A/N: Thank you for all the wonderful reviews guys! It's much appreciated!
Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games characters.
Chapter Six
Sometimes Peeta feared that when he told Madge that he was going to start staying behind in Mr Hadley's class to try and work for extra credit, she was going to see right through him. It did sound unrealistic, since it sounded like one of those cheesy porn plots. I'm trying to get extra credit. God, he even felt strange saying it. But, if Madge did see through it, she didn't show it.
Having a secret relationship was strange, especially since it was with his teacher. There was always a small feeling of fear that was coupled with constantly going behind everyone's backs, but Peeta didn't mind. Cato had a way of making it all feel worth while. And they did get work done . . . Most of the time.
"You spelt Photosynthesis wrong."
Peeta stared at the computer screen, at the supposed mistake. "No, I didn't," he said.
Cato chuckled. "Yes, you did." He took Peeta's pen and leaned over to point at the word on the screen. "It's 'syn' not 'ysn'."
Oh. He could see it now. Peeta blushed. "Sorry," he mumbled, quickly deleting the word. He corrected the silly error.
Cato shook his head. "No need to apologize, it was an honest mistake," he told him. "But be careful next time. In an exam there might be marks for grammar or spelling. Sometimes even for written communication and how you respond to a question."
Peeta nodded along with his words, taking down notes into a seperate pad he bought for exam technique. He wasn't being a nerd by buying an extra book, he just did it to prove to Madge that he did learn something in the extra credit classes. When he and Cato weren't kissing anyway . . .
So far, instense kissing was as far as the relationship had gotten. Peeta felt bad because he knew he was the one holding them back. It wasn't like he didn't want to go further, he was just nervous about it. And even though Cato said that he understood and didn't mind taking things slow, Peeta knew it was starting to get frustrating for him. It was hard not to notice how the front of his teacher's pants always seemed tighter when they stopped making out, even if said teacher always acted like it wasn't there.
"I need to go and check something in the staff room, I'll be back in a few minutes," Cato told him. He opened up one of the Biology textbooks and flicked to a random page. "Do those questions."
Peeta nodded. "Okay."
When Cato left, Peeta tried to focus on the questions given to him but ultimately couldn't. For some reason Cato was very focused on working today and his brain was fried from the amount of information he'd taken in. He swirled his fingertip around on the touchpad of the laptop before curiously sliding it towards the documents icon. He wanted to look at that list again, to see if he could try and understand what Cato saw in him.
Things had been added to it.
Crystal blue eyes.
Hair like individual threads of gold.
Smooth lips, like two pink rose petals.
Milky white skin.
Meek as a mouse.
Voice as smooth as silk.
Barely says a word.
Most beautiful thing on this earth.
Cute blush stained cheeks, pink as a cherry.
Endearing nibble on lower lip.
Warmest mouth possible.
Peeta felt his cheeks heat up at the last one. Was having a warm mouth a good thing? It had to be, if Cato had put it onto his list. And he didn't nibble his lower lip that much! Only when he was nervous . . . He couldn't say anything about the blush. That happened way too often.
The list ended up the scroller at the side of the document wasn't even half way down. Curious and maybe slightly impertinent, Peeta scrolled down to see what else was written. Below the list, written in bold was DREAM LOG. Did people really log their dreams now-a-days?
Entry Number One:
I'm not sure what sparked this dream but it involved that boy who sits in the fourth row in my Biology class. We were naked and I was fucking him on what I think was my own desk. Strange but not unwelcome, since the boy is pretty hot.
Peeta blinked, re-reading it to see if he got it right. Wow, Cato really had liked him for a while, since that dream seemed to be logged before he even knew his name. Peeta's conscious told him he should be weirded out but the thought of doing . . . well . . . that with his teacher wasn't unappealing. Which took a lot for him to admit to himself.
He scrolled down to a more recent entry.
