Author's Note: First, this story was inspired by a request from LaPoseur. I hope I did her vision justice. You need to check out her stories as well! The parts in bold are from Catching Fire. Please, enjoy!
So I go to bed and, sure enough, within a few hours I awake from a nightmare… I order warm milk, the most calming thing I can think of, from an attendant. Hearing voices in the television room, I go in and find Peeta. Beside him on the couch is the box Effie sent of tapes of the old Hunger Games. I recognize the episode in which Brutus became the victor.
Peeta rises and flips off the tape when he sees me. "Couldn't sleep?"
"Not for long," I say. I pull the robe more securely around me as I remember [my nightmare].
"Want to talk about it?" he asks. Sometimes that can help, but I just shake my head, feeling weak…
When Peeta holds out his arms, I walk straight into them. It's the first time since they announced the Quarter Quell that he's offered me any sort of affection… I wrap my arms tightly around his neck… he pulls me closer and buries his face in my hair. Warmth radiates from the spot where his lips just touch my neck, slowly spreading through the rest of me. It feels so good, so impossibly good, that I know I will not be the first to let go…
Peeta plants a kiss on my forehead and slowly pulls away. He clears his throat as if he is going to speak, but as he steps back, he bumps into the box of tapes. The box falls to the ground and the tapes scatter around the room. I can't stop myself from laughing a little at how red his face becomes when he is embarrassed. I guess that is the downside of being blonde and fair skinned. "Here let me help you," I say as I bend to help him retrieve all the tapes.
As we stack them back in the box something catches my eye. The tape seems much older than the rest. It's pretty beat up. The label is peeled back and yellowing. I look at the label but can't make it out. The ink has faded too much. I hold it up for Peeta to see. "What's this?" I ask.
"Oh, that's one of the first Hunger Games. I took out most of the oldest ones because a lot of the victors were dead. I must have missed that one," he answers.
I look down at the tape. "Why don't we watch this one then? I don't think I can handle seeing any of our competitors right now." Images from my nightmare flash though my mind again.
"Ok," Peeta replies, taking the tape from my hand and popping it into the player. He joins me on the couch, and I burrow into the cushions and his side. He drapes one arm around me, and I rest my head on his chest.
We watch the reapings first, of course, and everything seems fairly standard until they get to District 6. When the girl is selected, Selena Doherty, a petite girl with almost white blonde curls steps from the crowd and makes her way down the aisle. When she nears the group of eighteen year old boys, a brown haired boy shoves through the Peacekeepers and pulls her into a desperate kiss. It takes two Peacekeepers to beak them apart and settle the crowd. The girl is finally on stage, and a boy's name is drawn, Jameson Daniels. The same brown haired boy makes his way to the stage.
"So we weren't the only star-crossed lovers," I whisper looking up at Peeta. He doesn't respond, but he gives me a small squeeze. "Why have we never heard of this one?"
"I don't know," Peeta says.
In the interviews, Selena mostly cries, and Jameson vows to keep her safe. When the games begin, they fair very well. She is very fast, and he strong and a more than decent shot with a bow. They steal away from the cornucopia with a good amount of supplies. She slips a knife in her belt, but the few times tributes try to attack them, Jameson takes them down easily with an arrow or beats them until they stop moving. The cornucopia is perched at the top of a canyon wall. The very bottom of the canyon is covered with lethal looking stalagmites, but the wall is ringed with plenty of ledges, caves, and even patches of tees.
On the first night, while setting up camp on a ledge overlooking most of the arena, they find a tent in one of the packs from the cornucopia. Jameson sets it up quickly and pulls Selena in with him. Although you can't technically see them, you can easily make out their shadows and hear them whispering to each other. At first they just talk about mundane things like missing home, but soon it becomes quiet. At first, I assume they are asleep, but then a soft moan comes from the TV speakers, then a gasp, followed by a lot of rustling around. Selena sits up in the tent. You can see the shadow cast on the side as she lifts her shirt up over her head.
