A/N: Goodness, I can't believe it's Monday again!

For anyone waiting on an update on Puppet Strings, I'm working on it. I'm slowly pulling down the wall of writer's block brick by brick.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.

Chapter Five

"What exactly would this be defined as?" Peeta sat in Cato's sitting room in nothing but one of his owner's button up shirts and his underwear. After their first encounter in Cato's playroom, Peeta had been ultimately shattered but after he had a shower, Cato insisted that he wear one of his t-shirts. It wasn't as uncomfortable as Peeta had first anticipated and as he sat on the huge couch with his legs on Cato's lap, he never felt as comfortable.

"What exactly would what be defined as?" asked Cato. He was doing some work on his PDA for the next day. Peeta had asked if he wanted him to go home so he could work but Cato had said no. In fact he said that the company would help him work better.

"This." Peeta pointed at himself and then at Cato. "Are we in a relationship? Are we not in a relationship? What is this exactly?"

Cato didn't look up from his PDA as he spoke. "You are my submissive. You belong to me. If that counts as a relationship in your eyes then yes, it's a relationship."

"Would you consider it a relationship?" asked Peeta.

Cato seemed to be thinking about it. "I suppose it's a form of a relationship," he concluded. "Whether it leads to emotional compromisation I don't know but I've never had anything emotional with a submissive before. It's all been purely sexual."

Peeta couldn't help thinking about how sad that was. He knew that he didn't just want a sexual relationship, he liked to think that later he would fall in love and get married to someone. But for now, he guessed, he would just have to deal with being in a highly-charged sexual relationship. Who cares anyway? Right now he was young, he might as well enjoy sex before he became too old to have it.

"Out of everyone you could have, why would you want me?" he found himself asking. "My world and your world wouldn't normally collide. I thought you would think I'm . . ."

"Different?" asked Cato.

"Scum," Peeta corrected.

"You're not scum. The Merchants provide us with what we need. If it weren't for you guys, Panem would have flopped by now," Cato said. He finally looked up from his PDA, green eyes practically sparkling. "And just for the record, I don't do this with any random person. I have to be attracted to them first. My Dom lifestyle is to sate myself, not others."

Peeta flushed at the implication that Cato was attracted to him. He was sure that his face had turned pink and he wished that he could take a compliment like a man for once. "Erm, just for the record as well, I don't kiss guys I'm not attracted to either."

Cato grinned devilishly. "You better not," he said. Single handedly working his PDA, Cato used his spare hand to continuously stroke Peeta's bare legs. The younger boy watched with curiosity, amazed and undoubtedly turned on by how possessive Cato was of him. There was just something so hot about someone so sexy feeling possessive over him and wanting ownership over him.

"Cato?"

"Hmm?"

"Why am I not allowed to touch myself?" Peeta asked. "Not that I was planning to but I'm just curious."

"You aren't allowed to touch yourself because it is against my personal rules. I don't want another hand on your cock other than my own," Cato explained with brutal honesty. "The only time you can touch yourself is when you're washing and even that's a stretch on my part."

"But surely it shouldn't matter since it's only my own hands?" Peeta insisted.

"If you masturbate in any shape or form, Peeta Mellark, I'll have to punish you," Cato warned. Peeta shuddered at the use of his full name. "And believe me when I tell you that I am not one for being merciful, even if you are new to the BDSM lifestyle."

"How would you even be able to tell?" asked Peeta.

"Because I'll ask and you'll answer."

"What if I lie?"

"Your cheeks will betray you."

Peeta knew that this was the truth. He reluctantly conceded. Cato smiled and returned to his work, his hand seeming to inch higher and higher until it was practically up Peeta's underwear. The effect this had on Peeta was amazing as he found the touch incredibly soothing. Cato had an extremely dictating character, even when he wasn't trying to be in Dom mode. Peeta simply sat beside him and watched him work.

"Okay, okay, next question," Peeta eventually said. "When do we . . ." He tried to find the right words, not sure what the exact terminology was. "Get busy? Assume roles? Uh . . . do it?"

Cato seemed to be trying to keep a straight face but couldn't help chuckling. "It's called creating a scene. Or playing. Or, if you like, just fucking. However I have always found that very blunt and crude, don't you agree?"

"Yeah, I do," said Peeta. "Making a scene? It's not drama classes."

"They are scenes, however. I come up with them all myself," answered Cato.

Peeta frowned. "Sorry, what do you come up with?"

