Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

District 212

By Blueberrychills94

Chapter One

"Tonight we have two very special guests, it's the Musical Duo that have been taking Panem by storm ever since they released their Number 1 hit: Two Sides!"

The roar of the crowd was almost deafening. Peeta winced and rubbed his ear, as if that were going to alleviate the sound somehow. Cato simply chuckled, amused by the crowd's reaction to the mention of them. Peeta was baffled by how excited these people were just by the knowledge that he and Cato were in the building. Caesar Flickerman was one of-if not the-biggest talk show host in modern media. Never mind being baffled by the audience, Peeta was baffled that they had been asked to come on the show at all! It was rather amazing.

The stagehands led them out of the Green Room and down to where the studio was. Peeta felt his heart pounding in his chest and had to grab Cato's hand for support as they were left lingering on the edge of the studio, ready to be given the go ahead to go on. This was their first interview since they'd released Two Sides and he hadn't expected such a reception.

Cato squeezed his hand and smiled that reassuring smile of his. The one that never failed to put Peeta at ease. Peeta returned the smile and exhaled, allowing himself a second of respite before the madness began. The calm before the storm.

"Here to talk about it tonight is District 212!"

Cato gestured for Peeta to go out first, which the smaller boy did rather coyly. He was momentarily blinded by lights and the screams of the people in the audience. Comforted by the knowledge that Cato was right behind him, Peeta felt more comfortable in his skin. He went over to Caesar and shook his hand, side stepping so Cato could do the same. They sat down and actually had to wait for the crowd to shimmer down, which took three whole minutes.

When the ruckus finally did die out, Caesar flashed the cameras and the audience one of his wide, winning smiles. "It's great to have you both on the show," he said.

"It's great to be here," Cato replied, immediately at home with himself and talking as if he was just having a casual chat with a friend.

"So which one of you is which?" Caesar enquired, gesturing between the two of them.

"I'm Peeta," said Peeta, "and that's Cato."

"What made you come up with the name District 212? It's clearly a homage of some sort to the regional system in Panem, am I right?" asked Caesar.

"Uh, yeah," Cato answered, "I'm originally from District 2 and Peeta is from 12 so we decided to merge them both into one name."

"At least you both weren't from 12 or you'd have just be called District 12 12!" Caesar laughed and the audience did too. Peeta found himself smiling. This wasn't so bad . . .

"Now," Caesar said, being faux serious. He leaned forward in his seat, as if he were about to share a massive secret with them. "A little birdie told me that you're both going out. Am I right?"

Peeta flushed bright red, making the audience go 'awww', and Cato took the liberty of explaining. "Peeta and I have been dating since high school. We were in the same music class, hence how we discovered that we could . . ." He gestured with his hand, implying the reason why they were there at all. Peeta vaguely wondered how they found out about that but didn't ponder too hard on it because he didn't really mind if people knew about their relationship. It was hardly something Peeta wished to hide.

Cato placed a hand on Peeta's shoulder and smiled. "I couldn't have done this without him. He's my world."

The crowd went nuts for that, clapping and cheering like they were personally invested in their relationship somehow. The support was overwhelming to Peeta and he couldn't help feeling touched by how happy they were for them. He took Cato's hand in his own and held it between them, unable to keep the smile from his face.

"Will you be making more music in the future or will this be a one hit wonder, do you think?" Caesar continued by asking.

Peeta and Cato exchanged a look. "We have every intention of further pursuing our music," Peeta answered. It was true. Peeta and Cato were going to continue working on their music, writing and releasing new songs as they came. Maybe someday they would release an album too. They didn't expect to get any more number 1's, however. The success of Two Sides was beginner's luck, or a fluke of some sort. They would fade into the background, like all musicians do.

Their fifteen minutes would run out.

~xXx~

Three years later

"One hundred;

One hundred and one;

One hundred and two;

One hundred and three;

One hundred and-oh fuck I nearly fell off!"

Cato chuckled as Peeta grabbed the back of his neck and dug his knees harder into his sides to remain balanced. Cato continued regardless, lowering back down to the ground before pushing himself back up again. "One hundred and oh fuck I nearly fell off?" he asked with a smirk. "I don't remember learning that number in class . . ."

"Yeah, well, maybe you just didn't listen hard enough," Peeta teased, laying his head down on Cato's shoulder as the taller blond kept doing his push ups, doing it with impressive ease even though there was another body entirely on top of him.

There wasn't much to do in hotel rooms. Sure, they were luxurious but that didn't mean that they didn't start to get boring. The hotel staff were nice; practically falling over themselves to give Peeta and Cato whatever they needed but, again, with them trapped in their room, there wasn't much to ask for besides room service. Going outside was completely out of the question. Normally they wouldn't let the masses of people that usually gathered where-ever they went stop them from going out and having fun but this was a particularly large mass of people right on the hotel's doorstep. Normally there would be time to get into a car but with the swarm outside? No, the idea was completely out of the question.

That was how Cato ended up working out. At first, Peeta had just lay on the bed reading the copy of Fifty Shades of Grey that had been left in the bedside drawer alongside the bible (kind of ironic, really) but it only took eight minutes for the novelty of the bad writing to wear off. So after throwing the book onto the floor and kicking it under the bed, Peeta had collapsed on top of Cato and moaned at him to give him something to do.

Cato hadn't stopped his set when Peeta collapsed on him, continuing his push ups as if there wasn't the extra weight at all. He told Peeta to count for him, to give him something to do, and that was how they ended up where they were now. Still bored, but with something to do at least.

Peeta wound his arms around Cato's neck and huffed. Cato smirked, amused by his boyfriend's clear boredom. "What do you want me to do?" Cato asked. "Magic up something to do?"

"You could do," Peeta protested. "Would certainly give me a hand."

"I'm sorry, I left my magic wand at Hogwarts," Cato answered back.

"Well that was stupid of you," Peeta replied indignantly. He rolled off of Cato's back and lay on his own on the hotel floor. "Who knew that staying in hotels would be so boring? I can't leave the room without having to look left and right first. There's nothing to do staying holed up in a room."

"Technically we are doing something," Cato contradicted. When Peeta's head turned towards him with confusion, Cato grinned and said, "We're hiding."

Peeta scoffed and shook his head. "Of course, how did I not catch on?" he said flatly.

"Oh, I also forgot, you're whinging too. That's something."

Peeta turned onto his stomach and propped his head up on his hand, resting his elbow against the soft material of the carpet. His blue eyes moved up and down, following Cato's movements as he continued his set. "We're in the Capitol-the biggest city in all of Panem-and once again we're staying hidden away like some sort of criminal couple!"

Cato's eyes lit up at the idea. "Sounds intriguing to me," he said.

"You're thinking of me being Bonnie and you being Clyde aren't you?" Peeta couldn't stop a smile breaking out across his face at Cato's ridiculousness. Cato nodded, a cheesy grin of his own on his face. "Why do I have to be Bonnie?!"

Cato turned around to lay on his back and Peeta automatically climbed on top of him, like a moth drawn to a flame. Having Peeta's weight push his body into the ground always reassured Cato, whether it be the front or the back. As the more dominant partner, Cato felt comforted by the knowledge of Peeta being comfortable and happy. The same went for Peeta, on a more submissive spectrum than Cato.

"Because you're the woman in this relationship," Cato teased, threading his fingers through Peeta's to hold his hands.

Peeta's nostrils flared as he had no evidence to back up an argument saying that he wasn't. They'd tried switching roles in the bedroom in the past and all it had achieved was-okay, quite enjoyable sex-but not to the level it was during their normal routine. Peeta pushed against Cato's hands, lowering his body down to lie against the extension of his boyfriend's. "Well, you can't deny that you love it," Peeta teased.

Peeta always pulled the cutsie card to win arguments or simply prove a point. Cato was amazed by it, unable to comprehend how a boy who had expressed on numerous occasions how he was far from having the innocence of a child could still have the ability to behave in such a way. Then again, Peeta still had his moments. When complimented in interviews; or by fans; or by anyone in general who wasn't Cato, the younger boy would clam up and turn into such a flustered little thing. The teasing Peeta was a Peeta only Cato got to see, for that he was eternally grateful for.

Cato lifted his head and kissed Peeta, letting go of his hands to push his fingers into the boy's hair. Peeta's eyes fluttered, his own hands resting on Cato's chest as he opened his mouth and gladly let the older boy explore deeper inside. Inside his lover's mouth was warm and welcoming, the moist caverns delectably soft to the touch. And when Peeta would let a moan slip, his mouth would vibrate, causing further incentive and stimulation for Cato.

Peeta dragged Cato's shirt up as they kissed, dragging his fingernails down his chest and abs teasingly. Cato groaned and returned the favour by sliding his hand over the boy's butt, giving it a harsh squeeze to push their hips together. Peeta groaned with approval, his body matching the movements of Cato's as they made out on the carpet. Dragging his lips away from Cato's, Peeta kissed his boyfriend's neck, slowly moving downwards and dragging his lips along his torso.

The feeling of his lover's soft lips on his skin made Cato hard with want. Peeta purred against Cato's abdomen as Cato started to massage his behind, showing his approval to the younger boy's advances through the thorough groping of his plump backside. Peeta's eyes fluttered with desire and he scraped his teeth along Cato's skin temptingly. Cato's fingers tightened in Peeta's hair and when the younger blond looked up to him with a searing look in his eyes, Cato's darkened with hunger.

"They'll hear us," Peeta whispered fearfully.

"Not if we're quiet," Cato replied.

Peeta scowled, causing Cato to grin. "Ha ha," he said flatly.

"Don't get prissy with me just because I'm so amazing in bed that you can't keep quiet," Cato taunted cheekily.

Peeta's eyebrow twitched. Cato loved how easy Peeta could be to wind up sometimes. It made him more stubborn which, in turn, made him even more painfully alluring. Cato pushed his hand underneath Peeta's underwear and teased his ass with his fingers. Peeta's breath shuddered and he closed his eyes, sitting back on his boyfriend a little to enjoy the ministrations he was performing.

There was a sudden loud bang at their hotel door. Not the bang of a fist knocking, but more of a bang that came with someone's body hitting the structure. Both men paused, barely breathing out of fear of being heard. Then, like tiny mice coming out of the cracks, they heard them. Whispers. Excited ones, at that. Peeta sighed heavily and swung himself to his feet.

"How did they find out our room number?" he asked tiredly.

"How do they find out anything is more my question," Cato sighed, also getting to his feet.

Being constantly stalked by fans wasn't the most enjoyable of experiences. Cato and Peeta loved their fans, they really did, without them they'd still be singing in Cato's bedroom and not to millions of people. However, when they were constantly on their back; following them everywhere; and behaving like they have a right to know what was going on in their personal lives it did become an exhausting feat to venture.

Peeta walked into the bathroom, previous arousal from their heated exchange long forgotten, while Cato threw himself into a computer chair, rolling over to the phone and dialling the number for the reception desk. Peeta didn't like it when they had to tell the people in charge that their fans were running amuck but it wasn't a question of whether they could or couldn't do it. Some of them were . . . excitable. They would run around and laugh and scream if they knew that Cato's shoes had treaded the carpet of a particular hallway. There were other guests in the hotel, and Peeta knew that they had to respect that their fans' behaviour could upset them and possibly ruin the establishment's reputation.

Sometimes, if they were in a good mood, either Cato or Peeta would go out to ask them politely to go themselves. They could then at least give them something to part with. Like a photo or an autograph. They didn't tend to make a habit of it though because if rumour got out that they were doing it for every fan that came to the door then the entire swarm from outside would be on their doorstep.

Peeta washed his face, dampening the nerves that had been awoken by the fumble with Cato. "What time do we have to leave at anyway?" he asked, grabbing a towel to wipe his face with.

"Five o'clock," Cato answered.

Peeta returned from the bathroom, subconsciously patting Marisol on his way out. Marisol was Cato's guitar. He had had the same guitar since he was ten years old. It had belonged to his dad and was designed especially for someone left handed like Cato. She was a bit rough around the edges but still played beautifully. She meant the world to Cato and anything important to Cato was important to Peeta too.

Later they had to go finish filming a music video for their next song release. Peeta liked this particular song. It was faster than their usual music but the change was refreshing. He only hoped their fans would think the same thing.

"Where's my guitar pick?" Cato muttered, ducking under the desk and rummaging around in the bags they'd shoved underneath.

"Where you left it," Peeta answered, throwing himself onto the bed and reassuming the previously tossed copy of Fifty Shades. He couldn't even pretend to read it, cringed, and shoved it back into the drawer where he had found it.

Beds in 5 Star Hotels never failed to amaze Peeta. He had been raised in a family that had a decent but not regular income. He sometimes slept on the floor, and would take turns with his brothers every few nights to see who got to sleep on the camp bed, which was really only four planks of wood and a thin, pathetic excuse for a mattress. After meeting Cato; falling in love; and getting discovered at the District 12 Star Squad by a Capitol Scout, thrusting both him and Cato into the spotlight; he had been sleeping on these huge, thick beds. Huge, thick beds that felt like marshmallows to lie on. If he didn't have a job to do, Peeta would spend the rest of his life in these Capitol Quality beds. Preferably with Cato.

"Well if I knew that, I wouldn't be asking would I?" Cato asked with exasperation.

Sensing his boyfriend getting frustrated, fast, Peeta threw himself over the edge of the bed, digging his knees into the mattress to have a quick sweep of underneath. They'd only been in the hotel for a day and a half and the underbelly of their bed already looked like a warzone. Cans of coke and red bull; packets of crisps; tissues; socks; everything. Peeta always made sure that they cleaned up after themselves before they left but the period between arrival and departure was always a cluttered jumble of disorder.

"Here it is!" Peeta declared, spotting Cato's lucky orange guitar pick underneath an overturned shoe.

"Oh thank god," Cato replied, taking the pick from Peeta when he hauled himself back up and kissing the younger boy gratefully. One might wonder why someone would care so much for a guitar pick-you could get them at any music store-but Cato didn't like to play with any old guitar pick. This one had sentimental value, the same standing of value as Marisol herself.

"You're getting careless," Peeta teased.

Cato flicked the pick between his fingers, the piece of plastic moving so smoothly between his fingers and thumb it looked like he wasn't even thinking about what he was doing. He hummed in agreement and sat on the bed beside Peeta, a confused look on his face. "How did it even get under the bed in the first place?"

Peeta paused. "Don't ask me," he concluded. "It's your pick. I'm surprised we aren't finding Marisol in the shower cubicle or out on the balcony."

"We're talking about Marisol here, not your sneakers, Peeta," Cato joked, poking Peeta's side and making him yelp.

"I do not leave sneakers in the shower!" Peeta protested, nostrils flaring with fake rage. He could not pretend to be angry for long, however, and broke out into a cheesy grin. Cato laughed and kissed the smaller boy softly.

Peeta melted into the bed, cupping Cato's face in his hand and rubbing the faint stubble on his cheek with his thumb. "You need to shave," he teased between his boyfriend's velvet lips.

Cato scowled, pretending to be angry, like Peeta had done moments ago, before nuzzling his face into the boy's neck, scratching the sensitive skin with his sharp stubble. Peeta shrieked and weakly struggled, laughing as Cato pinned him to the bed and attacked his tickle spot with his devious facial hair. His hands found Cato's, their fingers threading together as they play fought on the bed.

"This is how your pick gets lost," Peeta pointed out.

"As long as I know where it is now, I'm fine with it," Cato chuckled.

Peeta laughed as Cato's hair grazed a particularly sensitive spot, causing the younger boy to throw his neck back further. Tickling turned to kisses and in what felt like a blur, Cato's weight was crushing Peeta into the plump mattress, his lips massaging the skin of the smaller boy's neck while said boy in turn moaned and rutted against him. Cato wasn't one hundred per cent sure what done it, but he was pretty sure that it had something to do with how Peeta had a beautiful, swanlike neck that was always pale as porcelain and begging to be dirtied with some hickies.

"Do you think they're gone?" Cato murmured against Peeta's skin, dragging his guitar pick along Peeta's hipbone tauntingly.

Peeta groaned and pushed into the touch, shaking his head. "I don't know. Possibly? How long has it been?"

"I don't even know if I could control myself if a whole room was watching right now. . ." Cato paused for breath, his heavy breathing matching that of Peeta's as both fought to catch their breath again. Every time they were in the Capitol, their sex life had to come to a halt. They couldn't risk the gritty details of what they did behind closed doors getting out into the public and with the type of technology available in this paradise of a city, neither of them knew what their Capitolite fans were truly capable of.

"Down boy," Peeta chuckled, eyes fluttering and bottom lip sliding between his teeth as they accidentally brushed each other down in their neither regions. Cato tilted his head and moved closer, keen to continue kissing Peeta's skin anyways, only to be stopped by Peeta pushing him back by his forehead. "You can't leave marks today."

Cato groaned his displeasure. "Why not?"

"You know why not," Peeta answered. "We can't let the prep team find it . . . The rumours that would become of it. Remember how that absurd story of us going to a brothel started? Just because you were seen walking around with Clove in 2! And she has been retired from that place for years!"

"That would have been a scandal, though," Cato reminded Peeta. "What would the headlines for this be? 'District 212's Peeta Mellark has a healthy relationship with his boyfriend'? Oh the horror! Just imagine it, babe. Disgusting!"

"I'll slap you," Peeta snickered teasingly.

"You should, really," joked Cato. "I'm an arrogant jerk at heart."

"Oh just shut up you," Peeta grinned, pecking Cato's lips lovingly. "We'll have to go soon and the novelty of whether or not we'll do it is becoming rather boring, don't you think?"

"Couldn't agree more," Cato answered, rolling onto his back beside Peeta. He began fiddling with his pick again, only this time Peeta could see the twitch in his fingertips.

"What are you thinking about?" the younger boy asked, propping himself up on his elbow and stroking Cato's chest with his hand to comfort him.

Cato shrugged into the cushions, eyes sliding closed. His face scrunched up. "It's all become rather daunting, hasn't it?"

Peeta chewed on his bottom lip, having somehow predicted that this was what Cato would say. "Yes," he murmured in conclusion. "It has."

In the time since Cato and Peeta had released Two Sides and swept through the charts like a mento coke rocket, they had slowly been climbing the social ladder. Their agent, Cornelius Snow had been working them hard so that they would reach where they were now: In the Capitol. It took three years to take the Districts, thousands of people falling in love with their music and their charisma. It usually took decades to break the Capitol, yet Peeta and Cato charmed them all in a handful of years.

Now they were actually in the Capitol . . . It was becoming a bit intimidating.

"I don't want to fuck this up," Cato explained.

"You won't," Peeta said confidently. "You know our music like the back of your hand. You've been playing Marisol since you were a toddler. I'll be forgetting the words before you're forgetting the music."

Cato scoffed, a smile playing on his lips. "I can't see that happening," he said.

Peeta rolled his eyes and laid his head down on his boyfriend's chest. "Neither of us are going to mess this up. We're going to make it big here, just like everywhere else. I have faith in us."

Cato knew that as long as he had Peeta's faith, then everything would be alright.

~xXx~

One of the reasons that Peeta and Cato captivated the country so easily was that they appealed to a wide range of audiences. Peeta's voice had a range so vast that he could sing almost anything. It was one of the only, and most baffling, cases of tone and pitch range anyone had ever seen. When he was in high school, the music teacher Miss Cartwright fell in love with his talent and got him to perform at every single occasion the school ever had and made sure that he auditioned for all performances.

It was a similar case for Cato. He had an amazing singing voice, too, except not on as wide a spectrum as Peeta. Where Peeta excelled in singing until his voice box burst, Cato was the instrumental expert. Without exaggeration, Cato could play almost anything. It came second nature to him, like he was born with the knowledge of how to work any instrument that was placed in front of him. He mainly stuck with Marisol, though, but his ability stretched to violins; flutes; drums; piano; clarinets; even the simple recorder. If he didn't recognize the instrument, it didn't take him long to figure out how to worked.

