Part Two
Peeta's POV
Author's Note: By the way, I'm switching it up a bit so they do the do early. It's how I'd prefer it.
I am awake even before Sae can make her way to Katniss' house.
I watch Greasy Sae as she makes her way through the Victor's Village, towards Katniss' house. She turns the kitchen lights on, and bustles around until Katniss wakes and Haymitch makes his way over as well. And even though it is now routine that I join them, and they're probably waiting for me to, I stay home a while. My chest is anchored with weight, more than I can bear—and there's a chance that Katniss doesn't want to see my face right now. I'm afraid that I had frightened her last night.
And I try to let my feelings out the only way I know I can—I paint. I paint for hours, chasing the sunrise with my brush, capturing the way it peeks from behind the roof of her home in light, yet intricate strokes. But it's not enough.
A nagging at the back of my head—last night, when couldn't control myself against the monster, and I had done the last thing I had wanted to do. But there's a way to make up for it.
And despite myself, I find my way to the kitchen, where the souls and spirits and demons of my family reside. I faintly understood that it was a matter of time before I felt the yielding thickness of the dough under my palms. And my skeletons cremate themselves in the simplicity of my understanding—I have overcome them, surpassed them.
And my relish is even furthered when I actually feel the dough, the heat of the oven, and best of all, my favorite smells. The smells of the kitchen. The smells of my home.
And with a flush, I retrieve the twenty or so cheese buns I had unconsciously made, thinking of the smells of not only my home, but a home I could maybe have with Katniss. And my cheeks burn in spite of myself.
Almost forgetting my scarf in my rush, I handle the goods as carefully as I can in my anticipation. I know Katniss has worried. I know she's scared. And all I have ever wanted to do was be the one to quell that fear. Instead, I've augmented it.
I'm hoping this new step towards my former self would dull it, quiet it.
And when I see the gleeful astonishment on her face as I walk in, I know that I've done just that. And then some.
I also know, later, when she begs me to stay, when she kisses me and tells me everything I want to hear. And this time, I am positive they're all true.
Languidly, she peels off my shirt, throwing it aside, leaving me bare as she, clothed. Her hands spanning my pectorals when I ask, "You're not afraid?"
She looks at my inquiringly. "Afraid of what?"
I can help myself when my eyes are on her lips as I say, "Of me," not believing that it's out until I replay it in my head. And my heart beats so wildly I'm sure she can feel it where he palm lays over my nipple.
But she says, "No, Peeta. I could never be afraid of you." And although I know she means to be stern, her voice softens by the end.
And the sound of my name on her tongue is all she needs to break me—it's all she'll ever need.
I pull her close, and ever closer, and she allows me. Her lips, a hairsbreadth from mine when she stops. "I've never seen your eyes so close," she says, breathily, and she probably wants to dismiss it, to take it back by the way she begins to pull away, but I don't let her. I finally bring her lips to mine, and it's been so long, and feels so good that I inch her backward towards the wall until she stands against it. She allows that too.
Her thumbs graze my cheeks and slip into my hair, pulling softly and I moan. I can feel the heat rising to my cheeks until I hear her moan as well. I press to her closer.
And without either of us giving it any thought, we shed our clothes until we're down to our underwear. I pull back to study her, and even though I love what I see, and I'm sure it shows, she uncomfortably brings her arms to cover her chest.
"Hey," I say, taking her cheeks in my palm. "Haven't I always loved you for you?"
"It doesn't mean I do," she retorts. She uncovers herself to show her tiny frame that has only somewhat filled out, though I can still clearly see—and probably count—each rib. "I mean, look at me."
"I am," I respond, taking her hand. "And I have never seen anything more beautiful."
And on her tip toes, she rewards me with a soft, sweet kiss that I savor like hard candy. Peppermints, my mind murmurs, recalling a time so unfit for the present, yet, so fitting.
I dismiss those thoughts.
Taking hold of my biceps, she leads me to the bed, and kisses me once more. I lay her down gently, not once breaking our kiss, and she allows that. And I think at this moment, I have not ever loved her more.
And she pulls me down with her by the hem of my boxers and I know she's ono something. "Katniss?"
"I want this, Peeta. I want this with you. I know the repercussions." She begins to pull me down again, and I almost become caught up in the kiss again before I have the impudence to pull back. "Katniss," I say again.
