This is a one-shot inspired by the movie Gladiator from 2000. Starring Russell Crowe, Connie Nielsen and Joaquin Phoenix, it was directed by Ridley Scott and won five Oscars, among them Best Picture and Best Actor. I chose Gladiator for the Everlarkianarchives' Movies in the Month of May challenge first of all because it's one of my favorite movies, and secondly because there are some interesting parallels to the Hunger Games.

It is just one scene from the movie – the first time Lucilla visits Maximus in the dungeons of the Colosseum. Even though I've retained all the original dialogue from the movie, it's definitely not the same scene anymore. If you haven't seen the movie, you might find this fic a bit confusing. If you PM me your e-mail address, I can send you a short recap of the plot.

Peeta will play Maximus, and Katniss is Lucilla. Cato is Commodus. Who knows who Marcus Aurelius was – he was certainly not Snow! – but never mind. He's dead, so you don't really have to picture what he looked like. But please don't picture Snow as Marcus Aurelius! Other minor characters that are mentioned are Seneca Crane, who is Lucius Verus, Lucilla's late husband. Cinna, who is Senator Gracchus. Madge, who is Maximus's late wife. And finally Rye, who is Lucilla's eight-year-old son Lucius.

Trigger warning: I guess the Seneca/Katniss pairing can be a trigger in itself to some, and there's dubious consent as well.

Thank you to Lbug84 for betaing!

Gladiator

The empty cell is dark. The rough, bare stone walls are partially lit by torches. In the palace, the walls have ears, but not here in the dungeons. There are no secret passageways, and the massive stone walls are too thick to carry conversations.

I pull my cloak tighter around me, making sure the hood covers my face as the two guards enter, along with their prisoner. I watch from my dark corner as they chain Peeta to the wall. He looks fit and well fed. His clothes are clean, his beard is neatly trimmed. Skilled gladiators are valuable, and they are well taken care of - until they meet their end in the arena, of course. After they are dead, the treatment of all gladiators is the same: their corpses are fed to the lions.

With a wave of my hand, I send the guards away. They do not question me. I am hardly the first woman of wealth to venture down here, hidden by the darkness.

When we are alone, I step out from the shadows. Peeta looks surprised for a second, he must not have seen me when he entered the cell. I remove my hood, and Peeta's eyes darken when he realizes who has requested his company.

"Rich matrons pay well to be pleasured by the bravest champions," I say in lieu of a proper greeting.

Peeta's eyes have a dangerous glint in them as he slowly walks towards me. "I knew your brother would send assassins." His voice is vicious. "I didn't think he would send his best." He is halted just short of me by the rattling chains around his wrists.

"Peeta, he doesn't know."

"My family was burned and crucified while they were still alive," he hisses.

"I knew nothing about it."

"Don't lie to me!" He shouts, and I swallow hard.

This man, furious and threatening, is not the Peeta I used to know. He's not the laughing boy on the beach, neither is he the wise general. How do I reach him through all his pain and anger?

"I wept for them," I say insistently.

Cato had a smile on his face when he told me, in great detail, how Peeta's wife and son had been murdered at his command. Even though I felt sick inside, I managed to hide my disgust and fear from my brother. I wore a neutral porcelain mask, which was all I ever allowed him to see of me.

I did not cry until I was in the privacy of my own suite. My slave girl Lavinia gently stroked my hair as I muffled my sobs in the pillow.

The images Cato planted in my mind have haunted my dreams ever since that day. Roaring fire. Rape. A mother begging for mercy for her son. Burning flesh. I wake screaming, but find there is no relief in waking.

Peeta takes a few steps backwards. I follow him, forgetting about the short range given to him by the length of his chains until it is too late. Quick as a snake, he grabs me as soon as I am within his reach. His hand closes around my throat.

Something dark in his eyes tells me that it is a result of cold calculation on his part. He's got me where he wants me now.

"As you wept for your father? As you wept for your father?" The rage resonates in his voice.

