A/N: Guys, I know some of you have already seen what's been recently posted on my profile but I would like to explain it in further detail at the end of this chapter.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.

Warnings: Unconsented touching, sadistic thoughts, etc. etc.

Chapter Four

The first time they had had sex, Cato had been gentle. He had been caring and thorough and put Peeta first, since he had been a virgin at the time. Peeta still remembered curling his fingers into the mattress covers, the smell of fresh laundry as he had buried his face into Cato's pillow to muffle his moans. His lover had caressed his bare body tenderly, shushing him when he whimpered in pain. It seemed like a completely different Cato to the one Peeta was with now.

After that first time . . . sure, things got a little rough. But who isn't wild and feral in the bedroom? Not every time is romantic love making. Cato could go on all night and Peeta eventually adapted, able to go all night as well. To say their relationship was extremely physical was an understatement. Sex was Cato's weapon and he used it very well.

The physical aspect of their past relationship was going to be the downfall of his perdicament now, Peeta could sense it. With two wrists cuffed to the headboard of Cato's bed, all he could really do was stare at the ceiling until his ex came back from whatever the hell he was doing. And there were no prizes to guess what he was going to do when he got back.

Peeta was fighting an internal battle. His weaker, forgiving side was glad to see Cato again, wanted to fall into his arms and do whatever he told him to. A part of him that was desperate, wanted to subcumb to Cato's charms greatly. That part of Peeta that fell in love with Cato so quickly it was scary. Thankfully, the part of him that had more sense was able to smother his submissive trait. And this part of him increased every single time the tattoo on his back screamed in pain.

Peeta was able to at least attempt to get the keys that Cato left on a shelf by the bed, just out of reach so that he would be tempted to try and get them. When staring at the ceiling got a bit old hat, Peeta started trying to get the keys down, his double jointed limbs able to twist around just right so that he could stretch up and try and get the keys to freedom down with his foot.

The amount of times the toe of his sneakers nearly touched the keys was astronomically frustrating. Peeta groaned in annoyance when he missed for what felt like the thousandth time and took a moment to recollect his thoughts and try and think of a better way to go about doing it.

"How did I know that you'd try and get the keys down?"

"I don't know, instinct?" Peeta muttered, not even bothering to look in Cato's direction as he tried again.

"Well, Marvel owes me ten quid. He said you wouldn't bother," Cato said. "And I told him, 'Marv, Peeta has been doing gymnastics since he was able to walk and, judging by where I left the keys, he is definitely going to try and get them down.'"

"Well congratulations, you made ten quid," Peeta replied snarkily. His foot missed the keys again and he swore. "Goddamnit Cato, this is ridiculous!"

Cato chuckled darkly. "You used to like it when I got the cuffs out," he said. "What's changed?"

"Well, let's see, you were arrested; you've basically kidnapped me; given me a tramp stamp; I'm sorry if I don't get giddy at the sight of cuffs," Peeta snapped angrily. "I swear Cato, I'm going to rip you apart as soon as I get free!"

His ex snickered. "I'd love to see you try."

"So help me God Cato, I will try and don't underestimate the power of a pissed off captive!" Peeta kicked the shelf and the keys tinkled, almost teasingly. Cato laughed, the sound dripping in condescendition. He went to the shelf and picked the keys off, jingling them in his hand. Peeta scowled. "You're going to hell," he snapped.

"Yeah, yeah, tell me something I don't know," Cato replied. Peeta kicked the keys out of Cato's hand. They soared across the room and hit the opposite wall, bumping at the skirting board as they fell to the floor. It was a pointless action that didn't achieve anything but it felt good to kick Cato, even if it was just his wrist. Cato himself raised his eyebrows, impressed. "Still fiesty as ever then, I see," he said.

"Yeah, fiesty and pissed off do not mix," Peeta snapped. He knew Cato was trying to get him angry and he shouldn't take the bait but it was so hard not to.

"What are you going to do?" Cato teased. "Struggle until you're exhausted?" He climbed onto the bed and sat on Peeta's hips to pin him to the bed. He took in Peeta's resentful expression. "Oh come on, what's with the daggers? You're still going with the whole outraged thing? I thought we'd be past that by now."

