February
Peeta's hand is cramping up, so he pauses for just a moment to pour himself a glass of water. He takes a long sip of the cool liquid and runs his tongue over his bottom lip to moisten it before he nods at Effie, who slides another memo in front of him.
"This one's from Representative Marquise's office," Effie says curtly. "It's a formal invitation to visit Eleven within the month to reassess the productivity of the irrigation and bio-engineering systems they've been using since your visit to Rio de la Plata. It's marked as urgent, of course, but based on the pressing timetable of the Caledonia trip..."
"There's no way I can make it out there before then," Peeta says with a heavy sigh. He scans the memo and rubs his jaw, losing himself in thought. "Is there any way Delly's schedule might accommodate a visit in my stead?"
Effie considers this for a moment; when she nods, her orange curls bob over her eyes. "I believe that might be manageable, Mr. President."
"If things can be switched so that she visits Eleven before my trip abroad, please go ahead and do so. Then schedule a visit for me once I return from Caledonia. And to Nine and Ten as well," Peeta says.
"Why not have the delegates meet you in Ten and split the difference?" Haymitch says tersely as he strides in through his private Aula entrance.
"I could also have them just come straight here, but then I don't get the lay of the land like I will with a private tour of the Districts," Peeta retorts. Haymitch grins broadly, as though to communicate that this was exactly the answer he was looking for. His mentor did this frequently when Peeta was mulling something over as a freshman representative, like a little test to see if he could suss out the situation on his own before Haymitch offered his own advice. It surprises Peeta that Haymitch is employing the same tactic now, since it's not something he's done in years.
"Next one, Effie?" Peeta asks his assistant, but the woman holds her hands out to show they're empty.
"That was the last of them, sir," she says with a small smile. Usually Effie only smiles when she's particularly pleased at something—like the day's schedule.
"Are we running on time today?" Peeta asks with a cocked eyebrow.
"Four minutes early!" Effie gushes, though she's quick to scowl at the cheeky way Haymitch mock-applauds as he sinks into one of the couches in the center of the room. Peeta rolls his eyes at the animosity between the pair and shirks off his suit jacket before striding over to the wingback chair he prefers for senior staff meetings.
"Thank you, Effie," Peeta says in dismissal and rubs his hands over his face when she clicks out of the room and closes the door securely behind her. He crosses his left leg over his right and leans towards Haymitch, who he can tell is biting his tongue from saying something. "Hey, look, I'll take four minutes early if that means I'm done that much quicker today."
"You're not meant to run early, sir," Haymitch scoffs. "Politics always runs fifteen minutes late."
"Well, lately it's been closer to two hours, and I've barely seen Rye in weeks. So what's on your mind, old man? Might as well get it out before Finnick and Beetee come in."
Haymitch snorts. "Something tells me that there's a different reason you haven't seen the kiddo in weeks, Mr. President. Apologies if that's bold to say, but I don't think I'm wrong."
Peeta narrows his eyes. "What are you implying, Haymitch?"
Haymitch shakes his head and holds his hands up defensively. "Look, it's honestly none of my business..."
"But you're clearly making it your business, so spit it out."
"Alright. I'll apologize in advance, because what you do with your private time is your own prerogative, but… I think you might have misconstrued the thickness of the walls of Adyton."
Peeta feels the color drain from his face as he suddenly he recalls his midnight rendezvous with Katniss the night before in that very room. He hadn't even undressed her before he'd dipped his hand down the front of her trousers and worked her to completion up against the door. He remembers the way her face had fallen when once again, he'd denied her touching him; in its place, he had kissed her pout away and held her in his arms for almost a full hour after, nuzzling her neck chastely as she relayed stories of Rye's school day and drifted off against his chest. He'd longed to take her properly before letting her leave at 1:30, but they were both tired, and had simply kissed good night before she'd left. He'd fallen into a dead sleep as soon as he got back to the residence.
But with Haymitch's implication, and Katniss's tendency to repeat his name over and over as he teased her orgasms out of her, Peeta is suddenly struck dumb with an incontrovertible fact—Haymitch knows.
Finnick and Beetee choose that exact moment to walk in, and if they see the way Peeta is gaping at Haymitch, they don't say anything about it as they take their seats. Soon enough, Peeta snaps out of it as well.
