Chapter 10: Happily Ever After
I can hear my husband as he mounts the steps to our porch, having become adept at picking out his heavy tread, even from a distance. I smile happily to myself, never tiring of my amusement. My sweet love will never make it as a hunter. I took him out to the woods one day about a week after our Toasting and called it our honeymoon, figuring I could give him a refresher course in how to bring down game. The remedial lesson went about as well as him teaching me how to bake. I smirk. Come to think of it, that hot mess also devolved into a pleasant bout of lovemaking, inside Daddy's old cabin where no one, not even the birds, could hear us scream in pleasure.
The front door clicks, heralding Peeta's emergence into the kitchen, and I turn my head towards him. "Hey," I say, but my face immediately falls at his hard expression. His eyes are cloudy, the skin pinches between his eyebrows, as he stalks toward me purposely. "What's wrong—"
The question sticks in my throat when his body pins mine against the counter, and he wraps his hands around my wrists, flexing them slightly to force me to drop the knife I am holding. He then flattens my hands to the counter and presses the full length of his body against my back. Shocked, I face forward; my eyes are trained on the small kitchen window, where I can see out across our backyard at the leafless, scrawny trees and soggy grass. His breath is hot on the back of my neck as he breathes heavily, making the tiny hairs on my skin stand up, but I'm not scared. I can feel the beginnings of his erection through his pants against the lower curve of my back.
"Peeta..." I try again, but my voice lacks any conviction. My body is pliable and yielding. He really doesn't even need to hold my hands down, but I give him this, sensing there's something he needs to work through, and coaching the wrestling squad after school hours won't do it.
"Spread your legs," he demands, already nudging my thighs apart with his knee. I comply, sliding my bare feet out across the hardwood floor. Peeta releases my wrists then, snaking them down to my waist where he unfastens my pants and pushes them down my hips. I brace myself against the counter as I step out of them with the aid of his eager hands, and then I resume my stance once he's kicked the offending garment out of the way. He grips my waist with his hands, my own flat against the counter still, and he presses his mouth to my ear. "You're gonna stand here while I taste you," he breathes.
My breath hitches in my chest, and I begin to tremble in anticipation of his tongue between my thighs. "Okay," I agree shakily, my hips already arching back against his erection, but he pushes me against the counter and drops to his knees behind me. My eyes close when his hands slide down my backside, his fingers disappearing under the edges of my underwear as he cups my ass cheeks firmly. When they dip between my thighs to tease my lower lips, I shudder; his fingers pass back and forth over my folds to ready me. I can feel the wetness starting to leak out of me in response, my clit fluttering with pleasure, and I exhale loudly, his name a soft sigh on my lips.
That is all the encouragement Peeta needs. I feel him stretch the crotch of my panties to the side, and then his tongue is gliding through my folds to lick up my arousal. "Shit," I hiss, squeezing my eyes shut as he dips his tongue inside me. The coarse whiskers of his thick beard tickle my lips with the movements of his mouth, and he cups my pelvis with his right hand, his thumb parting the apex of my folds to stroke my clit. "Mmmmhmmmmm….." I release a moan, which he echoes, the vibration resounding through my core, and I moan louder. His thumb begins rubbing tight circles on my clit, syncing with the flicks of his tongue through my lips. He stops to open his mouth over me wider, his tongue darting inside me to taste me better. I fist my hands around the edge of the counter to steady myself, hunching forward. My legs are trembling now from the exertion of holding myself up, from the delicious electric current his tongue sends through my body.
"Peeta," I whimper, panting hard. He moves his mouth toward the front of my mound to swipe his tongue over my clit, and I cry out, prompting him to furiously lap at the swollen bud in varied patterns until he is pleased with the response. My hips begin rocking against his face, my legs mostly useless as I use my arms to hold myself above him. "Peeta, I'm gonna come," I beg, as if it is a plea, and his tongue resumes tracing my folds while his thumb resumes its attack on my clit. The pleasure mounts mercilessly and swiftly at the command of his tongue and fingers, and I only manage a choked sob of relief when my orgasm hits. My clit throbs with each wave of ecstasy, and Peeta drinks up my arousal as it seeps out of me.
