, palms facing outwards in the air as she took another wary step closer. "You both won."
"No. You're lying."
"I'm not! You're both Victors!"
Lies. It was all lies. Clove shook her head. She would not listen to this.
"I promise you. Your partner is alive and kicking and being a pain in my ass," Enobaria insisted before throwing the uniformed soldiers a glare when they adjusted their grip on their weapons. "Trust me," she said, turning back to her. "When have I ever misled you? I've been on your side this whole time."
Clove hesitated and that was all it took for the Peacekeepers to strike. Together, they hauled her unresisting form off her captive before splitting up. Four of them were positioned around her while the remaining two led the doctor out of the room.
But none of her attention was on any of that. Not when she caught sight of Cato barging into the room, causing the doors to swing outwardly, banging hard against the wall, eyes wild and frantic as he scanned the room. When they landed on her still form in a corner, surrounded by the four men, he grew enraged, face flushed as he shouldered past everyone else to get to her.
"Get the fuck away from her!"
A shuddering gasp escaped from her throat and Clove was ashamed to say she burst into tears.
"Stop crying, Clovey."
"Shut up!" she snapped between gasping hiccups and noisy sobs that made her feel like a kid again. Still, she didn't let go.
Not when Cato had to push her head down between her thighs to fend off her impending panic attack, or when he'd guided her to the bed when her knees finally gave up, bringing her to the ground. The moment he arrived, approaching her limp form, she'd bawled into his shirt and refused to let go.
If she thought it possible, Clove would've climbed under his skin and stayed there.
Fingers curled into the soft cotton of his shirt as she pressed her face into his chest, Clove released another shuddering breath, inhaling his scent as his large hands spanned her back, rubbing soothing patterns. It calmed her, finally allowing herself to steady her breathing, for the tears to stop falling.
"How?" She gasped, drawing back slightly so she could look up at him. "I died."
"No, you didn't."
"But—"
Slowly, he swiped a stray tear from her cheek with the pad of his thumb. "You almost did. There was so much blood and you were—" he cut himself off and shook his head.
She didn't reply, pressing her face further into his hand. Eager to touch him, to feel him on her, she curled closer towards him. Body fitting against him, Clove buried her face into the crook of his neck, feeling the steady rhythmic throb of his pulse and the heat of him, signalling that he was truly alive and well. That he wasn't some sick fantasy her mind had concocted to help her cope with his death.
"Can we get some fucking privacy?" Cato demanded abruptly, throwing a furious glower over his shoulder.
Enobaria's snort and the sound of retreating marching punctuated the fact they were finally alone.
The next thing she knew, he was kissing her.
He tilted her chin before cupping her face in his hands, palms cradling her cheeks as he lowered his head. Mouth hot and fast, he moved against her lips urgently and hungrily. It was as if he was trying to speak a thousand words through the melding of their mouths.
"You're such a fucking bitch." His voice, low and rough broke through.
"Huh?"
"You tried to kill yourself for me!" he snapped, drawing back. "Why the fuck would you do that?"
"I've always intended to make sure you won the Games even at my own expense."
"Why?"
"I…" she avoided his eyes and played with a loose thread from the hem of his shirt. "I have nothing back home for me if I won. You know that. And between you and I, you deserved to come home. You would have been fine without me."
Cato's face darkened.
"No," he retorted, shaking his head. "That's fucking untrue."
"It is not," she argued, tilting her chin. "You have friends, your family and regarding what you feel for me, you'll have gotten over them eventually."
"Stop!" he barked. With gentleness she didn't expect, his larger hands grabbed hers, their fingers intertwining, like puzzle pieces slotting perfectly. "Fucking hell, Clove. Don't you get it? Living without you isn't worth it. Life without you isn't worth it."
She gaped at him, lips parting.
"Together or nothing, remember? Isn't that what you said? So what the fuck happened to that?"
A disbelieving snort escaped and she glanced away, unable to meet those accusative blue eyes or admit to feeling his hands trembling in her smaller ones.
"Why are you always throwing my own words back at me?" she mumbled.
Cato shook his head. "When your knife went across your throat, blood spilling out, you were just…" he swallowed hard, eyes squeezing shut as he tried to steady himself. "You were just limp in my arms and—fuck, there was just so much blood and I…"
"What happened then?"
His eyes opened, meeting hers squarely, a cold glint appearing in those icy depths. "I threatened them. Said that if you died, I'll kill myself right there and then. I meant it. Of course, they complied immediately. They needed their fucking winner."
