Pieces

by peetasbunmyoven

Growing back together is hard enough. Katniss knows he feels it too. She knows he wants more than the gentle touches and innocent looks. What she doesn't know is why he pulls away. She doesn't realize Peeta has lost more than she could ever know. In the ashes of Twelve how can she help him? How will they ever come together?

I never thought it would be my hands.

I thought it would be his.

Those warm and calloused palms that feed me and bring worlds to life with just a swirl of paint. Yes I thought it would be his purposeful, reverent hands that would have to curl into themselves to keep from touching me.

I was wrong.

I found it was my fingers that itched to run up his neck and bury themselves in the soft waves curling over the pink shell of his ear. I wanted to feel the golden stubble on his jaw scratch just so along my skin and mouth.

His face over the years had always been smooth. So these hairs fascinated me. Shades lighter than those on his head but darker still than the tangle of lashes against his cheeks.

Which now on this morning would any minute flutter as soft as wings and all I will see is blue.

I relish moments like this. Where his face is slack with the softness of sleep across from mine and I can tell for briefs spells he isn't haunted by nightmares behind his eyes.

He fought so hard to come back.

To himself.

To me.

I don't want him to have to fight ever again.

But when have the odds ever been in our favor?

Sweet brushes of shy lips, and comforting hugs in tangled sheets just weren't enough anymore. Not for me. Not for him. And I thought we would one day just tumble across that invisible line we'd drawn in a mess of mouths and limbs when it all became too much.

But it seemed there was one more battle for us yet.

One more wall to break down so we could heal.

Peeta never talked about his time in the Capitol. Selfishly I didn't ask. I know I should have. But I was only months shy of spending half my days on the floor of a closet. Survival has always been my first instinct and I wasn't sure I'd survive knowing what they'd done to him.

Little did I know I was going to find out regardless.

The slow burn between us wasn't meant to be contained and daily it only grew. I was the girl on fire after all.

Twelve Weeks Ago

I can smell autumn. The leaves are just turning at the edges but I know within a few weeks the canopy above my head will be alive with golds and rusts. It makes me smile.

Peeta will love it. The entire forest a veritable palette to the sunsets he loves so much.

He will want to paint it and somehow beneath his capable hands he will make it seem even more magical. That's what he does. It knocks the wind out of me sometimes.

Prim was right. He was always in there, trying to get back to me.

After all he has seen and all that has been done to him. He still looks at the world and sees what is good and what is beautiful. He still spends most of his days looking at me.

Taking a final deep breath I break through the trees for home. Home. I've been back in Twelve for just under a year now, and it has only been the last six months where any of this felt like home again. I try not to dwell on the fact that six months ago was the first night Peeta slept with me again.

He's been there every night since.

As I walk up the path I can see smoke leaving the chimney and the windows are warmly lit. I kick my boots off and they land next to a larger pair by the door. The same door that I know his coat hangs behind. The clothes filling half of my dresser do not belong to me, and the kitchen pantry is full of spices and sugars that I have no use for.

Neither of us really acknowledged that he moved in. He just did. I think we both thought if it was discussed out loud I would run. I tend to react more like prey and less like a hunter when I feel cornered.

Yet with him the opposite is true. I find myself running towards Peeta most days. My pace picks up in the evenings and I am always a little short of breath and light in the head anticipating getting back to him.

Tonight is no different. There is a flush to my cheeks and a warm pounding in my heart as I push the door open. I can smell thyme and onions and a wave of heat from the fire kisses the chilled tips of my fingers as they push my bangs from my face.

Rounding the corner I find him in the kitchen. His back is to me and it looks like he is chopping something on the counter. The rhythmic thump of the knife fills the room and I take a minute to look at him. I feel like I can't stop looking at him most days.

His hair is longer curling over his ears and darker there probably due to sweat and steam from the stove. His grey pants hang low on his hips and pool on the floor where he has on wool socks. I never ask why he puts a sock on his prosthetic. I wonder if it is just out of habit and my heart clenches because at eighteen something like only needing one sock should never have been his reality.

He's wearing a plain cotton under-shirt. I watch the muscles in his back flex and roll with the movement of his arm and shoulder. He's as broad as ever. Filled out and healthy and so much more of a man than the boy who shook my hand on stage years ago.

He reaches again and a small strip of skin at the small of his back shows. Heat floods my cheeks when I realize that I want more than anything to push it up further until I can peel it from his body completely. I see him shirtless sometimes. When the nights are hot and sticky he'll even get into bed that way. Those nights seem decadent because miles of his warmth is inches from mine and his sweet smell seems to fill the room. I fall asleep with spice in my nose instead of the smell of sheets.

These thoughts come more and more frequently these past months. They always follow his closeness or when I catch him looking at me and something in his eyes makes me forget how to breathe. I know he feels it too. I just don't know what to do about it.

What I want is something else entirely.

I want to run my hands up his back and see how dark my hand looks against his flat stomach. I wonder how soft the hair that trails beneath his belly button would feel. Thinking about being free to touch him that way makes my abdomen clench.

