Mature Scenes

Bonus Scene - Clean

before knowing about the pregnancy, on the victor's tour, just two horny teenagers in love

The train is chugging smoothly on the way to District 6 as I get ready for bed. Cato and I showered together, but given I was a bit tired, and we had already been dirty twice today, for once, it was a no nonsense shower.

Since we shower mostly together, I tend to finish showering first given Cato insists on focusing on cleaning me first. I don't have to lift a finger in his presence. Honestly, I don't even have to think if I don't want to. Cato takes care of me, of us, of everything. Well.. he takes care of everything that Effie doesn't already have control over.

I'd just left Cato to finish his shower and was dried, lotioned, and slipping one of his shirts over my head when he walked in, one towel around his waist and the other in his hands as he dried his hair. His eyes trailed up and down me slightly greedily. I was wearing the underwear he loved seeing me wear: simple, white cotton. I know that sexier, skimpier underwear should be more attractive to him, but he apparently disagrees. I won't repeat what he said about why he likes them... he's so dirty, I can't even think of it without blushing.

I'd never admit this to him, but I secretly love how dirty he is. It seizes me.

Right now, we are both nice and clean. I can't meet his gaze as he breezes past me to grab underwear. When he looks at me like he is now, I can't resist him. It's why we've had our door locked and his hand over my mouth to quiet me twice already today.

From the corner of my eye, I can see that he is still watching me carefully, urging me to look at him.

I flush, but still look away, reaching for a brush to get the kinks out of my hair. The brush fluffs out my hair the way it does when it's humid outside, making the waves at the end stick out a bit. I pout and huff as I quickly try to flatten out the mess I've made with my hands. It sort of works, making it look messily teased.

Cato hums in appreciation.

"What?" I ask him quietly, quickly glancing at him from my peripheral. As our eyes meet briefly, he smiles at me.

He shakes his head at me, but I think it's in appreciation more than in disagreement. "You're my wet dream," he says.

It shocks me, as Cato only recently told me what a wet dream was after one morning, he'd woken up from a particularly steamy dream, one apparently about me, and was a bit... sticky. To be called someone's wet dream, the way Cato described it to me, would be the ultimate compliment for a sexy, experienced, confident woman. Not for me.

I turn to look at myself in the tall mirror that sits in the room across from the bed, and to me, there's not much to see. I am wearing his shirt, which just covers my underwear, but not entirely. It makes my legs look long and a bit too lean for my liking... I'd like to put on more weight in some places. My hair is a mess as it starts to poof up again, and my stupid, stubborn blush that is always there when Cato is around is muted now. The one quality of myself that I actually quite like is how brightly blue my eyes look when I look at Cato.

I tug nervously at the shirt, hoping to pull it lower as I suddenly become uncomfortable with myself.

Cato notices and frowns, stepping forward. "Oh don't you fucking do that," he says, pushing my hands away from the shirt.

I roll my eyes at him through the mirror, and he does the same back at me. "Cato," I start, turning to face him.

"What?" he asks, reaching to hug me around my waist. I can read his thoughts; I know he's telling me to stop thinking the way that I do about myself.

I look up at him, moving my hands up the length of his arms. They feel strong, and for a moment I remember how he looked when we were training for the Games and I would watch him spar with the trainers. His arms looked so good back then.