Entry number Twenty Three:
God, this boy is going to be the death of me. I'm serious, this time he was in one of those sexy school uniform outfits you can get in those costume stores. On his hands and knees, purring, "I've been a bad, bad, bad boy Mr Hadley, what are you going to do to punish me?" I've noticed that in these dreams I am nothing but an observer, I can't do anything. I suppose it's better that way. Since I really want to respect his bounderies.
Peeta felt flustered. Was it hot in the room or was it just him? He looked around, wondering what was taking Cato so long. At least he wasn't around to see him so perplexed and flushed. He couldn't believe that Cato had been thinking about him in that way. Well, he obviously didn't mean to, since these were dreams he was logging.
The last entry was actually about a dream from just the previous night.
Entry number twenty five:
I think it was definitely the date the other day that made me dream this. Peeta was naked, in my bed, swathed in those silk sheets my sister bought me for my twentieth birthday. It was as if he was waiting for me. His eyes were dark, clouded with lust, and his ivory skin was covered in a thin film of sheet. He was moaning and writhing, I think something was pleasuring him. I felt kind of jealous, because it wasn't me making him feel like that and all I could do was watch.
Peeta had never been turned on before in his life, so he didn't know what it felt like. But right now he felt unnaturally hot and he was sure that his face was burning. He quickly clicked off the document and brushed his hair out of his face. God, it was so warm in this room. He had to calm himself down before Cato came back.
His mind kept going back to what his teacher had written. Cato dreamed about him in compromising positions like he described but always hid it. How did he do that? Was the only way Cato could get rid of the frustration the dreams gave him writing them down in a log? Peeta felt like even more useless.
"Sorry I took so long."
Peeta jumped, his heart falling into his stomach and taking a leap up into his throat. He looked at the blank screen where he was supposed to have answered the questions in the textbook. "Uh . . ."
"I got sidetracked talking to the janitor," Cato explained. He sat down beside Peeta again and quirked an eyebrow at the blank page on the laptop. "And I'm guessing the lack of answers here is because of . . . ?"
"Uh . . ."
Cato took Peeta's chin and turned his face towards him. "Are you okay? Your face is all red." A smirk crawled onto his face. "Are you flushed?" he asked, sounding amused.
"No," Peeta said defensively, jerking his chin out of Cato's hand. "It's just kind of warm in here."
"You are flushed," Cato concluded.
"No, I'm not!" Peeta insisted. "It's just a . . . it's just a blush . . . You know, I blush a lot, it's kind of my thing, right?"
Cato chuckled. "There's a difference between blushing and being flushed. Trust me, I know. So come on, spit it out, what is it?" Noticing Peeta's horrified expression, he sighed and raised his eyebrows. "There's nothing wrong with it, so come on, tell me."
Peeta didn't look at Cato, focusing on the computer keys. Really, his teacher's immediate notice towards his flustered state did nothing to help the flustered state. "I'm just warm," he insisted helplessly. "I couldn't focus on the questions because of all the new information I've gotten today."
Cato looked at the computer as well. "Were you hoking around again?" he asked.
"No!" Peeta realized all too soon that he had answered too quickly. His heart was beating like a drum and he worried that this time Cato was going to be annoyed about his nosiness. "I wasn't . . . I just wanted to look at the list again and noticed that you added more and I just . . ."
"You read the dream log, didn't you?" Okay, so he didn't sound annoyed. At least that was something.
"I didn't mean to," Peeta said. "I wasn't being nosy or anything, I was just bored and couldn't resist reading some of it."
Cato laughed. "And that's why you're flushed," he concluded.
"No, that's not it at all, it's just-"
Cato put his thumb over Peeta's lips to stop him mid-sentence. "Did you enjoy reading some of my dreams?" he asked in a low voice. Peeta blushed harder, feeling like a nosy pervert. "You know, in some of those dreams I really wanted to be able to touch you." He tugged Peeta's seat closer to him and kissed his lips.
"You can't kiss me here," Peeta said sheepishly, pushing Cato's face away from him. He didn't want to but knew he had to. "We're in school. What if someone walked in?"
Cato whined. "Just one more," he said, tugging Peeta back to him. The younger boy chuckled but didn't let his teacher kiss him again. Cato sat back. "Tease," he muttered.
