A/N: edited 08/01/15

This chapter is entirely in Katniss' POV, but the next is all Peeta. There's more badly written smut in this chapter just fyi.

Chapter 29: Phoenix

Katniss

Christmas Day swings around quicker than expected. I'm woken by the smell of turkey cooking filling the house, causing my stomach to rumble. Although Peeta is by far the better cook out of the two of us, I wish that he could maybe not cook such delicious food. The mouth-watering aromas wafting from the kitchen make me hungry all the time. But Prim and my mother don't arrive until 2p.m., so I have to wait until I can eat anything. I get dressed and go downstairs into the kitchen.

"Peeta?" I call. "You here?" There's no answer. I lean against the doorframe and sigh before turning around to head for the living room. Peeta's right behind me, with a ridiculous smirk on his lips when I jump back in fright.

"Merry Christmas," he grins.

"Jesus Christ," I gasp, clutching at my chest. Peeta waggles his eyebrows and looks up. I follow his gaze. "Uh, no fair." I say, spying the mistletoe he's pinned to the doorway.

"Katniss, it's Christmas. Don't be a Grinch."

"I'm not being a Grinch."

"Kiss me then," he raises his eyebrows. I press my lips together.

"You kiss me."

"I'm not gonna say no to that," he says, leaning down and pressing his lips to mine, shifting his body forward so that it's pressed against me. My mouth falls open when he captures my bottom lip with his teeth and bites down. I slide my arms around his neck, slanting my mouth against his, feeling him using his entire body to make the kiss phenomenal. When I pull away, my breathing is fast and uneven.

"Merry Christmas." I smile.

"Merry Christmas to you too." Peeta grins, kissing me again.

We cook for the rest of the morning, exchanging stories of past Christmases. I talk about when my father bought an orange home after a shift at the mines, how the bright colour stood out against his coal-blackened skin, how delicious the three segments I had were.

"It's weird. I can still taste it."

"After all these years?" Peeta asks, chopping a carrot into even slices.

"After all these years..." I smile at the memory. "What do you remember?"

"When I was little, I must have been three or four years old; we had a shipment of oysters. All the way from District 4."

"Oysters?" I ask. I've heard of them from lessons at school, but I'm still unsure of what they are exactly. Lessons about the other districts that make up Panem are brief, cloudy subjects that none of the teachers seem particularly eager to teach about. It isn't that they aren't provided with the information in the Capitol approved textbooks, but we generally skip the fine details. Most of us tend to make up things about the districts ourselves, using our imaginations to picture what it's like.

Four sounds wonderful, all clear water and golden sands and endless blue skies. There's a picture of a beach from District 4, and Twelve looks grubby and rundown and coal-dust-covered in comparison. I mean, Twelve is grubby and rundown and coal-dust-covered, but it's not like we can help it. The Capitol doesn't care much about the outer-lying districts and we just seem to get further and further from the modernisation of the Capitol with each day. Our traditions are still the same as they were over a hundred years ago, and according to elders the district layout hasn't changed dramatically either.

"People dive for them, right down to the seabed. They're these mollusc things in shells," Peeta wrinkles his nose. "I don't like them. My Dad snuck some in for us to try, but they're all slimey and cold and... Ugh," He shudders. "In 4 they're considered a delicacy. Everyone eats them, but I think they're gross."

"You get pearls, in oysters," I say thoughtfully. "Don't you?"

Peeta nods.

"I always wanted to go to District 4. It looks so beautiful in all the textbooks at school."

"It would certainly be an adventure."

"I would like to swim in the ocean," I say, peeling the skin off a potato with a knife. "My Dad always said that the water would be really warm and clear- as clear as drinking water."

"Can you swim?" Peeta asks, turning his head to look at me, his eyes bright.

"Yeah," I nod. "There's this lake, way out in the forest. Dad taught me to swim, told me that it would one day save my life," I snort. "As if that's ever gonna happen."

"You never know, this snow could last for weeks. By the time it melts it could flood the district, and you'd have to swim to safety."

"That's likely," I roll my eyes. "Can you swim?"

"Ah, no, I can't," he chuckles. "I've never come across a big enough body of water to practice."

"Was the bathtub down at the bakery not big enough?" I tease.

"It's funny, actually. It got smaller the older I got," Peeta deadpans. "None of the Mellarks know how to swim," he says, moving over in front of the ovens to check the turkey. "In a game of survival of the fittest, the best we could do is frost someone to death."

"Now that's something I'd like to see."

"I'm serious!" he exclaims, standing up and brushing off his pants.

