-*** Training Day: 1: Part 2***-
Cato's hand entwined with Peeta's, resting on the small workbench.
The heat of their kiss lingered in his chest as he listened to the deluge of water outside. His gaze locked onto Peeta's dilated hazel eyes, leaning against him. He wasn't sure why the boy from District 12 made him feel so delicate, but a part of Cato hated him for it. He hated Peeta for making him feel so much so suddenly.
He was scared to want Peeta, but here he was—wanting him again.
Luna's words lingered in the back of his mind, and suddenly, he was afraid to lose the baker boy when he wasn't even his. His thoughts strayed to Marcus, but he pushed them away. He just wanted to enjoy this moment—comfort in the chaos. The soft patter of rain mixed with their gentle breaths as the wind chimes echoed around them. His hazel eyes watched the rain splash against the smooth tiles just beyond the doorway of their shelter.
He and Marcus had the same fixation look, drawing his plump lower lip between his teeth. Cato squeezed Peeta's hand.
"What's on your mind?"
Peeta's mouth curved into a smile, turning back to face Cato. A light flush blossomed upon his cheeks.
"It's funny. I kiss you like I've known you my whole life… but I don't even know your favorite color."
A smile crept upon Cato's lips. He squeezed Peeta's hand and shifted to face him, sitting cross-legged on the table.
"It's yellow, but not like the sun. More like a dandelion. A warm golden yellow. What about you?"
Peeta's lips turned upward. "Orange."
"Like the fruit?"
"No, a bit more muted," he replied, shaking his head. "More like a sunset."
Sunset. He could see it. The rim of the descending sun and the sky streaked with soft shades of orange.
"Alright, my turn. Do you have a favorite drink?"
"Not really. My friend Delly got me a lemonade from one of the Peacekeepers for my birthday. I didn't care for the bubbles tickling my throat." He laughed. "I like tea—with honey."
Peeta's laugh was warm. It made Cato's lips tug upward.
"I used to eat spoonfuls of honey as a kid. My mother always teased me about it. She'd always say I would turn into a fat bumblebee."
"If only bumblebees made honey. You would've been set for life," Peeta grinned. "What's your favorite, Cato?"
There was just something about the way his name rolled off Peeta's tongue that excited him.
"I had this hot cocoa at breakfast the other day, and I'm pretty sure it's the best thing I've ever had."
Peeta grabbed his hand excitedly, his hazel eyes growing wide to match the grin plastered on his face. "Oh yes! I think I have to change my answer to hot chocolate!"
He retracted slightly, realizing his over-excitement might've overstepped. He let his fingers rest in Cato's hand as the trickle of rain filled the space between them again.
"Do you have any hobbies?"
"I like to read," Cato's lips curled, shifting his gaze to the rain splashing against the doorway.
"In District Two, we read stories about great adventures and courageous heroes. Fighting monsters—saving damsels in distress. As I got older, I moved away from those kinds of books. I like reading dramas or mysteries… What about you?"
Peeta's gaze lingered on the patch of flowers beside them.
"I like to draw," he replied quietly. "I like to take out my sketchbook and make portraits of people. I especially like to draw the stars, the trees, and the sun—those are my favorites... Does that count as a hobby?"
"I'd say it's a pretty good one," Cato said, reassuringly squeezing Peeta's hand—a question lingering behind the blonde's gaze.
"Why did you form an alliance with us?"
There's a flicker of worry mixed with hesitation in Peeta's stare. He pulled his hand free from Cato's grasp.
"I didn't," Cato replied blankly. "I recommended it as an option, but we agreed as a group."
Peeta raised an eyebrow towards him, slipping his fingers from Cato's hand. "Why did you suggest it?"
Cato sighed, rubbing his neck. He realized this conversation would occur deep down, but he wasn't prepared for it to happen just yet.
"District Twelve is popular with sponsors—"
"You mean Katniss," Peeta scoffed, shaking his head. "She's gonna be the one popular with sponsors. Hell, she's popular with everyone in District Twelve."
His gaze lowered to the flowerbeds before them.
"You know what my mother said to me when she came to say goodbye?" he whispered, his eyes trailing the yellow rosettes. He leaned forward with a slouch, resting his elbows against his thighs. "As if to cheer me up, she said maybe District Twelve will finally have a winner. Then I realized she didn't mean me—she meant Katniss."
His words dug into Cato's chest. His pain was different from his, yet it was so similar. They were two tales of the same story. While his mother conceived a future of her son's demise, Cato's father relished the glory of his victory.
"My father didn't come to say goodbye... Instead, he acts as if I've already won," he replied, trailing his eyes along Peeta's golden locks."My grandmother is a Victor, but she's gotten older—When she dies, the luxurious lifestyle he's known will disappear. I'm nothing more than his insurance policy, an extension of his will."
"Is Cornelia your grandmother?" Peeta asked, his amber eyes shifting back toward him. Cato nodded without responding. "You have her eyes… And at least your family believes in you. Plus, you've been trained."
"And? I've watched you throw that weight like it was nothing."
"Sure, and I'm sure the arena will be full of heavy things for me to chuck at people," Peeta shot back.
"But it means you're strong! You can fight back if someone gets close to you."
"What use will that be? It's not like I can wrestle them to death." Peeta mocked. "Let's face it, I'm not even a contender in these Games."
"Stop," Cato snapped, seeing the growing worry in his trembling eyes. "You have the same chance as everyone else. No one controls your destiny—you do."
"If you believed your own words, you wouldn't be here," Peeta replied, turning toward him with a meek smile. "You'd be home—safe and sound with Octavia, your mother, and your father. I'd still be here."
His words stung, but he was right. Cato had volunteered. He had chosen to be here by raising his hand. He agreed to fight Marcus. He could've conceded to him. He could've graduated from the Academy and gone on to become a mundane Peacekeeper, watching Marcus fill his shoes. They might've had a life together beyond the Games.
But that was a dream, and this was his reality.
