A/N: Wow, the response to this has been amazing! Thank you guys for your lovely comments!

I've decided to post a chapter every Monday, to give myself more time to write. The same goes for Puppet Strings. Whenever the next update is posted will be the day it will always be posted for the rest of the duration of the story. It lessens the pressure to update in my eyes if I let you guys know when to expect another chapter :-)

Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.

I apologize for any typos!

Chapter Two

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

Urgh, why was his head thumping? Peeta nuzzled his face into the pillow to ward the pain away, internally swearing to never drink again. The pillow felt weird. Definitely not the cheap knock off cotton sheets Katniss bought him for Christmas. These were soft and silky, certainly not something he could afford on his own. Hold on, then what was going on?

Forcing his eyes open and blinking through the haze of sticky sleep and tangled eyelashes, Peeta found himself in a room that wasn't his own. His head felt heavy but he hauled himself up to sit upright on the bed. He examined his surroundings in awe. This was definitely not his room. It was too extravagant. Was he dreaming? Peeta discreetly pinched himself. Nope. Besides, who would dream up a hangover? Speaking of the hangover. Peeta groaned and rubbed his temples irritably. God, who in their right mind would do this every weekend by choice? It was mad! The pain wasn't worth the high and from what Peeta remembered from the previous night, he had gotten no high what-so-ever. Then again, he should have known that. He was a depressing drunk.

"Woken up, I see?"

Peeta jumped in shock, surprised to find Cato standing in the doorway of the room, an amused smirk on his face. "Oh my god, don't shout like that," Peeta said, squeezing his forehead between his thumb and forefinger.

Cato chuckled. "Hangover?"

"Huge one," Peeta replied. He looked back up at Cato and blinked. "Where am I, exactly? Is this your place?"

Cato looked around as if seeing it in a whole new light suddenly. "Yeah, it is. You passed out and fell into your own vomit last night so I carried you back here. I would have taken you home but there's the little snag that I have absolutely no idea where you live."

Mortification threatened to swallow Peeta whole and his face heated up in embarrassment at the idea of his passing out into his own sick in front of this insanely attractive guy. It was then that he realized that if he passed out into his sick-as Cato said-then he had probably gotten his clothes covered in it too. Looking down, Peeta realized with increasing horror that he wasn't wearing anything other than his underwear. His eyes shot back to Cato, who didn't seem at all bothered by the fact.

"Where are my clothes?" Peeta asked.

"Drying off. Do you really think I was going to put you to sleep in my Armani sheets while you're covered in sick? I may be kind but I'm not that kind," Cato replied. He leaned against the doorframe and made no attempt to hide the fact that his eyes had drifted down to the younger boy's bare chest. Peeta flushed in embarrassment and pulled the sheets up to cover himself. Cato probably thought the worst of him now. First, he gets so hammered that he swan dives into his own sick and second, he doesn't make an immediate attempt to cover himself up when he's near enough naked.

"I'm just about to make breakfast, is there anything you preference?" Cato inquired.

"I can't even think about eating," Peeta replied, his stomach gurgling unhappily at the very idea.

"You need food in your system," Cato said, his voice firm. Peeta glanced at him through his hair, wondering why he was being so authorative with him. "They say dry toast settles a stomach so I'd say that's your best option here."

"This isn't up for discussion, is it?" asked Peeta.

"Well, I wouldn't like to be rude and say yes but let's just say that in terms of discussion, this is not up for it." Cato smiled widely, gauging Peeta's perplexed expression with great amusement. "In the mean-time, you can have a shower. It's in there, to the right. Just use one of my robes when you're finished. Your clothes aren't completely dry yet."

Without another word, he disappeared off to where-ever the doorway lead. Peeta blinked, trying to get the encounter straight in his head. Okay, first things first, do as Cato says and have a shower. Peeta pulled back the covers and slipped off the bed, closing his eyes momentarily in distraught horror at the extent of his naked state. He had padded his way half way across the room when he paused.