But Peeta rarely touches me and when he does he is always in control. I hate it.

Night after night when he rubs the small of my back and brushes the lightest of chaste goodnight kisses to my lips I ache low in my chest to press myself to him completely. I want to hear the sounds he would make if I hitched my leg over his hip or dug my fingers into his scalp. I am desperate to again have his tongue in my mouth.

Sometimes that night in the arena doesn't seem real. Other moments it is so real that I wake in the middle of the night with salt on my tongue and wet heat between my thighs.

I want him.

I need him.

It terrifies me.

A soft sigh must let him know I've arrived because he turns at the sound.

My stomach clenches again at the lift of his lips, wet from his habit of running his tongue across them. His blue eyes crinkle with his smile.

"You move like a damn ghost you know that?"

I grin back meeting his gaze and holding it a moment too long.

It makes him swallow as I walk across the kitchen and stand on my toes to pull a glass out of the cabinet. "I've been told."

"Good day?" He asks as I see his eyes drift down to where my stomach peeks beneath where my shirt has ridden up.

I shrug my shoulders and turn reaching higher on my toes because I feel heat flush up my neck from the hungry look in his eyes. "Fine. How wa…?"

"Here." His chest presses into my back as he reaches over me to take the glass in his hand.

He's warm. I can smell yeast and sugar on his clothes and sweat on his skin. There is flour clinging to the beds of his fingernails and I focus there when I can feel his exhale on the back of my neck. It makes me tremble and the skin on my arms pebble. He reaches around my body to fill the glass with water before setting it on the counter next my hand.

But for a moment he doesn't move. He just stands there caging me with his heat and the deep breaths that leave his mouth into my hair. His heart pounds into my back and I almost arch at the flutter of it into my spine.

I bring the glass to my lips and slowly turn around purposefully making my chest brush his. It makes him suck in a mouthful of air. He's breathing hard or seems to be by the rapid rise and fall of his chest. I can't seem to look up yet. When I do he is watching my mouth on the glass's rim and the ripple of my throat as I swallow.

His eyes are huge and dark and they flit to mine and to my mouth and back again.

He has the most perfect smattering of freckles on his cheeks.

I set the water down and lick my lips. His mouth falls open when I do and I can feel the faintest of groans leave his chest. I absorb the deep sound into my own. I think it pulses around the rapid beating of my heart.

He looks at my lips again before dropping his forehead against mine. I feel his hands. His fingers skim the outside of my thighs and feather around to rest lightly on my hips. His thumbs scrape back across the exposed skin of my hipbone. I'm shaking. Or he's shaking.

I just want him to give into it. It has been weeks of this and I need him to give into it.

His eyes close when he takes a deep breath in and it leaves his nose hotly into my cheek. He shifts his head back and forth and it makes his nose brush along mine. I can feel his eyelashes on my cheek when each time he moves he gets closer. His fingers tighten on my skin and then he is just breathing into my open mouth.

Hot shaky breaths that taste like mint tea and make my knees want to buckle. When I run my tongue lightly under the edge of his top lip he moans into my mouth. His lips close around my tongue softly as his hands run up my back and over my shoulders.

He pulls back and opens his eyes as he palms my face and runs his fingers into my hair. He pulls me back to his mouth and brushes one kiss, then two to my lips before pulling my hair harder and brushing at the seam of my mouth with his tongue.

I moan at the contact, at the slick heat of it in my mouth and dig my fingers into the front of his shirt to pull him closer. He thrusts against me and makes a needy noise in his throat and I swallow each sound like I'm starving for them. Our mouths move and slide wetly and his hips drive me back into the counter as the kisses grow harder and deeper.

My hair is coming down in his hands and mine snake up the back of his shirt my nails scratching at the skin there. His palms drift across my back till, they anchor themselves on my ass, pulling my hips to meet the rotation of his with every new angle of our mouths.

I can't stop shaking, or whimpering with each delicious movement. I can feel how hard he is. If I was only inches taller it would be rubbing me in just the right way…I want to feel him.

I pull at his neck hard and lift one leg to his hip. His hand tightens on the small of my back and all I am thinking is yes…yes pick me up… and then…nothing…

As sudden as if he had poured the glass of water over my head, he pulls away. With red mottled cheeks and wide eyes, he backs away shaking his head and adjusting the front of his pants. His hair stands on end and his lips are red and wet.

He licks them. Then they start to move and he's muttering to himself and pulling at his hair. For a second I think it might be a flashback. He hasn't had one in months. But his pupils are normal…his breathing while rapid is still steady.

He shakes his head again. His eyes heavy with something I know but can't seem to place.

"K-Katniss fuck I'm sorry. I don't…I'm…I'm just going to go get some air."

Backing through the door he whispers, "I am so sorry."

I am left standing alone in the kitchen stunned. For a minute I even have to pause and get over hearing him say fuck. He rarely curses and right now with the taste of him still in my mouth and the frustration between my legs hearing that filthy word leave his lips is enough to make me close my eyes and smack the counter.

