Chapter Text
I try to scream, but no sound escapes my throat as my head is shoved under the surface of the slimy, foul-smelling water of the Capitol’s underground tunnels. I thrash against the two sets of hands holding me down, but it’s no use as the eerie, smiling faces of Coin and Snow swim into my vision. I try desperately to shake them off, but I’m distracted as Snow points a crooked finger to something only a few yards away and I watch in horror as those horrible reptilian, rose-scented mutts tear into Finnick. Finnick’s cries of pain echo through the tunnel as three, four, five mutts rip into his flesh. But this time, there’s no holo. No explosion from above to relieve my friend from the agony of the razor-sharp claws and fangs that are shredding him into ribbons.
Coin turns to me, that same ghostly smile on her face. “You did this to him.”
No! I feel my heart race, its frantic beats echoing in my ears like a desperate plea for help.
“Yes, Miss. Everdeen,” says Snow as my lungs start to seize from the lack of oxygen. “He’d still be alive if it weren’t for you.” His breath is hot and rancid in my face as black spots dance in my vision. “It’s all your fault.”
My eyes flutter open and I’m gasping for air, only I find no relief in waking. An icy wave of panic runs through me, and I sit up with a start, accidentally shoving Buttercup to the floor from where he’d settled on my chest. On my chest!
He lets out an unhappy yowl as he hits the carpet with an unceremonious thud while I gulp in lungfuls of fresh air from the open windows. “I’m—I am going to kill you, you horrible beast!” I sneer at him between breaths.
He hisses in return before leaping onto the windowsill on Peeta’s side of the bed, where he starts mewling like a kitten, no doubt trying to win some affection from the friendlier of his owners.
I scowl, kicking the blankets to the side. I swing my legs out of bed and chase him to the window, but he jumps outside, out of reach before I can get to him. By the time I get to the windowsill, he’s no more than a streak of orange fur flashing across the green between Peeta’s house and mine. “Fine! Just go, then!” I yell after him, putting my hands on my hips in exasperation. “And stay gone!”
“What’s got you so riled up this early in the morning?” groans a deep, raspy voice from behind me.
I spin on my heel to find a very tired Peeta smiling sleepily, gazing softly at me from under those long, honey-colored eyelashes. The morning sun has just begun to break over the horizon, illuminating the room in warm, golden light.
“I’m going to murder that damn cat,” I say. “I’m not joking—the second you say you need a new pelt for the winter, I’m skinning him on sight.”
“Sure you are.” Peeta chuckles, pushing himself into a sitting position and stretching his muscled arms high above his head before bringing them down to rest behind his head. The blankets have slid down a bit with the movement, revealing the defined V-shape of his hips, and my mouth goes dry at the sight.
Peeta’s half-naked body is nothing new to me. After two trips to the arena and these last several months of us sleeping together, I’ve practically committed every inch of his body to memory.
It took awhile for us to get back to this, this easy closeness that had once been a second nature in our relationship. His first weeks back in Twelve, he wouldn’t even stay over too late at night, let alone crawl into bed with me, out of fear that he would relapse into his hijacked state and hurt me. But after almost a month of hearing my screams through the open windows, he’d finally relented. It must’ve been three or four o’clock in the morning when he appeared in my doorway, shirtless and out of breath from running to my room because he couldn’t bear to hear me in pain for another sleepless night. I didn’t say a word, just held my arms out for him—as I had done countless times before—and let him wrap himself around me, holding the darkness at bay.
We’ve been nearly inseparable since, but while we’ve managed to regain our friendship, there’s been no mention of the previous romance between us. At first, I’d backed off to give Peeta the space he needed to recover; I knew any attempt on my part to reignite our old feelings for each other would only confuse him, and I’d hurt him enough over the years. Any initiation of romance would have to be from his side. But days, weeks, and months went by, and I finally had to accept that any affections he once had for me must have faded away, dissolved by nightmares of tracker jacker venom.
I suppose I had once wished for this, for our relationship to be no more than platonic, but I can’t help the pit that settles in my stomach at the thought. Can’t help the ache that I feel when I think back to those kisses on the beach in the arena and how very much I want him to make me feel that way again.