By that point, he is providing most of the support for my boneless body, and when he moves out from between my legs, I let my body slump down. He wraps his hands around my waist and lowers me to the ground, propping me up in his lap as he sits down with me. I hold onto his thighs as I catch my breath, willing my limbs to stop shaking, and he just buries his face against my neck. His erection is still hard against my ass, but he makes no move to undress himself or fuck me, and once my vision has stopped swimming and I've regained control of my motor functions, I twist in his arms to look at him.
"What… what was that for?" I ask breathlessly.
He smiles slightly, but his eyes are still cloudy. "Didn't your parents ever teach you not to look a gift horse in the mouth?" he replies wryly, loosening his hold of me to lean back on one of his hands.
I scowl at him, but it's playful. "Yes, and I'd always tell them there are no horses in Twelve." Peeta chuckles lightly, then he huffs, blowing air through his lips to imitate a nickering sound, and I roll my eyes. My jaw sets in determination, however, and I regard him sternly. "Peeta, seriously. What's wrong?"
His expression shifts, his mouth drooping slightly, and he just shakes his head, averting his gaze to stare at the floor. He falls silent, and I reach up to caress the beard that shrouds his jaw, finally eliciting a sigh from him. He just shakes his head again. "Nothing new. Just the usual shit."
His mother. Of course. He must have run into her during his shift at the Bakery. I wonder what was said, fearing for him, but my husband doesn't offer anything up and I don't pry. As far as I know, Peeta has only interacted with her sporadically since the day we gave our vows. Mother and son now strictly have an employer-employee relationship, thanks to his apparent disownment from the family upon taking me as his bride, his wife. More than once, I've discussed with Peeta why he doesn't just break away from his family's business and bake here. He rationalizes that he can better provide for me and for Prim by sticking it out under his family's thumb than strike out on his own. Besides, the filing of paperwork at the Justice Building to establish a new business is legally arduous and very expensive. Plus, for all the upheaval, he has managed to keep a healthy relationship with his father and brothers, whom I understand have accepted me and our marriage, though quietly.
My face falls, guilt blooming in my stomach as I stare at his forlorn face. Helpless, I offer the only thing I can think of at this point: Dropping my hand between his legs, I rub his erection through his pants suggestively. "Do you want me to do something for you?" I ask coyly. The corner of his mouth quirks before it tips into a crooked smirk, but he just gives me another resolute headshake.
"No, it's fine. You're in the middle of making lunch." With that, he pushes off the floor to stand up, gentlemanly helping me to me feet as well. I don't budge, however, searching his face, but he only gives me an unconvincing smile. "Don't worry – I'll help."
Falling into an assembly line, we make a good team. Peeta is thrilled to see all the spices I've acquired, even if some of them aren't as ripe by Merchant standards. He eagerly begins mashing some of them into his latest batch of dough. After a few moments, I catch him staring at me, and I smile, giggling.
"What?"
"I've never seen you wear that frock before…" he murmurs, his face loving and his eyes tinged with lust all over again.
I flush, tucking a strand of my braid behind my ear. "You like it? It was my mother's."
Peeta dips his head and kisses me quickly. I hold it, humming happily. "I adore it. You should wear dresses more often. Though I'll always maintain I like you best in blue. Your old Reaping dress…"
"… will never be thrown away, don't worry, dearest," I finish, smiling knowingly.
"Speaking of your mother, have you visited her... her grave today?" he asks conversationally, scooting behind me to pluck some lemon glaze off a high shelf.
I bite my lip. With how little Peeta sees of his parents outside of work, I don't know how comfortable I feel talking to him about my own mother. Despite her passing, Peeta is very comfortable talking about his late mother-in-law.
I can't say the same about my tragically very much alive mother-in-law, which is probably fortunate, though for my sweetheart's sake, it makes me sad even so.
I pick up my stride as I turn the final corner for home. The heavy weight of my laden game pack sags down my shoulder, but I'll be able to store it soon enough. When I walk through the front door, Peeta is standing just off the main foyer, with a piece of paper in his hands.
