Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games, or any associated characters...
Alright, so... an Anon requested I write this pairing, including a very specific word, and I DID THE THING.
Anyone in the foetal position at the conclusion of the story is entitled to one free hug from the nearest Cat... or Hooded Figure.
World On Fire
~)0(~
Tension.
Fear.
Longing.
Lust.
.
That strange tingle that ran down his spine as the warm breath puffed over the sensitive patch of skin down the back of his neck… the soft scratch of impeccably-manicured beard against his cheek as the older man leant closer to whisper things in his ear…
It was almost too much.
Almost…
.
There was something about the way the other could make his heart race with nothing more than his presence alone, that strong aura of power that radiated outwards and demanded obeisance from those who were caught and held in it's sway.
It alternately made him want to fall to his knees reverently not daring to look up, but also inexplicably curled a desire to throw himself at the older man, cling to the expensive tailored outfit the President wore, rumple it with his fists because he felt like safety, and protection.
…and love.
.
Someone who was worth more than his life alone could give… but that he would gladly sacrifice everything for…
It would make no sense to anyone outside, who did not, could not… and never would, understand them. How they fit together like two pieces of a jigsaw… albeit one constructed in secret, and hidden from the public's prying eyes by layers of deceit and double-talk…
The Champion, and The Conqueror.
It was almost like the set-up to a punchline, truly… and there were days when he could feel the walls closing in, like the other shoe was about to drop… that fear he felt deep within his bones; the very same one that would grip him in the nighttime, sending panic surging through shaking limbs.
Katniss had taught him that, that if something was too good to be true… then it was simply that. An ulterior motive was at play…
But… she had never seen what went on in their guarded chambers, watched by guards worn to secrecy… the way his terror would take hold, but so too would strong arms that carefully drew his trembling body close, allowing his ear to rest close to the mouth whispering reassurances of reality and safety…
How the murmuring never stopped until his panic subsided, and even then, only to change to sweet little statements that made his heart light, the darkness of the night not so oppressive, pushed away the dreams of the faces of those he had been a party to the deaths of…
Until it was alright for him to sleep again.
.
She would never know, because she thought him long-dead in the arena… or, she would, and soon… the Second Quarter Quell was soon to start and that is when everything would change.
.
No more hiding in secret, no more sneaking past the drugged Haymitch at night, or looking into the disapproving gaze of Effie -who would never dare betray her President- though her eyes always seemed to ask him WHY…
One of these days, he would laugh in her face.
Why?
Why did they do anything?
Love makes you crazy sometimes…
.
Still, only days stood between him and the advent of his 'tragic demise' in the Arena… and it was not something he looked forward to particularly, but at least it would draw a close to this ludicrous sham of a love triangle the Capitol had cooked up between himself, Katniss and that Gale boy.
He loved Katniss, certainly… but not the way he loved Snow… she was like the sister he would die to protect; actively would die to protect, when the time was right and the cameras angled sufficiently dramatically for it.
She would come out the victor again, he knew it… and his body would magically disappear from the Arena, to be 'disposed of'… as with all failed tributes.
Except… and herein lay the clever part… he would neither be disposed of, nor truly dead…
In a world where they could control the very environment around them with nothing more than a gesture, where even the greatest of battlescars can be healed over with ease, did anyone really think that those of the Capitol could not easily fake death or reanimate the fallen?
There were technologies at work here that had never even been imagined in the wildest of dreams in the other districts…
.
Some dark, deeply hidden part of him grinned at the thought of never having to return to District 12, to the life of a coal miner where the dust never leaves your skin and the best you can hope for is a childless life before something kills you. A rockfall, an explosion, the tunnel collapsing… things that had haunted his dreams since he was a child…
Though it was foolish to think that way, he was the Baker's child, would have been a Baker had he… not been chosen…
.
So trapped in these thoughts, he was not immediately aware that the movement behind had stilled, momentarily; but immediately upon realising this, his lithe form went rigid, and unconsciously held his breath, waiting.
The silence echoed in the vast, grand room devoid of anyone but their selves…
He had been escorted here under the pretence of the President meeting with each of the Champion Tributes, to congratulate them on their fortune for earning the chance to win glory unparalleled in the history of Panem.
