Thank you to those who reviewed! It means a lot to know you're still with me and invested in this story! Here is the next Chapter. There is some stuff going on here that probably wont make sense until many chapters from now, but boy is it fun to lay the groundwork for things that will pay off later! Happy reading.

Ch. 7- Pomp and Circumstance

"We can do this. I know it. You and I, we can do anything."

Cato was spooning Peeta in bed; he was the little spoon tonight, which he preferred. That way Cato couldn't see his face, couldn't read the doubt and conflict playing out across it like a war. He wasn't as confident as Cato, wasn't as sure of their capabilities or that he even wanted it anymore.

No, Peeta didn't doubt them—their relationship—just whether he would be content to get through the Victory Tour and live the rest of his life in District 2 anymore. The whole reason they were even here, alive and on this train, was because of Peeta's drive for change. He was over the downtrodden existence and suffering inflicted on him in District 12 and so he volunteered. Then things snowballed until he was more than just a tribute from the coal mining district. He was a symbol for change. The Capitol had created the mockingjay, just like Peeta, and, like the mockingjay, he in turn defied their control, becoming something completely unintended.

What was the right choice anymore? Peeta didn't know.

"We'll trick Snow. We'll trick the people of Panem too, I know it!" Cato growled in Peeta's ear and shook his body in his large arms.

"Maybe…" Peeta breathed out lightly. He didn't want to contradict him, but he also could not agree so vehemently as him.

"No maybe about it," Cato grunted out.

"Of course." Turning in his arms, Peeta faced Cato and planted a soft kiss to his lips. "Sleep now. We'll be in Four soon."

Peeta was beginning to worry for Cato. The longer they had been reunited the more Peeta had seen how frayed he's become during their separation. Peeta wondered what else had happened to him to make this change. He just wanted to give Cato some stability for the duration of the trip, so he played along and hid his misgivings.

The next morning the train arrived in the coastal district of 4. The whole trip so far had been filled with sceneries he had never seen nor imagined in his wildest dreams, but this had to top it all. Peeta had never seen the ocean before, and it knocked his mind for a loop. It was so huge! So blue, seemingly endless. And with the sound of the crashing waves joined with the smell of salt on the air made the scene exhilarating. There were white sand beaches and towering palm tress bent crooked from endless wind. He wondered what it must have been like to grow up in a district like this; it might almost be easy to forget the Capitol's oppression. Almost.

They had gone through so many districts already and Peeta had witnessed so much, beautiful scenery and human suffering in equal measure. But most of all he had seen the discontent simmering just beneath the surface in poverty-ridden districts like 11, 10 and 8. They had defiance in their eyes that lit up with hope when they saw him. A rebellion was building full steam ahead just like the train he rode, all because of him. If he didn't stop it, people would die. If he did stop it, people would still die and nothing would change.

The Mayor of 4, a burly woman, greeted them at the train depot to take them on a tour of the district. It was by far Peeta's favorite, even though he feared the water for his lack of swimming instruction. Huge vessels, ships—something he'd never seen before—lined the docks of the seemingly endless marina. A sharp rancid smell hit his nose near the vessels and he was told that was the smell of fish. Their biggest production in the district was fishing.

After that they were taken to the Justice Building for the speeches and feast with the Mayor. Since the fiasco at 12, they had all their speeches pre-written to be as mundane and pro-Capitol as possible. Yet every time Peeta stepped towards the microphone, he saw the show producers on the sidelines tense, ready to shut his mic off at a moment's notice of dissent in his speech. But that wasn't going to happen. He had learned his lesson. No more blood would be on his hands this trip. The faces of the crowd too often reminding him of the faces he left behind in District 12, fates unknown.

The hardest part of the tour had to be facing down the families of the tributes who had died. Even with the ones he hadn't killed, he still felt a gut-wrenching guilt when he stood before them on the stage. He was alive and they weren't, it wasn't fair to flaunt such things in their face. Rue's family was a particularly hard one to face down, knowing how close Katniss had grown to her. He wished he could have done something more for them, but in the end all he had been able to do was slip them a small satchel of coins he brought with him from home. Hopefully they understood the message he was trying to send.

