They stop at an independent bookstore when the road gets too dark and winding. It's filled with the smell of well-read paper, coffee, and the ocean breeze stuck in people's cotton clothing.
"The pastries here are great," Peeta says as he holds the door open for her, though all Katniss could register was how he steers her inside with his arm. It's not just a guiding hand on her back; his arm is curled all around her, his hand spanning her side, his body following.
The lighting is warm in here, and she enjoys it immensely. Of all the places to be past sundown, she thought a bookstore was a surprisingly top choice. It's laid back, the lamplight reflected beautifully off leather seats, leather covers.
There is a window seat. Katniss takes it in for a moment. It's picturesque, with squashy cushions and fairy lights and mistiness around the edges of the glass, muffling the street lights outside.
There's someone already sitting there, though. She averts her eyes quickly when they make eye contact, though she can see the person rise out of the corner of her eye.
"Go ahead, you two," they say.
"Are you sure?" Peeta asks.
"Of course, enjoy."
Katniss gets a better look at the person when they pass her. It's an older woman, clearly a local, and she's smiling at Katniss, and then at Peeta, and then back at Katniss again.
She thinks we're a couple, Katniss realizes.
Peeta gestures at her to sit down. "I'll grab us whatever's left in the pastry case, what do you want to drink?"
She settles into the bench, molding into a pillow. "Tea, thank you."
"What kind?"
She's strangely wired at this hour. Her skin is still buzzing where Peeta touched her waist. "Something herbal. Chamomile, if they've got it."
Katniss swears she's not imagining it when he grazes her shoulder with the back of his hand as he turns around to get her drink.
Peeta comes back laden with paper bags of pastries, cups of hot drinks, and with a book tucked under his elbow. He indicates that she should take it, to free his hands to set down everything else.
It's small enough to fit in just one hand, its pages thin. "What is this?"
"Just thought it looked pretty."
Katniss feels a blush coming in, and she probably flushes even more deeply from the embarrassment that she would react this 's not talking about you, she scolds herself.
Though it's hard to argue when Peeta presses her drink directly into her hand instead of just leaving it on the table beside her.
She has to concentrate on the cover.
"It's poems," she muses.
"Really? I just saw the flowers, to be honest."
There are indeed flowers, stamped in gold foil onto the leather cover. She thinks she sees a dandelion, wishes she could see a primrose. "Pretty," she agrees.
Peeta hums. "I asked them to heat up your croissant, so it's not stale."
Katniss smiles at him. She feels shy and bold all at once, with all this undivided attention from Peeta. "Thank you."
They eat, and watch their fellow patrons. She feels like this has become something that they do. Sit with something sweet, listening to the world. And then their heads come together for their own exchange of words.
"Pick one and read it to me," Peeta suggests, nodding at her new-old book.
"Am I wooing you?" Katniss asks, and she wants to die ?
But Peeta only laughs.
"You don't need to try to do that."
She melts. There's sugar on her fingertips, yellow flowers on her tongue. The store's door opens, and a breeze comes in, coastal-cold. But it only makes her skin hotter.
Just read a little first, some part of her tells her. It feels important somehow, as Peeta sets aside his empty cup, brings his prosthetic leg up to him that you have self-control.
So she does, heart in her throat.
"Woman, a vile slave, proud in her stupidity,
Self-worshipping, without the least disgust:
Man, greedy, lustful, ruthless in greed,
Slave to a slave, and sewer to her lust—"
The spell is completely shattered. Katniss breaks off in laughter, joining Peeta, who's already rolling on the cushion.
"What is this?" she chokes out.
"I just thought the cover was pretty!"
She presses a hand to her mouth. "I mean, the writing itself is notbad—"
"Just a slave to a slave," Peeta laments, a hand over his heart. He grins at her.
It's ridiculous, but her heart skips a beat anyway. "Don't say that." She wants them to be equals.
"Fine. Neither of us are slaves." He scoots off the bench, and picks up their empty cups. "I'll find a better book to woo me."
