Puppet Strings

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

It didn't take long for Peeta to discover that Cato was a rough lover. He was dominant but loving. Every kiss felt like a mark of territory, every touch and caress felt like a reminder of ownership. He was always in control of the situation but Peeta didn't mind that as there was something undeniably sexy about being tied down to a bed while your boyfriend 'abused' your body. They were a month into their relationship when Cato first suggested trying out some BDSM in the bedroom. Peeta had been nervous at first but soon discovered that it wasn't all that scary. As long as Cato was able to recognize the safe word then there was nothing to worry about. And there wasn't.

Outside of their sex lives, things were going pretty well. They saw each other nearly every day and were barely apart. Every Friday, Cato went to one of Peeta's busking performances and gave him a bunch of flowers. Peeta would then return the favour by spending the weekend in the Arena with Cato, giving up time he'd normally use to volunteer at the bakery. Life seemed almost too good to be true.

Peeta couldn't believe how lucky he had been. Normally this sort of thing didn't happen to him. He hadn't really thought of himself as a romantic person and he had always believed that when it came to being in a relationship, he'd either be forced to settle or die alone. Never had he imagined having such a healthy relationship.

"I'm thinking about learning how to play the piano."

Cato hummed, threading his fingers through Peeta's hair. "Are you planning to take over the world of music?" he asked. "If you add piano to your list, you'll be a triple threat. I don't know how the world will cope."

"There's just this song I really want to learn how to play. It's not usually performed by piano and I think it would be cool to be the first to learn how to play it," Peeta explained. It was almost inhuman how comfortable he felt around Cato. Never in a million years would he have seen himself staying in someone else's apartment on a Friday night, watching awful telly with his head in his attractive boyfriend's lap.

"Trust you to push against normality," Cato chuckled.

Peeta moved onto his back and started up at Cato. His boyfriend smiled at him and pressed a careful kiss against his lips. "I'm tired, do you want to go to bed?" When Cato raised his eyebrows, he added, "and I mean bed in my language, not yours."

"Why? What does 'bed' mean in my language?" asked Cato.

"It's a synonym for sex in your language," Peeta grinned.

Cato laughed. "Don't worry, I won't use my incredible seducing skills on you."

Peeta smiled, sat up and slid off the sofa. He stretched, enjoying the way his bones cracked into place. "I should probably get home. I haven't been for a week," he said. "God knows what my place looks like."

Cato stood up as well with a sudden urgency that made Peeta wonder if he just remembered something. He wrapped his arms around Peeta's waist and nestled his face in the crook of his neck. "Do you have to go?" he mumbled. This was how it had been going all week. Every time Peeta even suggested going home, Cato would do everything in his power to get him to stay. And 99.9% of the time, it worked.

"I think it would be a good idea," Peeta replied. He wound his arms around Cato's neck and pulled him closer. "It's really cute and all that you don't want me to leave but I do have to go home sometime, you know?"

Cato shook his head and kissed Peeta's neck. "Please stay," he purred. "It will feel weird sleeping without you in my bed."

"Are you sure you're not sick of me? I mean, god, it's been a week. I would have thought that you'd have been tired of me by now." He had never had a relationship that lasted to the point where they actually stayed over at each other's houses. Well, it was more him staying at Cato's than the other way around. Peeta wasn't completely sure what was normal and what wasn't. Could someone really spend so much time with him and not get sick of him? Surely Cato was sick of him?