Seeing the boy from 10's family who Peeta had killed was another hard one. But 4 was going to be the worst by far; both tributes had died because of him. Uphelia from the tracker-jacker's nest Katniss dropped on them so he could escape and Stasson, obviously.

Stasson's family stood off to the far corner of the stage and Peeta realized that Stasson's menacing demeanor was an inherited family trait. They all looked like bloodthirsty brutes and their laser-like stares of contempt pricked at Peeta's skin. One woman in particular stood out. She had a swarthy tan complexion and shoulders as broad as Stasson's littered with black markings—tattoos, Peeta later learned. Her short cropped hair was black and hung in thick angular sheets across her face. Only one eye was visible, but the beetle-black orb contained more malice than the rest of the family's combined. Peeta felt a chill from the look of it despite the tropical climate of the district.

The rest of the districts followed suit in the same manor. A short tour, an event at the town center with scripted speeches, and then a banquet with the Mayor and any other important people. Save for 2, which they skipped over to save for the end. The closer they got to the Capitol the more Peeta began to worry it wasn't enough, that whatever they did they were still damned and President Snow was going to exact his revenge on Peeta. He couldn't kill him outright, but he could make his life a miserable hell by taking it out on those he loved. The president was a shrewd man and would know that Peeta's capacity for love left him with multiple vulnerabilities.

"Chin up," Portia pushed with a slim finger against Peeta's chin before retouching some make-up in the light. "I ask for a subdued smolder and I get a brush-fire smoke."

She shook her head at the prep teams work, her cocoa brown hair—ironed straight—swung about her head playfully.

"You're the boy on fire, but not literally." She smiled to herself at a joke Peeta didn't seem to be in on. He didn't seem to be in on most of the things that occurred in his life anymore. Everyone else was content to make the decisions for him, without any consultation. At times it could be the most infuriating, but Portia didn't bring about that reaction in him. He trusted her implicitly.

They were once again staying in the Training Center, and it felt weird to be back and not as a tribute for the games. He had first visited the healthcare facilities in the basement earlier while Cato was styled for tonight. The doctors checked on Peeta's pacemaker and fully healed his bullet wound with some device that emitted warm radiating light. It stung briefly as the flesh stitched back together before his eyes. It was like magic to Peeta. If only such technology were available to those in the Seam.

Now he fingered lightly at the spot where he had been shot, pressing in on it and feeling nothing. No sharp pain or tough scar, just the dull pressure of his fingers. So many important life events left scars on his body and yet there was now no remnant of it left, washed away by the Capitol. They determined their history.

"Peeta, my boy, what's the matter?" Portia asked. Her hands worked in quick deliberate movements as she pulled Peeta's hair together before she took a step back to stare at him with her warm brown eyes. Peeta wished desperately that he could confide in her. But they were in the Capitol now.

"Just a little nervous about the proposal I guess."

It was a kind of truth and it felt safe to voice. He hoped. Portia smiled knowingly and squeezed his shoulder.

"You and Cato are something special. It's hard when you're so young and after what you've been through, it's understandable to feel a little lost. No one can truly know what you've been through. The feelings you have are overwhelming and you have yet to gain the experience to know how to deal with them. But I have no doubt that when the time comes you will know what the right choice is."

Peeta wasn't sure if they were still talking about the impending engagement anymore or something else entirely, but Portia seemed to know from experience what she was talking about. Something played across her face—an emotion he couldn't quite place—that seemed to indicate choices of her own had been made.

"Thanks, Portia."

Peeta stood and hugged her close.

"Careful. You're suit, we don't want to wrinkle it now," Portia warned, pulling free of the hug and setting back to work on styling Peeta for tonight's interview.

