A/N: Sorry for the wait guys, I've been obsessed with the Mortal Instruments lately and got distracted! :D

Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.

Chapter Eleven

Cato woke up to sunlight streaming in through the blinds, a warm puddle of light spilling out onto the capitol regulation duvet. He stretched his arms over his head and sighed. He was surprised that he had actually slept soundly the previous night. Normally he would have dreamt of the Games, or fighting and killing, or something to that effect, but last night he actually dreamt of Peeta. Which was shockingly odd because it wasn't very often when people he knew would turn up in his dreams if not being killed or being involved in a lustful activity of some sort.

He turned his head to check on the dream intruder, finding him sound asleep on his stomach, soft snores eminating from his sleeping body. Cato propped himself up on his elbow and reached out to softly stroke Peeta's hair. The locks were silky and felt perfect running between his fingers. He stayed like that for a while, just petting the boy's head, watching his sleepy expression carefully. It broke his heart that something so beautiful could be so broken inside.

He trailed his eyes down his back, along the perfect slope of his shoulder blades to the small strip of skin revealed by the way Peeta lay. Huh, he had dimples. How cute. Cato refused to let his eyes dip any further because then it would be tempting his self control-which wasn't the best right now-because the baker had an amazing backside that took a lot not to stare at.

In the end, Cato had to force himself out of bed to stop himself from doing something he'd regret later. Normally he'd do such things without abandon but there was something about Peeta that stopped him from doing so to him. Was it the sparkle in his eyes? The way his lips would quirk up shyly when Cato complimented him? Never in his entire life had the career ever had a relationship so complicated. Then again, it was his choice to chose a virgin, because then he was assured that he hadn't been with anyone else.

Cato decided to take a leave of absence from the room and get a glass of water. He turned a corner down the stainless steel corridor, and paused at the sight of a white board bolted to the wall. Curious as to why a board was nailed to the wall at all, he took a step towards it to examine it. There was something scrawled across it in curly handwriting:

'Because, my dear sweet Peeta, it's your fault I can't talk anymore. It's your fault I can't kiss anymore. It's your fault that I am the way I am now. I'm a bitter woman Mellark and I want revenge. Nice to see you still need a cane. Let me see.
I'm glad to see you've got a reminder of me. How sweet. Remember what I said Mellark, Tribute party tomorrow. Do something big. Don't let Snow down. He hates to be disappointed.'

It had to be Mya. She might not have been the only avox on the floor but she was the only one who knew Peeta's name. What the hell was she doing writing all over a whiteboard though? And what was she talking about? Don't let Snow down? Don't let Snow down with what?

Cato looked over his shoulder and saw a camera perched up in the corner of the ceiling. The lens stared right at the whiteboard, staring him blankly in the face. He was just tall enough to reach it, if he stood up on his tiptoes. The camera resisted to his pulling, but one strong yank made it break free, falling into his hands with a small click. It was a funny contraption; Cato had never seen one before now. There was a pulsing red light beside the lens and a miniature indented hole on the bottom for where it attatched to the arm that kept it perched on the wall.

Clove knew about cameras, her father had been a photographer, and was very clever when it came to how they worked and such. Careful not to wake anyone up, Cato crossed the living area, camera in hand, and knocked on Clove's bedroom door. There was a shuffling of silk covers before a rough groan rang out through the wood. "What!?" Clove snapped.

"It's me," Cato said in a quiet voice.

"What do you want!?"

Sighing, Cato pushed into her bedroom and shut the door. Clove was sitting up on her bed, a pool of pink silk covers around her legs, and her dark hair was a straggled mess of bedhead. Her green eyes were blurred with sleep but she was still able to keep a glare on her face. "Keep quiet, will you? You'll wake up Brutus and Enobaria!"

"What do you want Cato?" Clove hissed. She rubbed her eyes and rested her back against the headboard of the bed. "What time is it?"

"I don't know," replied Cato. He tossed her the camera. "I want you to show me how to see what's on this."

"Why?" Clove asked groggily.

"Because it's urgent."

Clove dropped the camera back on the mattress and lay back down. "No chance," she mumbled through the covers. "Try again at a decent hour." Cato sighed irritabley and pulled the covers off her. His district partner growled and sat back up. "Cato! It's early and there's training today! I don't want to throw a knife and miss just because you're keeping me up at ungodly hours in the morning!"