The conviction ringing through his voice sent chills down her spine. Clove furrowed her brows, shifting as Cato released her hands to push her hair behind her ears. The action was done so carefully, his fingers lingering on her jaw as he gazed at her.
However, it was the turbulent emotions in his eyes that did her in.
She bit her lip and reached out, taking the initiative to soothe him. The tip of her thumb grazed the tiny scar on his left eyebrow. A scar he'd gotten when he once failed to move away when she'd hurled a blade at him. Perhaps, she was a little sick for liking the fact she'd marked him permanently with her knives, even though it'd been an accident.
Cato shuddered, eyes fluttering shut as he leaned into her touch as she cupped his cheek, feeling the prickly stubble growing over his jaw. Observing him, Clove could tell he'd aged by half a decade considering the newer lines on his face, the dark shadows under his eyes and the way he seemed to have matured.
He was no longer the arrogant cocky boy of their childhood who believed he was invincible, that everything could be solved with his fists. He couldn't be. Not after the hell they've gone through, especially the shit she'd pulled at the end. She mourned for that boy.
But yet, Clove didn't regret it.
She would do it all over again if it meant him being alive and kicking.
"Don't you fucking do that to me again." Cato sounded exhausted, but there was no denying the forceful nature of his tone nor the warning in his heavy-lidded stare.
She didn't bother replying—they both knew her answer. Instead, Clove graced him with a small tiny smile and carded her hands through his tousled hair.
"I mean it," he mumbled, brushing his lips on the top of her head. "I fucking mean it, Clovey."
"I'll try."
With that, she leaned closer, hooking her arms around his neck and kissed him fiercely. As her brain brought forward every thought and emotion she had for her best friend, she focused on him, on Cato, the boy she would kill and die for. The boy she would do anything for.
Cato, Cato, Cato.
The blond growled, responding to her with equal fervour as he tugged her onto his lap, arms banding around her like steel bars. With the way he was kissing her eagerly, all demanding and rough, to her, it felt as if he was trying to remind himself that she was here with him—alive.
When her lungs were about to shrivel up and die from the lack of oxygen, she reluctantly pulled away, lips lingering on his as she stroked his cheek. "I love you," she murmured, raising her lashes to meet Cato's half-lidded gaze. "I fucking love you."
His cerulean eyes went impossibly soft, mouth curving into a smile as he hugged her tightly, not leaving a single inch of space between their bodies.
"Love you too, Clovey," he mumbled into her hair. "So fucking much."
The crowning ceremony passed in a blur of flashing lights and colours.
If she was asked to bring up one thing she remembered from the whole event, Clove would give the description of President Snow's cold unnerving eyes as he placed a golden crown on her head. Of how that single look made her feel as though he'd managed to read her like a book in that short few seconds.
But that could never be compared with the assessing gaze he gave to Cato when he was hailed as the second Victor. She can't accurately describe it, but she knew it was nothing good. Chills went down her spine and something heavy landed in her belly at Snow's distinct tone when he congratulated them.
If she thought she was capable of shielding the blond from that icy dissatisfied stare, she would do so in a heartbeat. But with Enobaria meeting her eyes from across the room, Clove forced herself to remain still, a bland smirk on her face as the crowd continued to roar their approval when they were officially presented as the first pair to win the Hunger Games.
And of course, the interview with Caesar Flickerman hadn't gone any better.
Hands clasped together and decked out in Capitol finery, Clove followed Cato's lead as they stepped onto the stage. Focusing her eyes on the back of his head, she took slow steady steps, doing her best to block out the crowd's deafening cheers and screams.
Flickerman was gleefully stirring the crowd, encouraging the audience's standing ovation with his customary shit-eating grin on his face as he welcomed them on his turf.
Staying true to their cultivated facade of the last time they've been there, Cato smirked, leaning back into his chair as he spread his legs and lifted one up to rest across his thigh. She, on the other hand, sat at his right, crossing her ankles daintily as she gazed at the crowd impassively. Despite that, Clove leaned closer to the blond when he slung an arm around her waist, fingers gripping her hips.
If it was possible, the Capitol grew louder at their blatant display of affection.
The interview started off with a recap of the Games, showing key highlights that have occurred. Watching herself on screen, Clove grimaced inwardly. But she sat up straighter when scenes of her fellow tributes made their appearance, marvelling at their sheer stupidity. Though the scene of Twelve kissing Lover Boy made her raise her brows skeptically.
Truthfully, Clove hoped the cameras hadn't caught her and Cato when they've been in that similar position.
But they did. With her and Cato being romantically linked, all of their private moments being made public caused her to shift in her seat and clench her teeth. She hated this. Hated that outsiders now had a glimpse of her private life, of her relationship with Cato.
Thankfully, the montage ended soon enough. The last thing to be featured was their crowning ceremony and that's when the questions started.
As Cato was the sociable one in their pair, he answered Flickerman's questions with ease and charm. Engaging the crowd with a cocky flair they seemed to adore, he talked, grabbing everyone's attention with his replies. In fact, with him spearheading the interview, she'd hoped that Flickerman would forget all about her and simply aim his attention on her partner.
Unfortunately, that didn't happen and the next thing she knew, Flickerman turned to her, crafty eyes gleaming as he shifted them her way.
"Now we've all heard Cato's side and I'm sure we all are curious about you, Clove. Being the last two tributes at the end, how did you feel when the ultimatum was issued? We all knew you'd rather die than fight Cato—we all saw what you did and we were all very moved by your dedication and love for him."
Clove stared blankly at him, violent curses and swears rising up in her mind and she opened her mouth, more than ready to shoot some comment about minding his own fucking business when Cato squeezed her waist. Immediately, she deflated and forced a wane smile.
Glancing at the blond in question and with his small nod giving her the strength to speak, she shrugged and resisted the urge to fidget. Eyes never moving away from his magnetic blue ones, she began haltingly, "From the start, I just knew I couldn't let him die and…I know I would do anything for him to win. Ultimately, all that matters to me is his wellbeing and happiness."
Discomfort creeped up her spine as their audience let out simultaneous gushes and coos at her admission.
Fuck. She swallowed, a muscle in her cheek twitching from how hard she was clenching her teeth. It only took Cato lacing their fingers together that her frayed nerves steadied. If that wasn't enough, he leaned closer, brushing a kiss on her temple.
That alone sent the crowd into a further frenzy and even Flickerman looked awed and touched.
When it was finally over and they were back in their room in their apartment, Clove kicked off her heels and leaned against the wall. Resting her head on the door, she shut her eyes and let out a heavy exhale. Tension, thick and heavy in her bones, dissipated, causing her to sag and for her shoulders to slump.
She was both mentally and emotionally wrung out.
Watching the recap of the Games, especially the more horrifying personal moments like the times where she thought he'd died or more glaringly, the two times she'd almost died, it felt like she was reliving everything. It brought back all those fucking twisted emotions. To her, it was as if she was drowning with no piece of land in sight, lost in her own mind and heart.
"You okay?" Cato's voice was even and soft, a stark contrast to his arrogant facade from earlier.
She nodded, unable to speak.
"Come here."
Not needing to be told twice, she went to him, allowing her small frame to be enveloped in his welcoming familiar heat. It was only there in his arms that she was at peace, brain quieting as her heart calmed. Cato may be many things but for now, he was her lifeboat.
"Did you mean it?"
"Yeah," she whispered into his shirt. "Every fucking word."
He drew back slightly, brows creased as he tilted her chin upward. "No regrets?"
"No." She shook her head, eyes never leaving his.
Clove studied him, tracing his every feature and she realised...she wanted him. Now. If there was one thing the Games had taught her, life was too short and somehow, she'd been granted a miraculous chance at life. Furthermore, watching the clips reminded her how close she'd come to losing it all.
Wordlessly, she tipped her head back, seeking out the familiar warmth of his mouth.
As their lips met, hot and insistent, his hands slowly ran along her sides, fingers slipping to her lower back and down the curve of her ass, causing her body to heat up, to yearn for more. Swiping her tongue along his lower lip, that action provoked him and Clove found herself being slammed against the back of the wall, the kiss she'd initiated taking a whole new direction.
Cato took charge, drugging her senses with the sheer magnitude of him, of his skillful mouth and eager swipes of his tongue. Whimpers and pants escaped her throat and Clove felt she could keep on kissing him even though her lungs were burning for their need of oxygen. At this point, she couldn't bring herself to care, not when he was doing that with his tongue.