The reality was… there was no honor in conceding. As much as losing Marcus left him feeling empty, Peeta distracted him from the harsh truth of their fate. Cato's eye caught a familiar patch of golden flowers with jagged teeth. A bursting white floret nestled between the golden buds. He slowly rose from the workbench.
"You're right, but I'm here because our lives are never our own… they're threads of fate sewn together by someone else's hand," he replied, bending over to retrieve the small starburst from the colony of dandelions. "You and I would still be here."
Turning back to Peeta, his eyes tried reading the feelings lingering behind his uncertain gaze.
"Cornelia used to tell me… if you wish for something hard enough—it might come true."
Peeta scoffed, his eye trailing the small flower between Cato's fingers. "I don't see how a wish will help me."
"Because… I'm betting on you. That's why."
The petals' bristles tickled his lips, pushing them against it. Then, in a breath, the flower scattered across the light breeze. Peeta laughed as he was coated in a puff of dandelion seeds, floating against the lingering current. His laughter warmed Cato in ways the sun couldn't. His hand brushed the florets that stuck to Peeta's blonde locks. His fingers swept against his tender cheek, trailing along Peeta's jawline to tilt his face to meet him.
The pools of honey and cerulean captivated him, brushing his thumb against Peeta's plump lower lip.
"I'm a fool—" he whispered, closing the space between them.
His gaze lingered on Peeta's eyes for an answer. Cato knew this was wrong, but the phantom of his heart had taken form before him. The swirls of his honey-colored eyes flickered gold. He felt the goodness of the baker boy's heart, which he was undeserving of. The closer he got to him, the more dangerous his life would become.
But he wanted, no—he needed to push him away.
Deep down, he knew he couldn't save him from the world. His gaze pleaded with Peeta's. Hate him. Scorn him. Reject him. Anything but welcome him.
It would be so much easier if Peeta hated him.
"Yes, you are," Peeta murmured, gently grasping his wrist. His gaze traced his face, lingering on his lips. "But then again, so am I."
Cato leaned forward, capturing Peeta in a tender kiss. Their lips melded together into a rhythmic dance of passion laced with a burning desire. The gentle slowness of their lips melted quickly with each passing breath as their hands explored one another. Cato's heart raced in his chest, trailing his hands down to Peeta's hips. He pulled Peeta into him with a throaty groan, feeling the baker boy spread his legs as he wrapped his arms around his neck. Peeta dragged him closer with a soft moan, wrapping his legs around his waist.
Flames swept across his skin as the passion between their lips drove him to madness. It left Cato needing more. His thoughts became hazy… and all he could think of was how good this felt. And so, he let himself sink back into it, melting in Peeta's embrace, giving himself up entirely to this intense, beautiful, and almost desperate kiss. His hands fumbled to push off Peeta's jacket, stroking along his back before firmly gripping his rear. Peeta's groin twitched against his denim. Their moans rippled across each other's lips.
No closeness was close enough.
Cato nipped and suckled against Peeta's lips, eliciting a hearty groan as he rutted against him. Peeta trembled beneath him, biting his tongue to silence himself, feeling Cato's mouth moving against his. There was no stopping his body from responding. His breaths became shallow, and soon enough, his body started to shake as all those pent-up feelings, all that passion he had held back for so long, boiled up inside him. Finally, he gave in, letting himself whimper against Cato's lips.
Cato broke their embrace, feeling Peeta trembling beneath him. His eyes filled with worry.
"Are you okay?" he asked, loosening his grip on Peeta's bottom. Peeta's voice was breathless, taking a few seconds to respond.
"I-It just... feels so good—" he whispered, his cheeks flushed.
His eyes burned with passion as his words came out hushedly. "Can we... can we do more?"
Cato bit back a chuckle, closing the space between them once again. Moans of need rippled between them, feeling their hardened members rub against each other through the barrier of denim. His breaths grew heavier as they continued, all his attention focused on the sensations, the soft moans Peeta made, the way he leaned into him. Their bodies pressed together.
Peeta's hand slid down the front of his shirt, pulling him closer. He could almost feel Peeta's heartbeat against his chest. Peeta gasped into his mouth, rolling his hips against him. Cato sank his tongue fervently into Peeta's mouth as the boy eagerly bucked against him. He let out a small moan, a deep breath escaping his lips.
Peeta's hands traveled further down his shirt, and his kisses grew increasingly urgent, more insistent, as his fingers finally slipped beneath Cato's shirt. He caressed the skin of his chest, tracing his fingers along the lines of his muscles. Cato's breath grew more labored as his body began to hum with the same need.
Electricity shot through Cato's body as their thrusts met. Breathy moans and a shimmer of sweat filled the space between them as their tongues danced. Cato broke the kiss, trailing tender kisses along Peeta's jaw. He left Peeta shuddering beneath him as his breath tickled his ear.
"Is this okay?" he whispered huskily against Peeta's earlobe, rolling his hips against his.
The friction of their groins made Peeta shake.
"It's a lot more than okay..." he responded quietly, a low groan escaping his lips.
Cato hungrily claimed his neck, gnawing and licking along the tender skin of his carotid, pulling at his shirt to gain access to more of his skin. Peeta let out a breathless moan as Cato suckled on the space above his clavicle.
"Can-" Another low moan escaped Peeta. "Can I...?"
Peeta trailed off, his breath catching in his throat. "Can I take my shirt off?"
Cato's fingers found the hem of his shirt, curling his fingers around it, pulling it up from his frame. He broke from kissing Peeta's neck to discard the fabric, taking in his being. He looked at his body hungrily, guiding Peeta's hands to the hem of his shirt.
He let out a breathy moan as Peeta took the hem of his shirt in his hands, slowly working it upwards. Peeta drew in his lower lip, scanning his eyes over his muscular frame.
"Wow..." he breathed out.
"Do you like what you see?" Cato whispered, narrowing his hungry eyes on Peeta's frame.
