A/N: Hey guys! Whew! What a rush to fill in your first A/N, huh? Well let's see... I've been reading lots and lots of your guys's's's'sss amazing fanfics, and when this completely unoriginal (lol) idea popped into my head at like 2 in the AM I couldn't sleep, so I had to get it out. And here it is.

The story is, obviously, based on THG, and more loosely based on the TV Show "Awkward." I think that show's fucking hilarious. I will be using a.. lot of things probably from that show, and if you watch it like I do - DON'T SPOIL IT! Please n danke :)

All right. This chapter came out supremely long and I'm not sure if I'll keep every chapter this long, only time will tell. This chapter is rated M for sexy times. Note: sexy times will probably be on the rare side in this fic. It'll probably be more implied than anything, but I wanted to come in with a bang! First time smut, first time fic. WTF CAN GO WRONG?

Disclaimer: I do not own the great HG characters, or the plot twisty things of Awkward, no no no no no. Besides terrible similes and the like, those are mine.

I hope you enjoy!

Chapter One: "So, who'd you hook up with?"

"Run, Peeta! Get the hell out of here!"

Keira, is that you...?

"What are you doing still lying around? I said go!" Not being able to argue with that high shrill of a voice, I pushed myself off the blood-ridden ground, which was more than likely my blood, with all the strength I could muster and bolted.

As I limped off I managed a glance over my shoulder, seeing none other than my best friend since the age of six, Keira Kirby, give me one last peaceful look, before turning back and fighting to the death in this god-forsaken place: The Hunger Games.

Blood and death filled the air and infiltrated my nostrils, like they naturally grew on the trees that surrounded us. Everywhere I went I was attacked by that horrible stench, and the memories that came with it – primarily the death of my other best friend, Miyoko Shin, who had told myself and Keira that there was no chance in hell she was getting out of this alive. Out of 24 teenagers only one could survive. Yoko was one of the first to go. I felt something, far down in the pit of my soul, die at that moment. I would never get the privilege to make fun of her when she preferred to eat a burger over rice again.

Now that I had stupidly, foolishly, dim-wittedly let my first and last friend to her demise, I felt a sudden pain in my chest. I collapsed onto the ground, the ground of which was the very last sight for many young souls that week, and began convulsing. I couldn't control my body, or my mind to do what I wanted them to do, and helplessly let the sanity slowly seep outwards from my form, as I closed my eyes not knowing what to do next. In my mind's eye appeared Keira's face, sadly smiling at me as I ran from her, ran from the girl who stood by me through thick and thin. She wanted me to win, but how would I? How could I? And why me?

And then, a boom. A cannon.

"Oh my god!" I jolted upwards, screaming bloody murder as I awoke from my nightmare. My forehead hit the wood from the bottom of the bunk-bed above me. I was definitely more than awake now.

"Fucking bitch..." I mumbled to myself, rubbing my temples, as I knew there would be an unsightly mountain protruding from the upper-half of my face some time soon. I quickly went back to my nightmare. That was the second time I experienced it. What did it mean? Did it even mean anything? Other than the fact I was possibly a future psychopathic serial killer. Guess my mom was right.

I heard some rustling from the bed above me, and I mentally slapped myself for being so loud and stupid. And I especially didn't want the guy above me to wake up and catch sight of me like this. Not even fully back to reality, hair appearance similar to that of an unkempt lawn, face of a zombie. A zombie with a tumor.

No, anyone but Cato Morley.

"Peeta! Are you all right? I heard..." Cato popped his head into the lower half of the room, which was my domain, and let his sentence trail off as he spotted me, as his gorgeous milk-chocolate eyes spotted me. "Oh wow, that looks... bad. Let me go get some ice."

Not wanting any interaction this early in the morning, especially with the guy I've been crushing over since the third grade, I tried waving him off. "No, really, I'm okay. Just a slight bump. It's nothing," I lied. If I didn't know any better I would have sworn there was a tiny hole smack dab in the middle of my forehead, going through labor pains, ready to give birth. This son of a bitch hurt.

Practically ignoring me, he gracefully leapt from the bed above me, swinging himself over the side of it, and hitting the ground with a silent thud. "No, that's not just a bump," he said as his face slowly inched closer to mine, inspecting it carefully. It didn't seem like he was just inspecting my forehead, but my eyes, my lips, the tiny brown mark on my nose, my soul. I think I started to lean in when he finished his sentence. "That's a tumor."

The smile that had unexpectedly found its way onto my face was instinctively replaced by the most menacing scowl I had to offer. I backed away, further into my bed, and averted his gaze. "Yeah, maybe you should go get that ice." He ruined the moment. Or, at least, what felt like a moment. To me, anyway. I wanted some space, space that was much needed after waking up, space that I had not received this morning and it seemed to be messing with my psyche. "Thanks," I mumbled, ruffling my sheets, signifying it was time for his departure.

Cato took a few steps back, confused by my sudden change in attitude. "Yeah, sure... I'll be right back." He turned around, headed for the door and briskly jogged toward the camp's nursing center. I looked out the window, and it was then I noticed he was shirtless, his bulging muscles swaying back and forth as he moved. I tried to look away, but I was hooked, like a fish caught on a line. I was powerless to his form, gasping for air, waiting for it to disappear, waiting to be unhooked and tossed back into the ocean. One does not simply ignore the body of a god. He entered the building and I felt my body unconsciously breathe again for me.

I was left alone with my thoughts. I was thrown into this summer camp by my parents, particularly by my mom, who had noticed my lack of a social circle besides my two best friends – she thought I could reinvent myself over the summer, become the popular jock she always wanted me to be. I laughed at the thought. Sorry, mom. Not all of us can be as pretty, outgoing and slutty as you were in high school. I told myself coming into this place I wouldn't change for her, or anyone else, and stay true to myself: reserved, quirky - "invisible," as I often thought of myself: Peeta. I know I could be a Cato Morley if I so chose, minus the perfect good looks, but that wasn't me.

My mind slowly drifted off, to the boy who was retrieving my ice, to the boy I had known for quite some time. Known of, anyway. We were from two entirely different worlds – my face stuck behind a good book, his behind a football helmet; and, occasionally, the faces of beautiful teenaged girls who threw themselves at him, desperate for his attention. I never understood why he let them. Hormones, I guess. I felt like he was better than that, ever since our first encounter.

