A/N: Hello guys! Honestly, I'm kind of all over the place with stories I want to write and publish. The only one I'm able to keep at a constant it seems is Puppet Strings while the others bob in my head like ducks in a pond, waiting for inspiration to strike that just won't come.
Okay, so this is based on the general idea of 50 shades. Do not fret however as I have not read the book nor do I intend to so hopefully they will differ in both content and style.
Warnings: future BDSM and graphic sex.
Tremble
Chapter One
Peeta walked along the street at a hurried pace, his satchel bumping against his hip in a rhythmic fashion. Haymitch had only called him that morning, demanding that he get himself to the Capitol Building immediately because they had managed to sustain an interview with Cato Hadley, rich bigwig of Panem. They had been trying to get this interview for weeks and now that they had gotten it, it was the matter of upmost importance that Peeta executed it perfectly.
The Capitol Building was huge. It towered over every other structure in the city like a giant. It reeked of sovereignty and significance. Even a foreigner would know that big things went on in that building, just from first glance at it. Peeta had never set foot in such a place before and couldn't help finding the whole idea incredibly daunting. But he knew he'd have to face this sort of thing when he became a reporter. He'd just have to push past the fear and get on with it.
The foyer was also huge. A massive circle with the Capitol symbol imprinted on the middle of the floor. The Panem flag hung in the corner and the only person to be seen, bar a few people milling around, was the girl at the reception desk. Thankfully, she looked approachable and not at all something to be feared.
Upon seeing him, her face lit up with a welcoming smile.
"Hello, welcome to Capitol Industries, how may I help you?" Her voice was so rehearsed it sounded like one of those telephone voices. The sort that tell you that you are fifth in a line of callers before the music flared up again.
"Um, yeah. I'm Peeta Mellark, from the District newspaper, I'm here to talk to Mr. Hadley? I think my boss said it was for 2:00pm?" God, Peeta hated being professional. It made him feel older than he actually was.
The girl tapped something into her computer, pink glossy lips pursed in deep thought. "Ah, yes," she finally said, "here you are." She pulled a pass out from a drawer in her desk and handed it over to Peeta. He pulled it over his head and the little piece of plastic saying 'Visitor' fell perfectly against the middle of his chest. "Go on up, his assistant will call you in when he's ready for you. Top floor. Hard to miss since his is the only room up there."
Nodding his thanks, Peeta took to the elevator. Normally he would take the stairs but, 30 floors was a lot to climb, and he wanted to make a good impression, not appear sweaty and breathless to an interview. When the doors slid open again, he found himself entering another reception area, this one much smaller and homier. Another desk sat before a set of double doors, except it was a man sitting behind it this time.
"Peeta Mellark?" the man asked upon his arrival.
Peeta nodded.
"Mr. Hadley will be with you shortly. Do take a seat while you're waiting." The man paused, pressing his fingers against his ear, presumably listening to something on his bluetooth. Looking up at Peeta again, he said, "Actually, he's ready for you now."
Wow. Peeta had been prepared to wait for 2:00 on the dot. He thought that someone with such a commendable reputation would be punctual right down to the final second. Not that he was complaining, this made his job easier. Beyond the double doors was a huge office that overlooked the entire Panem Skyline. It was easy to tell that a lot of money had been put into the design of the room as everything seemed to match and all the furniture was carefully placed so it looked like it belonged where it did. Peeta was suddenly aware of how he probably stuck out like a sore thumb. This sort of place was designed for people who wore suits and always looked their best. He hadn't thought to dress up for the interview, especially since Haymitch had called him at such last minute about it. Hopefully Mr. Hadley wouldn't mind the fact that he simply pulled on a pair of scruffy jeans and a shirt before grabbing the closest jacket and throwing it on as he left the house. He hadn't even thought to brush his hair.
A man stood at the window, back to the doors as he looked out at the gorgeous view below. Peeta could faintly see his reflection in the glass; a pair of glowing green eyes but not much else. As he approached, he quickly combed his fingers through his hair, hoping to make it look even a little presentable before Mr. Hadley turned around and saw him.
And turn around he did. Peeta had seen Mr. Hadley hundreds of times. Everyone had. You couldn't walk a mile in Panem without hearing about him or seeing him in adverts. But there was something incredibly different between actually hearing about him through word of mouth, looking at him in an advert or actually having him stand in front of you in the flesh. Peeta felt a twinge in his stomach, the sort of twinge he used to get when his mother forced him to watch Magic Mike before he realized he was gay. The twinge was always a pest, like his body was trying to tell him something. But he ignored it, like he always did. Professionalism first. Daydream about emerald green eyes and gorgeous jaw structure later.
"Peeta Mellark, I presume?" Mr. Hadley asked.