The interview with Caesar Flickerman went as expected. He wore a midnight blue suit and matching hair, eyeliner and lip stain. He guided Peeta and Cato expertly through a laundry list of questions—how they kept the love alive in separate districts or what hobbies they had taken up in their now endless spare time. The Capitol audience rode a wave of emotions emphatically before them as they answered the questions posed. Then the time was upon them.

"Wonderful, absolutely wonderful! Now do tell, what are your plans for the future? We're all just dying to know what's in store." Caesar asked.

Peeta turned in the love seat to look towards Cato as he cleared his throat and scooted forward, to the edge of the couch.

"Well Caesar, since you asked, there has been something I've been thinking of doing." He smiled captivatingly for the cameras. A few women swooned audibly.

Caesar leaned forward, playing along to draw up the anticipation.

"Oh yes? What is it?"

Cato slid from the love seat in one fluid motion to crouch on bended knee before Peeta. The audience gasped. Caesar even displayed an uncharacteristic emotion of sincere shock. Then Cato proposed and the audience lost their minds in riot of excitement and happiness. There was no ring to give, but the sentiment was the same. Shots from around Panem revealed equal bouts of happiness as crowds gathered in their town squares to watch the required Victory Tour interview. It was overwhelming to know that their engagement, their relationship, could evoke such strong reactions, and that they moved a whole country. Peeta accepted of course, although it all felt less than genuine. It was just for show. It was just to prove to the people of Panem and the Capitol that they really were just two men crazy in love.

After the engagement, they were then escorted to a gold encrusted car that drove them to Snow's mansion. It was time for the feast.

The palace was enormous, more than capable of fitting District 12's town square inside of it two times over. Multicolored lights and lasers danced across its façade in a spectacular display as welcome. Inside the grounds were floods of citizens making their way inside to one of the biggest parties of the year. All were dressed in their finest outfits, many of which incorporated elements of fire.

Effie Trinket, bubbling over with excitement for the festivities, led them through the entrance of the two story double doors and to the banquet hall where the feast was laid out. Banners hung from the ceiling in black and yellow, the colors of their respective districts and fires danced on stone pedestals that lined the hallway leading to the banquet hall. Multiple bands were positioned around the floor and the room was big enough that the sounds never clashed. The glass-paneled ceiling above them revealed the moon's light and refracted glittering sparkles across the room like diamonds cut into the black marble floor.

It was more extravagant than anything Peeta had witnessed in his life. Cato even laughed at the absurdity of it all. Haymitch quickly disappeared in the crowd, probably off towards the table with water fountains of different liquors.

"Do enjoy yourself boys, tonight's your night!" Effie said before departing, off to bask in her own glory no doubt.

Cato's handler and Lyme slunk off towards the tables piled with endless amounts of gourmet foods. Peeta didn't know where to start.

"Shall I get you a drink?" Cato offered, a true smile playing across his lips.

"Sure. Nothing neon in color though, I'd rather not glow in the dark when I urinate tonight."

Cato laughed as he moved off towards the fountains where Haymitch was last seen. There was a line of bathrooms along one wall where people were already waiting. Peeta watched as each slipped inside with a small vial of some concoction in their hand.

"It's a drink to make one purge."

Peeta spun on the heel of his excessively polished dress shoe to face the newcomer. He was an overly round fellow with pale blonde hair flattened across his head and a mustache that twisted out from his face as if trying to make an escape.

"Purge?"

"Yes, so they can continue eating and drinking more." The man supplied with a roguish twinkle in his eye. He held himself with a great air of importance and seemed to regard those around him with immediate lesser value, save for Peeta, whom he was talking to at the moment.

"That's awful."

"Perhaps, but 'tis the way things are done." The man then extended a meaty palm to shake Peeta's hand and—if Peeta were to be honest—he thought the man himself would do well to take advantage of the purging concoction. He slowly took the hand proffered to him by Plutarch to shake.

"Name's Plutarch Heavensbee, the new Head Gamemaker."