Cato met Peeta in their music class in high school. They didn't give each other a second glance the first few days, keeping to themselves and trying to adjust to the differences high school presented compared to middle school. It hadn't been until Miss Cartwright started assigning students to particular places in the group, such as musicians; singers; writers; etc. that their attention had been brought to one another.

Miss Cartwright asked Cato to start bringing Marisol to school with him, so she could teach him some songs (mainly for the benefit of performing for the school). She didn't know about Peeta until much later and it had been completely by accident.

Cato didn't know that Peeta could sing. In fact, no one did. They just assumed that he was going through the motions until they got to choose what they could or couldn't study. However, when a girl whose mother had been friends with Peeta's father joined the class and asked if he had sang for them yet, Miss Cartwright had latched onto the idea like a cougar in heat.

Poor Peeta had been stunned by being called on so suddenly. This was when Cato first noticed him. Sitting at the very back of the room; head down; blushing furiously as all eyes fell on him. Immediately Cato had been struck by how adorable the boy was, and he wondered how he had never noticed him in the class before. Must have been because he was so quiet.

But when he sang . . .

Wow.

Cato still couldn't put it into words what Peeta's voice made him feel. He couldn't find the right words. All he knew was that the stunned expressions on everyone in the room's faces when he finished was the perfect picture of what Peeta's talent did to people. To make it even more astounding, Peeta had tried to convince Miss Cartwright that he wasn't that good and that many people exaggerated what he sounded like.

It took a few months after for Miss Cartwright to start pairing Cato and Peeta together to work on pieces. Once they were put together though, they sailed through the assignments like they were child's work. Then, there was the final assignment in their Senior year. Where they had to write their own piece to perform.

That was when they wrote 'Two Sides'.

It was during this long process that Cato and Peeta grew close to one another. Peeta was intoxicating, his shy quirks and interesting conversations so addicting that it didn't take Cato long to fall for him. It had been so fast and so easy, but neither regretted a thing. It was in Cato's bedroom, with sheet music coating the bed and falling off the edges onto the floor, where he held Peeta by the waist and kissed him for the first time.

They never looked back since.

Cato watched Peeta from across the set. The younger blond was swamped by his prep team, the four people that had been following them since they first started travelling the Districts. Portia, their head stylist, made sure that everything they did or wore was tasteful and would match the tone of the video they were filming. Their new song had an amatory theme to it, so their clothes were a little bit suggestive. According to Snow, this sort of thing sold like cupcakes in the Capitol. Cato and Peeta trusted him on this, since Snow himself was Capitol born.

Cato knew that Peeta liked this song. It was different from the usual music they performed, and Peeta always enjoyed exploring new territories. Even if said territories meant that he had to be shirtless in a music video. Peeta could be extremely insecure, especially where it concerned his body, and the set had to be a closed one because of this. Cato had asked if there was a different storyline the video could take, one where Peeta wasn't shirtless, but Snow had insisted that the Capitol would love it, so they went with it. Cato wasn't to wear a shirt either but he didn't mind all that much. He had never been as coy about that sort of thing as Peeta was.

Using the term 'storyline' was a very weak description. Music videos on a whole weren't really made to make sense but Cato always made it a priority to make sure that District 212's videos always had both of them in it, as an expression to their fans of their involvement and care for the songs that were being played. Their fans knew that Cato wrote most of their music, but sometimes it was questioned, some claiming that there had to be a ghost writer somewhere, but it was yet to be proven. And it would never be proven. Because it wasn't true.

Peeta looked fantastic. Portia and her team always outdid themselves, making Cato's heart flip every time he laid eyes on his boyfriend. There wasn't much that needed done in terms of make up this time, but there was a touch of foundation on Peeta's face here and there, smoothing out a few blemishes in his skin. His jeans hugged him in all the right spots, making his ass look unbelievable.

Then there was his torso.

Peeta's body was a product of the labour he bore while working his parents' bakery. He didn't work out like Cato did-his body wasn't rock hard-but the fact that he was soft in some places were what made him so easy on the eyes. He had muscles, there wasn't a doubt about that, you could see the faint outline of his abs, but the fact that they weren't defined like Cato's was what had always made Peeta embarrassed about himself. He didn't think he was good enough.

"You look incredible," Cato complimented, making Peeta turn red.

"Don't start," Peeta said shyly, crossing his arms. His eyes drifted along Cato's frame and he sighed longingly. "You look amazing too."

"Well, there has to be some sort of reason you put up with me," Cato teased, gesturing to his naked torso with a cheesy grin. The only difference between himself and Peeta was that he had Marisol strapped to his back, the forest green strap cutting across his chest and stomach to wind around his hip and back.

"Of course," Peeta smiled, lighting up the entire room. "What else is there?" He looked down at himself; at the clothes Portia told him to wear. "We're being sponsored by Cinna Kravitz, did you hear?"

"I didn't," Cato answered, he too taking another look at the jeans he was wearing. "No wonder we look so good."

"Ah, your modesty never fails to amaze me," said Peeta.

Cato almost missed what Peeta had said. He got distracted by how when Peeta breathed in, his stomach would move back while the front of the jeans stayed put, leaving a tiny gap where if Cato stepped close enough he would be able to peer down. Even where he stood he could see the blond hairs that led downwards to where only his eyes had access to. (Cato liked wording it that way, as since Peeta had been a virgin when they met, he really had been the only person to ever see his intimacy in such a way. It was something he was extremely proud of).

"Cato so help me God if you don't look me in the eyes right now I'm going to slap you," Peeta warned.

Cato shook his head and met Peeta's eyes with a goofy grin. "Then you need to stop looking so hot," he replied.

Peeta facepalmed himself. "You're an idiot," he sighed.

"Again, why else do you put up with me?" Cato enquired.

Peeta laughed. He kissed Cato, pushing up on his tiptoes to do so, before stepping back with finality. "Now behave," he said with impressive authority.

Cato nodded. "Yes sir," he said with mock seriousness.

Cato sat himself on the stool in which he would remain in throughout the entire video. Peeta would move around a lot throughout, re-enacting the words in which Cato would be singing. Peeta had a section near the end, where he would draw himself close to Cato and hug him tight, singing the only slow part of the entire song:

"If only you could see me, I wish that you would;

You're always there, but also not;

I wonder if you know;

That all you'd need to do, is say my name;

And I'd make sure to be there."

Despite its quick pace, it was a rather melancholy song about two people who admire one another but don't believe that the other even knows they exist. Cato tried to always keep an element of truth in his work so when he wrote this song, he involved some of his true thoughts about Peeta. It made his songs more realistic and relatable, especially when it came to the amorous bits.

"Your eyes are always alight with mirth, but I know there's something deeper;

You want someone to love you; to hold and satisfy you;

I will be that man, the one to pin you to that wall;

To make your lips swell; your body quiver;

I know you want it; if only you could see me . . ."

During the filming of a video, you don't actually sing. Well, some do because it makes it easier but most of the time it's just lip syncing. Cato altered between one and the other, depending on the mood he was in or how he felt about the particular song he was performing. If he had Marisol with him, he usually chose to sing properly. Peeta always sang. Even if he was just whispering the words, he wanted to make it genuine.

Having a camera pointed at you while you weren't doing much but lip syncing a song was a weird experience when they first started out but after doing this for three years, they had grown used to it. Peeta had been more reserved than Cato at first, especially when it came to things such as draping himself around him or sharing a kiss in front of the camera. He wasn't even one hundred percent comfortable with it now. He dealt with it because it was necessary for their career. And Peeta's career came alongside his music and his music meant the world to him.

For the end, when he was singing his bit, Peeta sat by Cato's feet, his head resting on his boyfriend's knee while he continued to play Marisol. Cato had to pretend he didn't see him. Every time Peeta would open his mouth and sing, Cato would feel a twinge in his gut. Each time was like the first, and it prompted the same reaction every time. Complete awe.

"Well done boys!" The flamboyant Capitol director beamed. He had this crazy green hair that was spiked up in all directions. "Not that I expected any less."

Peeta smiled, his ears turning pink with slight abasement. He graciously accepted the hug from the over eager director. Cato propped Marisol up against the chair and stood up as well, taken aback when the director then hugged him too. He smelled of lime and orange peels, a very disorientating scent.

Portia handed Peeta a shirt, which he wasted no time pulling on. As his personal stylist, Portia knew of Peeta's insecurities and did whatever she could to defuse his worry. Cato sighed and allowed the prep team to once again hustle them apart so that they could put their clothes back into their respectful bags and go out to get them their next outfit as soon as possible.

~xXx~

Peeta missed Youtube. Before District 212, when Cato and him were only starting to do their music outside of school, they did parody videos on Youtube. They didn't have much of a budget, so it was really just them mucking around in front of a camera singing mock up versions of popular songs that Cato wrote.

At this point, Cato and Peeta weren't an item. They fancied the pants off each other but were too afraid to say anything about it in case the other didn't feel the same way. Their followers, however, weren't as shy about it. They'd been insisting about this 'connection' that they claimed to see between them during their videos. When they could scroll through the comment sections of their videos, Peeta would get embarrassed and shy about it, having to leave Cato to his devices because he grew worried that he would figure out that he had a crush on him.

The comments couldn't be ignored forever though and eventually, while they were working on the lyrics for Two Sides, Cato just came out and said what they were both thinking.

"Do you see what they're talking about?" he asked, his pencil still stencilling out music notes onto the page in front of him.

Peeta remembered being taking aback. His face burned like hot coals and he felt like he'd swallowed a hamster. "See what?" he spluttered.

"You know what," Cato said firmly.

Peeta busied himself with the old sheet music they were planning to toss out. "Do you?" he threw back, mainly so that he didn't have to answer it himself.

"It depends on how you would react if I said that I did or didn't," Cato honestly replied.

"I don't understand."

"Well, are you gay?"

Peeta blushed. "I-I-I"-

"It's not a trick question," Cato had teased, smirking this sexy grin that made Peeta more flustered.

Peeta breathed in and nodded, slightly afraid of how Cato was going to react to this information. "I am."

It was then that Cato had taken a chance, fuelled by spontaneity and the spur of the moment, put his hands on Peeta's waist, amongst the sheet music and plans for their next video, and kissed him. It was one of those beautiful moments that neither would ever forget.

Yeah, Peeta missed Youtube. A lot. When they only did their videos online, they had a following but not on as large a scale as they did now. They could walk down the street without being stopped every five minutes. Occasionally there had been someone who would recognize them and stop them for a chat but it was nowhere near as it was now. On some level, despite his extreme gratefulness and joy for the success that he and Cato had achieved, he missed the privacy that their old life had so easy. Now they couldn't even kiss without someone taking a picture and putting it online everywhere for everyone to dissect and decipher.

Peeta sat on the floor of the empty set, waiting for Cato to come back from getting changed. He fingered Marisol's strings, humming the tune to Wish you Could See Me to himself. Finnick, their bodyguard and Peeta's childhood friend, stood at the door to the set. This way, he was close to both Peeta and Cato, as Cato's dressing room was directly across from the set door.

Finnick wasn't extremely professional and would only be really serious if the need presented itself. Peeta enlisted his help when District 212 started getting popular because they knew they were going to have to get a bodyguard of some description. Finnick was a bouncer, a bouncer who wasn't really enjoying his job, so when Peeta mentioned that he and Cato needed someone to be their guard, Finnick had practically jumped over the kitchen islet to volunteer.

Peeta and Cato's fans fell in love with Finnick as soon as he was first publicly seen helping them into their car. It was because Finnick was a naturally attractive man who could smile at a girl and make her pass out, so naturally their fans were going to attach themselves to him like leeches.

"You see uncomfortable," Finnick said, breaking the silence. He had been reading a Capitol magazine and pulling faces every few minutes. The city did have a . . . unique fashion sense that made Peeta cringe on more than one occasion too.

"I just miss home, I guess," Peeta frowned. He flicked Marisol, causing an out of tune twang to vibrate from her. "Everything here is so extreme."

"Tell me about it. Some of the people in these magazines would be classified as naked back home," Finnick replied. "Yet around these parts it's 'high fashion'."

"Maybe we're missing something," Peeta scoffed.

Finnick chuckled. "Still, maybe this is what it's like in the big city," he sighed, tossing the magazine onto a nearby table. He popped his head around the door and called, "You nearly ready, Cato?"

Cato stepped through the threshold, looking refreshed in his own clothes as opposed to the Capitol brands they wore for the video. Peeta smiled and stood up, picking Marisol up and carrying her over to Cato. "Here," he said. Cato accepted his guitar and slung her over his shoulder. "You ready to go?"

"Yeah, I think so." Cato looked to Finnick. "Is there anything else we need to do before we go back to the hotel?"

"No, not as far as I'm aware," Finnick answered, straightening the buttons on his black jacket. "Although Snow wants to talk to you both tomorrow. Something about discussing future business."

"Future business," Cato repeated. He frowned. "I didn't realise that he had plans for the future already. Our goal was the Capitol, I know that haven't thought any further than that." He looked to Peeta for help. "Have you?"

"No," Peeta answered, confused as well. He shrugged sheepishly and put his hands in his pockets. "I actually thought we were going to go on vacation after this. Not for too long, maybe just a year or so . . ."

"I like the idea of that," Cato admitted, green eyes practically sparkling as the idea of flying off to a sunny island with Peeta grew more and more appealing in his mind. "I'm sure Snow would be okay with that. We just need to discuss it with him."

"So are we ready to hit the road?" Finnick asked, swinging his car keys around his fingers.

Peeta nodded, hooking his arm around Cato's and leaning his weight against him. "Please. I'm exhausted. I can't wait to get into bed so I can sleep. I'm 100% finished with today."

Chapter Text

Chapter Two

It was midnight and yet the Capitol was still alive. Cato stood on the balcony at the hotel, staring out at the city that never seemed to sleep. After having raided the mini bar, he'd found a bottle of champagne that he randomly decided he was going to open. Today had been tiring and it didn't have to be a fancy occasion to crack out a bottle of champagne. He could hear Peeta moving around in the room behind him, despite being exhausted still fussing around.

Cato took a sip from his glass and turned away from the blinding lights of the city. Peeta was climbing into bed, settling down with a sigh as Cato returned and slid the patio door shut. He was lying on top of the covers, the full extension of his body begging to be feasted upon by Cato's eyes. Peeta's eyes were closed, but he wasn't sleeping, his fingers threaded on top of his chest. He was wearing an oversized purple button down that had ridden up on one side to expose his hip and a pair of Cato's boxers. Nothing else but socks.

"Going to sleep already?" Cato asked, putting the glass and bottle down on the table on his side of the bed.

"I just want to get the weight off my feet for a bit," Peeta muttered, eyes peacefully closed.

Cato glanced down at Peeta's feet, which were both sitting inwards and adorned with fluffy pink socks. "Hurting?" he asked.

Peeta had always had problems with his feet and was constantly developing Metatarsalgia, which was harmless but extremely painful. Sometimes, during the concerts in the Districts, he had to sit down because the pain was so bad. He didn't let it get in the way of their career and only allowed himself to complain after their work was done. Cato would rather that Peeta told him when he was feeling in pain immediately but he knew that that wasn't going to happen. Peeta was too stubborn for that.

"Just a bit," Peeta answered.

"Have you put a compression bandage on?"

"As soon as I got out of the shower."

Cato sat beside Peeta, swinging his legs up onto the mattress. He threw his arm over the younger boy's pillow and rubbed his temples in a manner that he knew never failed to be relaxing. Peeta sighed, trying to focus on the massage rather than the pain. "Do you think you'll need to see the GP again?"

"No, it's not that bad," Peeta answered. "It's just because I was on my feet all day."

Cato nodded, seating his thumbs just below Peeta's chin to hold his head secure. "Will you be okay to meet up with Snow tomorrow?"

"I'll be fine, Cato, I promise." Peeta opened his eyes, beautiful blue sparkling in the light provided by the bedside lamp. "You worry too much."

"Do you blame me?" Cato asked. "You would do the same. I know you would."

Peeta smiled. "You're right about that."

Cato leaned over and kissed Peeta's lips. Peeta returned the kiss, capturing Cato's bottom lip between his teeth and licking it with his tongue. Cato groaned, his hands sliding down to frame Peeta's face, and pushed his tongue past the barriers of Peeta's lips into his warm mouth. His arm came around the smaller boy's waist and he drew Peeta against him-careful not to unsettle his sore feet-the feeling of the younger blond's small body against his own irresistible.

"Must our night time kisses always end up like this?" Peeta teased, tipping his head back as Cato's mouth claimed his neck. His fingers curled tight into Cato's shirt as his jugular was assaulted, his body starting to squirm impatiently in Cato's arms.

"Don't act like you weren't anticipating it," Cato teased, brushing his fingertips down the line of Peeta's spine and making him shudder. "You're the one wearing nothing but an oversized shirt with underpants and socks."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Peeta answered with a teasing smirk.

"I'm sure you don't," Cato replied. "And that's why it's my boxers you're wearing and not your own." He bit down on Peeta's collar bone, making the blond boy yelp with surprise. "Unbutton your shirt for me."

Peeta leaned back and fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. "You're so lazy sometimes," he said.

"Nothing wrong with wanting to watch my boyfriend strip himself," Cato replied.

"I'm not stripping," Peeta answered peevishly. His eyes fluttered as he felt Cato's strong hands rubbing his back, jumping up like a shocked schoolgirl when said hands ventured under his underpants to firmly cup his ass.

"Like that?" Cato teased.

"Shut up, you know I do," Peeta scowled, turning bright red with embarrassment. He pulled open the last button and was immediately assaulted by Cato's lips again. Hands still gripping his lover's buttocks, Cato met his boyfriend in another kiss. It was short, however, because Peeta yelped with pain and pulled away. "I can't move, it hurts too much." He flopped onto his back, relief flushing his face as the pain ceased.

Cato sat up with concern and pulled Peeta's feet into his lap. "Are you sure that you don't need to call the GP?"

"Yes, I'm sure!" Peeta snapped, slightly irritated.

Cato did the only thing he could offer. He rubbed Peeta's feet, trying to elevate the pain for him. "Why won't you see your GP again?" he asked.

Peeta looked away, his jaw set stubbornly. "I know what they'll do."

"And what's that?"

"I was told that if this problem gets any worse then I might need to start using a cane!" Peeta exclaimed. "I don't want a cane! I'm not even twenty five yet!"

"But if you need it, darling . . ." Cato said, concern overwhelming his tone.

"I don't want to be treated like an old person," Peeta said, tears welling in his eyes. "It's not fair."

Cato hated it when Peeta cried. Every time his face would crumple or his eyes would water, it would feel like a fresh stab in Cato's heart. It had been six months into the relationship when Peeta first told Cato about his condition. The condition that wasn't a condition. Every doctor's appointment, they just sort of pushed it off. There was a history of arthritis in Peeta's family, and Cato would be sure until told otherwise that that was what was wrong with Peeta. All it would take is a diagnosis but, nope, nothing. Just keep administrating painkillers.

Cato feared that Peeta would end up having to use a cane whether he wanted to or not.

"Come here," Cato sighed, returning to the head of the bed and enfolding Peeta in his arms. He had seen a day like this coming, where the doctor's ignorance would catch up on Peeta and would mean that a drastic measure would need to be taken. "I'll still love you, our fans will still love you, the only person giving you grief is you."

Peeta curled into Cato's side, closing his eyes as if it would ward it away. "Why do I have to be this way?"

"Sometimes life just decides to fuck people over," Cato muttered, resting his chin on top of Peeta's head, "and it usually happens to the best of people."

"What if I have to use it for the rest of my life?" Peeta murmured fearfully.

"Then we'll get your paints out and we'll pimp it out," Cato said. "In fact, we should do that anyway. Bejazzle it or something."

Peeta snorted. "Bejazzle," he muttered. "Such a ridiculous concept. 'Ooooh let's attach a thousand million jewels to this to make it prettier because somehow if it sparkles it's pretty!'"

"We could just chop your feet off completely and save you the pain?" Cato suggested.

Peeta laughed. "Now you're just being silly."

