Chapter 5: Happily Ever After

Courting doesn't change much. Peeta and I still find moments to spend time together, but this time there are tentative kisses and light touches and shy smiles in between the natural flow of dialogue, the rapport that has built up between us since Prim's Reaping.

We do have to be very careful, of course, in seeing each other. Discreet. We might exchange a few kisses along with squirrels and bread when we're alone together out on the bakery's back loading dock. This eventually escalates to rendezvous in the Meadow, where I spread my legs for him and we go at it for a frantic fuck, concealed in the tall grasses.

"Errrm….. Huhhhh….. Uhhhhh…. Mmmmm….. Hmmmm... Faster…. Faster…."

As Peeta moves between my legs, I try to muffle my moans by biting into my hand, though I'm not sure it matters. We are in the Meadow, where I've rarely if ever seen anyone else venture, the tall grass and flowers surrounding us helping to conceal our frenzied movements. My blue skirts have been shoved up around my hips, and his pants are around his knees, open just enough to free his cock, which he is driving into me mercilessly. My shirt is pushed up as well, and he had wrenched my bra cup out of the way so he could lavish my left breast with his tongue and his teeth.

On one particular stroke of my clit with his fingers, I yelp loudly – "OHHHH!" - my attempt at relative silence forgotten. He hastily covers my lips with his, licking his way into my mouth. He swallows my moans as I frantically buck my hips in time with his thrusts, forcing his hand to bear down harder between my thighs. I feel the momentum of my orgasm barreling through me, and I can't fucking stand it any longer—I wrench my mouth from his to dip my head back and cry out as I cum.

When Peeta finishes, he rests his head on my chest as he catches his breath. Then, groaning, he crawls out from between my legs and pushes the hem of my blue dress back down for me, smoothing the skirt down. I feel boneless, relishing in the euphoria of my orgasm, trying not to think about anything other than the satiation of my body. Peeta flops down on his back beside me, his breathing labored, and I watch as he removes the condom and dumps the contents on the ground, stuffing it back into its pouch. His arms drop to the ground after he's buttoned his pants up, and he lets out a huff, staring up at the sky.

"Fuck," he mutters, and I sigh, turning my gaze to the sky.

"Fuck," I agree. I'm still not sure why I seem to lose all rational thought in his presence, why I can't stop. Why I am seeing him, fucking him, behind my mother and my sister's backs. I only feel marginally less guilty knowing that Prim is still off on their Victory Tour, launched by the Harvest Festival, and won't be back for a few days. All I know is that, at least in this moment, it feels right, like being with Peeta is what I am meant to do, that's where I'm supposed to be.

We had tried to resist, meeting in the Meadow just to talk, then, just to kiss, then, just to touch, to reduce each other to quivering messes with our hands, as if somehow that wrong is less egregious—but ultimately, we were just delaying the inevitable. We both knew where it was heading; we both knew we wanted more (why else had he brought the condom?). So, when his hand had danced teasingly between my legs, under my panties, I realized what I wanted was his cock filling me up, not his fingers, so I pulled him on top of me and freed him of his trousers. Peeta quickly got the hint.

We're both quiet for a moment, and a cool breeze rustles my hair, cooling my face. I close my eyes. It's starting to get colder these days. School is going to start again soon, and then I won't see Peeta as much—if at all. With how busy the last year, year and a half of Upper School is, we will have no time for secret rendezvouses in the Meadow.

I can stop seeing him then, I tell myself, cut all ties. I just want a little more time with him until then, just another taste of the happiness I've found, writhing underneath him, before I have to let him go again.

Fingers smooth over my brow, and I open my eyes to find Peeta watching me. He has rolled onto his side, and he is caressing my forehead, my cheek. I can't help herself; I smile. The corner of his mouth curls up, though his eyes are a cloudy blue. He shifts closer to press a kiss to my temple, but he rests his forehead on mine, his mouth brushing my ear. I can feel his warm breath, and it makes me shiver.

