I wake up in my old bedroom above the bakery. There is not a single sound coming from anywhere, and the silence is oppressive. I climb out of bed and make my way downstairs. Something is very, very wrong.
There is blood literally everywhere. It covers the floors, the walls, the furniture. Long lines of blood cling to the outside of the clay ovens. I don't know where it has come from. I look at my feet; they are bare and as I walk through the sticky and rapidly congealing blood I leave footprints as I go.
Panic wells up in my chest. Whose blood is this? How did it get here? Why is there so much?
I realise that there is a body slumped over the kitchen table. Blond hair is visible amongst the darkening red. With trepidation I move closer to examine the face.
It is my brother, Kern. His throat has been cut, his blue eyes still open but clouded over, never to see again. I stumble backwards, nearly skidding over in the process, and I cry out but no sound escapes my throat. I nearly fall over a second body. Rhees's back is covered in stab wounds, his eyes still open but like Kern's, blank and unseeing.
I try to run out of the front door but the blood on the floor acts like tar. My limbs fight to move me through space. Eventually I stumble outside, and what I see elicits another silent scream from me.
There are bodies everywhere. I know, or at least recognise, all these people; school friends, neighbours, customers… All of them staring with their blank eyes as blood pours from wounds to their necks, chests and stomachs.
My heart stops. In the distance I can hear a voice calling my name. Someone here is still alive.
I move amongst the bodies as fast as my limbs will allow. My feet are treading a familiar path to the town square, and as I draw ever closer the knot of anxiety in my stomach increases. The blood on the floor here is fresher and has not yet started to dry. Two figures are laying huddled together in the middle of the square, one male and one female. I try to pick up the pace to get to them but my limbs still feel restricted. As I get closer I drop to my knees, in amongst the blood of the fallen, as I recognise them. Katniss and Haymitch, blood still seeping from their open throats. Katniss looks at me and blinks slowly. She is still alive. I tear off my shirt and try to staunch the flow. I want to tell her I will help her but I am still unable to make a sound. She blinks once more and as her eyes open something passes from them, and she too is gone.
As I collapse over her body I hear my name once again, coming from behind me. I stand up and my father is running towards me, calling for me. There is panic in his eyes. He stops running abruptly and looks down at his chest as a red stain spreads across his shirt originating from a point over his heart. He drops to the floor and behind him, dripping knife in hand, is Rafe Cronin. Cronin looks up at me and begins running, inhumanly fast.
I try to run from him, but the tar-like blood holds me in place. He pounces on me and together we come crashing to the floor, and I feel the heat of my own blood pouring from my wounds as the knife comes down again and again and again…..
"Peeta! Peeta, wake up! Please!"
The voice I can hear registers but it is impossible. She's dead. I watched her die….
"Peeta! Can you hear me?"
But then… Surely I am dead too? I could never have survived such an onslaught….
"Peeta! Please wake up!"
I slowly open my eyes. It is still dark and I am looking up in to Katniss's distressed face as understanding floods in on me. "I was dreaming?" I ask thickly.
She nods. "You were thrashing around. I tried to wake you but I couldn't."
The bed sheets are twisted around my feet and I am covered in cold sweat, but the overwhelming feeling is of relief. "You're alive," I breathe as I reach out to touch her, still not sure if this is real. Her face feels warm under my clammy touch. She doesn't shy away from me and returns the touch, pushing my sweaty hair out of my eyes and away from my face.
"I'm alive," she confirms with a small smile.
I need her close to me and I gently pull her to me. She lies down with her head on my shoulder, and her arm draped over my chest. My heart is still pounding and my breathing shallow from the nightmare, but having Katniss in such close proximity helps ground me to reality. "Thank you," I whisper into her hair.
"For what?" she asks.
"For still being alive. Thank you. For being here."
"I don't plan on going anywhere just yet."
"Good. That's good."
I idly trail my fingers up and down her back. She is wearing one of my shirts which is completely oversized on her, her underwear and nothing else. Despite the images from my nightmares that keep swimming to the surface of my mind, it is not lost on me how insanely erotic this is.
I shiver from cold as the sweat I was drenched in begins to dry. "You ok?" asks Katniss.
"Cold," I reply. My t-shirt is sticking to me, adding another level of discomfort to the mounting chill.
