***Happy Friday, all! I'm off to Geeky Kink New England for the weekend. If anyone's there, come find me.
You'd think after that interminable day following our adventurous morning that what I'd want most is to return to bed with Katniss as soon as possible and pick up where we blissfully left off—a whole new world of pleasures that itches at me now that we've fallen down this rabbit hole together. Even I'd gone into this morning's meetings, which feel like so long ago already, with an impatient feeling, since the meetings were a blip in a day that could ordinarily be devoted to memorizing Katniss' beautiful naked body—now inside and out. And it's true, throughout the day occasionally my mind wanders, and I find myself pulling my chair a little closer to the table to cover my rising erection, as residual images zip through my brain—Katniss' legs wrapping around my hips, the feel of her body, so hot, clenching around me, the sounds that poured unbidden from her lips. Sex is definitely second on my list. But even before that is a shower. I somehow feel tainted—from the discussion, from that claustrophobic oversized room of metal and stone and glass—as well as tense, my shoulders knotted together with the effort of trying to hold it together. I'd like to be able to say that all my effort today was focused on Katniss, and it's true that a larger part of it was…but, strangely for me, some of it was also focused on my own self-control. I count my breaths…one in, one out, two in, two out…the way my therapist taught me to refocus my mind. I keep thinking of the dark, damp tunnels that lie beneath our feet, hundreds of feet down. Tunnels we fought through during our invasion of the Capitol, tunnels where we lost Finnick and so many others. But I know something Katniss doesn't know, and that's that there are other tunnels too, closer in to the President's manse. Tunnels that slam shut with iron portcullises and lock with big iron padlocks, where rooms line hallways lit with dim green light and stained camp beds come equipped with shackles and all the guards wear masks, so that if we did ever escape, we wouldn't be able to identify our torturers. It's still true that when I see someone whose height and build seem to match the figures that loomed over me, clamping my eyelids open so I could view scenes of Katniss that became progressively more distorted, I quake on the inside. It even happens with people in 12 sometimes; though usually they're really emigrants from 13. It only takes one second, but one second is too long.
My mind plays tricks on me, slyly whispering they could take you down there again, you know. Anytime you like, just come and visit. I'm hyperaware of where we are, too, only in a different way than Katniss is. She had the benefit—if you can call it that—of becoming accustomed to these long briefings in 13, at least once she stopped disappearing into closets to block it all out. I was in the hospital during those times, trying to recuperate. The discussion seems interminable to me. I counter the nightmarish images with positive ones—another technique that my therapist taught me. That dreamlike memory portrait of Katniss' eyes, wide and hazy staring into mine this morning as we panted together, helps combat them, and I make it through the day. I'm watchful, and what I see is that everyone's faces look strained at some point. Johanna is picking at her nails, tapping her fingers and toes obsessively, Haymitch's hands close convulsively around his glass of water all day as though by wish alone he could turn it into wine. I catch Katniss having blank moments of just focusing on the wall, and she balls herself up so tightly in her chair she looks even smaller than normal. Because of these things, I try to project an aura of calm I don't really feel. When the day is cut short, the relief is palpable.
Shower. God, that'll be good. There's probably time before dinner still. We've been granted a reprieve. Katniss invites Gale over as we step outside…I'd given assent to this with only a fraction of resentment, and not intentionally. I just want Katniss to hold me, to hold her, to breathe into one another and not talk. But he turns her down, anyways. We watch him together with Johanna as he walks away under the newly illuminated streetlights, growing smaller and smaller. Katniss stands still and we stand with her, but he doesn't look back. I wonder what she's thinking.
Blessedly, our living quarters are not a long walk from here. Katniss clasps her fingers into mine. Johanna, too, takes her right hand from the other side. We don't say much on the way back. Haymitch has outstripped us, muttering something about an errand. I'd bet a sizeable amount that the errand in question includes alcohol.
"Hell, I wouldn't mind some myself," I mutter. The girls look up at me.
"Booze," I say. "We should take a leaf out of Haymitch's book tonight." Katniss and Johanna exchange a glance fraught with meaning and then laugh simultaneously. It takes me a moment to place this reaction and then I remember the broken dishes and have to suppress a smile. What a night that was.
"I could go for that," Johanna says. "Girl on Fire, you think you can hack it?"
