Chapter 1: You Want Me. Real or Not Real?

Katniss

It has been hard since the war. Feeling like I am free and yet still trapped at the same time.

It's not that I don't love Peeta. I do. Just not in the way the Capitol wanted me to. Even after the Games. Even after the Rebellion. I feel like I must stay with him because of his hijacking. He'd go mad if I was not around.

Thankfully, Peeta – good, sweet, gentle Peeta – understands. We agreed upon arriving back in District 12 that we would just be friends. And we are. Good friends. We hold each other at night as we sleep. Though we technically live in separate houses, I almost always go over to his whenever I have a nightmare. He holds me in his arms at night, but we don't dare do anything beyond that. It is nice to just have a friend, to have a warm place to sleep.

Still, I know that Peeta's heart must break to be that way with me, but undeniably want more. I know he loves me. And sometimes – sometimes, on my worst days – I feel irreversible guilt, knowing that I can't love him back.

So it is one night in his bed, Peeta spooning me from behind. It's the most intimate he has ever touched me that I will allow. He platonically rubs his hand along my shoulder to calm me from the nightmare.

That doesn't distract me from the hardness he is trying and failing to keep from pressing up against my ass. The hardness that tells me he wants me. Sexually. No matter that I have rejected his advances, no matter that I responded to them only for the Games. Poor boy. He really meant it when he said he was a goner. He will never be free of me.

I decide to force the issue.

"You want me. Real or not real?" I ask.

"Real. To be spend time with you, of course," he replies.

"No." I shift in his embrace and turn to face him. "You want me. Real or not real?"

Now Peeta understands what I mean. He looks away in shame even as he mumbles, "Not real."

I do not know why this gets me angry, but I do. "Then what is this?" Before I can get a hold of myself, I brazenly seize his erection through his pajama pants. Peeta's cry out is muffled as I kiss him firmly on the mouth, closing the gap between us. I roll him over until I am now straddling him. Peeta pulls out of the kiss, and his member leaves my grasp.

"No!" he almost yells, before remembering that we don't want to wake the whole neighborhood. His voice drops to a whisper. "You don't have to do this just because you pity me. I don't want this."

"Like hell you don't," I snarl. "I know what boys want. I know what you want – I've known it all along!"

"No-" but my lips crush his once more. I fondle his penis in my hands, squeezing the balls, pumping his shaft. Peeta moans like a dying animal into my mouth, and I know his resistance is crumbling. I jimmy his mouth open with my own and batter my tongue inside. With tongue. That's how most boys like to be kissed. I breathe sharply through my nose as our lips go at it, even as I begin to strip him of his pants and boxers. It dawns on me that my forcing myself upon him could be considered rape. I don't care. He wants me? Then he probably won't refuse me, shocked as he is that I am showing him romantic affection – even in a violent way.

As soon as his member is free, all hard and big despite his fear, I go down on it. Hard. I have never had sex, but that doesn't mean I don't have urgings. And Peeta can say that I was his first. I try to cry out in pain, but my lips are still against Peeta's, so it's muffled. I bounce up and down on his cock, groaning into Peeta's mouth as I do so. The breathing through my nose is rough and ragged now. I break the kiss roughly, gasping for air as I ride him. I feel the pleasure building in my core and am just about to pull out when Peeta roughly seizes my bum and gives it a squeeze, his nails digging into the flesh. I let out an airy squeak at this rougher side of him.

"Don't start something you can't finish, Ms. Everdeen," Peeta growls.

I nearly cum right then and there. He does want me! I knew it! I bury him back inside me and ride him hard, wanting this to at least be something he can remember me by. I shamelessly let ungodly noises forth. "Uhh… ummmmm….. huhhhh…."

Suddeny, Peeta flips us so that he is on top and he pounds like a piston into me, gripping the bedpost as he does. My grunts and groans turn to screams of pleasure. "Ohh… ahhhh…. Uh! Uh!" Every thrust elicits a wail from me as Peeta humps my center. He kisses me roughly, muffling my squeal as I orgasm at last. Moments later, I can feel the fluid pump into my vagina with the force of a jackhammer as Peeta empties himself inside of me. Both totally spent, our violent, angry coupling ends soft as we tenderly break our kiss at last. Seconds later, though, Peeta pulls out of me and promptly rolls off me, leaving me feeling empty.

"Fine. Thanks for that one time thing and good night! I'm going to sleep!"

Guilt wracks me as I turn away from him, facing the wall. He wanted me, and I gave him what he wanted. I fucked him. Isn't that what he wanted, even if just for one night? These thoughts haunt me as I go to sleep.

I never touch Peeta like that again. Nor does he to me. While I can tell he at least enjoyed it, he knows it was a one-time deal and that he should take what he can get.

But it only takes one time, right?

It is early one morning, several weeks after Peeta and I angrily made love in his bed. I am wearing my bathrobe still, glancing out the window, the test sitting at my feet.

One time. One damn slip of paper. And the life I thought I could lead has just been shot to hell.

I hear his heavy tread as he emerges from his shower, the tentative hand on my shoulder, cautiously asking if he's allowed to touch me. I allow it.

I hear his breath catch as he spies the slip of paper showing two lines. Two pink lines. He picks it up.

"I can't believe it. You're…."

I nod stiffly, showing zero emotion. "Yes, I am."

There's a silence before he asks. "What are we going to do?"

I finally brave myself to look at him. His face and body language is stoic, but no one can deny the hope in his eyes. I blink and move back, my hand instinctively clutching my womb.

"Oh, God, you do want to have it, don't you?" I cry out. This is a rhetorical statement, not a rhetorical question. Either way, he can't deny it. "Peeta, this is not what I planned-"

"I know. For the record, neither did I. I was beginning to accept that you did not want me in that way, but now….. Please." His eyes are pleading, almost cute. "My baby is inside you. Do you know how much I've dreamed of that, even when I thought it could never be? If you keep it, I'll do whatever you want. I am your humble servant to command. I'll never ask for anything again."

I huff. Damn him. Damn his….. damningly adorable way of making you want to do anything for him. Even carry a baby that you didn't even want to have. Not with him or anyone else.

"I won't make you marry me. We could live in sin; raise the child together. How's that?"

I can't help but smirk at his phraseology. Live in sin. I turn back to him, the amusement not leaving my face.

"Well, we were never very good at following the rules, now, were we?"