"Am not! We could get you one of those wicked wheelchairs, like Stephen Hawking's!"

"Stephen Hawking has motor neurone disease, I was born with backwards feet and am now plagued with idiotic feet which you say I should chop off to get a cool wheelchair," Peeta said flatly. "Somehow I don't think they'll be treated similarly."

"Okay then." Cato hooked an arm underneath Peeta's knees, using the other as a brace around his back, and stood up dramatically, declaring, "I shall be your transport now!"

Peeta couldn't help laughing at Cato's lunacy. "Put me down you've been drinking!" he chuckled. "You could fall and kill us both!"

Cato ignored him, flouncing around the room in no particular direction. "I am your knight in shining armour, Peeta! I'll save you from your troubles!" he declared. He captured Peeta's hysterical laughter in a kiss, the younger boy's hot breath pushing into his mouth making his system shudder and his nerves wake up.

He walked over to the bed and laid Peeta down again. Peeta propped himself up on his elbows and raised his eyebrows at the taller blond, pretending to be unimpressed. Cato winked and grinned in an extremely cheesy manner. "No matter what happens, we'll find a way to get through it. Together."

Peeta's expression softened. "Promise?"

Cato nodded firmly. "I promise."

Peeta smiled and lay down, closing his eyes peacefully as his head hit the pillow. Cato crawled up the end of the bed like a tiger stalking its prey and separated his boyfriend's legs so he could sit between them. Peeta cracked an eye open and peered at the older boy curiously. "Can I help you?"

"It's more of a question of how I can help you," Cato corrected. "Since you can't move and all . . ." He stroked from Peeta's knees to his thighs, making his eyes flutter at the soothing sensation it caused " . . . I figured I would do what didn't require you to move . . ."

"And that is?"

Cato pulled his lover's boxers down to his knees and took all of his manhood into his mouth. Peeta gasped, his hips immediately responding and bowing upwards, seeking more of the warm heat inside Cato's mouth. The older boy immediately took control, grabbing the younger's soft butt into his hands and controlling how far he went in and out. He released Peeta's cock once it was completely erect, making him whine in displeasure.

"This," Cato beamed cheekily. He licked the tip of his penis like it where a lollipop, making sure to tongue the slit slowly. Peeta groaned, chest heaving as a thin film of sweat built up on his torso. "Would you like me to continue?"

"Please," Peeta breathlessly begged.

Cato grinned, giving Peeta's ass a cheeky squeeze. "Your wish is my command."

~xXx~

Cato managed to get Peeta an appointment with his GP before their meeting with Snow the next day. It was a stressful morning as, par Peeta's fear, he was advised to use a cane. The Doctor said that a further investigation would need to be taken out sometime soon to see if they can give a diagnosis finally and determine how long Peeta will need the cane for. The cause for concern was that they felt like he would need it indefinitely.

Peeta had done most of his venting the previous night and remained stoic as the Doctor explained where he could get a good cane for a decent price. When he and Cato exited the building, the smaller boy immediately turned into Cato and hugged him. Cato hugged him back, telling him that it was all going to be fine. Which it was. This was something they could work through and eventually adjust to. It wasn't the end of the world.

Snow had a mansion right in the middle of the Capitol. Finnick drove them there, as the fans had followed them to the surgery and were now trailing the car. Cato could tell Peeta was upset, as he stayed quiet the entire journey and stared out the window impassively. He was a tough guy, and would eventually get over the fact that he would need to walk with the cane, but for the day that he found this out for definite, he was allowed to be annoyed.

He was good at pretending, too.

As soon as Finnick opened the car door for them, Peeta's indifference melted away and he put a smile on his face. For the fans, the cameras, the crews. He masked the pain, acting like every step he took wasn't killing him. Cato slid his arm around his back and supported his weight, making it look like an act of affection as they walked to Snow's front door so that crazy stories weren't concocted about Peeta's health. Finnick followed them, his groupies shouting his name nearly as loudly and passionately as Peeta and Cato's fans.

One of Snow's servants came to the door and let them in. Once inside, the happy expression dropped off Peeta's face like a hot potato and he folded his arms against the chill that had crept in while the door had been open.

"Lord Snow is this way," the servant said, immediately turning around and walking, expecting them without saying to follow.

Cato had been to Snow's mansion in the Capitol only a handful of times. He and Peeta visited when Snow first signed them and then when Two Sides went to number one. They also discussed and planned their first album here. The rest of the time, Snow went to them. Nevertheless, Cato never failed to be in utter awe of the building.

Every room was cavernous, like a grandeur house that was used in the 20's and was now a museum for tourists. Everything looked too expensive and well placed to be touched, nearly every door seeming like it should have an 'Out of Bounds' sign on it. Cato worried he was leaving tracks behind him, never having thought to wipe his feet upon entry, and was relieved when he glanced over his shoulder and saw that the ruby red carpet was unstained.

"You too?" Finnick asked in a hushed voice, amusement filling his tone. "Feels like your voice shouldn't even be raised above a whisper in here. Like I'm going to get scolded for talking during class."

"You get used to it," Cato answered, trying to return a level of normality to the situation by using his regular tone of voice. He had forgotten that Finnick had never been here before, as he had only been hired as their bodyguard after the release of 212's first album. "It just takes a few visits."

"I could never live like this," Peeta said as they ascended the stairs. "Sure, it's nice to look at and all but where's the comfort? That warm air that comes with being at home? Somehow this place doesn't strike me as the sort you'd smell cookies baking on a Friday night or hear the telly blaring from down the hall while the family has a takeaway."

"Is Snow even married?" asked Finnick.

Peeta shook his head. "Never got round to it. Too dedicated to the job, some say."

"Yeah, dedicated about getting you two to dominant the world," Finnick joked. "Don't you ever feel like he's a bit too crazy about 212?"

Cato shrugged. "Better having a passionate agent than a lazy one."

The servant led them to one of the many sitting rooms within the mansion. Finnick took position outside the door while Cato rapped his knuckles against it. "Come in!" Snow called, voice muffled behind the mahogany wood. They entered, leaving Finnick outside to stand guard.

Snow was seated on a lavish couch, a similar one sitting opposite. He had been smiling, ready to welcome them with congratulations for breaking the Capitol, when-sharp as always-his eyes instantly homed in on Peeta's limp. His smile faded and he straightened up. "What happened? Are you hurt?" he asked.

Peeta shook his head and sat down on the opposite couch, relieved to get the weight off again. Cato slid down beside him, propping his arm against the arm of the sofa and resting his head against the tips of his fingers. Snow waved another servant over, who placed two fancy crystal glasses of whiskey on the table between them.

"Peeta saw his GP today," Cato took the liberty of explaining. "It looks like he's going to have to start using a cane or his condition is going to worsen."

Snow was shocked. "Do they know what his condition is? Can they treat it? I'll pay for the medical bills myself if I have to," he said.

"That's not necessary," Peeta quickly cut in, never wanting to be an imposition or a bother. "They don't know what it is. All they have been telling us is that it's probably something to do with the condition I had when I was little. Maybe even the history of arthritis in the family playing a part. If I don't use a cane, I'm basically giving up my ability to walk without feeling pain."

Snow downed what remained of the whiskey in his glass and gestured for Cato and Peeta to drink up. Cato needed a drink after the morning they'd had and downed his own in one. Peeta remained motionless. "You should drink something, it'll calm your nerves," Snow suggested.

"Thanks but I'm teetotal," Peeta answered, shaking his head.

Snow sniffed. "Doesn't that get boring?"

"I don't need to be intoxicated to enjoy myself," said Peeta.

Snow shrugged and laid back on the couch. He didn't look happy, but when he spoke next it didn't feel like he was saying what was truly on his mind. "So you have a few gigs here in the Capitol which will hopefully spread the word about you to those few in the city who don't know of 212. The reason I arranged the meeting today is to discuss the future. Plans for after your Capitol performances."

"Peeta and I were actually thinking about that yesterday, too," said Cato.

Snow raised his eyebrows, intrigued. "Oh?"

"Yeah. We were talking about maybe taking a vacation. Just a break from working for a year or so to go and relax on an island or something," Peeta explained.

A frown wormed its way onto Snow's face. "Why would you want to take a vacation when you're making such good progress?" he asked, confusion written all over his voice.

Peeta looked baffled at such a question. "Because good progress is good progress and a product of hard work, meaning vacation worthy?" he replied.

Snow still seemed perplexed. "Aren't you worried your fanbase will lose interest if you're inactive?" he asked.

Cato moved his glass around, making the ice chink together inside. "We could return to YouTube for a while. Do some vlogs, maybe do a few of those parodies we used to do in high school." A huge smile broke out across Peeta's face at the idea, which in turn made Cato smile as well. "If our fans really care, they would understand our need for a break and will most likely be happy enough taking to YouTube to see what we're doing. Which I'd rather they do instead of going to Hello! Magazine or MTV anyway."

Snow was not convinced. "We'll discuss it at a later date," he decided. Cato didn't understand why their agent was being so frosty about the idea of them going on vacation. They weren't quitting their music, they'd never do that, they just wanted a break after the hectic few years they'd had.

Peeta especially needed a break, Cato knew that. He needed time to unwind and accustom to a few obstacles that had been thrown at him over the past year. While they were touring in District 6, Peeta had gotten a phone call from his brother Wheatley to say that his nephew had had a stroke. Wheatley was a widower, his wife having died of breast cancer, and he had been struggling to raise his son, Eric, on his own. But when Eric took the stroke when he was only fifteen and became paralysed from the neck down, it made everything so much more difficult for Wheatley to cope with. Peeta had returned to 12 for a few days, to visit his brother and nephew. He saw how his brother was struggling and used his earnings to set them up financially. It didn't make a dent in Peeta's pocket due to the success of District 212, but would have been a huge amount for Wheatley himself to pay.

Now Peeta made monthly payments to his brother, more than willing to help him in any way that he could. Eric's health would never be top notch again and Peeta made it his job to make sure that his nephew remained happy and comfortable for as long as he had left.

With that and now the trouble with his feet and the cane, this year hadn't exactly been smooth sailing, and Cato desperately wanted to get them on that island as soon as he could. Breaking the Capitol was awesome but they were one more tragedy away from Peeta cracking like an egg under the pressure of it all.

"There's a huge party happening tomorrow night at this A-list club The Jabberjay," Snow continued. "All the Capitol celebrities are going to be there and I managed to get you both on the list. I want you to mingle with the upper class, make friends with them and the like."

"What's the party celebrating?" Peeta asked.

"It's Annie Cresta's twenty fifth birthday," answered Snow.

The boys stared at their agent. "As in the actress Annie Cresta?!" Peeta practically hiccupped.

Snow cocked his head. He leaned forward and grabbed the drink Peeta rejected before settling himself back down amongst the pillows. "Is there another Annie Cresta?" he asked, feigning confusion.

"We couldn't possibly impose on her birthday like that," Cato said.

"It was her I spoke to," Snow replied, brushing the concern off flippantly. "She's a fan, she wants you there."

Peeta nearly passed out. "She's a fan . . . of us?" he asked dubiously. When Snow nodded, Peeta turned to Cato and slapped his arm. "Annie Cresta is a fan of us!"

Cato laughed. "I heard!"

"Now!" Snow declared, clapping his hands, "next order of business. I don't want you both staying in that dank hotel where all those fans can cluster around the door and impose on everything you both do. I've sent for your things to be collected and brought here. You can have one of my spare rooms."

"We couldn't possibly impose on you like that," Peeta said, confounded that Snow had made such a generous offer.

Snow waved away his concerns and smiled. "It's hardly like I haven't got the space for it. Go on, go up another level. Third door on the right. You can tell your bodyguard friend that he's finished for the day. Unless you were planning on going somewhere?"

Peeta and Cato exchanged a look. When both didn't say anything, Cato turned to Snow and said, "No, I don't think so."

"Then go and enjoy your new room. Get washed up before dinner. Your stuff will probably be here sometime tonight." Snow's eyes resembled that of a snake and cut a shiver down Cato's spine. "Then that will be you both moved in."

~xXx~

After dismissing Finnick for the day, Cato and Peeta went up to see the room Snow had let them use. It was all rather splendid and reminded Cato of a room you'd expect royalty to sleep in. There was a massive four poster bed with a tall mattress that was the same height as Cato's hip and these thick, fluffy duvet covers that were so soft to the touch. The floor looked like mahogany wood-Cato assumed that all wooden objects in this mansion where mahogany, since Snow didn't seem to spare any expense-with a lovely white rug placed at the foot of the bed. It was well furnished with a wardrobe the size of an elephant and a wooden desk and table set against the far window.

It was all rather opulent and made Cato feel like an intruder of some sort.

After dinner Peeta was having a bath in the en suite and Cato knew it was only a matter of time before he joined him. The pull of the soundproof room and the threat of eavesdropping fans non-existent, Cato was really ready to let the tensions of the day just fall away.

When he pushed the door open, he found Peeta lying amongst a sea of bubbles with his eyes peacefully shut. His clothes were discarded by the sink, in a small pile with his shoes on top. Cato shut the door and just watched him for a bit.

He really loved Peeta, and couldn't imagine his life with anyone else, and just seeing him there, lying so peaceful and content just reminded Cato of how beautiful his boyfriend was. His head was resting against the back of the porcelain rim, his profile pronounced in the artificial light of the bulb in the ceiling above. The sharp cut of his forehead and jawline; the soft slopes of his nose and lips; the golden wings of his lashes, which were so long they were visible as part of his profile, even when his eyes were shut . . .

Peeta was beautiful. Peeta was his.

Cato moved to the bath and, kneeling down, attached his lips to his lover's wet neck. Peeta hummed, lifting his hand from the water and brushing his fingers through Cato's hair behind him. Cato sucked on Peeta's soft skin attentively, enjoying the way the younger boy's fingers felt in his hair.

"Get in with me," Peeta murmured, letting his head fall back completely to look Cato in the eyes. His blue eyes shone with mischief, a cheeky smile playing on his velvet lips.

Cato grinned. "Well, if you insist."

He shed his clothes and left them with Peeta's. Peeta lifted one of his legs out of the water so there would be room for Cato to climb in and hung it over the edge of the bath. The water was nice and warm as Cato stepped in and lowered himself down so he loomed over Peeta, both hands gripping the bath at either side of his head. Peeta smiled and brought his leg back in, winding it around Cato's hip and using the position to draw them closer.

"Bit of a tight squeeze," Peeta murmured as Cato pulled their faces closer together, lips inches from touching but not quite.

"I think we'll cope," Cato answered, connecting their mouths in an open mouth kiss.

They kissed passionately, Cato immediately taking control and investigating his lover's warm mouth with his curious tongue. Peeta moaned, his leg tightening instinctively around Cato's waist and his fingers digging into his back. While Cato's mouth took a detour, re-discovering many erogenous zones over Peeta's face and neck, they maneuverered themselves around so that the younger boy sat on top.

Peeta pushed himself down onto Cato's erection, groaning with pleasure at how fulfilled it made him feel. He began to move, slowly pulling up onto his knees and pushing all the way down again. Cato grunted, hating how slow Peeta was going but knowing that they were trying to savour it. He latched his mouth onto one of Peeta's nipples, suckling on it lovingly while Peeta moaned louder. Cato massaged the neglected peak with his fingers, rubbing it roughly and groping his lover's soft pec at the same time. Peeta shuddered, his hips jerking uncontrollably for a moment as he tried to keep his body in check. There was tension in his body, and Cato knew why.

"You can't find it," Cato teased.

"Fuck off, Cato," Peeta grunted, gasping in a high pitched voice when Cato thrust up into him, the head of his penis pushing into the exact spot the younger had been trying to find. "Oh, do that again!" he begged.

Cato thrusted up harder this time, practically bumping Peeta right out of his lap. Peeta moaned and grabbed the edges of the tub. Cato kept thrusting, pumping himself into Peeta harder and harder each time. Peeta bounced and jerked on top of him, being so damn loud they were lucky the room was soundproof. Cato loved how vocal Peeta was, it assured him that he was doing it right.

Inside of Peeta was always hard to describe. Cato would fuck Peeta until doomsday if he could because he was so damn hot and tight. His own pleasure, however, was a mere quarter of the equation of why Cato loved his sex life. The rest was taken up with how fun pleasuring Peeta was and how sexy Peeta was when he was getting fucked.

"Harder, harder, ah, that's it," the younger boy keened, knuckles turning white as he gripped the porcelain bath desperately. "Oh fuck, yeah, ah! Ah! Ah!"

Cato, unlike Peeta, kept his eyes open the entire time. He liked to consume the image of Peeta like this for his memory banks. Shoulders pushed forward; head thrown back; pink flush consuming his face and chest; pale skin shining from the water; nipples hard and slightly red; hips moving fluently to meet Cato's earnest thrusts; and face contorted in pure ecstasy.

Did Cato mention that his boyfriend was beautiful?

They fucked three more times after that. Once more in the bathtub and then twice in bed. It was amazing and they were grateful for the ability to have sex again while knowing for sure that it was going to remain private.

"You seem proud of yourself."

Cato hummed in response, playing with Peeta's hair as they lay in bed together afterwards. "I am," he said. "You orgasmed seven times."

Peeta scoffed. "And you think that's all down to you?" he teased.

"I know it was," Cato replied, giving Peeta a squeeze. "Who else would it have been down to? The invisible man? If I thought he was joining in I would have kicked him out ages ago."

This made Peeta laugh. "You're so self-satisfied. Are you sure you counted right? We only did it four times," he chuckled, turning onto his stomach on the bed and propping his head on his hand to look at Cato, who had become distracted by his boyfriend's gorgeous bare ass being on display. There were a couple of scratches, nail and hand prints set into the skin from their fornicating. "My eyes are up here, Cato."

"Yeah but your butt is down there," Cato replied with a grin.

"I can get under the covers if it's posing too much of a distraction," Peeta teased.

"No, no need for that."

Peeta rolled his eyes and slid off the bed, stretching his arms above his head and padding over to the window, where the drapes were pulled shut. "Why do you think Snow was so confused by us wanting to take a vacation?" he asked.

"Maybe he didn't realise how stressed we were?" Cato suggested, lifting an arm behind his head and leaning against it.

"Maybe." Peeta shifted through some of the stuff inside the desk, just being nosey for the sake of it, and turned back around. The only person he would have the confidence to stand in front of naked was Cato. Nobody else, not even his own mother, could say that Peeta was okay with them seeing his clothes-less body. "He just seemed a little off to me today. I don't know. Maybe the news about my cane unseated him . . ."

"Now don't go blaming yourself," Cato scolded, patting the warm spot on the bed where Peeta had previously lay. Peeta limped back to the bed and lay on his back, staring at Cato with a fixated frown. "What? Is there something on my face?"

"Did you mean what you said?" asked Peeta. "About vlogging and YouTube and the parodies?"

Cato nodded. "Of course I did."

"I've missed all that," Peeta sighed. "There was nothing to worry about back then. Wheatley's family was happy and healthy; my feet only hurt occasionally; we didn't need to have Finnick by our sides whenever we went outside to make sure we didn't get hurt . . . It was so much easier."

"Feels like so long ago," said Cato.

Peeta nodded his agreement. "It was a completely different life."

Cato sighed and shook his head, banishing the longing from his mind. He hooked his finger under Peeta's chin and captured his lips, his spare hand grasping hold of the boy's soft cock. Peeta groaned in Cato's mouth, the older boy smirking as he murmured, "Now let's make that four times five."

Chapter Text

Chapter Three

Cato subconsciously stroked Peeta's back as they lay together in bed. After the fifth time, they fell asleep in each other's arms, naked and a little bit sweaty. Cato had woken up first, his face nestled in a mess of golden curls, and was content to remain lying in bed for a couple more hours. Especially since there was no cause to get up and he had the most important person in the world tucked up in his arms.

"You make me feel like a cat when you do that," Peeta murmured.

"Why's that?" Cato chuckled.

"Because it feels really nice," Peeta purred, untangling his legs from Cato's and stretching them out. "Makes you want to stretch out on a pillow and keen for more."

