Lots of fluff. Little bit of smut. Finally. God.

Thanks for reading. Please review. Reviews = motivation.

Cato woke the next morning to the feeling of Finch's lips pressing kisses into his shoulder. It was sweet and soothing and he was warm and relaxed, so he didn't move or open his eyes or make a sound. He simply luxuriated in it.

He was completely unprepared, however, for the nip she gave him a minute later, just under his jaw, and he shuddered and let out a strangled sound.

She breathed in sharply and pulled back, eyes wide. "Sorry," she whispered.

"No, do it again, do it again," he begged as he turned to face her.

She giggled and leaned back into him, and the morning sunlight caught in her hair, setting it on fire, and she smelled like lavender and she nipped him again and then kissed the mark she'd left and this, he was certain, was what those Christian people who existed before Panem meant when they talked about heaven. He groaned and closed his eyes and turned his head away to offer his neck up to her. She made her way down it, and by the time she'd reached the spot where it joined up with his shoulder he was hard as a rock and whimpering pathetically. It was torture but it was delicious, and he craned even further to the side, begging her without words to continue. She splayed a hand on his chest as she started to suck in earnest and he caught himself just in time before he jerked his hips up.

And then she draped one of her legs over his, and his hand automatically went to the spot just behind her knee. He hitched her leg up further onto his and kneaded the flesh of her outer thigh hungrily.

She stopped sucking on his skin and he turned back to face her, tangling the fingers of his free hand into her hair and bringing her mouth to his as he continued to massage her thigh.

He was acutely aware of the part of her body that was pressed against his hip. It was especially warm, as though heat were radiating from it, and as their tongues met over and over again, she lifted that heat off of him and then rubbed it back onto him with a delicate little moan that was hardly more than a breath. God it was so hot.

Before he could stop himself, he was brushing his thumb across the soft, silky skin of her inner thigh. She gasped into his mouth and wriggled against him even more. He could feel how damp she was, and that was when he realized they had to slow down.

He tore his mouth from hers with a ragged breath. "We have to stop," he panted.

"No-ho-ho," she whined softly. "Why?"

"Because it's…" he turned and looked at the clock. "It's 8:19 and they're gonna make us get up for breakfast at 8:30 and then they'll make us get ready for the day."

"So?" she whispered. "We still have eleven minutes." And she gave his bottom lip a gentle bite.

He let out another whimper and she took advantage of his parted lips to sweep her tongue into his mouth again.

In that moment he seriously considered sliding his fingers up under her shorts where she was hot and wet, because eleven minutes was more than enough time to get her off.

No he said to himself. No. It would be a terrible thing to do. To touch her there for the first time like this. When they would have to rush it. No. He would wait. He would take his time and give her the attention she deserved.

"Mmmm, no," he said, as he tore himself away from her mouth again. "No." He said it firmly, just as much to himself as to her. He stilled her grinding with a hand on her hip and looked straight into her blazing, amber eyes. "Think about it Finch. Today. Think about whether or not you want me to touch you like this, and if you still do by the time we go to bed tonight, I'll be more than happy to do it. The right way. But I'm not doing it now. Not with eleven minutes."

She nodded and pressed her swollen lips together. "Ok."

"God I'm so fucking hard," he groaned.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry."

"What are you gonna...how are you gonna…"

He grinned up at her. "Well, I've got eleven minutes. I'll go in the bathroom and take care of it."

She lifted her eyes from his and looked at the clock. "Better hurry. You've only got ten now."

He propped himself up on his elbow and put his lips to her ear. "I'll just think about touching you," he teased. "And it'll take me less than 60 seconds." And he gave her thigh one last squeeze and swatted her bottom playfully.

She gave a little yelp and he chuckled and slipped out from under her.

xxxxxxxxxx

It was the longest day ever. Finch couldn't stop thinking about how good it had felt to rub herself up against Cato that morning in bed, and as they sat in the backseat on the way to the Justice Center in 1, she glanced repeatedly at his lap. She wanted more than anything to climb onto it and straddle him right there in the car so she could grind against him.

