A/N: Hey guys! Just wanted to let you guys know (yet again) just how awesome you are. Seriously. What T rated story gets this many reviews not even 20 chapters in? Only further evidence of your collective awesomeness.
Once again, not much for me to blab about, which, I know, is very strange. School is boring, and first semester is winding down. Really only have a month left, so I guess the next big thing is finals? Oh, yay. The joy this thought brings me.
Anywhoo, let's get on to bigger and better things. Like the movie quote for today! Let's take a quote from The Lucky One.
"Well that's as clean as it will ever be."
-Nana (you gotta love her)
Random Disclaimer: I do not own CF, though I do own a rather fantastic fedora; "Think you used enough dynamite there, Butch?"; "Why is the rum always gone?"; "Why so serious?"; "I'll get you my pretty! And your little dog, too!"; "I am Asneeze, father of Achoo."; "Dobby did not mean to kill . . . only to maim . . . or seriously injure."; "My precious!"; "Puny god"; "So that's what it feels like"; "Yeah, I can fly."; "There's only one God, ma'am, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't dress like that."; "Your skin is pale white, you dress fashionably, and you abstain from sex. . . I know what you are . . . Jonas brother"; "Snakes. I hate snakes."; "When you marooned me on that god forsaken spit of land, you forgot one very important thing, mate: I'm Captain Jack Sparrow."; "It's like Christmas, but with more . . . me."; "It's the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more."; "It's beautiful isn't it, Harry? The moon."; "Hang on, everybody! I wanna try something I saw in a cartoon once!"; "Well that's as clean as it will ever be."
Chapter 19
Unlike yesterday morning, when I kept my eyes closed because I didn't want my bliss to meet reality, this morning I keep them closed simply because I do not want to get up. My back is pressed against Peeta's chest, his arm around my waist not allowing an inch of movement, and I know from experience that if I try and squirm away, his arm will tighten around me to keep me where I am.
I really don't mind.
I can feel Peeta's even, steady breaths on the back of my neck, and I can't help the soft sigh that escapes me. Leaving this bed is the last thing I want to do. The bed is warm, comfortable, safe, and is occupied by Peeta, my husband of thirty-six hours and counting. It's still weird to think that we're married. I really don't feel any different. He's still Peeta to me. Before, Peeta and I hadn't labeled ourselves as boyfriend and girlfriend. Neither of us thought that the term could apply to us. It simply seemed too . . . meek . . . to describe what we were to each other. I'd liked the term partner. He'd been my partner in the Games, and when we'd returned he'd continued to be my partner in life. That's basically what a husband is, right?
I still think it's weird to call him my husband, but I think I'll get used to it . . . especially since I just realized I'm smiling. Yep, I'll get used to it.
However, I frown when my brain annoyingly reminds me that I have to get up, leave the bed and Peeta, and go over to my house—where I will try on all my wedding dresses, approved by President Snow himself. Oh, the great joy coursing through my veins. Haymitch had to reschedule the shoot because of my twisted knee, but now the time of horror is upon me.
In retaliation to my mutinous thoughts, I decide to have a little fun before I doom myself to hours of primping, makeup, hairspray, cameras, dresses, and the never ending chatter of my prep team. I turn so that I'm lying on my other side, facing Peeta. Then, in a lightning quick move, I hook my leg over Peeta's hip, shove his left shoulder, and flip us so that I'm straddling his waist.
"Whoa!"
Peeta's eyes fly open comically, and he sits up quicker than I would have thought possible. I'm already laughing, laying my head on his shoulder. "Damn it, Katniss," he complains, though I hear the smile in his voice. "Don't do that!"
His arms wrap around my waist and I lift my head from his shoulder so I can grin mockingly at him. "Aw, did I scare you?"
"No," Peeta says sarcastically. "But I'll tell you when my heart rate returns to normal."
His sarcastic glare morphs into a smile though, like I knew it would. "You know, this doesn't change the fact that you still have to have that photo shoot."
I groan. "Keep me here. Lock me in the bedroom. Say that I'm incapacitated."
"Well that would have worked if the photo shoot was yesterday," Peeta replies with a cocky smirk and I huff indignantly, shoving his shoulder. I move to get off of him, but Peeta's hands clamp down on my waist tightly, but not uncomfortably so, just enough so that I can't move. He places a lingering kiss on my neck, and my eyes close involuntarily. "Maybe I could make you a little late, though . . ." he offers, his voice deeper than normal and I feel a shiver run down my spine.
