THG One-Shot: Liar, liar
Title: Liar, liar
Author: downbythebay_4
Rated: NC-17 (see notes below cut)
Summary: Clove/Peeta; it’s not a pretty situation
Notes: Adult situations and themes, potential triggering situations, mentions of rape, and dubious consent. Thank you to redbells for beta-reading; all remaining mistakes are, of course, mine.
Cato is fucking the girl from 1 against a moss-covered rock, very loudly. This displeases me. Not because I give a shit where his dick has been, but because they’re hogging all the air time. I like Cato well enough, for now; he’s as powerful as any career I’ve ever seen, which makes me glad he comes out of District 2. But only one of us is going home, and having sponsors swooning over his throbbing manhood isn’t doing me any favors.
I know Cato is just toying with her; winning her affection makes her less of a threat. Sex is a non-issue in District 2. My first year at the academy three of the older boys cornered me after lunch; I drew blood from every one of them, of course (and took an eye from the biggest,) but they used me all the worse for that. The same happened to almost every girl in my dormitory; you got over it, or you got out. District 2 didn’t want you to have anything the arena could hang over your head.
I watch the boy from 1 watch them going at it, wetting his lips. I roll my eyes; pervert. Two trees away Lover Boy covers his ears and rolls over. Above us I can hear our quarry shifting in the branches and I grin, lifting myself from the forest floor.
“Hey Lover Boy,” I turn him over digging the toe of my boot into his ribs. “You’re not going to let them have all the fun, are you?”
In the firelight I can see the look of sheer panic that crosses his face (shit, shit, fuck, shit, shit) as he scrambles through the leaves away from me. I’m pleased to see the fear I can bring out in him, and it only hardens my resolve. I catch the hem of his jacket with one of my knives and it’s like he’s suddenly grown roots.
I crouch down and place one knee on his chest to take the knife from my boot and hold it under his chin.
“You want to die, Lover Boy?”
“No.” He looks at me and not the knife when he answers. This is unusual, and I cut the belt from around his waist to make my point.
“Stop,” he says, reaching to still my hands as I open his pants. I dig the tip of my knife into his side and he rewards me with an involuntarily mew of pain.
Really, I am doing him a favor. The so-called Girl on Fire left him in the shadows, relegated to oblivion. I don’t see our audience forgetting this any time soon. I force my lips over his and straddle his hips rubbing against him.
He pushes against me and I bite down on his lower lip until the metallic tang of blood meets my tongue.
“Don’t you want me?” I bat my eyelashes mockingly.
“No.” He wipes the blood from his split lip. “Not this.”
I grab his chin and press my body against his, massaging the growing bulge at his crotch with my other hand. He presses his lips together to stifle a moan from somewhere deep in his belly.
“Liar, liar, pants on fire.”
I push his back into the dirt and begin to undo the fastenings at my waist. I can feel him trembling beneath me and it sends a thrill of pleasure up my spine. He’s probably guessed that I’ll drive a knife into his heart as soon as I’m done with him. Maybe I will engrave pretty pictures on his rounded cheeks first. I hope he cries.
His breathing is labored as I lower myself onto him. Admittedly I am not very big, and he is not all that small, but a little pain is okay, preferable even to comfort. I move over him, I pull his hair and bite his throat to give some of it back.
He has more meat on him than District 1, but not like Cato, who is built like a mountain. There is softness in his stomach and the insides of his thighs with just enough give to make my body feel like a knife that is planted inside of him. It’s a shame that the Capitol can’t stomach cannibalism, because I think that I could eat him up given the opportunity.
I press the flat of my knife against his chest and find a rhythm and realize that he is staring intently at me. He puts his hands on my back, cradles my neck, and when I arch over him to push deeper he touches his brow to mine gazes right into my eyes. This unnerves me.
I wanted him to beg for mercy (for relief, for his life,) or to profess his love for the girl whom we will kill in the morning. I had hoped that he would plead for me not to despoil him for the sake of the love that he held for her, or imagined perhaps that he would groan beneath me with the desperation of an aroused animal. I had not expected him to try to hold me.
I feel naked. I suddenly want to cover myself, but I know I have to finish what I’ve started or risk appearing weak.
“Close your eyes.”
He lifts his chin and places a kiss on my collarbone. I grab him by the throat and run the tip of my knife over the orbit of his eye.
