-* Aftermath. Day 10. State of Flux. *
Cato instinctively reached for the door, turning the lock with a sharp click to seal them in. Peeta stumbled into him, wrapping his arms around Cato's neck as their mouths collided in a heated kiss. It was messy and urgent, fueled by the remnants of laughter and liquor from the night. Cato could taste the sweet tang of alcohol on Peeta's lips and felt the heat radiating from him, sending his pulse racing.
Peeta moaned into Cato's mouth, his arms wrapped tight around Cato's neck, tugging him closer as if their bodies weren't already pressed tight together. Cato's hands were everywhere, already tugging at Peeta's clothes, his fingers clumsy in their desperation. He could feel the heat radiating off Peeta's skin, the kind of heat that made Cato's pulse race, that set every nerve in his body on fire.
Peeta pulled away from the kiss just long enough to bite at Cato's jaw, leaving small red marks in his wake as they stumbled toward the bed.
"Fuck, you taste so good," Peeta panted, his breath hot against Cato's neck as his teeth grazed the sensitive skin there, sending sharp jolts of pleasure straight to Cato's core.
Cato groaned, his grip tightening on Peeta's hips as he practically ripped Peeta's shirt off, tossing it to the floor without a second thought.
"You're a fuckin' menace," Cato growled, but his voice was thick with lust, slurring with the drunkenness of both the liquor and Peeta.
Peeta grinned against Cato's neck, biting down harder, earning another groan from Cato. "Don't pretend you don't love it," Peeta whispered, his voice low and teasing, but there was something desperate beneath it, something raw.
"Haymitch is gonna kill us," Cato muttered, but a sharp gasp cut off his words as Peeta's teeth sank into his skin again, sending a shiver straight down his spine.
"I don't give a fuck about Haymitch," Peeta rasped, his breath shaky, rough. His lips hovered just over Cato's skin, his hands roaming, pressing, pulling. "I just want to hear you. I want you to make those noises you make for me."
Cato's breath hitched as Peeta's fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him back into a fierce, messy kiss, their tongues clashing in a frantic battle. Cato's fingers worked quickly, yanking at Peeta's belt, his need growing more urgent with every passing second. When the belt finally gave way, he shoved his hands down Peeta's pants in one smooth motion, his fingers sliding down to grip Peeta's ass, pulling him closer.
Peeta whimpered, his hips jerking instinctively as Cato's fingers brushed over his entrance, teasing but not giving him what he wanted—what they both wanted.
"Fuck, Cato—don't tease me," Peeta gasped, his breath coming in short, desperate bursts.
Cato chuckled, low and dark, his lips curling into a smirk as he bit down on Peeta's lip, hard enough to make him whimper again.
"You like it when I tease you, baby," he murmured against Peeta's mouth, his voice a rough growl. "Admit it."
Peeta groaned, his head falling back as Cato's hand slid between them, wrapping around his length, stroking him with firm, rough movements that made Peeta's knees buckle. "Cato," he whimpered, barely able to form words.
Cato leaned in, his breath hot against Peeta's ear. "Shower," he whispered, the single word dripping with promise.
Before Peeta could respond, Cato yanked him toward the bathroom, their laughter echoing off the walls as they stumbled inside. The moment they were under the water, the heat of the shower mixing with the heat of their bodies, everything else disappeared. Cato's hands were frantic as he shoved Peeta against the tile wall.
Cato's fingers fumbled with Peeta's waistband, the wet fabric clinging stubbornly to his skin. "Fucking hell," Cato growled, but there was amusement in his voice as he finally managed to peel the pants off, leaving Peeta standing bare in front of him, water dripping down his flushed skin. He dropped to his knees, yanking the pants the rest of the way off, his hands lingering as he traced the smooth line of Peeta's prosthetic leg.
Peeta's breath hitched, the intimacy of the moment cutting through the haze of lust for just a second. Cato looked up at him, his eyes dark with need, but his voice was soft as he asked, "Can you feel that?"
Peeta nodded, biting his lip as he ran a hand through Cato's damp hair. "Yeah," he whispered, his voice shaky, breathless.
Cato stood slowly, his fingers still tracing up Peeta's leg until they were tangled together again, mouths crashing, hands roaming with desperate need. Cato turned Peeta around, pressing him harder against the tiles, the water pouring over them as his lips trailed down Peeta's neck, biting and kissing the tender flesh there. Peeta moaned loudly, his body trembling under Cato's touch, his legs already threatening to give out.
Cato grinned against Peeta's skin, his hands sliding down to spread Peeta's ass apart. "You like that, baby?" he murmured, his voice teasing but filled with raw hunger. Without waiting for a response, he dipped his head down, his tongue flicking over Peeta's entrance in quick, teasing strokes.
