A/N: Thank you to ichooseupeetachu for all her help and cheer-leading! Come hang out with me on Tumblr, I'm mellarksloaves.

I never thought I could become so familiar with a body that wasn't my own. There are times when I think I may now be more familiar with Peeta's body than I have ever been with my own. I know what the reflection in the mirror shows when I stand naked in front of it, of course. Small breasts, dark skin, the patch of coarse hair between my legs that seemed to sprout overnight. However, it's the more intimate facets that still evade me.

I've learned things about Peeta's body over the last ten days that I've never known about myself. I learned one night that only his left hip is ticklish as I let my fingers roam over his skin while I stroked his erection. The moan that turned into a laugh is a sound that I seem to hear now every time I close my eyes. Sometimes, while we lie in the dark, I like to skim my fingers over the area to hear that laugh again. I've also learned that it doesn't matter how many times I've made him come the night before, he will always be hard again first thing in the morning. There have even been mornings when my hands have found their way to those morning erections and worked him to completion moments before Effie raps on the door to rouse us. I even know that while my hand is wrapped around his length, rubbing across the rigid length, nothing makes him fall apart faster than the moment I tighten my grip at the base of his erection.

We've hardly slept the entire tour. I can't blame the nightmares, they don't hit nearly as often as they do back home when I'm all alone in my bed. Peeta's protective embrace seems to keep me calm enough to keep the worst of the terrors away in the few moments of rest that do come. But more often than not, when we try to sleep, it's only a matter of time before Peeta's hands feel as though they're searing my skin. The urge to feel those hands, those fingers, touch me in other places takes over, and it's only a matter of time before my own hands take on a life all their own and I want nothing more than to feel Peeta stiff in my hands. To see his stomach rolling like waves from his ragged and hurried breaths. And the need to explore is only growing stronger by the night.

I think Haymitch knows. Between district stops and during meals, Peeta and I are constantly subjected to sideways glances from him. Looks that say, "I know what you're up to." or worse, "I've heard you." We stay as silent as we can, but these walls are thin and we aren't always quiet. A fact that I only seem to think or care about while being subjected to Haymitch's scrutinizing looks.

Because of this, I've taken to never letting Peeta out of my sight. Haymitch would never bring it up with me in the room, but he is probably itching to corner Peeta the first chance he gets. If he has no opportunities to confront Peeta, the conversation will never have to happen during this tour. I can't stay glued to Peeta once we're home, though. I don't want to think about what will happen once we're home.

Effie, it seems, is clueless. She's too busy worrying about the message Peeta and I sleeping in the same bed sends to notice that the message being sent is what's actually happening. It's during these lectures that I periodically glance to Haymitch and see what looks like the poorest attempts at hiding smiles I've ever seen. A smile that erupts into a full blown laugh the morning I almost follow Peeta right into the bathroom trying to ensure that Haymitch can't catch him alone.

Peeta and I never talk about that happens between us at night. With so many people around us on high alert, and our days filled with speeches, meetings, and traveling, there's no safe moment to utter a word about it.

But the first time Peeta's tongue touches me in my most sensitive spots, and I let his name fall from my lips in a way I never have before, it says more than anything either of us could assert, even if we tried.

Our patterns have evolved over the last few days. Where we once took turns on each other, reveling in the sights and sounds the other makes and trying to discover ways to induce even more pleasure on each other, we started finding ways to touch each other at the same time. We no longer revel in the sounds we make on our own, but the sounds we make together.

I learned very quickly that staying completely silent was never going to be a possibility. For the most part, we keep our voices low enough so we know they're just between us. But every so often, one of us will have to remind the other to be quieter. Despite everything that I know about myself, I find these reminders more amusing than dangerous. It's just enough to bring a smile to my lips, keeping the intensity that I so often feel while with Peeta from swallowing me whole.

Tonight, while Peeta and I lay on our sides, my ass pressed into his groin, we found a slow and comfortable rhythm. His arm was draped over my waist, fingers trailing sleepily across my skin. He traced the curve of my hip, dipping lower and lower until he slipped them between my folds and lavished the sensitive bud there with the gentlest attention and causing a need for release so agonizing and desperate, I didn't know how I would spend another minute waiting for the moment when my body lost all control.

With our bodies positioned back to front, I was able to stimulate Peeta without even having to use my hands; simply driving my ass back against his erection was enough. Each time I crush my back side against him, he elicits rounds of whispered moans into my ear that I so wanted to hear.

