day five kinktober - clothed sex & cold
summary ⤷ snowed in at katniss's house in victor's village with a broken heater, peeta and katniss find a... new way to keep warm!!
pairing ⤷ katniss everdeen/peeta mellark
cw ⤷ smut, light angst, dry humping, cuming in pants, yearning, hurt/comfort, sleep ova!, catching fire canon divergence, humor, first times
Katniss hadn't even considered that the heater might break. She was used to District 12’s winters after all—it's not like she had the fancy Capitol-made contraptions of the Victor's Village growing up. Usually, she, prim, and her mother made do with blankets, matches, and warmed up water.
Katniss didnt think she’d even needed the heater. She’d never once touched it or any of the panels that controlled it. The house hadn't exactly come with an instruction manual, anyway. And the fall hadn't been too cold—she’d hardly noticed the growing chill in the air. The cold did little but sharpen her senses. She didnt think the heater even worked.
Of course, she wouldn’t have known if it was on. The house groaned and buzzed with the ambiance of old stairs and the working fridge and oven. She barely touched those, too. Just her mom when she was over, and Peeta, on afternoons like this one.
The snow had barely been an inch on the ground when he knocked on her door with a smile. Their star-crossed lovers act was still a sore spot, but Katniss was warmed by the knowledge that they’d grown a steady, if slightly confusing, friendship. He often showed up at her door in the late afternoons, bearing cookies or bread or some other snack he couldn't finish himself. He didn’t seem to eat very much. Katniss didnt either. The nightmares kept her appetite at bay in the mornings, and the dread of returning to bed at night made her nauseous. Every night was another nightmare, another Hunger Games.
The knock was soft—they both seemed much more aware of loud sounds since the games. She was selfishly glad she wasn't the only one who startled so easily. She picked herself off the couch and padded to the front door, pulling it open gently.
He grinned at her and greeted, “Hi, Katniss!” Usually, he raised a loaf of sourdough or shook a box of biscuits imported from the Capitol. Today, he came with only a pad of paper and a pen tucked behind his ear. She let him in anyway
She returned his smile timidly. “Come in,” she allowed, stepping aside, as if she’d ever tell him not to. His presence was a comforting one, no matter how complicated things became.
He stomped his boots lightly on the mat before entering. She stood by as he set his things on a small bench by the door and shrugged off his coat. She reached up and pushed a hand through the hair at the back of his head when he pulled his knitted hat off. He stilled, glancing back at her, brows furrowed and lips crooking up at her touch.
She flushed and walked briskly back to the living room, mumbling, “You were covered in snow,” as her excuse. She heard a small chuckle from behind as he followed her. She scowled at the ground as she collapsed back onto the couch.
He joined her, perched a lengthy cushion away. He said nothing, just retrieved his pen and flipped open the book. She stared at his side profile as she often did when he drew. Those golden lashes. the curve of his nose. The way his tongue peeked out of the corner of his lips.
She shook her head, eventually pulling a throw pillow into her lap and picking at the tassels framing it as her gaze drifted between Peeta and the window parallel to him.
These moments with the boy next to her were something of a guilty pleasure. Often, they had at least the guise of needing something to tell or give to the other when they talked. But sometimes, one would wander into the other’s house or room, and simply sit, with no excuse at all. She liked it. She only kindled a fire in the hearth when Prim and her mother were at the house, but Peeta’s company alone somehow brought a warmth into the dull, too-big living room.
That warmth was soon not enough to keep her from the chill, though. As the hours ticked by, the snow did not let up, but neither Katniss nor Peeta took notice. He was absorbed in his sketches, and she was engrossed in watching how his fingers flexed.
She dozed off and woke up later with a shiver. Peeta had tossed a blanket over her, but it wasn't keeping her warm enough.
His golden hair and blushing cheeks looked painfully appealing. She scooted closer to him, shifting until her leg bumped into his, tugging the blanket tight around her shoulders. She drew her knees up to her chest.