Why did he leave?

What did I do?

I am dizzy. My head still spinning from the heat of him and from the rotating questions in my head.

Peeta says he's loved me for years. I have this raging need inside of me that seems to grow every day and I am lost as to what to do about it. He seems like he wants me. Then acts like he doesn't.

He stays out for hours. I'm not sure what he does though I would assume he went to see Haymitch. I curl up as small as I can in front of the fire.

It took me months to light it.

After the games… after Prim…I just couldn't.

I watch the flames dance and flicker and study the raised pink scar on my wrist. The same one I know travels and curls around my arm and up over my shoulder. I don't remember the pain of it, just the heat. Intense unfurling heat licking and melting along my skin while a scream a thousand times more painful got trapped in my chest. Then it is just a flash of Peeta's eyes crazed with fear, the ground, and then darkness.

Fear. It was fear in his eyes when he left. He looked absolutely terrified. But of what?

The soft scrape of the door makes me lift my head. His cheeks are bright pink from the cold night air. He didn't even stop to take his coat from behind the door.

"Hey."

I swallow. "Hey."

He hangs his head and slips off his shoes before crossing the room.

He's limping. Which means he's been walking this whole time? His leg must be sore. The thought makes my eyes sting with tears.

Maybe they have just been there this whole time.

I don't know what to do. What he wants. Why he left and I'm so frustrated for some reason it all feels impossible.

He must see the single tear that runs down my cheek because he is across the room in seconds with a horrified look on his face.

"Katniss. Please I am sorry. Please don't cry."

Agitated he runs his hand through his hair. "I never should have done that earlier. It's just you were so… and I couldn't not…and I'm sorry…okay?"

I sniff and look up at him finally. He looks so lost. He's sorry?

Taking a deep breath I whisper. "I'm not."

He goes still and stares at me. "What?"

I shake my head. "I said I'm not sorry. For any of it. I liked it, Peeta."

His eyes widen slightly and his nose flares and again he shakes his head like he's trying to clear it.

I stand up and step closer to him. "You were there too. Was there a single second where I seemed like I didn't want you touching me?"

He swallows. "No."

"Well then why did you stop? Peeta why did you leave?"

There are only a few feet between us now and I can see the tendon in his jaw roll as he clenches it. His eyes plead an understanding that leaves me lost. "Because we can't. Katniss...I can't."

"You don't want me?" I whisper softly.

His face falls. "Are you kidding me?"

I stand up as my voice rises. "Well then tell me why. What the hell is going on? You are so careful with me. Careful not to touch too long or too much. Careful to even look at me. But you do! You look at me and I can hardly breathe with what it does to me, but then you pull away and you won't tell me what's wrong…walls are my thing Peeta; words are yours. Please talk to me."

"I just can't okay!" His neck flushes and his fingers curl into his palms.

"Peeta you are making no sense. What do you mean you can't? Just tell me why you won't touch me!"

He still doesn't answer. His eyes are bright and years of being lost and confused and comforted by this boy builds inside me. How his arms and his touch are the only ones that have made me feel certain or safe or hungry and now that I am here practically begging him he's silent. With tears stinging and rejection alive in my chest it just pisses me off so I shove against his chest in frustration. "Tell me!"

Glaring at me he takes a deep breath. His eyes flash at me. Good. Fire with fire.

I push at him again, and recklessly again before he stops me taking my wrists firmly in his hands. He's shaking and it thrills me because it means I'm getting through. It means maybe for once he will show me how he's feeling.

"Why?"

His eyes close a second before his voice rages at me so loud I step back. "Because! When I touch you I don't want to stop! But you can't be with me. You can't okay? I'm disgusting. I'm disgusting Katniss. Tainted. Fucked up. When I think of your hands on me my heart stops. Because it's you. Everything I have ever wanted. It's you. But also because suddenly I'm there! I'm back and I can't leave."

What? I shake my head but he cuts me off.

He blinks and looks positively frantic; his eyes are darting around seeing something I can't.

His voice grows more desperate as he yells. "I'm there again! And they are the ones touching me, not you! Always…always touching me. I am fucking terrified that when I look down it won't be your hand I see. I'll see them. All of them. Feel them. Against me….inside me. Holding me down! Fuck! Don't you see? They took everything!"

Clawing at his hair he shakes his head and collapses onto the couch. He whispers...his words choked by the sobs chasing them. "I can't live it again Katniss. I just can't."

I feel sick. I can't move though I know I need to…now.

I approach his folded body a step at a time. Kneeling in front of him I take his face in my hands. Tears stream from both his eyes and he looks so hopeless my heart shatters beneath my ribs. I put my head against his and let him cry. I wipe his cheeks and look into his eyes and push his hair off his head. I kiss his nose, and his eyes, the corner of his quivering mouth. Then I crawl up behind him and pull us both onto our sides and I hold him. I pull his back into my chest wrapping my arms and hands around him over his heart. I breathe into his neck and pull each of his sobs into my body imagining that if I could take his pain I would and draw it from his skin in seconds. Wishing that every lash and tear he has suffered on his soul were mine to bear instead.