I was 8, in third grade. He was 9, in the fourth. It was recess time and, like everyday since I met her, I was by Keira's side, while she went on about how cute this boy she talked to earlier was. We sat on the end of the longest, most winding slide in the playground – our spot. At that age we didn't know why that slide saw so few kids, but we were glad of it. "I mean, he said 'Hi' to me. Doesn't that mean he likes me? I totally think it does," Keira went on. Thinking back on it, she was one hell of a boy-conscious child. "Mhm," I mumbled.

"Well, since you agree I'm going to go talk to him. Wait here for me. I'm probably gonna need someone to brag to." She got up, patted down her ensemble like she was attending a red-carpet movie premiere, and briskly walked off, hips a-swayin', that walk only signature to Keira. I picked up the book that previously lay lonely for quite some time by my side, The Apple Pie That Papa Baked. It was my favorite book of all time – that book practically made me into the person I am today. My family owned a bakery, and my father had given that book to me on my eighth birthday. He told me it was his way of being with me, always. I brought that book everywhere I went for two years straight. My mom's larger-than-life present was a blue and white, long-sleeved T-shirt that read on the front "Sports Guy," with footballs, soccer balls, so many different balls I couldn't and didn't want to name, stylizing the rest of the shirt. As she handed it to me her youthful smile (my parents were only in their low 30s) was so bright I almost went blind. She was determined, I'll give her that.

As I propped myself onto my elbows, I opened my book, reading from the start for the thousandth time. Just as I was getting comfortable, I heard a boy from behind me yell. "Wooo-hoo! Yeah!" I felt the green ocean of plastic surrounding me vibrate as his body slowly descended down the tube, knowing that I wasn't fast enough to leap away, and that this would probably hurt. He finally came into view, with eyes closed and an award-winning smile plastered onto his face. Before his journey came to an end he opened his eyes, expecting a smooth landing, only to find my frantic self waiting for him. THUNK.

Cato's body collided with mine, and with its accelerated force sent both of us flying onto the sandy ground below, my book finding its way out of my hands. His limbs were strewn atop mine, with the wind clearly knocked out of both of us. We laid there for a few seconds as the children nearby came to ogle. When I realized I was still alive, I noticed he was on top of me, and began to blush. His eyes met mine, his golden, spiky hair only a few inches from my dirty blonde locks.

He spoke. "Hi."

"Hi"? That's all he could manage after practically assaulting me, my book probably buried beneath centuries of sand in some God-forsaken place that wasn't my arms? Though angry I was, and knowing it wasn't totally justified, I wasn't sure how to respond.

"Uh, hi," I whispered. We remained there, eyes locked, for another good five seconds, before I realized it became hard to breathe. "I kinda can't breathe with you on top of me," I managed to say.

"Oh, right. Sorry." He jumped up off of me, dusting himself off before out-stretching his hand to meet mine, and pull me up. I began to dust myself off as well, and stopped when I noticed he was dusting off my backside. I took it as a physical apology, but only managed to blush further. "You know, you probably shouldn't sit there," he advised. "It seems sorta dangerous."

"It wasn't until you came along," I replied as he continued to dust me off. "No one ever uses that slide."

"I know, and I don't know why – it's the coolest slide we've got!" he beamed as he finished his dusting, like I was some sort of old cabinet that hadn't looked good in years, and came to meet me, face-to-face. "I'm sorry for sliding into you, again," he pouted.

"No, it's okay, it was my fault for sitting there. Won't happen again," I said, looking over myself to make sure my clothes didn't match my idiotic looking face. "I just wish I knew where my book went..." In no time he sprinted off, scanning the area for my precious pages until he finally found it, underneath a bench not too far by. He ran back to me, panting, with that beaming smile that made me weak at the knees. Why it did I didn't know. "Is this it?" he breathed out.

"Yeah, that's it!" I was excited to see it was still in perfect condition, as he dusted off the cover, much like he had done to me, and placed it into my hands, his face beaming even brighter than before. I held it close to my chest, never wanting to lose it again. "Thanks," I mumbled, somehow finding the strength to keep his gaze without passing out. "No problem," he said before turning around and running off to his friends. Before he began talking to them, he glanced back to me one more time, smiling. I faintly smiled back before gravity told me to sit down. He turned away. "Marvel, did ya see that? I must have been going 50 miles an hour!" Keira came running from the other side of the playground as soon as she heard what happened. "Peeta! Did you just get groped? I can't believe I missed it! Why couldn't you have waited for me?" Thanks, Kiera.

And that was our first encounter. We attended the same schools – elementary, middle, high. Cato was a year older than me, so naturally I wasn't in many of his classes, much to my dismay – I was a year ahead in math so we shared those classes in middle school, and now in high school, but that was it. We had a few other encounters over the years, nothing substantial, just a couple Hi's and Hey's. We managed to get bunked together, in camp, since our last names were so close alphabetically. I wasn't sure if that was a blessing or a curse. At this point I took it as a sign that I must have done something horrible in a past life.

It's not like I thought about him day in and day out, I'm not a damn stalker, but when my mind wasn't preoccupied Cato was the center of my thoughts, and I didn't know why. He was cute, sweet, funny.. I mean, who wouldn't think about him? I quickly gave up chasing him two years after our recess fiasco. He had his first girlfriend in the sixth grade, I heard. And that was it – I moved onto bigger and better things (or, at least, that's what I told myself). I prided myself on my knowledge of all things scholarly, I was good at it: math, science, and mainly literature. I rarely spoke in class, I didn't feel the need to. Everyone assumed I hadn't the slightest clue as to what was going on. When the tests came, though, that was cleared up, real quick. Though my real talent, and passion for that matter, lay in the kitchen – baking, to be exact. Nothing sets the mind more at ease than the golden sight and wholesome smell of freshly baked bread, and knowing that you were the one who set it into creation.

Realizing I had drifted off into a vast sea of memories I pulled myself back to reality, back to the tumor growing inside my head. I covered my forehead with my right hand. Shit, what am I going to do about this?