"You're strong. Maybe you could throw bags of flour of people."

"Yes, because there would bags of flour just lying around if the world came to an end."

"Yes, because you'd have enough time and supplies to make frosting if the world came to an end," I retort, mimicking Peeta's sarcastic tone. He steps closer to me, his hands resting on my hips.

"I'm an expert frosting maker, thank you very much," he says, leaning closer with a playful smirk on his face. I laugh and wait until his lips are mere millimetres away from mine before moving away, denying him of a kiss. I make for the doorway, slapping his ass as I pass.

"I'm going to get dressed before Mom and Prim get here," I say, leaving the room and going upstairs. I ransack my half of the wardrobe Peeta brought over from the bakery, searching through the few clothes I have, pulling out the same blue dress I wore at the dinner, just after I was paired with Peeta. But as I pull it on and stand in front of the bathroom mirror, I realise that the dress is way too short to wear without leggings or pants, my stomach protruding out so much that it makes the hemline of the skirt rise from just above my knees to high up on my thighs. It's more of a shirt than a dress.

I rummage further into my closet, and pull out a clean pair of pants, sliding them on underneath the dress. I untangle my braid, combing my fingers through my hair to make it a little more presentable, allowing it to fall in loose waves over my shoulders. I try to remember the pattern that Mom used to braid my hair and braid a little on one side, before securing it with a pin.

Peeta is in the bathroom, shaving the stubble that has grown overnight, creeping over his upper lip, his chin and his jaw line. For a minute I just stand there in the doorway, watching the muscles in his back ripple, but once I've come back to my senses I sit him down on the toilet seat and take the razor.

"Let me do it," I say. This is an intimate gesture, isn't it? This is what normal couples do, right?

Peeta looks wary. "Don't hurt me, please."

"If you keep grinning, I am going to hurt you," I say, squirting some shaving foam into my hand and lathering it up. I apply it to his skin and run the razor gently over his face, keeping the skin taunt by holding it in between my thumb and index finger. The process is a lot like when Gale and I stretch animal skins to sell to the tailors. I have to move confidently but gently as to not damage anything. "Prim is looking forward to having dinner," I say, bringing the razor down over the side of his mouth.

"She is?"

"Yeah," I nod, washing the razor under the faucet. "She really likes you."

"I really like her."

"She's too young for you."

"Damn. I'll have to settle for the other Everdeen girl."

"My Mom?" I ask, turning my nose up in disgust. "Gross."

"Yeah, definitely your Mom," Peeta says, trying to keep his face still as he speaks. "No, I'm talking about you."

"Me?" I ask, feigning surprise. "What? Really?" He rolls his eyes and I tilt his head back and run the razor down his neck, and end up catching the edge of it on his skin when he swallows.

"Are you trying to kill me?!" he asks.

"Yep," I say, removing the last of the hair. Peeta winces. I've cut him again. It's his fault for moving. "I told you not to move!" I exclaim, causing him to smirk. I step back a little to admire my work. There's a little left over on his jaw line, so I move in close again to get rid of it. Suddenly I'm aware of how close he is to me. I can feel his breath on my neck, and his hand is burning into my hip, sending shockwaves down to my toes.

"Katniss?" Peeta asks warily. I blink, realising that I've just been standing there, focused on his breath on my skin and his hand on my hip. His tongue darts out to wet his lips. I quickly rid him of the rest of the hair and then put the razor down, using a hand towel to wipe the leftover shaving foam away. My hands are shaking as I rip up some toilet paper and place is gently on the places where I've caught his skin.

"Are you alright?" he continues, his eyes locked on mine. "Hey, your hands are shaking. What's wrong-" I cut him off by pressing my lips to his, not allowing him to speak any longer. The sigh that escapes my lips is one of relief. Peeta's other hand grasps my hip, drawing me closer in between his legs. I rest my forearms on his bare shoulders, leaning into the kiss, pushing him fully back until his back is against the water tank. He groans against my mouth and the sound makes heat pool in my stomach. What is happening to me?

"Katniss," Peeta murmurs, breaking the kiss off. "It isn't that I don't want to make out with you, but the bathroom isn't exactly a pleasant place." I bite my lip, the taste of him lingering on my lips. 'Making out with you'. That one statement makes me weak at the knees, like some townie schoolgirl. Making out is something I've only heard people giggling about in hushed tones in the hallways; it's a very teenager-y thing, making out.

"Sorry," I say, my cheeks turning red with embarrassment. "I don't know what came over me."