In the end, she has no idea what she's reading. The cover wasn't particularly notable, and right now it's crushed and invisible against her thighs as she sits with her feet planted on the bench, her knees up to her chest. Peeta's head is resting on the glass of the window as he listens to her, his shoulder and hip pressed into hers, pushing her voice out. It sounds deeper, raspy this way.
His hand circles around her ankle, of all places. She stops reading, a halt of breath, and dares to look up.
"Don't stop," Peeta says quietly. His eyes are so pleasantly blue. Not piercing, just soothing.
"Okay," she agrees, her mouth dry.
She continues reading, but his thumb begins brushing against the bone there, and it's distracting.
"When should I stop?" Katniss can't help but ask.
He strokes the skin over her ankle bone, his eyes thoughtful. "It'd be a while, I think. Before I'd want you to stop."
She wants to squirm under his touch, his gaze, his words. She drops her chin, like she's too young for where she is right now. "Don't," she mumbles.
"What?" Peeta sounds concerned. His thumb stills.
"I'm not—I'm not good at this. Don't do this—" Katniss lifts her head with difficulty. She sees that his brow is creased. "Cause Iamstupid, I don't know how to do this—"
Some understanding seems to dawn on Peeta. "What's 'this', Katniss?"
She points outright at his damned hand around her ankle. "What isthis?" she asks shrilly back.
She can tell that Peeta is biting back a laugh for her sake. He tugs at her ankle so her leg falls into his lap, and she hates how hot her face feels. He leans in.
"Thisis because I want to touch you, but I have a feeling you don't like overt public displays of affection." He tucks her leg back into place in front of her, and she instantly misses how solid his thighs felt. "Thisis because I don't think you'd want our first kiss to be in a shop."
Katniss feels a strange urge to cry, before she recognizes it as an ache for release.
"But I've already kissed you. In your living room."
He shakes his head. "That doesn't count."
She doesn't think it counts either. She sits up and wishes they can fast forward to the good part, like in the books around them, like the movie that's playing in the cinema across the street.
"I like you so much, Katniss," he tells her very clearly, and she cannot thank him enough for it.
She closes the book. "I'm ready to go."
He's smiling, faintly smirking. "Alright."
There's the mundane still, the things they skip over in the movies. Where they sit separately in the car, looking up hotels on their phones. And then the red lights to get there.
But it also feels like they're unlocking the door to their room in a bed and breakfast in no time at all. Katniss looks up. It's a high ceiling, typical of a Victorian house like this. The walls are pink. Her pulse is racing. She thought she would be ashamed at how wet she is already between her thighs, but she can't find it in herself to care.
She sets her things down, slips off her father's jacket, and goes back to Peeta. Steps into his space with purpose, her jaw tilted up, arching up on her toes.
He kisses her back this time.
His hands are at her waist, but he seems to change his mind as he brings them up to cup her face. He deepens the kiss, and then a hand strokes down her neck, the other sliding into her hair. She gasps for a breath, but leans in for more, straddling his leg.
He kisses her for a few seconds more, before he breaks it off. Katniss is confused for a moment, as he seems to wrap his entire body around her, his cheek resting on the top of her head. She allows herself to be held like this, rising and falling with his chest as he takes a few deep breaths.
"I really do like you," his voice rumbles from his chest.
She feels a bit lost again, and makes a small noise through her closed mouth. He pulls back to catch her eye, lifting a strand of hair that was stuck to her lip.
"I like you for you, okay?" Peeta says, his eyes steady.
Katniss thinks she understands. That he's speaking of a few different things that have always loomed above their heads, between them.
"Okay," she whispers. She brings her hands up as well, to hold his face. Men's faces were so different to the touch than her own face, she thinks vaguely. There's a prickle of blonde hair, a roughness to his jaw. It scrapes her palm as he turns his head to kiss her fingers.
She makes another sound.
"Hm?"
"No one's ever done that before," she explains stupidly. It's not like that simple act blew her mind or anything. It was just uncharted territory.
He grasps her hand. "Have you been with anyone before?"
"Yes, but they've never done that."
She sees that smirk again. It's a side of him that she's starting to recognize, as he bares it more to her—the part of Peeta that is cognizant of how he affects the people around him, the part of him that enjoys , to get what he wants. It strikes her again that this power could have been dangerous, if it was not in this baker's hands.
