Puppet Strings

Chapter One

"You think so?" Cato smirked. "What's so impressive about them?"

Damn it. Peeta tapped his fingers against the side of his face and sighed. "I don't know," he admitted. "I've never smoked anything in my entire life. Not even a measly cigarette." Although this was definitely something to be proud of why was he saying it like it wasn't? "I wouldn't know an impressive bong if you placed it in front of me."

Cato tapped the counter before unhooking the lock and lifting it up. "Come behind here a second and I'll show you what's impressive."

Peeta frowned. "Is that a euphemism?" he asked.

"Nope," Cato laughed.

"Is it even allowed?"

"Don't worry about it."

Peeta shrugged and joined Cato behind the counter. His heart was beating so fast, he couldn't keep up with it. He was just glad that he was able to keep his brain connected to his legs so he could move in the right direction instead of maybe . . . collapsing or something. Cato started talking, gesturing to the different available 'glass smoker things' and probably explaining which where best to use. Peeta tried to listen, he really did, but he was too distracted by the way he could clearly see the hot cashier's muscles shifting underneath his thin t-shirt.

". . . and you're not even listening to me," Cato finally concluded.

"Huh?" Peeta snapped his eyes back to Cato's, pretending he had been listening the entire time. "Of course I was."

"No you weren't, your eyes were distant," said Cato. He smiled, not seeming at all offended by the fact that Peeta hadn't heard a word he was saying. "Distant eyes like that aren't listening eyes. They're daydreaming eyes." He leaned against the counter with one elbow and cocked his head. "What are you thinking about?"

"Erm . . . stuff?" Peeta was not going to admit that he had been distracted by Cato's body. It was too embarrassing. He was normally a very polite person and he didn't know where this evasive version of himself was coming from. Granted, he had never been around someone so dreamy before (wait, dreamy?! What age was he exactly?!)

Cato leaned forward, so their noses were inches apart. Peeta completely forgot about the fact that they were in a store and was wholly focused on the man in front of him. His breath was stolen from his lungs. "What sort of stuff?" Cato asked.

"Many things of unimportance." It became a matter of not being able to breathe and being too afraid to breathe in case his breath disturbed Cato's face, they were that close to each other.

"Do you want me to tell you what I was thinking about?" asked Cato.

"Sure," answered Peeta.

The taller man leaned forward even more, so his mouth brushed the smaller boy's ear. Peeta suppressed a shiver, forcing himself to hold his composure. "I was-and still am-trying to picture exactly what you'd look like the moment where I make you orgasm," he purred.

Peeta almost choked on his own saliva. Had Cato really just said that?! "What makes you think you'll make me orgasm at all?" he demanded to know.

Cato rolled his eyes and trailed his fingers up Peeta's arm. "Trust me, when I want something, I always make it my top priority to get it."

"And you want to know whether your imagination serves you correctly and you'll be capable of seeing my orgasm face?" Not that Peeta really had a specific face for it but Cato would get the point. In all honesty, it didn't sound all that bad.

"Are you a screamer, Peeta?" Cato asked thoughtfully, as if trying to piece the perfect image together in his head. "Or do you whimper like a mouse?"

"How did we even get into this topic?" asked Peeta. He was feeling extremely hot all over, like he'd been dropped into a deep fat fryer. Cato didn't look all that bothered, the perfect smirk still gracing his face.

"Peeta?" Madge appeared at the counter, causing both men to step back and turn towards her. "Why are you behind the counter?"

"Cato was just explaining to me which bongs are the most . . . impressive," Peeta said, forcing himself to stop sounding hysterical, as if he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "And which ones should be avoided. Not that I'd really need it since I don't smoke but the topic just sort of . . . came . . . up."

"Hello, Miss Undersee, good to see you again," said Cato, annoyingly calm.

"Hi Cato," Madge replied. Thankfully she didn't seem to suspect anything, a smile burned into her face like it had been welded there. "How are you?"

"Good, good. All the better for meeting your friend Peeta here," Cato answered. As if to punctuate the point just made, Cato reached out and grabbed Peeta's ass underneath the counter. Peeta squeaked and immediately shoved his knuckle into his mouth to silence himself, knawing on the appendage like his life depended on it. His blood heated up and he felt sweat break out across his top lip, his body waking up at the alien touch.

Madge was unaware of this, however, and chatted away to Cato about the new System of a Down emblems that had come in and about how they made more sense than the Nirvana ones as all wannabe gungers always bought things to do with Nirvana. Peeta barely understood half of what they were saying, which he guessed was a good thing since his mind was too busy focusing on the fact that Cato wasn't letting go of his butt and was instead keeping his hand pressed against the backpocket of his jeans.

When Madge left the store (her mother called demanding she get back home early and before she could even think about apologizing to Peeta, Cato said he'd make sure he got home safely), Peeta pulled himself away from Cato and stared at him like he were a mad man. "You can't grab people like that!" he exclaimed.

"You can if they've been giving you the signals ever since you laid eyes on each other and have an ass that begs to be grabbed," Cato said casually. He sat up on the counter and wiggled his eyebrows at Peeta, who was only a little horrified and mostly turned on by the ordeal.

"My ass does not beg to be grabbed," said Peeta defiantly.

"Per-lease, if it had its own sign it would say 'GRAB ME'," Cato grinned.

"Is this how you pick up all the men or is it just a special treat for me?" Peeta asked.

"Everything about you is special," said Cato, fixing Peeta with a very serious stare. "I can feel it."

Peeta rolled his eyes. "You're wrong about that," he said.

Cato closed the distance between them and leaned down until their faces were inches apart. "I'm not wrong about anything," he said sternly. He sounded so sure of himself that Peeta couldn't resist smiling. "My shift ends in five minutes. Do you think you'd be up for a drink at my place?"

"Well, aren't we forward?" Oh god, he couldn't be flirty. Peeta internally cringed.

Cato chuckled, obviously not feeling the same way about Peeta's flirting. "You're damn right I'm forward. As I said, if there's something I want, I always intent to get it."

When Peeta looked back on the moment he met Cato, he told himself that he should have known that something was off. He should have recognized the possessive undertones to the words, he should have realized that something was wrong with what Cato was saying. But he had been so swept up in the moment, so wrapped up in how painfully sexy this man was and how obviously interested in him he seemed to be.

That was the happiest day of Peeta's life. But it was also the day that he would regret for the rest of it.