A/N: Hey everyone! So I know this week is supposed to be The Fragile's week, but Paradise was calling to me and I had to update this story. If any of you follow me on Tumblr or Twitter, than you know that someone demanded more plot and I was all paranoid about it, but I think I found the perfect balance in this chapter, let me know what you think! Thank you to everyone who reviews, alerts, favorites, and reads! It's an absolutely amazing feeling! All songs are posted on my blog, if you want to listen while you read ;)
This chapter was inspired by The Decemberists "This Is Why We Fight".
Peeta's house is alive with something. I don't know if it's because it's his, or simply because the love I am feeling is exuding out of me uncontrollably. I want to take these plain walls and let them soak in the sun and take it's glow and radiate it's warmth. I want to take Peeta's memory wall and envelop myself in it. I want to wear all the limbs and eyes of people I have known like a blanket.
Peeta is cooking at the stove, his back turned to me, and I admire the way his muscle flex and move beneath the thin t-shirt. The way his tan skin glows faintly beneath white cotton. He is wearing boxers, and I shift my gaze down his body to watch the way his feet move across the floor to reach for things he wants.
I bring my legs up to my body, and wrap my arms around them. The wooden chair presses against my back and I rest my head against my knees. I love watching him cook. His confidence, his dominance, his relaxed state, everything about his demeanor is that of a skilled craftsman. I want to soak him into my veins and let him pulse through me — something that keeps me alive.
"You want anything special?" He asks, turning a smiling face towards me over his shoulder. The hem of his t-shirt moves upwards a bit, and my eyes flicker down to the newly exposed skin. I look back up at him quickly.
"Whatever you're making is fine," I say, and try to throw in a smile. It comes out all wrong, I can feel the awkwardness on my face, but Peeta just glows more and smiles more grandly and turns back to what he is making. It smells like batter and chocolate.
This man, who was once a boy I was destined to kill, is now making me breakfast in his small kitchen. This man, who despite everything I have thrown at him is here, smiling at me and making me feel like the luckiest woman in the world.
The mail is in front of us, mine and his combined, ever since I asked the delivery man to drop mine off at Peeta's house. I flip through the mail, one from Haymitch, one from my Mother, one from the Baker's association. I flip through the random messages, until I notice one by the familiar scrawl.
It's from Gale.
I look at Peeta, and watch as he flips something over in the pan. I slip the small cream colored envelope over in my hands and flick a finger under the edge of the card and tear it as quietly as I can open. It's a single, small white page, and I open it to see his handwritten, messily thrown together words.
Hey Catnip,
How've you been? I hope all is well, your Mother tells me you've been better according to Peeta. You hardly ever call us up over here in 4 so I decided to write you instead. You wouldn't have answered is I called. We're doing pretty good over here, I've been watching over your Mom, and the construction in 4. It's going pretty well.
There's a point to me writing this, I promise. I know you could care less for my small talk. So I'm just going to cut it down to a manageable amount of bullshit. Jenna is pregnant. It's fast, I know, I was surprised to say the least when I found out, and now she's almost five months along.
Announcing this isn't the point of this letter, there's a purpose. Jenna and I have talked about it, and wanted to know if you and Peeta would be the Godparent's of our child. It would mean the world to her, and I couldn't agree more that you two would be the absolute perfect role models.
I hope that I hear from you soon enough, and that we can talk sometime.
Stay strong.
Gale.
My mind is shaking, it's becoming a living thing separate from my body. How can Gale move on from the war and have children, and I can barely stay confident with Peeta? It has taken me six months to recover and get back to Peeta. I only want a child because Peeta deserves one. Why can't I just love him, and have a baby, like Gale and Jenna?
I want to shake myself for not being normal. I want to be perfect and glorified, and have children like I should want. I want to recover like Gale has an move on with my life. The Doctors have told me countless of times that children will not make things any better, but I doubt that. Maybe children is exactly what I need.
Peeta would be happy, so this may be exactly what we need. I think about what day of the month it is, and what it means. It means my body is ready to become a Mother, and that I would take on that responsibility. I slide the card back into envelope and set it behind the vase of roses Peeta has seated there.
I get up and set my feet steady against the ground and stand up. My weight falls evenly, and I take the steps needed so I am behind Peeta. I place my hands against his shoulder blades and feel the muscles there. I lean up on my tiptoes and kiss where the collar of his t-shirt meets his neck.
"I love you so much Peeta," I say and glide my hands so they meet at his heart. It beats under his rib cage and skin, and he's so alive I want to cry. Peeta take a deep breath and stops moving. Whatever he is cooking is sizzling on the pan, and he moves his left hand to turn off the heat. He turns in my arms and faces me, and he's not smiling, or upset. He's just Peeta, looking at me.
"I love you with everything that I am. I'll never be able to say it enough Peeta," I remove my arm from his back and bring them so they cradle his face. I lean forward and kiss his full lips, and I kiss him until I start to taste saltwater and realize that I am crying. Peeta grasps my face, and I look into his perfect eyes that I couldn't imagine never seeing again.
"You're everything, Katniss. You're my beginning," He whispers against my lips. "And you'll forever be my life," He whispers and than kisses me. He kisses me and it's not lust-filled or heavy — it's everything a proclamation of love would be like, and I want to embed this in the fabric of my being.