I feel Peeta's heartbeat quicken slightly under my ear. I shift slightly. I never thought this tape would contain, well, this. More clothing has been shed inside the tent on screen, and Jameson is now hovering over Selena. His shadow begins creating a rocking motion and the gasps and moans are becoming louder and louder. I can feel my own heartbeat quicken, and I get the urge to clamp my thighs together. I can't help but think what it would be like doing this with Peeta. I force those thoughts from my mind. I feel a blush creep across my cheeks. I keep my eyes locked to the TV. I am afraid to look up at Peeta again.
With one final thrust of Jameson's shadow, their shadows still. Jameson rolls off of Selena. Soon, there is only silence in the tent, and the cameras move on to something more interesting.
"Do you think if we had done that we would have gotten more sponsors?" Peeta asks tying to sound offhanded, but the lowness of his voice makes it come out sounding more serious than he must have intended. I laugh nervously, but I don't say anything.
The game is almost over. There are only four tributes left including Jameson and Selena. The two are running, away from a storm of acid rain. They scramble up and down the sides of the canyon wall, hopping from ledge to ledge. As they perch on the edge of particularly skinny ledge looking down to see nothing but sharp stalagmites, a cannon sounds. The acid rain must have taken out another tribute. They only have one more competitor left. They move to embrace each other, and that's when it happens—another cannon sounds. They are the only two left. It happens so quick my gasp barely has a chance to leave my throat. The girl slips the knife from her belt and rams it upward under the boy's ribcage on his left side. His death is almost instantaneous, but he manages to whisper three final words, "I forgive you."
Selena freezes for a moment letting go of the knife and watching the boy's lifeless body slip to the ground. She stares at it intently then begins to punch, beat, kick, and claw the body. "Damn, you," she screeches. "You can't forgive me, you… you… bastard." She keeps screaming at his unhearing ears until she collapses on his corpse sobbing.
Finally, a hover craft comes, and I am relieved that it must be finally over. However, it gets worse. Selena tries to cling to his body, but her tiny frame is no match for the claw of the hovercraft, and his body is wrenched from her fingers. The force throws her back, and she stumbles. Her foot goes over the ledge, and her body quickly drops out of sight. The camera angle changes suddenly to an overhead shot. She lies at the bottom of the canyon, impaled by one of the pointed rocks.
I jump from the couch and switch off the TV. So, this is why we have never heard of this game. There was no victor. I realize with a jolt that this is also why the berries saved Peeta and me. I begin to shake and before I know it, tears are streaming down my face. Selena's lack of hesitation. Jameson's last words. Her swift descent into madness and her gruesome death. I can't keep the images away.
Peeta wraps me in his arms again, and I bury my face in his chest. He strokes my hair until my breathing returns to a semi normal rate. As I calm down, I become more aware of Peeta or more specifically his body. He smells like a mix of bread, soap, and boy. I can feel the toned muscles of his chest under my fingers as I cling to him. He lightly touches his lips to my neck again, and I feel a shiver run through my body.
I hear the door to the train car open slightly, but when I don't hear the door open all the way, I open my eyes and steal a peek. The attendant is at the door with my warm milk. I am about to pull away from Peeta who must not have heard the sound, when the attendant raises his free hand to his face, brining one finger to his lips. He slowly backs out of the room. I smile slightly and silently thank him for not ending this moment too soon.
Peeta slips his hand under my chin and raises my face up to meet his. Kissing without cameras feels different. It feels more like what I felt in the cave during our first games, but even more intense. When our lips meet, I can't keep the image of the moving shadows on the tent's wall from shooting through my mind. I groan involuntarily, and Peeta takes this as some kind of signal. He scoops me up and carries me back to the couch. He sits with me in his lap.
My feelings are running wild. I feel like crying and laughing at the same time. I think about stopping him. I know he would stop if I asked him. He would probably even apologize. But, I don't really want him to stop. His lips feel warm and familiar against mine. I have no real reason to tell him to stop. I've said goodbye to Gale. I've resolved myself to keeping Peeta alive which means I only have a few days left to live anyway. Why deny him this? Why deny myself this? I mean we are supposed to be engaged, right? Maybe this can keep my horrible, terrifying thoughts at bay, if only for a little while.
