Author's Note:

This fic is dedicated to Jessa, AKA misshoneywell, whose stories brought me into the fandom in the first place. Thanks.

Huge thanks, love, hugs and multiple orgasms to my betas, MeggieMellark, for putting up me with and walking me through the writing process, and SwishyWillow, for convincing me that this was good enough to post and keeping me going with Bruno Mars jokes. I love you both.

Disclaimer: Suzanne Collins owns The Hunger Games and its characters.

I own sparkly red nipple tassels.

He should be disgusted with himself. He should feel ashamed and repulsed by his actions. He should stop. But he won't.

By this point, he doesn't even think he can.

It's her fault, he thinks. He can't help it that she smells so delectable. That her scent, so sweet and musky, so delightfully feminine and her drives him to such extremes. It's enough to drive him insane.

He slips his hand into his pocket for the fourth time in five minutes as he walks, his fingers closing over the soft cotton knickers and immediately his thumb seeks out the crotch, still damp and slick with her desire. His dick throbs eagerly in response. Not long now.

"Peeta!" a familiar and cheerful voice calls to him and he almost doesn't stop. Almost.

"Peeta, wait up!" Delly pants as she reaches him, linking her arm through his as she matches his pace. "You were walking so fast, I didn't think I'd catch you. What's the big rush?"

Peeta slows to a more suitable pace even though it pains him to do so and tilts his head to look at her as he removes hand from his pocket, taking note of the light flush in her cheeks and her wild wind-blown hair. His mind skips back to Katniss, remembering how her cheeks flushed the same dusky pink and her mouth, swollen and full from his kisses, dropped open as she gasped through her orgasm, her walls clenching around his fingers not fifteen minutes ago. The memory sends a jolt through his body and straight to his needy dick, now straining against the fly of his pants.

Delly snaps her fingers in front of his face to get his attention, bringing Peeta back to himself and he realizes that he has been silent for more than a few minutes. "Sorry," he says with a sheepish grin. "I'm heading back home now. I think I might paint for a little while."

Delly's brow furrows in confusion and she lets out a bemused chuckle. "But, why? I just saw you, heading out towards the Seam with Katniss only a few moments ago. Is everything okay, Peeta?"

Although misplaced, her concern for him is sweet and it makes him smile. Delly is, and always has been, one of the nicest people he has ever known. At one point, he thought they could become something more and he's pretty sure that Delly had similar thoughts, but that quickly passed when he failed to even think about her that way. She's more like a sister to him and they're both comfortable that way.

Peeta shrugs and grins at her reassuringly. "Everything's fine, really. I just walked with Katniss to see Gale."

At this, Delly nods. Katniss has made it clear of her eagerness to be in the woods, to go hunting, for a couple of weeks now, and now that the weather has finally improved and spring is on its way, it's only natural that she continue has she always has. With Gale, of course.

It isn't necessarily a lie, either.

He did indeed walk with Katniss to the Seam and onward until they reached her usual exit point. She would be meeting Gale after she entered the forest at their usual spot. He accompanied her to the fence in deep thought, his jealousy slowly surfacing. With the knowledge that, for a few hours at least Gale would essentially have his girl, an irrational, caveman need to mark her and to claim her as his over took him. His parting kiss to her had been possessive and rough, and Katniss has mewled in the most beautiful way when he forced her against a tree and ground his hips into her. Needless to say, Katniss had been late meeting Gale, and the panties in Peeta's front pocket seem to burn through the fabric of his jeans. The urgency to get home becomes more immanent than before.

"Oh! There's Jessa! I've got to run Peeta, but if there is ever something wrong, you know where to find me," Delly says with a gentle smile before trotting off towards Jessa Davis, a girl a few years ahead of them in school that used to visit the bakery often and sit in the corner with a small, leather bound book. He remembers vaguely that she liked to write and wonders for a brief moment if that's what she always did on her visits before he shakes his head and picks up his pace. Not far now.