Peeta gasped, his hands gripping the slick tiles as his body shook. "F-fuck," he whimpered, his voice breaking. "Cato—"
Cato didn't let up. His hands gripped Peeta's hips hard, pulling him back as he pressed his face deeper, his tongue moving in slow, deliberate circles before pressing in. Peeta's moans filled the steamy air, each one more desperate than the last. His legs trembled, and he had to brace himself against the wall, but Cato didn't stop, didn't ease up. He devoured Peeta with an animalistic hunger, licking and sucking at his entrance until Peeta was shaking beneath him, his voice raw from moaning Cato's name.
"Cato—fuck—please," Peeta begged, his voice rough and breathless.
Cato chuckled, his breath hot against Peeta's skin. "Quiet, baby," he murmured, his voice slurred with lust. "We wouldn't want anyone to hear, would we?"
Peeta bit down on his hand, trying to stifle the moans that poured out of him as Cato's tongue moved faster, his grip on Peeta's hips tightening. Every lick, every bite sent Peeta spiraling closer to the edge, his body trembling uncontrollably. He gasped, his voice muffled, but his body was screaming with need, with want.
"You taste so fucking good," Cato growled, his voice muffled as he pressed his tongue deeper, his lips curling into a wicked grin against Peeta's skin. He bit down hard on Peeta's ass, leaving deep red marks in his wake, earning another sharp gasp from Peeta.
Peeta's legs wobbled dangerously, but Cato held him steady, one hand moving around to wrap around Peeta's length, stroking him in time with the relentless rhythm of his mouth. Peeta moaned, his body jerking with every stroke, every flick of Cato's tongue. He was close, so close, but Cato wasn't ready to let him fall over the edge yet. The way Cato devoured him, tasting him like an ice cream cone, left him trembling.
Cato finally pulled away, his breath ragged, licking his lips as he stood back up. He pressed his body against Peeta's, his cock hard and throbbing against Peeta's back. "You want me to fuck you now, baby?" Cato purred, his voice dark and teasing. "You want my cock inside you?"
Peeta nodded frantically, his breath coming in short, desperate gasps. "Please—fuck—please, Cato," he whimpered, his voice breaking with need.
Cato smirked, stepping back for just a second to grab a bottle of lube from the sink. His hands were slick, trembling with anticipation as he coated his fingers generously, his breath hitching at the cool slickness against the heat of the shower.
He returned quickly, his hands sliding over Peeta's wet skin as he pressed two fingers inside him, moving slowly at first, savoring the way Peeta's body tightened around him. Peeta groaned, his hips pushing back against Cato's hand, his body trembling with need.
"F-fuck, you're so tight," Cato groaned, his breath hot against Peeta's neck as his fingers stretched him, moving in slow, deliberate motions. Peeta moaned in response, his hands scrabbling for purchase against the wet tiles, his body rocking back against Cato's hand.
Cato leaned in, pressing his lips to Peeta's ear, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. "You like taking my fingers, baby? You want more?"
Peeta nodded frantically, his voice a broken gasp. "Yes—please, Cato—fuck me."
Cato grinned, pulling his fingers out slowly, earning a frustrated whimper from Peeta. He stepped closer, positioning himself at Peeta's entrance, his breath shaky as he pressed the head of his cock against the tight, slick heat. He paused for a moment, letting the tension build between them, feeling Peeta's body trembling in anticipation.
"You want this, baby?" Cato growled softly against Peeta's ear, his voice thick with desire.
He could feel Peeta's body tighten at the sound of that word—baby. Every time Cato said it, Peeta melted under him, and Cato loved the power of it, the way it made Peeta's breath hitch, the way it made him whimper for more.
Peeta's response came in a desperate, breathless moan. "Yes—please—Cato, fuck, I need it," he gasped, his voice barely holding together. His hands were gripping the tile for support, his hips pushing back instinctively, eager to feel Cato inside him.
"God, you're gonna feel so good," Cato muttered, his voice dripping with raw hunger. He leaned in close, his lips brushing Peeta's ear, his breath warm and ragged. "You ready for me?"
Peeta's head fell back against Cato's shoulder, his lips parted, his breath coming in short, desperate gasps.
"Please, Cato," he whimpered, his body trembling with need. "I need you inside me."
That was all the permission Cato needed. With one slow, deliberate thrust, he pushed inside, inch by inch, the tightness of Peeta's body wrapping around him, pulling him in. Both of them let out sharp gasps, their bodies shaking as Cato buried himself to the hilt, his forehead pressed against the back of Peeta's neck.
"F-fuck," Cato groaned, his voice rough as his hands gripped Peeta's hips hard enough to leave marks. "You're so fuckin' sexy."
Peeta moaned, his entire body trembling as he adjusted to the stretch, his hands bracing against the wall. He pushed back against Cato, desperate for more, desperate for him to move.
Cato chuckled softly, his breath hot against Peeta's damp skin. "Impatient, are we?" he teased, his hips pulling back just a little before slamming forward again, hard and deliberate. The force of the thrust knocked the air from Peeta's lungs, leaving him gasping, his hands slipping on the wet tiles.