"Maybe some wine or something," says Katniss. While she's preoccupied, I'm surreptitiously undoing the tie at the end of her braid. Her hair, kinky from being tied all day, begins to unravel around her shoulders. She shoots me a side-eye and I shrug innocently, combing my fingers through it. "I don't think I could do hard liquor. Although, damn, if there were ever a day to drink, today's it."
We're coming up on our quarters. Johanna checks a pouch on her belt, I assume for currency, and then says, "Alrighty, I'll see what I can rustle up."
"Are you sure?" It's been kind of a long day. It's not that important if you want to come take it easy," Katniss says, pausing with her.
"I want to take a walk, anyways. Away from Snow's Mansion, though," Johanna says darkly. "I need some space." I can totally understand this. I wonder if Johanna too is remembering those dark hallways and tunnels winding beneath our feet as we walk these innocent cobblestones.
"I think we might shower," I say. "Meet up around dinner?"
"Sure," says Johanna over her shoulder. She's already scurrying away. I see her shake another smoke out of her pack and light it deftly as she moves off. That's another thing she's been relying on these few days. But I think we all get a pass on our vices for now. I unlock the door and the building is blissfully quiet. The President and the other officials have stayed in meetings, Hazelle and the kids won't be meeting us again until tomorrow night's dinner, Gale's gone home, Haymitch and Johanna have peeled off on their own. We do get greeted by one member of the household: Mutt bounds down the stairs three at a time and crashes into us with such force that I have to catch my balance on my bad leg. Katniss kneels down and his tongue doesn't so much lick her face as swallow it whole.
"Okay, okay, down boy!" I chide the dog, who's transported with joy after a long, quiet day. Katniss retreats into the kitchen and checks several cabinets for dog food with no luck. Finally she opens the refrigerator and finds some leftovers from last night's meal. She dumps some leftover roast beef and biscuits in a shallow pan for him and drops it next to the table, and he sets on it immediately. We're both covered from thigh downward in yellow fur. I give it a halfhearted swipe at my pants but it sticks stubbornly.
Katniss sweeps her hair over one side of her neck and I immediately take the opportunity to take her wrists and pull her forward into the hallway by the stairs. I lower my mouth to her neck and kiss down the side the way she likes, nudging the shoulder of her shirt aside with my mouth and nibbling down it. She tips her head back to allow me access and groans softly. My fingers reach for the buttons at the bottom of her shirt all of their own, and I've slipped two before she pulls back, smiling.
"Don't you want to shower?"
I do. I crouch a little and hoist her up like I do at our house at home, where she sits cradled in my arms, her arms looped around my neck. We ascend the stairs together, Katniss admonishing me not to drop her as she always does, though I know she secretly enjoys this. She snuggles her head into the crook of my neck for comfort and breathes softly and I melt a little inside.
I deposit her in our temporary room, noting again mentally how homesick I am for our own bedroom, our own quilt, the big window at the foot of the bed that lets the sunbeams and moonbeams crash directly into our naked bodies at the beginning and end of each day. Greasy Sae is feeding Buttercup. I imagine him wandering around the echoing house, waowing. We won't be here long—only a few days—but it's long enough for a year, as far as I'm concerned. I want to stay in our bed with Katniss for at least a week when we get back to 12.
Katniss is pulling clean clothes from a drawer—comfortable-looking cutoff cotton drawstring pants. Apparently finding nothing that suits her taste in shirts, she kneels by our bed and riffles through my suitcase, without asking, I note with amusement. She withdraws an old t-shirt that I threw in as an afterthought—comfort clothes. When she thinks I'm already in the bathroom and not looking, I sneak a glance as she lifts it to her face and inhales. Oh, Katniss. Despite the setting…or maybe because of it…I feel a flood of love course through me. I make an about-face from the door of the bathroom and return to where she's rising, the clothes thrown over one arm, to join me. I lean in and kiss her forehead.
"I love you," I tell her. She smiles.
"I know," she says. This is Katniss-ese for you, too.
The first blast of the hot water makes us exhale comically in tandem. With the door closed and the curtain drawn, we could pretend to be anywhere…except this shower, of course, is the fancy kind, with two showerheads on either side, which I have to admit is awfully convenient. We've gotten a little savvier at operating the various buttons and dials, and we successfully manage to procure shampoo without covering ourselves in some crazy concoction. Katniss closes her eyes and leans back in the spray, so her wet hair cascades down behind her. It's gotten a lot longer since we came home. She lost most of it between the Quell and the war. She admitted to me that she liked it shorter, but I made her a deal to grow mine out if she would let it be. It tickles me that she adores my hair, which is long enough to tie back now. "Matches your eyelashes," she told me once.