He kisses her wrist, soft. Breathes with her as they both watch the space between their bodies, where Peeta is touching her slowly, reverently. His hand brushes over her breast, his fingers briefly coming to a point around her clothed nipple. His thumb dips between her breasts, drags down her stomach, and then his fingers close around the hem of her thin sweater. She nods like a maniac.
He removes her clothing piece by piece, stealing a kiss in between—her neck, her collarbone. She's shivering a little when he slides her panties down her legs, in the hotel room chill and anticipation, as he sinks to his knees and closes his mouth around her nipple.
"Fuck," she gasps. It's a shock to her system, to actually feel what she's been dreaming about for months, what they've been building toward this evening. A low growl comes from his throat, and he squeezes her breast in his palm to bring her hardened nipple to his mouth again, his tongue swirling around it. She nearly curses again when she feels his hand stroking up her thigh as he switches his mouth to her other nipple.
Katniss suspects that Peeta—this smirking version of him—wants to show her how a proper lover takes someone. He's still fully clothed, and his clothes fit him well. They already set him apart from anyone else she's been with, her contemporaries. Peeta's clothes have thick fabric, good structure; it's the wardrobe of someone who has reached the point in life where they no longer need to seek out fast fashion, the trends, compromise on a look for the best bargain. His fingers are light and experienced, tracing the sensitive skin at the crease of her thighs, teasing her just so.
He finally palms her stomach to press the heel of his hand over her clit. She desperately tries to grind her hips down onto his hand, and she can see the flash of his teeth around her nipple as he smiles.
"What?" he says, all innocence.
"Please," Katniss babbles. "I'm already wet—"
She grabs his wrist and tilts her hips so he can feel it, and his expression darkens.
"You'resowet," Peeta seems to correct her in a mutter. His fingers trace around her opening, and he curses when he finds how slick her skin is. He spreads her with two fingers and she moans as he kitten licks at her, teasing around her clit. And then she fully moans when he tastes all of her with a broad stroke of his tongue, his whole head moving to drink her in. He groans, and Katniss doubts she can remain standing much longer as he sucks her clit into his mouth, his hand palming her ass.
She pulls at his shoulders, and he goes, pulling off his sweater and shirt as he stands. Her hands are already at his trousers, pulling down the zipper, and she's greedy for his cock as it's revealed to her. It's a strange feeling, she thought, to be salivating over a man's cock. But she takes him in hand as soon as it springs free from his boxers, stroking it with more confidence than she would have imagined a month ago.
"Shit," Peeta says on an exhale. Katniss wants to hear more. She drops to her knees.
"Wait," he says. He cups her head. "Wait."
He climbs onto the bed, and she follows. She watches him prop himself on the pillows, remove his prosthetic leg and place it aside carefully. It's very true that she's never been with anyone like this before. Every previous encounter she's ever had seemed to be driven by pure instinct, lust. It had felt good, but it was all in the moment. It was all grabbing of hands, slaps of skin. But Peeta then spreads his legs apart and beckons her to crawl between them, so they are both comfortable. He is methodical in how he gathers her hair in his fist to keep it from her face as she gags on his cock.
"You okay?" he murmurs as he twitches in her mouth.
"Mhm," she hums around him. He's just so thick in her mouth. He twitches again.
"I don't expect you to deep throat."
Katniss releases him with a wet sound. "I can't anyway. Or at least, I've never tried," she amends.
Peeta squeezes his fist, and there's a slight tension in her scalp. "Just do what feels good."
She sucks his cock for a little while longer, before she replaces her mouth with her hand. He's right, she should do what feels good. And as much as she relishes his low moans with every pull of her mouth, she is so heavy-wet between her legs, she thinks she might cry if she doesn't get him inside her.
Katniss walks up on her knees so she's straddling his hips. Peeta is staring at her, his mouth parted. He holds her by the waist to steady her, and she guides the tip of his cock to her opening.
"Wait," Peeta says again, with a bit of a laugh. He shakes his head. "Hold on, do you want to use a condom?"