"Summer of the 65th annual Hunger Games, training in the park, you were pinned to the ground by Sam Reyes who was about to punch your teeth straight out of his mouth because of the fact that you really pierced through his brain with a projectile knife," Cato ryhmed off. "I remember, quite clearly might I add, grabbing the bastard and hitting him before he could hit you. You-now this is something I defnitely remember-were so greatful that you said, 'Oh Cato, thank you, I owe you anything.' Which I still haven't collected up on."

Clove looked horrified. "We were nine!"

"Or, if you'd like, I'll tell people that you used to wear those lime green dresses with the blood red flowers patterned into them and started your sentences with 'Oh'," Cato replied. Clove was glaring at him with renewed anger, eyes blazing in a way that made him think of fire crackling in a fireplace. "Which will it be?"

Clove clenched her jaw. She snatched the camera up and slipped out of bed. She made sure to bump him as she passed before disappearing out the door. Cato followed her back out into the living area. She pulled open a small cupboard underneath the screen that was on the right hand wall. Rummaging around as if she knew the place inside out, Clove produced a long black cable. "I knew they had one of these things around."

"What does it do?" asked Cato.

"If you connect it to the camera like this," Clove murmered, connecting one end into a small hole in the back of the camera and the other end into the back of the screen, "and to this, it connects both of them together and once I click on play on the footage, it will show up on the screen." She looked at Cato with a raised eyebrow. "What is it you want to see?"

"Start off with last night," Cato replied.

Clove brought up the footage from the previous night up onto the screen. Cato stared at the black and white picture of the corner where he found the camera looking, no sign of anything or anyone. But the whiteboard was blank. And that's what pushed him to ask, "Can you forward it until something happens?" Clove sighed.

"Yes," she said. She pressed a button on the side of the camera and the image sped up, the clock in the corner's numbers speeding forward in a blurr. Finally, a red head came into view and she stopped forwarding it. "Is that the avox?"

"Yeah," Cato replied, his eyes locked on the woman as she backed into a dark aclove below the camera. She stayed there for quite a while so Clove started forwarding again until something new happened. Which happened to be the appearance of Peeta. Almost as soon as he'd walked into the lens' view, Mya had lurched forward and slammed him backwards into the wall.

"Oh my god," Clove said, putting the camera down and walking to stand beside Cato to watch properly. As an avox, Mya couldn't speak, so instead she had a marker and the white board that was attatched to the wall.

'You haven't changed. That's annoying. I was hoping you'd be ugly or something, maybe scarred for your life. So, what? I lose my tongue and you're still good looking? Bagged a career and all? That's not luck, that's just rude.'

'Be warned Mellark, I still know Mr. Woods. Mr. Woods still remembers you and still wouldn't mind having you. You watch your step or I might just have to kidnap you in your sleep and get my money from your still awaiting cilent. If you do as I say though, I might just leave you be. Any responses?'

"Mr. Woods?" Clove voiced. Cato was as oblvious as she was, never having heard the name before. But from the threat that Mya had bestowed, it was clear that he was something to do with her slavery community.

'What do I have to do?' Peeta wrote. His face was red from the woman's hand being around his throat but he seemed more concerned of their proximity than he did of her suffocating him.

'Snow put me on your floor on purpose. He knew that if I delievered his messages to you then you'd most defintely listen. Before he makes you do anything drastic, he wants you to up the auntie with your relationship with that hunk from 2. A great deal of the Capitol's attention is captured by sex. You and your boyfriend need to be more sexual toward each other. Kiss in public, let him grab your ass, whatever, just stop being such a pussy and let him do what it's obvious he wants to do. Never mind what I did to you, you can't dwell on that you coward.' She wiped the board. 'There's a tribute party tomorrow to let the Capitol audience get to know the people going into the Games. A lot of t.v watchers are going to be there. It's a great oppurtunity to win them over.'

"A party?" Clove said. "I didn't know they had parties. They mustn't film them."

Cato wasn't focused on that though. He was fuming from what Mya was expecting of himself and Peeta. Could she really expect someone who blushes at the slightest compliment to be more sexual towards someone he still barely knew? In front of the Capitol? It was ridiculous.

They watched as Peeta snatched the marker back and wrote, 'Why do you care about all this?'

'Because, my dear sweet Peeta, it's your fault I can't talk anymore. It's your fault I can't kiss anymore. It's your fault that I am the way I am now. I'm a bitter woman Mellark and I want revenge. Nice to see you still need a cane. Let me see.' She then proceeded to pull up his boxer shorts and ran her fingers over his scar. Clove paused the footage.