He looked over with a fond expression and then cast his drawings aside. Katniss looked up, confused, as he rose from the couch and walked away. Even being a foot closer to him had warmed her up. She was about to call out for him to come back when she heard him clicking something.
He was standing in front of the thermometer panel. He pushed some buttons, paused, then cursed softly under his breath.
“Your heater’s broken,” he informed, wincing as he walked back to the couch, bracing his hands on the back of it.
She tilted her head a little. “Heater?”
He gave her a lopsided grin and shook his head lightly. “Yeah, they’re in all these houses. It's not turning on.”
“Oh… I dont use it anyway,” she told him.
“It comes on automatically,” he laughed. She scowled.
The chill seemed to be getting to him, too, as goosebumps trialed up his exposed forearms where he’d rolled up his sleeves. He wrapped his arms around himself, the finely knit sweater stretching over his shoulders as he glanced back at the entryway. “Mine’s probably working,” he reasoned. He waved her over as he walked to the door. When he pulled it open, a pile of snow slid inside. He froze with his head looking down at where white covered his socked feet.
Katniss couldn't help the laugh bubbling in her throat. He threw her a glare and forced the door shut. The wind whistled as he struggled.
“Okay, looks like we’re not leaving,” he grumbled. A bolt of panic shot through Katniss—where was Prim? Her mom? Gale? As if he could hear her thoughts, he walked over to her, peeling off his now-freezing socks as he went. “I’m sure your family’s fine. It's Sunday, the mines are closed.” Gale’s not in there. Peeta very rarely said the other man’s name. Katniss was strangely grateful for that fact—she didnt want to think about Gale when she was with Peeta.
She nodded slowly, returning to the couch, but the surge of fear still made her feel faint. She cursed the games, the Capitol, and President Snow. They had done this to her—made her weaker. Victors were supposed to be strong, resilient. As Peeta pulled her carefully under his arm, like she was a wild animal he was scared of startling, that had never been more untrue. The prospect of one night away from her family, and she was reeling with nausea. They were the opposite of powerful and conquering. This was their lives as victors.
Katniss didn’t notice a tear fall until Peeta’s thumb brushed it off her cheek. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he soothed, rubbing a hand up and down her back. She relaxed into his touch, into his body. Her head fell to his shoulder, and she melted into him. His arms always managed to make her feel safer.
They sat like that for a few quiet minutes. Peeta ran his hand through her hair, humming softly. If she were more awake and less cold, she might’ve been embarrassed by the way he hushed and comforted her. It was as if she were a sensitive child. But his touch was so welcome, so warm. And this was what they did, anyway—comfort each other.
He pulled back a little, and Katniss immediately missed the heat of him. “You got any matches?”
She nodded towards the kitchen, and he rose, squeezing her shoulder once before he moved to putter around in her kitchen.
When he returned, he placed a box of half-stale crackers on the table in front of her and moved to crouch as best he could before the fireplace. He shoved some logs into the ashy space, then ripped up newspapers which were surely plastered with their faces, if his scoff was any indication. He struck the match, and Katniss let her eyes close at the familiar smell of fire and sulfur. He stayed by the sputtering blaze until it took and burned steadily.
Despite the new source of heat, Katniss was still shaking lightly. It was night, now, and any lingering warmth from the sun of the day had been doused out by the brisk evening. He slouched beside her, and she tucked herself against him again while he tugged a quilt off the back of the couch to drape it over their legs. As he yanked down the sleeves of his sweater, he rambled almost mindlessly: “It’ll take a little while until that really starts to heat this house up. Ridiculously big, that’s what they are. Are you warm enough? I should’ve worn an extra sweater. Do you want me to go get you one? From upstairs? Do you sleep upstairs? You don’t have to answer that. Do you want another blanket?”
To silence him, she simply snuggled further, her head resting against his chest. This seemed to ease him. He quieted and rubbed circles into her upper arm. They hadn’t been this close since the tour. She decided not to dwell on it; it was so cold, and he was so warm. And she missed him. She had to admit that to herself, even if she wouldn’t say it aloud.