His tears dry and eventually his sobs go silent. I never let go. With just our breathing in the dark I watch the ashes glow across the room.

All fires eventually go out.

I think about the boy in my arms. The marks on his body that match mine and so many I can't see. Loving the girl on fire has brought him nothing but scars. Some of them so deep I have no idea how to help him heal.

Burying my face into his neck I whisper fiercely. "We don't have to do anything. If you decide you want to we can go slow. If you want to stop, we stop. We'll get through this Peeta okay? I promise."

My words linger in the air and for a minute I think he's fallen asleep. But then one of his hands comes to rest on mine over his chest and his fingers squeeze lightly.

His voice is rough but quiet. "Together?"

I nod and will myself not to cry. " Always together."

Eight Weeks Ago

That morning weeks ago we woke up twisted together on the couch when dawn dappled through the drapes. Both of our faces were stiff with salt and our fingers ached from clutching each other close for hours.

But still shyly, we smiled. I kissed his cheek and thanked him for telling me. He buried his face in my neck and said he'd make breakfast.

Our days from there carry on in the way they have for months. I still pick up speed as soon as I see our house; he still smiles at me when I close the door like my arrival is the highlight of his day. He cooks and he paints and we sit in front of the fire and laugh at the end of the day. I never thought I'd laugh again.

But we touch more. Almost like my knowing the final thing that haunts him has freed something between us.

Fingers brush over soapy plates at the sink, thighs press together on the couch with his arm over my shoulder and his fingers trailing from my braid down my arm when we read, and every night he slides his leg between both of mine and wraps his arms around my waist before laying his mouth into the crook below my jaw as we fall asleep.

We haven't kissed much. But he's not holding back on purpose or afraid to tell me why.

I still can't breathe just from the way he looks at me sometimes. This morning he hugged me before going into town. I went to pull away and his arms locked me against him. I closed my eyes trying to draw in enough of his smell to take with me the rest of the day.

He pulled back and kissed me so softly it made me sigh into his mouth. The small sound of want made him tighten his hold on my neck and kiss me once more but harder…deeper...and he ended it with a small swipe of his tongue against mine before stepping away breathing deeply.

I just stayed there with my eyes closed and a hand on my stomach. When finally I felt like my legs wouldn't give out I opened them. He looked like a man starved and was staring at my mouth. He licked his lips as if to savor the taste of me there and then roughly told me to have a good day before walking swiftly from the house.

We have dinner later that night and then tea together while he sketches across from me on the couch with my feet in his lap. Apparently his pad and charcoal are not as entertaining as when he finds out my toes are ticklish. My stomach aches and his cheeks must as well from the size of his smile by the time the clock chimes the current late hour.

Breathing heavy, he helps me to my feet and we grin at each other like idiots. It feels good. His blue eyes sparkle and once again fall upon my lips as we head up the stairs.

The air is thicker up here. Or maybe it just the tension growing between us. His hand grazes my back as he walks past me to the bathroom. I run my own up and down my thighs once I am underneath the covers and swallow nervously when he walks out in nothing but a pair of flannel pajama pants.

He lies behind me and pulls me flush to his body, his chest pressing firmly against my back. I can feel his racing heart along my spine. Pushing one of his arms beneath me he wraps me up in his arms and I feel his hot breath against my neck as each of his exhales blows the soft fine hairs that curl there.

We lay like this so long I think he has fallen asleep. I even start to drift myself when I feel it. Pressing persistent and growing along the inside of my thigh. I suck in a breath and hold it. He's been hard against me in bed countless times. In fact, almost every time we have ever shared a bed I have unconsciously encountered it again and again.

This is the first time it has made me feel hollow and achy between my legs. I clench my thighs together so hard they shake and try to stay as still as possible. I don't want him to know I feel it. I don't want to make him feel pressured and I don't want him to panic or push away.

I don't want him to push away.

His fingers flex lightly against my ribs and it almost hurts when they tighten into my t-shirt. But I forget that when I feel his hips just ever so slightly thrust forward against me. Once… and again. Small revolutions where he's effectively grinding himself softly between my legs.

I sigh and feel him do the same . He pushes against me harder and grunts gently into my ear. It makes me start breathe heavily and my head fall to the side so his lips are against the skin of my neck. He pants there and it is so hot it feels like steam and when he thrusts again I can't help but whimper.

"Oh Katniss." His whisper is thick and muffled below my jaw but hearing him makes my toes curl.

He starts to go faster, and harder, his arms flexing so tight around my waist I can hardly breathe. I just pant into my pillow and dig my finger nails into his forearms and he lightly sucks on the skin behind my ear cursing with each thrust.

The room is filled with his grunts, and my soft moans and the gentle rustle of moving limbs and cotton sheets.

"Oh Peeta…" He groans back and I feel his mouth slack on my neck and sweat drip from his temples onto my shoulder.

"Fuck Katniss. Fuck!"