We linger in the shower even after we're clean and sweet-scented and exfoliated. "What do you think Johanna and Gale talked about?" I ask Katniss. Something about Gale seemed off today. I don't buy that his day could possibly be tougher than ours, being here; after all, he opted in to this whole circus and he's far more accustomed to it than we are, but he looked strained. I was surprised to see him go off with Johanna. They're not really friends. We'd queried Johanna when she came back, but she'd brushed it off.
"He just wanted to know how life was out in the districts. I didn't really want to talk about it, though. I told him things were looking up in 12 but we didn't talk for very long." This seemed deceptively basic, but we let it go.
"Asked her about me," Katniss responds immediately. "Or maybe us, if he's really desperate."
"What about you/us?" I ask.
She sighs and I see her eyes look pained. I remember the moment at the foot of the stairs last night when I left the two of them together. I trust Katniss absolutely and I believe that whatever she once had with Gale is finished, but I'm doubtful whether Gale views it with the same finality. Who knows what he makes up in his head to fill in the gaps when Katniss is gone most of the time now. I wonder what he does with his free time; who he spends it with.
"Gale misses the way things were before," she says.
"He told you that?"
"He didn't have to. Gale and I were too close for too long for me to not be able to read him. He can probably read me, too, now that we're around each other again. He wants to make peace, but I don't know if it's for the sake of peace or because he's hoping to get back what was before all this. Maybe both. I think he's lonely."
Her face softens. "I'm lucky that way. I have you and Haymitch and Johanna." I'm surprised she acknowledges this aloud, though we all know how much it's helped—and not only her—for our little cadre of misfits to stick together.
"He chose to come here," I say, stating the obvious. If Gale thinks he can get things back to the way they were, he's a fool, and I don't think that's the case.
"Yeah, but I guess it's probably easy to forget, living here. You don't have to try very hard…I mean, they have just about every kind of entertainment you could hope for…as we know, unfortunately." She looks a little grim at that, and I envision Gale, spiffed up in some ridiculous Capitol getup, mingling at some tasteful party with the higher-ups. Sellout. I'm never entirely successful at ridding myself of these mental jabs.
"Us being here…it's like home, again. It's a lot easier to call up the old memories, I'd think," Katniss continues.
"What could Johanna possibly tell him that would be of any use in fulfilling whatever he wants?" I ask. Johanna plays her cards a little close, and I would have very much liked to have been party to whatever went on between the two of them…through I know she loves Katniss like a sister and wouldn't prioritize Gale, who she hardly knows, so I don't worry too much.
"He knows he and I, at least in the way he wanted, are over," she says softly. "In his heart, he knows. But I think it's probably harder to accept than it is to understand. At best, maybe we can be…" she falters a little. "…friends, or something." I don't think Katniss even knows what she wants from this. I can't help but feel that she's softened to Gale because she knows he's in pain. He's one of the few whose pain draws her out of herself, even after all this time, all that's been done.
She leans in and kisses my chin. "Don't worry too much about it."
I nod, even though I'm devoting a disproportionate amount of time to parsing Gale's intentions. It doesn't really matter. He's not in proximity to us with anything even remotely approaching regularity…and my paramount desire, always, is to see Katniss happy. Whatever will bring her joy is the outcome I wish, and she's opened to at least being approachable again. That signals her own healing over her sister, too, a fact that doesn't escape me. Like so much else, I'll just watch and wait. Weirdly, having him around hasn't made me feel particularly possessive over these past few days. Wary, but not possessive. I wonder if this has something to do with the sex. I wish it didn't, but I somehow suspect it does. There was also the gesture he made to Katniss in convincing the President to bring Rue's family in for her speech. I can't overlook that, either.
Katniss steps from the shower onto the mat that sends a current through her, instantly drying her and leaving her hair a glossy curtain down her back. She pulls on the sweatpants and braids her hair back again with thoughtless speed. "Coming?" she asks. "I'm starving, and dinner should be here soon. Plus Johanna will be back."
I stick my head out of the shower and shake it like a dog, so droplets of water splash her, and she rolls her eyes at me.
"I'll be a couple more minutes, you go without me," I tell her. "Check out the food situation so you can report back….soldier Everdeen." She pulls on my t-shirt and I can't help but smile again, seeing her in my clothes. Even though everything is huge on her, it's sexy. She tips me a little salute and disappears back into our room. I hear a pause, and then the sound of her descending the stairs, whistling to the dog.
