A/N: Thank you everyone for continuing your support for this story :-)
Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.
Something new will be introduced in this chapter but I want to see if you guys can figure it out what it is so I'm going to say ;)
Chapter Nine
Peeta pressed his back against the wall and peered around curiously. The night air was cold, pricking at his skin like tiny needles, and every hair on his body stood to attention. He slowly came out when he was sure the coast was clear and began walking in the direction of his bungalow. His heart was pumping at a million miles per second and he could barely catch his breath. He was nervous. His palms were sweating and his breathing was short.
A second later, he was grabbed and pushed against the wall. Peeta yelped in surprise and winced a little when his face scraped the bricks roughly. His wrists were grabbed and held behind his back while a husky voice said, "You're under arrest for trespassing on private grounds. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can and will be used against you in a court of law."
It was kind of ludicrous, since it wasn't private grounds and Peeta's house was literally just across the road. He didn't protest, however, as he was dragged to the car and shoved into the back seat. The cop drove for a long time, approximately an hour or two, and when he parked, the police station wasn't in sight. The cop then got out of the car and grabbed Peeta's elbow, dragging him out of the backseat without abandon.
"Why are we here, officer . . ." Peeta leaned in and squinted at the badge on the officer's shirt. "Hadley?"
"Pit stop. The station is another three hours away and I'm falling asleep at the wheel," Officer Hadley explained. He held Peeta's wrists behind his back with one hand and took him to a room that had obviously been booked in advance as he already had keys and they didn't go into the reception room at all.
The room was okay. Nothing extravagant. A double bed; a dresser; a bathroom; a wardrobe and a television. Peeta almost laughed at how dismal it all looked, especially since the walls were beige. Who thinks, 'This room needs to look attractive and bright, let's paint it beige!' The carpet was wine red and every step was met with resistance and a bounce as the material threw his shoe back up.
Officer Hadley pushed Peeta to the wall between the bathroom and the bed. "Hands against the wall and spread 'em. I need to pat you down." Heart still pounding, Peeta pressed his sweaty palms against the boring beige walls, hoping to God that they weren't so wet that they slipped. He separated his legs and inhaled quietly, quelling his coiled nerves by silently reminding himself of the truth.
Officer Hadley began with Peeta's shoulders. He felt along his shoulders and arms before sliding his hand down his torso and kneading the muscles in his back. Peeta closed his eyes and anxiously chewed on his lip, sucking in his breath and holding it there in his chest as Officer Hadley's hands reached his waist.
"So, what's your name?" Officer Hadley asked. Peeta was about to answer when two strong hands slid down his back and firmly grabbed his ass. He squeaked instead; a pathetic sound he was extremely ashamed of. Officer Hadley groped him thoroughly, as if it weren't already obvious that Peeta wasn't concealing weapons in the back pockets of his skinny jeans. Peeta's face burned in embarrassment and his blood heated up to match. His breathing grew uneven and shaky as he fought to catch ahold of himself.
"I wouldn't stay quiet, kid. It won't help you in the long run," Officer Hadley eventually said.
"P-Peeta." God, he sucked at this. He sucked hard.
"Okay then, P-Peeta, would you like to explain to me what you were doing on private grounds?" asked Officer Hadley.
"I was . . ." What could he say he was doing? Peeta struggled to find an answer that wasn't feeble yet was entirely feasible. ". . . taking a shortcut home?" He internally cursed himself when he sounded more like he was asking a question than answering one.
"And what made you believe it would be okay to cut across the private grounds of The Careers' Estates?" Peeta made a strangled sound as the Officer reached between his legs and grabbed his balls over his jeans, cupping them in his hands and roughly squeezing.
"Uh . . ." Okay, now he was stuck. What was he supposed to say? The Careers' Estates didn't even exist, it was just a made up place. How was he supposed to big up the importance of a non-existent area?
"Let me answer for you," said Officer Hadley, "you are one of those chancers who think they'll never get caught breaking the law." He grabbed Peeta's shoulder and spun him back around, looking him in the eye with a fierce intensity that made the smaller boy swallow in fear. Peeta was at a loss for words, not knowing whether he was expected to answer or not. Officer Hadley reached up and took Peeta's chin between his pointer finger and thumb. "You're lucky you've got a pretty face or I'd probably have shot you by now for wasting my time."
"That's hardly ethical," Peeta weakly replied.
"But very satisfying," the Officer replied. He stepped back and sighed. "It's not enough, I'm afraid. I'm going to have to conduct a strip search."
Peeta knew what he was supposed to do here. Weirdly unafraid, he pushed away from the wall and stripped himself down in front of Officer Hadley until he stood before him completely naked. Maybe because the eyes before him had seen his naked form several times before that made him a bit more confident than usual. The only thing he was coy about was the fact that his penis was erect, having reacted to the pat down which now only seemed like an excuse for a grope. Peeta resisted the urge to cover himself up.
"I quickly have to make a call," Officer Hadley said, producing a piece of rope. Peeta felt ridiculous when the man seemed unfazed by his confidence. "I'll be right back."
"Let me dress first, then," said Peeta, finally able to find a way to act like he was supposed to.