But my rational side kicks in, winning the battle over my hormones, which is an impressive feat. I sigh in defeat and Peeta chuckles. "Just get over there and be done with it," he suggests, pulling away to look up at me sympathetically. "Who knows, you might actually enjoy yourself."
I raise my eyebrows.
"Or not."
"It's going to be torture," I can't help but whine childishly. I wrap my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck. "I don't want to go."
"Okay, I know I'm irresistible, but you've got to be able to be away from me for more than five minutes," Peeta says teasingly, his hands running down my back.
I make a sound of surprise when he suddenly gets to his feet, and I cling to him tighter. He walks across the bedroom to the dresser and somehow he manages to pick out some clothes for me even though I've glued myself to him. He gently shoves them in my face, tossing the shirt over my head, and says, "You might want to get dressed. You've got to be over there in ten minutes."
I don't move. "I thought you loved me," I reply, my voice muffled by the clothes.
"I do," he says lightly, not falling into my guilt trap. Damn it. "I'm doing this for your own good. Because you know that if you're not over there when your prep team arrives, they will automatically come over here. And somehow it wouldn't surprise me if that barged right in here."
He has a point.
Finally, I give in. I unwrap my legs from Peeta's waist and grab the clothes before they fall. I give him my best glare, but it doesn't affect him like it used to. He shrugs at me and gives me an easy smile. "I'll probably be painting all day," he says. "But feel free to come in once you've escaped the horror."
"You're mocking me," I scowl as I move past him and begin to get dressed, pulling off my nightclothes and replacing them with the jeans and light sweater Peeta had grabbed.
"Come on, it can't be that bad," he says. "Just think about yesterday when you're at your breaking point."
I can't help the soft smile that spreads across my face at his words. Replays of yesterday and the night before begin flitting through my mind and I can't help the warmth that spreads throughout my body, making my skin feel hot. While our morning after bliss had gotten off to a rocky start, we'd managed to recover and spent the rest of the day in bed. We talked, kissed, made love once more, and then slept, before waking up in the middle of the night to raid the kitchen. We indulged with a tub of ice cream, chocolate of course, which was a gift from Effie that she sent for Peeta's birthday. I'd already loved ice cream anyway, one of the few things I liked about the Capitol, but I discovered a new fondness for it when I got to lick it off Peeta's chest . . .
But that's another story . . .
"I think that might work," I say lightly as I feel Peeta's arms wrap around my waist. Our little bubble of bliss still hadn't popped yet, it would seem. Peeta begins to kiss my neck, and I can't help but laugh. "I thought you were trying to get me to leave?"
"Just because I said you need to leave, doesn't mean I want you to leave," he tells me smartly and I roll my eyes, turning in his embrace and resting my hands on his chest.
"Maya can keep you company," I say. "She'll even give you a kiss, too."
Peeta's face twists into a grimace. "That's not the tongue I want in my mouth."
I blush furiously, and he promptly laughs at me. "Will you stop saying things like that?!" I give him a shove, and move past him, opening the door to the bedroom and descending the stairs. I hear Peeta behind me, but I ignore him. The heat in my cheeks has not even begun to fade. It's probably ridiculous that these things still make me blush, considering everything, but I can't help it.
When I step out onto the front porch, I almost trip over a mass of dapple grey and white. Indigo eyes stare up at me in annoyance, and I sigh, squatting down to her level and beginning to scratch behind her ears. "Don't be mad," I tell Maya. Admittedly, she hasn't been inside the house with us for two days, and honestly I'd forgotten about her, though I think it's safe to say that my mind was on other things—all involving Peeta. "You can keep Peeta company, though," I tell her. "He's going to be lonely."
Maya sniffs, almost disdainfully, but she quickly gets to her feet and trots by me, heading into the house. I already know that she's going straight to the kitchen, where Peeta will no doubt feed her something that wouldn't normally be fed to a wolf. Honestly, I'd caught him giving her a cookie once.
The snow that has blanketed the ground for the past few months is beginning to melt, causing ugly brown patches of mud and grass to interrupt the fluffy whiteness on the ground. Spring is coming. The morning sun is already high in the sky, and I can't help but smile. I've always been a morning person.