Peeta nodded, subconsciously wondering if everyone in this building was going to call him by both names. He hoped not. Again, it made him feel old. At least they weren't throwing out 'Mr's', Peeta wasn't prepared to crack the, "I'm not Mr. Mellark, that's my father," joke until he was at least thirty five. Not only was it pitifully embarrassing, it was the cringe worthy thing that would probably ever leave his mouth.
"I have to say, I wasn't too keen on the idea of an interview but when that man-Abernathy, was it?-told me that he would be sending you, it peeked my interest." Mr. Hadley walked around the desk and sat on the edge. Peeta watched him curiously the entire time. Why would he, an obscure reporter for the District News, peek anyone like Mr. Hadley's interest?
"Why's that?" he found himself asking.
Mr. Hadley gestured for Peeta to take a seat. He did so carefully, as he felt like his peasant blood might stain all of the beautiful Capitol fabrics surrounding him. "I read that piece you wrote about the delicate line between plagiarism and template art for the Arts & Culture sector," Mr. Hadley explained.
Peeta was surprised by this, he didn't think anyone read his stuff. Normally he just stuck to the Arts & Culture sector of the paper but Gale Hawthorne-the business reporter who was supposed to be taking care of this interview-had contracted small pox and was confined in his home. Haymitch must have-for some ludicrous reason-believed that Peeta was the next best fit to take on the job. Why? Peeta had no idea.
"You like art?" Peeta asked.
The older man shrugged. "It captures my attention from time to time."
"I see." Distracting himself before the twinge returned in all its painful glory, Peeta opened his satchel and pulled out his notepad. It was filled with scribbles about the opening dates for Art Galleries and possible headings for upcoming articles. He hoped the questions he devised for this were beneficial and relevant, since he had no idea what sort of things you should be asking a business man, certainly not one with such an exemplary reputation on his shoulders.
Thankfully, Mr. Hadley answered every question and didn't scoff or laugh at anything Peeta put before him. It was relieving and put his mind at ease. Even if he didn't understand half of the things Mr. Hadley was talking about, hoping that it was a business thing and it would make sense to everyone else who weren't out of their depth. Hopefully Gale would be happy with the answers he was getting, since he would have to deal with the fallout if it wasn't at all good.
"Okay, last question," Peeta didn't know whether to feel thankful or disappointed. On one hand, the terrifying ordeal of acting like he knew what he was talking about was almost over but on the other, he was enjoying the simple pleasure of being able to look at Mr. Hadley constantly without seeming creepy. It wasn't often that he was attracted to someone, especially someone close at hand (because apparently the Magic Mike boys didn't count, according to his mother), but it seemed that when he did, he reverted back to his teenage self. The sixteen year old who had confusing feelings towards Alex Petifyer and didn't understand why he had this overwhelming desire to lick the space behind his abs.
Mr. Hadley who, throughout the entire interview, had alternated between sitting on the edge of his desk to pacing to sitting again to once more pacing, spun around from his reassumed position of staring out the window and smiled. There was something off putting about his smile, something Peeta couldn't place. "Shoot," he said.
"What do you do outside of Capitol Industries? Do you have any hobbies or interests?" Peeta almost frowned. Why in the hell had he wrote than down? Who was going to care about that? Well, since it was out there now he might as well write down Mr. Hadley's response.
This question seemed to stir something. Mr. Hadley moved away from the window and stood in front of the leather couch in which Peeta had uneasily perched on throughout the entirety of the interview. The business man towered over him like an imposing giant and Peeta knew that, even if he stood up, it probably wouldn't make much of a difference.
"We've been talking about me for ages now. It's becoming incredibly monotonous," Mr. Hadley complained.
"I don't mean to be rude, Mr. Hadley"-
"Call me Cato. You don't work for me so there is no point in calling me that," intercepted Mr. Hadley.
"Okay, well then, uh, Cato, I don't mean to sound rude but this interview is about you," said Peeta. "It's the whole point in my coming here, isn't it?"
"Probably." Cato sat beside Peeta on the sofa and removed his notepad from his hands. He flicked through it nonsensically and Peeta watched him awkwardly, worried about whether he had copied down what Cato had told him correctly. He hoped that Cato also would be able to recognize shorthand as he did not want to seem illiterate. "You've got over ten pages of information here, isn't there something more pressing to talk about other than me?"
"I don't think so, sir," answered Peeta. Oh for the love of God. Sir?! He wasn't talking to his Headmaster! "Do you think there is?"
Cato seemed to be thinking about it. Peeta's pencil dug painfully into his thigh while he waited on a response, the pain keeping him grounded to the situation. "Call me curious but I'm interested in hearing about you," the man finally concluded. Peeta raised his eyebrows in shock. Him? Why? "Why don't you answer your own question?"
