"Damnit!" The knife clatters onto the countertop with a sharp "ting" as Katniss reaches for the kitchen cloth dangling from the oven door. Droplets of bright red scatter across the cutting board, and she hisses from the sting. Frowning, she applies pressure to the cut as she stares down at the half-chopped carrot, as if it was to blame.
She surveys the chaotic mess of chopped vegetables, spices, and knives that litter the counter and for a brief moment considers tossing it all into the trash. It wouldn't be the first time they survived on toast for dinner. After weighing her other options for a few more minutes, she gingerly peels back the towel to check on her thumb. Thankfully, the bleeding has stopped, but she can already tell it's going to leave a mark. Oh well. Just another scar to add to the collection.
With a heavy sigh, Katniss retrieves the discarded knife and guilty carrot, quietly berating herself for letting her mind wander in the first place. The last thing she needs is to lose a finger. And all because of what? A stupid bout of jealousy?
But no matter how hard she tries, she can't seem to stop replaying the afternoon's events over and over in her head.
The better part of her day was spent out in the woods, tracking a buck she'd crossed paths with earlier in the week. It'd been years since she'd last seen one. After the bombings, she was certain the larger game had fled her beloved woods, never again to return. But she should have known better. Mother Nature always had a way of restoring balance.
Despite not bagging her intended target, she was able to snag a few hares and a handful of plump squirrels. It'd been an early spring, which meant both flora and fauna were more than abundant for this time of year, ensuring she never left the woods empty-handed. There was enough meat for a decent stew, and with the vegetables stored away in the root cellar, a hearty one at that.
The air was fresh, and combined with the serene quiet that the wilderness never failed to provide, she felt centered—mind, body, and soul—and a much welcomed inner peace washed over her. It was her contented state that led her to stop by the bakery on a whim, to weigh in on Peeta's preferred meat for dinner.
However, she never made it past the front door.
The bakery was surprisingly empty for a weekday afternoon, the only customer a young woman whose outrageous choice of clothing made it blatantly obvious she wasn't a District 12 native. The metallic lace of her barely-there dress and equally hideous matching stilettos had "Capitol" written all over them. It was something Effie would wear…but before Katniss's thoughts could continue down the path of what unknown fate had befell her former escort, she shook the thought from her head as fast as it'd entered. It was risky to let her mind wander. Nothing good ever came from it.
Focusing her attention through the spotless storefront window, she cautiously observed the woman, who stood with her hip against the counter, twirling a few strands of flowing purple hair around her finger as she tipped her head back and laughed. At what, Katniss was suddenly curious, considering it was Peeta with whom the woman was so animatedly conversing with. He was all smiles, oozing his inherent Mellark charm as they chatted.
Even after all these years, it wasn't unusual for a curious few—especially those from the Capitol—to venture out to the outskirts of District 12 to check in on the surviving Victors, no thanks to Plutarch Heavensbee's tribute that aired every year documenting how Panem's "saviors" were faring. Despite his role in the rebellion and establishing a New Panem, Katniss still harbored resentment for the man, and probably always would. Despite her resolute popularity, the majority of visitors that braved the trip did not do it on her account, the once notorious face of the rebellion. No, it was no secret. They came to see Peeta.
She couldn't blame them really. There wasn't much left to see when it came to the Mockingjay. Just a broken girl who had somehow grown into a somewhat less broken woman who hid behind closed doors and curtain-drawn windows.
Between the two of them, Peeta had always been the better candidate for the public eye. That much hadn't changed. He was the one with the power to spin words in a way she never could and even after all he'd been through, just a flash of his smile or his presence alone was enough to captivate any crowd or camera. So it was only natural that he'd shouldered the role of spokesperson for "The Star-Crossed Lovers" (as the Capitol still referred to them as, yet again no thanks to Plutarch), sparing her the unwelcomed attention that she shied away from.
"The boy's still trying to protect you," Haymitch had said when she slipped out the back door one day and into her old mentor's living room, leaving Peeta to deal with a group of overly meddlesome tourists who had come knocking on their door.
And while she was beyond thankful for it, what seemed to bother her as of late was the fact that the majority of said "tourists" were of the female persuasion.
Most of the women were harmless, fueled by genuine curiosity and hopes of catching a glimpse of Peeta at the bakery or around town to snap a picture with him. But a handful of times a few had been a bit more…forward. Peeta always brushed it off, but jealousy still had a way of worming into Katniss's heart when she witnessed these woman openly flirt and salivate all over her husband. He was hers, and she was his. That's how it was now, and always would be.
As she stood outside, hidden behind a tall topiary, she continued to watch as the scene played out before her eyes. Waiting. What for, Katniss didn't want to admit, but by the woman's body language it was obvious she was hoping for more than a candid photo op.
Curious as to how he dealt with these situations, she focused her attention on Peeta. It wasn't a mystery why he still captivated those around him. It was in the way he looked a person in the eye when he spoke. How when he listened, he gave his undivided attention. How when he stood in an inviting manner with his hands against the counter, it drew people in. She herself couldn't help but be drawn to the corded muscles of his arms, how they tightened and flexed when he moved, and to his blue eyes, clear and cheerful. She snapped out of her daze though when the woman suddenly leant forward across the counter to grasp his hand and proceeded to drag a finger up his forearm.
"What the…?" Katniss hissed under breath, her lip curling into a snarl as she automatically reached for her bow. Who the hell did this woman think she was, putting her hands all over him? Innocent flirting or staring was one thing, but this? Touching him like she owned him? The woman had more than crossed the line.
Katniss stepped out from her hiding place, fully intent on marching into the bakery and breaking every last one of the woman's well-manicured fingers. But the moment she reached for the door handle, Peeta stepped away and laughed, retracting his arms and crossing them over his chest. Somewhat placated, she retreated back behind the topiary but she couldn't erase the frown she still wore. The fact that he'd put a stop to the woman's advance was some consolation, but Katniss was still on edge and her heart beat wildly in her chest.
It was disgusting how people still felt they had some sort of claim on the Victors, as if they were the country's property to shamelessly solicit. Just one more thing to add to the list of things that would never change.