"What happened to Seneca Crane?" Peeta asked bluntly, unimpressed by the title he bandied about with seeming glee at its emblematic power.

"He was… disposed of… after his improper handlings of the game last year. Not many wanted to step up after him, it is a lot of responsibility. But I graciously took the mantle."

Plutarch seemed quite pleased with himself, but Peeta was busy digesting the newest nugget of information given to him. Seneca Crane must be dead; it seemed the only likely explanation. Someone would need to pay for allowing Peeta to cheat the games.

"Anyways, I just wanted a chance to introduce myself to the famed boy on fire. The committee's been quite busy planning the third Quarter Quell for this year," he paused to sip from the crystal flute in his hand, pinky raised in an annoying fashion. "I think you will find it quite explosive."

Peeta was intrigued. He wondered now that since he was someone of importance to the Capitol high society, if he could use it to his advantage to gain insights, like what this year's Quarter Quell would be like. He wasn't alive for the last one, but the horrors of it still lingered in the memories of his parent's generation. Haymitch had won it, but at a terrible cost. There seemed to be nothing left inside him to live for and he never shared his experience.

"What do you have planned this time, if I may ask?" Peeta tried for charming even throwing on a begging smile for good measure.

"Oh ho! You'll see soon enough!" Plutarch teased before turning suddenly serious. "I must be leaving soon…"

Then he pulled from the inner pockets of his viridian blazer a gold pocket watch to look at the time.

"It begins at midnight." He said.

Peeta wasn't sure what he was talking about, but before he could voice his question, Plutarch leaned into Peeta's personal space and flashed the pocket watch at him. Peeta noticed it was no ordinary time-telling device. For the faintest of moments a hologram of a mockingjay seemed to blaze across the surface of the watch. Then it was gone as quickly as it appeared, a trick of the light perhaps?

"Even when it's hard, listen to your true heart. It will never lead you astray." Plutarch warned before he stepped to the side of Peeta, leaving him among the crowd, truly puzzled by what just played out before him.

Cato returned moments later holding two glasses filled with a pale gold liquid that smelled of cinnamon and cherries.

"Who where you just talking to?" He asked, passing one of the glasses to Peeta.

"Just the new head Gamemaker. He's… an interesting man." Peeta scanned the crowd, but was unable to spot him.

Cato was starved, so they made their way over to the banquet tables and indulged in the many fine delicacies available to them. Peeta particularly enjoyed the marinated skewers of meat and the sweet melon cobbler. There was too much to choose from and no way he could try everything he wanted, but he would never take the purging liquid just so he could enjoy more food. It was repulsive to even think of such an action when people were starving this very moment in his home district. The very thought of such things happening while the Capitol partied to excess made the food in Peeta's stomach turn to stone.

Throughout the night, various groups would come up to them to gush about their romance or to just try and get a hand on them. At many points during the night, young women and even a few men swarmed Cato, desperate for his attention. At one such point was when a pair of ice blue eyes locked onto Peeta's and held him captive. He could practically feel them worming their way into his brain and forcing him forward. Peeta's feet moved towards the icy stair with out his volition. Internally, Peeta's heartbeat spiked with anxiety at the impending moment of truth. This was it. This was when Peeta would find out whether all their planning and carefully crafted speeches paid off. We can do this… we can do anything. Cato's words sounded out of the darkness of his mind and Peeta knew this would be the ultimate test of those words. Could they do anything together?

Finally Peeta's feet came to a stop before the President. Two Peacekeepers guarded his flank on either side like stone carvings. He wore a crisp white suit with gold inlays along the seams and the edges of his cuffs. A white rose cut at full bloom protruded from the breast pocket of his blazer. The sickly sweet smell of it stabbed at Peeta's nose and he was reminded of the smell of blood it worked to hide.

"Are you enjoying your time here Peeta?" Snow asked with a wicked smile on his blood red lips. It taunted Peeta, daring him to talk back, but Peeta swallowed the defiant urge.