"We're never going to be past that!" Peeta exclaimed. "You can't just wave your magic wand and make things better."

Cato leaned forward and pressed a kiss against his lips. "Are you sure about that?" he asked. He slowly grinded his hips down and grinned when Peeta shut his eyes and bit his lip.

"Sorry, I should rephrase," his captive groaned, "you can't just wave your magic dick and make things better."

"True," Cato replied. "But it makes things so much more fun, don't you think?"

Peeta rolled his eyes. "Oddles," he said sarcastically.

Cato quirked an eyebrow and purred, "I remember a time when all I had to do was look at you and you'd be turned on."

"Hey, I was on anti-depressants then and and you know it," Peeta said defensively. "That was drugs, not a fucking miracle stare. You always take responsibility for things that are nothing to do with you-" Cato kissed him again, the action filled with so much power and ferocity that it took Peeta's breath away.

"It may have been the drugs but it takes something that arouses your senses to get the sex drive to kick in," he replied arrogantly. "And you just knew from that stare that I was about to fuck you hard."

"Oh yeah and I was swooning at your feet as usual," Peeta said sarcastically.

Cato kissed and nipped at his neck, finding all the sensitive areas without even trying. It felt like the old days, the days where Cato wasn't a criminal and he wasn't insane and their relationship was just normal. On some mornings, Cato used to wake up Peeta up by biting a sensitive piece of skin under his jaw. It worked every time and never really got old.

"There was a time where I knew every curve and crevice of your body more than I knew about my own," Cato murmured against his skin. "I don't know anything about how well memory serves after five years but I'm pretty determined to find out what I remember is correct."

Peeta shivered. He didn't like the sound of that. "Why don't you ask and I'll answer?"

"But finding out for myself is so much more fun," Cato whined.

"Just ask."

Cato pursed his lips, trying to think about his first question. "Did you miss me?"

Peeta stared. "What?"

"When I was in prison, did you miss me?"

Of course I did. "Maybe a little."

Cato grinned, truimphant. "Was I right?" he asked.

"About . . . what?"

"When I said that you still touch yourself at night because your life has been sexless for five years now." Cato sat back and quirked an interested eyebrow. Peeta squinted and sealed his mouth shut, refusing to answer. "Because you definitely did it when we were together and you were getting plenty of sex then."

Peeta scowled and squirmed around, trying to unseat Cato from his lap. "I'm not answering that, stop being a pervert and ask something decent."

"So I'm taking that as a yes," Cato smirked.

"No!"

"So you don't then?"

Peeta fumbled for a response. "Of course not." He knew it sounded like a lie immediately and knew that Cato knew this too.

Cato groaned. "Ohhh god, baby, why are you always so sexy, even when you're not trying to be?" he asked. "I actually took a leaf out of your book and used to think of you at night when I was in bed. I told my cell mates about you, just to keep my mind occupied."

"Wait, you told criminals about me? What did you say?!" Peeta exclaimed.

"Not much. Just that you were my boyfriend, that I missed you very much, that you were inhumanly attractive-"

"That's 'not much'?!"

Cato laughed. "You sound mad. I guess it's the wrong time to say that I told them enough that they told their friends and their friends' friends. I think the prisoners know you as the Golden Boy or something? It only took five months for your picture to become a kind of instrument of self pleasure . . . I'm sorry, really, I didn't mean for it to go that far."

"Where the fuck did prisoners get my picture?!" Peeta shouted. Did criminals really have nothing better to do with their lives?!

"My fault, again, I admit," Cato confessed. "I was allowed one personal object in my cell. A token, if you will, and I chose a picture of you . . . One of my cellmates found it and stole it. If it's any concelation, I beat the guy with the headboard of my bed but by that point the photo had been passed around like a bong around high school students."

"Is that supposed to be comforting?!" Now a bunch of criminals knew about him and used his picture as an aid to furfilling their sickening desires?

