A Toast to You — for ETNRL4L, a fellow writer and a wonderful friend, in hopes that this may ease your suffering
A/N: Rated for sexual situations that are slightly lenient towards the M rank. Viewer discretion advised.
Disclaimer: Do not own
The breadcrumbs from the Toasting cause a sour tinge to linger in her mouth, but this is the only taste he's ever known, and he's ravenous. Dragging his tongue over the bottom fold of her parted lips before finally pulling away, the hot, quivering breath that retaliates nearly draws him back in.
"Peeta…" her toes, exposed by their haphazardly draped blanket, curl against the back of his calves. He's able to restrain the circuitry in one leg from malfunctioning in his strong resolve, but the limb which a tangle of veins throb through is unable to resist the urge to hoist itself over her thigh. The rest of her body clenches deliciously against him in attempt to meld their mouths back together. He elevates his upper body by the elbow instead, shedding the quilted wedding gift from the broad length of his shoulders and watching as it cascades over the supple curvature of her chest. Her eyes glisten up at him like freshly polished wheat pennies, dark from the pigmentation yet alive like wildfire as they catch the cackling flames in the hearth that warms the baker's back.
She unravels beneath his touch, loosely knitted scar tissue dancing clumsily under the rough pads of his fingers, glowing between them in the firelight. Her concentration was horribly distorted by the sensations he stirred within her. She wanted his warm, heated mouth crushed against hers again. Wanted the leg that was hooked around her side to sink her deeper into him. She wanted all of him, but it isn't until he cards each digit through her hair when she realizes that he's trying to tell her something.
Words he can't verbalize are swollen in his throat, adam's apple wavering past the scars that weave through his neck like ivory lace. "What is it?" She asks while lightly trailing her nails over his strong jaw line, pausing at his chin to take hold and angle his face towards hers. The answers, however, are clear enough. The terror and fear are easy to decipher from his tantalizingly teal eyes.
She's aware that he can hurt her. The metal skewers they had used for the Toasting lay somewhere behind her, and his muscles are coiled securely around her smaller, more breakable frame. He could easily smother the life from her with the fabric that's spread across their tangled bodies, or burn her alive in the hearth. Whatever chilling fate Snow wishes.
Anger lashing in her eyes, she lunges for his lips. Sucking hard on a warm mouthful of flesh, her kisses come with a scrape of teeth. He's reacting, gathering her body flush against his, lightly fisting her hair in an attempt to bring her deeper into him; but she, on the other hand, is attacking. She's biting and scratching with a hunger that seems insatiable, driven by all the wrong reasons.
"Katniss! Dammit…" shoving her down by the shoulders, her mouth is ripped from his, and he has her pinned to the rumpled blanket and what's exposed of the carpeted ground. "Katniss, stop."
She's struggling under his weight, thrashing deliberately enough that she manages to dig her knee into his gut. His teeth grit at the sharp contact, body arching against her, but he refuses to relent any more than that. Spotting the resolution in the intensity of his gaze, Katniss slackens beneath his grip. Her tone is low with purpose and anger, "You haven't hallucinated in weeks and you're not going to tonight."
"I… How… We won't ever know for sure. I never know when it's about to happen." Easing the pressure from one of her shoulders, his hand slips up her neck to caress her cheek, and she can't help but lean into his calloused touch. "I don't want to hurt you anymore."
"But it's not your fault, Peeta. You can't help the halluci—"
"I don't want to hurt you," the words seethe through the cracks of his bared teeth as his jaw clenches in frustration. "Not now. Not anymore."
"Then let yourself have this." One hand, the same hand that drew back arrows, molds gently around his larger one, the metallic touch of their marital bond cooling against his knuckles. She manages a smile wide enough to brush against his fingers, "It's our wedding night."
He takes in the sight of her; of the brilliance their struggle has done to her face, the way her hair pools all around her like a dark, blooming flower, the dover white marks that rip across her skin, faded burns that still scorch both their minds, the familiar thrusts of her heavily fluctuating chest and the way it makes his nostrils flare with the pristine fragrance of Capital sleeper cars and the comforting scent of her skin... Every little piece of her that she's sharing with him, and he's holding back.
"Okay," he finally breathes. The word ruffles against her face, a heat wave before the fervent frenzy of passion that comes with newlyweds.
Tonight, he's letting go.