District 212

by Blueberrychills94

Musical duo Cato and Peeta took the Districts of Panem by storm, their band a household name in a matter of years. The high school sweethearts now take on the unfamiliar Capitol,where fame is taken to the extreme and privacy is non-existent. When Peeta is struck down by a medical emergency, their overbearing agent Snow goes to drastic measures to ensure their image remains perfect.

4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Cato loved being the big spoon.

It was a dreary morning. Rain was pounding the window and it had gotten so bad in the middle of the night that Cato had to get up to close the window so it didn't ruin the curtains. It was not a day for waking up early, especially after the late night they'd had. It was a day for staying in bed and just relaxing. There's no better feeling than being in a nice, warm, comfortable place while a storm rages away outside. Especially when you're with someone you love, sharing the comfort.

Peeta moaned softly, his fingers curling into the soft bedsheets. He was quiet, his eyes closed with contention and breathing just a little bit uneven. Sex didn't have to be loud and vicious all the time, and Cato sometimes actually preferred when they took their time and let it go slowly. Honestly, if anyone where to see them from a third person point of view, it wouldn't even look like they were having sex because of the duvet covering them and how gentle they were being.

Cato's arms were wrapped around Peeta's torso, holding his body against his-similarly to how they would sleep sometimes-as he gently thrust in and out of him. Peeta's hips rocked back and forth to meet Cato's thrusts, his arm thrown over Cato's side and his hand gripping his back.

"Someday you'll be able to be the big spoon without this happening," Peeta joked breathlessly.

"You love me being the big spoon," Cato replied, his face comfortably nestled in the crook of Peeta's neck. "Don't deny it."

"Of course, sweetheart," Peeta answered, groaning quietly when Cato purposely bumped his pleasure button a little too hard. "Is that why you don't let me be the big spoon? Because you don't have easy access to my ass?"

"Technically I don't like you being the big spoon because I love cradling you in my arms," Cato murmured, drawing Peeta closer and stroking his abdomen with his thumbs. "The easy access to your ass is a luxury that comes with it."

Peeta gasped, his body beginning to tremble a little with pleasure. The hand on Cato's back slid up to his hair. Peeta wasn't the rough type and only gripped his boyfriend's hair a little bit. Cato kissed Peeta's neck, grazing his lips along his jugular and over his shoulder. There was a shift against the bed and movement beneath the sheets captured his eye.

"You know that's my job."

"Yeah, well, I'm taking over for a while."

Cato watched the movement with slight amazement. "How come you never do that when the sheets aren't covering you?" he asked.

Peeta didn't answer, his hips beginning to bump against Cato's in a slightly erratic manner. He exhaled, a fast rush of air escaping his lips. Cato wished he could see his partner's face; it was one of his favourite things about his sex life. Peeta had sex face that could turn a priest.

"You know why," Peeta eventually said, brushing the side of his face against Cato's.

"We've been together for years now; I've seen every part of you. There's no reason to be shy of this, of all things," Cato answered, nuzzling his lover's neck affectionately. Peeta purred, rubbing his head against Cato's approvingly. "Of anything, for that matter. Certainly not the fact that you're touching yourself."

Cato felt Peeta's skin heat up. He hadn't stopped what he was doing, meaning either he wasn't embarrassed enough to cease or he physically couldn't because he was so turned on. Cato liked to believe it was the latter. It was getting harder and harder to focus, let alone be able to conduct a conversation, due to the edge that he was rapidly approaching. He took the smaller boy's delicate ear between his teeth and nibbled on it, causing the boy's breath to shudder in his chest and his fingers to tighten in his hair.

"I'm close," Peeta said breathlessly.

Cato's hands encompassed Peeta's hips to steady him as his movements grew unintentionally rougher. He always loved how his thumbs fit perfectly into the grooves of Peeta's back; like his partner had been born with the imprint of Cato's thumbs in his skin. Sweat dripping down the side of his face and breathing morphing into harsh pants, the older boy nodded into the younger's shoulder. "I am too," he panted.

Peeta's back arched away a little, an adorable keen escaping his lips as he got closer and closer. He twisted his head and connected their lips, kissing Cato hard as he approached his finish. Cato gladly kissed back, their mouths moving together messily as their concentration wasn't entirely placed in the action itself, more on the delirium they were experiencing.

Someone pounded on their bedroom door and, just like that, the moment was gone. "Downstairs, now!" Snow's voice barked from the other side, killing any possible redemption they could have attempted to give the moment. "Get dressed and meet me in the Drawing Room!"

Peeta groaned as Snow's footsteps faded. He rolled onto his front and buried his face into his pillow. "So close," he muttered, his voice muffled.

Cato smiled and walked his fingers along the line of Peeta's spine. "And yet so far," he sighed.

Peeta lifted his head and let it rest against his elbow facing Cato. "What do you think he wants?" he asked in reference to Snow, blue eyes gleaming with intrigue. "I thought today was a free day."

"I did too," Cato admitted, frowning. "I wonder if something's happened?"

Peeta hummed in agreement. Cato reluctantly rolled out of bed, having to grab Peeta by the wrists and haul him out because he was so unwillingly to get up. "But the bed is so warm," Peeta complained, allowing Cato to usher him to the bathroom.