"It's not my fault they were able to see how hot you are," Cato said defensively. "I mean, it was the picture of that time you were wearing those jeans that were tighter than they really should have been. You know, the ones I bought you? I got the sizing wrong but you wore them anyway. 'It's the thought that counts, Cato. It was an honest mistake.'"

Oh yeah . . . Peeta remembered that photo. Cato used to have it on his bedside table in a wooden frame. The jeans were a gift for his twentith birthday and Cato had gotten the sizing wrong and they were a bit small but it had been an honest mistake, so Peeta hadn't held it against him. Cato had taken the picture when they went to the pier that evening. He was sitting on the pier railing and looked back at Cato just as he took the photo. It seemed harmless at the time. Peeta hadn't known that that picture was going to get passed around by criminals to touch themselves to.

"Oh god Cato, why," Peeta moaned.

"What? You should take it as a compliment!"

"Cato, they're prisoners, they'd shag a goldfish if they thought they could get off on it!"

"Keep talking like that and I mightn't be able to control my lust for you," Cato purred, rolling the word 'lust' on his tongue. Cato grinded down into Peeta's lap again, the action sending shoots of electricity through the younger boy's being. Peeta groaned, welding his eyes shut. God, it felt good. "You like that?"

"No."

"Liar, I know you like it." Cato sounded so self-satisfied, Peeta wanted to punch him. He ground down harder and silenced his captive's moan with a kiss. He licked the cupid's bow of the younger boy's top lip-the way he knew he liked-and took his bottom lip into his mouth.

Peeta's eyes fluttered, the arousal he felt building up inside him growing. He was unable to resist lifting his hips, meeting Cato as he continued to thrust against him. He always knew this was inevitable. He was going to fall for Cato's charm and be unable to resist his touch, like the little whore he was. Five years was a long time to last without sex and it was nice to feel hands on him again.

Cato was pleased with Peeta's reaction to him and let his hands slip underneath his shirt to feel his skin. It was still as soft and warm as he remembered, his body still incapable of growing excess hair. "I wonder, are your nipples still sensitive," he mumbled to himself. His fingers found the rosy peaks and he pinched them, grinning when Peeta gasped loudly and ripped his face away from him.

"Fuck you Cato," Peeta snapped angrily, "get your hands off me!"

"Shut up and just enjoy it."

"No, I will not!"

Cato rolled his eyes and grabbed Peeta's throat, tightening his hand just enough so that the air squeezed out of his lungs. "Either you let me do as I fucking want to or I will bring Marvel in here and let him keep you quiet. Trust me, he has the most unorthadox ways of doing it too."

"Cato please, you don't have to do this," Peeta choked. He took a large breath to try and get even the tiniest pieces of air into him. "Why are you being so hor-horrible?"

"Aww baby, I'm not being horrible, I'm taking back what's mine," Cato answered.

"I don't belong to you!" Peeta yelled. His voice was rough and cracked.

Cato slipped his hand around Peeta's back and dug his fingers into the bandage covering the tattoo, grinning when Peeta screamed in pain. It burned so bad . . . like a hot poker was being pressed against his back. "I think the stamp says otherwise."

"The stamp was an involuntary violation of my rights to my own body," Peeta said, frowning at how political he sounded. Cato actually had the gall to laugh. "You're going to rot in hell, Cato."

"If I'm going to rot in hell, you're going to rot there with me," Cato said. "Because that's where all the bad little boys go, they run straight to hell." Before he could take in Peeta's disgusted expression, he claimed his lips again and kissed him viciously. Peeta ripped his face away from him and spat on the floor.

"You're disgusting," Peeta hissed.

"And you're sexy," Cato replied, taking his breath away with another kiss. "And I'm not letting you go now that I've got you in my clutches."

Somehow, Peeta knew he wasn't lying.

A/N: Hiatus Explanation

Currently I am experiencing some trouble at home and don't have time to write. All my stories will now be on official pause until at least the summer or in June when my exams are over. I really hope you guys are okay with it and will still be willing to read my work when I come back.

Thank you.

~Cupcake