a/n; It has been one really long time. Does anyone remember what's happening in this story? 'Cause I'm not sure if I do. ;)
Happy reading! I've definitely missed posting and writing.
eleven - pacing
The next two weeks are normal after that—or as normal as they can be. They do the same things, act nearly the same way. She'll catch him staring at her at irregular intervals, but it doesn't bother him too much, since he'll catch her doing the same thing. Even though, truthfully, hers are fewer and far between.
Their touches still linger, when they're close to each other, especially when they sit by one another on Sunday mornings. The spot plagues him with what they did there, and she's always close enough to him to where her scent fixates him into daydreams. It's a little embarrassing how much it effects him - and how much he lets it effect him.
It's not like he knows what he can do—or what he should do. Katniss is not a girl in the Hob. Her touches aren't suggestive, and her laughter isn't high and loud and overeager. He can't pull something cleverly charming out of his ass to say to her to make her fall into his arms, and he wouldn't want her to do that, anyway.
That's what he likes about her. He's himself when he's around her, and she's herself around him. And therein lies the problem. He's never actually been himself around a girl. Not in the conventional way. He's always himself. Just not all of himself. So now all those years he spent look—slightly wasted. He's clueless about how to go about…wooing sounds a little too much like a gag-reflex, and courting sounds a little too formal. But he guesses that's what he's trying to do. He's going to persuade her to become smitten with him. That sounds…kind of alright. It's going to be one of the most serious endeavors he's attempted with a person of the opposite gender.
It's also embarrassing that he's so incompetent on the subject. It's not as if he can't step over to her and kiss her, smile at her, place his hands on her hips. He could probably do those things whenever he wanted, and he could gauge her reactions to them. She was certainly receptive of it the first time. There's no reason he can think of for her to reject them now.
He waits for the next Sunday to come around, promising to himself that he'll try and experiment. And he won't be a chicken shit, as he has been the past few weeks, staring at her from a manageable distance like a coward.
He arrives before her, as usual, and he takes a seat against the rock. The ridges poke into his skin through his shirt, but it isn't uncomfortable.
She makes her appearance not too long after he sits. She comes around the rock, greets him with a, "Hi," and places herself beside him. Her hand falls near his, with her shoulder against his arm. Her braid is sleepy, with wayward strands already falling out of their boundary in the plait.
"Hey," he says, just as soft. He finds her fingers with the hand near hers, and he lifts up the other to touch her jaw. He closes the distance swiftly, pressing against her lips in a gentle caress. It lingers for a few moments, and then he comes away from her. She didn't respond, but her face is flustered, and it doesn't seem like she knows what to do.
He says, "It's…been a long week." It's both his reason and his excuse, if she asks anything.
She looks at him, almost frowning. Words form uncertainly as she says, "Gale…"
No longer confident enough in himself—it's already enough to annoy him—he jerks his head to the side and stands. "C'mon, let's get to it."
He doesn't wait long enough for her to manage her thoughts, and the moment for her to speak up is gone. He slings his bow across his shoulders and begins their trek deeper into the forest. Katniss follows silently behind him like a ghost, their hunting devotedly remaining like a habitual afterthought.
After a few hours of tracking, Katniss says, "We should go to the pond after we finish."
Gale looks at her. "The pond?"
She shrugs. "We haven't been since summer started."
"It is hot today," he concedes, still glancing at her from the corner of his eye. "We'll go after checking the snares."
She smiles at him, and he can't tell what's behind it. It makes him anxious.
Just like he said, they head toward the pond after the snare check, and Gale feels strangely uneasy. He has to keep from rolling his eyes at himself the whole way. She's transformed him into such a girl, and he hates it, and he doesn't know how to stop it.
When he sees the pond, he sighs. His forehead is lined with sweat from the heat of the day, and his muscles suddenly ache for relief. He sets down his bag and his bow and his belt, with Katniss doing the same.
Katniss strips down to her undergarments faster than he does, folding into the water and exhaling loudly. "This is nice," she says.
He watches her swim around, her hair starting to gleam with water. He kicks off his pants, dipping into the water and trailing behind the ripples Katniss makes ahead of him. The coolness of the water cuts through the sun's warmth, and he sighs, too.
"This was a good idea," he tells her.
She turns around so they're facing each other. She slicks some of her hair back from her temples, and his eyes follow the trail down the line of her neck. The water line stops right above her breasts.
"It was," she agrees, wading around him. She glances off to the forest around them, biting her cheek. "Remember when you threw me into the pond?"
"Yeah," he answers, suddenly transported back in time. He glances at her, trying to remember if she looked any different those years ago than she does now. "And you blew up in my face."
