#viictorygiift

One:

They first met in the Capitol, when she was a gift to the Gamemakers, and he was just a junior among their number. A joke, mostly, from a drunken Seneca Crane. For the the man saw her as nothing but a toy, a doll, just as the Capitol had planned. To reward Deejay for his work, he gave him Bly for the night.Both were drunk, her because it helped her want to live, him because he had been forced glass after glass of incredible expensive beverages with inhumanly high alcoholic contents and he had no way to really say no. They fucked, and they fucked HARD, the alcohol numbing pain and clouding awareness. If she hadn’t been only partially human, she probably would have gotten bruises and worse, across her ass and her breasts and her throat, from where he forced his control upon her. As it was, neither really remembered what happened. She awoke before he did and slunk away, and he was left to wonder if she was real, or just a dream. 

Two:

With the rebellion over, the wounds that all had hidden from sight during it rose to the surface. Some mental; most physical. Bly was a nurse by trade, skilled in healing those who needed it…except, unfortunately, for herself. Which was where he came in. Caught in the blast of Gale’s bomb on the lawn of the Presidential Palace, Deejay ended up under Bly’s care, the rest of the doctors being far to busy with Katniss and other patients. She healed his skin and his bones and his eye…and in return, he helped to heal her heart and soul, filling in a section the Gamemakers had torn out with their surgical knifes and implants. It was rough, this was true. But only because she couldn’t feel it…her skin and body numb to feeling pleasure after so long. To get her to cum, he had to work his hardest, do his worst so to speak. But even then something good came of it. It got him thinking about how to heal her skin…and revealed the beginnings of something horrible.

Three:

He hated himself the most when he couldn’t figure out how to save her. He’d gone through EVERYTHING the Capitol had on artificial flesh degeneration. Everything and more…and found nothing to help. If it hadn’t been for Grey and her understanding of ancient technology and medicine, Bly would have died. And he beat himself nearly to death over it. She saw it…and she hated it. And so she came to him with a counter offer, one she needed herself…he could take his anger against himself out on her. At first he was horrified, convinced she wanted him to hurt her. But then she stripped off her shirt and her pants, beckoning him closer, and he understood. And more, he respected her, knowing what a great risk and the trust she was putting in him…and he vowed not to betray it. He did not…the only thing broken here was her growing arousal, satisfied in the most intense way that they could find, the result being two sweaty victors, panting on the floor. It was also the moment he realized that he loved her…and he was sure she felt the same.

Four: 

Their sex life was, by the standards of most victors and even non, slow and almost uninteresting. Neither really complained, that was how they liked it. If you have too much of something, you don’t want any more. And both had seen their fair share of beds and floors and otherwise.So when they DID fuck, it was a moment of intense passion, an opening of wounded souls to each other. And neither held back. At least there…Some would call their fucking tame. Deejay wouldn’t disagree. But as long as he managed to get Bly to shout his name, and climax…he considered it good.

Five: