I am soo... going to hell (if I believed in such a thing.) for writing this, and you guys might be terribly mad at me. I know, I write terrible yaoi scenes and overuse tons of words. I feel like such a horrible fangirl. -pouts- Dude, I saw the AVENGERS. I think I fell in love with Loki(Tom H.), he's just so awesomely sexy, though the helmet can go... and he's british! XD Go see the movie! Now.
Disclaimer: I do not own. Unless, you suddenly see Loki in only boxers in the Hunger Games book I do not own the series. It belongs to Suzanne Collins and she can keep her series.
Warnings: Bad Yaoi (sobs),purposely vague at the end, bad grammar, bad story-telling, WTF moments, possible confusion, OCs, innocent Peeta(never jerked off in his life...), Cato, and lots of other stuff that I don't care to mention right now. Possible relationship between a 25-year old and 13-year old, don't ask.
Thank you to all my lovely reviewers, supporters, alerters, favoriters, and lurkers. Also, thank you to Marvel for my new crush. ;P
'I love Twizzlers' thought-song.
'I love Loki,' notebook speak for Avoxs.
"Screw the rules I have money," emphasis.
Cato's POv, next chapter. That's right, two parts!
Fragments
Chapter Four: First Kisses
Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday to me.
A teen around fifteen with short dirty blond hair spiked with gel and chocolate brown eyes, moves around in a rushed frenzy completely naked besides his underwear. His face speaks of utter panic. "Puppet, where's my red shirt? The one that Mother just got me!"
Long, muscled legs move back and forth in a gliding manner over a simple black and blue twin-sized bed. Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday to me. "Master, it's on your bed."
A brilliant smile flashes across Master's face. It's dazzling; really it is, because sometimes it's so easy to forget that Master is only fifteen. Master's mostly cold and harsh these days. It seems impossible that he used to be a boy that liked to laugh and play all day long, but when he smiles, it's seen again. "You're a life-saver," Master says and the shirt is flung on.
Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday to me. Today is my thirteenth birthday. My most important birthday is a coming of age tradition in District 2 where you chose a signature weapon. A slave rarely gets the opportunity but Mistress and Sir allow me such an honor. Master shows no signs of knowing it's my birthday, but there's no reason to worry. He hasn't forgotten and he's not blowing me off. Maybe he's trying to surprise me; he did so for my eighth birthday.
"Puppet," Master whines and attention is immediately drawn to him, "where are my black pants? I can't find them anywhere."
A sneeze hides a muffled snigger. "In your hand, Master."
"Oh," Master says, sheepishly. He holds up his right hand where his pants are clutched tightly in its hold. It takes moments for him to put on his pants when he chooses to mutter an embarrassed "Thanks."
Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday to me.
"How do I look?" Master questions as he spins around to view himself at different angles while he stands in front of his mirrors. He's handsome in whatever he wears. Why he continues to need reassurance on his looks, a question not yet answered.
"Fine... as always," the last part is said in-audibly.
"Are you sure?" Insecurity seeps into his voice. It's amazing because it's appeared yet again! Unbelievable. Master allows a small part of his real self to be seen. That little boy I met so many years ago, the one who declared me his, is in front of me once more. The blush is silent. It creeps up on me.
"I've never lied to you before."
Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday to me.
"You're right. Clove is going to jump me! I'm totally getting lucky tonight," Master thrusts his hips, continuing, "Her parents aren't home today." Master chuckles while sweeping invisible dust off his clothes. She's an invader but Master doesn't see it. Just three years ago he didn't even care for her, and now he does. Why? What does that girl have that has ensnared my Master's attention so? The jitters are back, my legs seem to sweep higher and higher the closer Master walks to the door. He turns the doorknob, opening the door, and walking out, "Don't wait up," he calls over his shoulder and the door is slammed shut. Master doesn't even glance back.
Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday to me. The tune sounds melancholy and mournful. So broken.
...
Master forgot.
"Ouch!" Peeta yelps, he places the heavy bag of flour on the floor before he turns his arm around to inspect his pale skin. He spots the slightly reddened blotch, but it didn't look like it had broken the skin. He rubs the spot for a while deeming it all right after a couple of seconds. Peeta then glares up at the source of his pain, "What was that for?"
A man around thirty-five with light brown shaggy hair, serious ash-colored eyes, and a somber face, offers a small smile. He twirls a yellow pencil (the item he flicked Peeta with) in his fingers before grabbing a worn, blue notebook with the word "Avox" stenciled into the cover off the marble counter. He jots down a message and gives the notebook to Peeta.
Peeta reads the message quickly. 'I'm sorry but I had to get your attention.'
"Well, Crassus, now you have it. What do you want?" Peeta asks brusquely. He was in no mood to talk at the moment, even if it was his special birthday.
'Why are you in the kitchen?' Crassus writes.
"I want to make cupcakes," Peeta says. He grabs the large bag of flour off the floor with a grunt to emphasize his point. He ignores Crassus' disapproving look. "What! Is that a crime or something?"
'No, it isn't. Today is your birthday though. You're supposed to be having fun. Not working in the kitchen.'
"My birthday? That's not an excuse and I like working in the kitchen," Peeta replies meaning every word. Baking was his niche. Not only that, baking was how he relieved stress, his way to relaxing and forgetting about all his worries if only for a couple of hours.
'Are you okay?' Crassus' writing abruptly changes, the question written in bold and his jaw locking.
"Yes... what would make you ask?" Peeta shifts the bag on his shoulder uncomfortably.
'Nothing. I'm just curious as to the reason why Young Master isn't by your side and he hasn't been seen today. It's rare that he's not glued to your side and this early in the day. The only time you guys aren't together is when Sir calls for you and that's at night.'
Peeta glances away after reading the scrawled note. Crassus' words hit home. "There's nothing wrong," he says stiffly. Master needed to be pushed into the furthest crevices of his mind where not even he could access it.
'You're a terrible liar.'
Peeta rolls his eyes. "I need a tesserae for every time I hear that."
'So, are you gonna refuse dear old me the telling of your pent-up woes?'
Peeta pushes the notebook away, his answer clear. Crassus wryly smiles. He takes the heavy bag of flour from Peeta, putting it in one hand and using the other to push Peeta through the black and white double doors. Peeta stands there for a moment, befuddled in what just transpired until he regains control of his senses. He twists around to go back into the kitchen only to find that he can't.
He pounds on the doors furiously, yelling Crassus' name yet the doors refuse to budge. Peeta grumbles under his breath and slumps down to sit in front of the doors. How dare Crassus lock him out? Did he not deserve the simple pleasure of baking on his birthday? His birthday was going down the drain and there was little he could do to stop it. Not that he wanted to stop it. With Master gone frolicking with the invader, a clear display of where his affections lay, Peeta fails to see how he could have any sort of fun on his special day. Master, and Peeta's inability to do what he loves have cruelly dissipated all the happiness and joy.
He leans back against the cool metal, closing his eyes. Fine. Peeta crosses his arms and decides to act like a petulant child. He shall stay outside the kitchen area all day. He frowns when he realizes that he'll disappoint Mistress and Sir for missing his coming-of-age ceremony, but he has plenty of time to make a presentable excuse for when the time calls for it. Content with the thought, Peeta relaxes little by little, feeling himself being lulled into Morpheus' hold.
"CUTIE!"
Peeta snaps his eyes open. Leave it to Hannibal to ruin any of his plans. A blur of tan, black, hazel, and maroon is all Peeta sees before he is swept up off his feet quite literally. Peeta shifts uncomfortably as Hannibal cradles him as he starts walking. Peeta holds out on the temptation to wrap his arms around Hannibal's neck. He was not some simpering maiden or six-year old child.
"What's got you all quiet, cutie? Usually you greet me happily and fill me on your newest baking creation. Have I vexed you in some way?" The patent grin that Hannibal wears whenever around him dims a watt.
"Long night and morning," he answers shortly. His attention strays from Hannibal to the light yellow walls around them.
"Mhm." Hannibal still carries him.
"Don't you believe me?" Peeta minces. He does not show it but he knows he has replied in the wrong way. Surely, Hannibal will confront him on his error, pressing him to tell him of his problems. Peeta thinks back on Crassus, the head chef might've been on to something when he said he was a bad liar.
"I believe you, cutie. You've never told me a lie before. Why would you now?" The words are like freezing, cold water. Hannibal has caught him, and easily so. He curses under his breath. He might as well come clean.
"How can you manage to unravel me in a few seconds, but everyone, including Master, has to work for it," Peeta inquires, genuinely interested.
"Because you were mine before anyone else and you're so simple for me to read," Hannibal answers. The watt lost in his grin regained. "Are you willing to tell me what's wrong now?" Hannibal stops just before the foyer where his birthday party is being held. The whole room is decorated in a sunset sort of orange, his favorite color, with light blues subtly weaved through the color scheme.
A long table is graced with an orange tablecloth. There are five weapons spread at the center of the table each gleaming with silent promises. A stack of presents sits on the left and a huge, four-tiered cake the Peeta recognizes immediately because he actually made the cake. Apparently, Mistress' closest girlfriend was a big fan of Peeta's baking skills and demanded an extravagant cake done for her birthday/wedding. Peeta found it odd that Mistress' girlfriend wanted the cake to be in his favorite colors, half the cake to be red velvet and the other in marble, again two of his favorite cake flavors, and the words on the cake. It read, Happy Birthday Pieta. That was her name. Looking back on it, Peeta can't believe how dense he was.
He berates himself as he searches over the room some more. Everyone he knows is dressed casually for his birthday. Peeta smiles at that. He has never liked to dress up for any sort of event, and rather people do not for him. He surveys the contents of the room one last time and freezes when he recognizes a person he missed before.
"Spartacus," Peeta whispers. He hasn't seen the redheaded boy in months. He had heard from Master that Spartacus' father died, and the burden of being District Two's, and subsequently the Capitol's best weapon maker fell onto him. Spartacus had to drop out of the Academy and immediately take up the reins of his predecessor, as it was the job of the eldest son.
"Put me down," Peeta says, the urge to go talk to Spartacus strong. Hannibal shakes his head, his grip tightening.
"I will not. You still need to tell me what's wrong."
"Can it not wait until after my birthday party is over?" Peeta attempts to protest, but Hannibal does not budge.
"No."
"Okay!" Peeta angrily whispers, his voice raising an octave. "You want to know what's wrong so badly? Huh? For that you shall need Master. I'm not important enough for him to remember. All he cares about is Clove! He has forgotten my birthday, but has remembered that slag's parents won't be home today," Peeta spits viciously. "I take care not to imagine what activities they're partaking in." Peeta sneers.
"Awww, cutie,"
"No! Hannibal, I don't want to hear your sugary words right now!" Peeta interrupts. "My Master has pushed me aside on my most important day for some fuck. Master grants me many privileges that most servants only dream of, but I only ask for one thing from Master - no, rather I only want one thing, and that's for Master to be here with me. I guess that's asking for a lot," Peeta snipes.
"Spartacus!" Hannibal unexpectedly calls out. Spartacus glances up suddenly from his conversation with a starry-eyed Lyra, spotting them. Peeta watches as Spartacus jogs over. His once long red hair, cut to his ears and tamed on his head aside from the few unruly hairs. He has certainly grown into his body and stands at 5'8" with a lean, swimmer's body only a male from the Academy could have.
"Hannibal... Princess Peeta," Spartacus greets, inclining his head.
"Charming as ever," Peeta comments dryly, un-amused by the nickname that has managed to stick from their childhood.
"Only for you." Spartacus laughs, winking. He then becomes serious when he again addresses Hannibal. "Is there anything I can do?"
"Actually, there is. Retrieve Cato from Antonius' daughter. If he requests to know why tell him his Mother requires him. And tell Aunt Ruby that Peeta will be with me for an hour or so," he says. Spartacus nods at the order. He dips his head for goodbyes, dashing back into the party to begin what Hannibal had told him to do.
Peeta gapes like a dead fish. "What just happened and where are we going?"
Hannibal mischievously smiles, twisting and turning through the hallways as if he had no clear direction. "We are going to my room, away from prying eyes. As for what just happened, I'm going to get you what you want. Be prepared for a very possessive and clingy Cato."
"What?"
"You'll see," is all Hannibal says before he pulls both Peeta and him into his room and shutting the door firmly behind them.
Peeta gasps when there are loud footfalls outside the door. It's almost time and he's afraid of what the results are going to be like. He opens and closes his hands around a tuft of the soft blue bed-sheet. Hannibal is next to him, humming softly to himself while playing with Peeta's hair. "Are you positive this is the only way?"
"Of course. Hush now and trust me, cutie," Hannibal soothes and Peeta nods albeit reluctantly.
Thunderous knocking grabs their attention and Peeta knows its time. He transcends into his role, sounding miserable. "Oh, Hannibal, we can't be doing this anymore. I don't love you. You were," Peeta let's out a strangled gasp.
