I love Finnick. LOVE him. If you've read my fics The Glühwein Series (that I coauthor with mockingjayflyingfree) or Unalaska, then you already know that :) and I'd like to be upfront: in this universe, Finnick is the leading man.
There will be Everlark sexy times, in this chapter even, cus I love me some Peeta, too! But please take note that there is a triangle and that Everlark is not necessarily endgame. Crazy, right?
Keywords: Katnick, Everlark, love triangle, forced prostitution, explicit sexual content, explicit language, anal sex, toys, non-con elements, dubious consent.
This is new territory for me too, y'all. So I get it if it's not your thing. If not, then please read no further. You may enjoy one of my other universes instead. Try my fic 7 Steps for a modern Everlark AU in which Peeta is Indian and Katniss is Trini, or Blend for a modern Everlark AU starring daddy!Peeta, or the Christmas TV series for a little Everlark BDSM. Or try Behind the Wall for a canon divergence fic starring Hijacked Peeta.
But if you're willing to explore this universe with me, I welcome you. I'm sure you won't be disappointed.
Thank you to mockingjayflyingfree, who always supports and inspires my writing, even when she tears apart documents and sends them back bleeding. There's simply no one better than you. Love you! Thank you to Chelzie for fixing my grammar and listening to me complain about having accidentally written a Katnick story. Thank you to Diana_Flynn for pre-reading and offering valuable feedback in the setup of this universe and for posting pics on tumblr of Inara from Firefly to make me smile.
I own nothing. The Hunger Games Universe and it's characters were created by Suzanne Collins.
Innocence Lost
From the moment I could hear again, Haymitch started to prepare me. He explained the situation slowly and carefully to make sure I understood. Getting me out of that arena was expensive.
The Capitolites don't look at Tributes and see people. They see characters. They see Avatars. They see players. They choose their favorite, and they sponsor them. This year, many chose me, and now... they want me.
The word prostitution is ugly, and I'm grateful that Haymitch doesn't use it. But even nicer sounding words can't glaze over the truth enough to keep it from stinging. If I don't do this, they'll go after my family. They'll go after Prim.
I'm in the hospital, still recovering from my Games. Still mending broken bones and healing burned skin. I'm rubbing my shoulder, newly sore from the birth control shot a nurse just gave me. Damn. This arm is going to be dead tomorrow.
"It happens to a lot of the victors," Haymitch says. He sits on the edge of my bed and pulls a silver flask from his pocket. He offers me a swig, but I refuse. Haymitch has brought Finnick Odair, a victor from 4, with him, but I'm too preoccupied by the news of having my body sold to the highest bidder to make a big deal of his presence. "For some reason, sweetheart, they find you desirable." I roll my eyes at his attempt to joke about this. He seems almost as uncomfortable about this conversation as I am.
"If they didn't want you, they wouldn't have sponsored you," Finnick explains. He doesn't sit on the edge of my bed. Instead he stands near the door, looking like he's posing for one of those Capitol fashion magazines that Effie gave me to pass the time in here. He's perfect. Too perfect.
"Why would they want me?" I ask almost desperately.
"They can see that you're something special." I stare at Finnick in disbelief. What is he talking about?
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Haymitch huffs.
Finnick waves off Haymitch's disinterest. He steps closer and reaches for my hand. I allow it. He looks into my eyes as he stands beside my bed. "We'll help you through it, Katniss."
"Yeah. Help." Haymitch chuckles bitterly. "At least you're of age."
I celebrated my 18th birthday in the arena. Happy Birthday to me.
"You're not a virgin, are you?" Haymitch asks.
"Of course not." The lie slips out all too easily.
"Well, that's something, at least." Haymitch sighs as he reaches into his pocket. "You've got a few more days to rest before your interview... and your first assignment."
He extends an envelope in cream, expensive-looking paper. As I reach for it, I ask, "What can I do?" Surely he has a way to help me out of this?
Haymitch only shakes his head. "Stay alive."
X
12 hasn't had a winner since Haymitch. No one expected me to win. But I did. So when Cinna appears in my recovery room with a white button down blouse and a light yellow pencil skirt in hand, a surprisingly plain outfit in comparison to what I wore to my last interview, I decide to go through the motions. I memorize a speech, learning to deliver it flawlessly. "Thanks to the generosity of the Capitol," it begins. Cinna fastens my Mockingjay pin over my heart and I try to convince myself that I believe it.
It's easy enough to feign interest. I've been holding my emotions in for weeks. This is about survival, and nothing more. I can't allow myself to break. Not yet.