"The press corps has the Caledonia trip, Mr. President," Finnick says quickly, flipping through his notes. "Caesar Flickerman cornered me in the hall about it, and if Flickerman has it, soon they'll all have it."
"I can have a speech drafted within the hour to quell it, sir," Beetee offers. "But Finnick and I were just discussing that planning a second trip without the approval of the Prime Minister, and by extension Parliament, isn't going to look good."
Peeta narrows his eyes, and he swallows back a snippy retort. "Oh, I hardly think this is the only office in the Capitol that's guilty of making plans without consulting the others."
"Careful there, Mr. President. There's a precedent here that you don't want to set," Haymitch warns, his air switching from that of an easy-going mentor to a more authoritarian one—Peeta suddenly isn't sure which one aggravates him more. "Odair, what did you say to Flickerman?"
"I said I couldn't comment, of course, and that if or when the office has an official announcement, President Mellark will be the one to make it," Finnick replies.
Haymitch swears under his breath. "You're too damn relaxed with those vultures, Odair. We appointed you to run a press room with decorum."
Peeta clears his throat angrily. "I think you mean I appointed him, Haymitch."
Haymitch sits back in his seat and nods contritely. "My apologies, Mr. President."
"I don't think it matters who or where the news came from, or even how it'll break. What I think is important is making sure the story comes from us," Peeta says. "Beetee, I want a draft of that speech, and I'll be ready to make the statement as soon as I can review it. Finnick, call the press back for the announcement before the five o'clock briefing, please."
"Yes, sir," Finnick and Beetee say in unison.
Peeta suddenly holds his hand up, as though he wants the other three men to freeze as he mulls something through in his head. "Haymitch…can Coin call a vote? Can she try to pass through some sort of resolution to stop the trip? Boggs had mentioned something to that effect when I spoke with him about Rio, but he'd promised me it wouldn't be an issue so long as he was in charge of Parliament…"
"Well, I think we can agree that promise is out the window now," Haymitch says solemnly. "I'm…I'm not sure, sir, but if anyone is capable of pulling a stunt like that to try to thwart this trip, it's Alma Coin. This is my concern with continuing to plan events like this without working with her to come to some sort of middle ground."
"I think we can all agree that Alma Coin's 'middle ground' is all the way back in Thirteen. It doesn't matter when she found out, this was always going to be a battle between her position on isolationism and my belief in diplomatic international relationships," Peeta says.
"I agree, sir," Beetee says.
"As do I," Finnick follows.
Haymitch licks his teeth and chuckles dryly. "You aren't incorrect, Mr. President. And while I believe we can all attest that your intentions are far, far more noble than any of Coriolanus Snow's, I would be remiss if I did not remind you that this, right here? This secrecy and conniving to get what you want is exactly what got Snow ousted and put you in power."
"I appreciate your honesty, Haymitch. But I believe you're wrong," Peeta says, his tone reflective of being done with the entire conversation. "What's next?"
"Nothing else from my office, sir," Beetee says. "I'd like to get started on that speech at once if I may be excused."
"Anything else on my docket can be pushed back. I agree with you, Mr. President, this is front and center. I'd like to go and round up the press corps before Flickerman can get his story to print," Finnick says.
"Excellent. Haymitch, hold on a moment, but Beetee, Finnick, that's it for now. I'll expect to hear from you both within the hour," Peeta says, getting to his feet and striding over to his desk chair. He picks up his suit jacket and flips it over his head to pull it down over his shoulders. A residual effect of the dislocated shoulder he sustained the night of Boggs's death is limited range of motion, and his doctors are unsure of when he might fully regain mobility. He supposes it's a small price to pay for his life.
Haymitch stands in the middle of Aula after Finnick and Beetee have filed out, and looks expectant. The haughty, bemused expression has once again taken over the older man's face, as though his opinion hadn't just been completely thrown aside by the younger man. This, of course, must have everything to do with their conversation about Katniss.
"Not like you need an explanation, old man, but she's…my friend," Peeta says, using a word that feels technically correct despite being completely erroneous. He realizes he doesn't really know what he and Katniss are. Friends? Lovers?
"Mr. President, with all due respect—a man in your position doesn't really have 'friends'."
