valiant.

he likes nick long before he ever meets him. the defiance is there, at the reaping: cash is watching without really seeing, because he fucking hates the reaping and doesn’t want to remember it. if he watches, he’ll feel that panic again. if he sees the faces of the kids getting chosen, he’ll remember how his own face looked, expression twisted in horror and shock.

he’s in the capitol for it, invited to some party he wasn’t really at liberty to decline. two drinks in, a woman on his lap — no one here cares that he’s only seventeen. it doesn’t stop them from plying him with drink, doesn’t save him from the dark eyed looks and knowing smiles he gets tonight, knowing he’ll never leave alone ( but at least he’s alive, he’s alive, he’s alive—) the woman on his lap hisses, a scandalized sound, and he follows her eyeline back to the screen. the scrawny boy from district 11 has just flipped the camera off, and peacekeepers drag him away as he shouts expletives of rage. around him, the room buzzes incredulously. the woman — cherry? clove? — looks at him, lips a deep purple that he’ll later find doesn’t fully wash out of his shirt. isn’t he awful? she says, like they’re both just spectators, like he hasn’t fucking lived through it. imagine! so ungrateful of him!

cash looks back at the screen and grins.

————————

they don’t talk about what happens here. it’s been years since that first event when cash waylaid him, shell shocked, as the capitol celebrated him for the glory of becoming victor. nick has lifted the unbearable weight just a fraction; he can fucking breathe again, and some nights, these parties are almost fun. sometimes they’re not. if he ever brought it up, nick would obviously understand. but that’s the problem, isn’t it? cash has never known how. he’s never voiced any of it, and he’s sure that the moment he starts, he’ll crack. it will become his undoing.

tonight, he nearly gives in. tonight, the patrons of the party seem to have someone unspoken order that they’ve decided they get to have him in. he dresses in total silence, sits at the end of the bed long after the man has left. ( there’s a name for this, he knows, but it’s never felt like it until now. ) back outside, each sound grates on him. every touch peels back his skin, and he knows — with vivid clarity — that the next person to dare and grab him will fucking die beneath his hands. he’ll end his own life with theirs, and he doesn’t even give a shit.

someone touches his arm. he whirls on them in a black rage, all pretense of civility stripped away to expose the animal beneath. green eyes flare open in shock; cash pauses, surprised to find a hand on a path straight to nick’s neck. someone nearby gasps, and without pause, nick kisses him. tentative horror shifts to delight. around them, voices titter and whisper; foreign fingers brush his back, and before cash can pull away to snap them, nick is drawing him closer, kissing him harder, taking his face between warm hands. don’t. he says it without saying it, because he can’t, they can’t, but they can do this. and when nick starts to drag him away, it’s to obvious, raucous approval.

they lay there afterwards in silence. nick runs a hand through his hair, twirling a finger in the curls as cash looks up at the wall. gone is the tremor of desperation and rage: he’s settled here, skin to skin, absorbing the warmth of nick’s limbs. thank you, he wants to say, but the words stick like thorns within him. it doesn’t matter, anyway. there’s nothing between them that has to be said out loud.

Case in point, as Nick's hips jerk at the touch to his cock. Matt lets out a strangled noise at the interrupted rhythm, eyes fluttering closed. He opens them again, though, after just a minute, because he wants to watch nothing more than the way Nick moves on top of him.

"I know you do, baby. I know. God, I need you too, fuck." It probably won't be too much longer until Matt flips them, but he's not going to tell Nick that yet. If the younger is going to be greedy and desperate, Matt's going to let him work himself into a state of pure need before he does anything about it.

There's a groan as Nick starts to move a little more, now, the slide against his shaft initially making Matt's hips follow - but he wants this to last, so he concentrates a little more on laying still and letting Nick show him what he wants.

"Fucking incredible, baby. Hot, and tight. Best thing I've ever felt." He exhales harshly, looking at the lines of Nick's body - where his knees are bent, his proud erection, the line of his chest. "I don't think there's anyone more perfect for me than you. God, baby, if you simply sat on my cock and never moved for the rest of time, I would be a happy man."

HE DRINKS IN the praise, observes the unbridled lust in Matt’s gaze; his shoulders straighten under the casual weight of it, elbows tucking in a way that accentuates the sharp angles of his shoulders and waist. Teeth bare in a grin: “But you like it when I move.”

Such thoughts are washed away, however, when Nick sinks down on him again. Moans fall out of Matt's mouth to join the youngers - both hands now settling on Nick's hips, leaving his cock unattended for now.

Not for the first time, Matt thinks about how beautiful Nick is. He thinks so most of the time anyway, but especially now - fucked out, and flushed, and taking what he wants.

"Mould your ass into the perfect shape for my cock, hm?" Matt asks, smiling up at him. "It's almost like if I fuck you often enough, we won't ever have to think about prep again. Talking about being my own personal cocksleve - does that mean I get you whenever I want, you insatiable little thing?"

Not that they've really discussed that, and not that now is exactly the time. But Matt's had thoughts about it - and obviously, in his hazy state, he's not taking into account things like jobs. Those are details for tomorrow.

"WHENEVER YOU WANT, baby," he tells him, "I'm always ready for you, yeah? I need your mouth and your hands and your cock so fucking bad." Jobs do get in the way of constant fucking - his own especially - but it's hot to think about, at least. Roaming the apartment, getting snatched and devoured whenever Matt feels the urge -

His free hand moves to Nick's hip, flexing on bare skin and holding him firm.

"I just hope you know what you're asking for, baby." Matt almost warns, his hips pressing up against Nick's. "Because the question is, when are you gonna cum? If I'm so busy fucking you into the mattress and wearing you out, when am I gonna find the time to make sure my boyfriends poor cock gets the attention it deserves, hm?"

The question comes with a taunting stroke, Matt curling his hand around the head before bringing his precome-covered fingers to his mouth.

“DON’T WORRY ABOUT me,” he almost purrs, “you’ll take care of me regardless, mh?” He’s warmed up enough that he might be able to cum just by being fucked, but they can find that out later. He’s in no rush. The journey is more important than the destination or whatever.

HE IS RATHER eager to both be fucked into the mattress and get to bouncing, so he does just that - stroking Matt a few more times before guiding himself onto his cock. He lets out a rather lewd moan as he sinks fully onto his shaft, settling for a moment to readjust before starting up a rhythm, slow at first to give them both space to breathe. Lithe fingers splay across Matt’s chest, head cranked back before falling forward again to look at his face.

"I am hot, aren't I?" He laughs, the feeling of it smoothing away some of the dregs of tiredness that had been starting to overtake him. His own hand snakes down between them to curl around Nick, stroking softly where the other is already hard.

"I love you too. You and your insatiable appetite." Matt turns his head slightly, teeth nipping at Nick's ear. "Makes me wonder what you're going to do to me. What you want me to do to you, once you've got me all worked up. This might be your last time tonight, so gotta make it count, right."

IT’S WHAT HE’S asked the past two times, but that’s not important.

HE’S ALREADY RATHER warmed up so a higher-pitched moan than usual escapes his throat when Matt gets a hold of his cock and strokes. The act only serves to encourage him, free hand roving his chest and his hair and his throat, pushing him to where he wants him as he wakes up his poor beleaguered cock for what he wants. Tongue laves at the pulse point below his jaw when he kisses him, moving up to his ear, catching earlobe in his teeth, breathing hard.