Her head fell back and she rested it against the wall, exposing the long expanse of her throat. That didn't stop him. He began working down her jaw, creating bruises on random spots on her collarbones. Clove would feel bad he had to hunch to reach her considering their height difference but it felt so fucking good that she merely tilted her head further. Meanwhile, Cato's hands had already found their way under her dress, calloused digits dragging along the soft sensitized skin of her waist, causing her brain to spin off wildly.
Even though her mind was hazy and lust rushing through her veins, she knew that she wanted his shirt gone. She needed to bare skin against her fingertips, wanted to re-familiarise herself with the dips and planes of his torso, to trace both old and new scars on his body. Curling her fingers into the luxurious garment, she yanked hard.
"Cato," she mumbled against the skin of his neck. "Off. Get your shirt off."
Impatiently, she didn't wait for him to respond but began to fumble with the tiny buttons, doing her best to free the small plastic discs from their loops.
Chest rumbling, he batted her hands away and simply wrenched his shirt off. Not waiting to see where the offending piece of clothing landed, he was back on her in a flash. Except this time, he hauled her up and wrapped her legs around his hips while leaving soft kisses and nips along her jawline.
Running her hands over his exposed flesh, she made a mental map of the various scars and ropes of muscle spanning his back. Sighing as Cato slid a hand up her waist, fingers brushing the sides of her breast, Clove squirmed and arched her back, eager for this and more and everything.
Arousal, liquid and hot coiled low in her belly and she fisted her fingers in his blond locks as he began to rub himself against her. The friction of his hard heavy length grounding against her needy core sent her reeling and she shuddered.
How had she ever gone through life without this?
"Bed," she moaned, hips thrusting impatiently against his when a hand slid up to cup the swell of her breast. "Bed. Now."
"Fuck," he groaned hoarsely.
That was the last thing she heard before Cato drew back and tugged at her dress. The silk ripped from her side and Clove didn't have time to react before he tore the material off her shoulders before unhooking her bra with dexterity she didn't miss.
"An expert, huh?"
"No." He shot her a look through dilated pupils. "It's just hooks. What's so difficult about that?"
She would've given some smartass comment had it not been for the way his mouth drew a hardened peak into his mouth.
Immediately, her hips bucked and she whimpered, tugging hard on his hair, head banging hard against the wall as his tongue laved flat broad strokes against her nipple. That alone sent her blood roaring through her veins, heating her up as she squirmed and undulated her hips, rocking against him eagerly, trying to get him to move.
"Cato!" she hissed through narrowed eyes. "Bed!" Jerking his head with her fingers tangled in his hair and glaring at her stupid boyfriend who obliged her wordlessly.
Instead of letting her down, he simply carried her over to their bed. Within seconds, the blond had stripped them off their remaining articles of clothing, tossing the ripped scraps to the floor. A delicate moan escaped her lungs from how sensitive her body was, waiting for his touch, every part of her so very aware of him and his presence, of his large stature hovering over her, of his powerful muscular thighs at her sides, of the little stubble on his jaw grazing her hypersensitive skin. And as he got on top of her, it struck Clove that this was finally happening.
Everything between them, good and bad had culminated in this moment.
"Fuck, Clove—"
She watched slyly, loving how she could reduce him to gasping trembling mess with just a few tight strokes of her hand. His mouth dropped open, darkened eyes turning hazy as he gaped down at her.
"Yeah?"
He growled, pushing her hand away as he settled between her thighs and now it was her turn to gasp when he planted hot-open mouthed kisses from her neck down to her sternum. Squeezing her eyes shut, Clove bit her lip hard, body quivering from how weak and boneless she felt when his fingers delved through her slick folds and in her with ease. Fuck, she didn't even want to know how wet she was for this. For him.
Chest heaving, blood roaring in her ears, she arched her back when the pads of his fingers curled up and grazed that spot right there—
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!
He smirked at her writhing form and that very sight sent her reeling, wanting for more. At this point, she was so done with foreplay. She wanted to get to the next bit now.
"Stop teasing," she grumbled, giving him a disgruntled look from under her lashes. "I'm ready. Just do it."
He studied her, darkened eyes scanning her features. "Sure?" He arched a brow.
"Yeah."
Propping herself up on her elbows, she watched in anticipation as Cato nudged her legs apart to settle between them. Taking his length in his hand, he guided himself to the apex of her thighs and she tensed, anticipation roaring through her ears as lust drummed through her entire being.
"Are you really—"
"Would you just move it?"
