AN: Please, if you're under 18 or easily offended by what happens in some loving relationships this is the time to bail!
Peeta lets me sleep most of the day and despite my insistence that I'm not tired I drift in and out of slumber. Each time I surface he's there in the bed beside me. When I finally feel well rested it's late afternoon, the sun is low on the horizon and Peeta is sitting beside me with his sketchbook propped up on his bended knee.
"Hey," he greets me, setting aside his book and leaning down beside me, "How are you feeling?"
"Much better," I tell him. He smiles and my heart stutters. He's so beautiful when he smiles. If these awful few days have shown me anything, it's that I need this boy, this man, in my life. I've been so afraid of loving anyone for so long, but I can't deny it to myself any longer: I love Peeta, and I have for a long time. He kisses my forehead sweetly.
"Why don't you have a hot shower and I'll go downstairs and make us something to eat. Okay?" I nod and smile, and without another word he's up out of bed and bounding down the stairs.
The shower feels incredible, I'm careful to keep the water tepid because Brody said it'd be a few days before I could handing anything very warm on my frostnipped toes, but I stand under the spray for a long time, letting the sadness and fear and tension of the past few days wash away. After, I don't bother getting dressed, simply sliding into clean pajamas instead, and braiding my damp hair back carelessly.
Slipping down the stairs with the soft steps I know he won't hear I stop just outside of the kitchen and watch Peeta standing over the stove, frying strips of meat and vegetables in a pan. He's humming faintly, tunelessly, and he's smiling softly, but he looks utterly exhausted and fragile. An immense wave of guilt washes over me, what I've done to him with my flightiness and my selfishness. While we both jumped to conclusions and made questionable choices, I know it's my ongoing inability to communicate with Peeta, with anyone really, that lead to our misunderstanding and ultimately to my running off, again. I quietly clear my throat to catch his attention, I know how vulnerable he is to flashbacks when he's exhausted and I don't want to startle him. He turns towards me and his smile widens. "Good timing," he says, 'Dinner is just about ready." I set the table and pour glasses of water as he finishes, enjoying the comfort and simplicity and frankly the normalcy of it.
We sit side by side, holding hands under the table as we eat. I think we both want to be as close to each other as possible. We don't really talk; instead we enjoy just being together again. After we wash the dishes, Peeta asks if I want to work on the memory book, but I can see clearly that he's not up to it today, though I know he'd push himself if it was what I wanted. I beg off, citing lingering exhaustion, though I'm actually fairly well rested, and Peeta looks so relieved that I know I've made the right choice. He quickly showers while I climb into bed.
When he slides in beside me, warm and good smelling, his soft curls still damp, he gathers me into his arms and I relish the pure comfort of his body against mine. We fit together as if we're made for each other, and maybe we are. I want to kiss him and touch him, like we'd been doing in bed before, but I feel shy and unsure. His nose is buried in my hair as he breathes deeply. I want us again. I have to tell him, before he falls asleep. "Peeta?" I begin.
"Hmm?" He says into my hair, sounding half asleep already.
"I'm never going to be good with words, not like you are, but I'm going to really try to be better."
"Okay?" He sounds confused; already I'm terrible at this better communication stuff. I sigh.
"Peeta," I try again, pulling back to look right into his eyes. "I don't want to confuse you or hurt you anymore. I promise I'll at least try to tell you what I'm thinking instead of running or hiding or lashing out. Okay?" It wasn't articulate in any way, but he looks at me with dawning understanding and his lips turn up in a sweet smile.
"Okay, and I promise you the same," he says, punctuating his words with a tender kiss on my forehead. He's never been the one with communication issues, but I appreciate his willingness to make it easier for me. I grin.
"Well then, in the spirit of better communication I feel like I should tell you that I'd really like to kiss you right now," I say hopefully, trying not to blush.
He laughs softly and his hands cradle my cheeks gently as his lips meet mine. I sigh into the kiss and my hands find their way into those damp, silky curls.
