Katniss

Peeta sits exhausted and slumped over on the couch. The mood seeming to have been broken. I sigh.

I sit for a moment quietly, thinking. And when I get the idea, I almost smile at him. But I don't because I don't want to give anything away.

"I'll be right back." I tell him quietly before I get up and make my way over to the kitchen. I look under his sink cabinet and find what I'm looking for at the bottom of his rubbish bin under the breakfast scraps from this morning.

The glittery purple box is slightly crumpled, and stained with bacon grease on the outside, but the outfits on the inside are clean and untouched. I rifle through them quickly, eliminating the loudest colors and anything with too many ribbons.

I finally settled on the black silk number with the lacey top. I take it, along with the box to the bathroom and change quickly, hoping this will inject a little positivity into our sorely lackluster afternoon.

I stare at myself in the mirror, and decide to unbraid my hair. It falls in wavy sheets down my shoulders and back, and I nod to myself. Not exactly Capitol manufactured perfection, but it's an improvement. The outfit itself reveals far more than it hides, and it's nothing Peeta hasn't seen before, but maybe a different kind of wrapping might be more appealing. And I know I don't really need to wear it to get him to sleep with me. I could just crawl onto his lap and start kissing him like I usually did, and he'd probably acquiesce easily enough. But I don't want to just feel his body against mine. I want to capture his golden smile against my lips the way I did after he heard all those delicious things I said about him in front of far too many people.

I wash my hands and face quickly, and rinse out my mouth just to make sure I'm as ready as I can be and then make my way back to the living room.

(Recommended Listening Track: Let's See What the Night Can Do-Jason Mraz)

I hover in the doorway for a second, until he finally senses my presence. And when his eyes light on me I'm rewarded by the sudden flare of desire I detect even from across the room.

I make my way over to him slowly trying to draw the moment out, building up the anticipation and he shifts a little on the couch as I get closer.

"I realized something earlier, before that whole showdown outside the Hob." I tell him as I lower myself onto the couch, kneeling a few inches away from him.

He's just staring at me, not really saying anything, but at least I have his attention and he's not slumped over unenthusiastically.

"You don't know how sexy I think you are." I told him seriously. And his mouth falls open a little, at my open statement.

I inch closer to him, and stop when my hand can just brush the outline of his chest. I see his pulse quicken at his neck, and his eyes are glued to the see-through lace of the upper half of the dress where up close you can clearly see the size, shape, and color of my entire breasts through the designs.

I clear my throat and his eyes snap up to mine, he flushes a little, and just chuckles, a little embarrassed at being caught staring while I was trying to talk to him.

"So, in case you didn't know, I just want to make it very, very clear what I think of you, as my lover." I tell him and slip onto his lap to straddle him. He's already almost completely hard, and I sigh as I shift against him, tilting my hips to enjoy the friction between our bodies. He groans a little, and his hands come up, one to support my back and the other to trail down my front in a hungry exploration.

"What?" He asks the question in a deep gravelly voice as he leans in to press his mouth against my skin, my collarbone, my neck, my cleavage in a wet, sloppy perusal.

"I think you're phenomenal. And I never imagined it could be this good, or feel this right, being with you like this. So if anyone ever questions why I spend five or six days a week sneaking into your house, just tell them it's because I'm still not tired of screaming your name into the couch pillows." I tell him saucily and again he crushes me against him like he did earlier at the Hob, only now we have far less clothes between us and much more privacy.

It's a hot, wet, manic kiss that gets our blood pumping and our bodies thrumming with pent up anticipation.

"You look so damn good in that," Peeta whispers in my ear as I suck on a tender spot on the side of his neck. His hands come around my waist to press me down harder against him, and I can feel his hardness straining against the fabric of his pants. And I hope he doesn't mind having to change them when we're done, because I didn't keep my underwear on when I got into this black lace contraption. So, there might be more than a little evidence of my own arousal left on his clothes since he's basically grinding himself against my naked lower half under the dress.

I don't know if he somehow senses this, because his next move is to dip his hands down to the very short hem, and cup my bare bottom in a rough, deeply possessive gesture. It makes me start a little. But then I just relax into his hands when he starts kneading my flesh expertly in that talented way of his.

"I believe someone mentioned something about my massage skills today." He tells me in a deep chest resonating grumble. And I let out a breathy laugh.

"Really? I don't actually recall…" I start to say and trail off as the sensations of his hands on my bare skin start to make speech a little difficult.

"Oh, I do. You said I was an artist, and that I was skillful, and that I really knew what I was doing with my hands." He murmurs as he lifts my left cheek up a little with his left hand and with his other hand starts to dip his fingers into my warm and wanting body. I shudder against the intrusion of his digits, but then feel my walls clench around them as he begins to tantalize me.