I have other business to attend to, though it won't take very long. Now that I've achieved my first objective, my second priority is looming once more. I see only one way around it. I don't actually expect Katniss and I to have sex tonight, since it's been such a trying day and I know the strain it's put on both of us. Strained or not, I'd be up for it if she was—with this whole sex thing, I feel literally like I just can't help myself for the first time—but I don't want to pressure her and I don't want to deal with the pressure in me, either. Plus, on the off-chance that it does happen, I'm going to keep coming in two minutes unless I take matters into my own…hand. It would be nice to last a little longer. Or a lot longer. Or maybe forever.
I don't time myself but it probably takes about ninety seconds. The mental filing cabinet I call up in times like this has been refilled to overflowing in the past 24 hours. I sigh with relief once I'm done, even though I think with equal parts trepidation, amusement and exasperation that my satiation will probably have about a two-hour time limit, if that.
I pull on a similar pair of sweatpants to Katniss' and another, slightly more upstanding t-shirt from the drawer. All the clothing smells new, and it's disconcerting to me. The fabric is a little too stiff, everything looking a little too formal, with altered necklines and sleeves and subtle detailing. I know why Katniss would rather wear my clothes than these ones, though the pants are luxuriously soft.
I descend the stairs after Katniss and a delicious smell wafts up to me as I reach the first floor. When I enter the kitchen, an enormous paper bag is sitting on the table and Katniss' head and hands are buried in it. Haymitch is leaning against the doorway to the living room swigging, sure enough, from a bottle of white liquor. He looks much more content than he did when I last saw him, and I'm not very surprised to note that the level of liquid in the bottle is seriously depleted considering we weren't in the shower that long. He probably started it on the walk over. I can't begrudge him after today though. Isn't Johanna out fetching ours at the moment?
As though she's heard this thought, the door bangs open and Johanna marches in, holding a bottle of something in a brown bag above her head triumphantly as she notices me.
"Victory!" she says. Her dog immediately jumps up from under the table and bounds toward her, whining and leaping on her, trying to lick her face, broad tail beating wildly and sending up a cloud of fur. Johanna wards him off with the arm not occupied by the bottle, smiling. "Hey, you!" she says in a voice that's approaching the cute tone lots of people use with pets. My eyebrows raise at hearing this strange sound coming from her. She places the bottle carefully out of the way behind her and then gets on her knees and buries her hands in the thick ruff of fur around Mutt's neck. She scratches him deeply as his tail thumps on the floor. Katniss' head and hands come out of the bag, carrying a stack of paper boxes. I smell garlic, potatoes, gravy, the delicate odors of dill and cilantro. My mouth waters.
Haymitch takes another swig, unconcerned, and swings a kitchen chair around, sitting backwards on it the way he likes, his arms cocked over the back. I cross to the cabinet and begin doling out plates and glasses and for a minute, it feels like home again. Haymitch drinking, me performing household tasks, Johanna's crazy dog.
"Dinnertime," says Katniss with something like relish, and I'm glad she's hungry.
Haymitch eyes Johanna's bottle. "Yeah, sweetheart, you better lay down something to pad that or we'll all be picking broken china out of the bottoms of our feet in the morning," he says. His voice is already just a tiny bit wobbly. Katniss ignores this.
Johanna notes Haymitch's gaze and snags the bottle again, setting it beside her plate.
"Don't even think about it, Haymitch, you're not the only one who had a long day today, and we've earned it."
"Oh, I have better things to worry about, darlin'," he tells her.
"Follow your own advice, Haymitch," I say, and pluck a chicken leg from a box to drop on his plate. He wrinkles his nose at it.
"I'm having a liquid dinner tonight," he says, and it's only then when I think for the first time that it's not only the younger generation who has had it with this day. Haymitch has been so unusually taciturn that I haven't been thinking about how he might be handling things personally. I feel a surge of that mother-hen concern that keeps me constantly checking in on him at home, throwing his dirty laundry in the washer and bringing him bread.