"Nah-ah, I'm not finished," Officer Hadley responded. He took Peeta to the bed and bound his wrists to one of the bedposts in a way so that he was sitting on edge of the mattress. "I'll be right back."
Peeta sat on the bed, staring at his wrists. This roleplaying thing was weird. He wasn't very good at it. Cato was a pro, this much was obvious-he was clearly an expert-but Peeta sucked. He didn't know how Cato had been able to stay in character this long. He was struggling to get out two sentences that sounded even half in character of the law breaker whose Officer has taken a shine to.
Cato took longer than expected. Peeta didn't like sitting there naked. He focused all his attention onto his wrists and forced himself to stay calm and not acknowledge that voice at the back of his head that was telling him how stupid he had been to take his clothes off so confidently. He wasn't sexy, he couldn't pull shit like that off. Cato probably thought he was an idiot, trying to act provocative like that. Peeta's cock was screaming at him, demanding to be touched before it spontaneously burst.
This was going to be a long night.
When Cato came out of the bathroom, he smirked. Peeta looked so nervous, sitting on the edge of the bed with his cock hard and proudly standing up. Even in the weak lighting of the room, the younger boy looked beautiful. His skin almost glowed against the faint dark of the room and his hair fell in his eyes in tousled waves. Peeta stared at him with those huge baby blues of his and Cato knew that he was going to lose that blue as they were consumed by the blackness of arousal before the night was out.
"To keep you quiet," he muttered, pretending to be talking to himself. He produced a gag with a bright red ball attached to it, strapping it against Peeta's mouth before he had a chance to forget they were trying to role play for the first time and ask what it was as himself. "I'm going to have to conduct a cavity search," he informed his prisoner, who already had a sheen of sweat on his forehead.
Cato could almost hear every frantic beat of Peeta's little heart. He grinned evilly at his pet and firmly said, "Spread 'em," again.
Peeta knew what he meant. Cato watched the way Peeta's adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard and leaned back a little before spreading his legs. It was almost strange how quickly Peeta had trusted Cato. He had never gotten this far with a submissive within a month because there had always been trust issues for the first few but Peeta seemed to trust him wholly and completely. Cato didn't know why but he wasn't prepared to argue with it.
Cato knelt down and his eyes took in the exposed form of his lover. Peeta's cock was still hard as a rock and stood up, his perfectly shaped balls seated just underneath. Then there was his hole. Puckered and pink and still looking as tight as the day Cato took Peeta's virginity. He smiled to himself at that. He took it. Peeta's virginity was his. No one else could say that.
"Because, it seems, your asshole is so tight, a simple visual examination won't do," Cato decided. He stood up and ordered, "Put your feet up on the bed."
Obedient as ever, Peeta did as he was told. Cato used some duct tape to tie together Peeta's ankles so he was completely immobile. Really, he wanted to see how far he could go. Would Peeta trust him all the way to the point of allowing this to go on, even when he couldn't speak, move or-as Cato tied a black scarf around his eyes-see? He'd soon see.
Before he got onto the bed, Cato checked Peeta's hand. It was clenched in a fist, smushed against his other arm by the rope, with his thumb peeking out in a discreet message. When going through the dynamics and rules of role play, Cato explained to Peeta that he was going to gag him and, since this completely obliterated the idea of a safe word, Cato told Peeta to keep his hand in a thumbs up and if he didn't like what was going on then to spread his hand out, almost like he were about to high five someone. Since it looked like Peeta was randomly giving him a friendly gesture while bound up the way he was, it seemed that he was still alright with the situation.
Cato was baffled but impressed.
Peeta mightn't have realized it, but he looked very provoking lying so vulnerable and bare on the rickety old motel bed. Cato had considered going a little upper class with the setting but he had always liked to make the role play as realistic as possible and, if he were the sleazy cop he was pretending to be, then he probably would take his gorgeous captive to a seedy motel like this one. But lying there, so exposed and defenseless, Peeta was almost begging to be fucked. Which was impressive since he was gagged.
Cato sat down on the space beside Peeta on the bed. He placed a hand on his pet's bare side, smiling when the trapped boy jolted in surprise. One of the things that never failed to amaze Cato was the Merchant's pale complexions. He wasn't a tanned beach boy himself but he did have a bit of a golden glow to his own skin. But the Merchants? They were pale as ghosts. It didn't seem to make sense that all of them had such pure coloring but it seemed that anyone with Merchant blood struggled to tan. And the ones who got spray tans just looked silly.
"Maybe we can come to an arrangement," he said in character, almost completely forgetting about Officer Hadley. It wasn't the first time. When Peeta squeaked like an adorable mouse when Cato had grabbed his ass, Cato had almost fell out of character. Which was a first for him. And don't get him fucking started about when Peeta stripped in front of him. If they weren't slap bang in the middle of a role play, Cato would have rewarded him for such bravery. He'd have to put it on his list of things to do.