Peeta nodded, flushing with embarrassment as his eyes scanned over his body. He took in the broadness of Peeta's shoulders, the cut of his abdominal muscles, and the strength in his arms.
Cato leaned in, engulfing Peeta's earlobe. He suckled and gnawed at the tender skin, bucking his hips against Peeta's once more. Peeta's eyes fluttered shut from the sensation, letting out another shiver. His hands traced the broadness of Cato's shoulders, running along his muscular chest. His excitement grew rapidly from this newfound curiosity ignited within him.
Despite the blush on Peeta's face, his hands moved down, finding the waistband of Cato's jeans. His fingers slipped against the hem of his pants, working their way against the denim. And then, finally, his fingers reach the button of Cato's jeans. He undid it, finding the familiar sensation of a zipper under his fingertips. He gasped breathlessly as his palm met Cato's glistening length beneath the barrier of cloth.
"H-How's that?" he asked quietly, unable to hide how his voice broke.
A stifled cry of pleasure rolled from Cato's throat, racking his finger down Peeta's muscular back as his hand pumped his slicken length. His moans made him quiver with anticipation. Cato's hand trembled as it undid Peeta's jeans, pushing down his boxers to curl his hand around his thick member.
They drank each other's moans in the spaces formed between their lips. Their breaths became more erratic, a pitting sensation growing in their stomachs.
Cato reveled in the intoxicating sounds Peeta made. Each moan was his brand of morphling, and he was utterly addicted. Peeta clung to him as if afraid he would drift away, his handsome face wracked with ecstasy as their movements grew more frenzied. He steadily pumped Peeta's length, feeling his searing skin glistening with anticipation.
Peeta's amber eyes were drunk with desire. A crimson flush painted his glistening cheeks as his eyes met his.
"C-Cato… please," he begged with a huff. "I'm s-so close."
Cato trembled, hearing him purr his name. It pushed him past his capacity. His lips twitched into a smile, feeling the pressure growing in his abdomen. He squeezed Peeta's bottom firmly, bringing them closer together as he stroked Peeta's length. His toes tingled, feeling Peeta pump him faster.
Peeta's raucous moans tickled Cato's throat, pulling himself against him. Cato's breath caught in his throat. He was almost at his breaking point.
"Come for me." he groaned, feeling Peeta's damp skin press against his neck.
His ragged breath made his head spin. His mouth clamped down on his neck, his teeth gnawing at his skin. An intense tremble overcame Peeta, biting into his flesh as a shockwave of ecstasy washed over him. Peeta's stomach and chest were coated in hot ropes of his essence.
Cato's eyes rolled back, feeling the pain his bite mix with the sweet pleasure of his cries against his throat. His mouth opened slightly as he called out Peeta's name in a shuddered whisper, hips bucking, shoulders carrying the weight of his orgasm. Spots danced before his eyes as a powerful explosion of bliss coursed through his body like lightning, coating Peeta's arm and stomach as he released his neck.
Deep huffs and pants danced between them as Cato rested his forehead against Peeta's. He shuddered against him, coming down from the peak of his orgasm. His hungry eyes met Peeta's, tilting his chin to capture his swollen lips. Their eyes locked as they broke away.
"This feels like a dream," Cato murmured.
A rosy blush painted Peeta's cheeks as he unwrapped his legs from Cato's waist. "A good dream… right?" he asked, taking a deep breath as Cato's ocean eyes trailed him with an amused smile.
Cato brought Peeta's hand to his lips, gently kissing his knuckles. "It was everything and more."
Peeta's lips turned upward, intertwining his right hand with Cato's. As their fingers danced, something strong gripped Cato's heart, possessing him. Peeta had consumed him in ways his mind couldn't articulate. Peeta's eyes darted toward his neck, tracing a distinct groove of his flesh above his collarbone with his finger.
Cato's cheeks burned, feeling the divots left by his canines. The skin was tender, like a fresh bruise. He regained his sense of his surroundings, noticing the area around them had dimmed drastically since earlier. They had lost track of time.
"We should probably get inside before they come looking for us," he sighed, stepping back to let Peeta hop down from the workbench.
Peeta nodded, his smile falling slightly as he climbed down. They cleaned the mess from their skin with large rhubarb leaves before pulling on their shirts. Cato interlaced their fingers as they slowly returned to the elevator.
"Can I see you tomorrow?" Peeta asked, his voice hopeful yet teasing.
"I don't know… I'm pretty sure I'll be too busy," Cato joked, squeezing Peeta's hand. Their eyes met, and Peeta's lips formed a small smile. "I'll be here."
Cato felt a lump in his throat, returning the smile. Peeta's hand remained in his until they stepped inside the elevator. Cato relished his scent of honey and vanilla for a few moments more as they stopped on the twelfth floor.
Peeta turned toward him, stepping toward the exit. "Goodnight, Cato."
Cato caught his arm before he could leave, planting a quick peck on his swollen lips. "Goodnight, Peeta."
His heart throbbed as he watched the blonde from District 12 disappear from his gaze as the elevator continued its descent. Leaning back against the elevator wall, he watched the flash of the floors zoom by. The air around him was charged with Peeta's scent, making his pulse race. He sighed, closing his eyes to the shifting world before him. He felt so safe and yet so vulnerable.
Cato couldn't defend himself against his growing infatuation, which scared him more than the flames of desire that licked his skin. The ghost of his heart was alive inside Peeta. Every touch, every kiss brought them closer together.
Perhaps he was delusional.
No sane person would dare to attempt what he had. But then again, he wasn't sure if he was alive. He felt fragments of himself slowly returning, but nothing compared to how he felt with Peeta.
Peeta made him feel alive again.
He made him feel again.
Cato slipped into his room next to the foyer without alerting the others at the dining room table. He quickly closed the door, changing his cum-soaked boxers for a fresh pair, grateful it hadn't soaked through to his jeans. It was bad enough he would have to explain his absence; he could only imagine the horror of a large stain on his pants.