How Peeta tolerated the unwanted attention, she'd never understand. Why he didn't just flip the finger and send people packing the moment they walked through the door. But that was more her style, and look where that had gotten her. The thought of having to keep up appearances when there was no longer a looming threat over their lives—it was absurd. They'd already taken too much from them. She owed them nothing. And neither did Peeta.
As she continued to watch (and stew over her growing jealousy), she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the glass: wind-swept hair that spilt from her braid, splotched cheeks from a full day out in the sun, and a streak of mud just below her left eye. She looked wild, like something dragged from the woods and forced to live amongst civilization. Like a feral cat.
Movement from within the bakery caught her eye as the woman tipped her head back in laughter again, flipping her hair to reveal the smooth curve of her bare shoulder. Katniss wouldn't have cared much about the woman's perfectly flawless skin if it weren't for the way Peeta's eyes moved along her exposed shoulder, and when the corner of his mouth lifted into a grin, it set Katniss's anger ablaze.
What the hell was he staring at? Did he actually find her attractive? Why wasn't he looking away yet? And why was he reaching out to touch—
Katniss startled, whipping her head around when an elderly gentleman greeted her and proceeded to engage her in casual conversation. Trying to hide her annoyance, she half listened as she kept watch of the bakery from the corner of her eye. But she completely tuned the man out and cursed under her breath when Peeta motioned for the woman to follow him through the doors to the back of the bakery.
Shocked by what she'd just witnessed, Katniss stared blankly through the window, unsure of what to do. A million scenarios rushed through her head, none of which led to a logical explanation as to what on earth Peeta was doing. Letting her mind wander was a dangerous thing, especially when one specific possibility was threatening to exploit the insecurities she'd worked hard to overcome.
It made no sense. Regardless of how things had been between them lately, she refused to believe her husband would do that to her. Not Peeta. There had to be an explanation.
Whatever his intentions though, she'd witnessed quite enough and wasn't about to wait around to see when they'd return. So she reined in her doubt and muttered a hasty apology to the old man, bidding him farewell and as she turned on her heel to head back for home.
The front door shuts, snapping Katniss out of the memory. She takes a calming breath before picking the knife back up and finishing up the rest of the vegetables. With all the nervous energy coursing through her she's thankful her hands are busy, although perhaps wielding a knife in her anxious state isn't such a good idea. She counts his steps as Peeta casually makes his way down the hall, and when he pauses in the doorway to the kitchen, she can sense the moment his eyes settle on her back.
"Smells good, what's cooking?" Without looking up, she gestures with a wave of the blade to the carved up squirrel carcasses. "Mmm, my favorite," he says, striding towards the counter to deposit a loaf of bread.
From her peripheral vision, she sees him inch closer, arm outstretched as if to wrap it around her waist, but she'll have none of it. Not after today. The overpowering stench of artificially enhanced lily-of-the-valley stings her nostrils, no doubt the choice scent of this afternoon's Capitol visitor. Katniss knows better than to jump to conclusions, but the nauseating smell is doing a number on her ability to keep her emotions and her sharp tongue in check. So at the last second, she sidesteps out of his grasp, moving over to the stove to toss the last of the ingredients into the simmering pot.
"If you say so," she mutters flatly. His face twists in confusion, but when he narrows his eyes, studying her rigid stance, he knows something's up.
It's crazy how eager she suddenly is for him to speak up, to say something out of line and engage her so she can selfishly lay into him. What's even crazier is how badly she hopes that he'll fight back. Yell at her, scream at her, anything really…she'd welcome it. They both know it's been a long time coming, and now is good a time as any. Her fingers clench into tight balls, knuckles trembling with pent up frustration. She's a ticking time bomb just waiting to go off, but first she needs him to light the fuse.
But instead of taking the bait, Peeta shoves his hands into this pockets and leans back against the counter. Releasing a measured breath, he asks, "How much longer till dinner's ready?"
"Half an hour," she answers in a clipped voice, busying her hands by wiping down the counter.
An awkward pause fills the room as he continues to regard her quietly, but when she steals a quick glance over her shoulder, she can make out the strained muscles of his jaw. He runs a hand through his hair, tugging on the ends before squeezing the back of his neck. He's debating his options. But she knows him too well, unfortunately, which means he'll err on the side of caution and leave her alone to avoid a confrontation.
With a breathy exhale, he turns to take his leave, calling over his shoulder, "I'm going to take a shower." Her mouth opens to respond, a snarky comment poised on the tip of her tongue, but she thinks better of it and shuts her mouth as she glowers at his retreating form.
A few minutes later there's a slight hum from the old pipes in the wall and her fingers itch to reach over and switch on the hot water. Given their lack of intimacy over the past few months, she doesn't have to use her imagination to know what other needs he'll be taking care of, besides washing the Capitol stench off of him. And then a thought crosses her mind, one that makes her stomach turn and her skin crawl—what if it's not her he's thinking about while getting himself off? One hand hovers over the faucet handle, fully intent on sending him a well-deserved blast of cold water. Instead, she shakes her head and tosses the rag into the sink, bracing her hands against the counter as she grunts out her frustration.
It's her own damn fault though, the tension between them. If she'd only been honest with him from the start they wouldn't be where they are now.
It was a few years after their toasting when they'd finally settled into a comfortable routine together as husband and wife. She was happy, just the two of them, but there was always an underlying fear that one day he'd want more. When Peeta began to ask about children, it was sporadic at first, slipping casually into conversation every once in a while over dinner or when they were curled up together on the couch. But eventually what would start out as an innocent discussion would end with Katniss losing her temper and spouting off accusations of him pushing her into something she didn't want. Maybe it was selfish, but she just wasn't ready. She wasn't even certain she wanted children. She had to give him credit, though, for his ability to envision with such clarity a tangible future where parents no longer lived in fear for their children. Some days, she was tempted to believe it herself.
But six months earlier, everything changed.
Each spring, a team of men in white coats and frowning faces would show up at her door, and she would sit stoically in her bathroom as they poked and prodded every inch of her body as they assessed both her mental and physical stability. Besides the occasional vitamin deficiency or bacterial infection, she was always given a clean bill of health, and at her own request, four syringes to keep her fear of unwanted children at bay. She hated the shots, and the thought of administrating them to herself every three months left her queasy. Against her protests, it was Peeta who stepped in and insisted he take on the task. She could see him die a little inside each time, injecting into her thigh the serum that prevented him from having what she knew he wanted most. But as she'd said time and time again, she wasn't ready.
