Intimate Portraits

by sohypothetically

Katniss and Peeta have another arena to face in Catching Fire. Before that, though, the Capitol imposes another challenge with some exciting results.

Written for Prompts in Panem: Intimate Portraits (#8)

Summary: Katniss and Peeta have another arena to face in Catching Fire. Before that, though, the Capitol imposes another challenge with some exciting results.

Rating: M

Prompt: Intimate Portraits (#8)

I do not own The Hunger Games.

-o-

The wind on the roof blew fiercely as Haymitch turned to Cinna.

"Cinna, spill it. What the hell is going on?

"Snow is having a photo shoot especially for Victors and their biggest sponsors. The sponsors can pay to be there the whole day and then the whole thing culminates in a party – but only for special sponsors." Cinna lets that sink in. "I think he's finally realizing that, with the Victors as tributes, he's losing some significant cash flow. Doing this gets him one last night of sponsorship."

Haymitch rubbed the stubble on his jaw thoughtfully.

"There's more. Stylists have been instructed to prepare some very special outfits: it's a boudoir shoot."

Haymitch closed his eyes as if in pain. Finally, he said, "Sweetheart is not going to take this well."

"I know. I'm going to do the best I can…nothing too overt, just hints of skin, that sort of thing. They both have quite a following though."

Cinna and Haymitch looked out over the Capitol, each considering the possibilities. Popular victors, scantily clad and a party afterward…Snow would get all he could from them. Unless some other agreement was reached, Katniss and Peeta would be auctioned off to the highest bidder for the night.

Haymitch nodded slowly. "I'll see what I can do."

Cinna paused. "Effie is going to have an issue with it. She'll say that she is their chaperone."

Haymitch's laugh was dry and bitter. "They sleep together. Even if they're not doing it, the country thinks they are. I doubt there is anyone besides Effie who thinks of them as children, especially in the Capitol. I'll talk to Effie. She knows the game here. She's a realist, when all is said and done. I'll handle it."

"But what if they're not sleeping together?" Cinna asked.

Haymitch frowned.

"This isn't the same as holding hands during a tribute parade. This is irreparable harm to her reputation. It won't be the same for him. You see how it is with Finnick – he's got his pick. The women have it much harder."

Haymitch responded. "They are both likely to end up dead. Do their reputations really matter?"

Cinna paused as if thinking something through. "Haymitch, I have an idea. What if…what we give them Peeta and Katniss together?"

Haymitch cocked an eyebrow and Cinna shook his head. "No, not like that. What if we make a deal where we do a shoot of them together. Maybe that would be enough…without…the other."

"Katniss would hate it. But she's going to hate it no matter what. I'll pitch it."

"What about Peeta?"

Haymitch's laughed was harsh. "What boy do you know who doesn't like to be objectified by thousands of women? He'll be fine. I'll need his help to get Katniss to shoot straight."

The two turned back to the doorway when Cinna stopped the older man. "Haymitch, I'm so sorry. This is untenable for you, isn't it?"

Haymitch's hands flexed, as if he wanted to strangle someone. "We've got to stay focused on the end result. We knew it could get worse…this just gives me one more reason."

Cinna nodded slowly. "Portia and I too. We all just have to keep it together."

-o-

Katniss stared at Cinna like he had sprouted two heads. "You want me to wear that? No. No way." She pointed to a pair of French lace boy shorts that had been pared with a matching gold lace wrap that came barely to mid-thigh. The entire outfit was diaphanous.

Cinna held the robe out to her patiently. "Do you trust me?"

"Yes. Of course."

"Then put it on. I'll make sure you're covered."

Katniss grumbled, "I don't see how."

Cinna helped her dress in the special outfit, careful with the arm that sported a small bruise from the injection administered during prep. Cinna strategically arranged the lace to shield her breasts and draped it in a way that hinted – but did not reveal – her body.

"Better?" Cinna asked, as he turned her to face her reflection. Katniss admitted the effect was amazing at disguising as much as it showed. The gold fabric made her skin glow. Even her hair, done in a simple braid, seemed to glint with hidden gold highlights. Her eyes appeared pewter, her legs longer from the high heeled golden sandals. Her body itself barely looked like her own – it had filled out from extra food and extra training. She now had curves that made her look like a girl and they were readily apparent in this, Cinna's latest design. For a brief moment she wished that Peeta could see her.

