I'm in love with this pairing, especially at the moment so I decided to write another one shot, though this one is considerably… cleaner. It's from Johanna's point of view, enjoy.
Disclaimer - I don't own the Hunger Games or the characters used within this story or evidently this would have occurred.
"What's that?" Your voice comes out hoarse and you curse yourself because it isn't just due to how weak you're feeling. It's due to her. Due to how close she is and how she makes you feel like you're both calmly lulling into a peaceful slumber and violently thrashing awake to a revitalised world. You're sure you look like a mess and your hair is definitely unruly, but she doesn't look like she's judging you and you appreciate that. You hate feeling weak, especially in front of people you care about and you know you care for her. It was some time ago now that you stopped kidding yourself by pretending you didn't feel the ache in your chest whenever she was there. The victor from district 12 had trampled into your life and you'd given up lying to yourself because it was hard enough having to lie to everyone else about the storm brewing within you.
"I made it for you. Something to put in your drawer." You don't know what to say to her and she places the bundle gently into your hand before urging you to smell it. You follow her instruction without question or hesitation and you think you see a small smile grace her lips at your swift movement and the connotations of trust that are attached.
"Smells like home" You say and it does; only she doesn't see the truth you've carefully hidden within each word because she replies with,
"That's what I was hoping. You being from Seven and all" You find yourself leaning forward. Edging in inch by inch but it's weird. It's weird because it's silent. You don't hear the bloodcurdling screams that usually hide in every crevice of your mind. You don't hear the dripping and running of blood that haunts your every breath. You can't even hear your heart - which you know is thumping in your chest.
All you can do is breathe - albeit a little shakily - and happen to take in the aroma you would describe as home. Though home wasn't district 7. No. Home was her. You wanted to tell her earlier when she handed them to you and you inhaled the marvelous scent. But even with your cocky bravado you didn't have the guts. You didn't have the guts to tell her that the pine needles reminded you of her. That the smell made you think of the woods which, in turn, flooded your mind with images of her. Images of her at peace, hunting near her home. Images of her sprinting for her life in the arena, still somehow capturing your heart with her beauty at the worst of times. Although you don't think she's ever looked as beautiful as she did right now with her gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips. You definitely didn't have the ability to tell her any of those things however. But now, with her inching forward just as you are, you think maybe she knew all along.
She steals your breath when her lips press to yours regardless of how tentatively she does it, because it finally clicks with you that you've been thinking of this moment ever since you saw her. Ever since you caught a glance of the reaping where she threw herself forward, declaring she volunteered, declaring that she'd go in the place of her sister. But the reaping wasn't what you thought of. It was her lips you dreamt of. It was a vision that took over your every dream. A vision that clouded your every blink, storming into your mind every time you would close your eyes and demanding you burn with the ache of knowing you'd never be good enough to compete for the girl on fire, and that you'd never feel her lips moving in sync with yours. Only, you can feel her lips, grappling with yours and you realize it's nothing like your dream, because nothing could quite compete with the reality of it. With the reality of her.
You gasp lightly at the contrast of her cold hand on your heated skin as she cups your face, seemingly filled with the desire to deepen the steady kiss you've established. She gets her wish when she takes the opportunity that arises from your surprise to slip her tongue into your mouth, but you don't mind the assault, in fact, you encourage it.
You wonder where she learned to kiss like this and the dark part of your mind tells you that she's been kissing and running from multiple people for quite some time. This thought causes you to rip your head away abruptly. You take her in. Her eyes stay closed; her lips are slightly parted as labored breaths slip through the gap. She looks worried. She looks like she's scared you'll push her away, say it meant nothing and run. She looks insecure. She looks gorgeous. So utterly gorgeous that your lips are back on hers just as quickly as they left, and you ignore all dark thoughts that chase each other through your mind because no-one could lie like that. Not even she could make it that convincing and even if she could, you need to get as much as you can before she could no longer give it and you'd have to live with the numbingly dull throb you felt when her lips weren't attached to yours anymore.
You find your strength in her kisses. You find yourself in the way she pulls your body closer to hers. You find your deepest desire when you do a trick you know a district 12 boy would never be able to and her moan echoes through your body, vibrating violently through your bones.
You find something in each of her movements and yet you know you're losing your mind with each one too because she makes you forget your name. She makes you forget your terror. She makes your forget your pain. She makes you forget how to breathe but that's alright because you can't seem to find air to breathe in anyway. You find your mind completely blank apart from the feel of her fingers running along your scalp when she seems to find her rhythm.
When she pulls back, you follow her lips mindlessly, managing to catch them once again with just enough time to place a chaste kiss to them before you simply rest your forehead against hers, happy to revel in the feel of her breath mingling with yours between your now slightly swollen lips.
"Remember when we met? You were a tree. Well, briefly." You find yourself laughing before you pull her down to lay with you and say,
"I meant it when I said we should do it again sometime" She chuckles along with you and you feel your heart stop beating completely when she says something equally salacious,
"Next time I'll drop my dress too"