He presses a bit harder on my throat, and I can barely speak. "I have been living in a prison of fear since that day," I tell him. I can see in his eyes that the fire and the screams haunt his nightmares, too. "To be unable to mourn your father for fear of your brother. To live in terror every moment of every day, because your son is heir to the throne?" My voice breaks, and something passes over his face as I mention Rye. "Oh, I have wept," I assure him.

"My son was innocent." I feel his fingertips digging just a little bit deeper into my skin as he spits the words out, and I start to feel a bit lightheaded. Even if I manage to call for the guards, I know that Peeta can break my neck before they have time to come to my rescue. If the guards find me here dead, Peeta will be tortured and executed, and then there will be no one left to save Panem.

"So is mine. Must my son die too before you can trust me?"

He pushes me away, roughly. I stumble, barely able to stand. I gasp for breath, feeling the air fill my lungs and for a moment, it's all I'm able to focus on. Breathe. I can breathe freely again.

Peeta turns away from me. His shoulders slump in defeat. "I could never trust you again."

His words sting, but I can't really blame him.

We were so young, Peeta and I. We were only 16, and madly in love.

We were star-crossed lovers - the Emperor's only daughter and her young guard, the son of a baker from District 12. Peeta should have known, but he didn't. Perhaps he was so madly in love that he chose not to acknowledge the impossibility of our union? I, however, had no such illusions. I knew from the very beginning that it could never be the two of us. I was to be wed in fall.

Co-emperor Seneca Crane was 20 years my senior. Our union was necessary to secure my father's power and the stability of the Capitol. I never considered questioning my father's command. Ever since I was a little girl, I had known I would wed a man of my father's choosing. Such was the role of well-bred daughters of powerful men. My engagement was not yet public knowledge; my father did not want to alert his enemies in the Capitol of his plans. No one at my father's seaside summer mansion in District 4 knew, except for Lavinia.

But long days in the sun and warm summer nights smelling of jasmine flowers made it all too easy to push thoughts of marriage away. The days were mostly spent hunting in the woods. And as soon as Lavinia fell asleep at night, I would sneak out of our bedroom to swim in the ocean. It was the only place I could be truly alone.

One night, as I was wringing the water out of my hair, my naked body only covered by a short silk robe, I was startled to hear steps behind me. Even before I turned around to see him in the moonlight, I knew who it was. I recognized the heavy, slightly uneven steps of Peeta, the young man from District 12 who had been handpicked for the personal guard of the Emperor's family. For weeks, he'd followed me on my hunting trips in the woods, always making sure I was safe. At first he annoyed me because he moved through the woods clumsily and loudly, scaring away all the prey. But he was a natural horseman, and when I hunted from the horseback, I secretly admired him.

I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but I didn't know what to say. I was certain that this was the end of my nightly swims. Peeta would escort me back to my suite and alert the other guards of my escape, and they'd make sure I'd never slip out of the mansion unaccompanied again.

Instead, Peeta surprised me.

"Will you teach me to swim?"

Hopeful that maybe he wouldn't tell anyone about me sneaking out at night after all, I answered yes.

In time, the swimming lessons became something more. We would sit on the beach after swimming, looking at the black waves. I was reluctant to go back to the mansion, wanting to spend as much time outside in freedom as I could, and Peeta always stayed with me.

It was a bit awkward at first. I had never been much of a talker, and we didn't really know each other. One night, probably mostly to break the silence, Peeta asked me about my favorite color, and in return, he told me of his. It was impossible not to like Peeta, and soon, we became friends. He told me stories that made me laugh, wonder, and dream. He told me about his life in District 12. Although he was only the third son, Peeta was going to inherit the family business, because according to his father, Peeta was the only one of his sons who truly loved baking. I could tell his father had made the right decision, because Peeta's voice was filled with pride when he told me of the small, but well-run bakery that was to be his when he returned to District 12. Without thinking, I reached out to touch his hands. They were rough, scarred from the ovens, and warm. As I traced the lines of his skin, our fingers intertwined.

"One day, Katniss, we'll go there together. I can't wait to show you District 12. I know it's small and poor, it doesn't have any of the grandeur you're used to from the Capitol, but it's still beautiful. You should go in spring, when the Meadow is covered in dandelions."

