Author's Note: This chapter features an original character. Let me know what you think. Like it? Hate it? Review please. Thanks.
Calling what Peeta woke up with the next morning a hangover was an understatement. He'd surprised himself by sleeping for six hours for the first time in weeks. The thoughts were secondary however, to the intense throbbing in his head, exacerbated by the light that shone in through his bedroom window and the smallest movement made by his body. He cursed the sun for emerging that day given the storm the night before.
The bile smell in his throat caught up with his nose and he winced at the intrusion of the offensive odour. He carefully pulled the covers off himself and rose to the door, hoping he wouldn't encounter his brother and be forced to endure what would most definitely be another heated argument filled with intense hostility and abhorrence. There was no doubt to Peeta that Noah had noticed his absence the night before and an argument was the last thing he wanted at that moment.
Peeta had grown to resent his older brother Noah in the months since the death of their parents. Grief had not only become a weapon, but was also destructive to their once impenetrable relationship - which was now a distant memory of a happy family. The brother who had always protected him was now his enemy, now a bitter seed was planted in the younger man, and though he hated to think it, sometimes he wished Noah had died too.
Somehow he made it down the hallway to the bathroom. He stumbled and realized he was still drunk. His head felt like it was see-sawing and spinning, he had to press his bare back against the wooden door and take slow measured breath's to keep himself from vomiting. Now was not a good time to be focussing on all the bullshit he had to ordeal. He could do that at another time. Not now.
When he was sure he could keep it down, he finally dared to close the gap between the door and the shower in three steps. He tugged down his underwear, careful not to move his head, kicking them off before turning on the hot water.
Even the sound of the strong spray of water hitting porcelain was unbearable and felt equivalent to someone bashing his brains in with a stone. He groaned at the obnoxious sound and lifted his leg to climb into the tub. When his other foot lifted off the tile, his head spun, causing him to slip forward. One hand fisted the plastic shower curtain as he fell face first into the tiled wall with an audible thud.
The shower curtain and rod landed on top of him. He lifted his face up from the water and momentarily caught a glimpse of his own blood mixing with the heavy stream. Before he could even react to the intense pain in the arm he landed on, the split eyebrow and the severe throbbing in his head, he heaved and let out a steady flow of vomit as his stomach turned and turned.
Maybe this was rock bottom, he thought for a few moments as he continued to involuntarily dry heave, flop and untangle himself from the various messes he was now in. It all seemed like something out of a cartoon and he wondered how long it would take until he stood on a rake. He kicked the shower rod and curtain off himself and sat under the running hot water spraying from above. He could taste the blood tinged with water on his lips, and the ever present burning sick in the back of his throat.
Peeta gently ran his arms over his chest and shoulders as his eyes shut. He preyed for the pain to subside. He longed for Cato, and wondered why he wasn't there to take his pain away.
"I'm not going to work today," he muttered to himself as he ran his hand up and along his thigh, doing his best to warm himself up even under the steaming water.
When he sat perfectly still and took deep breaths, his stomach settled and his head ceased it's pounding. His cheek and temple stung, his only avenue of distraction was thinking about his encounter with the man he met the night before.
He remembered Finnick's smile, his smell and the kiss they almost shared. Although they only shared a brief moment together, he felt confident they'd share another soon.
For the first time, in a long time, he could hold on to something. The possibility of something to be excited about.
It took almost an hour to peel himself out of the shower. The pain in his head had somewhat subsided, for which Peeta was incredibly grateful. It wasn't until he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror, when he noticed the red mark above and around his eye which he knew would swell. He was sure his boss wouldn't appreciate him turning up to work with a another shiner.
He was too sick to walk on eggshells that morning. He made his way down the stairs to the kitchen, passing the family photo that hung proudly on the wall taken the previous mother's day. If he had his way, he'd take the thing down, but it wasn't only his house or his photo. The four people in it were so happy at that time, and to have to look at it day after day, given the events of the past months was a real spear to the chest.