"I wouldn't object to that," said Cato. Peeta shivered, the sensation transferring from his back to Cato's fingertips, making the taller boy smile with amusement. "I could buy you some kibble and a scratching post, if you like."

Peeta scoffed. "Shut up," he laughed. When he rolled away from Cato, the older boy was shocked by how cold the bed became as Peeta climbed out.

Cato watched Peeta stretch out his muscles. He reached out across the small distance between them and smacked the younger blond's butt. Peeta yelped and looked over his shoulder, unable to pretend to be angry when he saw Cato's beaming face. "If you didn't look so darn cute when you smile like that I'd be telling you off," the younger boy informed.

Cato rolled his eyes. "Don't act like you don't love it," he teased.

Peeta shook his head but the smile he was wearing as he walked to the bathroom blew his cover. Cato was very tempted to follow him and see if they had enough time to slip in one last fuck before breakfast. Their life didn't give much time for that sort of thing anymore so when there was an opportunity, Cato seized it.

"Fuck!" Peeta suddenly yelled from the bathroom.

Concern flushing through his body like a virus, Cato jumped to his feet and ran into the next room. Peeta sat on the floor, face flushed bright red and knuckles bone white as he clutched the toilet seat and the sink in a desperate attempt to ward away pain. He was gasping for air, his chest heaving as if there was no oxygen in the room.

"Peeta," Cato dropped to his knees, "what is it? What's wrong?"

"I can't do this anymore," the younger boy said brokenly, tears sliding down his cheeks. "It hurts too much."

~xXx~

"It suits you," Cato said, trying to sound assuring.

Peeta walked through the street with so much ease. It was early morning and they had slipped out of the mansion to go to the nearest store they could find to buy Peeta a cane. It didn't need to be fancy or expensive, just well-made and good quality. They had taken a risk, since they decided not to call Finnick due to the nature of the hour it was and how quickly Cato wanted to get Peeta sorted. The fact that it was so early, however, was their saving grace.

"I'm broken," Peeta muttered.

"Not broken," Cato said firmly, grabbing his lover's spare hand and holding it tight. "Never broken."

The walk was nice. It gave them an opportunity to get out without being heckled by fans and have Finnick walking a couple of paces behind them. No offence to Finnick or anything, he was a great guy, but on Valentine's Day when Cato wanted to take Peeta out for a picnic under the stars, the scene wasn't exactly the most amorous with Finnick sitting in the grass throwing bread at the ducks. Maybe they should go out at this time every day.

"It doesn't hurt as much," Peeta said, almost to himself.

"That's because it's working," Cato smiled.

Peeta smiled into his chest, his gait slightly uneven now that he was putting his weight onto the stick. "Yeah, I guess it does."

Cato pulled to a stop beside a park bench. He spun around and grabbed Peeta around the waist, lifting him up onto the bench with incredible ease. Peeta yelped and burst out laughing, clutching Cato's back desperately until his feet where safely on the bench panels. "What are you doing you silly man?" he laughed.

Cato turned around. "Get on my back."

Peeta laughed and wound his arms around Cato's neck, jumping onto the taller man's back. His knees dug into Cato's sides, his feet seated just below his ass. When Cato straightened up, he grabbed Peeta's new cane and started walking, laughing at how light Peeta was to carry.

"Maybe I don't need the cane, maybe I could just use you to cart me around," Peeta teased, his lips tickling Cato's ear as he spoke.

"It'd be my honour," Cato replied, tickling the back of Peeta's knee and making him shriek. He picked up the pace, knowing that Snow was probably going to bust a nut if he knew that they had left the mansion without Finnick. Peeta was still laughing, the sound like music to Cato's ears. If he could replicate the beauty of Peeta's laugh in his music then never mind Panem, they'd have stormed the world with one song.

Once they reached the mansion again, they spent a few hours out on the grounds. There was huge iron wrought gates surrounding the house, password protected, so they weren't in any danger being out in the garden for a while. They lay in the morning dew soaked grass, watching as the rest of the world woke up.

Peeta kicked his shoes off and closed his eyes. Cato studied him meticulously, fascinated by every rise and fall of Peeta's chest. It was almost inhuman how much he was willing to give up for the boy lying in the grass. Cato would gladly die if it meant protecting Peeta, and he would do the honours of it himself.

"Cato," Peeta said, turning onto his stomach and resting his head in his folded arms. He opened his eyes and smiled sheepishly. "Last night was amazing."

Cato smiled too. "It really was," he admitted, brushing some stray hairs back from Peeta's face.

"It had been so long so we'd . . . I forgot how good it felt to . . . " Peeta raised his eyebrows, not willing to say it out loud while outside.

Cato turned onto his stomach as well, so their faces were really close. "Be fucked?" he teased, his voice low.

Peeta nodded, face turning bright red. "Since the tour started, we haven't really done it that often," he explained, "because of the fans and stuff. Now that we have privacy, it's like . . . like . . ."

"We can actually have the type of physical relationship boys our age should have?" Cato enquired.

"Obviously I don't mean do it all the time, I'm not an animal," Peeta explained. "There's more to us than that and I'm not some pervert who's just with you for sex but"-

"Well damn, there's my entire belief system gone," Cato sighed, earning himself a punch in the arm. "I'm kidding!" he laughed. Peeta's expression was severely unamused. "Peeta, if I could I would stay up in that bedroom with you all day and all night. The only reason we'd need to go out is for food. We'd be exercising ourselves and eating well. Sex burns calories, you know!"

Peeta bit his lip, his eyebrow twitching as he thought about such an idea. His back curved outwards and he briefly closed his eyes. "Do you want to go up to the bedroom now?" he asked, lids lowered and voice amorous.

Not wasting time, Cato jumped to his feet. Peeta burst out laughing as Cato grabbed his hands and pulled him to stand as well. "What are we waiting for?" he declared, crouching over for Peeta to jump onto his back again. They ran up the garden like two second graders, giggling and laughing the entire way.

Once inside the mansion again, Cato let Peeta down again. The clock in the main hall read eleven o'clock, meaning they'd been out for quite a few hours. Snow appeared at the top of the stairs, a worried expression creased into his features. "Where have you two been?" he asked.

"Peeta's feet were hurting him really badly," Cato explained, "so we went out and got him a cane to use."

Snow walked down the stairs, his face morphing from worried to annoyed. "Did you call Finnick to come with you?"

"We didn't see a point," Peeta shrugged. "It was quite early and we didn't want to wake him. Besides, the streets were deserted and the shops were only just opening. I think we were pretty safe."

"You could have gotten hurt," their agent stated, folding his arms as he reached the bottom of the stairs. "What then?"

"Our fans aren't savages," Cato answered. "Most of them anyways. The worst that could have happened would be having to sign a couple of autographs and take a few pictures. There isn't going to be a mob out in the streets at eight in the morning."

Peeta's fingers tightened over the top of his newly bought cane, teetering almost dangerously to one side as he piled his weight onto it. Cato steadied him, knowing that it was going to be difficult to get the hang of. Snow saw this, thin eyes narrowing with concern.

"Is it really that bad?" he asked plainly.

Peeta nodded. "I don't like it but if it makes the pain go away then I'm all for it," he answered.

Snow sighed, almost sounding resigned, and moved around the staircase to head down the hallway. "I'll have one of my servants go out and get you a proper one. Something from a proper store, not that sad excuse of a hole down the road," he said as he walked away.

"I really don't mind this one," Peeta insisted, trying to follow Snow but practically having to raise his voice due to the distance between them.

Cato didn't see what the problem was with the one they bought that morning. It was a basic stick. Long, black and sleek, but strong and sturdy enough to hold the weight of a person. What more was there to ask for in a cane? He caught up with Peeta and stopped him from following Snow, feeling like the younger boy was going to hurt himself from moving too fast.

"I think we should let him do what he wants," Cato said in a low voice, watching Snow disappear into the kitchen. "It's not like it will do any harm anyways."

Peeta looked at Cato with confusion. "I just don't get what his problem is."

"I think maybe the fact that we went out without Finnick has unseated him," Cato explained. "He'll get over it, though. We came back fine, there's nothing to complain about. It's ancient history."

"Ancient history," Peeta repeated, turning around and entering the front room. Cato followed close behind. "Ancient history from . . . three hours ago?"

"Exactly!" Cato replied, kissing Peeta sweetly and falling into an armchair by the massive window at the end of the room. He tapped the arms with his fingers momentarily as Peeta eased himself into the adjacent sofa. "Remind me to call Finnick about the party at the Jabberjay tonight. If Snow didn't want us going down the street alone there's no way in hell he'd let us go to a party without Finnick there."

"Got'cha," Peeta replied. He smiled. "Maybe if we get home early enough we can continue what we started last night . . ." He trailed off, his smile morphing into a cheeky grin when Cato raised his eyebrows at him with interest. "Except this time I get to give you a special treat."

Cato groaned in frustration, suddenly wishing they didn't have to go to the party at all. Peeta's blue eyes sparkled and he shrugged, letting his head rest back against the sofa and shutting his eyes in content. The grin never left his lips.

~xXx~

Being sponsored by a particular designer meant that you were to be seen wearing their clothes as often as possible. Cato had thought that, even though they were sponsored by Cinna Kravitz, they would still get to pick what they wanted to wear. But, nope, Snow took care of that. He claimed that he knew what would look good at Annie's party and, to be honest, at the time Cato had been too exhausted to argue.

At least Snow knew what he was doing in picking out the clothes. Cato had to admit, they did look good in Cinna's clothes. Peeta, especially, because Peeta looked hot in anything he wore. Cato always made it a personal mission to admire beautiful things, meaning he spent a large portion of his time admiring Peeta, despite the younger boy being oblivious to it.

The Jabberjay, of course, had been surrounded by fans of all types on the night of Annie's birthday party. Even some of Cato and Peeta's own fans had somehow gotten wind of them going and managed to get there on time to see them. None of them questioned the fact that Peeta had a cane; a few of them asking how he was and if he was okay as he signed autographs for them. If they were hard core fans, then they were probably aware of Peeta's condition (a rather unsettling thing to think about but something that couldn't be helped) and were genuinely concerned about him.

Cato knew that Peeta had been expecting the worst. Maybe that the fans would gasp in disgust at the sight of his cane and begin treating him like some sort of invalid. Cato was glad that they responded so positively, it could have easily gone so bad so fast depending on the people they encountered, but the crowd they met outside the Jabberjay seemed nice enough, and their concern for Peeta definitely put him at ease.

There were paparazzi, too, which meant that the tabloids would probably be all over the cane story like a bad rash the next day. After the encouragement from his fans, however, Peeta seemed a bit more uplifted as he passed and he even smiled for the cameras. Words couldn't describe how happy seeing Peeta smile made Cato, especially after such a difficult day.

Finnick led them into the Jabberjay, some of his own fanbase having made their way there as well and were-to be perfectly honest-one of the loudest bunches there. Once inside, they relaxed a little, and took a moment to catch their breath in what seemed to be the coat room.

"Your bunch are getting louder and louder every day," Cato said.

Finnick laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, they are getting a bit crazy, aren't they?"

"Well, why not?" Peeta joked, playfully punching Finnick's arm. "You're an awesome guy. No wonder all the ladies are wanting you."

"You're right about that," Finnick smirked. "I am awesome."

"You're modest, too," said Cato, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Obviously."

The door at the top of the room opened and a brunette girl stepped through, a bunch of coats hooked through the crook of her arm. She paused when she saw the three of them standing there, green eyes going wide with surprise. "Oh my goodness, I'm sorry!" she exclaimed. "I just let the avox on door duty go on a break! How long have you been here? Not long, I hope."

"No, not long," answered Cato. He looked to Peeta, who had gone strangely quiet since the girl entered the room. "Judging by my partner's sudden shocked state of silence, I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess that you're Miss Cresta?"

"Yes!" Annie beamed, quickly hanging up the coats so her hands were free. "I'm Annie Cresta, thank you so much for coming!"

"Thank you for inviting us," said Cato, shaking Annie's hand. He looked at Peeta, who was still frozen in stasis. "Please excuse Peeta's current state of shock, he's a big fan of your work."

"My work?" Annie chuckled, cheeks turning pink. "I should be saying that to you guys! I've been following you since Two Sides was released as a single!" Single? Whoa, that was a while back. Annie looked to Peeta, excitement gleaming in her eyes. "You have an amazing voice. Like, seriously, you're so talented. The both of you. It's almost inhuman."

"W-Wow, thank you. That means so much coming from someone like you," Peeta finally broke out of his trance to stammer. Thank goodness too because Cato wasn't too fond of the idea of having to smack the boy upside the head to get him to snap out of it.

"I taught them everything they know," said Finnick, squeezing between Cato and Peeta with a surprising urgency.

Annie's eyes grew wider. She flushed bright red and held her hand out. "I don't believe we've been introduced," she said.

"Finnick Odair," Finnick answered, taking her hand and kissing it. "It's a pleasure to meet you Miss Cresta."

Cato and Peeta exchanged confused looks.

"Please, call me Annie, I insist," Annie giggled.

"As you wish, Annie." Finnick practically purred out the girl's name, making her turn even redder, if that were possible. Trust Finnick to have only just met an Oscar winning actress five minutes prior and already have managed to have her as putty in his hands. "I insist upon buying you a birthday drink."

"It's an open bar," Annie smiled.

"Even better," Finnick said, holding his elbow out for her to take. Annie didn't hesitate before doing exactly this and allowing him to lead her back into the club.

There was a moment of silence where Cato and Peeta just stood staring at the door the duo just went through. The music from inside the club made the floor vibrate softly and the shouting of the paparazzi outside was muffled slightly by the front door. It was Peeta who spoke up first, and his voice sounded as confused as Cato felt.

"Did Finnick just blow us off so he could buy a drink for Annie Cresta?" he asked.

"I think so," Cato answered dubiously.

Peeta scoffed. "Well that's just charming."

"At least he spoke to her," Cato teased, moving over to the door and grabbing the handle. "More than you can say you awkward plum." He swung the door open and gestured for Peeta to go through first.

"I spoke to her!" Peeta exclaimed, going through the open door and turning around to face Cato as he followed. "It wasn't particularly memorable and she will probably forever consider me an awkward turtle but I still spoke to her! More than I planned to do this morning, I'll tell you that!"

The Jabberjay wasn't like a packed nightclub on a Saturday night. In fact, it almost had the atmosphere of a friendly bar on a slightly crowded evening. The music was loud enough to reach every corner of the club but not so loud that you can't hear yourself think. Despite Annie's status, the party seemed to be very reserved and she hadn't invited every Tom, Dick and Harry just to say that she had invited every Tom, Dick and Harry. Made Cato wonder how he and Peeta had ever made it onto the list at all.

There was a karaoke machine on a raised platform at the top of the room. Cato grinned and looked to Peeta, who narrowed his eyes. "What are you looking at me like that for?" the younger boy accused.

"Oh, no reason." Cato started walking in the direction of a booth, feeling Peeta hot on his heels. They had to weave around some people dancing, but eventually made it to one in the corner of the club. They weren't exactly the most sociable of pairs, and would rather people came to them than them be the ones doing the approaching. "Do you think you'll be serenading us tonight?" he asked, sliding into the booth.

Peeta eased himself down across from Cato, putting his cane down on top of the table. "Do you want me to be serenading us tonight?" he enquired.

"You know full well that I would take any excuse to hear your voice," Cato said seriously, reaching across the table and brushing his thumb along Peeta's hand.

"Someday you're going to see how much you're overselling me," Peeta said, folding his arms on top of the table, blue eyes sparkling in the low lighting of the club.

"Peeta," Cato said seriously, "you know that isn't true. Anyone who can sing from Nessun Dorma to Lady Gaga is not someone who is being oversold when is said to be amazing."

"I sang Nessun Dorma once, Cato," Peeta said pointedly.

Cato quirked an eyebrow. "Okay, from Nessun Dorma-once!-to Lady Gaga to freakin' MCR."

Peeta sighed and hid his face in his arm. "You're one to talk. If someone walked up to us right now and dropped an unfamiliar instrument on the table, you'd have it mastered by the end of the night without even needing to be told what it is."

Cato grinned. "I know. Your point being?"

Peeta stared at Cato dumbly for a moment. "Why can't I take compliments like you?" he marvelled.

"Because you're my awkward green bean, that's why," Cato teased.

"Wow. Thanks for that."

Cato grinned at Peeta and took his hands, so they were joined across the table. "Tell me, when we go on vacation, where do you want to go?" he asked.

Peeta cocked his head, a knowing smirk growing on his face. "Are you planning something, mister?" he teased.

"Could be," Cato said mysteriously.

Peeta smiled, a sigh escaping his lips. "I'm just looking to get away for a bit. I'm even looking forward to going back to 12 for Christmas with my parents, which isn't something I ever thought I would say. Anywhere warm with a beach is fine by me for a holiday," he said. "Somewhere where I can just lie down and relax."

"Fall asleep on a beach and you're going to burn like bacon," Cato chuckled, making Peeta scowl. "Unless, of course, you let me rub sun cream on your back."

Peeta fell back against the booth and laughed. "Sun cream on your back, is that what the kids are calling it nowadays?" he asked, cocking his head with faux ignorance. He kicked his feet up onto Cato's seat, his black high tops pressing into the older boy's thigh as he crossed his ankles.

"You can get clots crossing your ankles like that," said Cato, briefly sounding like a serious, overbearing mother. He uncrossed Peeta's ankles and pulled his feet into his lap under the table, playing with the laces to occupy his fingers. "But hey, if it is what they're calling it, I'll rub sun cream all over you back."

"I love it when you talk dirty to me," Peeta said sarcastically, pretending to fan himself.

Cato laughed. He glanced at Annie and Finnick, who still hadn't separated from one another. He frowned at their bodyguard whose, despite the flashing lights and strobe streaks battering the room, eyes were gleaming as he stared at the actress in front of him. "By God, is Finnick smitten?" he asked incredulously.

Peeta straightened in his seat and peered across the room. He raised his eyebrows. "Looks like it," he said. "Never thought I'd see the day."

A woman with short hair suddenly appeared at their table, a brunette by her side. "You're District 212, aren't you?" she asked, brown eyes narrowed with curiosity.

"Yeah, that's us," Cato said.

The woman beamed. "I knew it!" she declared, throwing herself into the booth beside Cato. "Annie said she was inviting you two but I didn't think you'd show up. I'm Johanna, that's Katniss."

Katniss looked rather flustered, standing by the table with her arms folded tightly across her test. "Johanna, you can't just intrude like this," she said.

"Awk they don't mind, do you boys?" Johanna grinned.

It took Peeta a moment to catch on but, once he did, his eyes widened. "You were in that movie Aquaphobia," he said. "I couldn't sleep for weeks after watching that. Cato, remember? I kept kicking you every five minutes to make sure you hadn't drowned in your sleep like in the film?"

Cato suddenly remembered as well. They'd found the film on Netflix and decided to give it a watch one Friday night. If he'd known how Peeta was going to behave after watching it he'd have suggested something else. He should have known, sometimes Peeta was scared of his own shadow. Being kicked at two o'clock in the morning was probably his punishment for being so naive.

"Yep, that's me," Johanna said. She slammed her beer onto the table and grinned. "Never quite got a gig with the same calibre of popularity."

Peeta's wide eyes were sparkling under the strobe lights. Cato adored how easily his love was star struck, even if he was a star himself. "I've never been all that good when it comes to meeting famous people," he said sheepishly.

"Kind of surprising, since you're famous yourself," Johanna commented. She looked at Katniss and sighed heavily. She grabbed the girl's elbow and dragged her into the booth beside Peeta. "Sit down, you silly woman."

"We don't mean to intrude," Katniss quickly said.

"No, it's fine," Cato smiled. "The more the merrier. We were probably beginning to look like recluses anyway."

"This is Katniss Everdeen. She's a singer herself," Johanna explained.

