Chapter 3: Special Delivery

It is almost frightening, how quickly I get used to waking up with a man on the other side of my bed. And I've only been married a few short days!

I do not rise with the dawn to go hunting the morning after our wedding night. Then again, I never hunt on Sundays anyhow. Peeta is up, though. Around 6 AM, I feel him give me a kiss on the cheek as he leaves for his family's bakery.

On Wednesday morning, however, Peeta gets a call from his father telling him to not come into work.

I am about to leave on a hunt and bring us back game for a late breakfast when there is a knock at the door. Peeta answers the door, me close behind. It's the middle Mellark son, Rye.

"Hey, little brother. How was your bed last night?"

I blush furiously, not amused by my... brother-in-law's suggestive jokes. Rye, however, must notice my expression, for he laughs.

"I'll take that to mean it was great, then."

Peeta sighs. "What, Rye? What's going on?"

"I just... brought you something you'll probably need." And he steps back to reveal his tidings. I stare. It's a large iron oven. By the make of it, it probably came from the Seam. Even then, it would be hard to tell, with how the metal glistens - it's been freshly washed and polished.

Peeta runs his hand tentatively over the surface, awestruck. "Where did you get this?"

"Would you believe me if I told you the Slag Heap? Course, it looked a lot worse than it does now. I hauled it back to our alley; had to fix it during the nights when everyone else was asleep. Mother would have my hide if she knew I was helping you like this."

Peeta noticeably stiffens at the mention of his mom, but it is soon gone. He must feel bad for being snippy with his brother earlier. Indeed, Peeta gives him a fierce hug.

"Thank you. You have no idea how much this will help!"

I warmly approach and kiss Rye on the cheek. He blushes with an "Aw, shucks!" It's nice to have a brother, especially one so selfless as him. The middle Mellark clears his throat. "Want me to help you bring it in?"

After Rye and Peeta have carried the oven into our kitchen, and the former has left, my husband gets right to work taking out pots and pans and condiments.

"Isn't this great, Katniss? Now I can cook from home, and we'll supplement with whatever you catch in the woods!"

I smile softly. "I'm happy for you."

He shoots me a grin. "So... you wanna learn how to bake?"

I burst out laughing. "Bake? What do I do?"

"Oh, it's easy! Here: let's start small and simple." He pulls out a roll of dough and lays it flat on the countertop beside our new oven. "Now, when it comes to dough, you have to remember that it is malleable only to you. You are in control of how flat it becomes..."

And he spends the rest of the morning teaching me how to knead dough.

I'm predictably awkward and awful at it, but Peeta is a kind and patient teacher. And incredibly tactful, to not speak of my ineptitude. It's all the worse standing in such close proximity to him – I can feel his heat enveloping my body like a warm aura as he places his hands over mine to guide me. So I'm relieved, yet still surprised so much that I gasp when Peeta quickly cuts me off, taking the opportunity of my prattling to plunge his tongue past my parted lips and nearly down into my throat. Purring curiously at his passion, I lean into the kiss and deepen it, winding my arms about his strong shoulders. When Peeta feels up my bum through my skirts, I playfully swat his hand away and move it firmly back up to my waist, only for him grip my arse cheek again and give it a firm slap. SMACK! My squeak of surprise quickly turns into a horny moan, and my tongue squirms to dance with his.

When we finally come up for air, I'm half-leaning against the counter, Peeta's other hand cupping my boob and his face buried in my hair.

"P-Peeta…..?" I gasp, whining.

"Hmmm?" He presses a kiss to the hollow of my throat. "What, Katty girl?"

"…. I don't want to bake anymore today."


"MMMMMM! Hmmmmmmm! Huhhhh….. Uhhhhhh….. That's it… Harder... Harder... HARDER! Fuck me HARDER!"

Giggling, Peeta and I struggle to be quiet in our own bedroom. With how he likes to sleep with the windows open, we have to make extra effort to not mortify the neighbors with how passionate and loud we can get having sex. The bedsprings of our marriage bed, the one we've shared for more than a year as man and wife, creak and we try not to rock too much as we make love.

"Hmmm…. Peeta…. Fuck!" I let out a curse as he slams into me.

Brow slick with sweat, Peeta's blue orbs are black with lust. "Touch yourself!" he demands.

Grey eyes bulging wide, I slowly lower my hand to my wetness, dipping first one, then two fingers into the petals of my sex around Peeta's length, and I fondle myself. Peeta begins to jerk into me again.

"Mmmmhmmmm…. Yes, that's it…. play with that pussy!"

I arch my back, choking on my own breath. "Oh, Peeta, please!" I mewl.

"Ride me, you little vixen!" Peeta commands sharply, and then he abruptly flips us both so that I'm now on top. Bracing my hands along his toned chest, I bounce up and down on him frantically, moaning piteously while Peeta laves my perky breasts with attention; my boobs jiggle in his face.

