A/N: Here's chapter two! ^_^

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Warnings: Just sex really. You guys don't mind sex, right?

Chapter Two-A matter of therapy

Cato: His house: The next day

"You okay?" I ask, sitting on the sofa, comfortingly running my hands through Peeta's hair. Clove sits beside me on a chair beside the sofa with a notepad in her lap, ready to jot down any important notes. We've been doing this for a while now, proper therapy sessions for Peeta.

Clove came to us one day last year, informing us that there wasn't enough proof of a previous abusive relationship between Finnick and Peeta and that they might have to pull the plug on the case. Peeta claims that he's never seen me so angry before. Well, what was I supposed to do?! Katniss gave them the video of him getting freaking raped by that bastard that the Mafia sent her and I also handed over the photos he made his friend take in his apartment all those years ago.

And there's still not enough evidence?!

A full recollection of Peeta's past with Finnick was needed from Peeta himself if they were going to continue the case. Apparently they weren't convinced that Finnick would return for him (why, I have no idea) but when taken into the station for a statement, Peeta ended up hyperventilating and couldn't do it. So, to make sure that the case keeps going and doesn't get closed, Clove and I have been doing therapy in a more comforting environment to try and get some more information from him to give to the Police Force.

I haven't told anyone about seeing Finnick in the club yet. I'm not going to panic Peeta and if I tell the Force about witnessing Finnick in the flesh then it'll some how get back to him which I don't want.

"Remember, anytime you get uncomfortable we can stop," Clove reminds him. She pulls a pencil out from behind her ear and rests it against the page.

"Where did we leave off last time?" Peeta asks, his voice warbling already. I smile softly at him and continue running my hands through his hair.

"You were going to talk about how Finnick treated you when he was your cilent," Clove explains. "Ready?" He takes a shaky breath and nods.

"So, how did Finnick treat you when you were his cilent?" I ask. "Take as long as you need." He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, taking a moment to respond. When he finally opens his mouth to answer, the words rush out like water out of a broken dam, like they usually do, like he's been waiting to tell someone about it all for years.

"He was very dominant and used to get enjoyment out of causing me pain," he says quickly. He doesn't even pause for breath as he moves on to the next sentence. "It was sort of like a sub-dom relationship without the compliant sub. He'd hit me, hurt me, tie me up, gag me and"-he swallows hard-"punish me." Clove jots everything down furiously, her pencil gliding across the page as quick as lightening.

"You're doing great," I encourage, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

"I still have scars from when he went too far . . . reminders of the past," Peeta says. "Even if most of them are just small, like how the bone in my right wrist sticks out when I move my hand from when he dislocated it because I backed away from him and he twisted my arm up my back." He holds out his arm and pulls his hand back to prove the point. My eyes widen when the bone does pop out. How did I not notice that before? "Or the bump on my nose from when I broke it running from him." I run my finger over the bump and sigh. I think it's a perfect little bump just because it's his bump.

"Mind if I get photos for visual evidence?" Clove asks, taking the camera off the floor. Peeta nods and holds out his arm, pulling his hand back while Clove snaps away at the bone. She also takes a couple of shots of the bump on his nose. When finished, she looks unnerved to proceed with the rest of the session.

"What's wrong?" I ask her.

"I think the . . . letters"-she whispers the last word like an ancient prayer not to be spoken at random-"would be helpful in the case. Well, the proving that Finnick was abusive part anyway."

The letters. The scarred F and O on the nape of Peeta's neck and below his navel. Odair himself performed some District 4 tradition by cutting them into him when he was held captive in the Mafia headquarters last year. We've tried everything to get rid of the blemishes but nothing will work. It seems Finnick knew what he was doing when he carved his intials into him.

"I don't know Clove . . ." I trail off, biting my lip.

"No, it's OK," Peeta says, sitting up. "If it'll help . . ." He reaches behind him and pulls his shirt up and over his head. I avert my eyes as Clove brushes away the hair at the nape of his neck to get a clear picture of the 'F'. Even though the last thing I want to see right now is the scar that's not the reason I look away, this is not the right time to get distracted by my shirtless boyfriend's toned torso.

"OK, nearly done," Clove says, turn around. Peeta sits down and pulls the top of his trousers down a bit so she can get a photo of the 'O'. When she stands back up she runs a hand through her hair. "This Odair guy is a real fucker."