Katniss reached out and took Johanna's beer, stealing a swig from it. "One hit wonder, more like," she muttered. "I haven't been able to come back after The Valley."

The Valley. Cato pointed at Katniss and paused, waiting for the words to come into his head before he spoke. "You sung that lullaby, didn't you?" he said. "The Valley Song?"

Katniss nodded modestly. "I wrote it," she explained.

Cato reached across the table and nudged Peeta. "That's the song Miss Cartwright made you sing in music. Remember? When you were trying to pretend you couldn't do it?" It was all coming back so clearly. Peeta's voice, clear as crystal, reciting those beautiful lyrics from the sheet in the sweetest, most melodic fashion, that it silenced the entire class.

"Pretended you couldn't do it?" Johanna teased, raising her eyebrows.

Peeta turned red. "I didn't think I was that good," he said, slightly flustered. "If it weren't for our popularity now I probably still wouldn't."

"You have the self-esteem of a crack whore being pawned by her pimp," Johanna snorted. "Katniss is the same."

"Am not," Katniss scowled.

Cato knew that, in some ways, Johanna was right. Peeta's self-esteem wasn't the best. When someone complimented him, he would blush and stutter, almost unable to believe he was worth such compliments. There were times, however, when small glimmers of self-confidence would shine through. Like that Valentine's Day when he baked pancakes in nothing but an apron . . .

Cato shook his head, removing such thoughts from his mind. If he started humouring that train of thought while in public, he was going to end up doing something reckless that would most likely involve the club's bathroom and the tearing of Peeta's Kravitz shirt. Snow would definitely not be pleased and somehow Cato felt like Peeta wouldn't be too happy about it either.

"I'm going to get another drink. Anyone want anything?" asked Johanna. She wiggled her eyebrows teasingly. "Open bar!"

"Yeah, get me a beer," Katniss said.

"So you'll stop stealing mine?" Johanna chuckled. "Sure."

"I'll have the same," said Cato.

Johanna nodded, looking to Peeta. "You want anything?"

"No thanks, I'm fine," Peeta smiled.

"Suit yourself!" Johanna hopped out of the seat and headed over to the bar, intercepting Annie and Finnick for a chat.

Katniss traced the lip of the beer bottle with her thumb thoughtfully. "I wish I had her confidence. Would probably make things a lot easier. You should have seen the day the Sony hack happened and she found out about her pay compared to the guys . . ." She cringed.

Cato grimaced. "Dramatic day, I'm guessing?"

"Let's just say when you hear about child stars getting arrested you think of drugs or drunk driving, not being fined for assault when you kicked your negotiator in the balls," Katniss explained.

Cato laughed. He and Peeta encountered many celebrities during their journeys through the Districts, but never got a chance to sit down and actually get to know them. Johanna seemed cool, and so did Katniss, and being able to talk to them in a public place-well, semi-public-was so refreshing. It felt almost . . . normal.

"Wow," Peeta laughed. "I couldn't imagine doing that . . ."

An image of Peeta kicking Snow in the nuts came into Cato's head and it took all of his strength not to laugh out loud.

Annie and Finnick joined them at the booth, Johanna following closely behind with the drinks in her hands. Annie looked excited, yet reserved, and glanced at Finnick every so often, as if anticipating him saying something. Cato could tell they were up to something; Finnick had the most obvious mischievous face ever.

"Peeta," Finnick eventually said, dragging Peeta's name out like a child about to ask for sweets.

Peeta raised his eyebrows. "Yes?" he answered, mimicking Finnick's way of speaking.

"You remember when we were kids and you made me eat sand?" Finnick asked.

"Wait what?" Johanna laughed, baffled by the sudden turn in conversation.

"Finnick took Peeta's green spade and he stuffed his head into a sandcastle," Cato took the liberty of explaining. He'd heard the story a thousand times, and it was only brought up when Finnick wanted something or Peeta needed to prove a point. "Technically, he did not make you eat sand. You were an idiot and left your mouth hanging open."

Finnick grimaced, like he was experiencing the ordeal all over again. "Well, you know the way you said you owed me one?" he said. "Because of that traumatic experience?"

"A statement to which you have exploited a hundred times," Peeta answered, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards. "Where are you going with this?"

"Will you sing for Annie?" Finnick asked, getting right to the point. "She didn't want to ask you herself because she was worried you'd think it was the only reason she invited you."

Peeta looked slightly taken aback. He looked to Cato, who raised his eyebrows and shrugged. He wasn't surprised that Annie wanted to hear Peeta sing. Everyone, if they had heard his singing, would wish to hear it as often as possible. Cato had had an idea that it would come up, especially since there was a karaoke machine standing by. It was almost too coincidental to ignore.

A modest smile graced Peeta's features and he turned to Annie. "I wouldn't have thought that," he told her. "Do you really want me to?"

Annie blushed. "It would really make this day perfect," she gushed. She looked to Finnick, eyes sparkling, "Among other reasons."

"Well, then, I definitely can't say no then!" Peeta beamed. He stood up on the booth seat and climbed over the back so he didn't have to push past Katniss and Johanna. Cato grabbed his cane and chucked it to him. Peeta caught it and approached the lonesome karaoke machine.

Annie jumped out of the booth with excitement and Johanna and Katniss got on their knees on the seat to peer over the back. Cato tried to act nonchalant, in the sort of 'I've-heard-this-thousands-of-times-I'm-cool' sort of way, but on the inside his heart was pounding. Every time Peeta sang, Cato felt like a drug addict. One hit was never enough.

Peeta rolled his eyes at the machine and gave it a tiny kick. Cato frowned as he watched his boyfriend hook his phone up to the amp instead. By this point, the rest of Annie's guests noticed him standing there. He smiled sheepishly, turning pink. "Ignore me, I'm just doing something for Annie," he said as the room fell silent. "I make remixes on my phone and I'm just going to sing something for her, nothing to see here, really."

Cato chuckled to himself. Of course Peeta would try to thrust the attention away.

"I'll do the first one I made," Peeta told Annie from across the room. "It's Cato's favourite so it must be good, I guess."

Cato felt a tug of excitement. The first remix Peeta ever made was of 'I've Gotta be Me' by Sammy Davis and 'Delilah' by Tom Jones. Two songs you think wouldn't fit together and somehow Peeta made it work. Why did Cato like it so much? Well, both songs required a lot of power behind your voice. The lyrics needed belted out, and not many could manage to do it without sounding like they were yelling the words. The first time Peeta sang it for Cato, he loved it so much he made him perform it every evening after for a week.

It was obvious that the spectators of the party felt the same, as even though Peeta tried to stop them from listening by acting like it was no big deal, every single person in the club stayed quiet and hung onto every word. The remix was rather amusing, because one song was about killing a woman named Delilah and the other was about being yourself, so it almost sounded like Peeta killed Delilah because he had finally decided to be himself and accept his serial killer roots.

Cato was always fascinated by the way Peeta would sing. For someone who would be so shy and modest, Peeta would get so into his music that he didn't care what other people thought of him. All he had to do was open his mouth and sing the first word and he was lost. He would embody the mood of the music, the persona the lyrics created. In a way, Peeta would make a fantastic actor for he took on so many personalities through his music that it was amazing that he could ever possibly be shy.

The rapt partygoers gave Peeta raucous applause when he finished, making the young blond's face turn candyfloss pink all over. Annie rushed across the room and hugged him, which didn't help his embarrassed state. If he had looked starstruck when he first met Annie, then Peeta had just been knocked down by a meteor.

Peeta sheepishly slipped out while Annie started taking requests for karaoke, exiting through the men's room door. Concerned, Cato climbed out of the booth and followed, entering the room only a couple of seconds after.

Peeta loomed over the sink, throwing cold water on his face. "Why is it that I have no problem performing in front of thousands of people in an arena but an intimate party makes me feel shy and embarrassed?" he asked almost rhetorically.

"I suppose there's all the lights and stuff in an arena to blot out the audience's faces. There's not really any of that in an intimate setting and it doesn't help that you're bad at taking compliments." Cato smiled. "You can't understand why they're so in awe of you so your brain makes you think it's embarrassment worthy."

"I need to get my act together," Peeta decided.

"Aw, do you have to?" Cato pouted, winding his arms around Peeta's body and resting his chin on his shoulder. "You're cute when you're all peevish and bashful."

"Cute is for bunnies," Peeta replied. He folded his arms and stuck out his bottom lip. "I'll never be confident and sexy like you."

"You don't need to seem sexy to anyone but me," Cato answered, twirling Peeta around so they were facing one another. "And to me you're the sexiest man alive."

Peeta raised his eyebrows. "I think you'll find you're the one who got that award, not me," he said. A year after the release of their first album, Cato was featured in a magazine as Number One Sexiest Man Alive for that year. They sent him a plague and everything.

Cato chuckled. "You're missing my point," he said. He pressed their lips together, tipping Peeta's chin up with his knuckle. Peeta slid his hands up Cato's chest and wound his arms around his neck, pushing up onto his tip toes so they were nearly eye level. When they parted, their eyes met, and Cato felt a tug in his gut as Peeta's deep blue iris' stared into his soul. "You don't need to be confident to be sexy. In fact, I believe if you were any sexier it would probably be illegal anyway."

Peeta snorted. "If that's true how haven't you been arrested yet?"

"They let me off as long as I promised to use my powers for good instead of evil," Cato admitted.

"Oh? How's that been working out for you?"

"Well, not very well. I've actually been seducing this boy for years now and tricking him into my bed each night," Cato sighed. He wound his arm around Peeta's waist and drew him closer, so their hips were nearly touching. "Sadly, I'm addicted to him. Can't help myself."

"He sounds nice," Peeta replied, playing with the buttons on Cato's jacket. He smiled, looking up at Cato through the hair that had fallen over his eyes. Then, as if putting careful thought into the action, folded his button lip into his mouth and dragged his teeth along it so it plumped out again.

"Do that again and I mightn't be able to stop myself from defiling you in one of those stalls," Cato warned.

Peeta chuckled and kissed Cato's cheek teasingly. "Down boy, wait until we get back to Snow's," he murmured. He stepped back and winked, turning on his heel and leaving the bathroom. Damn, did Cato love watching that boy walk away.

As long as he knew that Peeta would be coming back, Cato was perfectly fine admiring the view from behind.

~xXx~

Cato and Peeta stood outside the club a couple of hours later, making out. The streets were deserted due to the late hour and they were waiting for Finnick to say goodnight to Annie. It had been ten minutes now and he still wasn't finished. Cato tried to keep a semblance of self-control but half an hour previous Johanna had roped him into using the karaoke machine with her and doing a duet of 'Sexy Back' by Justin Timberlake. Ever since then he had been a ticking time bomb of sexual frustration, especially when he saw how dark Peeta's eyes were as he sat and listened to them.

Peeta's mouth was warm and inviting, Cato having tilted his lover's head back so far he was practically licking the younger boy's tonsils. Peeta was hugging Cato's torso, his fingers digging into his back almost desperately. It didn't hurt; in fact, Cato had grown used to the feeling of Peeta's fingernails digging into his skin long ago. When Cato was rough with Peeta in bed, his back would get covered in claw marks. In fact, he wasn't just used to it, he actually liked it.

Peeta pulled away for air, a long string of saliva bridging the gap between their lips. "What if someone sees us?" he asked.

"There's no one around," Cato assured, closing the distance again and claiming his boyfriend's lips once more. Peeta didn't object, his hands pushing up Cato's back beneath his jacket, meeting at his shoulder blades. It was only fair, since Cato kept stroking Peeta's backside with his thumb, almost doing it naturally and barely noticing that he was actually doing it at all.

Soon they were up against the wall of the club, still kissing like champs. Somewhere in the fray Cato's shirt got pulled out of his pants and Peeta's top buttons got undone and they couldn't stay off each other for five seconds.

"Where's Finnick?" Peeta keened. "I wanna go back to Snow's."

Cato was wondering the same thing himself but was too occupied by the skin of his lover's neck and how it felt between his lips to care. It was so easy for them to get caught up in one another because ever since their relationship started, their fame had only climbed higher and higher, to a point where they couldn't really express much affection towards one another out of fear of being caught. Cato longed for times like this, where he and Peeta could make out in the dark and not have to be worried about being caught out. Even saying that was ridiculous. 'Caught out' sounded like they didn't have a right to be kissing one another. Like they weren't in a relationship at all.

Finnick came out a couple of minutes later. He looked around, momentarily unable to pin down where Cato and Peeta where, and started at the sight of them against the wall. "Jesus, I wasn't that long was I?" he asked.

Peeta jumped away from Cato like he had been shocked, hurriedly buttoning his shirt up again. Cato chuckled and helped him out when his fingers fumbled clumsily. "You were long enough," the older boy commented.

"Is something going on that we should know about?" Peeta teased.

Finnick-to both their surprises-actually blushed. "I don't know," he honestly admitted. "I got her number though."

"Wait. You've got her number?" said Peeta. "Annie Cresta's number?!"

"Uh, yeah," Finnick said sheepishly. The way he was smiling was like nothing Cato had ever seen before. Sure, Finnick smiled a lot. His smile was practically his trademark-especially among his fans-and it wasn't like smiles weren't genuine. There was just something about the way this one made his eyes have this gooey gleam to them that Cato recognised all too well.

Cato had had the exact same smile himself when he first laid eyes on Peeta.

"Congrats man," Cato said, lightly slapping Finnick's arm. "Back in the game, huh?"

"Not like the others," Finnick was quick to say. He rubbed a hand over his face, as if it could wipe the cheesiness off his face. "She's different. Annie isn't like the other girls I've dated."

They started walking to where the car was parked. They didn't like having cars to come pick them up because Peeta had claimed that it would make them lazy. And that was saying something coming from the one who felt agony with every step he took. Cato didn't mind walking, and he was sure Finnick didn't either, he just always worried about Peeta. But then again, what else was new? Cato could have majored in the art of worrying.

"Finnick's got a crush," Cato teased, singing the way kids in the playground would do.

"Finnick's in trouble," Finnick corrected.

Peeta raised his eyebrows "Do you really have it that bad?" he asked. "It's only been a few hours."

"Sometimes that can be enough," Cato said.

This made Peeta grin smugly. "Oh? How long did it take for you to be 'in trouble' with me?"

Cato took a moment to think about it. There were so many moments that could define when exactly he knew he was in trouble with Peeta.

Like when he had the flu and Peeta came right over to his house as soon as he heard with a massive cake that he'd baked himself and spend the entire night with him. Cato's parents had had one their famous rows the day before and both hadn't returned to the house since they stormed out, so if it hadn't been for Peeta, Cato could have easily seen himself just letting himself go that night. As soon as Cato had mentioned in a text that he was unwell, Peeta had been on the doorstep a couple of minutes later. He made Cato eat; take his medication; drink water; and he sat beside Cato as he slept, one arm over his shoulders while he used the other to read a book.

Or when they went to the kid's playpark at midnight when Cato found out that his parents were divorcing and he needed to get out and just be childish. Peeta didn't question Cato's motivations and came with him despite the time. They behaved like children that night but didn't care, and Cato remembered lying on the ground staring at the stars and looking up just as Peeta swung really high on the swing. His eyes had caught the moonlight as he laughed, thrusting his arms out almost dangerously to feel the wind swooshing against his skin on the way back down.

Or how when they first made love, Peeta had been so sheepish and embarrassed he'd insisted they have the covers pulled up. His face had been pink as a peach and despite the fact that there was nobody in the house but Cato and him, he had been so shy of his body that he needed to have the covers covering him. Now it was different, and they had done it so often that such small things didn't really matter anymore, but Cato still remembered how adorable Peeta had been, neck bruised with hickies and cheeks warm with abashment.

"Three minutes, forty-seven seconds," Cato finally concluded.

Peeta snorted. "What?" he laughed. "That's so specific."

"And here's me getting stick for a couple of hours!" Finnick chuckled.

"It's the length it took you to sing the Valley Song," Cato shrugged. "That first time Mrs Cartwright found out you could do it and practically burst a blood vessel getting you to the front of the room."

Peeta looked away, suddenly coy. "You're a sentimental idiot sometimes," he smiled.

"Go on then," said Cato, nudging Peeta. "What about you?"

Peeta's eyebrows knitted together as he thought about it. Cato wondered if different events of their relationship where playing out in his head as they had done for him, trying to pinpoint when exactly Peeta decided that Cato was the one for him. It was almost exciting, to hear what exactly it was that reeled him in in the end.

"In the Music Assembly," Peeta said, sounding like he was treading careful ground, "when you played The Hanging Tree and everyone gave you that standing ovation. I just . . . I was rapt from then on."

Cato frowned, confused. "That was at the start of the school year, we weren't even talking to each other yet," he said.

Peeta scowled bashfully. "And? That doesn't mean anything!"

"Wait. You liked me before"-

"Before we even spoke, yes!" Peeta blurted out, folding his arms with stubborn finality. "What? I'm not allowed to have crushes now?"

Cato was kind of baffled. How had this never come up before? "Why have you never told me that?"

"Because you didn't even notice me until months later," Peeta answered peevishly. "It's embarrassing."

"Aww, that's so cute," Finnick beamed, ruffling Peeta's hair. "Wittle Peetie had a wittle crush."

"You're one to talk!" Cato laughed.

Finnick shrugged. "I never said he was the only one," he chuckled.

Peeta was flushed now, whether it be with embarrassment or rage Cato wasn't sure. "It's no big deal it was years ago. We're partners now so what does it matter? Of course I had a crush on you, that's how relationships start," he muttered. "I just never expected to be . . . well . . . here. Where we are now."

Cato conceded. "Yeah, I know the feeling," he said.

Peeta stopped suddenly, causing Cato and Finnick to pull up as well. He was frowning to himself, like he just remembered that he had left the kettle on back home and was now realising the consequences of such reckless behaviour. "My feet are cramping up," he muttered, almost as if it was the smallest of inconveniences.

"Is the stick not working?" Cato asked.

"It is. It's not the walking. It's just happening because it . . . well . . . does from time to time," Peeta answered.

"Okay, come here, I'll carry you"-

"Whoa, whoa," Finnick said, stopping Cato before taking his second step, "you've been drinking. I don't think carrying someone is the wisest of decisions."

"Weren't you drinking?"

"Non-alcoholic beer, genius," Finnick replied. "I'd be a pretty useless body guard pissed out of my brain. Besides, I'm driving." He passed Cato and smirked. "This sort of thing does come with the territory, after all."

"Fine, but if you drop him I swear"-

"I know, I know. Dire consequences, I'm sure."

Peeta grabbed Finnick's arm, not caring who it was picking him up as long as he didn't have to stand anymore, and allowed him to scoop him up into his arms. "This is like The Bodyguard," Finnick commented. "All we need is a hoard of groupies or something."

"Don't tempt fate," Peeta warned, the pain beginning to show in the creases on his face. He was starting to wince, and Cato could see how his boyfriend's fingers were digging into Finnick's arms like claws.

"And IIIIII will alllwaayyys lllooovee yooooouu," Finnick crooned.

Cato cringed and pretended to wring out his ear. "Stick to your day job, Finnick," he joked. "Peeta's in enough pain without you bursting his eardrums at the same time."

"Fuck," Peeta cursed between gritted teeth, knocking his head a couple of times against Finnick's shoulder. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!"

The walk to the car felt like it was longer all of a sudden. Cato didn't know if it was because his brain was suddenly occupied with getting Peeta home to where his compression bandages were or if the journey was genuinely this long. If it was long for him, it was probably even longer for Peeta, who was in dire agony.

When they did eventually reach the car, Cato sat in the middle of the backseat, remaining as humanly close to Peeta as possible. He held his hand the entire ride back to Snow's (only letting go a couple of times when Peeta used their joined hands as an object to pound his forehead against) and carried him into the mansion when they arrived, reliving Finnick at the gates and assuring him that he was sober enough to get Peeta into the mansion alone.

Peeta was more at home in Cato's arms. Cato could tell easily from how his boyfriend relaxed into him, his body melting against his and not staying rigid like he had done the entire walk to the car. "I love you," Peeta mumbled sleepily as they ascended the stairs, tears dripping his eyes as he closed them.