"OK, Katniss. Here is how this is going go: you are going to go out there. We'll do some posing. I'll make sure that you are adequately covered the whole time. Then, we will bring Peeta in and do some shots of the two of you together."

"Together?" Katniss's voice squeaked, as if the concept were new for her.

Cinna nodded slowly. "Together. You can do this. We'll have one more costume change after this one."

Katniss looked at herself in the mirror. "What will Peeta be…" She motioned to her body and the visible shadows of peaks and valleys.

Cinna chuckled. "Not like this. Portia has something else planned for him. Something that should make the sponsors swoon."

Katniss frowned.

-o—

Katniss finished her solo shoot, which consisted of her dancing around in the short robe in various poses with a bow and arrow made of gold. Cinna kept her covered throughout the pose adjustments. Loud music played throughout the area and she considered the miracle of Capitolites who weren't deaf. Overall, Katniss actually thought that the experience was no worse than interviews. In fact, it was probably easier since pictures required no words.

She was parched, though, from being under the hot lights and said so to Cinna. He graciously brought her a cool glass of something that soothed her throat and she drank it greedily. It somehow made the lights brighter, the sounds more distinct. The lace skimmed over her skin, making it tingle like the softest of caresses. The bow was sure and solid in her hands, the arrow strong, straight and true.

-o-

The sponsors were all over Peeta.

Katniss was appalled to see women with their hands on him, stroking his glistening chest, touching his thighs. One hand even caressed below the belt of his brown leather pants. Those pants were seated so low on his hips that Katniss noticed the fine arrow of golden hair disappearing below the waistband. The dull gleam of a Mockingjay medallion graced a gold band on his upper arm.

She felt hot and angry watching those hands. How dare those women touch him like that? Peeta seemed fine with it, laughing and joking and leaning into those seeking hands. A blonde curl flopped over his forehead as he turned to look in her direction. It was as if he could sense her there. Their eyes locked until his skittered away and it was like school – him looking at her and then looking away when she met his eyes.

It made her furious: Peeta was not hers, not exactly, but they were as close as that for each until the arena took one of them. She corrected herself: until the arena took her. Peeta would stay safe, she vowed. He could grope as many women as he wanted after she was gone.

The photographer scattered the women when he called Katniss over and explained what he wanted. She followed instructions, standing on the step the photographer provided and leaning over Peeta from behind, pretending to show him how to hold the bow. Her bow. She flushed as her almost-bare breasts rubbed against his flexing back. Was his skin always this soft? So warm? She tried to compare this person in brown leather, glistening and muscular, to the Peeta in a t-shirt and shorts who shared her bed without success. It was as if the two of them were completely different people. Familiar strangers.

She had never been more grateful that Peeta could not see her face. Girl on Fire, indeed.

Cinna brought them each a glass of something to drink while the photographer rearranged them. This time Katniss faced Peeta, who was still holding the bow as if to shoot. The photographer asked her to put her hand on his lower stomach, as if centering him while he held the bow. She was to place her other hand on his drawing arm, just below the medallion.

Katniss gaped and then glanced at Cinna who nodded in encouragement. She placed her hand gingerly over Peeta's navel, feeling the warm, slick skin and the fine hair she had noticed earlier. Peeta flinched slightly when she touched his arm and she leaned in to notice a small injection site that matched hers. What did that mean? She could feel the beat of the music thrumming through her, shaking her hands slightly. She gulped, looking to Peeta's face. His eyes were bright but his jaw was tight as he looked down at her. His stomach tensed against her butterfly light touch. She wanted nothing more than to smooth his blonde hair from his forehead and apologize, although for what she could not be sure.

She stared at his lips, pink and firm, like strawberries or peaches. She licked her lips and unconsciously slid her hand lower, resting her fingertips inside the low waistband of his brown leather pants. She had never felt him like this, never noticed the resistance of his abdomen against her fingers without any sort barrier. The springy hair there teased the sensitive pads of her fingers. She practically itched to follow the path of that springy hair and see where it led.

