Endgame. Always ;)
The first thing Kat did was clamp a hand over her mouth. Had she really just said that?
The second thing she did was pry her eyes from Peeta and let her gaze drag across the dozen garden tables, a district's worth of astonished guests on tenterhooks. Madge blinked at the scene while Gale sent Kat a wistful, almost sympathetic look. Finnick reclined in his chair and gleefully chewed on a sugar cube. Jo cringed, and Deliah peeked through her fingers. Mouth agog, Caesar Flickerman leaned forward in his seat and gripped the tablecloth, mentally transcribing the events and storing them away for tomorrow's gossip page.
Peeta's expression wavered between wonder and caution. The delicate creases between his brows and his crimson skin roused a memory. The night they met, his boyish face as she sang, and him hiding behind his father's leg while listening. He resembled that boy so much now. Yes, Katniss had definitely said what she thought she'd said—impulsively, sloppily.
Peeta read her mind. His eyes flashed, and he braced himself, preparing for a chase. Because the third thing she did was run.
Grabbing her reticule, she broke the trance and bolted past the tables, the faces, and the pretentious landscaping. As the sky exploded, raining color onto the garden, she ignored Peeta's call and fled. A cockatoo squawked at her, and gravel crunched beneath her feet, the abrasive sounds overwhelmed by the crack and whistle of fireworks. She and Peeta had chased one another enough times over the years that she knew his footfalls, could anticipate his lack of speed boosted by his frustrating ability to predict which way she'd head.
Kat smacked the veranda doors apart and barreled through the very blue decor of Flickerman's townhouse, hopping over an ottoman immortalized with Caesar's laughing face on it. A maid squeaked and bounded out of her way, frogleaping onto a couch. A placid butler stood in the parlor, calmly holding open the door for Kat, her shawl already waiting on his arm, as though all women regularly left the dandy's house in a blind panic.
She snatched the shawl from the butler's hand. "Thank you!" she called on her way past him, ignoring the family coach and making a break for the sidewalk instead. That would throw Peeta off. Surely, he wouldn't expect her to rush home on foot.
Lamplights pumped orange onto the street. Horses whinnied and trotted over cobblestones. Kat's lungs burned, sweat racing up her neck and arms. If she went home, he'd only pursue her there.
She changed direction and veered onto a different street, remembering another place she could hide. A few more turns later, she checked over her shoulder, relieved to find him nowhere in sight. She disappeared into the old alleyway and stopped at the dead end. Flattening her palm over her stomach, Kat bent over and wheezed.
I told him. In front of everyone.
No romantic setting or privacy. Bother, she'd even forgotten her speech. This night had been a disaster. Again.
Recovered at last, she straightened and kicked a stone. "Shit."
"Katniss."
Yelping, she twisted around. Peeta stepped into the alley, his blond curls half-lit from the sidewalk, half-darkened by the narrow passage. His chest heaved, impressively so. When they used to play, he'd never caught her this quickly.
He approached with caution, blocking her retreat. There was no chance of her slipping by that strong body.
"Even for you . . . this is . . . pretty extreme," he said in between gasps.
"How did you know where to find me?" she asked.
"I . . . didn't."
"But I thought I'd lost you."
"You . . . almost did. I just guessed. Or I . . . remembered."
"We've been here before."
Wintertime. A little girl singing on his doorstep for coin. The little boy following her afterward, finding her huddled in this alleyway, cold and hungry and crying. The little boy who gave her bread and offered her a home. The little girl who kissed his cheek. The stars had been bright and big that night, arranged into a dandelion.
Peeta took another step. "Did you mean it?"
She spun toward the dead end, putting her back to him, and held up her hand. "I need a moment."
"Katniss, don't—"
"Please. Give me a moment. My heartbeat needs to calm down, but my corset is too tight."
Free of his probing gaze, Kat regained her bearings. This wasn't how she'd envisioned things going, but surprise, surprise.
She could do this. For both of them, she could do anything.