So she was confused the day she received the results from her latest round of tests, informing her the shots were no longer necessary. Why? Because her chance of ever having a child was impossible. Her ability to conceive was just another casualty of war that her body was forced to accept at the hands of freeing the nation. According to the Capitol doctors, it was a combination of factors that were to blame—stress, trauma, an imbalance of hormones. Although she was never really sure if she wanted children, when faced with the harsh reality that she no longer had the option, it left her shocked and numb. Anger soon followed when she realized that her choice to become the Mockingjay had once again robbed her of another piece of her life.
What worried her the most though was how she was going to break the news to Peeta, knowing it would crush him. So when the time came for her next scheduled shot and she said she no longer needed them, panic set it in when his face lit up, taking her words as a sign that she was finally ready to start a family. But what she wasn't ready to do was break his heart. And so she lied. And he blindly accepted the excuse that poured so easily from her mouth. The shots were making her sick, so she'd opted for the less invasive option of oral contraceptive instead. It was a lie, but one she could live with, one that would buy her time until she could figure out a way to tell him.
But personal experience should have taught her the consequences of living a lie. How the stress and guilt from keeping a secret was enough to drive a wedge between her and the ones she needed most.
One day though, her efforts to spare him had inevitably failed. She'd had an especially trying day, one where a recurring nightmare had left her edgy and out of sorts. He'd inadvertently broached the subject with the news that Delly was expecting again, and thanks to Katniss's sleep-deprived state, she'd let her guard down and caved. The guilt was just too overwhelming and led her to confess everything. He bombarded her with questions, and rightfully so, but it was too much all at once and soon she was screaming and shouting like an irrational mad woman before she stalked off to their bedroom. She'd never forget his pained face when he reached for her and she pulled away, yelling at him to never touch her again. Of course she hadn't meant it, but it was obvious her words had cut deep and he'd received the message loud and clear.
How he managed to remain calm was a miracle, and the fact that he didn't storm out of the house and spend the night at Haymitch's but rather slept on the living room couch should have been some sort of testament to his dedication. But thanks to her stubborn nature, she refused to acknowledge it at the time. She should have apologized the next morning, but she was too embarrassed by her behavior to face him.
Peeta had every right to be angry and yet if he was, he didn't show it. Instead, the next morning he acted as if nothing had happened and continued on with his normal day. She attributed his unexpected reaction to denial and convinced herself that he just needed time to process the loss in his own way. To mourn the unborn children he'd never have. Well, with her at least. But one thing was clear, after that night, an invisible wall had been erected between them, one they both acknowledged but neither one dared to mention.
That was three months ago, and he still hadn't touched her, at least not in the way she craved. They'd taken twelve steps back; back to his initial return home, when they were trying to find a familiar level of comfort in each other's presence. The rare touches she did allow were comforting; his arms were still there to hold her when she awoke from a nightmare, or to coax her out of bed when she didn't feel like seeing the light of day. But that was it; it was never more and whether it was out of embarrassment or pride, she didn't ask him for more.
All she wanted though, more than anything, was for things to return to how they'd been. For him to wrap his strong arms around her so she could feel his solid chest beneath her cheek. To kiss her in a way that caused her breath to hitch and her pulse to quicken. To caress her body beneath the covers and release the constant tension in her muscles. Instead, he'd twist away from her at night, his back a cold and impenetrable wall that she was growing sick and tired of facing.
She's too caught up in her thoughts to notice when Peeta returns, and she jumps at the sound of the cupboard door closing. Covertly watching from the stove, she bites her lip as he goes through the motions of setting the table then retrieving the loaf of bread and a bowl of salad off the counter. A few strands of damp hair cling to his forehead and his face is flushed and she catches a whiff of soap when he brushes past her. Her belly clenches and she curses herself for how her traitorous body still reacts to him. She's only fooling herself though. Her body knows what it wants, and it's always only ever been him.
Katniss clears her throat as she scoops a heaping ladle of stew into their bowls, taking a moment to steel her nerves before joining him at the table. Placing a bowl down in front of him, she notices the way he fidgets with the corner of the placemat. She's apparently not the only one on edge. He doesn't look up when she slides onto the chair across from him, although she wishes he would. With a heavy sigh, she picks up her spoon and dips it into her stew, focusing too hard on capturing an acceptable ratio of meat and vegetable.
Neither one of them speaks, both seemingly occupied with their food. The silence is anything but comfortable, and every scrape of his fork against his plate grates at her nerves. It doesn't take long to realize that if she wants an answer out of him, it's on her.
"How was your day?" she finally asks as he piles another scoop of salad onto his plate. A stray piece of lettuce tumbles to the side, coating the back of his thumb in dressing.
"Ok." After setting the salad tongs to the side, he brings his hand up to his mouth to lick away the dressing. Her legs clamp together at the sight of his tongue, and if she wasn't still fuming inside, she'd find the innocent way he drags it across his bottom lip beyond sexy.
"How was yours?" he asks, glancing up with a pointed look that takes her off guard. She fumbles with her spoon, almost dropping it into her stew as she quickly diverts her eyes.
"Fine," she answers, hoping he picks up on her clipped tone.
Narrowing his eyes, he waits for her to elaborate, but she reaches for the loaf of bread instead, taking her time to tear off a piece and tossing the rest back down onto the table. She can feel his eyes on her as she pops a chunk into her mouth and slowly chews. A flicker of satisfaction causes her mouth to twitch when his lips purse and he eventually looks away. When she can't possibly chew any longer, she swallows thickly before forcing a smile.
"So, anything new at the bakery?"
"Hmm?" He doesn't look up as he pushes his empty salad plate to the side and reaches for his bowl. "Oh, uh, not really. Delly stopped by this afternoon, said she was craving butter tarts. She had Edmund with her and I swear, that kid looks more like Thom every time I see him." Peeta eyes glaze over as he smiles to himself, dragging his spoon back and forth through the stew.
