confessional hymns for the devil, himself
Disclaimer: I own nothing that has copyright attached.
Chapter Ten
Cato is intentionally fucking with her.
Just a few short hours ago, she had wished he had been fucking her, but now—now he can go take a long walk off a short cliff.
It started with him pitching his tent next to hers. Right next to her. He was even borrowing the same corner stake to nail down one of his own. Clove wouldn't be able to sneeze without him hearing.
After the incident together by the river, Cato's smoldering eyes keep following her around camp as she prepares to bed down. She wishes she could claw them out. Her whole body aches to be near him. The juxtaposition of the two extremes leaves her reeling, leaves her moody. A headache settles in as she crawls between her sleeping bag. Thankfully the worst of the ghost pains have worn off, but she pops a morphling anyway just for the excuse to rest easy.
Rustling comes from Cato's tent next to her. He hadn't spoken to her. He wasn't even smirking at her over their circumstances. Just the same wicked, smoldering gaze that leaves Clove rubbing her thighs together like a cricket to relieve some of the ache. The morphling kicks in and numbs her body and she drifts blissfully.
It is some time later that Clove is jolted awake. Her mouth is cotton – tongue like sandpaper, and she fishes around the tent for her water canteen. She drinks deeply, blearily blinking into the harsh sunlight that illuminates her tent. She's hot, stifled in the sleeping bag underneath the sun despite the colder temperatures outside.
She hears groaning coming from the side of her tent where Cato's own butts up against hers. At first, she is too dazed to recognize the sounds. When she finally clues in, she blushes deeply. Is he...doing what she thinks?
Except… it sounds pained. Strangled.
"C-Cato," she ventures out weakly, trying to speak around her tongue that feels thick in her mouth.
The next sound is definitely from a place of pain. Clove scrambles, unzipping her tent and shuffling to his on hands and knees. She nearly rips the zipper trying to get in but manages to get it down far enough to see Cato's prone form. Writhing.
"Clove, I need you," he grits out between clenched teeth, fisting the blanket beneath him. His blue eyes are glassy from unshed tears as he stares up at her.
Without a second thought, she crawls into his tent. She pauses only briefly to turn and zip the tent up behind her. She doesn't want the other Tributes to see him like this. She carefully lays both palms against the sides of his head and massages his scalp with her fingertips. Even though no one would ever claim she is a nurturing person, Clove feels an instinctual pull to help however she can.
"I thought this shit was supposed to be gone by now," she mutters, watching Cato jerk uncomfortably below her.
"Yeah, me too," Cato agrees, wincing. "My back is the worst. It feels like someone is ripping out my spine slowly."
She stills her hands and reaches into her back pocket for the morphling pills she carries on her. "Here, take one of these." She slips the oval pill into his palm. "And turn over onto your stomach more."
Cato does as told, crunching the pill dry between his back teeth and lying flat. Clove straddles his lean hips, resting back on her heels above him. She bunches his shirt up high around his neck, exposing the broad expanse of his back.
When she lays her hands against him, he groans again. "I'll do whatever you want me to do for the rest of my life as long as you just keep doing that," he pleads.
Clove barks out a small laugh. She kneads Cato's shoulders, working her way down slowly through his tense and straining back muscles. She takes her time massaging the kinks carefully to avoid hurting him further. He might infuriate her 99% of the time, but watching him suffer was out of the question. How startling that the Clove from several weeks ago would have said differently.
He hums in relief when she successfully works out a more substantial knot. As her hands move lower, she reaches the small of his back where his pants are slung low on his hips from rolling in his sleep. She massages the trim muscles there that lead towards his toned buttocks, and he sighs deeply.
"Might as well give them a go, too," he mumbles cheekily into his crossed arms. She whacks him across the ass in warning. Unfortunately, it seems to have the opposite effect because Cato inhales a sharp breath and clenches beneath her.
"You've got to be kidding me! You liked being spanked?" she asks incredulously.
"Um, no, not usually." Cato sounds surprised and sheepish. He cranks his neck around to smirk dangerously at her. "Maybe it's just when you do it."
She shoves his face into the ground. "Ugh, you keep talking like that, and I'll stop." She's glad that he's facing the opposite direction because her cheeks are aflame with her lie. There's no way she can take her hands off him right now, and she was physically having to hold herself back from giving his ass another good smack.
She shifts upward and rests her weight against his butt so she's not tempted by her own thoughts. She brings her hands back up to his shoulders and kneads the muscles in his neck.
He lifts his lower body up a little, testing her weight. "You're a stout little thing, you know that."
"I would be very careful how you choose your next words, Cato," she cuts him off. He laughs loudly back at her. She finds herself grinning. If he was able to joke and laugh with her, then that must mean his pain was easing up.
"I was just going to say that I wouldn't mind you on top of me at any point in time."
She knows he meant it as a joke, but she can't control the low gasp that escapes from her throat. She clenches her thighs and quickly stills, mouth open in horror. He would have definitely felt that with her straddling him like this.
"I-I'm sorry." She moves to get off him, but his hand shoots back, quick as lightning, and encircles her ankle.
"Are we going to keep dancing around this, Clove?"
When she doesn't answer immediately, Cato twists until he's flat on his back, and Clove is in a more vulnerable position than before. She struggles to keep balance but refuses to rest her lower body down or place her hands against his chest for stability.
"As long as I have feet," she shoots back, half-heartedly.
He chuckles up at her with that awful fucking smolder he had been wearing all morning. Without warning, he moves both hands to her waist. His touch burns her through her layers of clothing, and she jerks her hips helplessly.