The tidy state of the kitchen was the first thing he noticed, as if nothing had changed, the only piece missing were the fresh flowers his mother would pick from the garden and place in a vase in the centre of the table. Noah had no doubt picked up the bottles he'd carelessly left around and the remaining mess he'd left. He supposed that since now there was no one with any real authority to answer to, he could be as lazy and reckless as he wanted. It felt more fitting to live in squalor. Of course his brother would never accept such moral degradation. Peeta couldn't care less, it was even eight yet, and he'd already trashed the bathroom and laid in his own sick.
He heard footsteps descending the stairs as he impatiently waited for the coffee pot to fill. He rubbed the bridge of his nose as Noah Mellark irately entered the kitchen. They shot each other a look over the counter, Peeta tired and so badly wanting to be left alone, Noah refusing to care. The distinction between the two brothers was apparent, even to him. They resembled each other closely despite the seven year age difference, both with thick blonde hair, deep blue eyes and square jaws, but that morning they had never looked so different.
Noah stood taller, dressed in a finely pressed white shirt, charcoal slacks and black leather shoes in contrast to his younger brother who slumped over the counter with dishevelled hair wearing only his boxers.
"Where were you?" Noah asked impatiently, tapping a finger on the marble counter top and catching his silver watch in a ray of sunlight.
Peeta shrugged indifferently, "Out."
The older brother raised his eyebrows at the flippancy of the answer. "Were you drinking?"
"Don't ask questions you already know the answer to," he replied, feeling the bitter seed inside him sprout.
Noah wrinkled his nose, "I guess all I needed to do was smell your breath."
Peeta nodded sarcastically, "Is that all, Dad?"
"No, that's not all." His tone was angry, Peeta could tell he was trying to remain calm, act as the adult, which was all too like him. "Were you getting stoned again?"
He hadn't been, but he deliberately took his time, wanting to test his brother's patience. "No. I was out with a friend."
"Cato." It wasn't a question so much as it was a statement of fact. He shook his head and opened his mouth to rattle off the same speech he'd made about the man in the past.
"I wasn't out with Cato," Peeta snapped. He knew exactly how his brother felt about him and at this stage was prone to lose what little composure he had regarding the subject. He knew Noah's loathing for Cato had nothing to do with their relationship, but the part he played in the disillusion of their relationship. He knew his brother blamed Cato for the things he'd gotten himself involved in since the death of their parents. Hearing his own brother disparage someone he still cared for was something he really couldn't tolerate. "We're not together anymore. I haven't seen or spoken to him in weeks," he said in a lower, tired tone before focusing all his attention on the coffee pot that had finally decided to start brewing.
The older man was silent for moment, observing the hurt and frailty of his younger brother as the words came out. Despite his immense dislike for the young man his brother loved, he couldn't help but feel for him and the heart that had been broken too many times. "What happened? With you two?"
"Jesus," Peeta groaned, "Can we not do this today? I don't need you asking me inane questions I don't even know the answers to, especially when I know you couldn't care less."
Noah was silent for a moment before he set his jaw and continued. "What happened to your eye?"
"I fell."
"Bullshit."
Their blue eyes locked again. Peeta observed the way his nostrils flared as he studied the red mark on his face. He was surprised that his instinct to protect him was still there. He let his guard down and released a deep sigh, "No really. I slipped in the shower an hour ago."
It seemed for the moment, the absurdity of the situation began to set in causing both brothers to grin slightly and appreciate the humour of it all. They lowered their walls for only a brief moment, Peeta studied his brother's body language and immediately recognised him shutting himself back out. "Take another shower before you go to work. You smell like booze and an ashtray," Noah snarled with malice as he turned to walk away.
"I'm not going to work today," he muttered, closing his eyes and wishing his brother would magically disappear along with all his other problems.
"So is this your plan from now on, Peeta?" Noah scoffed, "Getting wasted every night and blowing off work until you get fired? Is this your life now?"
Peeta was silent, not only because he didn't want to talk to his brother, but because he didn't know how to answer. Was this more than a rough patch? he wondered, would he ever heal from this, or just do more damage? He turned away from his brother and ignored the disappointed look on his face.
"Fine," the older man growled, "Do whatever the hell you want. I'm going to work."