It had been right after an exclusive with Caesar Flickerman, actually… an hour-long exclusive with each of the tribute pairs was broadcasting right now. Questions on their previous victories, plans and strategies for the future games…
One where the female Champion Tribute from District 7 -one Johanna Mason- had done something unspeakable in an act of rebellion… defiance that was sure to have upset the only other person occupying the room in which he currently stood.
.
After a pause he asked falteringly, "Have I… done something wrong…? Are you angry with me?"
Fear clutched in his chest, "Please… I'm sorry, I should have stopped her… please don't be angry, I love you… I-…I-…" for some reason the breath wouldn't come.
He had faced down the murderous Careers and felt nothing but contempt for their obvious joy at slaughtering the others… the youngest and weakest first…
But only Snow had this effect on him, strangely enough; this ability to turn him into a panic-ridden, stuttering mess with nothing but silence, and palatable expectation crowding the limited space between their bodies.
.
A soothing arm was wrapping around him almost immediately, hand gently splaying over his pounding heart in a calming gesture of affection as the silence gave way to a low, though authoritative, voice.
"Shhhh, Peeta, no… no you did nothing wrong. Johanna will pay for her blasphemy, but not now… only at a time and in a place where the world can see what disobedience and rebellion can bring down upon those who choose that path!"
The hand moved in slow circles as the frantic tempo of his heartbeat began to lessen now that every muscle had ceased being rigidly tense; the flight or fight response tampered down by the slow, gentle weight of his lover's words.
Fingers trail oh-so-carefully over the strange fabric of the outfit he'd been placed in for the interview, skin-tight and mildly uncomfortable, but soft and thin enough that he could feel every little miniscule movement.
"No… I just didn't want you to get any ideas, my little Champion… no one," the older whispered directly into his ear, "…but myself…", fingers sliding to the nape of his neck and snagging on the disguised zipper there, beginning to pull it almost painfully slowly, "...should ever see you like this… I hate to share, and you are glorious indeed."
Without even thinking about it, as the luminescent spandex outfit fell away from his flesh with nary a whisper, Peeta breathed out, "Yours…"
Smiling widely as he was whirled about, lips clashing into his own with practiced skill and affection, allowing him to have what he'd wanted for all those long months trapped away in his District, pretending to be happy alone… alive…
.
But this, this was what he wanted, what he had craved… something he couldn't live without…
And Snow knew it.
He could have crippled him with this knowledge, but instead, chose to reciprocate it passionately… giving the young tribute-turned-champion everything he desired and more. All he need do was ask, and the gift would be given, the deed done…
But Peeta would never ask for a thing, so Snow tended to surprise him with little things… things no one would question if seen.
.
As the solid bed-frame bumped into the back of his knees, he wondered briefly how they had moved at all, because it was not something he could recall… but he did not fight it as they fell to the mattress in a graceful mess of limbs.
For a brief moment, entangled with the one he cared about most with his body fizzing from different sensations here and there, gasping and giggling alternately… all the clouding thoughts in his mind just seemed to simply…vanish.
Like an obscuring mist under the glaring eye of the sun…
He could feel a soft mouth on the join of neck and shoulder, leaving a trail of easily hidden markings across the blank canvas, the other focused solely on his needs… as always. He selfishly took that, claimed this small measure of power over the most important man in their world… and realised with startling acclarity how much he wished to please him in return…
.
Deep within his breast, a fire ignited…
The fire of conquest, the desire to prove himself worthy of his lover, a flame that could not be put out by anything but the cold hand of Death itself…
As the focus shifted lower, muscles spasming here and there at the contrast of cold and hot across his torso and the knowledge that Snow was smiling at his reactions without actually having to see the other…
The Spark intensified… He was the Boy Who Burned at his Core…
.
He would not die in the arena, not this time.
.
He sighed happily, the noise breaking off with startlement and falling into laughter at his partner's ministrations…
Yes… he would do anything for Snow… and nothing could stand in his way, not now, not ever!
.
Peeta Mellark would be crowned the Victor of the Second Quarter Quell, make himself worthy of his lover in the eyes of the world, in his own…
…even if he had to go through Katniss personally, to do so.
.
—-
THE END
—-
Soooooooo, it's not really something I ship, but when a request is made, I like to go all-out.
What did you think?
*pokes reader with a stick*
Er, if you're still conscious... or alive... or undead but mobile...
.
~*SailorSilvanesti/Phoenix Fire*~