Wait, do as Cato says? Why should he do as Cato says? Still . . . a shower sounded nice.

As he entered the en-suite bathroom and turned the shower on, Peeta kept telling himself he was doing it for himself, not because Cato told him to. For himself. For himself. For . . . himself. Yes. Because Cato wasn't bossing him around, the shower had been a helpful suggestion since Peeta probably smelt like alcohol and vomit anyway.

The water was nice. It was hot and made him feel a little less sick. The throbbing in his head dulled to a faint thump and he felt relieved that the pain was subsiding. When he was finished, he found the robe Cato was talking about. Because of Cato's superior breadth due to muscle mass and masculinity, the robe dwarfed Peeta and he felt like a child walking in his father's clothes.

The door to the bedroom lead out onto a white hallway. The hallway was also a balcony, the wall made of glass so you could peer through and see the floor below. Directly to the left was a massive window, the view indescribable. Doors lined the wall to the right and Peeta dared not think what lay beyond them. A house of such style and expense probably had over a hundred spare rooms. The white carpet was impossibly soft against the soles of his feet as he made his way down the hall to the stairs, which weren't carpeted and were a cold shock when he stepped out onto the first step. Peeta was glad that he had taken a shower because surely he, someone who did not belong in a place like this, would dirty such pleasant scenery.

The bottom floor was larger than the top. Peeta felt a little disorientated. He tipped his head back and gaped at how far away the ceiling was. Jesus, this must be what came with being a rich business man. Made Peeta's bungalow look like a shack. Peeta rubbed his arms and went off in search of Cato. He guessed in which direction he should go, judging by what he hoped were the sounds of Cato moving around.

"Um, Cato?" he called out. Oh damn, his voice even echoed.

"Yeah?" Cato replied.

Peeta followed the voice and pushed through a door (he guessed mahogany, since Cato didn't seem to spare any expense) which lead out into a kitchen. A kitchen which, like the rest of the house, was overwhelmingly exorbitant. Peeta tightened the knot at the front of the robe and stepped further into the room. He was surprised to find Cato pouring hot water out of the kettle into two mugs himself. Wouldn't a man such as himself have staff or something?

Clearing his throat, Peeta made his presence known. He wasn't fond of standing before Cato in nothing but a robe that didn't fit right but he also wasn't fond of standing awkwardly, waiting to be noticed. When Cato turned with the mugs, he grinned at the younger boy standing in his kitchen, clutching the fabric of the too-big-robe to his chest with one hand and keeping the part that split below the robe tie pulled together with the other.

"Nice shower?" Cato asked.

"Mmm-hmm," Peeta answered. "Um, are my clothes dry yet?"

"Not quite yet," replied Cato. He pushed a plate of dry toast across the table and gestured at it. "Do sit."

Peeta sat down on a stool by the table, still unsure about whether he could stomach food or not. "I'm sorry but I have to ask this, why would you bother carrying me to your place?" he asked, hopefully distracting Cato from the matter of eating the toast on the plate. "You could have walked on by, your life wouldn't be affected by it."

Cato leaned against the kitchen counter, cradling his mug in his hands. "I haven't been known for abandoning the vulnerable," he said. "If I had have left you there, there would be no doubt that a homeless man would have come along and either did one of two things."

"Which are?" asked Peeta.

"Rob you or rape you," Cato shrugged.

"The double 'R'," Peeta said. He knew full well that blacking out in the streets of Panem was incredibly dangerous and he was lucky that Cato had carried him to safety. Most wouldn't be as generous. A sudden thought came to mind. Panic flooded him and he almost stood back up in fear. "Where's my satchel?"

Cato raised his eyebrows at the sudden change in Peeta's tone. He paused before answering, as if basking in Peeta's panic was something he greatly enjoyed. "Don't worry, it's safe. It's with your clothes. Well, a little away from your clothes as the leather would crinkle near the radiator."