His hips piston against me so fast and so hard I would fall off the bed if not for his arms anchoring me against him. It is too much. It hurts it feels so good. So so good. I am close to something that I rarely can even find by myself …and so delirious about how amazing he feels I don't notice at first.

I think he is sweating into my neck, until the wetness begins to stream and I can hear the small noises leaving his lips.

Are those tears?

"Peeta?" He's crying. He's crying behind me.

"Peeta…stop…we can stop…"

He stills and breathes heavy biting back sobs into my shoulder blades. I can feel his hot breath in the cotton of my shirt and his face as he shakes his head back and forth against my back.

"No. Please. Please I want to. I need too."

Panting I reach behind me to run my hand into his hair. "We should stop. It's okay."

His chest shakes and so does his voice as it breaks. "I need to come. Please."

I breathe and close my eyes. I don't know what I should do. I can feel him twitch between my thighs. I promised to follow his lead and my chest feels heavy as we breathe together. He says he needs this.

So softly, tentatively I push back against him making him choke back a groan into my neck.

He slams against me making me cry out and my legs tremor. He picks up the pace and is relentless making harder, tighter thrusts and digging his fingers into my skin and the heat spreads swiftly.

I can't hold on anymore as my head falls back and I cry out twitching against him as I come. He groans and bites into my shoulder and I feel him bear down on my hips and go still against my back.

His whole body is taut and he thrusts twice more softly as he comes down.

He holds me against him as our breathing returns to normal.

Then he begins to cry in earnest.

Gut wrenching sobs that tear my heart from my chest and soak the collar of my shirt. He shakes with them his palms opening and closing in the cotton at my waist.

"I've wanted you for so long…"

His words are muffled against me and broken by his breathing. "Sometimes. Katniss sometimes you walk into a room and I feel like I can't stand up anymore. I can't breathe unless you are close and I want you so much."

He takes a deep breath. "I want you so much all the time. But I have so much shame and so much anger inside of me and I just can't seem to find a place for it. Where do I put it?"

His voice trails off softer. "I know I had no choice. I know they are things that were done to me not by me. But for the longest time something as simple and seeing you and wanting this with you, it felt wrong, like I didn't deserve it.…I couldn't separate it, what's real and what's not."

Laughing through another sob he says, "I am so fucked up."

Turning in his arms I meet his wet blue eyes. In the moonlight they shine like glass. "You are not fucked up."

His nose wrinkles and his lips twitch at the fierce tone of my words. "Most eighteen year olds don't cry through a dry humping session."

He raises an eyebrow at me as my mouth falls open at a loss for what to say. I even feel myself blush.

He just smirks and wipes the wetness from his cheeks a tired sigh escaping his pink lips.

Biting back a smile I whisper, "I wouldn't really know."

He grins bigger. "Yeah?"

I nod. "First time for me."

His face turns matter of fact then and with a nod he says, "Well then I take it back. Dry humping always ends in tears."

I snort and he smiles. "I'm fucked up. But that was still the single greatest moment of my life. Thank you."

I can feel my cheeks blush. "Yeah?"

He leans down like he's going to kiss me but just whispers wetly against my lips. "You have no idea."

I whisper back. "Me too."

He smiles back at me so brightly it is like the sunrise and then he kisses me sweetly before going to change his pants.

Maybe we are both fucked up. How could we not be?

When he comes back I lay on his chest. His heart beats steady beneath my ear and the sound makes my eyes close. It stopped once and losing him almost broke me. I take a moment to be so grateful for the sound and what it means.

Peeta alive and lying here with me.

Right this second fucked up feels pretty great.

Four Weeks Ago

Peeta starts baking in the mornings and I love that he already smells like cinnamon before the sun comes up. I pick plants for him to draw for the book and we talk about the day with the dandelion. He makes me promise to go to the meadow with him in the spring so he can pick me one and put it behind my ear.

I tell him that is disgustingly cheesy.

He tells me I like it, and I smile because he is right.

I take Peeta to the lake and his face seeing the explosion of autumn reflected back from the water warms me like cider from the inside and makes my belly flip.

We skip stones and I show him where the birds will nest in the spring and we kiss until our lips chap in the grassframing the shore.

I shoot a goose and we feast on the bird at dinner our smiles shining with grease and then finish the night with thick rolls frosted and full of spice. I eat two because they smell like him.

At night our lips only leave the other's to breathe. Peeta moans that he loves me into my mouth and instead of a racing heart and panicked stare back I smile beneath his words.

The words I want to say back stall on my tongue but taste sweet there nonetheless. Deep down I know I love him too.

I love that we kiss freely now. That instead of trepidation and memories our mouths meeting makes Peeta feel good.

Our hips bump and his hand drifts over my nightgown palming my breasts and under slipping up my back and running his nails up and down the backs of my thighs. This is my new favorite thing. His hands.

We smile between strokes of our tongues and often fall asleep almost mouth to mouth. He doesn't try to take off my clothes but there is little of me he has not yet touched. He's shy and reverent and looks extremely proud when I fall apart one night by his fingers.