Did you mean it? In the study, she'd said she loved him—as a friend. He wanted to know if she meant it differently this time. His expectant tone told her that he knew the answer, but he wanted to hear her say it. She couldn't have spouted the words in public, in such disarray, if it hadn't meant something more than friends.
Resolve finally steadied her, though her palms still perspired. No more running. It was now or never. She dug through her reticule and withdrew the sheet of paper. It shook in her fingers, but she couldn't bring herself to care anymore. Slowly, she turned to face him.
Bewilderment crossed Peeta's face, but when he began to speak, she cut him off. "Don't say anything," she pleaded. "Not until I've finished. All right?"
"All right," he whispered.
"Okay," she said to herself, unfolding the wrinkled mess of paper. Awkwardly, she rubbed it against her thigh to smooth it out as best she could, then cleared her throat. "Dear Peeta—no, sorry, I scratched that out. Um . . . D-dearest Peeta." With fresh embarrassment, she chanced a glimpse at him. He just watched her, confused but patient. "I've brought you here, to this romantic place, for romantic reasons. You'll notice the flowers and fireworks are most suitable for this moment—" Katniss glanced up. "Actually, we were supposed to be . . . never mind. Uh . . . I have a series of confessions to make and sentiments to lavish, with the hopes of revealing my heart and stirring yours. My goal is to succeed where no other girl in Peeta History has, but be aware that these budding compliments are in no particular order: One, your eyes fill my dreams, like an endless ocean. Two, your hair reminds me of a summer wheat field. Three, your smile is sweeter than my favorite frosting, sugary and . . ." Katniss drew her brows together. " . . . smooth."
Peeta's lips twitched. Maybe she should have let Jo and Deliah critique the speech first.
Kat persevered, buoying herself to be one with the prose. "Four, you're an essential best friend whom I . . ."
Her gaze strayed to the ground. She let her arm drop, the paper limp in her fingers, plagued by the empty nonsense written there. She closed her eyes and felt every shred of this act fade, so that other things filled her mind. That long-ago night, the years afterward, every moment he held her, squeezed her hand, laughed with her, believed in her. All the little things about him, about them, so painfully beautiful, the bits and pieces of them gathering in her throat.
You are most real when you don't perform. Just tell him.
Katniss shoved the paper back into her reticule and looked at him. "I've never known anyone like you," she began. "You gave me hope that night, when you found me here. You reminded me that kind people still existed, that life could be good again. You showed what it meant to have a family, what it meant to be a friend. I've been at my worst and stupidest with you, but also my best, and every time I think I've felt everything there is to feel, you prove me wrong. You are the boy who fed me once, who gave me a music box and a pearl and a bow, who doesn't mind getting into trouble with me.
"You know I like raisin bread and plum jam and lamb stew, and that I hate board games, but that I'll race you any day—and win. I love spending my nights with you, because no one else's arms could ever make me feel safer. I love our jokes and every highhanded rule we've broken together. I love how I can always smell flour on your hands, even when you've washed them. I love when you touch me—that one time, three years ago, when you ran your fingers down my braid? Yes, I noticed that. I pretended that I didn't, but I couldn't stop thinking about it, and I didn't understand why at the time. But now I do. It's all you.
"I'm jealous of every girl you've ever kissed. I'm angry at myself for being blind and then lying to you about my feelings. I was afraid of ruining what we had, of not knowing what to say, because you're Peeta. Everything I say to you comes out wrong, because you know how I overthink. I tried so hard to get it right for once, in this dumb speech." Katniss wiggled her bag, jostling the paper inside. "But for the record, I don't think your eyes are like the ocean—I don't know why I wrote that. I mean, the ocean is harsh and murky, and that's not you. And a wheat field in summer? Wheat fields are brittle and coarse, and that's not your hair at all. Don't get me started on the frosting bit, because not everybody can be as skilled with words as you. Anyway, I don't care what you look like.