"Don't be a baby now," Cato teased, stopping at the threshold to the bathroom and giving Peeta an encouraging push. "Go on, get yourself sorted. I'll be standing guard to make sure you don't try to escape and get back into bed."

Peeta faux gasped. "Would I?" He wiggled his eyebrows. "What are you going to do if I did?"

"Now, you see, if I tried to tell people that you were a horndog they wouldn't believe me," Cato chuckled. "Your sweet and innocent front is the works of an evil genius."

"This side of me is only for you," Peeta grinned. "It's the Hadley Exclusive Pack."

"Which I am honoured to have the privilege of," Cato beamed, kissing Peeta's forehead. "Now go get dressed before Snow has a canary." Peeta rolled his eyes but nodded. Cato knew that he was unhappy. They never seemed to get a day off, no matter how many times they were told they were getting one.

Even if you enjoy your job and love what you do, you still need a break once and a while. And as of late . . . District 212 hadn't gotten any.

~xXx~

"They fucking cropped me out!"

Cato snatched the magazine out of Snow's hands and gaped at it with disbelief. Peeta peered at the mag with shock, unable to believe what adorned the front page either. They had been on the front of many a trashy magazine since their fame skyrocketed, but never in this manner. Never had the photos been tampered with, or changed to fit whatever the headline was, until now.

"Is Peenick closer than we think?"

The photo was of Finnick carrying Peeta to the car, minus one crucial detail: Cato. Whoever took the photo either cropped him out themselves to sell the story or the magazine decided on their own to cut Cato out to make an interesting headline. Cato was extremely baffled, and almost couldn't find any words to string together to explain to Snow what was going on.

Peenick was the name for Finnick and Peeta. Kind of like Bradgelina. It's what some of the fans liked to 'ship' because they believed that they made a better couple than Peeta and Cato. They'd always been aware that there were people out there who fantasied about them with different people, and they'd even grown to accept that. Not necessarily be happy about it, but there really wasn't anything that could be done without forcibly trying to change what people thought. Cato always teased about the fact that he and Peeta's 'ship' name was better than Peeta and Finnick's anyway. What could possibly beat Peetato?

But this? This was a bit too far.

"'District 212 star Peeta Mellark was photographed leaving Oscar Winning Actress Annie Cresta's birthday party at the Jabberjay in the arms of his bodyguard Finnick Odair. Without the other half of the duo-and Mellark's actual boyfriend-in sight, what could this mean for the potential lovebirds'-This is fucking bullshit!" Cato exclaimed.

"He was there," Peeta said incredulously. "How could they possibly have . . ."

"Why was Finnick carrying you?" Snow asked pointedly.

Peeta blinked. "Oh. We were walking to the car and my feet began to cramp up," he explained. "Cato had been drinking so Finnick said he'd carry me just in case Cato tripped or stumbled or something and we both went down."

Snow hummed, staring off into the distance with a scowl on his face. Cato didn't blame him; he was pretty pissed off too! "You both realise that your relationship is part of your gimmick, don't you?" he asked slowly.

"I guess," Peeta said carefully. "But we can't predict if and when a trashy journalist is going take pictures of us and then randomly crop one of us out to sell a story."

"Besides, the gimmick is still there, as long as we stay together," Cato insisted. "And we will always be together, I can assure you of that. This is just some idiot trying to get fifteen minutes of fame. The worst that will hopefully come from it is the Peenick shippers getting a bit riled up. I'm sure it will die down once Finnick starts dating Annie and Peeta and I prove that we're not going anywhere anytime soon."

Snow was still scowling, not put at ease at all by Cato's words. "You're both so reckless sometimes," he muttered, not even bothering to look at them as he spoke. "You'd think you were novices, not professionals."

Peeta pulled a face. "Reckless?!" he exclaimed. "I was in pain! Finnick offered to carry me, that was all!"

Cato was flabbergasted by their agent's attitude. "There was no way we could have possibly been able to tell that any photos that would get taken would involve cropping me out," he insisted. When Snow's sordid expression did not lift, the blond flushed with rage. "It was your idea to go to Annie's damn party in the first place!"

"Cato," Peeta said gently, touching Cato's arm tenderly. The cool sensation of having Peeta's hand on his skin soothed Cato to a small degree, but he was still fuming.

"This is the world you live in now," Snow said darkly. He pinned Cato and Peeta down with a firm stare, his eyes judging. "Your lives will always be broadcast to the masses. Anything that happens to you, also happens to them. You must anticipate this sort of pyiasco and figure out how to prevent it."

Cato wondered if his ears were working properly. What did Snow mean prevent it? District 212 were photographed on a daily basis, how on earth would he and Peeta be able to anticipate who was going to manipulate the image and who wasn't? There was no harm to come of the Peenick article, either. All it would do is get the Peenick fans' knickers bunched up for a couple of days before the hype died down and it became obvious that Finnick and Peeta were only friends. It didn't make sense as to why this had bothered Snow so much.

"There's good publicity, and bad publicity," Snow murmured. "Thankfully, I can make this work so your concert tickets will sell better. You both will have some making up to do, though. Especially in terms of redeeming your relationship to your fans."

