Disclaimer: No own. No sue. I have no money anyway.

A/N: I have written steamy scenes before but this is my first to publish, so be kind in your reviews. This is also a warning. If you want to keep virgin eyes untainted then turn back now.

Song Suggestion: Massive Attack- "Paradise Circus"… the Zed's Dead remix is awesome too.

Thank You: Sergeant Johnston, 3vlee, SheCaughtFire, slightlytwisted84, AriaPotter, K.C., zazanis, Guest, Guest, Sandraanataliaa, Rachel, artdecades, Guest, Bea0407, Guest, Rachel, and HeyBirdy. I heart all of you so much!

Of Choice and Consequence

They were magnets drawn together by a powerful force. He sucked the oxygen from her body. Their mouths opened, sucking, drinking. He used his teeth on her. It hurt, but it felt good. It numbed the anxiety and hate. She even thought she tasted a little blood.

Her hands moved on their own, traveling over the ridges of his stomach, she slipped her hand under his dress shirt. At the edge of his pants, he had a small line of hairs. She used her fingers and scratched him, meaning to hurt him. She wanted him to drown too. She wanted to him feel her fire. She wanted to burn him to ashes.

Her small show of violence made him moan, large hands running down her curves and ended under on the back of her legs. They moved to under her knees, and her legs gave out. He picked her up, transferring her legs to wrap around his waist in a single, fluid movement.

Lips still connected, he pushed her on the table, crawling up after her, gripping the sides of her face. The extra balls on the table moved and knocked together with a click. With his free hand he moved them out of the way and inched her down, until she was flat against the table, hair splayed around her head. Cato crawled over her, lips still connected.

They came up for breath, gasping. He nuzzled her shoulder, kissing the apex of her throat. The hand left her face, his finger sliding its way over her skin. When he got to the thin shoulder strap on her dress, he played with it for a moment before sliding it down her shoulder. He did the same thing to the other strap.

This is real, her brain whirred, this is really happening.

It didn't feel real. She felt as if she could look down from space and see herself from above, as if she wasn't in her body.

Hands traced the edges of curves, as the top part of her dress came down with a skill to undress her that she didn't know he had, and her breasts were exposed. With the nakedness came vulnerability, leaving her laid open before him, open for attack, open for ridicule. She covered her breasts out of instinct. She had never been naked in front of a boy.

And Cato wasn't even a boy, he was a man, a violent man. A man with the capability to injure her.

His hands encircled her wrists, gripping them before prying her hands away from her breasts. He sat back to look at them, and then came back down, first to kiss her, but his lips didn't stay on her lips long. They went down to her chin, to her keck, to her clavicle.

"You have no idea, little bird," he whispered again against her skin, before doing something surprising. His mouth covered her breast.

Oh, God. I'm burnt. I'm dust. I'm undone.

The softness of his lips felt better here. His mouth wet and hot, tongue brushing along the sensitive spots in agonizing circles.

She couldn't stop the soft moan coming from her throat. It came from deep within her, an ancient response full of need. The edges of his lips lifted into a smug grin on her breast, as if pleased with her reaction.

There was heat everywhere. In her stomach, at her fingers, between her thighs. His calloused hands were at her legs now, the edges of her dress, inching up slowly, slowly. Past her knees, past her thighs. It pooled around her hips in swaths of silk and jumbles of teal beads. The hands slipped up and played with edges of her underwear. A tearing sound.

It took a second for her to realize he tore her underwear. The remnants were thrown behind him.

The violence reminded her of who he was. Through her throbbing vision, she tried to clear her head. Everything was brighter, more intense. She wished he would turn down the lights, drown them in the darkness, let the fire burn, wrap the night as blanket, hide their deeds.

No! Her mind screamed against its confines, No, No What am I doing? I shouldn't want this. I shouldn't feel this.

She almost objected.

Then his fingers pushed into her. She hadn't expected it. How could she? She knew nothing. Her world shook, the foundations trembling. Cato came to this battle with advanced knowledge of how to win, how to dismantle her walls, pulverize her objections. Prim could merely ride along the wake of destruction. The foreign sensations overwhelmed her.