He didn't bring it up on purpose, or at least she doesn't think he did. But it doesn't stop Katniss's chest from tightening when his smile slowly fades. Despite her disappointment of him not mentioning the Capitol visitor, she can't help but feel a twinge of guilt. It probably kills him to see all the children in and out of the bakery every day and watching them grow each year, but he knows damn well there's nothing she can do about it.
Her guilt is short-lived and when the image of the woman running her finger up Peeta's arm rears its ugly head, Katniss's hold on her spoon stiffens and her knuckles begin to turn white. Regret washes over her then and she closes her eyes, frowning. She should have done something. How satisfying it would have been to saunter up behind the counter, pull him to her, and claim his lips in a searing kiss. That would have set the presumptuous woman in her place. She heaves a sigh and sets her spoon down on the table, her appetite suddenly gone.
Peeta glances between her and her barely touched food. "Everything alright?"
"Not hungry," she snaps, rising to her feet and shuffling over to the sink to dump her bowl. From the corner of her eye she catches the sight of his jaw clenching, as though he's fighting the urge to snap back, but of course he doesn't. He remains tight-lipped, dropping his attention back to the table. "I'm going to take a shower," she tosses over her shoulder without looking at him. His loud exhale is unmistakable as she slips out of the kitchen and bounds up the stairs taking two at time, eager to escape the suffocating tension.
She doesn't bother flicking on the light when she reaches the bathroom, but rather reaches for the candle and box of matches on the vanity. There's something about the fluorescent lights that she just can't handle. How the unforgiving brightness highlights every last detail, specifically those she desperately wishes to overlook. The soft glow of the candle however is much more forgiving; the shadows it casts hiding the imperfections, almost to the point where she forgets they're even there. The flame hisses to life and she stares at it for a long while, the glowing teardrop seemingly harmless as it bends and sways against her breath.
With the edges of the mirror still foggy, she regards her reflection, turning her face back and forth to study her profile. The smudge of dirt is still present along her cheek and she frowns as she tugs the elastic from her hair, combing out what's left of her braid with her fingers. She turns on the shower, setting it to a bearable level just below scalding to—in a sadistic sort of way—burn away her anger and frustration from the day. After peeling off her clothes and taking a quick glance in the mirror at the angry lines of pink that still streak her body, she flings back the shower curtain and buries herself beneath the comforting spray.
Lifting her face into the water, she closes her eyes and inhales deeply. Her nose twitches. It still smells of him. Spicy yet masculine, and she hates how much she loves the scent. With a scowl, she glares at the bottle of body wash in the corner and with a disapproving grunt, sends it tumbling to the shower floor with a swift kick. Streaks of blue coat the tiles and the ribbons of steam only make it worse, enhancing the cloying undertones to the point where she starts to get a bit dizzy. Bracing her weight against the wall, she drops her head and curses quietly.
There's no denying it: she's a complete mess. Nothing makes sense anymore, especially the whirlwind of emotions she can't seem to justify. And she hates herself for what she did to Peeta, for pushing him away when she needed him the most, but what was done was done.
A familiar heaviness causes a sob to well up from the back of her throat at the memory from a few nights back.
It had been an especially difficult day where the physical fatigue she felt—ironically enough from doing nothing all day—left her drained and useless. She hadn't had one that bad in quite a while, one where she never made it out of bed or bothered with the basic needs of life such as food or drink. It was an overwhelming loneliness that kept her bound beneath the heavy blanket and caused tears to soak her pillow.
With Dr. Aurelius's help, she'd finally come to accept her losses: her father, her mother, her sister, and her best friend, and embrace what little she did have left: her life, her home, her mentor, and of course, Peeta. But the emptiness she'd felt this time was different and unfamiliar, and it scared the hell out of her.
Normally it was Peeta's arms she turned to when the fragile threads that held her sanity in tact begin to unravel, but they hadn't been an option that night. He'd had a late day at the bakery and when he finally came to bed and turned off the light, she laid still, letting him think she was asleep. The mattress dipped with his weight, and she froze when he placed a gentle kiss to her hair and sighed sadly, longingly almost.
That was all she could expect to get these days, for the only time he'd touch her like that was when he thought she was asleep. It only fueled her frustration. But she still missed him, and yearned the warmth that only his embrace could provide.
The throbbing at her temples causes Katniss to step out from beneath the stream and gasp for breath as she wraps her arms across her stomach. That's what she gets for thinking too much, for letting her emotions get the best of her. She's desperate to release the nagging tension that has her strung out as taut as her bow string, and with Peeta off limits, she's left to her own devices.
Sliding a hand across her stomach, then down her thigh, she pauses to inhale a shaky breath before reaching between her legs. It's been awhile, so when she dips between her folds, she's shocked at how slick it is. A tentative finger finds her clit and her eyes screw shut as she circles it slowly, trying to reacquaint herself with her own body. At first it feels good, and her body seems to respond and tingle with each pass of her fingertip, but then suddenly it doesn't feel right. It's not what she wants. It's not what she need. It's not him.
As thoughts of Peeta invade her mind, she thinks back to the days when they started to do more than just sleep in the same bed. Back to the times when they explored each other timidly beneath the sheets, slowly growing bolder and more determined to do more, to feel more. She blushes at the memory of when he first used his fingers, and then his mouth, to get her off; how those nights made him think twice about keeping the bedroom windows open. She loved watching the way he worked her, with a learned precision that they'd spent countless nights perfecting. Her lower lip curls over her teeth when she pictures his head between her legs, and her fingers start to move back and forth across her clit once again as she recalls the feel of his mouth on her neck and his fingers digging into her hips—
The creak of the bathroom door causes her eyes to snap open and her hand to freeze. She sucks in a sharp breath when his silhouette appears behind the shower curtain, black against the dim glow of the candle. Anxious as she watches him stand there, she waits with bated breath, hoping he'll throw back the curtain to join her and take over her fruitless endeavor. But not even a minute later, his shadow shrinks away and the door shuts quietly, leaving her alone and unsatisfied once again.
With a frustrated huff, she retracts her hand and hastily lathers up her body and hair, the ache between her legs still present. After rinsing off, she peeks her head out from behind the shower curtain to double-check that he's really gone. To her disappointment, he is, but she spots a clean towel on the vanity and when she reaches for it, she's surprised to find it warm to the touch, as if fresh from the dryer.