We have been so wrapped up in each other and everything has been so smooth I forget that storms can rush in suddenly.

It is when I get lost in the moment that it happens. He's cupped me over my panties and I can hardly think straight with how good it feels. His tongue is at my collarbone and he's hard against my belly and I just want to feel him.

In that moment I just need to feel him hot and full in my palm. I want to make him feel good too.

He kisses me deeply and I slip my hand through the hair on his stomach and past the band of his shorts and wrap my fingers around him.

He shudders and then leaps backwards off the bed like I've burned him. His pupils are dilated in his eyes, fat and black and he looks terrified.

"Peeta…"

"No. No. No no no. Please not again. You can't…I don't want…no. Please! Please… I don't want to."

He's shaking his head side to side and rocking his body back and forth and when his eyes fly about the room. I know in this moment that he isn't here.

I crawl off the bed and across the floor and try to stroke his arm but he hits away my hand with a scream breathing so heavy spittle clings to his trembling lips as he pulls wildly on the roots of his hair.

He whimpers and drags himself slowly back a foot then another until he crosses into the bathroom and shuts the door between us.

I can hear him mumbling to himself. Fighting against his mind and reliving something so terrible I feel like I could get sick on the rug. A loud bang rattles the door. I hear him settle his back to it and pound his head into the wood several times before he gets quiet.

I lean my head into the barrier and place my palm flat to the smooth surface irrationally hoping somehow he can feel me there.

Stupid. I promised to go slow and let him be in control. Careless to forget even for a second.

Tears stream down my face. I want to protect him. I want to fight this for him. And I can't.

I listen to him breathing and know the soft sounds are growing into broken whimpers and I just want to whisper to him. Come back to me. Stay with me. Don't let them take you from me.

Minutes pass in silence with only my hot breath in my face and cold wood of the door against my cheek before he talks.

"Katniss…?" His voice sounds raw. Defeated.

"I'm here Peeta."

"I'm so tired."

"I know."

I hear him let out a deep stuttered breath and the door rattles as he relaxes into it. My fingers curl into the wood.

He starts slowly, his voice hardly a whisper. "They only came to my cell at night. Sometimes I was sleeping. I think I was pretty drugged up a lot of the time. I just remember the dark and wishing it was a nightmare. Some fucked up bad dream full of blurred faces and so many hands. Sometimes…sometimes I wake up because I can still smell them."

Closing my eyes I cry softly as he talks. I know he needs to talk. If I can hardly bear to listen to this. How did he survive it?

I can hear the tears in his voice as he goes on. "I would scream for hours. One moment I'd be furious and the next deciding I deserved it. Then all I could do was ask why. I-I just wanted to know why they had to take THAT from me over and over again. I wasn't an angel before or anything… but there was so much I wanted…for us. So much I had waited for. I just wanted you."

"Oh Peeta…"

He gasps. "I can never have that back. I can't even try to have that now. You are the only person I have ever wanted to touch me. And the moment you do I lose my fucking mind!"

His head crashes back into the door.

He groans softly,"You deserve so much more than this."

I shake my head softly even though he can't see me. "I'll never deserve you Peeta."

He laughs softly his voice sad. "But I'm not me. They took me apart Katniss. They took it a piece at a time."

"They took my leg. They took my body…my mind. They won."

My mind is racing as my heart breaks for the countless time but I shake my head because he's wrong and he has to know it. "No. They took your leg. But you ran anyway. They took your mind but you found your way back. You found your way back to me. They used your body but they can never take that from us. It will happen. All you wanted with me will happen Peeta. We'll put each other back together."

I barely hear him say, "Okay."

Tears leak from my eyes and I'm frantic because I need him to understand as I say, "Your pieces, and my pieces, we work better together."

He needs to know this is real. I'm about to tell him when he suddenly laughs from the other side of the door.

It comes out of nowhere and my spine stiffens suddenly because what now?

His laughter grows until he can hardly breathe and I know fresh tears are filling his eyes even if I can't see them.

"Peeta?" I bang on the door because he is scaring me. "Peeta!"

He sighs. "It's fine I'm sorry it's really fine. Just. Shit."

He snorts and sniffs. "I finally get Katniss Everdeen to stick her hand down my pants, my favorite fantasy since I was twelve mind you, and I end up in the bathroom…and…and you are saying all these amazing things…"

My mouth is open because where is he even going with this?"

"… and now all I can focus on is you talking about your pieces.. and what they can do with my pieces. And I know you are just trying to help but the innuendo is priceless. Dirty talk from Katniss Everdeen."

He laughs again so hard the door rattles between us and exasperated I smile because all of this is so insane and so Peeta. How he can turn this moment around and end up laughing and a make me smile while tears are still drying on our faces is beyond me.

Biting my lip I whisper. "I've never been the best with words."

He clears his throat softly. I can hear his laughter fade into a gentle smile. "I love your words Katniss."

" I'll be in soon. You should go. Get some sleep."

Flattening my cheek to the door I shake my head. "Nope. Not without you. I can't."