Cato snorted and pinched her side and she squirmed, a grin breaking on her face. Truly, she loved that they're still them even while doing this.
When the blunt head of his cock slid into her for the very first time, she went rigid as she inhaled sharply. Grimacing as she grabbed onto the sheets, she swore inwardly. Fuck. Why did Cato have to be so huge in form, and she, tiny in comparison? She'd never had this problem before.
"Oh fuck, Clove!" He let out a little moan, head dropping to rest on her chest as his arms trembled from the strain of holding himself back and not thrusting away.
"Don't go too fast," she panted, tightening her hold on the sheets.
"I… oh fuck...wasn't going to."
She gritted her teeth, eyes squeezed shut, trying to get her body acclimated to the feel of him stretching her wide as he delved deeper into her, inch by inch. The burn played on her senses and from a particularly deep slide, her back arched involuntarily, lungs releasing a shaky drawn out moan.
Cato's hips gave a little helpless jerk and his eyes glazed over, mouth falling open. She watched, entirely transfixed by the expression on his face as she shifted, doing her best to allow her body to relax, to welcome him in even more. From how his ridiculously slow thrusts were creating frissions of pleasure to zip down her spine, she wondered if this felt as good for him as it was for her.
With the way he was starting to pant, moaning her name, it was safe to say yes.
"Don't stop," he grunted, lowering his head once more to mouth at her neck. His tongue darted out, swirling unknown patterns along the oversensitized skin of her neck. "Fuck, Clovey, you feel so…fucking good."
She responded by adjusting the angle of her abdomen, arching her spine and tilting her hips up. And when Cato drove himself home to the hilt, the mere action sent her spiralling. Nails digging into his back, she held on for dear life as the blond began to pick up speed, fucking her into the mattress.
Her eyes snapped wide open and her mouth fell into a silent scream.
This was exactly what she wanted from that day in the Arena.
Cato's eyes were wild, pupils fully blown as he gazed down at her, hips pounding away and Clove could only move with him, to do her best to meet his hard rough thrusts as he led them to heaven on earth. For Clove, it felt like her muscles were stretched too tightly over her bones, her blood was liquid fire, spreading the wonderful sensation of pleasure to every fibre of her being and—
The mounting pressure within her burst and there was nothing—absolutely nothing but pure perfect waves of heat and bliss that spread to every inch of her being. In fact, it was so powerful that Clove felt lightheaded and the stars underneath her eyelids burst into fireworks and she was hurtling through space as she ceased to exist.
With a few more powerful thrusts of his hips, Cato let himself go, releasing an almost bestial roar before collapsing to the space on her side as he spilled in her. Immediately, he slung a heavy arm around her waist to pull her closer, nuzzling his face into her hair.
Clove stared at the ceiling, trying her best to catch her breath as her body dragged itself down from what was the best fucking orgasm of her life.
When her lungs are back in working order, she turned her head and took him in, eyes drifting from the sweaty planes of his chest to the pulse in his neck hammering wildly. Next, they jumped to his parted lips, his slightly crooked nose and the tangled mess of his hair. She won't admit it but satisfaction bloomed within her at the sight of him being so utterly wrecked.
And it was all because of her.
A beat of silence reigned and Clove didn't think she had ever felt so contented and sated. With the pleasurable hum and afterglow of sex buzzing through her veins like morphine, her mind was shutting off, her brain heading into sleep.
"It was that good, huh?"
At that, her eyes snapped wide open and she threw him a dirty look over her shoulder.
An infuriating smirk was on his face and in retaliation, she shifted. Uncaring about her nudity she reached over, hand snaking through tangled sheets and sweat-slicked limbs before pinching his side. Cato jerked, almost falling off the edge of the bed and she snickered.
Once more, silence descended and Clove curled closer to him, burrowing deeper into their nest of heat and blankets and wrinkled sheets. In return, he grunted and tangled their legs together, fingers smoothing down her mussed up locks of hair. The rhythmic stroking of his hands in her hair lulled her to sleep and she would have dozed off if Cato hadn't opened his big fat mouth.
"I want to kill them."
"Who?"
"The guys you've slept with before me."
She wrinkled her nose. "Why?"
"Because they've seen you naked. Because they touched you. Because they fucked you. Need I say more?"
Now fully awake, Clove smirked, revelling in the possessive edge in his voice as she trailed lazy patterns on his skin. "Jealous?"
He stared at her through half-lidded eyes. "Yes."