And it’s the same ache that ravages me now as I drag my eyes dangerously low across his hips, savoring the way the glittering morning light illuminates the planes of his sculpted torso, all the way down to—
I immediately avert my gaze, my face already turning hot with embarrassment—as well as another feeling I can’t quite place—at the sight of the slight protrusion of bunched up quilt just below his hips.
Peeta seems to sense my discomfort, his eyes darting down to where mine had lingered before scrambling to pull the quilt higher, dragging his legs up to hide the evidence of his arousal. His cheeks bloom with red as he bashfully rubs the back of his neck. “Shit, Katniss, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to see that.”
“I—it’s okay. It’s only natural,” I say, though I can’t quite meet his eyes.
“Yeah.” He clears his throat awkwardly. “I suppose I should go take care of this.”
“I guess so.”
We’re both silent for a moment. Unmoving.
I dare a glance back up to where he lays in the bed, only to find those sapphire blue eyes staring back at me and I’m once again struck by the sheer allure of his gaze, the glory of his body as golden sunlight kisses his skin. It was in moments like these where I could finally begin to fathom Peeta’s fascination with all things beautiful. I could never understand his artist’s eye, his fixation on detail unless I was looking at the artist himself.
His face, once too pale, too thin, is now smooth and tanned, a spray of freckles sprinkled across his nose from months spent outside, working to rebuild our town. Silvery scars dapple his chest, his neck, from the same fire that marred my own skin. The same marks that had always been so ugly on me are breathtaking, almost decorative whorls on his body.
I shift my eyes quickly down to that impressive bulge under the blanket, that no cleverly arranged quilt or tactical leg positioning could ever properly conceal, and that’s when I feel it. That thing I’d felt in the arena, that all-consuming heat and hunger that only Peeta can induce.
And before I really know what I’m doing, before I can think about it too hard, I find myself saying, “Well, I could always help you. If you’d like.”
The effect of my words is instantaneous as Peeta’s mouth drops open in shock. I think of how in the past few years that I’ve gotten to know him, how very rarely—if ever—he’s been rendered speechless. But with this offer…
I’ve surprised even myself. I’d made a pact not to do anything to jeopardize our newly revived friendship, yet here I am, offering… well, I’m actually not quite sure what I’m offering. More than anything, I just want to keep our friendship. I lost him once and it nearly destroyed me; to lose him again would be unthinkable. But at the same time, I need him. In a way that’s visceral and tense and honestly terrifying.
Peeta was the closest I’d ever come to having a boyfriend, and the most we’d ever done together was kiss. Other than the brief, strictly anatomical explanation I’d allowed my mother to describe to me (back when I was thirteen years old and a situation like this was unimaginable for my young mind), I know almost nothing about sex. I’d heard enough rumors at school to be able to piece together how it’s supposed to be, and what I’m expected to do, but in a practical sense, I have no idea what I’m doing.
But who better to try it with than Peeta? From what he’s told me and what I’ve heard around school, he can’t be much more experienced than me. And even if the romance is gone, I know he still loves me. Maybe not in the same way he once did, but enough that I know he’d never condemn me to humiliation or pain, never take advantage of me.
Besides, I know the frustration has built up for him, too. He tries to hide it, but I know him too well. The shift of his hips to a less conspicuous angle as I look up from where I’ve been bent over, tending to the herb garden in his backyard. The not-so-subtle ravenous look in his eyes as I strip down to my undergarments, even as it’s only for the sake of sleeping comfortably in the summer heat. I’ve pretended not to notice for both of our sakes, but it’s hard to ignore the quiet, muffled moans of pleasure that tend to escape from behind the closed bathroom door in the aftermath of these instances.
He needs the release as much as I do, only how do I propose it to him without pushing him into a romance that we’re not ready for?
“But it could just be simple,” I add quickly. “No strings attached.”
“No strings attached,” he echoes, frowning.
“Yeah. No feelings, just… friends who happen to be intimate with each other. Uncomplicated.”
He looks down, concealing a grin, and my heart drops into my stomach.
“You’re laughing at me,” I say, unable to conceal the hurt in my voice.
“I would never laugh at you for something like this, Katniss, I’m laughing at the situation.” His eyes twinkle with amusement. “I just can’t believe that you’re the one suggesting we become friends with benefits. You can’t even say the word ‘sex’ without getting uncomfortable. You’ve always been the more innocent one. I’ve told you that before, too, real or not real?”
