Chapter 36: Cerulea Larson

"Mmmmm… Uhhhhh….. Oh no….."

"Oh, yessss….."

Agrippina lifts her hips eagerly as her wife furiously uses her fingers to stroke the folds around her clit. The beautiful CEO of the biggest behemoth in the Capitol tourism industry is now nearly levitating halfway off her and Beauty's double bed in their glorious, high-rise apartment. Being Capitol-born, Agrippina has used her privilege – and the sanctity of her marriage – so that Beauty's status as a Victor is quite different than most. For one thing, the female from District 1 has a permanent passport, not a temporary one, signed off by President Coriolanus Snow himself. Beauty is allowed to travel into the city whenever she wishes, and it doesn't even have to be on a summons.

Agrippina's silky bare legs are now scrabbling for purchase along the down comforter of their mattress, which is already slick with sweat. She is panting, flushed with the exertion, and she barely has enough breath to gasp, much less wheeze out commands any more complicated than "Harder…. Faster…" and "Fuck me!"

Beauty dips her head to meet her wife's in a sensuous kiss and Agrippina trembles, pressing herself closer, closer still to her lover. Even in the privacy of their own bedroom, she is a conscientious businesswoman, if not…. quite as poised as she might be while standing behind the lectern at a press conference; nevertheless, she can hear in her breathy moans how her volume is reaching a crescendo out of her control. What if the neighbors hear?

And then there is her greatest gift, curled up at the foot of their bed in the bassinet he's already gotten much too big for; Beauty put in an order for a big-boy trundle bed just last week.

"The…. the baby…." Agrippina croaks, her eyes darting down to their son, as Beauty caresses a weak spot inside her that nearly makes her squeal around the minx's tongue.

"He sleeps like his mother," Beauty hisses, running her free hand so that it inches up the inside of her wife's thigh.

"Which one?" Agrippina cracks, and is punished with a French kiss that makes her knees turn to jelly.

"You know perfectly well which one, my clever little saint," Beauty trills through a giggle when she comes up for air. "You did carry him, after all. I've never seen such resplendence even if I had all the jewels in Onedom!" Agrippina has to stifle a pathetic moan behind her hand. As far as sweet-talk is concerned, her bride can put even the smoothest Victors and half the Capitol government to shame.

The bucking of her hips is becoming faster, wilder. Beauty is driving her to the edge, plunging three whole fingers into her now. Her muscles clench quite abruptly, and earlier than Agrippina would have liked, so that she cums with a whimper all around her wife's hand. Her juices soil the bedclothes, and when Beauty makes a point of licking her digits clean, eyes sexily closed as she considers the taste of her sweetheart, Agrippina bites back a pleased growl. She'd tackle her right here and give her a solid shagging – payment in kind – but after that performance, she hasn't the strength. She barely has enough fortitude to roll out of bed and tug her discarded business skirt back up over her well-defined hips – bonier these days, on account of her filling out during her pregnancy three years ago. Beauty makes an admirable effort of telling her often that she still looks mouth-wateringly sexy, which makes Agrippina feel better about the fact that she's letting herself go, if only just a little. Even so, she'll have to get back into the gym this weekend and make that membership mean something.

Agrippina can feel her best girl's eyes on her as she redresses, her svelte body noodly after being so thoroughly fucked and her brain still on a high. Her spouse's arms encircle her and she cranes her neck back for a chaste kiss.

"Do you have to go?" Beauty has more moves than an octopus in a wrestling match, and no mistake, when Agrippina suddenly finds her hands cupping her voluptuous breasts, fingers ghosting over purple nipples already pebbling at her touch.

Agrippina reluctantly steps out of the embrace, kissing Beauty again softly. "Unfortunately. The subcontractors need me. There's safety hazard concerns in one area…" She glides over to the crib, brushing a soft hand along her baby boy's immaculate little forehead. "I don't want to leave you two, but…"

"You have your career," Beauty sidles up next to her, also admiring what they made. She kisses Agrippina's jawline. "And you're amazing at it."

She flushes pink down to her chest. "Thank you," diving back in for one last kiss. "I'll be back," she whispers against the corner of her wife's mouth. "Wait up for me?"