When he caught her eyes on his crotch he smirked.

Cocky asshole she said to herself and gave him a scowl.

The first event was a luncheon with the mayor and all of the other important bureaucrats. The two of them were seated next to each other and she was talking with the mayor's twenty-year-old daughter, Ebony, who was seated on her other side. Ebony hadn't known Glimmer or Marvel well at all, but she shared what little information she knew, and then the two of them fell into chatting about books. Finch knew better than to bring up any reading material that wasn't Capitol-approved, but Ebony was so passionate as she talked about her favorite books that Finch found herself wishing she could share all of the wonderful stories she'd accumulated with her new friend.

It was going so well, until all of a sudden she felt fingers brush the inside of her thigh, sending a shot of desire right up the middle of her, right to the spot where her thighs met up with one another.

That smug bastard. He had snuck his hand under the tablecloth and the skirt of her dress and was teasing her even as he continued his conversation with the guy on his left. As though he wasn't thinking about fingering his girlfriend later that night.

Finch froze in place and let out the tiniest of gasps, and she felt her eyes go wide.

"Are you ok?" Ebony asked, concern crossing her features.

"I'm fine," she said quickly. She gave the other girl a tight smile and tried to subtly slip her hand under the tablecloth to remove Cato's hand from her leg.

But Ebony hand't been born yesterday and the concern on her face quickly morphed into amusement. "You two are adorable."

"Don't tell anyone," Finch pleaded. "Please." She shivered as his fingers made another pass across the sensitive skin.

"I won't," Ebony promised. Finch dug her nails into Cato's skin and brushed his hand off roughly. He didn't fight her, but she could feel the self-satisfaction radiating off of him as he removed his hand.

"God I'm so jealous," Ebony whispered and gave her a glare, but somehow it was a friendly one, with no malice behind it. "You lucky little bitch."

xxxxxxxxxx

He continued his game for the rest of the day, except during the speech of course, which was the only real event where they actually paid any kind of honor to the fallen tributes, and then he was stone cold serious. He brushed his arm against her chest "on accident," snuck his hand onto her thigh when no one was looking, and once, boldly lifted the hair from the back of her neck to nip the skin there.

Dinner, which was blessedly low-key and on the train, was interminable. He managed to finagle a seat next to her and slipped his fingers all the way under her dress to just barely graze the outside of her underwear, and she coughed and sputtered and spit her water everywhere. "Went down the wrong pipe," she explained when they all looked at her with alarm. Cato removed his hand from her crotch and patted her across the back. Exaggeratedly. With a smirk. She scowled down at her plate, but when she looked up, Dr. Campesino was watching her, one corner of her mouth turned up, a twinkle in her eye.

By the time they made it to the bedroom Finch was all kinds of hot and bothered. She wanted to shove him down on the bed and straddle one of his thighs and rub on him until...until...she wasn't sure what an orgasm felt like, but all the girls at school said you'd know it when you had one. So yeah. Until she had an orgasm.

But he made her slow down.

"You're a dick Cato Hadley," she groaned as he pinned her down on the bed, holding her wrists in his hands and squeezing her thighs together with his knees as he kissed her neck. "That's what you are. You're a dick."

"I'm sorry," he said, but his voice was full of laughter. He placed an open-mouthed kiss on her collarbone and started to work his way down her sternum. "But I promise" kiss "I'll make it up to you" kiss "if you'll let me." kiss

She gasped as he placed another kiss on the top of her left breast, over the fabric of her dress, and and then she glared at him. "And how are you gonna do that?"

He lifted his head and sat up off of her, though he retained his hold on her wrists. His eyes on hers were suddenly serious. The laughter was gone from his face. "I'm gonna make you come over and over again," he said, his voice low and threatening. "Until you can't handle it anymore and you tap out."

