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Way back in February, @peetabreadgirl had a birthday and her gift was Biggest Fan -- Canadian!Peeta and Texan!Katniss meet in the Marvel fandom and then have a real-life meet-up in Québec City. You can find the first chapter of this story on this blog. We've decided to stretch her birthday fun for five months and offer you this latest chapter. Enjoy!! Banner by @xerxia31
When the morning sun finally begins to glow behind his eyelids, Peeta is contentedly floating on a cloud of sheer comfort. The bed feels exactly right beneath him, his pillow cradles his head perfectly and Katniss is snuggled firmly against him, her head pillowed on his shoulder.
Never has a bed been so inviting.
He’s not sure when she migrated from her side of the bed to his, but he can’t say he’s sorry to start the day with her in his arms, her soft, steady exhales painting a warm trail on his pectoral muscles under his t-shirt. His senses are full of her; the sweet fragrance of her hair, the weight of her arm across his belly, her feet tangled in his. He leans down just enough to place a kiss on the crown of her head and is rewarded with a sigh from Katniss.
She stretches like a cat against him as her body comes to life. “Time is it?” she mutters.
“I’m not sure, about eight? Practically mid-day for a baker.”
The sound of his voice seems to bring her back to herself more quickly. Her grey eyes widen and a pretty flush paints her smooth cheeks as she notices the way they’re practically wrapped around each other, and the fact that they’re both nestled on his side of the bed.
“Sorry,” she squeaks, and in her haste to push away from him, she discovers just how awake Peeta is. He emits an involuntary hiss.
“Oh God,” she drops to her back and slaps a hand over her eyes. “I’m sorry again.”
Peeta can’t help it. He laughs. “It’s not like you hurt me, Katniss.” He rolls to his side, hoping it will provide some slack in his pyjama pants. She parts her fingers and peeks out at him. “Morning wood’s a pretty ordinary thing for a healthy guy, especially if he’s been curled up with a pretty girl all night.”
She snorts and her hand drops from her face in exasperation. “I may beta smut instead of writing it, but that doesn’t mean I couldn’t teach you a few things, Cap.”
That line sends his mind careening in all sorts of different directions. His cock throbs for relief.
Her puzzled voice forces his train of thought off its rather sordid track. “Wait a minute. You think I’m pretty?”
He’s forced to shake his head in amazement. “Kat, I thought your Google Docs avatar was pretty. In real life, you’re so much more than that. Beautiful, yes, but there’s just something about you. It’s….” He stares at the ceiling searching for the right word. “Magnetic.” When he chances a look over at Katniss, her face is pale, her front teeth pillowed in her bottom lip.
“I’ve got to take a shower,” she whispers. Then she bolts for the bathroom, snapping the lock behind her.
Peeta lies in bed, bewildered by the turn of events. Wondering if he’d gone too far calling her beautiful. After their nice evening together, and especially after waking up with her in his arms, he’d thought they were on the same page. Now he’s left trying to figure out what’s real and what’s not.
He can hear the water running behind the bathroom door. A mental image of Katniss standing under the spray, her long black hair wet and cascading over smooth olive flesh flashes through his head, and he groans softly. Knowing she’s naked just a few feet away isn’t doing anything to help rein in his dirty thoughts. It’s taking every speck of his restraint not to take himself in hand. It wouldn’t take long. He’s so hard from being this close to her, she’d only have to breathe on it and he’d come.
Fuck, did he really just think about her lips near his cock? With a decisive kick, Peeta knocks the bedcovers aside and shoves his pants down his hips. He exhales in relief when he wraps his hand around the hot flesh, twitching in anticipation. It's not the first time he's stroked himself to thoughts of Katniss Everdeen.
But it’s the first time since he’d held her in his arms, learned her scent and the exact shade of her pink pouty lips. His hand circles his cock, his thumb sweeping over the weeping head to gather the moisture and ease the movement of his fist, slipping slowly downward from tip to root. He imagines those perfect lips enveloping him, slick and wet, taking him deep into her mouth. A quiver of excitement passes through his body and his breath quickens as he envisions Katniss’s grey eyes, dark and cloudy with desire, staring up at him from his lap. A moan rumbles from low in his throat and his strokes quicken, his hips flexing in time with the movement of his hand.
In his mind’s eye, Katniss’s perfect breasts bounce with every pass. She’s riding him now, his cock buried deep within her, the walls of her pussy tightening around him like a silken prison he has no wish to escape. The pleasure builds higher and higher, bringing him closer to what he craves. Every muscle in Peeta’s body tightens and strains as the pleasure mounts within him. He can see her, head thrown back in abandon, needing this, needing him the way he burns for her touch. He bites down on his lip when the familiar tingle begin in the base of his spine, sending bliss sparking throughout his body. And in the moment when his mind flies free and his body follows, he releases onto his belly, her name a whisper on his lips.
It’s only when he’s wiped himself clean with his t-shirt and thrown it to the floor, that he can focus on Katniss’s reaction and what, if anything, he ought to do about it.
He pulls up his bottoms and climbs out of bed, tossing his dirty shirt into his duffle bag. Effie had said something yesterday about breakfast being delivered to their room in a petit panier. Sure enough, he discovers a picnic basket just outside the door. An array of fresh baked pastries, fruit, cheese, yogurt, and juice are tucked inside.
He’s just closing the door behind him when Katniss emerges from the bathroom, still in her tank and sleep shorts, her hair wrapped in a towel. He must have taken her by surprise because she gapes at him.
“Breakfast,” he smiles, holding up the basket and crossing to a small table beneath the window. “It looks amazing. I can’t wait to try these croissants and see how they compare to mine.”
Peeta fishes out a little card that states Gracieuseté de l’Hôtel du Vieux Québec. “A beautiful day is desired to you," he reads aloud. “It’s signed by the manager. Huh. I’ll forgive her English if she tolerates my high school French I suppose. It was nice of her to personalize it, don't you think, Katniss?”
“Katniss?” He turns to find Katniss still standing near the bathroom door, staring at him intently. “Would you like some breakfast?”
Her tongue darts out over her lips and she gives her head a shake. “Uh, yeah, sure. Just let me get dressed real quick. I, uh, forgot my bag earlier. I just need to, um, grab a few things.”
He nods and turns back to the basket. But reflected in the window, he can see Katniss still staring. A slow grin spreads across his face as comprehension dawns. Katniss Everdeen is checking him out.
He can't resist showing off a little. Though there's nothing wrong with the basket’s position, he hefts it into his arms, knowing it'll make the muscles in his back - toned and sculpted from years of lifting hundred-pound flour sacks - ripple and flex.
“OK Kat, you go ahead and get dressed. I’ll take good care of this breakfast basket.”
In the window, he watches her eyes snap off his back to shoot arrows at the back of his head. “Oh,” she sneers, “I don’t think so, Cap.”
He snatches a croissant from the basket and, turning to face her, tears into it with his teeth. His mouth is full of its flaky, buttery goodness when he smirks at her. He swallows. “That’s delicious.”
“Fine,” she harrumphs. “I’ll eat.”
They settle down at the tiny table, the morning light streaming through the window, enjoying the contents of their basket. The fruit is juicy and perfect. They sample ripe melon and strawberries, bits of pineapple and delicious raspberries. Katniss sinks her teeth into what appears to be an apple danish and sighs contentedly.
Peeta fishes an apple out of the basket, breathes on it slightly and is about to shine it on his shirt when he remembers that it’s sticky and buried in the bottom of his bag. Feeling Katniss’s eyes upon him, he shrugs playfully and mimics shining the apple against his chest instead. Katniss’s eyes follow the action, her rosy lips slightly parted. “See something you want?” he asks.
Her eyes round and return to his face. “What?”
“Just wondered if you wanted my apple,” he replies innocently, the rosy flesh of the apple now masking his grin. Katniss flushes and declines. With a shrug, Peeta brings the apple the remaining distance to his lips, the apple providing a satisfying snap as his teeth dig into its tart flesh.
It’s possible, he concludes as he chews, that the attraction he is feeling for his writing buddy is mutual. It’s just too bad that he’s fallen for a girl who’s every bit as shy as she is stubborn. If he approaches her directly, she’ll be on the first plane bound for Texas.
He’ll just have to convince her it’s all her idea.
→ thg ←
By mid-morning they’re both dressed and ready to face the crowds of Carnaval. Hôtel du vieux Québec faces out on the busiest street in the downtown core. The crowds have already begun to gather as people wander in and out of the quaint shops along the narrow streets in the historic city.
Peeta watches in amusement as Katniss takes in her surroundings, eyes wide, head snapping this way and that. The narrow stone buildings, the ancient churches, the snow-encrusted trees -- he sees all of them with fresh eyes as he observes Katniss’s awe. Several times, as they walk towards Carnaval, she’s distracted enough to nearly bump into someone in the thickening crowd.
It’s one of those quintessential Canadian winter days, brilliant sunshine streams across the frozen landscape, setting the snow ablaze in diamond-bright sparkles. But the sun’s intensity belies the breathtaking cold. And while Peeta is accustomed to the weather, Katniss, bundled up in her borrowed down coat and the boots and the snow pants Peeta brought in from the car that morning, has already started shivering.
Peeta tugs her close and gives her upper arms a brisk rub. “Cold already?” At her frantic nod, he tugs the firm trimmed hood of her coat over her bare head. “What have you got on for gloves?”
“These.” Katniss holds up her hands and Peeta clucks his tongue at the thin leather that covers them.
“We’ll have to do better than that,” he decides, and points to a little shop a bit further down Rue Saint-Jean. “They’ll probably have something in there,” he tells her. “Here, tuck your right hand into your pocket and I’ll hold your left in mine. It’ll help you stay warmer.”
The two of them weave their way through the jolly crowd meandering along the sidewalk, their breath freezing in puffy clouds before them as they make their way to the store. The warmth of the little shop is a welcome relief from the crisp winter cold and Katniss immediately lets go of Peeta’s hand to blow heat onto her own. “So cold!” she gasps as she stomps her feet and covers her ears with her hands.
Peeta can’t help but laugh at her reaction. “You’re no winter soldier, KatsEye.”
She scowls at him. “Shut up, Cap. It was 82 degrees in Texas on Thursday. I had lunch on a patio in my flip flops.”
“And now you’re a Katsicle.” Her silver eyes roll skyward and he reaches out to squeeze her hand. “Come on,” he urges, changing the subject. “What better Canadian souvenir than a pair of mittens?”
The kitschy little souvenir shop is plugged with shelves of stuffed moose and beavers in Mountie uniforms. Peeta spots bottles of genuine Quebec maple syrup lined up on a shelf near the cash and a whole display of magnets shaped like maple leaves and fleur de lis. Near the back of the store, they finally find a thick pair of navy mittens with “Québec” embroidered upon them in white stitches. They snatch them up and are soon back out into the cold, making their way towards the Plaines d’Abraham where Carnaval is held each year.
Katniss’s newly mittened hand is clasped in Peeta’s once again when he spots l’Escalier Casse-Cou. The steep concrete staircase descends between historic buildings and patios to the lower part of town.
“Why don’t we go this way,” he suggests as they stand at the top, admiring the view over the snow-topped roofs of the centuries-old buildings below. It reminds him of a medieval village. “This is the oldest part of the city, founded in the 1600s by an explorer called Samuel de Champlain. There are some fantastic galleries down there.”
“Are you sure? We could break our necks walking down these steps.”
“Well, they call it the Breakneck Staircase, but I’ve never heard of anyone actually breaking their neck. I’ve never been down it in winter before, though.”
“Maybe we should get a selfie before we fall to our deaths,” says Katniss, pulling her phone out of her coat pocket, but her mittens are so thick she can’t swipe the screen to unlock it. She curses in frustration and pulls off the right one before sliding her finger across the screen. “The ice was just starting to thaw from my fingertips,” she mutters.
“It’s a Canadian hazard. Come here and stop complaining,” laughs Peeta, and holds out his arm. Katniss snuggles underneath it, her arm around his waist, but she can’t angle her camera high enough to get both their heads in the shot. “It’s a good thing you’re cute,” Peeta teases as he seizes the phone from her. They’re still laughing when he takes the picture. It’s a good one. They’re wrapped in each other; rosy cheeked and smiling brightly with the Quartier Champlain in the shot far below them. “Send me that, will you?” Peeta asks, and she nods, making a few quick swipes on the screen before slipping it back in her pocket.
“Together?” Her navy mitten reaches for his gloved hand.
“Together.”
The trip down the stairs is surprisingly uneventful. The wrought iron handrail is every bit as sturdy as it is decorative and before long, they’ve stepped farther back in time, wandering the narrow cobblestone streets and peeking into the mottled glass windows of the historic buildings. The wooden signs that swing by the doors of the various storefronts boast of artists and artisans of every kind. Peeta points out the textile artists and the painters. Music and delicious smells waft through the doors of the various pubs and restaurants as their heavy wooden doors swing open and closed.
He’s telling her a story about the founding of the city more than four hundred years ago when she stops suddenly, nearly yanking his arm from its socket. “Wait,” she says, leaning towards a window display, her mittened hand hovering over the glass.
It's the kind of combination gallery and souvenir shop that's ubiquitous in Quebec, so he's not sure what's caught her eye. She tugs him closer, silver eyes alight. "My sister," she says, and Peeta nods. If there's anything Katniss talks about more than Bucky Barnes, it's her little sister, Prim. "She's studying marine biology. She'd love that." Peeta squints through the glass and finally understands. In the middle of the handmade mukluks and miniature inukshuks is a soapstone seal, its glossy green surface glinting in the spotlights. “Can we go in?”
Like he could ever say no.
His hand delicately resting on her lower back, Peeta guides Katniss under a garland of greenery, festooned with tin cups and snowshoes, and into the warmth of the shop. It’s small, even smaller than it appears from outside, and jam-packed with Aboriginal art. Katniss heads straight for the window display, but Peeta is distracted by the framed prints that fill every inch of wall space. Until, that is, he realizes the shopkeeper - an older man with greasy hair and bloodshot eyes - is speaking at Katniss in rapid-fire French while she stares, wide-eyed and silently pleading for him to intervene.
“Monsieur,” Peeta says, pulling the man’s attention from his horror-struck companion. “Est-ce que vous pourriez nous aider?”
“Aie, mon homme, viens ici une seconde.” Peeta struggles to keep up with both the speed of the shopkeeper’s speech and his strong accent that suggests he’s from the Outaouais region of Quebec. “J'veux te montrer un p'ti truc qui va sûrement te rendre chanceux avec ta blonde ce soir,” the shopkeeper continues, grinning, and Peeta can feel the heat flooding his cheeks. He’s exceedingly grateful that Katniss doesn’t speak French. He can’t imagine she’d be thrilled to know that a greasy huckster thinks buying this piece of Inuit art is likely to improve his chances of scoring with his beautiful friend. “Check ça mon gars, une super beau phoque.” He gestures to the seal sculpture in Katniss’s hand, and she jumps back, eyes widening further. “J'te dit, c'est un vieux eskimo qui a sculpté ce phoque - il a soixante-quinze ans!” Peeta snickers at that, carved by a seventy-five year old Eskimo. Yeah, that’ll increase the price for sure. He glances back at Katniss, and his amusement recedes. She’s full-on scowling. The shopkeeper clearly doesn’t notice, because he wraps an arm around Katniss’s shoulder and continues. “Tu trouve pas que ta blonde aimeras ça? T'sais déjà comment elle adore ce phoque!”
Peeta slips between Katniss and the older man before she has an opportunity to eviscerate him. Bright red splotches stand out on her cheeks and her jaw is tense, he can practically hear her teeth grinding. Peeta didn’t think she understood French, but he knows she speaks Spanish, so maybe she’s catching more of the shopkeeper’s lewd suggestions than he’d hoped.
“J'te laisse pour cinquante pièces. C'est bon? Tu va me remercier, c'est sûr,” the clerk says, waving toward the small sculpture and winking at Katniss. And while fifty dollars is highway robbery, Peeta is anxious enough to get out of the store that he’ll pay pretty much anything.
“Oui, nous allons le prendre, s'il vous plaît,” he says, sliding the sculpture from Katniss’s clenched fist and pulling out his wallet while Katniss huffs beside him.
By the time they emerge from the shop and back out onto rue Petit Champlain, Katniss is absolutely seething. “Hey,” Peeta says, reaching for her as she attempts to stomp away in the wrong direction. She shrugs him off, spinning to glare at him. Her anger is a lot scarier when it’s aimed in his direction.
“What the hell was that?” she spits, and Peeta struggles to guess which part of the entire strange transaction she’s referring to. “How could you let that guy talk about us like that?”
Peeta stammers. “Katniss, I’m sorry. I was just trying to get us out of there. I didn’t know how much of the conversation you understood.”
"Understood?” Katniss throws her hands in the air, her eyes afire. “What was there to understand? That guy dropped more f-bombs than IronMutt in a smut scene!”
“F-bombs?” Between the colloquial French, and the tension in the shop, Peeta is certain he missed a few words, but he doesn’t remember any f-bombs - French or English - in the shopkeeper’s pitch. He’s just about to argue with Katniss that the salesman - while incredibly lewd - hadn’t actually cursed, when the realization hits him. Phoque sounds a whole lot like fuck to the untrained ear. It was a source of endless joking back in middle school, but Peeta hasn’t thought about it in years.
He snickers like the middle school boy he once was, and Katniss growls. “It’s not funny, Cap,” she says, her voice only slightly below a yell. She’s so pissed that she looks ready to explode, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek hard to tame the giggles. “I thought you Canadians were supposed to be polite?”
She tries to storm away again, and it sobers him. ”Kat- Katniss, no, wait,” he begs, grabbing her arm to halt her escape. He can see her body stiffen, but she doesn’t pull away, turning to face him with fire in her silver eyes. Peeta is struck by the thought that she looks good in flames. Very good. He pulls back, rubbing a mittened hand over the back of his neck, attempting to derail the lustful train of thought his mind is trying to take. “I’m sorry,” he says, a bit breathlessly, and her expression softens a little. “Phoque,” he says, drawing out the vowel sound slightly, “is the French word for seal.”
“It… wait, what?” Katniss scrunches her nose up in confusion, and Peeta bites his cheek again because he wants to tell her that she’s adorable, and he doubts she’d consider it a compliment. Not right now anyway. “Really?”
“Really. The conversation would have sounded a lot different if you’d picked a polar bear instead.” Well, it would have to her, anyway, Peeta thinks. The greasy clerk would probably have been just as convinced of the seductive powers of an ours blanc if it meant freeing another fifty from their wallets.
“Oh,” Katniss says softly, watching him with that cute wrinkle between her brows, as if she’s not completely sure whether to believe him. Peeta wants so badly to kiss that little line. He shakes his head slightly to clear away the image. She has no idea, the effect she has on him. But if he’s learned anything in his eighteen or so hours with Katniss Everdeen, it’s that he has to be patient.
“Yeah, oh,” Peeta smiles, unable to resist teasing her just a bit. He winks to soften the sting. “Let’s continue,” he says, tugging her elbow gently. “There’s so much more to see and daylight’s wasting.”
She huffs, but relents, and they fall into step again, walking the snowy cobbles in silence.
“Ah, there it is,” says Peeta, and points to the end of the street, where the word “Funiculaire” is posted in huge letters on an old house.
“There what is,” asks Katniss, her voice still showing traces of temper.
“The Funiculaire. Our way back up,” Peeta explains. They halt in front of the doors of the house and Katniss cranes her head to watch the little white car slowly climbing the track up the cliff.
“Oh lordy,” she mutters. “Just what, exactly, is a Fun-ic-yoo-layer?”
“Huh.” Peeta purses his lips and screws up his face as he thinks it over. “Well, if an elevator had sex with a ski lift, the Funiculaire would be their love child.”
Katniss looks at him incredulously and then bursts out laughing and squeezes his hand. “You’ve written some crazy analogies over the last year, Peeta, but that one takes the cake.”
Peeta grins sheepishly and shrugs. “Hey, cake is never bad.” He thinks he hears her snort, but is too busy thinking about how natural it seemed for her to take his hand to be sure.
“Come on, let’s go before I change my mind,” she orders, tugging him down the street. “You’re paying for the ride in this death trap, beeteedubs.”
A few minutes and six Canadian dollars later, they are slowly riding up the cliff. Katniss snaps a few shots of the city from the air as they slide towards the summit. When they get to the top and exit the green gazebo-like terminal, they find themselves at the foot of Quebec City’s largest, and possibly most famous, landmark; the Château Frontenac, its turrets pointing to the sky and each one of the pristine windows in the brick towers glinting in the icy glare of the winter sun.
“That is literally the biggest castle I’ve ever seen,” Katniss murmurs. “Not that I’ve ever seen one before.”
“It’s actually a hotel,” Peeta explains. “The oldest in Canada. I would guess that royalty has probably stayed there, but it’s never been an actual castle. I think it has something like 700 rooms.”
“Have you ever stayed there?” She wanders the path in front of the Funiculaire exit and snaps a few pictures with her phone.
Peeta wonders if he should have tried to get them a room there. “No. My parents have, a few times, I think. It’s very swanky.”
“It’s a beautiful building, that’s for sure, but I bet they don’t serve breakfast in a basket.”
Peeta watches her pocket her phone and wonders whether she could be any more perfect for him. Her grey eyes are dancing when she links her arm with his and they start to stroll along the boulevard beside the hotel. “How much farther to the Car-na-val?” She lingers over each vowel sound, attempting the French pronunciation. It’s so adorable he can hardly stand it.
Instead, he points to the noisy park just a stone’s throw away. “We’re almost there. Can you see the ice castle? That’s where Bonhomme lives.”
“Who’s Bonhomme?”
“The King of Winter,” Peeta explains. “Come on. We’ll get our effigies and we’ll go find him.”
“Effigies? What kind of carnival is this?”
Peeta laughs. “Relax. It’s like an ornament. Of Bonhomme. It’ll get us in and out of the carnaval.”
When they get to the gates, Peeta requests, “deux passeports de Carnaval, s’il vous plaît.”
“Quatre-vingt-dix pièces, monsieur.”
Peeta reaches for his wallet to pay for their ultimate passes, but Katniss stills his hand. “No way,” she insists. “You paid for the hotel room. You paid for dinner last night. You bought the phoque.” Her upper lip curls when that word slips past her lips. “You’re not paying for this too.”
He sighs, knowing there’s no point in arguing with Katniss when a line is forming behind them. “Fine. I asked her for two Carnaval passports. It’s $90.”
Katniss pulls her wallet from her pocket. “Lemme get my Monopoly money out. So, I need a pink one and two green ones, or one brown one, right?”
He can’t help it. He snorts, but gets out of her way while she pays the ticket seller. The look on her face when a plastic bag filled with goodies is shoved back through the window is so priceless, he laughs aloud. They make their way through the gate and Peeta pulls her aside, whipping the fleece-lined souvenir toque from the bag, and tugging it down over her ears before flicking her nose with one of the bright red pom-poms that swing from a braided tassel.
“I look ridiculous,” she huffs.
“We’ve got a second set for me, so we’ll look like tourists together. Now shut up and put on your scarf.” He pulls the brightly woven scarf from the bag and ties it snugly around her neck. He pins her effigy to her coat and stands back to admire his work.
“Canadian is a good look on you,” he decides. “Plus, now you won’t be cold.”
He pulls off his own toque and replaces it with the official carnaval hat, then ties his scarf around his neck and pins on the little plastic snowman. There are six tickets in the bottom of the bag that he passes to Katniss, asking her to tuck them in her wallet. He stuffs his old hat and scarf in the bag, tosses in the infamous phoque sculpture and takes her hand back in his own before tugging her towards the giant ice castle.
“C’mon. I want a picture of us at the castle,” he insists, “all dressed up in our matching gear.”
Peeta drags her past vendors and activities. She points to snow rafting, an ice slide and a petting zoo and begs to stop, but he keeps going until they are standing in the shadows of l’Assemblée Nationale du Québec where an enormous castle made of ice glistens in the afternoon sun. “
You people sure like your castles,” she drawls.
“This is Bonhomme’s house,” he explains. “It’s our best chance to see him, but first I want that picture. Peeta pulls his phone from his pocket and positions himself behind Katniss with his arm around her waist. He waits for her to pull away and can’t help but feel a surge of pleasure at the way she relaxes against him instead. He whips off his mitten and aims the camera for the perfect selfie. “Now smile,” he orders.
When he lowers the camera, he can’t help but smirk at how couple-y they look in their matching gear, wide grins and cozy pose. The tips of their noses glow and their eyes sparkle in the sun.
Katniss pulls out her phone and waves it at him. “Send me that,” she orders, and he obliges. She flicks her finger across the screen and a satisfied smile spreads across her lips. “It’s a good one.” She flicks and taps the screen a few more times to save the image and then tucks the phone back in her pocket. “So, are we going to meet this snowman or not?”
Hand-in-hand, they join the queue for Bonhomme’s home, shuffling as it snakes slowly forward and stamping their feet to keep their toes from freezing. When Katniss starts to shiver, Peeta wraps his arms around her.
“Bonhomme, Bonhomme sais-tu jouer ? Bonhomme, Bonhomme sais-tu jouer ?” Peeta’s song is more than little off-key but she laughs as he bounces her back and forth in his arms, so he keeps going. “Sais-tu jouer de ce violon-là ? Sais-tu jouer de ce violon-là ?”
“Peeta, what on Earth are you singing?”
“The Bonhomme, Bonhomme song,” he chortles. “The Ontario education system tortures us all with it. Bonhomme, Bonhomme, tu n’es pas maître dans ta maison quand nous y sommes!”
By the time they make it to Bonhomme’s front door, Peeta has challenged Bonhomme to play the violin, the flute and the drums and Katniss is begging for relief. But she’s not shivering, so he counts that as a win.
Just inside the door, an eight-foot tall snowman awaits them.
“Holy frick, what is that?” Katniss breathes, her head tilted upwards to take in the giant’s red toque and maniacally grinning face. Her head leans against Peeta’s chest, the pom pom of her Carnaval hat tickling his jaw and he almost sighs with how good it feels.
“That,” Peeta says, unable to resist the urge to pull her a little closer, “is who we’re here to see. Meet Bonhomme Carnaval, the king of winter.”
“Hello! Bonjour!” calls Bonhomme to the crowd. The voice booms through the ice castle, but Peeta finds the whole effect to be a bit strange since the snowman’s mouth can’t move in his plastic face. “Bienvenue! Welcome to my home. Do you want to see my kick?” The giant kicks his leg high into the air.
As the snowman carries on with his antics, someone taps Peeta on the shoulder. He turns to find one of the festival workers grinning broadly at him. “Veux-tu que je prenne un photo de toi et ta blonde avec Bonhomme?”
“Absolument,” Peeta replies. “Merci.” He tugs Katniss’s hand. “They’re going to take our picture with Bonhomme.”
“Peeta, he’s creepy,” she hisses as they approach the front of the line.
He agrees, but can’t resist teasing her. “Who were you expecting, Frosty the Snowman?” When she sputters in outrage, he gives her hand a tight squeeze while handing his phone off to the attendant. When he’s sure no one is listening, he leans over to whispers in her ear. “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you from the weird cultural icon.”
Just then, Bonhomme steps between them and throws his arms around their shoulders. “So, you want a photo with Bonhomme? Bon! Un joli sourire pour le caméra. Un, deux, trois!”
The flash on Peeta’s phone goes off and they are hustled away to make room for the next group. The attendant meets them with a grin and passes the phone back to Peeta. “Je crois que ta blonde n’est pas une fan de Bonhomme,” he says gleefully.
No, Peeta thinks, gazing down at their latest picture. Katniss, her face twisted into a suspicious grimace, certainly isn’t a Bonhomme fan. “Elle est Américaine,” he confides, causing the Carnaval staffer to burst into laughter. The other man nods knowingly as though Katniss’s nationality explains everything. “Joyeux Carnaval!” he calls out, slapping Peeta on the shoulder before they make their way out of the castle.
Once outside, Peeta realizes the day is slipping away. “How about a hot chocolate?”
Katniss looks at him in relief. “No more weird snowmen?”
“Not today,” he chuckles. “We’ll sip hot chocolate, check out the snow sculptures and then go back to the hotel. Sound good?”
Before long, they have traded two of the tickets in Katniss’s wallet for steaming cups of hot chocolate. Katniss hums happily as she takes her first sip and the warmth Peeta feels around his chest has as much to do with the smile on her face as the chocolate in his belly. Arm in arm, they stroll around the Plaines d’Abraham, admiring the sculptures that are strategically positioned between the other attractions.
“The snow sculpture contest attracts artists from all over the world,” Peeta explains as they gaze at a mythical horse rising out of the snow, it’s mane unfurled around it. “It’s one of the biggest snow sculpture competitions in the world.” Their next stop is a giant lizard, his long tongue stretching across the snow, seemingly ready to lick unsuspecting passersby. A man of snow lies on the ground, fighting off a pack of wolves. Each design is more fanciful than the one before and Peeta and Katniss find themselves weaving elaborate stories about them.
“What do you think about this one?” Peeta asks, as they admire a sculpture of a woman, gowned in an elaborate dress, her hands outstretched in a frozen plea. Her wings tower high above them. “An angel?”
Katniss shakes her head vigorously. “No way. She’s a warrior. Check out the arrows on her back.”
Sure enough, Peeta spots the strap of her quiver carved into her dress and the fletchings peeking out over her shoulder. “I guess she’s an avenging angel, kind of like you.”
Katniss peers at him incredulously. “Are you kidding me?”
“C’mon Katniss. You know you love the underdog the best. You’re not afraid to fight for what you believe in. You even shoot. And I think she looks a little bit like you.” His companion scoffs. “No, really. Look. Long hair, pointed chin, big eyes that are impossible to resist. She’s stunning. Like you.”
Katniss gazes at him silently over the rim of her cup for a few seconds, then downs the rest of her hot chocolate. “You about finished?”
Peeta nods slowly, swallowing the now-cold dregs of his cocoa and watching her carefully. He’s observed - and catalogued - a wide variety of different Katniss expressions over the past twenty-four hours, but he’s not sure he’s seen this one before. “Sure,” he says. “Shall we head back to the hotel?” He knows she’s cold. He is too, and a little tired.
“How about we get some food?” There’s something about her soft smile that makes Peeta think she’s not talking about maple taffy, or frites from one of the food vendors around Carnaval. “There’s, uhm. There’s a little restaurant at the hotel. I peeked at it this morning,” Katniss says shyly, and Peeta can’t help grinning. They don’t have reservations, but he’s prepared to grovel, or maybe bribe the maitre d’, if it means seeing Katniss’s shy smile again.
They toss their paper cups in a bin, then Katniss’s mittened hand curls around Peeta's again.
The sun sets early in Quebec City in the winter, so when they pass Bonhomme’s house once more, the towering ice castle glows an almost otherworldly blue in the fading light. “It’s beautiful,” Katniss breathes, and as Peeta looks at her lovely face bathed in the ice-diffused spotlights he can’t help but agree.
A comfortable silence stretches between them as they stroll in the twilight, until they’re only about a block away from the hotel. “Hey,” Katniss says, her nose wrinkling in that way that Peeta can’t resist. “How are we here already? Where’s the foo-nic-yoo-lair?”
Peeta laughs, a silver-mist cloud of delight. “We took the scenic route this morning. I figured you’d want to get back to warmth a little faster tonight.” Katniss shrugs, but her hand squeezes his more tightly, he thinks maybe in gratitude.
Once they reach the hotel, Katniss heads directly to their room while Peeta pops into the restaurant to see about a table. It turns out he doesn’t have to beg or even take out his wallet; once he gives his name to the host the man smiles and tells him to come back in an hour. Peeta can’t help marvelling at his luck that Bistro Tournebroche can fit them in, even though it’s Carnaval time and the city is crazy busy.
He bounds up the stairs two at a time, anxious to tell Katniss the good news.
Katniss is sitting on the edge of the bed, watching the gas flames in the small fireplace. She’s taken off her winter gear, reddened fingers and stocking-clad feet stretched out towards the warmth. And for a few moments, all Peeta can think is how perfect a picture she makes, how much he would love to see her similarly perched in front of the fireplace in his Toronto condo. But he shakes away the mental image. Too soon, he chides himself.
When Peeta clears his throat, Katniss turns from her contemplation of the blue flames, and lifts an eyebrow. “They can fit us in at six-thirty,” he says. “Just enough time for a hot shower, if you want?” Peeta wouldn’t mind one himself; despite the breathtaking cold, all of the day’s walking has left him sweaty and with an epic case of hat-hair.
“Perfect,” Katniss says, standing gingerly. “Maybe that’ll thaw out my toes.”
They manoeuvre around each other in the small room like two people perfectly in sync, taking turns in the washroom, sharing the lone mirror. When Peeta emerges from the bathroom refreshed and fastening the cuffs of the deep blue button down shirt his father talked him into packing, Katniss is waiting. He freezes, jaw dropping. “What, too casual?” she asks.
“God no,” he breathes. She’s wearing the same slim jeans she wore yesterday, the ones Peeta already knows cling to her curves in the most incredible way, but she’s paired them with a slinky silvery top that hugs her perfect breasts. “Wow,” is all he can manage.