Katniss shakes her head as she dries off and secures the towel around her body. It's the little gestures that he continues to surprise her with that have been slowly chipping away at her resolve. But if it weren't for the explanation she's still waiting for with regards to his behavior at the bakery, she'd be hard-pressed not to give in and finally a put an end to the hell she's putting herself through.
The hall is dark as she quickly shuffles towards their equally dark room. Her fingers fumble against the wall in search of the light switch, which she locates just in time before tripping over the basket of dirty laundry she's been neglecting for the past week. She frowns at the pile of clothes spilling over the sides, realizing that she's fresh out of clean nightshirts, so she turns to her next best option.
Standing in front of his open closet, her hand ghosts over the shirts that hang overhead. Her fingers still when they come across a familiar one, heather grey and soft to the touch from countless washes. Pulling it from the hanger, she releases the towel and tugs the shirt over her head, letting the scent of him wash over her as the hem settles just above her knees.
With wet hair starting to soak through the fabric, she closes her eyes and wraps her arms around her body. If she pretends hard enough she can almost feel his lips trace over the curve of her neck, lingering on the spot behind her ear that makes her chin quiver and legs shake. With every touch and every kiss, he's never failed to make her body feel on fire.
She desperately wants to feel it again. To feel wanted. To feel loved. She misses it so much it makes her chest ache. The way his hungry eyes used to roam her body, no matter if she was clothed or naked. The way she'd lose all control when he coaxed her over the edge into a blissful oblivion. The feel of his lips on every inch of her body. The way he poured his all into showing her how much he loved her, and in turn, making her fall in love with him all over again each time. She tightens her grip over her stomach, a feeble attempt to quell the gut-wrenching pain coursing through her.
The approaching footsteps from down the hall cause her to turn abruptly and a few seconds later she finds Peeta hovering in the doorway, the line between his brows indicative of genuine concern. "What is it?" he asks, unable to hide the tremor in his voice. "Is something wrong? Are you okay?"
Katniss's arms drop to her sides and she steps back from his closet. "Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" The prickliness of her voice causes the worry to fall from his face.
Folding his arms over his chest, he leans against the doorframe. "Oh I don't know, might have something to do with how you shrugged me off before dinner. Or when you stalked off from the table without touching your food. Something's bothering you. It's written all over your face."
The disappointment in his voice grates at her already raw nerves and she knows there's no more avoiding it. From the determined look in his eyes, he's ready to settle this, and so is she. She's sick and tired and wants some answers.
Placing a hand on her hip, she meets his gaze head on. "Alright then, mind telling me about what happened at the bakery today?"
"You're going to have to be more specific," he retorts flatly. "A lot of things happened today."
"You're kidding me, right?" Katniss's eyes widen as she bites back the urge to throttle him. "I saw you, Peeta."
"Saw what?"
"You know exactly what I'm talking about," she answers, her voice rising. "That Capitol woman from the bakery? I saw the way she had her hands all over you, the way you let her touch you and fawn all over you. And you just let her! And then you took her into the back room. What the hell was that?" Her chest heaves as she stares him down, just waiting for him to try and defend his behavior.
Shaking his head, he releases an exasperated breath. "That's what this is all about?"
"Excuse me? When your husband disappears with some Capitol whore behind closed doors, don't you think you deserve an explanation?"
His voice remains calm despite her implied accusation. "That whore is Plutarch's new assistant."
"And that's supposed to make me feel better, how?"
"She getting married in a few months and asked me to make their wedding cake. That's why she came to see me."
Katniss's mouth gapes open, her train of thought momentarily derailed. "But, why were you touching her? I saw you touching her shoulder!"
"She has a tattoo of a goldfish that she wants on her cake." His shoulders lift into a small shrug. "I was just measuring it to get a sense of the proportions."
Realizing her arsenal is fast dwindling, she falls back on her final bit of evidence, but the hysteria behind her voice when she asks her final question is now gone. "But why did you take her back into the kitchen?"
"The woman wants a seven-tier cake, so I showed her the cake pan sizes so she could get a sense of the overall height."
"Oh," she whispers, feeling a bit embarrassed. There's a momentary lapse in the tension between them and she crinkles her nose up skeptically. "She has a tattoo of a goldfish? Really?"
The corner of his mouth lifts, and for the first time in a long while, there's a hint of amusement in his eyes. "I don't ask questions. I just bake the cakes."
Peeta pushes off from the doorway and perches himself on the edge of the bed, his hands lacing together in his lap. "You know, if you'd just come into the bakery, we could have avoided all of…this," he says, waving between the two of them. "So, is the interrogation over with now?" She nods her head sheepishly.
Rising to his feet, he reaches down to grab her wet towel off the floor and flings it over the door. "Good, now listen to me. This distance you've put between us—it's got to stop. Pushing me away is doing neither of us any good, and the way you deny me every time I get close enough to touch you, well, I'm starting to think you really meant what you said." He runs a hand through his hair and frowns. "We both know what this is really about. You have to stop blaming yourself and thinking that I'm going to just up and leave—"
"But you want kids!" she interrupts, no longer able to keep her feelings bottled up inside. "The thought of disappointing you…" she pauses to take a gulp of air, fighting back the slew of emotions tugging her every which way. "I can't stand it, and knowing I already have…"
"Katniss, no—"
"And after all you've been through, you deserve what you want most, Peeta. Knowing that I can't give you that, well…then I've failed you. I know you'll eventually blame me and grow to resent me. Maybe not now, but one day you will."
"Katniss—"
"And the feeling of you having to settle for half a life with just me, I can't bear it. Knowing you'll always look at me and wish for things that could never be. I'm broken, and you deserve better. You deserve someone who can give you the life you've always wanted and—"
"Dammit, Katniss, will you just stop!" He stands from the bed, the force of his words and sheer size of his body causing her to stumble backwards. It's his clenched fists and rigid stance, along with the intense glazed look in his blue eyes that normally twinkle with humor that tips her off. It's been so long since he's had an episode, but she doesn't miss the telltale signs that he's struggling to remain in the here and now. She's about to reach for him and wrap her arms around his trembling body, but then he shakes his head and his eyes shut as he inhales a calming breath. "You're right. I do want children."