My district partner, Symon, was a merchant. His father was a tailor, and though he worked hard at his trade, he in no way had the means to prepare Symon for the Games. Symon was gifted with a needle and thread, but he wasn't deadly. He wasn't strong. He couldn't lift. He couldn't wrestle. And even though I did my best to protect him, especially after I lost Rue and formed an alliance with Cato, I couldn't. He couldn't hunt. He could barely start a fire. He was too easy to track and didn't read any of the signals I sent him to run.
I looked away as Cato plunged his sword into Symon's back. But only to reach for my quiver and retrieve the arrow that I shot through his heart only moments later. Symon's death meant our truce was over.
"He deserved it," I tell Caesar. "There was no honor in his kill. Cato saw my arrow coming and I watched the light fade from his eyes." I do nothing to hide my bloodlust. I have to face the people of 12 when I get home. I want them to know that I took revenge on the boy who killed my district partner.
"It's a good thing you did." Caesar says as he leans in, acting as if we are old friends. I tilt my head and cross my legs, hating the 3 inch heels they're making me wear. I allow him to whisper loudly in my ear. "They say if you'd drawn it out, they would have released mutts."
The audience gasps at the danger I supposedly escaped. But I catch the camera zooming in on me, a shameless shot of my cleavage filling a nearby monitor, and I know that I'm in more danger than ever.
As I stand to say goodnight to the audience, I find Cinna's eyes in the sea of people. He nods once, cueing me to turn. And when I do, my yellow skirt explodes into orange flames. I exit the stage as they applaud. I take small satisfaction in the fact that I'm still the girl on fire.
X
I'm exhausted after my interview, but I try not to let it show. I still need to keep it together. I'm escorted back to the training center, to the victor's area on the mezzanine floor. The 12 floors above us are vacant now that the Games are over. With the exception of Haymitch, who is charged with the task of getting me settled in, all of the mentors have gone back to their home districts. The only victors who remain have private suites on this floor because they are working for Snow.
I don't have the chance to look around the common area. I'm led directly to my suite, with a large bedroom, a sitting area, and an attached bathroom. The peacekeeper points to the bed and tells me to get some sleep. My first assignment begins in 2 hours. I'm grateful that a dreamless sleep comes easily.
X
The calm doesn't last. When I wake, my hands are trembling. My skin is cold and clammy. And despite there being nothing in my stomach, my body heaves. I rush to the bathroom, my knees hitting the cool porcelain only moments before I expel water and stomach acid from my body. It burns, but I welcome the pain. It reminds me that I'm alive. That this still isn't over.
I take a shower. I use rose scented soap and water so hot it nearly scalds my skin to wash away the evidence of my weakness. I can't let anyone see me break.
The common area is empty when they come for me. I'm escorted by plain clothed peacekeepers to the home of a Plutarch Heavensbee. At least, that's what the message detailing my first assignment says:
Client: Plutarch Heavensbee
Gender: Male
Occupation: Dean of Communications, Capitol University
Services: Fellatio, Vaginal Intercourse
Notes: None
I suppose it could be worse. I'm not sure how. But...somehow.
The house is located on the campus of Capitol University, an old building that looks like the town houses we have in the merchant center back in 12, only much bigger. I'm dressed conservatively enough. Plutarch "ordered" the sexy school girl he saw on TV this evening. I'm wearing a black pencil skirt and a white button down shirt, and shoes Cinna described as Mary Janes. My mockingjay token is fastened to my chest, and it feels like it's protecting my heart.
The peacekeepers don't follow me to the door. I climb three steps and ring the doorbell myself.
The sight of the overweight man in front of me should be off putting, but it's not like I have a choice here anyway. Besides, he's handsome enough, I decide, as his lips turn up in a welcoming smile. He might as well be my first.
I don't introduce myself. I step inside and quickly take in my surroundings. The hallway is tasteful, and even though the luxury is understated for the Capitol, there's nothing like this anywhere in 12. There are thick, plush carpets and large mirrors. There's a wide, expensive-looking spiral staircase. I guess the bedrooms are upstairs, and perhaps that's where I'll be expected to perform.
I feel like I'm standing on the platform again, just before the start of the Games, listening to the countdown that determines my fate. I used those 60 seconds wisely before. I scanned what I could see of the arena and the Cornucopia. I knew it was a risk, but I knew I could grab that orange backpack. I couldn't let fear paralyze me then any more than I can now. Heavensbee shuts the door behind me and I get right to work, unbuttoning my blouse.