"I'd love to see it," I answered.

Together. I refused to think of the implications of his words.

He held me in his strong arms as we listened to the sounds of the waves against the shore. On those warm summer nights, we were not the Emperor's only daughter and a young guard from District 12. We were just a girl and a boy.

One night we quietly walked through the orange orchard on our way down to the beach. His grip on my hand tightened and his voice was low.

"I have a confession to make," he said. "I should have told you before, but I was afraid that you would be angry with me."

"What is it?" I asked.

"I saw you that first night. Before you put your robe on."

He stopped, and so did I. He bit his lip nervously.

"I did not mean any disrespect. I should have looked the other way, but you were just so beautiful. I'm sorry."

I leaned a bit closer to him. His skin smelled of the ocean. "Don't be," I whispered. My lips found his, my fingers playing with the curls at the back of his neck as his strong arms pressed my body against his stocky, muscular chest.

Up until that night, we wore swim clothes in the water. But after his confession, there did not seem to be any point in hiding my body anymore. So that night, I slipped into the black waves naked, and so did Peeta.

His hands found me under the water, and his touch set my body on fire.

I decided to take what happiness and escape I could during this last summer... before I wed Seneca. Peeta freely offered me happiness, and though he didn't know, he also offered me escape. I offered him my innocence that night on the beach.

So after, when he whispered "You love me. Real or not real?"

I told him "real."

It was the truth. Yet I knew I was betraying him.

I listened to him fable about the two of us getting married. Even though I felt my heart becoming heavy, I held my tongue. I did not crush his dreams, I could not bring myself to. Not when I heard the happiness in his voice, and felt his solid warmth next to me.

So I silenced him with a kiss.

I didn't tell him the next night, either. Or the one after that. I simply could not find the strength to tell him that we could never be more than we were in that very moment: secret lovers on a warm summer night.

"You must have known that we could never be real," I say.

"I know that now," he agrees. "But I believed you. I did not think you would lie to me. I will not make the same mistake again."

When I finally told Peeta about my upcoming wedding, the last night before I was to return to the Capitol, I saw something in him shatter. He did not rage, try to reason, beg, or curse me for my betrayal. He simply walked away.

I married the man my father had chosen for me. Cato, to my father's dismay, sobbed at my wedding. I, however, did not shed a tear. I felt nothing. I was numb.

"I did love you," I say. "That was not a lie."

"Everything you said to me was a lie." He looks at me through narrowed eyes. "You talk about trust, but what does it matter if I trust you or not?" He takes a step towards me. I know that I am still within his reach, but I don't move away from him. He's had his chance to kill me, and he didn't take it. "It was in another lifetime. The boy you lied to no longer exists." He cocks his head, and something in his eyes changes. "Did your husband trust you?"

His question catches me by surprise. "Of course," I answer, not understanding where he is going with his question.

"Even knowing another man had you first?"

Every bride is nervous on her wedding night. I was nervous for a different reason than most.

To his credit, Seneca was patient with me. He touched me gently, probably trying to prepare his virgin bride. But where my body had burned under Peeta's touch, it was indifferent to Seneca's. I whispered a plea to blow out the candles, and my husband immediately obliged, perhaps thinking the darkness would be easier for a shy, blushing bride. Little did he know that I was hoping that in the darkness, it would not matter who I was with. Perhaps it felt the same way with every man, in the end?

But the darkness didn't help. In a desperate attempt to try distract both of us from how unaroused I was, I decided to try something that I had taken great pleasure in doing for Peeta. My lips closed around Seneca's cock, in a way that clearly told my husband that I knew what I was doing. His shocked gasp told me of my mistake, but it was too late.

Seneca pulled my lips away, and guided me onto my back with strong, unyielding hands. In the moonlight, I saw his clenched jaw and his narrow eyes as he looked down at me. He took me swiftly, without a word. There was nothing left of the patience he had shown before. My head was turned to the side, towards the open window, as I distanced myself from it all. This was my duty as a wife. Pleasure had nothing to do with it.

