A/N: Not an extremely long chapter but I quite like where I ended it so I just left it as it is. Don't expect the chapters to be updated this regularly, I just didn't have much else to do today and had loads of time to write ;)

Big hugs to everyone who reviewed! ^_^

Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.

Chapter Two

The first impression he got when he laid eyes on Cato's house was that he must have a lot of money. It wasn't a building, really, it was a penthouse at the top of the Seam and Merchant building. Peeta was surprised as he had assumed that the wages one would receive from working at the store Cato was a cashier in would not be all that sustainable. So where would the money for a penthouse come from?

"The Arena is my day job," Cato said, as if able to read Peeta's mind.

"The Arena?" Peeta asked.

Cato raised his eyebrows. "The store?"

"Oh right. Is that what it's called?" Peeta felt so blonde. How could he not even know the name of the store Madge had dragged him to? Cato laughed, causing Peeta's cheeks to burn. "I knew that. I was just testing you."

"Oh yeah, of course," said Cato. He disappeared into a room to the left, leaving Peeta to stand in awe of the room.

The entrance lead out into this huge expanse of a room, fitted with a bar, kitchen and sitting room. A window took up the entire wall dead ahead, displaying the amazing view that was the Panem skyline. Never had Peeta had such an untainted view of the skyline and especially since the sun was setting, the sky looked like it was on fire. For a man who loved the colour of the sky at sunset, Peeta was in complete amazement at how beautiful the view was.

"So, what did you tell Madge when she found out that you weren't leave with her?" Cato asked as he emerged from side room.

Peeta shrugged and put his hands into his pockets. "I just told her that I was going out with you. She was pretty excited, she's been harping on me to socialize for months now."

Cato chuckled. "Sounds like her," he said. He went to the bar and pulled out two glasses. "What would you like to drink?"

"Uh . . . what do you recommend?" asked Peeta. He joined Cato, both of them separated only by the black marble bar. He perched on one of the stools and focused on breathing properly. The last time he had ever been on anything that even resembled a date had been a year and a half ago so you can understand how nerve-wracking this experience was.

Cato clicked his fingers. "Got just the thing," he said. "Just don't ask what's in it."

Peeta didn't bother worrying about why he shouldn't worry. It's not like Cato was going to drug him or anything. As ridiculous as it sounded, he felt safe in the older man's presence and didn't feel at all threatened. So when Cato passed him a glass of red liquid, he drank it without much thought. The drink tasted like strawberries but it also had a burn, maybe a sign that it contained vodka?

"Hey, that's not bad. Did you make that up yourself?" asked Peeta.

"I can't remember coming up with it, I think I may have been drunk," Cato admitted.

"Maybe you should do it more often, because this is delicious," said Peeta. He frowned. "Well, I don't mean that you should get drunk more often, that sounds trippy, what I meant was . . . well, I don't really know what I meant . . . It's just"-

Cato suppressed his laughter. "I know what you meant," he said. "Although, the idea of getting drunk more often doesn't sound too bad if it's with you."

Peeta smiled and carefully took another sip of his drink. "Did you read a book on how to charm someone's pants off?" he asked. "Or is this a natural quality that comes easily to all attractive guys?"

"Oh, it's a talent," Cato answered. He walked around the bar and sat beside Peeta on another stool. "Only a very select few of us were chosen to be bestowed with such a gift."

"While the rest of us were troubled with crippling anxiety around hot men," Peeta muttered. Cato grinned in amusement and grabbed the bottle of vodka, adding a dollop more into Peeta's glass. "Are you trying to get me drunk?"

"Could be," Cato replied. "I mean, what else is there to do around here?"

Peeta blew a thoughtful raspberry. There really all that much you could do in Panem other than drink, do drugs and go out partying. He didn't even know if there was a park within a twenty mile radius for the kids. He could remember sitting in his front yard when he was ten, drawing pictures in the mud with a stick because there was nothing else to do.

"Tell me about yourself, Peeta," Cato said. He poured more vodka into his own drink and took a sip of it.

"What do you want to know?" asked Peeta.

"Everything," answered Cato. "Talk like you're writing a dating profile. I want to hear it all."

"Why don't you go first?"

"Because I asked first."

"Okay, uh . . . well, my full name's Peeta Mellark. I don't have a middle name because my mother didn't believe in them. I'm twenty one and my birthday's on the 12th of October. I have two older brothers and my best friend is Madge, as you already know." Peeta felt absurd reciting all this information but Cato seemed to be invested in every word that came from his mouth. "I occasionally volunteer at my family's bakery and when I'm not doing that I'm working or painting."

"Painting? So you like art then?" asked Cato.

"I adore art," Peeta replied. "I believe that there's beauty in everything and it's the artist's duty to capture it where-ever they see it, in whatever form it is that they think it would be best represented."

Cato's smile felt like it could illuminate the entire country, it was that overwhelmingly bright. Peeta returned the smile, somewhat sheepishly. "So, what do you do for a living?" Cato asked. He took a huge gulp of his own drink and Peeta marvelled at how he didn't even wince at the burn that there was bound to be.