"You're so wet," Cato whispered into her hair. "Fuck it, I can't wait. You've no fucking clue."

His fingers fumbled with something. His pants, she guessed. She couldn't keep track. Her focus was on his other fingers, on how they filled her and moved, touching a part that was both pain and pleasure.

She heard a clatter and looked over the side of the table, to see his belt discarded. Opening her eyes, she tried to focus. He was unbuttoning his pants, divesting himself of the last remnant of protection, the last separation.

His fingers withdrew from her, disconnecting them, and with it, reality crashed into her, the film was ripped from her eyes. He kneeled before her; pants pushed down his hips both hands on her thighs, lining himself up to her entrance. The tip brushed her skin.

The sight of his naked skin didn't bother her. She was a healer, she was used to it. However, this time the nakedness meant something

The reality. The price. The cost. And it was all happening too fast. It hit her, and her legs snapped shut against his hips. He could still enter, if he wanted, but she was resisting.

She didn't want it this way. She wanted to be numb and void. For it to be physical. Otherwise, he'd own a part of her. She'd lose everything.

Their eyes met. Prim mused that hers must be wild and charged. His were dark and off-kilter, as if covered by fog. She could recognize the look of pain anywhere. He was holding something back, and it pained him.

"There can't be cold feet now. We're so close.," He paused, "You're trembling."

And she was. She felt the tremors everywhere, as if an earthquake had just rocked her, and she was feeling the aftershocks. She did nothing but tremble underneath him for several minutes, unsure whether they stemmed from fear or anticipation.

Cato shook his head with a scowl, as if to unhinge something.

"Fuck," he sucked in a long, deep breath, "We don't have to do this." He ran a hand through his hair.

He tried to pull away, and she reacted, holding him close to her by his tie. He looked confused, and she don't blame him. She was confused too.

"Yes we do. Snow…"

I can't back out now. I have to save them.

"I'll lie somehow. We can do it some other time… when you're ready... when you want to." His eyes were round, tinged with uncharacteristic exposure.

"I'll never want to."

His fingers dug into her hips. She refused to look into her eyes, afraid of the emotion she would see.

"Look," she started, "I just don't want any feeling with it. Does that make sense? Just bodies, just physical."

"I can do that," whispered Cato. She wasn't sure if he was mad or not. His voice was soft, lacking the normal power.

Was he offended? She didn't want to discover anything. Her eyes went to everything in the room, except him. She looked at the desk, at the tiny patterns in the wood. One of them looked like a trapped ghoul, with a mouth opened in a scream.

"Look at me," Cato demanded. His hands left her hips and gripped her chin. "Damn you, I said look at me!"

She couldn't' stop the compulsion to obey. Her eyes snapped back to his.

"I'm going to fuck you." He let go of her chin, and his hands went to her knees. With a little pressure, he pushed them apart. Prim didn't bother with resistance, she had little of it in the first place. "It can be physical, if you want. But you will not block me out. Just allow yourself to enjoy it. Imagine I'm that fucking slum rat you love, if you want. What the fuck, imagine I'm Snow if that's what gets you off."

Prim sneered at the image, but Cato continued getting more passionate as he continued.

"But you will respond because it's the only way to fight back. Fuck it, the Capitol is making you do this, I'm making you do this, but it can be your choice too. My choice. Yours. You could choose me."

What was he asking of her? His rambling confused her.

"What do you know about being forced to have sex? You said it yourself, you wanted this anyway. I have to get used to the inevitable, right?"

"I understand more than you know."

"What does that mean?"

But he didn't answer her question.

"I'd be lying if I said I didn't want you. But I never wanted you scared." He looked into her eyes, and she got lost. His were the sea, the sky. They raged in a storm she couldn't identify. "I wanted you to choose."

"To choose would mean I have a choice. And I don't."

"Yes, you do. We all have a choice. Some are just more difficult than others."