"If someone walked in right now, they'd think I was doing something else for my grades," Peeta reminded Cato. "And we'd never do extra credit classes ever again."
His teacher sighed, knowing it was true. "Then stop being so hot," he complained.
Peeta rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "I don't even know what I'm doing to be hot in the first place, can't you tell me what not to do?" he asked. Cato shook his head, as if he had just asked him to explain the meaning of the universe.
"Do the questions," Cato said, distracting himself. Peeta nodded and turned back to the computer, glad to be able to do something productive. While he started working, Cato stood up to start packing his things away. When he was on his feet, he leaned forward so his lips were inches away from Peeta's ear and murmuered in a low voice, "Or I might just have to punish you."
Peeta swallowed the lump in his throat and flushed, his finger pressing into the 'm' key so a long line 'mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm' came out.
A few nights a week, Peeta went home with Cato. If it was anymore than that then his parents would get suspcious at the amount of times he told them he was going to Madge's house. Thankfully his parents weren't the curious type and didn't call up Madge's house when Peeta was supposedly with her.
They had it down to a fine art. Peeta would leave school grounds first, walk until he was a couple of streets away from the building and wait for Cato to come in his car and collect him. It was so no one who were still lingering in the college would see him get into Cato's car. It was nerve-wrecking at first, going to Cato's house. He felt like he was an intruder. It got better, though, as Cato was very insistant on making sure he was comfortable. After that it sort of became a routine. Peeta liked going home with Cato. It was definitely a happier environment than his own home.
"So, basically, I'm planning on working in the bakery until I can get my own job and once I've gathered enough money, one of the first things I'm going to do is move out and buy a piano," Peeta explained, trying to fill the silence in the car that evening. He really wanted to ignore the elephant in the room . . . or car . . . He had gotten flustered. Over Cato. And he knew that that was all his teacher was focusing on.
Peeta talked regardless, not letting Cato get a word in edgeways, knowing that he'd somehow manage to re-direct the conversation to the dream log and the effect it had on him. But he eventually ran out of things to say and when he trailed off, the silence that followed was defeaning.
"So, have you ever kept a dream log?" Cato asked, amusement in his tone.
Peeta squirmed in his seat, fiddling with his fingers. "No," he said. "I didn't know people did that sort of thing anymore."
"Well, I don't really think so either," Cato chuckled. "I only keep a log of the ones I want to remember."
Peeta felt himself blush again, hugging his arms in embarrassment. "I didn't know you thought of me like that," he said. "Well, I suppose there isn't any reason for you not to but I feel kind of silly that I haven't had thoughts like that either. It's supposed to be a standard thing, right?"
"I wouldn't say standard," Cato said. "More like my mind is as dirty as a sewage pipe at the best of times and sometimes, I'll admit, it's hard to just kiss you and not do anything else but, as a man nine years older than you, I respect your bounderies and will not push this relationship any further than what you feel comfortable with."
"So my age is what's stopping you?" Peeta asked slowly.
"Of course not, but it is a factor. Others being that I'm a teacher, you're my student. I never knew if you would have been comfortable trying to expand the boundries a bit and I'd never do something that would make you feel uncomfortable," Cato explained. "Although, it was kind of sexy that you got flustered over my dreams."
"I wasn't flustered!" Peeta protested. "It was hot in the room!"
"Oh yeah, sure it was," Cato replied sarcastically. "So, which one was it?"
"I wasn't flustered! And if I was it would probably be because of a mixture of all the ones I'd read."
"Which ones did you read?"
"Uh . . . 1, 23 and 25."
Cato groaned. "Uh, god, you read 23?"
Peeta shrugged. "It wasn't that bad," he said. "I mean, I'm sure if the school had uniforms then it would be okay. Although the ones from the costume shops wouldn't really be regulation attire, if I was to guess."
"Yeah, I'm sorry. That was one of my shameless dreams. Out of all the ones you could have read, 23 had to be one of them, didn't it?" Cato sighed.