"Everything I do with a submissive," Cato explained. His fingers danced across his PDA so fast they looked like nothing but blurrs whizzing around the keypad. "I come up with everything myself. I try to be as inventive as possible, just to keep it interesting, but it's nice to know that there's always the classics to fall back on."

Peeta was impressed. "So what we did earlier . . . ?"

"I came up with it myself," Cato answered. "I always like the wrists to be restrained because the physical requirement of the body being stretched before me is always such a turn on so that's when I came up with the wrists being chained to the ceiling hook while being fucked. Although, no one has executed it as well as you did."

Peeta blushed. Now that, he didn't believe. "So when-or how often-would we make a scene?"

"Could be in a week's time, could be in half an hour, depends on what mood I'm in," responded Cato.

"But how would I know I'm needed?" asked Peeta.

"Well, I'd like you to stay with me on weekends," said Cato. "And if I ever wish to have you at any time beyond that I'll probably contact you through phone. However, I don't often step outside the parameters of my schedule and probably won't require you over the week as often."

It sounded so formal. Was something as wild and uncontrolled as sex supposed to be so organized? Peeta couldn't help thinking of an on-call doctor who had no idea when they were going to get called into surgery again. "So I'm like a . . . sex puppy?" he thought out loud.

"When you say it like that it sounds bad," Cato grinned.

"Isn't it?"

"Not really. Especially since I will be treating you with the upmost respect and would never dream of treating you like a-what is it-sex puppy?"

Peeta mulled it over for a moment. Finally, he answered Cato with the honest truth. "It depends on when you call me. I look after my mother and staying over with you on weekends is a stretch that I'll only barely be able to complete." He paused, knowing that he didn't owe Cato an explanation towards why he had to care for his mother but feeling like he had to justify it anyway. "She's getting old, you see. My dad died when I was seventeen and my brothers live in Ireland, where our ancestors originate. I'm all she really has. Her neighbour sometimes comes around when I'm not free but I can't just abandon her at the drop of the hat because you send me a message."

Cato was silent. Peeta feared that this would cause the older man to reject him. That it was either devote all his time or none at all. "I know you have a personal life, Peeta," he finally said. "I'm not going to tear you away from things that are important. I'll just have to make up for the lost time when I do get to see you." His nails lightly scraped the skin of Peeta's shin, making him shiver.

Peeta sighed in relief. If there was one thing he couldn't do, it was abandon his mother. She had been heartbroken when Rye and Wheat moved to Ireland to work just because they didn't want to be classed as Merchant anymore. Apparently Ireland was full of jobs and they were able to find something of upper standard. Peeta didn't understand how they could put class before family but then again, he never really was all that close to either of them.

"So your ancestors were Irish?" Cato asked. The cool glow of his PDA lit up his face and Peeta marveled at how the shadows it cast annunciated Cato's gorgeous facial features.

"Yes. My great great grandfather moved here with his wife in the early '70's when the Troubles grew into what then seemed like an unresolvable matter of constant violence. I suppose they didn't want to raise their children in a segregated world," Peeta shrugged. "My generation, however, are the first generation of Mellark's to speak English instead of Irish."

"Really? Why's that?" Even though he wasn't looking at Peeta, the curiosity in his tone was clear and avid.

"My parents wanted us to adapt so they hired an English tutor to teach us when we turned five," Peeta explained. He scratched his head thoughtfully, remembering Mrs. Trinket, who used to visit them every Monday and Thursday to teach them English. "My friend Delly says you can hear my brogue when I'm angry."

"Now that I think about it, when you were shouting at me a couple of days ago about my not wanting to be with you because you were a merchant I could swear I heard some sort of lilt to your voice," Cato said reflectively, pausing his typing to actually consider it.

Peeta blushed. He was never able to spot when he was speaking with his brogue and yet everyone else seemed to. He wasn't even completely sure he knew what it sounded like. Well, he knew what it sounded like on other guys but not himself. He had grown so accustomed to the language and Panem way of speaking. "I try to hide it as well as I can," he said. "Which is surprisingly easy since I have been learning English since I was five."

Cato resumed his typing. "You should do what's easiest for you. I'm not going to judge you. I think you're beautiful either way."