It made her wet even as it shocked her. To be spoken to like that. He was aggressive and domineering, and yet he left it all up to her at the same time. He left her in ultimate control. It made her feel safe. A thrill of anticipation coursed through her and she bucked her hips involuntarily. "Well what the hell are you waiting for?" she whispered as she strained against his grasp.

"Permission," he said simply and released her wrists. "Will you let me?"

Would she let him? Was he kidding? She'd beg him if it came down to it.

But she didn't say any of that. She just nodded. "Yes," she said. "I'll let you."

His eyes grew tender and he smiled down at her, softly, and she marveled at how quickly his demeanor could change. He'd gone from teasing to aggressive to sweet in sixty seconds flat. And here she was just trying to remember how to breathe.

He sat up all the way off of her and pulled her onto his lap and he took her face in his hands and kissed her deeply. "Take this off?" he asked when he pulled back, and tugged on her sleeve.

It made her suddenly shy. She'd known, of course, that he'd eventually see her naked if they were going to do this, but now that it was actually time… "Will you take yours off too?"

"Of course." And he grasped the hem of his shirt and pulled it off. It wasn't the first time by far that she'd seen his bare chest. She'd slept on it throughout the entire tour. But this was different somehow. She'd never explored it. She ran her palms down his neck and shoulders. Over his chest and the taut muscles of his abdomen and he watched her, his eyes shining.

She squeezed his biceps and smiled at him. He smiled back. "I love these," she told him, giving them another squeeze. "These are my favorite place to be."

"They're my favorite place for you to be too," he said solemnly and he started to wrap them around her.

But she stilled him and pushed his arms back to his sides. "Later. After." And she reached down and pulled off her dress, and then, with a deep breath and a mental fuck it, she slipped her bra off too.

She could hear his breath catch in his throat. "Finch…" he sighed. He swept his eyes down her body, but he left his hands at his sides, and he clenched his fists. His gaze came to rest on her chest and he looked almost stricken. He looked at it for so long that Finch started to grow self-conscious.

"They're small," she apologized.

"They're perfect," he said and he put his hands on her waist and leaned down to give the top of each swell a kiss.

Finch gasped and her hands automatically went to his hair. Even those quick kisses felt so good...she hadn't realized that the nerves in her breasts were directly linked to the spot she'd rubbed on Cato earlier that morning.

He looked up at her through his lashes. "Good?"

"Yeahmmhmm," she murmured, her power of speech lost for the time being.

He lifted her off of him and gently pushed her until she lay on her back with her head on the pillow, and he straddled her again, hovering warmly overtop of her, a hand on either side of her as he bent down and kissed her again on the mouth.

"Take these off," she whispered against his lips, tugging at his waistband.

He grinned. "Will you help me?"

There was something sensual and powerful about it. About undoing the belt and the button and the zipper and pushing his jeans down over his hips. Her fingers brushed over his erection as she tugged his zipper down and he hitched his breath. But he didn't buck into her hand or make any other move toward her. He just shimmied out of them, lifting each foot one at a time to push them the rest of the way off.

When he was finished, he looked back up at her and she hooked her fingers under the waistband of his boxers, brushing her knuckles over his skin. She looked up at him questioningly and he nodded. "Be my guest," he whispered.

Finch took a deep breath. This was the part of him that intrigued her the most. The way that everything tapered down to a V. The line of golden hair that began just under his navel and led down to...she was about to find out.

She pushed his boxers over his hips, but inhaled sharply when the fabric caught on him. "Does that hurt?" she asked.

He chuckled. "No. Just go for it." So she did and he repeated his actions from before, shimmying out of his boxers and pushing them off with his feet.

Finch stared down at his penis. Cato, to his credit, simply held himself above her patiently, eyes on her face.

"First one you've ever seen?" he asked.

Finch swallowed and nodded. "Well other than in my anatomy textbook, yes." She continued to stare at it. It was huge. There was no way in hell that that would ever fit inside her.

"Finch."

"Yeah?"

"I'm not planning on trying to have sex with you tonight." She looked up at his face. "I just want to make you feel good."