"How would you like to begin?" I ask in vain. It clearly said fellatio on the card.
He pushes my hands away with his and I tense. He must want to undress me himself. But to my surprise, he buttons my blouse back up. "Please, call me Plutarch." He offers me his elbow. "To answer your question, I'd like to begin with a walk."
I look at him, confused.
"Plutarch, dear. Are you ready to - oh!" A woman dressed in a simple black top and floral leggings appears at the door. That's when I notice that Plutarch is dressed for an evening out, and she is not. "I didn't realize she'd be here so soon."
Confusion floods my body as I try to make sense of what's happening. Who is this woman? Why is she here? Wouldn't they tell me if someone was allowed to watch, or maybe even participate? I'm pretty sure that's extra, and it should definitely be mentioned on the card. Shouldn't it?
"Katniss, this is my wife, Edna." Plutarch extends his hand and Edna walks over, allowing him to hold her hand and press it to his lips.
"Nice to meet you." She smiles softly at me. "You're very brave."
"I beg your pardon?"
"The way you volunteered for your sister." She shakes her head in disbelief and looks at me with awe. "And so very smart. Your knowledge of snares and plant life was simply bri-" Plutarch clears his throat and she looks at him apologetically. "Apologies. Suffice it to say, we were more than a little impressed. We were among your biggest sponsors!"
"I don't understand."
"Edna, dear, I've yet to pick her mind myself."
"Pick my mind? You mean you don't want me to...?" I let the words hang in the air.
Plutarch and his wife share a look and begin to laugh lightly. "No, we're quite happy with each other, dear," Edna explains.
"I'll explain on the way," Plutarch explains, offering me his elbow again. "Shall we?"
"Walk?" I confirm.
"And so much more." He raises his eyebrows at me expectantly.
I accept him. I'm not sure how much of a choice I really have here. I slide my hand around his surprisingly strong arm. He leans in to his wife and kisses her on the cheek. "We won't be late at all," he tells her.
"Of course not. Do enjoy yourselves."
X
Capitol University is beautiful. The campus is just outside of the city, and there are trees everywhere. The buildings are old, with domes at the tops and high black fences surrounding the perimeter. It's nice here. Patriotic in an odd sort of way.
"Have you ever been to a library?" Plutarch asks as we meander down a brick road, leading to a large building surrounded by columns. I shake my head no. "Something tells me you'll love it."
I'm confused. Plutarch isn't hurting me. He's not forcing me into any of the dozen places I spy where I could be violated in the most public and obscene manners. Perhaps Haymitch has over prepared me. I've come to expect the worst.
"Why am I here?" I hedge.
"To escort me to this evening's reading, of course."
"Reading? That's - well, not what I was told."
"I know." He stops walking and turns to face me. "Given the subject matter of this evening's discussion, showing up with you on my arm had its appeal. I sent you a formal invitation, which was promptly declined. Unfortunately, requesting certain services is the only way to enjoy your company."
I try to make sense of his words. Does he really mean that the only appointments I'm allowed are of a sexual nature? I shake my head as I realize that next time I probably won't be so lucky. How many people would be willing to pay for the pleasure of taking me to a library?
"Are my services expensive?" I ask.
Plutarch smiles sadly. "No more expensive than sponsoring you during the Games."
So...I'm a cheap date. That information did nothing for my self-esteem. But at least now I know what I'm worth to Snow.
"What's tonight's discussion about?"
Plutarch smiles and begins to walk. "Survival of the fittest."
X
My finger traces over the title of the book in my hand. "On the Origin of Species" was written long ago. It's one of a few literary relics from before the Dark Days. Beside me, Plutarch is beaming, still holding me proudly on his arm.
The main atrium of the library is gorgeous, surrounded by more books than I've ever seen. I could live in this room forever - there are more books than I could ingest in a lifetime.
"This copy is yours to keep," Plutarch whispers. I can't help but smile.
Dr. Seneca Crane, the head Gamemaker, is at the podium, reading an excerpt of the book. I try not to stare daggers at him, but I hate him. He's the one who set fire to the woods around me, sending fireballs that nearly cost me my life. As I listen to him speak about a species' ability to adapt to change, I take notice of his hands. Soft, supple skin that's probably never seen a hard day's work.
My hands are soft now too, but they didn't used to be. They took away the evidence of my hard work, along with any sign that I was ever in the Games. It was no simple job getting me back to beauty base zero, not even with the elaborate arsenal of products, tools, and gadgets available in the Capitol. Once I was medically cleared for duty, they even gave me a full body polish.