The guy who had just recently clouded my mind... again... was stepping out of the nurse's station, hauling a bucket of ice in one hand and a bunch of Ziploc baggies in the other. Still shirtless.

Enough of those thoughts. I laid myself back down on my bed, blanket overhead, pretending I was attempting to fall back into the warmth embrace of unconsciousness, awaiting his presence. The screen door opened with a slam, followed by the door after that, with an even louder slam. Was he in a hurry or did he not know how to control his massive mass of muscle? I heard him set the bucket of ice onto the ground before kneeling down to assist me.

"Hey, you haven't passed out yet have you? The nurse said you may have a concussion after I told her how violently you attacked my bed with your head," he chuckled. I shook my "belligerent" head under the covers as a response, though he didn't seem to catch it. His voice broke the silence again, frantically. "Peeta? Peeta!" He ripped off the blankets that once cocooned me and I almost thought I would go flying with them. Our eyes met and I saw his face relax.

"Did you think I was in a coma or something? I told you it's nothing," I reassured him. He looked away without saying anything, only to pack one of the plastic bags with ice before placing it on my head, like he was angry at me. What'd I do?

"Well, bad things happen to good people. I was..." his voice trailed off. My mind finished his sentence for him: worried? Why would he be? We barely know each other. He placed his hands back at his sides before standing up. "The nurse said to replace the bag every time it liquifies. Think you can manage that?" he continued with an irritated tone.

"Only time will tell," I replied, equally irritated. Not only because of him, though mainly because of him, but because tonight was the last night of camp, when the ritual end-of-the-summer bonfire took place. I wasn't too keen on the sports-centered activities throughout the summer, but I didn't want to miss free smores and a good fire. And with this freakishly huge lump forming I might have to.

Looking up at him, at Cato, I couldn't find it in myself to stay angry. I sat myself up, back against the headboard, clutching the bag of ice this boy was so generous to retrieve for me over my heart. "Thanks," I mumbled. Well, this seems familiar.

"No problem," he answered. Did he remember our playground fiasco like I had? Was it one of his cherished childhood memories like it was mine? No, that was probably one of his normal responses. He opened his mouth to speak again, only to shut it two seconds later. I watched, almost fascinated, this deer in headlights, stumbling over the rocky road that held our few encounters. What was he trying to say?

"Uh," he scratched the back of his neck. "I think it's around 7:30, nearly time to head to the mess hall for breakfast... You want anything?" It seemed like it almost pained him to throw out those two sentences, one not even complete.

"No, I think my body's pretty full on pain. I should have some leftovers though, if you're interested," I replied, smiling, trying to destroy the awkwardness between us. It helped. He laughed softly, an angel's laugh, before throwing a plain white T-shirt over his torso. walking to the door and grabbing the handle. Before he turned it, he stopped in his tracks, stealing a glance over his left shoulder. And then, there it was, that smile from so long ago, scampering its way back onto his movie-star features, only for me to see, only for me to stare in awe at. I felt the air leave the shack, heat rising in my cheeks, before he turned back and left, like so many years ago. That only raised the question again: did he remember? Did he care?

I laid back down, placing the freezing bag of torture back onto my forehead, and falling into a deep sleep. The rest of the day was a blur. I went to the nurse after waking to hear the swelling had gone down and no real damage had been done. I could attend the bonfire. That was a plus.

I wandered alone throughout the camp, the midday sun harshly devouring my form. I visited the spots that meant a little something to me, drowning myself once again in memories, this time recently made. The giant oak that I climbed, fortunately with Keira, whose parents had also sent her here on the notion that she was a trouble-maker, after she was caught drinking at a graduating senior's party last summer. It was all innocent fun but her parents weren't having any of that. They were surprisingly strict, something I didn't expect after fully learning Keira's personality. That's probably why she was so fucking crazy. I remembered her hanging off of a branch, upside down, long dyed-red hair raping her tan face, with only her legs acting as support, screaming like a howler monkey. Definitely nuts.

After laughing to myself like the maniac I was I came upon the soccer field where Cato spent most of his summer days, half of them shirtless (shameless little bastard). I'd walk around with Keira and come across it every once in awhile, sneaking looks here and there (shameless little bastard). He didn't look too bad. He could also play pretty well.

The sun's placement hovering in the sky told me it must have been around 4:00 PM. I'd have to return soon to help with the bonfire preparations. I am stoked about that.

A little more walking and I found myself by the lake. Swimming, rowing – whatever water activity you could name, we did it. I walked down the dock, receiving a "think, thonk" from every other footstep. The wood's melody below worked wonders with the harmony of the wind gracing the fronts of my ears, until I reached the end. I was practically lulled into a semi-conscious state, rocking back and forth with the invisible force surrounding me, imagining the events to come this school year. Well, I've already got freshman year down, that's the roughest, right? Knowing Keira will be there every step of the way only makes things that much-

A sudden, startling greeting from behind heaved me from my thoughts. I already knew who it was without seeing his face or fully registering his voice. "Peeta!" Fucking Cato.

Before I knew it I found myself falling over the side, and plunging face first into the oddly comfortable warm water. The thought "Cato, you fucking idiot" surfaced to the top of my head, as the top of my head surfaced above the lake water. I brushed my (now fabulously wet) hair out of my eyes, spat some probably feces-filled liquid out of my mouth before verbally attacking the boy who stood a few feet away, quietly chuckling to himself like he had witnessed the sight of Queen Elizabeth picking her nose, and wasn't allowed to mention it.

"So, uh, Cato..." I began like everything was normal as can be. "Didn't your mom ever teach you not to come up behind someone and nearly scare them to fucking death?" My tone increased in volume and intensity by the end of my sentence, but it didn't phase him – Queen E. was still diggin' for gold, and he found it downright hilarious.

He knelt down so he wouldn't have to yell for me to hear him. "Of course. Every little boy is taught that... But my mom also taught me, and I'm guessing you missed this lesson, to pry strange people out of strange behaviors. You know, for shits and giggles," he smirked. Screw you, Mrs. Morley.