Even squished against each other, she was still shivering. He noticed and pulled her closer, if that was even possible. She sat up with a huff after a few minutes of feeling her legs go numb. In what seemed like the next logical move to her sleepy and freezing brain, she swung a leg over him and settled herself onto his lap. This was better. Her whole front was warmed by him, and now her legs were getting some of the heat, too. She sighed contentedly against him.
It wasn’t until she registered the lack of his hands on her that she realized this was a position they’d never been in before. She stilled, her breath catching—embarrassment and something else.
She shot up suddenly and moved to slide off of him, murmuring an apology, when his hands fell to her waist, holding her there, in his lap.
“No,” he said, sounding a little breathless. “It’s okay. It’s better like this?” She nodded, and he smiled, his eyes crinkling a little. He thumbed at the fabric of her shirt as they gazed at each other. “Can I say something I shouldn’t?” She didn’t reply. He went on anyway. “You look beautiful like this. With the fire behind you.”
She swallowed and leaned against him once more. He wrapped his arms tight around her, and she let her eyes fall closed. He was so steady, so warm. She shifted a little on him, trying to nuzzle closer. He let out a small, choked-off noise. She tilted her head up to look at him and found him with his eyes squeezed shut, and his cheeks a soft pink that grew darker by the second.
“Peeta?” she whispered. He blinked down at her and tried to smile. “Am I hurting you?” she asked, suddenly worried.
He shook his head vehemently. “No, no, Katniss—” he laughed nervously, “You’re fine. Everything's fine.”
She sat up fully, her hands on his shoulders now. “You don’t have to lie to me, you know?”
“Katniss, I’m not lying,” he sighed.
She gritted her teeth. “Just tell me,” she pleaded, scooting higher on his lap. And then she felt it—a hardness against her. She was a moment away from asking if he had something in his pocket when it hit her. She looked down between them, staring as if she could even make out where she ended and he began. “Oh,” she breathed.
“Katniss–” he started, but she squeezed his shoulders. She wasn’t getting off of him or yelling, as he probably thought she would. She was curious. Fascinated, even. As she felt him pressing up into her, slotted between her legs, she felt something hot inside her belly. She didn’t have a name for it. Well, she did, she knew what girls felt when they wanted something like this—desire, shame, lunacy. But she’d never felt it for herself.
She wondered if the cold had driven her mad. First, she’d straddled him, and now she swiveled her hips just a little. His breath came hard, then caught up in his throat. She looked back down at him, his blue irises darker now. His lips were parted just a little, and his eyes glanced between her two. She had no experience, just an instinct that told her to press back into him. To rock against him. So, she did. This whole night felt like a fever dream, anyway. She wouldn’t be surprised if she jolted awake and found herself alone on the couch in a freezing, empty house.
His jaw snapped closed as she moved on top of him with small, jerky hitches of her body against his. She was about to still, when his hands slid down to her hips. The breath seemed to punch out of her, now. He pulled her towards him, then pushed her back. He nodded questioningly at her, and she didn’t reply, just buried her face in his neck. She felt tingly all over as he continued guiding her movements.
With her hands still on his broad shoulders, she tilted her pelvis forward and felt a spark between her legs. Their rocking was no longer just interesting to her; now, it was feeding a fire in the core of her body. When a whimper shook loose from her chest, Peeta tilted his head back and groaned. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think he was in pain. But he thrust himself between her legs a little more desperately, and she knew they must be doing something right.
“Katniss,” he pleaded, and she had no idea what he was asking for. But she knew what she wanted.
“Will you…” she trailed off, digging her teeth into her bottom lip. His fingers flexed on her hips, tugging her harder against him. They found a steady tempo, and it was emptying Katniss’s head of all thoughts. When his hands slid lower, cupping her behind with warm, broad hands, she panted, feeling a little insane. “Kiss me,” she asked, her face still buried in his neck.