"You were overwhelmed with how handsome I am," Peeta jokes. I blush even more, staring down at the floor, ignoring the voice in my head that's telling me that actually, that was what happened, and smoothing my dress down instead.

"Sorry."

"Why are you apologising?" Peeta chuckles. He still hasn't removed his hands.

"I, uh, I don't... I thought... I don't know. Sorry."

"Stop saying sorry."

"Sorry," I blurt out. Peeta gives me a pointed look. "Sor-"

"Let me guess... sorry?" he asks. I shove his arm and he laughs.

"Believe it or not, but you did that better than I did the first time I had to," he says, standing and admiring my handiwork.

"Really?" I ask, washing the razor again.

"You did well."

"Thanks."

"Haven't you done it before?"

"No, but I'm plucked birds and removed the skins of animals. You have to have a steady hand so that the blade doesn't cut through the skin. Whole pelts sell better." I shrug my shoulders.

"So you used your hunting knowledge as guidance to shave my face?" Peeta asks cautiously, running his hand over his clean jaw.

"You said I did well."

"Well for someone who slaughters wild dogs."

"Not just wild dogs!" I exclaim and he rolls his eyes beside me. I meet his gaze in the mirror. There's a sharp knock at the door and we hurry downstairs. I head for the kitchen to check on the food and Peeta goes to answer the door. I listen to him greeting my family to our home, exchanging pleasantries and offering the hang up their coats. Ever the perfect host, whereas I'm the sour one who doesn't like anyone.

"Katniss!" Prim cries. I turn just in time for my sister to throw her arms around me, her fingers barely touching as she manoeuvres around my stomach.

"Hey," I say, squeezing her tight to me. "How's your Christmas been so far?"

"It's good! Rory bought me some ribbons."

"Rory Hawthorne?" I ask. Prim blushes.

"Your sister has got admirers all over the district," Mom speaks up. I look up at her as she places a box on the table. Prim squirms. "But Rory had the guts to actually to do something about it." I turn to Prim with a questioning glance.

"He asked me to the New Year festival."

"Rory's liked you for ages, Prim. You shouldn't be embarrassed," I smile. Prim rolls her eyes, but I can tell that she's smitten. Mom comes up beside me and squeezes my shoulders.

"How's it been?" she asks, her blue eyes soft. She's put on weight. Not a lot, but enough to notice how her cheeks seem fuller. That answers my worry of whether they're eating well.

"It's been good," I nod, leaning my hip against the countertop.

"Peeta still being a gentleman?"

"Do you really think he'd be anything else?" Mom chuckles.

"And what about the baby? Everything going okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. The baby's fine, but I'm not. I've got ridiculous cravings."

"They can't be any more ridiculous than mine," Mom says, folding her hands together. "When I was pregnant with you, I wanted nothing else but roasted –not baked or fried or mashed- but roasted Katniss tubers, and oranges. Your poor father was at his wits end. He could get the Katniss, no problem, but it was the oranges that he couldn't get."

"What did he do?" I ask. Mom and Dad never talked much about pregnancy, but they did give me the sex talk when I was ten. Back then I didn't understand why on Panem anyone would want to do that, or how a baby came from the act. Ten was the standard age in the Seam to be given the sex talk, because by the age of twelve many of the Seam children were doing... stuff with other kids. I'm not sure about what happens in the Merchant Quarters, though Madge came into school one day absolutely mortified, explaining to me how her father had paid someone to come in and give her a lesson in the world of sex. "I'm never eating a cucumber again," she had said, holding her head in her hands.

"He picked apples and told me to 'for God's sake, just pretend they're oranges'."

"Did you?"

"No," Mom smiles fondly at the memory. I laugh. "With Primrose I ate meat. Lots of it. I think I decimated about half the forest by the time she was born."

"No, I remember Dad saying something about that. He said that the amount of animals in the forest used to be way higher before Prim was born," I say. Mom shakes her head, laughing as her cheeks redden.

"Peeta told me that he loves me," I whisper, watching my fiancé and sister chat at enthusiastically in the hallway. Mom turns to face me, her face serious.

"What did you say?"

"I said that I think I loved him."

"Is that true?"

"N-I don't know. Partly," I confess, wringing my hands. "He's amazing in every way. I like being around him, and I'm actually not afraid of my future anymore."

"You love him, Katniss, I can tell," Mom says knowingly. "I know it's scary not knowing how to let your emotions go. I know it's scary putting all your trust in one person. But I know that you love him."

"I'm still scared."

"Why? What is there to be scared of?"

"Everything! I don't want to tell him I love him, because he loves me more than I will able to love him."