She opens her mouth for a moment. "I know, I did." Her voice is at a lower register, quiet and soft. "You were just being honest."
He glances at her, and it takes him a second to realize she's regretful. It's an odd look on her, perched on her face like a veil.
He frowns. Just because he was being honest doesn't mean it was right—besides, it was years ago. Why is she thinking of that now?
"What was it I said, again?" he says, feigning nonchalance. "Something about you being unhappy?"
"Yeah. Something like that."
"I'm sorry about that, you know," he says slowly. "I was pretty dumb."
"Was?"
He acts as if he's going to charge at her, but she squeaks and he pulls back with a laugh. "Did you know I used to think you didn't have feelings?"
She glares at him, splashing water in his direction. "In all honesty, I didn't think you cared enough to think that."
He raises a brow at the information. "Really?"
"Yeah," she shrugs under his stare. "You only seemed to care about hunting and girls."
"You're a girl."
"You know what I mean," she says, waving him off. "Other girls that act like girls."
"Oh, right. Those."
"Seriously, Gale," she says, shaking her head at his jesting. "I used to think you were really shallow."
It's starting to come out now, without much provocation. Great, he thinks, his stomach starting to pinch in on itself.
He sighs. "I was. Am."
She squints. "No, you're not. I don't think you ever have been. I kept judging you all the time, and I found a lot of reasons to not like you by doing that."
He blinks, furrowing his eyebrows. "Why?"
She floats around, head facing the open sky above them. "I don't think I wanted to like you. Or trust you. I'm not very good at relying on people."
She could say that again, but he's the same way. And he's known that for a while. "Yeah, I know. I'm bad at it, too." He scissors his arms through the water absently. "You were always pretty consistent, though. I…probably began trusting you long before you trusted me."
"You think so?"
The skepticism in her voice makes him pause. "I thought I did. Why? Can you say you began trusting me before a few months ago?"
The look she gives him starts making him think that she's not sure what to say—but then her eyes become steely with determination. "I probably started trusting you when we fell from that tree."
Him being shocked would be an understatement. Floored, on the other hand… "What?" he says.
She shrugs, smiling a little. "I don't know. There was something about you breaking my fall that made me start trusting you."
She seems amused by his face, but he can't help it. "That was years ago."
"I don't think that matters."
"But…" he stutters. "You hated me for a long time after that."
She juts her chin. "I didn't hate you. Like I said, you know I'm bad with friends. I didn't like trusting anyone."
"Yeah, I just…never knew, I guess. It's weird, getting your perspective on it." He shakes his head.
She wades up to him, and she pokes him in his chest. "When did you start trusting me?"
He frowns. It's a good question, and one he's never quite been able to find the answer to. "I've thought about that before, but I still don't know. I could never find the moment." He averts his eyes. "When I'd think I knew, it would change by something you did that day, or to another time when you'd surprise me with something."
"Surprise you, how?"
He half-shrugs, distracted by the sun gleaming off her shoulders. They look soft. "I dunno. You'd be less mean to me, or you'd smile at me, or you'd make a joke. Something like that."
"I'd change your mind because I was nicer to you?"
He smiles sheepishly at her tone. "I guess so."
She rolls her eyes at him. "You're ridiculous."
"Hey, can you blame me? You were half insane."
"I was not! You're the one that drove me nuts all the time."
He raises his eyebrows. "Me? I drove you nuts?"
"Yes! You were always…so…confusing. You'd change your mind all the time about all kinds of things. You were inconsistent, and I had trouble figuring you out."
She looks unsatisfied with her explanation, and he can't help but laugh at her. She had been trying to figure him out?
"If I was confusing, you were certifiably crazy."
Her eyes fall to his neck, and she tries to glare at it. "Well, I guess we're both a little odd, aren't we?"
He can't catch her stare. She moves uncertainly, like she's internally fidgeting. He feels the rebound of confidence surge again. "No. I think you're the one that makes me act a little odd."
Her eyes dart up to his face, and she bites her lip. "Why?"
He reaches up and touches a wet hand to her cheek. "Why do you think?"
Her cheek blisters under his fingers, and she glances away, jerking her head back and beginning to wade away from him. "No," she calls over her shoulder. "I think you're odd all on your own."
She finds a foothold on the bank and leverages herself out of the pond. He follows her movements with an appreciative eye, her threaded bottoms clinging to her hips, the water falling into places where his hands would like to be. She sits down for a moment before lying back, the sun gleaming across her with a golden glare.