"C-Cato," Peeta whimpered, his voice shaky, filled with need.
Cato grinned, pressing his chest against Peeta's back, his hips moving in slow, powerful thrusts. Every inch of Peeta's body responded to him, trembling, gasping, moaning with every movement.
"You like that, baby?" Cato growled, his voice thick with lust as he pressed his lips to the back of Peeta's neck, his hands gripping Peeta's hips tighter. "You love having my cock inside you, don't you?"
Peeta couldn't respond, his voice caught in his throat as Cato picked up the pace, his thrusts becoming harder, more frantic. Every time their bodies collided, Peeta let out a soft, breathless moan, his legs trembling from the intensity of it all.
"You take me so well," Cato groaned, his voice a deep, possessive growl as he fucked into Peeta, his hands moving from Peeta's hips to wrap around his waist, pulling him even closer. "God, you're so tight. So perfect."
Peeta's breath came in desperate, shallow gasps, his body shaking uncontrollably. He was already close, the overwhelming sensation of Cato inside him, the way his cock hit just the right spot with every thrust—it was almost too much.
"Cato," he gasped, his voice a broken whimper. "I'm so—close."
Cato could feel it too, the way Peeta's body clenched around him, the way his moans became more frantic, more desperate. Cato groaned, his hips moving faster, harder, driving Peeta closer to the edge.
"Not yet," Cato growled into Peeta's ear, his voice slurred with lust. "You don't come until I say, understand?"
Peeta whimpered, barely able to hold himself together, but he nodded, his whole body trembling as he fought to hold on. "Y-Yes, Cato."
Cato smirked, pressing a rough, sloppy kiss to Peeta's neck. "Good boy."
Without warning, Cato pulled out, earning a frustrated groan from Peeta, but before he could protest, Cato spun him around and lifted him effortlessly, pressing Peeta's back against the cold shower wall. Peeta instinctively wrapped his legs around Cato's waist, his hands gripping Cato's shoulders for support as Cato thrust back inside him, hard and deep.
Peeta gasped, his back arching as the sudden movement sent shockwaves of pleasure through him. "F-fuck, Cato—"
Cato's grip on Peeta's ass was bruising as he slammed into him again and again, the sound of their bodies echoing off the shower walls, mixing with the steady stream of water pouring over them. "You like that, baby?" Cato growled, his voice a deep, primal snarl. "You love it when I fuck you like this?"
Peeta's only response was a loud, broken moan as his head fell back against the wall, his eyes squeezing shut, his body completely overwhelmed by the sensation. He could feel Cato everywhere—his cock buried deep inside him, his hands gripping his ass, his breath hot against his neck. It was all too much, and Peeta was teetering on the edge, barely able to hold himself together.
Cato leaned in, his lips brushing Peeta's ear as he whispered, "You're mine, Peeta. No one else gets to fuck you like this. No one else gets to hear those pretty little moans."
Peeta's breath hitched, his body trembling as Cato's words sent a fresh wave of desire crashing through him.
"I-I'm yours," he gasped, his voice barely audible over the pounding of the water and the sounds of their bodies moving together. "I'm yours, Cato."
Cato groaned at the sound of those words, his hips moving faster, harder. He was close, so close, but he wasn't going to let Peeta fall over the edge without him. His hand slid between their bodies, wrapping around Peeta's cock, stroking him in time with his thrusts.
"Come for me, baby," Cato whispered, his voice low and rough as his thumb brushed over the head of Peeta's cock, drawing a desperate whimper from him. "Come for me now."
Peeta's whole body tensed, his back arching as his orgasm tore through him with a force that left him gasping for air. His release spilled between them, hot and sticky, mixing with the water as his body convulsed around Cato's cock.
Cato wasn't far behind. The feeling of Peeta tightening around him, the sound of his moans, the sight of him coming undone—it pushed Cato over the edge. With one final, powerful thrust, Cato buried himself deep inside Peeta, his own release hitting him like a tidal wave, his hips jerking as he spilled inside Peeta.
For a moment, they stayed like that, their bodies trembling, chests heaving as they rode out the aftershocks of their orgasms. The water continued to pour over them, but neither of them moved, too lost in the moment, in the raw, overwhelming pleasure that still buzzed between them.
Finally, Cato pulled out, his legs shaky as he carefully lowered Peeta to the floor of the shower. Peeta was breathless, his body spent, but he still managed to look up at Cato with a lazy, satisfied smile.
Cato grinned back, his hands sliding up Peeta's sides as he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Peeta's swollen lips. "Told you I wasn't done with you," he murmured against Peeta's mouth, his voice still rough but tinged with affection.