"I know I shouldn't say this," he starts, his voice low, "but what I wouldn't give to be able to strip you naked and worship your body the way you deserve so you can scream as loud as you want."

No, he mustn't say that. But I love to hear it all the same. Biting my lip, I curl against his chest and tuck my head under his chin. "Me too," I whisper, and he wraps his arm around me to hold me close.


The bell tinkles as I march into the Bakery one morning in early spring. I dump my game bag onto the counter, avoiding looking Peeta in the eye and not bothering to pull out the squirrel carcass that partially spills out of the burlap. The Witch eyes it distastefully yet grudgingly for a moment, lifting her eyes to lock with mine. She stares at me blankly, opening her mouth to speak:

"He split a bag of grain last week staring after you."

I smirk involuntarily, in spite of the fact that my stomach clenches in fear at the same time. Fear for her son, whom, Panem help me, I love.

"I wish you'd just put him out of his misery and tell him he has no chance."

The tray of pastries Peeta is carrying clatters to the floor as he hears his mother's voice through the kitchen door, entering the bakery's kitchen a moment later. He and I look at each other, and I glance away.

"Two squirrels," I dump them on the table, graciously refusing to acknowledge the Witch's comments.

Peeta's mother can be mean when she's trying to make a point. Cruel to be kind; she'll insist it's in his best interest. She is blunt and practical and has no time for things like the idea of being in love, especially when it clearly makes her son so distracted he ruins a morning's worth of cheese buns.

Peeta's eyes are fixed on the tray in his hands, his cheeks burning. Mercilessly, his mother continues.

"I've told him you wouldn't look twice at him. If you were interested, you would have said so."

Peeta drops the salvaged pastries again. His mother tuts. I brush past her and kneel to help him pick them up. My hand bumps against his and I dare to squeeze his fingers in sympathy. He looks away quickly, getting up awkwardly, and turning to the sink, his back to us both. I can tell from his body language that he wants to die of shame. I hope it isn't over me.

"He wants to keep his mind on his work, not in his underpants."

A dish slips from Peeta's nervous hands and smashes to pieces.

"Clumsy idiot!" the Witch shouts, whipping around.

It is absurd to see a tiny old woman grab a strong, grown man by the ear and watch his steady eyes turn as frightened as a little boy's.

"Breaking our china? You'll go hungry tonight to pay for that, you clumsy fool!" Mrs. Mellark shakes him roughly, her hand drawing back to whack him.

THUNK

Mrs Mellark gasps, her hand frozen mid-strike as the bread knife sails past an inch from her face and lodges in the wooden drying rack.

I see Peeta look across the room at me, in amazed awe, but I don't acknowledge it. All I can see is red, as I glower at his mother like a lioness.

"Don't touch him," my voice is low and dangerous.

It's completely unnerving for me to see Peeta's mother scared of someone, and I'm sure it must be the same for my love, too. Still, I don't stop glaring at her until Mrs. Mellark leaves the kitchen, muttering "Seam brat…as daft as each other" angrily.

"Next time I won't miss," I call to her retreating back as the door slams.

I catch Peeta's eye. Without warning, we both start laughing uncontrollably. Our bellies shake so deep they hurt. I can't remember the last time I laughed so hard.

I cross in front of Peeta to pull the knife out of the drying rack. The moment I touch it, our laughter starts over again. Wiping away tears and grinning, I turn to my sweetheart with shining eyes.

Peeta's hand twitches out involuntarily to brush my hair out of her eyes. Our laughter fades to catching breath. I lean into him. My hands find his chest.

Suddenly we are kissing, in full view of the bakery window, with all the passion of that recent night in this very building. And in between the soft, frenzied pecks, all the warmth of our laughter is still bubbling in us. My hand finds his.

"Come on," I drag him with purpose to the back door, and I know he would have followed me anyway.

"I don't want her coming back in," I explain huskily as I press him up against the outside brick stove, just kiddy-cornered off the loading dock.

