The door shuts behind them, and everything is still for a moment. Only a moment. Only a brief pause of electric air, potential energy surging between them.
And then they grab onto each other like it's the only thing left in the world to do.
He has the hem of her skirt at her hips and legs around his waist in seconds, pushing her against a wall with physical force that excited instead of jarred. She toys with the buttons of his suit, meeting him for a heated kiss, when he attempts the shrug off the jacket.
"Leave it on." She murmurs stubbornly, and he can't help but laugh as she latches her lips back onto his. Her hands smooth down the silky lapels and press against his chest. He smiles, digging his hands into her hips.
He falls to his knees in front of her, lifting the hem after it falls back to brush the floor. He hands her the fabric of the skirt, which she holds in shaking hands as he runs his hands up and down her legs. He grins up at her, caressing her inner thigh.
"You sure you're not too tired? We can just go the sleep; it's been a long day…"
Her head lulls against the wall and she groans, grabbing a fistful of his hair. He chuckles again, easing her underwear down her legs and off of her, one ankle lifted at a time. He kisses the inside of her knee, brushing his lips up her skin.
She watches him and that beautiful suit tight over his body with a heady flush tingeing her body.
His stubble scratches at her skin and her hips roll downwards to try and meet his lips.
He gently eases her legs apart and lifts his face to her warm, wet cunt and gives it a slight kiss. She groans, tightening her grip on his hair. He responds by blowing a slight, warm stream of air against her slit after opening it up, and then dragging his tongue along her folds. She moans, freely and unashamedly, and he grins to himself; he's always pleased when he gets her so wound up she doesn't know nor care how noisy she's being.
He's greedy for her pleasure; he wants the intensity of her bliss as soon as possible. His tongue traces over her clit until her legs spasm and shake on either side of his head. She swoons, limp against the wall as her legs go weak. He grips her hips tighter, holding her steady and burrows his mouth deeper into her sex. He sucks her clit between his lips, kissing and licking it gently before going back to suction that makes her buck against him. Her hands grip her skirts so tightly they quiver with tension. She can barely stand without his hands on her, her ankles wobbling and her shoes too high. The threat of falling over strengthens the eagerness of her surrender.
She falls victim to his lust, unable to resist the attack he sets on her body and begins her bliss earlier than she meant to. Not that she's complaining, limp and languid against the wall, eyes clenched tight as her hips shake against his face unsteadily. He licks her clean, leaning back on his heels to stare up at her and smile cockily. She takes a few steadying breaths, staring back at him and how his pants clung to his thighs. God, she wishes she could order him ten of those sapphire blue suits.
Despite the slightest wrinkling of her dress, she looks impeccable still, something that arouses him more than it shoulder. He's overcome by pure desire to make her messy again, to ruin the spotless illusion of Katniss.
He rises, kissing her soundly, gripping the waves of hair tumbling over her one shoulder. He rips down the zipper at her side, sliding the strap off her shoulder and letting the fiery fabric pool around her feet. She grips his hair, lifted by him once again and feels herself being carried across the room.
She stands before him and tears off the suit jacket, slipping her hands under his suspenders as she kisses him. She slips them off his shoulders and unzips his pants, kneeling to ease them down his legs. He tries to assist with the removal of his clothes, but she swats his hands away. She has been waiting for too long to let him spoil her fun with his suit.
He settles himself on the edge of the bed while she slowly unbuttons his shirt, straddling his hips and grinding against his hard cock. She tosses the shirt aside, nearly getting up to fold it because she doesn't want to ruin that damn suit.
He tosses her onto his bed, uncaring towards the condition of her dress or his beautiful suit, and falls atop his love. She has to admit, the feeling of his nakedness against her nakedness beats the look of any clothes. And he hasn't the patience for teasing her anymore. Their sex is aggressive, like it's never really been before. Their touch frantic, but in a rough way, not fragile or fearful. His hips rock into hers like he trusts he can't break her. Alive. That is how it feels. Wild and alive. She allows her nails to dig into his shoulder when the force is too much. Her heels dig into his lower back and she kisses him to contain the purely wild sounds escaping her throat. He growls against her lips, the pace of this thrusts increasing. Their unused, nervous energy built up from this week needs to be expelled, and they find no outlet but each other. With digging teeth and hands pulling and fingers gripping, they relax themselves into pleasured stupors.
He holds himself up by resting on his elbows and she writhes underneath him. Her head is thrown back and she pants to the rhythm of his thrusts. He brushes his brow against hers gently, the only action of pure sweet affection not overcome with lust.
They effectively wear each other out. Tired and sated, they both relax into each other. Peeta rests his body on her, letting his warm weight settle against her body. She cradles his head against her bosom, nurturing in a way that is she'd realized what she's doing, she'd stop immediately. Breathing with him feels so nice.
They lie in content silence; she strokes his scalp with her fingers, humming quietly for him. the relief and contentment washes over them and they lie together and let it slowly relax them; muscle by muscle, joint by joint, cell by cell.
Peeta nuzzles softly against her breasts, his breath warm and light on her skin. "I want to stay like this forever."
And her lightness of spirit agrees with him. Glowing and warm and sunset-orange. She loves this moment, with him, pressed to him, joined to him.
And she makes her decision. Because he's right. She can't even bear to move in fear of breaking this fragile moment of peace.
She bites her tongue, almost saying the words three times but cowering into the blankets at the last second. He doesn't notice. She can tell by his brow and his lids over his eyes he's grown sleepy.
"Peeta, when do you think you can get back to the bakery once we're home?"
He doesn't lift his head, only half answers with a lazy voice, "I don't know, why?"
"Well," she draws her fingers over the nape of his neck, keeping her voice light and as coy as possible, "we can't have a toasting without bread."
A/N There? I posted it, ctfoffs. You sassy reviewer. But thanks for the kick in the pants, it made me laugh and you got me to get the scene done. That makes us even.
May we have a moment of silent for the sapphire suit? Oh man. Those wrinkles better come out, Katniss.
So, good proposal? Bad? Review!