Peeta blinked. "Redeeming?" he asked, baffled.

"You need to prove that you're still in love," Snow clarified.

The more this conversation went on, the more surreal the topic got. Cato rubbed the bridge of his nose. "But we are still in love," he said tiredly. "We don't have to prove anything."

Snow rolled his eyes. "To one another, maybe. Your fans, however, will need reassuring after this stunt."

"Our fans," Cato said pointedly, "may be our fans but they don't have a right to know every detail of what's going on in our lives. Peeta and I owe them nothing in terms of our partnership. We don't have to prove ourselves to them in any way."

Cato's words seemed to bounce off their agent like the older man was wearing a protective armour. "I am your agent for a reason," Snow reminded them. "I know what's best for your success. I have gotten you both this far, haven't I?"

Peeta picked his glass of water off the table separating them. Cato watched his boyfriend drink, wondering what was going on in his head right now. Removing the glass from between his lips once satisfied, Peeta said, "We're grateful for how much you have helped us Snow but . . . Cato and I sell our music, not our relationship."

This almost seemed to amuse Snow. He plucked his own tumbler of whiskey off the table, a devious smile growing on his face. "Is that what you think?" he asked.

Cato narrowed his eyes. "Yes," he said, immediately backing Peeta up.

"What do you think brings in so much attention? You're both talented, of course. You, my boy, can master any instrument that touches your fingers, and Peeta has a voice worthy of God's choirs. But talent, these days, only gets you so far. You need something else to keep you relevant. As I said, your relationship is your gimmick," Snow explained slowly. He drank from his glass, allowing Peeta and Cato to absorb what he meant.

"But when you said our gimmick was . . . I thought you meant that the fans knew about us being together and it"-

"Contributed towards your popularity," Snow interrupted before Peeta could finish. "You're both handsome; kind; talented young men. Not to mention helplessly infatuated with one another. Of course that was going to capture people's interests. What? You didn't honestly think that your love for one another didn't contribute to your success at all?"

If Cato was being completely honest, he hadn't even thought about it. He had grown so used to being a part of Peeta's life, and Peeta being a part of his, that it never crossed his mind that it could have affected their music sales.

"Every YouTube video; every tweet; every Instagram post relating to your personal life in the slightest has helped the 212 hype over the years," Snow continued. "Even Peenick helped a little; the idea of Peeta's childhood friend being your bodyguard capturing the hearts of many a fangirl. You can't, however, allow them to believe that you have broken up. It could do massive damage to your reputation as a duo."

Cato stood up, having had enough. "I can't listen to this," he said. "What you're insinuating is that all the effort Peeta and I have put into our careers all these years is only half of our success; the rest being because the fans get excited at the idea of us screwing each other."

"Cato, it's okay," Peeta said, taking Cato's hand and squeezing it.

"No, it's really not," Cato replied.

Snow shrugged. "My hands are tied. It's not like I can tell your fans what to do. I can only give them what they want."

"And what is that, exactly?"

Their agent smirked complacently. "Isn't it obvious?" he asked. "The more you give, the more your popularity will grow. You reap what you sow, after all."

Cato had never had the best temper in the world. He could feel himself beginning to tremble with anger and if it weren't for Peeta's hand in his, he probably would have already reached boiling point with Snow. In some ways, what their agent was saying made sense, but just because it made sense didn't mean he had to like it. "The more of what?" he asked between gritted teeth.

Snow sighed, acting as if the entire ordeal pained him when Cato knew damn well it didn't. "Your private lives," the older man explained, tracing his finger around the rim of his glass, "are now theirs."

~xXx~

Cato ran Snow's words over in his head again and again for the rest of the day. What Snow had basically said was that he and Peeta no longer had a private life. What did that mean, exactly? How much were they expected to show to the masses? Where did the line in such a charade get drawn? Cato guessed that Snow would probably determine that but, after their agent's attitude about the situation, this knowledge did not comfort him in the slightest.

Peeta was sat on the windowsill, looking out at the grey; stormy skies. In the comfort of their room, it was warm and cosy; the opposite of the wreckage currently battering the Earth outside. Cato still felt a chill, though, every time he was reminded of the conversation with Snow. Peeta was swathed in a sweater; wearing nothing else but his underwear and a few pairs of thick; woolly socks. When they returned to their room the younger blond insisted upon getting the most out of their day off and stripped off his clothes, exchanging them for what he now wore: his sleep clothes.

"There's more to us than our relationship," Peeta eventually stated, not turning away from the window as he spoke. "There has to be."

"There is," Cato said firmly. His fingers tapped irritably on top of the desk he sat at, trying to keep the angry ticks to small fidgeting.

"Snow is wrong. We are successful because of how hard we have worked and the talent we refined. It can't have anything to do with our partnership," Peeta continued. He frowned and combed his hand through his hair with agitation. "Did you ever notice that, when we did those parodies on YouTube, the most popular uploads were always the ones that involved us together romantically?"

Cato had never stopped to think about it. Since their following on YouTube had been so large, every video they made had been vastly popular. However, if you compared their parody of 'I want to Break Free' by Queen and 'Beautiful' by James Blunt, there was a considerable difference in the views and ratings. It could be coincidence, or it could be because of what Snow told them about the gimmick.