"I'm just scared, Cato. This is my first time." Her voice faltered, and she breathed a moment to stop herself from crying. "Just be gentle, that's all I'm asking."

It was the right thing to say. His face softened. The pressure on her knees let up. His fingers turned to feathers again, trailing along the soft skin of her thigh. It was all it took to bring the fire back, the desire.

"Haven't I already promised that?"

He pushed in, fitting them together like a puzzle.

Prim hissed with pain, but he didn't push any further, and it allowed her to adjust. After a moment, the sting went away.

"I'll lead you," he pushed a little further, before pulling out a little, pushing in, adjusting, "I'll teach you to be a good lover."

The word lover echoed in her head.

Prim's fingers gripped his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin. When he pushed a little further, her fingers spasmed, and she left track marks down his arms. Cato hissed in unison with her, pushing all the way until she was filled completely. Cato gave a guttural moan and cursed under his breath.

There was a sharp sting, a burning sensation, as if her skin tore with the width. She wanted him out! She tried to push at his chest, tried to wiggle away, but he held her down.

"Trust me, Prim, look at me."

He said her name. It was so out of the ordinary, it made her stop her wild escape and still, glancing into his eyes. The storm was calm, but his eyes were dark, reminding her of the night. It reminded her of the lake in the woods, all still quiet, danger within its depths. The water could either sustain or drown, depending on the day.

It was enough.

"Okay."

He moved again, his eyes clenched shut in private pleasure, breath visibly hitching. She sucked in a breath, closing her eyes as well.

Imagine he's Gale, her mind whispered. Her imagination didn't comply with her wishes. Cato was too intrusive. Gale belonged to the woods; Cato belonged to war. Gale was of the earth, Cato was of the air. They were too different, on the opposite ends of the spectrum. She closed her eyes, and could only see her tormentor.

Cato made a sound at the back of his throat resembling a hum. She opened her eyes at the noise and watched his face in intrigue as he moved above her. Once again, she felt not in her body. The pain distanced herself, and she viewed the world with sharp objectivity. It was a strange feeling, she thought, to be stretched and filled by someone else. He bit his lower lip, eyebrows furrowed. A bead of sweat began to shimmer on his forehead, the sheen of his endeavors glinting in the light.

She felt him, she felt all of him. The strokes went on at a numbing pace. And suddenly it wasn't so painful. He thrust, slow and gentle, filling then unfilling her. He angled his hips again, and on the next stroke, it hit something deep within her that brought a low ache surging forward.

She moaned, still pained but tinged with pleasure. Cato responded by quickening his pace, bucking against her. She tried to block out the sensations, she really did, but they came stronger, built on themselves. More powerful. She whimpered again, when it became too much.

But she still resisted, held back. Wished him to get it over with before she betrayed herself.

His forehead became more furrowed, with the work, as if intent on something.

"Say my name." He commanded.

She didn't.

"Say it." He said again. "Moan for me."

She bit her lip and tilted her head to the side, trying to focus on anything else besides the burn that stretched under her skin.

"No?" he sneered.

His hand splayed on her chest and trailed its way down past her belly to a place which buzzed in pleasure, and she forgot everything. When he touched it, she no longer was in control of her actions, becoming, like he promised, his willing puppet. She met each stroke, arching her back on the green fabric. Her fingers went to his back, digging into his skin. Noises escaped from her, dirty and frantic, urging him, cursing him.

She was sure she said his name. Said it hundreds of times in a row, as if pleading with him.

Something hot was building. It was urgent, greedy. She ground against him, searching for it. Something was lost and she had to find it.

It was at the cusp, the sensations grew, winged out, traveling along the channels in her blood. It was scorching, heady. For a moment, she no longer cared who he was, that the hands gripping her hips dripped with blood. She didn't care anymore. She wanted him to press harder.

Oh, there, her mind breathed. He moved just right.

An explosion, every cell on fire, as if she touched an electrical fence. Her back arched, her toes curled, the reactions completely involuntary. A relief. Endorphins zipped through her, and her cells danced.