Peeta chuckled softly, his arms wrapping around Cato's neck as he pulled him closer. Cato's grin widened as he stood, pulling Peeta with him. They stumbled out of the shower, dripping wet, leaving a trail of water behind them as Cato carried Peeta to his bed, their wet bodies pressed tightly together. He laid Peeta down gently, his cock already hardening again as he looked down at him, still flushed and panting.
"You ready for round two, baby?" Cato teased, his voice low and playful as he leaned down, brushing his lips over Peeta's.
Peeta's eyes darkened with lust, his breath hitching as he looked up at Cato, pulling him closer. "I love it when you call me baby," he whispered, his hands already pulling Cato closer. "It's my new favorite word."
Cato's body reacted immediately, his cock twitching in response to the promise in Peeta's words. Without hesitation, Cato reached between them, slicking himself with the cum that had pooled between their bodies. He pressed back inside Peeta, slower this time, deliberate, savoring the way Peeta's tight warmth enveloped him inch by inch.
This time was different. Cato wasn't rushing, wasn't chasing the wild desperation from before. Instead, he took his time, sinking fully into Peeta, feeling every twitch, every squeeze of Peeta's body around him. The remnants of their release slicked the way, leaking between each thrust as Cato set a slow, steady rhythm. His hands gripped Peeta's hips, firm and possessive, pulling him in with every deep thrust that made the bed shake beneath them. But neither of them cared.
They were lost in each other, completely consumed by the connection that pulsed between them. Peeta's head tilted back against the pillow, his hands tangling in the sheets as soft, breathless moans escaped his lips. His body moved instinctively with Cato's, arching to meet every thrust, pushing himself closer, deeper. Their bodies moved together in perfect sync, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through them both.
God, Cato could never get enough of this—of him.
Cato's pace slowed, his movements becoming more deliberate, more purposeful. He wasn't in a rush. He didn't need to be. He wanted to savor every moment—every sound Peeta made, every tremble of his body, every gasp and moan that fell from his lips. It was intoxicating, the way Peeta responded to him, the way his body seemed to fit so perfectly with Cato's. Cato's lips found their way to Peeta's neck, trailing kisses and biting at the tender skin, leaving marks that claimed him in a way that words couldn't.
With each slow, deep thrust, Cato poured everything into it. He let his hands roam, brushing over Peeta's chest, down to his hips, his fingers tracing the lines of his muscles, feeling the tension and release with every movement. There was no denying it anymore—he loved him.
He loved Peeta in a way that consumed him, in a way that had been building for longer than he'd realized.
It was a truth that burned through him, undeniable and fierce, and even though he hadn't spoken the words yet, they were there in every touch, in every kiss, in the way he held Peeta close like he never wanted to let him go. Cato pressed his forehead against Peeta's, their breaths mingling in the small space between them as he thrust into him slowly, deeply, savoring the intimacy of the moment.
Then, in the quiet, between their kisses, Peeta whispered it. "I love you,"
For a moment, Cato's breath caught in his throat, the words hitting him harder than any physical blow. His heart pounded in his chest, the truth of those words sinking into him, settling deep in his bones. He wanted to say it back. He wanted to tell Peeta how much he loved him, how much he meant to him. But the words stuck, lodged in his throat.
So instead, Cato showed him.
His hands tightened on Peeta's hips, pulling him closer as he pushed deeper inside. His mouth moved to Peeta's neck, then down to his chest, his tongue tracing every inch of skin as if writing the words he couldn't say. His hips moved slowly, rhythmically, each thrust an affirmation of what he felt, what they both felt. Cato could feel it in the way Peeta's body responded to him, in the way he trembled beneath his touch, the way his breath hitched with every deep thrust.
Every moan, every gasp that escaped Peeta's lips was a message, a confirmation of everything they had become, everything they were. Cato pressed closer, his lips finding Peeta's again, kissing him slowly, deeply, pouring every bit of himself into it. This wasn't just sex anymore. This was something real, something more than either of them had expected.
Peeta's legs wrapped around him again, pulling him even closer, and Cato groaned softly, feeling the tight heat surrounding him, holding him in a way that made him feel grounded, made him feel complete. He kissed Peeta again, each kiss slow and lingering, full of all the things he couldn't say but knew Peeta could feel.
Even without the words, Cato knew Peeta understood. He could feel it in the way Peeta's hands moved over his back, the way their bodies moved together in perfect harmony. It was in the way they fit together, in the way their hearts seemed to beat in sync.
Cato's breath came in heavy, ragged bursts as he rocked his hips into Peeta, the slow rhythm between them sending shivers down his spine. Every inch of Peeta's body responded to him, clinging to him like he was the only thing grounding him, the only thing that mattered. Cato could feel it in the way Peeta's nails raked down his back, not harsh but needy, desperate. Peeta's moans grew louder with each thrust, his voice hoarse but thick with pleasure.
"God, I love it when you say it," Cato groaned, his voice low and strained. His lips brushed over Peeta's ear as he whispered, "You love being my baby, don't you?"