Peeta picked at the button on the cuff of the shirt he was wearing. His small arms drowned in the sleeves that were designed for huge muscles. Cato could see his discomfort and put his PDA down. There was something in the boy's face that hinted at confusion. He didn't seem to understand why all of this was happening to him. Maybe he didn't feel worthy of it? Or he didn't believe he was good enough? Cato turned to face Peeta and tipped his chin up with his knuckle to force him to look him in the eyes.

"You are very beautiful," Cato said slowly. "You do know this, don't you?"

"Hardly," Peeta scoffed, rolling his eyes. Cato lightly slapped his face, instantly amused by the startled expression he got in return.

"Don't disagree with me," Cato warned. "You are beautiful."

"I'm sorry but I just don't see it," Peeta insisted. "Normal maybe. Not . . . not beautiful."

"I'm offended that you believe I would settle for normal," Cato said. His fingers traced the outline of Peeta's lips, the silky skin still damp from the last time they were self-consciously licked.

"I didn't mean"-

"Sssh, I know."

Cato kissed Peeta reverently, his lips never tiring of the taste of youth and innocence. Peeta complied without compliant, leaning forward and sighing into his owner's mouth. The kiss became heated, fast and determined and passionate. Cato was soon on top of the smaller boy completely, devouring his mouth and lips like he would never have the chance to kiss them again. He didn't know where the determination came from but he wasn't prepared to question it. Peeta's was mouth was addictively warm and moist and welcoming.

Peeta's knees slowly parted, as if he were putting careful thought into the action, until Cato's body fit between them like a puzzle sliding into place. He instantly moaned at the contact, his legs quivering as Cato rolled his hips up against his own. They almost wanted to close again, the vulnerability of the position still not sitting well in his mind. However something told him that Cato wouldn't allow this to happen.

"You know, I'm supposed to be working," Cato murmured. His hands slid greedily up the loose shirt Peeta wore, his fingers ravenously exploring every inch of the body underneath.

"I never told you to stop," Peeta breathlessly replied. He loudly moaned as the curious fingers of his owner slowly circled his nipple until the pink flesh hardened in arousal. His hips lifted to rub against Cato shamefully and his body shuddered at the glorious feeling it provided.

"Well maybe if you stopped looking so goddamn sexy I'd be able to get my work done," Cato responded.

"You're the one who wouldn't let me get dressed," Peeta reminded him.

Cato claimed his mouth voraciously, his hand slipping between his pet's shivering thighs until it met the boy's slowly growing member. Peeta groaned, his body sliding down the sofa a little as his knees bunched up on reflex. Dragging his mouth up Peeta's virgin neck, Cato purred into his ear, "Go to my room and wait for me there. I'm going to finish my work and then I'm going to punish you for being so . . . delectable."

Peeta could barely walk, let along bring himself up the stairs to Cato's room. His heart pounding in his chest, he wobbled his way up the stairs and sat on the edge of Cato's bed. He couldn't breathe, he was so worked up. His body was shuddering with excitement, unhappy with the abrupt ending of their kissing. However, Cato did say he was coming back. To punish him. Although he had barely even done anything!

It wouldn't harm him to find out what it was like, though.

~T~

Cato couldn't believe how much this one boy was distracting him. He hardly got any work done, he'd have to play catch up over the week. Peeta wasn't trying to be stimulating, Cato knew this, but whenever he was in the boy's presence, all he really desired was to be between his legs, making him cum over and over again. To screw him so hard he would never forget who he belonged to. Watch him unravel again and again and again until he was nothing but a pile of nerves and laboured breathing.

He tried to ignore it. Tried to do work on his PDA. But even then he needed Peeta close at hand or else he'd lose his mind thinking about him. Cato didn't allow him to get dressed because his jeans did him many favours and getting back into them would not help his distracted train of thought. However, instructing Peeta to wear one of Cato's own shirts didn't help either as he just looked all the more suggestive. Especially with his face so flushed and his long legs draped across Cato's lap.

Cato stared at his PDA screen, trying to get his mind to refocus back onto the task at hand. He knew it was a stupid try as all he could now think of was a hot and heavy Peeta upstairs in his room waiting for him.

Fuck it.

Cato dumped the PDA and went upstairs. Peeta was waiting for him, sitting on his bed with his knees drew up to his chest. He was still breathless, his body quivering in anticipation. Cato smirked in delight and approached the smaller blond with purpose. Sliding his fingers through the young boy's hair, Cato pulled his head back so he stared at him hovering above him.