If he thinks about it, he and Katniss have come a long way since their return to Twelve. They were inseparable for a few days, sharing gentle caresses, tender looks and kisses freely. Yet, as soon as the cameras disappeared and the reporters from the Capitol left the district, having had their fill of the Star Crossed Lovers, she instantly distanced herself from him and avoided him at all costs. He knew it was coming.

But that didn't stop it from hurting any less.

For weeks, he forced himself through the motions. Still on a baker's schedule, he rose before the sun and took a light jog. It was difficult with his prosthetic, but he had become accustomed to the feeling of physical exertion and reveled in the peace that it brought, running through the empty streets of the district. When he returned he would prepare and bake breads, buns and desserts, whatever took his fancy, then he would take it into the town to the bakery before it opened for business to give to his father, or he would take it to the Hob to give to Sae, who would then sell it on to the folks from the Seam at a price to suit. His afternoons consisted of painting. He painted the Village, the Town and the Seam. He painted the new-found joy on people's faces now that they were reaping the rewards of having not one, but two victors. He painted the games, the horrors and the bloodshed. Things that haunted his dreams and woke him, sweating and terrified in the night. Mutts, a swarm of genetically engineered wasps, children being forced to kill one another. Children dying.

But mostly, he painted Katniss.

He was putting some finishing touches on his latest painting late one night, ensuring that it was ready for the Victory Tour that was due in just a few months, when he heard the sound of light footsteps coming down in the hall. He set aside his paint brush and stood, walking to the door and opening it as quietly as he could. Katniss stood before him in her usual sleep shorts and vest top, her hair a wild mess, escaping out of her braid. He tried not to take note of the way her nipples strained against the fabric of her clothes, peaks high and perky.

"Katniss?"

A weak, cautious smile turned her lips up at the corner as she glanced down at her bare feet before she cleared her throat and returned her eyes to him, her brows furrowed slightly, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

"I couldn't sleep." Her voice was husky. "Or I could, just not well." She admitted.

Confused, Peeta took a step forward. "Okay…" he ventured and lifted a hand to her arm, smoothing it down her soft skin. So warm.

"I had a nightmare. I was wondering if I could stay here. With you. To sleep, I mean."

Peeta starts at this. And although he finds it difficult to think of Katniss in any sort of negative way, he can't seem stem the flow of annoyance that surges through him at her request. It shocks him, the anger that she has sparked in him. It's been weeks since she's spoken to him, or even looked at him at all, and now she has the audacity to come into his home and ask this of him? His arms tingle and his body hums in anticipation at the thought, wanting nothing more than to hold her close and fall asleep with her safe in his arms tonight. But the colliding feelings cancel each other out, his emotions going haywire. He's furious. He's irritated. And, though he's loath to admit it out loud, and especially not to her… he's hurt.

"Why?" He asks incredulously.

Katniss startles and he can see her blush even in the dim light. "What do you mean?" Her voice is quiet.

"Why?" He repeats, this time with an edge to his voice. "Why now, after you haven't spoken to me in two months?"

He doesn't want to be mad. He doesn't want to be mad at her. But she's got to know that this isn't right. That this isn't fair on him. He can feel his heart pumping fast in his chest. His palms start sweating and he wills himself to calm down. He breathes deeply, in and out.

Katniss, at least, has the decency to look embarrassed. Her teeth worry her at bottom lip and he watches as her hands reach up to play with the end of her braid nervously. He's never seen her look nervous before and it makes him almost regret his sharp tone. Almost.

She fidgets like this for a moment or two before she brings her hands down, clasping them together.

"I'm sorry, Peeta. I truly am. But you don't know… you can't understand how it's been for me. I don't understand what I'm feeling and I just… I just-"

"You just what, Katniss?" Peeta snaps, "No. I don't know how it's been for you. I'll give you that. But what about me? What about how it's been for me? We were both in the games, you know. You're not the only one feeling this way. You're not alone in this." He's breathing heavily now, and although he hates himself for the look of hurt that flashes across her face, she needs to know this. Because he's hurt, too, damn it.