Katniss snorts, and the sound shakes away the fog, forces him to lift his eyes to the cascade of black hair, unbound and framing her face. To her lush lip, trapped between white teeth as gazes at him with trepidation, waiting.
“You are absolutely beautiful,” Peeta says sincerely. Her silver eyes briefly light up in pleasure, but she shrugs off the compliment.
“Right, okay, let’s go before I starve to death.” She tries to push past him, but Peeta reaches for her hand, tucking it firmly into the crook of his elbow.
The restaurant, like the hotel interior, is modern and cozy. They’re seated by one of the large windows, the perfect place to watch the flock of tourists who still stream by, lit by the street lamps. “Bonsoir madame, monsieur,” a young man in a waiter’s uniform greets them. “Puis-je vous apporter quelque chose à boire?” he asks, gesturing to the expansive wine list on the table.
“What do you think,” Peeta asks, skimming the list. “Would you like wine, or there’s a nice selection of local microbrews?”
The waiter, it turns out, speaks English, like many in the tourism industry in Quebec do. When he returns with their drinks - red wine for Katniss, beer for Peeta - he seems quite happy to translate the menu for Katniss and answer her questions. Peeta sips a very pleasant bier de blé while listening to him explain to Katniss the various organic offerings on the menu, the farms they’ve partnered with, the garden and beehives on the hotel’s rooftop. As Peeta watches her animatedly discuss ethical farming, he marvels at how perfect she is for him, how easily her interests align with his own.
And he knows-- she’s it for him. He’s completely head-over-heels in love with her.
It's the best date Peeta's ever been on, and he's not even sure it's a date. He's utterly captivated by the way the candlelight plays in Katniss’s ebony hair, crowning her in fire. He's lost in her silver eyes, imprisoned by her musical laughter. She's the most attractive person he's ever seen, the most appealing, the most dynamic. But beyond that, she's still his KatsEye, his best friend in the world. She still makes him laugh and think; still amazes him, only now the thoughts that enthrall him aren't lines of text in a chat, but actual words murmured in her husky voice, accompanied by a wrinkled nose or a bemused smirk.
They linger over coffee and crème brûlée, never once running out of things to say. Only when Katniss stifles a yawn does Peeta become aware of just how long they've been huddled together in the dim restaurant. “I guess we should call it a night?” Peeta’s reluctance is clear in his voice. But Katniss only nods.
Hand in hand, they ascend the stairs to their room. When they pause at the door, Peeta is struck by how much it feels like walking a girl to her door after a date. Except this isn’t just any girl, this is Katniss Everdeen. And he won’t be leaving her at the door.
He closes the door behind them, then turns to find Katniss stopped just inside, looking up at him with a mischievous glint in her steely eyes. “I had a really great time today,” she says, just barely loud enough for him to hear. “Thank you.”
“The pleasure was all mine,” Peeta smiles. He knows this day will live forever in his memory as one of the best of his life. Then Katniss reaches up, fingering the collar of his dress shirt, and he swallows hard. He wants to kiss her so bad, the impulse nearly consumes him, but he reins it in; even as her thumb brushes against his jaw, catches the day’s stubble, making him erupt in goosebumps. His hands find her tiny waist seemingly of their own volition, but even then he holds back. Peeta knows how skittish she is, knows that if he pushes things she’ll run, and he just won’t risk that.
But then Katniss smiles, beautiful and blinding, and before Peeta even realizes it, he’s leaning down. And she’s standing on tiptoe, her fingers winding in the curls at the nape of his neck. Time seems to stop at they stare, unblinking, lips only a breath apart. Fuck it, he thinks. She flew all the way here, she’s already been bold. Now he has to be too. And with that thought, his eyes drift closed and he places a gentle kiss on those lips that are just as soft as he imagined.
He pulls back a little, but she chases him, then they’re kissing like they really mean it, a delicious exploration. Home, Peeta thinks as Katniss nips his bottom lip, then soothes the sting with a swipe of her tongue. He’s home, and he never wants to leave.
Each slide of her lips against his fuels his hunger, each soft sigh a lightning bolt straight to his gut. As many times as he’s fantasized about kissing Katniss, the reality is so much better. Her shuddering breaths against his cheek. The heat of her skin where her top has pulled up just an inch, smooth under his twitching fingers.
They’re both breathing heavily when Katniss pulls back, eyes still closed and licking her lips as if she wants to savour every last taste of him. Peeta drops his forehead to hers, their noses just brushing. “Wow,” she whispers, and he puffs out a soft laugh.
“Wow,” he echoes
→ thg ←
While yesterday there was a sweet awkwardness in climbing into bed with Katniss, today there’s a crackling tension. Yesterday, the tank and tiny shorts she sleeps in were adorable, today they’re excruciating.
Peeta managed, barely, to get himself under control while Katniss was changing in their shared bathroom. But as she clicks off the light and slides under the comforter, her bare legs grazing his flannels, it’s all he can do to keep his dick in check. She’s gorgeous, she’s six inches away, and he now knows what her perfect peach pout tastes like. It’s the most delectable torture. But her post-kiss escape to the bathroom convinced him that they needed to slow down. For now.
He lies on his back, watching bits of light from a crack in the curtains play across the ceiling and listening to Katniss squirm as she tries to get comfortable. The distance between them feels intolerable, he wants to touch her, just to remind himself that she’s here, that she’s real. So he reaches out, tugging her closer. She stiffens, just a bit at first, but then she sighs and rests her head on his chest, right above his heart. And Peeta’s world realigns itself.
“Peeta?” It’s been quiet for so long he thought she was asleep. His fingers still where they’ve been doodling designs on the soft skin of her bare shoulder.
“Mmm?”
"What does tablon mean?”
“Tablon?” He searches for what she could be asking, coming up blank.
“I heard it a lot today. The crazy seal guy said it. The guy with the scary snowman. Even the waiter tonight. And maybe I’m wrong, but I think they were calling me tablon?”
Peeta’s breath catches. She means ta blonde, and yes, those men were definitely referring to her when they said it. “Ah,” he says, uncertain how she’s going to react. “Ta blonde, it, uh. It means ‘your girlfriend’.” He holds his breath, waiting for her to yell, or slap him.
“Oh,” she murmurs. “Ta blonde.” Her lilting accent makes the endearment sound like music. Then she nestles more snugly into his chest and he swears he can feel her smiling.
Remember those Choose Your Own Adventure books from when you were a kid?
@everlark-your-own-adventure is bringing them back, Everlark style!
Check back here soon for the start of a brand new Everlark fic and you’ll help steer its course.
We’ll start by writing a drabble-length fic. Followers will have two days to vote on where the story goes next. Our volunteer authors will have five days to write the next part of the story based on your chosen direction. No fic will last more than 10 rounds.
Wanna play? Just read, like and reblog. Then cast your vote for the next chapter!
Well, yes, you can measure it in days, months, minutes.
How about 126 stories? Thirty-two authors giving freely of their time. More than 12,500 likes and reblogs. Over 700 followers.
A million laughs, a few frantic moments, more than a few moments of awe and gratitude that this was actually working. Fans wanted gifts. Authors wanted to give them. The response and the generosity of our fellow Everlarkers was astounding.
Now that we’ve reached the end, we feel like we owe the fandom a big thank you for getting on board with this project. We are so grateful you supported this ambitious idea, celebrated each other and promoted our generous authors through your likes and reblogs. This project was about spreading positivity and love and you responded just as we’d hoped.
Some of you may have already guessed who we are. We chose to remain anonymous because it kept the emphasis on the stories -- on the gifter and the receiver -- and not on the blog itself or the tough decisions we had to make sometimes. We ’re going to keep the blog up, although the submission box officially closes today. We wish @que-sera-sera88 and @everlarkbirthdaygifts all the best as she continues to share the simple joy a gift, handcrafted with love for a stranger, can bring to the fandom and to the world. We ask you to support her and the new blog. Help her however you can. It would never have been possible for us to do it alone. There were days it was barely possible for the three of us, pooling our varying skills, to make it happen.
Since this is our goodbye post, we hope you’ll forgive us a little indulgence and allow us to say a word of thanks to each other for the hours we put into this adventure.
@peetabreadgirl, #queenofideas, thank you for this brain child of yours. Thank you for inviting us to be a part of it, for working your considerable magic and ensuring we had great content and a diverse voice.
@xerxia31, #queenofspreadsheets, thank you for keeping us organized, for the hours and hours you spent posting fics, and for writing a good chunk of the stories that got posted.
@burkygirl, #queenofnice, thank you for your way with words, for always coming through in a pinch and for always being willing to uncap the red pen when we needed you.
My birthday was last week (5/21) but if you're in a lull and want to backtrack I love fluff and/or arranged marriage situations.
How very fitting that our last story at everlarkbirthdaydrabbles is in response to what was, in fact, our very first submission! We’ve held onto this an entire year, gleefully looking forward to the day that we could fulfil this request! So happy birthday to you @roseymama, this incredible piece of Everlark was crafted just for you by the most wonderful @appleblossomgirl0305!
Blessed Accidents
A/N: Happy, happy day, birthday girl! I hope you have an incredible birthday and phenomenal year to come! (I also hope you have nothing else to do today besides eat cake and read this, as it is embarrassingly far too long for a drabble.)
To the @everlarkbirthdaydrabbles angels that have made this birthday gift exchange possible, thank you so, so much. You have done something so beautiful for the entire fandom.
Rated M
Trigger warning: parental abandonment
Katniss couldn’t put her finger on exactly what was wrong. She could feel it, gnawing insistently at the back of her mind like a headache coming on, but couldn’t figure out what had thrown her so off-balance. At nearly eighteen, Katniss had spent the past six years keeping her small family alive, a finely calibrated existence that kept them skimming just above oblivion. She was well aware that any small disaster could be their undoing, so she was vigilant in her watchfulness.
She glanced over at Prim, who was sitting at the kitchen table, schoolwork open in front of her. Katniss followed her sister’s eyes as she cast a worried look at their mother, who was making tea in the small kitchen.
Katniss’ eyes narrowed as she took in her mother, her blond hair brushing against her shoulders as she swayed back and forth, humming quietly to herself. As Katniss scrutinized her, her mother turned dreamily towards the window and closed her eyes, smiling into the soft morning light. This can’t be good, thought Katniss. But if anything, her mother looked perfectly healthy, robust even.
As she and Prim walked to school, Katniss did a quick mental inventory of her mother’s recent behavior and found no warning signs of the crippling depression that had nearly killed them all. If anything, lately her mother had seemed the opposite, too… happy. It had taken years after their father’s death for her mother to crawl out of the chasm of her grief. In the past few years, she had even resumed work as a healer, training Prim to assist her and freeing Katniss up to dedicate more of her time to hunting and their continued survival. But the humming and private smiles were new. Katniss scowled, if her mother was going to fall apart again, she needed to figure out how to protect Prim.
But as she regarded her sister walking straight-backed and solidly next to her, she realized that Prim wasn’t such a little girl anymore. In fact, she was taller than Katniss and her dark blue eyes held a sadness and gravity that belied her nearly fourteen years. But she was fed and healthy and Katniss had loved her the best she could. The last hurdle was keeping Prim off of tessera and safe through her last five Reapings. Then Katniss would be free in a way she’d scarcely even let herself imagine.
As the rutted dirt road of the Seam transitioned into the cobblestones of town, Katniss caught sight of Peeta Mellark, the baker’s youngest son, hurrying out from the bakery storefront. Their eyes met and she was instantly annoyed by the cornflower blue and disheveled blond curls and the sprinkling of freckles over his pink, flushed cheeks. And, especially, by the responding tug in her belly and the warmth that spread like honey through her limbs.
She dropped her gaze and gave him a curt nod. She hated when they met like this, it was so awkward since they were heading to the same place. And it seemed to be happening more frequently lately as the end of the school year approached. Only another few months and she could avoid Peeta Mellark, and the unpleasant sensations he inspired in her, forever.
—–
“Morning,” Peeta mumbled, his heart dropping to his toes as Katniss nodded at him while staring down at her boots. He didn’t know why he did this to himself every morning; rushed through his chores and waited by the front store window with his bookbag already slung over his shoulder in the hopes of orchestrating his exit so that it appeared he just happened to run into Katniss Everdeen. He had done it nearly perfectly this morning, but it didn’t matter. Katniss still couldn’t care less about him.
He fell into step behind them, feeling utterly pathetic. She clearly couldn’t stand the sight of him. He just wanted so desperately to talk to her. Okay, that wasn’t all he desperately wanted, there was a lot of touching he wanted to do that made him light-headed with desire to imagine, but first he wanted to talk to her. With only a few months left of school for them, he was painfully aware that time was running out before she might disappear forever.
Prim, who was usually so shy and quiet, suddenly turned towards Peeta and asked how the bakery was doing. He could feel his mouth hanging open in shock that she had addressed him, but managed to stutter out that it was fine, good, thanks for asking. His mind raced with what he could ask her in return as he took a couple of quick steps to walk beside her. He’d made a study of Katniss’ life and suddenly wasn’t sure what it was safe to know about Prim. He settled on asking her about school.
He glanced over at Katniss while Prim asked after his parents. Katniss was staring straight ahead, her jaw tight. He was amazed, as always, at how much presence she had despite her small stature, how intimidating she could be. Struggling to hold the thread of conversation, Peeta was just asking after their mother, when Aspen Lewis came hurtling out of his family’s store and nearly tackled Peeta, hopping onto his back. Katniss grabbed Prim and herded her forward, quickening her pace to avoid the boys’ scuffle. Peeta was stuck walking the rest of the way with that jackass Aspen chattering away.
Throughout the day, Peeta replayed that short conversation over in his mind. Why had Prim chosen to talk with him that morning? Was it a sign? As grateful as he was, something about it was bugging him. Maybe he was just distrustful of anything good ever happening to him.
—–
Katniss was distracted. She couldn’t stop glancing over at where Peeta sat during lunch, surrounded as usual by the boisterous blond heads of his fellow merchant kids. Why had Prim talked to Peeta that morning? Katniss thought Prim understood that Peeta was to be ignored. She had never talked to Prim about the bread and had always assumed she had been too addled by starvation to question how Katniss had gotten it. But Prim seemed to understand that Katniss disliked Peeta. Or maybe, being Prim, she intuited that Katniss felt uncomfortable around him, was in debt to him and hated to owe things. Then the horrifying thought that maybe Prim liked Peeta shot through her mind. Prim was too young. Peeta couldn’t possibly be interested in a fourteen year-old. But Prim was lovely and kind and fair. The thought turned her stomach and she looked back over at him, trying to imagine if it could be true.
“Is it the sandwich or the arms?” Madge asked, chewing thoughtfully on a raisin.
“What?” Katniss asked, hoping the annoyance in her voice would discourage any further conversation. It didn’t.
“Peeta. You know, that guy you’ve been staring at for the past ten minutes.” Madge held the container of raisins out to Katniss in offering.
“I’m not staring,” Katniss mumbled, taking a raisin even though she didn’t like how they stuck in her teeth.
“I think he might be the prettiest one of the three Mellarks,” Madge mused thoughtfully. “If you like that kind of thing.”
“Which kind?” Katniss wished she hadn’t asked it the second it was out of her mouth.
“You know, the strapping baker kind. With broad chests and blond curls and dimply grins.” Madge poked her finger into her cheek and gave Katniss an angelic smile.
“Then no, I guess I don’t.” Katniss picked at her fingernails hoping Madge couldn’t see her blush.
All the teasing had left her voice when Madge said, “Peeta’s a really good guy, Katniss.”
Katniss stood up, shoving the bag of dried meat she hadn’t eaten into her pocket, nodded at Madge and walked away.
She didn’t see Peeta watch every step, looking like it took all of his considerable strength not to go after her.
Over the next few weeks, Katniss checked the snare line early and went straight to school from the Hob. She felt bad not walking with Prim, but if Prim did like Peeta, this would give her the chance to talk with him without Katniss ruining it. She ignored the sharp pain in her chest as she imagined their hands brushing, then forcefully cast it out of her mind.
——
Peeta was starting to go mad. He lay in the darkness, unable to sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he’d see Katniss; the curve of her neck, the coil of her dark braid, the silvery gray of her eyes. He flipped his pillow for the hundredth time, trying to find a cool spot. How was he ever going to convince Katniss to go out on a date with him if she continued to avoid him so thoroughly. He couldn’t ask her at school, not with all their classmates listening. He knew she’d hate that.
He went to the window to open it wider and the strangest sight caught his eye. His parents were dancing in the backyard. But that wasn’t really possible. He looked closer, squinting into the dim moonlit yard, and realized that it wasn’t his mother. His father was wrapped around Mrs. Everdeen. He drew back, feeling like he’d been caught doing something terrible, something shameful.
Peeta watched as his father pushed Mrs. Everdeen against the wall of the small garden shed. Watched as he kissed her and ran his hand up her leg and under her skirt. Peeta turned away, feeling sick. And disturbingly jealous. His heard the echo of his father’s voice on the first day of school saying, “See that little girl? I wanted to marry her mother, but she ran off with a coal miner.” Well, her coal miner was dead. And the muffled sounds of her pleasure drifting up from the yard, proved his father was getting a second chance. As he crept back to his bed, he wondered what was to become of them all now?
——
The following Sunday, Katniss was returning from the woods, a full game bag bulging over her shoulder. It was nearly spring and she could practically feel the hum of life beneath the earth. She had met Gale today. Since the accident, she never knew when he would turn up.
About a year after he had finished school and started working full-time in the mines, there had been a cave in. His crew had been trapped for a day and a half. Two of his crewmates had been crushed by the falling rock. The rest of them were banged up, but not badly hurt. But when Gale emerged from the mineshaft, it was clear that something had broken, something on the inside. He hadn’t been the same since, hadn’t spoken a word since the accident.
A month later, he moved into the woods. When the weather was bad, he slept in the cabin by the lake, otherwise he slept rough. He seemed to have become more forest creature than the boy Katniss grew up with. Sometimes, when she was in the forest, he would materialize out of thin air. He’d stay with her for a bit and she’d tell him about his family or the Hob or they’d walk side by side in silence. As unsettling as it was to see him like that, it seemed important to her to link him to people. She figured that was why he sought her out.
Whenever she spent the day with Gale, she would find herself panicky to get back to Prim, to see with her own eyes that she was okay. As Katniss pushed through the front door, she nearly slammed into her mother. And as her mother pressed her hand against her heart in surprise, Katniss nearly swallowed her tongue in shock. When had her mother gotten so fat? But as her eyes traced the rounded bulge of her mother’s protruding belly, she realized with sickening horror that she wasn’t fat. She was pregnant. Very pregnant.
Katniss stared at her mother in slack-jawed horror before she began to sputter, too aghast to form words. No, this couldn’t be happening. It wasn’t possible. She felt Prim’s small hands on her shoulders steering her towards their yard.
She rounded on Prim, eyes wild with panic, “What the hell,” she demanded in a hoarse whisper. “How did this happen?”
Prim was infuriatingly calm as she said, “The usual way, I think.” She rubbed Katniss’ arm and continued, “I’m just relieved you finally noticed, I couldn’t figure out if you were in some weird state of denial or just your usual unobservant self.”
Katniss’ thoughts were flying through her head at a dizzying speed, she reached out to grab one, but by the time it had left her lips a new one was there, “When? How long? How could she? Who?”
“Sit down, Kat, I think you’re in shock. Put your head between your knees and breathe.” Prim slid the game bag off her shoulder and helped lower her to a crate by Lady’s pen. She did as Prim told her, feeling like she might pass out.
“I think she’s about seven months along. I wasn’t sure until about six weeks ago, she’s been wearing those flowy dresses. I knew she was seeing someone, and I thought that was why she was acting so weird. It didn’t occur to me until way later than it should have…” she shrugged, finally looking a little bit her age. “And as for who,” she said, blushing slightly, “I’m not sure, but I think it is Mr. Mellark’s.” And all of a sudden it became clear why Prim had been so friendly with Peeta.
“What can we do?” Katniss asked, feeling slightly deranged.
“Uh, wait until she goes into labor?” Prim asked, seeming unsure of the question.
Katniss shook her head before dropping it between her knees, “What are we going to do?” she moaned. The the fury she has been waiting for finally ripped through her and she sprang off the crate and ran into the house. Prim calling to her from behind.
Katniss rounded on her mother, afraid to touch her, but wanting to strike her. “How could you? How could you let this happen?” she hissed.
Her mother was exasperatingly nonplussed, reaching down to cradle her stomach. “Oh, you can’t possibly have really just noticed,” she laughed, “I’m as big as a house.”
“What are you going to do?” Katniss demanded.
“Well, Katniss, I’m going to have a baby,” she explained like she was talking to toddler.
“With Mr. Mellark.” Katniss felt light-headed again but dug her toes into the leather of her boots to ground herself.
“Yes,” her mother had the decency to flush as she looked away and began folding the dish rag.
“He’s married,” Katniss stated flatly.
“I’m aware of that, Katniss,” she snapped. “We didn’t intend for this to happen, it just did. Sometimes accidents can be blessings.” There was an infuriatingly dreamy smile playing at her lips as she said that last part, but her expression sobered and she added, “He’s trapped in a loveless marriage. We’re working on that.”
“How are you possibly working on it?” Katniss demanded. “He’s a merchant, he’s married. What is there to work out?”
“He loves me! We’ll figure out how to save him from her.” Katniss stared at her incredulously. It was like trying to argue with a crazy person. Living in reality had never been her mother’s strong suit. But since Katniss was painfully familiar with the depths of depression to which her mother could sink, she had sort of willfully ignored her mother’s less devastating lunacy, allowing her to drift and daydream since it had seemed relatively harmless. Katniss wanted to scream at how wrong she had been. This would destroy them for sure. Her mother turned away and Katniss, faced with her rigid back, saw how she could have missed the pregnancy. Her mother was still so slim and in her loose dress, there was no evidence from behind.
Trying not to cry, Katniss bitterly bit out, “Well, you better figure it out quick. Because I’m not taking care of this one.” And she ran out of the house.
She was so lost in thought, her mind swimming with fury and betrayal, she was surprised to find herself at the alley door of the bakery as the sky darkened into twilight. Was she there to confront Mr. Mellark? What could she possible say? What did she even want to ask for? But as she glanced into the yard, she saw that Peeta was throwing scraps to the pigs. She stood against the wall, the stones biting into her back until he approached the door. She lept out and grabbed him, spinning him until he was pressed against the outer wall. He dropped the pail he was holding and gasped out, “Katniss?”
“Did you know?” she demanded. She had nowhere else to put this untethered fury and threw it into Peeta’s face with her words.
He looked down, a dead give away of his guilt, and quietly admitted, “I saw them together a couple of weeks ago.”
“Why didn’t you say something?” she hissed.
“Oh, you mean during one of our daily chats? Maybe during class? Or one of the many mornings where you wouldn’t even look at me?” Katniss stepped away from him as the last barb hit home. Almost immediately, he looked contrite for speaking so sharply.
His voice was quiet when he said, “For years, I’ve tried to work up the nerve to talk to you.” She looked at him, scowling, and he took a deep breath, “Without success. What was I going to do, open with, ‘Hey, Katniss, so our parents are having an affair, want to hang out sometime?’”
She furrowed her brow in confusion. But felt herself deflate as the anger began to leave her. It had been the only thing holding her up. She leaned against the wall next to him, and as horrifying as this entire situation was, the brush of her bare arm against the warmth of his raised gooseflesh on her skin.
“I was almost free,” she whispered, grateful for the thickening darkness that hid the tears gathering in her eyes.
“I know it’s messed up, but it’s not like they’re breaking up a happy marriage.” Peeta said, an almost soothing cadence to his voice.
“This has nothing to do with your mother,” she snorted out a derisive laugh.
“What then?” He sounded so confused, so distracted, fidgeting beside her.
She rounded on him, looking incredulous, then spat, “Do you not know about the baby?”
“What baby?” he asked, clearly not understanding what a baby could have do with anything. Then his face paled as he visibly cottoned on.
She felt a perverse satisfaction in his shock and asked, perhaps unkindly, “So what does that make us? Bastards in law?”
His face fell as he shook his head, apparently lost for words. “I’m just kidding,” she said, stepping into the darkness, “I know the only thing it makes us is completely screwed.”
And then she was gone.
—–
As he lay in bed staring hopelessly at the ceiling, he tried to order this information into something that made sense. His father was having an affair with Mrs. Everdeen. She was going to have a baby. And while this was certainly the end of his family as he knew it - for undoubtedly his mother would find out soon and her retribution would be fierce - he couldn’t figure out why Katniss was so devastated.
He ran her words over and over in his mind, ‘I was almost free.’ How haunted her voice had sounded. He tried to see this from her perspective. And suddenly in rapid succession, the images came into focus. Her mother’s breakdown after her father died. Katniss’ overprotective relationship with Prim. The inevitable public shame of her mother’s affair. Another mouth to feed. He sighed under the weight of these worries that weren’t exactly his, but that he was desperate to help her solve. Tomorrow, he thought, tomorrow he would track her down at school and they would figure this out together.
But she wasn’t in school the next day. Peeta spent the whole looking for her, his heart in his throat every time he entered a classroom, before plummeting to his toes as he found her seat empty.
When Peeta returned to the bakery for his afternoon shift, his father was holding an icepack to his cheek. His mother was gone, having left nothing but the bloody trail of her fingernails down his father’s face.
Mrs. Everdeen went into labor around midnight on a Tuesday a few weeks later. Katniss showed up breathless at the alley door looking pale and frightened and telling Mr. Mellark it was time. Peeta watched as his dad threw on a pair of pants and his boots over his pajamas and ran out into the night. The mixture of joy and fear on his face was unmistakable. He was practically incandescent with love. Peeta had never seen anything like it on his father’s face and he couldn’t help feeling like maybe he had never really known his father at all. Peeta dressed quickly and jogged to catch up to Katniss who was walking home slowly.
“Can I walk with you?” he asked.
He thought she nodded, though he couldn’t see her clearly in the silver-moon darkness. He continued to walk beside her anyway.
When they reached her house she paused in front of the porch, then stepped back and turned towards the meadow. “It’s going to be a while,” she offered as an explanation. “I’m not very good at the pain part,” she admitted sheepishly.
“Me too. I mean, me neither,” he said, willing to agree to anything she said as long as she’d let him stay with her.
They walked in silence until they reached the meadow. Katniss led him to a willow tree. They sat down beneath it with their backs against the rough trunk.
“Your mom left?” she asked quietly.
“Yeah.” He wasn’t sure what else to say. “It’s been strangely pleasant.”
She was quiet for a moment before she asked, “Are you scared?”
“About what?” He wasn’t sure if she was referring to his mother leaving, but figured she knew it wasn’t a huge loss.
“About the baby,” she said, sounding slightly exasperated.
“No, not really,” he answered truthfully. The darkness helped.
A moment later, she said, “You can’t possibly understand.”
“And don’t try to explain. Obviously I’m too dim to get it,” he teased.
She sighed, “I just meant that you’re the youngest. You’ll understand when you meet the baby. Being an older sibling is a life sentence.”
He looked at her thoughtfully. “Having two older siblings, I’d say that it’s more about the way you sister. Is that a verb?”
“No,” she said, but a smile tugged at her lips. “But it should be. In my experience, it’s a full time job.”
He smiled back. “Will you deck me if I say I’m looking forward to meeting him?”
“Or her,” she said pointedly. “I’ll try not to.”
“Sorry, of course it could be a girl. It’s just Mellarks don’t seem to make girls. My mother gave it her best shot, but finally had to give up. I’m pretty sure she’s never forgiven me for betraying her by being another damned boy.”
“I’m not sure I’ll ever forgive my mother.” She looked away and when she looked back at him, her eyes bore into him in the dim moonlight, “I’m… I can’t figure out if I’m more afraid that I won’t love the baby… or that I will.”
He nodded thoughtfully, “Maybe this time it’ll be easier. Since you won’t be doing it alone.” And to a chorus of crickets and with a million stars as his witness, he reached for her hand, threading their fingers together in a promise of solidarity and companionship and maybe, someday, something more.
He must have dozed off, because what felt like seconds later, Katniss was gently shaking his shoulder and telling him it was time to go back. When they got to the porch, it was eerily quiet and illuminated by a single flickering candle. Peeta wanted to reverently tour the house, he’d spent untold hours imagining her home, but an exhausted-looking Prim was walking into the living room with her arms laden with soiled sheets.
“How is…. Everyone?” Katniss asked her sister.
Prim gave a small worn smile and said that everyone was good and healthy. Katniss raised her eyebrows questioningly and Prim added, “Oh, and congratulations, you have another sister.”
Katniss seemed to deflate for a second, then straightened up and walked over and took the armful of linens out of Prim’s arms and kissed her cheek. “Well, she’s going to have a lot to live up to. I’ve already got the best sister imaginable.” Prim smiled, a real smile and kissed her back. “Go to bed, little duck, I’ve got these.”
“Sounds good,” Prim yawned, “I’m bushed.” And she wandered into the room off the kitchen, calling over her shoulder, “‘Night Peeta.”
“How can I help?” Peeta asked, feeling shy now that he was actually in Katniss’ home.
“I’m just going to put these outside to soak. I’ll be right back in to help you make up the couch.”
“That’s not necessary,” he said.
“Don’t be silly, it’s too late for you to walk home and our parents have already scandalized both of our families, so you might as well get some sleep.” She gave him a weary smile and disappeared out the back door.
He took the opportunity to drink in his surroundings. The sparse furniture, a table and three chairs, a threadbare couch with the batting showing through on one arm and the tiny kitchen with wood plank shelves laden with jars of herbs and tinctures.
Katniss came back in with a clean sheet and blanket under her arm. When they’d finished making up the couch she cast him a tired smile and said, “Goodnight, Peeta.”
He fell asleep the instant his head hit the pillow.
——
Katniss awoke with a start trying to place the mewling sound coming from nearby. Oh, right, the baby. She tried to roll over and ignore the sound, but it didn’t stop. She felt the bed shift as Prim got up. Katniss refused to follow her. She understood better than anyone the pull of a helpless little sister, but this time she would let her mother do her job.
But seconds later came Prim’s shrill, panicked cry, “Katniss!”
She was standing in her mother’s doorway, with Peeta right behind her (Katniss had forgotten he was there), facing a frantic Prim. The baby was a squirming, squalling bundle on the bed. The empty bed in the empty room. Prim was clutching a note to her chest. She held it out Katniss in a shaking hand before scooping the baby off the bed.
The note was from their mother. The first part of the note was to Prim, telling her she loved her and apologizing and asking her to understand that they just needed a little time together “like a honeymoon”, followed by instructions to feed the baby with diluted, boiled goat’s milk. The second part of the note was addressed to Katniss. “I’m sorry, Katniss. We just need some time alone. Away from all the judgement and pressure. We’ll be back for her, I promise.” And that was all there was. A hungry crying baby and a worthless note full of empty promises.
Numbly, she handed the note to Peeta, who was standing in the doorway looking completely disheveled and only marginally more awake than asleep. She slipped past him and out into the yard to both milk Lady and escape the plaintive cries of both sisters.
Katniss entered the kitchen with the warm milking pail clutched so tightly that her fingers were turning white and found Peeta sitting at the kitchen table, both of his hands fisted in his hair.
“I don’t understand,” he said, “this can’t be true.”
Katniss didn’t answer as she put a cup of the milk on the coal stove. She filled the kettle and placed it beside the pan of milk.
As Prim walked into the room holding the weeping baby, Katniss murmured something about needing the bottle. Prim came back with a large eye eyedropper.
“Is that even going to work?” Katniss asked.
“I doubt it,” Prim sniffled, “but it’s the closest thing to a bottle that we have.”
“I’ll get a baby bottle at the Hob.” Katniss took the eyedropper from Prim and sterilized it with the now boiling water. Peeta watched raptly as she added a few tablespoons of the boiled water to the simmering goat’s milk, which she poured into a sterile bottle. She placed the bottle into a pot of cold water and swirled it occasionally before testing the temperature on her wrist, filling the eyedropper with milk and handing it to Prim.
They all watched as Prim ran the glass tip along the wailing baby’s lips. The second the milk made contact with her tongue she abruptly stopped crying and sucked at the eyedropper. The baby squawked plaintively every time they pulled it from her to refill it, but with a bit of maneuvering they were able to drizzle a stream of milk into her mouth until, sated, she turned away and promptly fell asleep.
“Can you stay with her while I go to the Hob?” Katniss asked. And while Prim looked utterly shell-shocked, she nodded. Katniss grabbed her jacket and stared over her shoulder at Peeta, “You coming?” she asked.
Peeta babbled non-stop on the way to town about how he didn’t understand how either of their parents could do this, could leave their child like this. When they got to the bakery he asked if she wanted him to come with her to the Hob. She snorted and shook her head no.
“How can I help? What can I do?”
“Nothing,” she said dully. He reached in his pockets and gave her every coin he had, she spun and walked away without another word.
That night, Peeta showed up on their doorstep with a loaf of bread and some early apples from the tree in his backyard. Katniss tried to send him away, but he set to work washing dishes and preparing dinner.
Katniss scowled at him the entire time, but waited until he had served the fried bread and scrambled eggs before telling him they didn’t need him and he should just go home.
