Chapter 21

The news came in over the radio as they were returning to the station. A burning gum tree had crashed into the cab of a fire truck belonging to a neighbouring brigade. Two dead, three more injured.

They called those eucalyptus trees widowmakers, and for good reason. Even unburnt, they had a nasty habit of dropping massive limbs without warning. And now, with the extreme temperatures and endless drought, they were even more dangerous.

Being a firie meant accepting risk, meant knowing there was a possibility that you might not come back from a call. But these blokes, they were young guys with young families, both of them. Volunteers who died keeping their communities safe.

And now two little kids would grow up without their daddies.

Peeta was utterly sick over it. He hadn't known the men, but they were all mates in the service of the greater good.

None of Peeta's brigade spoke as they put away their turnout gear at the station and prepared to go home. The good work they'd done beating back the fires that were too close to Panem now for comfort was lost in the anguish over the other firies who weren't coming back.

Today, Peeta relished the walk home, even through the ever-present smog. Relished the early morning quiet, the space to lose himself in his pain.

He didn't notice the car until it was right beside him, creeping along to pace him. Katniss's little red hire car. Just getting off shift, he reckoned. She rolled down the window and smiled. "Hey," she said just loudly enough to hear over the engine.

"Hey," he called back, dully.

"Jump in," she said, but Peeta shook his head.

"I'm not going to be good company right now." He was too bruised, too raw.

"Peeta." Her tone caught his attention, and he looked up from the sidewalk to meet her silver eyes. "You don't have to pretend with me. Let me take you home."

He climbed in the car.

They drove the last few blocks to his house in silence. He wasn't surprised when she parked and followed him in. He was too numb to fight it.

Katniss guided him to the lounge, gently pushed him to sit on his own couch, then left him to his thoughts. He could hear her puttering in his kitchen but couldn't muster the energy to join her. He felt hollow.

She returned with a warm mug of soup, the canned stuff Peeta kept in his cupboard to make sauces with. "I'm not much of a cook," Katniss said, settling beside him with a mug of her own. "But you need some sustenance."

They ate silently, and when they were done, Katniss asked, "do you want to talk about it?"

He did, but he couldn't. He couldn't share how his despondence at their deaths was only partly for the firies themselves. How a large part of him couldn't help envisioning himself in their shoes. In their coffins. And how that part of him wondered who would grieve for him. No one really needed him, he thought. His family didn't need him. They would mourn him, as would a handful of friends. But they would get on. Life would go on, and he would have left nothing of himself in the world.

Peeta swallowed hard, and shook his head. "Okay," Katniss said softly, and stood, reaching for his hand. "Let's get you to bed."

Normally he'd have had a sexy comeback, would have flirted shamelessly, teased her about wanting him in bed. And he did want her, he always wanted her. But not now, not like this. Not when he was so broken and so damned vulnerable. "Katniss," Peeta started, but she shook her head.

"Just to sleep, Peeta. You've been up twenty-four hours." More than that, actually, he'd done the morning prep at the bakery the day before. And he should really check in with his part timers before catching some rest.

But he let her lead him up the stairs.

She undressed him with gentle hands, stripping away the stale layers, baring his skin to the air conditioned room. Leaving him only in underwear. Then she pulled back the sheets and pushed him down. He was tired, so tired. But when she turned to leave, panic gripped him.

He caught her hand. "Stay," he gritted out.

Katniss smiled down on him, her eyes soft and affectionate, like an angel. He watched her discard her own clothing, leaving her panties and bra. Then she climbed into bed beside him, and gathered him in her arms. His face settled against her lace covered breast, the thrumming of her heartbeat beneath his ear soothing. She ran a hand through his hair, stroking the curls back over and over. Hypnotic. He was falling apart at the seams, and she was still there, comforting him, letting him be vulnerable.

"Two firies died today," Peeta murmured against her skin.

She froze, just for a moment. Then he felt the press of her lips against his head. "I'm sorry," she said softly, her hand resuming its gentle caress. "I'm so sorry." She didn't say anything else, and he was grateful. He didn't need platitudes, didn't want her to cajole him out of his pain. She just held him and let him feel it all; the misery, the hollowness, and the gratitude.

o-o-o

It was midafternoon when Peeta opened his eyes again, far later than he should have slept, but he couldn't find it in himself to be upset by that. He felt refreshed in a way he hadn't in weeks.

Katniss was still there, still asleep, warm and soft in his arms. Her back was pressed snugly against his chest, his hard cock nestled against her arse. He buried his face in her hair, the faint scents of lavender and antiseptic buried under her natural scent, and sighed. It felt so damned good. It felt… right.

He was falling hard for this woman, he realized, this glorious, brilliant, funny woman who hadn't pushed him away when he let his guard down.

It was really going to hurt when she left.

He shoved that thought away, shoved away all of the unfamiliar and complicated feelings and instead kissed her bare shoulder, poking out from the sheets. She stirred a little, and sighed. He took it as permission to continue, kissing the nape of her neck, then tracing his tongue down each undulating vertebral swell. By the time he reached the waist of her panties, she was awake and squirming.

He slid her little scrap of fabric down her lean thighs, his lips following, kissing and licking and biting every inch of skin. She moaned softly with each kiss, every caress. She was so damned responsive, it drove Peeta crazy.