"You're not the only one that wakes up at night screaming because in your dreams, you're still there. Only in my dreams, you're still stuck there, too."

Angry water stings the back of his eyes and he blinks rapidly to clear them before it escapes. Katniss looks dumbstruck, and for a moment he thinks she's going to cry, too, but then her features contort and a sneer distorts her plump, full lips into something cruel and feral. Her hands clench to fists at her side as she spins on her heel and starts down the hall towards the stairs. Before she reaches the end she turns back and walks towards him with such fury in her eyes that he flinches.

"How dare you?" Her voice is low, but the menace in it chills him. "How fucking dare you, Peeta Mellark?!

"How could you think for one second that I would avoid you because of… of that! I came here because I knew that you were the only one that would understand. That you were the only one that could! There's not one day that goes by that I don't think of you and how you suffered through that hell with me! And there's certainly not a moment that goes by that I don't wish that I could have done something to save you from that. That I could have spared you that pain. But it happened and there's nothing I can do about it." Her voice echoes off the walls and throughout the house and her face is flushed with the effort of shouting.

Peeta says nothing, staring at the ground. Her feet are so small, so dainty, he thinks to himself distractedly.

"The reason I've not spoken to you… the reason I've been avoiding you is because I don't know how I feel about you. I don't know how to react to how I feel about you and I don't know how to tell you so that you can understand why I'm so confused!" She says quietly. "I don't know my own feelings and that scares me."

He feels guilty. She's not good with emotions, not good with words, really. He knows this. But that doesn't stop his reply from escaping his lips. "Well that makes two of us then, because I don't know what the fuck you're feeling, either.

"I don't even know how I feel anymore," He pauses, taking a deep breath before letting it out in a heavy puff of air.

"When you went away, I went a little bit crazy. You just left, and you left me all alone after a month of being so close to you. I went insane and a part of me hates that you have such a hold over me. But it doesn't matter, anyway. I just can't seem get you off my mind."

He raises his eyes to hers to see how this revelation has affected her, but she's not looking at him. Her sharp silver eyes narrow, focused on something behind him. He turns to look into the room, his art room, and sees nothing that could draw her attention. A huff of air leaves her lips, a slight whimper, and then he spots it. A medium sized picture tucked into the corner. Pale flesh. The soft rise of full breasts. Deep blush nipples. Dark hair. Head thrown back, the face slack in the throes of ecstasy. Bristel Owens. The only girl that he keeps a repeat prescription with, if you will.

Peeta turns back to Katniss in time to see her face tighten in anger, betrayal. He opens his mouth to speak when she cuts him off.

"Are you sleeping with her?" Her voice is fierce, far angrier than she was before.

"No." He answers honestly.

She scoffs. "Then what is that?"

"Bristel is nice. We're friends." He doesn't continue because he doesn't know how else to explain. Though they've never had sex, he knows his way around Bristel's body well enough by now. She's fun, easy to be around. She also gives great head, and when he closes his eyes, he can almost believe she's Katniss.

Another scoff escapes her lips, this time followed by a humorless laugh. She frowns and his eyes lock onto the familiar little "T" shape that appears between her eyebrows. He still finds it adorable.

"Looks like you're great friends. I guess I should go, then." With this, Katniss turns to leave and before he knows it, Peeta catches her arm and pulls her back towards him. His heart thumps painfully in his chest at the thought of her leaving and never coming back, and he does the only thing he can think of to make her stay. He kisses her.

It's bittersweet. The feel of her soft, plush lips under his, the warmth of her tongue at it sweeps across his bottom lip. The taste of her mouth, the playfulness of her tongue as they wrestle for dominance. He lets her win. He always does.

They're both panting when they pull apart, gasping for breath.

"I pictured you. I always picture you." He assures her before pushing her against the wall and leaning down to claim her lips once more.