"You'll never know if you don't try." Mom says, smiling kindly at me.

After that, the evening goes smoothly, filled with laughter, stories, and lots of food. Peeta has outdone himself, serving up the turkey I shot with delicious vegetables, lashings of gravy and sunflower seed stuffing. The Hawthornes never do turn up, but Mom relays Hazelle's festive wishes to us, and her sorrow at not being able to attend.

As Peeta, Mom and Prim chat, carefree and happy, I find myself deep in thought, thinking over my mother's words. I told the truth- I am terrified to let down my walls completely. Peeta loves me, I know that, and even with this information I'm still cautious. I've relaxed a lot during my time with him; his presence is calming and you can't help but trust him- but to finally tell him and myself that I'm actually in love with this man is something I'm hesitant to do.

But I have to try. I have to push my fears aside and try.

"Peeta, this is too much." My Mom says, staring at the food with wide eyes.

"I don't mind, really." Peeta shakes his head, offering Prim some vegetables. She nods her head eagerly. It breaks my heart. All these years, and this is the first one since Dad's death where we've had full tummies. Usually we'd eat a scrawny bird or squirrel or whatever meat we had, along with grains and mint tea.

"We have nothing to offer you in return."

"Mom, we don't mind. If we didn't want you to eat our food, we wouldn't have invited you," I say bluntly. Mom purses her lips sadly, but it makes her cheekbones more prominent. She still looks like a skeleton, despite the weight she's put on. "Eat. Please."

From then on the meal is free from any of us rejecting food. Prim's eyes are bigger than her stomach, and despite all the food she's eaten, she manages some of the chocolate cake that Peeta brought over from the bakery. We migrate to the living room, Prim sitting in front of the fire, the flames lighting up her golden hair. Mom sits in the overstuffed armchair that sits in the corner of the room, and I curl up beside Peeta on the sofa, curling my toes into the cushions, one hand on my stomach. Mom reveals a housewarming gift.

"I know it's a little late... but I thought it were better to give you it now, rather than never." She says, pushing the box into Peeta's hands.

"Mrs Everdeen…" he protests, forgetting again to just call my mother Dahlia.

"She's not going to let you take it back, Peeta. Just take it," Prim pipes up from beside the fire.

Peeta glances at me. I nod encouragingly, sitting upright to see what's inside the box. Wrapped up in paper is the dinner set she was given after marrying Dad. The plates- although slightly chipped- are in good condition, the plain enamel decorated with delicate blue paintings of birds, flowers and various other flora and fauna. I take one of the plates, turning it over carefully in my hands. Written on the middle in tiny, barely visible letters, are Mom and Dad's initials, along with the dates of their marriage. It breaks my heart to see how short a time they had as husband and wife. It should've been longer.

"We can't accept this," I say, my voice wobbling slightly, placing the plate back and shaking my head.

"Katniss..."

"No, Mom. This is too much. You've had it for so long, why would you pass it on?"

"Because my eldest daughter is getting married to a lovely young man, and I want to pass it on to a place where it will be used, not kept locked up in a cupboard."

My bottom lip trembles and Peeta squeezes my hand. I take a deep breath. "Thank you."

"You're very welcome," Mom says. "Look on the back again; I don't think you saw it." I frown, picking the plate out of the box again and holding it out into the light. Underneath Mom and Dad's initials are the letters 'P.M' and 'K.E'. I gasp, rubbing my thumb over the group of the letters. Somehow, it feels like a blessing- as if Dad was here to approve of my marriage to Peeta.

"Did you do this?" I ask my mother, astounded.

"Oh no. Peeta did," she says and I turn to my fiancé. He holds his hands out in a protective gesture.

"I couldn't say no," he explains. "Prim said that she'd get Lady to attack me if I didn't do it."

"Prim!" I cry, exasperated. My sister grins.

"I wouldn't let her actually hurt him. Maybe just bruise him up a bit."

"When did you start threatening people?"

"As if you've never threatened anyone," my sister retorts. I scowl. She smirks, knowing that she's won. "And open the other package. It's from me." Peeta pulls out a small parcel that's been wedged in beside the dinner set and hands it to me. I open it cautiously. Prim groans.

"It's not rigged to explode or anything!"

"Well, we'll never know with you," I tell her and she sticks her tongue out at me. But when I pull out the tiny baby grow, pale yellow and feather-soft, my hesitation at opening gifts melts away. "Prim, this is beautiful." I whisper, turning it over in my hands. Tiny flowers have been embroidered over the edges in green thread.

"I made it all myself."