I've missed this, missed this incredible, gentle man, missed his hands and lips and the drumming of his heartbeat next to mine. I need to tell him, he needs to hear that from me. "I've missed you Peeta. I missed you so much," I murmur between kisses.
"I missed you too, Katniss."
"I don't want to ever be apart again," I tell him, and I mean it, but he pulls back, his blue eyes searching mine. In them I see fear and longing, after me pushing him away so many times he is afraid to believe, but he wants to, I can see it. I don't have the words to convince him, I need to show him. So I pull him down to me, kissing him with desperation, our open mouths testing and tasting, arousing and inflaming. The hunger is back, and this time I won't let anything stop us. I wrap my arms around him, pressing our upper bodies tightly together, trying to pull him closer but he resists, keeping a respectful distance between our lower halves. But I can feel his pounding heart, hear his ragged breathing. I don't know much about men, not in this way, but I know he wants this, I know he wants more.
Acting on instinct alone I push him backwards until he's half lying in the bed, half propped up against the headboard, and I'm hovering over him, straddling his good leg. I run my hands down his chest, feeling him tremble beneath me, then gently edge up the hem of his t-shirt. His eyes widen and I can sense his question, his hesitation, though he makes no move to stop me. "I want to touch you." I whisper. His throat bobs as he swallows hard, then nods. I continue pushing his shirt up, slowly, letting my fingers graze along the bare skin of his stomach as I do. His muscles contract under my wandering fingertips and his breathing gets harsher. He lifts his arms and head to allow me to pull off his shirt, then lies back against the headboard and waits. My hands map out his broad chest, skimming along scars from his burns and skin grafts, alternating smooth and rigid, ghosting over his nipples and trailing down to the line of hair below his navel, stopping just above the waistband of his pajama bottoms, which are obviously tented. His skin is so hot, so overwhelmingly hot, I just want to touch and taste every inch of him. When my lips and tongue follow the same path my hands did before, Peeta begins to moan, softly, and the sound makes goosebumps break out all over me, makes my core tingle.
I'm desperate to race ahead but I force myself to take my time. I run my tongue over one of his nipples and his hips buck involuntarily, his erection brushing against my thigh. When I draw the little peak into my mouth and suckle his moans start again, louder, more desperate. I want to hear all of his noises, I want to make him fall apart under me. Until this point Peeta's hands have been clutching the blankets beside him, but now they begin to travel up my back and into my hair, still restrained but searching. His hands are hot like his chest and they stoke the fire in me.
I sit up on my knees and gather all of my courage. Keeping my eyes locked to his I start to unbutton my own pajama top, under which I wear nothing. His hands rest on my hips and I can feel them shaking, his tongue darts out over and over again to wet his lips, the look on his face is so dark and hungry that I'm trembling too. It feels like it takes forever to reach the last button, but when I do Peeta's hands grasp my wrists.
"Let me," he whispers. "Please?" I nod, dropping my hands to my sides. He sits up so that we are face to face. His hands cup my cheeks as he kisses me breathless, then he pulls back and slowly, so very slowly, slides my top off my shoulders. When my breasts are revealed to him he whimpers, and I can feel the shudder that flows through his entire body. I slide my arms out of my shirt and his hands return to my hips, his eyes roving hungrily over my exposed torso. "So beautiful," he murmurs, but he only looks, making no move to touch me. My heart is pounding and I'm shaking all over but I have no idea what to do next. I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks and tears pricking the back of my eyes. I'm lost and overwhelmed and I just want him to touch me so badly but I'm afraid to ask. His eyes are still fixated on my breasts, unblinking, and he's panting like he's run miles.
"Peeta," I whisper, but it sounds like a plea. His eyes return to mine, wide and feral. I can't hold his gaze. I drop my head and mumble, "Don't you want to touch me?"