"Humor me," I tell him, and he shrugs and takes one halfhearted bite out of the chicken. Johanna has no such reservations and tears into hers. I spoon out mashed potatoes and peas swimming in butter sauce and little round rolls with seeds. Katniss and I split a sandwich at lunch but didn't eat anything substantive and Johanna came back late and didn't eat anything at all besides an apple. Katniss and I are hungry too, and as soon as our plates are loaded, we fall to it without much comment. It occurs to me that we should probably have a group check-in, but I honestly don't have the stomach to broach this idea. Cowardly, I mentally pass the responsibility off to someone else, but no one raises the point. Really, what is there to say? No one wants to rehash the details of what happened in the War Room all day and there's not too much to say about tomorrow. We all need an emotional and mental break between today and tomorrow morning and this is all the time we have to just sit and eat and be together, even in various states of sobriety. So I let it go, and I'm assuming the others have similar thoughts on the matter because the only sound is of chewing for awhile. Johanna slips bits of chicken skin to the dog under the table. She and Katniss eat with their hands and I think fleetingly of Effie Trinket. No one ever heard from her during the war, and we never got any intelligence on her whereabouts. She's never turned up since, so I think we all assumed that she was a casualty of the Capitol, like Cinna and so many others, even their own. That's sad, because I wished Effie no harm and I know she wished us well. I suppose there's a chance she's still somewhere, starting over, but I like to think if she were still alive, she would have found a way to contact us again or be interested in how we're doing. Johanna doesn't open the wine, which suits me just fine. The food has appeared as though by magic—at least, I didn't see anyone bring it in—and there's an orange glow emerging from the next doorway over that I'm pretty sure is an actual fire. I'd rather crack it open in there. As soon as my hunger begins to slacken, my next want arises, for that fire. My body cries out to be fed, cleaned, relaxed. With each successive accomplishment, I feel more myself, like I'm shaking this day off. I can't think as far ahead as tomorrow.
I dish out seconds and then thirds. The bag seems bottomless…a bag of greens with a delicious sweet dressing, olives, strawberries with a tiny glass container of cream for dessert. When the three of us sit back we lounge like logs. Johanna burps and groans. My belly is distended with the delicious food. Katniss licks cream off the corners of her mouth like a cat. Haymitch has at least gotten in a couple of chicken drumsticks, at my insistence. I hope he has the sense not to make himself completely sick tonight, but when he rises from his chair, half the bottle is gone and he's tipsy on his feet. I immediately stand up and so does Katniss.
"Haymitch, do you want some help?" I move forward instinctively. I put a hand on his arm and he violently shakes me off.
"Oh, don't you worry about me, I'm as fit…as fit as a fiddle," he growls. I don't move. He laughs sourly. "Go take care of yourselves, now, kids. I've got all the company I need right here." He swings the bottle around and I see the dangerous stormclouds behind his eyes. Liquor sloshes out. I don't want to let him go but seeing as how he's an adult I can't do much else. I resolve to check on him later. He clomps heavily up the stairs and I hear the door to his room slam. I stand there impotently for a minute.
Johanna rises. "Okay, kids, time for a drink."
The fireplace in the sitting room, thankfully, is not sealed off like the one in our room, and it blazes with light from a fire that one of the discreet Capitol servants who bore our dinner must have lit. A stockpile of well-seasoned wood sits beside it and a handsome poker. It's not too late in the spring yet for it not to be chilly, and the familiarity of a crackling fire warms us all not only in our bodies, but our minds as well. Johanna sets a bottle of red wine on the low table next to the plush velvet couches, and three crystal stemmed glasses.
"Katniss, see, it's always better to get wasted in style," says Johanna. She pours out the wine and hands it out to the three of us. I pull the couch in a little closer to the fire and we sit side by side on it, our bodies comfortably tucked in together.
"We should make a toast," I say, watching the firelight twinkle off the red liquid in the crystal glasses.
"Yup," says Johanna promptly. "Here's to getting the hell out of here!"
"I'll drink to that," says Katniss, and they clink glasses. Katniss clinks hers against mine and we all take a swig.
"Ohhhh, this is good," groans Katniss when she lifts her head, her mouth stained burgundy. "Thanks, Johanna, I owe you one."
"You owe me at least seven, counting the sex tips," says Johanna.
"Johanna gave you sex tips?" I ask, laughing. "Wow, Johanna, they worked."
"She did not give me sex tips," Katniss admonishes, at the same time as Johanna says, "So I heard!" Johanna's response trumps her, though, and she blushes, looking chagrined. "Johanna, the concept of boundaries is one that you should familiarize yourself with."