"It's kind of embarrassing," Peeta admitted, not all too keen on telling Cato how he earned his money.

"Aw, go on. Can't be as bad as selling Nirvana badges and telling people which brand of weed is less likely to give them a bad trip," Cato said.

"The type of trip depends on the type of weed?" Peeta asked in surprise.

"No, it's just a random bag but the customers don't need to know that." Cato winked. Peeta could feel his face turning red, he was surely looking like a tomato by now. "I use it to convince them to buy the more expensive stuff. So come on, own up, how does Peeta earn a living?"

Peeta chewed on his lip reflectively. Cato watched him carefully, his eyes flickering between Peeta's own eyes and his mouth. Peeta's heart was pounding at a million beats a second. Why did he have to be so effortlessly handsome? "I busk," he finally said.

Cato looked surprised. "You busk?" he asked.

"Yeah. You know, where you do stuff on the street for the people milling around?" Peeta said.

"What do you do?"

"Um, well, sometimes I paint and sell pictures and other times I play the guitar and sing," Peeta explained. He scratched his head nervously and swallowed hard. "I know it's not a proper living but people pay generously so . . ." Cato was staring at him with such bright eyes, he lose his train of thought so he quickly changed the subject to hide it. "If the Arena is your day job then what's your night time occupation?"

Cato tapped his nose. "Very private," he said. "Although, maybe I'll tell you in the future."

Now it was Peeta's turn to raise his eyebrows. "What makes you think there will be a future?" he asked.

"Isn't there?"

"Um . . ." Peeta wanted there to be a future, he really did, but he couldn't bring himself to admit this out loud. It was too embarrassing. "What do you think?"

Cato swallowed the rest of his drink and moved his chair so it was closer to Peeta's. Now their legs were pressed against one another's and Peeta was finding it increasingly difficult to find oxygen to fill his lungs. "I think there will," Cato answered. "You're great company; you can stomach my liquor and you're very, very interesting." Peeta couldn't help smiling at that. "Oh, and you're painfully sexy. There's that too."

Peeta flushed. "You were doing well there, too," he said. "Was all seeming so sweet and then you added lib."

"I always start off with the fluff to reel them in then go in for the kill with the dashingly charismatic compliments," explained Cato. "It works every time."

"Oh does it now?" Peeta asked.

"Of course it does," said Cato. "Although every one pretends that it doesn't work on them, pretend that they don't get flattered by being called sexy but their faces always give them away."

"What do you mean?" Peeta asked. He traced the rim of the glass with his finger absentmindedly.

"Well, take yourself for example," Cato said. "You're acting calm but your face is as pink as candyfloss."

Oh God. Peeta covered his face in horror, knowing that it had only been a matter of time before Cato noticed his stupid blushing. Why couldn't he just take a compliment without frying like a lobster? "No one's ever said that to me, that's all," he muttered peevishly.

"I can't see why not," Cato answered. He put his hand on Peeta's knee; the touch burning through the material of his jeans like a hot poker. If his heart had been pounding before, it was on the verge of bursting now. "Although, I am quite honoured to be the first."

"Just for the record, I have been with other people," said Peeta. He didn't want to sound like a complete inexperienced nitwit.

"I don't doubt that at all," Cato replied. He took a firm hold of Peeta's jaw and turned his head to face him. "In fact, I think the whole anxious puppy dog thing is just an act. I think when it comes down to the crunch, you'd be an animal in bed."

"You're not a very good judge of character then," Peeta said.

"Oh really?"

"Uh-huh."

Cato's breath was hot as it brushed Peeta's face. The younger boy's blood was on fire, tearing through his veins like a match chucked onto some gasoline. "We'll see," the older man murmured before connecting their lips.

Peeta's breath hitched but he didn't push Cato away. Taking this as a go ahead, Cato wound his arms around the smaller boy and practically pulled him off his stool and onto his lap. Peeta melted like butter in the older man's arms, allowing Cato to take control and dominate his mouth. The kiss was hot and the passion seeped into Peeta's veins and felt almost like fuel to his drive.

He wound his arms around Cato's neck and squirmed to get himself into a more comfortable position on top of him. Sensing that he was struggling, Cato gave him a hand by wedging his hands underneath Peeta's butt and using the leverage to lift him up onto the counter of the bar.

Peeta broke the kiss to suck in some air and tried to say something but he was distracted by Cato, who had begun making up for the lost time by sucking on his neck. A shaky moan escaped him and Peeta flushed in embarrassment. Cato, however, tugged him closer as if encouraging him to be as loud as he wanted to be.

"I think I should point out that I don't sleep with people on the first date," Peeta managed to get out. His words were warbled and shaky, but he got them out none-the-less.

"We don't have to sleep together," said Cato. "But I'll be damned if I can't kiss you brainless."

"I think I've already lost ten IQ points," Peeta helpfully said.

"Only ten? We'll have to fix that then."

The second time around, Peeta's moan was a lot softer and muffled by Cato's lips. He was in heaven, pure heaven. Like an angel soaring through the sky, high above the clouds, flying over everyone else on the ground. But you know what they say about angels.

They have to fall.