Peeta's eyelashes cast shadows across his gorgeous cheek bones and his neck stretched back beautifully, revealing an exposed jugular and vulnerable Adam's apple. Cato planted a strong kiss on Peeta's lips, placing his hand on Peeta's pale chest and slowly guiding him onto his back on the bed. When he pulled away, his sensual submissive whimpered at the loss.

"Hands above your head," Cato ordered, moving to the wardrobe and sliding the door open while he collected a few things. When he returned, he was pleased by the sight of his pet's obedience. Peeta looked a little nervous and every few seconds he tried to pull Cato's shirt down to cover his crotch before reassuming his arm's position on the bed. When Cato approached, he tried to do it again but his master slapped his hand out of the way and put it back above his head. "Don't move."

Cato produced a piece of silk black cloth. Peeta watched with bated breath as the material was smoothed out, tensing his muscles when Cato teasingly dragged it up his leg. "Lift your head," Cato ordered. He slid the material over Peeta's eyes and lowered his head down to rest on the cushions at the head of the bed. "Remember your safe word?"

Peeta nodded.

Cato danced his fingers along the buttons of the shirt he loaned Peeta, purposefully plucking the turgid bumps that pushed against the fabric. A tiny gasp escaped his gorgeous captive as his nipples were teased over the material of his shirt, his body lifting off the bed a little in approval. "Get on your hands and knees."

Peeta scrambled to do this, losing balance a few times because of his disorientated state. He rested on his elbows, head dipped so his chin pressed against his chest. Cato drank in the sight greedily, binding Peeta's wrists and elbows to the headboard so he was completely immobile. After he was sure his prisoner was secure, Cato smoothed his hand along the sleek curve of Peeta's bowed back, crawling underneath to slip the buttons of the shirt out of their holes.

Something told Cato he was never going to tire of pulling back pieces of clothes to bare Peeta's porcelain skin to the harsh conditions of the environment. Peeta's complexion was a gift, as not many people could have skin as pale as his and be able to suit it so well. Cato kissed a trail up the younger boy's back, starting from the nape of his neck and ending at the base of his spine. Peeta's breathing slowed to a calming hush, sated by his lover's touch.

Hooking his fingers into Peeta's waistband, Cato pulled his underpants down his thighs and let them rest at his knees. His cock was hard, stiff with excitement and arousal. Peeta squirmed a little, unhappy at being exposed in such a way. However, Cato found it painfully erotic, especially since the younger boy was bent over in such a submissive position.

Cato teased the cleft of his lover's ass with his finger, smirking deviously when Peeta whined to himself like an unsatisfied puppy. He passed his finger over the smaller blond's puckered entrance once, twice, a third time, enjoying the way he was making Peeta shudder in want. "Does my beautiful little pet know why he's being punished?" Cato asked with authority.

"I-I-I think so, s-s-s-sir," Peeta stammered. He cried out loudly as Cato's hand suddenly came in contact with his ass, the smack causing vibrations to jitter up his body.

"Tell me then." Cato punctuated the point with another smack. He loved the crack of a good smack, especially when it was followed with a tiny whimper of pain.

"I w-was distracting you from working, sir?" Peeta guessed. Another yelp as another smack landed home on his ass, which was beginning to grow pink in colour.

"Exactly." Cato spanked Peeta again, drinking in the way the boy cried out and trembled at his hand. "And what are you going to do to fix it?"

There was a pause while Peeta thought about it. Two encouragement spanks later and Peeta blurted out, "I'll bake cookies in the kitchen while you're working so you won't get distracted, sir!"

Now out of all the possible answers, Cato hadn't expected that one. He almost fell out of character completely, surprised and taken aback by the innocent answer. Normally the response he would have gotten was, 'I'll suck your cock, master,' or 'I'll let you fuck me as hard and as fast as you want, master.' Not cookies. How could someone who panted like a bitch in heat and took cock in his ass like he'd done it hundreds of times before be so pure and sweet? It didn't make sense.

He couldn't break the scene however and had to work with it. "What sort of cookies?" he found himself asking, like a curious five year old enquiring information from their mother. This was certainly something he never thought he'd discuss while in a scene.

"Any cookies you want, sir," Peeta replied, his voice having dropped a couple octaves due to the pleasure he was currently feeling. Cato spanked him again and this time instead of yipping in surprise, Peeta moaned. He seemed to have adjusted to the sensation, his body enjoying the powerful reprimand instead of rejecting it.

Avidly curious, Cato asked, "Is there anything else you bake?"