She was relieved to move her hand, gulping the drinks that Cinna gave to them and listening to the photographer's description of the next pose. She moved in front of Peeta, nerve endings thrumming and glad that she was resting her hands on his arms and nowhere below the waist. She was almost appalled at her own curiosity and his arms felt safer, somehow. His arms had been around her so many times that she knew the feel of his muscles by heart. They did not scare her the way other, more forbidden, parts of his body did.

-o-

Peeta slid his hands comfortably around her waist. He too was happier with the familiarity of this pose. It might allow him to get his body, which was feverish from Kantiss's roving fingertips, back under control. Portia had told him that there was no way to wear undergarments under his leather pants, and Katniss's fingertips stroking his bare skin mere inches away from a place he had only dreamt of had pushed him further than ever before. He was doing an admirable job of controlling his breathing, concentrating on using the beat of the music around them as a way to ground himself and ignore the feel of the Katniss's body touching his.

The photographer had them move closer together and asked Peeta to lower a hand and bunch up some of the lacy fabric of Katniss's robe. Peeta felt her small breasts up against his chest. Just knowing that only a few millimeters of fabric separated them from his own chest did something to his pulse that no amount of concentration could help. Every time she moved, he could feel the rasp of fabric and imagined that the rasp was her nipples rubbing against his chest. For him. Hard with want. He swallowed audibly and unconsciously gripped her hip harder, bunching more of the fabric under his palm. He made the mistake of looking down at her face, worried that she felt he might be objectifying her.

He needn't have been concerned: Katniss's face was flushed, her lips glistening and her eyes shining up into his. They were full of trust and something else. Was that need? He pulled her close until she was flush against his hardness. His hand slipped even lower to rest on her lace underwear, fingers splayed wide and pressing into her skin. All the while, his eyes burned into hers.

They broke apart, breathing hard when Cinna called for the next costume change. Peeta turned to walk away but glanced over his shoulder to stare longingly at Katniss.

-o—

Katniss felt much more comfortable in this costume; the garters, girdle, stockings and bra were similar to others she had worn for the Victory Tour. She felt positively covered compared to the earlier outfit. The red lace bra was designed to cover and pad, giving her more cleavage than she naturally possessed, the girdle shielded her from waist to thigh, covering the matching red panties with their tiny bows at the hips.

Dressing gave her a chance to calm her pulse. Cinna handed her another drink and she guzzled it gratefully. When the bra brushed against her injection site, she remembered to ask Cinna about it.

"What was the injection for? During prep? I don't remember it from last time."

Cinna's eyes would not meet hers. "It's something new, that's all. Just like waxing all of you this time, we had to make some adjustments."

He knows more than that, she thought. Why would he hide something from her? She blushed at the thought of how bare they had made her this time, waxing every bit of hair below her neck. It had been drastically uncomfortable during prep, but she could see the need based on Cinna's costume designs. She almost laughed when she thought of a Capitolite's horror over some peek-a-boo hair escaping her current outfit. How had Peeta gotten to keep his? She thought enviously.

She quickly gulped as she recalled the crisp feel of that hair against her palm. How soft it had felt, how like Peeta, a mix of strength and warm softness. She hung her head and closed her eyes to gather herself together.

When Cinna asked if she was ready, she lied and told him yes.

-o—

The scene for the couple's shoot seemed to be a living room: there was an armchair and a reading lamp. It could be any chair and lamp in a million rooms anywhere in Panem. Peeta was already seated in the chair. Katniss was relieved to see that he wore fairly normal looking black slacks and black shoes. His white dress shirt was open to the waist, but he was mostly covered. His hair was slicked back as it had been for the interviews for the first Games and suddenly it clicked: the scene was supposed to be the two of them getting ready for that interview. The interview where he had told the world that he loved her and she had pushed him down afterward, injuring his hands.

Somehow that made it harder for her to breathe. She wished she could apologize for that one more time. She wished she could have responded differently. She wished she could kiss his hands, palms up and cupping her face.

The photographer arranged the first pose: Katniss was standing several feet from Peeta, her back to the camera. She adjusted her stance so that her legs were shoulder width apart and started at him while the photographer snapped away, getting a great shot of the small gold Mockingjays that held her stockings to her girdle. The photographer asked them to look at each other but it was hard to meet his eyes, so she stared at the wall directly above him.

