Katniss had worked more Christmas days over her career than she'd had off. She didn't mind, really. Better that the doctors with young families, like Cressida, were home for Christmas morning.
Back in the Seam, Christmas day in the ER brought heart attacks, influenza and falls on icy walkways mostly, or the odd child who'd swallowed a battery from their new Christmas toy. In Panem, it was a different story. It was apparent that Chrtistmas in New South Wales involved football, the beach, and a ton of alcohol. In addition to all of the breathing problems they'd been seeing for weeks, there was an endless parade of sports traumas. She finished stitching up her fourth surfing injury—yes really—and finally went to change out of her scrubs, hours later than she should have left.
She grabbed her phone from her locker and grinned. It was filled with texts from Peeta.
He'd gotten up early that morning, on one of his few days off, just to talk with her before she left for her shift, wishing her Merry Christmas with a sleep-rough voice that tightened everything south on her. And throughout the day, he'd sent messages, little updates, pictures, just notes that said he was thinking of her.
The latest, timed only an hour earlier, was a picture of him mugging for a selfie, hanging off the side of a pool with his two nieces clinging to his broad back. Her breath caught in her throat, and she sat down hard on the plain wooden bench. She traced the picture with a shaking finger. His smile was wide and genuine, eyes brilliant blue in the twilight. Her heart skipped a beat. She missed him, so much. It hadn't even been 48 hours, yet she was counting down the minutes until he came home the following evening, when they'd agreed to celebrate Christmas together, just the two of them. She wasn't sure she could wait that long.
Alarm bells rang faintly in her mind, that she was getting too attached, letting this turn into something it never could be. But she pressed the dial on her phone anyway. "Hey," Peeta said, picking up on the first ring. "Finished up?"
His voice wrapped around her like a hug, instantly making everything better, but making her ache for him too. "Yeah," she said softly, rising and tossing her scrubs in the bin as she headed out of the locker room. She heard splashing and kids shrieking in the background, he must've still been by his parents' pool. "Am I disturbing you?"
"Only in the best way, love," he said, and the warmth in his voice was almost her undoing.
"I'm heading to my car," she said. "I just wanted to hear your voice."
"Oh, love," he said. "I have thought of nothing but you all day long. And about all of the things I'm going to do to you when I'm home tomorrow." Katniss laughed. He was so good at that, at teasing her out of her melancholy. At making her feel good.
"I might have been thinking about you too," she said.
"I'm glad you called," he said seriously. "I missed you today."
"I miss you, too," she said quietly, before she could bite back the words. It was too much to confess to him, she was risking giving him the wrong idea. But she was lonely. It was Christmas, dammit, and she was going home to a silent house and a vegemite sandwich. Surely this one day she was allowed a little bit of melancholy, a little weakness?
"Are you heading to Finn and Annie's?" They'd invited her to spend the evening with them, as had Madge. But they'd all be surrounded by family and loved ones, and she wasn't up to the company, or for the reminders.
"No, I'm tired." It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth either. He hummed, and she knew he had questions, wanted to try to talk her into going. But he held back. And she appreciated it, how he understood her moods and respected her agency. It was a rare thing.
He was a rare man.
o-o-o
Boxing day was a repeat of Christmas, but with shorter tempers and hungover nursing staff. Still, Katniss was in a fine mood, and she had no desire to overthink it.
After work, she went directly to Peeta's place. He was already there, waiting for her, golden and grinning and her heart felt full to bursting.
He insisted on making her dinner, and she didn't argue. Katniss liked watching him, even when he was just throwing together pasta with crushed tomatoes and mussels. He had a grace and confidence in everything he did, long fingers and spare motion, precise, elegant. She sat on his counter, the granite cold under her thighs, and sipped a glass of excellent wine while he cooked and told her about Christmas with his family, the antics of his little nieces and nephews.
While it was light and easy conversation, the air between them practically crackled. Every touch, no matter how innocent, how inadvertent, burned like a brand.
They ate slowly, perched on tall chairs pulled up to his counter, chatting and reconnecting. Forcing themselves to stay in the moment. Forcing themselves not to rush. But as soon as the meal was done, he was on her, lifting her onto the narrow kitchen counter again and kissing her hard, hands slipping under her top to palm her hot skin.