"Uh-huh," Peeta replied breathlessly. "Y-y-you name it. Cakes. Buns. Past-RIES!" His voice tapered into a squeak at the end when Cato pushed his first finger into his backside. As soon as Cato found his prostate, talking became an amazingly painful task. He couldn't utter a single syllable.

"You'll have to make it without nuts. Unless you want me to die, of course," Cato casually threw in while he massaged Peeta's prostate with his finger. "You wouldn't want me to die now, would you my little pet?" His nut allergy was something he discovered when he was a kid and had grew up with him through the years. Some say you grow out of it but Cato wasn't prepared to test that theory.

Peeta shook his head, gasping like he was underwater and fighting for breath. His knees and elbows quaked underneath him, barely able to support his weight on the bed. The blindfold just added to the delirium as every other sense heightened, including his sense of touch. And every piece of skin on skin contact he experienced with Cato felt like lightening.

"Of course you don't. Because then there wouldn't be anyone to put you in your place, now, would there, you little whore," Cato purred.

The name calling should have hurt but for some reason it caused a spike in Peeta's blood. His arms pulled against the restraints around his wrists and elbows but the knots were too tight to break. In that moment he felt like a whore. Cato's whore. Always Cato's.

"Tell me what you want," Cato demanded, removing his fingers and momentarily replacing them with his tongue. It was only for a second but it was enough to cause Peeta to cry out with astonishment. Cold air was then blew on the wet area, making the restrained boy whimper.

"I-I-I w-w-want"- Peeta struggled to finish the sentence, the words in his head muddled up like they had been throw around by a juggler at the Circus.

"Do you want me to jerk you off?" Cato grasped Peeta's hard length and stroked him from base to tip, making sure to go as agonizingly slow as humanely possible. He grinned when Peeta groaned in answer, nodding his head fervently as if to say, 'Yes!' "Or maybe you want me to rub your balls." Cato did exactly that, cupping each one in his hands and massaging them with his fingers. Instead of answering this time, Peeta purred and his toes curled into the bed in enjoyment.

"Or, of course," Cato finally said, unbuckling his pants and freeing his hard cock from its denim prison. He stood back for a moment and stroked himself, consuming the image of his trembling submissive bent over and bound up, his manhood so aroused it was practically against his stomach, and couldn't help himself any longer. "I could fuck you."

Without giving Peeta any warning, Cato entered him from behind. The younger boy screeched in shock but was able to adjust much quicker than before. He met Cato's erratic thrusts with enthusiasm and desire, every moan he released punctuating his pleasure and ecstasy. Cato was able to fill Peeta until his pelvis met his ass, the snug entrance so hot and moist it made his body practically sing every time he pushed into him.

"Sir," Peeta moaned. "I think I'm gonna cum."

Cato reached around and grabbed Peeta's cock, pressing his thumb against the tip to prevent orgasm. Peeta yelled in frustration before yelping when he ass was smacked. "You will not cum until your master cums first, understand?"

It took a lot of concentration and focus but Peeta managed to hold himself out until Cato found his own orgasm. His master's warm essence filled him again and he sighed in relief as the thumb was removed and he was able to release. Afterward they lay beside each other on the bed, sweaty and exhausted, occasionally stealing a kiss or two.

They fell asleep with Peeta's head nestled in the crook of Cato's neck. Something told him he could get used to things this way.

~T~

"Máthair Tá mé ar ais!" Peeta hung his coat up on the coat hook by the door and quickly rubbed his feet on the mat that said, "Welcome to our Home!" in curly blue cursive. He carefully placed his satchel beside the coat rack and made sure to hide it in case one of his mother's nurses dropped by. Some of them . . . well, let's just say some of them had sticky fingers. "Cá bhfuil tú?"

"Suas anseo i mo sheomra, croí milis!"

Peeta jumped up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and entered his mother's room. She lay in bed, tucked in tight, with a cannula in her nose pumping the oxygen that was now wired through her whole home into her body. Her face lit up at the sight of her son and her smile was like the sun itself, shining on the world when it was most needed. "Where . . . you be?" she asked, her English not as strong as Peeta's.

"With a friend," Peeta answered, sitting on the armchair beside her bed and crossing his legs. He winced as his tailbone protested at the pressure of being sat on. Ever since Cato had punished him, his backside had been aching like nothing he had ever experienced before.

"Delly?" his mother asked. Peeta shook his head. "Katniss?"