Her face falls; his almost-episode and honest confession causing the air to rush from her lungs. This is it. The moment she's been dreading. But then his features soften and when he opens his eyes, he takes a tentative step towards her.
"But I want you more," he whispers, bringing a hand up to stroke her cheek. "Children were never a deal breaker for me, and if I can't have them with you, then that's the way it is. But a life without you? Now that's a deal breaker."
"I'm just afraid that…" She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, unable to voice her true fear.
"Afraid of what?"
"Knowing that I lied to you and pushed you away when all you wanted to do was comfort me, and then today with not trusting you and thinking the worst," she pauses, her eyes shutting as she fights back a sob. "Peeta, do you still love me?"
"What?" The look of utter confusion crosses his face and his brow furrows. "Katniss, of course I love you. I'm still here, aren't I?"
"But—but how can you?"
"Look, I don't agree with how you handled things, and yeah, I wish you'd have told me straight from the start so I could have helped. I felt useless, having to watch you suffer alone, but if I'm being honest, I understand why you did it."
"You do?"
"Yeah, you were scared and you needed time. Time to sort things out for yourself first, so I can't fault you for that. I just want you to remember that we're in this together. We're a team, you and me." Tears threaten to spill from corner of her eye, so she drops her gaze to her feet, curling her toes into the plush carpet. He inches forward a bit more and places a knuckle beneath her chin, gently tilting her head up to look at him. "I don't want to fight with you, and I want you to stop blaming yourself for something completely out of your control, alright? Just tell me what to do to make things better, what I have to say to make you understand. Tell me what you need…what you want?"
"I want things back the way they used to be. I want you to feel the way you did about me, before all of this."
"But I do. This hasn't changed anything. Don't you remember what I promised?" He reaches up to swipe a few damp strands of hair off her face. "To love you with all I have, no matter what. Don't you remember?"
"Remind me," she whispers, blinking away tears. Even though he's standing right there, less than a foot away, she misses him like crazy.
Taking a moment to study her, he takes a step back, his eyes drifting away from her face and down her body to take in his shirt that dangles just above her knees. She crosses her ankles, suddenly nervous under his stare, and wonders what it is he sees when he looks at her. Flaws and all.
She crosses her arms over her chest, unable to look him in the eye. When he steps towards her again, his bare feet almost touching hers she sucks in a breath, her skin tingling with heat and anticipation. Reaching down, he takes her left hand in his and brings it to his face. His thumb brushes over the gold band that adorns her ring finger before his lips follow, her sharp inhale from his lips on her skin causing his eyes to dart back up to hers. Just that little touch brings her back to life, awakening the muscles in her belly and causing her knees to go weak. It's just a taste of what she's been missing and she wants more. She needs more.
As if reading the longing in her eyes, he takes hold of her other hand and brings them together to link around his neck. Their inhales and exhales mingle in the space between them and before she can ask—no, beg—for just a little taste of him, he wets his lips. Timidly, his mouth hovers over hers, and with just a brush of his lips, a needy moan tumbles from her throat. She swears the corner of his mouth lifts into a crooked smile but before she can think twice about it, he presses his lips fully to hers.
He takes his time—a painstakingly long amount of time—reacquainting their mouths, fusing together slowly and then frantically, gently and then rough. She can't remember the last time she's been so thoroughly kissed, and when he parts her lips and his tongue sweeps in to meet hers, she never wants to forget again. When he gradually pulls back, a small whine escapes her lips.
"Remember now?" he asks, brushing his thumbs across her cheeks as he continues to press light kisses to every inch of her face.
She can't help but smile. "I'm starting to."
With a heart-stopping grin, he starts to walk her backwards, dipping his head down to nip along the side of her neck. The moment her body gently thumps against the wall, his hands are everywhere, exploring the curve of her backside, the slope of her hips, and the swells of her chest.
His hips thrusts forward, pinning her to the wall so that the bulge in his pants catches between her legs. "Do you feel that?" he asks, his voice suddenly low and rough, sending a chill down her spine. An approving moan is all she can manage as she clutches the front of his shirt between her fingers. Peeta pulls back a bit, his nose no more than an inch from hers. "I said, do you feel that?" he repeats, punctuating his question with another firm jut of his hips.
"Yes," she groans with a shudder.
"That's what you do to me." When he leans in, her next breath catches in her throat, eager to taste his mouth again. But he ducks his head to the left at the last second to graze his lips against the column of her neck. "You, Katniss," he says against her skin before working his way back up her ear. "Only you…my wife." She shudders at his words, which prompts an embarrassingly desperate moan to rise from the back of her throat. When he pulls back again, forcing her gaze to his serious face, his stares at her for a whole minute as he cradles her chin in his palm. "Understand?"
Katniss nods but when he tugs at her bottom lip with his thumb, she's finally had enough. She's missed him for far too long. She needs this—needs him—so badly that her body physically aches. She needs more than just his words and his mouth on her own. She needs him inside her.
He drops a hand to the hem of her shirt—his shirt—and she whimpers just a little when his fingertips tickle her bare skin. Her body moves on its own accord as her arms lift, eager for him to strip her of the garment. But to her growing frustration, he pauses for a moment, fingers fiddling with the fabric.
Her voice is hoarse when she breaks the silence. "What's the matter?"
Regarding her thoughtfully, his eyes narrow curiously before he shakes his head. "Nothing's the matter. I was just remembering the first time I saw you in this shirt." His other hand drops to her side, and then both are sliding up her torso, taking with them the shirt as his thumbs brush over the sides of her breasts along the way. After carefully easing the fabric over her head, he tosses the garment to the floor and steps back, exhaling a steady breath as his gaze sweeps down her petite frame. She gnaws at her lip as she fights the urge to cover herself, and when their eyes finally meet again, he whispers reverently, "You're so beautiful."
It's only natural to dismiss his appraisal with a wave of her hand, but the way his eyes bore into hers, speaking volumes with the way he drinks her in, she doesn't dare. She follows the moment of his hands as he reaches down, inching his own shirt up to reveal the tight muscles of his stomach and the scars that mar his chest. Then he pauses, somehow knowing she needs an extra moment to pull herself together before tugging the rest over his head. Her throat suddenly dry, she swallows thickly.