The remaining lucid part of her does feel silly. She can't remember how this conversation went before. Has it ever gone on before? There was always a condom hastily rolled on, a second before they entered her. "I'm clean, and have an IUD. You?"
"Clean."
It's easy. "Okay, then. No." She tries to lower herself onto his cock, but his hands tighten on her waist to stop her. "What?" she says, almost annoyed. She has never exchanged so many words during sex before.
Peeta seems amused. "I want to make you come first."
Katniss wants to protest; remind him that she's not a virgin, that she doesn't need to be eased into it. But then she wonders why she would turn down an orgasm from Peeta. "Okay."
He pulls at her waist to bring her closer to him, but then seems to decide to lift her entirely instead. She squeals as he repositions them so that her thighs frame his face, her cunt exposed to him. He grabs her ass with more urgency now, and pulls her down to his mouth.
She moans throatily. Her hands reach blindly for the headboard for purchase as she spreads her knees wider, arches her back, so that she can grind on his face. Peeta smacks her ass in apparent approval, and she cries out from the sharp sensation. He rubs a soothing hand over her cheek, and she bucks her hips in response,It's okay, I like it, I like it—
And again, she's done some version of this before, but she really hasn't. It's never been this messy. The sounds of his mouth, sucking and kissing her clit, the slaps he lands on her ass, his fingers fucking in and out of her, the creak of the headboard, the slickness of her thighs as she suffocates him between them.
"Fuck, Peeta," she whines. His name comes out like a sob on her next breath. "Oh, fuck, Peeta, oh fuck—"
She can hear, feel his groan as her whole body tightens, and then bursts. She wracks with another sob of blinding pleasure, his tongue flat against her clit as her hips jerk.
She's almost worried she can't catch her breath when she finally rolls off him. Peeta's breathing heavily as well, and he sweeps his hand over the shining lower half of his face. He lays down at her back, wrapping his arms around her tightly when she twitches with sensitivity. He carefully tucks her hair back, and kisses her nape.
"I fucking loved that," he says. His voice is low, and unbearably attractive. He presses his lips to her shoulder, and then she feels his insistent cock, hot as it slides between her cheeks. She lifts her leg slightly on instinct, and to her surprise he grabs it to hook back around his waist, opening her up to him. His hand leaves her leg, and then she feels the tip of his cock at her entrance again—
"Oh fuck—" Katniss pants as he enters her. She squeezes her eyes shut; it's been a while, and she doesn't remember it feeling like this. Like returning to her natural state of being; joined with Peeta. She rolls her hips back, eager for more, and moans as he sinks in another inch.
"Fuck, you feel good," he growls. His fingers find her clit, and she cries out in overstimulation before he applies pressure around it, dulling the sensation just like she needs it. He rubs at her as he flexes his hips, plants his foot on the mattress for leverage. She arches her back with a gasp at the stretch as he carves another inch out of her. "Now you're gonna come around my cock."
Katniss whimpers. She's sated with the intense orgasm she just had, she's pretty sure. It seems like she's already spent. She's so pliant as he fucks into her. And it's their first time together.
"It's okay if I don't," she manages to tell him.
Peeta laughs, his breath huffing at her neck. He shallowly rocks in and out of her, not filling her completely, and she moans at the drag of his cock. She tries to push back, take more of him.
"You want me deeper?"
"Yes," she whimpers. She can feel his smirk on her shoulder. He mouths at her skin.
Peeta rises onto his elbow, taking a nipple in his mouth. She twists her torso to grant him better access, and their kiss tastes like sex, andhim. She whines a little against his mouth.
"You want my cock, baby?" he whispers, kissing the tip of her nose.
This would all embarrass her, in that other world where she doesn't know Peeta. Where she rolls her eyes at any term of endearment that comes from outside her family, where sex appeal comes dead last in her list of priorities.
Here, she begs.
She's sex-stupid, cock-drunk. And she thinks it's how Peeta likes her. It makes him smile, his eyes haze, it makes him tell her she's so fucking pretty.