It was a craving that drew him back to the bar that night, but it wasn't one of alcohol. No, Peeta craved the blissful companionship he took part in the night before. He walked hurriedly down the dark streets, intently focussed on his only destination for the evening. He pulled the green hood over his head and buried his cold hands in the warm confines of his pockets. He smiled and fantasized about the sweet physical contact he wanted to make with his new friend and the firmness of his flesh.
Loud music filled his ears once again as he entered the bar and made his way through to the back. The sweet smell of alcohol filled his nose and he deeply inhaled the aroma in the air. He took a quick scan of the room and immediately spotted the tall man sitting at the bar. He sat staring into his glass, Peeta couldn't help but admire him and his beauty. He wore a pressed grey shirt with a black blazer. Classy, elegant and beautiful.
It took all the courage he could muster, but Peeta swallowed the lump in his throat and gingerly approached the older man at the end of the bar. It wasn't until their eyes met that Peeta felt his heart start to race again.
"Who gave you the shiner?" Finnick asked with a smirk, inspecting his face for only a brief moment before returning his attention to his glass.
Peeta smirked and leaned over the bar, "Drunken mishap."
"I suppose I'm partly to blame," he replied with a sigh, "I wonder what your parents think of an older guy pouring drinks into their son."
"Doesn't really matter," Peeta replied, trying his best to remain evasive without raising any red flags that would lead to further discussion on the subject. "Are you meeting someone?"
"No. Am I giving off the longing for companionship vibe?" Finnick asked, the corner of his lips forming a small smile. "Why do you ask?"
"You look good, well for someone sitting in a dive at this hour." He felt the blush rise lightly into his cheeks and he hoped he didn't come off too forward. "I just figured you were on a date."
The older man nodded slowly and laughed into his drink, "You asking me out?"
"I don't really know," he admitted. It was true. His intimidation were stirring up word vomit.
Finnick was clearly amused by the boy's nervous candour but for whatever reason refused to throw him a lifeline. "Well, I had your number burning a hole in my phone."
Peeta hesitated for a moment and sat on the stool next to him. "Would you have called if I didn't turn up?"
"I figured I didn't really need it. I knew you'd show your face around here again." He took another sip of his drink and leaned in closer, "I just didn't think it'd be all black and blue." He smiled and stared at the bar, holding his glass in one hand by the rim.
Peeta watched him for a moment, unsure of what to say. He found himself temporarily lost in his own thoughts, and the way Finnick looked in the dim light of the bar. The most beautiful person in the room.
"You sure you're okay?" Finnick asked after a beat, meeting his eyes again and narrowing his sights on the swelling beneath his eye. "Did that happen last night? On your way home?"
He was surprised by the question, he certainly didn't expect to garner any sympathy from his bathroom war wound, but it was flattering just the same. He let out a quick laugh and smiled warmly, if only to reassure him his wound was one of clumsiness and not aggravated assault. "I was pretty hung over this morning, you'd think I was adjusting to a prosthetic leg by the way I fell into shower wall."
"Well," Finnick remarked as he finished his drink, "I guess I'm going to have to make sure you stay dry as a bone tonight. I wouldn't want my bad judgement resulting in any further injury."
"Fair enough." He inched closer, summoning any remaining courage and casually ran his fingertips along the man's knee. "You wanna get out of here?"
Finnick pursed his lips in thought for a few moments before nodding. A sly smile appeared across his lips, "Yeah okay. I'll walk you home."
He rose to his feet and pulled a few notes out of his wallet. Leaving them on the bar, he made it half way across the room before Peeta could even react. He was completely dumbfounded. Apparently he'd been too subtle and Finnick needed things spelt out more clearly.
He hurriedly chased Finnick out to the street, still confused and slightly disappointed that the hope of implied sex had gone out the window. But Finnick seemed undeterred and walked up the dead street at a fast pace, forcing Peeta to chase him on his heels quickly.
"Maybe I didn't make myself clear," Peeta blurted from behind, confused and scratching his head. "I was asking-"
"-I know what you were asking, Peeta," Finnick responded smugly, "But it's late and I don't want you to get your ass kicked." They reached the intersection at the end of the street. "Left or right?"
"…Left," Peeta replied breathlessly as they continued to walk. "I didn't get my ass kicked," he said defensively.
He chuckled, "So you said."
"So why are you walking me home? I'm not ready to go home yet."
