I Don't Want to Kill – Peeta and Cato Slash Fanfiction
DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Hunger Games Trilogy or any part of it. All of the characters are credit of the awesome Suzanne Collins, and all acts displayed in this fanfiction are specifically that; fiction. Also note that if you are under the age of eighteen, or reading such content is illegal where you live, I am not responsible for you viewing this material.
PEETA'S PERSPECTIVE
I stand on the metal disc, surveying the area around me. The scent of flowers and plant life comes from my left, and the fringes of the forest behind me are just visible to my right. Straight ahead, I see the Cornucopia, a huge golden cone, with the back tip pointing to the north. I know that, just across from me on the opposite side of the rings of tributes, Cato lies in wait, a lion ready to pounce. I knew him to be smart and he was strong as well. Hot, too, a part of my brain chimed in, though I shoved that to the back of my mind. My focus was Katniss, and keeping her safe. Cato and I had an arrangement; I would be a part of the Career pack, so long as I helped them locate Katniss, the girl I loved. The idea sickened me, because Cato was cruel. He would choke her to death, or perhaps slit her wrist and pull her veins out. Cato was a man who made a fetish of pain and suffering, and I would be fine with him killing if he didn't enjoy it so much. Well, no. I would never be fine with killing. But when you're in the arena, you've got no choice. The Hunger Games were the Districts' repentance for a crime committed nearly a century ago, but it was evidently necessary.
I was paying full attention for the last few seconds of the countdown. Three…two…one! I thought, and launched myself forward. I slipped behind a tree and hoped that no one who wasn't Cato or the rest of the pack would find me. Thankfully, they did not. Even the fox-faced redhead ran past me, though I was sure she'd faltered for a second. Either way, it was Cato who came behind me and put a hand on my shoulder. Standing, I stared, somewhat fearful, into his dark blue eyes.
"Lucky it was me who found you, eh, Loverboy?"
"Y-yeah," I stammered, staring at the bloodied sword in Cato's hand.
"Well, come on. We've got work to do."
There were five of us, including myself; Cato, Glimmer, Marvel, and Clove. Cato acted just as I had expected; he was hostile and cynical, laughing at the prospect of death whenever it was brought up – which was always. Glimmer was pretentious and slutty, making an innuendo of everything. She was my least favorite, really. Marvel was something like Cato, only his cruelty was replaced with sweetness. Though he, too, laughed at murder and blood. Clove could have been Cato's twin in personality. She was sadistic, crude, and blunt, unafraid and unaffected by criticisms and laughter. She was sullen and did not show any cheer whatsoever. The worst thing is that all of them were smart in their own way. Cato knew how to kill in so many different ways, Glimmer could have seduced anyone off a cliff if she so desired, Marvel had an air of innocence around him and used this to manipulate people, and Clove was cold-stone brilliant. She always seemed to be thinking, and I found several trees marked with complex drawings or something of the like every once in a while, and her knife – well, one of them – was covered in splinters and sap.
Cato was the only one I really talked to, seeing as we were forced to share a sleeping bag each night, and every one of us stripped down to our undergarments to rest. It was survival one-oh-one, as Cato put it; you preserved more body heat naked than clothed. My main reason for not complaining was that Cato valued me where the others didn't. I was his tool to finding the biggest threat in the Games, but as soon as that was gone, he was less than worthless. So I went to sleep, with Cato's arm forming a vice grip around my waist and that was when we would talk. He never spoke of anything but Katniss. It was like an obsession for him. All he cared about was finding the quickest way to get rid of her, and he constantly asked where I thought she'd go. However, when Cato slept, I would hear him murmur about his home. He would whisper me into slumber as he talked about his family, his friends, his school.
On the third night, he whispered my name.
CATO'S PERSPECTIVE
The Hunger Games were my favorite competition. Life and death, murder and vengeance, love and lust. These things were prominent. I had been trained to play the Games since I could walk, and I had not known any emotion, save for hate, in my life – until now. My arm was around the stout, muscular body of Peeta Mellark, Tribute for the Games from District Twelve. His dirty blond hair was under my chin, and it still smelled of strawberries, though we were almost a week into the Games and he most certainly hadn't showered. Either way, a sense of euphoria struck me each time we were to sleep – another night with this muscular boy, who had impressed me with his strength, each time. I couldn't think of a real reason as to why I would want the baker's boy – he'd told us about what his dad did in Twelve, and I was the only one who'd clung to his stories. Except for love, that is. I'd hardly even ever heard the term before, but I knew the basic concept; you wanted to be with someone for all time. And Peeta was something new to me. I'd known women – slept with them, that is – before, but they'd never grown close to my stone heart. Peeta was sweet and funny and kind, and all I wanted to do was buck up the courage to kiss him, just once.