He smeared some cream makeup from Angel on his neck, blending it quickly to cover Peeta's mark before fixing his tousled hair. Before joining Cornelia, Clove, and Ophelia, he spritzed himself with some cologne to mask the scent of musk and sweat.
Ophelia and Cornelia were engrossed in a conversation about wooing sponsors as he slid into the vacant seat beside Clove. She wore black leggings and a gray crewneck, eyeing him as he took his place.
The avox woman from the morning served him a glass of white wine before setting his plate. He focused on the meal: creamy mushroom soup, bitter greens with tomatoes the size of peas, rare roast beef sliced thin as paper, noodles in a green sauce, and white cheese with sweet blue grapes.
Cornelia shifted her gaze toward him. "Ah, how nice of you to finally join us," she smiled, her striking blue eyes trailing his face. "What took you so long?"
He ate a spoonful of soup, looking up briefly to meet her gaze. "It started pouring on the rooftop, so I ended up waiting it out in the greenhouse."
"Oh, that sounds lovely! I love a good summer rain," Ophelia said, sipping her wine with a smile.
Cornelia's gaze was unwavering as she scanned his body, searching for holes in his alibi. Considering his blue shirt was still soggy from the torrent, she would probably believe him. Or if she saw the mark, she would call him on his bluff.
Either way, a nervous sweat trickled down Cato's back. Cornelia quirked her lips, turning back to her meal. "Well, I'm glad you made it back safely. I thought I would have to send out a search party. Ms. Daytide was informing us of the latest Capitol gossip."
She washed down her bite with a big sip of her wine, turning back to their escort. "So, what is it that they're calling her, this girl—Katniss?"
"The girl on fire!" Ophelia beamed, popping some grapes into her mouth. "She's what they're all talking about."
"Of course she is... What happened to your face, Cato?"
Her eyes trailed along his cheek where the medics had glued his wound. "Training accident— I broke my attendant's face shield."
"Oh no!" Ophelia exclaimed, cupping her cheeks. "I hope it doesn't scar! That would be terrible for the interview!"
Cato rolled his eyes, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. "They said I'll be fine."
He turned his attention back to his meal, which he happily devoured. Their server kept their platters and glasses full. By his second helping, he had to wave her away. His stomach felt like it would burst. The wine made his head feel fuzzy, so he switched to water as the remaining plates were cleared.
Cornelia finished her second glass of wine, smiling as the avox filled it again. "So, then, how was training today? Anything to report?"
He sipped some water to clear his parched throat. "District One and District Four latched onto us quickly. The male from One and the female from Four seem the strongest."
"Nothing out of the ordinary there," she replied, swirling her wine glass before taking a sip. "What else?"
"Cato copped a feel from the girl from District One," Clove chimed in, sipping her glass of water.
Cornelia and Ophelia choked on their wine, catching it quickly with a napkin as Cato twisted toward her. He felt his cheeks burning as her hazel eyes trailed toward his neck. "Clove!"
"You did what now!?" Cornelia coughed out, clearing the wine that went down the wrong pipe.
"It wasn't like that! Glimmer is very—pushy."
"It didn't look like that from where I was standing! It looked like you were enjoying yourself," Clove laughed with a snicker. "I wonder if that's why that boy from Twelve fell from the rope course."
Cato took a sip of his water, rolling his eyes. Did Peeta see him? Was it just a coincidence he fell, or did they distract him? The thought broke from his mind as Cornelia cleared her throat.
"Just be careful around that girl, Cato. I'm sure Glimmer will use all her feminine wiles to her advantage," she laughed, wiping the remnants of wine from her lip.
"If she hasn't already," Clove whispered beside him, her comment unnoticed by anyone else.
His jaw clenched, shooting her a glare.
"What about the pair from Twelve?" Cornelia asked, taking a sip from her ruby glass. "Hopefully, their lack of poise was not the only skill they exhibited."
Clove shook her head. "They focused on survival skills. Nothing interesting—camouflage and snares in the morning and rope courses in the afternoon."
"They've made themselves targets," Cato added, darting his gaze between them. "District Four and District One see them as weaker tributes since they haven't displayed any combat abilities."
Clove shrugged. "I mean, the boy from Twelve—"
"Peeta—"
She narrowed her eyes at him. "Peeta—threw a large kettlebell across the room. It startled Marvel and Glimmer, but it wasn't all that impressive."
"It was 50 kgs!" he scoffed, shaking his head. "I'd like you to toss that clear across the room."
The tension was thick as their glares met.
"Why are you defending him?" Frustration seeped from her lips.
"Why are you so hell-bent on attacking him? They're supposed to be our allies."
"I'm trying to stay alive! I'm not here to make friends, Lover Boy!"
Cornelia's voice broke the verbal assault. "Enough, both of you. There will be plenty of time for fighting in the Arena."
She rose from her chair, finishing her wine. Her eyes glanced at the clock on the nearby wall. It was just past nine.
"I'm going to head up to Twelve and talk with Haymitch. He's probably three sheets to the wind by now. Perhaps this is just a trick of his."
Cornelia's eyes narrowed on her tributes. "Clean up and head straight to bed. We'll talk more in the morning—you've got another big day ahead of you," she said, shifting her gaze toward Ophelia. "Ms. Daytide, you're in charge. Please make sure they get to bed within the hour."
Ophelia feigned a salute with a smile. "Yes, ma'am!"
The distinct click of the door closing left heavy tension in the dining room. Ophelia turned toward the avox with a mischievous smile. "Can you bring us some dessert and a bag of ice, please?"
The servant nodded, heading to the nearby call cart beside the foyer.
Ophelia shifted her gaze back toward the pair, her playful chestnut eyes glimmering under the chandelier. "I can't have you going to bed without dessert!"
He gave her a questioning look. "What's the ice for?"
"Oh, for that lovely love bite on your neck!" she giggled, a grin spreading across her rosy lips.