Without a word, he took off his boots and lay down on the couch, pulling the blanket over his legs. If she wouldn’t let him help with the baby directly, he would be support staff for all of the Everdeen girls.
Katniss sighed audibly, but didn’t fight him or insist that he leave. She was just too tired.
Peeta didn’t make eye contact as he asked quietly, “Have you named her yet?”
It hadn’t even occurred to Katniss to name her. “Not yet,” responded Prim.
“Any ideas,” he asked.
Prim shook her head.
“How about Citrine?” he asked.
“Or Rosebud,” suggested Prim.
Katniss stared down at the tiny scrunched face with her fine white hair and said, “Dandelion,” though she hadn’t meant to speak. The image of looking down and seeing the first dandelion of the year and the promise of survival it invoked rushed back to her and she remembered her father’s joking voice telling her that as long as she could find herself, she’d never starve. Her heart panged painfully at the memory of his voice, she missed him so. This child would need all of the help she could get. She looked at Peeta out of the corner of her eye and knew she needed him. He had been part of that dandelion in the schoolyard when she’d first known that hope wasn’t lost and he was part of this one too.
“Danni for short,” Prim decided, nodding.
And just like that, the baby became Katniss’ sister. Not just her mother’s mistake or an unfair burden. Those tiny fingers and heart-shaped pucker of a mouth and her overwhelming need for protection worked their way inside Katniss and rooted there.
——
It went on that way for weeks. Peeta going to school, taking his afternoon bakery shift, then showing up at the Everdeen’s house to wash and cook and mend before falling face down on their couch in mindless exhaustion. The girls took turns feeding Danni throughout the night and Katniss was gone at first light to hunt. She showed up only periodically at school, but since there were only a few weeks left, no one seemed interested in confronting her. By that time, the whole District had heard the story and there seemed to be a collective decision to leave the four of them be.
Peeta’s brothers helped out by taking over Peeta’s bakery duties as best they could. But with both Mr. and Mrs. Mellark gone, the bakery was suffering. None of the brothers understood the ordering and their offerings were dwindling as the supplies ran low.
Despite his daily, and frankly indispensable, presence, Katniss did her best to ignore Peeta entirely. She would hardly speak to him nor allow him to hold Danni. She tried to let her gaze slide indifferently past him, but her eyes wouldn’t cooperate and kept seeking him out. It was odd to want to watch him so much. Gale was arguably the better looking of the two and yet she’d never wanted to stare at him while he worked. But she couldn’t seem to tear her eyes from Peeta’s methodical movements as he kneaded bread. From the fluid roll of his shoulders, the mesmerizing clenching of the muscles in his forearms. His hands, flour dusted and strong, folding and re-folding the dough. Placing her cool fingers on her flushed cheeks, she forced herself to focus on the laundry she folding.
Despite Katniss’ continual cold shoulder, everyday Peeta asked how he could help. And when she inevitably declined his offers of assistance, he found ways to help anyway. She knew it had to be the exhaustion, she was practically hallucinating by the third week, but being so close to him caused frissons of heat to ignite low in her belly and snake up her spine like a live wire, awakening each of her senses and making her feel too receptive and raw. It was making her crazy.
Finally one night, when she had almost dropped Danny in her exhaustion, Peeta exploded.
“Damnit, Katniss, let me help!” He was flushed and breathing hard. And despite the fact that he was angrier than she’d ever seen him, she could tell he was holding back. “This isn’t my fault. I didn’t do this!” Then, after several deep breaths, he added in a quieter voice, “I’m standing right here. I didn’t go anywhere. Please, let me help.” He was right. She knew he was, but then where was all of this anger supposed to go? And as she looked up into his face, pink and blotchy in his frustration, but still so beautiful and kind, all of the anger seeped out of her. And as she took a step to brace herself, the full force of her bone-deep fatigue threatening to suck her under.
Peeta wrapped an arm around her waist to steady her, careful not to jostle the baby. “Please let me help,” he repeated and her entire body slumped against him.
“I’m so tired,” she admitted and he nodded, leading her over to the bed. She sat down and held out the softly whimpering child to him. With almost comic gentleness, he wrapped the baby in his arms. Danni looked ridiculously small there, nestled against his thick arms and as Katniss fell backwards on the bed and into the blackness of sleep, she thought her little sister might be the luckiest creature on earth.
Katniss woke with start. The late morning sun was streaming in through the tears in the curtain and it was… quiet. She flew out of bed, her heart pounding and found Prim sitting at the kitchen table mixing herbs with a mortar and pestle. Her hair was neatly braided and she smiled as she glanced up at the disheveled Katniss.
“Morning, sleepy head,” Prim grinned, “Everyone’s fine. Peeta took Danni on a walk. Why don’t you take a bath?” She wrinkled her nose and Katniss scowled at her as she slid into an opposite chair.
Prim continued, “Suit yourself. I just thought that since you finally came to your senses and let Peeta participate in this little disaster of a family, we should probably work out some sort of a schedule so we don’t all go mad.” Katniss stared at her. When had she gotten so grown up? Maybe that’s what having a baby sister did to you, forced you to grow up. Like they were pushing up from underneath, nudging you forward. “And I thought you might want to be a little cleaner when he gets back,” Prim added, appraising her.
Katniss nodded and headed into the bathroom to bathe, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. She had clearly underestimated Prim and she didn’t even want to think about how unfairly she’d treated Peeta. But knowing that they were in this together, settled something frantic inside her. They might be okay after all.
Things started to work more smoothly after that. Instead of wreaking havoc on their lives, Danni became part of their life. On mornings when Danni would awaken early, Katniss would wrap her tiny sister into the intricate sling that Hazelle had taught them and take her hunting. On those mornings, in the misty quiet, with the baby tethered to her as though an extension of her own body, Katniss stayed closer to the fenceline. Somehow, this baby - who seemed instinctively to understand the need for quiet in the woods and used those giant blue eyes to take in everything around them - had become too precious to risk. She had also become Katniss’ hunting partner and it was nice to have the company again. It had been months since she’d last seen Gale.
Katniss would meet Peeta at the bakery right after school and help him to attach the sling, trying not to marvel at the breadth of his shoulders or let her fingers linger on the strong plane of his stomach as she pulled the fabric around him. While Katniss assembled the sling, Peeta would hold Danni out in front of him, cooing and chattering nonsense in a comically serious voice while she smiled gummily and cooed back. Then he would kiss her nose and tuck her into the sling. Katniss wondered at Danni’s ability to be so studiously serious with her and so chatty and happy with Peeta.
Prim, having finished her homework and done the patient rounds in the afternoon, took Danni in the evenings while Peeta and Katniss made dinner and took care of the house and did their own homework that Peeta brought home for them.
Realizing it was ridiculous to have Peeta sleeping on the lumpy couch when a perfectly good bedroom sat empty, they moved Peeta into their mother’s old room. Katniss couldn’t escape the sadness she felt at the permanence of this shift and what it signified, but it made sense.
One evening as Katniss and Peeta sat at the kitchen table together doing homework, Katniss found herself enthralled with his gestures. The way he would tap his pencil against his lip when he worked on sums, the self-conscious way he’d rub the back of his neck when he told a funny story, the way he chewed his thumbnail when he found something especially challenging. She tried not stare, but found him increasingly distracting to work across from.
“Why are you scowling?” Peeta asked, that little half-smile that made one of his dimples deeper than the other playing at his lips.
“Just thinking… about Danni,” she said distractedly, trying to keep her face from scowling. Was that her default facial expression, she wondered.
“Oh, I see. Good thing you’re thinking about her. That’s the thing about babies; they lull you into a state of false security and waking exhaustion and then they attack.” His hand shot out and squeezed that ticklish spot just above her knee and she gasped out a laugh of surprise. He grinned at her and she scowled deeper in return.
Then without warning she launched herself at him. His surprised “ooomph” as she knocked him from his chair morphed into a cascade of gruff giggles as she straddled him and savagely tickled his sides. With seemingly no effort on his part, he flipped them over and pinned her arms above her head. She rocked and squirmed under him trying to find an opening to regain the upper hand, but his weight in the cradle of her thighs was undeniable. Something else was undeniable too. The heat and firmness of his growing erection stopped her writhing. She stared up into the darkening blue of his eyes. His laughter had stopped and the intensity of the look on his face took her breath away. She realized, with a jolt of terror, that he was about to kiss her.
At that moment, Prim strolled into the room, Danni in the sling and a bucket of fresh milk in her hand. She made a surprised squeak and hurried to set down the pail before walking into her room.
Katniss pushed at Peeta’s chest and scrambled up from underneath him, embarrassment and something else, disappointment? flaming her cheeks. What must Prim have thought? What was she doing? They had just gotten their lives under control, under some sort of balance and she was going to ruin it. She mumbled a quick “sorry” somewhere in Peeta’s direction, but couldn’t look at him. Getting up slowly to follow Prim into their room, Prim popped out, slipping a knit hat over Danni’s fuzzy head.
“We’re going over to Hazelle’s for a visit,” she said, buttoning her sweater around the both of them and slipping quietly out the door as Katniss called to her.
Peeta had come up behind Katniss. He wasn’t touching her, but she could feel the heat of this body. She was afraid to turn around. To face whatever was coming. Because all of a sudden it felt inevitable.
“I don’t want to ruin this, this thing we’ve got going,” she said to the wood of the door.
“Then we won’t ruin it,” Peeta said simply.
She turned, frowning at his flippancy over something so important. But he wasn’t smiling and his eyes were wide and clear. “I mean it, Peeta. I don’t want to lose you.”
He chuckled mirthlessly before responding, “I don’t think you could lose me if you tried, Katniss.” He looked up at the ceiling and a took a deep breath before cradling her face in both of his hands. “I’m in love with you. I’ve always been in love with you. I don’t ever want to be anywhere else.”
She stood there and let the truth of his love percolate down into her bones. Then she levered up on her tiptoes and kissed him. It started out soft and tentative as butterfly wings, but before she knew it, she was pressed against the door panting as he blazed a trail of wet kisses down her neck. She reached up under his shirt, feeling his stomach muscles tighten deliciously as he let out a strangled grunt. But he stopped her then, pulling her hands out from beneath his clothes and kissing each of her hands before placing the softest brush of a kiss on her lips.
“Goodnight, Katniss. I love you.” And with the most angelic smile on his kiss-swollen lips he turned, gathered his books and went into his room, closing the door softly behind him.
Lust-addled and feeling slightly rejected, she retired to bed. It was the first time she’d had it to herself in months. And knowing Peeta was about fifteen feet away on the other side of the wall, was making her body hum with need. She sighed, slipping her hand into her underwear and gasping at how good it felt as her fingers slid over her throbbing clit. It took less than a minute of fantic circling before her body shuddered in pleasure. She could have sworn she heard Peeta’s responding choked sound of release in the seconds that followed, but it was hard to be sure with her heartbeat still pounding in her ears. She fell asleep instantly with the knowledge that she would hear that sound up close soon enough.
And after that night, it was like the dam around her heart had broken and she was positively flooded with love for the boy with the bread. Her boy. She wanted him all the time. His presence, the low rumble of his laugh, his touch. Definitely more of his touch. She burned for him in ways she never thought possible. She wanted things she’d never thought she’d want. His whispers in her ear, his lips on her forehead, his large, warm palm on the small of her back and the weight of his thick body nestled in the cradle of her thighs. But as much as she wanted to feel every millimeter of his bare skin against hers, he progressed their physical relationship at a snail’s pace. There were hundreds of kisses and he couldn’t seem to stand near her without touching some part of her body, but he didn’t push for more.
After weeks of laying in her bed, next to her two sisters, positively burning for him, she snuck into his room and crawled under the thin sheet he used as a cover. He started and stared down at her, sleepy confusion in every line of his face as she wrapped her strong arm around his belly and nestled into his broad chest.
“Katniss?” he asked groggily.
“Shhh,” she said, “Go back to sleep.” And while part of her wanted to strip him naked and climb atop him, filling her aching body with his rigid heat, she didn’t think she had ever been that warm or comfortable. So, for that night, she allowed sleep to claim her, but she made plans for other nights to come in her dreams.
When she woke, she was pretty sure that she had never slept so well.
The following evening, as Katniss watched Peeta humming tunelessly as he danced a giggling Danni around their shabby living room, she blurted out, “I love you too.” Then she ran outside to milk the goat before she burst into flames of embarrassment. Or maybe it was happiness.
When she climbed into his bed that night, she left her nightgown on the floor. He gasped when he ran his hand up her bare back and she smiled into the darkness, helping him strip off his clothes. There were no words to describe the gloriousness of all of that warm, firm skin under her hands and mouth.
He helped her, his large hand engulfing hers as they slid it up and down his rigid shaft. He stopped her hand frequently to take gasping breaths and to tell her how good it felt, how he never wanted it to end, but that he couldn’t help it, and then he was coming in hot spurts and gasps of pleasure, her name on his lips.
And she helped him too, her hand on top of his directing his thick fingers as they pushed into her wetness and then slid over her slick clit until it was her turn to muffle her ecstatic cries into his shoulder as she pulsed around his fingers.
“I’ve wanted to do that since I learned it was possible,” he mumbled happily into her hair.
“Good thing. You’re going to get plenty of practice,” she mumbled back.
“Can’t wait.” And her entire body shook with his laughter.
“I can’t believe how well this has all turned out,” she said sleepily.
“Katniss, I always hoped we’d end up like this. My wildest dreams are about raising a family with you by my side. I just thought we’d have, you know, gotten to have sex first.”
She barked out a laugh and laid her head against his shoulder. She had started to understand. For what felt like the hundredth time, she thanked the heavens for him being here.
The next afternoon, as Katniss fastened the sling around Peeta’s body, being liberal with her touches now and enjoying each sigh and grunt she elicited and she ran her fingers over his warm skin, Peeta froze. Thinking she had done something wrong, she stood up, but he didn’t look at her, continuing to stare towards the door to the bakery storefront. She followed his gaze and found Mrs. Mellark standing motionless in the doorway.
Peeta silently handed Danni to Katniss and stepped between them and his mother.
“Hello, Peeta,” she said, her voice tight.
“Hello,” he said. Then clearing his throat he asked, “What are you doing here.”
Mrs. Mellark straightened her already straight back and answered brusquely, “Your brother asked me to help with the ordering and bookkeeping.”
Peeta must have known, somewhere in his mind that his mother was at her sister’s house all of six blocks away. Somehow it was easier to believe that she had just disappeared like his father had. “So you’re back.”
“This is my business too, you know,” her voice climbing slightly. “I understand that your father has left. While I was initially very angry at him, I’ve realized that him leaving is probably all for the best.” She nodded, as if that concluded the discussion, and walked stiffly around Peeta towards the small office under the stairs.
Seemingly against her will, Mrs. Mellark glanced over at Katniss who turned, still holding Danni. She cleared her throat and asked, “Is that the child?” Katniss nodded. “And it’s a-?”
“Girl,” Katniss supplied. Katniss turned Danni around so she was facing outward and as Mrs. Mellark saw her face, her breath caught audibly. “Her name is Dandelion,” Katniss said softly.
“Really?” Mrs. Mellark tried to sound disapproving, but her face was so filled with longing it didn’t work.
Peeta’s voice was right behind Katniss’ ear as he asked quietly, “Would you like to hold her, Ma?” Katniss tensed, but didn’t protest.
“Well, I… I don’t… oh, all right.” She seemed annoyed at her own interest in the girl.
Peeta gently nudged Katniss forward and she took reluctant shuffling steps until she was standing close enough to Peeta’s mother to transfer the child. “We call her Danni,” Peeta said from next to Katniss as he held her elbow.
Mrs. Mellark’s face lit up as soon as the baby was in her arms. Danni reached up with her tiny hand and grabbed Mrs. Mellark’s chin. Mrs. Mellark made a practiced movement, a small circle that that lightly trapped Danni’s hand under Mrs. Mellark’s chin as she said in a very un-Mrs. Mellark-like singsong, “Why, hello Danni, it is so so nice to meet you.”
Katniss glanced up at Peeta as if to verify that this was really all right. He ran his hand over her head and down her braid as he watched his mother with his sister, a small smile playing at his lips. He leaned over and whispered, “See, I told you she always wanted a girl.”
Mrs. Mellark glanced up sharply and said, “Peeta, don’t you have some work to do? Danni and I are going to go submit the order forms. The flour shipment will be here on Thursday. She can stay with me while you and brothers go fetch the supplies.” And she disappeared into the office cooing softly.
“Are you sure it’s all right?” Katniss asked Peeta, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.
Peeta pulled it out with a tug of his thumb and placed a soft kiss on her lips. “I’ll be here all day. If anything worries me, I’ll keep her with you on Thursday.” He shook his head ruefully, “But honestly, Katniss, she was a good mother in a lot of ways. And while I would never try to excuse her violent behavior, I’m starting to think that my dad might have been more of the problem than I ever understood.”
“Hmmm,” said Katniss, sounding unconvinced. “You’ll make sure Danni is okay. And you won’t leave her until you’re sure.”
“I can’t believe you’d even have to ask,” he said, looking a little affronted.
“I don’t need to,” she said, “I just can’t help it. Sistering, remember?”
“Right,” he said, kissing her softly, “how could I forget? Now go, this is your time. I promise, I’ll check on them every few minutes.”
And reluctantly, Katniss left. She went to the Hob and settled a few accounts before buying a bowl of Greasy Sae’s stew. As she sipped the hot broth, she decided it was madness to leave Danni with anyone who had hurt Peeta and she gulped the soup so fast she burned her tongue, before hurrying back to the bakery.
As she passed the storefront on her way to the alley door she saw Mrs. Mellark through the window. She was standing at the counter, holding Danni in front of her and swaying as she chatted animatedly with customers. Peeta was beside her casting sidelong smirks at whatever his mother was saying, which was obviously about Danni from her gestures. Katniss had never seen old witchy Mellark look so darned happy. Sighing to herself that Peeta had asked her to trust him and she needed to do so, she headed home to see if Prim needed any help with her homework.
When Peeta returned home with a perfectly healthy and happy Danni that evening, he regaled them with stories about his mother’s obvious smittenness with the baby. And as Prim blew raspberries on a delighted Danni’s belly, Peeta pulled Katniss down on his lap and kissed her. It was the first time he’d done so in front of Prim and, though a little embarrassed, Katniss couldn’t wait for him to do it again.
——
The night before their last reaping, Katniss tucked Danni in with Prim and kissed both of their precious blond heads. She took Peeta’s hand and led him out to the meadow. She shook out a blanket and pulled him down onto it before holding his face between her small hands. He stared into her eyes, even more luminous by moonlight and marveled at all of beautiful things he could see in them, the brightest of all was his future.
As they reverently undressed each other, mapped flushed skin with eager hands and hungry mouths, with teasing giggles and moans of honeyed pleasure. He made her come with with hands, then his tongue, before she begged him to make love to her. As he pushed into the slick heat of her, the pleasure sliced through his body all the way to his soul. He felt dizzy with euphoria and rested his forehead against hers as he fought his body’s instinct to plunge fast and hard into the oblivion of this bliss. He moved as slowly as he could, long, sure strokes that made her beg for more beneath him. Before he was ready, the white-hot sensation was lancing up his shaft. He pulled out and spilled himself on her trembling stomach, her name becoming a shuddering moan as he came and came.
They lay side by side on their backs, hands clasped as they tried not to drown in the sea of stars and the tidal wave of love that engulfed their hearts.
“I’m gonna marry you someday,” Peeta whispered.
And though she didn’t believe in marriage, had no plans to ever do so, she had to bite her lip to keep from grinning into the night.
It was an out of body experience coming through your final reaping safely. Like some giant, cosmic foe had been vanquished. But of course, it hadn’t, because that same foe would be back for Prim next year. And, eventually, would come for Danni. The mere thought of it nearly brought Katniss to her knees, but Peeta’s strong arm wrapped tightly around her, kept her upright. Katniss peered over to where Mrs. Mellark stood, her face obscured by the brim of her hat, holding Danni life a life raft.
As Katniss scooped Danni into her arms, she and Mrs. Mellark’s eyes met. And though her mouth was set in same grim line as usual, Katniss saw a pain in the crystalline blue of her eyes that she had never seen before. Mrs. Mellark fumbled for Peeta’s hand and squeezed it once roughly, seeming to surprise them both. Katniss wondered if so much fear had poisoned Mrs. Mellark’s heart into the twisted thing it had become. Katniss clutched Danni to her chest, took her other beautiful sister’s hand and glanced over at Peeta’s lovely face and let her heart fill with golden light to ward off the darkness.
Peeta’s mother and brothers joined them that night at the Hawthorne’s for the celebration dinner. As Peeta passed Danni to his mother’s waiting arms, he said, “You look nice, Ma.” And Katniss noticed with a start of surprise that Mrs. Mellark had worn her hair in a braid over her shoulder instead of her usual severe bun. Danni instantly grabbed onto the braid and Mrs. Mellark beamed up at her son before schooling her features and walking past him into the room. Peeta’s brothers handed several loaves of warm bread to Hazelle and they all sat down for dinner.
Posey, though far too big, sat on Katniss’s lap. As Hazelle counted their blessings, Katniss caught a slightly disturbing exchange of glances and flushed cheeks between Prim and Rory Hawthorne. Peeta squeezed her knee under the table and gave her a small smile and shrug. She was about to say something when she saw a flash of gray eyes from the kitchen window and was pretty sure that Gale had been there making sure they were all safe, but when she looked back, he was gone.
She placed a kiss on Posey’s head and readjusted her so she could hold Peeta’s hand while she ate with the other.
“So, Danni and I were talking the other day,” Peeta said into her ear.
“Talking, huh?” Katniss snorted.
“And,” Peeta continued ignoring her skeptically raised eyebrow. “She was saying how much fun it would be to have a little niece or nephew to grow up with.”
Katniss was shocked. “Bite your tongue, Peeta Mellark,” she hissed under her breath.
“I’m just passing along the message,” he shrugged, grinning.
“How about you just shut up and your eat your dinner,” she said, shoving a forkful of greens into his mouth.
But somehow as she gazed at the beautiful boy beside her who made the best surrogate father she could have dreamed of, that future that had seemed repugnant cracked a window of possibility inside her. Maybe loving someone and being truly loved in return, made the risk of loving them bearable.
As everyone dug into their food, serving themselves and their neighbors, passing dishes high and low in a tangle of arms, Katniss rested her head on Peeta’s shoulder and watched. Even six months ago she could never have even imagined such a ludicrous scene. But maybe her mother had been right. Sometimes it was the unplanned things, the things you didn’t even think you wanted, that were exactly what you needed. Sometimes, accidents could be blessings.
One year ago, three lovely ladies (who have chosen to remain anonymous) decided to create @everlarkbirthdaydrabbles. Their generosity and love for our fandom gave us a year full of Everlark goodness.
As a follower of their blog, I’m grateful for the beautiful fic I got for my birthday, and I’m amazed at the amount of work they did all year long.
As an author, I’ll never be able to repay them for putting their trust in me, and for providing such wonderful inspiration. Without their prompt for an AgeGap!Everlark fic, Weekend Getaway never would have happened. I’m not kidding!
As a small thank you for all their love and hard work, I’ve decided to give them a little gift of my own.
Happy anniversary, @everlarkbirthdaydrabbles! This canon divergent drabble set during CF is for you.
Hope you enjoy.
Javis
A Knock on the Door (part 2)
PART 1, also on AO3 and FF.net.
The small red fox runs through the forest, making its way through the slippery moss. The air around him is thick with dew, but the sky is still dark.
The insistent howls of a hungry pack of wolves loom in the distance.
The fox runs faster. His tiny paws crush leaves and branches as it desperately tries to escape.
My birthday is May 16. I would love a fic that features Age!Gap Everlark with Katniss 5 - 10 years older than Peeta. M or E rating. Thanks for running this fabulous web site.
Wishing you the happiest of birthdays, @ldyglfr62! Your gift - the penultimate offering from everlarkbirthdaydrabbles, was written just for you by @xerxia31. We hope you enjoy!
When Irish Eyes are Smiling
rated M, for language and adult situations.
It’s not completely unexpected, but it’s still a shock to see it. Thick, expensive card stock, pale pink with roses and their names embossed in gold.
Madge Undersee and Gale Hawthorne, along with their families, request the honour of your presence at their wedding…
I’m happy for them, I truly am. I’m just still kind of shocked that after nine years together, it took Gale less than three months to marry my replacement.
It’s not like I thought Gale and I would ever marry each other, even if our friends all expected it. And our breakup was completely mutual. But that he moved on so fast is kind of a slap.
“You should go on vacation,” Prim says when I phone to tell her the news. “That way, you can skip the wedding without looking like a jerk.” Trust Prim to cut right to it. Because she’s right; even though Gale is my oldest friend, I’d rather rip out my intestines with a fork than watch him marry the woman of his dreams while all of our mutual friends look at me with pity.
“I can’t go sit on a beach somewhere by myself,” I groan. “That’s even more loser-ish than going to my ex’s wedding stag.” But the wheels are turning. I do need to get away, and not just from the wedding. I could use a break from my entire pathetic life. “Maybe I could go see Effie?” I mumble. My late mother grew up in Ireland, she moved to America before I was born to marry my father. Her sister still lives near Dublin, and is always asking me to come see her. It’s been a long time since my last visit.
A fabulous deal on the flight seals it. Since I’m a freelancer, there’s no one to arrange vacation time with. I can work from anywhere that there’s an internet connection. My neighbour agrees to check my mailbox periodically, and my friends all understand.
o-o-o
I arrange to stay six weeks with Effie. The first week passes in a haze of jetlag, lumpy pillows, and daily afternoon tea on her garden-gnome-and-flower-strewn patio. It’s calm, quiet.
Since I’ll be gone over my birthday, Prim insists on paying for a week-long bus tour of the Scottish Highlands for me, both as a birthday gift, and as a break from my aunt. “Better not be one of those singles tours,” I grumble as she details everything over Skype while I sit in Effie’s formal living room, surrounded by creepy porcelain dolls, a pair of lace doilies protecting her mahogany table from my computer. Prim’s in med school in Seattle, I haven’t seen her since Christmas, and I think she feels guilty about not having been there for me - in person - when Gale and I broke up, no matter how many times I tell her that I’m fine about it. But since Effie is already driving me crazy, I don’t put up much of a fight.
“Do those exist?” she asks, and on my shitty laptop screen she looks pensive. I can tell she’s wishing she’d thought of looking for one. “Wild and Sexy Tours. Huh. I wonder if I can change it…” She starts clicking away on her keyboard and I balk.
“No, geez Prim, this is fine, great really.” The website she’s linked me to shows small tour buses, catering mostly to elderly vacationers. Just my speed.
“Have you met anyone over there yet?”
“Sure, Effie’s friend with the strange beard came by for cocktails yesterday.” Prim’s face screws up.
“That’s not what I mean, Katniss. Have you been out to the pubs at all? Or gone to a rugby match?” At my shrug, she groans. “Dammit, you’re too young to be spending your time holed up with Effie’s antiques. You need to get out there, meet people, date.”
“I’m not really ready for that,” I tell her, and I can see by the way her expression changes to pity that she thinks I’m still hung up on Gale. I don’t bother correcting her. Gale and I should never have been more than friends, we both knew it, but being together was easy, like a comfortable pair of jeans. I’m not in love with him, I really never was. But I’m not anxious to put myself out there just yet. Or maybe ever. Because Gale’s the only guy I’ve ever been with. At not-quite twenty-seven, I have no experience dating at all.
“Just promise me you’ll talk to some of your tour mates at least,” she says sadly. And I promise, because I can never tell my sweet sister no.
o-o-o
Edinburgh is a confusing mess of streets and hills and hilly streets and more freaking hills, and by the time I find my way to Waterloo Place, where I’m supposed to catch the bus tour, I’m late and in a panic. When I see the little red bus still at the stop, I’m almost weak-kneed with relief.
“‘Bout time you showed up, Sweetheart,” the driver grumbles, grabbing my backpack and tossing it unceremoniously into the back. I climb on board, and my heart sinks. I’m too late to have gotten one of the single seats, and am now going to be stuck sharing. There are only two empty seats, one on the bench in the very back, between a young woman with spiky hair and a serious case of bitch face and a man who might be a professional football player; the other right behind the driver, next to a startlingly handsome man, who glances up at me through a mop of ashy blond waves, and smiles shyly.
I hope Blondie isn’t a talker.
o-o-o
Blondie is a talker.
His name is Peeta Mellark, and he fills the first hour of our drive north with mostly one-sided conversation. But I find I don’t mind all that much. He’s Irish, from a village on the Irish sea, and his gently lilting accent is much nicer to listen to than the rough Scottish burr that our driver barks as he points out one thing or another along the route.
“You know a lot about Scotland,” I finally say.
Peeta smiles wistfully. “My da used to bring me here, when I was small. We’d walk the hills and sleep in the heather.”
“How long has he been gone?” Peeta lifts an eyebrow, but I know I’m right. I recognize the look in his eyes. It’s the same expression I wear when I think about my own father, whose death when I was just a kid marked the beginning of the end of my idyllic childhood.
“I was seventeen when he passed,” he says quietly.
“You miss him.” It’s not a question, I can see in Peeta’s eyes. He nods. But any further discussion is cut off by our first stop on the tour.
Though it’s a bus tour, it turns out to be a fairly active one. We make multiple stops all along the route to the Highlands, exploring an ancient cathedral, touring a distillery, even visiting a heritage village. And as what appears to be the only two people travelling alone on the tour, Peeta and I end up spending most of the day together.
It’s… nice. He’s sweet and interesting, and it’s refreshing to talk with someone my own age.
When we arrive at Inverness, our stop for the night, I realize that Peeta and I have been assigned to the same bed and breakfast, along with the linebacker, whose name is Thresh, his girlfriend Rue, and our driver, Haymitch. That’s going to make keeping to myself that much more difficult, I realize. Then Haymitch arranges for the whole group to eat together at a pub on the river. I want to say no, that I’m too tired or some other excuse, but somehow I get sucked along anyway.
I hate being forced into group situations, but Peeta, seeming to sense my unease, sits beside me and acts as a bit of a buffer between me and the throng, not speaking for me, but deflecting attention when I get overwhelmed.
And it’s compelling to watch him interact with the others. He’s so friendly and well-spoken, so intelligent and insightful, easily moving between discussing the differences between American football and Gaelic rugby with Thresh, and the impact of Brexit on tourism in the Republic with the South African lawyer seated at the next table.
And though I promised myself that I wouldn’t think about Gale, it’s impossible not to compare him with Peeta. Gale has always been sort of closed minded; conversation with Gale is only possible on the narrow range of topics he cares about, and generally involves either a recitation of his opinions with no room for dissent, or a re-living of his glory days. But Peeta is so thoughtful, I watch him absorb and consider everyone’s viewpoints, watch his reflect back intelligent discourse in a way that feels engaging and exciting, not like a firestorm. I can’t help thinking that maybe Prim is right. Maybe I do need to spend time with people my own age instead of feeling like I’m still stuck in highschool with Gale.
o-o-o
The sun rises ridiculously early in Inverness, and the curtains in my room are barely translucent. By five-thirty, I’ve given up on sleep entirely, and decide to sneak down to the common lounge, where the wifi signal is better.
I’m surprised to find I’m not alone. Peeta is already there, dressed for the day and facing the large plate glass window, beyond which the sky is streaked in pink and amber. He doesn’t hear me at first, and I can see in the reflection that his usual easy expression has been replaced by something more intense and removed that suggests an entire world locked away inside him. I decide to steal away, to leave him to his musings, but he catches the motion and turns, the faraway expression resolving into a smile that seems so genuinely sweet with just the right touch of shyness that unexpected warmth rushes through me. “Good morning, Katniss,” he says.
“What are you doing up so early?” I ask. There’s an empty teacup on the windowsill, he’s clearly been here awhile.
“I’m a baker,” he laughs. “I’m used to the pre-dawn wake-ups.” I grin, I heard him mentioning his business over dinner, and I’m curious about it.
He makes me a cup of tea, and another for himself, and as we sit together in the early morning hush he tells me about the bakery he owns in the tiny coastal village where his family has lived for generations. The picture he paints of his bucolic life there makes me ache, my own empty, tetherless existence in sharp contrast to his certainty. It makes me realize how stunted my growth has been, having wasted all of that time with Gale. Playing things safe instead of living.
I’m ready to live.
o-o-o
Our tour guide, Haymitch, is gruff and grouchy, but he seems to know all of the hidden gems of Scotland. As we head to the Isle of Skye, he makes frequent stops to walk nature trails with stunning waterfalls, to show us multiple off-the-beaten-path lookout points, and we even spend a glorious hour searching for shells on a Carribean-blue beach. But in the mid afternoon, the bus starts to make a strange noise. And as we pull into our next stop on the itinerary - the enchanted-sounding Fairy Glen - it comes to a shuddering halt.
“Ah shit,” Haymitch grumbles.
“Well,” Peeta murmurs in my ear. “There are worse places to get stuck.”
He’s right, this place is utter magic. As a group, we explore the strange rolling hills and mini lochs of the glen, walking the concentric rings and pressing coins into cracks in cave walls. Peeta is half mountain goat, I swear, practically jogging up the steep hills, gently teasing me as I lag behind. My laughter, unfamiliar but free, echoes all around.
