She feels stupid.
More than that, she feels vulnerable, and it's not often, if ever, that she feels vulnerable with Peeta. It's not really his fault, she knows. No, it's hers. It's her fault because she just can't deny him anything.
Take her current position right now, for example.
She's face-down on a borrowed massage table that Effie dropped off the other day for them when she visited unexpectedly. Apparently, it is common in the Capitol to gift furniture for couples moving into a new house. (Does a massage table even count as furniture?)
Not that Katniss and Peeta moved far – only out of the Victors' Village and into a small cabin-like house on the outskirts of the woods – but Effie had still deemed it necessary to spring herself upon them and have Peeta unpack the long white table as soon as she was through the door.
Katniss had joked, setting it aside once Effie had gone and putting an empty fruit bowl in the centre, claiming that it wasn't useful for any more than that. Peeta had...gotten a shine to his eyes.
The next day Katniss had started to take it down, to put away or leave out in the rain until it was ruined, but Peeta had stopped her, and that had been when he'd told her he would actually like to use it. With her. On her.
They were married in every way except in the eyes of the Capitol – not that that mattered anymore – and they had had sex even before the shy toasting ceremony that summer morning so long ago. But with her body still so scarred, even though Peeta is just as scarred as she, Katniss can't bear for him to look at her the way he likes to.
Long, intense perusals of her person, close and personal, until he's all but touching her with his eyelashes. He likes to breathe her in, savour the sight of her, and now...now he wants to savour the feel of her.
He'd told her as much himself, that he's always wanted to just trail his hands over her and not stop, not have it lead to anything else.
It makes something hot and twisting unfurl in her belly at the thought that Peeta loves her so much that he can never get his fill of her, but there's also a clenching, a cold clamp of shyness and embarrassment.
She's nothing like Johanna, who'll strip off, unembarrassed, at a moment's notice. No, she's cool and calm, and so very careful. She never lets him look too long, never lets him see too much, and maybe he's right, maybe she is pure. She's certainly more than adventurous in the bedroom when something's actually happening, but when there's intimacy involving no clothes and no heat-of-the-moment-type action...she admits, she is a little reserved.
It always just feels awkward. Like right now.
She's face-down still, cheeks pressed into the small padded hoop that Peeta told her to rest her head on, but now she can feel him in the room, somewhere near.
"Peeta?"
"Hm?"
He sounds dazed, or drowsy, and she doesn't like the way that she knows he's staring at her bare skin without her being able to see him doing it. The only modesty she has is a towel, draped over her hips, and she can feel the tickle of cool air on her toes.
Again, she feels stupid and vulnerable and awkward.
Fingers suddenly climb her back. She shivers.
"You're so soft," he mutters, like he's never touched her before.
She says nothing. She knows he's talking to himself. He does that a lot, especially when he's baking – she thinks it's something to do with his artistic side, and it makes her wonder what he's planning on doing to her.
Something cool touches her shoulder.
"What is that?"
"Just relax," he tells her, lips close to her ear. "I'm not going to hurt you."
This is something she knows, but she can't help being tentative about all this...skin.
She can smell fruit suddenly – berries – and as Peeta smoothes something over her shoulder blade with the warm palm of his hand, she knows he got more than the table off of Effie.
"What did she give you?" Katniss asks.
Peeta's slow in his reply, as if this is just as relaxing as it's meant to be for her. "Oils, for the massage, and something else."
"What?"
"Body butter."
She can't help but laugh. "Butter?"
"Butter," he confirms.
"I'm not one of your pastries," Katniss tells him.
Warm breath finds her ear as his hands continue down her back, still applying the now-warm lotion that's slowly becoming nicer and nicer and less of an irritant.
"Beg to differ," Peeta mutters hotly, and she feels herself flush at the gravelly tone of his voice. "You're like a croissant."
"What, twisted?"
"No." He laughs. "Soft, and golden, and perfect, sweet or savoury."
She'll never admit she actually likes the way he compares her to his creations, because he bakes well and being likened to any of his edible masterpieces is a sweet compliment to her. Not to mention, his croissants are always perfect.
She doesn't say anything, just lets him have his way with her back and legs.
"Aren't you going to return the favour?" Peeta asks, and Katniss scoffs.
"You want me to compare you to the squirrels I shoot, or the rabbits I snare?"
"Fair point."
She knows she should keep her mouth shut, because Peeta's hands on her are less of an imposition and more of a pleasure now, but she's not known for holding her tongue, and this is one of those moments where she just can't.
"You're a little like a bird."
"A bird," he repeats, hands faltering for a moment.
She just carries on. "You know, singing, even when I'm underneath the branch with my arrow ready to release. Brave."
"Or stupid," he adds.
Katniss ignores his comment. "It's brave to keep on singing."
"Maybe," he murmurs, pressing his knuckles into her back until she moans.
And suddenly, just like that, she isn't relaxed. The massage has taken on a whole knew meaning, and as Peeta runs his fingers down her spine all she can think of is his tongue doing something similar as he takes that beautiful position between her thighs, his muscles tensing...
"Katniss?"
His voice is breathy and low, and as she realises where his fingers are, she understands why. His thumbs are on the insides of her thighs, underneath the towel, and she knows he's just found out how wet she is.
"What's this?" He asks, and she knows he's smiling.
Katniss' breath audibly catches, but she loses her voice.
One finger of Peeta's touches the very edge of her slit, teasing and making her sigh, before inexorably pushing in.
The towel slips off of her as she suddenly bucks, heat flashing up her spine, and she hears Peeta curse as she becomes completely uncovered. Once the towel lies in a heap on the floor, he pushes her hips so they're lifted and presses another finger into her tight opening.
"Oh, God!"
There's fire and ice racing through her veins as Peeta hisses things against her ear, bringing her off in such a practised way with only one hand, his other suspiciously missing. One glance and she sees he's undoing the buttons of his dark pants, dragging them down to free himself.
Not that this is something she'll ever admit either, but she's always loved his cock. So in proportion with his body, so smooth and silky to the touch, and always so proud.
Something cool touches her slit and she suddenly smells the berries again. He doesn't need to make her any more slippery, but the coldness of the cream against her clit sends her up, and Katniss is calling his name before she even realises it.
Minutes later, dazed and boneless, she looks up to see Peeta watching her again, beneath lowered lids, and feels something warm across the back of her thigh that she knows isn't any of the massage oils or body butter.
She merely gives him a little smirk, not at all bothered by anything, even his staring.
"We'll need to write Effie a letter of thanks now we've used it," she tells him. "It's only proper manners."
Author's note: Just a bit of banter and lemony-ness. I really do like my jaunts into this fandom (: Thanks for reading!