Peeta closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. "I don't want our love to be a gimmick," he said.

Cato knew exactly how Peeta felt. They weren't together for the sake of being popular. They were together because they had been smitten from day one. Cato couldn't put into words how much he loved and cherished Peeta, and the idea of that devotion being reduced to some ploy to gain stardom made him feel physically sick. Cato loved Peeta long before anyone knew their names and would continue to love Peeta long after 212 was nothing to the public but a memory.

"It won't be. I won't allow it," said Cato.

Peeta's reflection in the window smiled, eyes still closed. "Me either."

Cato pushed away from the desk and joined Peeta by the windowsill. Lifting the smaller boy's feet up and sitting where they previously sat and placing them carefully into his lap, Cato looked outside.

Snow's grounds truly were massive. The courtyard behind the house looked like it stretched on for miles; a greenhouse sitting slap bang in the middle at the bottom of a set of steps. Painted in the colours of the storm, the courtyard looked like something out of a horror movie, but Cato would bet any money that the mansion and the surrounding land looked magnificent during the summer. Ever since they had released Two Sides, money had never been a problem for Cato and Peeta, but they had never spent their earnings on grandeur housing or other fancy expenses. They did have a nice house together in 12, which was privatised for obvious reasons, and had many, many things that they would not have previously owned if it had not been for their success, but there was still so much for them to marvel at. Which was good.

If you lost your ability to be amazed, then what was the point?

"Christmas is coming," Peeta randomly said.

Cato blinked, mystified that he had forgotten this. "So it is," he replied.

"We'll have to head back to 12 for a few weeks," Peeta sighed.

Peeta always visited his family at Christmas time. No matter where they were, without fail, they always returned to 12 for the holidays. Peeta went to Church every year and sung with the choirs on Christmas day, just as he had ever since he was a boy. Not only did it mean a lot to the Church, but it meant a lot to Peeta too, to be able to see his family.

"Do you want to go to 2?" Peeta asked, almost on cue.

Cato shook his head, knowing that he didn't need to elaborate any further. Ever since his father died, leaving Marisol in Cato's hands permanently, he hadn't seen any reason to go back home to 2. His mother died when he was ten, which actually was what prompted his dad to start teaching him how to play Marisol, so he could play music to the stars so his mother would hear. But his stepmother? Ever since that venomous bitch married his father she had wanted Cato out of the picture which was what ultimately led to the marriage's demise. Cato's dad refused to send his son away, which enraged her and led to constant fights. Despite the divorce, she continued to bleed Cato's father of his money, driving him into an early grave. No. Cato had no reason whatsoever to go back to District 2.

Peeta, however, believed in love and forgiveness, hence why he always asked Cato the same question every year when the holidays came around. Cato knew that Peeta hated that he had no one at home left. He knew that Peeta wished there was some way to patch things up, but he also understood Cato's desire to stay away. So, in replacement, Peeta became what Cato had lost: his family.

It was always around this time of year where Cato would get very down. It wasn't that he didn't like going to 12 and visiting Peeta's family, in fact he loved it, but there was always something about seeing all these people so avidly happy to see his boyfriend return home that made him curious about what it felt like. Cato didn't have anyone avidly waiting for him to come home. Sure, people in 2 loved him, but they were fans. And his fans were the same as family in some regards, but they would never be able to replace what he used to feel for his real family. When it wasn't in shambles, that was . . .

Cato wished his mother could have met Peeta. She died on Valentine's Day over a decade ago, but a day didn't go by where he didn't think about her. Even if it was just in passing, or a little spark of a memory, Cato always held onto his real mother's identity. He couldn't let himself forgot what she was like, nor would he let her memory be replaced by that witch of a stepmother who condemned his relationship with Peeta since day one and even, at one point, tried to keep them apart.

Cato knew that his mother-his real mother-would have loved Peeta the same way his father had. From what Cato remembered-he had only been ten when she died, so he was forced to build his image of her based on fragmented childhood memories-she always had a smile on her face, and sometimes he imagined that smile when he would have told her that he had met somebody. She would have been so happy; he just knew she would. Maybe he was glorifying her in his head, he didn't know, but this was all he had now.

"Are you sure?" Peeta asked. His voice wasn't pressing or probing. He just wanted to make sure that Cato was one hundred percent sure in his decision.

"Yeah," Cato answered, somewhat shortly.

Cato felt Peeta's hand on his shoulder. He looked at his partner, finding a sympathetic expression on the other end. Peeta didn't say anything, he didn't need to. There was enough understanding gleaming in his gorgeous baby blue eyes for Cato to know what he was trying to say. "It's alright. I understand. I'm always here to talk about it if you want to."

It wasn't that Cato didn't want to talk about it with Peeta, what he didn't want to do was burden Peeta with the knowledge that sometimes he did feel down and did get depressed about his lack of family. Because that would only put an unnecessary pressure on Peeta to try to fix it. Which, as talented as Peeta was, he couldn't do. Unless he knew how to bring Cato's parents back from the dead, that was . . .

"How's Wheatley?" Cato asked, forcibly pushing the topic of his parents from his head.