"I believe that statement is accurate." I whisper in a high and strained voice as he uses his hand to excite me. When his thumb brushes against the tender nub of flesh nestled in that secret part of me, I cry out in sensation and desire.

"Hmmmm…" he murmurs, all smug satisfaction and dark confidence as he manipulates my body closer and closer to the peak of pleasure.

I'm moaning a little now, lost in the feeling of having his hands pressed against me in all the right places. And I'm grinding my hips chasing the feeling, the ecstasy I know his beautiful hands can bring me. So when I arch my back and thrust my chest forward as the rush of rapturous sensations crash over me, he leans forward to suck the tip of my breast into his mouth through the fabric of my dress and the sensation makes me come apart harder into his hands.

"Oh," I say against the fabric of his shirt in a deeply gratified voice as the pleasure begins to subside. And then he's reaching down to unbutton his pants, probably so he can join himself to me before the rush of feelings completely ebb. But I jump up, and off the couch quickly as I back away from him. His face is all sorts of incredulous as he stares at me in frustrated disbelief. Because it looks like I've left him sitting there all pent up with no relief in sight.

But I just shoot him a wicked grin and back away slowly towards the doorway.

"I believe I also bragged about your creative use of frosting...and if you don't want to make me a liar…." I tell him as I pin him with a pointed look and a suggestively arched eyebrow.

HIs breath comes out in a relieved rush. And he returns my sinful grin as he stands.

"Oh, darling I wouldn't dream of it." Is his amused answer and he's got a look in his eye that promises so much fun and mischief that I get the childish urge to have him chase me.

I turn around and tear down the hall and into the kitchen, and I'm delighted to hear his feet running behind me. I let out a very uncharacteristic squeal when he catches me around the kitchen island and lifts me so easily up and over the counter to deposit me quickly over the smooth cold marble surface. He presses me down flat against the counter, with my legs hooked over his shoulders and I can feel my already wildly beating heart kick up another few notches as his hungry gaze travels down all of me.

"Yes, there are a few ideas I have…" He says as he opens a draw to his left and pulls out a bunch of white piping bags. Then he gets that serious look in his eye again, the one he takes on when he's working or painting and I feel a strange excitement building inside of me to see what he'll do. He lowers my legs slowly, gently, and tells me to sit tight.

I prop myself up on my elbows and watch as he moves around the kitchen retrieving a large mixing bowl, and ingredients from the fridge and pantry. After a few minutes he combines the ingredients together and uses his large Capitol gifted standing mixer to whip up a batch of fresh frosting. He divides it into several sections and adds drops of food coloring to each one and transfers them to the bags one by one. And even though it takes a while, I'm almost as absorbed in the process as he is. I'm really interested to see what he'll do now.

He picks up a bag that was filled with dark blue frosting and comes over to me again. He helps me sit up and then he slowly eases the thin straps of my dress off my shoulders with precise gentleness.

"I love this dress, but it'll just get in the way of what I want to do right now, so off it comes." He instructs me and I don't hesitate to help him. When he presses the metal cross tipped end to my bare shoulder I shiver a little but his large hand is there steadying me as he begins to paint on my very skin with his sweet creation.

And he decorates my skin slowly, with a mixture of colors, in a thin layer of sugary perfection. I stare at him in quiet fixation as he works. I am pulled in by that special intense, removed look he takes on when he concentrates on blending colors and the sweep of the lines he makes. It's like getting to peek into a secret serious side of Peeta that is usually hidden beneath all the good natured, easy going boyish charm he presents to everyone.

He covers my shoulders, then eases me back against the counter to continue down my stomach, and he doesn't stop until he reaches the apex of my thighs. Then he stands back and stares at me for a moment, his eyes assessing his work quietly and I peer up at him hoping he's done. Because as much as I liked watching him work, it built a lot of slowly burning anticipation inside my entire body. My fingers are itching to touch his skin again, and pull him onto me.

"Is it ready? Can I see it?" I ask as I look up at him questioningly.

He nods, and leaves to retrieve a hand mirror. When he comes back he presents it to me, almost shyly and I think he's nervous about what I'll say. But when I look at my reflection in the mirror I am so astounded I can't speak.

I look like one of those performers we've seen at Capitol parties. The ones that dance in foggy crystal cages wearing nothing but the tiniest of underwear and the majority of their skin painted and transformed into a display of magical decoration. Some of them are painted to resemble animals, like leopards or tigers, but others are trees or frosty looking icicles.

I am a bird, flying high above the starry night sky. Soft dark blue feathers trail over my chest and down my shoulders, tipped with iridescent purple and bright blue. And instead of a dark black eye, the bird on my chest has a cool grey eye turned towards the heavens in the exact shade of my own. Everywhere silver and golden stars peek out between the bird's feathers and the clouds. Above my navel, under my ribs, on my breasts.