"Ha, ha, ha," I forced out. "Tell your mom us strange folk don't appreciate that much." Then a sense of curiosity came over me, completely devouring the fact I was floating, in a lake, water up to my chin, feet struggling to find some ground. I splashed around a bit before asking my next question.

"What are you doing out here? Shouldn't you be, like, co-hosting the bonfire this year or something?" I wasn't even sure one could co-host something like a bonfire, but seeing as his presence was always made known, everywhere, I figured he'd been asked to put the majority of it together.

"Well, I guess I was..." He paused, looking down at the wooden dock on which he was kneeling before catching my gaze again. Unmistakeable seriousness clouded his features. Was he about to tell me he had murdered someone and dumped their body into the very water I was ingesting? 'Cause I can't handle that right now. "...Following you." Oh.

"Oh," my mouth spoke for me without permission. I was completely dumbfounded. So many questions flooded my brain, more so than this damn water. Questions like "Why," "Didn't he have better things to do?" And most importantly, "Why?" After searching the murky water for answers that wouldn't come I gained control over my speech again and held those questions for a time when I wasn't about to pull a Natalie Wood. I met his gaze, which still held its previous seriousness. "Think you can help me out of here before I catch pneumonia and sue?" He relaxed, for a second time today, smiled and out-stretched his hand. I clumsily swam to him, my over-sized shirt acting like a fortress I had to break my way through. I grabbed his hand, and with both of his he heaved me out of the water and once again onto dry land.

I was soaked. I was also freezing my skinny white ass off, which I found odd considering it was a summer afternoon. "You're shivering," he pointed out. "Come on, let's get you warmed up." He took my body in his arms as we walked, periodically rubbing his hands on my shoulders to fight my icy temperature. We walked back to our shack in a comfortable silence. I occasionally looked up to catch sight of his marvelous face, to make sure I wasn't dreaming. My drenched form helped with that.

As soon as we entered I stripped down to my midnight-black briefs, not caring what I looked like or who I was with. I was just so damn ecstatic to be rid of those clothes. I plopped onto my bed, face first, not feeling the need to look for warmer clothing when my blankets should have sufficed, right?

Cato thought otherwise. "Here, at least wear a shirt." He handed me one of his camp shirts. I tossed it on. It was two sizes too big for me – I was a small, Cato a large. On him, it fit perfectly – his 6'2" muscle-ridden body easily stretching it and letting the shirt conform to him. On me, a fucking nightgown.

The thought left my mind when I caught a whiff of his scent... Cigarettes and cologne. This must be what going mad feels like. I could have fallen into a blissful sleep right there if I wasn't still shivering. Being so observant Cato crawled into my bed and wrapped not only his arms but his entire body around me, like a magical shield, warding off evil. I forced myself to stay awake to enjoy this moment for whatever it was worth.

As I felt his nose nuzzle into the crook of my neck I decided now was as good a time as any for my onslaught of questions. "Where'd you get the smokes?" was first up. I didn't want to run straight into the lion's den, not just yet.

"Oh, I have my ways," he answered, his warm breath sending shivers down my spine. He leaned in closer, lips hovering over my ear. "I stuck 'em in my underwear our first day here." Damn. The visuals. Lucky sticks of cancer.

"Sneaky," I answered. Not only was he the poster child for teenaged boys everywhere on the outside, but a conniving little bastard on the inside. Perfection. He must have known I smelt it on his dirty clothing because he didn't ask why I had asked.

"You gonna snitch?" he wondered out loud. I couldn't tell if he was serious so I stretched my neck to catch his gaze. I got the feeling he wasn't. "Seriously?" I questioned him before resting my head back down, facing away again. "Only if you don't say anything about me and Keira vandalizing Clove's shack." I wanted to let him know I wasn't exactly innocent, either.

Clove Nieves was a conniving bitch, and not in the good way. At the beginning of my freshman year, Clove and I met in English class. We had a mutual liking over books, and though she could be an asshole at times, she never was one to me. And she was fucking brutally hilarious. One day she received an "unacceptable" grade on a report of hers. She told our English teacher, who ironically was Hispanic, "Maybe you should go back to your home, the magical land of sombreros, where tan-skinned faeries roam free, devouring enchiladas to their hearts' content. You clearly can't understand the power of this essay if you can't even speak the language it was written in. Phone home, Senor Galvez. Telefonean a casa," bobbing her head up and down like she had offered some Nobel Prize-winning advice. If anyone else said that? They'd probably be expelled. But no, not Clove Nieves. She came from a family of wealth, who "generously" donated a wing to the school. She was golden. She was protected. She was untouchable. And she knew it.

Senor Galvez quit the next week.

One day, after about two months of knowing the bitch, I came out to her. She had a way of prying your most inner, darkest secrets from you. She swore to secrecy. I felt like I could trust her. How wrong I was.

Life went on normal enough, for about a week, until she noticed me talking to a crush of hers. She told me at some point how she felt about him, though it was probably only feelings of lust. We were laughing, joking around, when I caught sight of her from the sidelines glaring at me. Did she think I was trying to steal him away? I was pretty sure he was straight. After he left she came up to me at my locker. I could swear I saw fire leaving her heels and nostrils, only to engulf me when she finally arrived.

"What. Do you think. You are doing?" she enunciated. "You know he's mine."

"Yeah, Clove, I wasn't-"

"I don't want to hear it. I know what goes on in that head of yours. You sick, perverted freak. I thought we were friends." Was she serious? Projection, much?

"Clove, you know I wouldn't-"

If the daggers flying from her eyes into mine weren't painful enough, the thud of my head against metal sealed the deal. I stood there, shocked by the amount of force her tiny body could produce, as she stormed off. The next day I came to school and saw what must have been hundreds of posters plastered onto the concrete walls. Posters that said "Peeta Mellark's a fruit-cup!" There was a picture of my head cleverly photoshopped onto a fruit-cup on every poster. I couldn't even remember the guy's name.

We never spoke to each other again.

Cato's sudden fit of uncontrollable laughter brought me back to the present. Oh, right. I was cuddling with Clove's current crush, telling him how I made a fool of her only a week ago. "No way! That was you?" I slowly nodded my head up and down. "Man, I never thought you'd have it in you."