"Please," snorts Johanna, "Even if I were trying to ignore you, it's not like you were being that quiet anyways." Whatever miniscule hope I'd been harboring that the whole house didn't hear us is dashed in an instant and I can't help but wonder what the others made of it. I did catch Gale's sour face early this morning at breakfast. For a second, I imagine our places reversed and for the first time, feel a tiny stab of pity for him. That would be unbearable for me to listen to. I'm glad he's not staying in the same place again tonight. Maybe that's why.
"I'm not drunk enough to listen to your commentary," Katniss tells her, and takes another swig from the glass. I take one too. Forgetting about today wouldn't be the worst thing that could possibly happen. Our glasses are still half-full but Johanna cheerfully pops the cork back out of the wine bottle and refills them without our asking.
"How was it? Took you long enough," Johanna asks, adding, "Mazel tov." I have no idea what this last bit means or where she got it. She pauses a second and then continues, "Peeta, at least this time you didn't turn her down. Hey, this time Katniss gets wasted with me it's because she did succeed!"
I look at Katniss. "I knew you got trashed that night because I turned you down."
Katniss looks indignant. "I…you…" It's rare that she's at a loss for words and Johanna and I laugh at the same time. She settles for just shaking her head. "Is there any possibility of me just enjoying this wine in peace without you razzing me all night, Johanna?"
"Oh, Katniss, you've become a woman," says Johanna, draining her glass. "I knew you guys had it in you. Now give it about ten more times and the feeling of accomplishment will really kick in."
"Whenever you finally get around to your tricks again, Johanna, I'll be the first one there to give you a hard time," says Katniss.
"You can come along," Johanna says, "Say, Peeta, can I rent her for a bit? I'll return her as good as new, I promise. Better, even." This relaxed banter does make me feel more at home, so I settle in comfortably and look to Katniss, my eyes twinkling. I do enjoy watching Johanna play with her like this, since Katniss spent so much time being renowned for her total lack of awareness of sex and consequent embarrassment. I, at least, had a working understanding of sex and an active fantasy and masturbatory life before we were thrown together at the Reaping. Mostly involving Katniss, too. I remember when Johanna shed her tree costume in the elevator. Chaff kissing her on the mouth…and Finnick with the sugar cubes. What I wouldn't give to have him sitting with the three of us right now. This stings, and I don't want those melancholy thoughts intruding, so I take another swig. My mind and body feel more relaxed than ever, now. I'm getting that ever-so-slight heady feeling that comes with alcohol.
"Oh, what the hell, sure," I say, teasing. Katniss swats my shoulder. "Don't I have a say in this?" she asks. Her cheeks are still flushed, though from the embarrassment or the wine, I can't tell.
"You know you like it," says Johanna, and leans over to bite her shoulder. Even on the other side of her, since she's pressed close against me, I feel the electric tremor that flits through her, and my eyebrows go up. Johanna grins ferally but backs off. Now that would be something, I think.
We sit companionably in the silence, a silence that feels warm and comfortable, instead of the one at dinner, which felt loaded with unsaid things. Slowly we make it through the bottle of wine. Johanna tells dirty jokes, of course. Katniss giggles. I feel her loosen up in my arms as we all watch the fire crackle down to embers. I feel a little drowsy and almost completely content as the day blessedly fades to a distant memory.
When Katniss finally yawns I kiss her cheek. "Want to go upstairs?" I ask. She looks reluctant to leave our cozy perch here, but nods. The prospect of stretching out on those heinously expensive sheets together is too compelling. Johanna whistles for her dog and leaves the glasses and bottle where they are. Even I'm too lethargic to move them, so we leave the embers and troop upstairs together, where Johanna says good night at her room and disappears inside, already pulling her shirt over her head as the door closes behind her. I gently open Haymitch's door and peek my head in. He's snoring loudly, amazingly since he never sleeps at night…booze must've helped…so I close it again with a quiet snick and we finally move into our own room.
As I change, Katniss is riffling through the dresser drawers idly, muttering commentary that I only occasionally catch. Suddenly she laughs, "Look at these ridiculous underwear," holding up a pair of black satin panties fringed in delicate lace. I'm pleased to hear her laughter as I sit on the bed and bend to unbuckle my leg for the evening, since it's gotten stiff and painful today. She turns them around and I look up just in time to see how little they cover in the back department.
My mouth drops open. "Please, for the love of god, wear those to bed." She's laughing at me and I know that this trend she really doesn't get at all. The only lingerie I've ever really seen Katniss wear is the shift with the roses that used to belong to her mother, for her honeymoon. She always comes to bed nude, or in an old t-shirt or shorts or a robe. "There's not even any fabric in this!" she protests, still laughing, turning it this way and that. "What a rip-off."