Again, he shook his head. "No Máthair, a different friend."

His mother grinned, her white as snow teeth perfect as the day they grew in. She never let Peeta or his brothers get away with skipping out on brushing their teeth, even if they were exhausted she'd drag them out of bed. She insisted that they'd thank her when they were older and didn't have false teeth and rotted enamel.

"Male friend?" she asked.

"Yes, Máthair," Peeta smiled. "A male friend."

"Cara buachaill?"

Peeta laughed. "I suppose you could say that."

His mother had never shied away from the fact that he was gay and every time he interacted with a man in any way she asked if they were his boyfriend. Or 'Cara buachaill' as she put it. It was surprising, since Maria Mellark had been raised in a Catholic household. Peeta had expected her to spit in his face when he came out of the closet and was shocked when he was instead met with a warm hug. Then again, his father had been a Protestant and back when they got married it had been frowned upon for those two religions to mix. Still sort of did, really. In Ireland, not Panem. This was one of the many reasons his ancestors left. To this day Peeta didn't know the difference between both the religions. But it seemed that his mother wasn't all too keen on Catholic values anyway, since she disobeyed her parents and ran away with a Protestant.

Maria laughed, her face lighting up even more, if that were possible. "Ah, good!" she exclaimed. "Bravo, mo mhac! It about time you start look for partner."

"Máthair," Peeta groaned, throwing his face into his hands in embarrassment.

"What? I no get any younger!" Maria declared. "I must see my boy happy before I die!"

"Don't talk like that," Peeta said sternly. He took her frail hand into his own and held it as tight as he dared. His mother was all he had left of his family. A part of him knew that his mother did not have much longer left but it was a part of him he refused to acknowledge. When she was gone, he would have nothing left. And he didn't know where he was going to go from there. "You are going to live long beyond your years. You aren't going to die, I forbid it."

"Forbid?" Maria laughed. "Alright mo mhac, it forbade." She cupped his cheek and smiled affectionately. Peeta remembered when she used to gather him and his brothers into a huge group hug, smothering them with all the love she had to give. And she had a lot to give.

"Heeelllooo?" A voice floated in from downstairs. "Peeta? Maria? Anyone home?"

"Up here Katniss!" Peeta called.

Katniss appeared in Maria's room moments later. Ever since she and Peeta went out with each other, she has frequented Maria's home like a resident. Maria and Katniss always got along well and it wasn't too hard to tell that Maria had been disappointed when they broke up. "Ah, Katniss!" Maria happily declared. "How are you?"

"Good, Maria, you?" Katniss asked, moving to the ottoman at the end of the bed and perching on the edge like a bird prepared to take flight.

"Grand," Maria smiled.

"What are you talking about?" asked Katniss.

"Peeta forbades my death," Maria said.

Katniss laughed. "Oh really now?"

"No death talk in this house!" Peeta exclaimed, fearful that they would jinx his mother's life.

"Do you forbid it?" Katniss grinned.

"Yes, I do!"

Katniss laughed again and shook her head, amused by his distress. Crossing one leg over the other, she turned to Peeta and asked, "Where have you been?"

"What do you mean where have I been?" Peeta asked back.

"Peeta, I haven't seen you since I left The Hob at the beginning of the week. I called Delly and she had no idea either," Katniss explained. "Have you been here? With Maria?"

"No, Katniss, you no understand," Maria intercepted. "Peeta find Cara buachaill."

"Máthair"-

"Cata buachaill? What's that?" asked Katniss.

"Male . . . friend," Maria beamed.

Katniss looked at Peeta with raised eyebrows. "When was this? Did you meet him at The Hob? Was it when I left? Was that were you've been for the past few days?" Questions streamed out of her mouth like a tidal wave, one after another after another. Peeta only caught the first four before the rest blurred together into an incomprehensible mush. He answered as best he could.

"Um, it was at the beginning of the week. No not at The Hob nor was it when you left and yes, that's where I've been for the past few days," Peeta answered.

"What's his name, would we know him?" asked Katniss. Peeta felt both Katniss and his mother's eyes trained on him, entirely interested in what his responses were going to be.

Peeta didn't know whether under the Privacy sector of the Contract if he was allowed to tell anyone if Cato was his boyfriend. He knew that he had to keep their Dominant-Submissive lifestyle secret but did that mean he had to pretend that he wasn't allowed to express that they were in any sort of relationship at all? He decided to play it safe.

