Author's Note—Happy Half-Birthday, iLoVeRynMar. Six months later, I'm still writing your damn present, for no reason other than I suck, LOL.
All mistakes are mine.
One last pitch for the S2SL charity drive on Tumblr. Please consider donating to receive a collection of super sexy, smutty art and fic from many of the best writers and artists in this fandom. Stories release on 2-14-15, so donate today!
~Katniss~
It takes me a few minutes to regain my composure, to smooth down my clothes, and to ensure I'm not blushing like some kind of teenager with a crush. I square my shoulders, put my best bitch face on, and stride out of the evidence locker.
Unfortunately, even worse than encountering Peeta first is running into Mason—literally. We collide, and I jolt back.
"Is it sanitary in there, Everdeen? Did you and Mellark clean up the evidence?" She chortles at her own joke and tries to peer past me into the room.
I stiffen and jut my chin out. "What is it that you think we were doing in there?"
Mason smirks and swings her evidence key around and around, giving me a patronizing look. "Relax, Brainless. I know you're too fucking uptight to dare to do anything even remotely sordid here at the station, even if Mellark had finally sweet-talked his way into your panties."
While it's hardly in my nature to kiss and tell, something compels me to want to wipe that smirk right off of Mason's face. Nothing seems to faze her, and I feel like I can really shock her if I reveal I'm willingly seeing Peeta again tonight. But I stop myself, because if all goes well this evening, I might have a lot more ammunition to surprise Mason—and everyone else around here.
So I give her a polite smile and make an exaggerated motion towards the evidence locker. "It's all yours," I say, leaving her behind without another glance.
When I reach my desk, Peeta is on his phone, his eyes trained on his computer, his fingers moving fluidly across the keys. He's so focused I don't even think he sees me approach, and that's probably a good thing. I'm able to slide into my seat, pull out a case file, and try not to think about where our night together might lead.
I fail miserably. I can't keep my eyes from wandering to him every couple of minutes. He has so many little idiosyncrasies when he's focused. I watch the muscle on the right side of his jaw tick and flex as he listens to whoever is on the other line. I hear the faint tap of his index finger against his temple, near where he holds his phone to his ear. I stare, mesmerized each time he blinks— he has the longest, fullest eyelashes I've ever seen on a man.
I know all these things about Peeta. And yet I don't know enough—I want to know more. My chest tightens, but not out of pain. I want to know everything about him. I want him to know everything about me.
I'm ready to let him in.
~Peeta~
Katniss steals glances at me all afternoon. I'm sure she thinks that I'm oblivious to her, and I know she thinks she's being covert about it, but I notice every time those quicksilver eyes flit up and sneak a peek in my direction. It's almost distracting to a fault, because I can't stop thinking about her as it is, and with her being just a couple of feet away from me, and the knowledge that she's going to be in my apartment in a few hours, it's a fucking wonder I get anything done.
I don't really. I should be doing paperwork, but my biggest accomplishment of the afternoon is the grocery list I tap out on my iPhone. I'm pretty pleased with the menu I've planned. As much as I love to cook, I don't do it often. Between my schedule and living alone, it's easier to keep things simple. The way Katniss responded to my efforts the other night, I know she'll be receptive to anything I make.
She's on the phone now, and I can read her well enough to know that she's irritated by whoever is on the other end as she listens to him or her. Her tongue rests on her bottom lip, then she presses her lips firmly together, restraining herself from interrupting the speaker. The tongue reappears and she clenches her free hand into a fist.
Fuck she's sexy when she's mad.
She lets out a noise of disgust when she hangs up several minutes later, muttering, "Fucking prick," under her breath. She buries her face in her hands, then throws her head back and gazes up at the ceiling.
I flick one of my chocolates across our desks, but I overshoot it, and it ricochets into her lap. She lowers her head and glances down. The right side of her mouth lifts slightly as we lock eyes and she holds up the little red foil square.
"Chocolate helps," I supply, snagging one for myself. I unwrap it and raise it in a gesture of solidarity before popping it into my mouth. She smiles fully and shakes her head.