“Real,” I say. “Only not the part about me being innocent, just that you’ve told me I am.” Inexperienced, yes. Innocent, however…
Determined to prove him wrong, I stalk over to the bed, his eyes raking lazily over my body as he says, “Oh, really?”
“Really,” I breathe, climbing on top of him and straddling his hips. “So,” I lean in close, my lips nearly grazing his with every word, “do we have a deal?”
“No feelings, just sex?” he asks, and I nod in response. “Then yes. Of course, yes.”
“Good,” I say, tracing my lips down his throat, and back up until I’m right next to his ear, my voice no more than a whisper. “Because you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for you to fuck me.”
My words seem to snap whatever leash he’s had on himself as he grabs my waist and flips us around, kissing me deeply. He grinds his hips against mine as his lips find my neck, eliciting a small moan from me. I feel his cock twitch up against me and I hook my legs around his, bucking my hips to keep that infernal friction pressed against me.
He huffs a ragged, breathy laugh, withdrawing his body, his lips from mine, and holding them just out of my grasp as he reaches out and pins me to the bed with one arm. “Someone’s greedy,” he says huskily, as I whimper for his touch.
“Please,” I say, a pleading note in my voice as I push against his grasp.
“No,” he says, keeping me pinned. He smiles fiendishly as he leans in, and I close my eyes as he presses his lips to a particularly sensitive spot on my neck, sending a shudder through my entire body. “You need to…” he pauses to kiss me softly, “warm up first.”
My eyes flutter open in confusion. Warm up? The spark in my belly, the one from the beach, is white hot, setting my body ablaze. Warmth doesn’t even begin to describe the sweltering heat inside me, burning for him.
He releases his hold on me before sliding an arm to my back, between my shoulderblades, and hovering his hand over my bra clasp. “This okay?” he asks, and I nod fervently, shifting enough to let him remove it. In one fluid motion, he unclasps it and blindly throws it somewhere on the floor.
My breasts had never been all that extraordinary, or even very noticeable, but these past few months following the war have been kind to us. Particularly me. Living on the brink of starvation for so much of my life had robbed me of a soft, womanly body, leaving me instead with a lean, muscled form. But time and proper access to food had padded my body in all the places that were once sharp and angular from malnutrition. My hips are now curved, shapely. My breasts, still ample, but full and round. The emaciated hollows of my cheeks finally filled in with health. Life.
Peeta leans back, raking his eyes over me as he takes in the sight of my bare chest. It crosses my mind that I should be flustered, or maybe embarrassed, since this is the first time I’ve ever been topless around a boy, but there’s something about the look in his eyes, the flush in his cheeks that makes me feel okay about being so intimate with him. Safe, even.
His lips find mine again, this time accompanied by one hand reaching up to cup my breast while the other slides down to the base of my spine, pulling my hips against the spot where he’s now driven his knee in between my legs. I let out an unexpected moan against his mouth as I arch into his touch—his fingers brushing so tantalizingly against my nipple, the taunting pressure of his knee against the apex of my thighs as I writhe against his body.
He rocks my hips against him, again and again, and I feel that warmth rising inside me, heating my cheeks and extending out to the rest of my body. Good , I think, so fucking good. My breathing quickens and I grind against him with more urgency. I need him, oh, I need him so badly.
I pull my lips away from his and throw my head back, basking in elation as his idle lips travel down my throat and find their way to my other breast. He takes my nipple in his mouth and begins sucking, drawing my body closer to what I’m sure must be its breaking point with each swirl of his tongue.
But the sensation’s gone as quickly as it came. I lift my head, a bark of protest on my lips, only to see him retreating towards the foot of the bed, kissing down the valley of my stomach as he goes. He pauses just at the edge of my panties and looks up, meeting my gaze with a mischievous glint in his eyes. My breath hitches as he hooks his fingers through the waistband, sliding them off slowly— so slowly—before tossing them aside and resuming his previous position between my thighs, gently pushing my legs apart and laying them to rest on either side of his shoulders. I’d expected him to continue his trail of kisses, so I’m surprised when he shifts his head slightly to the side, focusing his attention on the inside of my thigh instead.
My confusion dissolves as he sucks on the sensitive skin there, no doubt leaving his mark. I let out a strangled cry—some half-feral, lustful sound, but I don’t care. I’m so beyond caring at this point. I need him—his tongue, his lips—higher. And he knows it.