"There's a hat and mittens and booties as well," Peeta says, pulling said items out of the box.

"She did all this herself?" I ask, looking to my mother for confirmation. She nods, looking proudly at her youngest daughter.

"I love them, thank you."

"I notice that you've left them in unisex colours," Peeta comments with a smile. "But I can't see that you're not bothered by whether it's a boy or a girl."

"It has to be a girl."

"And what if it's a boy?" Peeta asks.

"I guess I'll have to learn to love him," she says, sighing loudly. I get up and cross the room to hug her.

"Thank you, Prim. They're lovely," I mumble into her shoulder, overcome with emotion.

"Make sure it's a girl, okay?"

"I'll try my best," I laugh, but tears are streaming down my cheeks.

"Don't cry!" she exclaims. "Peeta, look what you've done!" Peeta pulls me into his arms, rubbing my back soothingly.

"Why are you crying?" he asks, his voice loud in my ear. I sniff, a smile on my face even though tears are covering my cheeks.

"Because the gifts are so b-beautiful." Peeta chuckles in my ear. I bury my face into his chest, inhaling his scent to help calm myself.

"Does she cry all the time?" Mom asks softly. I pull away, wiping my eyes and laughing.

"She cried a few weeks ago because she didn't want to cut up the baby rabbit she'd shot," Peeta tells her. I laugh even harder, remembering the look on Peeta's face when he came into the kitchen to find my slumped against the cabinets, a knife in my hand and fat tears rolling down my cheeks.

"So you have no problem killing deer and boar, but when it comes to fluffy baby rabbits you're reduced to a sobbing mess?" Mom asks as everyone begins to laugh. I bury my face into Peeta's side again and he wraps his arms around me.

The sun has just disappeared over the mountains when Mom and Prim decide to leave for home.

"It's dark and cold. I don't want to slip up on the ice I couldn't see," Mom says, buttoning her coat.

"Thank you for the dinner," Prim adds. I give her a hug and she even hugs Peeta, who, after getting over his momentary surprise, hugs her back with a laugh.

"Thanks for coming," I reply, hugging Mom tight. "And for the presents. They're truly wonderful."

"Use them well, I know I didn't."

"We will," I promise her, pulling away.

She puts her gloved hand on the side of my face. "And from what I've seen tonight, you and Peeta are like two peas in a pod. You love him Katniss. Don't be afraid." I bite my lip, considering her words.

"What should I do?"

"Whatever feels right, no matter how small it is," she says simply, before moving over to Peeta, whispering something into his ear that makes him turn as red as a tomato and patting him on the back before leaving. I shut the door, glad to shut off the icy wind that's filling the hallway.

"What did my Mom say to you?" I ask Peeta. He stammers something, before scampering of into the kitchen. I follow him, frowning. "Peeta?"

"I should tidy up. Put away the leftovers," he busies himself, obviously trying to avoid answering my question.

"Peeta, what did she say?"

"Nothing."

"It was more than nothing. You went bright red," I say, stalking him into the corner. He places the dishes into the sink and reaches to turn on the tap. I grab his wrists, yanking them away and forcing him to look at me.

"Katniss..."

"Peeta. Tell me what she said."

"Why?"

"Because I want to know what my mother said to you that made you go so red!"

"Let me go." Peeta says, looking down at my hands on his wrists.

"No. Not until you tell me what Mom said-" Peeta sighs heavily, before pulling his arms easily out of my hands, and backing me against the wall, taking my wrists in one hand and pinning them above my head. I gape at him, utterly defensiveness under his hands and gaze.

"Do you really want to know?" he asks, his eyes blazing.

"Yes!"

"She said that it was safe to have sex until the very end of pregnancy."

"Oh," I say, my eyes widening.

"Yeah, oh."

"That's awkward," I say. "I can't believe she actually said that-" Peeta moves in close, letting my hands free, and kisses me so hard that my head bump against the wall behind me. He scrabbles to cradle my skull in his hands, apologising against my mouth, but doesn't stop kissing me. I push him away from me with such force that he stumbles backwards into his chair.

"Katniss, I'm sorry. Was that too much?" he asks worriedly, his blue eyes wide, his chest expanding and collapsing dramatically.

"So she actually said it was safe?" I walk towards him.

"Uh... yeah," he says, his brow furrowed. I take a deep breath and lean down to kiss him, straddling his lap. "Why?" he forces out, slightly breathless, as I tilt his head back to press kisses down his neck.