"And you'd obviously have to punish me if I done something wrong . . . Like a detention or something . . ." Peeta continued.
Cato couldn't help laughing. "Yeah, sure, that's the sort of punishment I meant . . ."
"I mean you can't treat me any differently from anyone else," Peeta said. "I'm just wondering what I did in the dream, was I late? You said you had zero tolerance for tardiness, right?"
"I think you're totally missing the point. Which is a good thing, I suppose," Cato replied.
"The point?" Peeta asked. "Wasn't the point that I done something wrong and you had to be teacherly so no one else suspected anything?"
The car pulled up in front of Cato's house. The biology teacher couldn't help snickering, finding the fact that Peeta didn't understand hilarious. Of course, he wasn't going to tell him the truth of what happened in the dream that he decided not to log. The fact that he spanked him for his misbehaviour. Since Peeta would probably misinterpret it and think Cato was examining his backside for a rash or something.
"Sure, that was the point," he said, climbing out of the car. Peeta followed, a couple of steps behind him.
"So I didn't miss the point!" the student said truimphantly.
Boy, you have no idea.
~xXx~
It wasn't that they were addicted to each other, so to speak, but whenever they were alone, in a safe environment, they couldn't keep their mouths off each other. As soon as the door shut behind Peeta in Cato's house it only took about ten minutes before they were kissing again. New relationships were always like that, you see, which Cato knew but Peeta did not.
Kissing Cato never got old and the more they did it, the more Peeta got the hang of it. He knew what drove his teacher up the wall, what he liked . . . what he really liked . . . it really wasn't as difficult as he had always thought it would be. Sometimes all he had to do was bite his bottom lip and Cato wouldn't be able to control himself and would push him against a wall. Not that Peeta minded. Sometimes he even did it on purpose . . .
Knowing for a fact that Peeta had been flustered earlier, Cato decided to test the bounderies. A little bit at first to see how it goes. So while they sat on his couch, making out, he slid his hands down from the younger boy's face to his chest. No protesting, good start. He ventured down further, keeping the pace of the kiss going constantly, letting his hands meet at the small of Peeta's back. His student moaned and leaned closer to him, his hands pawing through his hair and sending shivers down his spine. God, how could someone so much younger than him have such an effect on him?
Well, he had gotten this far, he was going to go all the way.
Cato massaged the roof of Peeta's mouth with his tongue to distract him for a moment. The action made one of those cute, baby animal noises come from his student, which made him smile. Cato then took the opportunity to let his hands slide down and squeeze Peeta's plump behind. The boy squeaked, his grip on his teacher's hair tightening for a moment. Cato internally groaned, almost physically unable to remove his hands from his student's backside (a problem he never thought he would be faced with when he started teaching) because the soft globes felt so perfect in his hands that he just couldn't let go.
Peeta pulled away for air, letting his head fall onto Cato's shoulder. He was definitely flushed now, his entire face pink. Cato felt something pressing into his thigh and he looked down, delighted to see that he had finally managed to turn Peeta on.
Peeta, however, was horrified. "Oh god, I'm so sorry," he said, trying to pull away. "I didn't mean to get so worked up-"
"Hey, it's okay," Cato said, not letting the boy pull away from him. "It's a normal reaction, you're fine." He took the front of Peeta's shirt into his fist and tugged him back to him for a kiss. Because of his 'perdicament' Peeta squirmed uncomfortably, which made Cato chuckle. Thinking his teacher was laughing at him, Peeta flushed in embarrassment.
"Do you want to go upstairs?" Cato asked. "We don't have to." To make the point clear, he moved his hands and cupped Peeta's cheeks. "We'll do what you want."
Something told Peeta that it wouldn't be a good idea to go upstairs. But he didn't want to . . . well . . . stop this . . . whatever this was. Well, they could go upstairs but it doesn't mean that they have to do anything drastic. Peeta was actually quite proud that they had gotten this far and he hadn't freaked out yet. He hoped he was doing okay, for Cato's sake.