"Thanks," she says, though she doesn't make any move to eat it. "That was the Fed who took over the Snow case…big surprise, he's a pompous asshole. Not even a word of thanks for the reports I faxed over."
"They usually are," I concur, giving her a sympathetic smile after I swallow my chocolate. "Once you get to Quantico and you get that fancy title, you forget all about the little people."
Katniss turns the Dove candy over in her head again and again, avoiding my eyes. "The little people are the ones who need the most help."
I remember what she told me about why she became a cop in the first place, and I wonder if this was always the career path she saw for herself, or if she changed courses after her father and sister's deaths.
I stand up and cross to her side of the desks. She pushes back in her chair, eyes widening as I lean against her filing cabinet, gazing down at her.
"You do this for the right reasons, Katniss," I say softly. "It's not about the glory and the commendations."
She arcs a brow at me, a dubious expression on her face. "Could have fooled me, what with you always leaving the paper on my desk."
Smiling sheepishly, I lean forward. "I only did that to get under your skin. And I'm sorry for it. It won't happen anymore." I pause and take a quick breath. "But something good came out of this."
"Yeah, a bunch of skeevy old perverts are going to be put away for a long time," she replies.
"Yes, there's that," I agree. "But this case proved how well we work together. From now on, no more competition. We're partners. We have each other's backs. We protect each other. Agreed?"
She's quiet for a beat, her grey eyes locked on mine, and I can practically see her mind analyzing what I've asked. But finally, she says, "Agreed," and the way she looks at me sends a frisson snaking down my spine. Her lips twitch, as if she wants to say something, but our trance is broken by the ring of her cell phone.
"Everdeen…yes. Okay…8th and Pine? We're on our way." She sighs as she hangs up. I straighten up at the same time she rises out of her chair, and our bodies nearly collide. Another little sigh escapes her lips, but this one sounds unintentional. My pulse quickens and heat pools in my belly. Fortunately my dick stays in check.
"That…uh…that was Mitchell," she says, her voice hoarse. "He got a call about a body near the dumpsters of the China King."
"Well then, let's go."
At least investigating a potential homicide makes the afternoon go by faster. It turns out that the body behind the restaurant is one of their delivery boys, a not-so-youthful man of 54, and his death appears to be accidental, though we'll need to wait for the autopsy to confirm a heart attack or other natural causes. Our thorough inspection of the scene turned up nothing suspicious, no signs of foul play, and both the owner and the employee who found the body were cooperative.
Katniss is quiet on the ride back to the station, staring out the window with a pensive look on her pretty face. Were it not for our date in three hours, I'd make casual conversation, but instead I drive in silence, going through my mental list of all I need to get done before I pick her up at 7.
"How are you getting home if you don't have a car?" I ask her, once I've parked and we're about to head inside.
"Oh, ah, I'll get a cab."
I stop and grab her arm. "What? What about your roommate?"
"She's out of town for a few days. Some convention. Took her car."
"Can't you ask Cresta or Mason for a ride home?"
She shrugs. "They don't live anywhere near me. And I don't like owing people things. I don't want to inconvenience anyone."
"That's absurd," I scold her. Immediately her eyes flash, and I can tell she's about to start to argue with me. I grip her arm a little tighter, forcing her to look directly at me, and say, "I'm driving you home. I'll wait for you while you do whatever you need to do, and then we'll go back to my place. We might have to pick up something for dinner, because I was counting on going to the store..."
"Peeta," she starts to protest, but I tug her flush against me and place one finger firmly against her lips. If we weren't standing fifteen feet from the rear door of the station, I wouldn't hesitate to lower my mouth to hers and finally truly taste those lips, feel them moving in rhythm with mine. The two kisses we've shared have been far too brief. I want to savor her. That's my sole objective tonight—to take my time and make her see how much I want her, that this is more than the culmination of a silly bet. I'm willing to take a gamble on this being much, much more. I want it to be much, much more.
"You need to start letting people do nice things for you," I say. "Not everything is about ulterior motives and owing and reciprocating. I want to do this for you. Let me take you home."
"Peeta." She says my name with less insistence this time. I can hear her resolve starting to crumble. I take my finger off her mouth, and she presses her lips together. I can practically see the internal struggle she's still waging not to fight with me.