“ Please ,” I manage to choke out.
He looks up, grinning devilishly, and my breath catches in my throat. “With pleasure.”
The first touch of his tongue sets my body on fire. But he’s in no rush—no—as he swirls in tongue in slow, lazy strokes that leave me panting for air. The blazing pressure from before returns as molten desire pools in my core.
I gasp as he slips first one finger, then two inside me, hooking them towards himself and pumping them in time with each lick.
He withdraws his tongue for a moment, though his fingers don’t cease their wicked rhythm. “Fuck, you’re so wet for me, Katniss,” he whispers into the inside of my thigh before burying his face between them again.
I moan loudly in return, unable to form any sort of coherent speech or thought. I reach out blindly, one hand drifting down and entangling itself in his curls, while the other clutches the sheet in some attempt to hold on to sanity, to reality as stars dance in front of my eyes. I feel that pressure building inside me, so close, so very close to exploding into a supernova of searing hot euphoria.
He pulls his free hand out from where it’s been cupping the back of my thigh. His fingers creep up my body, skimming over my ribs and sending a shiver down my spine before grazing a careful knuckle against my peaked nipple, eliciting a whimper from me. My sounds don’t seem to affect him, though, and he continues circling his fingertips around that sensitive spot at that same excruciatingly slow pace.
My heart races, my breaths coming faster and faster with each pump of his fingers inside me, with each unholy stroke of his tongue, the red hot touch of his skin against mine. “Fuck,” I breathe, bucking my hips and riding his fingers in time with his motions as that pressure within builds, builds, builds…
Until it finally erupts, ecstasy flowing through my entire body as I shudder against him, crying out in pleasure as he guides me through the thralls of my climax. But his tongue, his fingers don’t stop, even as I lie, trembling, limp with bliss in his arms.
My mouth can’t seem to form words, so I let my fingers flutter from his hair down the side of his cheek, and finally to his chin, which I grip tightly and lift upwards, forcing him to meet my eyes.
And I nearly finish for a second time at the mere sight of it. Those gorgeous blue eyes are glazed over in some sort of fog of lust, his cheeks red from effort and obvious arousal. But it’s his mouth—dripping wet and curled into that devilish smile—that nearly sends me over the edge again.
I’ve suddenly regained the ability to talk, my lips seemingly moving on their own as I whisper, “I need more.” Then, more confidently, “I need you—your hot cock inside me.”
His eyes widen in surprise at my words. “What?”
“I need you to fuck me. Now .” He gives me a strange look. “What?” I ask.
“Nothing,” he says, smirking. “Just didn’t expect you to say something like that.” He sits on his knees and leans back, wiping his mouth on the back of his arm. He turns his attention downwards, fingers shaking as he tries to undo the tie on his sweatpants, the only betrayal of his emotions—that he might not be as confident with this part as he’s led me to believe.
I sit up, my own hands quivering as I reach out to help him with the knot. Whether it’s in anticipation, or anxiety, or lust, I don’t know. I just know that we’ll do this just as we’ve done everything else since that first Reaping—together.
With the knot finally undone, he slides his trousers off, struggling a bit as he maneuvers them around his amputated leg.
My hand moves on its own when I see the stump where his leg used to be, my fingers unconsciously grazing lightly over the scars—now silver with time. The sight of it is a familiar one, but the touch… the touch is all new territory, and one that sends a shudder through his body.
“Does it hurt?” I ask.
“Not at all,” he says through gritted teeth. “It’s just… sensitive.”
I skim my traitorous, still-shaking fingers over it once more before they drift upward, toward the waistband of his undershorts, and stop. Hesitating.
“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.” Peeta grabs my wrists gently and I look up at him.
And he’s so beautiful.
The sun has fully broken over the horizon and shines brightly through the open window, illuminating the silhouette of him kneeling before me. The light casts a halo-like glow upon his hair, so pious, so angelic. So at odds with the ungodly actions this morning brings.
I reach a hand up to cup his cheek, brushing my lips against his before pulling back slightly and leaning my brow against his. “No,” I say. “I want this. I—I want you.” I slip my wrists out of his grasp and slide my fingers under the waistband of his boxers, dragging them down and freeing the full, considerable length of him.
I have to remind myself to breathe as I ease them the rest of the way off and throw them somewhere on the floor with the rest of our clothes.