"What about you?"

"I'll make myself feel good too. Later. When I'm done with you."

"You mean after I tap out?" she giggled.

He laughed and nuzzled into her neck with his nose. "Exactly." He lowered himself onto his forearms and brought his hands to her sides, rubbing circles over her ribs with his thumbs as they kissed each other.

Her legs parted of their own volition, and he settled himself between them so that she could feel him, hard against her thigh. He slid his hands up to caress the sides of her breasts with his thumbs and she sighed. She wanted him to move his thumbs in just a touch more...just until…

Aaaahh. She sighed again when he brushed the pads of them over her nipples. She was amazed at how gentle he was. How carefully he touched her. As though she was breakable. It was sweet and it was nice, but she wanted more. She tugged on his hair and whimpered into his mouth and arched up into his touch and he let out a ragged moan and bucked against her.

"Oh my god Finch," he moaned again, this time into her neck. He brought his palms up to cover her breasts and she threw her head back as he started to massage them. "Please…" she whispered. She had no idea what she was asking for but she could at least use her manners, dammit. "Please," she said again.

Luckily, Cato seemed to know exactly what she was asking for. He bent his head and took one of her nipples in his mouth and Finch closed her eyes and saw stars behind her lids. He swirled his tongue around it as he cupped the side of her other breast in his hand, his thumb mimicking the movement of his tongue over her nipple. She grasped his hair again and held him to her chest with one hand and with her other she mindlessly kneaded the muscles of his upper back.

He moved his mouth to pay equal attention to her other breast and she just couldn't think anymore. She lifted her hips, trying desperately to find something to rub on, but the angle wasn't right and her underwear was in the way.

It needed to come off.

Now.

She thumped the back of her head against her pillow in frustration and whimpered, releasing him and slipping her hands down between their bodies to push her underwear down.

Cato moved out of the way and helped her and there she was. Completely naked in front of a boy for the first time in her life. She was scared and she was shy but it was Cato and he was her best friend and he was so sweet and she trusted him completely and she wanted this so badly. And so it was ok. She was ok.

He returned to his position between her legs, and he hovered over her again, but this time he only braced himself on one forearm, and he snaked the fingers of his other hand down between their bodies, to rest on the inside of her thigh.

"Just let me know what feels good, ok?" he asked, his forehead pressed to hers, and she nodded against him.

And then he put a finger on her, oh so gently, featherlight, in fact, and her breath caught in her throat. "God you're so soft," he whispered against her lips. And then he traced that finger lightly around her entrance. She shivered. "And so wet."

He added another finger and ran the pads of them over her. Softly, slowly. It was like nothing she'd ever imagined. It was so much better. She felt like she was floating. She felt like the rest of the world had ceased to exist. She could feel herself growing wetter, and she could tell that Cato noticed too because he moaned and kissed the corner of her mouth.

And then his fingertips came to rest on a particular spot. He pressed it lightly and oh. my. god. This is the clit the boys all talk about at school. Like it's some mythical creature. Like a unicorn. That's what this is Finch thought.

He started to move his fingers over it in a circular motion, and he lifted his head to look at her face. She met his eyes and her breathing started to deepen. She had never felt anything so exquisite in her life. But he frowned thoughtfully and reversed the direction of the circle and it turned out she had been wrong. Now she had never felt anything so exquisite in her life. She cried out softly and arched up off the bed.

"That," he whispered, more to himself than to her. And he increased his speed and pressure.

She whimpered and butted her head against his collarbone, squeezing her eyes shut as tightly as possible and gasping for breath.

It was the most incredible thing she'd ever felt but somehow it was the worst torture at the same time. She felt like crying.

She temporarily lost all self-awareness as she began to drown in the sensations his fingers were producing, but something about the way in which she was writhing or the soft, pitiful sounds she was making had Cato concerned, because he stilled his fingers and she felt his lips on her temple and she felt like she'd been robbed. "What's wrong baby? Are you ok?" he whispered.

