A/N: So, I know this is a break from what I normally write. Hunger Games! Yay! I'm actually, secretly, a pretty big fan. This idea just popped into my head one night, and I had to make it real. I'm sorry to disappoint you all with a non-update to my Eagle fandom stuff, but I've been writer's blocked for that for months. So enjoy some Hunger Games in the meantime!

Disclaimer: I own nothing of the Hunger Games and don't intend to profit off of this. All credit for the characters goes to Suzanne Collins and Lionsgate. I'm just borrowing them.

Warnings: Slightly underage man lovins, although both of them are 16, so they can legally consent. Still, if that, or CatoxPeeta in general squicks you, leave now. Slight D/s, dubcon, bondage and angst.

iixii

"Incentives"

by wheatleyandrews

iixii

"It's never going to work." The jet-haired girl skips through the stony stream, best hunting knife fast in her hand as the gamemakers' sun dips below the artificial horizon.

"Clove, hear me out." Her companion is far less graceful, stumbling over hidden roots and grasping saplings for balance. The forest doesn't play to his brute strength.

Clove ignores Cato's plea, securing her left arm around a nearby oak. "You're going to fall in if you step there." Cato, just about to shift his weight, steps back from the slab of rock. On second thought, it looks rather wet. "How did you even pass wilderness at the academy?" She stretches out her hand to Cato across the brook.

"I don't need your help. I'm fine." He steps back into the grass and checks his traction, and then bounds forward to the brook's edge. "You forget that-" he leaps and bend his legs, and connects with the shore on Clove's side, "-I did pass, and with a higher grade than you."

"Bullshit. Then you'd definitely know how to set these traps without my help." Clove edges up the precarious, cut slope and speeds into the forest. The sun is halfway gone by now, and with the manmade light fading over the arena she's out of Cato's eyeshot quickly. Cato prods his foot into the slope's loam, searching for handholds to assist his ascent. "Don't even think of climbing there, Mr. Survivalist." Clove's voice rings out from upstream, where her trap gathers all the fish that glide with the water's flow. The quick, single splash lets Cato know tonight's dinner is caught.

And just as the root reveals itself for Cato's purchase, Clove returns with three trout speared on her blade. "Hungry?" With no reply save Cato's loathsome stare, she slides down the slope to where Cato stands. "If I were you, I wouldn't be so concerned about District 12, for the love of God."

"She got an eleven for a reason."

"For her skills with a bow, which we have."

"It proves she's a good hunter, which means she knows the forest better than we do."

"Speak for yourself." The digital sun sends its final maroon rays toward them before the arena slips into night's pocket. Clove crosses the creek, leading the way across the choicest stones, where Cato trails. "Lover boy knows what she's like. That's why we have him."

"Lover boy spends the entire day in an apron frosting cakes. His only real use is finding her." Cato hauls himself into the forest with Clove's assistance, swallowing his pride. "And he's suspiciously silent."

"He said on national television that he's straight, Cato. You're not going to fish anything out of him." The moon begins to slowly rise, shedding light with which they walk by. Cato crashes through the underbrush and keeps his hand fast around his own knife.

"You say that like we haven't lied on national television."

"Thank you for destroying our entire base of sponsors."

Cato takes her by her shoulder and swivels her around. "Stop beating around the bush and admit I'm right. You've seen the way he glances at me."

"Alright, maybe. But you think that by seducing him, he's gonna spill all his beans?" Clove brandishes her knife at him, the fish flopping as she gesticulates. "If anything he'll be angry at you and leave, and you'll spoil our only chance at finding her."

"Then we kill him. He's not the daintiest in the forest. He won't be hard to find."

"Neither are you, and you keep worrying your socks off about lover boy's wet dream." The landmarks are familiar now. Cato knows they are close to camp. It's his last chance.

"So it's a gamble. But any way it turns out, we win. We find out where she is and we kill her, or we kill him, get rid of the dead weight and kill her only possible ally."

"Eleven's still out there. You don't know which side they'll join."

"That's beside the point." The tips of the tarp tents peek through the brush. "She'll still be weakened. Give it a chance."

Clove's head shakes in dismay as they plod through into the clearing. "The blood is on your own hands."

The rest of the pack has gathered around the middle of the clearing, where Marvel has placed the hotplate and solar battery, which has charged all day in the artificial sunbeams. Their incoherent chatter quiets as they see Clove approach with food to fill their aching stomachs.

Taking place by Marvel, Clove slices open each fish and begins to prepare dinner, while Cato lightens down by Peeta. Blue eyes stare at the ground, the baker's interests directed at the pebbles in the soil. Cato observes him closely, watching as the skin of his fingers wears away the detritus as he rolls the pebbles in his hands. "Nervous habit?"