"Holy shit where the hell did he get that?!" she exclaimed. "It's huge! I didn't know people in tweleve scarred like that!"

"Doesn't matter," Cato said. He turned on his heel and walked around the couch. "Where is that avox, I'm going to rip her in half." Clove leapt over the sofa and landed on her bare feet in front of him without making a sound, blocking his path.

"You do that and you're getting sent home," she said. "The woman said she was sending messages through President Snow so it's obvious that you'll be in some deep trouble if you don't do what he wants and you kill his messenger." Cato's hands tightened into fists by his sides, his boiling age being unable to shimmer down. Clove was annoyingly right. If he hurt Mya it was most likely he'd get sent home for killing and maiming before the Games.

"I don't understand why Snow cares about our sex lives anyway," he said through gritted teeth.

"Snow is a sadistic man," Clove replied. She took his elbow and dragged him around to the sofa, pushing him to sit down. When he did, she perched on the coffee table in front of it. "Remember when my mother went to the Capitol for a week when we were thirteen?"

Cato nodded. Her mother was the head peacekeeper for their district and sometimes went on offical business trips to the capitol. They were mainly only for a couple of days but that one time when they were thirteen, she had been gone for a week. Clove had to stay at his house after school while her father worked until ten at night, and that was when their friendship had grown the most. Mostly because they shared the mutual desire of winning the Hunger Games and had spent most of the time sharing fighting strategies.

"What about it?" he asked.

"She bought a prositute while she was there." Clove's eyes were locked on the floor, for once unable to look him in the eye. "You know . . . because of my dad's . . . ?"

Abstinence? Cato thought. Clove's parents' relationship had been waning from the moment their daughter was born. Her father started to refuse to have sex with her mother which had aged them both terribly and made their moods as rotten as mud. It was the talk of the District for weeks. Even though 2 was a big place, news travelled like wildfire, and the head peacekeeper's relationship with her husband failing was on of the biggest slices of gossip they'd had in a long time. Clove didn't talk about it that often, if at all.

"Yeah, I know," he said.

Clove nodded. Finally, her eyes flicked up to his. "Do you remember Finnick Odair?"

"How could you forget someone like Finnick Odair?" Cato asked. The guy was a legend among the career packs because of the fact that he still obtained the record of most expensive gift given to a tribute, which was a trident. Apparently he was attractive, Cato couldn't see it that well but maybe if he squinted he was alright looking.

"Okay, well, my mom obviously didn't tell me that she'd bought a prosititute," Clove explained. "I found the receipt in her bedside table-not that I was snooping through her stuff-and a thank you card she was currently writing. The receipt was signed off by President Snow, giving permission for Joy Jettison-my mother-to have the company of Finnick Odair for the night to do as she pleased with."

Cato frowned. Where was she going with this? "I'm not sure I'm following you, Clove," he said.

Clove sighed irritabely but continued on regardless as to how uncomfortable the content was going to make her. "You know how my mom is a sadistic, right? She loves the Games and the blood and stuff well . . . that doesn't stop just when training for the Games."

"And . . . ?"

"She found my dad when she was looking for a masochist to have a fling with. Of course, that resulted in myself being born." Clove shuddered.

"How is this relevant?" Cato asked, confused.

"Because Snow signed her off with permission to do with Odair as she pleased." Her gaze was hard as she stared at him, praying to God that he would not make her have to say it out loud. Cato tried to piece it together, surely she wasn't implying that President Snow let her mother do such things to a victor, right? He took in the hard and disgusted glint in his friend's green eyes and realized that this was, indeed, what she was saying.

"What?"

"He owns us now, Cato," Clove said. "President Snow owns us all. Finnick won his Games and looks beautiful, so Snow sells him off to who he pleases. Our minds, our bodies, our souls even, now belong to the citizens of the Capitol. Even winning the Games won't save us, Finnick's position has made that much obvious. It seems that the audience is interested in your relationship with Peeta. And, if you want him to survive this, then you're going to have to deliver."

"He's a virgin Clove, there isn't much he can do," Cato insisted. "Mya says he has to do . . . well, you saw what she said he has to do. How can someone who can't even bear having someone's eyes on him for two long do that?"

Clove's eyebrows drew together in confusion. "Isn't it obvious?" she asked. "You're going to have to do it for him."