"You've got three minutes," a voice reminds me and I look over my shoulder to see Peeta leaning against the doorframe. "You know they'll be here right at 8 o'clock."
I grumble some nonsense under my breath, and Peeta smiles. He takes my hand and pulls me to him for a brief kiss, and my eyes close as I savor the sweet moment. "Okay, okay, I'm going," I murmur against his lips, but I impulsively press my lips to his once again.
I have no doubt that we would have kept kissing if it weren't for Peeta, who gently pulls away. "Go," he orders playfully. "Me and the beast will be here waiting."
"Maya isn't a beast," I stick up for my furry companion, and Peeta merely shrugs in response.
I scoff, but I squeeze his hand once before I let go and walk over to my house. Prim meets me at the door, a disapproving frown on her face. "Where have you been?" she scolds.
"Um . . . with Peeta?" I say, before I hurriedly add, "You know not with him, but like, hanging out, and, um . . . stuff."
Strangely, Prim doesn't seem to believe me. "Uh huh. What kind of stuff?"
Now, I'm worried. "Stuff," I repeat. "We . . . um . . . made stuff."
"Made stuff," Prim repeats, her little arms folded over her chest. "Right."
"It was completely innocent," I defend.
"I know what sex is, Katniss," Prim says and my eyes bug out.
Did my sweet little Prim just say what I think she did? No, no, no . . . I must have heard wrong. "W-what?"
"Sex," Prim repeats and I cringe. Suddenly, Prim's eyes widen. "Wait, that means that you, and Peeta, and . . . ew!"
Ah, yes! There's still hope!
"None of your business, Little Duck," I tell her with a smile, and Prim actually shudders.
"Ew!" she repeats and I can't help but laugh. "Why?"
"Um, because I love him?" I suggest, beginning to feel awkward, my momentary glee at Prim's distaste for sex fading, though I am ecstatic that the idea seems to repulse her. She's too young to even think the word 'sex' in my opinion.
"Well that explains why you were gone all day yesterday," Prim says. "You missed dinner with Haymitch, by the way."
"Oh, that's too bad," I say lightly as I begin to move up the stairs. However, halfway up, I pause and look back down at Prim. "Um, don't tell mom."
Prim makes a motion of locking her lips and throwing away the key. "I love you, Little Duck," I tell her gratefully and Prim smiles before skipping off into the kitchen.
Well, that's one disaster averted. I shudder to think the scolding I'd get from my mother if she found out I'd slept with Peeta before we were 'married.' Peeta and I debated telling others about our toasting, but in the end we decided to keep it a secret. It wasn't because we were worried about the trouble we'd be in (we both agree that they can mind their own damn business). We are simply keeping it a secret because we want to. Our toasting is something that is just between us, something about our relationship that we chose to do. It is between us and only us, and we want to keep it that way.
I reach my room and hop into the shower. It's the quickest shower of my life, and just as I'm wrapping a towel around myself, I hear the front door open and what seems like a million voices suddenly chattering at once. Here we go.
I barely have time to switch out my towel for my robe before my prep team descends upon me. As usual, they complain about how I've 'let myself go,' and then they drag me toward a chair and begin making me over. Flavius compliments my hair as he runs his fingers through it, and I find myself wishing it were Peeta's fingers in my hair instead, which prompts a very vivid flashback from two nights ago, and I feel my body flush with heat.
Oh, this is going to be a long day.
For once, I actually try and focus on my prep team's ceaseless prattle. Peeta's advice to remember last night and the night before is turning out to be a double-edged sword. While it does help me survive the beauty and glamour, it keeps making me blush and squirm in my seat. Peeta was right about one thing, he's irresistible, and it's taking all my willpower not to ditch the photo shoot, run over to his house, barricade myself inside, and then have my way with him.
This thought causes my deepest blush yet, and Octavia says, "Gosh, Katniss, there's nothing to be embarrassed about! It's nothing we haven't seen!"
By now, I'm so used to my beauty routine that I hardly flinch when they rip the hair from my body, and the vile smelling stuff that they soak me in afterwards hardly makes my nose crinkle. Octavia goes to work on my nails, while Venia starts on my makeup. Flavius begins to curl my hair, and I'm actually rather relaxed for a while as they fiddle with me, but an offhanded comment made by Octavia gets my attention. It's about how she couldn't get shrimp for her birthday party. Seemingly insignificant, but not when it immediately throws my mind back months before, when the Capitol cronies had mentioned District 4 as a potentially riotous district.