"Guess there's a lot you don't know about me," I replied.

"Mm," he lazily moaned, further nuzzling into my neck. "Guess not."

I finally found the courage to unhook his arms from my torso and flipped off the left side of my body and onto my right, now completely face-to-face with Cato. We inspected each others' faces, much like we had done earlier that day. The sun was setting and a brilliant hue of orange set his golden hair aflame. His lips were pursed and his eyes were dreamy.

"Why were you following me?" I asked bluntly. Now was the time for some real answers. "And you called me strange?"

"Hm," he mumbled. He thought about his answer for a good ten seconds before continuing. "Do you remember that time in elementary school? Where I ran into you on the slide?" My heart began to race. So he did remember. "Yes," I simply answer, never averting from his gaze.

"Maybe I was hoping, if the universe allowed it... to feel you, to touch you again... like that day." I felt my body begin to vibrate. His words were like an unstoppable train, and my body the tracks on which it ran. He noticed I wasn't making a move to respond. "I didn't wash that shirt for two weeks, until my mom finally made me after I spilled some spaghetti sauce-"

The crashing of our lips shut him up.

After about five seconds of Cato not physically responding, I was about to pull away. Was I being too bold? I thought he wanted this. Wanted me. Maybe I read this whole thing wr-

His face moves for the first time in what feels like centuries. He kisses back, hard, unrelenting. Our lips do the complicated steps of the tango, never wanting to part, full of fire and passion. I feel his hand cup the back of my head, playing with my hair. My hands find their way to his shirt, pulling the fabric closer to my chest. We both needed the air, so we parted. Our eyes locked – I could see an eternity within those brown spheres. My mom once told me the first time she ever held my father's gaze for longer than necessary, she could see her future in them – her children. Well, child. And I felt that, right now. Was I just projecting her own experience onto this hormonally affected teenager, blowing things out of proportion? Cato's eyes wandered down to my lips, as he licked his. I didn't care at that point – I just wanted him.

Shirts came flying off (both of them his, ironically) before our kissing took a turn for the sexier. I had never done this before but it felt so natural. We clumsily made our way to the closet, to be sure we'd have no interruptions. I found the knob, threw the door open, pulled him inside and closed it with just as much force, all the while our faces never relinquishing contact. His tongue ravished mine as we groped any sort of skin our hands could find. He grabbed my ass and slammed me, hard, into the wall. I've never been more turned on, until a bag of sugar decided to ruin the moment and pour its contents onto our heads. I thought it a sign from the universe to stop while we were ahead, until Cato spoke.

"I'm hot, sticky sweet..." he panted.

"...from my head, to my feet," I finished.

God decided to throw me a bone that day. A bone slathered with desire and gift-wrapped in perfection. Nothing would stop us now.

We were back to making out in a flash, even wilder than before. My hands found their way to his waistline, masterfully undoing his belt buckle by touch alone. I carelessly tossed it onto the floor. Before I knew it I was also on the floor, with Cato's groin in between my legs, touching mine. My arousal was as easy to see as a rainbow in the sky after a brief spring rain. Wow, be a little gayer next time, Peeta. You could be the next Liberache. Up until that point I hadn't known whether Cato was just as "excited" until I actually felt "it" brush up against me, through his jeans. Kill me now.

I pouted when Cato stood up, missing the warmth of his body. If I was cold before I surely wasn't now. He undid his pants button, stepped out of those blue jeans and proudly displayed his manhood through his thin, white- and pink-striped boxers. Yep, gonna die. He knelt back down to resume the contact he recently broke, grinding our groins together, with only the cottony material between us, as we kissed. Thrust, after thrust, after thrust. He playfully swung his hips back and forth, enjoying the contact. I could have lost it right there if he hadn't stopped again. I was getting slightly aggravated when he chose to pay more attention to his pants than to me. He was searching his pockets for something. What is he looking for, I thought. A portrait of his grandma to confess his sins to?

He pulled out a square piece of plastic, with a ring protruding through the material. "Well that makes sense," I said to myself.

Upon hearing this Cato couldn't help but laugh. "What, do you think I was searching for a picture of my grandmother or something?" It took no time for me to be by his mouth's side again. Could he read minds? Or were we even better for each other than I always hoped we'd be? I pulled him down to the ground, lips still dancing, my right hand holding a death grip onto the back of his neck. We kissed and ground for another few minutes before I noticed, some time within those moments, Cato's boxers managed to become quick friends with the door knob. When did that happen? Before breaking our lips' contact his hands were at the tip of my boxers, gently playing with the elastic band before pulling them down with more force than a saltwater crocodile's bite. He looked down on me with eyes not only full of lust, but satisfaction, like he had wanted this to happen as long as I had. Shut up brain and pay attention, dimwit.

"You sure about this?" he asked. I nodded. He slowly placed the condom onto his, what must be, 8- or 9-inch member (let's say 8.5 for argument's sake), before continuing. "Is this your first time?" he asked with sincerity in his eyes. No judging, just brutal honesty, vulnerability. Unfortunately I couldn't give it to him.

"Psht, no. No way. Done it more times than I can count," I said casually, a little too casually actually. I can't believe I said that. Cato was just looking for the truth and I couldn't give it to him. I was a lying sack of shit and I regretted it. I tried playing it off – I didn't want him to think I was a whore, especially since I was anything but. "I mean, not that many times, but, you know," I stumbled. "This ain't my first rodeo." Smooth, dumbass.

He knelt in a state of confusion, before relaxing a bit. "Yeah, of course, me neither..." he trailed off. That wasn't too convincing. Was Cato Morley, the hottest specimen to grace Panem High's halls, a virgin too? Well, if he was, he was a lying sack of shit like me and the thought lifted the weight of the world off my shoulders.

"Well then, by all means cowboy," I began my first session of dirty talk. I lift my head to reach his left ear, and breathed lightly. "Give me something to ride."