~xXx~

After training that day, when Cato and Clove arrived back on their floor, their stylists were waiting on them, telling them there was a tribute party they had to attend. Cato wasn't sure where Peeta was; his partner had to stay up on their floor while they had been down in the training center. It made Cato wonder whether only tributes were allowed to see such areas as the training space and not those whose lives were definitely secured for the future.

After gritting his teeth through another session with his demented Capitol prep team and stylist, their ridiculous accents curling around his last nerves like electric coils, he was finally, as they had put it, 'ready to be recieved.' Clove was lucky, her stylist was Watt, a cool, calm guy who wasn't crazy at all.

Clove herself actually looked really pretty. Ink black hair tied back into a messy bun, one rebellious lock of hair twisting down the side of her face. Her dress was steely grey silk-the colour of metal-and the sleves were almost transparent, slipping down her arms to leave her freckled shoulders bare. The heels of her shoes weren't too high and matched the colour of her dress. Everything looked expectionally nice bar the expression on her face.

"I hate dresses," she grumbled. "I miss my sneakers."

"You and me both," Cato replied, glaring at the stupid dress shoes on his feet. He'd gotten off luckier than his District partner, having only to wear a normal black suit with small cufflinks in the shape of tomahawks. He supposed it was supposed to be clever but to him it just seemed tacky.

Peeta was waiting on them when they emerged from the corridor into the living room. He was sitting awkwardly on the edge of the sofa, baby blue eyes locked on the floor. Cato took a moment to take in what he was wearing. A black suit whose jacket buttoned up along one side military style, the lapels opened to show off a bright orange tie. The arms of the sleeves and the bottom of the trousers were laded with flames that climbed up his arms and legs. When he shifted-even if slightly-and hit the light right, it sparkled orange, yellow, red and blue. It made him look like he was on fire.

Thankful to see them and having to sit in silence no longer, Peeta jumped to his feet and smiled when they reached him. Looking like on fire or not, his smile was still the brightest thing he had.

"What's with the flames?" Clove asked.

"Since Katniss and Gale were on fire at the Chariot Rides, they said since I'm from the same District that I should be the same," Peeta answered. "It's ridiculous, I know." Cato watched him carefully, wondering how he could hide what had happened earlier with Mya so easily, as if it hadn't happened at all. Up close, he noticed that the baker's eyelids were smudged with grey charcoal, giving them a smokey effect and making the blue of his eyes even brighter. "You guys look great."

"Thanks Peet, you do too!" Clove replied, suddenly a whole lot more affectionate after having since the footage with Mya. She slipped into the elevator first, immediately striking up a conversation with Watt. Cato hadn't noticed he'd just been staring at his claimed partner mindlessly until the boy cleared his throat. "Are you okay, Cato?" he asked.

"Hmm? Oh yeah, I'm fine," Cato said, finally snapping out of his trance. It was in that moment that he noticed there was something different about Peeta. He was staring at him with his eyebrows screwed up, as if thinking deeply about something. He realized then that he was probably trying to think of a way to make themselves more intimate without sparking his curiousity. It save him the discomfort of doing it himself, Cato wrapped an arm around the younger blond's shoulders and held him close. At first, Peeta tensed but then relaxed almost immediately as Cato guided him into the elevator with Clove and Watt.

The party was in a back area outside the training center. Fairy lights were strung up everywhere to light the perimeter and the ground was scattered with what looked like miniuate diamonds. Cato couldn't believe they could throw something so valuable on the floor like it was common dirt. Tributes were mixed in with Capitol citizens, mingling and chatting. Peeta stiffened in Cato's hold, obviously not a fan of having to talk to people.

Thinking on his feet, Cato guided them away from the crowd to a small, quiet area off to the right that blocked the view of the rest of the crowd from behind a pillar. Peeta looked immediately relieved to be out of the prying eyes of the others. It still baffled Cato how Snow expected such a private person to do such public things. Clove was right, it would have to be down to him to make a move at this party.

He quickly racked his mind for something they could do. Something that was big. Magazine articles from back home flew into his mind: scandals of break-ups, make-ups, cheaters and liars, everything that caught the eyes of the population. Every once or twice, Joy-Clove's mom-would bring back a Capitol magazine and it'd be filled with fashion tips and news on various victors, rumours and secrets exposed on the glossy pages of the thin books. One thing that burned into his mind were lovers caught sneaking off into priviate areas during parties to be intimate with each other.

Well, they'd already completed half of that.