But it wasn't enough. I wanted my hands on Peeta. I wanted his fingers to explore deeper. Neither could happen comfortably as long as we were lying the way we were. We tried, but soon, our arms became tangled and tired. Even when Peeta moved his arm back and pushed his fingers into me from behind, it didn't feel right. And somehow, without having to speak a word, Peeta knew.

I was prepared to simply turn to face him. That way I could easily reach between us a take him in my hand. I wasn't prepared for Peeta to move away from me entirely. He settled himself in a sitting position between my legs and pulled me up to sit with him. He pushed my hair from my face and cupped my cheek, running his thumb across the area. I reached for him first. After scooting in closer, I was able to easily wrap my hand around his erection. I've never looked at his face much while doing this, but it was so present I couldn't take my eyes off of it. And he didn't do a thing to take his eyes off of me. Not even when his fingers found their way to my center, and he resumed his relaxed teasing.

There was something about the way he looked at me that made me feel restless. A heavy-lidded and fiery gaze that would not let up no matter how I touched him. And then he stopped everything and whispered for me to lie back down. I wasn't sure what was happening. Why would he stop? I wondered if he was upset about something, but it made no sense. It wasn't until he moved onto his stomach, his head situated between my legs, asking me gently if it was okay for him to be there that I began to understand why he was asking me that question.

My whole body tensed up when the realization hit me. I wasn't uncomfortable with the idea of his mouth on me. Quite the opposite, in fact. I was curious to find out what it felt like, but it didn't stop the nervous energy that surged through my body at the thought of it. I nodded to let him know it was okay, and he held my gaze for a long time before his head disappeared between my legs and I felt his warm breath spread across my inner thigh.

Next were his lips, burning hot against my skin. He lingered for so long, trailing kisses up and down both thighs, sucking lightly at the spots his lips had just been. I began to wonder if that was all he was planning on doing all night.

It was when I was in mid-thought that I felt that first swipe of his tongue cover the length of my middle, causing every thought I'd had all evening to disappear. His tongue was so much softer, so much warmer than his fingers. The light tickling that it left as it passed between my folds had me whimpering a sound that eventually turned into Peeta's name being whispered over and over.

And now, as nervous as I was for him to begin, I don't want him to stop.

When he gets finally shifts his attention to the sensitive bud at my core and gently sucks on it, I lose all sense. I thought I was desperate for release before. Now I'm practically begging for it. However, the only word I can see to form is Peeta's name. I recite it over and over like a song and twirl my fingers through his hair softly to keep him from moving away from me.

I can tell Peeta is surprised at my response by something that flickers in his eyes when he looks up at me from between my legs. I look back at him, hoping the look I give him back is enough to tell him that he's doing everything right tonight, and it won't be long before I finally feel the release I've been hoping for all night.

The look we exchanged seems to have given Peeta a wave of confidence. His hand ghosts up my stomach toward chest and cups my breast. His fingers toy with my nipple, squeezing it in time with each suck he makes against my middle.

It's the combination of Peeta sucking on my nerve and flicking his tongue over it at the same time that finally brings me to the point of no return. Before I can stop myself, my thighs clench around Peeta's head and I ride the crest of my orgasm with Peeta's mouth still working swiftly.

My apology afterward is met with a tickled smile before Peeta's lips find mine. There's still a hint of what I imagine is me on his tongue and lips. I find that it sends a delightful shudder up my back, filling me with an urgent need to bring him to the brink the same way he did for me.

As with everything else, I have no explanation for my desires. I gave up trying to explain or understand the things I've done on this tour, and I'm not about to start trying again now.

The calm state my body has been left in after my orgasm spurs me forward. With my hands planted firmly on Peeta's chest and our kisses growing more and more frantic, I push him. But my hands only meet the solid plane with resistance.

"What are you doing?" Peeta asks, breaking the kiss.

I don't answer. I drop my gaze when I feel a wave of embarrassment wash over me at the thought of Peeta rejecting my advances. And for a brief second, I'm angry. When I look back up to his eyes, though, I see confusion there, not denial. Then I see something register and he shakes his head.

"You don't have to do it, Katniss," Peeta starts. "I'm not expecting anything in return. I did that because I wanted to make you feel good."