Clove laughed hysterically, buckling over the table as he pursed his lips. At least he was fortunate that only Ophelia and Clove had noticed. If Cornelia had, who knows what fate would have befallen him? A crimson blush formed on his cheeks.
"Cato, dear—it's nothing to be embarrassed about! Plenty of tributes blow off some steam before the Games. Just... don't let Cornelia catch you."
Cato nodded with a puff of air, begrudgingly accepting the ice pack from the avox and pressing it to his neck as they set a plate before him. It was the exact cake from the Tribute Banquet—a squared-layered cake with creamy layers covered in rich cocoa powder. He considered pushing it away as his mind conjured images of Peeta hungrily devouring the cream filling. Instead, he felt the blood rush to his groin, shakily picking up his fork to take a tentative bite.
The sweet taste of cocoa slowly melted into a creamy velvet mixed with the bitterness of coffee. The complex balance of flavors tingled his tongue as he slowly indulged himself. He quickly finished his dessert, tossing the ice pack onto the plate after his neck had been thoroughly numbed. He still felt Peeta's mark, but the raised skin was less pronounced.
Standing from his spot, a curtain of exhaustion hung over him. He excused himself to get ready for bed. Heading to his bedroom, he brushed his teeth before stripping off his clothes. He crawled beneath the cool duvet, feeling the silk sheets kiss his skin. Marcus's amulet pressed against his chest. His fingers encircled the smooth agate, his sleepy eyes drifting toward the plaster ceiling.
What would Marcus do?
He would say something witty, a phrase he pulled from the unknown as if it never existed. But, then again, Marcus was always better with words than Cato was.
He was better at a lot of things.
CLANG.
The sharp rasp of blades clashing broke the stillness of the cool autumn air. Slivers of lingering light beamed through the colonnade columns as Cato's sword met his instructor's. This was his punishment for insubordination. He had skipped class with Marcus one too many times, and Instructor Amata had finally caught on to their antics.
Cato was confident the older woman had it out for him. Probably something to do with his grandmother. Amata always found ways to jab at Cato—only him, never anyone else. Moreover, she had made their duel a spectacle for her class.
His classmates watched from the courtyard as their blades met beneath the colonnade. Amata was much older, but her slashes and footwork were quick. In a flash, she appeared before him. He raised his sword to parry her blow, but his limbs wouldn't move fast enough. He gasped as the sharp burn of Amata's blade grazed his right arm. Crimson spilled down his forearm as he staggered forward. The cut wasn't deep, but the sight of his blood was unsettling.
"Never stop for your enemy!"
Her blade grazed across his right bicep. Cato let out a sharp cry as his sword fell from his hand. He lurched forward as Amata delivered a swift kick to his back. Crashing to the ground, he heard his classmates' panicked gasps and murmurs as his embarrassment mixed with rage. A wicked smile painted Amata's wrinkled face.
"Come now! I thought the great House Marcellus had more to offer!"
Tears stung his eyes as he managed to stumble into a crouch.
"You're a weapon! Weapons don't weep!" Amata laughed, her eyes tracing his movements. "No one is coming to save you; now get up!"
Cato stood slowly, retrieving his blade. He readied his stance, preparing for her assault. As she charged, a booming voice broke the quarrel.
"That's enough!"
Cato looked over to see the Drill Master standing beside Marcus. He was an older man with a bald head and a distinctive, angular face. His build was tall and slender, with piercing blue eyes. He slowly climbed the steps of the colonnade, his gaze narrowing on Amata.
"Instructor Amata, I do not remember authorizing this duel."
Amata's face swelled with embarrassment and guilt. She sheathed her blade. "Drill Master… I was just—"
She stopped speaking as he raised a hand toward her. His gaze shifted toward Cato.
"Marcellus, report to the infirmary," he turned to the class. "The rest of you, class is dismissed!"
Anger lingered behind Amata's gaze as he surrendered his sword to the Drill Master, rejoining Marcus. They trailed silently behind the class, crossing the courtyard into the peristyle of the main training annex.
The infirmary was located along the central wing, allowing easy access to training accidents. The hollow hum of fluorescent lights filled the silence between Cato and Marcus as a nurse escorted them into one of the examination rooms. The young woman quickly disinfected and wrapped his wounds, leaving to retrieve the doctor. Cato's eyes lingered on Marcus, who sat in a chair across from him. His gaze was focused on the door.
"You didn't need to grab the Drill Master," he huffed. "I can fight my own battles."
"From what I saw, Instructor Amata had no intention of taking it easy on you." Marcus shook his head, pursing his lips. "She made you duel with real blades, Cato. She wanted to spill your blood—"
"I could handle it!"
Marcus was always doing this to him. Fighting his battles for him, trying to shelter him from the world. But Cato didn't need a knight in shining armor. He wasn't a princess.
"I don't need you to protect me! I'm not helpless!"
"I never said you were," Marcus replied slowly, standing from his chair.
Marcus placed his hand on his arm, tightening the bandage that had slid down during his outburst. His honey eyes danced across Cato's face, calming his beating heart.
"I know who you are when no one's looking."
His fingers danced along Cato's arm, stopping to tangle their hands together. His skin was soft and warm. "I don't want them to change you. I don't want you to become another pawn in their Games..."
Cato's cheeks burned as Marcus leaned into him.
"This is what I was made for… what else can I live for?" Cato whispered, their lips a heartbeat away.
"Live for someone else… because then you'll be prepared to die — to make a difference."
As their lips met, a rapping at the door broke their embrace.
"Cato! Time to get up! You've got another big, big day!"
-*** Training Day: 2: ***-
Cato groaned, stretching as he woke up.
He silently cursed Ophelia, who had an uncanny knack for disturbing his dreams.
Beams of light streamed through his curtains, dancing across the skyscrapers of the Capitol. He cupped the stone pendant hanging against his bare chest, circling the smooth agate with his thumb. Marcus lingered heavily in his thoughts, but the pain of his loss felt slightly less acute today. He missed him dearly, but a swell of emotions raced through his mind.