"Yes, it's all very… enjoyable." Peeta turned the word back on him with a vacant tone.

"I am glad." He wasn't. "That was quite a moving proposal, I must say." Snow spoke slow and delicately, but every word that came out of his mouth lacked the authenticity of real emotion. This whole interaction was for show. They were in public after all. "The audience seemed ever so convinced of your love for each other."

"And you?" Peeta asked before holding his breath. They had arrived at the point of the conversation rather fast. Snow's icy eyes crinkled just the slightest.

"I have no doubt of the love you two hold for each other," He said and Peeta began to release his breath when Snow continued. "But as for your other… motivations. Well, lets just say I remain unmoved. It shall be interesting to see how your marriage plays out from separate districts. I shall be rooting for you two."

Suddenly there wasn't enough air in the whole of the ballroom for Peeta to breathe. He was suffocating in silent agony before hundreds of witnesses. President Snow watched him closely as Peeta worked to compose himself internally, to pretend like the world wasn't crumbling around him. He cleared his throat.

"I thank you for your hospitality tonight, Mr. President."

Peeta bowed in spite of Snow and moved to make his departure when Snow made a sound in his throat. A signal he was not done just yet.

"You are very much welcome, Mr. Mellark. I know you tried your hardest. You may not have completed what was asked of you, but I know in the end you will help the Capitol complete its goal. Willfully or not…" A wicked look of bloodlust slid back across his face trying to pass for a smile. He leaned forward and spoke with the utmost of delicacy, "Now do enjoy the remainder of your time with your fiancé."

He straightened back up and turned his head to look off in another direction, signaling he was now done. Peeta gathered what air he could in his lungs and walked back to where he left Cato. He had tried to keep from letting hope leach into his mind as they moved through the tour for just this reason. He knew it was a slim chance that Snow would let them live together happily ever after, but it still hurt deeper than he expected. It was as if Snow had gutted him before all the revelers and now he had to walk back in agony, carrying his bloody remains, to Cato and share the news.

"Peeta! There you are!" Cato said, rushing to his side and taking Peeta's hand. He jerked him in a rush towards the dance floor in front of one of the bands, eager to escape his groupies and unaware of Peeta's off-kilter disposition. "Where'd you run off to?"

"I was…" Peeta wasn't sure how to say it. Then Cato took Peeta's hands and wrapped them around his waist before doing the same with his. "It doesn't matter."

Cato seemed to accept his non-answer. They stepped and swayed slowly to the music, wrapped close in each other's arms. Peeta planted his head against Cato's chest and breathed in his warm and spicy scent. He was not sure he could bring himself to tell Cato what had just happened with Snow. They only had so much time left together and he didn't want to ruin the mood. He just wanted to live in the moment, together with Cato, absorbing everything he could before it was all taken away again.

They stayed on the dance floor for a while longer. The music may have changed in tone, but they never pulled apart from each other to change their dance style to match. The floor grew crowded with more and more people joining to dance in front of the band. Their choices apparently dictated what was popular for the night. The bug-like pods of the cameras followed them through their dance, capturing video of their display of love to be broadcast over Panem. No matter what they did they were under constant scrutiny.

Around two in the morning the party was still raging forcefully and showing no signs of stopping, but both Peeta and Cato were ready to head back to the training center and their room. Their chauffeur was waiting for them out front, probably having never left, and took them back to the training center.

When they were in the elevator Peeta suddenly had an idea and pressed the button for the 13th floor instead of 2. Cato looked at him questioningly but said nothing.

The rooftop was the same as Peeta remembered. They exited the domed room and moved around the roof towards the garden. It was still decorated with its various potted flowers of creamy whites and trees that were in constant bloom. The air had the perfumed smell of vanilla Peeta remembered so well.

"What are we doing up here?" Cato asked.

But Peeta just shook his head and pulled Cato's hand in his as he guided him towards their bench and the tree under which they shared their first kiss. It was after midnight, but Peeta couldn't help but play the lyrics in his mind of the song that propelled him forward into the beginnings of a rebellion.