This is news to Peeta. He considers Haymitch, Finnick, Beetee, even batty Effie, and must assuredly Thresh and Thom his friends. He'd considered Gale one of his closest friends up to a few weeks ago. "Then what do you call yourself?"
"Me? I'm your ally. Always have been, always will be," Haymitch says. "Presidents have allies, sir, not friends."
"I think you're wrong."
"Yes. So you've mentioned twice now this afternoon alone."
"Have you made your point, Haymitch, or is there something else you'd like to lecture me about?"
"It isn't a lecture, Mr. President. It's just a warning that whether or not you intend to be, you're playing with fire with that girl. And giving Alma Coin any further ammunition to question your job performance, or Parliament any more fuel to turn against you, or worse, your enemies—and you can't possibly be so blind to the fact that your enemies are multiplying, sir, and will continue to every day you're in office—is the absolute worst thing you can do here."
"My personal life isn't poll-able, Haymitch. It's none of anyone's business what I do with the few spare hours that are my own, and whom I choose to spend those hours with. Least of all yours."
"I agree, sir. I am merely advising prudence. And where you refuse prudence, discretion."
"Noted. Is there anything else?"
"No, sir."
"Then we're done here." Peeta nods him off and crumples into his desk chair with his head in his hands when the door clicks closed. He thinks long and hard, rolling the word "ally" around on his tongue, testing it for accuracy when he thinks of her. Even though he believes it sells her short, he adds it to the list of words rolling about in his head he's using to figure her out.
He's returned to reviewing his briefing memos when he's startled by the buzzer signaling Rye's afternoon visit. Usually it's the brightest spot of his day, seeing Rye, and lately stealing the briefest moment to look at Katniss and try to silently communicate with her never fails to thrill him, too.
Something about today, though, is now making him dread it. Maybe it's Haymitch figuring him out. Maybe it's the announcement about Caledonia, and how it being sprung on him like this likely means his ahead-of-schedule day has been thrown so hopelessly out the window that he'll never be home in time for supper. He balls up his fists and jams them over his eyes, trying to rub out the exhaustion he feels behind his eyelids before his son bounds through the door. He feels terrible, but he can't help it. Being president and a father is difficult enough most days, but with the addition of his and Katniss being—well, whatever it is they are—things feel even more chaotic and overwhelming.
It's made all the more difficult when, upon their entry, Rye bolts straight to the lavatory. Peeta sometimes wonders if Katniss makes sure that Rye stays a little too well-hydrated at school for how often the boy has been needing to use the facilities when he stops for his after-school visits, perhaps so they might steal a moment in one another's embrace while the little boy remains none-the-wiser. Today, when she inserts herself into his arms, he can tell his weariness and distraction have not gone unnoticed.
"It's a bad day, Katniss, I'm sorry." He tries to soothe the bluntness of his words with a tender kiss to the patch of skin under her ear, but she shrinks away.
"Oh...well, we should go, then," she replies, clearly trying not to choke on her words.
"No! That isn't…" He sighs deeply and pinches the bridge of his nose. "I don't mean for it to seem like…"
But she's already pulled away, and when Rye steps out of the bathroom, she straightens her jacket with great authority and tells him, "Show your father your exam, Rye, and we should head up. Your aunt messaged me that she'd like you home early."
The ease with which Katniss speaks to his son floors Peeta, especially considering how stilted their own conversations still sometimes feel. It's drastically different than when she'd first came into their lives, of course, but how she can be so maternal with Rye, and so passionate and straightforward with him when they are alone together, but still so shaky when she supposes someone might be watching? It's one more thing about Katniss Everdeen he doesn't understand. But maybe, he supposes, he ought to be shakier about their situation as well—because if Haymitch can tell something else is going on between them, it might not be too long before everyone who works within 50 meters of the Aula can as well.
And Haymitch is right: he does have enemies.
With that in mind, he lovingly fawns over Rye's high mark on his spelling test and kisses his forehead before sending him along with Katniss. Their eyes don't meet again until the very last moment before she walks out the door. Typically, she takes this moment to mouth to him, "Midnight?"; this time, however, they both just sadly shake their heads.
Katniss's bath water has turned tepid, but she is so engrossed in her own whirling thoughts she barely notices. She slides her legs together under the bubbles and flicks her fingers against the wall, watching as the pearlescent suds pebble the tile before popping and dissipating.