Cinna brought another drink for each of them while the photographer talked. Peeta waved him off. Katniss drank and listened to the instructions, trying not to get distracted by the feel of the rivulets of sweat trailing between her breasts, the feeling of the lace of her panties rubbing against her, the garters cupping her thighs.

Following instructions, she faced away from Peeta while standing between his thighs. She felt his breath hit her spine as the photographer arranged him, one hand sliding across her girdle, palm resting on her hip bone. She breathed through the tickling sensation and then almost yelped as Peeta slid one hand up her thigh to rest directly below a Mockingjay garter fastening. His hand resting there was warm, his fingertips burning an imprint on her inner thigh.

-o-

Peeta was glad that these shots showed none of his face. The very feel of her silky inner thigh trembling just above the rim of her stocking was going to kill him. He could smell her sweat and whatever scent they had used to bathe her coming in waves off the heat of her back. He had to restrain himself from licking a path down her spine as he saw her adjust to the weight of his hands on her hips. The weight of his hands on her.

He wanted to howl or cry. This was not at all how he pictured being with her intimately. This was wrong; another Capitol bastardization of everything he had ever wanted. He was so angry and yet so full of want. Could Katniss feel it? How could she not? He heard her hiss as his hands gripped harder and quickly loosened them. He didn't need to take it out on her: it wasn't her fault that he should have died in the first arena and he was now walking the earth marking time until the second. Marking time until he died.

Katniss had never been so relieved to see Haymitch, who took in the whole scene with a snarky grin. It immediately had her striding toward him.

"Nice of you to show up, Haymitch."

"I had some business to see to."

"Oh, are you sure you weren't just passed out drunk?" She took the glass that Cinna handed her, gulping greedily until Haymitch pulled it out of her grasp. "What?" She asked him accusingly.

"How many of these have you had?" Haymitch eyed her and then looked at Cinna.

"A few in between shots."

Haymitch looked at Cinna. "Was that wise?"

Cinna shrugged. "I thought it would help her get through it, maybe loosen up a bit. Get her ready for the party." That last word had an emphasis that was lost on Katniss.

Haymitch flashed a triumphant grin at Cinna, then faced Katniss and Peeta. "The party is off-limits for you two tonight."

"What?" Katniss said.

"What's going on?" Peeta asked.

"Evidently, you and sweetheart are at the kids table for this event. No fun for you tonight." Haymitch and Cinna both seemed strangely relieved. Peeta took note of it calmly. Katniss, on the other hand, bristled.

"But…"

"No argument, sweetheart. You two go upstairs and get to bed early or watch television or play chess or something. But you are not to show your face back down here tonight."

"Go, Katniss. Haymitch is right." Cinna placed a hand on her back and nudged her toward the elevators. Peeta looked toward the closed door where the sponsors and other Victors waited. He turned to Haymitch as if to ask a question but thought better of it.

As Peeta turned to follow Katniss, Haymitch said, "Take care of her tonight, boy. She's a little drunk," Well, that explains a lot, he thought. His shoulders slumped as he made his way to the elevator.

-o—

The ride up to the penthouse was silent except for the sound of their breathing, each lost in their own thoughts. Peeta rubbed his eyes. Katniss stopped him with a hand on his arm as they got off the elevator. "Peeta..I just wanted…I'm sorry." She noticed with a sinking feeling that his eyes did not meet hers.

"Sorry for what?" He said tiredly. She stared at him: the faint glint of his hair, his peaches and cream mouth. She couldn't put into words what, exactly, she was apologizing for.

He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "Katniss, you're drunk. Take a shower, then go to bed."

She pulled her hand away, angry. "Don't tell me what to do. And what makes you think I'm drunk?"

"It's pretty obvious that the drinks they were giving us were spiked with something. You were looking at me…Forget it. I'm not spending one of my last nights alive fighting with you. I'm going to bed." He walked down the hallway and closed his door. She heard the lock click with finality and it made her want to scream.