"What I meant to say . . . what I mean to say . . . is that I see you." And then she started to cry. "I've seen you my whole life. You're a painter. You're a baker. You like to sleep with the windows open. You never take sugar in your tea. And you always double-knot your shoelaces. You're my best friend. You're my biggest fear and my happiest moment. You're my heart. You're mine. I'm yours. And . . . I'm in love with you," Kat blubbered. "I love you up and down. I love every kind, selfless, annoying, stubborn, honest thing about you. I love you, Peeta."
One distant firework broke through. Peeta stared at her, a tender expression blooming on his face, his hands deep in his pockets.
"Well, you wanted to hear the truth," she said with a defensive sniffle. "You're the wordsmith. Are you just going to stand there? Don't you have anything to say?"
Gently, he nodded. "Always."
"Then say it."
"I just did."
"What on earth does that . . . ?"
Katniss startled. She remembered the weekend they had spent together, when everything was briefly right between them, when they stargazed on the roof. He'd carried her to bed and tucked her in, and she'd mumbled something. Yes, she . . . she had asked him to stay.
His response had been one word, though she hadn't comprehended it at the time.
Always.
She fought back a smile. "You said that to me once, as I fell asleep."
He gave her a small grin. "It was a promise. I wanted you to know where I stand, no matter how you feel. I wanted to let you know that I'll never leave you. And now that you have me—"
"—what are you going to do with me?" she finished.
"Love you," he answered. "Like I always have."
"Except with more kissing."
"Get over here and find out."
She sprang toward him. He met her halfway, opening his arms for her, and she hurled herself into them—into that kiss. He grabbed the back of her head, his mouth swooping down to meet hers, warm and pliant and urgent. Kat made a soft noise from the back of her throat as her lips tilted, molded, and opened beneath his. The embrace was joyous and shaky and so very theirs. Peeta pried her apart, his wine-laced breath entering her mouth just before his tongue did, probing and finding her. Her head fogged, lost to everything but him and them and this. She balanced on her toes, clasped the nape of his neck, and pressed herself harder against him.
With a sigh, Peeta responded. He shoved his fingers into her hair, crushing their lips together. His tongue moved overs her with such abandon that parts of Kat's body tightened in frustration while other places melted in pleasure. When he lifted his head, she decided that she'd never seen anything more precious. Peeta was a delighted mess: his eyes dancing, his skin flushed, and his mouth slightly puckered.
They held on. They gathered one another close, rested their foreheads together, and grinned like utter fools.
"Marry me," they both said and then giggled.
Peeta grabbed Kat's waist and hoisted her off the ground. He planted little pecks all over her face while she laughed and laughed.
kpkpkpkpkp
They detoured through town, strolling down random streets, too wrapped up in each other to bother with the hour or anyone who might see them. There was nothing to hide anymore. They offered explanations for things they'd said and done, swapped confessions about what they'd each been feeling, assuming, misunderstanding, and hoping ever since Peeta came home—and even before that—trying to figure out when one had actually fallen in love with the other. To speak this candidly was pure bliss.
Yet the longer and freer they talked, the more it hit Kat that their intimacies would become something else. They'd kissed, but there was more to it than that. There were new touches, other types of kisses, hours that would involve less clothing and images that she'd only fantasized about in the past. The prospect made heat swirl in her stomach, tingles of anticipation darting up her fingers. Already, she wanted more with him.
Oblivious to the direction her thoughts had taken, Peeta's hand wandered to her hips, up and down her arm, through her hair. She encircled his waist, draping her cheek on his chest, dreading the end of the night when she'd have to let go. He kissed the top of her head as if to reassure her.
It was late by the time they got home. Peeta walked her to her bedroom door, where they lingered, prolonging the moment. He cupped her face with his palms and kissed her, this time chaste and with an aching tenderness that filled Kat's heart.
They'd slept in the same bed countless times before. But on this night, when the world had changed, she knew what he would do. Or preciously, what he wouldn't do.
"Good night," he whispered, nuzzling her nose with his own.