I press my lips to his again, and one of his hands tangles into my hair. His fingers lightly scratch my scalp, and it sends a shiver all the way to my fingertips and toes. His lips move to my neck and collar bone, and I can't help but sigh. I shift my body so I am straddling him. His hand is playing with the collar of my night shirt asking for permission. I raise my hands to the buttons and do it for him. He pushed the fabric down my arms and pulls my hair behind my shoulders. For a moment, I feel very self-conscious, but the way he looks at me, his eyes clear and sparkling, awe and admiration clear on his face, I feel beautiful as if I am wearing one Cinna's designs instead of next to nothing.
Peeta swallows hard then whispers, "You are absolutely stunning." At these words, I do blush, but so he can't see my embarrassment, I kiss him again. He traces the outline of my breasts with his fingertips. As I press my body into his, trying to close the minimal space between us, I feel him bump against my center. We both gasp. To get the feeling again, I grind down on him. He groans but grabs my hips to still me.
"Katniss… I… I…," he begins.
"Imagine that, Peeta Mellark at a loss for words," I grin. He laughs but keeps his hands on my hips.
"I just want to make sure you are ok with this," he says. Of course, Peeta would want to talk about it. I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes, but his fingers on my hips stop me. I am once again aware of my lack of clothing. As I glance nervously around the room, tying to think of my response, I notice a plate of bread left over from dinner or perhaps put out by an attendant for a late night snack. Peeta, the boy with the bread, has always been there. He has always sustained me whether physically or emotionally. I am okay with this. I am more than okay. I want this. I look back to Peeta and see the question lingering in his eyes.
"Yes," I say in a voice as controlled as I can manage. I gently pick up one of his hands and bring it to my breast. "Touch me, Peeta."
He gives my breast a gentle squeeze then moves his hand to my back. He cradles me in his arms and lays me back onto the couch. He hovers over me, propped up on one arm. With his other hand, he draws intricate patterns on my collar bone, around my breasts, and down to my abdomen. It tickles but in the most tantalizing way. He plays with the tie on my pajamas. I raise myself up a little so he can slip them off me. I realize Peeta has on way too many clothes. I grab the hem of his shirt and start to pull it over his head. When the shirt is discarded on the floor, I push his pants down and over his hips, leaving him in only his boxers.
Once we are settled on the couch again, I wrap my arms around Peeta's neck and press my chest to his. The feel of our skin together almost sets me on fire. His prosthetic leg feels cool against my calf, but it only serves as a reminder of the sacrifices Peeta has made, for me. Peeta's hand slips under my underwear, and he touches me lightly. I squirm beneath him, causing his finger to slip inside me. We both inhale sharply. He begins to shyly move his hand and fingers, but his eyes never leave my face. He gauges my reaction and repeats his motions whenever he elicits a moan or gasp from me. I close my eyes and give myself over fully to his touch.
I feel like I am drowning in Peeta. I can feel his heart beat rapidly in my ear as I press my face into his chest. It reminds me of the way water sounds as it presses against my ears when diving for katniss roots, my namesake. His sent overwhelms me making me feel light headed. His touch makes my mind cloudy. My heart races so fast I can't breathe. When I think I truly will drown, Peeta pushes me to the surface, and the water breaks around me. With a cry of his name, I gasp for air and clutch at his shoulders.
When my mind finally clears, I kiss Peeta and begin to push his boxers away. He takes care of them and pulls my underwear off as well. In the back of my mind I think I should be embarrassed, and I am surprised I am not. I have never been naked in front of a boy like this before. My mother and my prep team are the only people who have ever seen me so exposed. I reach down and gently stroke Peeta. He drops his head and closes his eyes. He seems to be struggling to control himself. What did he tell me once? I don't know the effect I can have on people. I never thought I could affect someone—a boy—like this. I knew Peeta liked me. I even knew it was in a romantic way, but I didn't know he thought of me like this. As I touch him intimately, I am surprised at how hard and soft he is at the same time. I don't know what to do. My fingers are used to handling bows and arrows not boys.