"Maybe if you allow me access to your body for the night, I'll free you of all charges," he said thoughtfully, walking his fingers up Peeta's side. "I'm a very lonely man, you see." He lowered his mouth to the smooth skin and placed a kiss just below his lover's armpit. Peeta's breath shuddered in his chest at the feeling. "I left my wife when I discovered that she wasn't what I was looking for in a partner anymore. What I want is someone sturdy." Another kiss, a little lower. "Someone strong." Another, placed carefully on the right pectoral muscle. "But someone who take still take cock like a whore."
Cato spent a lot of time working on his characters. He figured that if you were going to role play, you might as well do it properly. It didn't work right if you tried doing improv, so he always prepared in advance for scenes like this one. Officer Hadley was a lonely pervert who grew tired of his wife's breasts and realized that he had an attraction towards men when he went to a stripper club one night and fucked a busboy. What attracted him to Peeta was his innocence and purity; his gorgeous golden hair and alabaster skin being too hard to ignore.
Despite that fact that the ball in his mouth engulfed most of his speech ability, Peeta's whimpers weren't hard to hear. Especially when Cato curled his tongue around the boy's left nipple, toying with it until was hard and raw. "I should still conduct the cavity search, though," Cato concluded. "Just in case you are concealing something dangerous."
Peeta's body arched away from Cato the moment he pushed a lube covered finger inside of him. He whined and squirmed, his hand still in a thumbs up position. Somehow contradicting himself, Peeta parted his knees the tiniest of bits (his movements limited due to his bonds) and pushed down on Cato's digit desperately. He moaned behind the gag, his body shivering in desperation and his arms trembling with effort.
"I knew you were a little slut," Cato grinned. He scissored Peeta's moist entrance with his fingers and ever so gently rubbed his sweet spot. He did it lightly, so Peeta could only barely feel it. It drove his captive wild and he squirmed uncomfortably on the bed. "I wouldn't be surprised if you've fucked your way out of jail before. Maybe even bad grades when you were in school."
Peeta groaned, almost as if he was agreeing with Officer Hadley.
"I'm right, aren't I?" Cato said triumphantly. "You let your professors have their way with you so you wouldn't get bad grades, huh?" He slapped Peeta's ass cheek playfully. Peeta yelped in surprise, however he still held the thumbs up. Officer Hadley could be a dickhead, sometimes, but that just added to the fun.
Cato's own cock had gotten unbearably hard and was rubbing against his costume trousers uncomfortably. He rolled away from Peeta for a second, leaving him to ponder when the next touch was going to come and where it was going to come from, and took his pants off. His also discarded his fake police jacket with the plastic sheriff's badge and unbuttoned his shirt until he was in his underpants and undershirt.
He allowed Peeta to just lie there for a good five to ten minutes. Leaving subs completely helpless added to the effect, especially when they didn't know what was going to happen next. Cato just sat beside Peeta on the bed, watching him carefully while his chest heaved and beads of sweat made the slow descent down his spine. Cato wondered what Peeta was thinking. What was going through his mind right that second.
Because Peeta lay on his side, Cato had an excellent view of his pet's back and ass. It struck him as odd that he wasn't thinking dirty thoughts in that moment. He just kept thinking about how comforted he felt by Peeta's presence. He should have been fantasizing about how he was going to fuck him hard. Or how he was going to take the gag off and make him put his pretty mouth to use by sucking his cock. Not thinking about how . . . good . . . everything felt with Peeta here by his side. It was weird. It was strange. It was something Cato had never felt before.
He didn't know whether he liked it or not.
"I'm going to fuck you now," he finally said, making his captive jump in surprise. "I'm going to fuck you so hard you'll regret ever trespassing."
As Cato lined himself up with Peeta's ass, while Peeta waited with baited breath, he pondered why he kept taking his anger out on Peeta when they interacted sexually with each other. He just couldn't help how frustrated he sometimes got when he felt something deeper than arousal when he was around Peeta. And because Peeta was clearly doing something different, something that all his previous subs hadn't done before, Cato somehow funneled all the irritation and confusion into how he fucked Peeta, as if it would make the younger boy realize that he was somehow screwing Cato up. That it would make him feel exactly what Cato felt?
However, Peeta always remained ignorant of it all.
Cato pushed into Peeta and didn't give him any adjustment period before he started thrusting. Peeta moaned, the thumbs up hand trembling but holding fast. He swiveled his hips back to meet every one of Cato's over-eager thrusts, his head tipping backwards and a hot moan of pleasure slipping out every time Cato's length pushed against his sweet spot.
Cato's heart was pounding in his chest. All of his blood had left his head and had now taken residence in his cock, which was throbbing in Peeta's taut heat. All he could thankfully think about now was how he wanted to find his release and get Peeta to reach his as well. Everything else; all the worry, all the stress, all the frustration, could take a back seat while he finally found it in him to resume the role play.
"You're going to cum for me you dirty whore and then I'll consider letting you walk free," he growled, wrapping his arms around Peeta's torso so he could push into him easier since they were lying on their sides. Sweat broke out across Cato's forehead as his speed and vigor increased. Peeta's head tipped back again and the skin of his neck looked so tender and vulnerable Cato couldn't resist attaching his lips to it and suckling on the skin between his collar bone and neck.