"Yes," he breathes, "So much…" and his hands slide tentatively up my ribcage, pausing just below my breasts. He bites his lip, shyness written in his expression but I cannot wait another second and lean forward until my breasts slide into his palms. His hands are so large they cover my small breasts completely, warming them, making my skin pebble. The moan that escapes me is embarrassingly loud as his palms gently cup me, squeezing and massaging, then his thumbs move to brush against my nipples and I gasp, it feels incredible, electric. My body is tingling, shocks radiate outwards when he gently rolls my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers and they stiffen in appreciation. I begin to squirm uncontrollably, still straddling his thigh. He notices and looks up at me with an expression of awe. Then all at once we're kissing again, our lips crash together and he crushes my breasts against his bare chest, his hands trailing fire as they caress my back, pressing us tightly together.
Peeta lowers me back onto the bed, then his lips trail down my neck, sucking and nipping at my collarbone, kissing his way down, along the valley between my breasts, the sensitive skin underneath. When finally those soft full lips close over my nipple I arch into him, crying out his name. He groans, suckling harder, my hands plunge into his hair holding him tightly against me, silently encouraging him to continue. And he does, sucking and licking and gently biting at first one peak, then the other, until I'm thrashing in the bed, desperate for release. "Peeta, Peeta," I beg. He moans against my skin.
"I love hearing you say my name that way." he breathes. I whimper at his words, pulling him back up to kiss him hard, fervently. He rocks against me, his hardness rubbing so tantalizingly against me, soothing and igniting the ache at the same time. We are clutching at each other, grinding our bodies together, trying to get impossibly closer.
I'm undone by my need, by my desire for him, for only him, only Peeta. I grab his face between my hands, looking into his eyes, hooded with lust but still shining with love, and my heart feels like it will burst out of my chest. "Peeta," I begin, shocked by how husky and throaty my voice sounds, so very unlike me. "I want you Peeta. Please." His reaction is explosive, shy, hesitant Peeta disappears leaving a possessed man above me, his hands and lips touching and stroking and biting me everywhere. His hips move against mine, his erection feels impossibly hard and hot even through our pajamas as he rubs against my core, over and over. I wrap my legs around his thighs and I can feel myself building, like I did when he made me come that hot night in his studio. I shudder remembering and he must feel it because he curses softly and starts moving faster, but I want him to come this time, I want to make him fall apart.
I use the strength in my legs to roll us over, and then I'm straddling his hips. Without thinking I rock against him, rubbing my core against his length through our clothing, and the growl he makes sets me on fire. Again and again I rock against him, my head thrown back until I can't take it anymore. I have to touch him. He makes a sound of negation as I shift off of him, but then I hook my fingers into the waistband of his pants and start to tug them and his shorts down. Finally he springs free, bouncing against his stomach. I've seen injured miners on my mother's kitchen table before, briefly, before running off to be anywhere else, but seeing a naked half-dead person in no way prepared me for this. I release the breath I hadn't realized I was holding all in a rush. It sounds like 'woah'. Peeta flushes scarlet red and throws an arm over his eyes as I continue to stare at him. He is larger than I was expecting, and I briefly wonder about the mechanics of sex because I don't think that is going to fit in me. I reach out a tentative hand, brushing two fingertips against him. As I do he twitches and I jerk back slightly. Peeta makes a strangled noise from where he continues to hide under his arm. I take a deep breath and reach for him again, stroking my fingers down the length of him before wrapping my hand around his erection. It's burning hot and hard as stone, pulsating slightly with his heartbeat, but the skin is so soft it's almost velvety. Peeta pushes up into my tentative grasp and swears under his breath. Beads of moisture gather at the tip and I rub my thumb over him, spreading the wetness over his head and down his shaft. He whimpers as I hesitantly move my hand up and down his length, then just as I'm starting to understand from his noises what to do he sits up suddenly, grabbing my wrist and halting my actions. I'm mortified; I must have done something wrong.