"Let's just cut off your legs then. I'll carry you." His pitiful attempt at metaphor is barely heard as a loud rushing noise rings her ears. She feels like she is going to blackout if they stay stalled like this.
"Ugh, fuck, you're so," she groans. "So. Aggravating."
The air between them is charged. Clove concedes, surging forward. She isn't sure whose idea it was first, but their lips meet somewhere in the middle. The emotions, a long time in coming, explode between them. Cato's mouth is a wet heat swallowing her down and sending the hair on her arms to standing on end. She tries to give as she gets, nipping his lips and tongue with her teeth in short, staccato-like bites.
"Fuck," he draws out beneath his breath, leaning upward even further and catching both sides of her head in his hands. His fingers rip through her loose braid, sending tendrils to slip between their faces and become tangled in their frantic lip-lock.
He still tastes like the mint of his toothpaste from earlier that morning with the underlying bitterness of the morphling pill he had crunched between his teeth. Clove relaxes in his grasp, feels herself melt against his chest as he directs their kiss into something softer, deeper. His tongue sweeps between her teeth and strokes against Clove's own. She was wrong before.
The chase had been fun, but catching him was proving to not be a disappointment. If anything, she felt more on fire than before. Her clit throbbed, full, below, and she squirmed restlessly against his waist, seeking more friction. His grip tightened and stilled her erratic movements. He pushes her further back on his thighs and then slowly drags her lower body up against his. She feels his cock beginning to swell in his pants, a long, hard line down his thigh that she tries to wiggle more against to press against her core.
He smirks at her and holds her hovering above where she desperately needs to be. She knew Cato was strong but didn't think he'd be able to manipulate her body so easily. It was frustrating when all she wanted was to rock against him and chase the bubbling tension she could feel twisting around in her pelvis.
"God damn it, Cato. Are we doing this or not?" she curses at him, squeezing his biceps in warning.
"Patience, young grasshopper," he teased against her lips, feather-light and brief, "you will get yours. I promise."
She wants to chase his mouth and bite his tongue for the hell of it when she feels his fingers fumbling at the closure of her pants. He helps him push the material down and off her legs. Cato shoves the seat of Clove's underwear to the side and draws two fingers through the slickness that is gathered already on her labia.
"Ahh, w-who is so impatient now?" Clove manages to bite out, rocking her hips downward to get his fingers closer to her clit.
Cato huffs out a laugh, then flicks his own pants open, drawing his cock out. With one hand, he shoves it far enough down his knees that Clove doesn't have to rub the back of her thighs against the rough material.
"I'm not going to fuck you today," he says suddenly. Clove shutters to a halt, confusion and anger twisting her features. "When I do get around to it, I want it to not be on the damn forest floor surrounded by everyone. I'm going to make sure that you're trembling and wanting for me. And when I finally slide into you, you're going to not be able to say much else than my name," he finishes.
In any other circumstance, Clove would roll her eyes and scoff at his impertinent ego, but this time she feels electricity shudder up her spine and send her hairs standing on end. She feels like she is so wound up that by the time he gets around to touching her properly, she will orgasm immediately.
His grip on her hips moves with purpose again as he drags the length of his cock through her slick pussy lips. The head catches on the bottom edge of her clit, and she moans loudly into the stifling air of the tent. She doesn't have enough in her to care if anyone else heard her. As the pressure builds in her cervix, the rest of her feels oddly buoyant. The lack of room in the tent ensures that they can't get much of a rhythm beside a slow rocking against each other, but by the groans and muttered curses Cato is emitting lowly, she feels like they are doing enough with what they have.
"You feel fucking amazing," he breathes, pulling her down to kiss her deeply. With her hips free, she can adjust the angle at which his cock slides against her. Clove pants heavily as the sweet tension builds before snapping sharply. She shudders against his body, thighs quaking. It is probably the fastest she has ever come, but she can't find it in herself to be self-conscious about it right now.
Cato's lips quirk as he feels her clench on top of him and the resulting gush of fluid from her cunt. "Feel good, baby?" He says the endearment so effortlessly that Clove just breathes against him and tries not to think about how it makes her feel. He continues to slide his cock against her wet pussy, careful to avoid direct contact against her sensitive clit. A high flush has ridden up his neck, and his cheeks are pink. He looks wholly debauched and strikingly handsome at that moment.
A lump builds in her throat. For all she wishes to be a hard killer, intimacy has always been Clove's weakness. It is why she has avoided it as long as possible – with Cato, and with others. After this, she knows her obsession with him would not quiet any time soon. It made her feel weak. Compromised.
He breathes into her mouth, not quite able to kiss her properly, and runs his fingers through the loose pieces of her hair. It is so shockingly gentle that Clove lies over him and turns her face from his so he cannot see the emotions that will undoubtedly betray her.
His hips stutter, once-twice, and he spills between their stomachs with a soft sigh. Quickly, she rolls off him to lie at his side. She wants to grab her pants that have become pushed into the far side of the tent below their feet, but before she can move for them, Cato has her trapped against his side with one strong arm.
"Don't go. Not yet," he murmurs into her hair, blissed out in a post-coital glow.
She wants to snap at him, but his soft features and the sweat-dampened ends of his hair weaken her resolve, and she allows him to hold her. If she were honest with herself, she would admit that his warmth was comforting despite how hot they've made it in the tent.
"Go back to sleep, Cato. I'll stay for now," she mumbles, turning her face into his side and allowing the blackness of sleep to cover her.