Whatever restraint Katniss had snapped. She was squirming and panting even before he managed to get her shirt off. She wasn't used to wanting this much. To needing this much. Sex had been enjoyable enough before Peeta, but nothing special. Now? He was ruining her for other men, forever.
And she couldn't care less.
"Now," she gasped against his lips, then pushed him back and slid off the counter. He watched with amusement glinting in his blue, blue eyes as she stripped off her clothing.
But when she tugged at his belt, he grabbed her hand. "Woah," he growled, lust roughening his voice. "Slow down, love."
"No," Katniss said, pushing his hands away and yanking down his pants. His shorts came with them, he was already hard for her. She licked her lips. "Need you," she rasped. She guided him to sit on a chair by the kitchen entry, and she wasn't gentle about it, then she fished in his discarded shorts for his wallet. Thank God there was a condom there.
"Christ," Peeta hissed as she rolled the rubber down his length, then she climbed into his lap to claim her prize. "What's gotten into you?" He was amused, and still wearing a shirt she noted.
"Do you want me to stop?" His cock twitched in her hand, and she knew the answer. She notched him into place, then took him in slowly, revelling at the stretch, at the burn of his possession. At the overwhelming joy of being crammed full of him again.
"Katniss," Peeta gasped against her temple, his big hand cupping her nape in that way that made her feel so warm and cherished. For a moment, they were still, breathing together, relishing the feeling of being joined again.
But she needed more.
"You're so sexy," she moaned as she moved over him. But her toes barely touched the floor, making it impossible to ride him hard and fast, like she wanted. She groaned in frustration. "Peeta," she whined.
He understood. She knew he would.
He grabbed her ass and stood, then lowered her to the cold tile floor, never breaking their connection. Katniss was so far beyond reason that she didn't even care about the setting. She hooked her heels around his back and bit his lip. He began to move again, deeply, but too slowly, cradling her head against the hard surface below. Careful. Too careful. "Don't hold back on me, Hotshot," she whispered.
Peeta grunted at her words but gave her what she wanted, what she needed, pounding into her again and again. Katniss was lost in the rhythm, lost to the pleasure Peeta was giving her. The kitchen tiles bit into her shoulders with every thrust and she was captivated by the tightness of his jaw, the pulse that pounded in his throat. He needed this as much as she did.
Her thighs trembled and her walls spasmed, her vision going black around the edges. "Now," she gasped. "Peeta, please." Then she was shattering. She was coming apart at the seams and Peeta was panting filth in her ear as he fucked her through the orgasm that overwhelmed her.
Only when she came back to herself, when she could breathe again, did he let go, filling the condom and whispering words of gratitude.
He rolled them so the hard floor was against his back and she was sprawled across his chest. "Well that was a nice welcome home," Peeta teased, but the thunder of his heart under her ear told her he was as affected as she was. The connection they had, it was unlike anything she'd ever experienced.
Katniss tried to laugh, but it sounded like a gasp. In truth, she was utterly stunned by her reaction to him. She knew she was attracted to him, knew they always had amazing sex. But her desperate hunger, that was new.
And so was the uneven thunk thunk thunk in her chest.
"Couldn't wait any longer," she said. "Was too long. You can't leave again." She tried for a flippant tone, but only sounded vulnerable.
"I'm not going anywhere," he said softly, and the unspoken words hung between them, the expiry date to whatever this was.
Katniss was alarmed by how much the thought of leaving him hurt. At least it was still months away, her contract lasted until May. This, whatever this was, would have run its course by then.
Peeta's broad chest inflated beneath her as he sighed. "Let's get up off the floor, love," he said, against her hair, his voice soft and filled with fondness. She shifted to climb off him, but he sat up abruptly. She yelped and clutched the shirt he was still inexplicably wearing, and he laughed. He was on his feet with her cradled in his arms before she could say anything.
Peeta wasn't a huge man, but his strength was an incredible turn on.
As was his gentleness.
She shook her head as he headed towards the stairs. "You're something else, Hotshot," she said softly, kissing his scruffy cheek. "Something else."