And eventually, Peeta and I end up in a little meadow-like depression at the bottom of one of the hills. I haven’t felt so free since I was a kid. I’d love nothing more than to lie in the grass and watch the clouds float by; when I say so, Peeta pulls off his sweater and spreads it on the ground, tugging me down to lie beside him, my head pillowed on his arm.
I must drift off because the next thing I know, the patchy blue sky has clouded over completely, and Peeta is sitting beside me.
“Peeta, you should have woken me,” I say, rubbing the sleep crud out of my eyes.
“For what? Nothing’s going on here,” he says. “Besides, I like watching you sleep. You don’t scowl. Improves your looks a lot.” This, of course, brings on a scowl that makes him grin. “I’m kidding,” he laughs. “You’re beautiful, scowling or not.”
Something flutters in my chest, but I push it away. I don’t have room for that in my life. Instead, I nod towards the notepad in his hands. “What’s that?”
He tilts the paper towards me. It’s not writing, like I’d assumed, but a drawing. A sketch of a sleeping girl. My breath catches at the image on the paper. It’s me, clearly, and the talent in the pencil lines is mind-blowing. But it’s more than that. The girl in the picture looks softer, calmer, like all of her worries have been cast away. Peaceful. No, not peaceful… content. I haven’t been that girl in a long time. “This is incredible, Peeta,” I whisper.
“I have an eye for beauty,” he says, and it should sound cocky, like a come-on line. But from him, with those earnest blue eyes smiling, it just doesn’t.
Haymitch comes stomping into the clearing, greasy handprints marring his kilt. “Bus is fixed, git your arses on it,” he grunts.
Peeta gathers his sweater and notepad, and we trudge back to the bus. The tour continues in near silence, but it’s a good quiet. A comfortable quiet. Peeta wraps his arm around my shoulder and I find myself leaning into him as he strokes my hair. It’s uncomplicated and intimate. And though I’ve never been a cuddly person, I love it.
Our last stop is a trail that winds around a glassy Loch. The whole group is subdued, introspective maybe. Or maybe just hungry. Peeta and I lag behind though, enjoying the calm.
We emerge from the cover of the trees into a patch of yellow flowers, glowing in the sunlight. “Gorse,” Peeta answers my unasked question. “It’s everywhere at home too.”
“They smell fantastic,” I sigh. “Coconutty. Like the beach.” He chuckles, but when I reach for the golden flowers, he grabs my hand. I scowl.
“Thorns,” he says, delicately moving the blooms aside to show me that what I thought were flat leaves or needles are actually sharp spines. “Beautiful on the outside, but nasty underneath.”
“Just like me,” I say absently, but his brow wrinkles.
“No, Katniss,” he says. “You’re not like the gorse. You’re a bluebell.” I roll my eyes, but he continues, so earnestly. “Bluebells are shy, unassuming. Most people hardly notice them.” He leads me with a gentle hand on my lower back to the shady part of the hill. Only when he points them out do I realize the bluebells are in full bloom here. “But they’re strong and resilient, stubborn even. And once you see them, you can’t tear your eyes away from their beauty.” I turn to face him, but his hand doesn’t fall away, shifting instead to trace circles on my hipbone.
I want to scoff, to dismiss his words as the polished pick up lines of a player. But I can’t. As I stare at him, utterly speechless, he reaches up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. I lean into his touch, and he smiles, just the barest lift of his lips. Sweet and hopeful. Before I can even consider what a terrible idea it is, I lift up on my toes and kiss him.
It’s a gentle kiss, but the desire that flares in my gut from that brief touch is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. I haven’t kissed a lot of guys in my life, a handful back in highschool, only Gale after that. But no kiss has ever before felt so electric. I need more.
It’s clear he agrees, because almost as soon as I press my lips to his again, he takes control, one huge hand cupping my cheek, tilting my head to deepen the kiss. Exploring me thoroughly. I can’t hold back the little noises that escape me, and he groans softly in response.
I lose all sense of time and place, gripping his shirt, kissing him with a passion I wasn’t certain I was even capable of. It’s only when I hear the rest of the group heading down the path towards us that I pull away, reluctantly.
Peeta’s eyes flutter open, heavy-lidded, pupils fat. “I have wanted to do that since the first moment I saw you,” he whispers.
We don’t talk about the kiss, but for the rest of the day Peeta holds my hand. Even through dinner at a quiet little restaurant right on the harbour, he plays with my fingers, looking at me with something like adoration.
When we get back to our B&B I’m not ready for the evening to end. But there are other guests in the common lounge, playing a raucous game of cards. “Would you like to come to my room?” I ask, then immediately feel heat climbing up my cheeks. “Just, uh, just to talk a while longer.” I can’t meet his eyes. I’m incapable of flirting, or of communicating at all, really. Yet he follows me unquestioningly.
We sit side by side on my bed, talking. But there’s a tension between us that wasn’t there before, a crackling awareness. I don’t even know who makes the first move, but one minute we’re talking, the next I’m sucking on his tongue and his arms are pressing me tightly to him.
Kissing Peeta here in my quiet room is even better than on the nature trail. Free from distractions, I can let my hands wander, trace the firm musculature of his shoulders and arms, feel the pull and flex of his back. He unravels my braid and runs his fingers through the locks. “Beautiful,” he whispers against my lips.
We kiss and caress, hands becoming more bold. It’s when he lays me back on my bed, the hard length of his body cradled by my own, that I begin to panic. “Peeta,” I start. “I really like you.”
He pulls back just enough to look at my face. Then he smiles fondly. “But you’re not ready,” he says, and I’m shocked that he anticipated my words. “I know,” he says, and there’s no anger, he doesn’t even look disappointed. “We won’t do anything that you don’t want to,” he promises.
“Could we keep kissing?” I sound all of thirteen, pathetic and immature. But he doesn’t laugh at me.
“I’d like that,” he says.
We kiss and touch, chastely, fingers on napes and cheeks, tangled in hair. Making out like teenagers. Like the teenager I never really was. And eventually we fall asleep wrapped around each other.
o-o-o
I expect the morning to be awkward, but it isn’t. It isn’t at all. When I wake up, he’s still there, lying beside me, awake and smiling contentedly. He kisses me, just lightly, before retreating to his own room to get ready for the day.
We tour two different castle ruins, climb down (and back up) a gorge, and check out dinosaur fossils. He’s gently affectionate through it all, holding my hand, kissing my cheek, but never demanding anything else.
But I tug him into my room and my bed again that evening. And again he kisses me to sleep.
o-o-o
Gale’s wedding day falls on the fourth day of the tour. I’m cranky, and Peeta notices. He asks me what’s wrong but I brush him off. But even in the face of my moodiness, my pique and my - as Haymitch says - ‘slug-like charm’, Peeta is patient with me. Willing to take whatever little bits of myself I offer. And it’s that acceptance that prompts me to open up to him. In fits and starts over the course of the day as we walk and tour and explore, I tell Peeta about Gale, about the wasted years, about the holding pattern I’ve been in since we split.
He listens attentively, neither judging nor offering platitudes. But his quiet support means the world to me. “Do you still love him?” he asks as we sit on the dock in a quiet harbour town, watching the seabirds circle and dive.
“I never did,” I confess. “But after so long, I don’t know how to move on.”
When we return to the B&B, I again tug Peeta into my room. But this time I know something has shifted between us. Our sweet, chaste kisses rapidly escalate. And though Peeta tries to slow us down, tries to be a gentleman, I want more. And after a few attempts, he gives up on the idea of reining us in, surrendering to my demands and my searching fingers.
Our clothes fall away, until I’m down to my bra and underwear, and he’s only in shorts. He stares at me in awe, as if I’m something exotic instead of plain Katniss Everdeen, far too bony and wearing threadbare panties. And though I’ve only ever been naked in front of one man before now, I don’t hesitate to reach behind me to unhook my bra. But Peeta stills my hands. “Are you sure?” he asks. “We don’t have to…”
“I want to,” I tell him.
When the cotton falls away, he shudders. “So beautiful,” he murmurs, licking his lips. “You have no idea, the effect you have.”
“Show me,” I whisper. And he does. In his arms, I get what might be my first taste of real, raw passion. Sex with Gale was fine, good sometimes. But never like this. As I shatter, and shatter, and shatter again, everything I think I know about myself is turned inside out, and I am changed forever.
It’s fucking terrifying.
o-o-o
The last day of our tour is quiet, too quiet. The weather is unsettled, the group members tired. Even Haymitch has lost his sarcastic edge. Leaves me too much time to think about Peeta, sitting next to me. Playing with my fingers and humming in contentment. Too much time to panic.
How can I say goodbye to this man? This man who has opened my eyes and my heart, who has shown me the barest hint of a life I never even knew I was missing out on.
What choice do I have?
It’s pouring rain when we pull into the stop at Waterloo Place, and in the soggy pandemonium of luggage unloading, it’s easy for me to grab my small backpack and slip away unnoticed. I get into the first available cab and am whizzing up the Royal Mile within moments.
I don’t look back.
o-o-o
I love Effie, I do, but sometimes I just need to get away. There’s a coffee shop near the rail station that’s a perfect escape, it’s outside of the touristy area and the patio is a great place to people watch.
A swarm of men in sharp black suits rounds the corner, heading straight towards me en route to the train. Slim-fit wool trousers cling appealingly to athletic bodies before spilling downward in perfectly pressed lines to where polished black shoes click on the cobbles. It takes a moment to realize that, no, the swarm of outrageously attractive men sauntering in the spring sunshine are not, in fact, men at all, but boys. Irish schoolboys - fifth and sixth years by the looks of them - splendid in their crisp white shirts, perfectly tied windsor knots and shiny shoes. I shake my head at myself. Leering at a bunch of teenagers? I’m too old for that. In my defense, they’re much better dressed than any of the men I know. I mean, I assume Gale wore a suit to his wedding, but it would have been the first time. Even when he dragged me to his senior prom, he wore a dress shirt open at the collar and a leather jacket.
I bet Peeta wears crisp suits like these, though.
And just like that, my mood falls again. I miss him. I miss him so much. I’ve spent the past five days lying to myself, trying to make myself believe that the week we spent together was no big deal, a little fun, a lot of great sex, nothing more. But my heart, the frail, foolish thing, is singing another song. I miss him. I feel his loss acutely, despite only having known him a few days. I know I made the right choice, leaving him on that rainy Edinburgh street. His life is here, and mine, what’s left of it, is in Philadelphia, I guess. There’s no chance of a future for us. And no sense mooning over impossibilities. But it doesn’t mean I haven’t fantasized about hiring a car and driving to the coast, just to see him one last time.
It’s the melancholy that’s making me see things. In the middle of the group, a golden head stands out. For a split second, I’m sure the broad shoulders and narrow waist attached to them belong to Peeta. But it’s impossible, these are school children, Peeta is back in his hometown, living his life. But the crowd shifts, and I can see his face clearly, blue eyes shaded by lush golden lashes, the smattering of faint freckles that kiss his sunburned cheeks.
And I drop my teacup.
The clatter catches his attention, his head swivels until he meets my eyes. I’m helpless to look away from the myriad of emotions that play across his handsome face. Surprise, relief, joy and anger. But I’m sure my own face reflects only a single sentiment.
Horror.
He says something I don’t catch to the people he’s with, then changes course to walk purposely to where I sit, frozen and mute, heart pounding so hard that I feel light-headed. He covers the few yards in long strides. The sun catches his hair, crowns him in gold as he stands above me, a wide smile curling those sensual lips. “Katniss,” he says, in that molten sex voice that I hear in my head every time I touch myself. The soundtrack to my every recent fantasy. The lament of my regrets. “I didn’t know you were in Dublin! I thought you’d gone back to America! I’m so bloody happy to see you! You were gone so fast after the tour, I didn’t get your number, and you’re not on Facebook.” He’s reaching for me, and my body instinctively reacts, warmth pooling low in my gut. Which is what snaps me out of my stupor. I jump from my chair, angling myself so that the narrow café table is between us.
“Katniss?” His brows furrow in confusion, his hands dropping to slide into his pockets. “What’s wrong?”
“You’re in school?” It’s barely a whisper.
“For another week, yes,” he says, still looking puzzled. As if it isn’t a big deal. A big fucking deal. He’s a child!
“You didn’t tell me you were so young.” I’m not certain I say it out loud until Peeta’s face twists, like he’s tasted something unpleasant.
“I’m eighteen,” he says. “I’ll be nineteen next month.” Eighteen! As if seeing him in that school uniform wasn’t bad enough, the confirmation that he’s a just a kid, that he’s almost nine fucking years younger than me makes my stomach lurch. “Is that a problem? For the record, you never asked.”
“You’re a child!” I say, much more loudly this time, and his frown deepens. “I’m… shit, I’m a pedophile!” Peeta’s jaw tightens, and an angry flush streaks up his neck. He grabs my arm, not hard but not leaving me much recourse, and walks the two of us away from the patio and around the corner of the building, into a quiet alley.
“Knock it off,” he hisses, and for a moment I feel like a naughty child being chastised. Which just serves to piss me off, I’m the grown-up here! I wrench my arm away from him, and back up, crossing my arms in front of me. But the alleyway is narrow and I’ve only moved a step before my back hits the wall. He steps forward, close enough to feel the heat of his body, to feel the tension that radiates from him in waves. “I’m an adult, Katniss,” he says lowly, his words skating across my lips as he leans in. “Old enough to drink, to vote.” His next words brush against the shell of my ear. “Old enough to fuck you senseless.”
A full-body shudder rips through me, equal parts arousal and revulsion. He’s a child! I took advantage of a child! I push against his chest and he takes a single step back, still in my personal space, but giving me enough room to clear my head a little. “I’m, fuck!” I gasp. “I’m twenty-seven. I’m nine fucking years older than you are!”
“Eight,” he says, “and so what? Doesn’t change how I feel about you, or what we have together.”
“It’s wrong-” I start, but he’s having none of it.
“Bullshit! We’re both adults.”
“You lied to me!”
“I did no such thing,” he snaps, but I’m pissed now.
“You told me you owned a bakery on the coast!”
“I do!”
“You’re a child!” His jaw tightens again, I can see the anger in his stormy eyes. Anger and hurt.
His hand reaches for me and instinctively I draw back, but he simply slips my phone out of my pocket. “What the fuck?” I sputter, but he’s already unlocked it and apparently messaged himself.
“Where are you staying, Katniss?” he asks, handing my phone back. I want to tell him it’s none of his business, but I just can’t. The pain in his eyes compels me to tell him.
“My aunt has a house in Clontarf,” I grumble. Peeta nods.
“Come with me tomorrow,” he says.
“What? No, that’s not a good idea Peeta.”
“Please, just do this one thing for me. Then I’ll leave you in peace.” The pain in his eyes is shocking. Guilt eats away at me. It was cruel, I know, sneaking away like a thief in the night. I can see how much I’ve hurt him. He takes my silence as acceptance. “Meet me here tomorrow morning,” he says. “Half eight. Wear a jacket.” Then he spins on his heel and strides out of the alley.
o-o-o
I fight with myself half the night and all morning. I’m not going to show up. He’s not going to show up. I owe him a chance to explain. He’s a fucking child! By the time I make it to the café, I’m an absolute mess.
But an absolute mess wearing mascara and a cute top. I’m a hypocrite, on top of everything else.
Removed from the cold horror of discovering I’d been cavorting with a schoolboy, I have to admit to myself that seeing him again ripped down the walls I tried so hard to construct around my feelings for him. Damn him! Damn him for being gorgeous and sweet and Irish and a toddler!
He pulls up only moments after I arrive, riding a smallish motorcycle, blond curls sticking out from under a black helmet. In jeans and a leather jacket, golden stubble glinting in the thin morning light, he’s even more impossibly handsome. But it’s clear he hasn’t slept well, his wary gaze is ringed with faint purple. “I wasn’t sure you’d be here,” he says softly, pulling off his helmet. I don’t bother to tell him that until I got off the bus, I wasn’t sure either. I simply shrug. He dismounts; I pretend I’m not checking out his ass in those snug-fit jeans. But he merely pulls a second helmet from his saddlebag, handing it to me without quite meeting my eyes.
“What’s going on?” I ask, but he shakes his head.
“Put on the helmet, Katniss, then get on the bike.”
“Don’t you have a car?” I’ve never ridden on a motorcycle before, and Irish streets with their too-narrow lanes, cobbles, and the whole driving-on-the-wrong-side issue are scary enough in a vehicle with four wheels. His lips twist.
“No. Let’s go, we have a long ride ahead of us.”
It’s madness, but I do as he asks.
I sit stiffly behind him, trying to put some distance between us, but as soon as the bike is in motion, I have no choice but to wrap my arms around him and hold on tight. And having him again cradled between my thighs provokes the most confusing rush of emotions. This is such a bad idea. Such a fucking bad idea.
We don’t talk as he pilots us out of the city, we simply can’t. The rush of wind makes that impossible. But from time to time as we pass through the suburbs, then out into the countryside, he’ll squeeze my knee to catch my attention, pointing out an old tower or a ruin, or just the way the sun catches the gorse on the mountainside, making the world glow in sunny yellow. In spite of what I’ve learned, he seems like Peeta, like the man I met in Scotland. He feels like comfort, and like home. When he points of a patch of bluebells clinging to the side of a hill, my heart hurts. I stop fighting with myself and lean into him, my helmet-encased head resting against his broad back, his warmth soothing me. He squeezes my hand where it wraps around his ribs. Acceptance.
About forty-five minutes later, we drive into one of those quintessential Irish postcard villages, narrow medieval buildings crowded along the street - though here they’re painted in lush pastels - colourful bunting zig-zagging across the road and cars parked haphazardly everywhere. He circles a statue of what appears to be a young fisherman, then heads down an impossibly narrow alleyway, parking the bike in a tiny courtyard.
When he offers me his hand to help me off the bike, I take it gratefully. My legs are like jelly, and not just from the ride. He holds my fingers just a little too long, smiling wistfully. Then we rid ourselves of the helmets, and he leads me out of the alley, to stand in front of a building. It’s tall and narrow, like most of the buildings here are, but unlike most, it has an enormous plate glass window facing the street. The building itself is painted turquoise, and Mellark’s is spelled across the front in swoopy gold letters. “Welcome to my bakery,” he says softly, and with a hand on my back he ushers me inside.
The interior is even more charming than the exterior, and for a moment I can only gawk. Polished wood floors, pristine glass cases displaying a decadent array of goodies, and paintings on every wall that feel familiar. But none of that really means anything, does it? He’s in school, it’s clear that this isn’t really his bakery. It probably belongs to his family, and he works here on school breaks.
I turn my attention to the people working behind the counter, three of them. They smile warmly at me, but right away their expressions change as they catch sight of Peeta. They seem to stand a little taller, attempt to look a little busier. “Peeta,” one of them calls out. “We weren’t expecting you.” Well of course they weren’t, it’s Thursday, he’s supposed to be in school.
In school. Ugh. What am I even doing here?
“Just popping in for a bit,” he says with an easy smile. “Have a little business I need to attend to.” He heads towards a swinging door that separates front shop from back, but pauses with his hand on the frame. “Coming, Katniss?” Three heads snap to me in surprise, and I can feel my cheeks burning as I follow Peeta into a small, but modern industrial kitchen.
Here too, the workers stop and straighten, as if they’re trying to impress Peeta. It’s subtle, but I notice it. He greets each warmly by name. And I quickly realise that it’s not fear that makes them all snap to attention. It’s respect. Inexplicably, all of these people seem to respect him.
But it’s not really that inexplicable, is it? He carries himself with a confidence that goes beyond boyish ego. I can’t reconcile the businessman in front of me with the eighteen year old schoolboy I saw yesterday.
Peeta leads me to a small, windowless office at the rear of the building, and gestures for me to sit. Before I’ve even gotten comfortable, one of the women from the front shop has appeared with a pot of tea and a pair of cups. “Thanks, Dell,” Peeta says genuinely. The woman beams at him, then backs out of the office. I open my mouth to speak, but he shakes his head. “Hang on,” he says. “She’ll be back again.”
He’s right, she reappears a few moments later with a plate of food. I haven’t been able to eat since I saw Peeta yesterday in Dublin, and my stomach clenches painfully at the yeasty, cheesy scent wafting from the treats. “You call me if you want anything else,” she says, and Peeta promises he will. With one last wink in my direction, she leaves and this time Peeta closes the door behind her.
“What was that all about?” I ask, trying not to be obvious in my coveting of the buns. He notices anyway, and pushes the plate in front of me.
“Irish hospitality,” he says absently as he pulls the bags out of the teapot. He knows, even without me ever having said anything, that I prefer my tea weak.
I know all about Irish hospitality, know that Delly would continue bringing us more food and more tea and just generally fussing if Peeta hasn’t shut the office door. But this is different. “Not that. The weird way she was looking at me. She… she winked!” He glances up, and a flicker of amusement crosses his face before the sadness creeps back.
“I’ve never brought a woman here before,” he says. I wrinkle my nose at the implication of that, I can’t decide whether it’s because I’m somehow special or because, as a freaking child himself, I’m the first ‘woman’ he’s been with.
“Why have you now?”
“Because I want you to see me. To see that I am exactly who I said I am. Now eat your bun,” he says, nudging the plate again, “while I tell you about my father.”
My heart breaks again and again as Peeta paints a picture of his life. The only child of a single father, he had a typical childhood right up until his father got sick. Terminal cancer. The man spent all of his remaining time preparing his young son to take over the bakery that had been in the Mellark family for generations. At only fifteen, Peeta traded rugby for accounting, friends for responsibility. He even spent his transition year working full time at the bakery, learning the ordering system, studying food safety compliance.
By the time his father died not quite two years ago, Peeta was running the bakery himself.
He has an uncle who deals with the day to day while Peeta finishes school, something he’s doing because he promised his dad he would. But Peeta is the owner, and the one in charge.
It goes a long way to explain his maturity. He hasn’t been a child in a long time. On the face of it, the story sounds unbelievable. But I know what my eyes are telling me. What my heart is telling me. He may be younger, chronologically. But he’s the one with his life together. While I haven’t really grown since high school, his life has leapt light years ahead.
I sit in silence, picking at the cheese bun - which is incredible but which I can’t really enjoy - feeling like a pile of shit. The office door opens. An older man strides in, clapping Peeta hard on the shoulder. “Peet,” he says. “Wasn’t expecting you today! Glad you’re here though, I have those contracts for you to sign.”
“That’s great, Dalton,” he says, taking the proffered papers, his lips moving as he skims the words. But then he frowns. “The wage is wrong,” he says, pointing.
“They’re students,” Dalton says dismissively, and Peeta’s jaw tightens. It’s fascinating to watch, even if I don’t fully understand.
“That’s not how we do things here. I pay everyone a living wage.” Peeta stands, moving around the desk to take my hand, pulling me out of my chair. “When you’ve redone the contracts, leave them on my desk. I’ll pop in later to sign them before I head back to Dublin.” And with that, we walk out, leaving the older man behind.
We walk down the narrow cobbled street towards the waterfront, weaving among the tourists, past the harbour before finally stopping at an overlook right at the edge of the village. Peeta sits heavily on one of the empty benches, and drops his head in his hands. I lower myself beside him.
“You’re a good boss,” I say softly, breaking the silence that hangs between us. He doesn’t look at me.
“The bakery is more than just a job,” he says. “It’s my father’s legacy and my future. I have eight employees who directly depend on me, not to mention the suppliers and lorry drivers and pubs who benefit from my business too.” He lifts his head to look out over the water, and the weariness I see in his face speaks to a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders. Yet he’s uncomplaining.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him.
“I’ve never lied to you, Katniss. I might be younger than you thought, but I am exactly the man I said I was, exactly what you saw in Scotland.” Wary blue eyes meet my own. “Can you say the same?” My breath catches. It’s a valid question.
Katniss Everdeen is quiet and closed-off, reserved to the point of unfriendly. Difficult to get to know. Resistant to change. That’s not the woman who spent a week adventuring through the Scottish highlands. That woman smiled more, laughed more. That woman tried new things. That woman opened her heart, if only just a little. I shake my head, and his drops again to stare at his lap. The real Katniss Everdeen is the one who left this kind, gentle man standing on an Edinburgh street in the rain, without a backward glance.
Right now, I don’t like the real Katniss Everdeen very much.
He sighs. “My age isn’t really a problem, is it Katniss? It’s just a convenient excuse. You took off before you knew.” He’s right. When I really search my heart I know that the age gap between us is just a number. In many ways, in most ways really, Peeta is the more mature of us. The one with his priorities straight, with his shit together. Our ages don’t matter at all.
After what feels like an interminable silence, he asks, “Why? Why did you leave without a word? I thought there was something between us. Something real.”
“There is,” I whisper, startling myself with my honesty. He glances up at me, confusion in his expression, but also a heartbreaking flicker of hope. “You’re right,” I tell him. “I was a different person in Scotland. And… and I think I like that person better.” I swallow hard. “I like who I am when I’m with you.
“Then what’s the problem, Katniss?” The hint of frustration in his voice threatens to put me on the defensive.
“Your life is here, Peeta! And I live three thousand miles away!”
“You’re here now,” he says.
“For four more weeks,” I say, and sadness creeps in as I realize that I don’t want to leave him again, that even pissed off and hurt and, yeah, young as he is, just his presence makes me feel alive. “And then what?”
“Why do we have to figure that out now,” he asks. “Why can’t we just take it day by day, see where things go. Live without a plan, without a safety net.” He reaches for me, cradling my face in his hands, and my eyes slip closed. “Live, Katniss. Be the woman you want to be.”
What’s left of my defenses melt away as he kisses me so softly it’s like a dream. My hands wrap around his wrists, holding him in place. Keeping him with me, at least for the moment.
I know the only thing really standing between us is my fear.
“Okay,” I whisper, the words hanging, fragile and afraid, in the space between our lips.
“Yeah?” he smiles. And at my nod, he kisses me again.
I’ve wasted so much time living in complacency, afraid of change. But this feels like a second chance. An opportunity to grow and mature, instead of staying safely stuck in the past. And the part of me that is not so brave as I could wish is glad that it’s Peeta beside me as I step into the unknown.
Happy Birthday @everlart! We here at @everlarkbirthdaydrabbles hope that you've had a fantastic day. Here's a little gift for you, penned by the always amazing @javistg!
A Knock at the Door
AN: Happy birthday! Hope you’re having an amazing day :)
“Soon after I go to bed, there’s a quiet knock on my door, but I ignore it. I don’t want Peeta tonight. Especially not with Darius around.”
CF p220
Canon divergent. What if Katniss had opened the door?
Dinner goes by in a blur. Katniss pushes her peas around her plate and struggles with the fact that the avox standing next to her is none other than Darius.
After dinner, she wedges herself between Haymitch and Cinna to watch the recap of the Quarter Quell’s opening ceremonies. Her heart sinks as she follows her competition on the screen. The parade of aging victors looks pitiful in her eyes.
With a quick goodbye, Katniss heads back to her room and gets ready for bed.
She’s already tucked in for the night when she hears a quiet knock on her door. Peeta.
Her first instinct is to ignore him. To hide under the covers and hope her district partner goes away.
But, as she burrows deep into the blankets, she’s hit by how mad she still is at him for laughing at her, for betraying her to the other victors by joining in their mockery and ridicule.
Suddenly, the burning anger which has been simmering inside her all night takes over. With a determined huff, she jumps out of bed and rushes to open the door.
The door swings open and Peeta takes a step back; blue eyes wide and alert as he takes in Katniss’s sudden appearance.
Her tone is clipped, businesslike. “What do you want?”
He clears his throat. “I wanted to see how you were doing.”
A moment later, Peeta sighs, his whole body seems to deflate as the air leaves his lungs. His eyes, soft and pleading, find hers. “I also came to apologize.”
“You’ve done that already,” she grumbles, crossing her arms as she desperately tries to ignore the way his presence soothes her. She needs to stay mad at him, if only for tonight.
Peeta nods, the tiniest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. But, somehow, I got the feeling that it didn’t take. So, I’m here to try again.”
Katniss shrugs. “Fine, whatever, apology accepted.” She takes a small step back and moves to close the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Peeta lunges forward, placing a firm hand on the door. “Wait! Katniss, please, don’t shut me out.”
His words rekindle her fire. Months of longing and frustration finally come pouring out of her like an avalanche of feelings she’s unable to control.
“Cause that’s your job, right?” she yells, “Keeping me at arm’s length, treating me like I’m nothing but a body you can mold and train, something to bark instructions at. After all these months of being nothing but my trainer, you suddenly want to be my friend? What makes you think I even want you here?”
Peeta stills and stares at her, his knuckles white as he holds the door open.
Startled by the vehemence of her own words, Katniss steps away from him and buries her face in her hands.
Her mind reels. She desperately wishes she could take it all back. Because, even if she’s mad at Peeta, and she knows he deserves her anger, he doesn’t merit her hate, though. Never her hate. Not after everything he’s done.
Silence stretches between them, thick and oppressive, charged with sorrow and regret. They’ve spent so many weeks dancing around each other, leaving things unsaid, that they don’t know how far they can go with each other anymore.
When she finally brings herself to look up at him, she notices that he hasn’t moved an inch. A mix of surprise and hurt clouds his features, making him look so much like the 11-year old boy who threw her the bread that she can’t stop the tears from pooling in her eyes.
She wants to run into his arms, to throw herself at his mercy and ask his forgiveness for hurting him yet again. But she’s stubborn and afraid, so she stands there, feeling guilty and small, trembling like a leaf in a storm.
It doesn’t take long for Peeta to snap into action. Wordlessly, he closes the distance between them. His arms reach out for Katniss and pull her to him.
She mirrors his motions, automatically wrapping her arms around his broad frame. She’s so hungry for his touch that she buries her face in his shirt and breathes him in, filling her senses with the musky scent of cinnamon and spices she knows can only be his.
His arms tighten around her. She melts into his embrace, tightly clutching his sleep shirt in her fists and pulling him impossibly close.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers into her hair.
Peeta’s tender words touch something deep within her. Suddenly, all the walls she’s carefully erected to protect herself come crumbling down. Unguarded, Katniss cries.
Fat, sad tears stream down her cheeks, warming her face and soaking Peeta’s soft shirt.
“I’m sorry,” Peeta repeats, pressing his lips to the top of Katniss’s head.
Sobs wrack through her body, and she holds on to him, desperately, like a girl shipwrecked at sea grasping at the last piece of driftwood within her reach.
Peeta doesn’t let go. His warm, steady hand strokes her back, and he begins to sway, rocking in a gentle, soothing motion.
Katniss’s tears slowly run out, turning her sad whimpering into a round of hiccups that make her whole body shake. Annoyed, she loosens her hold on Peeta and steps back just enough to see his face.
Peeta’s eyes are puffy and red. He’s smiling softly at her, but he still looks as broken and defeated as she feels.
She reaches up and, with tender strokes, brushes his golden waves away from his face. “I’m sorry… Peeta,” she whispers between hiccups, “I didn't… mean that.”
Peeta’s smile widens. “Hold your breath.”
She rolls her eyes but does as she’s told, dramatically using her fingers to block the air flow from her nose. As soon as her lungs begin to burn, she lets go of her nose, happily expelling all the air from her chest before greedily taking her next breath.
With her breathing under control, she turns to Peeta once more. His eyes find hers. There’s a spark in them that makes her skin tingle.
Suddenly, the words she wanted to say to him when they stepped off their carriage earlier in the day rush back into her mind. Fighting the soft blush that’s creeping up her cheeks, Katniss clears her throat. Her shy voice fills the air between them. “Glowing embers suit you, you know? You should wear them more often.”
Peeta’s eyebrows shoot up. His playful smile lights up the room. “Oh, yeah? I’ll let Portia know, maybe she can do something about that,” he says with a wink.
Katniss chuckles. Stepping closer to him, she places her outstretched palm over his chest, eager to feel the steady beat of his heart under her fingertips.
Peeta’s hand covers hers. His mirth is replaced by nostalgia when he says, “That was the first time you ever kissed me.”
Katniss nods. She’s blushing furiously now, but her proximity to Peeta is making her reckless, so she pushes through. “I thought you were messing with me,” she admits, “that you were trying to distract me, or something.”
She feels him tense under her touch. His walls are coming up. “Is that why you kissed me, to distract me?”
Katniss bites her lip and nods lowering her eyes to the ground. She doesn’t want to hurt him, but she feels so close to him right now that she can’t bring herself to lie.
Swallowing thickly, she admits, “That’s what I thought at the time. But I’m not so sure anymore.” Her heart’s beating a mile a minute, it’s making her lightheaded. “I’m sorry I lashed out at you today. I really have no right. You don’t owe me anything, Peeta.”
Hooking his index under her chin, Peeta lifts Katniss’s face. Ocean blue eyes, full of kindness and affection look down at her. “Maybe I don’t. But I’m still on your side, no matter what. And I don’t care what anyone thinks. In my eyes, you’re perfect, Katniss. You’ve always been.”
She pulls her face away from him, simultaneously rolling her eyes and fixing him with a murderous scowl. “You shouldn’t say things like that,” she huffs.