Muffled by the gag, another moan escaped. Peeta's limitations caused his body to tremble and shudder uncontrollably. He wanted to spread his legs wider, to give Cato more access, but the tape around his ankles wouldn't let him, and dissatisfaction grew inside of him. Well, as dissatisfied as he could be while being fucked and having his neck gorgeously suckled on while having to keep up an idea that he was selling his body for a get out of jail free pass.
"I want to hear your voice while I make you cum." Cato unclipped the ball gag and threw it away behind them. Peeta sucked in a greedy gasp of air, filling his lungs again with its sweet nectar. "Tell me what you want, slut."
"Ah-ehhh, t-t-touch me-me-me-me please!" Peeta groaned, his eyes fluttering behind the silken scarf.
Cato peered around his pet's writhing torso and smirked in satisfaction at the younger boy's swollen cock, which pressed against his stomach and had created a stain of pre-cum on the bedcovers. He could understand why, by this point, Peeta was reaching the point of begging and he couldn't imagine how painfully hard it had been when he was gagged up. However, Peeta knew now the sorts of things that he was in for, and his hand was still a thumbs up, even though the gag was gone.
Halting his thrusting completely, Cato asked, "Why should I?"
Peeta screamed in frustration and banged his head off the pillow by his bound wrists. "Because I'm doing this to get out of jail and I'm not getting anything out of it!" he yelled.
"Oh, are you not?" Cato pulled out of Peeta and quickly pulled the rope off the bedpost. He tugged Peeta over to the middle of the bed, trying not to laugh when his pet groaned in annoyance, and retied them to a spike in the middle of the headboard so Peeta was face down against the bed. "I'll show you not getting anything out of it."
Cato spread Peeta's ass cheeks and pushed back into him, ignoring the pained groan he got in response. He thursted into him twice as fast and triple as hard, knowing that the scratchy material of the bed's comforter would serve as a substitute for what Peeta so avidly claimed he wasn't getting. Peeta moaned so loud Cato almost worried that someone was going to think he was killing him in there. As hot as it was, there were reasons Cato had to gag some of his subs, and Peeta's virtue just made him prone to being audible.
"Feel free to hump the bed if that's what you'd like," Cato said, his voice stuffed his self-satisfaction. "Since you're not getting anything out of this, as you claimed, you can do it yourself."
"Cato!"
"You mean Officer Hadley?" Cato chastised, swatting Peeta's flexed shoulder blades for the mistake.
"Officer Hadley, could you please stop being a jackass and just do what you set out to do?" Peeta groaned through gritted teeth.
Cato knew that Peeta was just being in character but he was going to pay for that jackass comment later. "What? You mean fuck you so hard you won't be able to walk for weeks?" he asked sweetly.
"If you like," responded Peeta.
"As you wish, sweet dear fuck of mine." Cato amped his speed and power up to an eleven, fucking Peeta's tight hole in a way that made him almost worry that he was going to ruin the boy's taut, virgin sweetness. Like an elastic band, however, whenever his cock pulled out, even the tiniest of bits, the boy's entrance seemed to contract again into its original tightness. Peeta squirmed and grunted, his bound ankles causing the most trouble as he wished to give in to his desire and rub his aching hardness against the bed for some form of relief.
"Oh God, Ca-Officer, I-I'm going to cum!" Peeta yelped, suddenly afraid about staining the motel's sheets. Cato almost burst out laughing when he heard Peeta's brogue. It broke through like a pubescent boy's lilting tones.
"Do it then," Cato grunted, nearing his own release like a car on a crash course with a wall. Knowing that Peeta's cumming was probably going to make him screech like the sexy little banshee he was, Cato pushed the younger boy's face into the pillows to muffle his voice.
It half worked. When Peeta wanted to, he had this really loud voice that could travel through sheets of metal if he hit the right frequency. Cato was amazed by it. Which was weird. Because he hated his subs being loud. Mostly because it increased the risk of someone walking in on them and catching what they were doing. Cato had managed to keep his dom life secret for so long now, he didn't want the scandal that would entail if his secret life ever went public. But he wanted to hear Peeta's moans and screams of ecstasy almost more than he wanted to reach his own release. Which didn't make sense.
Peeta came with another one of his sexy-but-confusing screams of ecstasy, his entire body going completely limp as exhaustion immediately washed over him. Cato hoped he would be able to increase Peeta's stamina, so they could maybe go two or three times before he gave into fatigue. However, especially this particular scene, sex with Cato could be extremely strenuous, and he knew this, so he respected his sub's desire to rest.
A gorgeous shudder of relief wracked Cato's body as he filled Peeta with his seed, feeling almost weightless as the pressure left his cock and blood finally returned to his brain. "Fuck," Cato muttered, sitting down beside Peeta and wiping his sweaty forehead. He pulled the knots out of the rope around Peeta's wrists and helped the younger boy flip around. He paused as he went to rip the tape around Peeta's ankles.
"What?" Peeta panted, ripping the scarf off his eyes and propping himself up on his elbows. "What is it, sir?"