She sits up and gets off the bed. I moan in protest at her departure, but she heads to a drawer, and finds a clean, dry t-shirt, and returns to me. "Sit up," she says gently. I do as she says, and she tugs the wet t-shirt over my head. The tips of her fingers pass over my bare skin sending a jolt of electricity through my body, as my breath catches. The memories of our kiss earlier today come crashing to the surface, and in this moment I need her again.
She is just about to help me get the clean shirt on but I hold her wrist and stop her. "Katniss?" I whisper. Everything I want to say to her is in those two syllables and she clearly understands. She drops the shirt and reaches for my face, pulling me to her waiting lips. Her kisses are much surer than earlier; there is no hesitation as she opens her mouth to me, her tongue darting across my own.
She is leading the pace and I am more than happy to follow. She swiftly straddles my lap and looks down at me, her eyes burning with desire. My shirt half hangs from her, exposing a single shoulder. I have to see more. I lick my lips and indicate the buttons. "May I?" I ask. She smiles and nods and I undo each one, taking my time, and revelling in the slow reveal of her flesh.
It is still dark, but there is just enough moonlight for me to see the gentle swell of her breasts and I cup one in my hand. Her pebbled nipple grazes my palm and I rub my thumb across it, marvelling at the gasps and moans this causes Katniss to produce. She tries to shrug my opened shirt off but I stop her. "Leave it on," I say, and I am amazed by how heavy my voice sounds. Seeing her almost naked but still wearing my shirt…. It is the most alluring sight I could ever imagine. She smiles bashfully and tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. I pull her towards me, and kiss her with all the desperation I can muster. Her breasts press in to my bare chest and I capture each moan she makes in my mouth. Her hips grind into me, my already hard cock pulsing and twitching impatiently with every movement.
She plants a lingering kiss on my lips, gently nibbling my bottom lip as she pulls away. She seems to be considering something for a moment, before she makes her mind up and lightly climbs off of me. "Katniss?" I ask, needing her contact again.
"Just a second," she replies. She appears to be rooting through the pockets of her trousers which had been folded up and left on a chair. After a moment she removes a blister pack that contains a single pill which she dry swallows.
"What are you-?"
"Ummm, don't be cross… When we got back here I went to one of the med bays. I asked for something that would stop me… you know….. just in case… I wasn't planning for anything! It was only just in case…."
"You mean, we can….?"
She nods and my heart skips as she straddles me, once again capturing my lips in a deep, penetrating kiss. "What do you want?" she asks me, her voice thick with desire. It nearly pushes me over the edge.
"You," I answer honestly.
She places gentle kisses down my neck, along my collarbone, on my Adam's apple. I close my eyes and sigh as each touch of her lips sends jolts of pleasure running through me. "Where do you want me?" she whispers in my ear, before she sits up and grinds into me again.
I try to quash my desire to take her here and now as much as possible. I want this to last as long as it possibly can. "Show me what you like first."
She encourages me back on the bed, then she lies down next to me. She is still wearing my unbuttoned shirt, and I prop myself up on my elbow to better take the splendour of her in. She takes my hand in her own and slips it under the waistband of her underwear. As my fingers slide in between her folds she gasps, but she pushes my hand lower, tracing gentle circles on the back of my fingers. I mimic her movements precisely and she removes her own hand which comes up to cup one of her breasts, while the other grips on to the bed sheets.
"You are so beautiful," I whisper to her in the darkness. I am longing for her to touch me but watching her squirm under my touch is such delicious torture that I am more than willing to wait.
Soon her hips begin to buck as her breathing becomes faster and more shallow. "Faster," she gasps, and I oblige. "Oh fuck… oh Peeta, yes…Yes!" she screams out and I capture her scream in my mouth, while exploring her with my tongue. I keep the pressure on her swollen clit, daring to dip a finger inside her. She tries to push my hand away but I have never seen anything more beautiful than watching her come and I want to watch her again. I try a second finger inside her, and use my thumb to circle over her clit the way she showed me she likes. She is so warm and wet and open to my touch and her moans soon increase in intensity again. As she comes a second time she cries, "Please….stop….just for a minute…" as she pushes my hand away from her sensitivity.
I drink in the sight of her; hair splayed across the pillows, her breast heaving as she tries to catch her breath. "Katniss…." I whisper in her ear, "I really need you."