Peeta whimpered, his hips bucking up to meet Cato's thrusts, his entire body arching beneath him. "Yes—fuck, yes, Cato," he gasped, his breath coming in sharp bursts.
Cato grinned, loving the way Peeta melted every time he said it, the way the word seemed to make Peeta fall apart under him. He didn't just call Peeta that for effect—he called him baby because that's what Peeta was to him. His. Someone he wanted to care for, to protect, and to possess completely.
He could feel Peeta tightening around him, every squeeze sending bolts of pleasure shooting through his body, threatening to push him closer to the edge. But Cato wasn't ready to let go yet. He wanted to drag this out, to make Peeta feel every ounce of the passion building between them. He wanted to claim every inch of him, make sure Peeta knew just how deep this connection went.
Cato's hands roamed Peeta's body, moving from his hips to his chest, feeling the slick heat of their combined sweat. His fingers traced Peeta's muscles, lingering on every sharp intake of breath, every soft whimper that fell from Peeta's lips. He loved how responsive Peeta was to him, how his body moved in perfect sync with Cato's, their rhythm slow and steady but building in intensity with every thrust.
"Look at me, baby," Cato whispered, his voice rough as he tilted Peeta's chin up, forcing their eyes to meet. Peeta's hazel eyes were dark with lust, his pupils blown wide, his lips parted in breathless anticipation. "I want to see your face when I make you come."
Peeta's breath hitched at the command, his hands sliding up to Cato's back, his fingers pressing into Cato's skin just enough to ground himself. His nails dragged lightly along Cato's spine, not enough to hurt, but enough to make Cato groan at the sensation. Peeta's hips moved in sync with Cato's, meeting each deep, deliberate thrust with a soft whimper, his body practically vibrating with the need for release.
"God, Cato…" Peeta whimpered, his head falling back, exposing his neck to Cato's lips. He could feel the heat building inside him, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter in his belly, threatening to snap at any moment. "I—I'm so close."
Cato grinned against Peeta's neck, his breath hot and ragged as he nipped at the sensitive skin there. "You're not coming yet, baby," Cato growled softly, his voice thick with control. "Not until I say."
Peeta let out a soft, frustrated whine, his body trembling as he fought to hold back, his fingers curling against Cato's back, his nails grazing the skin with every slow, deep thrust. Cato's pace was relentless—purposeful and slow, each movement designed to push Peeta closer to the edge.
Cato pulled back slightly, just enough to meet Peeta's gaze, their eyes locking in a heated exchange.
"You're going to come without even touching yourself, aren't you?" Cato teased, his voice low, his lips curling into a wicked grin.
"I can't—" Peeta gasped, his hips jerking up into Cato's with a wild, desperate need. "Please, Cato—please, I'm gonna—"
Cato loved seeing Peeta fall apart, loved the way he responded to him, so perfectly in sync with everything he did. "Hold on just a little longer," Cato murmured, his voice soft but commanding as he thrust deeper, grinding his hips against Peeta's just right, hitting that spot inside him that made Peeta tremble uncontrollably.
Peeta's moans grew louder, his hands moving up to grip Cato's shoulders, his fingers pressing into the muscle as his body shook with the effort of holding back. He was so close, so fucking close, every nerve in his body lit on fire, every muscle tensing, the pleasure so intense he could barely breathe.
"Please—Cato," Peeta whimpered, his voice raw and desperate. "I can't hold it—I'm gonna—fuck-k—"
And then Cato gave him what he needed—one perfect thrust, his hips grinding into Peeta as he hit that spot again, hard and deep. Peeta's breath hitched, a broken cry escaping his lips as he came, his release hitting him like a tidal wave. He wasn't even touching himself, but his cock jerked, pulsing with his orgasm, ropes of cum spilling across his stomach in hot, sticky bursts.
Cato groaned loudly, his hands gripping Peeta's hips hard, holding him steady as Peeta's body tightened around him, the sensation pushing Cato to the edge. Peeta's orgasm seemed to go on forever, his body trembling beneath Cato as he rode out every shuddering wave of pleasure, his moans softening into breathless whimpers.
Cato thrust into him one last time, burying himself deep inside Peeta as his own release hit him like a storm. His hips jerked uncontrollably as he spilled into Peeta, groaning as the pleasure overtook him, leaving him shaking from the force of it.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. Peeta's chest heaved as he gasped for breath, his body still trembling from the aftershocks of his orgasm. His nails, which had left deep red scratches down Cato's back, softened, his hands now resting gently on Cato's shoulders as he tried to catch his breath.
Cato collapsed beside him, his body spent, his breath still coming in heavy gasps. He turned his head to look at Peeta, a soft, satisfied smile tugging at his lips as he reached out to brush a damp strand of hair from Peeta's forehead.
"God," Peeta whispered, his voice shaky but filled with awe as he blinked up at Cato. "You...you fucked the life out of me."