Peeta laughs, it’s warm and contagious. It makes her heart flutter.
“And miss out on that fierce scowl of yours?” he asks, “No way!”
She crosses her arms and drops her chin to her chest. “You’re an idiot,” she grumbles through her smile.
Peeta chuckles. After a moment, he sobers up. Slowly, he reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “Are we ok?”
Katniss nods.
“Good.” His fingers slide down her messy braid, giving it a soft tug when they reach the end. “Alright, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
He’s almost out the door when Katniss calls out. “Peeta?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you think… Could you stay?”
It takes Peeta a full second to process Katniss’s request. It’s hard to focus on her words when his heart is beating so fast he fears it might explode. With a deep breath, he steps back into the room, quietly pushing the door shut behind him.
He looks at Katniss. She’s standing a few steps away, waiting for him, looking frazzled as she anxiously fiddles with the hem of her sleep shirt.
He doesn’t move, but he smiles at her and watches as her face immediately lights up with something that’s both foreign and achingly familiar. Hope.
He wants to run to her, to repeat the promise he once made, to tell her that he’ll stay by her side, always. But he knows how uncomfortable those words make her. And, given how little ‘always’ amounts to under their current circumstances, he decides to avoid any grand gestures and settle with a simple “Yes.”
Happy birthday @titaniasfics! To help you celebrate in style, here’s a little bit of Everlark PwP, just for you. Enjoy! And thank you @thegirlfromoverthepond for the request.
Campfire
rated E
This is not camping.
This little slice of dirt, surrounded by giant trailers and caravans, with their generators humming and televisions flashing. That’s not camping! Who comes out to the ‘wilderness’ just to watch TV anyway?
Nothing about this trip has gone according to plan. The tent I borrowed from Gale can hardly be called a tent at all, ‘pop-up coffin’ might better describe it. My sleeping bag fits in there. Sort of. But nothing else. He, of course, has the huge tent we usually share, and a mattress on a stand, because heaven forbid Madge soil herself by sleeping on the ground.
Madge.
I should have realized, when Gale suggested inviting a bunch of friends along on our annual trip to the woods, that what he really meant was he wanted to bring his new girlfriend. And the red flags should have been flying when, instead of our typical backcountry camping, he suggested a drive up site. “But it’s right on the lake,” he’d insisted. “We can swim and fish, it’s going to be amazing!”
I guess his girlfriend prancing around in high-heeled sandals and a bikini about as big as a bandana, while refusing to actually go in the water (it’s not chlorinated!) is his definition of fun.
Who am I kidding, of course it’s his definition of fun. He looks at her like she hung the moon.
I’m not jealous, or at least, not in the way you might think. It’s just that Gale and I have been friends since we were kids. A brotherhood of sorts. Partners in crime like that are hard to find.
“What did that log ever do to you, Everdeen?” Peeta chuckles behind me. I lodge my hatchet in the end of a stump, and turn to scowl at him, but I'm pretty sure it's unconvincing.
Peeta's been, by far, the best part of the day. When Madge declared the hiking trail too long and too hot, Delly was quick to agree. Gale and Jo were more than happy to escort their girlfriends back to camp. But Peeta insisted on continuing, just him and me.
And it was amazing. I had so much fun wandering the woods with him. Chatting, or just listening to the steady racket of him stepping on every leaf and tripping over every root behind me. With anyone else it would have driven me insane. But it's hard to be annoyed with Peeta Mellark.
We went to school together, he and I, but we never talked much, never ran in the same circles. That changed when his friend Delly started dating my friend Johanna a few months ago. Since then, we've gotten to know each other over weekend gatherings and pub nights with our common friends.
And the more I get to know him, the more I get to see of his kind and generous nature, the more I like him. I don't make friends easily, but with Peeta it just feels effortless. He’s sort of snuck up on me.
“I think that tree is dead now, Katniss,” he laughs. It’s true; instead of kindling, I’ve reduced it to matchsticks. I shrug.
“Doesn’t matter anyway. Everyone is going to the amphitheatre to watch a movie instead of having a bonfire.” Another reason I’m pissed off. A movie? Who wants to spend two hours watching Bridget Jones whine and stuff her face when we could stare into the flames, contemplate our existence in the cosmos while watching the sparks float into the night sky?
“Not a movie fan,” he asks, but before I can yell I see his smirk, and I know he’s teasing me. “It is a little strange,” he says softly. “To come out here, only to to be glued to a screen. As if we’re still in the city. Such a wasted opportunity.” He looks up into the dusky sky, streaks of orange split the shades of blue and violet. The first stars stealing through.
I shrug. “I like movies, honestly,” I tell him. “But… I don’t know. I look forward to this trip every year. And this year it’s just been…”
“Disappointing?” he supplies. He’s still looking up at the sky, but he looks sad. As if it matters to him that I’m disappointed in the trip.
I’m not, or not exactly anyway. True, it’s been nothing like I’d planned, nothing like I’m accustomed to. But there have been some bright spots. All of which have involved Peeta. “Not disappointing,” I murmur, and my soft tone makes him glance my way. “Just different.”
He flashes me a smile that seems so genuinely sweet with just the right touch of shyness that unexpected warmth rushes through me. “Different can be good,” he says. And I smile.
“Different can be good,” I agree.
He reaches for my hand. “Do you trust me?”
“Yes,” I answer without hesitation. Apart from my sister Prim, Peeta might be the only person I'm certain I can trust. He twines our fingers together and tugs me away from the campsite, pausing only to grab his backpack. We head down the dark path that I know leads to the lake.
The moon hangs low in the sky, spilling across the water in glossy silver waves. He guides us along the shore, remarkably surefooted for a guy who couldn't traverse the woods in broad daylight without banging into every branch. Finally, he stops at a rocky outcrop where a tidy stack of split firewood waits. “What's this?” I ask.
“Campfire,” he grins. And I laugh. But something warm flares in my chest, and I have to glance away before I do something stupid like kiss him.
Peeta's a whiz with fires, coaxing a spark into a roaring flame within a few minutes. He rifles through his pack, pulling out an old camp blanket and spreading it on the rock. There's barely room for both of us, but I find I don't mind sitting pressed against him. I don't mind at all.
We watch the flames for awhile, not really talking. Then he reaches into his pack, pulling out a bag of Jet Puffed marshmallows. “Not even homemade,” I tease. “You’re off your game, Mellark.”
He affects a mock wounded expression, and then reaches back into the bag for a tupperware container. When he pops the corner of the lid I melt.
Homemade graham crackers. Of course.
He has thin bars of chocolate too, not the crappy stuff I usually buy, but good Ghirardelli chocolate, dark and rich.
It's sweet, sitting side by side, toasting marshmallows in silence. Flickering firelight plays across his handsome face, highlighting his straight nose and sharp jaw. But it's his eyelashes that I'm a little fixated on, so pale you don't normally notice them, but golden in the fire’s amber glow. And so long I can't figure out how they don't get all tangled up when he blinks.
He catches me staring, but he doesn't tease me. He just smiles.
He's perfectly controlled, turning his marshmallow precisely until it's golden on every side. I rush; mine ends up partially charred and only half melted. “How do you do that so perfectly?” I mutter as I yet again blow out the sugar-fuelled inferno on the end of my stick.
He laughs, just softly. “I think you'll find I'm a very patient man, Katniss,” he says, and his eyes twinkle. And I can't help thinking we're not talking about marshmallows anymore.
Of course, when he slides his bit of liquified sugar perfection off the stick and onto a chocolate-ladened cookie, he holds it out for me to take.
There's something in the way he's looking at me, smiling eyes soft and affectionate, that emboldens me. I take a chance and lean in, guiding his hand towards my face, encouraging him to feed me the delicacy himself.
I hold his gaze hostage as I wrap my lips around the decadent treat, watching the firelight play across the dark oceans of his eyes. I groan as the rich chocolate and gooey sugar caress my tongue, and Peeta swallows hard. When I pull back to chew, strings of glistening white marshmallow cling to my chin. His nostrils flare, and he reaches for me, almost as if his hand has a mind of its own.
He tries to wipe away the sticky bits but really only succeeds in making it worse. But I don't care; the feeling of his large, warm hand on my face is making my heart pound in the most thrilling way. My eyes slip closed, and when I can pry them open again his are fixed on my mouth, where my tongue collects the sweet chocolate remnants of our treat. I don't know how we got so close, his every breath whispers across my lips.
He starts to pull his hand away, but I wrap my fingers around his, keeping him in place, nuzzling his hand just a little. “Katniss?” My name is a question, and I answer it the only way I know how. I close the gap between us.
His lips are soft, softer than any man’s have a right to be. And after a shocked little half inhale, they move against mine eagerly.
And it's incredible.
The cookie gets tossed aside somewhere and his other hand tangles in my hair. I groan at the twin sensations of his fingers carding through my hair and his tongue stroking my own sensuously. Even his kisses are methodical, measured, as he learns what makes me whimper. He pulls back just an inch. “Is this real?” he pants. “Please tell me it's real.”
“God, I hope so,” I moan, then kiss him again. He smiles against my lips.
His arms move to engulf me, warm and steady, even as he continues to kiss me. “Do you have any idea,” he whispers as our lips part just enough to drag in gulps of clean night air. “How long I’ve wanted this?” His lips trail along my jaw, nibbling at a spot just under my ear that makes me gasp. “How long I’ve wanted you?”
I shiver, his lips and his words ignite a fire low in my belly. I lie back on the blanket and tug him to follow, until he’s hovering over me, thick forearms braced by my head. His eyes are cautious, but his pupils are blown wide and I can feel his excitement pressed against my hip. “I want you too,” I whisper, and his smile lights up the night.
Unlike other guys I've fooled around with, Peeta takes his time. He kisses me languidly, trailing his fingers over the soft skin of my belly, but no further, teasing me until I'm squirming and arching, wordlessly begging for more. I try to pull him into the cradle of my thighs, desperate to feel him hard where I need him, but he resists, smiling against my skin. “Patience,” he chides gently. “I've waited so long. I want to savour you.”
“Please touch me,” I whimper. His sharp little intake of air encourages me, I grab his wrist, loosely, so he could pull away if he really wanted to. But he doesn’t, letting me drag his fingers under my shirt until I shyly release them just below my bikini top. It’s all the encouragement he needs, that large, warm hand cups my breast and I moan.
“Oh shit, Katniss,” he gasps, his hand squeezing convulsively. “You are perfect. You are so fucking perfect.” Hearing those foul words fall from Peeta Mellark’s sweet pink lips might be the biggest turn-on of my life. Knowing it’s me making him lose control.
I throw caution to the wind and wriggle my t-shirt off entirely. Peeta’s eyes are wide in the moonlight as he gazes down at me. I’m still wearing the simple bikini top I was wearing earlier at the lake. It's nothing special, not like Madge was wearing, and I certainly don't fill it out the way Madge fills out hers. But Peeta looks at me as if I'm something exotic. He shudders, a low groan rumbling from his chest. Then his head descends, and his tongue traces the slight swell of my breast just above my bikini.
I thread my fingers through his soft golden curls, and surrender to his maddeningly slow exploration. His lips and tongue and teeth worship my small mounds before finally - finally - he nudges aside my top and exposes my tight nipples to the night air. When his lips close over one aching bud I swear I see stars. I moan and writhe, tug his hair and arch into him. I can feel his smile against my skin.
My hand sneaks up under his shirt, finding taut muscle that flexes under my fingers. Peeta’s not ripped, but he’s strong and lean and hard in all the right places. He's perfect.
His own hand slides up my thigh, slipping under my shorts to palm my ass. I'm so aroused, and seconds away from begging.
The sound of laughter and splashing comes from down the beach and we both freeze. “Shit,” Peeta gasps, angling his body to shelter mine even though no one can see us here. Protecting me. Something warm flares in my heart. “I'm sorry,” he says, tugging my top back into place. “I shouldn't--”
“Can we take this back to your tent?” I interrupt. The look he gives me is smouldering.
It's takes a few moments to smother the coals of our forgotten fire and toss our snack back into Peeta's pack. Then we're rushing hand in hand along the dark path, back to our site.
We sneak up carefully, but the others haven't returned. Thankfully. No distractions.
We crawl into Peeta’s tent, more than three times the size of my little coffin and with a comfy looking double-sized inflatable mattress in the middle. I ditch my boots, shoving my striped hiking socks into the toe, then sit on the edge of his bed before my nerves can get in the way, wrapping my arms around my knees.
Peeta creeps towards me, chuckling. “What?” I ask. In answer, he grabs my foot, pressing a kiss to my toes as I squirm.
“My favourite colour,” he says, stroking my orange-painted toenail.
“I know,” I admit with a half smile. His expression darkens, with a last kiss to my ankle he sets my foot down and cups my face in those huge hands. And then he’s kissing me, not slowly, not any more. He kisses me with barely restrained passion, stealing my breath and my senses with every shocking sweep of his tongue. It’s electrifying. It's magic.
This time, he’s the one who lays me back, and then he crawls between my thighs, the hard length of him pressing against me. I can’t help but groan, the twin sensations of his tongue thrusting in my mouth while he grinds against me are almost enough to send me spiralling over the edge already. And it’s not just that he’s so damned sexy, or so damned good at this. It’s that it’s him, Peeta Mellark. The only boy who ever caught my eye in high school, the one I thought about all through college.
I claw at his shirt, trying to pull it off, to feel the broad expanse of his sun kissed skin under my palms. He kneels over me, whipping the shirt off and affording me just a moment to appreciate his firm chest and sculpted abs, a masterpiece in the moonlight. He's beautiful, strong and broad and perfect. Then all of that glorious sun-kissed skin is pressed against me, warming me even as his lips and tongue and wandering fingers set my blood to boil.
He’s so patient, so controlled in the way he touches me, but there's nothing boring about it. He reads me like a book, and each time his mouth and hands coax me right to the brink of begging, to the point where I think I can take no more, he somehow understands, pushing further, delighting me anew.
My bikini top disappears into the dim, the rasp of his stubble on my sensitive skin in sharp contrast to the featherlight kisses he presses everywhere as he slides sinuously down my body. Then he's tugging my shorts and bikini bottom off, baring me to his greedy eyes. I pull at his shorts with far less finesse, and he acquiesces to their removal, but when I reach for him, aching to weigh the hot length of him, he retreats. “Not yet,” he whispers, and the sound is so raw, so needy, I know how desperately he wants me to touch him.
Almost as desperately as I want him to touch me.
He pushes me gently back, spreading my thighs wide. I can't even feel shy about what I think he's planning to do as he stares at me, unblinking and licking his lips. “Please,” I beg.
He locks eyes with me just briefly, just long enough for me to see his desire, desire I'm sure is mirrored in my own expression. But still he takes his time, pressing tickling kisses along my thighs, making me squirm. When those thick fingers finally part my folds, I almost come. “Fuck,” he groans, and I shiver. “You're so wet.” My retort is lost in a strangled cry of his name as his talented tongue laves a hot trail along my slit.
Never once had I ever imagined Peeta's silver tongue painting masterpieces across my aching flesh. And now that I've experienced it I know I'll never forget. That the soft groans he presses into me as he thrusts into me with his tongue and laps up my arousal will be the soundtrack to my every future fantasy. Every hot flick of his tongue guides me higher, higher than I've ever been. His lips curl around my sensitive little nub and he hums; I can do nothing but wail invocations to the nylon sky as the rapture rises up to claim me and I'm forever changed.
I'm still whimpering and pulsing with the last waves of the most spectacular orgasm of my life when he crawls up my body, pulling my boneless limbs into his warm embrace. “That was so fucking hot,” he murmurs against my temple. I can feel him hard against my hip, a bead of pre-come slick against my skin. I want him. I want more.
“Please tell me you have a condom,” I pant, and he nods, pushing himself up onto his knees. A shaft of moonlight illuminates his cock, proudly jutting out, long and thick and mouthwatering, as he shuffles not to his discarded shorts for his wallet, but to a side pocket in his backpack. The same backpack he'd packed for our campfire.
Only when he returns to me does he seem to realize the implication. “I, uh. I didn't mean… I mean, I wasn't planning--”
“I'm glad you have them,” I tell him, pulling him back down for another blistering kiss. “I want you, Peeta.”
His teeth glow white in the dim as he grins. “I've waited years to hear you say that,” he says. At my incredulous expression, he chuckles. “You have no idea, the effect you have.”
I have no answer for that, so I kiss him. I've always been better with actions than words.
He pulls back to sheathe himself, then crawls over me. His eyes are almost electric in the dim, huge and excited. And even still he's infuriatingly patient, taking himself in hand, teasing me with his latex-enrobed tip until finally I grab his ass and pull him against me. I moan at the feeling of him nestled between my folds, not entering me, not yet. Just sliding in all of the wetness. He must like it too, because he swears softly under his breath and thrusts against me.
Peeta kisses me softly, tracing my lips with his tongue as he rocks with me, each deliberate stroke making me gasp and mewl.
Finally, after a groaning, shuddering eternity, he shifts and positions himself at my entrance. He's big, and it's been awhile, but I'm so turned on and he's so controlled. He fills me in one long stroke, and I feel everything in me stretch - my body to accommodate his, my heart with a swell of affection for this man, this kind, beautiful, gentle man.
When he's completely buried in me he stops, head tipped back, eyes closed. I can feel the tension in his body, see how his neck muscles strain, sharp in the moon’s silver glow. “What's wrong?” I whisper.
His eyes flutter open, hooded and lust-hazed. “You feel so good,” he groans. “I just want to freeze this moment and live in it forever.”
That stirring is back in my chest, warm and curious. I want to tell him okay, that I'll allow it. The idea of being with Peeta this way forever is awfully appealing. “Please move,” I whine instead.
His face lights up, a cocky smirk replacing the awe. “You want me to move?” he teases. “Like this?” He pulls back achingly slowly, until just the tip of him is still inside me, and I wrap my legs around his thighs, trying to prevent his escape. His smile only widens. “Like this, Katniss?” He's pushing in and pulling out, just a fraction of an inch at a time, just enough to drive me absolutely mad. “Is this how do you want me to move?”
“Hard,” I groan. “I want you hard.” I swear he laughs, pulling out completely, teasing me again with just the tip of his dick, tracing my sensitive folds.
“I don't know,” he says. “I'm pretty hard already.”
“Dammit, Peeta, I want you now,” I growl in frustration, and the amusement in his expression morphs to something more carnal.
This time he fills me in one hard thrust, and I cry out. His moan is softer, but just as passionate.
This time there's no teasing, no slow exploration, no caution. This time he sets a blistering pace, and I love it. He kisses me, swallowing my cries, grunting against my lips as I arch, gripping fistfuls of his sleeping bag and locking my legs around his back.
I'm already climbing when I hear it, the telltale high-pitched prattle of Madge heading back to camp. Peeta hears it too, but he doesn't stop, doesn't even slow. Instead, he reaches up to cover my mouth with one huge hand, his lush lips next to my ear. “Can you be quiet, Katniss?” he whispers.
I lock eyes with him, molten blue irises almost obscured by fat black pupils. And I shake my head, helplessly. I'm not usually so loud. But sex has never been this good before. And even knowing our friends are returning, I don't want to stop. I'm not sure I could.
His hand stays clamped over my mouth, muffling my moans, as he pants filth into the crook of my neck. Angelic Peeta Mellark is a dirty talker. I never would have guessed, and it's the hottest thing imaginable, his words in my ear and his hand on my mouth, and the rough way he slams into me over and over.
I bury my hands in his downy curls, tugging firmly and he bites my shoulder. It's so hot and so unexpected, my orgasm hits me like a shockwave, radiating pleasure from my core to every inch of my body.
Peeta slows, prolonging my climax, wringing every drop of pleasure from me until all of my muscles slacken. Only then does he remove his hand.
He's still panting in my ear, only now the words are soft, sweet. “You are so beautiful,” he murmurs. “So much better than my fantasies.” And when he comes, it's with a shuddering whimper of my name.
We lay together, boneless and breathless for a long time, listening to the crickets’ lament and the low murmur of our friends chatting just a few yards away before Peeta pulls back just enough to discard the condom. Then he wriggles the sleeping bag free to wrap around us both and gathers me in his arms again, kissing me softly until I fall asleep.
o-o-o
Birdsong filters through our nylon ceiling. A silver-grey dawn is fast approaching. I try to wiggle out of Peeta's arms, but his grip tightens. “Don't go,” he murmurs, mostly asleep, and my heart clenches. I know he doesn't mean it. Everything is so much clearer this morning; the way we snuck back to his tent like thieves in the night, how he kept me quiet, swallowing my moans even as he pumped into me. This is just a secret dalliance. It’s a cliché, really, the two single people in the group hooking up. Expected, I guess, but temporary. Better to slip away now, save us both the mortification of a walk of shame in front of our friends.
“The others will be up soon,” I whisper. I’ve never had a one-night stand before, but I’ve been roommates with Johanna for years, I know how they’re supposed to go.
His sleepy blue eyes search mine, the flare of pain unmistakable. Bewildering. “Katniss?”
“I, well. I thought you’d want me gone by then.”
“Why on earth would you think that?” I try to scowl at him, but it's hard to to appear indifferent when his very naked body is pressed against my equally bare skin. When I can still taste him. I shrug.
“I guess, I mean, well. You didn't want anyone to know. And I get it.”
“Katniss,” he breathes, all vestiges of sleep gone. “I didn't want the others to hear us last night because I know how private you are. How… pure.” He shakes his head. “This… I want so much more than just one night with you.” He cups my cheek in one large, rough hand. “You have to know that? I'd like to tell the planet about us. I would put it on a billboard or tattoo it across my chest, if you'd allow it.”
He's so earnest. So open. My doubts start to melt away. I want that too, to see where this could go. To see more of his smile, hear more of his laugh. “Okay,” I murmur.
“Okay?”
“Maybe not the tattoo,” I smile. “But the rest… I'll allow it.”
“Yeah?” he grins.
“Yeah. I really like you, Peeta.” His soft laugh dances across my cheek as he tilts my face to kiss him.
“I really like you too.” And snuggled together, we slide back into slumber.
@dandeliononfire here is your wonderful bday gift courtesy of @katnissdoesnotfollowback! We know it’s late in the day, but we also know we’re not too late since you live in Alaska. ;) Enjoy this read and have a fabulous rest of your special day!! EBD
The woods still make him think of hidden dangers. Wolf mutts, fire projectiles aimed at his head, buzzing insects, and terrible images. But as he stands on what used to be the edges of the District, a hasty fence in the process of being erected to keep the predators out, he feels drawn to the trees. To the shadows that hold the secrets to life and sustenance as much as they do to danger and death. What if he went out there? Just walked through the gate and went into the woods. He could do it now. Nothing would stop him. He’s faced two arenas, his own death, been tortured to shreds and slowly put himself back together.
He could do it. He could survive it.
When he arrived at the train station, or what was left of it, he’d left his bag behind, needing to walk unencumbered. To see the damage done to his home. To learn just how much work needs to be done. He hadn’t gotten far before the destruction and the evidence of mass murder got to him and his feet carried him someplace where freedom and peace could be found. The borders. The woods.
He shakes his head to free himself of the strange thoughts. He’s been standing here awhile, fingers laced through the diamond pattern of the new wire fence. His leg aching where flesh meets prosthetic. When he turns to leave, to face the real reason he returned home, he sees it. A patch of yellow.
Curiosity wins and he slips through the gate, carefully closing it behind him. He’s breathing hard by the time he reaches it, but he’s almost certain. The memory is hazy and difficult to grasp, but a pair of blonde braids and a comforting smile swims to the surface and helps it along as he touches the fragile petals. He smiles, too.
Primrose.
It takes longer than he’d like to return to the heart of the District and locate a wheelbarrow not in use to cart the dead to the mass grave in what used to be a meadow, but eventually, he covers the bottom with a layer of soil before carefully digging out the roots, leaving clumps of soil to protect them during the journey, short though it may be.
He’s in the midst of digging a trench to plant them in front of her house when she comes running out and halts abruptly when she sees him. Her response leaves him curious and a little hurt, although he figures he should be used to that by now. What strikes him as far more important is her state of neglect.
Has no one been taking care of her these past months? Have they just left her to stew in her memories and live the nightmares over and over until she dies of exhaustion or grief?
He keeps an eye on the house, telling himself that it’s not spying. They protect each other. But she won’t let him protect her if she feels crowded or rushed. He watches because he can’t remember how he knew before. How he just seemed to know what she needed. That was lost to the venom along with the memories.
So he watches. Watches her leave for the woods. Sees her return, carried in a wheelbarrow similar to the one he used for the Primroses.
When he works up the courage to approach, he hears wailing and screaming through an open window. He can’t bring himself to intrude on her grief, so he sits on the porch and cries with her, his head buried in his hands. He cries for everything they lost and everything that they never had. Eventually, she falls silent.
He waits a little longer before letting himself into her house. When he finds her asleep on the couch with the cat curled up on top of her, he lifts them both into his arms. The months of abuse followed by months of inactivity during his therapy have weakened him, and yet she’s still light as rain in his arms. It startles and frightens him.
Carrying her up the stairs strikes a chord deep inside him. He focuses on laying her in her bed, removing her boots. A quick glance around the space and he finds it, sitting on her dresser. Carefully, he opens the cover, allows himself this one intrusion because he’s certain that it’s not really an intrusion. The fourth page convinces him.
‘You’re a painter.’
He traces the painted lines with a shaking finger. He painted this. With his eyes closed, he can see afternoon sunlight and her sprawled on her belly on the bed, her wrapped ankle lifted as she watches him. A smile? Maybe. The scent of cheese buns and tea. Laughter from downstairs. A breeze from the open window.
Opening his eyes, he stares at the broken girl in the bed. They were happy together once. He already knew that, but the venom poisoned everything. Or maybe not. Another glance at the book and he thinks he knows a way. They should finish what they started in these pages. It will take time, but one day, he’ll ask her to take him past the fence to see the woods and the plants in all their living glory.
He never gets the chance. She suggests it herself nearly two months later, her body still recovering, although the progress is visible. He rises early the next day, packs a lunch in a sack that will be easy to carry on his back. He considers bringing his pencils and paints, but decides against it. He’ll bring them next time. This time, he just wants to look.
She’s waiting for him when he reaches her house, sitting on the steps of her porch and biting her nails. Without a word to him, she stands and starts walking towards the fence. He follows a few paces behind until she slows her step and looks over her shoulder, a clear invite to walk at her side.
Through the gate and into the treeline. His palms begin to sweat as the trees close in around him. He glances around, searching for the monsters that live in the shadows. He hasn’t been in here since he found the primroses, and never this deep before.
Something brushes his hand and he jumps, his pulse pounding until he looks down and sees her hand close to his. Did she--?
As he stares, she slowly moves their hands closer again, murmuring soothing words he doesn’t hear. But it’s the tone that matters, not the words. She’s the broken one and yet he’s the one falling apart. Or maybe they’re both broken. She continues to soothe until her fingers brush his. Without a thought, his hand turns and welcomes her until their palms meet and their fingers thread together.
He thinks of cool waters surrounding him, rushing over his skin, washing away fear and filth and doubt. When he looks back up at her, she smiles. He sees the waters in her eyes, clear and catching fragments of sunlight as they scatter through the trees. Her already olive toned skin alive with shades of the earth. The dark soil that nurtures growth in the strands of her loose hair.
Squeezing her hand, he nods to let her know that he’s okay. They keep walking, their hands joined. Slowly, he breathes easier and his eyes dart around, unable to take in all the details quickly enough. The scatter of leafy plants and dead leaves on the floor. The loamy scent of the earth awakened from beneath its winter blanket of snow. The ridges of the bark on the trees. The burst of new life from buds on trees and shrubs alike. Sponges of moss over trees and rocks. Fractals of light and shadow. The colors. Vibrant greens bright as day, fresh browns richer than chocolate, pale blues and deep grays in comforting shades of warmth. Splashes of red, yellow, purple bursting to life in crevices and strange places, wherever they can break through the shadows to reach for the light. All of it familiar and all of it new.
They walk until she sits on a fallen log, gently pulling him down to sit next to her. He begins to pull the food from his pack and offer it to her. It isn’t until they’re both occupied with eating that he realizes that other than her chasing away his fears, they’ve barely said a single word to one another all day.
He’s deep in the forbidden woods with the girl he was onced convinced wanted him dead. At this moment, she sits with her half eaten slice of bread spread with goat cheese in her lap, her head tilted back as she listens to the sounds of the wind and the birds through the trees. She looks...happy.
With a deep breath, she looks over at him. For a moment, sadness flickers in her eyes and he leans towards her at the same time she leans towards him. They naturally come to rest with her head on his shoulder and his cheek rubbing her hair. She hasn’t touched him in months. His hand still bears the crescent scars from it. As they sit there, her hand finds his again. Her thumb traces over those same scars and she sniffles a little. He lets her cry. Because even that is part of the healing. He closes his eyes and cries with her, silently, as they listen to the life of the woods around them.
One day, maybe not today, it will be better. They will be able to walk into these woods and laugh together, but for now, they both need this as much as they need each other.
My birthday is April 28th. I don't maintain a blog on Tumblr though. I created an account just to follow the fabulous fellow Everlarkers here. If you can, I will take anything I can get but if possible, some smut please. *bambi eyes*
Happy birthday! Here is a little something special cooked up just for you by @katnissdoesnotfollowback. Have a wonderful day and enjoy the read!
Have Your Cake and Eat It Too
Happiest of birthdays toyou! I hope you enjoy what I’ve cooked up for you and it adds to to yourcelebration. Thanks to @peetabreadgirl for prereading this sucker. <3KDNFB
TWENTY-FIVE
“I’m gonna be late. Please tell me you made somehot water for tea this morning,” Peeta says to his brother as he rushes intothe kitchen and tosses his bag on the counter.
“Gotta move faster, old man,” Ryen teases, butlowers his newspaper enough to point to the kettle sitting on a siliconetrivet.
“You’re two years older than me,” Peetagrumbles, not bothering to look at what he is sure is a self-satisfied smirk onhis brother’s face, choosing instead to focus on pouring the water into histravel mug and dropping in a tea bag to steep.
“Yes, but nothing good happens aftertwenty-five. They expect you to be an adult after twenty-five. For real,” Ryencomplains and Peeta curses as the hot liquid splashes over the edges onto hishand when he moves it a little too forcefully towards the spot where he leftthe lid.
“Graham would disagree,” he mutterssarcastically as he shakes the tea droplets off his hand and wipes the residueon a towel. His skin stings, but he doesn’t have time to deal with it.
“Graham is an idiot,” Ryen returns, but hedoesn’t say the rest of what they’re both thinking.
Their oldest brother is currently racked out ontheir couch, having crashed there and made himself at home a month ago when hiswife filed for divorce and their parents insisted that Peeta and Ryen needed to‘take care of their poor, stressed out brother in his time of need.’ Grahamhasn’t budged to find himself a new place since, choosing instead to revert tohis bachelor lifestyle and mooching off his two younger, single brothers.
But lately, in addition to the aggravation oftheir parents’ coddling of him, he’s been driving both Ryen and Peeta insane bydispensing what he calls ‘pearls of wisdom,’ which is basically theirbrother’s idea of life advice, but they both know it’s really Graham’s way offeeling better about himself…by making them feel inferior about their lives.For Ryen, it’s the promotion he didn’t get – and didn’t want because it meantmoving to another city. For Peeta, it’s the fact that for the past two years,he hasn’t had a steady girlfriend – and hasn’t wanted one since every datehe’s been on in that time has felt like a betrayal.
“Since he’s so deep in divorce attorney billsthat he apparently can’t even spare a twenty for a birthday present, he’sdetermined to get you laid tonight,” Ryen warns, making Peeta jump and bang theback of his head on the fridge. He winces and sighs when he sees that they’reout of milk. Slams the fridge shut to glare at his brother.
“His idea, not mine,” Ryen insists, holding hishands up in what’s meant to be an innocent gesture.
“You expect me to believe you didn’t have a handin that suggestion? Right. Well, tell him that I’m not interested,” Peeta saysand slings his bag over his shoulder, grabbing his tea and his blazer, andrushing out the front door, thumb entering a reminder into his phone to pick upmilk and a few other essentials they’ve run out of on his way home from work.He’ll have to stop by the school’s cafeteria to get some milk for his tea, andput himself even further behind schedule. His lunch break will simply need tobe sacrificed to finish grading papers for his afternoon classes.
“Tell him yourself, old man. And have a niceday, Dipshit!”
“You too, Asshole,” Peeta shouts over hisshoulder and then comes up short at the sight waiting for him out on theirdriveway. His best friend, leaning against his car door with a brown paper sackin her hands, her car parked out on the street. His lips automatically curve upin a smile that she returns.
“Happy Birthday, Peeta,” Katniss says as sheshoves herself off his car and steps aside so he can toss his things inside.
“It is now,” he replies, missing the slightflush that spreads across her cheeks while his head is in his car and hisattention on getting his tea into the cup holder without spilling more andburning himself again.
When he stands upright to focus on Katniss, shebrushes some lint off his shoulder and he tucks his hands in his pockets so hedoesn’t do something stupid like haul her against his chest and kiss hersenseless.