She nods her assent and I shrug off my boxers as quickly as I can. She raises her hips off the bed allowing me to remove her underwear then she opens her legs to me so I am able to position myself over her, slowly pushing in to the pulsing heat of her core. "Shit, Peeta," she chokes out.
"What is it?" I ask, terrified she's going to deny me again.
"Nothing…just…. Really really sensitive. Go slow, ok?"
"Ok," I reply, placing a soft kiss upon her lips. I settle in between her legs, allowing her to get used to the feeling of our union. She runs her hands up and down my back, then my heart stops for a moment as she places her hands over my bum and pulls me even further inside. I take that as an invitation to move, and I slowly begin to pull in and out of her. Each gasp and sigh from her is like a gift from heaven, and as she begins to rock her hips in encouragement I take the cue to go a little faster. I hitch her leg up around my waist so I can go even deeper. It doesn't take long before I feel the familiar pressure begin to build inside me. Shit. I wanted this to last longer…but she just feels so damn good, so hot and tight and wet…. "Katniss…" I breathe, "I'm gonna….fuck…..I'm gonna come…" She buries her hands in my hair and pulls me down to kiss her just my universe explodes into stars; pleasure crashes through me like a wave and I collapse on top of her. My breathing is ragged and my heart is pounding. "Thank you," I whisper to her. "That was… thank you." I gently pull out of her, the action of which causes her to whimper slightly. I find the sheets that have been twisted up at the end of the bed and pull them up to cover us both.
"Come to me," she whispers, her arms outstretched to me. She cradles me in her arms as I rest my head just above her breast. She plants little kisses on the crown of my head, and the steady drum of her heartbeat soon sends me back to a restful, dreamless sleep.
This last day before the Games begin tomorrow has been another testament to how fast time flies by when I would give anything for it to slow down.
I awoke in Katniss's arms, more comfortable and well rested than I remember being in a long time. We stayed in each other's embrace until the last possible moment, when we were finally sent for.
Haymitch dismissed Katniss early in the day, saying, "No offence, sweetheart, you aint the person to teach them to talk." She tried to protest, and playfully pushed me away when I laughed at her reaction but I think she was secretly grateful; she knows this isn't her forte.
The afternoon blazes by in a whirl of conversation and advice. Dad needs only be himself; Haymitch has declared him sufficiently enough like me to be able to deal with a simple interview. Ava is a bundle of nerves but is sweet, pretty enough and likeable; we manage to convince her that with the help she will get from Caesar she will have the Capital eating out of the palm of her hand. Cronin hardly needs advice; he's going for the arrogant route. With his score of ten and his naturally haughty demeanour Haymitch thinks he will be able to garner the attention of some of the more bloodthirsty sponsors. Mrs Undersee remains somewhat problematic. Since receiving her score of four an unnatural calm has washed over her. She is no longer to be found constantly drying her eyes, or clutching at her own head. Every time we have tried to speak to her she has dismissed us and ignored everything we say. "I'm the wife of a Mayor," she says contemptuously. "I don't need advice on public speaking from a baker or a drunk."
Haymitch shrugs and leaves her to it. He tells me it's pointless getting wound up as she's going to die either way. I'm furious that he could just abandon someone so thoroughly to an undeserved fate. "Get used to it," is the only instruction he gives me.
In the blink of an eye the tributes are back with their prep teams and stylists. A little over sixteen hours left until they enter the Arena. Then before I know it the interviews are beginning. A little over fourteen hours until the start. Where is time vanishing to?
I try to pay attention to the interviews to scope out the competition but it leaves me feeling worse. Cassius, the District Two tribute who scored an eleven talks about what an honour it is to be able to fight; how he had wanted to volunteer as a child but someone else had always got in first. He talks about how grateful he is that he kept up weight training and sword practise, and that he will finally get to be able to use it all.
The feeling of dread is compacted during the boy from Five's interview. Yohan is humble yet hopeful. He talks about his home life and how he promised his dad he would do his very best to come home again. My own father's resolve is bound to be strengthened watching this. Part of me almost hopes he is killed by someone else before dad can find him. I hate myself for thinking in such a way.
As predicted, Ava charms the Capital audiences with her humble innocence. She is dressed in a simple white lace summer dress, and as she steps out on to the stage the bright lights catch her blond her, illuminating her like an ethereal being.
Rafe's interview also goes exactly as planned. He describes his work in the butcher's shop; how carving up the tributes is going to be just the same as carving up meat. I feel nauseous as he talks; all he needs is a knife and he really will be a force to be reckoned with. By the end of his interview the Capitol audience are cheering his name.