When it comes to Peeta's physical appearance, very little has changed over the years. Working at the bakery has kept his arms and back toned and the odd jobs around the house haven't hurt either in keeping him trim and fit. She, on the other hand, can't ignore the softness that's appeared in certain places when she looks in the mirror. But as Peeta continues to stare at her as though he's never seen a naked body before, she can't help but think he likes what he sees.
"I've missed this," he says as he sinks to his knees, tugging his lip between his teeth. Her throat is still dry despite the wetness gathering between her legs, and when he inches his way forward, his face hovering in front of her crotch, her legs begin to give out from under her. Thankfully, his hands are there to steady her. "You ready for me?" he asks, to which she responds with a frantic nod of her head.
Pressing her back against the wall, he lifts her leg over his shoulder, followed by the other until her full weight is balanced on him. She reaches out blindly in search of something to steady her, and when her hand comes in contact with the smooth surface of the dresser, she grips onto the hard surface for dear life. When his hands shift to better his hold on her, he squeezes the soft flesh of her backside before settling them on her thighs. The warmth of his breath zeroed in on her center sends a pulse of anticipation through her, and when he glances up, the visual of his face between her legs is almost too much.
She's caught off guard by the depth of desire she finds staring back up at her, his pupils dilated with only a sliver of blue surrounding them. He wants this. Wants to devour her. Probably as much or even more than she wants him to. Reaching down with her free hand, she runs her thumb along the slick curve of his lip, and when he catches the digit between his teeth and swipes his tongue over it, she almost falls apart right then and there.
"Please," she whispers, urgently pressing her heels into his back.
The next words from her mouth are incomprehensible and she almost forgets to breathe when he runs his tongue first up one side of her slit, and then down the other, before parting her folds and licking all the way up to her aching center. He does it again, and again, and again, the maddening tension and wetness building with each pass. When his lips finally lock around her clit, her strangled cry fills the room as his tongue flicks over it, sending a rush of heat right down to her toes. He's unrelenting, making a point to tease her as he takes his time licking and sucking and hitting the steady rhythm he knows will have her grasping at his hair and pulling him in closer to ride his face.
His hold around one of her thighs loosens and a hand is suddenly at her breast, the unexpected sensation of his calloused thumb against her skin almost distracting as his incessant mouth latches on to her clit again. Every stroke of his tongue makes her come alive, makes her forget why in the world she's been avoiding him and denying herself this. It's just like she remembers—no, better. A hundred times better.
Heart racing and panting, her eyes screw shut, unable to focus as the sensation overload causes her body to short circuit. But the moment he thrusts inside her with is tongue, her body clenches around him, stoking the fire that's been growing deep inside her. The flames spread quickly, heat surging through her chest and into her arms and legs, radiating out into her fingers and toes. And then she's there, right on the edge, just waiting for a push to send her tumbling over the edge.
That final push happens when he withdraws his tongue and sucks her clit into his mouth; the vibrations from his moan causing her thighs to tense and lock around his head. Wave after wave of pleasure ripples through her as her fingers fist into his hair and her back bows off the wall. Tipping her head back, she releases a soft groan as her body trembles from the aftershocks. He continues to lap gently at her folds, steering clear of the area he knows she finds overly sensitive afterwards. With a contented sigh, her boneless body relaxes back against the wall, but before she can sink to the floor, he eases her legs off his shoulders, one at a time until she's back on her feet and leaning against the wall for support.
With a satiated grin, she watches as he wipes his mouth with his shirt then she helps to his feet. He cradles her head with his hand and smiles before leaning in closer to press their foreheads together. With swollen lips, flushed cheeks, and damp curls stuck to his temples—she's never found him more attractive. He leans into her when she captures his mouth in a lazy kiss, but then something hard brushes against her stomach when he circles his hips and she pulls away with a smirk.
Reaching down, she traces the tip of his erection and drops her gaze to watch as it twitches beneath the confines of his pants. His hips still as she makes quick work of what clothing he has left, and when he's finally standing completely naked before her, she can't help but sigh as she takes him in. His gorgeous, sun-kissed skin pulled tight over a solid frame. She's tempted to sit and stare, the way he did with her, but the gentle nudge of his cock against her arm says otherwise. She swipes her fingers though the arousal still clinging to her folds and proceeds to wrap a hand around the base of his shaft, drawing out a guttural moan as she strokes him. The sound goes straight to her core, heat blooming across her chest and down deep into her belly. She wants to hear more. Lifting up onto her toes, she presses her body against his and places a kiss to his jaw.
Sliding her palms up his chest, she pushes him away, but when his mouth opens she presses a finger to his lips to silence his protests. She guides him backwards but before he can collide with the edge of the dresser, she twists their bodies around and hoists herself up onto the solid surface. With a coy smile, she spreads her legs, inviting him to settle between them. When he does, he carefully runs his fingers through her wet tresses.
"I love when it's wet like this," he murmurs, holding her gaze for a moment before pulling her in for a kiss, his warm lips melding to hers. It's sweet, less hurried and frantic than the ones from before.
He draws back with a start when her hand finds his cock again, and wrenches a moan from the back of his throat as she drags the tip through her folds. "And when I'm wet like this?"
His lips quirk into a sexy grin. "Do I really need to answer that?"
Grabbing her leg just under the knee, he hooks it over his arm as his other hand snakes around her back, his fingers digging into the flesh just about her ass. Her other heel finds purchase against the edge of the dresser as she pulls him to her, capturing his lips in a hasty kiss before he lifts her hips to bring her body closer to him. He buries his face into the crook of her neck, his teeth grazing against her skin before planting a row of open-mouthed kisses along her collarbone. Once again, he's stoking the flames, her body eager and waiting to catch fire. She presses her chest to his, dropping her head back as he works his hungry mouth down the column of her neck, grazing his tongue along her skin and tasting a salty bead of sweat threatening to fall between her breasts.
Dipping even lower, he takes a nipple between his teeth and pulls away slowly, stretching it out until the pleasure outweighs the pain. She struggles for breath, trying to control her racing heart, but she's already so turned on she can feel her arousal trickling down her thighs. Unable to form words, she grabs onto his shoulders for support, her nails digging into his skin in a desperate attempt to make him understand how badly she needs him inside her. Understanding her silent plea, he takes hold of his cock and pumps it twice before aligning the tip at her entrance. She can scarcely breathe as she waits, trying but mostly failing to keep calm when his tongue darts out to wet his lips.