How on earth is that supposed to fit inside of me?
But even through my doubts about the mechanics of the whole thing, one look into the eyes of the boy in front of me has any uncertainty flooding from my mind, replaced only by that same blazing heat burning through every vein in my body.
I pull him on top of me, kissing him deeply as he aligns his body with mine, nudging gently at my entrance.
“You are such a tease, Mellark,” I say breathlessly between kisses, bucking my hips against him to no avail, desperate for his touch.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says, smiling smugly against my lips. “What was it you wanted again?”
My cheeks flush. “You know exactly what I said.”
“Something about my cock…? I don’t remember exactly.”
Oh, I am going to eat him alive.
I press my lips to his ear and murmur, “I said I need your hot cock inside me. I need you to fuck me—”
My words are cut off by the gasp that escapes my mouth as he pushes inside me.
He moves slowly, letting me adjust to every impressive inch of him in turn before going farther, all the way until he’s buried to the hilt.
“Oh, fuck, Katniss,” he groans into my neck.
It doesn’t hurt—not as so many girls in my class had said it would—it just feels… strange. Different. Not in a bad way, just not like any sensation I’d ever felt.
He withdraws just as slowly as he entered before pushing in again, that strange sensation gradually giving way to pleasure.
“Faster,” I whimper, and he obliges, earning a particularly loud moan from me in return.
He pulls out slightly, thrusting deeper, faster with every rock of his hips. “ Fuck ,” he breathes. “You feel so fucking good.”
His words send a shudder down my spine and I arch against him, but the answering moan building in my throat is muffled by his lips, his tongue against mine as he rests a hand against my lower back, angling my hips so he can thrust harder, deeper, sending me closer to the edge with each stroke.
“Oh, Peeta ,” I cry, panting heavily as that pressure builds in my core again.
Peeta’s own breaths are becoming faster, more labored. His curls fall to frame his face in damp ringlets, his cheeks growing redder by the moment as he pumps inside me. “Oh, Katniss ,” he says in return, his voice strained. He plants a hand against the headboard, hard enough to make the wood groan behind me.
We’re nose to nose, joined as one, as close as any person can be with another, but that’s not what makes this intimate; it’s the look in his eyes that makes me realize that he’s probably—no, definitely—the only other person I could’ve ever done this with. The only person I could really trust with everything that I am, not in spite of all that we’ve been through, but because of it. Because when he looks at me, he truly sees me .
It doesn’t hurt that he’s gorgeous and kind and feels so fucking incredible when he’s inside me.
My heart pounds wildly. I’m close—so close—to that earth-shattering sensation again that I can barely breathe, barely focus on anything but the euphoric feeling of him . The feeling is apparently mutual as his eyebrows knit together, his mouth parted slightly as he moans my name over and over, gripping me tighter with each thrust.
And it’s that sound of my name on his lips, the rasp in his voice as his body moves as one with mine that sends me over the edge for the second time, my world exploding into a thousand fragments of dazzling stars around me. Peeta follows closely behind, finding his own release and working me through mine as buries himself inside me, swearing under his breath as his lips find mine.
He pulls back, panting heavily, and plants a light kiss on the tip of my nose, carefully withdrawing himself from between my legs before rolling to the side and laying on his back, opening his arms for me to nestle in. I happily oblige, pressing my face into his chest, close enough that I can hear his racing heartbeat as he rests his chin on the top of my head and holds me tightly.
“That was…” He trails off into a stunned silence.
“Amazing,” I breathe. I look up at him, allowing myself to stare at the golden hue of his eyelashes, the rosy curve of his lips for a moment. “I can’t believe we waited so long to do that. If I’d known it was going to be anything like that I’d have jumped you years ago.”
“That’s funny, because the way I remember it is that you were planning on killing me a couple years ago. Real or not real?”
My cheeks flush. “Real.” I bury my face in his chest again. “But I would never have even considered it if I knew you could do that ,” I mumble.
He chuckles, flashing a goofy grin that’s accompanied by a strange look that I think might be adoration before I remind myself that he doesn’t feel that way about me anymore. That whatever this is must just be some post-sex haze. Because this, this arrangement between us doesn’t work if emotions are involved. This is supposed to be casual. Simple. Friendly.
Even if the way my heart is pounding in my chest is anything but that.