"Hi," I smile, kissing his lips in greeting. He returns it less passionately than I expected. Peeta adores kissing me; usually his tongue is practically down my throat - a sensation I have come to not mind in the least during the three years we've been man and wife. Yup, something is definitely up with him.
I rest my hands on his chest, searching his eyes and face for answers. "What is it?"
"My, uh... dad sent me a letter this morning." Peeta at last meets my gaze. "My mother is dead."
I cover my mouth with my hand to stifle a gasp. "Oh, Peeta... what are you going to do? Are you going to go?"
"Yes. I feel I need to, for closure. But I'd like for you to come." He gives me a gaze so pleading, my heart melts for him. Taking his face in my hands, I kiss him deeply. He moans into my lips.
"Of course, honey. I'm making my rounds in the Hob today; I'll ask Greasy Sae to come up and be here when Prim gets home from school."
The day of my mother-in-law's funeral dawns with showery rains. I am annoyed that the weather dampens my mood, since this is a service for a woman whom I never met and who was, by all accounts, hateful to her family generally and Peeta especially. But I have to be supportive of my husband, and be there for him so he can grieve in his own way - whatever that is.
Dressed in the customary black and covered with an umbrella, Peeta and I make our way arm-in-arm to the Merchant cemetery. I see my father-in-law, the Baker, standing guard next to a brand-new headstone. His oldest son, Leven, is by his side along with his wife - Julie, I think is her name? She holds her seven-month old son - Peeta's and my nephew - in her arms. Rye stands a short distance away with his new wife, Delly Cartwright, daughter of the Merchant cobbler in Town, welcoming the few other well wishers who attend. Devoted customers of the bakery, probably; I find it hard to imagine that Mrs. Mellark had many friends.
I hug my in-laws, lingering with the Baker. He was an old friend of my mother's, so I've been told, as they both grew up together in the Merchant sector.
The service is short, no frills or fuss. Peeta stares resolutely at his mother's final resting place the whole time, so hard that he might shoot lasers through it if he could. For the first time since I married him, his expression is... unreadable. But I can still sense what he must feel inside. Cold. Bitter. Anger, perhaps.
With how quickly the funeral passes, Prim is still not home from school when Peeta and I arrive home. Greasy Sae is waiting, but she retreats upstairs to clean the master bedroom, out of the goodness of her heart. And also to give my husband and I some privacy.
Peeta sits silently at the kitchen table. He looks pale and tired. Then, all at once, he breaks down in wracking sobs. I gather him in my embrace, situating myself in his lap and stroking his golden hair.
"Ssssshhhhh... ssssshhhhhh... let it go, my sweet love... let it go... Deep in the meadow/Under the willow..."
When I feel him quiet and how he has stilled against me, I think for a moment I have lulled him to sleep; only his lack of even breathing indicates otherwise. Unconsciously, I feel my hand creep down to grip the slight bulge in my stomach, and though a terror as old as life itself now fills me, I smile weakly. Prim had performed the test on me several times, so we know for sure, beyond any doubt.
"I have a surprise for you."
He lifts his head, his impossibly blue eyes still wet, and I beam at him with love.
"I'm pregnant,"I whisper. "And I'm keeping it. You're going to be a father."
It catches me off-guard how he kisses me breathless before he carries me grandly onto the kitchen table, where he takes me and we go for a celebratory round of lovemaking filled with strangled gasps, laughter, kisses and tears.
They play in the Meadow: my five-year-old daughter, my handsome husband, and my 23-year-old sister. Having raised Prim since she was small, I am so proud of the woman she has become. She is engaged to Rory Hawthorne; the couple will be married later this spring. From my family's picnic blanket, I swaddle Peeta's and my infant son... who now wakes from his dreaming with a plaintive cry.
"Ssssshhhhhh... sssshhhhh..." I nurse him to calm his wails. "Did you have a nightmare? I have nightmares too. But I'll tell you how I survive it. I make a list in my head, of all the good things I've seen someone do. Every little thing I can remember. It's like a game. I do it over and over. It's gotten a little tedious these past few years, but there are much worse Games to play."