"Yeah, he's good," Peeta answered, resting his head against the cool window pane. "Eric is doing well and has been making vast improvements in school and is learning how to communicate with his eyes."

"Hey, that's really good," Cato said, relief washing over him. Eric's condition was always uncertain. One day he could be absolutely fine and the next he could be on his death bed. It was a scary game of cards, where Wheatley didn't know what set he was going to get dealt when he woke up in the morning. Peeta's money helped, but money can't buy good health.

This, again, was Peeta's reasoning for wishing to visit 12 each Christmas. It was the only chance he ever got to see his nephew. He called every day when he got a chance but there was a vast difference in intimacy between a phone call and actually getting to speak to them in person.

Cato knew that Peeta was terrified that Eric was going to die and he was not going to be there.

Cato had yet to help Peeta through a loss. In their time together, they had both been put through numerous trials. Cato's father leaving his stepmother and the financial issues that ensued; Eric's stroke; Cato's depression following his father's death; Peeta's disability; their relationship had withstood a lot. Only one of those trials, however, had involved a death. And that death had been Cato's dad.

Cato and Peeta had been dating for two years, and Cato was surprised that Peeta was still with him at that point. For in those two years, the stepwitch had tried to keep them apart because of her own homophobic beliefs so often that Cato almost killed her. She was invasive and never allowed Cato to have his own privacy, especially where it concerned his relationship with Peeta. She would delete Peeta's messages off Cato's phone so he would think that Peeta wasn't talking to him and then tell Peeta that Cato wasn't interested whenever he would ring the house.

Then there was the icing on the cake.

The stepwitch answered the door when Peeta came to visit one day and told him straight up to his face that she was sending Cato to military school so that he'd be whipped into shape before their toxic relationship poisoned him completely. This had baffled Peeta but he knew what sort of woman she was from what Cato had told him, so he simply rolled his eyes and pushed past her, informing her that they had a school project to be getting on with on his way up the stairs.

Cato had been enraged when Peeta had recalled what had happened to him but it didn't match how angry his father got when he too found out about it. Not only because the stepwitch thought she was getting Cato anywhere near the proximity of a military school but also because she believed that Peeta was the one 'turning' Cato gay. She seemed to have forgotten that Cato had come out to his father when he was fifteen, a year before he even met Peeta.

So they divorced.

The stepwitch somehow got out of it with money, and Cato's dad had to continue giving her money monthly for the foreseeable future. The Hadleys lost money, fast. Cato tried to busk on the streets; and Peeta helped too by singing, but every month more and more was taken from his dad's bank and given to that woman.

The stress was what killed him in the end. The thing that hurt the most, despite everything that had happened over those awful months, was that Cato knew his dad did not want to go. He had promised, when he first handed him Marisol and taught him to play music to his mother, that he would never leave him. But he had had no choice.

Cato was clinically depressed after his dad's death. He wouldn't have gotten out of bed; fed himself; done anything at all; if he had been given the choice. He would have wallowed and allowed himself to spiral deeper into whatever dark hole he was falling into. He didn't see a point in anything anymore. Not if he didn't have his dad. What sort of life was it without your parents?

But Peeta was there.

Three days after the funeral, when he grew sick of Cato ignoring him, Peeta actually kicked Cato's front door in to get into the house. He had forced Cato out of bed, despite the older boy's avid protests, and all but dragged him into the bathroom. That entire day Peeta spent fixing Cato up. He washed his hair; shaved his beard; fed him; changed his bedsheets; spiffed his room up; before making an appointment with a psychologist and ensuring that Cato went to it. Which Peeta continued to do every day for at least five months after.

Because he had been in such a dark place that first day, Cato barely remembered Peeta coming in. There was one memory though, one thing he could never shift from his head. He was sitting on the floor in the corner of his room, hunched forward like a piece of deadweight, and Peeta was beside him, his arms wrapped tight around his neck, holding him close to his body and repeating over and over again, "It's going to be okay. I promise. It's going to be okay."

Cato was still on medication to this day. Medication that had taken a good few months for him to adjust to, but that Peeta made sure he took.

Peeta wasn't just Cato's boyfriend, nor was he his partner. He was also his saviour. For if he hadn't kicked in that front door and dragged him out of bed that day, Cato knew he would never have gotten up.

Now Cato played Marisol to the stars for not just his mother, but for his father too.

Peeta was a naturally empathetic person. He was so understanding of any and every human emotion it was almost inhuman. Cato always wished that he could be like that, for it would make things such as comforting so much more easy. Except, Cato didn't have anyone in his life he would want to comfort apart from Peeta. And, somehow, Cato knew that when it came down to the crunch, if Peeta needed him in that way he would be there for him in that way. For Peeta, he was willing to do anything.

That didn't mean that Cato didn't dread the day he would have to comfort Peeta. He knew how hard dealing with death could be, the pill box in his bedside table was a prime enough example of this, and he knew in his bones that something in him could possibly be in danger of snapping if Peeta ever ended up in as bad a place as he had been.

Cato could not let himself snap like that again.