Propping her chin up with her hand, Clove peered up at him. "Then you should give me the name of every girl you've been with. I think it's fair I gouge out their eyeballs for even looking at you."
"Fuck, Clove," he laughed, "You're fucking perfect."
She fought off the smile tugging on her lips and simply buried her face into the crook of his neck as his fingers tightened on her waist.
They were both fucking twisted but really, Clove wouldn't have it any other way.
Even though the Capitol had removed the scar across her throat, there are times where Clove thought she could still feel it if she closed her eyes and imagined hard enough.
It was now one of those times.
But with Cato lying across her lap as they watched some insipid Capitol programme, she daren't reach up to touch her neck. The blond never liked talking about that incident, preferring to avoid all mention of the subject. In fact, she knew he would erase it from his memory if he could.
Absentmindedly, she ran her fingers through his soft hair, nails scraping against his scalp in the manner she knew he secretly liked and repeated the motion. Head resting on the top of her thighs, he shifted, burrowing further against her abdomen, clutching her free hand on his chest lazily.
It'd been a while since they've been back in Two.
Things were different now.
The moment they were formally declared as the winners of the 74th Games, making history being the first ever pair to be Victors, they were treated differently. Wherever they went, they were treated with awe and God-like respect and Clove desperately wished things could be how it was. But that was wishful thinking on her part. Nothing could ever be the same again. Hell, neither her nor Cato were the same person any longer. They may have conquered the Games, but it didn't come without a price.
She'd never been one to be constantly on edge, to look over her shoulder whenever she left the house. Now, anything that caught her off guard, be it a sudden movement or a flicker from the corner of her eye, she would become defensive, poised to attack, to kill first and ask questions later.
More often than not, it was Cato who would shake her out of it by holding her, bringing her back to the present and silently reminding her that she fucking won and so had he. That she was fine and well and that they've done the impossible.
However, despite being her rock, her shelter in the storm, Cato had demons of his own too.
There were nights where he didn't sleep and spent the hours in his woodcarving room, only emerging when the sun rose. She knew this when she'd woken up in the middle of the night to find the space beside her cold and empty. Clove had seen the figurines of the Capitol mutts from the Arena and the faces of dead tributes. If that wasn't enough, Cato was more protective than before, never liking being too far away or unaware of her whereabouts. After all they've gone through, she could understand this.
Cato does not bring up whatever he's dealing with and nor does she ask. But she would give him a gentle squeeze on his arm and a tiny smile that sent the shadows away in his eyes, albeit temporarily.
Regardless, Clove figured that as long as they have each other, they could handle anything.
When she walked out from the Academy two weeks later, the sight of Enobaria waiting for at the large double doors made her feet come to a halt.
She hadn't seen the older woman for a while. Not since they arrived back in Two. But when her Mentor stepped in line and made some barbed comment about the state of her hair, Clove scoffed and stalked down the roads leading back to the Victor's Village.
And while the darker skinned woman spoke, voice dripping scorn and sneers, Clove did not miss the way she flicked her gaze around warily around the street.
While that wouldn't have been odd in other circumstances, it felt out of place considering they were in Two. Dark eyes narrowed and brows pulled into a frown, Enobaria was the picture of suspicion. Despite her deceptive casual stride that Clove knew was just a front, it was almost as if the older woman was preparing herself, waiting for something.
For what, Clove didn't know. But she was resolved to find out.
Hence, the moment she shut the door behind them, seeking out Cato who was at the dinner table, she whirled around and curled her lip. "What the hell was that?"
"What?" Cato frowned.
"Not you." She shifted her stare towards their former Victor leaning against the open doorway insouciantly. "Her. Earlier, you looked like you were getting ready for an attack. What was that about?"
Enobaria arched her brows and said dryly, "How perceptive you are, girl. You should know."
"Know what? What's going on?"
"You mean you didn't tell her?" Their Mentor scoffed, crossing her arms before pinning Cato with a scowl. "You said you would before we left the Capitol. That was a month ago!"
"Didn't tell me what?"
Cato's face darkened, ignoring the glare Clove was boring into the side of his face. "Not now," he gritted through his teeth.
"What the fuck is going on?" she demanded hotly, darting narrowed eyes between the two. "What do the two of you know that I don't?"
Enobaria clenched her jaw. "Don't tell me you haven't noticed the increased number of Peacekeepers or the patrols?"