She wonders if it should alarm her, that he likes her out of her mind. But it's difficult, when she feels so safe.
She pulls his head down to hers, so she can anchor herself.
He's still not fucking her hard enough, deep enough; but apparently it's by design, with his fingers pressed firmly around her clit, his hips working steadily to hit the same spot over and over again, that she finally realizes is the spot his fingers had discovered earlier, that she had reacted to the loudest—when her cunt suddenly clenches around him.
"Oh!"
She shakes almost violently as the pleasure crashes through her. Peeta is fucking her through it, unrelenting in his same steady pace, his mouth at her , baby. Perfect, you're perfect.
She's breathless and sweaty when the aftershocks finally subside. She can tell she has sex hair, by the way it sticks to her forehead, and how Peeta's fingers catch in it as he pushes it back, wraps it in his fist.
He disappears from view, settling behind her again. She's surprised when he pushes her head forward with his hand in her hair, surprised at how willingly she bows. His other hand strokes the curve of her side.
"Where do you want me to come?"
"Inside me," Katniss mumbles.
Peeta pushes at her back, so that she's arching into him, opening her legs wider, and begins pounding into her. Her mouth falls open. She's not in control of the sounds she's making. It's so much better like this, when she's come twice and is so wet that there's little friction when he drives into her. So that all she feels is that thick pressure against her walls from his cock, that jolt when he hits a new spot deep inside her.
"Fuck, Peeta, just like that."
She's probably too loud, but she doesn't care, because then he's coming.
He pulls her to him so that she feels the planes of his chest on her back, hard and slick as he moans. It's the most helpless she's ever heard him, as lost in her as she is in him. She grinds back against him, squeezing her cunt, wanting to draw this moment out. She feels his warmth flooding in her, and moans as well. Her hand reaches behind her, weaving into his hair as he jerks into her again with a curse.
Katniss smiles when she finally catches her breath. Closes her eyes, enjoys the feeling of his cock nestled inside her, his hand cupped lazily around her breast.
Peeta kisses her cheek when he finally pulls out with a grunt.
"Feeling okay?"
"Yeah," Katniss says, surprised at the question. Why wouldn't she?
"Do you want to go clean up first?"
She does feel the urge to pee, now that he mentions it. She pushes herself up with a sigh, and she realizes just how many fluids cover her; a sticky slide of semen from her cunt, arousal coating her thighs, her nipples wet from where Peeta sucked and kissed.
"Um." She's a little distracted when he slips his arms around her loosely, apparently unbothered by the mess. "Can I take a quick shower?"
"Mind if I join you?"
Katniss thinks they ought to show this in the movies as well. Where showering together isn't a lesbian fever dream, an awkward dance. It's simply another way to spend another few minutes with Peeta. He passes her the soap, gives her a scalp massage as she sits on the floor of the tub in front of his chair, teasingly tweaks her nipple. He seems to have a fascination with her breasts that she can't quite fathom. They were breasts, average.
"Perfect," he says again, like the thought just struck him once more. She can't stop smiling. She gets up, loops her arms around his neck to kiss him, pleasantly sore between her legs.
They put the TV on when they settle back into bed.
"Do one of those house hunting shows." Katniss yawns. The sheets are softer than usual hotel crisp-whites. "With the insane budgets and dumb expectations."
"That's all I watch in hotels," Peeta confirms.
They chat while the screen moves.
"What do you want to do tomorrow?" he asks. His fingers are running up and down her arm. He hasn't stopped touching her in hours.
She gives a non-committal hum. She can do anything with him. She thinks it'd probably be a good idea to tell him that. He's been so open with her about his feelings.
"As long as it's with you," she murmurs.
It's one of her better ideas in a while. Peeta wraps his arms around her and squeezes the breath from her.
"God, I missed you," he tells her, his chin moving on the top of her head. "I thought about how I wished I hiked with you more. Spent more time at the house. I wasn't trying to take you for granted, I swear."
She turns in his arms to press her face to his neck.
"It never felt like that, Peeta."
Katniss knows this will end. One week. A week is always a week. Time doesn't owe her anything.