In a blur of motion he grabbed both of my ankles and set them on top of his shoulders. He devilishly smirked down. A sudden urge came over me. I propped myself up, onto my elbows, and grabbed hold of his right hand, which was previously holding my left ankle in place. I separated his index, middle and ring finger from the rest of his hand and shoved them into my mouth. I slathered as much saliva as my mouth had to offer onto them, before taking them out and shoving them into my rear. I threw my head back and moaned. I saw stars, I saw God. I saw Cato Morley hovering above me with the most angelic face this world had to offer. I pushed and pulled his fingers, in and out, before he got the message and started doing it on his own. He hit my prostate, almost knocking me out. Or maybe it was the fact I had threw my head back with such force that when it met the wall I heard a nice thud. Whatever, I was too into this to care.

He scissored and rimmed me, his barely noticeable facial hair tickling my behind. I smiled at the thought. Then, without warning, I felt it. I felt him. Inside of me.

And it fucking hurt.

I screamed, probably a little too loudly, before he pulled out and looked down at me with concern. I waved it off, kissed him and pulled him back down to me in a way to let him know I could do this. He pushed back in, slowly, ever-so-gently, and pulled back out. A few more times and I had gotten used to it.

"I'm ready," I said with no breath, but all confidence. He nodded. In a second he was back inside, and together we moaned. He found a steady rhythm – not too fast, not too slow. Call me Goldilocks. He leaned in to attack my neck (a mark would be left, I guessed) while keeping the pace steady, never breaking his stride. I whispered "Faster" into the ear that was now hovering above my face. He kept at my neck while quickening the pace. With each thrust I felt myself getting closer to my climax.

That was until everything in this God-forsaken closet decided to fall on top of us. First, the rusty old broom hit Cato on the back of his head, earning a simple "Ow," yet the smile on his glistening face never faded. Old cleaning rags fell onto mine – I tried swatting them away like a swarm of pesky gnats. Where'd Cato's face go? I missed it. His hands gracefully pulled the rags from my face and discarded them onto the floor. I mouthed a silent "Thanks." He mouthed a silent "No problem."

Cato continued his pace, thrusting faster and faster each time, our eyes never leaving the other's before I felt a warm blast of liquid fly onto my stomach, four different times. I sighed a deep breath of relief. Cato was still going, like a madman, my head repeatedly slamming into the wall, only picking up speed when finally his time came. I felt him convulse inside of me, while coming to meet my face with his in a kiss, signifying the end of our journey. There's no way to describe that feeling. Pure bliss. He moaned huskily before collapsing on top of me, still inside, not yet pulling out. We lay there panting for a good while – his head resting on my rising and falling chest, me stroking his beautifully sweat covered hair. I never thought silence could be so golden. He passed out before I got to tell him how wonderful he was.

I watched him, for what must have been two hours – petting him, tracing his shoulder blades, counting every mole I could find (four, so far). I could have stayed there 'til the cows came home. Unfortunately those heffers took a taxi cab and I realized what time it was.

Fucking bonfire.

It pained me to wake him but I had no choice. He probably didn't mean to pass out either, so it was for the best. I gently kissed the tip of his nose, descending onto the gap of skin between his nose and lips, and finally my lips met his. I heard him breathe in heavily before kissing back, unconsciously. Hopefully he wouldn't be too startled and think this a mistake upon realizing who I was. He opened his eyes, still hazy from sleep, and smiled.

"Hi," he whispered.

"Hey," I whispered back. I stroked his hair some more. "Sleep well?"

He snorted. "'Course. When a dream comes true you can't help but sleep peacefully."

I sat there for moment, a smile slowly creeping its way onto my face. "That's probably the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to me," I replied and kissed his forehead. "If you had really dreamed of this why haven't you done it earlier?" I wondered out loud. "Made a move, I mean."

"Well I thought you'd find your books more interesting than me. I couldn't stand the thought of you rejecting me," he answered truthfully.

"Me? Reject you? I don't think even Angelina Jolie could do that," I joked. I had no idea... It was almost heart-breaking, knowing we were both aching for the other and suffering through years of what we thought was unrequited desire.

He laughed and started drawing circles around my right nipple. I began to feel myself "grow," and as much as I wanted to do it again (and as many times as Jolie had kids) I forced myself up, threw on my clothes (which wasn't much), left the closet and opened the door to the shack. Cato followed suit and met me by the door, a lit cigarette hanging out of his mouth, bringing a hand around my waist, holding me close. We stood and watched the sun set – the sky combusting into different, wondrous shades of yellow, orange, red and purple. I decided there that my love for Cato wasn't your average color of fire – it was purple, the color of fire only the sky held. A fire doused in love. I stood on my tippy-toes to bring my lips to his cheek before getting into some proper clothing.

"Bonfire?" I asked simply after changing.

"Bonfire," he replied, smiling. We left the cabin, fingers interlaced, walking toward the stream of smoke that overtook what must be half of the camp. As soon as we arrived, setting our sights on the 50 or more teenagers gathered 'round, I felt Cato let go of my hand. He looked down at me before whispering into my ear "I'm gonna go meet my friends. Is that okay?" Okay? I just gave myself to him and he didn't even want to spend the rest of the night with me. Though he feared I would reject him, he was rejecting me.

"Yeah, sure, I was gonna go look for Keira anyway," I played it off. "I haven't talked to her in a day or two and I think we've got some catching up to do." He kept my gaze, before a scared look came over him. "Don't worry, I won't tell." I looked around to see if anyone had noticed our arrival and kissed him on the cheek before wandering through the mass of people to find Keira. It was kinda hard not to find her – she was hopping up and down, screaming her lungs off. Oh, how I missed her, that crazy bitch.

"Burn that fucking wood!" I heard her yell over the voices of so many others. Hers was distinguishable, of course. "You call that a bonfire? My grandmother's gas stove gets flames higher than that!" I tackled her into a hug before she could notice my presence. "Peeta! I'm so glad you're..." She stopped and inspected my person. I let go of her and froze, wondering if that criminal mastermind of hers could deduce I just had sex with Cato Morley. My eyes flickered over to where he was standing, drinking out of a red plastic cup, talking with his friends. Thankfully Keira didn't follow my gaze as my eyes returned to meet hers. "Where the fuck have you been?"