Cato's question startles the boy, and Peeta glances up quickly, his blush unseen in the moon's low light. "It… ah-… it just reminds me of rolling marzipan. You know, anything to remind you of home." He can't tell if Cato's confused visage is feigned, but he continues. "Marzipan… it's almonds and sugar in a paste. You can shape it like clay… usually I make the miniature fruit on wedding cakes with it."

"Isn't District 12 a bit poor for almonds?" Cato tugs his feet up to his chest, crosslegged, and cocks his head, earning him a cursory glance from Clove. He straightens his head again as Peeta turns to answer.

"Almonds come from a fruit like a peach." Their eyes match and Cato raises his smile slightly. Peeta glances back to his pebbles. Those brown eyes were too warm. "There are peach groves in 12. You can substitute the insides of the pit for almonds."

"Well I'm sure it's all just as well if you're making it. You know what you're doing." Another glance from Clove, which Cato turns to meet. Peeta glances upward, expecting the warmth of Cato's eyes, meeting his cheek instead. Following Cato's gaze he meets Clove briefly, and then peeks down to inspect her handiwork.

"Wait!" Peeta calls out. In her hand, Clove holds the guts of the trout. "Don't toss those. You can bait traps for raccoons with them." Clove glances to him inquisitively while Marvel and Cato chuckle.

"Looks like you don't know everything about the forest, Ms. Wilderness Class Kissass." Marvel's quip earns him a playful punch from Clove. "Cato told me all about your time at the academy." She grimaces as she empties the entrails into a flask from her sack.

Cato throws his arm around Peeta's shoulders. He expects the critical stare from Clove, but ignores it. The fish sizzle on the hotplate. "You're more useful than you look, lover boy." Cato tugs him closer and their bodies touch. He can feel the shiver.

"It's… it's getting a bit cold." Peeta tries to write off the next couple shivers as Cato's slender fingers caress his shoulders up and down. "The raccoon trap thing… a tip from my mentor."

"Too bad there's no bread to bake. It'd sure be warm in your kitchen." Cato lets his arm fall away as Marvel passes two sides of trout to them. "Eat up, lover boy." Cato passes the trout to Peeta, and their eyes meet again. This time, the baker's blush is deep enough that it shines through the moonlight's best efforts.

iixii

Crickets chirp. The gamemakers refuse to bring the sunrise yet. Burrowing through the thin tarp, the light of the computerized moon allows Cato just enough vision to unwrap himself from Clove's side, where they huddle together for warmth. By Cato's estimate three hours have passed, time enough for lover boy to settle into his tent and hopefully fall asleep. Cato doesn't want Peeta expecting him. Carefully Cato sits up and edges out of the tent, squinting into the indigo haze of the night. Ahead of him he spots the gleam of the polished pebbles, arranged in a neat mound in front of the tent opposite his.

And of course, there were the blue eyes gleaming through the haze as well. "Can't sleep, twelve?" Cato says quietly, kneeling down and crawling into the baker's tent.

"It's just a bit unnerving. Knowing they could flip a switch and end us." Peeta's gaze doesn't meet Cato's eyes, so Cato sidles closer to the baker.

"Well, they usually leave the careers be until the very end. We should be okay for the time being."

Peeta snorts. "You worried about having to kill your little friends once the time comes?"

"I'm more worried of your little girlfriend killing us first." Cato puts a finger to the blonde boy's jawline to grab his attention. "You seen any sign of her?"

Peeta's hand brushes away the finger, but he turns his head to find the brown eyes and soft smile welcoming him. He chuckles. "She's not my girlfriend." He hesitates. "Yet. And honestly, I have no idea where she is. She's nimble. Good at evading. Things you need to be a hunter. My opposite, really." He glances down.

"Come on, you're strong," Cato pleads, putting his hand to Peeta's firm bicep. "I bet you could lift me if you had to." It seems the ice refuses to break. He moves in closer.

"Cato, what are you getting at?" Peeta wraps his arms around his tucked-up legs as Cato's arm wraps around his shoulder again.

"Two strong guys like you and me. We're in the same boat. Out of our element. We've got to stick together to make it." The last words he whispers as he grows close to Peeta's ear. "Relax. Aren't you cold? You're shivering. You need company." He puts a hand to Peeta's chest and pushes softly. Something inside Peeta gives, and he rolls back into the forest floor and lets his legs fall as he lies under Cato's touch. "I've seen the way you look at me. Stealing a glance when you think I'm not paying attention." Cato rolls out on top of him, taking hold of the baker's hands and pinning them above his head. He whispers, "On TV you said you came here with the girl you crushed on. But now, Mr. Mellark, something tells me you have an eye out for more than one of us."