They're walking through a quieter beach town. Not hand in hand, but he touches her hip at street corners, and kisses her forehead when he gets up to get napkins.
"I was looking at apartments in California when I visited Finn and Annie," he says. Katniss looks up from her tea. He's unweeping, casual, and she wonders if she's gotten this all wrong. "Think I'm finally ready to sell the house."
She knew this week would end, but she didn't think it would be over. She swallows. "That's good."
"I've had some interest in turning over ownership of the bakery to the holding company that owns most of Second Street. So it'll stay local. Doubt the name will stay the same. But that's fine."
Her stomach sinks. His cum is seeping into her panties as he tells her all this. He had told her that he didn't take their time together for granted. She wants to cry. It's unfair.
Everyone leaves.
She turns from him as she thinks of Prim. She wishes again that the book of poems, now tucked in the inside pocket of her jacket, had a primrose stamped on . She craves it as much as any other carnal need.
"What are your plans?" His voice sounds gentle. She hates his composure, ignoring the fact that it's why she wants him so badly.
"None," she spits out.
"Katniss."
She shakes her head.
She hears him sigh, and then the scrape of his chair. "I'll get you a to-go box."
Katniss clutches the little cardboard box as they walk back to their hotel, thinking too hard. He never makes her feel like she's saying the wrong thing. Maybe she should just get some of it out.
"If I say I'll move to California?" she asks without preamble. "Will you think I'm crazy?"
"I wouldn't be surprised if you wanted a new start as well," Peeta answers calmly. It grates at her, his extraordinary ability to be functionally human.
"Do you want me to move to California?"Or not?she adds in her head.
"I like being with you. But that's not all it takes to make it work."
She crosses her arms. She's never quite understood why adults—those older than her—said shit like you want to be with someone, you'd just be with them—
"You haven't even known me for a year," he continues. She counts the cracks on the sidewalk beneath her feet. "You have your job, Johanna, your life. Your mom's on this coast. Your whole family is."
In the dirt, she thinks.
"I would never ask you to move like that, for me. Right now."
She bites her lip. Reminds herself about how she expected Peeta to stay in place for her so that she could sing on stage for him, and how silly that —
"You had told me to come back whenever I wanted," she says, aware she's just complaining at this point. "And now you're moving? And telling me not to follow?"
"I'm sorry, I didn't know at the time," he says, and he sounds so sincere, it's nauseating. "But you going back home was what kicked me out of that rut I was in for months. Your strength inspired me."
Peeta stops in his tracks when she doesn't respond to this, and grasps her elbow to stop her as well. He's searching her face. "Katniss. It's okay."
She vehemently disagrees. "Why?" she blurts out. "Why did I have to meet you now, when you're deciding—why did you make me like you so much?" she says, true anger filling her skull. "I wasn't trying—I wasn't looking! I just wanted quiet, in the hills, and then it was you—" Katniss hates the burn of spring sun in her eyes, standing in the middle of a nowhere street in an unknown town. "Why do you have to be like this?"
Peeta seems genuinely confused. Perhaps he thinks he's being fair. "Like what?"
"Better than anyone else," she says petulantly. She brandishes her leftovers at him. "I've met like five good people in my life, and you just had to be the best one, by a country fucking mile."
He half-laughs. "I don't know why," he says, honest. "I don't know why I'm that person for you, but I'm honored to be."
Katniss scowls. He's being too polite, humble. "You have to know. You're all good-looking and nice and hard-working, everyone likes you. They'll break the world in half for you. Not all of us walk around this planet like that, you know."
Peeta stares at her. "You have no idea."
"I don't," she mutters, and pushes on. He follows her in silence, though she swears she can hear his brain thinking.
She pulls out her phone and flops onto the couch as soon as they're through the door. She knows she's sulking, but she feels like she's allowed to every once in a while.
Peeta leaves her alone. "I'm gonna go to the gym."
It sounds like fun, and she wants to go, but she's not going to follow him just because. "Okay."
Katniss quickly grows bored, like she knew she would. Johanna was working, and nothing else really interested her on her phone.