This house, it's concrete slabs and tasteless decorations, and lackluster colors are so beautiful with Peeta in them. He is the light to the darkest of things, a beauty rare in it's form, something that only arrives every hundred of years.
He's a star, beautiful in it's death, a stunning turn of destined events that cause radiating beauty. Everything about him is perfect. The way his hands travel from my face, to the sides of my neck, and his fingertips calloused despite the delicate work he does.
I want to embed him in my soul and drink him up like I want to do the sun. Keep everything I love in me so when the time comes, I'll never have to live without them. They will always be inside of me like a vital organ.
Peeta's mouth is warm and wet against mine, and I taste is tongue which tastes like his batter chocolate mixture, and I want to feel him against me so I open my mouth, more and will him to come closer. He steps forward and it should knock me off balance, but it doesn't. Peeta continues to push me back until I feel a wall pressed against me.
His hands trail desire down my arms, and I feel like I am on fire.
His mouth is rough against mine, and I should hate it, but all I know is that it is Peeta, and I love him whether he kisses me rough or softly. I grab his hair, and tangle my fingers in the golden hue and I want to be rooted to this place — with my fingers in his hair and his mouth on mine.
I detach my hands from his hair and move them so they rest against his pectorals. My fingertips press into the flesh there, and Peeta makes a noise deep in his throat and presses me harder against the wall.
I hitch my leg up so Peeta can move his other leg between mine, I lower my leg so it wraps around his like a coiled snake. His hands grab my hipbones, and he hitches my shirt up and his fingers are white hot against my skin there, and I try to manage my breathing against his mouth.
Peeta pulls away, and I open my heavy lids and look at the way the lower half of his body is pressed against mine, and his chest pulled away to look at me. He has a smile on his face, one that engulfs his body in a grin, and I look down at our hips smashed against one another's and look up at him.
"I was supposed to make you breakfast," He says.
"I like this better," I say, and reach my hand out and grasp the nape of his neck, pulling him back to my lips. Peeta groans, and I moan into it, loving the sounds coming off him. Haymitch can probably hear us, and I don't care, because I want all of District 12 to know he is mine.
Peeta detaches himself from me again, and presses his forward against mine. I feel his breath on my lips and I close my eyes and think about all the things I love about him. His hands, his legs, his eyes, his voice, his hair. Everything about him is so loved, and I don't know what I have to do to get him to know.
"Katniss, you know we can't," I open my eyes to find his closed and his eyebrows furrowed. "It's that time again," He says and I am aware then that if Peeta pays attention to this, how he has memorized that days when we can have children, and when we can't. He was destined to be a Father, just as I was destined to be his.
"Let's do it Peeta," I say and swallow the panic choking in my throat. "Let's have children," Peeta flickers his eyes open then, and I look into them, and force myself not to break eye contact.
"You're sure?" He asks.
"I'm positive," I say and lean forward and claim his lips as my own. His mouth his more powerful against mine, and his hands more strong. I wrap my legs around his waist, and I know we are forgetting everything we started this morning, but I could care less.
His hands are more prominent against my body, I can practically feel them against my bones, and he heaves me up in his arms, and carries my upstairs and I get lightheaded at the thought of all this muscle in him stretching and pulling to carry me upstairs.
He lays me down on the bed, the down comforter soft and white against my body like snow. I push upwards and sprawl myself over the bed. Peeta grabs the edges of his shirt and pulls it off, and then I do become hazy at the sight of him.
He crawls over top of me, his biceps and triceps working to keep him leveled over top of me. He presses the lower half of himself against me and I let out a breath I didn't know I was keeping in. He feels hard against me, and I am turning into liquid under him, and wonder how I can keep myself afloat.
His mouth his hot against mine, and he keeps tasting like chocolate, and I want to take him further into me so I spread my legs and he groans into my mouth. I reach my hands down and shimmy myself out of my underwear, and I then hook my hands in Peeta's boxers and pull them off of his body. Peeta looks down at me, concerned if I will regret this later.
"I'm fine Peeta," I say to him and myself. "I want this," I throw in for my benefit. He nods his head and kisses his way down my neck, and his hands trial over my breasts and stomach. My hands find his shoulder blades and trail down his spine, loving the way he contracts when I let my hands travel.
His hands travel down my scars, over my sides, and grips my hips. He lifts them up, and slips into me, and I let out a moan that I had been keeping in. Peeta groans and lets his head loll forward to the crook of my neck. He groans out and pulls out of my, and I spread my legs to bring him deeper.
He comes back and I feel his hot breath against my neck as he starts a rhythm. He lifts himself up and looks down at me.
"I love you," He makes out, and I grasp his upper arms, and feel the strength there.
"I love you so much, Peeta," I say and watch as he closes his eyes, and continues his motions. He continues, and I feel him, large and stretching. I look up at him, concentrated and focused, and know without a doubt, he will be the perfect Father.
Peeta breaks, rhythmless, and I feel him inside me, and I let out unrecognizable words, and he stays propped up above me while my mind and body shakes. He stays above me for a few moments before his arms start to tire and shake. He rolls over to my side, and faces me and lets out a laugh and a smile.
"I can't believe we did that," He says and leans over and presses a sloppy kiss to my mouth.
"I love you, Peeta," I say and latch him in a hug, our hot bodies over the cool sheets. The air is alive with something, and I cherish the moment. It is light out and it streams through the curtains that play across Peeta's skin like children in the plaza.
"You're my life, Katniss," He says and I press myself closer.