Truthfully, she hadn't but Clove was not going to admit that. She arched a brow, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "What about it?"
"Don't you get it?" Enobaria growled, sharpened fangs gleaming from the reflecting crystals of the chandelier as she flicked her straightened hair over her shoulder. "It's all because of the fucking stunt your boyfriend pulled!"
Head snapping towards Cato, she was met with a sullen glare and an unremorseful expression.
"Is this because he saved me?" she asked, turning back to Enobaria and wetting her lower lip which had become chapped from all the chewing and biting she'd done over the past weeks. "It shouldn't matter. The Capitol still has their winner for the Games—"
"That's not it!" Their Mentor snapped, eyes sparking with fire as she slammed her palm on the table. "You can't possibly be this naïve! What he's done, breaking the rules of the Games, threatening them with his life and bargaining for yours, was and is seen as an open act of defiance! The Capitol doesn't and will never tolerate that."
Clove swallowed harshly, lowering her gaze.
"You've showed them up, gotten away with it on the most publicised television event of the year. What the fuck do you think is going to happen?!"
She remained silent, glancing around the room, unable to meet Enobaria's glare or Cato's darkened brooding expression.
Enobaria exhaled heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose. "The only reason the two of you are breathing now is because everyone believes Cato isn't trying to rebel against the Capitol, but that he's so in love with you he'd risk anything to keep you," the older woman explained shortly. "I know that's true of course, I've seen the two of you right from the start. But all that matters now, is that everyone continues to believe it. If not, well…" she shrugged. "They better."
"Enough!" Cato barked, gunmetal blue eyes flashing with fury as he shoved his chair back, rising to his feet. "What the fuck are you doing here?"
"To inform you that the Capitol officials will be here warning you in a matter of days," she deadpanned, baring her teeth. "Thought you'll like the heads up."
"We do," Clove hastily said, noting the expression on her counterpart's face. Cato never did like it when anyone threatened her. "Thank you."
Enobaria snorted, sniffing in disdain as she waved them off dismissively. "Right." With that, she was gone.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Clove immediately demanded when they were finally alone.
"Didn't want to worry you," he finally said after a moment.
She eyed him and let out a heavy exhale. She would leave this argument for another day. Pushing herself away from the wall, she sank into one of the chairs and propped her chin up with her hand. "How bad is it?" she asked, "The way Enobaria was reacting—"
"Bad."
"It'll be fine. It's just a few people who didn't believe—"
Cato dropped his head as he snorted deprecatingly. "And how long will it take before nobody does? How long more before the Capitol makes an example out of us, hmm? You didn't see the tapes, Clove. The fires breaking out, the fights, the dissension in the lower districts—" His voice lowered as he met her eyes squarely. "I know I should feel bad I've caused this, but the truth is I don't fucking regret it. Not even for a second. Not when I bought you time. I'll do it all again if I had a choice."
She stared at him, lips parting and Clove allowed herself to savour the words he'd thrown out, to let them burrow deep in her twisted heart. God knows why she was blushing, or why she can't seem to meet Cato's eyes. This was certainly not the first time he'd let slip some heartfelt comment about his feelings for her.
Fuck, they've already exchanged those three precious words, proven to each other and the world that they'll die and kill for each other and here she was, getting all red and flustered by some prettily strung words. God, she was pathetic.
"I just want things to go back to normal," she said, pursing her lips, looking up at him. "When it was just… when everything was simpler and all that mattered was you and I—"
Cato didn't respond but came to her side and closed the gap between them. He was crouching down and as she wrapped her arms around him, she could feel the tension knotting in his muscles, the anxiety and worry emanating from him. Slowly, she kneaded the base of his neck with her knuckles, feeling the steady puffs of his breath against her shoulder until he relaxed.
"The only thing I'm sorry for is having a target painted on our backs."
"It'll be fine," she said firmly, drawing back slightly and straightened her spine. "Despite how we've gotten out of the Games, we're both Victors, the first pair to win. If we managed that, we can get through anything else."
Gunmetal blue eyes met hers evenly. Cato cupped the side of her face, the pad of his thumb caressing her cheek. Closing her eyes, Clove hummed and covered his hand with hers, rubbing soothing patterns on the back of his palm.
"We'll be okay. Together or nothing, remember? We'll get through this. Like we'd gotten through everything we've dealt with. If the Games couldn't separate us, what else could?
His lips slowly curved into a smirk and she grinned.
What else indeed.
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