I narrow my eyes at Peeta. How could he still think that I would do something like this for any reason other than pure desire? There are no cameras in here with us, and even if there were, this isn't something I would ever share with the entire country.

Is it?

I think about that moment during the games when a kiss between Peeta and I began to intensify. I felt those very same desires burning in my chest that I've felt here in this room. What could have happened in the cave that night if Peeta hadn't stopped that kiss? Is it possible that I could have become so carried away that the cameras we both knew to be there would've become an afterthought?

"I know I don't have to," I say, pushing away the thoughts. I focus my eyes on Peeta sharply. "But what if I want to?"

Peeta's eyes scour my face, eyebrows knit together in confusion and what I fear is worry. "You want to?"

I nod. "I want to."

I push on Peeta's chest again, and after a second of resistance, he finally relents. His body falls back against the bed as I scoot between his legs. For the first time, I start to feel nervous. I don't know what I'm doing. What if I do something wrong? What if he doesn't Iike it? I drive every thought I have about failing at this and focus on Peeta's erection. I've almost committed every inch and curve of it to memory. But knowing the perfect spot to curl my fingers around him won't help me now. The secret knowledge of knowing that the soft pad of my thumb rubbing the tip of his arousal means nothing when it's my mouth that'll be doing the work.

Suddenly I'm struck with an idea that enables me to ignore the bubbling nervousness and proceed. I catch Peeta's eyes one more time. The half-lidded stare looking back at me, waiting, manages to give me that final boost of confidence. I lean my body down and bring my mouth close to his erection.

Slowly, I move even closer until I can reach him with my tongue. Before I can think too much about it, I press my tongue against the tip of Peeta's aching need. I begin to move it in the same circular pattern I would use to trail my thumb across his head if I were using my hands. I take Peeta's moan as a sign that I've done something right, so I continue.

I spend several minutes in the same spot, lavishing the area and becoming accustomed to what Peeta feels like against my tongue. The strangled moan Peeta emits when he watches my tongue circle the slit, and I taste the mild sweetness of the clear fluid that has begun to collect there affects me even more than the act itself. It pushes me to move further down, sliding my tongue up and down Peeta's length until I'm certain that I haven't missed an inch.

It takes some time for me to work up the nerve, but eventually I work my way back up to the tip. Even though, if his moans are any indication, Peeta is enjoying himself, I know this isn't enough. I bring the tip of my tongue back through the wetness that's appeared again one last time before lowering my mouth over the head and wrapping my lips around it.

The change in Peeta's demeanor is instant. His quiet, breathy moans become gravelly. The further I draw him into my mouth, the more they begin to sound like growls. When I reach a point where I can't possibly take him into my mouth any further, Peeta's hands find their way to my head. He brushes my hair away from my face tenderly and then removes his hand, shifting to prop himself up on his elbows to watch me.

The sight I see when I look up at him is almost breathtaking. His eyes are trained on me fiercely, but there's more there. They're soft, and he's shaking his head back and forth as if he's awed that this is even happening. I resist the urge to remove my mouth from him to ask him what he's thinking. I'm not sure I'm prepared to hear what his answer may be.

I suppress the nerves that have begun to rise again and drop my gaze from Peeta. I begin to pull my mouth back, stopping abruptly at Peeta's hiss when my teeth make contact. I lightly caress his stomach, the only apology I can offer right now and try again, being more careful to keep my lips on him as I move to release him from my mouth. I start from the beginning again, and when I move back in to take him in, his words echo in my mind, "I wanted to make you feel good."

I keep the words tucked away at the front of my mind while I find a rhythm. After some time, I begin alternating from sucking on Peeta's length and taking time to cover the tip with my tongue. I think I've finally acclimated myself to doing this. Though it's not something I ever thought about doing, and I know I'm not exactly skilled at any of it, I've done plenty this week that I haven't done or imagined doing, especially on this tour. An odd sense of pride bubbles in my stomach when I think about it.

Peeta begins to twist his hips firmly underneath me, muttering unintelligible words before he finally manages to say my name.

"Katniss," he croaks, breathless. "I'm gonna…"

I pull my mouth from Peeta and watch him take hold of his erection. He gives himself a few strokes and within seconds of me tearing my mouth away, his orgasm takes over. His body shudders and empties over his hand and stomach.

I'm not sure there's anything I've enjoyed more these nights on tour than watching Peeta come. There's something about the way his body moves. But I especially find it arousing to see the way his erection seems to pulse in order to get every last drop of come out. It's almost scary how much I enjoy watching it happen.