They showered together—his huge shower stall was a marvel—then slipped back downstairs like children on Christmas morning, him only in boxers, her in his t-shirt that fit almost like a dress. They sat in front of his Christmas tree, a plastic thing he'd covered with lights and let his little nieces and nephews decorate. It reminded her, just a bit, of the trees she'd had as a small child, straggly pines covered in construction paper loops and school photos edged with glitter. Haymitch always had professional quality decorations, even with the girls helping the trees couldn't help but look like they were from a catalogue. But those early trees her father would sneak into the woods and chop down were the ones that lived in her memory.
She swallowed hard, unwilling to get sucked back into the sadness that had shadowed her whole Christmas season this year. She was here with a great guy who was a fun distraction from all of that.
She gave him the gift she'd had her friend Jo send over from Canada, a Roots hooded sweatshirt in orange. His bark of laughter was infectious. "I'll wear it with pride," he said, sliding it over his head despite the heat. She couldn't help grinning. He looked fantastic in orange. He looked fantastic in everything.
And definitely in nothing at all.
With a gentle kiss to the tip of her nose, Peeta stood and grabbed a wrapped package resting against the wall. His gift to her was large and flat, she had a sneaking suspicion it was one of his landscapes.
It was not.
Instead, the painting was of Katniss herself. Not nude, like he'd teased. But of her face, emerging from a silver-grey mist that matched her eyes exactly.
It was extraordinary.
Every detail was rendered so perfectly, the smattering of freckles on her nose, the hints of blue in her irises. It was almost like looking in a mirror. Katniss gasped. "How did you do this?" she whispered. She hadn't posed for him, and he hadn't known her all that long. "Did you have a picture of me?" She had no idea where he'd have gotten one. Her social media was locked down tight and mostly empty anyway.
Peeta shook his head and reached out to trace her cheek with a long finger. "I see your beautiful face every time I close my eyes," he said.
"You have a remarkable memory," she whispered.
He smiled fondly. "I remember everything about you," he said. "You're the one who's not paying attention."
She was now.
This wasn't a silly shirt or an impersonal trinket. Peeta had given her a piece of his soul. And she wasn't sure what to do with it.
She set the painting aside carefully, so carefully, understanding what a precious thing it was, then straddled his lap and wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly. Overwhelmed with gratitude. And so much more. "Thank you," she whispered against his throat. "I'll cherish it always."
He held her silently, letting her work through the maelstrom of emotions. It had been so very long since anyone had surprised her, since anyone had affected her so deeply. When Prim died, Katniss figured the number of people who truly understood her had fallen to zero.
But now there was Peeta.
It was well past midnight. When Peeta suggested they go to bed, it didn't even occur to her to protest, to say she should go to her own home. She simply took his hand and walked upstairs.
They had sex in the darkness, slowly, a sleepy coming together, more comfort than passion. Lingering kisses and quiet affirmations, touches that were worshipful but also so incredibly familiar. The kind of sex Katniss imagined people in long term, committed relationships would have.
Lovemaking.
She came not in an explosion of lust and carnal delight, but in a flood of sweetness and warmth, glowing from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. Utterly infused with pleasure. Grateful for the dark that disguised her stinging eyes. And after, Peeta's sigh of contentment as he gathered her in his arms nearly broke her.
She was in far too deep.
Katniss laid awake long after Peeta had fallen asleep, worrying. What was she doing? She'd shared too much with Peeta, let him in too deeply, and now she was scared he was starting to expect things from her.
Things she couldn't give him.
She chided herself in the darkness. It's not like he'd asked her to marry him or confessed his undying devotion. She was overthinking things. He called her love, it was true, but it didn't mean anything. It was just the way Australians talked.
He knew as well as she did that this was temporary. It was the incredible sex, she decided. It was messing with her hormones, heightening her emotions, making her see things that weren't real.
Still, Katniss thought, they could probably both use a break, a chance to catch their breaths. A reminder that they were just having fun. She should probably just head home now.
Behind her, Peeta groaned softly in his sleep and his arm tightened around her waist, pulling her more snugly against him, his skin hot against her back. It felt so impossibly good that she didn't have the heart to slip away.
Tomorrow, she decided. She'd start fixing this tomorrow.