He floats along for a few more minutes before he has to pursue her, climbing out of the water and sitting in the spot beside her. He shakes out his hair, and she cringes, shielding her face.
"Gale, cut it out."
"Cut what out?"
She punches him in the leg, and he chuckles. Then he exhales loudly and lies back, crossing his hands behind his head. He closes his eyes against the brightness of the day, and without warning, sleep slips over his mind in a matter of lazy minutes.
He wakes up with his face in her neck, senses overloaded by her sweet, outdoorsy scent. His arm is around her stomach, hand splayed out across her bottom. But it doesn't seem like the contact was unwelcome—one of her hands is tangled in the hair at the back of his neck, forcing his head to stay where it is, with the other resting on his chest. He's turned toward her, nearly on his stomach, and her breathing is deep and heavy, hitting his ear like a warm blanket. He nearly hums with pleasure, imagining what would be the best way to wake her up, thinking of how hilarious her face would be when she realized what a compromising position they had gotten themselves into—and how she'd react when she noticed where his hands were.
He grins against her neck, relishing the moment for a few more minutes. Then he can't take the temptation any longer. He squeezes her butt cheek gently, her hip swaying toward him from the pressure, and he waits for her to waken, for the hitch in her breath that would mean consciousness.
But instead, she sighs softly, turning all the way toward him and bringing her leg onto his, nearly over his hip. Her hand behind his head twitches, but her breathing remains even. That's all it takes for him to get outrageously turned on.
"Catnip," he whispers, and when nothing happens, he tries again. "Catnip."
She answers by moaning a little, arching her back and pulling him closer toward her. Her body's pressure makes him ache deep in his stomach.
"Hey, Catnip."
"Mm," she answers. Her eyes must begin to open, because she's beginning to shift around. He fidgets at all the contact. "Gale?" she says, then she says, "Oh. Um."
She loosens her arms, moving back enough so that he can glance up and see her face. She isn't mortified, exactly, but her eyes are wide and surprised, her mouth parted in a small oval. He can't tell how bothered she is—she covers up her shock quickly. Much more quickly than he's used to from her. In fact, he's not used to her recovering. Usually, she'll sneer, get angry or embarrassed or both, and punch him really, awfully hard. Then she would either stalk off or ignore him.
She doesn't get angry, or embarrassed, and she doesn't look like she wants to inflict any physical damage on him. Her abrupt tenseness gradually fades away, and she shifts to diminish her discomfort. She doesn't move her hands away from where they are, so neither does he. She holds his gaze, and they're so close that he can see the sharp lines of silver that surround her pupil, underlined with darker grey.
He has seen her up close many times, and he's trained his eyes to see the softer parts of her—the curve of her cheeks and the flare of her lashes. The line of her mouth is less stern, and her neck is long and slender. He hopes to remember this view of her for a long time.
Her cheeks grow red a moment after, and he wonders, briefly, what she's thinking.
Briefly, because it's only a second after she flushes that she leans forward, and she pulls his head to her. She kisses him, hesitantly and softly, with the hand she left on his chest curling and the nails scraping at his skin. It's as light as a feather, and it ends too soon. He grips her to ensure she remains close.
She looks up to his eyes, almost bashfully, with a gleam that is unfamiliar but not unwanted. Gale's grip becomes unconsciously tighter, and he pulls her in again, trying to maintain a gentle assault on her lips and straining himself not to get carried away.
He's not good at going slow. Pace has always been an issue—especially with Katniss. He wants desperately to make up for all the years he never realized he wanted this. He wants to pry her mouth open and devour her, but he wants to take it all in, all the while hoping she doesn't push away and irrationally petrify into rock.
She lets him. He presses into her gently, soft and warm, lingering for a long moment, then shifting, then lingering, then shifting. It's a new pattern, almost like an experiment, and it leaves a long, trailing burn through his lips to the fingers that dig into her skin. She presses back, finding the rhythm easily, and her fingers mimic his, digging into his shaggy strands of hair. Her other hand slides down his chest, stopping at a point on his abdomen. Her reciprocation to this is as elating as her reciprocation to the first. The fire in him glows, like dying embers breathed back to life. He squeezes her bottom again, and their hips align with the pressure. His body thrums with sensation, and she makes a quiet, involuntary noise. He's never felt her quite so close. He takes the chance and deepens the kiss, the heat of her mouth enveloping his tongue like a cradle. He tries to keep the pace as it was before, but it's harder. The warmth of her, how she curls and clings around him—their kiss is so much more sedated than the first time, but his heart still races as if they're acting manic. He knows if he could, he'd keep them here all day.