"I'm sorry," I whimper. Peeta shakes his head, his eyes screwed tightly shut as he breathes roughly, his nostrils flaring. We sit there for a few moments, my hand still loosely encircling his pulsating member, his hand tightly on my wrist, both of us trying to control our breathing.
Finally he opens his eyes and reaches for me, stroking my hair and looking into my eyes. "You… your hand… It just… felt too good Katniss. I don't… I don't want to be done yet." His eyes burn with a hunger and intensity I've never seen. My jaw drops as I understand what he means. I feel powerful, that I could bring him to the brink just with my touch.
He pushes his pants completely off and tosses them on the floor before kissing me again, hard, insistent, rolling me onto my back. His hands caress my stomach, stroking the skin of my belly almost reverently, then they slide down to the waist of my pajama pants and I lift my hips, moaning, "Yes, yes…" He pulls them off quickly along with my panties, leaving me bare for him. In that moment I don't think about my scars, about my too small breasts or the sharp angles of my hips, all I can see is the love and awe that radiates from Peeta's face; I see myself as he sees me and I feel beautiful and desirable. I reach for him and he lowers himself over me, for a while we simply hold each other, hot skin against hot skin, every inch pressed together. It feels so good, so right. Then we're kissing again, deep, passionate kisses, and we're rocking together, our sweat-slicked bodies sliding together.
His hand moves slowly lower, caressing my ribs, my stomach, my hip, stroking the inside of my thigh before gently cupping me. When finally his fingers oh so carefully part my folds and begin to explore I cry out loudly and he groans as if he's in pain.
"So wet," he murmurs against my lips. "So wet for me."
I squirm, torn between embarrassment and lust, but lust wins out as his fingers move through my wetness. He watches my face as he strokes me, and when he finds that bundle of nerves I cry out again, squeezing my eyes shut and gripping the bedsheets tightly in my fists, arching my back. There is nothing in the world except his fingers circling firmly between my legs and the waves of pleasure I'm riding. It feels so good, so impossibly good, but I want more, I want him. All of him.
"Peeta, make love to me."
His hand stills, then falls away, and I hold my breath. He pushes himself up on his elbows, looking right into my eyes. His shimmer slightly. "Are… are you sure?" he whispers. And I nod, my eyes still locked with his. His eyes mirror everything I'm feeling; the desire, the anticipation and the fear. Love swells in my chest and I know I could never have felt this way about anyone else. It was always going to be Peeta. We stay this way for what feels like a long time, bodies pressed together but unmoving, just staring into each other's eyes. It feels so intimate but also so incredibly right. Finally he blinks, and his brow furrows slightly. "Katniss," he starts, his voice trembling, "I don't… I don't have… anything… for… so that… so we don't…" I've never heard him stutter this way, and for a moment I'm perplexed but then it dawns on me, and I smile softly.
I take his hand and guide his index finger to the inside of my left arm, rubbing it gently across the two tiny lumps there, each smaller than a grain of rice. The fire spared most of my left arm and left them intact. "Contraceptive implant," I explain. "The doctors in Thirteen didn't want their Mockingjay to actually get knocked up." I can't resist rolling my eyes. "They said it lasts five years." I feel a little pulse of anger, like I do every time I think of the things they did to me in Thirteen, and in the Capitol, without ever once asking, but I push it away. Peeta's expression changes from confusion to realization to happiness, but there's a tiny flicker of anger in there too and I know that he's thinking about what they did to him in Thirteen as well. But those are thoughts for another time, right now my body is buzzing with need. I pull him down to me again and kiss him passionately. He responds eagerly and again we are rocking together. "Peeta, please," I beg breathlessly, "Please, I want you. I'm ready."
He nods and settles himself between my thighs, reaching between us and taking himself in hand. He rubs the tip through my folds and I tremble, bucking my hips each time he brushes against that sensitive little bud. It takes him several attempts to find my entrance, his brows furrowed in concentration. I want to laugh, but then the head presses into me and I freeze, eyes wide. A choked noise of shock escapes me.
