"… you feel it"
"How do you spell love, Poo? ""You don't spell it Piglet, you feel it" A. A. Milne
He will crawl into bed after me, the way he does every night. We have a pretty unwavering evening routine, maybe because routine means stability and stability means maintaining sanity. After dinner, we both look through the work we have done on the book during the day, read through those pages, maybe we cry a little. I then go upstairs, wash up and get changed and get into bed. He might retouch a picture a little, make a pupil more poignantly black, deepens a dimple, lengthens a stray lock and then puts the book away. He gets into the bathroom after me, switches off the lights before taking off the prosthetic leg. I don't know if he doesn't want me to see it or if he doesn't want me to have to see it. Spare himself pain or me. Knowing him, probably me. I sleep turned to the window and he comes in behind me, he drapes himself around the back of me like a cocoon, holds me tight to his body whispers good night and then his uneven breaths tell me he is awake and protecting me until I fall asleep.
He hasn't slept in his own house for over a year now, I never asked him if he was going to come back the next day, he just did and slowly more of his clothes started to come and stay with me permanently, then little things like his baking utensils, his winter coat even when it stopped being bitterly cold and finally a small chunk of charred clay that sits on his bedside table. I was a little curious about it but figured he would tell me when he was ready. When a few months ago he decided to include his family in the book, he showed me and said that that was the biggest piece he could find of the big clay oven they had in his parents' bakery. Since everything else, pictures and photos, presents and toys had disappeared in the fire alongside his family, this was all he had been able to save. A connection. Something physical to hold when the pain requires that.
The lights go off and I feel the bed shift when he sits on the edge, hear the quiet clicking noise of his leg as he unclips it and puts it down under the bed, then feel him scoot over and wait for his arm to come around me. I hold my head up to give his second arm space and he places it there before I can lie back down on my pillow. His body presses against my back, I can feel his breathing movement against my shoulder blades, his knees lock into mine and I move one of my legs back a little between his knees as I know he prefers that. His warmth spreads to me and it feels a little like my lungs unfold and let more air in. He pulls me in a little tighter even and gives me a small, barely noticeable kiss on my temple before relaxing. "G'night" he whispers.
He never tries to make this something it isn't. He kisses me on the cheek but doesn't push for more, he doesn't expect anything back. He still says things that make me feel uncomfortable occasionally, but less frequently and I feel like we have both accepted that this is good for both of us. It might not be everything either of us dreamt life would be, but it works and it keeps us both alive. Of course I can feel him stiff in the small of my back most mornings though as soon as he wakes up, he rushes to the bathroom. I know he is, well… a boy, a man. And he never says it, but I am sure he would like more. But we have only just made it here, to this place of peace and inner quiet. I don't want to make things different, though sometimes when his hand accidentally moves up and touches my breast I feel a little… longing.
I usually fall asleep straight away, exhausted from a day of hunting and fighting inner demons but today it rained all day and I didn't leave the house. We spent most of the day draped on the couches in front of the fire. He read me a story from a children's book he had asked to have sent from the Capitol and I fell asleep to the lull of his voice. It was a pretty long nap too, being all warm and with my belly full of sweet bread he had baked, so now I just stare at the window, at the dark sky. The clouds have moved and I can make out the shape of the half moon and some timid stars. It brings back memories of that night in the second games, when we sat planning our own deaths in the hope of saving the other. My eyes wander to my bedside table on which I can just about make out the shape of the little pearl. I place my hand on top of his resting on my tummy and I stroke the big strong hands, trace his thumb with mine, feel the callus at the end, from where the paint brush presses into it. It is long and thin, almost delicate for something as rough as a callus. I feel the caterpillar shaped scar at the last knuckle of his thumb. I can't see it but know exactly what it looks like, an inch long and raised but so soft. He burned himself there weeks ago and then he used his left to draw legs on it to show me how it looked exactly like a caterpillar walking when he bends his thumb. I don't know how he does these things… make things easy and light even when they should hurt and at that thought I lift his hand to my face and kiss the caterpillar scar. I don't even think about it, I just do it. I hear his breath hitch at the unexpected kindness. He then cups my cheek and strokes it softly. I turn my head slightly and place a second kiss in the palm of his hand, then a third one on his wrist, on his forearm, near his elbow. I start turning myself towards him to get to his upper arm, his shoulder, then turned all the way to face him, I place a kiss on his neck. He doesn't move at all and I start a path of small, silent kisses alongside his jawline until I reach his chin. He never grows a proper beard, he has told me. He doesn't know if it was the treatments before the games that went wrong or if he would have been one of those men with little facial hair either way. He was too young to grow much hair before his first reaping.