"Why couldn't you get shrimp?" I ask, trying to hide my curiosity. "Is it out of season?"
"Oh, Katniss, we haven't been able to get any seafood for weeks!" Octavia laments. "You know, because of the bad weather in District 4."
Bad weather? For weeks? Is that the Capitol's excuse? Instinct tells me that this is a lie. District 4 has revolted, I'm sure of it.
For the rest of the time, I casually try to get them to talk about anything else that has been in short supply in the Capitol. I get a whole lot more information than I bargained for. The Capitol citizens are not used to being without anything, so the absence of shrimp is a big deal. However, after careful questioning, I learn that not only has seafood been absent, but many different products as well, differing from shrimp to music chips to ribbons. These supplies help me piece together which districts have revolted. Seafood from 4. Electronics from 3. Fabrics from 8.
The fire is spreading.
But before I can surreptitiously interrogate my prep team further, Cinna strides into the room, gives me a kiss on the cheek, checks over my makeup, and then I'm whisked away into one of the oddest nightmares ever. There are six wedding dresses in total and they're all spread out in the living room. Effie is in her element, ordering people around and making sure that everything is on schedule.
I never knew that photo shoots were so trying. By the time I'm out of the first dress, which is white, lacy, and is complemented by pink roses, I'm ready to pull my hair out. Each dress requires different makeup, hair, shoes, jewelry, headpieces, setting and lighting, making the process of one photo shoot for a single dress last a lifetime.
My mind tries to occupy itself with thoughts of the revolts in the other districts, but that doesn't last too long so I resort to thinking about Peeta, which causes me to flush and stammer for no reason when someone asks me a question. Particularly when I realized that these dresses I'm trying on should not be white—that symbolism doesn't apply to me anymore.
In between dresses, my mother manages to feed me bites of food and sips of tea while I'm redone over and over for each dress. Though I may not like the process, I have to admit that the dresses are beautiful, but then again, how could they not be? They're Cinna's work.
Each dress is different, but they're all spectacular. Diamonds and jeweled veils. Heavy flows of silk and pearls. I surprise myself when my eyes linger on the last dress, more specifically the reflection I see staring back at me. The dress wraps around me with waves of creamy white silk, the bodice studded with pearls, with long, billowy sleeves that hang to the floor. My hair is in an elaborate curly up-do with seemingly errant, yet perfectly symmetrical curls framing my face. A bouquet of white lilies in my hands. I have to admit, it's my favorite.
But the fact that I actually liked one of the dresses pales into insignificance when the photographer announces that the last shot has been taken. Free at last! Everyone begins the clean up process, and Effie ushers me upstairs. Cinna follows me up and helps me out of the dress. It's the first time we've been alone, and I want so desperately to ask him how things are in the Capitol, if he knows anything about the uprisings. I know that he'd give me a straight answer, one that's not clouded by frivolous want. He'd give me the facts as they were. But I manage to resist, only because I know that he could possibly face repercussions if Snow ever found out that Cinna was 'conspiring with me' or some nonsense like that.
Once I'm free from the dress, Cinna leaves me, but not before promising to call me later. For a moment I stand in the middle of my room, soaking up the quiet and the solitude. I'd almost forgotten what it felt like, what with everyone that's been swarming me all day. I step into the shower and wash away all the makeup, glitter, dyes, and products that I've been doused in today. When I actually step out of the shower, I really do feel lighter.
I'm in the process of pulling my shirt over my head when I hear the telltale sound of heavy paws. I turn just in time to see Maya trot into my room. She immediately hops onto the bed and gets comfortable, and I can't help but laugh at her. I settle on the bed beside her, stretching out, though I wince a little bit at the twinge in my knee. All the walking and standing in heels wasn't very nice for the tender joint.
My fingers glide through her fur, and Maya sighs contentedly, closing her eyes. "She missed you." I turn my head to see Peeta in the doorway. He smiles as he enters the room. "About noon she just planted herself at the door, waiting for you to get home."
I scoot over on the bed so that Peeta can lie beside me. Once he's settled, my head immediately rests against his shoulder. My eyes close without my permission and I sigh. "Long day?" Peeta asks.
"You have no idea."
As if to taunt me, my mind conjures up images of the day, full of satin, lace, silk, makeup, hairspray, and other beauty products. I will not be surprised if I have nightmares. Like, maybe being chased by a wedding dress and my prep team, wielding weapons of mass destruction—like a curling iron.