"Good night," she said. "And I love you."
An elated sound fell from his lips. "I love you always."
Don't go. Stay with me.
Typical, he would tease. She wanted to have her cake and eat it, too. However, she didn't know how to express that, and it wouldn't be very romantic to compare her passions to pastries. Besides, she'd said enough tonight. She could pace herself, couldn't she?
After he disappeared into his room, she floated into hers. Slipping into her nightgown and sinking into the pillows, she basked in the recollection of their alley kiss, more enduring than their first at the theatre, but no less true. She expected to drift off, but instead her feet rustled around beneath the quilt. The curtains billowed, teased by the spring breeze pushing through. Kat traced her lips, feeling restless and giddy.
I'm engaged to Peeta. I miss him.
She scrambled out of bed and crept back into the hall. Easing the door closed behind her, she turned toward his room and stopped. Peeta had just shut his own door and was swinging in her direction as well. They paused mid-step. They blinked and chuckled sheepishly, the carpet failing to muffle the noise. Peeta pressed a hushing finger to his lips. Mr. Mellark's suite was in the rear wing of the same floor, and he usually slept like a bull, but occasionally he stayed up reading.
Kat lowered her voice, cupping her hand beside her mouth. "I couldn't sleep."
"Neither could I," Peeta said. "I'm just too happy."
He did look happy, glowing in the dim light of the gas scones. And handsome in his robe, split open to reveal sleep pants and a long shirt, the thin material outlining a solid body beneath. His mussed hair suggested that he'd been tossing and turning, inspiring certain visions: other ways that she could make him toss and turn.
Face blazing, she asked, "What now?"
Peeta clasped his sly hands behind his back. "Why don't you come a little closer first?"
"Why don't you?"
They stared at each other. Together.
They approached, step by cautious step. Her overly-sensitive skin prickled from the mere graze of her nightgown against her legs. Peeta's gaze strayed to the cream fabric, sheerer than anything she'd ever worn in his presence, her curves and bare breasts shadowing through. His eyes smoldered, making Kat's pulse drum.
They reached one another. Peeta palmed her waist and dipped his head, his lips questing feverishly close but not making contact.
"You never answered the question in the alley," she said, her breath hitching. "What are you going to do with me?"
"Everything," he said in a husky voice. "I just want to spend every moment of the rest of my life with you."
She found her courage. "Come on, then."
Taking his hand, she guided him into her room, the walls and floors cradled in a silvery blue from the night sky. Kat made a production of closing and locking the door, fighting to get her . . . well, enthusiasm, under control. His intakes of air drew her back to him. Their fingers brushed as they shuffled nearer, their footfalls creaking the wood, a sudden tension consuming the space between them. She sensed the bashfulness in them both.
Peeta's thumb landed on her chin, stroking there. "Kat, we don't have to. We can wait."
She shook her head. "We have waited."
For years, they'd waited. They may not have been a pair of lovers yet, but they'd been never been closer to anybody else. They'd been best friends, family. No one knew or trusted her better, nor him. She loved, and she was loved, and she was ready.
The shyness ebbed. Now that she'd bared her soul, Kat found that she couldn't stop, that she liked it. "I want this, Peeta. I want to know how your body feels. I want to know what it's like to have you . . . inside me."
His eyes fell shut, a thousand golden lashes landing on his face. "This isn't happening. This has to be another fucking dream."
"I want you," she said, sliding off his robe and dropping it to the floor with a faint thud. "Do you want me?"
"More than anything."
"Then be with me."
He pulled back and gazed down at her, studying her face for doubts. Instead, she let him see what was real. No doubts, only yearning.
Once he did, Peeta began to unbutton his shirt, offering himself while she watched, the splayed muscles of his chest expanding and contracting. The shirt fell atop the robe. He shuddered when her hands explored the planes of skin, broad and smooth, from his abdomen to his shoulders, but that was nothing compared to his gravely moan when she wound herself around him, sunk her fingers into his curls, and brought her lips to his neck. His head slumped back as she placed open-mouthed kisses along the column of skin, tasting the salt and sweet of his pulse, her confidence building from the way he gripped the sides of her nightgown.