I melt up into his mouth, soft and compliant against him. I taste the bread in the air mixed with Peeta's warmth and my own earthy taste, as Peeta's tongue swishes around my lips and I petal them open willingly, granting him access. My hands grip his broad shoulders and his grab my hips then sweep up my back, clutching at me as though he's afraid he might wake up at any moment. He presses kisses along my jaw, my neck, into my hair, covering every part of me he can reach with love. My eyelids are heavy and droopy at his attentions, my lips slightly parted and waiting until I feel his seal over mine again.

"If we get married, you can't ever tell me what to do."

Peeta freezes, his mouth hung open, mid kiss. My grey eyes sparkle and I rest my forehead against his and play with his buttons. My dearest is still slack-jawed, his expression conveying crystal-clear disbelief. The silent question he asks is loud as a foghorn in my mind. What did you just say?

"And I won't have children. Not as long as there are still Hunger Games. I'll hunt whenever I want. Mama and Prim can visit us whenever they want to. And I can't promise I'll be civil to your mother."

Peeta is trying to do anything but stare at me in wonder. Fails. He's been uncharacteristically silent for way too long, and a little panic creeps into my countenance. I've delivered my terms for this marriage with such sincerity. And Peeta has never intentionally wanted me to feel unsure, ever, so he finds his voice.

"OK," is all that comes. Soft, uncertain, hardly daring to smile.

"OK," I reply, drawing his face down to kiss him impossibly tenderly, like he were even more delicate than Prim.

"Go on then - ask me," I whisper. My eyes meet his evenly so he knows that I am really serious this time. And best of all, not at all afraid.

"Ask you?" I cover his hands on my hips with my own to still their trembling.

"Ask me to marry you. Propose," I dip my head shyly. I can't imagine what he's waiting for.

Peeta cradles my small, strong hands between his own, between our bodies. He kneels.

"Will you marry me, Katniss?"

"Yes," I smile hesitantly down at him, the question in my eyes: if you want me to.

And then he is kissing me and kissing me, and I feel like I'll explode with happiness.

"You really will?" he draws back in wonderment, as though he has to keep checking.

"Yes. I will, Peeta," I roll my eyes, grinning, running my fingers through his hair indulgently.

"You'll be my wife," the disbelief is still there in his voice. I'm smiling and my eyes are bright and more open to him than they've ever been and how could I have gotten so lucky? Peeta obviously cannot believe our good fortune either. No doubt he'll work on changing my mind about children later, and we'll talk about it, but for now I never thought we would make it to even here.

"I'll take care of you," he strokes my cheek.

"I know you will," my eyes are soft, "I'll take care of you too." A slight pause as I bite my lip.

"I'm not like other girls," I frown. "Are you sure you want that?"

"Yes," he answers immediately, kissing my frown away. "I want you more than anything."

"There's something I haven't told you," I look down at my hands.

"What is it?" Apprehension is still in his voice, as though he is terrified I will disappear.

I finger his buttons again and then mumble out in a whisper.

"I love you. More than anyone." Truer words I've never spoken, and I almost cry at the sincerity of it, of the stirrings those three little words cause in my heart.

Peeta puts one of my hands over his hammering heart.

"Me too. Katniss, I love you so much," he breathes, like he's savoring my words. We kiss lightly again. "I've loved you as long as I can remember." Of course I already know that, but he clearly feels good in saying this to me. To watch my eyes widen and soften as I look up at him, exhale against his Adam's apple when I hear it.

My eyes brim with tears. "Thank you," I smile.

"For what?" he fingers my long braid, obviously relishing the thought that once I'm his wife he'll get to touch my braid whenever he likes the look of it (which is no doubt always).

"For loving me so much. For being such a good man."

"I…" but I cut him off with a deep kiss and nothing else matters now, not in this moment and not in the whole of Panem, and there's time to kiss a little more against the cool bricks and then a wedding to plan tomorrow.


We run, giddy, the rest of the way for home up Victors' Hill.