"We don't have to," Cato reminded him when the silence dragged out too long.
"No, I was just thinking about it," Peeta quickly said. "Um, okay. We can go up . . . there." He slid out of his teacher's lap and tried to sort himself out a little bit. His shirt had ridden up a little bit and he fixed his jeans so that the perdicament wasn't as noticeable. Cato stood up as well, not as concerned about hiding his problem this time around.
"Are you sure?" he asked.
"Uh . . . yeah," Peeta answered as firmly as he could muster. "I'm sure. I mean, it's not like we're going to do . . . that, right?"
"Oh yeah," Cato replied, taking his hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "It's way too soon for that. You just seem a bit uncomfortable doing all this here and anyway, you look kind of tired."
Peeta hadn't noticed but he was kind of tired. It was late, since they had spent most of their time at the school while Cato finished a couple of things and he did some of the work given to him. But he had never stayed over at Cato's before and he didn't know if he was ready for it yet.
Cato led him up the stairs, not letting go of his hand the entire time. Peeta's blood was pumping in his ears and his legs felt like they were going to give out from underneath him. They went to the end of the hall and Cato went in first, gesturing for Peeta to go in. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he went into the room.
There was a bed pushed against the wall and a small matt in the middle of the floor. Other than that, the room was kind of bare. "Is this your room?" Peeta asked.
Cato laughed. "No, this is the spare room," he said. "I didn't think staying in the same room would be appropriate just yet. This used to be my storage room. But I cleared it out for you."
"F-for me?" Peeta asked, astonished. He looked around the room in amazement. It was bigger than his room at home.
Cato gestured around the room flippantly. "If you want you can bring some of your stuff here. There's a couple of hooks if you want to hang stuff up and there's a wardrobe built into that wall if you want to leave some clothes or pyjamas here. I suppose it's just as well, this room was going to waste."
Peeta ran his hand along the far wall, admiring the paint job. "Wow, I've never had a whole room to myself before," he said quietly.
"Really?" Cato asked, surprised.
"Yeah, I share with my brother Rye," Peeta said. "It gets a bit cramped and sometimes I sleep on the couch because he brings home girlfriends and I'm certainly not going to get any sleep listening to them making out, am I?"
Cato pulled a face. "I wouldn't think so." He watched Peeta move around the room, admiring every nook and cranny like it was all crafted by an angel itself. Really, Cato had thought that it hadn't been that much and had thought that he could have done better. "You know, I had a friend who was a teacher once. She brought one of her students home with her because it was raining outside and she was going to give him a syllabus because he said he'd be interested in taking extra classes. Only the next week he told everyone she molested him. It took years before the courts realized he was lying. It's one of the many occasions that made the rule of teachers not being allowed to be alone with their students come through. Even outside school."
Peeta was silent for a moment. "Well, I wouldn't do that," he said. "Although, sometimes I wonder if people can see through us."
"I doubt they could," Cato assured him.
"It's the whole extra credit thing," Peeta said, a frown furrowing onto his face. "It sounds . . ."
"What?" Cato grinned. "Like you're doing something else for extra credit that doesn't involve work at all?"
"Stop grinning!" Peeta exclaimed. "I'm serious! You don't know what people think!"
"Peeta, babe, no offence but you're too innocent for people to think that you're doing anything other than work," Cato told him. "Sure it probably crosses their mind but I bet they take one look at you and think, Nah, he wouldn't do something like that. I think we're very safe. Just as long as no one randomly appears in my house who goes to the school. And you're the only one from the school who knows where I live."
Peeta smiled. The knowledge that he was the only person who knew where Cato lived from the school made him feel pleased. And when Cato saw him smiling, it was like an infection that he would immediately catch. He smiled back.
"Okay, since you didn't know to bring anything this time," Cato said, "you can borrow some of my pyjamas." He went to the wardrobe and pulled out a white shirt and blue striped pants. "They might be a bit big but I'm sure you'll be fine. As long as they stay on."