It was a strange thing to not have courage, especially for me. I could gut a man with a hairpin; I could snap bones between my hands. And yet I couldn't plant a kiss on a random stranger. How the hell does that work? I thought as I pulled Peeta closer to me. I couldn't think of him without revealing my affections, so when I spoke to him, I asked about Katniss. I wanted her dead, certainly, but mostly because she was a present danger to Peeta. He seemed to want to follow her to the ends of the Earth, and I wanted that from him. With that whore gone, I might have a chance! I mused, imagining kissing Peeta's tears away when he wept for her death. A smile crept to my lips and I whispered "Peeta," under my breath as I drifted off to sleep.
The next morning, I had Peeta's head of dirty blond hair pressed against my chest, and my hand was at the small of his back. I could feel, down below, a bulge in my underwear – they were underwear for athletes, given by the Capitol, and were very revealing – and a similar one in Peeta's. Reaching down, I adjusted my member so that it wouldn't stick out when I got up, but my hand stayed down below and tentatively crept towards Peeta's. He was still deep asleep, so I gripped his unit through the underwear. Suddenly he started to stir, and I let go. Standing up, I exited the sleeping bag. Marvel was the only one awake. "Got a problem there?" Marvel asked, nodding his head to my lower regions. Shit! I thought. The twelve-inch bit of flesh was standing at attention, having escaped its prison. "Here," Marvel said in a voice that I could only describe as sexy. "Let me help." He stood, walked over, and got down on his knees in front of me. I didn't want this. I wanted Peeta. But my body wanted release, and before I knew it, Marvel had put his lips around my throbbing dick and started to push it further down.
It was obvious that Marvel was practiced at this. Clearly he'd done it before, but when had he learned this? Through the whole thing, I imagined that Marvel was Peeta instead. I came quickly, spurting on Marvel's tongue as my cock hit the back of his throat. Marvel swallowed my load and quietly went back to where he'd been, winking at me. Confused, I pulled my jeans on and a shirt. Kicking my sleeping bag gently, I said "Wake up!" to the general public loudly. Every bag seemed to jolt as the rest of the group snapped awake. Today we were hunting. For Katniss, I told everyone. But, really, I was looking for a suitable place to run away from, or a place to kill everyone else in their sleep and leave with Peeta at my side. Perhaps I would tell him that mutts attacked and they were killed. It didn't matter to me, as long as I got to keep Peeta with me, safe and alive.
Around midday, we split up. Peeta and I went alone – or so he thought – and the other three had panned out to see if they could find any clues. I wasn't hunting. I was making sure Peeta was safe. And I still didn't know why I cared. Why did I want Peeta to live? Why on Earth did I feel this way? I might've understood myself if I'd known him before, but this was sudden and different. Peeta had impressed me with his strength, made me laugh with his smile, and made me fall in love with his personality. In District Two, everyone was sullen and hostile, and bred for murder. Nothing more, nothing less. But the Games allowed the Tributes to form bonds which, sadly, were forced to be broken. Usually it was friendship, but now it was love. That was what drove me this time.
After a half hour of tagging along Peeta, I decided to reveal myself. I wanted him. So badly. And I needed him to know I was keeping him safe. Getting a running start, I tackled Peeta to the ground and pinned him on his back to the ground. His eyes were shut and my legs were on either side of him. "Calm down, Loverboy," I said with a cocky grin. "It's only me." One of Peeta's eyes peeked open, and the other followed. He relaxed for the most part, though he was also tense.
"You're on top of me," Peeta said stupidly.
"Funny enough, I noticed."
I leaned down, holding Peeta's hands to the ground, above his head. I could feel my manhood begging to be free, and I ground it against Peeta's. He blushed and sighed. And then a wave of courage washed over me and I leaned down and kissed the blond, cherubic, sweet boy underneath me.