“Any big plans for tonight, birthday boy?” sheasks, oblivious to what her melodic voice and words do to him. Usually theywould’ve made plans by now, but they’ve both been so busy at work, they haven’thad a chance to talk about it in more than a general capacity.
“Avoiding my brothers’ schemes to spice up mylife,” he says and Katniss laughs. “Care to help me with that?”
“Sure,” she says and reaches out to straightenhis tie and ruffle his hair a little. He’s not sure what was wrong with itbefore, but Katniss seems satisfied with his appearance now, and that’s goodenough for him. “Netflix and dinner? I know it’s not exciting…”
“Sounds great,” he says with a smile, alreadyrelaxed at the idea of spending his birthday lounging on the couch with hisclosest friend.
“Since it is your birthday, I’ll cook.Johanna has a date tonight, though, so I suggest your place,” she admits with aquirk of her lips and Peeta has to smother a laugh.
The last time they hung out at her place,Katniss’ roommate had brought home a date and gave the pornography industry arun for its money in the erotic noises department. Katniss had been soembarrassed until Peeta suggested they head up the street to MidnightMilkshakes, an ice cream place that stays open until well into the early hoursof morning. They’d both been exhausted at work the next day, but it’d beenworth it to spend the time talking and laughing with her over a shared caramelapple milkshake.
“I’ll get rid of my obnoxious brothers. Sixo’clock alright?” he asks and Katniss nods, shoving the brown sack at hischest. “What’s this?”
“Breakfast,” she says and he smiles as he peeksinside to find one of his favorites from his family’s bakery, a savorycroissant wrapped around a slice of ham, some cheese, and eggs. When he looksup to thank her, her mouth bumps into his. He freezes. His heart thuds wildlyin his chest as she pulls back, too soon for his brain to register anything importantlike texture or taste or reality. Her cheeks flush bright red and she looksaway from him faster than the kiss lasted.
“Um, so, yeah. See you tonight, Peeta,” shemumbles as she practically sprints to her car.
He waits until she’s turned the corner before hedrops heavily into his driver seat. His brain makes no note of the drive towork, too occupied playing the moment over and over in his head, trying to makesense of why Katniss kissed him. Of what makes today so different from anyother day they’ve spent together, and desperately trying to not get his hopesup. She didn’t look too excited about kissing him, after all. She basically ranfor the hills as soon as it was over.
“Ah, fuck. Stupid, stupid stupid,” he mutters tohimself, thumping his head onto his steering wheel after he’s parked in theteacher’s lot and the truth punches him in the gut. She was aiming for hischeek. Of course she was aiming for his cheek. That would make sense,since she’s kissed him there before, but Peeta lifted his head at the wrongmoment and instead accidentally forced her to kiss him on the mouth. No wondershe was so embarrassed.
With a heavy sigh, he shoves himself from hiscar and grabs his things. Now he’s going to have to figure out how to apologizefor the faux pas of kissing his best friend in front of his house, withoutletting on that he’s madly in love with her.
Happy Birthday, indeed.
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TWENTY-ONE
‘Just let these little leaves fall off yourbrush. All kinds of little things happy. And go out sometime in the woods andstudy trees. Talk to trees. Whatever it takes. The tree needs to be your friendif you’re going to paint him.’
“Hey,” a smoky female voice says in his rightear, making him jump and tug out the earbud from his left. “As much as I enjoywatching you paint along with Bob Ross, you might want to pay attention. She’sabout to tell us what’s gonna be on the test on Friday.”
Peeta doesn’t turn around because Professor Coinis inspecting the rows of students, steely eyes looking out for anyone notpaying attention or talking. He ducks his head, pauses his video, and switcheswindows on his laptop before typing madly for a second or two. When Coin turnsher back on the class again, he angles his head enough to mutter over hisshoulder at his thoughtful neighbor. “Thanks.”
“No problem. Paint me the cabin by the lake nextlecture and we’ll call it even,” she says and he can hear the jaded smile inher voice. He wonders what she looks like, but Coin’s throwing rapid fireterminology and concepts at them to review so he remains facing forward.
He hates this class, and he rarely ever hateshis classes, but economics is just so boring. There’s no life to it andhe took up painting in a drawing app in one window while Bob Ross’s sonorousvoice calmly talks about happy trees and other far less stressful things inanother window to get him through the hours of drudgery. Still, he didn’t wantto be called out as a slacker, so he was always careful to only use one earbudso half his brain could pretend to focus on the lecture.
As the list of material to be covered on thetest lengthens, he keeps stealing looks at the clock in the bottom right cornerof his screen, counting down the minutes until he can finally talk to the girlbehind him. His curiosity is piqued and he wonders if she’s been watching himpaint for the past two months. It should bother him, having someone look overhis shoulder like that, but if it’s gotten her through the dull lectures too,he can’t be sorry about it.
He wracks his memory for an image of her, but healways gets to this class a little early since that’s the way the bus schedulesworked out, comes in through doors that enter the massive lecture hall from theupper level and walks down the stairs to his seat, and then doesn’t really lookbehind him during the class. He’s certain he’d remember if someone was sittingright behind him when he arrives, so she must get to this class after him.
Finally, Coin wraps things up and Peeta twistsaround in his seat to catch her before she leaves, she’s bent over her bookbag, stuffing her textbook and a binder into it, her dark hair in a braid, partiallyobscuring her face from him.
“Hey, thanks again,” he says, catching herattention as she sits up and looks at him with pewter gray eyes. A distantmemory sends bells ringing in his head, but he extends his hand to her anyways.“I’m Peeta.”
“Katniss,” she says, but makes no move to shakehis hand.
“Katniss Everdeen?” he asks and hopes his voiceisn’t as squeaky and stunned as it sounds in his head. Her eyes narrow a littleand he shakes his head, clearing the fog that seems to be obscuring his abilityto think. “We went to Panem Twelfth District Elementary together. I’m PeetaMellark? Dad owned the bakery?”
“Oh. Yeah,” she says, and he’s not convincedthat she remembers him. Why would she? She didn’t even know he was alive backthen, but he had the biggest crush on her until the mines closed when they wereeleven and her family had to move away because her father had found a jobacross the country.
“Okay, well, um, thanks. For the warning aboutthe test. Again,” he says and wipes his palm on his shirt for something to dowith his hand, which she still hasn’t touched.
He turns back around, a little humiliated andcloses his laptop before sliding it into his bag. Ten years later and he stillcan’t even manage a passable conversation with Katniss Everdeen. Pathetic. Sohe’s more than a little surprised when he stands with his things and she’sstill there, watching him.
“You used to bring in cupcakes for the wholeclass around the first day of spring every year,” she says, startling him thatshe’d remember that.
“Yeah. I did. March 20th. It’s um, my birthday,”he says and shrugs, because that also happens to be today. It’s always kind ofsucked anyways so he figures what harm can come of him telling his childhoodcrush what today is.
“Then Happy Birthday, Peeta,” she says with asmall smile that sends his pulse skittering for a second. “Any big plans forthe night?”
Wait. What? Isshe flirting with him?
He’s not sure what to make of this unexpecteddevelopment and takes a second to find his bearings in this unknown territory.“Nothing special. My brothers are taking me out for my first legal drink,because what the world really needs is one more obnoxiously drunk guy in abar.”
She laughs. She actually laughs at somethinghe’s said, the sound musical and beautiful. He’s heady with it and that surelyis the reason he keeps speaking like the idiot he is.
“You wouldn’t want to come celebrate with us,would you? You could bring a few friends with you, if you like.”
Katniss examines him for a moment, chewing onthe corner of her bottom lip in the most adorable way.
“I don’t know. Maybe. I’ll have to see what myroommate has planned for the night,” she says, but she asks for the name of thebar just in case.
Despite his brothers’ encouragement later thatnight, he manages to nurse his drinks and keep his head. Should Katniss showup, he doesn’t want to be wasted. As the night wears on with no sign of her,though, Peeta mentally berates himself for getting his hopes up. Eventually, hisbrothers drink themselves deep enough that Peeta knows he needs to get themhome before they do something dumb, like get themselves arrested.
He approaches the door, with both brothershanging off his shoulders, and of course, that’s when she walks in with a groupof friends. For a moment, he watches her twirl the end of her braid around onefinger and scan the crowds. When she sees him, she drops her braid to wave, andhe shrugs, giving his brothers annoyed looks. She seems to understand, becauseher friends say something to her and instead of stopping to talk with him, sheheads straight for the bar with one last shy wave of her hand.
So much for that.
But on Friday, when they’re packing up aftertheir economics test, and he’s more confident than usual about how he did, sheleans over his shoulder to whisper a reminder in his ear that he owes her acabin by the lake. He smiles, still facing forward so she can’t see his goofyexpression, and makes sure to have the video queued up at the start of Monday’sclass.
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TWENTY-FIVE
It isn’t until his third period class is filingout the door on their way to their next class that he manages to fire off atext message to Katniss. Part of that is because he’s been debating about howto handle the accidental kiss. Eventually, he settles for acting like it didn’thappen, just to test the waters, see how she’s feeling, before he brings it up.
P: Thanks for the breakfast this morning. It wasdelicious.
K: Anytime. I figured you’d be running lateafter I kept you up last night with my venting.
P: Did talking it out help you sleep better atleast?
He feels a little guilty for waiting until nowto ask her how she slept last night after they spent hours on the phonediscussing a research grant she applied for and was having second thoughtsabout taking, since she’d be working for a colleague she’s butted heads withalready. It’d be good for her career, but Katniss is worried that the stresswon’t be worth the rewards. Here he’s been tied in knots over an accidentalkiss that he’s probably overanalyzing while she’s dealing with life alteringdecisions.
K: Sort of.
Peeta’s brow wrinkles at that. Usually she tellshim that his empathy when she unloads her problems on him and his calm voice asthey talk her through to a solution are exactly what she needed to help herrelax and lull her into peaceful slumber. He worries that maybe he wasn’t thefriend she needed last night, although he’s got no idea what he could’ve saidor done wrong. Since their friendship is the most important thing in the worldto him, he needs to be sure he didn’t give her a half-assed effort or saysomething bone-headed last night.
P: Am I losing my touch? ;-)
The first few students of his fourth periodclass wander into the room and he tucks his phone back into his pocket, even asit buzzes with a new message, to focus on greeting them. Katniss knows hisschedule; she’ll understand if he doesn’t respond for the next fifty minutes orso.
Pushing his rolled up sleeves a little furtherup his arms, he smiles at his class and gets back to work, shoving thoughts ofKatniss and worries about that not-a-real-kiss to the back of his mind. Itworks until his lunch break, when he takes a look at the text message she sentback to him.
K: Actually, it’s the opposite
What the hell does that mean?! He’s on the vergeof being a wreck for the rest of the day, and it’s a good thing he’s busybecause otherwise he’d fire something back, demanding an explanation. At theend of the day, he settles on something simple, deciding that this is aconversation to be had in person rather than over text where inflection andnonverbal cues can be lost or misinterpreted.
P: Are we still on for tonight?
K: See you at six
Relief and dread mingle in his middle as heleaves the school and heads for the grocery store with his short list. Reliefthat the last text from her sounded more like she’s acting like herself again,dread that they still haven’t even mentioned what happened this morning.
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TWENTY-TWO
Someone is pounding on his door, and all hereally wants to do is tell them to fuck off, but immediate guilt at theunkind thought sweeps through him and he opens the door.
“You’re taking me out for milkshakes, birthdayboy,” Katniss says, charging him and shoving him back in the apartment andtowards his room.
“Katniss, I–”
“No excuses. It’s your birthday, and while yourmother might be a complete bitch and an incompetent parent, I forbid you tomope.”
“It’s raining,” he says, tugging nervously onhis ratty t-shirt. She crosses her arms and scowls at him. With a sigh, heducks inside his bedroom and changes into jeans and a nice shirt. One with acollar and no holes in it, shoves his arms into the sleeves of his jacket andlifts one eyebrow at her, requesting her approval.
“Better,” she says with a perfunctory nod andopens the door before marching out like she’s royalty.
By the time they reach the new dessert parlor,Midnight Milkshakes, they’re both drenched and decide they want hot chocolateinstead. She gets marshmallows on hers while he asks for whipped cream andcinnamon. When they take their seats, she surprises him by sitting next to himin the booth instead of across from him.
He laughs lightly when she snuggles into hisside and drapes his arm around her, nearly making him spill his drink. She mustbe cold, but he’s not about to make her stop what she’s doing and rubs his handup and down her arm to work some warmth back into her.
“See?” she asks as he takes his first sip ofcocoa. “This is much better than a cruise in the Caribbean, right?”
There’s still a tiny part of him that’s angrywith his mother for taking a cruise over his birthday with her new husband, andhurt over his mother’s roll of the eyes and exasperated sigh when he brought itup. ‘You’re twenty-two, Peeta. You don’t need birthday parties anymore.’No, he doesn’t, but those cruises leave every few weeks. She could’ve picked adifferent date. Plus, he’d still like it if someone at least tried tomake the day special for him. Like Katniss is doing right now.
Sometimes, he still can’t believe the stroke ofluck that placed them at the same university, in the same economics class. Orthat led her to sit behind him the first day of class and find herself absorbedin his digital paintings. She’s his best friend and the one person he canalways count on, so he ignores the flip that his stomach does when she smilesup at him, moaning in delight at her cocoa. Again when they’re curled up on hiscouch beneath a blanket, Katniss in a pair of his borrowed sweats because theirclothes got further drenched in the rain on their way back here. And again whenshe yawns and rubs her cheek against his shirt.
“Keep talking, Peeta,” she urges him, her voicedrowsy with pending sleep. “Your voice is soothing.”
He’s not sure what he talks about, but when sheslips into slumber with a faint smile on her face, he wraps his arms around herand smiles himself, content with the way his birthday turned out. When he wakeswith Katniss still curled in his embrace, he sighs and decides the aches in hisneck and lower back from sleeping propped up on the couch like this are totallyworth it.
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TWENTY-FIVE
“So here’s the plan–”
“No,” Peeta cuts Graham off before his brothercan even get started. “Whatever crazy idea you’ve got in your head, expunge itright now.”
“Oh he’s using the AP English words. That’s howyou know you’re losing this fight, right, Graham?” Ryen laughs as he loosens histie and takes the milk from Peeta to put in the fridge and grabs three beers,passing one to each of his brothers.
“You got a better plan?” Graham asks as hetwists the cap off his beer and chucks it across the room into the trash can.
“Yeah,” Peeta says after taking a sip of his ownbeer. “You two get lost so I can actually have a pleasant birthday spent withmy best friend.”
“Oh christ,” Graham mutters and Ryen shakes hishead.
“What?” Peeta asks indignantly.
“You’re spending your twenty-fifth birthday withher?” Graham asks, sounding highly offended.
“Of course I am!”
“That’s a terrible decision,” Graham mutters andPeeta’s the one offended now.
“He’s right, Peeta,” Ryen says and they bothstare at him. “Well he is!”
“Thank you,” Graham says smugly.
“Don’t think so highly of yourself. I’m sayingthis for Peeta, not because I think your broke and almost divorced ass shouldever be listened to. Peeta, listen to me. Go fuck someone. Seriously. Maybethen you’ll get over this unrequited love you’ve been harboring for Katniss foryears.”
“Excuse me for wanting to spend my birthday withsomeone I actually like being around rather than some horny stranger you twodig up out of a misguided sense of taking care of me,” Peeta says and moves tofinish putting the groceries away. “And since it is my birthday, I suggest youtwo finish your drinks and get lost. She’ll be here any minute now.”
“Fine, fine, but only because it’s yourbirthday,” Ryen concedes, dragging a protesting Graham towards the living room.“Come on, ya bum, let’s go see if you’ve actually got decent bar hoppingclothes before we raid my closet.”
“Just pick up the living room before you go,will ya?” Peeta shouts after them.
“Just kiss her already, will ya?” Ryen returnsand Peeta’s cheeks burn with the humiliating reminder that he kind of alreadydid. And it was nothing like the first kiss he’s imagined a hundred thousandtimes.
Thankfully, though, his brother’s are busygetting ready to go by the time Katniss shows up with a bag of groceries in herhands and unable to humiliate him in front of her.
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TWENTY-THREE
He opens Skype ten minutes early, plugs in hislaptop and sets it to never sleep when plugged in. Just to be sure. Then hewalks away from his computer, certain that he won’t be hearing from her, eventhough she was very specific in her instructions. She’s got precious littleinternet time where she is, and he doesn’t want to miss it, but he’s trying notto get his hopes up. So far, he’s gotten Happy Birthday greetings and giftsfrom his brothers, but otherwise, twenty-three is indistinguishable fromtwenty-two. Peeta’s in the midst of preparing himself mentally to be let down whenhis laptop starts beeping and blooping with an incoming call.
The chair nearly slides out from under him inhis haste to sit down. He runs his hands through his hair and smiles beforepressing the green circle to answer. Immediate joy rushes through him when shesmiles at him.
“Happy Birthday, Peeta,” she says and his heartdoes somersaults, just so happy to hear her voice for the first time in months.
“Hey, beautiful,” he breathes out and sheblushes a little. He kicks himself for his blunder but keeps going in the hopesthat she won’t drag him on his birthday for it. “How’s the research going?”
She’s spent the past six months on a researchtrip for her masters degree in anthropology, somewhere in the AustralianOutback. Her passion is bringing to light the stories of people forgotten orerased from history around the world. While he couldn’t be more proud of herpursuit of her dreams or her success at securing the coveted grant that tookher to another country, he still misses her terribly.
“Great,” she says, and he takes the opening toask her a thousand questions he’s been saving for when they get to talk face toface. They’ve been restricted to e-mail and one very static filled call on asatellite phone due to the time difference and her rare access to the internetor postal services. After several minutes of conversation, she glances down ather wrist and shakes her head. “I’m almost out of time and we’ve barely talkedabout you!”
“Trust me, anything I have to say right now isfar less interesting. Grading papers, writing lesson plans, rereading ToKill a Mockingbird for the twelfth time.”
“You love that book,” she says with a lift ofher eyebrow.
“Maybe,” he shrugs.
“I got you something. I’m sorry I couldn’t getit there on time, but I want to carry it back myself. Not sure I trust ourpostal runners here with it.” She lifts a flat stone covered in colored dots –yellows, browns, reds, white, and even some greens – that form a sun shiningin a vibrant sky.
“Is that…?”
“It is. Ochre artwork,” she confirms.
“It’s beautiful, Katniss. I love it.”
“I thought you might,” she says as she sets itdown beside her and then gives him a grin. “But wait! There’s more!”
He laughs at her gameshow host imitation andnearly cries when she shows him the cover of a book, all about art techniquesof the aboriginal peoples of Australia. He has to scratch at the corner of hiseye to keep from crying. She’s over ten thousand miles away and still managedto find the perfect gift for him. Something that’s both her and him.
“I’m sorry it’s going to be late,” she murmurs,her face losing some of it’s happiness, probably because he’s a nitwit andnearly crying at her gift.
“No, don’t be. It’s perfect and I can’t wait tosee it in person because then you’ll be home, too,” he says, his voice soundinga little hoarse even to him. They manage a few more minutes before she has togo, but before she does, Katniss sings Happy Birthday to him, her voicesultry and soothing and perfect all at once. Perfectly wonderful and perfectlytormenting him.
When they hang up, he slowly shuts his laptopand then heads to bed early, needing to end his birthday on the best possiblenote.
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TWENTY-FIVE
“You sure you don’t want to join us,” Grahamasks as he and Ryen stand in the doorway that leads to the garage. “BringKatniss with you. She could be your wingman.”
Peeta grips tight to the edges of his temper.They probably don’t notice the way Katniss pinches her lips together in a scowland turns away to vigorously chop the vegetables for their dinner. It’s a suresign that she’s upset, and given what happened on his birthday last year, hewants this line of conversation to end quickly.
“There’s only so much that flying solo can accomplish,”Ryen joins in with a rude hand gesture and Peeta chucks the kitchen towel atthem to get them to leave. The rosy flush on the back of Katniss’ neck tellshim that she saw the gesture out of the corner of her eye, so now not only isshe upset over something, she’s also embarrassed. She never did like talkingabout physical intimacy.
“What’s that all about?” Katniss asks tightlyafter they’ve finally gone.
“Nothing important,” Peeta says and standsbeside her to help. She bumps her hip into his to try and move him away fromher, but he persists, snatching the vegetables and taking over the task ofchopping as she moves to slide the meat into the oven. “Graham’s decided thatsince he’s going to be a bachelor again, he’s dragging the rest of us intodebauchery right along with him.”
“They wanted to find you a one night stand foryour birthday?”
“Yeah,” he says and turns to ask a questionabout the food. He knows she’s curious but won’t like following that line ofquestioning. Talking about food distracts her, though. Within minutes, he’s gother smiling and laughing again, the discomfort of his brothers’ plans andcomments momentarily forgotten.
Once their dinner is ready, they take theirseats on the couch and Peeta scrolls through options until Katniss settles oncatching up on Outlander. For him, she insists. She’ll never admit thatthe love story intrigues her, especially the aspect of Claire’s torn loyaltiesbetween her husband and the man she’s clearly falling in love with.
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TWENTY-FOUR
“What the hell, Peeta?” she yells at him and hetries to shut his mouth, but can’t get over the shock at her unexpected fury.“You have a date tonight?!”
Her eyes ignite and he holds up his hands,unsure where exactly he went wrong. She’s been seeing some guy she works withat the university for the past four months and he didn’t think she’d care.They’ve gotten serious and it’s been slowly killing him to listen to her talk,to sound so happy in the arms of someone else. Hoping it would help him move onor forget, he asked Jackie, the red-haired girl at his book club, if she’d goon a date with him and didn’t tell her that the date was on his birthdaybecause he wants to forget and didn’t want to put that kind of pressure orexpectation or weirdness on a first date.
It’s his birthday, after all. Shouldn’the get to do what he wants?
Katniss sputters angrily when he vocalizes thatlast thought to her and throws something in his arms before she storms out ofthe house. He thinks about chasing after her, but he’s angry, too. Angry thatshe didn’t bother to make plans with him or mention anything about his birthdayuntil right this second. And yes, he’s to blame too, for neither asking herabout it nor bringing it up. But she’s been the one person the past four yearsto actually make his birthday special, and he had himself convinced that nowthat she’s got a boyfriend, she wouldn’t want to make a big deal out of Peeta’sbirthday anymore. Or maybe that she’d even forgotten. Her silence on the matterin the past few days only helped confirm that in his mind. He never dreamedshe’d be this upset over him having a date.
Fueled by anger and hurt, he leaves his place tomeet up with Jackie, but he’s distracted through dinner and lags in theconversation. Besides, his heart isn’t in it. He gave his heart to his bestfriend a long time ago, and is just pathetic enough to have never taken it back.
At the end of the date, he heads home andchanges into something to sleep in, although he’s probably not sleepingtonight. Not with thoughts of Katniss wreaking havoc on his mind. Finally, hesits on his bed with the thing she threw at him and carefully peels away thepaper, staring down at the butter soft cover before flipping it open andsighing. She put together a scrapbook of sorts. Pictures of them through theyears, a few of his sketches that disappeared and he’d wondered where they’dgone off to, ticket stubs that she’s saved, a few napkins with his doodles ortheir games of tic-tac-toe on them, pressed flowers from their hikes and otherassorted outdoor adventures. It’s perfect, beautiful.
With another deep sigh, he picks up his phoneand calls her, expecting her to ignore him, surprised when she answers with awavering voice.
“Hello?”
“Katniss, I’m sorry,” he says immediately. Shesniffles a little.
“I’m sorry, too, Peeta. You were right. It’syour birthday and you should get to do what you want. I just thought, well, Iguess I thought you’d want to do something with me.”
“I did. I do, Katniss. But you didn’t mention itonce. I assumed you had plans with Darius or something.”
“No. I should’ve said something to you soonerit’s just he… Well never mind what he said.”
“Okay, what did he say? You can’t drop a bomblike that and not tell me whether or not I need to go kick his ass for you,”Peeta says and Katniss laughs, because they both know that Peeta’s methods ofrevenge are far less direct but far more effective than a fist to the face, nomatter how much he’s wanted to punch any number of her sleazy ex-boyfriends inthe past.
“It doesn’t matter,” she says. “We broke up thismorning anyways.”
“What? Why didn’t you tell me that?”
“Because it’s your birthday, Peeta, and I didn’twant to ruin it for you with my drama,” she says and he shakes his head,stunned that she hasn’t figured out yet that he would drop everything for her.In a heartbeat.
“I’ll be there in two minutes. Do you have stufffor hot chocolate?”
“Maybe? I don’t know?”
“Make it ten minutes then,” he says.
“Thank you, Peeta,” she whispers.
Fifteen minutes later, they’re curled up on hercouch, sipping hot chocolate and watching some dumb comedy that was queued upin her roommate’s Netflix. Katniss rests her head on his shoulder and he wrapshis arm around her, allowing her to get closer to him. He savors the momentswhen she laughs and he can both feel it and hear it, lets his hand skim up anddown her arm. Eventually, she starts to nod off and he carefully extricates hermostly empty mug from her grip before setting it on the end table.
“Stay with me tonight, Peeta,” she murmurs as hecarries her to her bedroom. She nuzzles her way further into his embrace. It’snot an unusual request of hers. They’ve shared a bed before. And even thoughthey didn’t do anything big to celebrate his birthday this year, there’snowhere else he’d rather spend it than right here with her.
“Always,” he whispers when they’re settledbeneath her covers and her body relaxes beside him as she slips away intoslumber.
************************
TWENTY-FIVE
“So maybe we should do the cake now,” Katnisssuggests as Peeta hands her a few more plain candles. “Why do you have so manyof these?”
“Leftovers from Ryen’s last seriousrelationship. Something about seduction by candlelight on Valentine’s Day.” Helaughs when Katniss drops them on the counter like they’re hot coals. Shegathers them back up as he shuts the cabinet and climbs down from the stepstool, pointing the way with the flashlight as they work their way around theliving room, setting up the candles and lighting them.
A chill works its way down Peeta’s spine as thethunder rolls and rumbles outside. The rain lashes the windows in a crescendoas the wind picks up, then gradually softens. A freak storm rolled throughbefore they were even twenty minutes into the episode they were watching andknocked out the power. He’s already checked on his brothers, who made it safelyto some hip bar Graham wanted to check out before the storm hit.
Once they’ve got enough light in the room, Peetaflops back down on the couch and Katniss resumes her spot from earlier, tuckedinto his side with one hand resting on his thigh. He shifts nervously,listening to the storm and wondering what they should talk about. This usuallyisn’t a problem for them, so he starts by asking about her day at work.
The candles cast a soft glow over the room asthey talk in soft tones, which would usually help him relax and make himdrowsy, but Katniss’ hand keeps drifting up and down his thigh. And it’s havinga disastrous effect on him. His jeans grow tighter by the second. For now,she’s oblivious, but he doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable with how turnedon he’s getting by a little innocent cuddling and conversation.
When her hand travels a touch higher than herprevious passes over his leg, he shifts to keep her hand away from his groin.Katniss turns her head to look up at him. “Are you alright, Peeta?”
“Yeah, sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”
She shrugs slightly and chews on her lip. Peetasighs, sensing that they’ve finally gotten to the point where they’ll need totalk about that awkward kiss.
“Katniss, about this morning,” he says,reminding himself of how irreplaceable her friendship is in his life. “It wasan accident. I didn’t know you were…anyways, I don’t want things to getawkward between us because I moved my face at the wrong time.”
“It’s fine, Peeta,” she says, sounding irritatedand looking away from him. He can’t even manage an apology for kissing herwithout offending her, how can he possibly expect to actually kiss her? And headmits that he’s been thinking about it. More than usual, at least.
“I’m just sorry you got stuck here with meinstead of having a passionate fling,” she mutters. “Not the best birthdayever, is it?”
He stares down at her, thinking she’s lost hermind. Katniss squirms a little under his scrutiny until he speaks. “Believe me,there’s no competition. There’s nowhere else and no one else I’d rather be withright now.”
He hopes his voice isn’t as husky and adoring asit sounds in his mind. She blinks slowly and for a second, he thinks she dropsher gaze to his mouth, but this is Katniss. His best friend. His best friendwho was annoyed ten seconds ago when he brought up their sort-of a kiss. Thenshe slowly licks her lips and he follows the path of her tongue as it retreatsback into her mouth before her teeth tug on the glistening surface he wants sobadly to taste.
“Who says you can’t have both?” she whispers.
His brain comes to a screeching halt, completewith clanging metal and shattering glass. Because if he didn’t know any better,he’d think that his best friend whom he’s been in love with for at least twoyears, probably longer, just suggested that they have sex. Tonight. On hisbirthday.
He searches her eyes for some sign that he heardher right. Her gray eyes remain focused on him, wide and uncertain. Her chestrises with quick breaths that puff through her parted lips. She leans towardshim and every few seconds, her body trembles.
“Peeta…if it hadn’t been an accident…wouldyou have…wanted to kiss me?”
He’s expecting a strategically placed clap ofthunder to announce his impending doom, because he has no idea how or why thisconversation has taken this turn. Slowly, so he doesn’t frighten her or disturbthe threads holding them together, he nods.
“Show me,” she whispers, and that’s when hestops thinking and acts on whatever the hell mood just struck the two of them,lifting his hand to cup her cheek. She smiles tremulously and leans into hispalm. He nearly shouts with joy and caresses his thumb over her lower lip,watches the plump flesh respond to his touch. Her eyes flutter shut and heswears he hears her sigh.
He lowers his head to hers, still expecting tobe rudely awakened and realize that he fell asleep on the couch and the pastfew minutes have been nothing more than another dream. More wishful thinking.Or for her to shove him away and yell at him that he completely misreadeverything.
But then she makes a noise of frustration, grabsa fistful of his shirt in her hand and tugs on it. His body and his mindfinally come to a consensus and he caresses his lips over hers. Once to hearthe sharp inhale of expectation. Another for the soft whine that tells him shereally does want him to kiss her. Then he tilts his head the smallest amount sohe doesn’t crush her nose when his lips join with hers and he wraps his armtighter around her, turns so that her chest smashes into his.
She doesn’t run or push him away. Doesn’t remindhim that they’re friends. Instead, Katniss winds her fingers through his hair,meeting each movement of his lips with one of her own. For a moment, he thinksto pinch himself, to make sure that this is real, but that would require him toremove a hand from her, something he’s not willing to do. His head spins withquestions and desires.
Eventually, Katniss moves to lay back on thecouch, dragging him down with her. They shift limbs and hands awkwardly, stillfused at the mouth. He tries to focus on one sense at a time, to memorize hertaste, the feel of her lips on his, the sounds she makes in the back of herthroat, the scent of her soap a familiar tether to reality as they kiss. Andkiss.
Without much space, his knee slips off the couchand he has to brace his foot on the floor, even as she lifts her legs to wraparound his waist, firmly pulling him down on top of her, fingers skimming overhis neck, scraping his scalp. She moans and opens her mouth beneath his, lettinghim feel the sound as it ripples across his tongue. He returns it as theircores align, the grip her legs have on him pulling him flush against her. Hecan’t help the quick thrust into her, can’t help but revel at the heat thatsurrounds them and the friction between them, can’t help the quick leap tothinking about what this would feel like if they were both naked.
She gasps and backs away from the kiss. Peetamentally berates himself.
Too fast. Much too fast.
“Sorry,” he mutters, trying to leave herembrace, but she clings to him.
“For what?” she breathes and he stares at her,lips swollen, eyes glassy, cheeks flushed. A thrill of arrogance runs throughhim, clouding his better intentions to slow things down. He did that. He madeKatniss look like this, ripe for loving.
“For…rushing things?” he asks uncertainly.
“I don’t feel rushed,” she admits, her fingerstoying with the hair at the nape of his neck.
“You don’t,” he whispers and she shakes herhead.
“Unless…unless you don’t want–”
“No,” he says in a rush. Her brows snap togetherin a scowl and he hurries to fix the damage his haste has created. “I want to.You have no idea how much or how long I’ve wanted this, Katniss. But that’sjust it. I don’t want to scare you.”
“Why do you think I’d be scared?” she asks,still scowling. He hears his brothers’ taunts in his head, calling him ‘oldman.’ He’s not old, not even close, but an image of him and Katniss in rockingchairs, gray and wrinkled with five feet of space and no words of love betweenthem hits him just then. Screw it. He’ll find a way to repair friendship laterif he’s wrong. He can’t take the chance that he might miss out on this becausehe’s afraid.
“Because I’m helplessly in love with you, Katniss.I have been for years,” he murmurs. She smiles. Astonishing and radiant. Hisheart thunders to life at the sight of that expression. Her hand slowly bringshis lips back down to hers.
“Then stop trying to run off when I’m trying tokiss you,” she says and he laughs lightly for a second before kissing heragain.
This time, he doesn’t hold back, taking the timeto kiss her deeply. To let his hand wander up and down her side, to slipbeneath her sweater and skim the smooth skin of her belly, up to her ribs anddown, ever so slowly working his way higher.