I hear him sigh heavy and full, he sounds relieved. "Thank you for listening. It feels good to tell someone."

Smiling I tell him, "Thank you for talking. I'm glad."

All of this, I can't help think that all of this feels like healing.

Two Week Ago

Today is his birthday and right now we are supposed to be on a hike. We had planned and packed and I think a picnic was supposed to happen somewhere in there.

We didn't factor in the cupcakes. The frosting and the noises I made when I ate them. One wet kiss from Peeta, him licking the chocolate from the corner of my mouth and our plans were done.

Having him lift and press me to the back of our bedroom door is a much better idea.

His mouth leaves mine and travels along my throat and under my jaw and the noises he makes as he pants into my ear make me paw at his back.

My jeans are already puddled on the floor and the friction of him rubbing against me through my panties is already almost enough. But it's not enough.

I just want to make him feel good. I want to watch his face when he loses control and know it is because of me. I'm almost predatory in my purpose as I bring his lips to mine hard. He gasps into my mouth when I use my teeth and follow the bite softly with my tongue.

His fingers dig into my ass and he braces himself and shifts one hand so his thumb can run along the elastic edge of my panties. I hiss as it brushes me and my head falls back and for just a second I almost let him. I almost forget what I want because his hand so close feels so good.

Just as he is about to reach the heat of me I push off the door to slide back down to my feet pushing his hand out of the way. He grunts in confusion as disappointment crosses his face.

He's flushed with his eyes bright as a summer sky in his face. He licks his swollen pink lips and I have to rise to my toes to follow his tongue just for a moment. He groans but I step away again before I take his hand and pull him with me.

His brow furrows but he follows me as I lead him into the bathroom.

"Peeta? Can I make you feel good?"

His mouth opens but still he looks uncertain and slowly I also see a small amount of fear creep into his eyes.

I shake my head. "I won't touch you. I promise. I won't touch you like that until you ask me too. I just want you to have something that none of the nightmares can touch. Is that okay?"

He bites his lip and I can see a slight tremor to his hands. Still he slowly shakes his head yes.

I smile shyly and turn to reach into the shower causing a cascade of hot water to jet out filling the room with spray and steam.

His eyes widen as I open the shower door completely and then turn to him the hem of my shirt in my hands.

With a deep breath I lift the worn cotton from my body, over my head, and then drop it to the floor. Peeta looks down at the shirt and back up to me. His throat bobs as he swallows thickly. His eyes linger over the small swell of my breasts in my simple cotton bra before taking in my bare legs and white panties. My breath literally shakes from my chest under his gaze.

I know I am going to lose my nerve if I keep going this slowly, so with one final held breath I unhook my bra and let it fall to the floor to join my shirt. I bend at the waist to drag my panties from my thighs, only to have them fall around my bare feet.

My hair hangs in my face like a curtain. I long to hide behind it as a blush burns my cheeks.

But the noise I hear leave Peeta's lips makes me look at him.

He makes a low whine in the back of his throat and his fingers won't stop curling and uncurling into fists at his sides. Like if he doesn't move them he will just have to touch.

His eyes are everywhere and I can see the pulse pounding in his neck.

"Oh my fuck...oh Katniss….look at you."

I would normally flush at his words but his face is something I want to remember for the rest of my life. The want I see there is earnest and behind it is awe. I realize that this is something he has fantasized about for the better part of the last eight years.

My heart actually swells that I really can give him something that no one else can touch.

Holding out my hand I step into the shower. He swallows nervously and hesitates, but when the water wets my hair and parts down my body I have never seen someone move so fast.

His pants are still falling to the floor as he rips his shirt from his head. He peels off his socks and pushes his briefs past his hips and steps into the tiled space closing the door behind us.

He's beautiful. Pale freckled skin that the water beads and shimmers upon. I watch drops of it shine along the raised pink lines that travel from his neck across his broad shoulders, and lick across his arms to the bones of his hands. His scars are beautiful and if I pressed my breasts against him they could connect us like a puzzle that caught fire.

So many pieces, damaged, broken, and still we fit together.

His lashes darken and spike beneath the spray as do the hairs on his chest and belly making a perfect honey gold trail right to the center of him which lays tall and thick against the v of his hips.

I lick my lips as I take in his shape and how he looks somehow soft and made of marble at the same time. He twitches against his abdomen and my eyes dart back up to his.

He smiles sheepishly. "It's just you. You licked your lips. Naked. I'm surprised I haven't fainted yet."

Smiling back I say, "Oh."

"Yeah."

He steps forward until our noses are almost touching as water glides from his shoulders down my stomach. I can feel the smooth metal of his prosthesis against my warm calf.

They took pieces of him. But he's still here.

He searches my eyes before kissing my mouth softly. Reverently. He takes my top lip between his and I feel the smooth tip of his tongue. He switches to the bottom and sucks air into his nose when my teeth nibble back.

He's still here.

I run my fingers along his chest and the muscles in his abdomen tremble and his eyelids flutter as I scratch down his forearms before taking his wrists in my hand.

