Cato stood abruptly, "we need more firewood," he announced to his comrades. They stared back at him with questions on their faces. Clove's expression was sharpest. She knew as well as he did they were set for the night, "come on Loverboy, we're going to find more," Something lit behind Clove's eyes. No, she wouldn't question him, not if he shared his information with her. Which he would, he supposed. The others, the girl from four and the luxury tributes did not voice their concerns if they had them. For his part, Peeta only stood and stretched, ready to follow him into the night.

The two of them marched until they were far from the firelight, their eyes adjusted slowly and Cato slowed as they came into a small clearing. Cato turned to face the other boy, sizing him up. He had a plan, but he didn't know exactly how to execute it.

"Are you going to kill me now, then? You won't find her without me, you know." Peeta remarked quietly, his hands hanging helplessly at his sides. There was no fear in his eyes.

"No, Peeta Mellark," he replied, narrowing his eyes, "not just yet. But don't think for a second I don't know exactly what you're doing. They might believe you want to help us, but I don't."

If this was news to Peeta it did not show on his face. He remained open, impassive. They stared at one another.

"You love her." Cato said.

"I do," he replied very simply.

"And you're with us because as a group, we're the only ones that you think could take her down, and you're not going to miss the chance to try to protect her." The nonsense of this colored his tone.

Now small marks of surprise did reflect on the other boy's face. "Is that why you brought me out here?" he took a deep breath and asked again, "Are you going to kill me?"

This was strange to him, the way the boy kept asking if he would kill him. As if he couldn't fight back, as if he had no choice. A death sentence.

"No," Cato said simply, "I didn't bring you out here to fight you." But the answer didn't clear the question in the air. His blue eyes were steady and unsettling. "I'm not going to kill you, but the others will if I tell them what you're really doing. You're going to do some things for me."

Now Peeta's eyebrows were fully raised, and he opened his mouth to ask, but Cato answered before he got a chance, "take off your clothes."

"Take off my clothes?" He repeated dumbly.

"Take off your clothes," Cato instructed with a step forward and the subtlest shift in his muscles. Not quite a threat. Not quite an invitation.

"Why?" Even as he asked this, his hands were at the zipper of the jacket. This was even more confusing. Cato had been ready to convince him, lie to him, seduce him. Would he really do this just to get the chance to stay with their pack? The necessity of his impending actions struck him again. This boy made absolutely no sense. None. So he didn't have to lie.

He only leered, "I want to get to know you better."

Let him think he was some kind of pervert. It didn't matter. Peeta's eyes closed tightly for a moment, but he unzipped his jacket, then removed his shirt and his pants. He stood there in his underclothing, acceptance written plainly on his face. "I don't know how to do this," Peeta said quietly, "not even with a girl."

"Well, it can't be that much different, can it?" Cato heard himself say coldly, taking off his own jacket and clothes, and approaching him. He could see the other boy was breathing harder, fighting to keep his face impassive, but shaking. Scared? Angry? Just cold? Cato couldn't tell. The answer was right there if he could just figure out how to start this. But he remembered his time with Clove, how it all started with that harsh kiss.

But it wasn't harsh, because he wasn't in control of it. Peeta had stepped to him in one fluid motion and pressed his lips to his with such incredible, strange gentleness that he had to remind himself what was going on, who was in charge. He grabbed the other boy by the hair and deepened the kiss, crushing him against his chest, biting his lip. It was different, not unpleasant, but the loverboy was hard and soft and kissed him back willingly.

He yanked the other boy's undershirt off, ran his hands over his chest, around to his back, felt down to his ass. Peeta let out a soft moan as he was groped thoroughly, and Cato was surprised and not when it awakened a need in him. Sex was sex, he supposed, whether his partner was a girl or a boy. He felt around to the front of his pants and found the other boy hardening, wrapped his hand around it and gave it a firm pump through the fabric. He watched his face for his reaction. Peeta was flushed, still breathing hard, if Cato had been surprised by the kiss, he was more surprised by his next words.

"Is this what people do in District Two?"

Cato decided it was best to ignore him, silenced him with another punishing kiss and several hard pumps of his cock before shoving him roughly to the ground. He felt something akin to the delicious power he often got when he gained the upper hand in battle, seeing the blond boy sprawled on the ground, hard for him. He removed his pants and stroked himself, revelling in the feeling.

But the other boy spoke again, his blue eyes boring into him, "Don't they couple for love in your district?"

"No." Cato said coldly, though he wasn't actually sure of that answer. He prowled over to him, covered the smaller boy's body with his own. But he was surprised again when he felt someone else's hands on his cock. He was feeling it gently, rubbing it with his strong, calloused hands. Cato supposed he should be glad it was this easy, that his quarry was not only consenting but participating, but it only unsettled him. This boy had so much power.

"That's so sad," he said quietly, and Cato felt his other hand kneading his back. Even more than his ministrations with the other hand, the attention to his back felt amazing. He bit down on the Peeta's strangely strong shoulder hard, but not hard enough to draw blood. He felt his hand tighten around him. He kissed him again, deeply, with a growl. Pressed hard against him, showing him what would come next.

Suddenly, in a whirl of muscle, he was underneath him, he felt kisses and licks peppering his chest around his undershirt. Then, in a surprisingly violent movement, Peeta grabbed hold of either side of his shirt and ripped it cleanly down the middle, and continued kissing, with no pause. Cato could hardly begin to ground another noise, when he felt a hot mouth close around him. Sucking, licking, dragging his teeth in a clumsy but gratifyingly painful rhythm. The only word that escaped his mouth was, "what?"