Cato chuckled. "I love you too," he said, kissing the top of Peeta's golden curls.

By the time they reached their bedroom, Peeta had fallen asleep.

Chapter Text

Chapter Four

Cato loved being the big spoon.

It was a dreary morning. Rain was pounding the window and it had gotten so bad in the middle of the night that Cato had to get up to close the window so it didn't ruin the curtains. It was not a day for waking up early, especially after the late night they'd had. It was a day for staying in bed and just relaxing. There's no better feeling than being in a nice, warm, comfortable place while a storm rages away outside. Especially when you're with someone you love, sharing the comfort.

Peeta moaned softly, his fingers curling into the soft bedsheets. He was quiet, his eyes closed with contention and breathing just a little bit uneven. Sex didn't have to be loud and vicious all the time, and Cato sometimes actually preferred when they took their time and let it go slowly. Honestly, if anyone where to see them from a third person point of view, it wouldn't even look like they were having sex because of the duvet covering them and how gentle they were being.

Cato's arms were wrapped around Peeta's torso, holding his body against his-similarly to how they would sleep sometimes-as he gently thrust in and out of him. Peeta's hips rocked back and forth to meet Cato's thrusts, his arm thrown over Cato's side and his hand gripping his back.

"Someday you'll be able to be the big spoon without this happening," Peeta joked breathlessly.

"You love me being the big spoon," Cato replied, his face comfortably nestled in the crook of Peeta's neck. "Don't deny it."

"Of course, sweetheart," Peeta answered, groaning quietly when Cato purposely bumped his pleasure button a little too hard. "Is that why you don't let me be the big spoon? Because you don't have easy access to my ass?"

"Technically I don't like you being the big spoon because I love cradling you in my arms," Cato murmured, drawing Peeta closer and stroking his abdomen with his thumbs. "The easy access to your ass is a luxury that comes with it."

Peeta gasped, his body beginning to tremble a little with pleasure. The hand on Cato's back slid up to his hair. Peeta wasn't the rough type and only gripped his boyfriend's hair a little bit. Cato kissed Peeta's neck, grazing his lips along his jugular and over his shoulder. There was a shift against the bed and movement beneath the sheets captured his eye.

"You know that's my job."

"Yeah, well, I'm taking over for a while."

Cato watched the movement with slight amazement. "How come you never do that when the sheets aren't covering you?" he asked.

Peeta didn't answer, his hips beginning to bump against Cato's in a slightly erratic manner. He exhaled, a fast rush of air escaping his lips. Cato wished he could see his partner's face; it was one of his favourite things about his sex life. Peeta had sex face that could turn a priest.

"You know why," Peeta eventually said, brushing the side of his face against Cato's.

"We've been together for years now; I've seen every part of you. There's no reason to be shy of this, of all things," Cato answered, nuzzling his lover's neck affectionately. Peeta purred, rubbing his head against Cato's approvingly. "Of anything, for that matter. Certainly not the fact that you're touching yourself."

Cato felt Peeta's skin heat up. He hadn't stopped what he was doing, meaning either he wasn't embarrassed enough to cease or he physically couldn't because he was so turned on. Cato liked to believe it was the latter. It was getting harder and harder to focus, let alone be able to conduct a conversation, due to the edge that he was rapidly approaching. He took the smaller boy's delicate ear between his teeth and nibbled on it, causing the boy's breath to shudder in his chest and his fingers to tighten in his hair.

"I'm close," Peeta said breathlessly.

Cato's hands encompassed Peeta's hips to steady him as his movements grew unintentionally rougher. He always loved how his thumbs fit perfectly into the grooves of Peeta's back; like his partner had been born with the imprint of Cato's thumbs in his skin. Sweat dripping down the side of his face and breathing morphing into harsh pants, the older boy nodded into the younger's shoulder. "I am too," he panted.

Peeta's back arched away a little, an adorable keen escaping his lips as he got closer and closer. He twisted his head and connected their lips, kissing Cato hard as he approached his finish. Cato gladly kissed back, their mouths moving together messily as their concentration wasn't entirely placed in the action itself, more on the delirium they were experiencing.

Someone pounded on their bedroom door and, just like that, the moment was gone. "Downstairs, now!" Snow's voice barked from the other side, killing any possible redemption they could have attempted to give the moment. "Get dressed and meet me in the Drawing Room!"

Peeta groaned as Snow's footsteps faded. He rolled onto his front and buried his face into his pillow. "So close," he muttered, his voice muffled.

Cato smiled and walked his fingers along the line of Peeta's spine. "And yet so far," he sighed.

Peeta lifted his head and let it rest against his elbow facing Cato. "What do you think he wants?" he asked in reference to Snow, blue eyes gleaming with intrigue. "I thought today was a free day."

"I did too," Cato admitted, frowning. "I wonder if something's happened?"

Peeta hummed in agreement. Cato reluctantly rolled out of bed, having to grab Peeta by the wrists and haul him out because he was so unwillingly to get up. "But the bed is so warm," Peeta complained, allowing Cato to usher him to the bathroom.

"Don't be a baby now," Cato teased, stopping at the threshold to the bathroom and giving Peeta an encouraging push. "Go on, get yourself sorted. I'll be standing guard to make sure you don't try to escape and get back into bed."

Peeta faux gasped. "Would I?" He wiggled his eyebrows. "What are you going to do if I did?"

"Now, you see, if I tried to tell people that you were a horndog they wouldn't believe me," Cato chuckled. "Your sweet and innocent front is the works of an evil genius."

"This side of me is only for you," Peeta grinned. "It's the Hadley Exclusive Pack."

"Which I am honoured to have the privilege of," Cato beamed, kissing Peeta's forehead. "Now go get dressed before Snow has a canary." Peeta rolled his eyes but nodded. Cato knew that he was unhappy. They never seemed to get a day off, no matter how many times they were told they were getting one.

Even if you enjoy your job and love what you do, you still need a break once and a while. And as of late . . . District 212 hadn't gotten any.

~xXx~

"They fucking cropped me out!"

Cato snatched the magazine out of Snow's hands and gaped at it with disbelief. Peeta peered at the mag with shock, unable to believe what adorned the front page either. They had been on the front of many a trashy magazine since their fame skyrocketed, but never in this manner. Never had the photos been tampered with, or changed to fit whatever the headline was, until now.

"Is Peenick closer than we think?"

The photo was of Finnick carrying Peeta to the car, minus one crucial detail: Cato. Whoever took the photo either cropped him out themselves to sell the story or the magazine decided on their own to cut Cato out to make an interesting headline. Cato was extremely baffled, and almost couldn't find any words to string together to explain to Snow what was going on.

Peenick was the name for Finnick and Peeta. Kind of like Bradgelina. It's what some of the fans liked to 'ship' because they believed that they made a better couple than Peeta and Cato. They'd always been aware that there were people out there who fantasied about them with different people, and they'd even grown to accept that. Not necessarily be happy about it, but there really wasn't anything that could be done without forcibly trying to change what people thought. Cato always teased about the fact that he and Peeta's 'ship' name was better than Peeta and Finnick's anyway. What could possibly beat Peetato?

But this? This was a bit too far.

"'District 212 star Peeta Mellark was photographed leaving Oscar Winning Actress Annie Cresta's birthday party at the Jabberjay in the arms of his bodyguard Finnick Odair. Without the other half of the duo-and Mellark's actual boyfriend-in sight, what could this mean for the potential lovebirds'-This is fucking bullshit!" Cato exclaimed.

"He was there," Peeta said incredulously. "How could they possibly have . . ."

"Why was Finnick carrying you?" Snow asked pointedly.

Peeta blinked. "Oh. We were walking to the car and my feet began to cramp up," he explained. "Cato had been drinking so Finnick said he'd carry me just in case Cato tripped or stumbled or something and we both went down."

Snow hummed, staring off into the distance with a scowl on his face. Cato didn't blame him; he was pretty pissed off too! "You both realise that your relationship is part of your gimmick, don't you?" he asked slowly.

"I guess," Peeta said carefully. "But we can't predict if and when a trashy journalist is going take pictures of us and then randomly crop one of us out to sell a story."

"Besides, the gimmick is still there, as long as we stay together," Cato insisted. "And we will always be together, I can assure you of that. This is just some idiot trying to get fifteen minutes of fame. The worst that will hopefully come from it is the Peenick shippers getting a bit riled up. I'm sure it will die down once Finnick starts dating Annie and Peeta and I prove that we're not going anywhere anytime soon."

Snow was still scowling, not put at ease at all by Cato's words. "You're both so reckless sometimes," he muttered, not even bothering to look at them as he spoke. "You'd think you were novices, not professionals."

Peeta pulled a face. "Reckless?!" he exclaimed. "I was in pain! Finnick offered to carry me, that was all!"

Cato was flabbergasted by their agent's attitude. "There was no way we could have possibly been able to tell that any photos that would get taken would involve cropping me out," he insisted. When Snow's sordid expression did not lift, the blond flushed with rage. "It was your idea to go to Annie's damn party in the first place!"

"Cato," Peeta said gently, touching Cato's arm tenderly. The cool sensation of having Peeta's hand on his skin soothed Cato to a small degree, but he was still fuming.

"This is the world you live in now," Snow said darkly. He pinned Cato and Peeta down with a firm stare, his eyes judging. "Your lives will always be broadcast to the masses. Anything that happens to you, also happens to them. You must anticipate this sort of pyiasco and figure out how to prevent it."

Cato wondered if his ears were working properly. What did Snow mean prevent it? District 212 were photographed on a daily basis, how on earth would he and Peeta be able to anticipate who was going to manipulate the image and who wasn't? There was no harm to come of the Peenick article, either. All it would do is get the Peenick fans' knickers bunched up for a couple of days before the hype died down and it became obvious that Finnick and Peeta were only friends. It didn't make sense as to why this had bothered Snow so much.

"There's good publicity, and bad publicity," Snow murmured. "Thankfully, I can make this work so your concert tickets will sell better. You both will have some making up to do, though. Especially in terms of redeeming your relationship to your fans."

Peeta blinked. "Redeeming?" he asked, baffled.

"You need to prove that you're still in love," Snow clarified.

The more this conversation went on, the more surreal the topic got. Cato rubbed the bridge of his nose. "But we are still in love," he said tiredly. "We don't have to prove anything."

Snow rolled his eyes. "To one another, maybe. Your fans, however, will need reassuring after this stunt."

"Our fans," Cato said pointedly, "may be our fans but they don't have a right to know every detail of what's going on in our lives. Peeta and I owe them nothing in terms of our partnership. We don't have to prove ourselves to them in any way."

Cato's words seemed to bounce off their agent like the older man was wearing a protective armour. "I am your agent for a reason," Snow reminded them. "I know what's best for your success. I have gotten you both this far, haven't I?"

Peeta picked his glass of water off the table separating them. Cato watched his boyfriend drink, wondering what was going on in his head right now. Removing the glass from between his lips once satisfied, Peeta said, "We're grateful for how much you have helped us Snow but . . . Cato and I sell our music, not our relationship."

This almost seemed to amuse Snow. He plucked his own tumbler of whiskey off the table, a devious smile growing on his face. "Is that what you think?" he asked.

Cato narrowed his eyes. "Yes," he said, immediately backing Peeta up.

"What do you think brings in so much attention? You're both talented, of course. You, my boy, can master any instrument that touches your fingers, and Peeta has a voice worthy of God's choirs. But talent, these days, only gets you so far. You need something else to keep you relevant. As I said, your relationship is your gimmick," Snow explained slowly. He drank from his glass, allowing Peeta and Cato to absorb what he meant.

"But when you said our gimmick was . . . I thought you meant that the fans knew about us being together and it"-

"Contributed towards your popularity," Snow interrupted before Peeta could finish. "You're both handsome; kind; talented young men. Not to mention helplessly infatuated with one another. Of course that was going to capture people's interests. What? You didn't honestly think that your love for one another didn't contribute to your success at all?"

If Cato was being completely honest, he hadn't even thought about it. He had grown so used to being a part of Peeta's life, and Peeta being a part of his, that it never crossed his mind that it could have affected their music sales.

"Every YouTube video; every tweet; every Instagram post relating to your personal life in the slightest has helped the 212 hype over the years," Snow continued. "Even Peenick helped a little; the idea of Peeta's childhood friend being your bodyguard capturing the hearts of many a fangirl. You can't, however, allow them to believe that you have broken up. It could do massive damage to your reputation as a duo."

Cato stood up, having had enough. "I can't listen to this," he said. "What you're insinuating is that all the effort Peeta and I have put into our careers all these years is only half of our success; the rest being because the fans get excited at the idea of us screwing each other."

"Cato, it's okay," Peeta said, taking Cato's hand and squeezing it.

"No, it's really not," Cato replied.

Snow shrugged. "My hands are tied. It's not like I can tell your fans what to do. I can only give them what they want."

"And what is that, exactly?"

Their agent smirked complacently. "Isn't it obvious?" he asked. "The more you give, the more your popularity will grow. You reap what you sow, after all."

Cato had never had the best temper in the world. He could feel himself beginning to tremble with anger and if it weren't for Peeta's hand in his, he probably would have already reached boiling point with Snow. In some ways, what their agent was saying made sense, but just because it made sense didn't mean he had to like it. "The more of what?" he asked between gritted teeth.

Snow sighed, acting as if the entire ordeal pained him when Cato knew damn well it didn't. "Your private lives," the older man explained, tracing his finger around the rim of his glass, "are now theirs."

~xXx~

Cato ran Snow's words over in his head again and again for the rest of the day. What Snow had basically said was that he and Peeta no longer had a private life. What did that mean, exactly? How much were they expected to show to the masses? Where did the line in such a charade get drawn? Cato guessed that Snow would probably determine that but, after their agent's attitude about the situation, this knowledge did not comfort him in the slightest.

Peeta was sat on the windowsill, looking out at the grey; stormy skies. In the comfort of their room, it was warm and cosy; the opposite of the wreckage currently battering the Earth outside. Cato still felt a chill, though, every time he was reminded of the conversation with Snow. Peeta was swathed in a sweater; wearing nothing else but his underwear and a few pairs of thick; woolly socks. When they returned to their room the younger blond insisted upon getting the most out of their day off and stripped off his clothes, exchanging them for what he now wore: his sleep clothes.

"There's more to us than our relationship," Peeta eventually stated, not turning away from the window as he spoke. "There has to be."

"There is," Cato said firmly. His fingers tapped irritably on top of the desk he sat at, trying to keep the angry ticks to small fidgeting.

"Snow is wrong. We are successful because of how hard we have worked and the talent we refined. It can't have anything to do with our partnership," Peeta continued. He frowned and combed his hand through his hair with agitation. "Did you ever notice that, when we did those parodies on YouTube, the most popular uploads were always the ones that involved us together romantically?"

Cato had never stopped to think about it. Since their following on YouTube had been so large, every video they made had been vastly popular. However, if you compared their parody of 'I want to Break Free' by Queen and 'Beautiful' by James Blunt, there was a considerable difference in the views and ratings. It could be coincidence, or it could be because of what Snow told them about the gimmick.

Peeta closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. "I don't want our love to be a gimmick," he said.

Cato knew exactly how Peeta felt. They weren't together for the sake of being popular. They were together because they had been smitten from day one. Cato couldn't put into words how much he loved and cherished Peeta, and the idea of that devotion being reduced to some ploy to gain stardom made him feel physically sick. Cato loved Peeta long before anyone knew their names and would continue to love Peeta long after 212 was nothing to the public but a memory.

"It won't be. I won't allow it," said Cato.

Peeta's reflection in the window smiled, eyes still closed. "Me either."

Cato pushed away from the desk and joined Peeta by the windowsill. Lifting the smaller boy's feet up and sitting where they previously sat and placing them carefully into his lap, Cato looked outside.

Snow's grounds truly were massive. The courtyard behind the house looked like it stretched on for miles; a greenhouse sitting slap bang in the middle at the bottom of a set of steps. Painted in the colours of the storm, the courtyard looked like something out of a horror movie, but Cato would bet any money that the mansion and the surrounding land looked magnificent during the summer. Ever since they had released Two Sides, money had never been a problem for Cato and Peeta, but they had never spent their earnings on grandeur housing or other fancy expenses. They did have a nice house together in 12, which was privatised for obvious reasons, and had many, many things that they would not have previously owned if it had not been for their success, but there was still so much for them to marvel at. Which was good.

If you lost your ability to be amazed, then what was the point?

"Christmas is coming," Peeta randomly said.

Cato blinked, mystified that he had forgotten this. "So it is," he replied.

"We'll have to head back to 12 for a few weeks," Peeta sighed.

Peeta always visited his family at Christmas time. No matter where they were, without fail, they always returned to 12 for the holidays. Peeta went to Church every year and sung with the choirs on Christmas day, just as he had ever since he was a boy. Not only did it mean a lot to the Church, but it meant a lot to Peeta too, to be able to see his family.

"Do you want to go to 2?" Peeta asked, almost on cue.

Cato shook his head, knowing that he didn't need to elaborate any further. Ever since his father died, leaving Marisol in Cato's hands permanently, he hadn't seen any reason to go back home to 2. His mother died when he was ten, which actually was what prompted his dad to start teaching him how to play Marisol, so he could play music to the stars so his mother would hear. But his stepmother? Ever since that venomous bitch married his father she had wanted Cato out of the picture which was what ultimately led to the marriage's demise. Cato's dad refused to send his son away, which enraged her and led to constant fights. Despite the divorce, she continued to bleed Cato's father of his money, driving him into an early grave. No. Cato had no reason whatsoever to go back to District 2.

Peeta, however, believed in love and forgiveness, hence why he always asked Cato the same question every year when the holidays came around. Cato knew that Peeta hated that he had no one at home left. He knew that Peeta wished there was some way to patch things up, but he also understood Cato's desire to stay away. So, in replacement, Peeta became what Cato had lost: his family.

It was always around this time of year where Cato would get very down. It wasn't that he didn't like going to 12 and visiting Peeta's family, in fact he loved it, but there was always something about seeing all these people so avidly happy to see his boyfriend return home that made him curious about what it felt like. Cato didn't have anyone avidly waiting for him to come home. Sure, people in 2 loved him, but they were fans. And his fans were the same as family in some regards, but they would never be able to replace what he used to feel for his real family. When it wasn't in shambles, that was . . .

Cato wished his mother could have met Peeta. She died on Valentine's Day over a decade ago, but a day didn't go by where he didn't think about her. Even if it was just in passing, or a little spark of a memory, Cato always held onto his real mother's identity. He couldn't let himself forget what she was like, nor would he let her memory be replaced by that witch of a stepmother who condemned his relationship with Peeta since day one and even, at one point, tried to keep them apart.

Cato knew that his mother-his real mother-would have loved Peeta the same way his father had. From what Cato remembered-he had only been ten when she died, so he was forced to build his image of her based on fragmented childhood memories-she always had a smile on her face, and sometimes he imagined that smile when he would have told her that he had met somebody. She would have been so happy; he just knew she would. Maybe he was glorifying her in his head, he didn't know, but this was all he had now.

"Are you sure?" Peeta asked. His voice wasn't pressing or probing. He just wanted to make sure that Cato was one hundred percent sure in his decision.

"Yeah," Cato answered, somewhat shortly.

Cato felt Peeta's hand on his shoulder. He looked at his partner, finding a sympathetic expression on the other end. Peeta didn't say anything, he didn't need to. There was enough understanding gleaming in his gorgeous baby blue eyes for Cato to know what he was trying to say: "It's alright. I understand. I'm always here to talk about it if you want to."

It wasn't that Cato didn't want to talk about it with Peeta, what he didn't want to do was to burden Peeta with the knowledge that sometimes he did feel down and did get depressed about his lack of family. Because that would only put an unnecessary pressure on Peeta to try to fix it. Which, as talented as Peeta was, he couldn't do. Unless he knew how to bring Cato's parents back from the dead, that was . . .