Was this victory?

She came down slow. The tingle reignited with each thrust. He was pushing harder than before, less refined, more frantic.

"You're mine," he rasped. He placed his forehead between her breasts, a sheen of sweat dripped on her belly. She thought she misheard, but he whispered it again, before giving a small grunt and stilling.

They stayed that way for a while, knowing if they moved it would disturb the odd peace. Their arms tangled, their bodies connected.

"That was…" Cato began, "That was…"

"That was necessary." She didn't mean for it to come out so harsh, but she felt choked on something.

Cato pulled out of her and sat up to adjust himself. Fluids dripped down her thighs. He was scowling, eyes swirling with rage. Without warning, he swung off the table and stomped across the room. He came back with a blanket.

"Clean yourself up." He threw it at her.

She suddenly felt dirty, used. Every emotion she refused to feel before rushed upon her in a wave of guilt. The fire was gone, and with it her invincibility. Each second brought her lower and lower. Reality stripped her and laughed at her.

I had sex with my sister's murderer, her subconscious didn't spare her And I enjoyed it. Then came despair.

She couldn't stop the tears as she wiped herself up with shaking fingers, pulling at her dress to cover herself. She fixed her top, making sure no private parts were visible, slipping the straps back on. With the lack of pleasure, Prim could only feel pain.

She brought the blanket up; it was streaked with blood. She looked down and saw that it was smeared on her thighs, and it was on Cato too, rubbed into his shirt, a blotch of crimson on white. She rubbed vigorously, but it didn't come off, it merely spread.

Cato eyed her frantic state with distaste.

"Fucking crying again?" He crinkled a lip up. "You're so fucking weak. Stop whimpering, for once."

It was too much, too soon. Her mind teetered towards a certain insanity where reason disappeared. He seemed to know this, for his face lost its anger.

"Now, Prim…"

Her distress easily transformed into a fury so hot it matched his cold. Her hand searched the table and found what she wanted. She chunked a blue-stripped ball, turning it into a missile. Cato ducked out of the way, and it whizzed by his head, smashing into a picture frame. It shattered, raining down glass.

"Don't you dare say my name!"

Cato straightened, bewildered. He glanced behind him, as if he couldn't believe she just did that.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

She attempted to find another one, but the surprise attack could only once, especially with someone as reflexive as Cato. He bounded towards, grasping her wrists and shaking them until her weapon dropped and hit the table.

The despair was back. Rivers of water flooded her eyes and trailed down her cheeks. Maybe the tears would cleanse her, though she doubted she could ever get clean again.

"You killed her!" Prim screamed, "I saw you. You smiled."

"What are you talking about?"

"My sister!"

He paused, his fingers loosening on her wrists, but they still did not let go as if he didn't trust her.

"Of course I killed her. If I remember correctly, she had her bow aimed at my-"

"But she was my sister!"

He didn't understand, and she wasn't sure she could make him. She saw Effie Trinket in her mind, rifling around in the clear bowl, hundreds of papers nearly spilling out. Primrose Everdeen, she said, and her world went dark. I volunteer Katniss shouted. Don't kill yourself for me, her mind whispered. But it was too late. She took her place. That kind of burden never goes away.

"Yes, and your sister wasn't a saint. Maybe she died for you, but she killed people in the process. I'm sure that cancels it out. I won, sure, but only by luck. Even I didn't leave unscathed from her. " He waved his missing pointer in the air.

"Good. You deserved it. You deserved worse"

He smirked, "Maybe, but she also shot Peeta. Did he deserve it?"

Her world screeched to a halt. What did he just say? That couldn't be. She saw the ending. The mutants had eaten Peeta...

But on further thought, she didn't see the whole thing. Gale covered her eyes, and she had never watched any of the recaps.

"No, she—"

He cut me off.

"She shot Peeta, darling. Straight through the heart. It wasn't the dogs. They just finished it."

"It had to be an accident."

She wouldn't have killed him. She knew her sister that much. Not Peeta.