"Umm, Peeta?" I begin.
"Yes?" He practically gasps. I think he has been holding his breath.
"What do I do?" He opens his eyes and takes my hand in his. He curls my fingers around his length. His grasp is stronger than I would have expected. He moves my hand up and down in a stroking motion. Once I get the hang of the motion, he drops his hand away from mine and closes his eyes. I continue the motion and watch his face like he watched mine. Is he drowning, too?
"Katniss," he says through gritted teeth after a few minutes. "If you keep doing that, I won't last much longer."
"You want me to stop?" I ask, stilling my hand, slightly confused. I want to push him back to the surface, too.
"No, but I don't want all of this to stop," he answers breathily. He raises a hand to my cheek and pushed my hair gently out of my face. "Katniss, can I," he starts, but then a blush rises in his cheeks, and he swallows. "I want to be inside of you," he finally manages to get out. Even though the logical part of me knew we would reach this point as soon as I told Peeta to touch me, I can't help but pause at his words, but I won't turn back now.
Instead of answering him, I slide down on the couch slightly and bend my knees. I don't take my eyes from his. They really are the most stunning shade of blue, and I decide I like the more navy shade they are in this moment. I feel him press against my entrance. I wriggle around slightly, and he pushes into me. It doesn't exactly hurt. It's more uncomfortable than anything, an intense pressure in my lower abdomen.
"Are you okay?" Peeta asks. I can see in his eyes how much effort he is exerting to hold still. Of course, Peeta would think of me and my comfort even during this moment.
"Yes, move, please," I manage before he presses his lips to mine, and I am submerged in desire once more. When he pulls back and pushes into me again I feel my own wet warmth between my legs. The slickness makes his motions pleasurable. The uncomfortableness disappears. I start raising my hips upward to meet his thrusts. It takes a bit, but soon we are moving in tandem. I cling to his shoulders to stay afloat. I gasp his name, and soon my name tumbles from Peeta's lips with one final gasp.
After, he lays his head on my chest. I push his hair back and hold him to me. He traces patterns on my stomach with his fingers again. "I love the sound of your heartbeat," he says. "I think it might be my favorite sound in the world." A stab of pain wrenches at my gut at his words. Why does he say things like this? It brings me roughly back to reality. We will be in the arena again in a matter of days. He won't be able to hear my heart much longer, but hopefully I can keep his beating. In my mind, I see images from the games we just watched. Selena clawing at Jameson's lifeless form. The stalagmite piercing her body. I shiver and Peeta looks up.
"Maybe we should put our clothes back on before Haymich comes looking for a drink or something," I mumble. I gently push him away. Peeta looks at me for a moment as if I might say more, but I don't, effectively ruining the moment. When Peeta sits up and begins collecting our clothes, the room feels a lot cooler, and I know it's not just from the loss of body heat. I pull my shirt roughly back over my shoulders, and once we are both dressed, Peeta rejoins me on the couch, keeping a good few inches between us.
We sit for a moment in silence. His hand lies on the couch between us. Before I can stop myself, I reach out and grab it with mine. I rub the back of his hand with my fingers. "I'm sorry," I whisper, only looking at his fingers. "I'm not good at this." He sighs and gives my hand a squeeze. I look up and see he is looking at me, smiling sadly. We sit with our hands entwined, not speaking or moving.
The arrival of a Capitol attendant with warm milk is what breaks us apart. I notice it is the same attendant from earlier who allowed my moment with Peeta. He sets a tray with a steaming ceramic jug and two mugs on the table. "I brought and extra cup," he says.I am glad he still brought the milk and that he brought Peeta a cup. I've grown thirsty for a different reason, and sitting here with Peeta feels nice, even if eventually I can always find a way to make it tense.
"Thanks," I say, hoping he will understand I am thinking him for more than just the milk.