"I love you," he says in a breathy exhale. With eyes riveted to hers, he finally slides into her with a slow and measured thrust, allowing her to feel every last inch as she stretches around him. When their bodies meet, he pauses. "Fuck," he hisses, his hot breath fanning over her face. She smiles to herself from the reverence in his voice, and then leans in to place a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Drawing in a quick breath, she swivels her hips against his, a silent plea for him to move.
With a quick press of his lips to her forehead, he starts to move. Her eyes fall shut, relishing the feel of him each time he fills her. It's everything she's been longing for all at once, the sensation of reclaiming his body once again causing her to grip the curls at the nape of his neck in desperation.
She yelps in surprise when he lifts her leg up higher, the new angle allowing each thrust to hit that sweet spot deep inside. God, she can feel every last inch of him, filling her completely. From the slight tremble of his body, she can tell he's fighting the same mental battle she is: go slow and savor the feeling, or let loose months' worth of sexual frustration and let pure animalistic need dictate the pace. The latter eventually wins out as his steady rhythm picks up and he pounds into her at a punishing pace, pouring all he has into her.
Forcing her eyes open, she catches a glimpse of his face. His eyes are shut, lips slightly parted, and forehead dotted with sweat. His cheeks are flushed and his hair is damp, and he's just so goddamn beautiful it pains her to look away when her head lolls back from the force of his thrusts. She climbing again, closer and closer to sweet release, and she's just on the verge when she feels his thumb searching between them. With just a few quick strokes, her clit pulsates, sending her walls aflutter as she arches into him.
With a strangled gasp, she collapses against his chest, her greedy lungs burning as she sucks in air. She's barely aware when he comes a few moments later, jutting his hips forward and sheathing himself completely as he spills into her. His body eventually stills, lowering her leg slowly and bringing her other one up to wrap them around his waist. She's weightless when he scoops her up and deposits her sated body gently onto the bed. Barely able to keep her eyes open, she sighs blissfully as she sinks into the mattress, fully intent on wrapping herself up in the sheets and Peeta's embrace. So when he regretfully pulls away, the absence of his warmth causes her brow to furrow as she reaches out to grab his hand.
"Stay," she whispers.
"Don't worry," he says, tracing her lips with his finger. He chuckles quietly when her lips part and she sucks the digit into her mouth, gripping it playfully between her teeth as if to hold him there. "I'm just going to clean you up. After that, I'm not going anywhere."
It's way too early the next morning when the alarm rudely awakens her from a pleasant dream. She's too warm and too comfortable to move, so she nudges her hips backwards until an arm finally swings over her head to silence the offending device.
With a content sigh, she nuzzles back down into her pillow, but when Peeta doesn't move, she reaches back and pats his thigh.
"Don't you have to be at work?" she teases, a lazy smile stretching across her face before she flips onto her other side.
The mattress dips as he turns, his eyes locking with hers for a brief moment before flickering down to the sheet draped provocatively over her chest. The corner of his mouth lifts into a sexy grin. "Probably, but like I said last night, I'm not going anywhere."
With the tip of his nose, he traces the exposed skin of her neck before his lips follow suit, pausing at her ear to graze her earlobe with the tip of his tongue. It tickles and she keens into him, her eyes falling shut as she releases a breath laugh. He leans in, his warm breath against her cheek. "I love you," he whispers, and then places a gentle kiss to her forehead.
Her eyes flutter open to regard his face, and then he gives her a boyish grin that's genuinely sweet and with just the right touch of shyness that unexpected warmth rushes through her naked body. As he stares back at her, she can still see the boy she met so many years ago, but also the man she's fallen in love with so many times over.
"I love you, too," she whispers.
He beams back at her, his eyes bright and playful as his fingers trace down her side, pulling with them the sheet to reveal the curves of her naked body. "Remind me."
Seven years later…
Her foot taps out an incessant rhythm against the tile as she stares at the blinking light on the vanity, nervously chewing on a hangnail. She winces when her teeth graze the pinprick at the tip of her thumb and she loses count of the seconds ticking by.
It's impossible. They've told her time and time again, which is why she's lived in denial of the symptoms for well over a month. But all the telltale signs are there. She's missed her usual cycle, her abdomen feels bloated, her breasts ache, and she's woken up feeling queasy more than once in the past week.
A knock at the door almost startles her off the closed toilet seat and she looks up, eyes wide when Peeta's face appears through the open doorway. "Katniss? I was wondering if you—" His words taper off into silence when three long beeps echo off the walls and he turns towards the sound, his eyes narrowing when he catches sight of the blinking device. "Is that—is that what I think it is?"
The hesitant tremor in his hushed voice causes Katniss to bury her face in her hands, unable to bear the heartbreak he's sure to suffer if her suspicions are wrong. Finding her courage, she inhales a deep breath. "What does it say?"
Her question lingers in the air for what feels like an eternity before she hears him take a tentative step towards her. Then another. And then another. And when he kneels down in front of her, gently prying her hands away from her face, she's met with a smile more radiant than the sun.
"What?" she whispers, taking the test from his hand and staring down at it in disbelief. "I can't believe—I just…it's just not possible."
He pulls her to him, his embrace warm and strong as she cries tears of joy into his chest. "Why not?" he asks, squeezing her gently and smiling into her hair. "It's not the first time we've beat the odds."
Author's note: Huge round of applause and a great big "thank you" to Streetlightlove and Mr. Street for all their hard work and time for hosting yet another wonderfully successful round and to all the authors and artists that participated in bringing us this wonderful collection of stories and artwork, you're all amazing! Thanks to my wonderful beta and friend, Court81981, for working her magic. If you haven't already, you should check out her submission Highland Fling for some sexy Scottish!Peeta And huge thanks to the talented loving-mellark for my gorgeous banner, she is so talented it's crazy! Be sure to check out her beautiful fanart submissions as well, you won't be disappointed!
I'd love to hear your thoughts on this and as always, come visit me on tumblr: pookieh