Peeta scoffs in response. "Understatement," he says.

"Well, I better get this stuff put together with the rest. I think we've nearly got enough," she explains. "I think all we need to discuss now is what happened when you were captured." He nods stiffly in response and I pull his head to rest against my shoulder.

"You're doing really well babe, I'm proud," I say, kissing the top of his head.

"He's right," Clove confirms. "You're doing fantastically. I'll see you guys later okay?"

"Okay," we both say, waving as she leaves the house with the notebook and camera.

"I think I'm going to take a nap," Peeta whispers. I nod and kiss the top of his head again.

"Sure thing, sleep well," I say.

~xXx~

"CATO!"

My head snaps up from the book I'm reading immediately. The voice sent a chill down my spine and I wait for it, to see if it comes again. It does.

"CATO!" Then a thump. I bolt off the sofa and up the stairs. Finnick couldn't have gotten in could he? Could he . . . could he?!

"PEETA!" I yell back.

"HELP CATO!" Peeta shouts.

"I'M COMING!" I burst into the bedroom and a wave of relief washes over me when I see what the situation is. My shoulders slump forward and I sigh. "Peeta? What are you doing?" The blonde sits in the middle of the floor, rubbing the back of his head with an orange strip of fabric over his eyes and plugs stuck in his ears.

"CATO?! IS THAT YOU?!" Peeta yells, making me jump. I chuckle and crouch infront of him, pulling the plugs out.

"What are you doing Peeta?" I ask again. His head snaps over to the sound of my voice and he reaches blindly infront of him, palming my face. I take his hand and move it away before he pokes my eye out.

"I don't know!" he says. "It's a sensory thing I read about on the internet. Apparently if you cut off all your other senses then when you touch something you feel it ten times more heighted!"

"Why would you want to do that?" I frown. Peeta shrugs.

"I was bored. But I tripped over something!" he exclaims. "And I couldn't get back up!"

"Okay then, different question, why didn't you just take them off?" I ask. Peeta pauses and his head drops to his chest in defeat.

"I never thought of that," he sighs. I laugh. Only he would miss something so plainly obvious. When he reaches up to his eyes to pull the fabric off, I catch his wrist and stop him. He lifts his head again in question and I grin to myself.

Leaning into his ear, I whisper, "Leave it on, orange suits you." Peeta shivers as I lightly trail my finger down his arm. There was no way he can get away with looking so incredibly adorable blind folded without me doing something about it. "So, this sensory thing . . . does it just mean when you touch something, or can it also work when something touches you?"

Peeta's breath catches in his throat and his adam's apple bobs as he swallows. "I . . . I . . . don't know, it didn't . . . say . . . " He mewls softly when I kiss his ear and gently nip on the shell. The noises he comes out with are the most erotic things I've ever heard before in my life.

"Don't you think we should put that to the test then?" I ask. "I mean, it was your idea to try this anyway. Why not explore all possible areas?" Peeta nods furiously and I grin at his eagerness, placing kisses around his face to his mouth. He's getting better at fighting for dominance but I still keep an upper hand. Something tells me he perfers it that way anyway.

After making out for a while, I pull away with a string of saliva in close follow. I grab his hands and help him up to his feet, biting back a laugh as he stumbles on his untied laces. Once on his feet, he startles me by smashing his lips back against mine. I sigh into his mouth and back him up against the wall, moaning when he nibbles on my bottom lip. I let my hands wander free, roaming over his body while his roams over mine, going immediately to their favourite destination: his ass. Slipping a hand under his jeans and underwear, I teasinly ghost my fingertips over the hot flesh, reveling in the whimper he gives in response. Unable to tease for too long, I roughly squeeze it. Peeta gasps into my mouth and it dissolves into a moan when I tilt his head over and kiss up his neck.

"Catttooo," he purrs.

"Hmmm?" I hum against his skin.

"Stop fucking about," Peeta says breathily. "I need you inside me now."

I laugh and we quickly strip each other, hands groping where they please-Peeta's movements slightly clumsy and blind due to the fact he can't see-and I step away from the wall to lead him to the bed. After taking one step away from the wall as well, Peeta trips over his shoe and falls face first onto the bed. He groans in embarrassment and I grin, climbing ontop of his legs and leaning down over him.