Strange things did happen here

No stranger would it be

If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree.

"I love you, Cato."

Cato looked at Peeta with surprise in his amber eyes.

"And I love you."

Peeta nodded, struggling to catch his breath underneath Cato's probing gaze. God, he doesn't even know what he does to me, Peeta thought, but I hope to make him. Then he lowered down on one knee before Cato, holding both of his hands between his smaller ones. Cato's sucked in a loud breath.

"I know you already did this," Peeta began with a small chuckle before turning serious. "But that wasn't real. This is. Cato Ryves, you taught me how to love. You saved me from a trivial existence. I can't—" Peeta almost choked up, so many emotions were swelling up inside him that he felt lost to himself. His true motivations buried beneath his need to have Cato as his, even if just for a little while longer. "I can't imagine my life today without you having been in it. So will you give me the honor of your love for the rest of our lives? Will you marry me?"

"Yes, yes, of course Peeta." Cato replied gruffly, stifling his own emotions as he pulled Peeta up and into a passionate embrace.

It felt like a different time as their kiss deepened. Peeta was swept back to a time when this was all new to him and it was all desperate touches and wonder, the thought that they may never have this again after the games heavy on their mind. But here they were, back under the tree where it all started, reclaiming their love for one another, even if it was all for naught.

Cato broke free from the kiss and Peeta groaned in displeasure.

"One second," He panted, then disentangled himself from Peeta and moved to grip a branch from the tree they stood underneath.

"Don't tell me you're going to throw a branch over the edge to impress me?"

Cato barked out a laugh at the memory of his showy attempt at flirting.

"No, not this time."

Then he broke off a particularly springy branch, which he proceeded to strip it of its bark in long quarter-inch wide strips. Peeta watched in awe as Cato fashioned two knotted rings out of the pliable young bark.

"Give me your hand."

Peeta held out his left hand as Cato slid the makeshift ring on his ring finger. Peeta did the same in return for Cato.

"Now we're properly engaged," Cato said.

"I love it." Peeta beamed proudly, leaning up to press a kiss against Cato's soft pink lips. "And you."

The kiss began to grow in passion and urgency as their hands roamed the contours of the other's body. It had been far too long since they did something like this with Peeta's wound prohibiting it during the Victory Tour. But now he was healed and their inhibitions quickly crumbled as their bodies molded together as one.

Cato unleashed a throaty groan into Peeta's mouth when his hand slipped between their bodies to grope his manhood. Peeta's head swam with a heady lust he hadn't felt in far too many months as he fingered the already rock hard length of Cato. His memory had made it out to be bigger than it really was, but the solid length of it in his hand was better than any daydream he'd had about Cato in their long separation. He nipped at Cato's lip and then dove back in with the fervor of a starved man. He had been deprived of this for far too long.

Peeta released needy little grunts as Cato picked Peeta up in his arms and came to rest him against the trunk of their tree. Their groins were now perfectly slotted together as they rutted against the other's hard length in a fiery passion.

"Oh god, I've missed this," Cato groaned, leaning his head back as Peeta dove in to bit and lick along his muscular neck. Peeta paid particular attention to the pulse point on the side of his neck, laving it with the flat edge of his tongue before moving up towards his ear and biting down on the fleshy lobe. "Ah!" Cato growled out in pleasure and pain, his hips stuttering against Peeta's.

"Off, now!" Peeta demanded, pulling persistently at the blazer stretched taut against Cato's back. There were too many layers between them and not enough sense between the two of them to take them off calmly or think of going downstairs to their bed. It was now or never.

Peeta flung Cato's blazer over his shoulders and off his back. Cato pulled back, only slightly, so Peeta could be set back against the ground. Then they both began tearing at their clothes like men on fire, desperate to rid themselves of the burning articles. Once Cato was shirtless, Peeta froze in the process of undoing his pants to stare. It was a sight he never got tired of, the rugged muscles of his chest. He licked his lips and reached a hand out dragging his nails down over Cato's chest and abdomen. Cato hissed and Peeta lunged forward to soothe the red marks with his tongue.