"Because if you thought hearing about yourself was boring, I am the peak of monotony," answered Peeta.
"I somehow don't believe that," Cato replied. His eyes were gleaming with curiosity and Peeta couldn't look away.
"My lifestyle won't seem in the slightest bit interesting compared to yours," Peeta insisted. He reached out and plucked the notepad back from Cato. He had plenty of information to go on. The last question wasn't necessary. Besides, why would a rich man like Cato want to hear about the amazingly plain daily life of an out of his depth Arts & Culture reporter whose interest resided in baking and art?
Cato clasped Peeta's wrist in his hand, halting any plans of leaning away. Peeta blinked in surprise and looked at the man expectantly, presuming he had something to say before he left. Except, he didn't. Cato just stared at him with an expression Peeta couldn't decipher. Not now anyway. His head was cocked a little to the side and his face was unreadable. Peeta wished he could see what the man was thinking and for once, horrifying; terrifying and exciting moment, Peeta thought that he was about to kiss him.
But then, it was over.
Cato released his wrist and sat back, another smile crawling onto his face like caterpillar. "I'll see you around, Peeta Mellark," he said, pronouncing every syllable in Peeta's name in a way that made his face heat up.
Smiling sheepishly and laughing in a strange way that resembled air rushing out from between his teeth, Peeta stood up shoved his notepad into his satchel. He didn't turn around once on his exit, fearful that if he did, the last glimpse of Cato would be just the right excuse for his knees to completely collapse out from underneath him.
Besides, Cato wouldn't care if he looked back. He had more pressing things to be getting on with that worrying about the fumbling reporter who was so plain and boring.
Hardly worth remembering, that was him.
Good old, forgettable Peeta.
~T~
Delly had experienced a break up that day. Peeta didn't find out about it until they met later on at The Seam and she was knocked out of her head with alcohol. There were only two occasions when Delly drank: when her favourite boy bands break up and when she experiences a break up with who she thought was 'the one'. And, whenever she got drunk, she forced everyone around herself to get drunk to.
Peeta didn't mind all that much, he could use a drink or two after today.
"I almost forgot to ask," Delly slurred, beer can swinging wildly in her left hand, "how did the interview go?" In her current state, it was a wonder she hadn't fallen off her stool yet.
"It went . . . okay," Peeta concluded. He drank much more carefully, knowing that if Delly didn't find another possible conquest, he would be taking her home.
"I know that Hadley guy from those adverts," Delly pressed. She whistled and almost missed her mouth, smacking her cheek with the top of the can. Peeta took it off her and placed it on the bar until her co-ordination improved. "Whooo, if I was a guy that would be the guy I would go for."
"If you were a guy?" Peeta said slowly.
Delly nodded. "Guys who like guys tend to go for guys," she whispered, as if this was the meaning to life. "You, of all people, should know this."
"Uh . . . I'm sorry, what?" Delly never made any sense when she drunk. This was one of those many occasions.
"Gaaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyyyy," Delly elaborated.
"Right. That's all you had to say." The whole pussy footing thing about his sexuality was a bit irritating, since no one would think twice before telling a straight person that the business man they had been interviewing earlier was straight as well. What Peeta was most interested in, however, was how Delly had managed to obtain the information regarding Cato's sexuality.
Delly rolled her eyes and picked her beer back up, the liquid slipping over the lip of the can haphazardly. "This is the 1950's kid," she said in a phony American accent, "I'm all for your out and proudness but I just don't want to see you get hurt."
Peeta glanced at Katniss, the barmaid. "I think she's had enough," he told her.
Katniss nodded. "Agreed."
"Hey, I am not even part way drunk!" slurred Delly in protest.
"Go home, Cartwright, you're drunk," Katniss advised.
Peeta helped Delly get home, which was easy since her building was literally across the road from the bar. Once she was safely in her apartment, tucked in bed, he returned to The Seam and had another drink. He didn't know what else to do. All there was waiting for him at home was an empty house with four walls of judgment.
"You gotta hand it to her, Delly may be a lightweight but her American accent is spot on," Katniss said to break the silence.
"I suppose it's all the old movies she watches," Peeta replied. He and Katniss dated when they were fifteen. It was nothing serious, even though she had thought it would last longer than it did, and Peeta was glad that they were still able to talk to each other after the break up. Katniss had taken the news well. Better than he had thought she would. What girl would want to hear, "I'm sorry but I think I'm gay," from their one year boyfriend?
"She's right about Mr. Hadley," Katniss said. She picked up a tea towel and began rubbing down a glass that had been sitting on the bar. "He's about as straight as a piece of spiral pasta."