Firmly, I say, "No arguments."
Her shoulders relax and she licks her lips and gives a subtle nod of her head.
"You'll allow it?" I grin.
"I'll allow it," she whispers before turning her back on me and disappearing into the station.
~*~Katniss~*~
When it's time to leave work, I follow Peeta to his car. The ride to my apartment is cloaked in silence. It's the perfect opportunity to start opening up to him, really, but I find my throat is tight and I don't even know where to begin. Peeta, usually so talkative, is taciturn as well. The only sound in the car is the drumming of his fingers against the steering wheel when he comes to a stop sign or traffic signal. He doesn't even have the radio on.
My apartment is equally silent when I unlock the door and motion for him to step inside.
"Make yourself at home," I say, as I drop my bag onto the small table near the door and shrug off my coat. "I'll try not to take too long."
"No, take your time," he counters, pacing around the living room. "We're in no rush." He pauses in front of a framed photo of Prim and me, one of the last ones taken of the two of us. "You look so happy when you're with your sister," he says, with almost a wistful edge to his voice.
"I was happy," I agree. "We were close. We never fought. I had a pretty idyllic childhood, really."
I clam up, realizing as much as I want to tell him more about my life, I don't want to get into details about my family right this minute. Because if I start talking about Prim, the floodgates are liable to open. We're supposed to be making up for our ruined date. I don't want to kill the mood before we can get back to where we were on the blanket at the airport.
He studies a picture of Madge with her parents at her college graduation, then he turns to face me. "Do you like having a roommate?"
I shrug. "Times like this, when she's away, I realize that I kind of do prefer the solitude. But she was good to me, after everything…and living together was her idea, and I didn't want to disappoint her…it was the least I could do. I owed her."
He nods. "I thought I wanted to live alone. I didn't like it as much as I thought I would. That's why I got Ilsa. She's a good listener and she doesn't complain if there are a few dirty dishes in the sink from time to time."
The smile that lights his face when he speaks of his dog is entirely different than that cocky one I'm used to seeing at the station. I can hear the unconditional love that he has for her, and it only helps flesh out the fuller picture I've been sketching of Peeta Mellark in recent weeks.
He coughs lightly and sits down on the edge of my couch, gazing up at me. "But it's also nice to have someone who depends on me, even if she has four legs."
We stare at each other for what feels like a lot longer than it is. I can't help but sense intent behind his words. My body certainly senses it. My heartbeat quickens, heat blossoming beneath my ribs, curling through my limbs.
"I, uh, I should go change," I stammer, looking away as I walk hastily down the hall to my bedroom. Closing the door, I slump back against it, pressing a palm to my galloping heart. I don't know how I'm going to last through dinner and whatever else he has planned. This thing that's been simmering between us is at a boiling point.
After I catch my breath, I stand in front of my closet, contemplative, every cell in me still humming with electricity as I try to find something to wear. I know the kind of reaction I got out of him when I wore that black dress on our date the other night. But aside from a few pairs of panties and one racy bra that Madge bought me for my birthday last year, that dress is about the only sexy thing I own and he's already seen me in it.
A wicked thread unspools in my mind. There are about a hundred different ways tonight could play out, but I don't think he'd see this coming.
With trembling fingers, I unbutton my blouse and toss it into the hamper. I shed my pants next and carefully hang them up. Glancing down at my grey cotton bra and my practical boy shorts, I rifle through my underwear drawer, searching for the intended garments.
A moment later, I study my reflection in the mirror, my fingers tapping restlessly on my hipbones. My breasts spill over the cups of the lacy, nearly sheer demi bra and the low-rise panties barely cover me. I hope he finds me attractive enough, even if I could have more curves in places.
I blow out a long breath and square my shoulders. A shiver runs through me. Right before I reach for the doorknob, I take down my hair and work my shaky fingers through it, combing out the loose waves.