"Cato, I-… I don't know where you got that impression from but-…" It's useless. His quickening heart and breath betray him. He starts over. "I'm not gay, I like girls and I like curves and not muscles and-"

"Bullshit, baker boy. You like muscles. You like muscles keeping you in place. You like these muscles dominating you, don't you?" He smiled and edged his face closer to Peeta's, which shone with light sweat. "It's okay, Peeta. I'm not a fucking bumpkin from coal country. There are lots of gay guys in 2. Don't be ashamed. I'm not going to burn you at the stake for liking dick." He kicks off his shoes to match Peeta's already-bare feet, and begins to play with them.

"But I-… I don't like guys, and I don't like dick."

"Then why is yours hard?" Peeta's whimper comes as Cato rolls into him. "If you didn't want this you could have thrown me off you and killed me easily by now. You want me." Peeta doesn't respond, but only stares, pleading, into the brown eyes above. "Katniss never gave you what you wanted. Why should she have you?" Somehow, though nearly impossible, Cato comes even closer to Peeta's mouth. "Give up on your girl on fire. I know who you're really on fire for."

Peeta closes his eyes and bridges the gap. Lips meet and sparks fly, Peeta rolling up into the warm body above. Cato releases the baker's hands and lets them feel across his back and shoulders while he runs his own through the blonde's soft locks. Their lips are swollen and beet red, and Peeta lets the career's tongue trespass into his mouth to run over his teeth and cheeks, the warmth making Peeta fear he could melt into the ground.

Slowly Cato inches his hands down across Peeta's chest, kneading the muscle as he goes, making Peeta squirm and moan softly into their kissing mouths. Peeta's hands find the hem of Cato's shirt as Cato's find his, and slowly they free themselves from the fabric separating them, pulling the black garbs over their heads to somewhere they are no longer a distraction. "You waste no time," Peeta whispers.

"Shut your mouth, lover boy," comes the harsh reply as Cato silences Peeta with his hand, Peeta's wet lips moistening his palm. His lips trail down Peeta's strong chest, igniting fireworks at every contact as he beelines downward across the blonde's stomach. "They just couldn't wash the smell of bread off you, huh? Must be burnt into your skin." Cato inhales deeply, relishing in the smell of browning crust on Peeta's stomach. "I'd love to have a taste. It smells heavenly." Another shiver comes from Cato's captive, who whimpers softly into his hand.

Cato releases Peeta's mouth, and his relieved, heavy breaths fill the air of the tent. Cato brings his hands to the waist of Peeta's pants, just above the tent perking through them. "Someone in the Capitol is about to cream their pants," he teases, tugging lightly as he bites off the button with his teeth. "Show me how much you want me, Peeta."

Peeta closes his eyes as his breath quickens again. "I want you to… to touch me, Cato." There's gravel in his voice, made wet from Cato's sweet breath filling his lungs.

"More than you want Katniss to?" The zipper comes down at Cato's prodding.

Peeta's voice grows louder. "So much… more. So much more."

"I don't believe you, baker boy. Tell me more." He tugs the black jeans halfway down to Peeta's knees. His black boxer briefs stand tall and proud. Peeta whimpers again and buries his hands in Cato's hair.

"I want you to do everything to me. I want you to feel me and suck me and-" Cato bats away Peeta's hands.

"Beg for it like the little bitch you are, baker boy." He tucks Peeta's hands under his buttocks to keep them from distracting him. He's in total control of the blonde worming under his every caress.

"Take me, please take me. I'll do anything. Don't stop, please." The desperation shows in his pleading.

"Good. But I need more, my little admirer." Cato's lips wrap around the tip of the tent, teasing Peeta as he sucks him through the cloth.

"Cato, I'm yours. Anything you want-" Peeta yelps and arches his back from Cato's ministrations - "Anything for this. Just do it now."

"You little gay boys are so predictable. It's just like at the academy…" In one swift tug, Cato frees Peeta's cock from its cloth prison and rips the garment in two, settling around his knees. Peeta whimpers against the cold air of the night, and Cato edges close to his hardened length. "Tell me, does your oven ever get this hot?"

Peeta has to contain a scream. He nearly wakes the camp with his moans as Cato's mouth descends around him. A string of curses spills from his lips, and sweat rolls down his face. "Cato, yes, please… Aaah, God, don't stop…" It has only been a minute, but Peeta feels the edge coming quickly. "Cato, I'm going to…" By instinct he frees his hands and lets them wander into Cato's hair.