Shock jolts through him when his fingers brushthe underside of her breast and find no bra barring the way. Lust followsswiftly behind as he cups the perky mound in his hand and she arches into him,moaning desperately. Loud enough to muffle the thunder overhead. Her legs clamparound him and after that, he loses track of who touches where and when. He’slost in the need to feel every inch of her because it is better for him totouch and discover than lose his sanity in thoughts of wasted time.
He kisses her cheeks and eyelids, nibbles on herears and neck, moves his hips to the rhythm of her gasping moans and quietpleas of nothing but ‘yes’ and ‘Peeta.’ Her hands move to his jeans to unfastenhis belt and slip the button through its loop. The release of pressure when shelowers his zipper snaps him back to some semblance of thinking and he pullsback to halt her hands.
“Don’t you want…?”
“More than anything,” he whispers, kissing herlips swiftly before turning them on the couch so she’s reclining against theback and he’s kneeling before her on the floor. Because he’s still not surewhere this is going or how much she’ll allow him, and he refuses to waste his chanceto do the one thing that has driven his fantasies of her for years.
He frantically undoes her jeans, ignoring theclank of his own belt as it flaps freely. Gripping her jeans, he tugs them downher legs, urging her to lift her hips to help. When they’re off and discardedto the side, he glances back up at her, notes that her smile still flirts withher lips. As he reaches for her panties, though, he freezes with his hands inmidair at the image of her like this. Katniss shifts her legs impatiently. Orperhaps nervously.
“Beautiful,” he whispers, fingers tracing overthe sunset hued flowers on her panties. His favorite colors. He wonders if shewore these on purpose today or if it’s coincidence. When he looks up at herface, she’s holding her fists near her mouth, chewing lightly on her thumbnails. He wracks his brains for a way to get her to laugh, to relax again.
“For me?” he asks with a cheeky grin. “Youshouldn’t have.”
Then she laughs, a little breathless but it’sstill one of hers, and helps him slide the panties down her legs. He lifts oneleg by her ankle and drops soft kisses to the delicate skin. Up one centimeterat a time, stealing brief glances at her face to make sure she’s still withhim. When he reaches her knee, he drapes her leg over his shoulder and keepsgoing. Kisses. Soft bites. Slow licks. The higher he travels, the faster andlouder she breathes until he reaches his goal and she releases a singing sighof relief. Her hips undulate beneath his mouth, her hands curving over the backof the couch to anchor herself.
He’s drunk on her taste in seconds, lost in thehooded gaze she bestows on him when he looks up at her. With a teasing dip ofhis tongue, he moves to the side and down her other leg. Katniss whimpers androlls her hips towards him again and he holds back his chuckle, still stunnedthat she seems to want this as badly as him.
“I love the way you taste,” he whispers as henuzzles her thigh and kisses down to her knee before returning where she wantshim. “I love everything about you.”
When he makes it back, she lets loose a moanthat sounds more like a song to him. He makes it his life goal to get her tomake that noise endlessly until she comes on his tongue. One hand grips hishair, and she begs him not to stop as her nails scorch his scalp. He risks aglance up at her face, twisted in effort. Peeta shifts enough to slide firstone then a second finger between her lips, nearly coming right then at theincredible warmth that greets him, the gentle tug of her walls that tells himshe’s close.
Her body bows on the couch as she wails hisname. Then she snaps back and curls in on him, legs clamping down and holdinghim in place as she pulses against his fingers and tongue. It’s everything he’sdreamt of and more.
Katniss flops back on the couch when she’s done,panting and flushed with her release. Slowly, he pulls his fingers from her andplants one last kiss on her before sitting back as her legs fall away from him.Her eyes flutter open in time for her to watch him lick his fingers clean ofher. She shudders and then covers her mouth, but not before a giggle escapesher. And then another from behind her hands.
“What’re you thinking?” he asks, scared of theanswer.
“We should’ve done this sooner, birthday boy,”she says and his cock jumps at her sultry tone. Her eyes widen and she sits upon the couch. “You weren’t supposed to do that!”
“Do what?” Peeta’s heart sinks at her words, andhe stands up to put some distance between them. But her hands grasp at his jeansand pull him towards her instead.
“It’s your birthday, not mine,” she says,confusing him because she sounds annoyed with him, but at the same time, she’syanking his clothes down.
“I wanted to,” he insists. And then her lipswrap around him and his assertion that he’s wanted to eat her out like that foryears gets lost in his strangled curse.
He tangles his fingers in her hair and tries toslow her down, but time and months of celibacy and the taste of her still onhis tongue and years of fantasies work against him. It only takes a few hardsucks of her mouth before the sensation becomes too much. He manages to pullher off of him and cup his hand over himself just in time.
As soon as the euphoria passes, the shame takesits place. He grabs his clothes and tugs them up just enough, turns away fromher in embarrassment, mumbling an apology before retreating into his bathroomto clean himself up, taking one of the candles with him. He’s a little moreharsh with his body than he needs to be, humiliated that he blew his load likea fucking teenager the second she touched him.
“Peeta,” she calls to him through the door andknocks softly before opening it. He curses himself for not locking it andfocuses on tucking himself back in his shorts and washing his hands and face sohe doesn’t have to see her disappointment with him in her eyes.
Her hands slide beneath his shirt, startling himas she embraces him from behind. “Are you mad at me?”
“No,” he says, stunned by her question. He meetsher eyes in the mirror, peeking over his shoulder. “I’m mad at myself.”
“You shouldn’t be,” she whispers. “I likedmaking you lose control that fast. And I especially liked what you did to mebefore that.”
They stare at one another for a minute, andPeeta wonders how they proceed from here. The awful thought occurs to him thatshe meant this as a one night thing. After all, that’s what his brothers hadintended, and all of this started with her saying he could have both. Both hotsex with a one night stand and a night spent with his best friend.
But now that he knows what she tastes like, whathis name sounds like flying off her tongue when she’s in the middle of coming,he’s not willing to let that go.
“Katniss, I’m still helplessly in love with you.I want to spend every possible minute of the rest of my life with you.”
“Well then come to bed, Peeta,” she whispers.She doesn’t let go of him as he lets his jeans fall to the floor and kicks theminto the corner. Even as he brushes his teeth, she keeps one hand on him whilebrushing her own with the toothbrush she keeps in his bathroom. She doesn’t letgo of him as they clean up their dinner mess, extinguish the candles, andeventually, she leads him to his own bed, crawling beneath the covers first andlooking back at him expectantly.
“We should maybe take things slow, yeah? So noone gets hurt,” he says quietly. She lifts one shoulder but doesn’t look awayfrom him.
“Okay. But we’ve shared a bed before, Peeta,”she reminds him. He laughs, although it sounds nervous or maybe hysterical tohis own ears. He runs a hand through his hair and then climbs into his bed.
As he settles beside her, she wriggles into hisarms and then cups his face in her hands before kissing him. The kiss soothesmany of his fears, but he knows they’ll still need to talk a little in themorning.
************************
TWENTY-FOUR
Bright May sunshine warms the earth, greetingthe newly bloomed flowers in the yard. Guests mingle and Peeta adds hiscarefully chosen present to the small stack before making his way over towardsthe grill where Katniss is engaged in a heated discussion with a tall,dark-haired guy he doesn’t recognize.
She looks up and smiles at Peeta, sending hisheart tripping over itself before she meets him halfway and throws her armsaround his neck.
“Cut the crap. What’d you bring me?” she asksand he laughs, but points out his gift on the picnic table. She hurries overand tears into it.
“Aren’t you supposed to wait until after we singto you?” he teases.
Katniss scowls at him, but the glint of mischiefin her eyes tells him that she’s not truly angry with him. She flips open thesmall box and he holds his breath, waiting for her reaction. Her hand tremblesas she runs a finger over the delicate silver locket with the bird engraved onit. Carefully pulling the necklace from its cushion, she holds it in her palmand opens it, gasping slightly when she sees the pictures.
Lately, she’s been missing her family more. Herparents and her sister. Peeta managed to get his hands on pictures of them, allsmiling and happiness, and tucked them into the locket to remind Katniss thatshe’s never alone. To remind her of the people who love her when she’s off onresearch trips or responsibility and distance conspire to keep her from herloved ones a little longer than she’d like.
“For when you miss them,” he says quietly,hoping he hasn’t stepped over the line. But she looks up at him with glisteningeyes and hands it to him before turning her back to him and lifting her hair.
“Help me put it on?” she asks.
“Of course,” he says and gently lays it acrossher throat. Once the necklace is clasped, he squeezes her shoulder and she letsher hair fall back into place.
“I love it, Peeta,” she says, turning to facehim again. She rests her hands on his shoulders and rises on her toes, pressinga kiss to his cheek. “It’s perfect.”
“Good, because I’m pretty sure they don’t takereturns,” he says to cover they way he’s flushing and trembling at the firstever brush of her lips on his skin. She laughs, but then Johanna shouts for herand Katniss leaves him with a sigh.
He wishes he could have more of her time, butthe gathered crowd demands much of her attention. When he does get a momentwith her, he points out that she’s clearly got droves of adoring friends. Shecomes back claiming they’re all there for the free food, a typical Katnissresponse that makes him laugh.
Halfway through the meal, he’s sent to thekitchen to grab another container of potato salad from the fridge. On the wayback, he’s stopped dead in his tracks before he rounds the corner of the houseby the conversation he hears.
“You’re not even the least bit upset that hecame here with Madge and they’re now sucking face?” Johanna asks, and Peetaknows she’s talking about Darius, Katniss’ ex-boyfriend, who showed up to theparty as Madge’s guest. Which means Johanna is talking to Katniss. He shouldannounce his presence rather than eavesdrop.
“God no. He can suck face with whomever hewants,” Katniss responds without a trace of anger, malice, hurt, or evenjealousy in her voice.
“I knew it. You’re in love with him,” Johannacrows.
“I am not,” Katniss insists.
“Not Darius, Brainless. The one that caused yourbreakup with Darius,” Johanna drops her voice and Peeta’s ears perk up asKatniss speaks again.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she insists, butthere’s a hitch in her voice that tells Peeta she’s lying. His heart plummetsto his toes and he braces a hand on the side of the house. Katniss is in lovewith someone. It was only a matter of time, but he thought he had more of it.
Ever since she’d broken up with Darius, Peetahas been working up the courage to finally tell her how he feels about her. Itwouldn’t be easy or simple, he reminded himself. Their friendship means theworld to him, and to her too, he hopes. Risking it on a romantic relationshipmight kill it or hurt them both. So he planned on being delicate about bringingit up, emphasizing that he’d do everything in his power to keep theirfriendship alive, to include burying his feelings as deep as necessary if theyturned out to be as one sided as he suspects. But now it sounds like it doesn’tmatter anyways. He waited too long.
“Oh come on. We both know Darius dumped youbecause he knew it, too. It’s all over your face every time you’re around him.You need to get on that before someone else does,” Jo keeps going despiteKatniss’ protests. “I’m just saying, there’s any number of ladies who wannaclimb him like a tree. Plus, he’s head over heels for you.”
He’s heard enough and back tracks to open theside door to the house before slamming it shut to give them a warning andwalking back around the house with a smile on his face. He manages to smile atthem both as he walks by on his way to take the salad to the buffet table.
Five minutes later as Katniss fills her platewith seconds, the tall and dark-haired guy from earlier rubs elbows with herand talks to her quietly.
“Oh, Peeta, this is Gale,” she introduces them,a pretty flush on her face. “Gale and I went to the same high school together.”
“Yeah?” Peeta asks as he shakes Gale’s hand.
“Ran into one another back in February, was it?”Gale says, glancing at Katniss for confirmation. Peeta misses whatever shesays, his mind caught on the timing, so close the day she and Darius broke up.And this is the first he’s heard mention of Gale at all. Which means they’vebeen seeing each other and Katniss hadn’t seen fit to tell Peeta, her bestfriend, about it. He swallows the lump of hurt this revelation causes.
They talk for a minute, but when Katnissfinishes her food and tosses her plate in the trash, any miniscule hope Peetahad left is smashed to pieces. Gale leans down towards Katniss and murmurssomething that makes her laugh, her head thrown back and a satisfied smile onGale’s face as he leads her off to the side, away from Peeta.
He’s not blind. He can tell Gale’s handsome.Tall, dark, taciturn, and brooding. Mysterious. Traditionally masculine basedon his conversation about archery and backpacking through Peru, fishing andhunting. The classic literary hero. And Katniss seems so at ease around him,that Peeta now knows Gale must be the one Johanna was referring to.
He reminds himself that his feelings are hisproblem to get over, and for the next few months, focuses on being just herfriend. Like always. It’d hurt far more to have her cut him out of her lifecompletely should her relationship with Gale escalate, so Peeta concentrates onbeing the best friend possible, making sure she knows he’ll always be there forher, no matter what. All the while, he braces himself for the blow to hisheart. But it never arrives.
Sometime around New Years, Gale starts datingone of Katniss’ coworkers instead, reawakening his hopes.
************************
TWENTY-FIVE
Peeta’s not sure what wakes him. He lays in thedark trying to place the sounds. There’s movement beside him in the bed andthen a sharp inhale.
“Katniss?” he asks, reaching out to turn on thebedside lamp, grateful that the power’s been restored, before rolling over tocheck on her. Sometimes she has nightmares about a car wreck that nearly killedher entire family when she was a teenager. Her eyes are wide and hazy as shewatches him, her cheeks stained with heat, her entire body rigid. “Are youokay?”
“Fine,” she gasps. “Just couldn’t sleep.”
“You don’t sound fine,” Peeta says and scootscloser to her. She flinches back away from him. His brow furrows in confusion,but as the seconds tick by, the appalled look still on her face, Peeta acceptswhat he feared earlier. That whatever happened between them was not some grandconfession of her love for him after all, but just a one night stand. And nowshe probably regrets it. “Okay. I’ll just go sleep on the couch. Give you somespace.”
“Graham sleeps there,” Katniss says, promptingPeeta to look at the time on his phone. It’s not even midnight yet. Rain stilldrums on the roof, steady and heavy, although he doesn’t hear any thunder.
“They won’t be home for a few more hours. He cansleep on the floor,” Peeta says and moves to stand from the bed.
“Wait!” Katniss says and grabs his arm. Peetastares down at her hand, at the two fingers glistening in the faint light. Hecan feel the sticky moisture coating them. Slowly, he lifts his gaze to her asthe realization of what she was doing dawns on him.
The very thought that she was doing that besidehim, in his bed, coupled with her tight grip on his arm sends desire screamingthrough his body. She huffs before releasing him, but he grips her wrist andbrings her hand towards his face. It’ll probably scare the shit out of her, buthe’s already told her that he’s in love with her, so what’s one more gamble?
He can smell her arousal on her fingers andwatches her eyes turn limpid with desire as he opens his mouth and sets herfingers on his tongue before sucking. The taste confirms his suspicions. He’snever forgetting this taste as long as he lives.
“Were you touching yourself, Katniss?” he asks,the lack of sleep removing his usual filters. She licks her lips and flexes herfingers, her wrist still in his hold.
“Maybe,” she whispers and he waits for furtherexplanation. She seems to come to a decision and scoots closer to him, leanstowards him. “I didn’t want to bother you, but I…I was thinking about you,Peeta. I always think about you.”
His stomach flips over and his cock stirs tolife at her confession. These aren’t things Katniss would share easily or withjust anyone. She guards her heart and her desires like they’re gold in FortKnox most of the time. Too many dates and boyfriends who claimed to love herfiery spirit only to try to douse it once they had her has made her cautious.Peeta wants to destroy every last one of them for nearly destroying one of thethings that draws him to her.
“But there’s more,” she whispers and he smilesslightly at the memory of his birthday two years ago. “I feel the same way.”
It takes him a moment to catch up, but when hedoes, his heart soars. “You’re helplessly in love with me?”
“I am,” she says with a slow nod. “I have beenfor a long time. I’m not sure how long, but I know that I don’t want whathappened earlier tonight to be the last time we do those things together.”
Peeta shifts beneath the covers to move in onher and Katniss reaches out to palm him through his shorts, making himimpossibly hard. “I thought we were taking things slow.”
“Slow? We’ve both wanted this for years, Peeta.Don’t you think that’s slow enough?” she asks, one eyebrow climbing up herforehead as her lips curl into a smile.
“Fair enough,” he says, relieved when she twiststheir hands so she’s gripping his wrist and pulls his hand straight to hercenter. She moans at the first touch of his fingers, the sound needy enoughthat he barely registers that her panties are nowhere on her body. “Fuck you’realready so wet. Next time you can’t sleep…wake me up and I’ll gladly help.”
“Oh, okay. I will,” she whispers. A thoughtoccurs to him and he needs to know, another piece that would mean she didn’tmake this choice on a whim.
“When I asked you earlier today if I was losingmy touch–”
“Oh my god,” she moans, gripping his arms as hecurls his fingers inside her. His cock jumps eagerly when he feels just howaroused she already is.
“What did you do after we hung up last night?”
“This. Oh, Peeta,” she admits breathlessly.
He hasn’t even made a wish on birthday candlesyet today, and here his wishes are all coming true. He strokes her folds andlatches his mouth around one nipple after she tears her shirt from her body.Her hands claw at his shirt too, but he waits until she’s writhing and pleadingwith him, telling him that she needs him, before he stops kissing and touchingher long enough to remove his clothes. His hands fumble around in hisnightstand before he finds a condom. He squints at the expiration date, hisvision clouded as Katniss’ teeth tug on his earlobe and her body writhesbeneath him.
“Hurry. Now,” she urges when he’s able to makeout that it’s still good, if only just. Once he has it on, their hands grip andtug, bodies shift until he’s sliding inside of her.
“Finally,” she sighs when he’s buried all theway, his pulse thrumming madly and his arms shaking in the effort to keep frompounding into her mindlessly.
“You love me,” he whispers as he pulls out tilljust his head is still inside her.
“I do, Peeta,” she gasps as he plunges back in.
“Why’d we wait so long?” he groans as he gripsthe sheets beside her ribs and moves slowly, so he doesn’t hurt her.
“I don’t know anymore,” she says threading herfingers through his hair and bringing his mouth to hers. They kiss as he moves,building her up to the point she can’t take it anymore.
He can’t decide if he’d rather kiss her orwatch, and ends the kiss to rest his forehead on hers and do the latter, awedby the open desire and need in her gray eyes. “God Katniss, I wish I’d beenbraver sooner. Had spoken up a year ago when I wanted to.”
“Shut up and make up for it now,” she orders.She writhes beneath him, tangling the sheets around their legs, moaning witheach thrust until she bends upwards and grips the slats of his headboard withone hand.
“Please. Peeta, please,” she whines. “Don’t makeme wait any longer.”
He moves faster, encouraged by the singing wailsof delight that fly from her throat and dance through his senses along with theecstasy of being inside her. She demands everything from him and he gives it,gripping the headboard with one hand next to hers, to give himself betterleverage, shouting when her nails rake over his shoulder and back, trailing firethrough his blood with her eager moans and desperate thrusts meeting his. Thebed squeaks and the headboard keeps time against the wall. Their slick skinslides and sticks and burns at every touch. It’s never been this loud, intense,or uninhibited with anyone before and he shoves aside regrets that he didn’tspeak up sooner to live fully in this moment, to focus on her first tremors onhis cock.
“Like that. Ung! Just like that, Peeta!” sheexclaims, her eyes locked on his, and then her words dissolve into incoherentsounds of elation as he twists his hips until her walls cease their clenching.His arms shake and she practically purrs as she moves her hips against his,whispers to him to keep going, to come for her.
The headboard once more thumps against the wallin time with his desperate grunts. He tries not to pound her like an animal,but her claws in his skin and the things she whispers to him drive him out ofhis mind with need. He’s hanging off the edge until she demands that he ‘letgo’ and he thrusts twice more, releasing a gut wrenching shout as euphoriaburns through him. Peeta falls still as he fills the condom, his orgasm lastinglonger than any he can remember. He practically blacks out from the intense pleasureand has to roll to the side to keep from crushing her when he collapses.
He lays there with his eyes closed and theirlegs entangled, catching his breath and trailing his fingers through the sheenof sweat on her skin, listening to her ragged breathing as they slowly driftback down.
“Happy Birthday, Peeta. Told you that you couldhave both,” she whispers as she rolls over to cuddle into his side. He holdsher there and smiles, opening one eye and checking the clock on his phone,surprised when he sees that the time is 11:58. So it is still his birthday.Setting the phone down, he gathers her in his embrace and kisses her, slow andsavoring each touch, each soft smacking sound of their mouths. The thoughtdrifts through his mind that his brother was wrong. The best thing to everhappen to him occurred on his twenty-fifth birthday, and he’s certain that itcan only get better from here.
“I never gave you your present,” she pouts atone point, making Peeta laugh.
“You mean there’s more?”
**********************
Although Katniss staying the night is nothingnew, they’re careful about their appearance the next morning as they wanderinto the kitchen for breakfast, not wanting to give his brothers anything toantagonize them over. Peeta’s surprised to see both of his brothers awake,leaning against the kitchen counter and drinking coffee, a plate of muffinsfresh from the oven sitting on the island. Both of them appear cheerful and notthe least bit hungover.
“Morning,” he says as Katniss slides into one ofthe stools at the island and he starts the water for tea.
“Good morning indeed,” Ryen says, making thehair on the back of Peeta’s neck stand on edge. He turns to say something, buthis brother cuts him off. “We didn’t get a chance to give you your cake lastnight. But last minute changes needed to be made to the message, so I guess itturned out better this way.”
Katniss lifts the lid off the plastic cakecaddy, her face almost instantly turning a splotchy red before she drops thelid back in place and stares up at Peeta with wide eyes.
He’s by her side in two steps as his brothersboth double over in laughter. At first, Katniss tries to stop him from looking,and he’s now a little scared of what he’ll find beneath the lid, but then shesighs and shrugs, flipping the lid off for him herself and smiling wryly.
“Guess they got home earlier than we thought,”she says and Peeta looks down at the messy frosting job that clearly indicateshis brothers scraped off the original icing and replaced it with the four wordsin bright blue.
Congrats on the Sex!
He opens his mouth to yell at his brothers forbeing insensitive assholes, but Katniss laughs and then yanks his head down tohers, stopping his words and his annoyance at his brothers with her lips onhis. He loses himself quickly in the kiss and only vaguely hears his brothers’reaction.
“So does this mean you’ll have an open bedroomsoon?”
“Oh fuck no. Don’t leave me with him, Peeta,”Ryen whines.
Peeta lifts his head and pushes the cake towardshis brother. “Have some cake, Ryen. It’ll make you feel better.” Then hedeposits the plate of fresh muffins in Katniss’ hands, scoops her out of herchair, and carries her and the muffins back to bed…so they can have both.
Hey, y'all! My birthday is April 28! I would really love something fluffy. Really into fake relationships at the moment. Any rating will do! :)
Happy Birthday @booksrockmyface! We hope you’re having a fantastic day and just to make it extra sweet, @finnicko-loves-anniec has crafted an extra delicious slice of Everlark, just for you!
“Out!” The door hit her in the shoulder as she pulled it open. Katniss ignored the pain. “I said out!”
Gale brushed a piece of hair behind her ear, his fingertips skimming along her cheek as he did so. She pushed his hand away. “Come on, babe, let’s talk about this.”
“You can ‘talk about this’ with your other babe.” Katniss hated air quotes with a passion. Right now, she hated him enough to ignore that. “I said out.”
She heard a door squeak down the hall. Lazy shits in management had promised to fix that months ago. Katniss glared at the man who had dared to poke his head into the hallway. “Not you, Mellark. You stay in.” He didn’t budge. Was nobody listening to her today?
“Katniss, I can –“
“No, you can’t. Please leave.”
His shoulders slumped, and he moved toward the door. Katniss counted the steps as he went. Just one more, and then she could…
He stopped in the doorway, two hundred pounds of him stopping her from shutting him out. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“No.”
Gale was finally outside. “Katniss, we need to talk about this.”
“You can call me all you want. That doesn’t mean I’m going to answer.” She shut the door and clicked the deadbolt into place.
…
It took ten minutes for panic to set in. Katniss unlocked her phone, stared at Gale’s contact information, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Cheaters neve change, and clean breaks were better. No sense in bringing him back into her life when she would have to kick him out again in a few days.
That’s what rationality told her, anyway. And if her Prim’s wedding wasn’t in two days, she would be repeating those marvelously rational affirmations to herself in between bites of Ben & Jerry’s. Instead, she had a size-four bridesmaid dress that she needed to fit into on Saturday and a hell of a mess to get herself out of.
Katniss wasn’t an expert in these matters, but six months seemed like a long time to date someone without introducing them to the family. It wasn’t the kind of thing that set off alarm bells – after all, Gale had brought her home to his mother two and a half months in, and with Prim in South Carolina finishing up her residency and Mom in Portland doing, well, whatever Mom did, getting everyone together would be a logistical nightmare. The wedding provided the perfect solution. Gale’s crazy work schedule meant he couldn’t get time off for the rehearsal dinner, and the rest of the week had been a scheduling mess for everyone else, so they’d settled on the wedding.
So now she got to decide between pasting on a happy face and calling Gale or having her breakup be the elephant in the room at her sister’s wedding. Shit. Why couldn’t he have waited another week to cheat on her?
She jumped at a knock on the door. “Go away, Gale.”
“It’s not Gale.” Peeta. Hadn’t she told him to stay out of this?
Suddenly aware that it was four AM and she had been angry-crying in yesterday’s makeup for a good portion of the last six hours, Katniss fumbled. “Hey, Peeta.” Please don’t want to come in.
“I was on my way to work and saw that your light was still on. You okay?”
“Sure.” Wow, that sounded convincing.
Thank God, he was willing to accept her lies. “Okay. Let me know if there’s anything I can do. Hope today’s better for you.” The forces that ran the universe should really let her know what she’d done in her last life to deserve such a nice, if clueless, guy for a neighbor.
“Thanks. You too.” The idea followed half a second later. She ran to the door and pulled it open. “Peeta, I thought of something!”
His eyebrows rose when he saw her. Way to flatter a girl. “Katniss? Are you, um, I mean -”
“Will you pretend to be Gale and take me to my sister’s wedding on Saturday?” Three heartbeats of silence told her that sounded just as crazy to him as it did to her.
To his credit, Peeta didn’t run away. He checked his watch instead. “I’ve got a few minutes before I really need to head. Care to give me some background?”
“Come in. Can I get you something to drink?” There might be twenty balled-up used tissues on the couch, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t pretend to be a good hostess.
“Not right now, thanks, but I’d like to keep my options open depending on what you’ve got to say.”
“That’s fair.”
…
“Darius Constantinides.”
“Darius Constantine-ides.”
Katniss forced back a groan. Shouldn’t he have taken Greek during divinity school? “No, repeat after me: Darius Constantinides.” She slowed it down as much as possible, and this time, Father Rose managed to get it right. “Do you want to write that down or something?” she prodded.
“I’ll remember.”
“I think you should write it down just in case.” This shouldn’t be grating on her so much. It wasn’t her name, and Darius was laid-back enough that he probably wouldn’t care, but Prim was only getting married once. She deserved for that day to be perfect, and Katniss had already screwed it up enough.
Father Rose still hadn’t made any move to write down the correct pronunciation. “Well?”
“Katniss, once I know the name, I know it.” He had the kindly old man thing down. “Weddings are stressful, but there’s no need for you to worry.”
“I need this to be perfect.” Except for the fact that instead of her now ex-boyfriend, she was bringing her handsome neighbor pretending to be her boyfriend as her date. That could be less-than-perfect, but only because the other alternatives were even worse.
He smiled. “Nothing on this earth is perfect.”
“The wedding will be.” Had she just threatened a priest? Katniss needed an out. “I’m going to check on Prim. She said she hadn’t heard back from the florist yet.”
She really needed to get back to the gym sometime. Half-walking, half-running from a seventy-year-old shouldn’t take this much out of her.
…
She straightened his tie. “The green’s a nice touch.”
“I thought it’d go with your dress. You look lovely, by the way.”
“You don’t need to go into boyfriend mode yet, but thank you.” Katniss gave him a once-over. “You’re looking pretty good yourself.”
Understatement of the century. She had quietly admired him in his bakery t-shirts and cozy sweaters for years, but Katniss had never given any thought to how Peeta might fill out a suit. She imagined she’d make up for lost time over the next few weeks.
“How touchy-feely are we going to be?”
“What are you comfortable with? Gale and I have been dating – dated,” she corrected herself, “for a little over six months. Anything’s on the table as far as I’m concerned.”
A slow, sexy smirk spread over his face.
She rolled her eyes. “Not like that. Just, y’know, hand-holding or hugging or maybe some kissing. Nothing they couldn’t stick a G rating on.”
“Of course. It’s your sister’s wedding, and anything more would be inappropriate. Where would you get that idea?”
She huffed, then, before she could talk herself out of it, Katniss got up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. It never hurt to catch your opponent (or teammate, in this case) off guard.
…
She could feel his eyes on her. Katniss looked over to where he sat with Aunt Edith, a great-aunt on their mother’s side who Katniss had believed hated everybody before she saw Peeta chatting with her before the ceremony started. There was blushing. And smiles. When Katniss ‘broke up’ with him in a few days, Peeta would be lucky not to find Aunt Edith on his doorstep.
He caught her watching him and grinned. Heat crept up her neck and splotched her cheeks pink as she returned his smile.
“Primrose Eileen Everdeen,” Father Rose continued, dragging Katniss’ attention back to the scene in front of her. “Do you, Primrose Everdeen, take this man Darius Constantinides to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
There could never be any doubt of her response. “I do.”
Katniss was not a woman who cried at weddings. In fact, she was a woman who rarely cried at anything at all. Now, though, watching her baby sister saying her vows, so happy to be spending the rest of her life with a man who was just as thrilled to spend his life with her…
No. Keep it together.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
Thirty seconds. If you can last the next thirty seconds, you’re good to go.
Then the veil came up, and with that, Katniss gave that waterproof mascara a run for its money.
…
“Gale, it’s so nice to meet you.”
“You too, Mrs. Everdeen.” Peeta would be the type to use last names with his in-laws. Not that her mother would ever be Peeta’s mother-in-law, since this was definitely a one-night engagement, but still.
“Eileen, please.”
She saw Prim edging towards them, Darius in tow. They wore matching smiles, and both glowed with a kind of contentment that Katniss would have thought kind of gross any other day.
Katniss rose to greet them, pulling Prim in for a hug the second she was close enough. “Every time I see you, I’m amazed by how pretty you look!”
“I’m glad you’re surprised.”
She pulled away to glare at her sister. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
Prim shot her a grin that was pure mischief and turned to Peeta. “Nice to meet you, Gale. I’m Prim.”
Peeta introduced himself – she really ought to have done that herself – and the five of them fell into easy conversation. That in and of itself was odd. Nothing involving her mother was ever easy. The party continued around them, strains of music and conversation occasionally floating into their little bubble.
They had just gotten onto the subject of work, a dangerous topic, since she had told Mom and Prim that Gale was an engineer, and Peeta didn’t seem at all like the engineer type, when Prim elbowed her in the ribs.
“It’s your favorite song!” True enough, Doris Day’s voice carried over the room, begging her lover to dream little dreams of her. “Go dance!”
One couldn’t very well disobey a bride on her wedding day.
“Y’know, I’m not sure that my family is going to believe I dumped you,” she said once she was sure Mom and Prim were out of earshot.
“Sure you’re not just looking for excuses to keep me around?” He gave her a spin, pulling her closer at the end.
“I meant that the story will have to be that you broke up with me.”
“I know what you meant.” He paused for a few seconds. “But I wouldn’t mind not being gotten rid of.”
She shook her head. “I think there was one too many negatives for me to follow that.”
“I like your family.”
“They like you.”
“And I like you. A lot.”
“Oh.” Katniss hadn’t considered that possibility. Actually, she had, many times, but it was always a hypothetical, a fantasy to visit when everything else went wrong. Here, now, the dream was brought to life, tactile with his hand on her waist, their bodies so close she could feel the heat radiating off him.
They slowed as the song reached its end, her hand moved from his shoulder to his cheek, gently bringing him down until their lips touched. That, she felt, was answer enough.
…
Two text messages from Prim greeted her the next morning.
I always thought your neighbor was hot. Good for you.
You’ll have to let me know what happened with Gale sometime.
She put the phone away and snuggled a little deeper into Peeta’s arms. Explanations could wait.
Hi! My birthday is April 24th and I'd love to read everlark where Peeta thinks he's lost Katniss somehow, like a misunderstanding or even some kind of accident, but everything works out in the end. Love the drama/angst, and I'm down for any rating (but let's be real, the smuttier the better bc it's my birthday lol). No infidelity please! Tytyty! You are awesome!
Happy Birthday! There is definitely some angst in this one. Thanks for having a birthday so we can all enjoy this great story! And thank you to @katnissdoesnotfollowback for writing and submitting it. She’s been a MAJOR contributor to this blog, as have many others, and we can’t thank her enough. Links to part one & part two if you haven’t read them yet. Enjoy! I know we did.
Happy Birthday! Hope you enjoy this somewhatangsty story. Hugs and lots of love to you on your special day!
All’s Fair - Part 3
WARNINGS: RATED E for language, PTSD, and smut. Mostly the rating is forthe smut. SMUT I SAY!