But my mind also brings back my secret interrogation of my prep team. I lift my head from Peeta's shoulder so I can look him in the eyes. "You know, Octavia told me the strangest thing," I say. "She said that the Capitol hasn't been getting any seafood for weeks. Apparently, the weather is pretty bad in District 4." Peeta's eyes narrow and I know he's reading between the lines. District 4 has rebelled. "There are other shortages, too, like electronic stuff and fabrics."
"Really?" Peeta says lightly. "That's interesting."
"I thought so."
"We should probably tell Haymitch," Peeta says. "See if he knows anything."
I nod before laying my head on his shoulder once more. "Maybe we could drop by after dinner."
Peeta hums in agreement, and we spend a few minutes simply lying together in silence. I can't seem to resist burrowing deeper into his side, and Peeta's arm wraps around me, holding me close. As the silence drones on, I think about what all Haymitch might know. He's in contact with the Capitol more than we are, much to his distaste, because he's our mentor and I think Effie calls him a lot to remind him of stuff that he's probably been trying to drink himself into forgetting.
Will my new information surprise him? I think back to the night of the Harvest Festival, when Peeta and I had told him of the news we'd overheard in the Capitol. The idea of a riotous District 8 didn't seem to surprise him in any way, but maybe that was just Haymitch being Haymitch. Nothing throws him.
Eventually, Peeta and I extricate ourselves from each other and make our way downstairs. My mother has been hard at work in the kitchen with Prim, and together they put together a fine meal. Steak and mashed potatoes and green beans—Peeta contributed the rolls. Conversation starts out light, with Prim gushing about the wedding dresses. She'd arrived home from school in time to see the last two. Peeta listens to every word, and I know that he's trying to picture me in the dresses Prim is describing.
The dinner is relatively pleasant . . . at least until my mother beings subtly interrogating Peeta about his intentions toward me and whether he can keep his hormones in check, especially since it's an ignored fact that I sleep over at his house every night. This turn of conversation is incredibly awkward, for me at least. I'm probably the only one who sees the hidden amusement in Peeta's eyes as he almost gleefully answers my mother's queries about our supposedly nonexistent sex life.
Oh, wow. I actually have a sex life.
In silent retaliation for his hidden amusement, both at my mother's questions and at my embarrassment, I casually slip my hand under the table and lay it on Peeta's knee. He barely pauses in his reply to yet another one of my mother's questions, but otherwise you'd never know that he was distracted. My mother asks another question, and I allow my hand to move up his thigh ever so slightly, making him pause yet again. But, being Peeta, he recovers flawlessly.
This turns into a little game. For every question my mother asks, and for every answer Peeta gives, my hand inches its way up his thigh. Peeta is beginning to squirm, and I manage to hold back a triumphant smirk. Oh, the control I wield over his boy.
But I have to commend him for his self control. It's only when my hand is nearly touching him that he caves. "Well, this has been lovely, Mrs. Everdeen," he compliments, managing a smile. "But I've got to go. There's a painting that I want to finish. I always like to finish want I start," he says, his eyes meeting mine for a split second.
"I'll walk you out," I offer innocently.
Somehow, Peeta manages to casually walk outside, his fingers twined with mine as we make our way to his house. I'm beginning to wonder if I've lost my touch as we walk through the door, but that thought is quickly banished when I'm pushed against the door the second it shuts behind us.
I barely have time to blink before Peeta's kissing me, and I can't help but smile. Oh, yes. I'm good.
"That . . ." Peeta says before trailing off as he begins to kiss my neck. ". . . was not funny . . ."
I slip my hands under his shirt, making his muscles tense, and my smile widens. "I disagree."
Peeta groans when I press my hips to his. "We need a bed," I tell him, but he shakes his head as he rids me of my shirt.
"Not going to make it." He begins to steer us toward the living room, his lips never leaving mine. "Need you now," he says, his husky voice sending shivers of anticipation down my spine.
It's safe to say that we found another use for the couch.
Katniss, you're such a tease.
So, lots happened this chapter. Wedding dresses. More rebellion. A little bit of love. It's all good.
Okay! Quote from the next chapter comes from (drum roll, please) . . . Haymitch!
"Hard to be lonely when you've got kids."
Lots of love,
AC