“I said close your fucking eyes or I’ll take them out, Lover Boy.”
He complies and shuts his eyes, the length of his lashes make his face appear more childlike than it already is. A wave of nausea comes over me and I fight it back down with the same commitment that we take to everything in District 2.
I rock on top of him and his eyes are closed and he tilts his hips, the smallest, most timid of movements, but it hits something inside me that makes me lose my grip on my knife. It feels like there’s something unfolding inside of me. I’ve never felt anything like it and his hands are on my hips pulling me down again and it’s better than gravity, the force of it stealing the breath from my lungs until I feel dizzy. I can see my knife resting on a pile of leaves and I know that I should pick it up and carve my initials into his chest, so if that girl ever comes down from her tree she’ll know I was here first, but I’m afraid that if I move I’ll never feel that again. And I so desperately want to feel that.
His lip trembles; he pins it between his teeth and finds that spot, and soon I’m the one moaning like a house on fire. My hair falls around us and I touch his face and neck and lips with my fingertips like we are partners or lovers and somewhere inside of me I am glad that the curtain of my hair should obscure this moment of tenderness (weakness.)
I cannot tell if Lover Boy knows what he’s doing to me; I expect he feels something like satisfaction as well, because his stomach shifts below me. I can see his pulse beating in his throat. This was never my intention, but what should it matter that he has one moment of pleasure before his blood runs slick over my hands? In a moment it will be over and everyone will know that I am not to be trifled with.
He places a hand over my small breast. “Clove.”
In one word, I am undone. The pressure inside me changes and my arms cave in from under me. I am lying on his chest and our bodies are warm and damp. I roll away from him to pull up my pants. For the first time, I feel ashamed.
My knife is just out of reach. I turn my head to look for it and Lover Boy is watching me and I wish more than anything that Cato will kill him before I have to. Cato and the girl have finished fucking; he is watching me with dark eyes, and I remember that I must not appear weak, not even a little bit.
“Hey District 12,” I call to the canopy above us. “Your boy’s not a bad fuck. Maybe I’ll keep him around after all.”
As soon as I am sure my legs will bare weight I wander back to my pallet and try to fall asleep, shivering in my own sweat. I begin to think that I will never be warm or dry again.
Author: downbythebay_4
Rated: NC-17 (see notes below cut)
Summary: Clove/Peeta; it’s not a pretty situation
Notes: Adult situations and themes, potential triggering situations, mentions of rape, and dubious consent. Thank you to redbells for beta-reading; all remaining mistakes are, of course, mine.
Cato is fucking the girl from 1 against a moss-covered rock, very loudly. This displeases me. Not because I give a shit where his dick has been, but because they’re hogging all the air time. I like Cato well enough, for now; he’s as powerful as any career I’ve ever seen, which makes me glad he comes out of District 2. But only one of us is going home, and having sponsors swooning over his throbbing manhood isn’t doing me any favors.
I know Cato is just toying with her; winning her affection makes her less of a threat. Sex is a non-issue in District 2. My first year at the academy three of the older boys cornered me after lunch; I drew blood from every one of them, of course (and took an eye from the biggest,) but they used me all the worse for that. The same happened to almost every girl in my dormitory; you got over it, or you got out. District 2 didn’t want you to have anything the arena could hang over your head.
I watch the boy from 1 watch them going at it, wetting his lips. I roll my eyes; pervert. Two trees away Lover Boy covers his ears and rolls over. Above us I can hear our quarry shifting in the branches and I grin, lifting myself from the forest floor.
“Hey Lover Boy,” I turn him over digging the toe of my boot into his ribs. “You’re not going to let them have all the fun, are you?”
In the firelight I can see the look of sheer panic that crosses his face (shit, shit, fuck, shit, shit) as he scrambles through the leaves away from me. I’m pleased to see the fear I can bring out in him, and it only hardens my resolve. I catch the hem of his jacket with one of my knives and it’s like he’s suddenly grown roots.
I crouch down and place one knee on his chest to take the knife from my boot and hold it under his chin.
“You want to die, Lover Boy?”
“No.” He looks at me and not the knife when he answers. This is unusual, and I cut the belt from around his waist to make my point.
“Stop,” he says, reaching to still my hands as I open his pants. I dig the tip of my knife into his side and he rewards me with an involuntarily mew of pain.