The next morning, I saw contempt in my husband's eyes, but I knew he would never try to annul our marriage. Seneca needed me to ensure a blood bond with the Emperor, as much as my father needed his co-emperor. We were bound together by duty, Seneca and I, and a fleeting thing such as my virginity was far less important than the continued stability of Panem.

The contempt in Peeta's voice makes my anger flare. "Do not reduce me to a whore, Peeta. You know very well that what happened between us that summer was much more than..." My voice trails off. I can't even say the words. What that summer meant to me.

He stares at me, almost like he is a hunter, and I am his prey. He takes another step closer to me. "The first year after your sudden and unexpected marriage, I listened very carefully for news that the Emperor's daughter was expecting an heir."

I widen my eyes in surprise. "Did you think that…"

"What if you had been?"

If I had been, I would have had no choice but to pass off my child as Seneca's. Thankfully, it never came to that. "I was not pregnant."

"Obviously. Your only son was born five years into your marriage."

So he had kept track of me, too. The thought made me feel strangely happy.

At his own request, Peeta was reassigned to the army, and I never saw him again. I heard of him often enough, though. To my brother Cato's dismay, Peeta became my father's favorite. I learned that Peeta climbed the ranks faster than anyone before him. That he was brave, wise, and a born leader. His soldiers loved him.

I learned that he had married a woman, Madge, in District 12, and that they had a son.

It took me five years to finally provide my husband with an heir. Seneca's long absences due to his duties as co-emperor, which involved a great deal of traveling, were partly to blame. But even when we did share a bed, there was little passion between us. Seneca only visited my bed when, according to the phases of the moon, I would be the most fertile. Our encounters were brief and never provided me with any satisfaction. Pleasure was something my husband would seek elsewhere, with one of his numerous mistresses. I sometimes wondered if things might have been different between us if I had not betrayed him before our wedding night, but I quickly pushed those thoughts away.

I uneasily shift my weight from one foot to another. We don't have a lot of time. And discussing my marriage is the last thing I want.

"So, tell me," Peeta says. "What prompted you to come here in the middle of the night, talking to me about trust?"

I take a deep breath. "There are very few people in the Capitol I can trust. But when I saw you take off your helmet in the arena today, I knew that the gods have spared you for a reason. Today I saw a slave become more powerful than the Emperor of Panem."

"The gods have spared me?" He hisses. "I am at their mercy, with the power only to amuse a mob."

I remind myself that Peeta, despite his former prominent position in the army, grew up in District 12. He spent most of his adult years on the battlefields, far from the Capitol. He has never even been there. He does not understand the inner workings of the Capitol. But I do.

"That is power," I try to explain. "The mob is the Capitol. And while Cato controls them, he controls everything. Listen to me," I say insistently, instinctively lowering my voice. "My brother has enemies, most of all in the Senate. But while the people follow him, no one would dare stand up to him. Not until you."

"They oppose him, yet they do nothing," he says quietly, condemning the silence of the people the Capitol.

"There are some politicians who have dedicated their lives to Panem. One man above all. If I can arrange it, will you meet him?"

I do not dare say Cinna's name. I came here, hoping Peeta would trust me, and that I could trust him, because of what we had once been to each other. I realize now that may have been a mistake. Maybe I hurt him too badly, or maybe too much time has passed? But I know that if Peeta betrays me, I must keep Cinna alive.

"Do you not understand?" Peeta shouts, and I have to fight the urge to tell him to speak softly. "I may die in this cell tonight or in the arena tomorrow. I am a slave! What possible difference can I make?"

"This man wants what you want."

"Then have him kill Cato!" He makes another lunge at me. But this time, he does not touch me, he does not choke me. He stops, his face only inches from mine, and our eyes lock.

I can barely believe my own ears. The man my father trusted to save Panem is now unable – unwilling - to accept that responsibility. Instead he chooses to live his life like this, a slave, without fighting back when given the opportunity. All he's doing now is waiting until it is his turn to be killed in the arena, because I have no doubt that's what's going to happen, sooner rather than later. My brother will make sure of it. Peeta escaped the first attempt at a rigged game, but that was when everyone thought he was just another gladiator. Now that Cato knows Peeta's identity, however, I fear that Cato will raise the stakes.