Stormy eyes like plumes of smoke against her olive tone. Very common, yet so amplified when associated with her. And despite my devotion, despite the fact that no matter the answer, I will never stop loving the Girl on Fire. "You love me. Real or not real?"
And she says, "Real. Always." And pulls me back to her like I know she's been trying to do since things became normal again. It's what we do. We protect each other.
And with her heat mingling with mine, and her quite persuasive plea, it's all I can do not to give in. But there's no reason other than my hesitance not to do this.
Her slight figure under mine, though is intimidating. "Katniss," I say a third time. And even though her rolls her eyes and scowls, I see the softness behind her gaze.
"I've never done this before either, Peeta." And even though I suspected something had gone on between her and Gale, even though I knew it, I was hoping this was the case. And my heart swells.
It's stroppy at first, trying to put which limbs, where. I accidentally place my knee on her stomach trying to find where to place it. And the only thing that seems to begin to clarify is where not to put stuff.
Eventually, we figure out that the most comfortable angle is with my legs between hers, and by then, she's already confident enough to start pulling down my boxers.
I can see the surprise on her face when my length springs free, although she tries to mask it. And then she does something completely unexpected.
She laughs.
She laughs hard.
She falls into a full-blown giggle fit.
I cover myself with some of the sheets and sit next to her, horrified, yet getting harder by the second at the sight of her, semi-naked, finally care-free. And laughing her ass off after seeing my manhood.
"I'm sorry," she says, not giving me a chance to talk, still trying to suppress some giggles. "I'm nervous."
I try to smile, somewhat relieved, though still slightly embarrassed. "Okay," I say, but make no move to return to our erstwhile position.
"Really, Peeta, I wasn't laughing at you," she sits up, grabbing hold of my bicep. "It's actually kind of impressive."
"Kind of?" I say, a little more relieved.
"Very," she says, and kisses me. Her hypnotic lips distracting me as she pulls the sheets from me.
"I want you, Peeta," she says when we break apart. And that's all I need.
I am gentle as I lie her down again, hoping she doesn't get nervous again. She doesn't.
Far from it.
My length positioned at her entrance, I allow her to stop me, but al she says is, "Always." And I enter.
Her face splits in agony immediately, and I pull out, though my cock throbs. She pushes my hips toward her again. "Katniss—"
"I'm okay, Peeta," she says stubbornly.
And I go again. This time, she wraps her legs around my hips to keep me in place, and just that makes me slam into her involuntarily. She moans, but from pleasure or pain is yet to be seen.
I find a rhythm, slowly stroking her from the inside as she becomes accustomed to having me inside her. It's gradually becoming easier to tell when it hurts and when it's really, really good. Eventually, the former becomes so few that I begin to go faster.
"Peeta," she moans. I slam into her hard, and before I can scold myself, she tightens her legs around me.
Moan after moan fill the room, from her and I in tandem, each of the other's mere presences bringing on wave after wave if ecstasy.
The sound of skin against skin; moans, grunts, and whimpers; sighs and cries of "Peeta" and "Katniss" bring us to the edge.
Katniss is the first to finish. She holds me over her body tightly as her orgasm hits her hard. I bury myself in her to the hilt and spill myself into her.
We make no move to clean ourselves up. I bring the covers over her and myself and pull her close, falling into my first peaceful sleep in as long as I can remember, fulfilled and loved.
Weeks later, Katniss throws up after smelling breakfast. The sausages had nauseated her, and I seat her down next to the toilet when she finishes releasing her sick into it.
"No, that's not right," I murmur after she tells me the cause of her sudden bout of ill.
Mrs. Everdeen is the one to check up on Katniss. She's the one to deliver the news. Tears streaming from her eyes, she drops a bomb on the both of us. "I've been waiting so long to be a grandmother," and takes Katniss' face in her hands.
A tense silence is enough to halt her tears. Katniss fumes, and it's a hassle to calm her.
"I'm such an idiot. How could you let me do that, Peeta? Why didn't you stop me?" she continues to yell like that for a good while until the sobs take over. And after that, the fatigue. Mrs. Everdeen says it's a side effect of the pregnancy.
"I'm scared, Peeta," she tells me. And although our past is just that, it's still haunting the both of us. But I tell her that it'll be okay, that we have each other. She smiles in response, murmuring, "Always," to which I respond with the same.
"Always."