The reading ends. We exit the atrium and enter a banquet hall. There are no books in here. The low lighting doesn't allow for reading, so I hold my book at my side. A drink is thrust into my hands, but I don't sip from it.
"Are you enjoying yourself?" Plutarch asks.
"It's a little overwhelming," I say honestly.
"It's appalling." He smiles slyly. "Still, if you abandon your moral judgment, it can be fun."
I smile politely as Plutarch leads me around, introducing me to his colleagues, each one more educated than the last. The people stand in clusters, all speaking and laughing, and using words I've never heard.
"The Mockingjay is a brilliant example of adaptation," Dr. Crane explains to several men who are gathered around him. Plutarch leads us to them, and we join the circle. "However, there's very little genetic differentiation within the new species."
"That's not true," I blurt out. Immediately, I want to stuff the words back into my mouth.
Dr. Crane raises an eyebrow at me, clearly amused. "You have something to add, Miss Everdeen?"
"Oh," I look around, noticing all eyes are on me. "There is variation," I say. "Among mockingjays." I take a deep breath. "I didn't recognize the mockingjays in the arena right away, because they were from District 11."
"How do you know that?" Dr. Crane presses.
"Their song was different. Rue - I mean, the tribute from 11, was able to recognize the song. Warbles and cries are genetically determined, right?" I open the book in my hand, looking for the excerpt on finches I crossed earlier. But it's dark in here and Plutarch's hand over my book stops me anyway.
"Yes, Miss Everdeen. You are correct. Isn't she?" He smiles at Dr. Crane.
Dr. Crane is looking at me with a hard expression. But his sneer fades into a smile. "She is."
After that, it's easier to speak. My words are simple, and my explanations concise, but no one seems to mind. In fact, they start to offer their opinions. I have to be careful, though, as I discuss wild turkeys with a Senator's wife. I can't let them know I've been beyond the fence in 12.
"You are so insightful," she praises and her eyes shift to Plutarch. "This is a fine young lady."
"Thanks," I say, comfortable enough to finally sip from my glass, making a small slurping noise as I realize my drink is alcoholic. The senator's wife frowns as she judges me. "A little rough around the edges, though."
"Oh, I apologize." I pull my drink away from my lips, splashing clear liquid onto my black skirt.
Plutarch smiles as he offers me his handkerchief. "This is her first day back in proper society," he reminds the Senator's wife. It's actually my first day in proper society ever, but I don't correct him.
"Yes, of course," she curtsies - actually curtsies - as she takes her leave.
I chug the rest of my drink in a very unladylike fashion and turn to Plutarch. "I'd like to get some air," I say.
"Yes, of course." When I stand, Plutarch stands, prompting the other men at the table to do the same. It's an odd gesture that makes me feel more important than I am.
I exit the library, still blotting my skirt dry. I hold onto the banister as I follow a winding set of stairs that leads to an outdoor courtyard. The cool night air hits my skin and I feel calm. The floors are lined with large ceramic tiles, and columned archways provide a path that leads to a small pond. I take a few steps closer and lean against the final column. I reach my arms over my head and begin to braid my hair back as I watch a family of ducks swim by.
"Good evening," a melodic male voice calls to me.
I turn my head and find a tall, stocky blond smiling at me as he approaches me. He's dressed in a sweatshirt and very tight jeans, typical of Capitol University students.
"Hi."
"May I join you?"
"Oh... sure."
He stands a respectable distance away, leaning against another pole as he looks out at the pond. But I can see him move from the corner of my eye. He keeps turning his head to face me, then looks back at the pool again. "Would you like a mint?"
"What?" I look over to him with his hand extended, holding a little tin filled with white discs. I can feel him studying my face, so I'm careful not to look directly at him. "Oh. Thank you." I accept a mint and turn back towards the pond.
He pops a mint into his mouth and tucks the container into his pocket. "You're Katniss Everdeen, right?"
"Yes. And you are?"
"Peeta Mellark." He extends his hand to me and I sigh at the feeling of his warm skin. "What brings you to Capitol U?"
"Just visiting."
Peeta nods his head. "Well, it's great here. You'll enjoy it. The professors are really nice and-"
"That's not why I'm here," I interrupt.
"Oh?"
I almost let it slip that I'm here on assignment as the Capitol's newest whore, but I bite my tongue as I look back to the pond.