Peeta kisses me deeply before getting out of bed to clean himself up. As always, I follow him and watch him do that, too. Afterward, we climb into bed, ignoring the pile of our pajamas on the floor. There's no need to dress. Nobody comes into this room unannounced since Peeta started staying in here. Part of me has to wonder if that's Haymitch's doing.

I curl up in Peeta's arms, my chest pressing against his, and close my eyes. It won't be long before sleep claims me, but I doubt either one of us will sleep through the night.

The final two days of our tour have come up fast. Neither one of us slept well the night before our stop in the Capitol.

We tried to calm each other slowly, taking our time as we worked over each other's bodies. Peeta's tongue and mouth covered every inch of me that he could reach. His teeth found my nipples and he spent an ample amount of time there, nipping, sucking, tracing the taut nubs with the tip of his tongue. The inferno it caused inside of me consumed my entire being.

He did the same between my legs, moving in an idle and lingering fashion, using both his mouth and fingers on me. He seemed far more confident than he was the night before, even dipping his tongue into my center. The surprising pleasure it brought to me forced me to clamp my hand over my mouth to keep from crying out loudly.

I'd lost all train of thought and, for the moment, all worries seemed to vanish while Peeta worked me into blissful oblivion. Even after my orgasm had subsided, Peeta continued to cover my body with soft kisses. Each kiss felt as though he was whispering into my skin, leaving behind a trail of warm words that made my need for him so great that I practically tore his pants trying to remove them.

I wasn't the only one enjoying Peeta's deliberate, almost artful adulation of my body. He was so hard when I took him into my mouth that night, and I made sure to move just as slowly as he had so he wouldn't come too soon.

I remembered the way Peeta wrapped his hand around himself the night before, and I tried the same thing as I took him further into my mouth. And after I'd spent just as much time on him as he did on me, pouring over his length with my mouth, licking every inch, and using my hand to stroke him at the same time, it was my fingers that were covered with his come after he finished - the way it should be.

But as we settled in for the night, it wasn't long before the same worries began to plague me. Having to face President Snow, newly engaged, and having to act as if he hadn't threatened the safety of my family and my best friend was a task I would never be ready to take on.

Even after all the worries the night before the party, nothing could have prepared me for the moment Snow's gaze lingered on me and he subtly shook his head, "No."

I felt my blood run cold with his one simple gesture. We'd failed. No, Peeta was perfect. I failed, and as a result everyone connected to us was now in danger.

After the party, the train speeds off toward District 12 just after midnight. The sound of Effie's shrill voice extolling the party and President Snow sends me into a tailspin. I rise from my seat and announce loudly that I'm going to bed, making no effort to hide the fact that I'm taking Peeta with me. There is no laughter from Haymitch following us tonight.

The door to my room hasn't even finished closing before my lips crash into Peeta's. He makes a surprised noise from the back of his throat but kisses me back in earnest. I can't think about what happened tonight. I need something to take my mind off of everything, if only for a little while. I need something that makes me feel good. I need Peeta.

Our pace is the opposite of what it was last night. I can't seem to peel off my dress fast enough. We fall onto the bed and I begin to work on Peeta's pants as he pulls off his jacket and shirt. Effie would surely lecture us if she saw the way we were practically ripping these party clothes from our bodies and hurling them across the room.

Peeta's still soft when I pull him from his pants. I take him into my mouth eagerly, able to take him much deeper this way. And as I suck on him, I can feel him getting harder in my mouth. I've never sucked him into arousal before, and I'm finding it's causing that familiar ache between my legs despite Peeta never having touched me yet tonight.

The sounds of Peeta's moans cause me to pull away from his erection. I'm not ready for him to come yet. It's too soon. Under a confused gaze from Peeta, I climb on top of him and straddle his hips. My middle covers his erection when I settle down on top of him, and I sigh in relief at how delicious the contact feels.

Being able to feel Peeta pressed against me is welcoming, and a fire grows inside me as I begin to grind my hips forward. His length slips through my folds, coating him with my need as I quicken th pace. I feel his strong hand cup and squeeze my breast as soft groans pour from his lips. His face takes on a wide-eyed, slack jawed expression. But even for as much as I'm enjoying this, none of it feels like enough. I realize that it never will until Peeta is finally moving inside me.