"I... I want you, Peeta," I whisper, holding his face in my hands and slanting my mouth against his. My heart is hammering violently in my chest and my head is spinning but I soldier on, determined to show Peeta that I will love him. That I am not afraid. That I, Katniss Everdeen, will and can show her fiancé- the boy who became a man in matter of minutes, who loves her, who wants to care for her and the child she carries- that she loves him too.

"Please say you want me too," I murmur, fighting- and failing- to keep the desperate tone from my face.

"I've never stopped wanting you," he pants, and that's all it takes for me to kiss him back. All the other kisses we've shared up until this moment pale in comparison to this. This kiss is fiery, sultry and passionate and leaves me craving more. I think about the feel of his hands on my breasts, of his mouth exploring my bare skin, and sigh, fisting the material of his shirt in my hands. He groans, his hands resting on my waist, and opens his mouth, allowing me to explore every inch of his mouth with my tongue. I'm inexperienced with the whole foreplay thing, but from the way Peeta is reacting, I can see that I'm not doing too badly of a job. All those times when I wondered about kissing a boy, I always thought my first kiss would be with Gale. No one else but him, perhaps one day in the woods. But I don't love Gale in the way that I love Peeta, and I suppose that that is the difference.

I can't help but moan when Peeta tears his lips away from mine and kisses my neck, sucking on the tender skin below my ear. He's going to leave a mark that I'll regret in the morning, but right now all I can think about is the person beneath me. His erection is pressing against my thigh. A sense of accomplishment washes over me, knowing that I've caused Peeta to become this turned on. That I'm sexy enough, maybe, to make a man react in this way.

Acting almost on instinct, I grind my hips down against his, and he hisses at the motion as I whimper at the pressure of his cock against my centre. Peeta sucks his breath in through his teeth and his jaw locks. I pull away, worried that I've done something wrong, and rub my thumb over his jaw as if I could erase the tension below his skin.

"I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?" I ask. Peeta shakes his head, his cheeks flushed.

"No, it just felt... overwhelming," he says. I duck down, hiding my face as a red-hot blush creeps over my skin. "Did it feel good to you?"

"Amazing," I tell him and he kisses me again, standing and pulling my legs around his narrow waist.

"How far do you want to go?" he asks, walking towards the staircase.

"Upstairs would be nice," I say, my fingers threading through the short curls at the back of his neck.

Peeta laughs, kissing me again. "No, I mean how far do you want to go with this?"

"Oh! Right- I uh, I don't know," I babble, flustered and embarrassed.

"I'm not going to do anything you don't like," he says earnestly, carrying me into our bedroom. "I'll stop if you want me to, I promise."

"I trust you, Peeta. You won't hurt me," I whisper, sucking on his bottom lip gently, unable to meet his gaze. "P-please don't hold back." He spins us around and presses me against the closed door, thrusting his hips into the cradle of my thighs. The door rattles in the frame. I try to push myself further down onto him, wanting to feel the same tightening between my legs that I felt downstairs. He notices and shifts slightly, and when he continues thrusting his hips against me, my mouth drops open at the pleasure funnelling between my thighs.

He's panting, his breath hot against my neck. "Can I take your dress off?"

"Do whatever you want."

"No, Katniss, I want you to want to do this," he murmurs, his eyes smouldering, turning dark- almost black- with lust.

I slide down onto my own two feet in front of him. "I want to do this, Peeta." He takes the hemline of my dress and pulls it off me. I lift my arms in the air to help, and Peeta kisses me while the dress is around my arms, rendering me weak against his touch. I yank the dress off, throwing it down onto the floor.

"That dress suits you," he says. "But I think I prefer it when you're not wearing it at all." I grin against his lips, sliding my hands over the wide expanse of his chest, unbuttoning the top buttons of his dress shirt and pulling it over his head, laughing when it gets stuck on his ears. He grabs my waist, twirling me around so that we're nearer to the bed. I push him down and climb on top of him to map out his skin with my hands like I did a few nights ago. His hands rest on my waist, watching my face intently, before his fingers creep round, tracing the line of my spine, to the clasp on my bra. He fumbles with it momentarily but eventually undoes it. I let it slide down my arms, and the look on Peeta's face makes me cover my chest with my arms, self-conscious.

"I want to see you. Don't cover yourself up," he says softly, removing my arms and leaving me bare. I bite my lip, staring resolutely over his shoulder to stop myself from seeing his expression. It's for that reason that I don't see his hand moving up to cup my breast, and the feeling takes me by surprise.