Peeta relaxed, reaching out and taking a nervous sip of the coffee. It wasn't completely black, thank god, and had some milk in it to soften the sour taste. Coffee was Peeta's saviour as it wrapped itself around his headache and cushioned the blow of the agony it once caused. "I don't suppose you can't pretend that you didn't see me violently vomit and fall into it?" he asked.

"It's an interesting image, I have to say," Cato replied.

"Interesting is not the word I would have thought of," Peeta scoffed. "I'd think more along the lines of mortifying, disgusting and flat out embarrassing."

Cato chuckled. "I've seen a lot worse," he said.

"Somehow, I believe that," Peeta replied. Cato's eyes dipped down again and when he looked down, Peeta realized with alarm that he had let go of the top of the robe to drink the coffee and the oversized material had dropped open again. Gathering it back up into his hand, he ducked his head sheepishly and muttered an apology.

"My fault really, since I should have put your clothes on to dry sooner," Cato shrugged, unfazed by the shoddy fitting of the robe.

"I'm just thankful my underwear didn't get dirty," Peeta weakly joked. "Although, I doubt you would have taken them off too."

Cato smirked and put his mug down. Upon his exit of the kitchen, he commented, "Then you underestimate my dedication." He paused at the door and added, "Eat your toast."

Peeta only managed to eat half of a slice before feeling sick again. God, this was weird. He had never woken up in another man's house before, let alone sat in their kitchen in nothing but a robe and his underwear. He finished the rest of the coffee easily. The warmth from it thankfully helped heat him up, as if he hadn't had the coffee then he'd probably have been freezing. The only part of his body that the coffee didn't reach was his feet which was really annoying since it was probably the worst part of the body to feel cold. What he would do for a pair of thick woolly socks.

When he returned, Cato held Peeta's clothes in his hand, each garment neatly folded and placed on the palm of his hand. "Good as new," he declared. "And I will return them to you on one condition."

Peeta eyed Cato wearily, silently cursing when the twinge returned. Not now, he told himself. "What is it?" he asked.

"A date. Tonight."

Peeta waited for the punchline. When it didn't come, he asked, "What if I say no?"

"I'm sure the Goodwill will appreciate the clothes," Cato replied.

"You're joking, right?" Peeta's heart was racing. Was Cato really trying to blackmail a date out him? All he'd really have to do was ask and he'd probably answer with yes.

"Do you want to find out if I am or not?" Cato challenged.

They stared at each other, waiting for the other to break. The twinge grew stronger but Peeta ignored it. He was first to speak, as the silence was deafening. "You could have just asked," he said.

"Ah but that would be too easy," Cato grinned. He gave Peeta his clothes but grabbed his wrist before he could fully accept them. It was a firm grasp that sent a tiny spark of pain up his arm. Whoa, what? Peeta looked at Cato expectantly, presuming that he had something to say. "And I never take the easy option," the older man said, his voice low.

Somehow, Peeta knew this was the truth.

~T~

Peeta had never been on a date with a man before. The only relationship experience he had ever had was with Katniss and he doubted that counted anymore since they barely did anything relationship-y. Ever since he had found his true sexual calling, he hadn't had a relationship. It wasn't that he didn't want one, it just never came up. So that was why he was so nervous about going on a date with Cato.

The restaurant was lovely. Extremely prestigious and terrifyingly upper class. Peeta felt like every eye was on him as soon as he stepped inside, each one silently judging him and his Merchant blood. It was like they could smell it off him. Smell the peasant in him. Immediately knowing that he didn't belong.

Cato was there before him and wore the biggest smile when he saw Peeta make his way toward the table he currently sat at. "Ah, Peeta Mellark, it's nice to see you again. How long has it been?"

"About six hours?" Peeta replied. He slipped into the seat across from Cato and sat straighter than he normally would. He didn't want to offend the many distinguished people in the restaurant any more than he already had. He was the oddity, the thing that was so offensive. It amazed him how they were able to tell where he was from just from how he carried himself. Was there a certain way Merchants carried themselves that gave away their backgrounds?