"I knew a man once," I say, my voice low. "A noble man. A man of principles, who loved my father, and my father loved him. This man served Panem well."

"That man is gone. Your brother did his work well."

He looks broken, much the same he did that hot August day so many years ago. That day, I let him go. But I cannot let him do the same again. Today, I have no choice but to make him stay.

"Let me help you," I whisper insistently. I impulsively stretch out my hand, touching his cheek. His beard tickles my soft skin. He did not have a beard back then, on the beach. My smooth-skinned teenage lover, who had just started shaving. Who laughed with me, swam with me, and loved me. Peeta told me the man I once knew was gone, but I refuse to believe that it is true.

Because I saw Peeta in the arena. I saw how he commanded the other gladiators, how he made them believe they could survive. And by believing, by following his command, they lived. Peeta won the crowd. They sensed his sincerity, his goodness, and his courage. All the things I saw on the beach so long ago.

Peeta is not gone. My father was right. Panem needs Peeta.

I need Peeta.

I close the distance between us with just one step, and my lips find his. I feel more than hear a sound coming from him, deep in his throat. But just as I think he will push me away, he relaxes against me. His hand, still chained, finds the small of my back, and I feel a shiver go through my spine.

"Is this how rich matrons convince gladiators to kill members of their family?" He asks me when our lips part, his voice slightly husky. "Are you trying to manipulate me, even now?"

"No," I gasp. I can feel his erection against my belly, and his body's reaction to mine gives me courage. "I never tried to manipulate you. You must believe me." He does not, I can see it. He stares at me, his blue eyes hard. "This is because I want to. Need to."

He pushes me, almost roughly, against the wall. The chains clang as he traps me against it. His arms are resting on the bare stone walls on either side of my head, and even though his body does not touch mine, it is so close that I can feel the heat radiating off him. The flickering flames cast shadows over his face. I am at his mercy.

I am fairly confident now that Peeta won't kill me, but I know I have committed treason tonight. Cato will kill me if he finds out I've come here. Whether I came here planning to have my own brother murdered, or whether I came here to fuck my old lover, doesn't matter. Both would be unforgivable sins in Cato's eyes.

"I did not think the Emperor's daughter needed anyone," he says, his voice almost a growl. His hands move back to my throat. I fear I will have bruises tomorrow, and they will be difficult to explain to my brother. But this time, when his fingers meet my skin, his touch is feathery light. I can't stop a low moan, and he chuckles. The sound is so surprising, and my instant fear is that he is teasing me. Mortified, I turn my head, refusing to meet his eyes. But then his hand travels lower, down to the neckline of my dress, and I can barely find air in my lungs to speak. "No one is at the mercy of others more than the Emperor's daughter is," I whisper. "Not even a slave."

"That is not true. I could be dead in the morning," he says, his fingertips traveling lightly over my skin. I feel my nipples harden against the thin silk of my dress. He looks down, and I can tell he notices by how his breathing quickens. I feel heat build up low in my belly, wetness gathering between my legs. In a matter of seconds, Peeta has managed to achieve what my husband never did. My pulse pounds in my ears.

"So could I. And worse, so could my son."

His hand slips under the neckline of my dress, and his large, rough hand closes around my breast. I gasp as he rolls my erect nipple between his fingers. Then he impatiently tugs my dress down to bare my breasts. I know my body is nothing like it was all those years ago. I have filled out. I have had a child. I have matured into the woman that my body had only been the promise of back when I was 16. He makes a low groaning sound in the back of his throat, and I hope that it is a sound of approval.

"Spread your legs," he groans. I comply. "Pull your dress up."

Without a word, I obey. I am not wearing any underwear underneath, and my face burns with shame when his eyes met mine and he smirks at me.

His hand travels lower, the chain clinking against my side as it does. His fingers slip between my legs, and I close my eyes, leaning my forehead against his chest when he finds what he is looking for. Only now that he parts my soaking folds, do I realize just how wet I am, even though he has barely touched me.

"Look at me," he says, his voice low and commanding. He holds his fingers still against me. When I don't face him, he repeats, more insistently this time. "Look at me."