Cato smirked, pressing a lazy kiss to Peeta's shoulder before rolling to the side, pulling Peeta against his chest. "Told you I wasn't done with you," he murmured.
Peeta let out a breathy laugh, nestling into Cato's arms, his head resting on Cato's chest as he felt the steady rhythm of Cato's heartbeat. "You weren't kidding," Peeta said softly, his voice tired but content.
For a moment, they lay there in silence, their bodies tangled together, the weight of the night still hanging in the air. Cato's fingers lazily traced patterns on Peeta's skin, grounding himself in the feel of Peeta's warmth. It wasn't just the sex, though that was always electric—it was the connection, the way they fit so perfectly together, the way Peeta trusted him so completely.
"I meant it," Peeta said suddenly, breaking the quiet. His voice was soft, but Cato could feel the weight behind the words. "When I said I love you."
Cato's breath caught in his throat, his chest tightening at the words. He wanted to say it back, wanted to tell Peeta how much he meant to him, but the words still stuck, lodged deep inside him. Instead, he pulled Peeta closer, pressing a kiss to his temple, letting the silence say what he couldn't.
Peeta didn't push, didn't ask for more. He just smiled softly, closing his eyes as he curled up against Cato's chest.
"It's okay, you know," Peeta whispered, his voice soft but steady. "If you don't say it back. I don't need you to."
Cato's heart clenched at the quiet vulnerability in Peeta's words. He could feel the truth of them, feel how much it had taken for Peeta to say it aloud. Cato wanted to speak, wanted to tell Peeta everything that was bubbling inside him, but he wasn't used to this—wasn't used to feeling so deeply, so intensely for someone. Not this quickly.
Peeta shifted slightly, turning his head just enough to look up at Cato, his hazel eyes soft and understanding.
"I know you feel it," Peeta continued, his voice gentle, his hand sliding up to rest against Cato's cheek. "I know you don't have to say it for me to know. And that's enough for me."
Cato swallowed hard, his throat tightening as he looked into Peeta's eyes, the warmth and affection there cutting through him in a way that nothing else could. He didn't deserve this—didn't deserve the patience, the understanding that Peeta always seemed to give him without question. But Peeta never asked for more than Cato was ready to give, and that made Cato care for him even more.
Instead of speaking and messing up this moment, Cato leaned down, brushing his lips over Peeta's in a soft, lingering kiss. His hands cupped Peeta's face, his fingers threading through his hair. It was slow, tender, filled with every emotion swirling inside him, every ounce of love that he couldn't put into words.
When they finally broke apart, Peeta smiled, his hand still resting against Cato's cheek.
"See? I told you," Peeta whispered, his voice light, playful now. "You don't have to say it."
Cato chuckled softly, pressing his forehead against Peeta's. "I'm working on it," he murmured, his voice rough but affectionate. He wasn't ready to say it yet, not out loud, but he knew Peeta understood. And in this moment, that was enough.
Peeta smiled, his body relaxing into Cato's, his arms wrapping around him as he nestled closer.
"Take your time," he whispered, his voice barely audible as sleep began to tug at him. "I'm not going anywhere."
Cato's heart swelled at the words, at the quiet certainty in Peeta's voice. He tightened his arms around Peeta, pulling him close as he kissed the top of his head.
The room fell quiet again, the only sound the steady rhythm of their breathing as they lay together, wrapped in each other. Tomorrow would bring its own challenges, its own uncertainties, but for now, in the quiet of the night, they had this.
They had each other.
A soft light peeked through the curtains as Cato groaned awake, his head pounding and his mouth dry. Every muscle in his body ached—his thighs sticky from the lube, his hips sore from the intensity of the night before. A dull throb pulsed behind his temples, and he winced, feeling the remnants of the liquor still swirling in his veins. Despite the hangover dragging him down, his chest had a strange lightness, as if a weight had somehow been lifted.
Peeta lay nestled against him, his head tucked into the crook of Cato's chest and shoulder, his breath warm and rhythmic against Cato's skin. The softness of the moment pulled a reluctant smile from him. Peeta's presence was comforting, grounding even, as if his warmth alone was enough to dissolve the tension that usually held Cato's body hostage. It wasn't just physical—it was something deeper.
He loved him.
It was the second time the thought settled into his mind, heavier than he expected. It wasn't a simple revelation; it came with layers of complexity. Part of him wanted to give in completely, to surrender to this feeling, to tell Peeta what he needed to hear, what they both needed to feel. But Cato's chest tightened.
The only man he had ever said those words to was Marcus, and he had known him for eight years before he could even form the syllables on his tongue.
It's been nineteen days since he met Peeta.
His mind raced, trying to measure the difference between inches and miles, the years he had given to Marcus, compared to the stolen days and nights with Peeta. They were trapped in this whirlwind of violence and survival. What if their love was just another form of survival, another way of holding themselves together when everything else was breaking apart?