Cato looked at his chest. It was heaving. His breathing was short. His limbs were almost weak and he was sweating enough to flood a small town. He was exhausted. How could that be? "Nothing," Cato muttered, ripping the tape off Peeta's ankles.
"I thought something was wrong," Peeta said worriedly. "I thought maybe you'd eaten nuts or something and were about to pass out in front of me. You haven't even taught me how to use your epi-pen yet. You do have one of those, don't you?"
Cato chucked the tape away. He climbed back up to the head of the bed and wound his arm around Peeta's pale shoulders. "Yes, I do," he said.
"I'd feel much more comfortable if you showed me how to use it," Peeta said, his head falling against Cato's shoulder. His hair tickled the underside of Cato's jaw and he had to fight off a smile. Peeta sat up and looked around, "You could show me how to use it now, where is it?"
"It's not here," Cato answered.
Peeta whirled around on Cato with wide eyes. He gaped at him like he had said something horrendous. "You don't carry it? What if something happened? What if . . . if . . . I don't know, someone tried to poison you or you just didn't know there was in nuts in something! That sort of thing can happen, you know!"
Cato rolled his eyes and pulled Peeta back into his arms, amused by the younger boy's concern. "Look, let me worry about my health," he said. "I know what I'm doing."
"Obviously not," Peeta muttered. He glanced at Cato. "You're endangering yourself. It's stupid and it's wrong."
"That's what ambulance services are for."
"Do you even know what epi-pens are for? They're to keep your heart going until the ambulance services arrive! God, how can you be deathly allergic to something and yet know nothing about it?" Peeta asked. "When was the last time you replaced them?"
"You have to replace them?!" Cato asked in surprise.
Peeta shut his eyes and groaned. "Oh my God, sir, I'm going to pretend you didn't just say that," he said. "Yes, you have to replace them. They go out of date. When did you receive the set you have now?"
Cato thought back. It had been so long, he wasn't even sure where they were, let alone when he got them. "Probably when I found out about the allergy."
"Which was . . . ?"
"Erm . . . Oh! I was ten."
"Ten?!" Peeta couldn't help pulling out of Cato's arms again. He looked at his owner with a deadly sharp stare. "You were ten?" He asked. His voice was soft, completely different to the anger he held his eyes. Cato loved how Peeta could scare armies into submission with a scowl but had the voice as soft as a rose petal. "Cato, how have you survived this long?"
Cato didn't like how Peeta was becoming so serious about this. Well, actually, he didn't mind how serious Peeta was becoming about it. What he didn't like was how he didn't mind Peeta being so concerned about him. He almost welcomed it. But he couldn't welcome it. He never welcomed it before. "Peeta, leave it alone," said Cato. "It doesn't matter. I'll sort it out, okay? Would that make you feel any better?"
"Yes. Yes it would," Peeta concluded. He melted into Cato's arms and closed his eyes, almost peacefully. "You're not doing anyone any favours by endangering your life. You're a very important man, Cato. The whole city relies on you. Without the work you do . . . we'd crash."
Cato scoffed. "I doubt it. Marvel would probably replace me or something."
"No," Peeta said firmly. "You're wrong."
Cato could recognize when Peeta was going to be stubborn. And this was a perfect example of it. Cato could practically see Peeta building the brick wall up, which would be impenetrable. It was nice that he was so set in his beliefs but when it concerned Cato himself and things that he believed in, it could be a little frustrating.
Peeta was wrong, though. Cato's job wasn't important. He only did accountancy and paperwork for President Snow. The people who kept the town in working order were the doctors. The nurses; the firefighters; the police officers; the people. The Merchants. The people like Peeta who would never get recognition for what they did to keep the town moving and working smoothly. Without the Merchants, the city would be in turmoil.
And the saddest thing about it was that not one of them knew it. Because the big shots who worked in corporations and sat behind the desks doing nothing other than giving other people orders made them feel small. Small and insignificant.
"Peeta, what did your family do? Before your mother got ill and your father died?" asked Cato. He realized that Peeta had mentioned on numerous occasions that he was a Merchant, but he never mentioned the trade.
Peeta smiled to himself, as if a fond memory was playing out behind his closed lids. "I thought it was obvious," he said. "We're bakers, born and bred."
Cato grinned. Of course.
"And we still are. My brothers took the business with them to Ireland, so the Mellarks are still around somewhere. Just . . . just not here."
Cato could hear the sadness in Peeta's voice, even if he made an impressive job of trying to hide it. "Hey." Cato tipped Peeta's chin so he looked at him. Peeta's eyes opened and he looked right into Cato's, the power of the baby blue overwhelmingly beautiful. "Why don't you open one of your own? Restart the legacy here again?"
Peeta scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Me? I don't even have time for college, Cato."
Cato almost said something he knew he'd regret. He was about to suggest that Peeta could maybe consider it when he didn't have to look after his mother anymore. It wasn't that he was purposely trying to be cold but Cato didn't know what it was like to love a parent so unconditionally that he would give up most of his life for them. Of course, the carers at the orphanage were nice enough people but he didn't love them. He didn't even feel like he was missing out on anything. Every mother's or father's day he made a card for a different member of staff at the home during crafts at school. There wasn't anything else he could do. Besides, the workers appreciated it.