"I guess someone in your position could go to any school they wanted," he mutters.
"Probably," I sigh. These damn Capitolites, they think victors actually have a say in what we do. They don't understand that the generosity of the Capitol is not without limits. Ignorance must be bliss.
"So, what other schools are you looking at?"
"What?" I look at him, confused. School? I've never considered going to school before. I went to high school most days, but only because it was the thing to do. I've never considered continuing beyond that. "I'm not sure."
Peeta nods. "You've probably got your sights set on someplace back home, right?"
I shake my head no. We have a few trade schools in 12, one-year courses that are mostly attended by the merchants. The people from the Seam work in the mines and learn on the job. I have more money now than I could ever hope to spend. I don't need to learn a merchant class trade. "We don't have universities in 12."
"Oh...Well, like I said, it's great here. You should consider it."
I nod my head as he leans down, setting a stack of books down in front of him.
"What are those?" I ask.
He gestures to the books stacked at his feet. "Research. I've got a 30 page paper due next week." He shakes his head. "Why did I sign up for summer classes?" He laughs at himself.
"What are you studying?"
"Art History. I'm in my second year."
When he turns to me, the moonlight reflecting off of the water hits him just right. His blue eyes shine.
"Ooh," I say, putting my foot into my mouth. He raises his eyebrows at me questioningly. "You have nice eyes," I mutter and I look away.
I've only seen eyes that blue once before, on a merchant boy back in 12. The one who died when the bakery burned down, the day after he gave me the bread. It was raining, but he didn't care. He walked out to me and placed two loaves of bread, burnt at the end, into my hand. We were starving, and he saved my life. But I didn't get the chance to thank him. Before I could, he was gone.
It was years before anyone in 12 had fresh bread again.
"Thank you. Your eyes are beautiful, too."
I shake my head. "They're gray."
"No," he says as his hand reaches up to cup my jaw, turning me to face him. "Your eyes are silver. They're big and full of hope."
Hope? There's no hope left in my heart. No indication that things can be good again. How could there be? My life is dictated by too many other people. Peeta smiles, but he doesn't know I'm desperate to feel something other than the overwhelming guilt and anger. I throw my arms around his neck and rise up on my tip toes, and his eyes widen in surprise.
I have no idea how people do this. Are you supposed to silently understand the other person's intentions, or do you actually have to say it out loud? Remembering my own surprise the one time Gale tried to do this in the woods, and the awkwardness that followed, I breathe, "kiss me," just to make sure he understands.
He leans down, and our lips meet in a wet kiss as his arms wrap around my waist and he pulls me closer. His tongue slides sloppily against mine and I want to believe this is real.
I break the kiss before he's ready. His tongue still seeks mine out as I lower my heels to the ground.
"Wow," he says as he presses his forehead against mine.
This almost feels like a choice. I can give myself to Peeta tonight, and no one could take this away from me. Tomorrow I'll have another appointment, and my next suitor might not be as gentlemanly as Plutarch is. But right now... right now, I'm no one's whore.
I lean against the column and Peeta kisses me again, slower than before. He wants to savor this. But we don't have time. Plutarch will be looking for me soon.
"Touch me."
His hands tentatively wander my body, over my ass, teasing me. "I am touching you."
"No." I hike up my skirt and grab his hand, placing it boldly between my legs. "Touch me here." He pulls his lips off of mine and looks at me with a furrowed brow. But he doesn't deny me. His fingers slide up my thigh and I widen my stance.
"Fuck," his sighs as he discovers that I'm not wearing any underwear. I wasn't provided with any tonight. He gets me wet by dragging his fingertips slowly along my slit. My breathing deepens and he watches my chest rise and fall. "What are you-"
"Put your fingers in me," I beg.
He shakes his head once, as if he didn't hear me right. "Katniss-"
"Please, Peeta."
"Let's slow down. I haven't even asked you out to-" he says as he tries to withdraw his fingers. I squeeze my thighs around his hand, trapping it.
"No!" I lean forward and kiss his lips again. "I need you now."
"Why now?"
"Because..." If he doesn't do this now, then I'll have no say over who I give this to. But I can't tell him that. If I do, he'll never go along with it. "I - I don't sleep well." It's the truth, sort of. I don't sleep well. But that's not why I'm pressed against a column at Capitol University right now, with his hand between my legs.
"What?"
"I have nightmares, from the Games."
"Nightmares? Why would you have nightmares?" A proud smile spreads across his face. "You won."