"They're so small," I mumble. Peeta's hands are large, baker's hands, but they cover my breasts easily, even though they've grown. Compared to other girls, especially those from town, (though there are quite a few Seam girls who have busts to be proud of), I'm practically flat-chested. I only started wearing bras because everyone laughed at me in the changing rooms at school. If I shaved my hair short, I could probably pass as a man.

"You're perfect, Katniss," Peeta promises, pushing me down on the bed. He sucks my nipple into his mouth and I arch my back, running my hands through his hair. He hums contently, the vibrations making me moan. His teeth tug gently against my flesh and I gasp. He kisses down my stomach, his lips moving further south than they've ever gone before. He hooks his fingers over the top of my pants and looks up at me questioningly. I nod an affirmative, my heart racing.

Slowly but surely he pulls my pants down, leaving me in my panties. I kick the garment off my ankles and then press my legs together, worried about the network of pink scars that pattern the side of my left thigh, stretching from my hipbone to just a few centimetres above my knee. Peeta notices them, of course, and runs his hands over my calves. Goosebumps prickle my skin, but not because I am cold. I'm very much on fire.

"Where'd you get these?" he asks, his lips turning down into frown.

"I was out in the woods on my own. I had caught a deer and was dragging it back to the fence when I heard dogs coming. I was determined to get the deer up the tree first, and just as I started climbing, the dogs appeared and one of them bit down on my leg. Gale was trying to find me and heard the dogs and thankfully pulled me out before anything else happened."

"You could've died."

I shrug my shoulders. "Mom patched me up, and I was up and walking within the week, but the scars and lesson learnt were permanent."

"Do they hurt?"

"Not anymore," I say, tracing my hands over his lower back, tracing the serrated scars his mother placed upon his skin. "We match."

"We match," he repeats in a hushed tone, kissing my stomach. I begin reaching down between our bodies to unbutton and unzip his pants and he pulls them off the rest of the way, dumping them on the floor and crawling back to me. Despite my desperate attempts at not looking, my eyes wander down, down, down, fixing on the tent of his boxers. Peeta clears his throat and I tear my eyes away, a heated flush spreading down my neck. Before I can even apologise he's propping himself up on one arm as to not cage me in and kissing steadily down my neck, down my chest and over my stomach.

"May I?" he asks, his hands resting on my hips, tracing the material of my underwear. I reach up, across the bed, and switch off the lamp on my bedside table. I'm not brave enough just yet. The room is plunged into darkness, with only the butter-yellow light of the oil lamp outside in the street and the light of the moon to help us see. I can still find Peeta in the darkness, make out the outline of his body and watch the glowing orbs of his eyes as they stare down at me.

"Go ahead," I whisper. Peeta tugs my panties down. I lift my hips from the mattress to help him, feeling the material slide over my legs. Peeta inhales sharply and I watch his face, my stomach tightening at the anticipation of what is to come. I sit up to tug his boxers down. He crawls forward and the mattress dips under his weight. He kisses up my leg, his lips getting closer and closer to where I want him to be, to where I need him to be, and then they skip over entirely.

"Please," I beg him, squirming, and he grants my wish without hesitation.

His tongue traces my slit and I gasp. Peeta groans, the sound vibrating through me and forcing me to grip onto the bed sheets, onto his hair, anything just to keep my bearings. He spreads me open and does that thing with his tongue again and again, lapping up the wetness that has been there for too long, taunting me.

"Oh- oh…" I moan, clenching the blanket beneath me in my hands. Peeta thrusts his tongue into me, tasting me, drawing a choked gasp from my throat. He does it again, obviously satisfied with my response, and reduces me to mush. I'm unable to control myself as my hips buck up against his mouth and he holds me down with a strong arm, stopping me from moving.

His nose brushes my clit and pleasure builds up inside me, heat pooling like a flash-flood in my belly, rising further and further like a wave. I tug on his hair harder than I mean to but he doesn't complain, only releasing a low moan that makes my legs turn to jelly. All it takes is his lips against my clit, sucking harder and harder for my thighs snap together, holding his face against me as I come, my back arching against the bed. He laps at me the entire time, and I have to push his head away when I open my eyes, too sensitive to take anymore.

He looks up at me, his chin and mouth glistening in the streetlight. "Was that okay?" I squint up at him.

"You have to be kidding me," I deadpan, my limbs as heavy as lead as I try to move them to sit up, my chest still rising and falling dramatically. "Come here." I say, pulling him up my body. He leans down to kiss me, so slow and soft after what he's just done, and he explores my chest with gentle caresses. I wrap my legs around him, feeling his erection against my stomach. I tense, my hips twitching in apprehension. Peeta pulls away.