Cato admired Peeta for his capability to love his mother. He really did have a big heart, and in a way, Cato envied him for that.
The room was suddenly filled with the melancholy notes of Jennifer Lawrence's 'The Hanging Tree'. Peeta cursed to himself and crawled out of the bed, shifting through the clothes on the floor to fish his phone out of his pants. His phone was one of those block things from 2004. Cato was surprised that Peeta even managed to download a song onto it for his ringtone.
"Hello?" It was like a switch. Peeta's face went from smiling to deadly serious. "Máthair, calma síos, labhair go mall." Cato watched Peeta carefully as he sat on the floor, knees drawn up to his chest and face etched with worry. He had never heard Peeta speak fluently until now, and he'd probably ponder the hotness of it later, but now Cato was uneasy about the distress that was carved into every word out of Peeta's mouth. "Cad é? An bhfuil tú cinnte?" Peeta's eyes widened and Cato's heart skipped a beat as the pure shock that was on the younger boy's face made him instantly panic as well.
"No, no, no, calma síos, nach scaoill, tá sé ceart go leor," Peeta quickly said. He shoved his phone between his chin and shoulder so he could pull his pants and underwear on while he spoke. "Máthair, le do thoil calma síos."
Cato only knew that Peeta was talking to his mother, having recognized the 'Máthair' from previous times he had mentioned her. The fact that Peeta was talking to his mother and was suddenly moving with such urgency could not be a good thing. Cato took the initiative and started getting dressed as well, since he was Peeta's only form of transport back into the city.
"Tá mé anseo, tá sé ceart go leor," Peeta begged. He somehow managed to pull his shirt on without once disengaging the conversation with his mother. He glanced at Cato, who was fully dressed by this point. "Beidh mé ceart ann." He moved the mobile away from his ear and whispered to Cato, "We have to go to my mother's."
Cato nodded, already throwing money onto the best side table. Peeta kept talking to his mother, fiddling in his pocket for his own wallet. When he tried to put some money down as well, Cato grabbed it and shoved it back into Peeta's back pocket. Peeta scowled at Cato but didn't complain. They left together and got into the car.
Peeta stayed on the line with his mother the entire time. When all words ran out, he began to sing to her.
"Óho óho óho mo leana,
Óho mo leana ina chodladh gan brón.
Ar mhullach an tí tá síógí geala
Faoi chaoin-ré an earraigh ag imirt 's ag ól
Is seo hiad aniar iad a' glaoch ar mo leana
Le súil is a mhealladh isteach sa lios mór.
A leana mo chléibh go n-éirí do chodlaigh leat,
Séan agus sonas gach oíche i do chómhair..
Tá mise le do thaobh a' gui ort na mbeannacht,
Seoithín mo leana is ní imeoidh tú leo."
The car swerved dangerously to the right. Peeta shot Cato an alarmed look, still able to keep the singing going despite the shock. Cato hadn't meant to do that. He had just gotten so caught up in the song. He wanted to know what the lyrics meant, he wanted to know whether they held significance to Peeta and his mother particularly, or if they were just a tool to keep her calm.
"Sorry," Cato mouthed.
Peeta didn't see it, however. He was too absorbed in singing to his mother.
"Óho óho óho mo leana
Óho mo leana agus codail go fóill.
Óho óho óho mo leana
Óho mo leana ina chodladh gan brón."
It didn't really dawn on Cato what was about to happen until he-par Peeta's instruction-drove up Mrs. Mellark's driveway and parked. He was about to meet Peeta's mother. He didn't meet his subs mothers! That was a relationship thing, wasn't it? Cato couldn't rethink it, however, as Peeta bolted out of the car and was already at the door before Cato even had a chance to change his mind.
Cato followed Peeta into his mother's house, going at a much slower pace. Peeta ran up the stairs two at a time while Cato lingered downstairs. He was instantly fascinated. Was this where Peeta grew up? Where these cream walls the same cream walls young Peeta saw everyday as he left for school? Was that cabinet opposite the stairs the same cabinet toddler Peeta grabbed for support as he learned to walk?
On his way to the stairs, Cato spotted a photograph hanging on the wall. The frame was old, the wood chipped and cracked. It even seemed to be taped together in some places. The photo inside depicted a family. Three boys and two parents. Cato didn't need to ponder or wonder which one was Peeta, nor did he have to debate with himself whether he was right or not. He just knew. Right there, on the spot. He just knew.
The little boy-the youngest-who was squished between his two brothers. It amazed Cato how Peeta hadn't changed a bit. All he really seemed to have done was lose some baby fat and put on some muscle. His brothers looked similar to each other, with their hair slicked back in that silly way that was popular in the '00s. But Peeta was different. He simply had a mess of golden curls, beautiful rosy cheeks and a smile so wide, he could probably blind someone with it if he tried.
Another photo, which simply sat on the small phone table below, then caught Cato's attention. It was Peeta, the way he was now, with his arms around an elderly woman. Cato assumed it was his mother. An older version of the young woman in the older photograph. Her smile was just like Peeta's and, when you compared them to each other, they really were spitting image of one another.