A single dropped feather curls and stretches down my lower stomach among the stars and ends right above the beginning of my intimate parts. It's so beautiful, so incredible I can't think for a moment. I can't believe he did all this only using a piping bag and some different colors of frosting. It's like a masterpiece. And if my naked body weren't the canvas I'd want him to take a picture of me, so I could keep it forever.

"Peeta, it's incredible." I tell him quietly. And he stares at me with a small quiet smile.

"Just something that struck me, I'm surprised it came out mostly the way I pictured it in my head." He says with a humble shrug of his shoulders.

"It's the most amazing thing I think I've ever seen. I almost regret letting you paint it on me, I wish you'd used an actual canvas so I could keep it permanently." I tell him in a slightly frustrated voice as I survey the beautiful way his hands have made even my slim curves look enhanced in almost the same way Cinna's expert designs show me off in the best light.

"I could try to replicate it, but I'm not sure it'll come out the exact same way, on a one dimensional medium." He tells me seriously as he looks over his work again in expert analysis. And I breathe out a frustrated huff because I want to touch him and kiss him but I don't want to mess up the painting. His eyes snap up to mine in a quizzical way and then he registers the look on my face and he smiles humorously at my predicament.

"Some things are best enjoyed at the moment." He tells me, and then closes the space between us to reach out a finger and scoops up a dollop of icing from between my breasts. He pops his finger into his mouth and makes a loud appreciative sound and I smile and bite my bottom lip.

"Now that arts and crafts is over...where were we?" He asks as he leans over me and he lowers his mouth to my collarbone so he can use his tongue to lap up the sugary layer of frosting as I begin to tug off his shirt.

Soon he's as naked as I am, and we're kissing and messing up all his hard work but it's impossible not to touch him and press myself to him when his mouth makes its fervish progression across my skin. And then he's covered in the frosting that's transferred from my skin to his and I'm licking up and down his chest and stomach and he's groaning and muttering things under his breath about my tiny fingers and my sharp teeth. And I get a little inspired myself and grab a random frosting bag, so I can draw an arrow down his torso pointing in a very suggestive direction.

"See? You're not the only one who likes to draw around here." I tell him, as I kick off from the counter and kiss and lick my way down his body as he grips the edge of the counter so hard his knuckles turn white. And when I reach down with my hand to direct him into my mouth, he bites down on his lip as he watches me through eyes slitted with thick wild desire. I make love to him with my mouth, and he grips the back of my head to draw himself deeper into my mouth until he can't stand it, then he's panting and pulling away from me.

"Come here," He says hastily as he pulls me out of my squat and up against him. He picks me up, and takes me over to the kitchen table and braces me against the edge as he pulls up a chair and tugs my legs over his shoulders before settling his mouth down on my center. His mouth is hot and wet and ravenous as he devours me. And it's almost embarrassing how quickly I get there. I hear my own breathless voice calling his name and begging him not to stop. He obliges and helps me ride out the waves of pleasure until I'm limp and pliable underneath his hands.

Then he stands up, grabs my hips in rough haste and turns me over on my stomach so he can take me from behind. And I feel myself clench in anticipation right before he slams into me. He doesn't start slow, or give me time to adjust, he's just laboring over my body in hard powerful strokes, and I lift my hips to meet his thrusts in wanton anticipation. He growls in that throaty, almost angry way he does when I do this and he's trying not to finish before I do. I just laugh with my face pressed into the placemats and he reflexively thrusts into me harder, maybe more than a little aggressively. But if he meant for it to be a punishment it has the opposite effect, and I feel the unexpected thrill of a really spectacular crescendo building deep in my abdomen.

"Fuck," He groans as he feels me begin to spasm around him. And I smile, because it's always an accomplishment when I drag these dirty words from Peeta's usually polite and gentlemanly lips. Then he's saying my name, in a sputtering, breathless, drawn out way and we're both riding higher and higher on the waves of simultaneous pleasure. And when his last shudder subsides, he pulls out and I think he's going to help me up, but no, he surprises me by inserting two fingers into my still shuddering body and then amazingly he's doing this thing were he rotates his fingers and thrusts alternatively and I can't help it, I come again with a breathless gasp. He works me until he's absolutely sure I'm done, and I'm a little sore and over wrought at this point.

Finally he lets me up and I turn around to stare at him, a little in awe of what just happened. He doesn't say anything, just tucks me against his chest and smiles into my hair.

"I like making an honest woman out of you." He says after what feels like forever, or maybe two minutes. I can't really tell since my sense of time seems to have evaporated along with my sense of self preservation.

Because if he knows me this well, and he has memorized my body and everything that calls to me, how in the world am I ever going to be able to let him go?

I close my eyes and just nod, not trusting myself to speak, afraid of the kinds of things I might say, the secrets I would give away in this perfect moment. I should have known that morning with the hot chocolate that I hardly stood a chance.