They stop, minutes or hours later. Time is unimportant. He looks at her, and she looks at him. He feels like he's run miles and miles.
Her eyes are glossy and bright. Her skin glows, and though it's probably because of the sun, he attributes it to himself.
"You're beautiful," he breathes.
After all this time, she still can't take a compliment. Her cheeks flush, and she averts her eyes, glancing down to his neck.
"…thanks," she mumbles. Her lips are devastatingly swollen. It strokes his ego immeasurably.
He stares at her some more. She reluctantly glances up after she gets over her embarrassment—though, he's not sure how a compliment can embarrass her, whereas making out does not.
"What?" she asks.
"Nothing," he answers. "I'm just looking."
She breathes in, matching his stare. "What are you thinking?"
"How much I love the way you look after I kiss you."
She's out of her world of comfort—and she might have been since this morning. He smiles.
"Gale…" she trails.
Gale, Gale, Gale… his ears ring with her tone.
"Mm," he hums. "I wish I tried this a long time ago."
He feels her still, and her eyes widen. "What?"
The tenseness of her makes him unsure. He immediately feels a wash of dread, like he said something wrong, like he didn't think something through again. He blames it on the ingrained instincts he gained around her. Handling a ferocious beast and a skittish deer all at the same time.
Not that he ever would have tried. Not in this district, or this life.
"This," he says, once more. "I've been a coward around you for the longest time."
She furrows her brows. "Coward? No, you…"
"Yeah, Katniss, I have," he says. "I'm good at lying to myself. And I knew you'd never let me do this. So I never tried. I…" The words get sticky. It's easier to compile words in his mind. It's a much different task in communicating them. He looks away from her for the first time, unable to find coherency otherwise. "…didn't think that you could care. I've never been able to know that part of you. I still don't know it. But…"
"You never knew I cared about you?" she asks.
He feels like a little kid talking about this. "No. Not... I suspected there was hope for friendship, but I talked myself out of it."
"You know…" she says, quietly. "I didn't know about you, either. I couldn't tell. I asked Sae once, and—"
"You asked Sae?" Of course she did. Sae got her hands dirty with everything.
"Well, she started the conversation, but she made me doubt a little less."
If Sae had some kind of miraculous pull for persuading Katniss…no. He wasn't going to mention anything to her. He didn't think he had little enough pride.
"What did she say?"
She looks away, this time. "Something like, you were having a hard time without me. When we stopped trading together. She said you had…um, a crush on me."
Alright, that was it. He wasn't bringing any fresh kills to Sae for a very, very long time.
He attempts to clear his throat, but it sounds more like he's holding down a choke.
"Did you?" she asks, and he's surprised by how curious she is.
He clears his head for a moment—tries to clear his head. It's always been a little hard to think around her, even with the complete sharpness her touch gives him.
"I think you mean, do you."
"Oh," she says. "Then…do you?"
He smirks at the knowing gleam in her eye. "I don't think I'd be lying here with you if that wasn't true," he says, playing with the outlining threads of her bottoms.
Her mouth parts just slightly—from his answer or his touch, he's not sure. He isn't sure why his answer would be surprising, in any case.
"I did miss you, you know. When you started the mines," she says, suddenly shy. "Sae asked me that, too."
"She did?" Gale asks, feeling a burst of warmth in him.
"Yeah," she says. The fingers on his chest make absent patterns. They burn him gently. "I just…it was different, you know. Not seeing you anywhere for weeks. I didn't realize I'd feel like that until you were gone."
"Is that why you got so close to Peeta? Because I was gone?"
She bites her lip. "Maybe. We got kind of close. I've never been good with making friends, so having him around was nice. He hung around me just because he wanted to. Learning about friendship without the reliance for food or hunting...I've…well, I've never had that before. With you, I'd always think we were only around each other for hunting."
Gale glares at some of the trees over her head. "We were."
"Not completely," she shakes her head. "I think we wanted friendship, but didn't know how to go about it. I didn't know how."
She's right. It still makes him angry. If he had gone about it differently, had been a little more hopeful and a little less stupid. "I guess we're okay now, aren't we?"
She graces him with a smile, and his stomach twists.
"I think so."
They leave shortly after, needing to trade their kills before it gets too late and the meat spoils. Right before they leave through the fence, he stops her by touching the small of her back. She glances at him questioningly, and he kisses her.
He doesn't think anything will change once they pass through the barrier from the freedom of the forest to the real world—but just in case, he steals the kiss to hold him over the rest of the week.
They look at each other for a moment after he backs away, and the glimmer she exudes pacifies him as they trade beside each other.