Cato wondered what would happen in three days.
What would happen between him and Peeta? Could he protect him? And what about Clove? He had grown fond of her over the recent days. Could he kill her? Could he kill either of them?
"Breakfast!" Ophelia's voice rang out again.
Cato pulled himself slowly from the bed and into the shower, scrubbing a deluge of banana-scented foam into his skin as the steaming hot water pelted him. Stepping out, he looked at Peeta's mark in the mirror. Only a tiny red spot remained, thanks to Ophelia. After drying himself and brushing his teeth, he found an outfit similar to yesterday's on his bed beside Marcus's token. He fixed his hair with styling wax before joining Cornelia, Ophelia, and Clove in the dining room.
Clove was already devouring a stack of batter cakes with fruit and a tall glass of orange juice. Ophelia and Cornelia sat across from her, their plates loaded high with batter cakes and mugs filled with dark roasted coffee. Ophelia wore a golden lace blouse, a black skirt, and a matching ascot. Simple golden-winged eyeliner highlighted her chestnut eyes. Cornelia wore a pale gold V-neck and cream pants.
"Ugh… Ophelia," Cato groaned, noticing the clock on the wall read eight-thirty. "I could've slept for another hour…"
"You know what they say—the early bird gets the worm!" she chimed, sipping her coffee as her eyes danced across his neck with a coy smile.
He rolled his eyes with a huff, loading his plate with batter cakes covered in thick syrup and slices of melon. He sat beside Clove, who had regained her color, the bags under her eyes nearly gone.
It was good to see her withdrawal was almost over.
The avox brought him a mug of hot chocolate, which he happily accepted. The table was silent as they cleaned their plates. Cornelia was the first to break the silence. Her eyes looked heavy.
"Last night, Haymitch and I discussed our alliance over drinks," she said, sipping her coffee with a shudder. "He's playing coy, but I forewarned him if his tributes don't pull their weight, the alliance is off. Everyone in agreement?"
Cato and Clove exchanged glances before giving a definitive nod. Reluctantly, he had to agree. If Peeta and Katniss didn't prove their worth, he couldn't guarantee their safety. Without Cornelia and Clove's support, he could do little to help them.
The avox cleared the table as they finished breakfast. Clove got up to examine the intricate games in their den. Besides the long sectional that expanded the room sat a small bookcase. She retrieved a small black box, returning to the table beside him.
"Want to play?"
She flicked open the latches, pulling off the lid to reveal a black-and-white checkered board.
Chess.
She arranged the ivory figures on the board, pulling them from a compartment in the box. He hadn't played in ages. He used to play with Marcus back at the Academy. Marcus wasn't a challenge; he had the strategic tenacity of an older woman using a cane. He glanced at the clock. They had over an hour before they had to be downstairs.
"Sure, why not?" he shrugged, shifting his seat to face her as she positioned the board.
She was white, and he was black.
Their moves were quick and calculated, trading piece for piece. Cato was good, but Clove was great. No matter what he did, she seemed three steps ahead of him—seizing his rooks, capturing his castles, pinning his knights. This was the mind of a prodigy. Suddenly, he was concerned about whatever strategy Clove had devised for the Games.
After losing to Clove the third and final time, Cato left his spot in a huff as she cackled. "Come on, let's play another! I'm having too much fun wiping the floor with you."
He gritted his teeth, shooting her a glare as he retrieved water from a nearby decanter. He never liked being outdone, especially by a child. The smile fell from Clove's face as Cornelia took his spot.
"Let me try,"
Her gaze narrowed, a sly smirk creeping upon her lips. "You're on."
Cornelia took her seat, placing her coffee beside her. Her cunning azure eyes narrowed on the younger tribute as she made the first move.
"Did you know the ancient Greeks played chess?"
Clove quirked her lip, watching the champion shift her piece. She was quick to react. "Really, now? I thought all they did was drink wine and preach philosophy."
"They did that too," Cornelia smirked, sipping her coffee. "They called it Zatrikion. It's similar to Byzantine chess, but it's played on a circular board. It takes more skill than this game."
Cato returned with a glass of water, smirking as he watched Clove's smug demeanor crumble into despair. Cornelia had won in two moves. The champion's lips curled upward, glancing at the clock.
"You two should head out. You're going to be late."
The pair glanced at the clock on the wall. It was ten minutes until ten. They scrambled out the door, racing to the elevator. The door opened, revealing the pair from District 12. A lump formed in Cato's throat as his gaze met Peeta's.
"Hey,"
"Hey..." he said softly.
Peeta's voice was barely louder than a whisper. His amber eyes traced Cato's face. Katniss stood beside him, defiantly crossing her arms.
"Uh... do you mind if—"
He didn't get to finish his question as Clove shoved him into the elevator, pushing in behind him.
"Move your ass! We're gonna be late."
"Clove!"
Cato stumbled into Peeta, feeling a flush burn upon his cheeks as they were shoved together.
Peeta's hands steadied him. "Sorry about that."
"Don't worry about it," he murmured. "It's not the first time."
Katniss eyed them as he stepped back. "You know, for someone who trained for this his whole life, you're pretty clumsy."
"That's because he's a boy—they're always stomping around like they have two left feet," Clove chimed.
Katniss smirked. "Explains why he stepped on my foot the other night."
They shared a small laugh at his expense.
Cato narrowed his eyes at the pair. He leaned against the wall beside Peeta, his lips tugging into a small smile as their arms brushed. His eyes darted to meet Peeta's as the elevator descended. As Clove and Katniss exited, he gently pulled on Peeta's wrist. The pair slowly trailed behind the two, entering the gymnasium.
"You need to use a weapon today," Cato whispered, looking forward to see if the pair noticed them lagging behind. "Anything—a spear, a sword, a hammer."
"But, Haymitch said—"
He grabbed Peeta's hand, stopping him just before the gymnasium entrance. He pulled them off to the side, just beyond the doorway's threshold.