She could talk to Delly, perhaps. In the last couple of weeks, Delly Cartwright has proven herself an incomparable ally. But speaking with Peeta's own sister about the most intimate details of their sex life seems like something out of a horror show. She already has a hard enough time looking the woman in her eye after last week when Delly had fixed the gap in the collar of Katniss's shirt, only to inadvertently expose a deep purple welt on her pulse point. She'd been unable to cover it with makeup and been unwilling to ask Peeta to back off on the night his mouth made it. She's been living with the mortification of feeling like a horny teenager ever since.
And telling Johanna, even if the woman is the closest thing Katniss has to a real female friend is similarly out of the question. She isn't sure how she'd be able to successfully dodge the inevitable prying questions about the exact identity of her mystery—lover, Katniss decides to call him—once Johanna would decide she needs to know in order to dole out advice. And while she doesn't suppose Johanna would be the type to blab the details, something that Gale said before he died ("…better to keep your relationship with your mark purely professional…agents get in some trouble over this already…don't want to see you be the next one…"), she isn't entirely sure whether or not she is actually putting her job on the line pursuing Peeta as she is. She imagines if it were a threat to her position, Peeta would have told her. But then, didn't he already, when he asked her to resign?
She sinks underneath the water, blowing air sharply out of her nose before surfacing and wiping her eyes. Her skin finally registers the drop in water temperature, and she sits forward to adjust the taps and rewarm herself. She grabs the small hand towel hung over the side of the tub and pours a dollop of soap onto it before rubbing it along her legs and arms and dunking it under to scrub her torso. She pauses briefly before trailing it down to the juncture of her thighs, and she rubs herself delicately before tossing the cloth aside altogether. Her hands move back, and her middle two fingers slide between her folds teasingly before she relents and plunges them both inside herself.
"Peeta…" she intones to the empty room, her eyes falling closed as she begins to pump her digits in earnest. Her fingers are small, too small for this to feel at all like the prize she so desires, and far too small to even replicate the feeling of his own fingers pushing into her and curling forward to find the soft, delicious spot that makes her tremble. She pushes her index finger in as well, and while it feels better than before, she's thirsty for more and it cannot be quenched. She wants him. She just wants him inside her at long last, so she can finally know how his cock stretching her inner walls might feel.
She has to tease her clit with her other hand to find her release, and it feels hollow in comparison to how his mouth and hands are able to work her into a frenzy. She rubs shampoo along her scalp aggressively, dunks her head to rinse it away, and pulls herself to standing. The water gurgles as it drains, and she huffs all the way to her bed, where no amount of sweet memories of him can quell the hunger she feels.
She sits at the kitchen counter with Rye, sipping a cup of tea Delly had made before she had rushed off to take a phone call in her in-residence office. Katniss's thoughts are not on Rye at all until he clears his throat and looks up at her with his familiar, cherubic smile.
"You know how to spell 'slush'?" he asks.
"Yes. Do you?"
The boy giggles. "That's why I'm asking you."
She peers over at his paper. "There are two S's and no C. Try it again."
Looking at him, it doesn't take much for Katniss to notice just how much Rye takes after his father. His curly mop of hair, the stubborn jaw and slightly clefted chin, the flat tip of his nose—every feature of his face, really, except for his eyes. And even then, the right iris still resembles the ocean of blue that is inherently Peeta Mellark to her. As her thoughts wander further and further away, she finds herself speaking aloud without really meaning to.
"Rye, do your remember your mother at all?"
She wants to slap herself for such a callous question to a young child who could be so easily hurt by it. Rye, however, looks non-plussed.
"Nope. Daddy said I'd just turned four days old when the angels came for her."
"Oh. I didn't realize you were so small. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked."
"Oh, it's okay! It doesn't make me sad to talk about her. But I don't really know much 'cept what Daddy tells me, so you'd have to ask him anything else. Or Auntie Delly."
The thought bursts forth again before she can stop it. "Has your auntie been with you ever since your mother died?"
Rye puts down his pencil and rests his chin on his palm, actively looking lost in thought for a moment. When he answers, he's picked up his pencil again, and his tongue is already sticking out the corner of his mouth. "No. For a little while we lived with Grandpa and Grandma above the bakery, but then Daddy started working for the District and we got our own little house instead. I liked it 'cause I still got to help Grandpa in the bakery, and then when Daddy would get done with his work, he'd come and take me home and it'd be just the two of us until my bedtime."
