DRABBLE NUMBER: 2
PROMPT: Romance
TITLE: Mine to Kill
GENRE: Angst, Romance
FIC SUMMARY: Clove and Cato are about to go into the games together, as lovers and as enemies, both sure they will be the one to kill the other. Though they meet the night before, and it is suddenly uncertain whether their lust for each other's blood is greater than their lust for each other.
RATING: Teen
WORD COUNT: 1611

Cato watched her watch the stars. The red dress she had worn in the interview was clinging to her tiny form where she sat on top of the railing, and fell around her delicately, beautifully even but also dragged on the ground behind her, making her look even smaller than usual. Though that didn't matter to Cato, who had always enjoyed the sight of Clove no matter what she wore, or didn't wear, that was.

She had yet to discover him where she sat with her feet dangling over the railing, he knew, being how he had just arrived the rooftop and was standing at least ten meters away. He had been looking for her, and he had found her exactly where he thought she would be. The sight of her mesmerized him, all the life and excitement seeming to pour out of her even from that distance, and it only compelled him to come closer.

It was after only a couple of steps that Clove noticed his presence, having gotten used to his silent appearances by now, and she turned her head to face him with a look of pure glee on her face. Though mixed with that child-like excitement was that usual spark of insanity; it showed in her ruthless smile and glimmered vividly in her green eyes. Cato grinned.

Wrapping his arms around her from behind, he grinned against the skin of the nape of her neck before straightening up and tightening his grip on her small form. He could feel her body respond to his and she was leaning into him instinctively, relaxing her body into her lover's. Clove was looking up at the stars again, something he knew had always fascinated her, but it didn't take long before lowly spoken words came from her.

"Are you ready to die, baby?" she asked him, her voice so soft in the, silky and slow but still taunting; insane. She laughed as softly as her words, but the cruel undertone struck him too, which was just another thing he enjoyed about the girl in his arms.

Cato grinned again, rolling his eyes even if she couldn't see him, and rested his chin on top of her head. "I should be asking you that," he said, mirroring the taunt in her voice, feeling her chuckle against him once more. It was dangerous, that chuckle, it meant death and cruelty and promised the same for everyone around her. But Cato had never been scared of death, and especially not of Clove. Not that he would ever let the little girl kill him.

"You're delirious," she told him, but this sounded more like a snarl, something which Cato was more than familiar with too. Though she was still playing her sweet, twisted little game of taunt, wanting to see how much she could rile him up before he lashed out.

Now it was Cato's time to chuckle, and he could hear the breath of annoyance it earned him. "Are you so sure about that, little girl?" he taunted, using a pet name which earned him an elbow jammed into his stomach, and he had to pause his words for a while. Then he kept on going, grinning still, knowing he had the upper hand. "All I would have to do is push you, and you would fall," he said, and he knew she was staring down at the ground far down in front of her, the night being so dark it was impossible to actually make out the ground.

"You w-" But as she begun to speak, Cato had already pushed her slightly forward and let go of her, only to grab her again before she could actually fall of the railing. It all happened in a fraction of a second, but it was enough time for Clove to give a surprised squeal, and for her to jump and flail to the realization that she was about to fall. It satisfied him, scaring her like that, though he knew she would find a way to get her revenge on him. She could keep grudges a lifetime if she had to, too bad her life was soon going to end.

Angry curses came from his lover's mouth, and she clung to his arms, his joke obviously having scared her. Clove spat the words at him harshly and continued to do so for a couple of minutes until it died out in a slight moan. Cato had started to kiss her neck slowly, busy with preserving her memory. He wanted to remember it all when she was gone; her smell, her taste, the feeling of her smooth skin against his. Everything.

Clove was suddenly quiet, and the only thing to be heard from her was her breathing, which was slightly faster paced than normal. Burying his face in the side of her neck, he breathed in her smell deeply. It had always been something Cato found slightly odd, the fact that she smelled so sweet when he always kind of expected her to smell like blood, or death or pretty much anything that wasn't that perfume-like scent.

Cato was worried he would forget. Of course he wouldn't forget the memories, the countless hours spent in his bed and even longer spent sparring and training together. But he was worried he would forget her; what she looked like when she was so furious she was seething, how she felt against him at night, the spark of mischief and insanity in her green eyes. He didn't want to forget, but he was still going to kill her.

To his surprise, he could feel Clove entangle her fingers with his. Then she kissed each finger, one by one, her lips lingering softly on his skin. And when she was done she didn't let their hands fall into her lap again, but rather pressed their joined hands against her body, against her chest so that he could very easily feel her beating heart.

Cato rested his cheek against hers, and they both fell into silence, the two of them watching the stars. Clove's grip seemed to tighten on him with every minute that passed, like she was trying to do some preserving of memories on her own. Not that he blamed her, because he knew Clove believed she was going home. The arrogant little girl thought she could kill him, but he would show her how it was done. He had promised himself to give her a worthy death, because she was Clove, his lover and his girl, and because he knew she would do the same for him, if she had miraculously somehow managed to kill him.

"Will you still watch over me when you're gone?" she asked him quietly, that usual insane humor of hers twinkling in her words, but beneath it laid something darker, something serious. She turned her head slowly, trying to look at him, her fingers still clenching around his, the beating of her heart increasing. And Cato more than willingly met her want, turning his head slightly so he could look at her too.

Her eyes were as green as always, but the thing he searched for but couldn't find was the spark of insanity that he always saw. It was replaced by a deep seriousness he had never thought Clove could possess, or thought capable between the two of them, but when he thought about it again, he could feel the same seriousness in himself too.

So Cato kissed her, deeply and firmly, his lips moving together with hers, the both of them melting into each other. But unlike their usual brutal, lustful kisses, this was needy and raw and tasted of loss, death and even of despair. Neither wanted to let go, because she was his, and he was hers, and in that moment nothing else mattered. Not the death that was waiting one of them, not worrying about forgetting. Just living, and breathing, and feeling the other press against them. That was all that mattered.

It was Cato who broke the kiss once something happened inside his chest that he couldn't quite understand. He looked at her, his forehead still pressed against hers, feeling her beating heart against his hand and her fast breath against his lips.

"Only if you'll watch over me," he eventually answered her, every ounce of taunt having disappeared from his voice. Clove leaned into him and kissed him so slowly it nearly pained him, her lips lingering softly on his. The gentle way their lips touched wasn't something they had experienced before, their kisses usually being brutal and harsh. But it was a kiss that said goodbye; I love you, you're mine, and I might even miss you when you're gone.

Her one hand cupped his cheek, the tips of her fingers playing with his hair, and she used the other one to press his hand against her chest. Cato mirrored her, his thumb caressing her cheek as gently as ever, tracing the line of her cheekbone. He could feel her fingers tighten around his hand, and her heartbeat fasten under his palm.

And then she pulled away, though never taking her bright green eyes away from his, like he wouldn't take his off hers. And that was his girl. Clove, the girl in his arms, she was his; his to kiss, his to fuck, his to kill. Irresistibly beautiful, so absolutely insane, horribly cruel and all his.

He would remember the way she had kissed him that night, the way her heart had beaten against his palm, and the way she had never let go of his hand.