A/N: Capitals won (Damnit!). Had cheddar flavored Pringles and chocolate milk for dinner. Feel sick. Taking the computer to bed. Writing makes me feel better.

This one goes back to Catching Fire, before the Quell. You can assume that the Quell took place as described in the book.

Alicialoo946, here's your lemon. Enjoy. (WARNING: Sexy content ahead)

And sorry this took forever to post! I've been having trouble signing into my account.

July 19

11:56pm

I trail behind Peeta, walking down the hall toward his room. My boots click loudly on the wooden floor of the penthouse. I feel like I'm being watched from every angle, and I desperately want privacy. But I don't want to be alone.

Finnick O'dair's antics at the tribute parade coupled with Johanna in the elevator and the sight of Darius as an avox make me feel tainted. Uncomfortable. Shivering with revulsion inside my own skin. The hallway is dark; only a dim glow seeps from the sitting room behind us. Peeta and I are still wearing our glowing suits, but the battery packs are quickly fading. The orange coal of my body flickers out seconds before Peeta's. We're both done illuminating when we slip through the door to the bedroom.

I sit down on the bed and let out a huge sigh. I'm ready to cry, but I don't want to if I can help it. I unzip the top of my suit and slip my arms out of the tight fabric, revealing my bra and pale, clammy skin. I'm sweaty and sticky from being inside the thick, non-breathable fabric for so long. My current state of mind probably has something to do with it too.

Peeta sits down beside me. He places a hand comfortingly on my knee. "This is fucked up," I say.

"Yeah," Peeta replies. I rub my hands over my face. I'm trembling slightly. I feel sort of sick. I take a few deep breaths. "You okay?" he asks.

"Yeah. I don't know," I mumble. "I just feel…bad." I kick off my boots and shove myself to my feet. "I need a shower."

"Uh, yeah, sure," Peeta says, gesturing toward the bathroom door. What am I doing? This is Peeta's room. Not mine. Why am I acting so comfortable here? Well, probably because I feel like I'm going to scream or puke if I don't get under cold water in the next ten seconds.

Once I'm alone in the bathroom, I strip and start the shower. I don't want scents or bubbles or any of the Capital's fancy additions. I just want cool, pure water to wash away the evening. I comb my fingers through my tangled hair and use my fingers to scrub makeup off my face. I take extra time massaging my temples, feeling the pressure radiate down my cheekbones into my jaw. I let myself relax enough to allow the tears to fall, but they're gone. My body won't let me cry.

I end up standing with my forehead pressed against the tile wall. There's a knock at the bathroom door. I start and quickly shut the water off. I poke my head around the edge of the shower curtain. "Yeah?" I say.

Peeta opens the door. "Uh," he says, "Here's a shirt." He proffers a folded bundle of white jersey fabric. "I don't have anything for you…"

"It's okay," I say. "Just leave it, I'll be out in a minute." He's wearing undershorts. And nothing else. And I don't know if it's exhaustion or lust or pure stupidity, but I can't take my eyes off him. I jerk to awareness and raise my eyes from his crotch to his face just before he shuts the door.

"God, shit, you're…" I chastise myself, folding my hands on top of my head and pressing down hard. "Shit." I towel off and toss on the T-shirt. It's slightly see-through and falls just to the tops of my thighs. I don't have any underwear, so I wrap a towel around my waist. I glance in the mirror at my hard nipples and tangled hair. I sigh and hope that the bedroom is dark.

It is. There is one small light embedded in the wall near the door, and by its light I can see Peeta sitting on the bed on top of the covers. He has a shirt on with his shorts now. I crawl up next to him, carefully negotiating my towel around my hips. "Hey," Peeta whispers.

"Hey," I say. I know he saw me looking. But he won't say anything. He's too kind. Protective of me. Even from himself.

"You feel better?" he asks.

I take a quick inventory. My head has developed a slight throb, and I'm still trembly. All the makeup and sweat are washed away, though, so I feel a good bit cleaner. In body, anyway. My mind is another matter entirely. "A little," I reply.

A shiver runs through my body, raising gooseflesh on my arms. My wet hair isn't helping. "Come'ere," Peeta says, pulling me closer so my head rests on his chest. He pulls down the blankets and snuggles us beneath the covers.

"Thanks," I whisper. He is warm. I lay my cheek, arms, and chest against him. Peeta wraps his arms around me.

"No nightmares tonight," he says.

"I hope not," I reply. Peeta bends his head toward mine and softly kisses my forehead.

"Mmm," I say, enjoying the feel of his lips on my skin. He gently uses a hand to raise my chin. Peeta kisses my lips. I kiss back. The slow rhythm makes me feel safe and warm. His tongue slips between my lips. Peeta tastes the way he looks—soft, light, but solid. Slightly sweet.

We explore each other's mouths for a while, and then he pulls back sucking my lower lip. He's hard against my leg. This isn't the first time it's happened. We've woken up in the same bed quite a few times before. But this is the first time I've acknowledged it. I reach out tentatively and stroke him through his shorts. Peeta sighs into my mouth. I realize that my towel is flat beneath me.

Peeta's shirt is the first thing to come off. He pulls it over his head, then hikes me on top of him. Our bodies press together as we continue to kiss. I feel him, still swathed in fabric, thrusting between my legs. And I want.

I want pleasure and pain and every experience left in the world before I lose it all. I begin to pull up my shirt, and Peeta's hands are immediately there to help. His fingers find my breasts, gently exploring my skin. I'm sensitive and tingling, and shivers run down my spine as he fingers my nipple.

I'm wet and anxious as I get my fingers under the waistband of his pants. I get them down to his knees before he has to get them the rest of the way off himself. I'm throbbing, waiting eagerly for that first contact…

He's surprisingly gentle and warm. It takes fingers and adjustments, but soon Peeta is on top of me, thrusting and kissing. It's awkward at first, and achy, but the pleasure comes hard and fast. I have my arms wrapped around Peeta's shoulders, and he has one hand in my breasts and the other in my hair. Our lips and tongues still find each other's.

And then I'm moaning and seeing stars. One, two, three more thrusts and the warms gush inside of me and the hot breath on my face tells me that he has too. We separate, but stay intertwined. I feel sweaty, damp, and sticky, but wonderful.

"Katniss," Peeta whispers into my cheek. "I love you."

"I love you," I echo. At least I'll die loving you.

-END-

A/N: So that's the end of Blight. I hope you enjoyed it. I'm going to take a little time off before I start my next project, but will be back with something new before too long. I've a few ideas, not all of them Hunger Games, but I'll get it sorted into something.

Reviews feed my muse! Coffee and Yorkie bars to all!