"So, it was always just… You and your father? No one else?"
"Nope. Not until Daddy had to start coming here all the time for work, and then I'd stay with Auntie Delly while he was away. And then she moved with us out here last year."
While she supposes she shouldn't exactly trust the memory of an eight-year-old, Katniss finds herself deducing that it is entirely likely that she is the first woman in Peeta's life since his wife passed away. Eight years seems an awfully long time to go without sharing a bed with anyone, even as fleeting as most of her own lovers have been. But on the chance that she's correct in her assumption, she feels all at once placated—and even more concerned.
If she is, in fact, Peeta Mellark's first lover in eight years, surely the odds are in her favor that he'd be pleased with her, whatever she might do. He certainly has been thus far, although the extent of their trysts have been only him making her quiver over and over again, often with his face between her thighs as he pumps himself with abandon, or with him taking care of her before politely declining she reciprocate at all. Usually, he's too tired and the hour has grown far too late; still, it always stings when he rejects her advances, for as desirable as she'd felt that first night in the Adyton, his refusal to allow her to touch him in return has made her feel the polar opposite.
She wants to believe there is much, much more at play here—that whatever baggage he might be carrying is simply his own to manage, and that she need only be patient with him until he allows her to help him shoulder his burden.
The problem is, of course, that patience has never come particularly easily to Katniss Everdeen.
Peeta is just so, so tired. He hasn't slept much in over a week, and he's sure it has almost as much to do with not seeing Katniss outside of the ten minutes she spends with him and Rye in the Aula as much as it does with Coin. To say the new Prime Minister is less than enthusiastic about his plan for the Caledonia visit is a vast understatement—she's livid, and she has half of Parliament up in arms. If it weren't for his old alliances with representatives like Paylor, Lyme, Seeder, Chaff, and Blight, all of his hard work might be for naught. He's able to hold fast, and Paylor and Seeder specifically have been instrumental in keeping his dream viable by delaying the vote on the resolution Coin's proposed to stop the trip, and even sever ties with Rio de la Plata. Perhaps, if he'd been able to steal a few moments with Katniss, and take comfort in the pleasure and companionship that her body and spirit offers him, he'd be able to sleep restfully. But it feels like nothing more than a pipe dream to have her like that given the circumstances.
He gets the call from Seeder's office that Coin has pushed the vote to the end of the daily session just as his senior staff meeting ends and the buzzer is about to go off for Rye's visit. If he'd had his head more about him, he'd have called out to Effie at once to cancel the visit, have Thresh and Thom escort him from the building straight to the Parliament house to go over the last of his options with his allies, and sort through the remaining undecideds before the final hours tick away and the die is cast. Instead, he's awkwardly throwing his jacket on when Rye races through the door, brandishing his latest artistic masterpiece.
"Daddy! We learned about still-lives today! Look, I drew an apple and my teacher said it was the best of what any of us drew!"
Peeta has to bite his tongue as he opens his arms to his child and holds out his hand for the drawing. "It's still-life, Duck," he corrects with more patience than he really has in him.
"Oh, right. But isn't the apple good?"
"Yes, Duck, it's just fine."
"And the grapes, too? And the block of cheese…"
"Rye, it's all fine!" Peeta snaps without even meaning to. He registers the shock on his son's face before he even detects the drastic rise in his timbre; even when he's scolding his son, he rarely raises his voice. Something his father had taught him over the years was that a steady voice and reason work better than yelling and screaming, and he's taken that to heart. So he knows that the sudden vocal change must really, really have frightened Rye, particularly when it's over something as simple as a crayon drawing.
He's about to lean down, pick the boy up, and hold him to apologize when Rye turns deliberately on his heel towards Katniss, who stands awkwardly in the corner. Clearly she is as shocked as the Mellark men are about what's transpired.
"Katniss, I wanna go home now. Please." Rye is clearly trying to stay strong and brave in front of his guard, but Peeta knows the hurt he hears in his son's voice.
"Ry-Ry, I didn't mean to…"
"I want to go home now, Katniss," Rye repeats, as if his father weren't pawing at the jacket of his school uniform to bring him closer. He steps towards Katniss deliberately, rejecting his father's arms altogether in favor of the her outstretched hand.