She rolled over as he climbed back up her body, gazing at him with heavy-lidded eyes, a flush of arousal painting her cheeks. She was beautiful, more radiant than the sun. "C'mere," she murmured, her voice husky with sleep and need.

He settled on top of her, still wearing his trunks. She felt so small this way, her delicate curves fitting him in every way. She arched up to kiss him, not the frenzied kisses they usually shared, but softer, more reverent. He rocked against her, his cloth-covered cock aching to be inside her, but something deep within him compelling him to go slowly. Katniss seemed to understand, without him saying a word. She pressed herself against him, wrapping those sexy bronzed calves around his thighs, whispering bits of nonsense and praise against his lips. And though he was the king of dirty talk, words failed him. He could only listen, only feel.

He needed her bra off, needed to worship those perky little breasts, and she obliged, arching so he could undo the clasp. Those gorgeous, firm swells spilled out, and he suckled each in turn, lavishing them with attention.

Every other time they'd been together, Katniss had rushed him along before he'd had his fill of her sweet breasts, but this time, she merely purred, encouraging him with breathy little moans and whimpered affirmations, her hands twisting in his hair, anchoring him.

"Let me touch you," she whispered against his ear, and he released her rosy nipple with a wet pop. Yet even when her hand slid inside his shorts, there was no rush, she stroked him with maddening restraint. Peeta rested his forehead against hers as she pumped his cock, driving him closer and closer to the edge. Their mouths drifted together in a kiss that was barely more than shared breath. She blinked lazily and smiled at him, a smile of pleasure and contentment, and he felt that smile deep in his gut.

He slipped a hand between her thighs, felt the pool of her desire. The sounds she made as he slid first one, and then a second finger deep inside filled him with wonder. That she wanted this, wanted him, so fiercely, even still. "Yes," she cooed, "oh yes."

He couldn't possibly last, her soft whimpers and her strong fingers wrapped around his cock, he was overwhelmed in the best possible way, enveloped in pleasure. He leaned in to kiss her again, deeply, enjoying the tangle of limbs and breaths and heartbeats. They were connected in almost every way.

"Peeta," she whimpered, as if reading his thoughts. "Please. I need you inside me."

His hands shook as he fumbled a condom into place, she placed a soothing kiss above his heart.

Her body welcomed his, slick warmth closing around him like a fist, as if she wanted to hold him inside and never let him go. Peeta moved slowly, so slowly, drawing out their pleasure. Katniss continued dropping little kisses all over his chest, his neck. The words bottled up inside him, only gasps and groans emerged as the pleasure built, radiating not just from his dick, but from his entire being.

This wasn't the easy, uncomplicated fucking they'd enjoyed before. This was something different.

Something more.

She clasped his face in her small hands, bringing his gaze to her hazy silver eyes, kiss-swollen lips, and the flush that spread down her throat to pool between her lush breasts, bouncing with each measured thrust.

And they continued that way, eyes locked, leisurely building their pleasure, together, not a separate sprint to the finish, but a marathon for two.

But he was only human, and the feeling of her body squeezing his own, the sound of her voice whispering his name like a prayer, it was pushing him to the edge. He knew he couldn't hang on much longer. Katniss noticed. "Come with me, Peeta," she whispered, just as he felt her quickening, the first pulses of her orgasm squeezing him, milking him.

The ecstasy washed over him, a flood of pleasure, waves that stretched out to every cell of his body. Transcendence. Words flew through his mind, words he'd never said to a woman before, never felt before, but he swallowed them back. They weren't words she wanted to hear, he knew that. Yet the way she was looking at him, so open, so happy, it made him wonder. Made him hope.

And hope was a dangerous thing.

He nearly collapsed on top of her when it was over, even pulling the condom off took a herculean effort. He was utterly drained, but sated, and electrified. And it seemed like Katniss felt it too, she clung to him, face pressed into the crook of his neck, lips brushing languidly against his throat. They lay still and silent for a long time, letting the sweat cool on their bodies, letting their heart rates return to normal.

When she sighed, he knew what she was going to say.

"I have to go," she whispered against him, and he nodded. He didn't want her to go, wanted to stay wrapped in this serene bubble forever, if he could. But duty called. They were first responders, and the life they'd each chosen meant putting other people ahead of themselves.

She pulled on his t-shirt and her own trousers, Peeta threw on a pair of trackies and walked her down. She paused at the door, turning to wrap her arms around his waist. "I'll come see you at the bakery, after my shift, okay?"

"I'd like that," he told her, the first words he'd said since waking. She smiled, kissed his cheek, and walked out into the late afternoon sun.

Peeta figured out early that people would shy away from him when he shared the less pleasant parts of his life, when he tried to talk about the bad stuff at home or his fears. People only wanted happy go lucky Peeta, only wanted the fun bloke, the optimist. Any whiff of pain and they'd retreat, stop taking his calls until he was back to what they wanted him to be.

But he'd been vulnerable today, and Katniss stayed. She hadn't tried to minimise his grief, hadn't tried to cheer him up. And even though he wasn't fun, he wasn't smooth talking and flirty, she'd stayed, she'd still wanted to be with him.

She'd still wanted him.

He didn't want it to matter. But it did.