"Won't you miss your curfew?"
He shook his head in a mixture of confusion and disbelief, "You're not that much older than me. Christ, I'm not twelve." They came to a stop. He sighed, still unsure of exactly what was happening.
"Then stop throwing a tantrum and let me walk you home," Finnick replied almost curtly, smiling dashingly for good balance.
Peeta sighed and continued walking, smiling despite himself when he felt the back of Finnick's hand brush against the small of his back.
They walked for another twenty minutes, during which time Peeta spoke about his work and filled Finnick in on his recipe to vanilla macadamia cookies, and how it took him two weeks to master just one perfect cookie, much to the older man's amusement. For his part, Finnick recalled a particularly hilarious story involving himself and his fellow troops, tequila shots and a camel in the middle of an Iranian desert.
When they finally reached their destination, Peeta realized that maybe the alternative to his plans was almost as enjoyable as his original intentions.
"Here it is," Peeta sighed, indicating his house as they stood by the letterbox on the sidewalk.
"Nice place." Finnick quietly observed the modest, two story family home, which in the darkness of night looked almost identical to every other house surrounding it in the upper middle class neighbourhood, except for the large oak tree they stood in front of. "Which one is your room?"
Peeta chuckled and pointed to the window on top floor to the far left, "My jail cell." He put his hands in his pockets and took a step closer to the taller man, preparing to kiss him. "I thought something was going to happen tonight."
"What? That I'd take you back to my place and we'd fuck around?" Finnick looked at his shoes for a moment before meeting Peeta's gaze again. He noticed the desperation for a serious answer.
Peeta shrugged, "I thought that was where this was heading. Tell me this whole attraction isn't in my head."
Finnick took a step closer and closed the bridge between them. He leaned in gently, the tips of their noses touched for a moment, their lips hovered over each other's, "It's not in your head."
He pressed their lips together. Peeta immediately grasped the man's shirt and pulled him into his grasp tightly so as to make sure he couldn't escape the kiss again. Finnick too, pulled the younger man into his chest by his shoulders as both sets of lips opened and tongues gracefully entered the warm confines of their respective mouths.
The taste of alcohol on Finnick only served to make the kiss more pleasurable, Peeta thought he could get drunk right off that. He groaned deeply into the man's mouth as he felt the hidden hardness in the man's pants press against his thigh. It was only the desperate need for air that forced him to break their kiss. Peeta didn't remove his hands.
"Come up to my room," he whispered fervidly into his lips as he stole another quick, desperate kiss. He grasped Finnick's wrist and manoeuvred it down to his own crotch. He groaned into his mouth again as he felt the man grasp him tightly through his pants. "Don't you want to?" he mumbled.
"You have no fucking idea." Finnick pulled his swollen lips away but left his hand right where it was, in the warmness of the younger man's crotch. He continued to massage while pressing his forehead against Peeta's. "But not tonight."
"Why the fuck not?" Peeta gasped, lost somewhere between ecstasy and frustration.
"Because I'm not about to take a walk of shame."
"We can go behind the house, or in my car," he whispered harshly, clinging tightly to the man, feeling the curve and tautness of his muscular arms.
"I don't think so." Finnick removed his hand, much to the disappointment of the younger man, who let out a frustrated groan. "Call it the thrill of the chase, Peeta," he chuckled, moving in for another kiss, this time opting to rest his hand on the smaller man's ass.
They parted again a few moments, resting their foreheads together and sharing the same air as they panted breathlessly.
"When will I see you next?" Peeta asked, taking ragged breathes.
"Same time, same place, Saturday night." He released his grip on the younger man and straightened himself out. "Goodnight, Peeta."
Peeta let out a flushed laugh as the older man backed away slowly with a smile. "I'll see you then."
"Good," Finnick replied, "Don't get too messed up."
He leaned against the oak tree and watched his new friend travel back down the street. His knees almost buckled, he was surprised to see the effects of smoking taking their toll as he was still out of breath. He was desperately hard and the intent to relieve himself was the only incentive that made him stagger to his front door.
He smiled to himself as he walked inside quietly. He hadn't even realized that he'd gone the whole day without drinking. Peeta knew he'd sleep soundly that night.