Taking the baker by surprise, he pulled him close and folded him into his arms. Cato lowered his mouth to Peeta's ear and whispered in a hushed voice, "I know what you have to do." The younger blond took a shuddering breath and shut his eyes in horror. "Just follow my lead, okay?" He slid his hands down his shoulder blades to rest on the small of his back. "If you feel a tingling sensation down below, it's okay, standard reaction. You ready?" Peeta nodded against his shoulder, already quivering in his arms.

Deciding to go slow at first, Cato tipped Peeta's chin up with his knuckle and gently pressed his lips against the baker's soft ones. Eyes fluttering shut and plump lips parting in a small gasp that drove Cato's libido up the wall, Peeta's arms came to wind almost hesitantly around his waist. Smiling, Cato reached down and secured them around him, a clear message that what he was doing was okay. The kiss increased in intensity as they stood there, it soon becoming a battle over who could win the possession of who's mouth.

Cato, being more experienced than Peeta in the kissing field, inevitabely won, exploring the boy's mouth with fevor and excitement. Peeta's hands pushed up his back and he shivered at the feeling of his fingertips on the nape of his neck. Making a careful decision to see how far he could take it, Cato slid his own hand down past Peeta's back where he softly cupped the boy's behind.

Peeta gasped into his mouth, dropping his cane with a clatter, but instead of pulling away, his hands buried into the career's hair and pulled him closer. His blood pumping in his ears, Cato backed Peeta up against the pillar, losing himself in the lustful haze and forgetting what exactly it was they were doing this for. He tugged on the orange tie until it loosened, single handedly unbuttoning the top buttons of Peeta's shirt to expose his neck, and nipped a trail from his chin to his collar bone with his teeth, the baker's moans of approval the only thing spurring him on.

Groaning when Cato's hand squeezed his backside, Peeta tugged almost viciously on the career's hair, begging for more. Never being one to deprive people of what they want, Cato came him exactly that, and he found himself slinging the boy's leg around his hip so that their crotches brushed against each other's. Silencing whatever noise of pleasure the younger was about to release with a kiss, Cato became fully aware of the fact that they were in a public place, abeit the fact that they did want to get caught by at least one person who would spread it around.

As if remembering this as well, Peeta shut his eyes and counted to ten, calming himself down. Cato was standing impossibly close, and he was hyper aware of the fact that while the career's one hand was gripping his thigh to keep his leg wrapped around his hip, the other still had an amazingly pleasureable hold on his ass. It sent chills of desire up his spine, sending shockwaves through to his heart that caused it to stutter with lust.

They stared at each other for a considerable amount of moments, both of them at a loss of what to say or do to defuse the siutation. They couldn't go back out from behind the pillar, not in the state they were in, and just hoped to god that it had the affect that they'd hoped it would. As Cato reluctantly let the boy go, he tried to think of old grannies in bikinis to deflate his situation . . . down below. It wasn't working well though as all he could think about was how plump and soft Peeta's bum had been in his hands. He slapped himself, which made Peeta's eyebrows shoot to his hairline in surprise.

"What was that for?" he asked in astonishment.

"I can't stop thinking about . . . never mind." Cato slapped himself again. He noticed how quickly the baker had straightened himself out and did a double take. "How did you fix yourself so fast?"

Peeta shrugged. "I thought of Mya."

Oh. Right. Good plan. Cato felt his arousal melting away as he thought of the bitch avox back on their floor. This better have pleased her because it was the best he could come up with on such short notice. Sneaking off at a party to make out?

That was good stuff, right?

~xXx~

It was good stuff.

The next day nearly every Capitol Magazine had the sneak off scandal plastered over their covers. Writers gushing about how cute the 'Peetato' couple were and how it was sweet that they couldn't keep their hands off each other. Some of them had even managed to get photos, which made Cato feel a bit cheap and degraded. He'd informed Peeta of the success but instead of expressing joy at being safe for now, the boy fell silent at the sight of the articles exposing their lives as easily as it would expose a cat being saved from a burning building.

It was obvious what the truth now was.

Clove had said that President Snow owned their minds, their bodies and their souls. Well, it was clear what he now also owned.

He owned their relationship.

A/N: Again, I apologize for the wait. If you haven't read the moral instruments, you really should though. It's amazing and has a yaoi couple that's canon who are perfect for each other! :D :D

Follow me on tumblr: : / / hgtmigirlxx . tumblr

With no spaces obviously. Follow me and I'll follow you back! ^_^

Please R&R! :D