She strode to her own room and slammed the door but the sound gave her no satisfaction. The tears appeared unbidden. How dare he? How dare he treat her like a child? How could he look at her the way he had earlier and then feel nothing but dismissive? She threw pillows at the wall, screaming loudly in frustration. Her hands undid the elaborate braids of her hair, running through her scalp savagely. The movement flung hairpins every which way and only made the tears worse. She tried calming herself by taking deep breaths, clearing her mind and thinking of the forest.

She looked down at the fastenings to the girdle and quickly realized they were tied in some sort of complex knot. Not even the knot station in the Training Center was going to be enough to help her get it out. She sighed after several minutes. She was out of options and she knew it.

Her toe tapped impatiently as she gently tapped on Peeta's door. It took a minute to open.

"Katniss, what?" Peeta sounded beyond exasperated. His hair was wet and he was not wearing a shirt. At least his pants had been exchanged for lounge pants and his feet were bare. This was the Peeta she knew, even if she was hypnotized by the water running down his neck to his bare chest as he towel dried his hair.

"I'm stuck." The words came out petulantly.

"Stuck?"

She motioned to her waist. "I can't get out of this."

"Ok. I'll come help. Give me a minute." He sighed deeply.

She nodded, then made her way back to her room.

Peeta threw the towel onto a chair and shrugged the shirt from the photo shoot back on. He made his way down to her room to find her standing in the center. They eyed each other moodily. He sighed again, rubbing the back of his neck and moving his eyes from her face to her waist. He walked toward her and rested his hands on her girdle covered hips. "Hold still."

Katniss nodded. Peeta ignored her, though, so intent was he on the cords at her waist. He crouched down in front of her. She shut her eyes, feeling the tugging sensation of the cords as he picked at them patiently. Other thoughts travelled through her mind as well. I wonder if crouching hurts his leg? Is that his breath I feel on me? Minutes passed and she stood steady, taking in the feel of his fingers and the gentle quiet of his breath. If she leaned a little, his lips would be against her skin…

Peeta yelped in surprise when she buried her hands in his wet hair. He moved his head so they slipped off and fell to her sides. "Katniss, what are you doing?"

She looked appalled. "I'm sorry. I don't know, I just…I'm sorry." It was like her hands had had a mind of their own. She refused to meet his eyes in her humiliation.

He stood awkwardly, running his hands through his hair as if trying to erase the feel of her fingers. He sent her a glare. "The light isn't good enough to get the knot out. I think I have another option, though." Katniss watched him as he left the room, appreciating again the changes that good nutrition and the intense training for the Quell had wrought.

She felt heat skitter along her skin at the thought of him touching her again.

Her thoughts were a jumble: she wanted him. She wanted him to want her. When had it come to this? Downstairs? If she were honest, she would admit that she was tired of fighting with him. Tired of holding things over his head that he had no control over. She would be dead very soon. Wasn't it time to be honest about what she wanted? And maybe that would help him embrace life and her decision that he should be the one to live. And if it didn't…well, she was tired of making Peeta a piece in everyone's game, including her own.

She continued contemplating as she propped her leg up on the bed, undid a garter from her hose and rolled it down her calf. She did not stop even when she heart Peeta at the door. She just calmly looked over her shoulder at him while she continued to ease the hose down her leg. She only acknowledged the scissors in his hand when she was finished. She ignored the light flickering off the scissor blades, swallowing the frisson of fear as it moved down her spine.

She removed her other stocking, then turned to face Peeta. "Where did you get those? Aren't those illegal in tribute quarters?" She squared her shoulders, looking him in the eye.

He did not even look at the blades as he twisted them this way and that, making them sinisterly reflecting the light. "Evidently, not if you're an artist and Snow wants you to continue working right up until the end. Plus, they're under seven inches, so they're allowed." He looked down at her waist again, his brow furrowed. "I think laying down might make this easier."

Katniss paused, then laid down on the bed. She had to keep reminding herself that this was Peeta – he would never hurt her. She closed her eyes again, feeling his palm resting heavily on her stomach. She arched into it slightly, seeking his warmth, reaching for him with her hands.

She felt a puff of air across her skin when he said, "Katniss, you've got to stop moving. I don't want to cut you." She opened her eyes and saw the lines of concern around his mouth. He truly did not want to hurt her. The thought made something tighten in her stomach, but it also made her relax.