Only when I do, does he move his calloused and scarred fingers, providing me with friction. His index finger expertly slips over my swollen clit, and I involuntarily buck against him. The chain that holds his wrist captive is hard and cold against the sensitive skin of my thigh, but somehow, the contrast between the chain and his fingertips only seems to enhance my pleasure. He traces circles around my clit, over and over again. Perfect, tight circles, using just the right amount of pressure. He seems sure of himself, in a way that 16-year-old Peeta wasn't.

Peeta reacquaints himself with my body. I close my eyes, nearly overloaded by stimuli. Again, he stops, and this time, he doesn't have to tell me what he wants. When I force myself to open my eyes, I find that he is studying my face closely, watching my reaction to his touch.

I blink, trying to focus, and lick my lips. "Please," I moan, but I don't really know what I am begging for. But Peeta does. He slips first one, then two fingers inside me. I stifle my moan against his chest. His fingers slide out, collecting my fluids, and drawing them to my clit. I can feel my orgasm building already, a pressure deep in my belly. Feverishly, I start tearing at his clothes without having any clear plan other than needing them off.

When I feel his cock burning against me, his skin finally against bare against mine, it is both a shock and a relief. He hurriedly reaches for my thighs and hoists me up, his chains cool against my ass. I wrap my legs around his waist, and he is close, so close.

His cock slips over my swollen folds, searching for my entrance and pressing the stones of the rough wall into my back. The head of his cock pushes into me and he moans low in his throat. My body tenses and I hold my breath. Despite how ready I am for him, it is still uncomfortable. He is so big, and it has been so long.

He stops before he's fully sheathed inside me. "Katniss?" He whispers, and unlike before, his voice is surprisingly soft. The mocking is gone.

He holds my eyes, and I blink quickly. I don't know if I'm tearing up because of the sudden and unexpected discomfort, or if it is simple because he said my name. For the first time tonight, I am not the Emperor's daughter, who lied to him. I am only Katniss.

I will my muscles to relax as I fight to control my breathing. He keeps perfectly still, holding my gaze until my inner muscles relax, accepting the intrusion. Only then does he push all the way into me in one, slow thrust.

Peeta's chest heave and I squeeze his shoulders, nodding my head slightly, giving him permission to take me the way he did before. He pulls out, slowly, and I can feel every vein and ridge as he does. He thrusts back into me hard and fast, and this time, my body is ready for him. I relish the sounds of wet slapping skin against skin, my half-muffled moans, and the grunting noises he makes every time he pounds into me.

Trapped against the wall, there is nothing to do but hang on to him. He tilts my hips, finding a better angle, one that allows the base of his cock to slide across my clit every time he thrusts extra deeply. His cock, his sounds, his blue, burning eyes, and his strong body against mine all drive me closer to the brink, with every almost punishing stroke.

He fucks me with the desperation of a man who knows tonight might be his last on Earth. His desperation reflects my own; I've been lonely all my life, except with Peeta.

I come with a muffled cry of his name, and he follows me, wordlessly, only a few moments later. I feel him release deep inside of me, his cock twitching. Finally he stills, panting heavily even as my body contracts around his cock for a few seconds longer. He rests his forehead against the dungeon wall, his cock still inside of me as he fights to regain control of his breathing. He doesn't say a word.

Then he abruptly pulls out of me, and my legs slide down to the floor, my knees shaking. My dress falls down to cover my legs, and I feel his seed run down the inside of my thigh. He did not even attempt to pull out of me before he came, the way he did before.

I don't know what it means. I don't know what any of this means.

"Yes. You can help me," he finally says, and his voice is hard and cold. Distant. The soft, almost caring voice from before is gone. "Forget you ever knew me. Never come here again."

I open my mouth to say something, although I don't know what, but he turns away from me. "Guard!" he shouts. "The lady is finished with me."

My head hanging down in shame, I quickly put on my robe, hiding my face. I do not want the guards to see my flushed face or disheveled braid. I do not want Peeta to see the tears that run down my face.

Fleeing the dungeons, my body aching and sore, I know I failed my mission.