When Cato finally got up the stairs, he felt almost unwelcome as he gingerly poked his head around the room with the open door. "Uh . . . everything okay?" he asked.
"Yeah." Peeta was sitting on a double bed, his arms wrapped protectively around his mother. Her head was resting on his shoulder, her eyes peacefully closed and her hand clutching his desperately. "She was just seeing things. Recently she's been having these awful apparitions of things that aren't really there."
"Does that happen often?" Cato frowned.
"She's seeing a doctor about it soon," Peeta said quietly, softly stroking the white as snow curls on top of his mother's head. "It's just old age."
"What does she see?"
"My dad, mostly. I'd come back after dropping off an article for the paper and she'd tell me that my dad says hello." Peeta paused, his eyes watery. "But she can't be seeing him because he's dead and she's not."
"Hey, don't cry." Cato went to Peeta, almost by instinct, and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "It's alright. You're right, she's not dead. And she won't be for a while yet."
Peeta pressed his face into his mother's hair, closing his eyes and taking a shaky breath. "She sees my brothers, too," he murmured. "She always thought they left because she did something wrong, so when she sees them they're always so horrid to her. I just wish they'd come back and tell her it's not her fault. Or at least give us a call and explain. Surely a call isn't so much to ask for."
Cato looked around Mrs. Mellark's room. The entire area was hooked through with oxygen tubing, all of it cumulating in the cannula connected to her nose. As well as this, the mattress on the bed was thick, the sheets real linen. Cato could spot a knock off from a mile off but there was no sign of fakery here. The pillows were also feather stuffed. On the wall was a plasma screen t.v and the desk in the corner was covered in papers. Some of the pages had writing all over them, others were sketches and paintings. This wasn't just Mrs. Mellark's room. It was also Peeta's.
"Peeta, if you don't mind me asking"-
"You're wondering how we could afford all this," Peeta said. He looked around the room himself and smiled. "Dad. He left us some money. This one here wanted me to put into a college fund but I told her not to be ridiculous. I had to look after her."
"Oh, Peeta," Cato sighed.
"Shut up," Peeta muttered.
Mrs. Mellark stirred. Cato stepped back, bumping into the wall in the process. What was he doing? She was Peeta's mother, not a bomb! Mrs. Mellark's fingers tightened around Peeta's hand and she made a tiny noise that Cato didn't know whether to decipher as upset or fear.
"Tá mé anseo, tá sé ceart go leor," Peeta whispered to her.
"Peeta?" She murmured.
"Is ea," Peeta replied.
Her eyes fluttered open and when she craned her head around to find that Peeta was, indeed, there, a fond smile broke out across her face. Cato would almost say his heart melted at the sight. But then she glanced around and saw him standing there, the once fond gaze widened into surprise.
Mrs. Mellark looked back at Peeta. "Male . . . friend?" she asked.
"Uh, yeah," Peeta said nervously. "Máthair, this is Cato. My, uh, male friend."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Mellark," Cato said, hoping he was being helpful.
"Maria," Mrs. Mellark corrected him. "Mrs . . . . make me . . . old." Peeta chuckled softly and shook his head. Cato was surprised to find that he was smiling as well. Maria lifted her hand and pointed at Cato, her finger trembling terribly but holding fast. "You . . . you care for my boy."
"Máthair," Peeta said, his face turning pink, "it's only been two weeks. Maybe you should sleep some more."
Maria didn't even glance at Peeta. "Care for him. Hear?"
Cato nodded. "I hear," he said.
"You don't break heart," Maria insisted.
If Cato was the man he had been two weeks prior, he probably would have ran for the hills by now. But, for some reason, his feet were glued to the floor. He looked Maria Mellark right in the eye and promised, "I won't."
She glanced at Peeta, who shook his head in translation. Maria smiled and closed her eyes. "Dea."
Peeta lulled his mother back to sleep, singing to her again. This time, the song was different.
"Seoithín, seo hó, mo stór é, mo leanbh
Mo sheod gan chealg, mo chuid den tsaol mhór
Seoithín, seo hó, is mór é an taitneamh
Mo stóirín ina leaba ina chodladh gan brón.
A leanbh mo chléibh, go n-éirí do chodladh leat
Séan agus sonas a choíche in do chóir
Tá mise le do thaobh ag guí ort na mbeannacht
Seoithín, a leanbh, ní imeoidh tú leo.
Seoithín, seo hó, mo stór é, mo leanbh
Mo sheod gan chealg, mo chuid den tsaol mhór
Seoithín, seo hó, is mór é an taitneamh
Mo stóirín ina leaba ina chodladh gan brón.
A leanbh mo chléibh, go n-éirí do chodladh leat
Séan agus sonas a choíche in do chóir
Tá mise le do thaobh ag guí ort na mbeannacht
Seoithín, a leanbh, ní imeoidh tú leo."
"Why do you sing?" Cato whispered as Peeta carefully slipped out from underneath his mother, gently lowering her onto the pillows again.