I don't know how to explain to someone from the Capitol how horrible the Games really are. So I don't.
"It was lonely in there. I was so afraid I was going to die without..." I flick my tongue up, licking his lips once. "Knowing a man's touch." I'm lying through my teeth. That's the last thing I was thinking about in the arena. All I cared about was coming home to Prim. But maybe an innocent lie can speed things along. I wonder how long I've been here already. Ten minutes? Fifteen? How long is it going to take for Plutarch to come looking for me?
"You're a virgin?" he asks in disbelief.
I nod my head as I move my hips in small circles.
"But you're 18."
"Mmhmm."
I could tell him how it is in 12, that some Seam girls go to the slag heap and that I just wasn't one of them, but it wouldn't help move things along. So instead I ask, in a voice that I hope is deep and seductive, "Have you ever fucked a virgin before?"
Peeta shakes his head no, and his fingers begin to move again.
"Don't you want to know what it feels like?" I ask.
He's almost panting as he nods his head.
"You can, you know." I kiss him again before I bring my lips to his ear and whisper. "Right now."
"I've dreamed about this," he sighs as he slides a finger into me.
I squeeze my eyes shut at the foreign intrusion. "Ohhh..." It feels strange, but not unpleasant. My body responds to his touch, and it's confusing me. "I've never been touched," I tell him. He clearly likes that it's my first time. I need to spur him on.
His mouth is on mine again. I whimper when he adds a second finger as he deepens the kiss. He withdraws his hands and doesn't seem to need any more convincing. It's faster then, just like I need it to be. His jeans are collected around his ankles and he claws at my bodice. He kisses me again as he wraps his hand around his cock.
"Damn, I need to get-"
"I had a shot," I tell him and I tug on his hips, urging him inside. He understands right away that I mean birth control. It's common in the Capitol.
He uses his fingers to find my entrance. But his movements are now nervous and clumsy. He mutters apologies twice before I reach down, grabbing his cock. It's big and I can feel my body tremble with anticipation. I guide him to my opening and he pushes into me, hissing with every inch. He doesn't go slow, but does pause to look into my eyes and take a deep breath as he reaches my natural barrier. I nod my head again and summon up as much confidence as possible. "Do it," I encourage. With a snap of his hips, he ruins me, shedding me of my innocence, cursing loudly in pleasure as I cry out in pain.
He's moving then, all traces of tenderness gone. It's painful, but I start to move against him. My movements are inexperienced and erratic, but they seem to match his own.
"Oh, right," he says, sounding as if he's just remembered something. His hands reach down, and then he's rubbing it, the bundle of nerves only I have touched before. I moan for him as I get wetter, and the slickness between us feels good. There's a twisting, a building of something in my belly, but before I can reach the peak, he's pulsing inside of me, filling me with his hot cum. He groans, finding my lips and pushing his tongue into my mouth as his body shakes in bliss.
After, he pulls out of me immediately. He doesn't offer to finish me.
There's blood and cum wet between my thighs. I feel terrible about it, but I retrieve Plutarch's handkerchief from where I dropped it and use it to wipe between my legs. I crumble the used cloth in my hand. I'll still need to find a bathroom, soon. Peeta seems embarrassed as he pulls his jeans up and buckets his belt, stepping backwards and leaning against the column when he does.
I smooth down the skirt of my dress, but the slick and sore feeling between my legs can't be helped. When I look back up at him, Peeta looks into my eyes. I stare back, unable to put words to my thoughts.
"That was-"
"There you are!" A figure appears at the end of the archway corridor and I push myself off of the column, dropping the cloth and pushing it away with my foot. I tear my eyes off of Peeta just as Plutarch approaches. He stops beside me and once again offers me his elbow. "It's time I return you," he says.
"Yes, of course." I accept his arm and turn back to Peeta. "It was nice to meet you," I tell him.
"Yeah." He shakes his head, suddenly understanding the situation. Enough of it, anyway. "I mean, yes. I've enjoyed the pleasure of your company."
"Another time then." I nod my head and allow Plutarch to lead me away.
I'm escorted back to the training center, and when I reach my suite, I collapse onto the bed. Thoughts of Peeta swirl in my mind before I finally fall asleep.
Are you into it?
The second chapter is all Katnick. It's already beta'd & preread and will be uploaded next Wednesday. My betas have chapters 3 and 4 on their plate already too, so there's a good chunk of story coming at you :) Be sure to follow me on tumblr, bitcheslovesprinkles, for updates on this fic and all my other stories.