PEETA'S PERSPECTIVE
Those lips that I'd wanted since day one, that manhood I'd desired since I set eyes on their owner, those were in my grasp now. Cato's lips were soft against my lips, but the force he kissed me with was far from. His member ground against my own through our jeans. Mine was hard, and his was, too. I wanted more than anything to take Cato now, to put his cock in me and let him go crazy, but my hands were restricted by his. Soon, those hands released me, and Cato pressed a hand to my chest, pinning me down with his impossible strength. His muscles pulsed and flexed with his every motion as he pulled his shirt off and undid the fly on his jeans. Shakily, I reached up and put my hand down there, on his manhood. Cato forced his pants and underwear down, leaving his long, throbbing, uncut cock lying on my chest. He slid forward and pressed the tip to my lips. I pulled the foreskin back and gave the head a kiss. Immediately, Cato thrust forward. I choked, but I stuck through it, because I'd wanted this.
Cato was above me, thrusting in and out of my mouth. I'd only done this a handful of times, when Gale Hawthorn had caught me behind the bakery once in a blue moon at night. But Gale's considerable girth was child's play compared to the beautiful shaft in me now. It was easily a foot long, with two heavy balls dangling below it. I could fit just over half of it if I held my breath, but Cato never pushed it too far. Eventually, Cato pulled out of my mouth and planted a surprisingly tender kiss on my lips. I gasped as his hand squeezed my cock, and he pulled my jeans and underwear off. My member was rock-hard, and almost as long as Cato's, though not nearly as thick, and circumcised, to boot. Almost lazily, Cato pulled me on top of him and put my cock under the fold of his foreskin.
Our combined precum and my spit was lube enough to make me moan as I ground my member inside of Cato's. Soon enough, though, he was atop me again, grinding his ass on my dick. "You know, I've wanted this since the start of the Games," Cato whispered in my ear before sucking on my neck.
"Oh gosh, Cat-ohh! I did too!"
I held Cato's back firmly, and my fingers knotted in his blond hair. He pulled back and put his tongue in my mouth, where they battled for dominance, his hips had gravitated lower, and now it was my ass against his cock while we kissed. I wanted to take it so badly, but it was so…big. I wasn't sure if I could. Either way, I rubbed against his thick member, kissing him in a way that was a mix between lust and love. It was quick, but tender; rushed, but still sweet. Soon, he was on his knees, and I was on my back. I could feel his legs under me, and his unit stiffening with each grind against my ass. Cato pulled my legs over his shoulders and pressed the head of his member against my hole, and looked me in the eyes. He seemed to be asking permission. My answer was to grab his ass and thrust him in.
Stars danced in my eyes for a moment, and there was a small degree of pain as I adjusted to his girth. Soon enough, with slow strokes, that pain turned to pleasure, and Cato's member hit that sweet place inside of me each time. I moaned loudly and his stroked became quicker, rougher, and so much sweeter. Cato put himself in a push-up position over me and continued to thrust into me, while we locked lips and shared gasps and moans in each other's mouths. My member was leaking a stream of precum down my balls and over my arse, serving as extra lube for Cato's hard dick.
Suddenly, Cato pushed his member all the way in, balls-deep, and I cried out, louder than ever, breaking an octave with my ecstasy. I could see his smirk. "You like that?" Cato asked lustfully. "You like me all the way in?" I nodded fervently, and he repeated three times. Thrusting in and pulling almost all the way out, shoving with a force he usually reserved for fighting. I could feel Cato's balls tightening, and about to burst, so I pushed Cato down and rode his cock like a cowboy rode a horse. MY hips moved smoothly, his member getting circles traced around it. His balls contracted, and I could feel several long shots of his seed spurt into me, and leak out. I didn't pull off, though. I wanted to ride this orgasm all the way to the Capitol and back. I continued small circles with my hips and Cato's expression unfocused and broke, soft moans escaping from his lips.
I pulled off after a moment of just watching Cato's face and collapsed on his chest, his seed leaking from my arse. I kissed his neck, his lips, his face, his huge muscles, until he turned my chin and kissed me in a fervent, harsh manner, as if he were trying to make up for something. Which was when it occurred to me; we'd just had sex in front of the whole of Panem. The Games were still going on. And neither of us would be able to continue this for much longer. So I kissed him even harder than before, pressing his lips to mine and holding him as close as possible.
I felt like I was light, because I think I'm in love…
But still, the weight of the Games, the gaunt inevitability of our impending deaths, was on my shoulders. I tried not to think about that.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: So, I'm not too too sure whether I want to turn this into a series, maybe continue this romance. Because there's a really small amount of slash HG things, and I ship this crack so hard. So let me know what you all think!