Phew. I could dodge this bullet. Pointing to my forehead I answered. "I bumped my head an hour ago and I was trying to get some rest before this shindig. Then I heard your nails-on-a-chalkboard voice pierce my earlobes from two miles away, so I decided to try and calm you down before this whole camp went deaf." I must admit, I had a way with words.

She bought it, and turned her figure back to the bonfire. "Well maybe if these pansies knew how to build a flame they'd be able to keep their hearing! Come on!" She egged on the camp administrators before placing her drink onto the ground and running over to the forgotten gas can across from us. She grabbed it, her face contorting into the face of what I can only imagine to be The Devil, before throwing it into the flames in front of her. She let out a victorious "Wooo! That's what I'm talkin' about!" before being dragged away by the counselors like a mad person.

"Peeta!" She thrashed in their grip, calling out to me. "Finish what I started!" she mouthed. I could just barely make out what she said with the light of the fire only just catching her face. Her eyes lead me to another gas can, not far from the one she had picked up.

Well, it's been real kiddies, I thought to myself. This day has already been the best of my life, so why not place that plastic, fuel-filled cherry onto this sundae of a fire? I skillfully made my way through a number of kids, not bumping a single one of them like they were some sort of alarm system, waiting to feel my presence only to alert the bad guys at the end of the level that I had breached their security. I made my way to the can, slowly picked it up and ran to the front of the fire, smack dab in the middle of the crowd.

I felt a wave of adrenaline and courage wash over me. "Anarchy!" I screamed (the first thing that came to mind), before throwing the can into the flames. The fire responded with a loud cackle and the growing of the flames that danced in the night sky. It was then I noticed everyone around me, cheering at my rebellious display and chanting my name. How did they even know it? Looking around I knew barely any of them. I heard a loud "Wooo! That's my bitch!" from behind that could only have been Keira, before I found and locked eyes with Cato. He licked his lips, much like he had done earlier that day, and began to approach me. I was walking toward him when all of a sudden two counselors grabbed me from behind. "You're coming with us," the bigger one said, stuffily. Asshole. While I was being whisked away I saw Cato mouth something. I squinted my eyes and shook my head in misunderstanding, and he mouthed it again. I owe you? Fly above boob? And then it hit me.

Time slowed. The sounds of cheering dissipated.

I love you.

Frozen in place by the sudden confession of love probably wasn't the response he was looking for, as I read from his face. I was looking for one too, but couldn't find it. I have never said that to anyone, nor received it (besides relatives, and Keira and Yoko, of course). Why was it so hard to say? I know I love him.

The involuntary dragging of my feet pulled me back to my senses. They lugged me into the sterile-lit main office, and threw me onto a chair, where I was with Keira again. She beamed and waved violently. "Oh. My. God. Wasn't that the best moment of your life?" She nodded her head, waiting for my approval.

"Yeah, it was pretty intense." My mind managed to drift back to just a few hours ago where Cato and I lay in that dusty old broom closet, where we had sex. Where we made... love?

"So," she continued, "if we're not banned from coming here next year I'm totally doing that again. Do you think they would ban us? It's not like it was illegal or anything." Before I got a chance to answer, her mouth refused to stop moving. "They're calling our parents. Guess we're too bummer for summer and we're being forced to leave tonight. Counselors are in our cabins, gathering our things as we speak. Luckily," she flipped her fiery hair, "my parents aren't home. Hence, summer camp?" She verbally attacked the man who was no doubt attempting to reach her parents. He looked back at Keira like he was afraid of her. And he probably should be. She began filing her nails.

"You can always grab a ride back with me, K."

"Oh, great idea! Then we can talk about our individual summer experiences on the way home. I mean, with you being strictly-dickly (I always hated that term, but when it came to Keira saying it, it was almost bearable to hear) you've got to tell me about the hottest abs this camp had to offer!" Her eyes grew in fascination, probably trying to imagine what I had, indeed, seen.

Then, without notice (and this was very Keira-esque), she took a hold of my shirt collar, invading that personal space we all have like it was non-existent and pulled it down, my neck with it. She inspected my skin, head cocked for some time before letting go and speaking, my collar now forever wrinkled.

"Peeta, what the fuck is on your neck?" she tactfully inquired.

I thought for a second and couldn't come up with anything. "What are you talking about?" I answered honestly. She looked at me like I was dumb.

"Peeta, is that a hickey?"

Oh. That.

Fuck me.

Instinctively I raised a hand to cover the spot, remembering that Cato had marked me. Instantly I felt all the heat from our session pour into that single spot. Bastard. How was I gonna get myself out of this one?

"Uh," I started, for once in my life not being able to squirm my way out of a sticky situation. Keira knew I was having trouble and took her hands in mine.

"Oh my god! Peeta, you slut!" She obviously didn't mean it to insult, but I at least wanted to keep this a secret for as long as I could. "Looks like our little talk's gonna be more interesting than I thought." Still not finding the right words I got up and walked out of the office, only to find my and Keira's belongings being chucked into the back of my dad's ("manly," as he often described it) SUV. Keira ran outside to meet me when I turned back to her.

"Can we talk about this another time? I don't think now is... ideal," I said. She nodded, understanding my predicament. "Don't say a word of this to anyone, got it?" I wasn't usually this forceful, but Keira didn't notice it anyway as she brought up a hand to her lips, locking them before throwing away the key. "Thanks." I hugged her. I don't know why I had looked for a friend in Clove. I just needed Keira.

"You know I'm shit at keeping secrets, so you owe me one." I nodded. I was about to ask her what she wanted when my mom came and shrieked at the sight of me.

"Ohhhh! My little boy! You handsome little devil, you!" She wrapped her arms around me before suffocating me in a bear hug. "I missed you so much!"

"I missed you too, mom," I said almost uncaringly. I could go a week or two more without her nagging me about popularity and sports. My dad fortunately came to my rescue and pried my mom off of me. She went to go greet Keira.

"Hey kiddo," my dad said before ruffling my hair with a smile on his face. When anyone else did it I grew furious, but when he did it I didn't mind at all. I actually kinda liked it. "Have a good summer?"

"Better than I thought I would," I replied, embracing him into a hug.

"All right, let's get out of here, you delinquents," he said, ending it. "Your mom was just cooking some food when we got the call. Food's gonna get cold."

