You'd think by now he'd know better.
He'd grown up with this lunatic.
Why he would go along with one of his half-baked schemes… this was beyond him.
"Stop sulking. You had months to come up with better. I know you don't want to tell your guys they can't make that third trip to States. You should be thanking me for this, Captain. Were the camera not here, you'd have no qualms with any of this. Odair didn't whine like a little girl. Suck it up and lose the robe, Sugarbuns."
His eyes narrowed at his older brother, hands hesitating over the terry cloth knot at his pelvis. "That's such bull, Rye. How is it that you conveniently come up with this joke of a fundraising gimmick the year after you graduate? Why isn't it you back here taking one for the team? And Finn couldn't give less, for the record. Did you see what he posed in for that last set? Pretty sure not even dudes in Rio bust out the filo dental, man. Only thing corralling his junk was three inches of thread and creative hand placement. Man has no shame."
From behind the photographer who tapped her watch impatiently, the older teenager let out an amused scoff, muttering, "He knows what he's doing." He sobered briefly to add, "Peeta, you asked for help. This is the best I could come up with on such short notice. You and Finn are the only eighteen-year-olds on the squad. Can't do this with minors—not even with parental consent. Flax was very specific on that front. I know this will get you the funds you need to get your guys to the championships. Mr. Heavensbee will get someone on the yearbook staff to take care of the editing and he's taking care of the arrangements with a publisher to get the calendars printed. You just need to get your set in before the light out here becomes crap. Come on, man."
With a defeated slump, he pulled at the tie and squirmed so that the bathrobe slithered off. He couldn't help the glare he leveled at the lens the moment the first sequence of flickers registered. His scowl only deepened when the photographer—Fulvia he'd learned was her name from watching Finnick's shoot—sucked in a harsh breath through clenched teeth.
"Oh, dear god, yes, child. Stay pissed. The camera loves this righteous indignation thing you're pulling," she huffed heatedly. He immediately shifted uncomfortably, arms coming down to cross at his back, cerulean eyes casting toward the moist soil at his bare feet as a furious flush tinged up his neck.
The speed of the flickering increased exponentially. "Oh! That's even better! The way that vein bulges when you distend that arm. And the innocence in your expression… Priceless! I simply must have you. Are you available for some freelance work?"
Peeta let his arms fall limply at his sides, burning an outraged jeer at the woman still callously snapping shots at him—certain she'd find a way to fashion his open disdain into something absolutely enchanting on film—before tracing the hatred filled glower up to his softly chuckling older sibling just over her shoulder.
The bastard had the audacity to wriggle his fingers in a wave at him.
As soon as this was over, he was finding a secluded ditch off the side of the road and dumping this psycho's body.