He shrugged.

"An accident? Who the fuck knows. She sure wasn't aiming anywhere else when she shot Marvel. That's how she got an 11, right? A dead shot I'm told, with enough accuracy to shoot an apple out of a pig's mouth with Gamemakers standing right beside it. So how did she miss?"

He let go of her wrists. It didn't matter. She didn't have the energy anymore to fight anymore. Cato stayed close, though, probably just in case she went insane again.

"You're lying."

Cato's smirk widened in response. He was amused, and it took her back a little at his confidence.

"Watch the recaps."

No, she thought it can't be my sister. Thinking of Katniss in that manner made her less a martyr. It felt as if she died all over again. Cato's hand came up. Prim turned into a statue. She should fight him, some part of her mind screamed. She should smack his hand, his face. Make him hurt for telling such terrible lies.

But when Cato brushed her lips, and the outlines of her face in a slow, methodical dance, she didn't move. She absorbed the feelings, attempting to rid herself of the awful numbness.

The numbness was worse than the pain in many ways.

"She's no better than me, little bird. It's time you learned that about human beings: when it comes to survival, everyone is a monster."

In a way, Prim knew he was right. After all, she was turning into a monster herself. Her claws elongated, her teeth extending. In just a few short weeks, she turned into a person that wanted to kill. The type of person that would sleep with another monster to save her skin. Because that was what this was about. Yes, she did it for her family, friends, but she also did it for herself. She was afraid of Snow, and that fear spurred her to the unimaginable.

No, she was turning into her own personal monster, but she refused to ever believe Katniss was. Katniss was the hero, Katniss was the good.

"Survival? You volunteered."

"So did she."

True, but…

"She did it to save my life. The intention was different. You did it for fame."

Cato snorted, as if angry or annoyed. She wasn't sure.

"How do you know why I did it? Besides, what does fame have to do with anything? The end result was the same, regardless of the motive. I saved a life too. The first name my district called out belonged to a thirteen-year-old, one of the kids from the stone quarries. He would've died in the first couple seconds if I wouldn't have stepped forward. I'm sure his mother was thankful a complete stranger was willing to take his place." He paused and breathed a moment through clenched teeth, holding back the majority of his anger.

Why was he so angry?

"But—"

"So only if your life is saved is it considered noble?" He continued, "But not if it's another?"

"No! That's not the point, and you know it."

He took his hand away from her face, giving her a look of disgust. She tried not to be affected by it. His logic scared her, because it was so sound.

How dare he make himself into a hero, when he was clearly a villain.

He quirked his head, accusing again.

"Oh, I get it. It's because I'm from District 2, right? It's only a sacrifice or noble if it's a kid from one of the outlying districts."

"Stop twisting my words. I don't mean that."

But she did mean that. Cato saw through her lie, and she hated him more for it.

Don't tear down the wall I built! Didn't he understand? Didn't he understand why he was awful?

He had to understand, he had to understand that he was a monster. There was no way to wiggle out of it.

"You smiled. You killed her—them—and you smiled."

"It's a game. I'm supposed to smile. I'm supposed to enjoy it, or I wouldn't have sponsors. It was my edge." He lifted his lips into a dazzling smile, showing straight, perfect teeth that glowed under the bright lights. The smile held the ability to stop hearts, if he desired. "See? I can do it now. If it means so much, then what the fuck does this one mean? Am I happy now?"

No, he wasn't happy. That much she could see clearly.

She stood, as if trying to gain strength, but she just sunk to the floor next to the pool table, exhausted. Her world had flipped too many times, and she couldn't handle any more changes. He wanted her to see him as a human, but it would destroy the hate she worked so hard for.

"What do you want from me?" Prim asked.

"Everything!"

Prim glanced up from her hands in shock, and Cato stilled. He bit his lip, as if containing himself, as if he didn't mean to say it. He started to pace.

"Something," he began again, but stopped. He sighed, as if finally giving up. "Fucking nothing."

He glared at her and walked out the room.