Peeta took the clothes and marveled at the size. Not that Cato's clothes were massive but it was much bigger than his because his biology teacher had a lot more . . . well . . . muscle mass than him. "I'm not sure these will stay on me!" he exclaimed.
"Well, you're not going to know until you try them on," Cato chuckled. "I'll wait outside, okay?"
When Cato left the room, Peeta spread the pyjamas out onto the bed. He had always felt strange in other people's houses and he had never liked taking his clothes off in other people's houses either. Maybe it was the alien environment that made him uncomfortable? Just do it quickly. Quickly and it will be over before you know it.
The pyjamas didn't fit him but at least it made them easier to pull on. He knotted up the tie on the pants so it was tight around his waist. The clothes were nice, they smelt like washing powder mixed with Cato's natural scent. Not that he was weird enough to know what Cato's natural scent smelt like . . . Obviously.
A small knock on the door. "Are you decent?" Cato asked.
"Yeah," Peeta said.
"Sorry about the clothes," Cato said when he came back in. "But next time you can bring your own pyjamas." Peeta nodded, pulling the sleeve up to cover his shoulder. It was hopeless, it slipped back down immediately. "What size are you anyway?"
Peeta blushed. "I'm really small," he said. "My mum used to say I was never going to get a man because I had a feminine figure and no gay man would want that."
"Wow, your mum sounds like a wonderful woman," Cato muttered.
"She is," Peeta insisted. "She can just be very . . . offensive . . . sometimes . . ."
Cato shook his head. "There's nothing wrong with your figure," he said. "In fact, sometimes people would rather go for a man with a feminine figure."
Peeta blushed harder. He touched his cheek with his hand and scowled at the heat that was coming from his skin. "Really?" he asked.
"Trust me," Cato said. "You've got a lovely figure." He captured Peeta's lips in a kiss, cupping one of his cherry stained cheeks in his hand and holding his face close to his own. He could swear that he felt the skin warm up even more under his hand. Cato wondered if he was flustered again. The thought was cute.
Peeta pushed up on his tiptoes to deepen the kiss and pushed his hands through Cato's hair. He was getting better at it, Cato noticed, and he didn't pause too much to think over what he was about to do before he did it. It seemed that the social anxiety wasn't as bad when they were together, like it was put on pause. Sure, sometimes he'd blush or stutter or have to pop a tablet or two into his mouth but it wasn't as bad as it had been at first.
Cato let his hands rest on Peeta's hips, pulling him a bit closer. It was at times like these were he wondered if he should feel weird that he was kissing one of his students. Who was staying over in his house. Dressed in his pyjamas. Like it should feel wrong. Cato guessed that if it was anyone else, it would probably feel wrong. But nothing ever felt wrong with Peeta.
"Do you like the room?" Cato asked, reluctantly pulling his head away from Peeta's.
"I love it," Peeta said, relieved that he didn't have to worry about sharing a bed with Cato. Not that he didn't want to share a bed with Cato but just . . . not right now. It was a scary thought. It terrified him. Not in a bad way . . . more in the way of fearing the unknown.
"And if there's any problems through the night, just come and get me," Cato said, gesturing at the bed. "My room is two doors up."
"Right," Peeta nodded. "Got it." They stared at each other. Peeta tried to guess what shade of green Cato's eyes were exactly but couldn't. It was like they were a shade of their own. He desperately wanted to try and replicate it with his paints. What would he have mix? Some blues and other greens? It may take a while but when he got home he was definitely going to try.
Cato pressed on last kiss against Peeta's lips and smiled brightly. "Night," he said, heading for the door. "See you tomorrow."
"See you tomorrow," Peeta replied, perching uneasily at the edge of the bed. When the door shut behind Cato, he sighed, unable to believe that he was staying at his Biology tutor's house. Was this supposed to be wrong? Why was it wrong? It didn't feel wrong at all . . .
Not even a little bit.
A/N: I'm just going to clear up that they're not moving in together, that would be a bit strange for only knowing each other for a couple of months. No, Peeta is just staying over in Cato's house and he has his own room (:
Please R&R! :D