"Ok. I'll hold still." She said quietly, balling her hands into fists.

He shook his head. "You're squirming a lot. And, no offense, but you lied to me and drugged me in the first Games. I think I need some insurance. I couldn't live with myself is something happened…" He looked around her room, searching for inspiration and seemed to find it when he spied her robe on the floor. He made quick work of looping the belt fabric twice around her hands, then around the headboard. "That gets your hands out of the way. I'm going to hold your hips."

He noticed her eyes were as wide as saucers. "I can't move my hands." Katniss's pulse beat like a frantic bird. Her voice held an edge of panic with an undercurrent of something else that neither wanted to analyze, let alone admit.

"Just for a second. Hold still." Peeta knelt between her legs and held her hip to the bed with one hand while he worked the blade of the scissors under the cords. "Ok? I'm going to cut now. On three. One…Two….Three." The snip of the cord was audible and Katniss felt an immediate easing of the girdle. She took deep breaths to try to slow the rapid beat of her pulse when she realized that Peeta was still gripping her hip tightly.

His voice was a strangled sound in his throat. You're…You're bare."

Her pulse leapt. Peeta was kneeling between her legs. She felt exposed and wanted her hands free, if only to cover herself. She strained against the binding holding her hands when she felt the first feather-light touch of his fingers on her thigh. She did not think it was possible to feel any hotter.

"They had to…for the outfits today. At least they left your chest hair alone." She breathlessly laughed. "Do you…do you like it?" Her voice was tentative. She hated it: hated that her words were not as strong as her actions. But with her hands tied, she had no way to take matters into her own hands.

She felt his fingertips skim closer to the apex of her thighs and his breath ghost across her panties. "I…just…wow." Thick heat pooled as his loss of words sank in, only to be replaced by panic as his fingers disappeared.

Peeta stood and cleared his throat. "Well, you're all set to take a shower or…whatever. I'll leave you to it." He walked toward the headboard and she tracked him with her bright hunter's eyes.

"Stay."

He froze at the single word.

"Katniss…" His voice was low as he untied her from the headboard.

Her hands strained at the bindings as she propped herself up on her elbows. "Stay."

"You're drunk." He said flatly.

"No. No I'm not. I had my last drink hours ago." She realized that, with her hands bound, she was going to have to convince him with words. "I'm tired of fighting. I want you…your eyes and hands on me. My eyes and hands on you."

His laugh was dry and humorless. "What about my lips? Because that's what I want. My lips on your skin. I've wanted it all day."

Her pulse thrummed with a thousand yes's. "Yes. Please." She felt him move back to the end of the bed while she worked her hands loose from the bindings. He knelt between her feet and tugged her hips toward him, freeing her from the girdle and leaving her red see-through underwear the only thing between her and his eyes. He rested his hands gently on her inner thighs.

"What do you want? Tell me.' He ran a finger along the edge of her panties and seemed to enjoy the flex of her muscles beneath his touch.

"I don't know. I'm not good with wor…" She caught her breath as his knuckle grazed her center.

"Katniss, you know that I want you. You're going to have to convince me that you want me. Make me stay."

She felt the brush of a finger trail lightly across her panties, down her center and her thighs trembled. She licked her lips. "I want…Today. Today when I was touching your stomach, I thought it was the softest thing I had ever felt. And I wondered why I've never touched you…touched you like that before." She felt something hard and metal against one hip, then the other, then cool air against her skin.

"What else?" His voice was low. Soft. She reached for him with her hands. "What else, Katniss?" He captured her hands easily, holding them in one of his.

"Your lips. I kept thinking that your lips looked like strawberries or peaches. We kiss, but I want to kiss you like... like I've heard about girls being kissed behind the slag…" Katniss ended abruptly as she felt a feather-light touch right on her newly bare skin. Her breath hitched in her throat. Was that his lips? Her moan was guttural.

"What else?"

"My hands…please…"

"What are you going to do with them?"

"I need…I need to touch you too." It was a breathy plea.

"No." His response was raw and definitive. "I can't…. one touch from you right now and I'm done."