"Katniss, I'll give you anything you want." I'm smiling now although I'm half-serious and she looks up, her eyes twinkling with mirth, and sees the smile. I can tell she's still just a little drunk.
"Okay, okay," she says. "Only to humor you." She slips the underwear on and I almost chew through my bottom lip trying not to drool when I see just how little fabric there is. Before she crawls into bed she flips the lights off, which is probably for the best, though the image of those underwear is now burned firmly into my brain.
It's been a long day, and I know Katniss is probably tired, so I don't want to push it. The emotions have been running high for all of us since we got here, for better or worse. She made me proud—as always—today, stepping up admirably to take on a mantle that I know she would rather have disgarded forever. It wasn't easy for any of us, but it's Katniss that they expect the most from. I can't help but feel that Haymitch gets a pass sometimes because of his reputation with white liquor, Johanna gets a pass because most of them regard her as highly unstable, and I get a pass because…I don't know. All I know is that Katniss never seems to get a pass in the leadership department. It's ironic that perhaps because when it's come down to the wire, she's always been able to pull herself together, even if she had to scramble to do it, they heap on the assumption that she always will be able to, like a trick pony. But she always does it again. Katniss is loathe to appear weak and hates to lose. And they know it.
She settles back in my arms and I almost groan from the pure comfort of it, her familiar soft warm compact body tucked into mine. I try to match her breathing at first but then I purposely deepen and slow my breaths, hoping that will help lull her to sleep. I'm a little afraid of nightmares for both of us tonight, to be honest. This place doesn't encourage me to sleep easy, though last night I was too starstruck and exhausted to stay awake. I'm acutely aware of the curve of her ass pressing into me, but since my stunt in the shower, thank god I'm able to forcibly push my physical impulses back. I'm an 18-year-old boy, so I'm a bit resigned to them at this point, but I want Katniss to know that it's not just about the sex, even if I'm still dazzled. She yawns and stretches, arching against me. Katniiiiiiiiss, my brain pleads. Oh, don't do that… It's almost funny. I feel like maybe the thinking part of my brain isn't so good at operating when she does that.
Thank god I jerked off, I think again.
Then Katniss rolls over to face me and lifts one long leg up to crook over my hip. I let out a whimper that I hope is only at a register dogs can hear. She leans in and the sweet scent of her hair engulfs me as she kisses my neck. I'm rigid with self-control, placing my hands only flat and tentatively on her shoulders like we're brother and sister or some absurd thing.
"Hey, it's okay if you want to get some sleep," I get out. "Tomorrow's a long day and I know today wasn't so easy already." My voice sounds more even than I'd hoped for.
Katniss moves to my earlobe and nibbles it and I sigh, closing my eyes. My hands begin to slip down her bare arms and wander to the delicate web of her ribcage. The leg slung over me tightens just barely. She rakes one hand up to push my waves off my forehead and then keeps it buried in my hair.
"Is that what you want?" she whispers in my ear, sounding unconvinced.
"N-n-n-yes, if you're tired," I answer. I can't answer questions in this state of mind so I hope she doesn't ask anything more complicated.
"That's not an answer!" she sing-songs softly, her hot breath whispering as she lands the tiniest kisses up the outer arc of my ear. "What do you want to do right now?"
Ahhhhhhhhhhh. I'm not made of stone. The hand not in my hair places itself palm-out on my chest, like she's pulling me in and stopping me all at once. Despite my previous orgasm, I'm getting turned on and I know it's immediately obvious, too. Traitor body, I think numbly. Women have it so easy in this area. She tweaks one nipple gently and I jump. She laughs and moves her mouth down to mine. I melt into the kiss as she plies my lips delicately with her tongue and mine slips out to meet it. I feel all my fingers flex out, my hands like starfish, tendons rigid, frozen. I try to cut myself a little slack even in the haze. It's only been a day. One day. I'm overcome with joy suddenly, thinking of how many more days we might have to repeat our act.