"She sang the same songs to me when I was little," Peeta shrugged. "It soothes her. I'm no pop star, by any means, I know that, but sometimes she just likes to listen to my voice. I'm not a huge fan of doing it but I'd do anything for her."
Peeta lead Cato out of Maria's room and down the stairs into the kitchen. Cato expected Peeta to relax a little now that everything was okay but instead of this, it was like he got twice as fretful. It was like watching one of those cartoons that did a thousand things at once. He instantly went to the sink and started filling it up with water while also filling up a jug and pouring it into the kettle. While the sink filled and the water heated, he rummaged around for some washing up liquid, which he then squeezed into the water in the sink.
"Are you always like this?" Cato frowned. He wanted to help but he didn't know what he could do. It was like Peeta was covering every job himself so that no one would offer to help.
"Like what?" asked Peeta. He went into a small back area and came back with a brush. Before he could start brushing, Cato took it from him and started doing it himself.
"On edge?"
"I'm not on edge." Peeta twisted the taps to switch them off and started washing the few plates and cups that had been sitting on the draining board. "Ms. Santario always leaves the place in shambles. She can look after my mother just fine, she just doesn't seem capable of washing a dish. Or anything else, for that matter."
"Do you usually come home to your mother on Sunday nights?" asked Cato. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to be brushing, since the floor was pretty much immaculate, but he kept doing it in case he was missing something.
"No, usually Mondays. I stay in my house over the weekend." Peeta switched the kettle off before it boiled and tried to nab a hot water bottle from the top of one of the cupboards. Cato chuckled as Peeta pushed up on his tiptoes but still couldn't reach. He reached up and grabbed it for him, bumping him out of the way with his hip and filling it himself. "I could have done that."
"Yes, but I can as well. And I did," Cato replied, glancing over his shoulder and grinning at Peeta, who was smoldering a little.
Peeta rolled his eyes and took the bottle from Cato once the top was securely on. They returned to Maria's room. Cato leaned in the doorway, watching Peeta as he slipped the water bottle under Maria's back and fluffed her pillow for her. "I'm sorry this kind of ruined any other plans you had for tonight," Peeta whispered.
"Don't worry about it," Cato assured.
"I know you're set in your ways and you hate things being interrupted . . ."
"Peeta, its okay"-
"And I know I'll probably have to pay for this later, which is fine . . ."
"Peeta"-
"But my mother always comes first"-
"Peeta!" Cato spoke as loud as he dared, reverting to his controlling self momentarily to capture Peeta's attention. "It's alright. I understand."
"Thank you." Peeta never said two words with such sincerity before. When it came to his dedication to his mother, any form of understanding from others was greatly appreciated. He always thought it would be a deal breaker but, even when he was with Katniss, it just seemed to make people want to be with him even more. "And thanks, by the way."
Cato frowned. "For what?"
"For humoring her. I know you don't do relationships, I appreciate that you pretended for her," Peeta explained. He sat beside Maria on the bed and sighed. "Do you want to stay the night? It's quite far to your house and it's late. We have a spare room?"
Cato glanced out the open door, to where the other room was. "I don't know," he replied.
"It would put my mind at ease," Peeta said helpfully. "You did say I should relax."
Cato sighed. "Fine," he said. It didn't sound as indifferent as he had wanted it to as his smile betrayed him. "I'll see you tomorrow."
Peeta curled up beside Maria and smiled. "See you tomorrow."
As Cato lay in bed that night, he couldn't stop pondering what Peeta said. Humoring her. Humoring her. Sure, that's what he had been doing. Humoring Maria. So their secret wouldn't be revealed. He was protecting their secret by saying he wouldn't break Peeta's heart and that he'd care for him.
Except . . .
I n the moment, he felt like he hadn't been.
"Hushaby, Hush".
Oh, my child,
oh my child asleep without any care
On the roof of the house there are bright fairies,
playing and drinking under the gentle rays of the spring moon;
here they come, to call my child out,
wishing to draw him into the the fairy mound.
My child, my heart, sleep soundly and well;
may good luck and happiness forever be yours;
I'm here at your side praying blessings upon you;
Hushaby, hush, you're not going with them.
Oh, my child,
oh my child still asleep
Oh, my child,
oh my child asleep without any care
Version below by Joe Heaney:
On the roof of the house there are bright fairies,
playing and drinking under the gentle rays of the spring moon;
here they come, to call my child out,
wishing to draw him into the the fairy mound.
My child, my heart, sleep soundly and well;
may good luck and happiness forever be yours;
I'm here at your side praying blessings upon you;
Hushaby, hush, you're not going with them.
Hushaby, hush, my child and my treasure,
my guileless jewel, my portion of life;
Hushaby, hush, it's such a great pleasure,
my child in bed sleeping without any care.
My child, my heart, sleep soundly and well;
may good luck and happiness forever be yours;
I'm here at your side praying blessings upon you;
Hushaby, hush, you're not going with them.
A/N: I'm not going to translate the Irish (except the rhymes above) as when Peeta was speaking it we were looking through the eyes of Cato, who has no idea how to translate Irish.
Please R&R! ^_^