"If you want to stop, we will."

I bite down on my lip. "No. I don't want to stop."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," I say, and it's the most certain I've been for a long time. Peeta holds himself up above me on strong arms. From this position I can really see just how big he is. From his broad shoulders down to the sharp lines of his hips, he's like a blonde-haired Adonis. He looms over me, all pale skin and thick muscle and soft golden curls that really need a cut. He's heavy, he's strong. He has the potential to break me, but he promised that he never would.

Our soft gasps and shaking moans fill the room, and I dig my fingers into his sides, feeling his abdominal muscles clenches and shift as he moves above me, sliding his tongue over my bottom lip. I can taste myself on him and it makes the entire situation feel even more erotic. My entire body tingles when his cock rubs through my folds, and I roll my hips up against him as he grinds down onto me, searching for more. The feeling makes me cry out, mewling into his ear as a groan rattles through him.

"I'm going to-" he says, looking at me determinedly. I nod my head like a puppet on a string. His face is creased with concentration as he lines himself up with my entrance and I take a deep, steadying breath when his head brushes against me.

"If I hurt you, say something," he says, kissing me as he pushes in, parting my folds slowly. I grimace, digging my nails into his arms, the feeling of him stretching me unfamiliar. I don't remember feeling this that fateful night so long ago, but I guess we were too intoxicated to feel anything other than white-hot lust. Eventually our hips are flush, and Peeta pauses, gathering me in his arms. I bury my face into his neck, his skin glistening with sweat, and gasp, tears forming in the corners of my eyes.

Yes, it does hurt. It's a pinching, stretching feeling that makes me whimper. I feel so full, like I've been missing something this entire time, and now I'm complete. But damn, it still hurts.

"Katniss?" Peeta asks with a strained voice, shifting to look at me. The movement forces him deeper inside me and he can't help but moan. I grit my teeth against the feeling. My body is not welcoming the intrusion as much as I want it to.

"J-just stay still. Please- for a m-minute," I mumble, slowly lifting my hips in order to accommodate him.

"Oh, Katniss," he whispers, his eyes sorrowful. "I'm hurting you, we have to stop." He begins to pull out and I pull him to me, wrapping my limbs around him so he can't leave.

"No, it's okay," I say, closing my eyes. "You're just bigger than I remember," Peeta shudders at my words and I close my eyes, inhaling. "Just move slowly." He nods, kissing me again and pulling out. The outwards slide feels strange but when he pushes back in, I know that it feels right. Peeta continues to thrust at a steady pace, careful in his movements but methodical, and I feel my body beginning to loosen as pleasure curls through my veins.

"Katniss," Peeta gasps my name, grasping my hips tightly as his thrusts become more erratic. He begins thrusting more forcefully, biting down on his bottom lip to hold in the groans erupting from his chest. The sound of our skin slapping together fills the room and I feel something strange rushing through me. My whole body is tingling, and even though I want to fight the feeling, I tell myself that it's as good thing. And it feels right.

He looks down at me, struggling to keep his eyes open. "Are you close?"

"Yes," I gasp, not knowing what else to say. "Are you?" He doesn't answer but continues to push into me, again and again. The pain I felt earlier on has been replaced by pleasure, and before I know it, he's driven me over the edge and I'm arching my back against the mattress and clenching him inside of me. He follows soon after and I watch as his face contorts with pleasure, his eyes screwing shut.

I struggle to breathe for a few seconds when he collapses onto me, unmoveable, but then he rolls off me and onto the bed. We gasp at the ceiling together, and I grab his arm, trying to convey my thanks. He takes my hand and must try to squeeze it, but he's too weak to do much else than pat me. I laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation, and can't stop, not even when Peeta turns his head to face me, looking a little embarrassed.

I put my hand on his neck and pull him down to me and kiss him again, reassuring him that it isn't him I'm laughing at. I don't even know why I'm laughing, but my stomach begins to ache I'm chuckling so hard. Peeta eventually joins in, pulling my body to his is, pressing a kiss to my temple once we've calmed down. I pull the bed sheets over our sated bodies and kiss his chest.

"I love you," he says, sleep heavy in his voice.

I take my time before answering, listening to his heartbeat. "I love you too."

"Was that real?"

"Very real," I smile, securing his arm around my waist before sleep begins to pull me under. Even a slight kick from the baby doesn't make me more alert, but Peeta feels it under his hand, and pushes my loose hair aside so he can kiss my bare shoulder. I can feel the curve of his smile against my skin, the way his fingers press against where his child sleeps inside me, and know that I'm safe and sound.