Then, my husband is suddenly pushing me away from him before I've even cum. I let out an offended sound as he springs out of bed.

"On all fours, love."

I slowly do as he says, crawling onto the mattress on my hands and knees. I can feel my husband positioning himself behind me, and my heart starts to race. We've never tried anal. I've never taken it in the ass in my life. To his credit, Peeta is gentle as his throbbing cock slowly pushes in past the ring of muscle.

"Ohhhhhhhh…" I stretch, arch like a cat, only for Peeta to pull out and then slam back in again, viciously this time. His one hand grips for my mussed braid and he tugs, yanking my head back so that I cry out. My hips unconsciously lift so that I push my buttocks up. Peeta picks up his pace, thrusting his balls against my ass cheeks so that they slap together with the most delicious squelching sound. I start to weep from the pleasure of him fucking me, as we play the beast with two backs. By now, we're practically shouting at each other as we rut against one another like two dogs in heat.

"Who do you belong to?" Peeta growls.

"You…. Only you…. Snow's Roses, Peeta, have mercy; I love you, please…. OHHHHH!"

"Are you my Seam slut?!"

"YES!" I wail as he slams into me again, not minding how viciously dirty his mouth has become. I've known my lover to be dominant in bed, and it excites me.

"Then SAY it!"

Gripping the metal headboard so that my knuckles turn white, I set my teeth and growl out, "I'm your fucking Seam slut!"

Peeta howls and jerks into me harder, and when I clench around him and milk him, I let out a hoarse scream.

"AHHHHHH!"

I cum so hard, I see stars.

Later, when we're slick with sweat and spent and lying wrapped in each other's arms, enjoying the afterglow, Peeta places a chaste kiss on my lips.

"Thank heavens Prim wasn't in the house to hear us." I cock an eyebrow, hardly appreciating his cavalier, at best, appreciation that we will have spared my baby sister's delicate sensibilities. Right now, my husband looks so smug and pleased with himself that I can't resist slapping his naked chest, then chucking a pillow at his head for good measure.

"You really are awful," I chide, smirking and my face bright red.


Later that night, I awaken to plaintive whimpering coming from Prim's room. Drawing a bathrobe around my naked form, I dash into my baby sister's bedroom to find her thrashing and moaning on her bed. I place a hand on her forehead, then draw it back.

"PEETA!"

My husband comes running.

"She's spiking a fever! I don't know what to do!"

"Your mother's Healing books," he suggests. "Quickly!"

We flip through pages until we reach the chapters on remedies for fever. The temperatures are only going to spike in this season, but luckily, we manage to find the necessary herbs for treating fever in Mother's old stores. Peeta throws all the windows open, just for good measure, hoping for a breeze. I've come to learn my husband enjoys sleeping with the windows open himself. The ventilation actually helps when we work up a sweat, making love.

I apply a cool cloth to Prim's forehead, administer the herbs, but after a period of several minutes intermittently checking her temperature, it still is not going down!

I begin to panic. "Peeta, please save my baby! PLEASE!" I'm holding Prim in my arms, trying to soothe her with sweet nothings even as she moans and cries out.

"She needs hard Capitol medicine to kick this fever! But where are we supposed to get it?!" Peeta hollers.

A thought occurs to me, and I lunge to get my traveling cloak. "I'll run to the Justice Building," I prattle, disrobing from my bathrobe and throwing my blue Reaping dress on in its place. Then I toss the traveling cloak over my shoulders, fastening it at the brooch. At our front door, I turn and throw my arms about Peeta's neck, kissing him furiously. "Take care of my sister."

"On my honor," he vows, as solemnly as when he gave his marriage vows to me on our wedding day.

But just when I am pulling the door back to fling myself into the night, I pull up short when I see my father-in-law, looking out-of-breath and with a case gathered in his arms. He pushes the case at me, and I sway to catch it, hearing the sound of vials clinking.

"This should be enough. For your sister. Use them, please." His eyes are wild.

"Dad?" Peeta looks stunned. "What... what are you doing here? How did you know...?"

"I daren't no longer stay. I have to get back to your mother; she would want to know that - Use those vials, please!" He flees into the night.

Peeta and I stare after him, baffled. My husband drifts into me and opens the case.

"Cold medicine? And soft morphling? These are Capitol drugs... But how would Dad have known Prim needed it...? And why would Mom be involved?"

I don't know, and at the moment, I don't care. My husband and I dash the medicine up to Prim and administer proper dosage. Within the hour, her fever is going down.

I'm relieved that my sister is going to be OK. But it still doesn't explain how my husband's parents would have known to help her. The only possible explanation is that word travels at lightning speed through the district, and into Town; Prim was at one point, screaming loud enough to wake the whole Seam.

But why would Peeta's mother be involved, and to help the baby sister of her son's wife? The son whom she disowned when he married me?

It couldn't be because she cares for us, or has come to accept our union, or given it any kind of blessing. Unless she does, and this is the only way she can show how...