"That long?" Cato laughed. "Does time fly or what?"

"Yeah, I know, it's shocking," Peeta replied. "At least I've got shoes on this time. Although, it would have been nice to know this was where we were going beforehand. I wouldn't have worn my old sneakers. Not that I would wear old sneakers to a date normally, I was just running a little late because I had to hand over the write up of the interview with you before I got here and it's easier to run in these."

"Don't worry about it, they're kind of cute," said Cato.

"Everyone else doesn't seem to think so," Peeta replied. He tucked his feet underneath his chair, trying to hide them from the nosey eyes of the other patrons.

"Who cares about what they think?" Cato replied. "The only person you should be worrying about in this room is yourself. And, if you stretch it, me."

"Do I reek of hick or something?" Peeta asked in a hushed voice.

"I'd call it more of a bumpkin scent," said Cato. When Peeta flushed at the very idea, Cato grinned and added, "It's a very manly scent. You should be proud of it."

"Uh-huh, okay," responded Peeta. He picked at his fingernails thoughtfully. Obviously Cato was kidding. He didn't stink of country bumpkin or anything, really everyone else were just being esteemed assholes. Just because he didn't fit into their silly expectations of refined lifestyle. What was wrong with fraying converse anyway? It was a brand! Albeit not a well-known brand but still a brand!

"You never answered my question," Cato pointed out.

"What question?" asked Peeta.

"About your hobbies and interests," Cato explained. "Remember?"

"Oh. Well, there's nothing to tell really. I work as a reporter for the Arts & Culture sector of the District News and all I do in my spare time really is paint or bake," Peeta answered. God, did his life sound boring. Brushing his hair out of his face, he muttered, "I'm sure compared to your daily life that sounds pitiful."

"Far from it, really," Cato answered. "It sounds refreshing. When you spend most of your life trapped in an office, things like hobbies don't really come around too often."

"So there's nothing you're interested in?" asked Peeta.

"I didn't say that."

"Then what?"

"My interests are . . . in a different genre to yours altogether."

What did that mean? Peeta wondered.

"So, tell me, have you had many relationships in the past?" asked Cato, leaning back in his seat. Peeta focused solely on the man's eyes, knowing that if he diverted even a little bit then he was going to end up staring at Cato's torso and how the dress shirt fit his form perfectly.

"No," Peeta answered, ignoring how his face was heating up. "I had a thing with a girl named Katniss, who is now my best friend"-he paused when Cato raised his eyebrows in disbelief-"pre sexual calling."

"I see," Cato said. "And in terms of with men?"

"Zero." Peeta smiled to make it sound lighter than it actually was.

"When you were with this girl-Katniss, was it?-did you two ever . . . ?" Cato waved his hand in a flippant gesture, hoping that Peeta got the message.

He did.

"Um, no," the younger boy answered, the line of questioning doing nothing for his current temperature. "She tried but I just couldn't . . ." Peeta swallowed to dampen his dry throat, ". . . couldn't get into it."

There was one time where Katniss got close. They'd been at The Seam all night and were staying at her apartment because it was so late. They'd been drunk at the time but Katniss, having always handled her liquor better than Peeta, had been a little more conscious than he had been. Peeta couldn't remember much from the encounter because he had been so wasted. All that really came to mind anytime he tried to think about it was Katniss sitting between his legs, kissing a path from his chest to his stomach. But from what she had told him, apparently he had muttered Davey Plum's name and it threw her off completely. At the time she chalked it down to his being hammered but when he later came out of the proverbial closet, it was obvious what the true answer had been.

"So you're a virgin?" If Cato was surprised, he didn't voice it. A twenty one year old virgin. Surely that wasn't too odd.

Sex was just something Peeta had never thought about. He knew how it worked, he learned that sort of thing when he discovered his sexuality. However, it always seemed very . . . messy to him. It was beyond his comprehension how anyone could feel good from having things shoved in places that they shouldn't be. And don't get him started on the oral side of things. Who would ever think about putting their mouth down there?! Hands seemed bad enough.