I lean forward, grabbing hold of Peeta's hand that covers my breast. I plant a kiss on his lips and roll off of him, settling my back against the cool mattress and pulling on Peeta's arm. He understands what I'm asking and he rolls of top of me. As he begins to descend my body, moving toward my middle, I stop him. Feeling Peeta's mouth embrace me isn't something I could ever truly resist, not after having the pleasure of knowing just how good it could be. But tonight I need more than that, and the aching I feel won't stop until I get it.

With my fingers just under Peeta's chin, I lure him back up toward my mouth and welcome his tongue inside. As our kisses grow hungrier, I spread my legs and position my hips close to Peeta's. My hope is that he'll understand what I want when I reach down and attempt to guide his erection toward my center. But Peeta places his hand over mine, stopping me.

"Katniss?" he says, his eyes searching my face for an answer.

"Please," I murmur wiggling my hips even closer. I can feel his erection pressing against my middle now. Dropping my hand, I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him down into another kiss, keeping him close when we're done. "I want to."

Peeta still doesn't move. Suddenly I wonder if he even wants to do this. I take a deep breath and rush the question out on the exhale.

"Do you want to?" I ask.

I see Peeta's face soften. The confused expression disappears and he closes his eyes. He inhales deeply through his nose and nods.

"Then please," I whisper again, my lips brushing against his.

I watch Peeta's every move with nervous anticipation. He pulls away and sits back on his haunches, wrapping his hand around his length. My eyes stay glued to the sight as Peeta strokes himself. He seems hesitant. So when his eyes find mine, I nod sharply. Telling him again that this is what I want.

Then I feel Peeta's fingers on me, slipping through the wetness. He fans out his fingers, spreading my folds before pressing the tip of his erection at my entrance.

With a strong and shuddering breath, Peeta slowly begins to move forward. I gasp loudly when I feel his head advance and he begins to stretch me and wince as an uncomfortable pinching engulfs my middle, stopping Peeta in his tracks.

My hands find his hips quickly and I grip them, running the pads of my thumbs and forefingers over his skin tenderly.

"I'm okay," I insist, pulling on his hips. "Keep going."

I keep my hands on Peeta's hips while he begins to advance again, and whenever I feel I need a minute I press against them so he knows to stop. With my cues, we work together, the sounds of our hard and ragged breathing filling the room.

After some time, Peeta is halfway inside of me. I gasp again when I feel him begin to pull himself out. Not in pain, but in shock. Does he want to stop?

But he doesn't, because soon I feel him pushing back in. The pressure is still there, but it's a little easier to focus on what it feels like to have Peeta inside me. The way he stretches me is unlike anything I've ever felt. Despite the pain, I find that I like it. I feel full in a way that's different than having too much lamb stew, and each time Peeta pulls back and pushes back into me, the discomfort lessens.

Still, this isn't quite what I was expecting. I don't feel my release building like I hoped I would, but it's not bad. The throbbing at my core hasn't let up at all, and I can feel my wetness dripping down my backside, making it a little easier for Peeta to move in and out.

Peeta's thumb on my throbbing nerve causes an unexpected shock to surge through my body. He begins to rub the spot and finally, I start to feel my release mounting. I want to thank him for somehow knowing that I needed more. His thrusts inside me now are slow, shallow, and not entirely painful anymore. This, plus his thumb's movements over my nerve have taken me to the next level at last. I feel like I'm standing just at the edge, waiting for the final stroke that will push me just beyond it.

To my surprise, it's Peeta suddenly speeding up the timing of his thrusts that finally pushes me over that edge. It feels different to climax with him inside of me. Each time a ripple wracks my body, I can feel my walls clench his erection and then release it.

This causes Peeta to come undone not long after me. With a trembling groan, he pulls himself out and comes low on my stomach, shaking as each throb causes more to spill onto my skin. The warmth seeps into me and somehow brings a sense of calm with it. Peeta moves back and sits between my legs, a silence falling between us that feels foreign after what we've done together.

"I'll go get something to clean you up," Peeta mutters, shifting his body.

"No," I say, reaching for him. "Just stay."

I pull Peeta back to me and we huddle close together, not caring about the mess of our coupling. The only thing I want right now is to feel Peeta's warmth and steadiness with hopes that it'll ward off both the nightmares and the thoughts of what could happen when we get home tomorrow.

THE END