"Are you so sure in your answer, cutie? Was it not you who called for me last night? Begged me for a visit to your bedroom after Cato had fallen asleep," Hannibal tosses back. The knocking has all but disappeared. 'He's listening,' mouths Hannibal.
"I don't recall such a thing," Peeta says meekly.
"Oh, I think you do. Indulge me a little though. I want to know, what shall you do if I leave. There are plenty of other people willing to satisfy me. In fact if you really do intend to deny me, I'll leave right now and have Spartacus take your place." Hannibal chuckles darkly.
"You do not mean that!"
"But I do. You aren't anything special," Hannibal says as he gets up from his seat on the bed, making sure to create lots of noise.
"Hannibal! Wait! I was only kidding I do love you. Just don't leave me," Peeta pleads. A fierce blush rose to his cheeks.
"Now, I'm not so sure. Tell me what you shall do to keep me from leaving you."
"Anything you ask."
"Really?" Hannibal gets back onto the bed, once again creating a lot of noise. "Anything?"
"Yes."
"Then," Hannibal says, almost gleefully, "I want you to call me Master and beg for me to take you back."
"Master, I need you. You don't know how much my body craves your touch. Master, you have to stay, please. For me! I can still do so much for you..." Peeta trails suggestively and moves over to Hannibal. Hannibal grabs him by the waist and plants him on his lap.
"Not good enough, cutie. I think I shall go."
"No, please, Master, what do you want me to do? Whatever you ask it shall be done," Peeta begs. He wonders if Master (Cato), really believed what was happening. If he did, Peeta only hopes that his Master will be merciful when it comes to the next part.
"Hmm." Hannibal pretends to contemplate. "I want you to kiss me."
"Kiss you? Is that all? Do you not wish for something else," Peeta sounds unsure.
"I'm afraid not, cutie. I just want a little kiss today."
"If that is what you wish, Master," Peeta relents. He breathes lightly, knowing he actually had to go through with some of his words. Although Hannibal has thankfully taken the initiative and he promises it will only last a few seconds.
"Groan a little and lower your eyelids," Hannibal mumbles pushing him down on the blue bed. He hovers over Peeta; his knee parts Peeta's jean-clad legs. Peeta does just that, he misses the way Hannibal averts his steady gaze and red colors his face.
"More, Master, more!" Peeta says, sounding needy as hell.
"Only a kiss, cutie," Hannibal says teasingly.
"Fuck the kiss!" Peeta yells. For a moment he's insecure, but Hannibal swiftly nods. He closes his eyes and crashes his lips to Hannibal. His hands tangle through Hannibal's hair bringing the older man closer to him. He can feel the bed rock in a rhythmic motion. Peeta is curious to know what Hannibal is doing to cause that, but he doesn't open his eyes or stop the kiss.
It's Hannibal who pulls away by a hair's breath. "I hope you're hard," he murmurs. Peeta can't even question Hannibal on the meaning of his words. His pants are pulled down to sit just below his bum. And then, Peeta doesn't even know. Hannibal brushes his lips against his own... and he feels himself arching. A lusty, wanton moan escapes him.
"Puppet? Is that you! Are you okay?" Peeta registers his Master's voice through his hazy fog of pleasure he's been thrown in. It does nothing to bring him back down to Earth instead it spurs it on.
"Maaaaaster," Peeta draws out unwilling. What the fuck is Hannibal doing to him? His touches are hard to track. Sometimes their fast, sometimes it's slow, and sometimes he holds him and Peeta whimpers for him to continue his ministrations.
"I'm coming in," His Master shouts from the other-end.
Hannibal swears under his breath, prodding Peeta to wrap his arms around his neck and to pull him down. The red-painted door whooshes open just as Hannibal begins to trail hot kisses down his neck and he still touches him in front of Master.
"Hello, Cato, enjoying the show?" Hannibal taunts Master just as his touch grows impossibly faster. Peeta arches, a feeling he can't describe festers within him. He feels it slip from his fingers yet he fights to keep it.
"Let it go, cutie, come for me!" Hannibal demands. Again, Peeta is unaware of the meaning behind those words but it's his key to release. Peeta's mouth twists into a silent scream. He drops down to the bed, exhausted and slightly confused at the sticky wet puddle in his boxers. When had that gotten there? He had no time to dwell on such a matter, his Master rips him from his internal musings, using his real name.
Uh oh.
"Peeta."
"Yes?"
"Explain."
Peeta gulps.