Once inside the mansion, Peeta scoops me up with a whoop and carries me back to his little sleeping area, laying me on the pallet, peeling back the layers of my clothing reverently and worshipping my body with his mouth.

When his tongue touches my center, I forget to worry that Mother could walk in on us at any minute and simply surrender to the ecstasy he raises, my hands twisting in his curls.

After he's made me fall apart twice with his hands and mouth, he slides into my waiting heat. As he moves inside me, he pants confessions in my ear, how he's wanted to marry me since we were five and he first heard me sing, how he's been in love with me longer than he's known what that meant, how I've starred in every fantasy he's ever had.

"Katniss..." he murmurs hoarsely, swallowing thickly. "You're beautiful. You're so beautiful. I..."

I reach for him, my body thrumming with need and desperation. "Now, Peeta. Now, now, now," I beg, wanting to feel the weight of his body on top of me, just as I have thought about, night after night. He settles between my legs, capturing my lips and my tongue in a heady kiss, and I slide my hands through his damp hair. My hips cradle his, but when I feel his cock slide through my dark curls, I gasp, pushing on his shoulders. "Condom," I manage to get out, and he snatches up his pants from the floor, digging the condom out and freeing it from its pouch. The irony of the moment is not lost on me, but I push the thought away, impatiently helping him roll it down over his cock. He groans at my touch. His flesh is hot, even through the condom, and he is heavy and thick in my hand.

I pull him back to my center, lifting my pelvis to his, and when the tip of his cock slides between my folds, he holds my hips down to push into me. "Mmmmhmmmmm…" I moan loudly, drowning out the sound of his own relief. I feel full, stretched wide; it is almost painful. I expect him to keep moving, but he stops once the full length of his cock is buried deep inside me. I squirm anxiously, but he kisses my mouth, my neck, my breasts, sucking off the lingering droplets of rain. His tongue teases my pebbled nipple, purple and hard, and I arch against him. When his hand slips between my thighs, his fingers brushing my swollen clit, I gasp, clenching him inside me reflexively.

"Fuck," he hisses, but his fingers bear down harder, drawing circles, and I claw at his back. "There?" he asks, his teeth scraping my nipple. I whimper and nod frantically. "Is that what you want?"

"Yes!" I gasp, rocking my hips in time with his fingers in what little space I have to move. His large body traps me to the couch, and he sucks my nipple into his mouth, humming his approval of the way my body grips his cock. His fingers move deftly between my thighs, the pleasure coiling tight inside me.

"I'm—I—" Words escape me, and when his teeth tug on my nipple, I cum with a breathless shout. Peeta groans as I tremble underneath him, pulsing around him. And then he is moving, pulling his cock out just to push it back in. I whimper again in my bliss, opening my legs wider for him. His thrusts are hard, relentless, his hips driving mine into the cushion, and when his fingers begin moving between my thighs again, I gasp in surprise, still sensitive from my first orgasm. But the pain is exquisite, and my hands simultaneously push and pull at his chest, unsure what I want from him.

He kisses me, swallowing my pleading sounds. "It's okay, it's okay," he whispers into my mouth, his fingers rubbing my clit with unforgiving mercy. I moan then, a whining mewl, and soon my hips jerk against his wildly, desperate for the relief he promises me. "God, this is—fuck, this is so good. So—so good, so much better than I've imagined," he whimpers in my ear, and I want to tell him the same, but my coherent thoughts are long gone by this point. With one artful stroke of his fingers, I explode again, crying out into his neck. Peeta grunts, thrusting erratically until his hips strain against mine. He moans my name into my shoulder, and I feel him throbbing inside me, my own body still quivering with pleasure. It takes a while for me to stop shaking, the only sound in the room our labored breathing.

Much later, when we're lying entwined; sticky and sweaty and utterly spent, I say softly into the dark, "Was that still a yes for you?" and he chuckles, even though he was the one who asked me.

"A thousand times yes."