Peeta rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward. "Is that a problem?" he asked.

The flame of the lit candle between them flickered off Cato's face, casting shadows and making him look as imposing as ever. "Absolutely not," the older man said, his voice almost like a purr.

The rest of the date flew by. Conversation flowed easily and Peeta actually found himself enjoying himself. Afterward, Cato invited him back to his house for a drink and Peeta, not wanting it to end, accepted the invitation. The walk to Cato's house, however, was charged with electricity and Peeta felt unsettled the entire time. His body was unnaturally hot and the twinge in his stomach was prolonged and painful. More than it had ever been before.

As soon as the door shut behind them, Cato wasted no time before he made his true intentions clear. He kissed Peeta with such brutality and force that the younger boy stumbled backward a little in surprise. Peeta was taken completely off guard but instantly adjusted, his lips fitting perfectly with Cato's. Cato kissed him senseless, his arms coming up to cage him against the door. Mind whirling at a million miles per minute, Peeta felt dizzy with delirium. His fingernails dug into Cato's biceps, the hold keeping him anchored to reality. His body quaked with excitement, unused nerves awakening and catching fire inside of him.

Never once breaking the kiss, Cato's hands slid up Peeta's arms, taking a firm hold of them and pinning them against the door above his head. Peeta tried to pull away to catch his breath but only got one breath in before Cato had reclaimed his lips. The older man's body pressed against the younger blond's, the hard planes of muscle pushing against his slightly softer exterior. Peeta didn't know what to do with himself, he was barely able to keep up with Cato's kissing. He tried to free his arms but it was no use, they were stuck fast.

They somehow made it to Cato's bedroom. Peeta couldn't believe what was happening, his brain practically melting because of the anticipation of what was coming. Cato was powerful and insistent, he absorbed control and oozed it. Lips locked together still, they lay on Cato's bed like a pair of teenagers making out while the parents were out. Peeta felt he was getting the hang of it, which wasn't difficult since Cato did most of the work.

Even when Peeta could breathe, he felt like he couldn't. As once his mouth was free to once again take in oxygen, Cato's lips were finding the sensitive parts of his neck to suck on. His breath escaped him in embarrassingly loud pants, his voice echoing in the room like a constant reminder of how unattractive he was probably coming off as.

Cato wedged his knee between Peeta's thighs, applying pressure upwards until the smaller boy moaned in appreciation. It wasn't enough. Curling one hand into the boy's golden locks to hold his head in place, Cato slid his spare hand down the smooth slope of Peeta's shoulder blades and spine until it reached its destination. He groped the young virgin's behind over his jeans, using the hold as leverage and pushing him down against him.

Peeta grunted as ecstasy threatened to consume him. He rocked against Cato without shame, his hands grasping Cato's back like it were his only life line. His body seemed to enjoy being manhandled and he met every one of Cato's advances with approval. They kissed again, the power Cato put into it making Peeta sink into the pillows. Taking both of Peeta's hands, Cato pinned them against the mattress away from his body, using the grip to hold himself up.

Blinking blearily at Cato, Peeta met his eyes, which were darkened with lust. They were both still fully clothed, albeit a little scruffy, but that did not make them any less aroused. They were both pitifully horny and it was clear from how they looked at each other that they were both on the same page about it.

However, Cato withdrew a little.

"We should probably get some sleep," he said.

Peeta whined in protest, squirming uncomfortably. "Whhyyy?" he complained.

Cato stared at him, jaw clenched, like it was the hardest thing in the world to pull away. What he did next confused Peeta. He lay down next to him and pulled him tight against his body. So tight that Peeta could feel his hardness pressing against his ass. He shivered. "Be a good boy, okay?" Cato mumbled into Peeta's ear, his teeth dragging up along his lobe.

For some reason, Peeta wanted to be a good boy.

Cato's good boy.

A/N: So why do you think Cato pulled away? I'd love to hear your thoughts! You'll find out the truth next Monday ;)