And that's when the world comes crashing down, because Cato stops. With one final trail up Peeta's length, he surfaces and pulls himself up onto Peeta's chest. The baker winces as his sensitive length grinds against the rough cloth of Cato's pants. "You think you're in control, huh?" Cato grasps both of Peeta's hands, and his smile drops. "Don't you know you're my little bitch?" His brown eyes harden into impregnable stones as he stares directly into Peeta's innocent blue.

"I didn't mean to… to-to take control. Please, I-I need this, Cato."

"And I need something, too. We're protecting you so you can give us information on your girlfriend." Cato's free hand finds a coil of rope on the tent floor. "You need to hold up your end of the deal." He brings the rope to Peeta's hands and fasts them together, and secures the free ends to an exposed root peeking up through the ground above Peeta's head.

"I told you, I don't know anything about where she is." Cato grinds into Peeta again, and he hollers from the sandpaper feel against his length.

"That's bullshit and you know it. Now give me what I want, and you'll get what you want." His stare never breaks as he inches his hands down Peeta's sides to caress his firm ass. Slowly his right hand snakes around to Peeta's cock and begins to tug. "Tell me, my little beggar."

Peeta's squirming starts again as Cato uses his free hand to tug down his own pants. "Aaah… I saw something…" Peeta feels Cato's cock as it tents through his boxers and presses into his crotch. It's becoming too much. Peeta knows the edge is coming. "Oh… gyah… she's a hunter…"

"And?" Cato came closer to his face. Peeta could smell himself on Cato's breath; the smell of hearty, crusty bread, sweat and the unmistakable scent of sex. He met Cato's lips again and let Cato's smell flow over him, of musk and cool mountain breeze.

"I-… I saw her in the… at training." Cato tugs down his briefs and breaks the kiss only to spit into his palm. He takes them both in hand and begins to stroke, sending lightning through Peeta from the warmth, the want and the roughness of the rope holding him down.

"Oh yeah? Where?" Cato's voice grows playful as he dips back down into Peeta's mouth.

"Hunting station… she was practicing making… oh my god Cato… snares. She makes them funny, like in a… figure eight. Cato! Jesus Christ, I'm gonna come." He counts down the seconds in his head. "I saw her snares… across the brook… through the forest... aah! By the outcrop…" He can't control his speech any longer.

Cato only speeds up in his strokes, bringing their cocks closer. He's keen too, sitting on the edge. His own voice begins to stutter. "Tell me how much you want me, Peeta. Tell me." Peeta only moans inconherently. "Come on, Peeta, you're mine. Say it!" His voice grows louder.

"Aaaah, Cato, I-I'm yours, I'm yours- I'll do anything- do everything, please, you control me completely, I'm yours, you control me, you have me…" Peeta was lost in his moans again.

"You're goddamn fucking right, I do." Peeta's moans and yelps were louder than ever. "Come for me, Peeta, come for me." Cato edges away from his mouth and starts kissing down the baker's tan neck. Peeta arches his back up into Cato's warm body, his hands struggling against the roughness of the rope chafing his wrists.

With one final stroke, Peeta is coming, sending streams everywhere across Cato's hand and length and across his broad chest. "Cato! Cato, Cato!" he moans as the euphoria rips from his crotch across his entire body. He can't stop his incoherent curses as they tumble out of his mouth once more.

"That's right, baker boy, you're mine!" Cato speeds faster and faster until he throws himself over the edge, his essence cascading across his hand and onto Peeta's stomach in stream after stream. He bites into Peeta's shoulder as he rides the waves of his orgasm, making sure his teeth leave a mark. "Don't you fucking forget you're mine."

They pant in the darkness as they slowly descend from their mutual elation. Cato brings his hand, dripping with their passion, to his mouth, and licks every finger clean. "Can't have the others knowing, can we?" He dips back into Peeta's mouth, and lets Peeta's tongue taste, desperate for more of him. Cato falls away and licks down Peeta's chest, taking as much as he can before taking the remains of Peeta's briefs and wiping them both down.

It's only then, as Cato unties the rope that binds him to the ground, tugs up his pants and huddles close for warmth, that Peeta comes crashing down. As Cato wraps his arms too tightly around Peeta's stomach, he grows sick.

Betraying his true love for a petty release. Selling Katniss out for sex. That's all he is. A whore. Used. A traitor. He opens his mouth to speak. But what is he going to say?

"Nobody's going to know, Peeta." Cato puts a finger to his lips. "Now sleep. We need our rest for the hunt tomorrow."

Peeta knows he's not talking about animals.

A/N: Make sure to read the sequel, Adrenaline!