I expect him to pull back out, to ask if I want to stop, but he doesn't. He stays still, allowing me to get used to the intrusion, and feathers soft kisses over my face and neck. When my body starts to relax he begins to push into me again, slowly, so slowly, still kissing me tenderly, as if we have all the time in the world. And maybe we do. Though his body is shaking like a leaf above me, his voice is steady as he murmurs soft affirmations in my ear.
I feel impossibly stretched, the feeling so foreign and strange, but his voice in my ear keeps me grounded in the present. There's no sharp pain, not like the girls at school talked about, just a burning that seems to fade more and more the further he pushes into me. When we are pressed together as tightly as we can be he stills and pushes himself up on shaky arms to hover over me. His eyes glow with awe and disbelief. And love.
"Are you okay?" he whispers.
I have no words. I can scarcely breathe. I nod slowly, and try to smile, though I'm not sure it's convincing. He kisses me again, but otherwise stays still. As his tongue plunders my mouth the fire that the pain and shock dampened starts to flare again and when I start to wiggle my hips beneath him he tears his mouth away from mine, cursing.
"I need to move now," he pleads, and pulls back slightly before pushing in again, moaning as he does. He sets a slow, careful pace, but I can tell how tightly he's holding himself in check, holding back so that he doesn't hurt me. I'm not in pain though. I wouldn't say that it feels good exactly, not yet, but I can see how it will. And the look on his face, how his eyes are glazed and his jaw is slack, the beads of sweat on his flushed face despite the cool night, I've never seen anything so beautiful.
I want him to come. I want to make him mine. I try to move with him but it's clumsy and awkward and the way Peeta's brows furrow just slightly tells me it's not very good for him so instead I wrap my legs around his thighs and a breathless "yes," falls from his lips. Boldly, I reach down to grab his ass, shocked and incredibly aroused by the way the muscles move, the unexpected firmness of his flesh. His hips snap forward, driving himself so deeply into me that I yelp but I don't think he can hear it over the string of curse words he's panting into my neck. Two more quick, hard thrusts and he stills, grunting his release. I can feel his his stomach muscles tense and him throbbing inside me. Then as if every muscle in his body has turned to liquid he slumps heavily against me. I run my hands up and down his sweaty back as his breath skirts along my collarbone.
After a moment Peeta lifts his head and kisses me all over my face, my eyelids, my shoulder, my neck; sweet kisses filled with love and gratitude. He's whispering my name over and over, like a prayer, and my heart is so full that I can't hold back the tears. His eyes widen and he shifts to lie beside me, taking his weight off me and breaking our connection, and I find I immediately miss the feeling of his body inside mine, which only makes more tears fall.
"Are you okay, Katniss? Did I hurt you?" His concern is so sweet, his expression so worried. I smile through my tears.
"No," I start, and it almost sounds like a laugh. "No, you didn't hurt me. You were wonderful Peeta." I cup his cheeks in my hands and kiss him, but the tears won't stop. He brushes them away so tenderly.
"Why are you crying?"
This time I do laugh. "I don't know," I admit. "I'm just so happy." And it's true, though I'm more than just happy. I feel content and filled and loved. I never knew it could be like this. Peeta seems to understand because he smiles broadly and wraps his arms around me, pulling me tightly against him and I bask in the comfort of his body pressed against mine, enveloping me in his warmth.
I know Peeta's exhausted, I expect to feel him drop off to sleep immediately, but I don't. Instead his fingers trace lazy designs up and down my side, something he does when he's deep in thought. Finally his voice rings through the hush.
"Katniss?" I pull back to look up at him. His eyes are heavy with sleep, but determined. He takes a deep breath, as if to steel himself, then whispers, "You love me, real or not real?"
I tell him, "Real. I love you, Peeta." And the words aren't scary at all. The smile he gives me in reply is so joyful that I can't stop myself from smiling back. He tries to kiss me, but it's difficult with such huge grins on our faces. He laughs against my lips.
"I love you too, Katniss. So much."