The cool wind whipped across the roof and set Cato's nipples on edge, drawing Peeta's attention to those. Cato, suddenly unable to wait a moment longer, gripped Peeta's shoulders tightly and pulled him to the ground atop their pile of shirts, vests and blazers. He then tore into Peeta's pants, popping one of the buttons off before slipping them halfway down his thighs and then diving in to envelope Peeta's rigid member in the hot suction of his mouth. His jaw line looked vividly obscene as he accommodated Peeta's girth.

Peeta cried out into the night air, throwing his head back in ecstatic pleasure. Cato used one hand to work his shaft in time with the rise and fall of his sinful lips while the other wormed its way between his thighs to brush against his hole. Cato, Cato, Cato, was all that ran through Peeta's mind as the warmth and unrelenting suction of Cato's velvet mouth brought him exquisitely close to the edge in no time flat.

A finger slipped inside Peeta with surprising ease and a startled gasp escaped Peeta's lips. His eyes shot open as a second finger joined the first and they crooked inside him, finding that pleasure spot that made him whimper like a wounded animal. It was too much, the mouth on his cock and the hands working in and out of him in a perfect rhythm.

Then the hand inside Peeta withdrew and moved to between Cato's legs, quickly undoing his belt and pants before pulling free his weeping cock. Peeta leaned forward to touch the member he'd been denied for so long. He moved his hand up and down along the soft pink flesh of his penis before swiping the pre-cum from the tip and bringing it to his lips where he licked it clean. Cato watched him from his position, with his lips still around Peeta's cock, and growled fiercely at the display, the vibrations playing out exquisitely along his cock and reaching up his spine to cloud his brain with even more hazy lust.

"Peeta, I need you, now." Cato moaned when he pulled off Peeta's cock with a wet pop.

"Then take me," Peeta demanded as he twisted over onto his hands and knees, baring his smooth round ass to Cato. It was his for the taking. Always.

Peeta heard Cato spit into the palm of his hand and then felt the dull pressure of his lover's penis pushing against the entrance of his ass. He bore down on it and then jolted as it suddenly slid in to the base.

"OH, fuck!" Peeta cussed, having forgotten what it felt like to feel so full. He needed more of it, afraid if he didn't get it now it would be lost to him, and ground back against Cato, not caring that he wasn't properly adjusted yet. "Cato, I need you, please."

Cato began pumping in and out at an excruciatingly slow pace. He bent forward and Peeta felt as the large muscles of Cato's chest came to rest against his back. His hips picked up the pace, slowly building, the white-hot pleasure pooling in the pit of his stomach as Cato panted against his ear, "I'm here, Peeta, fuck. You're so tight. Damn, I've—I've missed this so much."

Peeta braced both his hands on the wooden bench before him as Cato began to piston in and out of him. Their skin slapped against each other wet with sweat, the wind whipping over their bodies and cooling it as their insides overheated with pleasure and need and uninhibited lust. Everything that had been trapped inside of them, all the want and longing and pain of the separation, finally released in the throb of Cato's cock deep inside Peeta. Peeta cried out in pleasure, Cato's hand wrapping around him unexpectedly and pumping him twice before his seed spilled all over their jackets in thick, ropey pulses.

They collapsed in a heap—Cato atop Peeta's back—on the ground. Peeta could feel the semen on the jackets against his chest and the wild beat of Cato's heart against his back. He twisted so that he could look into Cato's eyes one more time. Then he kissed his fiancé with the last of his passion before he was completely spent.

At some point Cato gathered their things and moved them down to their room, but Peeta was too wiped out to be of much help. Once cloaked in the warmth of the plush bed and Cato's strong arms he drifted off to sleep, a deeply satisfied smile on his face. The looming problems of the past night forgotten to him as he allowed himself this one moment of true happiness.