"Duck, I'm sorry…" Peeta implores.
Rye waves coldly to his father. "Bye, Dad. Do good work."
There is none of the usual affection in the sentiment as Rye turns back and pushes through the door of the Aula, tugging Katniss after him like a rag doll. Peeta catches her fleeting glance before the door swings closed. Her silver eyes flash at him in confusion, almost as if she's suddenly seeing him anew.
Peeta feels like he's seeing himself for the first time as well. And whatever version of himself he's seen he decidedly does not like.
He isn't surprised at all that she's there waiting for him when he gets up to the residence. It's late—far later than she should be there if Delly's home, because Rye ought to have gone to bed an hour ago. But she's there all the same, sitting on the sofa in the living room, a bevy of news circulars on the table in front of her and the television on low volume in the corner. The ticker beneath Claudius Templesmith's face is scrolling the news of the narrow defeat of Coin's resolution in Parliament today, which on another day would fill him with a renewed sense of pride in his work. But the defeat was just that—a narrow one—and he knows he's not really in the clear yet. He's not sure he'll ever be in the clear where Alma Coin is concerned.
"Delly was called away," Katniss says, standing out of sheer habit when he enters the room. "She didn't say where, but she asked me to stay until you came back. Rye's asleep—or he's in bed, anyway."
"Katniss, what you saw earlier…" Peeta begins, but she shakes her head so quickly that it stops him cold.
"It wasn't my business. It's… I don't think it is my business at all."
It stings Peeta deeply that she feels that way. When she makes a move towards the door, Peeta catches her by the arm to stop her.
"Please stay," he whispers.
She doesn't disappoint him. She allows him to fold her against his chest and breathe in the scent of her, the latter of which calms him more than he thinks it ought to be capable of. He loosens the elastic at the end of her braid and knots his fingers in her hair when it unfurls around her shoulders. She doesn't speak at all, but her silence is telling.
"It was a very bad day," he says when he pushes her back just enough to look her in the eye.
"It seemed to end alright," she says simply.
"None of this is about you or Rye, Katniss. It's this job, this city, this…everything else. I just—I never thought it would change me like it has. I always figured that I'd still be me through it all, no matter what they threw at me, but, like as not, it has changed me. And I don't care for it any more than he does."
His eyes look towards the little boy's room down the corridor; she tilts his face back with the tips of her fingers and forces him to look at her instead.
"He doesn't understand, that's all. I think he's trying to, but he can't. Not without your help."
She cups his cheek as he nods and presses into it. He still feels tightly wound—too tightly wound to sleep soundly despite his exhaustion, but her in his arms is more helpful than she could ever understand.
"I should go," she says, and she tries to pull away. He grasps the fabric of her jacket tightly in his hands and refuses to let go.
"Please, don't. There's something else, I can tell. Just—say it, Katniss."
He expects her to say that she "isn't good at saying things", but instead she opens her mouth and lays him flat. "I'm the first one, aren't I? Since your wife died?"
"I… Yes. Why?"
"Is that why you don't want to… You know?" Her cheeks are bright pink and her eyes dart nervously from side to side, even when he tips her face up towards his. "You've been sort of…cold. And I didn't know if it really was something about me or if it was—"
His mouth curves over hers with haste, trapping the rest of her words in order to kiss them away. He feels her fingers tangle in his hair as his knot ever deeper in hers, and he pulls her closer so he can properly drink her in. He wants for her to understand, but he's sure even his own words would fail him if he tried to vocalize them without this first. He draws her bottom lip in between his and smoothes it over with his tongue. When her own slips into action, he moans quietly and feels his hips thrust spontaneously against hers. Her fingers tighten in his hair at the sensation, and he has to suck in a deep breath through his nostrils to keep from growing delirious with how much he truly does want her.
He cups the side of her face as he presses his lips against hers with a sort of finality. He leans his forehead to hers and sighs deeply. "No, Katniss. That's not the reason at all. And I should explain, but… Not right here, where Rye could walk in and see us, alright?"