One strong arm enveloped her, while Peeta's free palm craned her face to meet his in a passionate kiss. Kat keened into his mouth. She matched the strokes of his lips, entwining her tongue with his own, angling herself to take him in fully.
His hands skimmed down. Suddenly, she was being lifted and carried across the room, her limbs hooked around his waist.
Peeta unfolded her onto the bed, their mouths still attached, his body covering hers. Her hem rode up to expose her thighs as he shifted between them, his pants rubbing the inner length of her skin. To experience the span of him above her was foreign and thrilling. Wonderful.
Planting a kiss on her mouth, Peeta drew back. They read one another well. Their fingers joined at the straps of her nightgown and glided it down her body, down her hips, down her calves. She didn't see where it ended up. All she concentrated on was the spellbound expression on Peeta's face as he saw her breasts, her naked body, for the first time. She shivered under the exquisite weight of his stare.
"You are the loveliest sight I've ever seen," he rasped.
"Let me see you, too," she said. "Please."
"I don't have the means to protect us."
"We don't need that. I'm going to marry you."
Peeta grinned, sweeping a lock of hair from her cheek. "I'm going to marry you, too."
"I want it all."
"Then talk to me. Tell me what pleases you."
Kat kissed his chin. "I will."
They peeled off his sleep pants and tossed them aside. Kat lost her voice. He was stunning, painted in starlight, desire hardening each part of him.
One part in particular, which she dared to touch, amazed to witness that desire grow. His jaw slackened. His pupils dilated. He sucked air through his parted lips and made inarticulate noises.
They kicked at the quilt and threw it over their heads, encasing themselves in a cave of heated gasps and movement. They spent the hour rolling about the bed, feeling, tasting, learning, and teaching, from tentative caresses to curious ones, from giggles to moans. His lips in the crook of her neck. Her foot rubbing the hairs of his leg. Her chest jutting into his. Her nails down his spine.
He laced their fingers on either side of her, his head bowing to her breasts, drawing each into his mouth, one after the other, until she began to writhe. She stroked him until he panted her name. Until it was just too much.
Peeta nestled between her thighs while her legs linked around his backside. Kat's back arched off the mattress, shoving her breasts up against his torso, her bare body straining toward his. His hardness found her, and he remained poised there, his heartbeat thrashing against hers.
Their mouths fell open as he flexed his hips forward, slipping inside her, a fraction at a time. Push and retreat, shallow and patient. It took a while for the pain to subside, dulling into something of a flaming pleasure. Peeta murmured to her until she relaxed and dissolved with him. When she did, their waists took on a lovingly gentle rhythm, their deep cries matching the circle of his hips.
"Oh," Peeta sputtered. "Kat, are you . . ."
"Yes," she said, thick and rapturous. "I feel it, Peeta."
"I feel it, too."
They didn't last long, but they made the most of it. He raised himself on his flattened palms, gazing down at her while their bodies rocked back and forth. Kat clung to his shoulder blades, on the verge of a shout, seized by an onslaught of sensation. He slanted himself and pitched once more into her, then tensed, following her into oblivion. His lips dove in and quickly swallowed their sounds.
They collapsed into tired kisses, dozed through the night and into morning, as the birds sang outside and sunrise spread across the bed. The first time had been swift and left Kat sore and wincing, but the second time was better. Much better.
Afterward, Peeta lifted his head from the slope of her neck. Exhausted, they caught their breaths, a naked tangle of limbs and arms. The quilt had formed a tent above them.
Katniss swiped a lock of damp hair off his forehead. "We're good at this."
Their chuckles skipped through the bedroom as they fell into a long, mirthful kiss.
Which was promptly caught off by the sound of Mr. Mellark banging on the door. "Everlark!"
Epilogue next!
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