"Please don't stop," she gasped. "Please don't stop."

"Ok." He nodded against her temple and resumed what he'd been doing, and she clawed at his shoulders, grasping for what, she had no idea. She just knew she had to hold on for dear life.

Everything started to tighten and she felt like something inside of her was going to snap and she opened her mouth to tell him to stop, that something was wrong, but then whatever it was did snap and she arched up into him and all that came out of her mouth was his name and she understood exactly what people meant when they used the word "release" to describe the feeling. There was no more torture, just the most delicious relief and one tear escaped from each of her eyes. But only the right one made its way down her cheek, because Cato caught the left one with his lips.

"You ok?" he whispered as her body shook against his.

"Yes," she sighed, and sank back against the pillow. "Thank you."

"Anytime." And he leaned down and kissed her tenderly on the mouth before rolling onto his side and enfolding her in his arms.

She pressed her face into his neck and shivered with aftershock, her fingers still clutching at his shoulders as he held her.

Her shock wafted down into peaceful bliss and she sighed into his skin.

"What?" he asked, and she could tell he was smiling.

"Nothing," she whispered. This was heaven. This had to be. Life could not get any better than this. Lying here, safe and warm in Cato's arms after he'd just touched her so softly, so sweetly, so selflessly.

So selflessly.

Finch shifted against him and yes, he was still hard. "What about you?" she asked.

"What about me?"

"Don't you want me to touch you?"

His whole body tensed against hers. "Do you want to touch me?"

Finch nodded. "Mm-hm." And then, before she could think too much about it, she reached down and boldly wrapped her fingers around him. She liked it because it was warm and hard-like the rest of him-and it throbbed a little and the skin was velvety soft. Her boldness shocked him too, she could tell, because his body tensed even more and his breath stopped. She couldn't keep from grinning at how wide his eyes were on her face when she pulled back to look at him. She felt so powerful.

She took her hand away and pushed at his shoulder until he lay on his back, and then she propped herself up on her elbow and draped her leg over him just as she had that morning.

She reached out and caressed the tip of him tentatively. He sucked in a breath as she ran her fingers around the rim of his head and her thumb across the slit in the top. She had heard that you had to be careful with the balls, so she just grazed her fingertips over them lightly and he jerked and laughed a little. "Tickles," he explained.

"Do I just…" she started to ask as she wrapped her hand around him again and began to move it up and down in her fist. "Like this?" And she looked up at his face.

He was looking at her with such love it took her breath away. He wrapped his fingers around hers, but he didn't look away from her face and with his other hand he reached up and touched her cheek. "You can grip it a little more firmly," he said, so she did and then he began to move their hands together.

After a minute or so, he let go and she kept going on her own. His other hand dropped from her face and he looked down to where she was touching him and swallowed hard at the sight of it. She picked up her speed and maneuvered her thumb so that it grazed the ridge and swept over the head, just like he'd done when his hand had been covering hers.

He closed his eyes and pressed his head back into the pillow. He threw his left forearm over his eyes and moaned and he reached down and squeezed her thigh with his right hand. This time he was not gentle. This time she thought he just might leave bruises. But it made her smile. It made her feel even more powerful. She was doing this to him. Her wrist was starting to grow tired but she ignored it and redoubled her efforts, eliciting another long moan from him. He took his arm away from his face and looked at her with something like desperation in his eyes.

"Finch, I'm gonna...you might wanna let go so I don't…"

"Shhh, just relax," she soothed and gripped him a little more firmly to show him she wanted to see him through to the end. She leaned down and bit his neck softly, tugging on the skin with her teeth.

He turned his head and buried it in her hair and then he shuddered underneath her. "Finch...fuck...Finch!" he ground out and then she felt something warm and wet and just a little sticky on her hand, but she pumped him a few more times for good measure.

"Holy shit," he gasped as his body relaxed. He loosened his grip on her thigh but his eyes were glazed over.