And the pressure stopped. The spit on his freed cock made him feel unnaturally cold. Peeta Peeta's voice came softly, and he could feel each word as it brushed against him, "Because someone should love you. Even if you don't understand it." Then the heat again, so hot, his tongue so rough. He could no longer calculate how long this had been going on, only the warmth and the incredible feeling of nearing, getting closer to completion. Thoughts swirled in his head and he felt completely helpless. Helpless? He came to in an instant, had the other boy underneath him in less than a second. Their eyes locked, but all he could see there was pity and a hint of something else.

Cato caught his mouth in a kiss harder than any of the ones before it. With one knee he forced the other boy's legs apart. He noted that now, the Loverboy was trembling. Having the upper hand back felt good. He pulled his mouth away and snarled, "are you a virgin, Loverboy?" Sadness clouded Peeta's eyes, and he nodded. "Not going to fight me?" He asked, forcing a nasty grin onto his face. It felt wrong, now. His resolve wavered for a moment, as Peeta's hand reached up and stroked his face, tangled in his hair. Tears were sliding down either side of the baker's face.

"No. I wanted my first time to be with her. But that will never happen, now." He closed his eyes for a moment, more tears leaked out. Cato could feel him breathe deeply underneath him. When he opened his eyes, they were steady. "So, no, I won't fight you, Cato, if this is what you need."

Cato wanted to just plunge into him, take him now and get it over with. Instead, he leaned in and kissed him. Like he had never kissed anyone; gently. The other boy's mouth went completely still, but he soon warmed to it, pressing against him, holding him tightly. And though they were young, and young boys at that, the need seemed to leak from the moment. Cato's mind wandered, and he thought of Clove as he kissed the enigmatic blond tribute. Thinking of Clove should have again, snapped him back to the moment, but he only felt an ache in the pit of his stomach. A noise he didn't understand escaped his own mouth. Peeta broke them apart and looked at him with a question in his eyes.

At what point was he going to start getting some answers? Everything this boy did made no sense. Why would he give himself up so easily, without a fight? Why did he seem to pity him? Even as these thoughts swirled in his head Peeta was already rubbing his hands across his back, kneading his muscles again. Holding him close, rubbing him gently. The flowery language made some sense, in this moment. It was a lover's embrace. Then, he began to speak, so softly, with his eyes downcast. "I can't imagine growing up career. How they had to have treated you as a child for you to be like this now. To laugh while you kill children. What it must feel like for this to be the crowning moment of your life. What do you do after this, even if you do win? It seems so bizarre. Do they train the love out of you? The compassion? Those children, they're coming with you, with us, for the rest of our lives... no matter how short that may be. Or maybe they won't come with you, I suppose, if they've trained you like I imagine they did. But I don't know which is sadder, having to be haunted by the memory of maimed children or not feeling anything. And almost worse than that... we come in here with partners and leave without them. The life of a Victor... I can't imagine anything worse. Life without your partner."

Cato wanted to scream at him to stop, but he was so disgustingly, terribly right that there was no way for him to protest, to tell him he was lying. He had no idea the riches and comfort that would come from being a Victor. But that last part... there was no way, no way they both could live. He had never really allowed himself to consider what life would be like without her sarcastic jokes, her sureness, her acerbic wit, those brown eyes. His words had him hypnotized, prone, and almost against his will, he tightened his grip around Peeta, who continued his speech.

"Like I said, you were right. I'm with you because when you find her, I have to protect her. And I don't expect to live through that. But I know Katniss doesn't love me. And she'll do okay if she makes it. If she's the Victor," his voice trailed off, and his whisper got even quieter, if such a thing were possible, "she is the strongest person I have ever, ever met. She could figure it out."

An owl let out a loud hoot in the darkness of the forest. Suddenly the strangeness of laying here, the two of them completely naked, and now not even making attempts toward having sex struck him. This was not going to work, and Cato knew how to back out before he dishonored himself. He jerked away from Peeta's gentle, warm embrace and dressed himself quickly. He had learned enough. Peeta again, simply followed his lead.

When they returned to the camp, everyone but Clove was asleep. He watched the other boy take his place again by the fire and lay down next to his district partner, carefully did not touch her, though that was all he wanted to do, now.

"And?" She said simply. He knew she had understood. Perhaps she had thought about doing the same.

After a long moment, Cato replied, "he's good."

Clove snorted, "I didn't ask about that."

"No, I mean, he's actually good."

She quickly hid the look of shock, and replaced it with something cold and hard, "A good person! What the fuck, Cato?" her whispers were as sharp as her favorite knife.

"Kind. Good. Loving. I don't know. He really believes she's going to win. He thinks he's going to die for her and that's... okay with him."

The absurdity of this silenced both of them for a long while.

"He loves her a lot," Cato said in a voice he himself didn't recognize.

"More than I love you," Clove said quietly.

"And more than I love you, little Clover." Perhaps for the first time, a deep feeling of sadness washed over him. He tentatively reached over and wrapped Clove in his arms, she did not protest. Part of him wished that he could feel this way toward her. That he would want to die for her. He reached for a feeling like that, even though it was stupid, forbidden, ridiculous, and came up with just a shred of ruefulness. But he had her here, in his arms, anyway. That must be closer to love, right?

That feeling he had searched for came to him so suddenly, days later, when Clove's voice rang out in his ears. His feet propelled him quickly, unerringly and with no thought of subtlety or restraint, toward her agonized voice. Her name escaped from his mouth without his permission, a loud, strangled cry. And when he saw her on the ground, saw that she was dying, he wished, wished, that he were there instead. That his Little Clover would live.

So finally, Cato truly understood Peeta Mellark. And he vowed to kill him for it. But even this resolve was so unsatisfying. He felt weak. In knowing his enemy, as truly as he had been taught to, he had learned that the strength of being willing to kill was nothing when compared to the power you needed to be willing to die.

Thank you so much for reading. I appreciate all comments and critiques. Please check out some of my other stories as well!