Beauty nods, Agrippina giving her little family one last look before sweeping out of the apartment.

The image of her sleeping baby boy's face dances behind her eyes as she rides down in the elevator, and she can't hide a smile. When she was expecting him, during the 33rd Games, Agrippina had had a devil of a time trying to come up with the perfect Capitolite name. She'd checked out books from the local library as well as the National Archives, until finally, she had started flipping through a book on the ancient American Presidents for more unique inspiration. She was at once dismayed and relieved when she found only one name in there out of all 47 that sounded remotely Capitolite. But it was enough, and once she tried it out on her tongue, it actually sounded… perfect. Later that night, when Beauty had returned home following one of the many after parties for Rusher Fjord, Four's newest Victor, Agrippina had dashed up to her then-fiancé, chittering and gushing excitedly that we simply must name the baby Ulysses, if he's a boy! Never one to just leap into something that didn't relate to the arena, Beauty insisted on sitting them both down on the couch and going through the United States Presidents book together a page at a time, before concluding that yes, Ulysses was the only name acceptable from this group. Agrippina had to agree. Some of the others hadn't been flourishing or romantic sounding enough, the way naming was here in the city, and also back in the time of the Ancient Greeks. The names of Presidents who would eventually give way to majestic leaders like Coriolanus Snow and Commdous Ravinstill had on the whole sounded…. drab. In some cases, repetitious: George… Andrew…. John…. And too many that ended in a hard 'D'. Richard, Rutherford, Gerald, Ronald…. Donald… She shuddered. And oh, what kind of mother would name their son Dwight or, worst of all, Barack? More to the point, what kind of mother would name their son Dwight or Barack and then let them run for President? Thankfully, the name Abraham had been quite noble-sounding enough for a middle name. Thus, Ulysses Abraham had come to be. Beauty had been ecstatic, especially since, by virtue of being born to a Capitol citizen, Ulysses was guaranteed full Capitol citizenship. That meant no eligibility for the Reaping. It had been difficult the following summer, when Uly was still nursing, to look Dell and Acacia Ivy-Fonio in the eye while their own pride and joy was fighting for his life. But Bran became Victor, and it all worked out in the end.

Agrippina pays the recreational hovercraft pilot in sesterces as she gets out at the landing pad before the construction site, her briefcase in hand. Smoothing down her business suit, she dashes towards the removed section of force field paneling that will allow her to enter the space.

Arena restoration is perhaps the hardest part of Agrippina Bukater-Devereaux's job. It's always a tall order to have last summer's arena fully restored and open to the public, ready for visitors, by the time next season rolls around, but demand for guided excursions from Arena Tours, Inc. remains dauntingly high. Sometimes, the restoration project is down to the wire, especially when it concerns aesthetic accuracy, but Agrippina has never been one to shy away from a challenge. She didn't shy away when a famous Victor took a romantic interest in her, wooed her when she was still just a lowly character actor/tour guide, shepherding starry-eyed Capitol citizens through a winter wonderland while impersonating her own girlfriend, then eventual-fiancé and now-wife. Agrippina won't shy away from this – it's all she's ever dreamed about!

Odysseus, the head contractor with Capitol Landscaping LLC (now little more than a subdivision of Gamemakers Headquarters, but they and Arena Tours, Inc. have a good partnership), meets her at the edge of the dockyards, which are situated maybe a hundred yards from the Cornucopia. Agrippina remembers watching Mags' girl, Cerulea Larson, setting one of the dock partitions – and the anchored ships near it – ablaze to drive back an anti-Career alliance in the kids from 7, 9 and 11, immolating several of them. Now, several months on, the charred remains of one dock are in danger of having their support pylons collapse into the ocean due to water erosion. What should we do?

Agrippina has him place an order for stainless steel to reinforce the wooden pylons, layering them underneath. Even if the rotting lumber falls away eventually, the dock will remain structurally sound, and they can always paint over it again with brown lacquer, can't they?

As the men set to work, Agrippina oversees the progress with a stressed, yet hopeful smile. If they can have this arena fully restored by the spring ticket rush, she'll consider it a victory greater than having the Crown placed on her own head.