Thinking about everything that Peeta had done for him over the years . . . How the boy sitting on this windowsill with him admiring the rain had pushed past Cato's homophobic stepwitch, even when she called him the worst of things, because he wanted to see Cato; how he got out of bed at six in the morning every day they were off school and went into the city with Cato to busk for money to make sure they got a good spot; how he practically dragged Cato out of his own grave and resurrected him; how he didn't let Cato's depression and the awful things it had caused him to say and do affect him; how it seemed to make him grip tighter instead of losing hold . . . It just made this idea of their love being a gimmick so much more sickening.

Cato owed so much to Peeta. Sometimes he didn't even think Peeta realised how much he owed to him.

Peeta edged closer to Cato and wound his arm around him. He let his head rest against the older boy's shoulder and Cato's automatically fell against the younger's head of golden curls. "We can tell Snow where to go if he gets too personal," Peeta mumbled, threading his fingers through Cato's.

Cato chuckled, watching Peeta's fingers playing with his own. "Agreed."

"We've never told Snow no before," Peeta said thoughtfully.

Cato realised that Peeta was right. Why was that, exactly? Surely there had been something that their agent had suggested that they didn't agree with? At least once throughout the entire time they had been signed for him there had been nothing . . . That didn't sound right . . .

"How odd," Cato frowned.

"You know what that means?" Peeta beamed.

"What?"

"First time for everything."

Cato laughed.

There was a sudden grumble of thunder and a flash of lightening. Peeta shrieked in surprise and lurched into Cato's lap, clinging to the taller boy like glue to fingers. "Okay, Scooby Doo, you doing alright there?" Cato teased.

"Oh fuck, that scared the bajesus out of me."

"Clearly," Cato chuckled.

Peeta peered over Cato's shoulder like a frightened child at the storm outside. "I think it's a given that the window will not be opened tonight," he said, even though his voice was slightly agitated at the idea. Peeta didn't like sleeping with the window closed because it made him feel trapped, and when the weather was bad and there was no choice it always made him anxious.

"Don't worry," Cato said, arms wrapped loosely around Peeta's back, "I'll look after you."

Peeta exhaled, breaking his gaze out the window to meet Cato's eyes. He grinned goofily. "My hero," he teased, leaning forward and connecting their lips in a kiss.

Cato's hand slid up Peeta's back and held the back of his neck as they kissed, holding the smaller boy's face as close to his own as physically possible. Peeta's body drew close to Cato's, almost like pulled by some magnetic force, and a content sigh escaped him through the kiss. When they parted, Cato's lips felt cold, like they were missing an important piece, and he almost pulled Peeta back down against him to regain the heat he had previously been enjoying.

"Would you like something to keep your mind off the storm?" Cato asked, adding sultry overtones to his voice.

Peeta snorted. "As tempting as that is-and really, you're very tempting talking in that ridiculous manner-I will have to pass," he said. "If anyone heard the dialogue exchanged between us they'd think we were sex-crazed animals. It's all blah blah blah sex blah blah blah let's fuck blah blah"-

Cato placed his hand over Peeta's mouth and raised his eyebrows. "So when I talk, all you hear is blah blah blah?" he asked.

Peeta's eyes widened. "Of course not!" he said, voice muffled by the older boy's hand. "My point is I think we should shimmer down a little."

Cato pulled a face. "And why's that?"

Peeta looked uncomfortable suddenly. He slid out of Cato's lap and, liberating his cane along the way, walked around the desk to the bed. "I just have this . . . weird notion," he said.

"What sort of weird notion?" Cato frowned.

"When Snow said that our private lives now belong to the fans what if he meant . . ." Peeta gestured to the bed uncertainly ". . . as well?"

Cato smiled. "Peeta, I think you're getting a bit paranoid now. Snow isn't going to make us market our sex lives." He stood up and joined Peeta by the bed, placing his hands firmly on the smaller boy's shoulders. "I think what he meant was that we must market the image of us together as a couple more. Somehow I don't think he expects us to scandalise our private lives to that extent, that would be too much."

Peeta chewed on his lip anxiously, flinching when there was another flash of lightening. "I just don't want us to become trashy celebrities who would do anything to hold onto our fame," he said.

"And we won't," Cato assured. He leaned down and pressed his lips to Peeta's forehead. "The only person who will ever know the beauty of your naked body is me."

Peeta smiled, but his blush betrayed him. "The same goes for you too. I wouldn't have it any other way," he said meekly.

"Besides, I highly doubt we would have been given a soundproof room if our agent was planning to spy on us," Cato continued, taking Peeta's hands and holding them between them. "Then again, you are very loud, you could have broken the sound barrier."

Peeta scowled. "Shut up."

"There are things that our fans will never know, no matter how much they try," Cato continued. "For example, there's no way they'll ever find out that you seem to have an aversion to pants when it comes to casual clothing."

Peeta looked down at himself before returning his gaze to Cato. He rolled his eyes and walked around the bed to his side. "I'm comfortable like this," he shrugged. His eyes sparkled as he looked over his shoulder and cocked his eyebrow with interest. "Got a problem?"

Cato pretended to consider the question. Peeta climbed onto the bed in the meantime, drawing attention to the muscles in his long legs as he settled himself in the middle. Cato smirked as Peeta crossed his ankles, and said, "Not at all."