She goes downstairs as well and strips down to her sports bra and shorts to swim a few laps in the pool. She knows she's in full view of the gym windows, and lets things cling to her as she walks back inside.
She feels a little embarrassed as the water of her shower hits her. But she quickly rinses off when she hears the door open.
She tries to dry off and pull her clothes on at once, but everything's too wet and she wants to see him too much. She throws a towel around her and steps out.
Peeta's hair is damp as well. He must have washed at the gym. He's not wearing a shirt, and he's sitting on the plain upholstered sofa, his head down, hands clasped in front of him. He looks up.
"I know I can live apart from you," she says as a greeting, like there hadn't been any interruption in their conversation.
"I know."
He stands.
"But I hate it."
He's closer, closer. Holding her face, tilting it up to him. "I know."
"I don't like being apart from you."
"I know, I know," he murmurs against her lips, walking her back until the backs of her knees hit the bed. Her towel falls away, and he crawls to cover her. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have started, if my goal was ever to stop."
She's finally crying; she can tell by the way he's kissing the corners of her eyes.
They don't fuck then, or make love, or whatever it was they had been doing for the past week. They curl up around each other. She touches his face, memorizing it. She kisses his fingers. She wants to say it. He holds her closer, like he knows.
"I just don't understand how you can mean so much to me in such a short amount of time," she whispers, thick with tears. She waits for him to tell her she's too young to get it, but he doesn't. Maybe he's realized that she's heard it enough. Maybe it's not their biggest problem anymore.
Peeta simply shakes his head, breathes her in.
Katniss does understand the appeal of paying for room service when they order it for dinner, and Peeta eats her out as soon as they finish. He soothes her through her orgasm, stroking the soft skin of her stomach.
She's sore, and doesn't need to tell him. He turns her onto her stomach and eases into her gently, coming quickly with a quiet groan.
She wants more, but her body protests. She settles for laying her head in his lap, while he plays with her hair. The bland couple on TV are looking at houses in Georgia.
If the next couple is in California, it's a sign, she thinks.
They're not, and she falls asleep before she sees the third.
Peeta takes over driving to get back to his house. She's heartsick and so tired.
His front garden is overgrown and poking with weeds when they pull up.
"Who's been running the bakery?"
"I've closed it already," Peeta answers as he opens the driver side door.
Katniss remains seated, staring at the bright yellow weeds. He's been planning to move for a while now. It's painfully obvious to her now—business deals and plans don't materialize overnight—but she still feels a strange emptiness about the fact that the place where they worked so many hours together was already gone.
He's made his way around the car, and opens her door for her. "Do you want to come in to take a break before you head out?"
She thinks she needs to move her legs, or get fucked by him one last time. But mostly, she just wants to go home. She wants to laugh with Johanna, live in familiarity, and cook in her own kitchen for once, maybe even try out Johanna's new cast iron pan that Katniss had gotten for her as a gift.
It surprises her, her homesickness, when she was so convinced that she was leaving her home behind the minute she drove away from here.
"I need to get going if I don't want to drive too late."
Peeta nods. She gets out and stretches, before hugging him. It's a bit like their last embrace out here on the driveway. It's the same players. But it does feel like a different genre of goodbye.
"Keep in touch this time."
"I will," she promises. "We'll video chat." She rubs her face into his shirt to stir up his scent.
She suddenly remembers that he was once engaged, and that he still has not told her about that himself.
It makes letting him go just a little easier. She smiles at him. She has a lot left to learn. They both do.
And then she is overwhelmed with gratitude for Peeta. For his steadiness, how he shows her that one is allowed to feel pain, even when pain isn't souls, she remembers. She thinks of his fingers, tracing around the most sensitive parts of her. She thinks of how he brings joy out of her, not from the black and blue parts of her heart, dead and gone. But from new growth surrounding those bruises, like bookstores at night, and flakes of pastry at the corners of her mouth.
An ache is washing over her. She thinks Peeta is just so lovely. She wants to stay in it. Not a slave to a slave.
He kisses her. It's slow, syrupy.
She feels pain.
There are gold flowers pushing through the cracks of the driveway. There are gold flowers in her jacket pocket.
She's already feeling better.