He twines their fingers together and tugs her towards the hallway. She blinks rapidly in confusion, but follows all the same. They tiptoe past the closed door of Rye's bedroom and go straight through the double doors of his own. He closes and locks them behind them, then picks her hand back up to move her through the room to the en suite. A soft light flickers on when they enter, and he presses his finger to a panel on the wall so they don't grow any brighter. There's enough light for them to see one another, and that's all they actually need.
"W-what are we doing?" she says when he drops her hand so he can shrug off his jacket and hang it on a hook inside the door.
"After a day like today, I need a hot shower—and you. I was hoping to have both at the same time?" he says boldly, and it clearly takes her by surprise. He leans in and brushes his lips against hers before stepping to the shower stall to turn on the water. He stays still as the water rushes out of the nozzle and the air becomes humid until she's finally the one who begins to unbutton her blouse and step out of her clothes. They stare at one another as they undress, gently laying their clothes over a rack nearby so they don't wrinkle; when they step into the stall together and the rivulets of hot water pour over them, they find themselves locked in one another's arms, but in no rush or hurry to do anything else. He realizes that she's waiting for him to speak.
"The last time I was with a woman was my wife, yes. But that's not—it's not about her," he says, sliding his hand through her long locks.
"Okay?" she says patiently, though clearly she needs more.
"I'm worried about you, Katniss. I'm worried about what this—" he says, gesturing between them, "might end up meaning for your safety. I told you—I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you. And the closer and closer we get, the more I realize that… I am putting you in a tremendous amount of danger."
She glares at him, and despite the heat of the water, his skin prickles with gooseflesh. "What part of my job do you not understand?" she says flatly. "Do you honestly believe that you're putting me in any more danger because of us than I already am in because I spend my days with your child?"
"That was your decision. You chose to take the job—" Peeta says patiently, but she cuts him off.
"And I chose you, too. Whatever comes with that decision, I can handle it."
Peeta worries the corner of his mouth and slides his hands around her waist to pull her closer. The fire inside her is flashing in her eyes, in her scowl, in the stiff way she's standing ramrod straight in his arms. He cups her face and his lips graze over her brow line.
"This is the reason?" she asks. "This is the only reason, really?"
"Yes," he nods. "I'd be lying if I told you that I'm afraid that once we take it that far… I won't ever be able to let you go. It terrifies me how much danger Rye and I put you in, and how gladly you seem to accept it."
"So your solution is to keep me away? Peeta, we shouldn't even be bothering if that's how you—"
He kisses her again, his lips roam over hers fervently and his fingertips dig into her skin, as though to claim her.
"That's just it, Katniss. I don't know how to stay away from you," he murmurs.
"Then don't push me away. If you keep pushing me away, I won't have a reason to stay. And I want to be here."
He nods rapidly, cupping her face to keep her from wriggling further in his embrace. "Okay. I won't…I won't keep you at arm's length anymore. I promise."
Her eyes close, and he leans down to kiss her again until his breath leaves his lungs with a sharp exhalation as her hand wraps around his cock. His voice is lost with a gurgle, and when her eyes reopen, they are a dark, gunmetal grey pierced with fat, black pupils.
"Starting now?" she purrs.
He gulps, and as her hand begins to work over him, he feels his head bob. In truth, the feeling of her groping him is almost too much, and he'd be lucky to last two minutes inside of her. But in stark contrast to how he so often guides her body back against a wall or door frame, her small hand pumps his length while the other cups his hipbone and pivots him towards the built-in tile bench. When his knees hit the cold stone, she pushes against his chest, forcing him to sit. He stares up at her in the split second before she kneels in front of him, pushing his knees apart and insinuating her torso in between them. Her hand continues to pump him languidly, even as she leans in and presses her lips gently to the skin above his navel.
He opens his mouth to speak, but she shakes her head before he can form the words. "You're overdue for a turn," she says simply, her lips grazing against his belly as she continues to graze down, down…
"Katniss…" he breathes as she wraps her lips around his cock. She bobs her head, shallowly at first, and then farther and farther as her hand finally abandons her work around his base. He feels his hips thrust again on impulse, and he sees her eyes widen as the motion plunges his member deeper into her mouth. He expects that to be enough to make her stop, but instead, her eyes pin him back and her hands loop around his wrists and bring his own hands onto the sides of her face. He loops his fingers into her hair, massaging in little circles as she sucks in her cheeks and hums against his flesh. The deeper and deeper she takes him into her mouth, the more he feels his toes curl and his back bow against the tile. When a low grunt rumbles past his lips, it spurs her on to move faster—when he hisses in surprise at her bottom teeth grazing against the underside of his shaft, she slows and fondles his sac and grazes her fingernails along his inner thigh.