His hand found her jaw, and he forced her up to look at him. He seemed to study her, the rhythm of his hips faltering just slightly. He appeared to find what he was looking for, because a moment later, he slammed his mouth against hers. They both sighed into the kiss. Peeta’s tongue traced the seam of her lips, and another moan opened her mouth wider. He took the opportunity to deepen the kiss.
“Oh, God,” he mumbled against her lips, and she couldn’t help but smile. She was doing this to him. She had the urge to see how good she could make him feel. She started grinding against him fervently, earning breathy whines from the boy beneath her.
Peeta seemed to unravel more, if that was even possible. His hands scrambled against her thighs, up to her ribs, then back down again. His eyes were wide, as if he couldn’t believe what was happening. Katniss could agree with him, there. The growing heat in her stomach and the fact that he was so, so close to her didn’t feel real.
She kissed him again and again. Short, messy meetings of lips that Katniss pulled back from quickly, to see the way Peeta’s eyes slid shut, how his breath stuttered. How his lips parted for more. She felt like she was flying blind, but she didn’t know if there was anywhere in the world she’d rather be than right there, in his lap. He was so warm.
It didn’t take long before he was whimpering into her mouth, warning her that he was close. Katniss just kissed him harder, dragged her tongue down the hollow of his throat, wanting to taste more of him before it was all over. Who knows if they’d ever get this chance again? Away from the cameras, isolated from the rest of the world, from who they were supposed to be.
She could feel when his climax rushed over him. His fingers dug into her waist, and his lips went slack against hers. He held his breath for a second, his body pulling taut, before he melted into the couch, breathing hard. She kissed all over his face; his forehead and the slope of his nose, all along his jaw. She even pressed her lips to his shut eyelids. Just for now, she reasoned, she’d indulge herself in him in all the ways she promised she wouldn’t.
The dampness of his release leaked through his pants, making her movements against him a little rougher. Not long after, he held her hips still, his head tipped back against the couch, still catching his breath. She settled down onto him, tucking herself under his arms and her face into his neck. He smelled like salt and something sweet—familiar and calming. Her body still buzzed, but a wave of exhaustion rolled over her, too.
They fell asleep like that, tangled together.
Come morning, the sun’s early rays woke Peeta, and for a moment, he thought he must be dreaming. Katniss was sprawled out across his lap, her eyes pressed shut and her hands twisted in his sweater. The previous night came back to him, and a simultaneous rush of desire and guilt barreled through him. He closed his eyes against the onslaught of emotions and buried his face in her hair. She smelled like home. He didn’t want to see her face when she woke up—surely she’d regret what they’d done, what he’d done, so he let his eyelids slide closed once more.
A gentle knock on the front door startled Katniss out of her unusually peaceful sleep. She groaned a little as she pushed against Peeta’s shoulder to sit up. She froze as she remembered everything that had happened. The feel of Peeta’s lips warm against hers, his hands running up and down her body, the want that settled low in her gut. Another knock. She didn’t move for a few more moments, letting her gaze roam over the boy beneath her. His brows were pinched in sleep, and with a glance to the front door, she slowly pressed her lips against the wrinkle that formed. His skin was slightly sweaty and smooth. His eyes fluttered open, and she realized as she pulled back that he had not been asleep. Her face flushed, but he just smiled that winning smile of his up at her.
Three hard knocks jolted them out of their brief stupor. Katniss slid off his lap and padded to the front door, and Peeta tugged a pillow over his lap, allowing himself to grin up at the ceiling, deeply glad he hadn’t slipped out hours ago when he first awoke.
He heard Prim’s laughter, Mrs. Everdeen’s greetings, and a sigh of relief from Katniss.
Her mothers’s brows raised when she spotted Peeta on the couch, and Katniss blushed furiously, steering them into a different room, hoping Peeta would leave so they wouldn’t have to explain. And, of course, he did.
He always knew just what she needed.
a/n: kinktober day five...! this one's one of my faves i've written so far :3 inspired a smidge by my own art of everlark during that ambiguous time between the end of the victory tour and the quarter quell!