"The Careers are looking at you and Katniss like their next meal. You both need to use a weapon. Then they'll shift their focus on someone else."
His fingers grasped the blonde's. Peeta's gaze was coated in uncertainty. He stared at their hands, a flush settling on his cheeks. Cato tried to reassure him with a small smile.
"What's the matter? Don't you trust me?"
"I want to," Peeta replied softly, looking up to meet his stare.
"I want to know I can trust you... But tell me—why are you helping me? What is it you gain from all of this?"
Peeta's voice was laced with doubt. A shimmer of fear flickered across his gaze. Cato's heart thumped loudly in his chest, stepping forward to pin Peeta's back against the wall. He had to reassure Peeta the only way he knew how. He leaned forward, pressing his lips briefly against his. He smiled, tasting the remnants of hot chocolate on his lips as the blonde relaxed beneath him. Embers lingered on Cato's skin from the fleeting contact.
"I get to help you... just—let me help you, please?"
He expected Peeta to push him away. Aside from the passion and intimacy they had shared, the boy from District 12 hardly knew him. Their relationship was skin-deep, built on an inch of foundation forged from desire and desperation. Perhaps, delusion in Cato's case.
An inch was all Cato needed.
It was small and fragile—yet the only thing worth having in the world. Peeta mulled over his words before slowly nodding with a squeeze of his hand.
"I trust you."
Cato avoided the dueling station, wishing to avoid another fiasco like yesterday. Instead, he spent most of the morning spear-throwing with Reef. He admitted to himself that the kid had a great arm. Reef's years of deep-sea fishing had paid off. The olive-skinned boy was kinder than Luna and chatted with Cato about the fish cakes of District 4 and how his mother made a salty sauce to dip them in.
Cato told him about his mother's baklava. She hadn't made it in years since pistachios were expensive and hard to come by. The brunette boy made him miss home.
During his rotations with Reef, Cato watched Peeta and Clove at the sparring stations from a distance. Clove was a seasoned veteran compared to Peeta. Her strikes were quick and precise, but they lacked the strength to kill. Peeta… well, he was something else.
Cato could tell Peeta had never picked up a weapon before today. His strikes were clumsy and wild, lacking precision. Clove taunted him. Cato couldn't distinguish the words, but Peeta's discomfort was apparent. He tossed his spear, switching out with Reef, as his gaze flickered back to Peeta. His stance had widened, lowering his body for better balance.
Peeta charged the mannequin, knocking its head off with one clean strike.
Luna strolled over from the nearby knife-throwing station, scoffing as the plastic head rolled across the gymnasium floor. "Well, looks like someone isn't completely useless."
Cato smirked. "Looks that way."
The rest of the morning flew by swiftly into lunch. The Career table filled itself with more idle conversations. Marvel and Reef discussed strategies for the Games while Glimmer felt up Cato's leg during his meal more times than he'd like to count. Luna only chimed in to recount her observations of the other tributes, listing them off like cattle, which struck a nerve within Cato.
There was an intense ferocity behind her cold stare that left Cato uneasy.
The only thing that kept him calm were the glances he and Peeta shared from across the dining hall. Their eyes darted, and their lips tugged as they roamed over each other. He thought of their kiss from this morning. The taste of Peeta's lips remained, burning on his tongue. Cato pushed away the vivid images his mind conjured, grasping Glimmer's hand before it could reach his growing arousal.
The afternoon came around, and he began his second private instruction on archery. Clove abandoned him for more hand-to-hand combat experience while the other Careers occupied the survival stations. He spotted Peeta at the far end of the gymnasium. The blonde held his own against one of the instructors in hand-to-hand combat.
After his training, his attendant left him at the range. He drew his string tight, feeling the tautness of the bow as he steadied his aim. Finally, he released his arrow, hitting off-center… again. He wanted to snap the damn bow in half.
"Raise your elbow."
Katniss stood beside him, readying her arm to toss a spear at the nearby station. She didn't face him as she threw, striking just below the target's right thigh. Cato scanned the area to see if anyone had noticed their interaction. He turned back to his mark as Katniss observed. He pulled the drawstring back, steadying his breath and adjusting his elbow. He released, nailing the target dead center.
He swore Katniss scoffed from the corner of his eye. His gaze met hers as she prepared for her next throw.
"Thanks."
"Don't mention it, Marcellus," she replied calmly. "Consider it thanks for getting the girl from District Four off my back. Peeta said you suggested it."
"Did he now?"
Cato released his arrow, landing in the center of the chest.
"He did," she countered, her cold eyes trailing him. "I'm not a fan of this arrangement, especially whatever game you're playing with him."
He smirked at her, their eyes meeting beneath the artificial lights. "I don't know what you're talking about."
A whistle rang throughout the center, signaling the end of the second training day. Cato's eyes searched for Peeta, finding him among the tributes in line for the elevator. He briefly caught the baker boy's gaze, his plump lips turning upward toward him.
His mind conjured images of the baker boy spread before him atop the table in the greenhouse. Cato had lost himself to the fire in his veins.
Back inside their suite, he quickly broke from Clove. Stripping himself of his clothes in his room, he was desperate to quench his aching need. The cascade of heat worked wonders, unwinding the knots forming across his back as he scrubbed himself with the banana-scented foam. After drying himself, he slipped Marcus's token beneath a light grey V-neck before sliding on light denim jeans and his leather shoes.
"I'll be back when it gets dark!" he called out, closing the door before Cornelia could interject.
Racing to the elevator, he frantically pressed the button to the top floor. Setting out onto the rooftop, he found it warmer today. The humid heat of summer had returned to the Capitol. The balmy air kissed his skin as he crossed the tiles. Thick clouds scattered the skies above the Capitol as the late afternoon sun beamed overhead.