"Sounds good," Keira and I said. We hopped into the car and took off. It was only a matter of minutes before my mom began to talk. She turned around, beaming, before asking the most awkward thing I've ever been asked in my life.

"So, who'd you hook up with?" she asked, shamelessly. Sometimes I think if my mom were half her age she and Keira could be identical twins.

"Mom!" I exclaimed before turning to Keira, who was looking at me pensively, damming the river of words she wanted her mouth to let out. I looked back to my expecting mom.

"What? Oh, please, I was fifteen once, too," she began. I heard this before, and rolled my eyes as my mind finished her sentence. "...And not too long ago, either."

"And not too long ago, either!" Surprise. "I know what goes down in those shabby cabins." I blushed feverishly, faking a cough to hide it in my sleeve. "And so does your father," she winked. Blush – gone.

"Gross, mom... Can we not talk about this?" Unless you want me to throw up on your pretty little face.

"Sure, honey, whatever you want. I'm just glad to have you back!" she said as she pinched my cheeks.

"What am I, five-years old?" I gritted through teeth and red, pulled skin.

"You'll always be in my eyes," she said as she let go and sat back in her seat. The rest of the ride home was normal, my dad talking about work, and sports. My mom going on about about how some new push-up bra she just bought made her boobs look incredible, until we reached a fork in the road.

"Keira, would you like to stay over our place? I know your parents aren't home," my dad asked. He was a sweetheart.

"That's okay, Mr. Mellark. I just want to unpack my things and hit the sack." We arrived at her place, and helped her unload her bags and carry them into the house. And by we I mean my dad and I.

She hugged me one more time before going inside. "I will be calling you tomorrow, PP, and you better answer, and you better, better tell me what happened to that neck of yours." I nodded. She had a right to know, I never kept anything from her before, nor her from me. She was the sister I never had but always wanted.

I nodded. "Promise." I grabbed her pinky in mine and shook on it.

We arrived home a few minutes later. I rushed to the door, not caring about my things in the car, to be greeted by the wonderful smell of freshly cooked lasagna. Not cooked by my mom, of course. I began to run up the stairs trying to reach my room when I caught my foot on an article of clothing... Men's underwear? Dad's underwear? Oh God, no.

It was good to be home.

Before I could reach my room and crash for the night, I heard my mom scream from below. "Honey, if you won't eat with us, at least take your heap of mail to your room with you! It's burning a hole in my new marble counter-top!" I complied, running back down the stairs and grabbing the eight or so envelopes and carrying them back to my room.

Most of them were bogus scholarship and college applications. Boring. I was about to dump them all into the trash can in the corner of my bathroom when I came upon one that caught my eye. It had no return address – instead, in the top left corner it read "Must read. Important!" Handwritten. Well. Guess I gotta read it then. I turned the hot water lever for my bath right, plugged in and powered on my electric clippers before sitting down on top of the toilet seat, tearing open the envelope to find out what was just so damn important.

I wasn't ready for what lay in store for me.

The letter had miniature stars surrounding the top and bottom borders, horizontally. It was typed to near perfection, eliminating a good percentage of my friends as possible writers. It began...

Peeta,

As you are now, you could completely disappear and no one would notice. Below is a list of suggestions for your consideration:

Number 1: Stop being a pussy.
Number 2: Your instincts suck. Second guess them.
Number 3: The only people more pathetic than you are your friends. Drop the dead weight.
Number 4: When you're handsome, you're happy. And clearly you're not happy.
Number 5: Pull your head out of your ass and stand out.
Number 6: Nobody likes the pitiful. Stop being such a drag.
Number 7: You have to be cruel to be kind.
Number 8: You're gay. Maybe you should act like it.
Number 9: Make amends.
Number 10: Pretend you want to.

A friend.

What the... The letter I had just read left me in a state of complete emptiness. I re-read it about 5 times, or more. Someone actually felt this way about me? I couldn't comprehend it. Did Clove write this? That fucking bitch, she couldn't just get over her petty-ass problems, could she?

No, it couldn't be Clove. She would never sign with "A friend." Clove was many a thing, but a friend she was certainly not. Or maybe she was trying to confuse me?

As I looked down again to re-read it I noticed the words flying off of the paper, merging together in the steamy air. I closed my eyes and held my temples as my brain began to pulsate. I couldn't think of this right now. Tears began to overtake my eyes as I knelt down to the bottom of my sink, opened its doors, and found a bottle of aspirin. My headache was spiraling out of control at that point. I took two pills in my hand – they looked abnormally larger than the other times I had taken them, but I told myself I've taken bigger, and threw them down my throat.

Unfortunately my trachea was a bit exhausted as well, and I began to choke. On two fucking pills, really? Should I count how many times I've done this in the past few years? Not choke, the other part. I began clawing my chest for some breath to find none. I keeled over the sink, knocking the opened pill bottle onto the floor, scattering the red and white capsules everywhere, which quickly came to consume the entire ground. I looked into the mirror for what could have been the last time. The letter was right... I'm a pussy. My instincts sucked, I couldn't even down a few pills. The friends part I just couldn't agree with, and if I survived this, I promised myself I never would.

I had no time to lament on the rest as I felt myself growing weaker and weaker. I lost my balance, lungs still void of oxygen, when I must have slipped on a pill and went flying backwards. I tried gripping the edge of my sink for support, only to found my buzzing clippers, which then found itself in the bathtub. My bathroom lights flickered for a moment before my head made contact with the floor, knocking me out cold. I had one thought before the darkness surrounded me.

Cato.

A/N:

So? What'd you think? If it's too long I can halve 'em up :D, and if it's too stupid I'll just chop it all up into pieces. D:

Do you like Keira? The idea of her cracks me up. She wasn't intended to be Foxface, per se. I wanted a more outrageous character so I invented her.

Do you think anyone is too OOC? Let me know and I'll try and explain why I wrote them that way in my next update.

Any questions/comments/concerns at all? Leave my a review or sumtin' and I'll get back to you ASAP! This is my first fanfic so I don't expect it to be perfect.

Again I really hoped you enjoyed yourself and come back for more.

Love 'n' Peace,

Scheiguy