Her voice was small, breath hitching as she caught his meaning. "Oh? Ooh." Her head strained from side to side as he gently licked her with just the tip of his tongue for a few moments. Her hips moved to deepen the touch.

"Katniss, I'm going to let go of your hands. Can I trust you to keep them to yourself?"

"Yes." It was a long, drawn out sound as he spread her apart with very gentle hands.

"You are so beautiful." He resumed his slow and gentle licking, catching on to her preference for slow, wet circles. She begged and she pleaded when she needed him to move faster, legs quivering and straining toward his tongue as she sought her release. Her hands stayed bunched in the bedcovers even when she keened out his name as wave after wave of pleasure took her.

Peeta let her ride out the pleasure, slowing his tongue and leaving only the tip of a finger inside of her. When he felt the change in her hips – they stopped moving in small circles and actively began to jerk away from him - he figured she had had enough. He sat back, a pleased smile on his face, thinking that the pain in his leg was worth it. He listened to her catch her breath.

"Where are you going?" He heard her rusty, gently satisfied question when he stood unsteadily.

His face reddened. "I'm…um…I'm going to shower."

"But you already…oh." Her face flushed deeper red. "Come back? "

He looked at her glowing face and the flush that spread across her breasts. He wanted to memorize how beautiful she looked with her hair spread around her, her olive skin a contrast to the green bedspread, every pink bit of her glowing.

He nodded. "Always."

-o—

Katniss woke in the middle of the night feeling cheated. She had showered and climbed into bed, hoping to take matters into her own hands when he came to join her. Instead, she had fallen asleep before he even climbed into bed. At least he came to bed. She had been worried that he would not join her if he had time to think about why she had picked now to take this step. She still wondered that herself, although she was quickly getting past caring.

She pressed herself tightly to him as he slept soundly, stroking his chest and arms. Eventually, she raised his t-shirt and traced a pattern on the soft hair she had felt earlier. She leaned over and placed a tentative kiss on his navel. His hand tightened on her waist.

"What are you doing?" His sleepy voice asked.

"Just exploring. Do you mind if I do?" He was halfway back to asleep as she asked the question, loathe to interrupt the first good sleep he had had since before coming to the Training Center. He snored and she smiled against his skin.

-o-

He woke with his hands tangled gently in her hair, her lips tracing down his stomach, her hands tugging his pants off. He moved is hips to help her before he really understood what she was doing. When he felt her hands exploring him, her breath tracing across him, it was his turn to dig his hands into the covers.

"Tell me, Peeta."

"Katniss…."

"No. Tell me. I told you all sorts of embarrassing things. It's your turn." She traced the very tip of him with her index finger and he jolted reflexively.

"Your hair….I've always loved it. When you came to my room tonight and it was down… " He gulped as she replaced her finger with her tongue, tracing him lazily.

"What else?"

He laughed lightly. "I wanted to lick your spine today when you were taking your stocking off."

She palmed him gently, then climbed up his body and fitted her hips –her very naked hips – to his. "I want you."

He closed his eyes and groaned. "Katniss, I don't think that's a good idea."

"Is any of this a good idea? Is being in the arena again…a good idea? This is the best idea I've had since the Quarter Quell Reaping."

Peeta growled and rolled them over so Katniss was on her back. She cupped his face, searching his eyes. "I want to. Please."

He rested his forehead against hers. "Say it again."

"I want you, Peeta Mellark." Katniss smiled one of her rare smiles.

Peeta twisted his hips, spreading hers wider and easing one of her legs around his waist. He rested a moment, making sure she was ready for him. He took a deep, steadying breath to prepare himself when Katniss crashed her mouth against his and wrecked his careful control. Her kiss was not the kisses from the Victory Tour. It was something else entirely. He gripped her hips possessively.

Finally. She thought as her mouth met his wetly. His lips are finally on mine. She felt his hips moving against hers, then a painful stretching. She deepened the kiss, stroking his tongue with hers. The same hunger from the cave took her and she felt as deep and dark and wet as the cave itself; a primal force. Finally the pain was gone and there was nothing but the wet and warm sounds of their mouths and bodies moving together. As she shattered, she finally realized: I will never let him go. Never. Not as long as I draw breath.

Finally.

Fin.