When he didn't find Peeta beneath the pergola, he rounded the domed building, hearing the ringing of wind chimes grow closer as he approached the greenhouse. Beams of light peered through the glossy panels. Butterflies danced in his stomach as he walked among the potted plants and flowers.
Passing the workbench, he found Peeta sitting on the ground. He wore a cobalt-colored shirt, grey jeans, and leather shoes. He held a small green sketch pad with a pencil in his palm. His gaze fixated on sketching a pale yellow rosette among the flower beds. Peeta turned, hearing the echoes of footsteps against the tile. His lips pulled upward.
"Hi."
"Hey," Cato replied, dazed by his boyish looks.
"What're you drawing?"
"It's a primrose. Katniss has a sister by the same name."
He remembered the blonde girl from the Reaping Ceremony, her sorrowful face wailing as she was torn away from her sister. She reminded him of Octavia. He slid onto the ground beside Peeta, watching his fingers delicately sketch the bloom. He had never seen such detail in a simple drawing.
"You're terrific," he said, leaning over the blonde boy's shoulder.
His eyes scanned the notebook, realizing Peeta was about a third of the way through. "Do you have more I can see?"
His breath crested Peeta's ear. He watched the baker boy bite the inside of his cheek.
"O-Of course…" he squeaked out. "T-They're not that good."
Peeta started slowly flipping through the front of his sketchbook. His eyes scanned each page as he delicately turned them. His artwork was beautiful. First, there were drawings of food—bread and fruit. Then, there were some buildings, presumably from District 12. A small two-story building with the words 'Pastries' and 'Cakes.' Rickety houses spread out beside a row of power lines.
Next came people. He recognized Katniss, Haymitch, and their escort, Effie. Cato pointed out a broad-faced girl with a huge grin.
"Who is she?"
"That's my friend Delly. She's my best friend… We grew up together. She used to tell people I was her brother—I miss her." Peeta smiled at the sketch, shifting his gaze toward Cato. "Do you have friends back home in District Two?"
Cato felt the rays from outside flicker against the side of his face, a mournful look painting upon his face. "I did…"
"Did? What? Did something happen to—" Peeta stopped, noticing the light drain from his gaze. "…them?"
"Yeah… something happened to them."
Silence lingered between them as the wind chimes drifted softly in the air. His eyes fixated on the primrose beside him as Peeta turned to face him, setting his sketchbook on the ground.
"What was their name?" he asked, placing his hand atop Cato's.
"His name was Marcus…." Cato murmured so lightly that Peeta could barely hear him. Marcus's token froze against his chest.
"Were you and Marcus—close?"
"Y-Yeah…we were."
Peeta's hand became a beacon of warmth as his body ran cold. It had been six days since Marcus's death and four days since he had last spoken his name. The pain of his loss was the same. It was less than the day before, but it still lingered. His memory still tore through his heart.
"What happened to Marcus?"
Cato's breath caught in his chest. A dull ringing invaded his eardrums. He froze, seeing a shifting silhouette behind Peeta's form.
Marcus.
The loud echo seized his ears. Marcus's golden eyes returned, blood dribbling from the cracks of his lips onto his white and gold tunic. Crimson poured from his abdominal wound, pooling beneath him and Peeta.
Wait.
Where was Peeta? Cato looked around frantically, realizing he was alone as the carmine liquid spread through the room, painting the surfaces red. He sank below the thick, viscous liquid. Fighting to keep himself upright, he met Marcus's hollow stare. He forced his eyes shut, unable to breathe.
His body trembled—dizzy and deprived of air. So this was it… this is how he would die.
"Cato!"
It was Peeta's voice, but he wasn't there. Instead, something squeezed Cato's fingers. His eyes shot open, finding the greenhouse had returned. His breath was hoarse and ragged like he had been swimming underwater. Panic seized his body, struggling to catch his breath. The feeling was disorienting. His eyes darted across the room.
"Cato! It's okay…h-hey… it's okay… just breathe…"
Peeta cupped his face, forcing the Career to meet his gaze. His pools of amber brimmed with worry, leaning in closer. "Cato, look at me… just…breathe…."
Cato fought to match Peeta's breaths, his eyes refusing to break from his. Embarrassment flushed his cheeks, mixing with the sting from tears in his eyes. Peeta's soft fingers brushed away a stray droplet from his face.
Cato's body shook, even though his breathing had calmed. He found solace in the crook of Peeta's neck as the baker boy pulled him into his arms. He inhaled the sweet scent of his vanilla body wash, wrapping his arms around Peeta's neck. Peeta rubbed circles into the small of his back. The rhythmic motion of his hands eased Cato's trembling form.
"What happened?" he whispered, struggling to make sense of the last few moments.
"You froze… like you were having a nightmare, but you were awake," Peeta replied softly, tracing designs against his back. "You turned pale… and you were struggling to breathe. I was worried..."
Cato shuddered against him. He didn't want Peeta worrying about him. "I-I'm sorry…"
He felt Peeta's chin graze his temple, shaking his head. "No. I'm sorry, Cato… I-I shouldn't-t have asked ab—"
Cato squeezed him tighter. He didn't want his darkness to corrupt him.
"You'll hate me—if I tell you," he whispered, rubbing his hands along Peeta's shoulders.
Peeta flinched at his words, pulling him back to meet his gaze. "If you trust me…you can tell me anything."
"Please, Peeta... If I tell you—you'll leave."
Peeta's gaze was undeterred. "Don't you trust me?"
Cato took a deep breath, returning to retrieve the smooth pebble of turquoise and steel hung by a leather cord around his neck. Tears stung his eyes, and he clenched his jaw to force them away. He took another breath as he spoke.
"This pendant… was Marcus's. I won it—when I killed him."
A/N: I apologize for the long wait for an update! My program for college started, so I had to prioritize my schoolwork. My chapters range between 6-8K words, so they take a bit to write. Please, R&R!
I'm going to keep writing, but I would love some words of encouragement. Or even discouragement! Let me know if I suck.
Your humble storyteller,
FLUX