Really, I am doing him a favor. The so-called Girl on Fire left him in the shadows, relegated to oblivion. I don’t see our audience forgetting this any time soon. I force my lips over his and straddle his hips rubbing against him.
He pushes against me and I bite down on his lower lip until the metallic tang of blood meets my tongue.
“Don’t you want me?” I bat my eyelashes mockingly.
“No.” He wipes the blood from his split lip. “Not this.”
I grab his chin and press my body against his, massaging the growing bulge at his crotch with my other hand. He presses his lips together to stifle a moan from somewhere deep in his belly.
“Liar, liar, pants on fire.”
I push his back into the dirt and begin to undo the fastenings at my waist. I can feel him trembling beneath me and it sends a thrill of pleasure up my spine. He’s probably guessed that I’ll drive a knife into his heart as soon as I’m done with him. Maybe I will engrave pretty pictures on his rounded cheeks first. I hope he cries.
His breathing is labored as I lower myself onto him. Admittedly I am not very big, and he is not all that small, but a little pain is okay, preferable even to comfort. I move over him, I pull his hair and bite his throat to give some of it back.
He has more meat on him than District 1, but not like Cato, who is built like a mountain. There is softness in his stomach and the insides of his thighs with just enough give to make my body feel like a knife that is planted inside of him. It’s a shame that the Capitol can’t stomach cannibalism, because I think that I could eat him up given the opportunity.
I press the flat of my knife against his chest and find a rhythm and realize that he is staring intently at me. He puts his hands on my back, cradles my neck, and when I arch over him to push deeper he touches his brow to mine gazes right into my eyes. This unnerves me.
I wanted him to beg for mercy (for relief, for his life,) or to profess his love for the girl whom we will kill in the morning. I had hoped that he would plead for me not to despoil him for the sake of the love that he held for her, or imagined perhaps that he would groan beneath me with the desperation of an aroused animal. I had not expected him to try to hold me.
I feel naked. I suddenly want to cover myself, but I know I have to finish what I’ve started or risk appearing weak.
“Close your eyes.”
He lifts his chin and places a kiss on my collarbone. I grab him by the throat and run the tip of my knife over the orbit of his eye.
“I said close your fucking eyes or I’ll take them out, Lover Boy.”
He complies and shuts his eyes, the length of his lashes make his face appear more childlike than it already is. A wave of nausea comes over me and I fight it back down with the same commitment that we take to everything in District 2.
I rock on top of him and his eyes are closed and he tilts his hips, the smallest, most timid of movements, but it hits something inside me that makes me lose my grip on my knife. It feels like there’s something unfolding inside of me. I’ve never felt anything like it and his hands are on my hips pulling me down again and it’s better than gravity, the force of it stealing the breath from my lungs until I feel dizzy. I can see my knife resting on a pile of leaves and I know that I should pick it up and carve my initials into his chest, so if that girl ever comes down from her tree she’ll know I was here first, but I’m afraid that if I move I’ll never feel that again. And I so desperately want to feel that.
His lip trembles; he pins it between his teeth and finds that spot, and soon I’m the one moaning like a house on fire. My hair falls around us and I touch his face and neck and lips with my fingertips like we are partners or lovers and somewhere inside of me I am glad that the curtain of my hair should obscure this moment of tenderness (weakness.)
I cannot tell if Lover Boy knows what he’s doing to me; I expect he feels something like satisfaction as well, because his stomach shifts below me. I can see his pulse beating in his throat. This was never my intention, but what should it matter that he has one moment of pleasure before his blood runs slick over my hands? In a moment it will be over and everyone will know that I am not to be trifled with.
He places a hand over my small breast. “Clove.”
In one word, I am undone. The pressure inside me changes and my arms cave in from under me. I am lying on his chest and our bodies are warm and damp. I roll away from him to pull up my pants. For the first time, I feel ashamed.
My knife is just out of reach. I turn my head to look for it and Lover Boy is watching me and I wish more than anything that Cato will kill him before I have to. Cato and the girl have finished fucking; he is watching me with dark eyes, and I remember that I must not appear weak, not even a little bit.
“Hey District 12,” I call to the canopy above us. “Your boy’s not a bad fuck. Maybe I’ll keep him around after all.”
As soon as I am sure my legs will bare weight I wander back to my pallet and try to fall asleep, shivering in my own sweat. I begin to think that I will never be warm or dry again.