That night had been the start of everything.

Due to the distraction in the form of Delly, it takes Peeta nearly twice the time it would have done to get back home, and by the time he returns to the Victors Village it's already mid-morning and he feel ready to explode. His dick throbs desperately in his pants as it strains against the zipper painfully. He practically trots up the porch steps and into the house, kicking it closed with his foot making a bee-line straight for the stairs. Pulling at the fabric of his shirt to un-tuck it from the waistband of his jeans, he yanks it up and over his head, discarding it haphazardly. He makes work of his belt, kicking his shoes off as he climbs the stairs, tripping once on his way up in the process and finally manages to shove his pants to his ankles, steps out of them and leaves them in a pile in the hall. His boxers tent dramatically, the tip of his penis peaking out of the top. He runs his hand over his length almost reverently and mutters "I know, buddy" quietly to himself.

Stopping only to retrieve his prize of the morning, the simple white cotton panties that are the cause of his need, he unceremoniously shuts the bedroom door with a slam before collapsing onto the bed with a heady groan of relief.

Setting Katniss's panties to one side, he leans over to the bedside drawer, retrieving the lotion hidden there, and pumps a generous amount into his palm before replacing the bottle back into its hiding place. Shuffling out of his boxers hurriedly, he smoothes his lubed hand from base to the tip of his cock once, twice, and finally palms it gently in his grasp, a hiss escaping his lips at the sensation. His eyes roll into the back of his head momentarily.

Snatching up the panties in his free hand, he brings them to his face, burying his nose in the sweet scent of sex and Katniss. His head falls back against the headboard with a thump as a deep moan rises in his throat. His balls tighten in agreement.

She smells so delicious. His mouth waters and he inhales deeply, wanting to take her essence and keep it inside. Pumping his hard cock slowly, he imagines what it would be like to taste her. To spread her long lean legs out and expose her glistening folds to him like an offering, to bury his face at her apex and drink from her like she's the finest wine. His tongue peaks out to taste the tang left from her nether lips and he utters a string of profanities at her taste. His mind plays on a loop as he imagines lapping at her sweet pussy, tasting her juices first hand.

He wants to devour her.

The thought causes him to groan loudly, his hips thrusting up to meet his hand as he tightens his fist around his aching dick. Moisture beads at the tip and he flicks his thumb over it, gasping at the feeling as he rubs it into the head.

Closing his eyes, he lets his mind wander to the other things he wants to do to her. He imagines Katniss on her knees in front of him, her pretty little mouth, those plump, luscious lips wrapped around his cock as she takes all of him in, his tip hitting the back of her throat. Her silver eyes flash as she stares up at him, and he grips her head in his hands, threading his fingers through her hair as he slowly fucks her mouth.

"Oohh, fuckkk," Peeta moans, his fist pumping rapidly.

The familiar tingle in the base of his spine tells him that he's close; his hips thrust up to meet his hand with force now, slightly choppy and erratic. His balls tighten as his entire body tenses, and in a last ditch attempt at milking his pleasure, he sucks the crotch of Katniss's panties into his mouth, his mind running wild with the image of her on top of him, her thighs on either side of his face as she grinds her delicious pussy into his mouth. His tongue laps helplessly at the lingering taste of her and he screams into the underwear, his orgasm hitting him hard.

Several minutes pass as he pants, coming down from the high of one of the most intense orgasms he's ever had. He reaches under the mattress and cleans himself up with the towel stashed there before walking to the closet.

There, he bends and pushes at the base, watching as the faux bottom shifts and slides to the side. He drops in the panties and then sits back, taking a moment to admire his collection. He's up to thirteen now, he recalls, and the smile the graces his face is nothing short of mischievous.

Sliding the panel back into place, he closes the closet and sets to work getting redressed. With one last glance at the closet before he heads out the door, a laugh escapes him.

Whoever knew he'd have a fetish for panties?