"No, I don't think so," Peeta said.

"Are you just saying that so that we won't pick him out of a crowd and embarrass you to him?" Katniss grinned.

"Maybe I am maybe I'm not," Peeta vaguely replied. He squirmed in his seat, leaning forward a little to ease the pressure on his rear end. Every time the pain settled in his lower back, which happened every time he walked or sat down, Cato's name popped into his head. Something told Peeta that this was Cato's aim all along.

"Mo mhac, you sit funny, are you okay?" Maria asked, gripping Peeta's hand tight in her own.

"I'm fine, Máthair," Peeta said, trying to sound reassuring to put his mother's mind at ease.

"It's your ass, isn't it?" Katniss smirked. "Has somebody been gettin' busy?"

Peeta's eyes widened in horror. "Katniss, not in front of my mother!"

"Psh, Maria and I talk about boys and sex all the time, don't we Mrs. M?" said Katniss.

"Oh yes," Maria agreed, her eyes glinting in amusement. "We talk 'bout boys and sex. We play 'would you rather' and exchange stories!" Peeta stared at his mother, utterly mortified. If he had known that that was what they had been getting up to while he had been baking in the kitchen he'd have never left them alone! Maria looked at her son with concern. "Peeta, do you need me to give money for protection?"

"Oh God, no!" Peeta exclaimed, his face burning in embarrassment and horror. In truth, he had never thought about protection. But one of the terms of the Contract was that STDs counted as permanent bodily damage which was forbidden. Peeta guessed that Cato inserted that to protect himself, which must mean that he was clean himself. And Peeta had never engaged in sex until Cato so the odds of him having contracted anything were low.

"Delly owes me ten quid," Katniss said, almost to herself. "She bet you were a top. Well, I say she bet you were a top, I called bottom before she had a chance to."

"I can't believe I'm hearing this," Peeta said. "Why in the world would you talk about things like that? And why would you bet on it as well?"

Katniss shrugged. "Dunno. We were bored."

"I no take part in gambling," Maria said. "Not my thing."

"We're just pulling your leg, Peet," Katniss grinned. "It's great that you've found someone, it really is. But if he hurts you, you tell me and I'll put him in his place." She punched her hand with her fist and winced when she put too much force into it. "Ow."

"He no hurt my Peeta," Maria said, shaking her head. She reached out and touched Peeta's cheek with her fingertips. "My Peeta worth all the love in the world."

Peeta cupped her hand in his own, feeling the heat of his mother's blood heat his face up. "Go raibh maith agat, Máthair."

His mother beamed at him, more proud of her son than anything else on God's earth. "Tá fáilte romhat beag Peeta," she smiled.

"You two gotta stop that, my heart hurts," Katniss chuckled, playfully punching her chest over her heart. "And as well as that, I have no idea what you're saying. All I got was 'mother' and 'Peeta'. I understand that foreign languages are beautiful and all that, especially those of a Gaelic nature, but it doesn't mean it's comprehensible."

"Bí 'do thost cailleach," Maria replied. Peeta snickered. For his mother's standards, calling Katniss a witch was her equivalent of swearing.

"Wait, what?" Katniss asked. "What?" She looked at Peeta. "What did she say?"

"It doesn't matter, Katniss," Peeta said, exchanging an amused look with his mother.

"Something tells me you're lying, Mellark," Katniss said, squinting at him in annoyance.

"He no lie. Do not worry Katniss," Maria smiled. She patted Peeta's cheek fondly and he knew in that moment that keeping what went on between him and Cato a secret was the best thing to do. Her fragile heart was too weak to handle information of that magnitude. Katniss was better off not knowing as well, as her big mouth could blurt it out to the first person she met if she was in the right mindset.

Peeta knew his secret life was better off staying just that. A secret.

A/N: I'm just going to put it out there: I'm a sucker for foreign!Peeta. I don't care, I think he's sexy ^_^

Translations (forgive me if they're wrong, no translator is 100% and I'm a little rusty on it myself):

Máthair Tá mé ar ais: Mother I'm home!

Cá bhfuil tú?: Where are you?

Suas anseo i mo sheomra, croí milis: I'm up in the bedroom.

Cara buachaill: Boyfriend.

mo mhac: my son.

Go raibh maith agat: I love you.

Tá fáilte romhat beag: I love you too.

Bí 'do thost cailleach: Shut up you witch.

Máthair: Mother

See you next week! ;)