Cato was drawn to Peeta like a moth to a flame. He climbed onto the bed from where he stood from the bottom and crawled on all fours until he sat at his boyfriend's feet. "They'll never know that you have an erogenous zone behind your ear," Peeta teased, leaning forward and scratching his finger behind Cato's right ear.

Cato cursed as he involuntarily shuddered. He didn't know why his body reacted to Peeta touching him like that, but ever since Peeta discovered the effect it had on the older man he always abused the knowledge. It was why he called Cato his 'Cato-Cat' sometimes as a pet name because he would always react like a cat to such advances. Cato didn't mind, really, he just called Peeta Peeta-Pie when he did that.

"You're right," Cato shivered, batting Peeta's hand away flippantly. "Because the only person who will ever touch me there is you. See the point I'm trying to make?"

Peeta nodded. "I just don't want to abuse the sanctity of our intimacy for the sake of popularity. To be honest, I don't want to abuse the sanctity of our relationship for the sake of popularity but Snow has made it pretty clear that we have no choice in that matter."

"Snow needs to lay off the whiskey," Cato muttered childishly. He cupped Peeta's face in his hand and tilted it up so their eyes were level with one another. God, he could spend an entire day watching how the light-no matter how dark or light it was-always made Peeta's iris' flicker a different shade of blue, and not consider it a day wasted.

"I want our fans to enjoy our music and likes us as people," Peeta explained, placing his hand over Cato's on his face. "I want them to look up to us so we can set good examples and hopefully contribute even a small smile to their days. But I don't want to have to do that by revealing things that only you and I should know about one another."

"I know what you mean," Cato replied. "And we will. I promise."

They kissed.

"You can't let the ideas that Snow is putting forward distance yourself from me," Cato whispered against Peeta's lips. "For one thing, I won't allow it to happen."

"I don't want to distance myself from you," Peeta said stubbornly. "I just worry that in doing it too much now we're risking it being a part of the privacy Snow insists we must expose."

Cato sat back, hands dropping from Peeta's face and into his lap to hold his hands. "Just yesterday you were telling me of how happy you were that we could have the level of intimacy we would have had if we weren't famous. Now, not even a day later, you're letting a silly article and how it has made our crazy agent react scare you into stopping again?"

Peeta looked down, slightly ashamed. "I do want to have that level of intimacy," he insisted. "I want it really badly, it's just"-

"Then there's nothing else to say," Cato replied. "If you want it, there's no reason why you shouldn't have it, especially since I'm more than willing to give it. All those jokes we crack about only wanting one another for sex, we make them because of how irrational you became after we first made love. Remember?"

Cato and Peeta first made love three months into their relationship. After that they had a healthy sex life pre-the 212 discovery. Not all of their encounters could be romantic; any couple would say that their lives weren't built upon constant love making. Sometimes it just happened, especially in the beginning, because the tension was unbearable and it had to be relieved right there and then.

This had happened a lot during the months following Peeta and Cato losing their virginity to one another. Once they started, they couldn't stop. Cato hadn't noticed how often it happened, mainly because he spent a lot of his time being in awe of the beautiful boy he had become ensnared by. It was when Peeta began to withdraw into himself a little, deflecting any advance that Cato would make, that he grew worried. Peeta would only let their kissing go so far before breaking it off, and anything that went past that usually lead to the smaller boy jumping out of bed and fleeing to the bathroom. It began to freak Cato out. Was Peeta going to break up with him? Was this the build up to a separation? Was he no longer attracted to him?

Cato decided to give Peeta space. He respected the younger boy too much to pressure him into talking about what was going on. He wanted Peeta to say on his own what was going on in his mind that was causing him to react so fearfully any time they were intimate.

Eventually it came out. Cato had been staying over at Peeta's house while the rest of the Mellarks were out of town. They were working on some music together when things got . . . heavy, for lack of a better word. Somebody kissed somebody else and the sheet music was pushed to the side as someone pushed the other down onto the mattress, taking their hands and pining them above their head so their shirt rode up their stomach and they could access the skin of their neck with their lips.

Peeta didn't jump away, like he usually had done, but he had whispered in a small voice, "I don't just want you for sex."

Cato had felt like he had been blindsided. He remembered staring at Peeta with shock, his hand still holding the younger boy's wrists above his head. Peeta proceeded to explain that he had worried that with the amount of times they had been having sex that Cato would grow to think it was all Peeta wanted him for. It had been such a ridiculous idea, such a silly notion that of course took root in Peeta's brain and scared him, that Cato had to take several minutes to process the information.

Sex was not something that one should be ashamed of, especially just because you're having a lot of it. Cato didn't know what gave Peeta the idea that he thought that he only wanted him for sex but he spent the rest of the evening explaining to the nervous blond how he had never thought that for one second. In fact, Cato had always thought that Peeta's willingness to have sex with him so often was reassurance that he was still interested in him. Cato had this irrational worry for the first few months that Peeta would realise how much of a better person he was and leave Cato because he knew he could find better.

There were so many things that they had done outside of their relationship that debunked Peeta's concern. They went on dates nearly every other day; they spent time with one another's families; they studied together; wrote music together; performed together . . . There was so much they did that even if they did it every night it still wouldn't justify an argument of them wanting one another purely for sexual reasons.