"How's Wheatley?" Cato asked, forcibly pushing the topic of his parents from his head.

"Yeah, he's good," Peeta answered, resting his head against the cool window pane. "Eric is doing well and has been making vast improvements in school and is learning how to communicate with his eyes."

"Hey, that's really good," Cato said, relief washing over him. Eric's condition was always uncertain. One day he could be absolutely fine and the next he could be on his death bed. It was a scary game of cards, where Wheatley didn't know what set he was going to get dealt when he woke up in the morning. Peeta's money helped, but money can't buy good health.

This, again, was Peeta's reasoning for wishing to visit 12 each Christmas. It was the only chance he ever got to see his nephew. He called every day when he got a chance but there was a vast difference in intimacy between a phone call and actually getting to speak to them in person.

Cato knew that Peeta was terrified that Eric was going to die and he was not going to be there.

Cato had yet to help Peeta through a loss. In their time together, they had both been put through numerous trials. Cato's father leaving his stepmother and the financial issues that ensued; Eric's stroke; Cato's depression following his father's death; Peeta's disability; their relationship had withstood a lot. Only one of those trials, however, had involved a death. And that death had been Cato's dad.

Cato and Peeta had been dating for two years, and Cato was surprised that Peeta was still with him at that point. For in those two years, the stepwitch had tried to keep them apart because of her own homophobic beliefs so often that Cato almost killed her. She was invasive and never allowed Cato to have his own privacy, especially where it concerned his relationship with Peeta. She would delete Peeta's messages off Cato's phone so he would think that Peeta wasn't talking to him and then tell Peeta that Cato wasn't interested whenever he would ring the house.

Then there was the icing on the cake.

The stepwitch answered the door when Peeta came to visit one day and told him straight up to his face that she was sending Cato to military school so that he'd be whipped into shape before their toxic relationship poisoned him completely. This had baffled Peeta but he knew what sort of woman she was from what Cato had told him, so he simply rolled his eyes and pushed past her, informing her that they had a school project to be getting on with on his way upstairs.

Cato had been enraged when Peeta had recalled what had happened to him but it didn't match how angry his father got when he too found out about it. Not only because the stepwitch thought she was getting Cato anywhere near the proximity of a military school but also because she believed that Peeta was the one 'turning' Cato gay. She seemed to have forgotten that Cato had come out to his father when he was fifteen, a year before he even met Peeta.

So they divorced.

The stepwitch somehow got out of it with money, and Cato's dad had to continue giving her money monthly for the foreseeable future. The Hadleys lost money, fast. Cato tried to busk on the streets; and Peeta helped too by singing, but every month more and more was taken from his dad's bank and given to that woman.

The stress was what killed him in the end. The thing that hurt the most, despite everything that had happened over those awful months, was that Cato knew his dad did not want to go. He had promised, when he first handed him Marisol and taught him to play music to his mother, that he would never leave him. But he had had no choice.

Cato was clinically depressed after his dad's death. He wouldn't have gotten out of bed; fed himself; done anything at all; if he had been given the choice. He would have wallowed and allowed himself to spiral deeper into whatever dark hole he was falling into. He didn't see a point in anything anymore. Not if he didn't have his dad. What sort of life was it without your parents?

But Peeta was there.

Three days after the funeral, when he grew sick of Cato ignoring him, Peeta actually kicked Cato's front door in to get into the house. He had forced Cato out of bed, despite the older boy's avid protests, and all but dragged him into the bathroom. That entire day Peeta spent fixing Cato up. He washed his hair; shaved his beard; fed him; changed his bedsheets; spiffed his room up; before making an appointment with a psychologist and ensuring that Cato went to it. Which Peeta continued to do every day for at least five months after.

Because he had been in such a dark place that first day, Cato barely remembered Peeta coming in. There was one memory though, one thing he could never shift from his head. He was sitting on the floor in the corner of his room, hunched forward like a piece of deadweight, and Peeta was beside him, his arms wrapped tight around his neck, holding him close to his body and repeating over and over again, "It's going to be okay. I promise. It's going to be okay."

Cato was still on medication to this day. Medication that had taken a good few months for him to adjust to, but that Peeta made sure he took.

Peeta wasn't just Cato's boyfriend, nor was he his partner. He was also his saviour. For if he hadn't kicked in that front door and dragged him out of bed that day, Cato knew he would never have gotten up.

Now Cato played Marisol to the stars for not just his mother, but for his father too.

Peeta was a naturally empathetic person. He was so understanding of any and every human emotion it was almost inhuman. Cato always wished that he could be like that, for it would make things such as comforting so easier. Except, Cato didn't have anyone in his life he would want to comfort apart from Peeta. And, somehow, Cato knew that when it came down to the crunch, if Peeta needed him in that way he would be there for him in that way. For Peeta, he was willing to do anything.

That didn't mean that Cato didn't dread the day he would have to comfort Peeta. He knew how hard dealing with death could be, the pill box in his bedside table was a prime enough example of this, and he knew in his bones that something in him could possibly be in danger of snapping if Peeta ever ended up in as bad a place as he had been.

Cato could not let himself snap like that again.

Thinking about everything that Peeta had done for him over the years . . . How the boy sitting on this windowsill with him admiring the rain had pushed past Cato's homophobic stepwitch, even when she called him the worst of things, because he wanted to see Cato; how he got out of bed at six in the morning every day they were off school and went into the city with Cato to busk for money to make sure they got a good spot; how he practically dragged Cato out of his own grave and resurrected him; how he didn't let Cato's depression and the awful things it had caused him to say and do affect him; how it seemed to make him grip tighter instead of losing hold . . . It just made this idea of their love being a gimmick so much more sickening.

Cato owed so much to Peeta. Sometimes he didn't even think Peeta realised how much he owed to him.

Peeta edged closer to Cato and wound his arm around him. He let his head rest against the older boy's shoulder and Cato's automatically fell against the younger's head of golden curls. "We can tell Snow where to go if he gets too personal," Peeta mumbled, threading his fingers through Cato's.

Cato chuckled, watching Peeta's fingers playing with his own. "Agreed."

"We've never told Snow no before," Peeta said thoughtfully.

Cato realised that Peeta was right. Why was that, exactly? Surely there had been something that their agent had suggested that they didn't agree with? At least once throughout the entire time they had been signed for him there had been nothing . . . That didn't sound right . . .

"How odd," Cato frowned.

"You know what that means?" Peeta beamed.

"What?"

"First time for everything."

Cato laughed.

There was a sudden grumble of thunder and a flash of lightening. Peeta shrieked in surprise and lurched into Cato's lap, clinging to the taller boy like glue to fingers. "Okay, Scooby Doo, you doing alright there?" Cato teased.

"Oh fuck, that scared the bajesus out of me."

"Clearly," Cato chuckled.

Peeta peered over Cato's shoulder like a frightened child at the storm outside. "I think it's a given that the window will not be opened tonight," he said, even though his voice was slightly agitated at the idea. Peeta didn't like sleeping with the window closed because it made him feel trapped, and when the weather was bad and there was no choice it always made him anxious.

"Don't worry," Cato said, arms wrapped loosely around Peeta's back, "I'll look after you."

Peeta exhaled, breaking his gaze out the window to meet Cato's eyes. He grinned goofily. "My hero," he teased, leaning forward and connecting their lips in a kiss.

Cato's hand slid up Peeta's back and held the back of his neck as they kissed, holding the smaller boy's face as close to his own as physically possible. Peeta's body drew close to Cato's, almost like pulled by some magnetic force, and a content sigh escaped him through the kiss. When they parted, Cato's lips felt cold, like they were missing an important piece, and he almost pulled Peeta back down against him to regain the heat he had previously been enjoying.

"Would you like something to keep your mind off the storm?" Cato asked, adding sultry overtones to his voice.

Peeta snorted. "As tempting as that is-and really, you're very tempting talking in that ridiculous manner-I will have to pass," he said. "If anyone heard the dialogue exchanged between us they'd think we were sex-crazed animals. It's all blah blah blah sex blah blah blah let's fuck blah blah"-

Cato placed his hand over Peeta's mouth and raised his eyebrows. "So when I talk, all you hear is blah blah blah?" he asked.

Peeta's eyes widened. "Of course not!" he said, voice muffled by the older boy's hand. "My point is I think we should shimmer down a little."

Cato pulled a face. "And why's that?"

Peeta looked uncomfortable suddenly. He slid out of Cato's lap and, liberating his cane along the way, walked around the desk to the bed. "I just have this . . . weird notion," he said.

"What sort of weird notion?" Cato frowned.

"When Snow said that our private lives now belong to the fans what if he meant . . ." Peeta gestured to the bed uncertainly ". . . as well?"

Cato smiled. "Peeta, I think you're getting a bit paranoid now. Snow isn't going to make us market our sex lives." He stood up and joined Peeta by the bed, placing his hands firmly on the smaller boy's shoulders. "I think what he meant was that we must market the image of us together as a couple more. Somehow I don't think he expects us to scandalise our private lives to that extent, that would be too much."

Peeta chewed on his lip anxiously, flinching when there was another flash of lightening. "I just don't want us to become trashy celebrities who would do anything to hold onto our fame," he said.

"And we won't," Cato assured. He leaned down and pressed his lips to Peeta's forehead. "The only person who will ever know the beauty of your naked body is me."

Peeta smiled, but his blush betrayed him. "The same goes for you too. I wouldn't have it any other way," he said meekly.

"Besides, I highly doubt we would have been given a soundproof room if our agent was planning to spy on us," Cato continued, taking Peeta's hands and holding them between them. "Then again, you are very loud, you could have broken the sound barrier."

Peeta scowled. "Shut up."

"There are things that our fans will never know, no matter how much they try," Cato continued. "For example, there's no way they'll ever find out that you seem to have an aversion to pants when it comes to casual clothing."

Peeta looked down at himself before returning his gaze to Cato. He rolled his eyes and walked around the bed to his side. "I'm comfortable like this," he shrugged. His eyes sparkled as he looked over his shoulder and cocked his eyebrow with interest. "Got a problem?"

Cato pretended to consider the question. Peeta climbed onto the bed in the meantime, drawing attention to the muscles in his long legs as he settled himself in the middle. Cato smirked as Peeta crossed his ankles, and said, "Not at all."

Cato was drawn to Peeta like a moth to a flame. He climbed onto the bed from where he stood from the bottom and crawled on all fours until he sat at his boyfriend's feet. "They'll never know that you have an erogenous zone behind your ear," Peeta teased, leaning forward and scratching his finger behind Cato's right ear.

Cato cursed as he involuntarily shuddered. He didn't know why his body reacted to Peeta touching him like that, but ever since Peeta discovered the effect it had on the older man he always abused the knowledge. It was why he called Cato his 'Cato-Cat' sometimes as a pet name because he would always react like a cat to such advances. Cato didn't mind, really, he just called Peeta Peeta-Pie when he did that.

"You're right," Cato shivered, batting Peeta's hand away flippantly. "Because the only person who will ever touch me there is you. See the point I'm trying to make?"

Peeta nodded. "I just don't want to abuse the sanctity of our intimacy for the sake of popularity. To be honest, I don't want to abuse the sanctity of our relationship for the sake of popularity but Snow has made it pretty clear that we have no choice in that matter."

"Snow needs to lay off the whiskey," Cato muttered childishly. He cupped Peeta's face in his hand and tilted it up so their eyes were level with one another. God, he could spend an entire day watching how the light-no matter how dark or light it was-always made Peeta's iris' flicker a different shade of blue, and not consider it a day wasted.

"I want our fans to enjoy our music and likes us as people," Peeta explained, placing his hand over Cato's on his face. "I want them to look up to us so we can set good examples and hopefully contribute even a small smile to their days. But I don't want to have to do that by revealing things that only you and I should know about one another."

"I know what you mean," Cato replied. "And we will. I promise."

They kissed.

"You can't let the ideas that Snow is putting forward distance yourself from me," Cato whispered against Peeta's lips. "For one thing, I won't allow it to happen."

"I don't want to distance myself from you," Peeta said stubbornly. "I just worry that in doing it too much now we're risking it being a part of the privacy Snow insists we must expose."

Cato sat back, hands dropping from Peeta's face and into his lap to hold his hands. "Just yesterday you were telling me of how happy you were that we could have the level of intimacy we would have had if we weren't famous. Now, not even a day later, you're letting a silly article and how it has made our crazy agent react scare you into stopping again?"

Peeta looked down, slightly ashamed. "I do want to have that level of intimacy," he insisted. "I want it really badly, it's just"-

"Then there's nothing else to say," Cato replied. "If you want it, there's no reason why you shouldn't have it, especially since I'm more than willing to give it. All those jokes we crack about only wanting one another for sex, we make them because of how irrational you became after we first made love. Remember?"

Cato and Peeta first made love three months into their relationship. After that they had a healthy sex life pre-the 212 discovery. Not all of their encounters could be romantic; any couple would say that their lives weren't built upon constant love making. Sometimes it just happened, especially in the beginning, because the tension was unbearable and it had to be relieved right there and then.

This had happened a lot during the months following Peeta and Cato losing their virginity to one another. Once they started, they couldn't stop. Cato hadn't noticed how often it happened, mainly because he spent a lot of his time being in awe of the beautiful boy he had become ensnared by. It was when Peeta began to withdraw into himself a little, deflecting any advance that Cato would make, that he grew worried. Peeta would only let their kissing go so far before breaking it off, and anything that went past that usually lead to the smaller boy jumping out of bed and fleeing to the bathroom. It began to freak Cato out. Was Peeta going to break up with him? Was this the build up to a separation? Was he no longer attracted to him?

Cato decided to give Peeta space. He respected the younger boy too much to pressure him into talking about what was going on. He wanted Peeta to say on his own what was going on in his mind that was causing him to react so fearfully any time they were intimate.

Eventually it came out. Cato had been staying over at Peeta's house while the rest of the Mellarks were out of town. They were working on some music together when things got . . . heavy, for lack of a better word. Somebody kissed somebody else and the sheet music was pushed to the side as someone pushed the other down onto the mattress, taking their hands and pining them above their head so their shirt rode up their stomach and they could access the skin of their neck with their lips.

Peeta didn't jump away, like he usually had done, but he had whispered in a small voice, "I don't just want you for sex."

Cato had felt like he had been blindsided. He remembered staring at Peeta with shock, his hand still holding the younger boy's wrists above his head. Peeta proceeded to explain that he had worried that with the amount of times they had been having sex that Cato would grow to think it was all Peeta wanted him for. It had been such a ridiculous idea, such a silly notion that of course took root in Peeta's brain and scared him, that Cato had to take several minutes to process the information.

Sex was not something that one should be ashamed of, especially just because you're having a lot of it. Cato didn't know what gave Peeta the idea that he thought that he only wanted him for sex but he spent the rest of the evening explaining to the nervous blond how he had never thought that for one second. In fact, Cato had always thought that Peeta's willingness to have sex with him so often was reassurance that he was still interested in him. Cato had this irrational worry for the first few months that Peeta would realise how much of a better person he was and leave Cato because he knew he could find better.

There were so many things that they had done outside of their relationship that debunked Peeta's concern. They went on dates nearly every other day; they spent time with one another's families; they studied together; wrote music together; performed together . . . There was so much they did that even if they did it every night it still wouldn't justify an argument of them wanting one another purely for sexual reasons.

It was a joke between them now, one that they constantly teased each other with, but their rising popularity did nothing for making their intimate lives more casual. In fact, it only made it less so. Any interaction they had was constantly fraught with worry over being caught by fans or press. Their first night in Snow's mansion was the first time they had properly been able to let go since they started touring.

"What if our fans start thinking what I thought?" asked Peeta.

Cato blanched. "It's none of our fans' business what goes on in our sex lives," he answered.

Peeta's eyes showed that he knew that Cato was right. Sometimes his brain would make him worry simply for the sake of having something to worry about.

"You should find comfort in the fact that after nearly five years of dating I still find you so amazingly beautiful that I struggle to control myself around you," Cato said, trying to lighten the mood through flirting.

Peeta laughed softly, shaking his head and smiling broadly. "Is that what it is? I just thought you had the self-control of a poodle in heat," he teased. He leaned forward and reconnected their lips, fingers tightening the slightest of bits around Cato's hands.

Cato gladly accepted, moving his mouth in sync with his boyfriend's and drawing the smaller boy closer by releasing his hand and placing it on his back. Peeta shifted, his leg brushing against Cato's side as he allowed himself to be pulled closer, the sensation causing Cato to shiver as goose pimples broke out across his skin.

"Maybe you shouldn't control yourself sometimes," Peeta murmured as they parted for breath. He released Cato's other hand and lay back on the bed, allowing himself to relax into the mattress despite Cato's hungry gaze burning into his body.

Cato grinned and moved to loom over Peeta, pressing his lips against the smaller boy's mouth again. Peeta strained upward towards him, hand sliding up Cato's arm and resting on his shoulder as they kissed. It didn't matter where or how Peeta touched him, he always left a trail of fire in his wake.

"Trust me, the control is there for a reason," Cato answered in a low, sultry voice. The hand he had resting on Peeta's hip moved upwards, pushing the sweater Peeta was wearing up to his chest along the way. Peeta sucked in deliciously as Cato moved downwards, the older boy enjoying how the younger anticipated his touch before he'd even felt it. "If I didn't have it, I'd be eating you out under the table at conferences and using concert intermission time to remove the sweat from your neck with my tongue."

Peeta laughed as Cato settled beside him on the bed. His blue eyes flickered to Cato's own green ones and he murmured, "I never got to give you that treat after Annie's party . . ."

"Ah, well, that was not your fault," Cato sighed, throwing his hands behind his head. "Fate decided to kick you in the nuts that night . . ."

Peeta wasn't appeased by this response. He sat up and slung himself onto Cato's hips, his sweater still half way up his torso and socks on his feet. "You seem to forget that I can hold authority of my own," he said.

Cato snorted. "Aye, sure. The authority of a kitten."

Peeta squinted angrily. "It's like you don't want me to give you that blowjob."

Cato raised his eyebrows. "And how does sitting on top of me achieve that?"

"Well, you need warmed up first! You don't just jump straight into it, do you?" Peeta answered, so easily wound up it was hilarious. Cato grinned and burst into laughter as Peeta swatted him. It was the term 'warmed up' that got to the older boy; as if he was a turkey that had been sitting in the freezer too long.

"Go on then," Cato said, still laughing, "warm me up."

Peeta scowled. His eyes held a mischievous gleam as he slowly began to move his hips against Cato's, his fingers finding the hem of his sweater so he could slowly pull it over his head. Okay, Cato took back anything he previously said, this was definitely worth the silly euphemism. So Peeta may not have had as much authority as he claimed but Cato couldn't deny that his gentle approach was a winner. Every time Peeta's hips pushed against Cato's it felt like a fresh jolt to his system, electrifying his nerves.

Peeta threw the jumper away behind him, now sitting in nothing but his underwear and copious amounts of woolly socks. He never stopped moving, and Cato was so amazed by the boy above him he wondered-not for the first time-what he had done to deserve him. Even as his eyes closed to enjoy the sensations caused by his lover's hips rubbing his own, Cato's hands subconsciously found Peeta's butt to guide him a little as his arousal began to climb.

He felt Peeta's hands on his torso, the skin on skin contact burning fresh paths onto his body that swiftly faded away once removed. A soft sigh escaped his lips and he decided, again, not for the first time, that he was a lucky guy. An extremely lucky guy. Not because of the fame and fortune, but because he was the one who got to go home every day with Peeta. Peeta who, despite every trial and tribulation they encountered, was still here with him.

Peeta smiled, as if he could hear Cato's thought process, and leaned forward, pressing a small kiss to the taller boy's belly button. "I love you," Peeta said, a twinkle in his eyes as he looked up.

Cato brushed his fingers through Peeta's hair and returned the smile. "I love you too," he replied.

The once loving smile morphed into something more mischievous and Peeta descended lower, having decided that his lover had been 'warmed up' enough.