She doesn't let him fall from her mouth when she freezes in place and raises her hands to his. Her eyes implore him, and for a moment he's not sure why—but when it hits him, it hits him hard, and his hips begin to move with a life of their own. He keeps his thrusts shallow at first, but the more she hums against him and pulls her cheeks into a tighter and tighter vacuum, the more and more erratic his movements become, until he's fucking her mouth with abandon he's barely aware he's capable of. When the heat at the base of his spine begins to surge forth he tries to pull her face away, but she grips his hips and swallows around him, moaning her permission until he empties himself down her throat with a reverberating shout of ecstasy.
He slumps against the wall, panting wildly as she sits back and wipes the corners of her mouth with her fingers. His knees threaten to give out underneath him as she pulls him back to standing, but her grip around his waist supports him.
"Can we please just agree to be in this together?" she asks as she tucks her head under his chin. His fingers roam along her shoulder blades and the back of her neck as he kisses the top of her head.
"Always," he tells her.
And with that, the stress of his day and the apprehension he feels being around her washes down the drain.
He wants her to stay, of course, but that seems to be the very opposite of the discretion they've agreed upon. He tries to walk her to the door of the residence, but she points out the night guards might become over-curious by that; they linger in the hallway where she kisses him slow and passionately, then slips out of his embrace and is gone. His body is as exhausted as his mind is at long last, but he can't, in good conscience, go to bed quite yet.
He slips into Rye's bedroom and perches on the edge of the bed, allowing just the light filtering in from the hallway and his hand gently rubbing across his son's back to stir the little boy from his clearly fitful slumber. Rye rolls over, rubs his eyes with his fists, and blinks several times before murmuring, "Daddy?"
"I know I woke you, Duck, but… I'm sorry. I'm sorry about earlier. I had a bad day at work, but that's never an excuse to talk to you like that," he says lowly as he pushes the curls out of Rye's eyes.
"Oh. That's okay," Rye says half-heartedly.
"No, it's not. I'm… I'm afraid I'm being a bad daddy to you because of how good I have to make sure I am at my job. And you don't deserve a bad daddy."
Rye clicks his tongue, surely something he's picked up from Delly over this past year. "You're not a bad daddy. I promise."
"Will you please tell me if I become one?" Peeta asks with a small smile.
"I promise," Rye says.
"Okay. It's a deal then," Peeta says, bending down and kissing his son's forehead before pulling him up and into his arms. Rye seems to resist the embrace at first, but his little arms eventually wrap around Peeta's neck and he clings to him all the same.
Peeta lays him back and tucks the covers up to his chin before running his knuckles reverently along his cheeks. "Go back to sleep, Duck. And maybe in the morning, before I have to go down to work, we can bake cheese buns for breakfast."
"I think Katniss would like cheese buns," the boy says, yawning widely as he settles back against his pillow. "Daddy, will you stay 'til I fall asleep?"
The invitation is so simple and sincere that Peeta can't possibly say no. Rye scoots towards the wall and Peeta stretches out next to him, keeping his hand protectively on the boy's chest as they curl together on the pillow. Rye leans over and kisses the very tip of Peeta's nose, and before either knows the difference, they are fast asleep.
A/N: My eternal thanks and gratitude to sohypothetically and Court81981 for being simply the greatest betas and friends, to Jennifer Ibarra, who allowed me to use her paraphrase a line from her brilliant novel The Polaris Uprising in Peeta and Haymitch's scene in the Aula, to the score of Catching Fire (specifically the gorgeous overture of the beach scene, from which this chapter gets its name), and of course, to all of you wonderful readers and reviewers!
I mentioned S2SL last chapter, but I want to bring it up just once more because a) the collection will be released this week! and b) one of my contributions to the collection is an exclusive outtake from this story that I'm only publishing on the S2SL site. If you haven't checked out S2SL's Tumblr yet, please do so, and soon!
As always, I'm baronesskika on Tumblr. Come and play with me there if you'd so like.
Happy reading!