Peeta's head is lowered as he reads something on his iPhone. I approach him soundlessly, my bare feet aiding me. I'm so nervous that I swear I feel like I might throw up. I make a little noise, unsure how else to command his attention. He lifts his gaze to me, and his iPhone clatters to the floor. He doesn't make any move to retrieve it. Instead, he gawks at me, his mouth parted, his eyes roaming up and down my figure before locking on my eyes.
"Say something, please," I beg. He has to know that I'm exposing far more to him than my body right now.
"Jesus, fuck, Katniss," he finally whispers.
~*~Peeta~*~
She's probably expecting more than that, but it's the only coherent thought that I can form into words. The sight of her standing almost naked before me has rendered me speechless. I can only think with the head between my legs, the one that's rapidly asserting itself against the crotch of my dress pants. I had hoped that she would change into something cute, but I never expected this. She looks utterly incredible. My dick swells even more as I realize I can see her hard nipples through the sheer lace of the bra.
She fidgets, bouncing on the balls of her feet, her hand rubbing up and down her upper arm, gazing at me intently. If I stand up she's going to see how much she's affecting me.
Fuck it. She knows I want her. What's there to hide?
Stepping over my phone—it could be broken for all I care—I advance upon her slowly. I can see her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tugs her lower lip between her teeth. Her grey eyes are flecked with gold, her pupils rapidly dilating.
"You," I rasp as I curl my arm around her waist, splaying my palm over her warm skin, "are so beautiful."
Her eyes drop down between us and she starts to shake her head. I tip her chin up to force her to look directly at me as I say, "I want you so bad right now."
She gives a breathy little laugh that might be nerves, but it sounds so sexy that my cock throbs insistently. "I wouldn't be dressed like this if I wasn't trying to tell you something. I'm not good at saying things. Not like you."
"You've done a pretty good job of leaving me at a loss for words tonight," I murmur. "But I'm not interested in talking."
"Me neither," she whispers.
I thread my fingers into her thick, silky hair as I lower my mouth to kiss her.
At first, I just brush my lips over hers. They're soft and warm and pliant against mine. This is what I have been craving all these months. She pushes back with slightly more pressure and instinctively she tilts her head. I angle my neck to kiss her from another angle, deepening our embrace. She sighs into my mouth and loops her arms around my neck, pressing her body flush against mine. I move my hand down her back, sliding my fingertips along her bare skin. She shudders and clutches at my shoulders, her lips parting to allow a sigh to expel from them. My tongue accepts the invitation and glides along her bottom lip, tasting the waxy strawberry flavor of her lip balm, before slipping inside her mouth. I explore every warm crevice, caressing her tongue when it darts forward to meet mine. I could kiss her for hours—it feels so natural, our mouths moving together effortlessly.
My cock, though, has other ideas, and I know there's no way she doesn't feel how hard I am for her, given she's wearing a pair of panties that leave nothing to the imagination, not to mention my dress slacks don't hide my erection as well as my jeans would.
A moment later, though, she affirms my suspicions by rolling her hips into my hard-on. Our lower bodies collide, then she does it again. My groan rumbles in my throat and I suck her bottom lip between mine. Dropping my mouth to her neck, I let my tongue dance over her pulse point, then suckle the skin hard enough to make her moan, but not so hard to leave a mark. I know she won't want to answer questions at the station tomorrow.
Her fingertips dig into my back muscles, kneading gently, before sliding her palms around to my stomach. She steps back and holds me in place, but I'm powerless to move anyway, once I see how glassy and lust-glazed those grey irises are. Her chest heaves with each breath she takes, and I can see her hands shaking as her fingers move to the top button on my shirt. She's definitely nervous, but I don't want to make her more nervous by calling attention to it.
She works each button free, her eyes never leaving mine as she eases the shirt off my shoulders and tosses it behind me, in the direction of the couch. Her gaze finally drops to my chest, one hand experimentally splaying over my breastbone, probing down along the contours of my abs.
The fluttering in my stomach makes me feel like a teenager, but I've never wanted anything as much as I want Katniss Everdeen.
That giddy teenager in me can't believe I'm going to finally have her.
I won't make you wait too long for Chapter 9, promise. It's been slower going writing it, given the monster I wrote for S2SL. El, I love you.
Thank you for reading! ~C