"How do you know all this? Did I miss a headline or something?" Peeta asked incredulously.
Katniss shrugged. "The guy has had a couple of conquests the past. He's very secretive about it, though. Wouldn't talk about it publicly."
"Because you know how much of a scandal it would be if the country discovered that a famously powerful person was gay," Peeta bitterly muttered. With Panem's attitude towards sexuality and relationships, the country might as well still be in the dark ages. Sometimes Peeta felt like the only person who's openly came out. Which obviously isn't true but either everyone else was trying to make him feel weird about it or there really aren't that many gay men. Maybe it was a sign that he was destined to die alone.
"Aw, come on, don't be like that," Katniss said. She nudged Peeta's face and forced him to look at her. She raised her eyebrows. "How do you think I feel? I spent a year trying to get you to have sex with me without realizing that idea probably wanted to make you vomit."
"I wouldn't say vomit," Peeta replied, Katniss' smile being as contagious as the chicken pox. "The idea just wasn't appealing at the time."
Katniss laughed. "Is that what they call it now-a-days?" she chuckled. Passing him another can of beer, she asked, "Remember that time we were playing Super Mario Kart and I wanted to make out but you kept insisting that it was of the upmost important that you beat Rye's high score?"
The memory made Peeta laugh as well. It had only been two months into the relationship and he had had himself convinced that it was too soon to be locking lips with Katniss. She had been insistent, trying to take the Wii remote out of his hands and pressing kisses against the side of his neck that she probably thought would capture his attention. Really, Peeta should have noticed then that something was up. But no, it took Magic Mike and the twinge for him to realize the truth. And Alex Petifyer's abs, of course.
"I suppose I should I known," Katniss continued. "However, it was nice to have someone to talk to about the almost inhuman good looks of Davey Plum post break up."
Peeta groaned at the memory of the human equal of a Greek God who used to sit in front of him in calculus. "Do not get me started," he warned.
This made Katniss laugh. She winked and looked at her watch. "Yes! My shift's ending in five minutes," she said.
"Any plans?" Peeta asked.
"I've got a date tonight," she answered.
"Oh cool, anyone I'd know?"
"Probably not." Even though Peeta had been the one to break up with Katniss, she seemed to be doing better in the field of romanticism that he had ever since. He remained a lonely spinster, awaiting the day where he would discover the perfect man who would be attracted to him in return. Long after Katniss left for her date, Peeta stayed in the bar, contemplating how his life had become as lonely as it had.
This lead him to order another can of beer.
And another.
And another.
And another.
By the time he left The Seam, he was completely smashed. Common sense dictated that he should have went across the road to Delly's and stayed there for the night but, stubborn as usual, Peeta found himself taking the road less travelled back to Casa De Mellark. Which was three miles away. Along the way he took multiple breaks on park benches and bus stop seats, almost falling asleep on them every single time.
Three quarters of a mile through, Peeta stopped and drew his knees up to his chest on a park bench not far from the center of the city. Pressing his face against his thighs, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He wasn't going to make it if his head didn't clear up and if he fell asleep on the bench, chances were that a hobo was going to steal his satchel.
"Peeta Mellark?"
Looking up, Peeta could have sworn he saw Cato standing in front of him. Probably the alcohol. Definitely the alcohol. All the talk of the man mingled with the toxins in his head and caused an apparition of the gorgeous man to appear in front of him. "Mr. Hadley?" he replied, his voice at a snail's pace.
"What are you doing?"
"Waiting to throw up." Peeta really didn't mix with huge amounts of alcohol. Someday he would grow to accept this. "What are you doing?"
"Wondering why you're sitting on a park bench at one in the morning waiting to throw up," Cato answered. He held something out towards Peeta. "Drink this."
"What is it?" Peeta asked, taking it regardless.
"It's water," answered Cato. "Drink it before you really do throw up."
The water felt like liquid gold as it slid down Peeta's throat. However, once it reached his stomach it reacted unhappily with the alcohol in his system and he threw himself over the side of the bench as he vomited up everything he had consumed in the past three hours.
"See, I lied," Cato explained. "It's water with a tablet dissolved into it designed to rid the body of toxic substances."
Peeta would have responded with a cutting remark if he wasn't currently throwing up. He felt a hand on his back, rubbing in a comforting manner. It helped elevate the horror a little, especially when he nearly fell off the bench as a cough wracked his body. When he finished, he pressed his forehead against the cool metal of the bench and sighed. He did feel better, he hated to admit, now that most of the alcohol had been forced from his system.
"Better?" Cato asked.
"Eh." Peeta felt his eyes droop and didn't notice himself sliding off the bench until it was too late.
The last thing he registered before he blacked out was Cato shouting his name.