Finch looked at the creamy drops on his stomach and then she looked at her hand. It was thinner in texture than she'd thought it would be. That was a good thing, she decided. She wiped her hand off on the sheet and looked down at Cato, who seemed to have recovered.

"Did you just wipe my jizz on the sheets?"

"Yes."

He laughed. "I would have given you my shirt to use."

She shrugged. "Oh well."

"Hooooly shiiiiit," he said again, seemingly out of nowhere, his eyes on the ceiling.

"What?"

"I can't tell you the last time a girl got me off with a hand job. I thought I was past that. I didn't think a girl could get me off with one anymore. It's gotta have been like two years at least. Probably more like three. But you...jesus christ...you touching me…."

He looked over at her and she frowned questioningly.

"It's better than chocolate cake," he said with a grin.

Finch giggled and laid down next to him. He reached down and picked up his t shirt and wiped himself off with it. And then he turned to face her, propping himself up on his elbow.

"You ready?" he asked.

"For what?"

His face took on that serious look again. "You didn't tap out."

xxxxxxxxxx

It took four more orgasms.

She learned that she liked her clitoris between his lips even more than under his fingers and she learned that it didn't hurt too bad for a guy to stick his finger in you if he was careful and patient and you were wet.

And if he knew what he was doing with that finger once it was in it was totally worth it. In fact, it made Finch suspect that two fingers would be better than one...and maybe, just maybe, with a lot of patience, his penis might feel better yet in there.

But she started to grow swollen and sore and overly sensitive and she had become a limp, shaky mess and even if her tongue could have formed a coherent word, her brain could not for the life of her form a coherent thought other than I can't, so as she came down from that fifth high she literally tapped out on the mattress with the fingers of her right hand.

The next thing she knew, Prince was screaming-a god-awful, high-pitched scream-and her head fell off of Cato's chest as he sat up and yelled at Prince to fuck off and threw the alarm clock at the escort and then the door was slamming and Prince was yelling "Oh my god Paris, I think they had sex!"

"Mmmmmm?" she moaned sleepily and opened one eye to find bright sunlight streaming into the room. Cato collapsed back into the fluffy pile of white cotton and down and put his arms around her again.

"Prince saw your tits," he murmured.

"Is he traumatized?" she asked.

"I think so. Or maybe it was my dick that upset him. I don't really care either way."

"What time is it?"

"Eight thirty-five."

Finch groaned. They had to be at a brunch at 1's Academy at eleven thirty. "Alright, I'm up, I'm up," she tried to convince herself and pushed up off the mattress.

But Cato tightened his arms and drew her back down with a you're not going anywhere and she let out an oof and fell back against his chest. He drew the down comforter up over them and burrowed his face into her hair.

"Go back to sleep," he commanded. "Rush or Brutus will yell when we actually have to get up."

"You can be downright bossy," she told him.

"Old habits," he said and slung a leg over both of hers. "We wouldn't be in this relationship if I wasn't so bossy."

She couldn't argue with him there.

xxxxxxxxxx

One hour later, Brutus knocked on the door. "Alright you two!" he called. "You really do have to get up now. Your stylists are getting their panties in a twist."

When they emerged into the dining car to pour themselves mugs of coffee, their mentors gave them wry smiles.

Finch blushed. "It wasn't what you think," she started to say, but Rush cut her off with a hand in the air.

"I don't need to know what it was," he said. "It's your business and you're both old enough. But Christ, lock the door next time huh? You practically gave poor Prince an aneurysm." He jerked his thumb towards the District 5 escort, who was glaring at them and holding an ice pack up to his forehead.

"And you broke the alarm clock," Prince spat. "It was crystal."

Finch tried to hold back her giggle, especially since Cato was supposed to be working on his anger issues, but she couldn't. It escaped through her nose in a very unladylike snort and then Brutus, who had also been holding back his laughter, spit out a mouthful of coffee all over the tablecloth. Cato and Rush immediately joined in and the four of them were holding their sides they were laughing so hard. Prince only made it worse when he huffed and stomped off.