"You really need to watch where you put those shoes," I tease.

"Shut up," he responds moodily, turning his head away. I turn his head back to face me and press my fingers against his lips.

"Stop being so moody and suck," I chuckle, stroking his hair as he wraps his lips around my fingers and sucks on them. I can practically see him roll his eyes behind the orange fabric. He swirls his tongue over my fingers painfully slowly. "Okay, stop with the teasing," I say, pulling them out of his mouth.

"Hey, I'm just doing as you said," Peeta says.

"Yeah, exactly," I reply, trailing my hand down his back. When I reach his entrance I slowly massage it open, listening to his moans like fine music to my ears.

"Oh fuck Cato," he moans, burying his face into the duvet. His reaction makes me grin and I insert a finger into him, brushing his sweet spot and laughing when he screams in ectasy. "Stop laughing at me you jerk!"

"Jerk? What are we"-I brush the spot again, making him groan-"school kids?"

"Please just get inside me before I bust an appendage," Peeta groans. I sit up and line myself up before slowly pushing inside him. We both moan at the same time and it escalates until we're both screaming in pleasure as I rock in and out of him. He finishes first, cumming into the duvet and falling limp as I reach my climax too. He uses what energy he has lift to shift his hips to urge me on and I moan, burying my hands into his hair for something to hang onto as the wave of pleasure hits me like a wonderful brick wall.

I roll off of Peeta and I wrap my arms around him, pulling him close to me as we both give in to exhaustion and fall asleep. It's not until I'm seconds away from sleeping that I remember that I haven't taken the blindfold off him yet . . .

When I wake up hours later, Peeta is still asleep so I don't try and take it off in case I wake him up. Instead I head to the bathroom and wet a washcloth to clean the mess off of the bed. I 'll probably have to stick it in the wash later but I should at least try and wipe some of it off before it stains. As I'm holding the cloth under the tap, my ringtone makes me clear six feet in shock. I forgot I left my phone in here last night . . .

Using my free hand to grab my phone off the windowsill, I open up the text message. From an unknown number. I slowly read the text, each word taking a while to sink in:

I see you've been engaging in some 'kinky fuckery' Cato. Didn't think you had it in you. Then again, a blindfold can't really be described as kinky really, can it? You're too afraid of causing harm to have some proper kinky sex aren't you? Nothing like me. I'm sure you already know that though.

Still, don't let me be the one to keep you away from your beloved boyfriend. I'm sure he's absoloutely dying to get you back in bed like the little slut he is. Anyway, if you want to have a proper chat, meet me at the abadoned warehouse by the oak tree tonight at eleven. I expect to see you soon.

~F

At the end of the text there's a snapshot of Peeta asleep. At first, I think it's an old photo, one that Finnick may have taken back when he was a cilent but when I take a closer look, I realize it's not. He's lying in the same position as I left him in moments ago: Tangled up in the sheets, on his stomach, the duvet stopping below the dimples of his back. Even though he's hugging his pillow and his face is buried in it, I can just make out the biggest give away of the exact time this photo is from:

The orange fabric around his eyes.

Finnick Odair is in our room.

I burst out of the bathroom to find an empty room, the only sound being the soft snores emnating from the sleeping form on the bed . . . and the wind as it whistles through the open window. Finnick Odair was in our room but he's not anymore. He escaped. My phone beeps again and I immediately open the text message.

Let the fight for Peeta begin Cato. May the odds be ever in your favour. You're going to be needing it.

See you at eleven;

~F

It's eight o'clock right now so there's three hours to kill before I have to meet him. I climb back into bed and sit beside Peeta, comfortingly stroking his back as if he was awake to see his stalker in the flesh. The thought of Finnick being in this room just moments ago while he slept so vulunerably makes my stomach churn and I scoot closer to him.

"I'm not going to let him hurt you," I whisper to him as his chest rises and falls in deep sleep, oblvious to anything that's happened. "I'd rather die." Peeta smiles in his sleep and I smile back at the sight.

I'm glad his dreams are happy.

Because it's certainly not happy out here.

There are worse games to play, and little does he know:

He's the prize.

A/N: DUH, DUH, DUH! HOW DID FINNICK GET IN THEIR ROOM? :O

Stay tuned to find out! ^_^

Please R&R :D