"Are you sure?" I ask, unable to help myself from being polite even though I'm half-mad with lust. I can almost hearJohanna snorting in my head at this knightly gesture, even though I'm squirming like a little kid again. Katniss bites my bottom lip and pulls it out with her teeth. I have time to marvel at this, at how aggressively she's pursuing me at the moment. It has a feeling entirely different from anything we've ever done before. I can feel the need I usually feel pulsing out of her in waves, tonight. It's all the answer I need. I roll onto my back and pull her on top of me. She straddles me but doesn't break our kiss, and our mouths move almost frantically together. The ache in my balls has moved up deep in my belly as I feel the thin silk of those absurd black underwear come in contact with my too-hot body. Even through my shorts I can feel myself burning against her. She must enjoy the feeling because as I shift up towards her, she shivers all over and I feel it through her strong thighs gripping me, her hands in my hair, even her mouth. I slide my hands down to cup her ass, pushing the little bit of fabric that exists up with my fingers so it bunches together in between, and she gasps. Acting instinctively, I tug the fabric up higher, making it taut between her legs, and she correspondingly presses down harder against me. It's not the kind of night where games will be played. Katniss reaches one well-coordinated hand down and tugs at the elastic around my waist, inching my shorts down to my knees where I can wriggle out of them. In the dark, I reach for the condoms that are stowed in the drawer beside the bed. Katniss snatches one from my hand and I groan as her small hand reaches down, down, down, and rolls it down over my thoroughly insistent erection. I can hardly believe it's possible for me to be so worked up when my last orgasm was just outside of four hours ago. Instead of moving her from her straddled position to slip those red-hot underwear off, I tug them to the side with two fingers. But it's Katniss who makes that final move as I see her silhouette move above me, a dark shape against darkness, and then she lowers herself. I expect her to go slowly, still adjusting to the feel of me inside her and perhaps still feeling the residual of our exertions this morning—I heard that can happen—but it's all in one rush and before I can form a cry in my mouth, she's pressed down against my belly and she begins to rock gently on me, stabilizing herself with her hands on the bed on either side of us as though she's been doing it all her life. Her hips move with a sensuousness I didn't know they had. Absurdly, I think of horses. Riding horses. Riding…
Little cries and whimpers are coming from me, but she's silent…concentrating, maybe. Her hair falls in a delicate fringe, whispering against my chest as she leans forward, which changes the sensation entirely. I can feel every shift. Then she sighs softly, contentedly, and lowers further so we press together. She's balanced on those strong hunter's thighs. Instinctively I move to close the distance and push up into her.
"Mmmmm," she groans. I uncertainly move my hips up the way she moved hers, and she stills to let me play. After awhile, we learn how to move together so we don't bump awkwardly, and the fluidity of the rhythm carries us both. All I can hear is Katniss panting in the dark as she tucks her face into my neck. My hands run up and down her bare back, bury into the hair at the nape of her neck. I can feel the whisper of those silken underwear against the side of me as she slips up and down and I shiver.
I last longer than the first two times but not as long as I'd like. Katniss anticipates my orgasm before I warn her and pushes all the way down against me again as I come. My eyes squeeze shut at the height of it and my hands leave her and grip handfuls of the sheets on either side of us. She snuggles down contentedly on my chest with me still inside her body. We breathe together in the dark. When I finally recover, I bury my face in her hair and breathe the mixed scent of flowers and the heaviness of our sweat drenching the air.
Katniss finally swings her leg over and off me as I begin to go soft inside her, and reaches out to open a window. She puts her face next to the cool air coming in and purrs.
"Yum," she says, and I laugh.
"Are you sore?" I ask tentatively. In the dark I see her reach down experimentally and even though I've just come, I quaver a little.
"Not so sore that I'm ready to sleep," she says teasingly. That's all the answer I need. Katniss seems to be totally incapable of being quiet during our sex here, because when I tug her back down to the bed and rise up over her, showering her with kisses that descend down and down and down the swells of her breasts and her flat belly and the jutting lyre of her hips, when my hand moves with my mouth and finds her sore places, still drenched with the evidence of our lovemaking, her cries begin again. This time, I don't boss her around or tell her what to do. I'm as tender as I can be, trying to convey to her what this feels like to me, the red-rose rise that I feel hanging over us like smoke. This is only for her pleasure, not for mine, and if it can be believed, it might be a greater pleasure for me than even the sex that came before, when after not too long she shudders and arches her back and I feel her body clench tight around my exploring fingertips. Like so often, her hands in my hair pull hard at the roots and I hear my name in her strained voice explode into the air. When I draw back and rest my head against her stomach, hugging her lower body to me and already beginning to drift, sated, in the sleepiness that comes down, I hear her answer to my love whisper in the air. I can hear the smile in her voice.
"Always," she says, and I smile too.