I push myself up a little and put my lips to his. They are dry and warm and cautious. His arm finds its place against my back, his hand in the nape of my neck and he kisses back very softly, kindly. Not passionately like that night at the beach. It is downright chaste. Then he breaks it up, moves his head back a little and whispers "I am confused Katniss…" I feel a little embarrassed at my sudden outburst of affection. "I thought you'd want… I thought…" I start. He starts stroking my hair and almost inaudibly he mouths "I do, but do you?" He always puts me first, I think, and I kiss him again, this time much more determinedly. My tongue finds its way into his mouth and I taste him, sweet and a little mentholated from the toothpaste, our teeth clash with each other and I feel his face twitch into a smile, before tilting his head slightly to make it less awkward. That feeling from the beach starts again, it starts in the points where I can feel him touch me, on my lips, in my neck, the small of my back where his hands are placed and it spreads through my body, reaching my fingertips, my toes, the top of my head. It makes me press myself into him, trying to get closer, closer than feels possible, get him to be a part of myself. Then I feel him grow against my thigh and he scoots back and mumbles an embarrassed apology. The feeling is still everywhere inside of me, wanting me to kiss him again, to touch him, to make him feel the same way. It overrides any of my normal awkwardness around bodies and so I scoot back closer to him. "It's ok" I let him know and resume kissing him but he immediately scoots back again and whispers "Can we… can we do this slowly?". I look at him confused, and he gives me a small smile "It won't… erm… last very long otherwise." I blush to my hairline and his smile widens. He props himself up a little and places a small kiss on my lips, then traces my eyebrows with his finger. "I don't want to rush this" he goes on. "If you want to stop at any point… I don't want you to… regret anything, you know. If this is a spur of the moment…" He leans back in and kisses my forehead, the area between my eyebrows, the tip of my nose and then my lips again. I answer his kiss and put a hand in his neck this time, push him closer to deepen the kiss. I feel the soft downy hair in his neck, the warm skin and I move my hand down to where his t shirt ends and I put my hand up it, to feel more of his back, his skin, feel more of him. He shivers a little when I run my hand along his lower spine and I feel him get some goose bumps. I like it and I do it again and he softly moans into my mouth which makes the feeling stronger, hotter and more urgent. I tug on his shirt, showing him I want him to take it off and he props himself up into a sitting position and grabs the back of it, pulls it over his head. I watch him, see his chest covered in scars, mirroring my own and I also take off my shirt. I again hear his breathing hitch, and for a split second I think he is horrified by the way my skin never came back together normally. By the way the grafts look a little like a patchwork, showing I am not whole but just held together by stitches, but the thought immediately leaves when I see his expression and he lowers himself back down and whispers "You are so beautiful" I smile a little and whisper back "so are you".