As immense pleasure washed over Cato and his eyes fluttered shut, he decided with extreme finality that they would overcome this obstacle, just like every other.

Just as they always did.

Chapter Text

Chapter Five

The Capitol was extravagant, that much had already been made clear from their music video with the flamboyant director. So whenever Cato and Peeta went into the city to go to the recording studio, they had tried to prepare themselves for the worst. Well, not the worst, that sounded rude, like they were insulting these people's culture, but it was more of being prepared so their reactions towards them wouldn't come off as offensive.

They had grown accustomed to 212 being advertised on billboards and jumbotrons as well, but the Capitol took this premise and stretched it to an extreme.

On the way into the city, there were posters at every street corner broadcasting their concerts and the dates they were scheduled for. Cato had been surprised. He thought they would have a more . . . fantastical means of advertisement in the Capitol. It was actually nice, to see something more subdued. He knew Peeta was surprised too, but it was in a good way.

Advertisement was necessary if they wanted people to come to their shows or for their fans to know where they were going to be performing. A key marketing tool. Cato could live with it, but he knew Peeta still struggled with the idea of having his face everywhere, even after all these years.

It was the centre of the city when the Capitol's true colours began to shine through. The city centre was a hub of activity; a square surrounded by tall buildings made out of candy coloured glass. The afternoon sun reflected off them, creating a rainbow of colours bouncing back. Every single one of them had either a huge screen or billboard attached, triple the size of any they had seen in all 12 Districts, displaying their image to all bystanders:

DISTRICT 212: JANUARY 5TH

BOOK YOUR TICKETS NOW!

The picture displayed on the posters were promotional photos they took for their most recent album 'From Out of The Shadows'. Since they hadn't done a photo shoot for the past few months, 'From Out of The Shadows's' photos were the most recent photos of 212 any marketing team could probably get a hold of.

Cato always had a soft spot for the photos taken for their albums. Maybe it was because it was a visual confirmation of he and Peeta following their dreams and getting to pursue their passion.

And, he'd be the first to admit, they were a sexy couple.

Although, Cato had never seen the photos so large before.

Gigantic versions of himself and Peeta were plastered all over the city centre. Cato with a cheeky smirk on his face; Marisol strapped across his torso like a backpack. Peeta a little in front of him; back to the camera; looking over his shoulder at the photographer with an innocent look in his big blue eyes. His hand clenched around a microphone cord so the microphone itself hung by his knees . . .

As they passed in the car, Cato considered how everyone tried to go with the same angle when marketing them. Sexy; cheeky; mysterious Cato and shy; innocent; beautiful Peeta. Cato wondered why he never noticed that until now . . .

"That poster is so big you can practically count my pores," Peeta muttered, cringing.

"Hardly. The Capitol airbrush everything," Finnick replied from the front of the car.

"Like they would need to airbrush anything," Cato answered subconsciously. He caught Peeta looking at him out of the corner of his eye and he grinned, sending a wink in his partner's direction. Peeta flushed but smiled, even though he knew that there was probably plenty that the Capitol had to airbrush. Cato didn't care. He loved Peeta for all his little imperfections. Or what the media considered imperfections anyways . . .

The recording studio they were headed to was in the middle of the city. Of course, there were fans already there, somehow having figured out where they were headed. Cato always wondered how they found out where they were. He loved his fans, and didn't mind stopping to sign an autograph or two, but he had to admit that he found it slightly disconcerting that they always managed to beat them to their destination.

After taking some pictures and signing as many photos as they could, Cato and Peeta let Finnick take over and usher them into the studio. It was warm inside, the complete opposite to the ice cold outdoors where the storm from yesterday followed through to the next day. Cato hoped that the people outside would have the sense to go indoors now. Their fans would wait through rain, hail or shine sometimes and it put Cato on edge with worry. He didn't want them risking their own health and wellbeing just on the off chance of getting a photo with them . . .

They were immediately greeted by a woman with half of her head shaven. The citizens of the Capitol had a very bizarre way of expressing themselves in terms of fashion and style. But, hey, if they were comfortable that way then who was Cato to judge?

"Hello, I'm Cressida, Ms Coin's PA," the woman introduced, shaking both Cato and Peeta's hands. "It's an honour to have you both finally here at D13 studios."

District 212 had been signed onto D13 studios for years now but they had never actually been in the building. Snow owned the entire complex and when he discovered 212 he immediately signed them to his studio. Since this was Peeta and Cato's first time in the Capitol itself, after recording in the smaller 13 studios within the 12 Districts, this was also their first time in the main D13 studio building.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Peeta smiled. "We're very excited to have finally made it here."

"I'll bet," Cressida grinned. She turned on her heel and gestured for them to follow. "Ms Coin is just finishing up in a meeting and has told me to take you to the booth. She'll most likely be already there before us. She's ever the punctual."

"I don't mean to sound ignorant but, who is Ms Coin?" Cato asked as they followed Cressida to an elevator.

"Don't hesitate to ask any questions, Mr Hadley." Cressida pressed the button of the elevator with a manicured finger and turned to face them. "Ms Coin runs the D13 studios in Snow's absence. She's kind of like . . . a representative of his authority. She knows what Snow wants, and makes sure that the artists within these walls achieve their full potential."

"Please call me Cato." The title Mr Hadley made Cato feel older than he actually was.

"How does she know what Snow wants?" Peeta asked as the elevator doors slid open.

"They've worked closely together for many years," Cressida explained. "Despite Snow being the only one in the District at the time, believe it or not Coin also had a hand in the decision to sign you both on. We have to say, it was a very wise decision on both of their parts." Cressida grinned, stabbing the fourth button as the doors slid shut. "We've never had an act as successful as 212."

"Well, we owe a lot of that to Snow," Peeta modestly said. "And Coin, too, if she had a hand in it."

"Don't be so modest," Cressida chastised. "It's okay to admit your own talent once and a while. Especially here in the Capitol."

Cato raised his eyebrows and shrugged when Peeta looked in his direction somewhat helplessly. What Cressida was basically saying was that they could boast a little about their success, and Cato wasn't even sure if boast was in Peeta's vocabulary. If he could barely take a compliment without blushing viciously, how could he possibly compliment himself without dying of embarrassment?

The elevator let them out onto a red corridor. The floor was carpeted and put Cato in mind of the red carpet outside award ceremonies as they walked down it. The walls were a candyfloss pink colour and made the area almost headache-inducingly bright. Finnick made an unintelligent noise behind them, clearly amused by how the corridor resembled the room of a five-year-old girl going through the Barbie phase.

Cressida was friendly enough, and kept conversation going the entire walk to the room. She even stopped when she noticed Peeta's painted fingernails and complimented on how intricately done they were. At first, it sounded like she was insulting him but when she began to quiz him as they walked on what type of polish he used it became clear that she was genuinely interested. Cato wasn't surprised as, from what he had seen so far of the eccentric city, painted nails on a male was hardly an anomaly.

Peeta had been dabbling with painting his nails for years now. He didn't care if everyone else saw it as fruity or feminine, he liked how it looked and enjoyed creating patterns with the tiny brush. There were online trolls that would bait their fans by saying that Peeta wearing nail polish made him a, ahem, a rude word beginning with 'f'. Sadly, most of the time many of their fans fell for it and would fight back. Peeta didn't care, so the fans shouldn't care as much either. Trolls were pretty incredible though, they knew exactly which buttons to push to get people angry. Cato only wished that the trolls themselves were as easy to bait and annoy.

When they reached the recording studio, Coin was already there waiting for them. She was stern looking, with long grey hair. She looked like the sort of woman who would bite you for spilling a drink.

"Ms Coin, this is Cato Hadley and Peeta Mellark, District 212," Cressida said as they entered, closing the door as Finnick assumed the usual position outside the room.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you both," Coin smiled, holding her hand out towards them.

"The pleasure is ours," Peeta answered, shaking her hand. "It's great to finally be here in the Capitol."

"I'm sure it's some culture shock," Coin said. "The Capitol is definitely by enlarge much different from the Districts. In good ways and bad."

"Thankfully, we have only encountered the good," said Cato as he also shook her hand, deciding to put the situation with the Peenick article behind them. Paparazzi were paparazzi and tabloids were tabloids. They only cared about making money and selling stories, and were willing to make up anything to do this. It wasn't new, and wasn't Capitol exclusive either.

"I took the liberty of fetching something to drink." Coin turned and picked up a cardboard cup holder with two Styrofoam cups sitting inside it. She plucked one out and passed it to Peeta. "Cinnamon tea, right?"

"Right," Peeta said, baffled as he accepted the cup from her.

"And black coffee," she said, handing the other cup to Cato.

Cato was mildly taken aback at first, but concluded that she must have been talking to Snow and the topic of what they drank came up. Besides, the journey into the city centre had been gruelling due to the traffic and he had been craving a coffee since he first shut the door behind him. Right now wasn't a time for questioning moments. In fact, the confusion was only in his head for a moment before it was gone again.

"I trust your journey here was okay," Coin said, gesturing to the seats beside the recording bay. Cressida remained standing, hugging her clipboard to her chest almost protectively. "The city gets very busy at this time in the afternoon. Especially on the weekend."

"Yeah, it was a bit maddening at some points," Peeta agreed as they sat down. "But we've driven through District 6 during the Festival of Flight so it's definitely not the worst we've been through."

"Why in the world would you do something like that?" Coin laughed.

"We were scheduled to perform," Peeta shrugged. "Eventually we got escorted . . ."

"But by God were those two hours' mind numbingly boring," Cato muttered.

"There's only a certain amount of times you can play eye spy before the novelty wears off." Peeta pulled a face, clearly remembering the lack of creativity the three of them had had as the game dragged on. Finnick had resorted to saying 'R' every time it was his turn for 'road' or 'C' for 'cars.' The escort had ended up feeling like a gift from the heavens.

"Well, I'm glad that the journey here wasn't as dull as that," Coin smiled. There was something about her smile that unnerved Cato. It didn't quite reach her eyes, which held a particular seriousness to them that put him on edge. "What we're here to discuss today is a new idea that Snow and I have been discussing in relation to trying to keep things fresh."

"Fresh?" Peeta repeated over the rim of his cup. "Are things getting . . . stale?"

Coin shrugged. "I wouldn't say stale," she disagreed. "More . . . predictable. Your music isn't the problem, due to your wide range of ability there has never been a reoccurring theme to the albums you produce. What we are talking about here is the image. The image that you both put across to sell your tickets and your music. It's all become the same."

Cato remembered what he had thought about when he had seen all the posters plastered over the city centre. Everyone thought the same of them, and went with the same angle for 212 over and over again. Maybe Coin had a point, maybe there was a theme to all of their promotion. Not that that was necessarily a bad thing. In a way, the image they had sold of themselves thus far was all truth. What else could they possibly sell of themselves besides the truth?

"What did you have in mind?" Cato asked.

"Snow and I were discussing the possibility of a collab," Coin explained, tapping the end of her pen against the top of the table.

"A collab?" Cato voiced dubiously. "As in work with someone else?"

It was a foreign idea. Cato and Peeta had always just worked with one another, never having considered the possibility of a collaboration. District 212 had always just been Cato and Peeta, and even if they did work with somebody else, they would never be part of 212's legacy. It wasn't a matter of kindness by inclusion, it was a matter of fact.

"One of the most popular musicians in the Capitol at the moment is Gale Hawthorne," Coin explained. "His popularity ensured the careers of such celebrities as Gloss and Cashmere Sardick; Enobaria Venice; Katniss Everdeen"-

"Katniss? Didn't the Valley Song secure Katniss' career?" Peeta frowned.

Coin shook her head, clearly amused by this idea. "Why do you think people bought the Single? Miss Everdeen had a fleeting relationship with Mr Hawthorne, and his fans bought her music during the period of their relationship as a means of support. Why do you think she was a one hit wonder? When they broke up, nobody bought her songs. Especially not Gale's fans."

Cato's mind went to the conversation with Snow about gimmicks. It seemed that everyone needed a gimmick of some sort to stay afloat, or else their careers would drown. However, this knowledge didn't make Cato any the keener to take on board Snow's advice of exploiting his relationship with Peeta for the sake of the fans. Still wasn't going to happen.

"It would obviously be District 212 ft. Gale Hawthorne, for the idea that you managed to get such a big name to collab with you would not only excite your fans, but Gale's as well. Bringing in the idea that you are friendly would increase the possibility of Gale's fans becoming yours as well," Coin explained.

Well she certainly had this all planned out . . .

"Our goal was never to gain fans," Peeta said. "It's certainly amazing that so many people enjoy our music. In fact, it blows my mind every day how many lives seemed to have been touched simply by our ability to give them music. However, popularity through following was certainly never my intention."

Coin seemed almost perturbed by this new information. "Surely you realise where you are now is because of your fans."

"I'm not saying that our fans are irrelevant," Peeta insisted. "In fact, 212's fans are very important to me. That doesn't mean I'm going to alter what I'm used to just in the off chance we may gain more. It doesn't . . . feel right."

Cato agreed with Peeta. However, he didn't see a problem with at the very least meeting Gale and seeing if they had similar talents that could be possibly merged together. "The possibility of a collab shouldn't be taken off the table immediately," he decided. "However, I don't see it coming of much use to us. Whoever it would be that would join us, whether they're deathly popular or not, I'd be afraid of them feeling like an outsider because Peeta and I are so used to one another."

Coin nodded, thankfully seeming to understand. "All we ask is that you at least meet Mr Hawthorne before you make your decision."

"I don't see a problem with that," said Cato. He looked to Peeta. "What about you?"

"No, I don't either," Peeta answered.

"Brilliant," Coin beamed, twirling her pen around in her fingers to hold it properly in her hand and gesturing Cressida over so she could jot something down onto the girl's clipboard. "I'll set up a meeting for after Christmas, then." As she wrote, she asked, "Is there anything either of you would like to talk to me about? Any future plans? Ideas? Something for after the performances in the Capitol conclude?"

"Well, we're actually considering going on vacation," Peeta explained.

Where Snow had expressed his deepest concerns with this idea, Coin simply raised her eyebrows with surprise. She said nothing.

"But we did discuss an idea last night for something new we would like to do when we return," Peeta continued, once it was clear that Coin wasn't going to protest in the way their agent had done.

"And what's that?" Coin asked, pen poised over the clipboard in preparation for anything.

"I don't know if you know or not but before District 212 came about Cato and I made YouTube videos," Peeta explained. He combed his fingers through his hair as he modestly admitted, "They were quite popular back in the day before we were scouted by Snow."

"We did song covers and a few vlogs," Cato explained. "But ever since Snow found us, the channel has gone dead. Our subscriber count, surprisingly, hasn't gone down, but we feel awful that we haven't been providing any new content since 212 got big. We don't want those who followed us in the beginning thinking that we just treated Youtube as a platform to get big, because that wasn't our intention. Snow didn't even find us through our channel, which I'm sure you already know yourself."

Coin, by this point, was very intrigued as to where this was going. "So what's your idea?"

"We were thinking of recording a YouTube album, of all the songs we covered over the years on the channel," Peeta explained. "It wouldn't have 212's name of it, instead it would have our channel name on it, so we wouldn't be selling it as a District 212 product."

Coin nodded along with Peeta's words, her pen moving on the page without her even having to look down at it. "That could work," she said. "Not only would it bring attention to how much you care about your fans, but it may also bring on board the few of your subscribers who hadn't been aware that you had moved on, as well."

Cato was glad for how opened minded Coin was about the idea. He wasn't sure how Snow would have responded to such a thing, as their agent didn't seem to fond of acknowledging the existence of their lives pre-212. Cato didn't know why, maybe the old man believed it was a distraction? Whatever the reason, Cato was relieved that Coin was taking the idea on board.

"I'll talk about it with Snow," Coin decided. "I know how difficult a man he can be to crack so just leave it with me."

"Thank you," Peeta smiled, the fact that one of his ideas were actually being considered for once and not just tossed away making him very happy.

Hopefully, if they were lucky, the idea that they had this planned out would make Snow more open to the idea of a vacation . . .

~xXx~

That evening, Cato and Peeta sat in Snow's front room, watching the rain as it continued to batter the earth. How was it possible that it had rained for almost two days straight now? Hopefully it would lighten up soon or they'd be dealing with floods. Snow was out for the night with some work colleagues, so they basically had the mansion to themselves. Not that there was much to do in the big, mostly empty house besides take up room on the furniture.

"Why have I never thought of looking up 212 fanfiction until now?" Cato asked rhetorically.

Peeta looked up from his phone, which lit up his face in a pale white glow. "What?" he frowned.

"Fanfiction, for 212," Cato said, turning his phone to face Peeta and wiggling it a little. "I never realised until now that some had been written. Well, I say some, actually a lot . . ."

"And you're reading it right now?" Peeta scoffed.

"Well, when you happen upon a 'Peetato' fanfiction where the first sentence in the description is 'heavily based off Fifty Shades of Grey' it's hard not to be curious," Cato shrugged.

Peeta groaned. "Seriously?" He looked back down at his own phone, thumbs tapping consistently without pause. He was playing one of those puzzle games that always became extremely popular within weeks, ensuing a bucket load of sequels that were all basically the same except with different names.

"A fanfiction for 212 based off a fanfiction of Twilight," Cato snickered. "How fitting."

Peeta snorted. "Aye, totally," he replied sarcastically.

Cato flicked his thumb horizontally across his screen, flicking the page. He raised his eyebrows as he realised that his non-committed flicking of the pages had taken him straight to the graphic content. "Oh, look, getting to the good stuff here," he teased, poking Peeta's leg mockingly.

"I'm sure it's absolutely riveting," Peeta murmured, not taking his eyes off of his game.

"'Cato fastened his victim's wrists above his head'-Wait, victim? Who in their right mind would refer to a partner as a victim?" Cato cringed. "Okay, maybe this is creepier than I originally thought. When you consider it as some fan holed up in their room writing it the scary meter does shoot up a bit."

Peeta put his phone down and sat up, taking Cato's from his hands and skim reading the page himself. "Well, they seem to think you have eight pack abs so they clearly aren't as well informed as they think they are," he muttered.

"I could have an eight pack," Cato grinned.

"Yeah, in opposite world. I think six is enough for you," Peeta answered, hair falling over his eyes as he continued to read. "And they also think my eyes are brown."

Cato burst out laughing. "What? Seriously?" he chuckled.

Peeta nodded. "'Cato's gaze never wavered once as he wrapped his lips around the younger boy's nipple, even when the chocolate orbs fluttered with desire'," he read aloud.

"Somebody needs an eye test," said Cato, taking the phone back from Peeta. As he did so, his thumb accidentally pressed a small speech bubble from the bottom of the screen. It seemed to pull up all the comments that had been made on the story. As Cato read them, a frown burrowed onto his face. "Oh my god," he said.

"What?" Peeta replied, peering over Cato's shoulder. "What is it?"

"Uh . . ." Cato let Peeta read it himself.

"This is a load of shit, Peeta's eyes are obviously blue!"

"You're clearly mentally retarded if you think Peeta's eyes are brown. They're blue, idiot!"

"Are you serious? Peeta's eyes are brown! WTF is wrong with you?"

It went on . . .

Peeta cringed. "Motherfucker," he muttered under his breath.

"My thoughts exactly," Cato replied. He shut the app down and put his phone away. "Why do they have to be like that?"

Shoving his own phone into his pocket, Peeta settled closer to Cato on the sofa. He shrugged. "I don't know," he said. "I wish I did. Maybe then we could do something about it . . ."

Cato decided it was best not to think about it. He threw his arm over Peeta and drew the boy closer to him. Peeta nestled himself into Cato's side and let his eyes flutter shut, trying to lock out all the disturbing thoughts of the kind of hate their fans were truly capable of when they wanted to be. A part of Cato wished there was a way he could them that they weren't going to thank them for spreading so much negativity. So, someone made a mistake? So what? Did it really matter that much?

One thing was for sure. It wasn't just Snow they had to worry about being okay with them going on vacation. It was the fans, too.