He didn't want to think about it like that. He didn't want to reduce this feeling to something desperate or fragile. But another part of him whispered that they needed to wait. Once they were out of danger, once they were free—really free—then maybe they could love each other without feeling like their love was the only thing keeping them from shattering.
Because loving a broken thing doesn't fix it, it only hides the cracks.
Cato swallowed the thought, but the heaviness still sat there, gnawing at him.
He brushed a lock of Peeta's hair back from his face, careful not to wake him. The tenderness of the gesture almost undid him. How could something so simple feel so monumental? Part of him ached to whisper it, to tell Peeta what was swimming in his chest, but the other part of him—the part that had survived all these years—told him to be cautious.
A knock at the door jolted him out of his thoughts, the sudden sound making his heart race. He groaned, rubbing his eyes as Ophelia's sing-song voice filtered through. "Good morning! We have to be at the train station in two hours to pick up some special visitors!"
Cato muttered a curse under his breath, the sound of her heels clacking down the stairs fading away. Beside him, Peeta stirred, blinking sleepily as he stretched his arms and legs, still curled up in Cato's embrace.
"Morning," Peeta yawned, his voice rough with sleep, eyes barely open. His body shifted against Cato, clearly sore from the night before, but the small smile that crept across Peeta's face told Cato he wasn't regretting a thing.
"How're you feeling?" Cato asked.
Peeta grimaced slightly, though his lips tugged into a smile.
"Sore," he admitted, his cheeks flushing just a little. "But otherwise... good. Really good."
Cato chuckled, a deep sound that rumbled in his chest as he pulled Peeta a little closer.
"Good to hear," he murmured. "You were amazing last night, you know that?"
Peeta flushed deeper, ducking his head against Cato's chest as if he could hide. "Stop it. You're just saying that."
"I'm not," Cato said, his voice softer, more serious now. He didn't know how else to say what he felt. Not yet. "You were incredible."
For a moment, he thought he might say more—say what was truly on his mind—but the heaviness was still there, holding him back.
Peeta lifted his head, smiling softly as he poked Cato's side playfully. "You weren't exactly gentle."
A laugh escaped Cato, though his mind remained elsewhere. "Hey, you weren't exactly complaining last night."
Peeta's eyes gleamed warmly, but he could sense something flickering in Cato's expression.
"Yeah, well," Peeta mumbled, his voice teasing but gentle, "you didn't exactly leave me with much brain function."
Cato grinned, dipping his head closer to Peeta's, his breath grazing against his skin. "But you love it."
Peeta's eyes fluttered shut for a moment, his lips parting with a quiet breath as a shiver ran through him.
"You're insufferable," he whispered, though his words held more affection than frustration.
Cato chuckled, pressing his lips briefly to Peeta's forehead before pulling away.
"Yeah, but you can't get enough of me," he teased, though there was an unspoken weight behind the words. They both knew it, and it lingered in the space between them.
Peeta's laughter filled the room, though he winced slightly as he tried to sit up. "Ugh, remind me to never drink with Angel and Portia again. My head is killing me."
"I've got something for that," Cato said, sliding out of bed with a groan.
His body protested the movement, soreness mingling with the weight of the hangover. He grabbed a couple of pills and two bottles of water from the bathroom, pausing momentarily in the mirror. His lips quirked into a smirk at the sight of the claw marks raking down his back and the hickeys that peppered his chest and shoulders.
He walked back to Peeta, swallowing his own pill before handing the water and pill to him. "Here. Take this."
Peeta averted his gaze as he swallowed the pill, clearly trying to avoid looking at Cato. But Cato noticed the way Peeta's eyes kept flickering back to him. "You know, you're not very subtle," Cato teased, watching Peeta squirm.
Peeta blushed, his eyes meeting Cato's before darting away again.
"I—I know," he stammered. "It's just… a little hard to focus when you're standing there like that."
Cato leaned closer, his voice teasing. "You could always join me in the shower,"
Peeta's eyes widened, and he shook his head with a nervous laugh. "I don't think I could handle that again today," he admitted, his cheeks flushing.
Cato grinned, chuckling softly. "I wasn't planning on anything. Just an offer." He winked playfully before turning back toward the bathroom.
Peeta stretched again, groaning slightly as he looked toward the door. "I should probably head back before someone comes looking for me."
Cato grabbed a pair of sweats and a T-shirt for Peeta, handing them over. "Your pants are soaked from last night. These'll do."
Peeta slipped them on, though they hung loose on his smaller frame. Cato couldn't help but laugh. His hair was sticking up in wild directions, and the bite marks on his neck were hard to miss.
"You sure you're good to make it back?"
Peeta paused, smiling at Cato. "Yeah, I'll be fine. I need to get ready for Portia anyway," he said, chuckling. "Plus, I kind of smell like you."
Cato grinned, leaning in closer. "Is that a bad thing?"