I bring one shaking hand to palm my breast and meet his eyes making sure this is okay. His eyes are half closed but the quiet moan that leaves his mouth as he squeezes gently makes my heart race.

I drag his other hand down my stomach, across my hip to his own until I am settling his fingers around the base of him and giving them a small squeeze. He groans and it ends needy and high when it catches in his throat.

I remove my hand and watch his as his fingers tighten and his hips thrust once in reflex into his grip. He never looks away from my eyes so I lean until our foreheads touch and our lips are only inches apart. From here we can both look at each other and look down at his hand between us.

He starts at the tip using his thumb before sliding back down to the base and up again with a twist of his wrist. I'm mesmerized by it. The way the water clings to his skin and how the head disappears and reappears with each stroke. His mouth is open and glistening from the mist in the air that moves as he begins to pant. The toes on his foot curl slightly into the tile between us and his stomach muscles roll deliciously with the movement of his wrist.

But it is the look on his face that makes me light headed and a rush of wet need secure itself between my thighs. His jaw is clenched, like it feels so incredibly good it hurts, his eyes flutter closed and then fly open and look at my mouth and down to the wet tips of my breasts.

He's breathing hard, and the wet slap of skin fills the small space along with the noises he makes. Small grunts and long desperate moans are punctuated with just one word over and over again.

"Fuck…oh….oh fuck."

I kiss his cursing, slack mouth and he whines and strokes harder, breathes harsher.

"Gonna come. Katniss…"

His blue eyes stare into mine when I feel his hand leave my breast for my closest wrist. Together he moves our hands until it is mine wrapped around him. He lets go completely lost in sensation alone and braces one hand on the wall next to us and the other on my hip as his head hangs and his mouth opens.

"Katniss please."

"Peeta…"

He looks up at me. "I trust you. I want this."

I move my wrist and tighten my fingers and it is clumsy and I have no idea what I am doing but he moans so loud and his head falls back so quickly it only makes me drunk on all of it. The feel of him heavy and slick in my hand and the long expanse of his throat that I lean forward to suck on.

I want to do this forever.

"Yes. Oh, yes, yes Katniss like that. I'm going to come. Uuughh. Fuck. Oh fuck I'm coming!"

His fingers dig into my hip so hard I'm sure to bruise. I don't give a shit. Because when his mouth goes slack and his eyes squeeze closed I have never seen anything more beautiful. He twitches and tenses against me, he comes in my palm, across my fingers and stomach and breathes hot and desperate into my neck.

After a minute he goes soft in my hand and the water rinses him from my body but he still hasn't lifted his head from my shoulder.

I touched him. He let me touch him and there's not a shadow to be seen to ruin it.

He groans into my collarbone softly. "I think you finally killed me. Ladies and gentlemen the winner of the 74th Hunger Games!"

He grunts when I smack his chest but looks up and grins at me.

How much I love him overwhelms me and as I am about to say it he silences me with a kiss.

When he pulls back he whispers against my mouth. "Happy birthday to me."

I would roll my eyes at him but when mine meet his all I can feel is happy and grateful. Because I know what I see there. He's given it to me more than once.

I see hope.

Last Night

We are still guaranteed hard days. Days where I won't leave the mess of our sheets or acknowledge the sun. Days where he will fight for something as simple as a memory or something as terrifying as a flashback.

Nothing about our lives up until this point has been easy and so much has been out of our control.

So that is what we celebrate now. What we live for day to day.

That is why we do eventually fall into soft blankets and through invisible lines. Because we are alive. We lived. Because I need him and he came back. And because he'll stay.

That is why Peeta lays above me, lines up along me, and slides inside me with a soft shaking sigh. We are both broken. But together we are always going to be okay. His nightmares aren't allowed here anymore. They didn't take this from us. It's ours. Always.

When those soft sleeping eyes open and blink at me I smile and kiss my way across the freckles on his cheeks. It is time to tell him. I know he already knows.

He whispers roughly across the pillow as tears fill his eyes. "You love me?"

I kiss him. Run my thumb along his lips and whisper back. "Real. So. So real."

*This was an idea that woke me up one night. Not necessarily one I even wanted to write about but I think we have all had the passing thought that Peeta suffered just about all the horrors possible at the hands of the Capitol. So sexual assault is a real possibility. The growing back together part of Everlark is so important and so special with everything they have been through. So the idea that this was another hurdle they would have had to overcome my brain just could not let it go. How does one resume or even begin to experience sexual intimacy after sexual assault? How does the victim process it? How does their partner? Is everyone different and how? Since this was a sensitive subject I wanted to research this first especially before writing love scenes. Below is a list of websites I visited before writing Peeta and Katniss's reactions to certain situations. Sexual assault in any form is never okay. Tell someone. Do not be ashamed and seek help. Your body is your own male or female and violation of your person in anyway is a crime and there is hope for you. It is something done to you and does not define you.

Thank you guys!

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taxonomy/term/36

resources/symptoms_of_sexual_