Mrs Undersee is up next. She is aloof throughout her interview, except for one moment when Caesar talks about the previous Quell. He mentions her sister. Her sister? Her sister died in the previous Quell? How did none of us know this until now? Did….did Haymitch kill her, perhaps? My stomach knots painfully at the thought. I had never really thought of Haymitch being a killer. I sometimes forget that being a Victor generally means being a killer. I am one of the very few exceptions rather than the rule… A few years back I remember a girl winning purely because she was the best swimmer, after the Arena flooded. She didn't actually kill anybody either. But the vast majority of winners do so because they are both brutal and unforgiving. At the mention of her long dead sister, Mrs Undersee's mask slips for the briefest of moments. "Maysilee," she whispers, before regaining her self-control. "I know exactly how I'll be escaping the Arena," she says, and her words are so full of a confidence I had never seen in her prior to this moment. She walks off the stage to much applause.
Finally it is my father's turn. Next to me Katniss offers her usual show of support by squeezing my hand and pulling me closer to her. I cannot take my eyes off the screen.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome Steffan Mellark!" The crowd roars their approval as dad walks up on stage and shakes Caesar's hand. "Please take a seat, Steffan." He gestures for the audience to quiet down. "Well, would you look at that?" he says to the audience. "Ladies and gentlemen, it really is quite clear where Peeta got his looks from! Isn't that extraordinary!"
"Now, don't be so mean to the boy," replies my father with a half-smile, as the audience break into laughter.
"And his gift for words too, I see?"
"Well, they say the apple never falls too far from the tree."
"Indeed, indeed… Now, Steffan, that really was quite something when your name was drawn… When Peeta tried to take your place. Can you tell us how that felt?"
The cameras are close up on my father's face. I impatiently brush away the wetness that has appeared in the corner of my own eyes. There are bound to be cameras watching my movements too.
"My boy has paid his dues. Even if he was allowed to take my place I would never have let him, not in a thousand lifetimes. I could never have watched him go back in, not when I nearly lost him once before." The audience is completely silent. "At least I know I have someone who cares watching over me. Both my son, and my future daughter."
"And how are those wedding plans going? Looking forward to it?"
"I would be if I knew I'd get to see it, Caesar," he answers quietly.
Caesar smiles sympathetically. "I'm sure you will, Steffan, I'm sure you will. Are there any special words for anyone back home?"
He hesitates for just a moment, then looks directly in to a camera. "Yes, actually. Peeta outed my feelings for someone last year. I just wanted to say to that someone, as I'll probably never get the chance now… I never forgot you. I never will." He turns back to Caesar and says with a self-deprecating chuckle. "We're all hopeless romantics in this family."
"Well, Steffan," says Caesar, taking my father's hand in his own, "I wish you the very best of luck. Ladies and Gentlemen, Steffan Mellark!" Dad stands up, gives a small wave to the audience and walks off stage to tumultuous applause.
He walks straight past me and I notice how brightly his eyes are shining. "Dad?" I call after him, but he either doesn't hear me or chooses to ignore me. "Dad?" I call again, running after him. I place my hand on his shoulder and without looking at me he places his own hand on top of mine. He is shaking silently. "Dad?" I ask again, quieter this time.
He turns around and there is no disguising the tears in his eyes. "I didn't want you to see me this way," he says, drying his eyes with the back of his sleeve.
"Dad, I-" I don't even know how to finish the sentence. I put my arms around his neck, and soon am overcome with my own grief.
"There, there," he says, his voice ragged. "I need you to be strong, ok Peet? Be strong."
I look up and see Haymitch approaching us, Katniss just behind him. "You should try and sleep," Haymitch directs towards my father. "You'll need to be as rested as you can be tomorrow."
Dad pulls apart our embrace and offers me a sad smile. "Dry your eyes, Peet, there's a good lad." He kisses my forehead and walks away from me, and as he does I feel my heart shatter. Katniss rushes forward to steady me and I cling to her as a drowning man would to a rope.
"You'll stay with me tonight?" I whisper to her.
"Of course," she replies. "And every night you ever need me."
A/N – Lemons ahoy! Hope you enjoyed it. Please leave a review if you feel like it, they make me write faster. Now, get some rest all of you. The Games start in the morning ;)