Peeta shook his head, smirking. "I'll get used to it."
With that, he unlocked the door, giving Cato one last smile before slipping out, leaving behind the warmth of the morning.
Cato stepped into the shower, letting the warm water wash away the remnants of the previous night. He scrubbed the banana-scented soap into his skin, his thoughts briefly drifting back to Peeta—how his hands had worked the same soap over Peeta's body just hours ago. The sting of the water against the scratches on his back made him smile, but the moment quickly faded as the reality of the day pressed in.
Tomorrow was Snow's wedding, and the mystery of why they were going to the train station today gnawed at him. What awaited them?
He shook his head, determined not to let it overwhelm him. After drying off, Cato brushed his teeth, slipped into a pair of black briefs, and stepped back into his room, where the Avox quietly tidied up the previous night's mess.
A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. He opened it to find Angel standing there, looking worse for wear, sunglasses perched on his nose, holding a large coffee in one hand and a suit on a hanger in the other. The obvious signs of a hangover dampened his usual charm.
"You look rough," Cato commented, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.
Angel groaned, stepping inside and hanging the suit beside the vanity. "And you look like you got into a fight with a jaguar," he quipped, shaking his head. "I feel like my liver is on strike, but let's get you ready."
Cato smirked but sat down obediently as Angel gestured toward the vanity. Angel began dabbing concealer onto Cato's neck and biceps, carefully working to cover the bruises from the night before.
"Oh, to be young," Angel sighed dramatically as he blended the makeup, shaking his head in mock exasperation.
Cato felt his face flush slightly, embarrassed by the marks. "Where are the others?" he asked, hoping to shift the conversation.
Angel shrugged, working the concealer with expert hands. "Probably sobering up in a hole somewhere," he muttered. After a few minutes, he spritzed the makeup with a cold setting spray. "I was told this was a one-person job today, so here I am."
"Thanks for last night," Cato said after a beat. "It's probably the only fun Peeta and I have had since we got here."
Angel paused, smiling softly. "It was my pleasure. Even though you two might've shaved a few years off my life. Vermillion told me you two will always have a seat at Euphoria."
Cato blinked, a little surprised. "Why?"
Angel stopped for a moment, meeting Cato's eyes as he finished blending the makeup. "You and Peeta... you give people like us hope. And hope's a powerful thing, especially here."
Cato took a moment to process that. It hadn't occurred to him that his relationship with Peeta might affect others, might mean something beyond what was happening to them. He nodded slowly, unsure of what to say but grateful for Angel's words.
Once the makeup was set, Angel helped Cato into the charcoal suit with a black undershirt, adjusting it until it fit perfectly. As he finished, Cato asked, "What's going on today?"
Angel raised an eyebrow, stepping back to survey his work.
"No clue," he replied, shrugging. "All I know is you're going to the train station. They've been tight-lipped about the details, but I'm sure it'll be fine."
Cato nodded, though unease lingered at the edge of his thoughts. As Angel applied the finishing touches to his hair with some wax, he decided to ask the question that had been nagging him. "What do you think will happen to me and Peeta after all this?"
Angel hesitated, taking off his sunglasses to reveal tired, bloodshot eyes. He fixed Cato's hair with a focused look before replying. "It's hard to say. This is uncharted territory for all of us. But I can't imagine they'd separate you two. Not after everything."
Cato wasn't so sure. He knew Snow's methods of control; he knew the lengths the Capitol would go to keep people in line. The thought of being separated from Peeta gnawed at him, but he pushed it aside as Angel ushered him downstairs, where Ophelia was already fluttering about, fussing over breakfast. Her dress was adorned with petals and pearls, a golden ensemble that mirrored Effie's equally elaborate outfit. She clucked at Cato to eat quickly as she adjusted her hair.
At the table, Haymitch sat with his usual bleary-eyed expression, his wrinkled suit and tired demeanor indicating he had also had a rough night. Without a word, he slid a newspaper across the table to Cato, smirking slightly as he sipped his coffee.
"Made the first page," Haymitch said dryly, taking another sip.
Cato glanced down at the paper but barely registered the headline before an Avox placed a bagel with cream cheese in front of him. Ophelia, impatient as ever, urged him to hurry up, her attention still on her own appearance.
A few moments later, Peeta joined them at the table, dressed in a light gray suit that complemented Cato's darker one. Cato offered him a small smile, and the tension in his shoulders eased slightly as Peeta sat beside him.
"What's going on today?" Peeta asked Haymitch, cutting into his breakfast.
Haymitch glanced at him, then took another sip of his coffee. "No idea, kid. But seeing as Ms. Daytide and Trinket have me dressed like the belle of the ball, I'd say expect plenty of cameras."
Cato swallowed a bite of his bagel, the thought of more cameras bringing a flicker of anxiety. But at least, wherever they were going, it would be relatively safe.
Relatively.