It was a joke between them now, one that they constantly teased each other with, but their rising popularity did nothing for making their intimate lives more casual. In fact, it only made it less so. Any interaction they had was constantly fraught with worry over being caught by fans or press. Their first night in Snow's mansion was the first time they had properly been able to let go since they started touring.

"What if our fans start thinking what I thought?" asked Peeta.

Cato blanched. "It's none of our fans' business what goes on in our sex lives," he answered.

Peeta's eyes showed that he knew that Cato was right. Sometimes his brain would make him worry simply for the sake of having something to worry about.

"You should find comfort in the fact that after nearly five years of dating I still find you so amazingly beautiful that I struggle to control myself around you," Cato said, trying to lighten the mood through flirting.

Peeta laughed softly, shaking his head and smiling broadly. "Is that what it is? I just thought you had the self-control of a poodle in heat," he teased. He leaned forward and reconnected their lips, fingers tightening the slightest of bits around Cato's hands.

Cato gladly accepted, moving his mouth in sync with his boyfriend's and drawing the smaller boy closer by releasing his hand and placing it on his back. Peeta shifted, his leg brushing against Cato's side as he allowed himself to be pulled closer, the sensation causing Cato to shiver as goose pimples broke out across his skin.

"Maybe you shouldn't control yourself sometimes," Peeta murmured as they parted for breath. He released Cato's other hand and lay back on the bed, allowing himself to relax into the mattress despite Cato's hungry gaze burning into his body.

Cato grinned and moved to loom over Peeta, pressing his lips against the smaller boy's mouth again. Peeta strained upward towards him, hand sliding up Cato's arm and resting on his shoulder as they kissed. It didn't matter where or how Peeta touched him, he always left a trail of fire in his wake.

"Trust me, the control is there for a reason," Cato answered in a low, sultry voice. The hand he had resting on Peeta's hip moved upwards, pushing the sweater Peeta was wearing up to his chest along the way. Peeta sucked in deliciously as Cato moved downwards, the older boy enjoying how the younger anticipated his touch before he'd even felt it. "If I didn't have it, I'd be eating you out under the table at conferences and using concert intermission time to remove the sweat from your neck with my tongue."

Peeta laughed as Cato settled beside him on the bed. His blue eyes flickered to Cato's own green ones and he murmured, "I never got to give you that treat after Annie's party . . ."

"Ah, well, that was not your fault," Cato sighed, throwing his hands behind his head. "Fate decided to kick you in the nuts that night . . ."

Peeta wasn't appeased by this response. He sat up and slung himself onto Cato's hips, his sweater still half way up his torso and socks on his feet. "You seem to forget that I can hold authority of my own," he said.

Cato snorted. "Aye, sure. The authority of a kitten."

Peeta squinted angrily. "It's like you don't want me to give you that blowjob."

Cato raised his eyebrows. "And how does sitting on top of me achieve that?"

"Well, you need warmed up first! You don't just jump straight into it, do you?" Peeta answered, so easily wound up it was hilarious. Cato grinned and burst into laughter as Peeta swatted him. It was the term 'warmed up' that got to the older boy; as if he was a turkey that had been sitting in the freezer too long.

"Go on then," Cato said, still laughing, "warm me up."

Peeta scowled. His eyes held a mischievous gleam as he slowly began to move his hips against Cato's, his fingers finding the hem of his sweater so he could slowly pull it over his head. Okay, Cato took back anything he previously said, this was definitely worth the silly euphemism. So Peeta may not have had as much authority as he claimed but Cato couldn't deny that his gentle approach was a winner. Every time Peeta's hips pushed against Cato's it felt like a fresh jolt to his system, electrifying his nerves.

Peeta threw the jumper away behind him, now sitting in nothing but his underwear and copious amounts of woolly socks. He never stopped moving, and Cato was so amazed by the boy above him he wondered-not for the first time-what he had done to deserve him. Even as his eyes closed to enjoy the sensations caused by his lover's hips rubbing his own, Cato's hands subconsciously found Peeta's butt to guide him a little as his arousal began to climb.

He felt Peeta's hands on his torso, the skin on skin contact burning fresh paths onto his body that swiftly faded away once removed. A soft sigh escaped his lips and he decided, again, not for the first time, that he was a lucky guy. An extremely lucky guy. Not because of the fame and fortune, but because he was the one who got to go home every day with Peeta. Peeta who, despite every trial and tribulation they encountered, was still here with him.

Peeta smiled, as if he could hear Cato's thought process, and leaned forward, pressing a small kiss to the taller boy's belly button. "I love you," Peeta said, a twinkle in his eyes as he looked up.

Cato brushed his fingers through Peeta's hair and returned the smile. "I love you too," he replied.

The once loving smile morphed into something more mischievous and Peeta descended lower, having decided that his lover had been 'warmed up' enough.

As immense pleasure washed over Cato and his eyes fluttered shut, he decided with extreme finality that they would overcome this obstacle, just like every other.

Just as they always did.

A/N: Sorry it's a day late! I know I said every two weeks but I was just so busy trying to cram in as much stuff before the Easter Holidays ended that I didn't get a chance to put this up yesterday. It's extra long, though, so I hope the wait was worth it! :)