He kisses my neck and then carefully, softly, covers one of my small breasts with his hand. He touches the nipple with his thumb and it becomes stiffer. The feeling is now pooling in my lower body and I feel his touch on my breasts echo in my centre. He crawls down a little and places soft little kisses on my nipples and the feeling is so strong that I cannot suppress a little moan. He looks up at me and smiles, then kisses my breast again. He places little kisses from my breast bone down to my belly button, his fingers carefully running along my scars. When he starts to go further down than my belly button I stiffen and he immediately stops and crawls back up. "Sorry, got a little excited…" I tell him what he told me earlier "Let's go slowly" and he nods. I push him back onto his back and kiss him again. I kiss his eyelids and touch those long blond lashes, place a kiss in each of the little dimples in his cheeks. I touch his arms, wonder at their bulk considering he spends all day indoors making bread and dinner rolls, I kiss every one of the scars on his torso. I have heard his stories of torture in the Capitol but now I can see the physical effects of it. I can see the little round ones that must have been electrodes and gave him electric shocks. When I kiss those he becomes very stiff and I immediately stop and whisper how sorry I am. It takes him a second or two to catch himself, then he places a hand on the back of my head again and says that it's ok. I touch his small nipples and give them a tug with my lips, wondering if they are as sensitive as mine. His soft groaning makes me think they might be. I kiss alongside his middle, the way he did and my breast accidentally brushes the hot growth in his underwear, which makes him twitch. I place a hand carefully on it, on top of the clothes and give it a little rub. He groans more loudly and his hips buck a little. His groans also echo in my centre and I start to very carefully take down his underpants. He helps me a little, pushing them down harder and his penis is freed. I touch it carefully just with one finger and he gives a small laugh.
"It doesn't bite". I look up at him and smile sheepishly and he hooks his hands under my armpits and brings me back up to him. He kisses me again and mumbles "fair is fair" into my mouth, then starts pushing my own underwear down. I bring my knees up and take it completely off, throw it off the bed. His hand covers the dark triangle of hair between my legs and then carefully strokes my lips down there. The feeling gets so strong I have to stop myself from pushing his hand stronger on to me. He is so careful and slow that it feels almost like sweet torture. Finally his finger touches me in the spot where the feeling is pooled and my body involuntarily bucks and shakes a little. I moan as he touches me again and I feel his smile on my cheek. Again he goes and my moan becomes a little louder. I have never felt anything like this and I know I want to share it with him, so I reach for his penis and when he touches me again my hand automatically slides along him up and down again. His groan is louder than I expected. He again touches me and I again slide up and down him and this time he groans my name. I put my arm around his shoulders and pull him into me, I want him closer, closer than he has ever been and he leans into me, kisses me a few times, and sucks my lower lip into his mouth while letting his thumb slide over me again. "I want it" I whisper and he knows what I mean. He covers my body with his and places his penis in my opening. "It might hurt and I don't want to hurt you" he says quietly and I shake my head, tilt my hips forward a little, invite him in. Very slowly he enters me, his face right by my face watching me for any signs of distress. He is right, it does hurt a little, and it isn't easy. Halfway it seems like we have reached an impasse and I start getting a little frightened, the feeling recedes and I start to question this all. "We can stop but let me try…" he whispers and then starts kissing me, deeply, passionately. He tilts my head and kisses my neck and the feeling comes back, I unwittingly tilt my hips again and suddenly, with a little burst of pain that quickly fades, he is inside of me. "Oh Katniss…" he groans and I move my hips slightly eliciting a new spark in my centre. He moves his hips and touches me again and I buck with a moan that in turn makes him moan. He does it again and I start wishing he would go a little faster, I move with him, the feeling growing more and more, becoming a volcano of want in my lower belly. "I won't last long" he whispers urgently and I buck into him again. "Peeta!" again, and again. He groans my name and thrusts and then the feeling boils over -"Peeta!" it is everywhere, in my head, my back, my arms, my feet, it shakes me and I shudder and shudder. He thrusts once more, twice and then before I have finished shaking he gives his loudest groan yet and I feel him release.
He lets himself fall forward onto me, crushing me, but it is ok. It feels right, like it grounds me. Then he moves off and we both lie there on our backs panting. He finds my hand and entwines his fingers with mine.
"You love me, real or not real?"
"Real"