A/N: HR inthis instance stands for Human Remains. There’s no gore or graphic violence inthis, but there is a healthy dose of angst. Thank you @peetabreadgirl for pre-reading.
************************
My boots scrape the pavement as I stop to stareup and down the parking lot aisles. I find at least four Jeep-shaped vehiclesunder black covers and sigh, drop my bag on the pavement, and search throughthe pockets for my keys. Not even my car keys, either. Customs fucked up mypacking job and I’m pretty sure they wound up back in my footlocker. I find thekeys I need underneath a half empty bottle of Gatorade and unlock my trunk,rummaging around until my fingers find the canvas ribbon on my at homekeychain. Yanking them out, I listen to the jingle of home with the distantgrowl of a C-130 spooling up its engines. The humid North Carolina air pressesdown on my lungs and I blink in the fading light.
It’s late. I’m exhausted and hungry. And the redREMOVE BEFORE FLIGHT tag on my keys is a one-two punch to the face. Idon’t even know where he is right now. He was supposed to be home sometime lastweek, although I don’t know the exact date, but the fact that he wasn’t here tomeet me means he was delayed somewhere. Or something far worse that I am notprepared to contemplate on four hours of shitty sleep on a cramped rotatorflight and an empty stomach.
Pocketing my car keys, I slam my footlocker shutand lock it back up, hefting my bag back on my shoulder and hauling the trunkonto its wheels to continue my solitary trek. I hit the lock button on the keyfob twice and hope my battery didn’t die while I’ve been gone. I’ve gotjumpers, but no one I feel comfortable inconveniencing. Most of the others havealready gone home. Prim couldn’t be here this time, unable to get away from medschool. Mom’s too sick to travel. Gale’s still somewhere in Fallujah, I think.At least, that’s the last place I ran into him.
Finally, my car honks back at me and I trudgethree aisles over towards the sound. Think it’s rough remembering where youparked your car after a thirty minute trip into a grocery store? Tryremembering where the fuck you parked it in a long term lot after a year longdeployment. I drop everything when I reach my Jeep. Unceremonious and messy.Fuck the Army and it’s obsession with order.
It takes me a few tries to get the cover off mycar and folded up enough to shove it in the back. My footlocker and duffle goin next. The pack goes on the front seat since it contains my wallet, such asit is. I climb into the driver’s seat and roll back enough of the canvas sothat I’ll be able to feel the breeze. Keys in the ignition and I freeze, oncemore staring at the bright red tag.
Peeta gave it to me right before my firstdeployment, in a black velvet box that looked like it contained a fancynecklace. Which it did. A single, luminescent pearl on a silver chain nestledunderneath a layer of padding, but on top had been this keychain. I’d laughednervously and shoved his face away from me when I saw the tag, but then he’dshown me what he’d bought for himself...a red, white, and blue double Akeychain. The emblem of the 82nd Airborne. My unit. They were meant to be asymbol. When we saw the keychains that ought to belong to each other, then we’dknow we were home.
The C-130 must be warmed up because the tone ofit changes, softens as it faces a different direction. Turning up the taxiway,preparing for takeoff. I wonder what they’re doing tonight. Dropping bundles?Cargo? Jumpers? Or maybe they’re just making proficiency runs. Either way, Iknow Peeta’s not with them.
“Come on baby, don’t let me down,” I mutter andcrank the engine. She starts rough but she does turn over. I throw my coveronto the passenger side floorboard, needing to feel the wind in my croppedshort hair after months of it being stifled beneath a kevlar helmet.
As I leave the lot, I make a last minutedecision, turning towards the airfield instead of the main gate. I just want tobe sure. I’d call, but my phone’s buried in the back and I didn’t think to pullit out while I was searching for my keys. And maybe I’m not ready to face thesilence of an empty house.
The drive is refreshing, but when I reach theairlift wing’s long term parking lot, I realize what a mistake this was. Theirsis almost as full as ours. I drive up one aisle and down the next, slowing everytime I see anything that might be silver. I find it in the fourth aisle.Peeta’s dark silver Mustang, parked next to a black Silverado, a layer ofpollen coating it, obscuring the color. I grip my steering wheel and stare atthe car for a moment. Then I force myself to leave.
I’ll be going home to an empty house.
The lights in town feel blindingly bright.Foreign after a year in the desert. When I tip my head back, I can barely makeout a handful of stars as they emerge into the night sky. At a red light, agroup of teens in a Tahoe with all the windows down stops next to me, laughingand singing along with their music. Once more, I’m massaging my steering wheeland trying to find my place in this world. It’s familiar and still disturbing.The lights and the colors too bright, the sounds too much like a dull roar, apounding in the skull.
It’s when I pass a McDonald’s and my stomachgrowls painfully that I realize I’ll be going home to an empty pantry, too.There might be a can of soup or something, but nothing fresh. No one’s lived inthat house for six months and I didn’t think to ask Eddy, our neighbor’s kid,to stock the pantry for us. He was just keeping an eye on the place,maintaining the yard, and bringing in any mail. It’ll all be junk, but it’sbetter than leaving it to piss off the mail carrier.
With a sigh, I pull into a grocery store thatlooks new, hoping they have a deli still open so I can get something alreadycooked and warm. I make it quick, though I do spend a few minutes debatingbetween macaroni or potato salad to go with my rotisserie chicken.Choices...something else that feels incongruously familiar. They’ve got abakery, too, and I add a loaf to my basket for dinner, and a couple bagels soI’ve at least got something to eat for breakfast, not caring that they’ll be alittle stale. I’ve eaten worse. I’ll come back tomorrow for a real groceryshopping trip.
I use the self checkout lane, though, becausethe last thing I want right now is attention called to me in the form of achatty cashier or someone wanting to thank me for my service. Most of them meanwell, but sometimes it’s hard to know what to say in response. ‘You’rewelcome?’ Arrogant. ‘Thank you?’ For what exactly? Thanking mefirst? ‘Just glad to serve my country?’ Yeah, tell that to Darius andhis family… I shake myself and gather my groceries before rushing out of thestore.
Once I’m safely back in my Jeep with nounnecessary human interactions, I breathe easier. She starts up like a dreamthis time and I drive home, only freaking out at one plastic bag as the windmakes it drift across my path. Pretty good, considering.
“Here goes nothing,” I say and reach up to pressthe button to my garage door opener. Nothing. Car battery lasted. Remotebattery did not. Time for the car and door dance. By the time I get my Jeep inthe garage, I add grouchy to my list of feelings. My pack goes inside with meand my food. The rest can wait.
The house is dark and smells musty. I open a fewwindows to air it out, humidity be damned, and flip on a couple lights so it’snot as depressing. Then I eat -- with a real fork, off a plate that I’ll haveto wash -- in about four minutes. Which is savoring my meal, by the way.
Once I’ve placed my leftovers in the fridge, Iget the rest of my shit inside and in the bedroom, glaring at the neatly madebed. Starting the shower, I toss crap from my trunk until I find my phone andplug it in. Then I wait for the thing to turn back on and for the water to warmup. I’ve got one voicemail from Prim. I’ll call her after my shower.
I leave my cams on the floor in a pile. I’llshove all of it in the washing machine later. The good thing about shampoo andsoap is that they don’t go bad, although there’s a strange crust around thecaps. I wash quickly, watching the murky water drain away sand and three daysworth of funk layered over remnants from months of half-assed showers.Normally, I’d be in a rush. Limited water and somewhere to be in five minutesmeans that when we got them, showers weren’t luxurious or even very efficient.They were just fast.
Standing under the clear, steaming stream, I tryto relax. To enjoy the luxury. But I can only manage a few extra minutes beforeI start to feel ansty and get out. It’s silly, but once I dry off and am standingin my underwear, staring at my drawer full of pajamas, I hesitate. Instead, Iyank open one of Peeta’s drawers, finger the neatly folded cotton shirts beforefinally dragging one over my body. The shirt smells stale as well, from it’smonths untouched in storage, but as long as I don’t inhale too deeply, I cansort of pretend that it’s his arms holding me. I comb through my hair andsettle on the bed to call Prim.
“Hey! Welcome home!”
“Hi, Prim,” I say and smile for the first timesince stepping off the plane.
“Oh my gosh! I can actually hear you! Nostatic!”
“Just one of the many perks of being stateside,”I say and look around the room. Prim prattles on for several minutes aboutschool and how excited she is to see me in a few days. I try to remaincheerful, but it’s not easy. All I can think about is how her life continueduninterrupted while I dodged bullets, sent a friend home in a casket, and camehome to a stale house.
“You okay?” Prim asks, cutting into my thoughts.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I say automatically. “Why?”
“I asked if you’d be bringing Peeta when youcome home in a few days and you didn’t answer.”
“Sorry, Duck,” I say. “I spaced out. It was kindof a long flight home.”
“I’ll bet,” she says then waits for my answer.
“I don’t know. He was supposed to be back lastweek, but he’s not, so…”
“I’m sure he’s okay,” Prim says and goes on tosuggest that he can always catch up to us after he gets back, but her wordsopen the gates of fears and worries that I’ve kept carefully under lock andkey.
I maneuver awkwardly through the rest of ourconversation until I remind her how tired I am. When we hang up, I sit rigidand at war with myself. And even though I already know what's going to happen,I press Peeta's name and hold the phone to my ear.
Straight to his voicemail, but I listen anyways.Just to hear his voice for a few seconds, something I haven't heard in sixmonths. I disconnect before the beep and power my phone down then toss it onthe nightstand to charge the rest of the way, wondering if he ever called myphone during those six months he was here and I was not, just to hear my voice.I hug a pillow to my chest before laying down. I squeeze my eyes shut and ordermy body to sleep, but as exhausted as I am, I can’t seem to relax. The sheetscarry a musty smell of their own that makes my nose wrinkle, and they feelcold.
Four months. I haven’t seen him in four months,and even then, it was thirty seconds from a distance and a twist of luck. On atarmac in Baghdad while we were piling into the back of one plane, he waspre-flighting another. At least, I think it was him. We didn’t get a chance totalk. And I’m not even sure he saw me or knew I was there. Since his deploymentwas six months versus my year, we kept in touch better while he was stateside.Skype and e-mail, when I was lucky to stop at a base with internet. Theoccasional letter or phone call. But once he was in the desert too, all but theemails stopped. We just kept missing each other and it was more frustratingthan anything else.
With a low growl, I shove myself off the bed,dragging the spring green duvet into the living room with me. I plop on thecouch and turn on the TV, hoping it will numb me into slumber.
It doesn’t.
News channels covering events I know littleabout, since I was isolated from current events at home for a year other thanthe tidbits Mom, and Prim, and Peeta while he could, would send to me in theirletters. When I stumble across war coverage on one channel, I pause, butquickly move on. I live it. I don’t need them telling me what it’s like.Besides, there’s a small part of me that’s terrified that the next breakingstory will be about a plane crash.
The rest of the channels disappoint just asmuch. Petty squabbles on reality shows. Commercials and other fluff. It’s justlike talking to Prim only magnified. This used to be my life, I think as I turnthe TV back off and wander into the kitchen. I eat one of the bagels I’d meantfor breakfast just to have something normal to do.
When I finally shove myself back into bed, it’swith little hope of sleeping. Still, I try, and I must succeed because I seethings, some of them real, others more difficult to pinpoint. Sergeant Chaffyelling over the pop of gunfire. A woman racing into the streets to enfold herchild into the black billows of her dress before collapsing and crying over hisbody. Peeta’s smile. The ringing in my ears when a grenade went off close by,drowning out the shouts and gunfire that followed. A door kicked in beneath atan boot. Darius laughing the second before the IED went off. A fireball and atower of smoke against an azure sky, the twisted wreckage of a plane’s tail.
I gasp and wake up, sweating and trembling.Slowly, I manage to get ahold of my breathing and stand, walking slowly to thebathroom to splash water on my face in the dark. I gulp down a few handfuls andthen return to bed, stripping the duvet off first and using only the sheet.Staring at the ceiling as I wait for morning or sleep, whichever arrives first.I can’t tell which one it is, drifting in and out of dreams. Even when I see myroom, there’s Gale, detailing a strategy for clearing a street, his neckbandaged. My mother humming as she rocks in a rocking chair and sews. Theconstant, choking brown haze of a dust storm.
I am a stranger in my own life.
When I wake again, it’s late afternoon. Atleast, that’s what my clock says. The room is dark, the curtains drawn, so I’mnot sure that I’m not still asleep. I roll onto my stomach and stare throughscratchy eyes at what should be the empty space beside me. Only, there’s a bodythere, stomach down and faced away from me. My mouth goes dry and I hope it’snot a nightmare. I wouldn’t put it past my twisted brain to imagine him lyingdead beside me.
Reaching out, I poke his ribs and he startles.It takes him a moment, but he finally turns his head to look at me, his eyesbloodshot and dark circles beneath them.
“You look a little rough for a dream,” I tellhim and he blinks at me, confused. “And quiet, too. That’s how I know you’renot real. If you were, you’d have already said ten witty things.”
“Too tired,” he mumbles behind a yawn.
“You should've already been here,” I mutter, thefear of what could go wrong still clinging to me.
“Plane broke and we had to divert to Turkey.Then we got stuck waiting for parts. I called you as soon as we had a takeofftime from Canada, but your phone was off,” he says and I shrug.
“No one I wanted to talk to,” I tell him.
“Ouch,” he says and I scoot closer, hoping dreamPeeta feels half as good as real Peeta. He opens his arms and I snuggle againsthis body. My subconscious has at least gotten the incredible warmth that heemits right.
“You smell good,” I murmur and fist his shirt inmy hand.
“I better. I just got back two hours ago andtook a shower first thing.”
“You got naked without me,” I accuse. “Who’s incharge of this dream anyways?”
“You were out cold when I got in. Didn't want todisturb you. How long have you been home?”
“No idea. Tell you when I wake up.”
“Katniss,” Peeta says softly. “You are awake.”
I open one eye and look up at Peeta. Reachingout, I pat his cheek and he smiles.
“You didn’t wake me!” I shout and scrambleupright in the bed and put space between us. I’m not sure if I’m more angryover the fact that he climbed into bed without waking me or that by leaving myphone off, I missed the chance to be there for him when he landed. But he justlays there, watching me with tired blue eyes.
“I didn’t wake you,” he says softly, one handreaching for me and falling short on the bed, “because you looked so peacefuland wonderful, and all I wanted to do was to sleep next to you for a few hours.Just sleep with the knowledge that I wouldn't be alerted soon, and withouthaving to block out the sound of mortar shells.”
“How's that working out for you?” I ask,resenting the fact that he's the one who brought it up, reminded me that hewasn't all that much safer than I was over there. He shrugs.
“Not so well. It's so quiet here.”
“Yeah,” I say and fold my hands in my lap as weadd to the silence. Staring at one another, neither one of us knowing what tosay, and I wonder if I will feel like an interloper in this part of my lifetoo, caught in a world I no longer understand. I search his blue eyes for somehint of the person I left a year ago. His eyes are the same color, but they'reguarded. Maybe even frightened. And defensive. I don't know how to talk to thisperson.
“This is weird, isn't it?” I whisper. He bracesa hand on the mattress and sits up so our eyes are on the same level, but hedoesn't reach for me again.
“Feels that way, doesn't it?” he asks.
“Prim wanted to know if you’d be coming with menext week.”
“Yeah. If you want me too,” he says and I nod,because what am I supposed to say to this cautious dance around each other.
“Are you hungry?” I ask.
“I could eat,” he says. We make our way into thekitchen and eat the rest of my chicken, salad, and bread from dinner lastnight. In silence. And we don't touch one another.
I try to summon some sort of feeling. But I'm sotired of fighting and I know he must be too. Maybe it's too late for us.
Two years of visits here and there while he wentthrough his training pipeline, existing on phone calls and quick weekends inwhich we tried to cram months worth of time missing each other. But there wasalways another absence looming on the horizon, and in those absences, it becamenecessary to survive alone. Without each other.
He fought to get an assignment that somewhatmatched up with mine, requesting an airframe that others in his service oftenlook down on, shocking his superiors when he wanted and pursued a heavy insteadof a sleek shiny fighter. Requesting a base slated for closure just because itwas attached to the fort I was assigned to. Fought to line up our deploymentsso we weren't waving at one another as we swapped places. And now, each of ustwo deployments in, I wonder if we spent so much time and effort trying to betogether that we don't know how to exist together anymore.
He flicks crumbs across his plate as we sit insilence, his foot bouncing nervously beneath the table. It's a twitch he'snever had before and I don't know what to think of it. Shouldn't we be happy?Crawling all over one another and ravenous?
Peeta takes a deep breath and I look up to findhim already watching me. “Think I'll unpack...since I'm awake now.”
“Okay,” I say, pushing away the guilt that Iwoke him after so little sleep when I’ve wasted almost an entire day moping inbed.
We move around one another, returning personalitems to their places, shoving one load after another into the washing machine,wiping away the fine layer of powdered sand that’s accumulated on almosteverything. We barely speak, just two ghosts sharing a house. I'm not even sureI'd call it a home.
“Grocery shopping?” he suggests after we'vestored our footlockers in the garage and I nod. I can't even look at him as wedress, afraid I'll find new scars or markings on his body that tell the talesof whatever horrors he lived through. And I don't feel his eyes on me either.
“Your car or mine?” he asks softly as he doubleknots his shoes.
“Mine,” I say automatically, and he nods butstill tucks his keys into his jeans pocket. I catch a brief glimpse of hisairborne keychain, dulled a little but still attached to his house key.
We limit our conversation to the necessary whilewe drive to the grocery store, and while we fill our cart. At one point, herests a palm on the small of my back as he leans around me to grab a box ofcrackers while I read a label and try not to fall apart at the minute touch.The heat of his hand sears through my shirt, and I lean back into it. When hemoves away, the disappointment rushes through me, swift and painful.
He tosses the box of crackers into the cart andlooks back at me, a small and hesitant smile curving his lips up just on oneside. And I can't take it anymore, pretending like everything's normal and fineand I’m not five seconds from falling apart. I drop the saltines on the groundand fling myself at him.
He only hesitates a second before his arms surgearound me and he buries his face in my neck, releasing a quiet shuddering noisethat might be a sob or a sigh of relief. I still shake with fears anduncertainties, my fingers digging into the back of his neck to make sure hedoesn't vanish from my arms. Warmth radiates from the spot where his lips touchmy neck. And I don't care that we're in the middle of a grocery store with adozen people muttering in discontent as they have to maneuver their cartsaround us.
“What’s happening to us, Katniss?” he whispers,and I know he’s not talking about the nightmares or the shortened tempers, butthe apathy. The need to not make a big deal out of things, not even a reunionafter an entire year apart. Or the fact that it’s easier to ignore the possibilityof hurt or death or worse because if you think about it, you’ll go mad.
“I don’t know,” I whisper.
“I missed you so much it physically hurts,” hesays, his arms shaking against me for a moment. I think about how many timesthese arms have been my refuge from the world. Always so warm and strong.
“Me, too,” I admit. But we’ve opened thefloodgates and words pour forth from his lips.
“It was bad enough being here and watching thenews. I’d go fucking crazy watching it, looking for you in the footage, hopingI’d get just a glimpse of you and dreading it at the same time. But being therewas a million times worse. Every time we got called for medevac or to moveH.R., I’d feel ill, certain that I’d be seeing your face or your name on acasket and knowing it’d be more than I could bear. Katniss, I don’t know if I’dever be happy again if I lost you.”
My eyes burn with unshed tears. I should tellhim about my nightmares, too. RPG’s and planes shot from the sky. The wordsstick in my throat, and then someone behind us clears theirs impatiently. Iswipe at my eyes as Peeta releases me and we step apart enough to look at theintruder.
“Excuse me. You’re blocking the shelf,” shesays, oblivious to or blatantly ignoring the obvious tears in both our eyes. Areminder that this is not the place for either of us to break down. Not with anaudience.
“Thank you for your patience,” Peeta says toher, bending to scoop the dropped box of crackers off the floor and depositingit in our cart as we walk away. Only this time, we join hands and each use onehand to steer the cart.
Our conversation is still somewhat stilted afterthat, and maybe it will be for awhile as we adjust back to each other’spresence, to the comfort of relative safety and the absence of the fears of thenight.
We pay for our groceries and I manage to get ushome without incident. As I cut off the engine, Peeta reaches out a hand tosqueeze my thigh and I look up at him while I press to shut the garage door,the remote now with a fresh battery. His thumb rubs up and down my thigh, asoothing touch along a rubbed raw nerve.
The air around us already hangs heavy withhumidity, but under his steady gaze, it thickens until it’s almost stifling. Heleans towards me and my grip on the steering wheel tightens. Peeta haltshalfway between us, his eyes flickering down to my mouth and then away with anearly inaudible sigh. For now, I will ignore the voice in the back of my headthat insists there’s no point. One or both of us will just be heading back outthe door in six to twelve months. A seesaw of adjustment to life and thensurvival. Or maybe they’re just two different kinds of survival. But I refuseto let this wall stand between us a second longer.
With my hands firm on the steering wheel, I moveto meet him over the gearshift and capture his lips with mine. His fingers onmy thigh clench and he brings his other hand up to hold me to him, his palmwarm on the side of my neck, his thumb tracing a path from the corner of mymouth to the edge of my jaw and back again. And I can't believe we waited thislong. I let go of the steering wheel and grip his shirt instead, yankingroughly on the fabric, needlessly because he’s not pulling back or going anywhere.
He tilts his head and I open my mouth withouthim asking, because I need this kiss right now. Right here. The soft tremorthat shakes through me at the first touch of his tongue to mine. We are sloppyand graceless, but one kiss only makes me want more. All too soon, though,Peeta gently separates our mouths with one last suckle of my bottom lip betweenhis.
“We should get the cold items put away beforethey all melt,” he croaks and I nod, although I’d much rather kiss him for thenext hour. Releasing my leg to open his door, Peeta kisses the tip of my noseand smiles at me.
With each mundane task that we complete, thegaping wound between us knits together. A gradual healing. By the time we’vefinished putting our groceries away and managed to prepare and consume a meallike human beings, I’m thinking of tonight, about spooning with him in bed,less in terms of something we just do and more in terms of the comfort that itmight provide.
When Peeta stifles a massive yawn, I suggestheading to bed, even though I’m not tired yet. He has to be beyond exhausted.Within seconds of crawling into bed, his breathing evens out and I lay in thecircle of his arms, listening to the calm sounds of spring outside our openwindow.
Eventually, sleep takes me as well, and while Istill see things I’d rather not, they’re easier to face with Peeta’s arms warmand steady around me.
Some time during the night, I wake to darknessand feather soft touches drifting up and down my side, beneath my shirt, aroundto my belly and up my ribs, back down and around to my side. Over my hip, thetouches dulled through the fabric of my shorts, igniting on my thighs before hereturns to my torso. For a second, I wonder if he’s even awake, but then hislips brush over my neck and I shiver. Peeta’s touches halt and I bite my lip,wanting him to continue.
“Why’d you stop?” I finally whisper.
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he whispers back.
“I don’t mind,” I say and rest my hand over his,guiding it in the soft caresses for a moment before I tuck my hands beneath mycheek and relax into his touch as he continues unguided. Each delicate brush ofhis fingers lulls me deeper into a boneless state of bliss, reminding me ofjust how starved I’ve been for something like this, for the softness of hisloving touches. For the feel of him beside me in the darkness.
“You know what I’m thinking about?” he whispersand kisses the back of my neck.
“No,” I murmur, content to lay here and let himkeep doing what he’s doing.
“I’m thinking about that quart of chocolate icecream in the freezer.” It’s not what I was expecting him to say, but my eyesjump open as the idea takes hold.
“You have my attention,” I say and he chucklesbefore kissing my neck again. Then he’s up and tugging me off the bed. We hurryinto the kitchen, laughing as I slide across the floor in my socked feet. Peetagrabs the ice cream while I get the bowls and spoons. Within minutes, we’reseated at the table and enjoying the frozen treat.
“Dear diary,” I say as I moan around my firstspoonful and then stare at the smeared reflection of my face in the bowl of thespoon. “It has been seven months since my last ice cream. And even then, it wasmelted by the time I got to eat it.”
“That’s just sad,” Peeta says and grabs thecontainer, adding another scoop to mine. “You need to catch up.”
“That’s a lot of empty calories,” I protest andhe shakes his head.
“We’ll burn them off later,” he says, andalthough the comment could be perfectly innocent, my stomach does a strangeflip and warmth pools in my chest in spite of the freezing chocolate in mymouth.
Peeta keeps eating, oblivious to the effect ofhis comment, and so I continue to spoon one bite after another into my mouth,savoring it like I haven’t savored anything in months. In between bites, wemanage to open a little more, share a few of the lighter tales of our timeoverseas. It’s relaxing, sitting here enjoying a midnight snack, him in hisboxer briefs and a plain white t-shirt, me in my pajama shorts and a tank top.It feels like something we could do everyday, made special in its normalcy.Eventually, though, our spoons both scrape our bowls to get the last melteddrops. I tip my bowl up and drink what the spoon can’t get.
“Are they useful calories if they’re slurped?”Peeta asks. When I lower my bowl to scowl at him, he’s grinning, blue eyessparkling in laughter. And for just a second, I see the eyes of the boy I fellin love with in the face of the man I still can’t survive without. My bowl hitsthe table with a loud clink and I wrinkle my nose at him. He bites hislip, like he’s trying not to laugh out loud.
“What?” I ask sharply.
“Nothing,” he says as he gathers both our bowlsand rinses them before loading them in the dishwasher. I toss the ice creamback in the freezer and set my hands on my hips to glare at him. “It’s just,you’ve got some ice cream on your chin.”
I swipe at my chin as unwanted heat floods mycheeks and spreads down my neck. Here I was thinking maybe our relaxing midnightsnack would help us leap the last unspoken hurdle, and I can’t even eat like anadult. Oh so sexy. But Peeta’s smile won’t be contained as he moves to stand infront of me and lifts his hand to my face.
“You missed,” he whispers, swiping his thumbover my chin. “And you call yourself a sharp shooter.”
His hand leaves me and his eyes still dance withmirth as he sucks the ice cream from his skin. In a flash, I am heated andrestless, unable to look away from his pink lips as they pucker around histhumb or the deep pools of blue as he watches me.
“That was mine,” I whisper and he pauses withhis thumb still in his mouth. When he removes it, the silence of the kitchenshatters with the soft sucking noise of release.
“Come and get it,” he breathes. We stare at oneanother for what feels like ages, the moment strung tighter than a bow ready tofire. We snap at the same time, mouths colliding and hands grasping shirts andhair.
Peeta steps forward, forcing me back until I’msandwiched between him and the refrigerator. His mouth slants over mine againand again, ravenous and demanding. I can’t tell my moans from his as Ifrantically relearn the feel of his hair, the back of his neck, his shouldersbeneath a soft cotton shirt. The taste of his tongue and the ridges of hismouth. When his hand cups my breast and kneads it in the same rhythm as thehand massaging the back of my neck, my fingers clench, scraping my nails overhis skin. His hips thrust into me and we both moan as my stomach somersaultsfrom hungry to rapacious.
Peeta flattens his body against mine and triesto say something that gets lost between our joined lips. His arms circle me, asteel band of support and I lift my feet to wrap my legs around his hips,trusting that he won’t drop me. With careful steps, he walks us back to thebedroom, but I refuse to stop kissing him. A year. An entire yearwithout his lips and hands on me.
We need to catch up.
When his knees hit the bed, our mouths joltapart and I giggle as we flop onto it, Peeta’s hands and the soft mattressbracing the fall as we bounce and he smiles at me before he resumes kissing me,our hips pressed together as we shift restlessly against one another. My feetcaress over the backs of his thighs and his hands encourage me, skimming overmy legs and grasping my ankle to wrap my leg around him again.
I want our shirts off. I can feel the heat ofhim burning through the fabric that still separates us. I want it unfilteredand undiluted on my bare skin. But I don’t want to stop kissing him to tell himthat either, so I leave the clothes and let the need build and scratch at thehairs on his neck and the back of his head.
After who knows how many minutes of this, hecomes up panting and tears at my shirt. Relieved, I arch my back and lift myarms so he can remove it to throw it across the room. I’m expecting him to takehis off, too, and gasp as he instead fuses our mouths together, the cotton ofhis shirt dragging over my nipples. The unexpected stimulation does wickedthings to my nerves, my legs pulling him closer in response, until the hardridge of his arousal presses into the soft folds of mine. His hips buck in myembrace, the sudden pressure sending a frisson of need all the way out to myfingertips.
“Katniss,” he gasps as he lifts his head to transferhis mouth to my throat. Each word he speaks is kissed into my skin, lower andlower on my body. “Hold. Onto. Something,” he warns, pausing only to give eachbreast one quick, hard suck and a moan of appreciation before he moves on. “Ihave an entire year of not tasting you to make up for.” Until he reaches mypajama shorts and silently slides them and my panties down my legs, lays mebare to his gaze. I slip my hands beneath the pillow and grab hold of it whilehe stares at me.
“Say something,” I whisper when he remains quietand still, staring between my legs beyond the point where I am still confidentin his desire for me.
“Words aren’t enough to describe how incredibleyou are. I’ll just have to show you,” he murmurs.
The bed bounces as he drops heavily between mylegs. With no warning or preamble, he wraps his hands beneath my thighs andholds me open, his mouth descends and he moans loudly as he suckles my folds.At first, I squirm, the sensation of being licked there distant and no longerfamiliar. But Peeta doesn’t let me hide behind shyness or uncertainty. Hismouth is on a quest, and before long, I’ve forgotten time and distance,writhing beneath the onslaught that sets my entire body aflame with need.
I grip his hair and then mine. The sheets andthen his hair again. I watch him until I can’t, my body taking over andbanishing thought in favor of feeling as I crest and shudder, moaning gibberishinto the night.
Instead of stopping, though, Peeta keeps going.His tongue pushing deep inside me to drink of me as I tremble and yell that Ican’t. But apparently, I can, as he sends me careening over another peak whenhe flicks his tongue over my clit then sucks it into his mouth.
Falling limp, on the bed, I gasp for air andgroan in beautiful agony. Still, Peeta gives me no reprieve, sliding his handsover my legs until he grips my calves and pushes my knees up until they touchmy ribs.
“Peeta, please,” I beg, unable to articulate thesearing feeling I can’t escape as his mouth continues it’s sweet torment. Hetakes it to mean that I want another, but it feels so good that each swipe ofhis tongue actually hurts. “Too much,” I finally manage to gasp.
Undeterred, Peeta’s head shakes as though he’stelling me “no,” but the result is a streak of pleasure so acute that I screamand kick wildly, thrashing on the bed violently enough to unseat him.
“Fuck!” I hear him exclaim, followed by a loudthud, but I am so lost in the shudders still wracking my body that I don’trealize what’s happened until the pounding of my heart calms enough for me tohear clearly again. It’s only then that I notice that Peeta’s not between mylegs any more. Not even touching me nor even on the bed.
“Peeta?” I ask hesitantly and his laughterdrifts up to me from the floor at the foot of the bed. Gathering my wits, Ishift to the edge and peer down at him. He’s lying on his back, looking up atme with a pleased grin on his face, one hand behind his head and the otherresting leisurely on his stomach. If it weren’t for the obvious strain of hiscock against the cotton of his briefs, I’d think he was just reclining downthere to get a rest.
“What happened?” I ask, self-consciously runninga hand through my own hair and tucking strands back behind my ears.
“You came so hard, you kicked me off the bed,”he says, but he doesn’t seem too upset about it. He reaches up and grasps mywrist. “Come here.”
I squeal as he tugs me over the edge and ontohis chest, but then I let go any embarrassment or doubt as he pulls me down tokiss him again. This time, it’s leisurely, allowing me a chance to recover fromwhatever the hell it is he just did to me. He reaches up and yanks the duvetdown to cover us both as he ends the kiss, his arms cuddle me to his chest andI settle my head on his shoulder. He’s still hard against me, but doesn’t seemto be in a rush to find his own relief. As it was when I woke earlier, his handtraces delicately over my skin, my back this time.
A restless longing takes place in my breast, andeven though he seems content to take things slow, this kind of hunger won’t besated easily. When he makes no move, I push myself off his chest and sit,straddling his hips.
“Where’re you going?” he asks quietly.
“Nowhere,” I tell him, but make my fingers walkdown his torso towards myself.
His eyes jump between my hands and my face as Iwatch him for any sign that he doesn’t want this as much as I do, but when myfingers curl beneath the waistband of his boxer briefs, he lifts his hips fromthe floor and pushes them down his legs. I move my hips, dragging my still wetlips over the length of his cock. With a curse, Peeta drops his hips back tothe floor, his shorts still somewhere on his legs as I take him in hand andkeep up the steady revolutions of my hips over him, sliding him through both myhand and my lips.
“Oh fuck me, that feels like heaven,” he groans,eyes riveted to what I’m doing to him. I bite my lip and brace a hand on histhigh, and even though I just came three times on the bed, I already wantanother. Heat and blood pulse through me as I move and Peeta whines a little,his hands massaging my thighs.
I started this to tease him, but it quickly hasme just as excited as him. I let go of his cock and instead grip his shirt,tugging on it like it’s a set of reins and the only thing keeping me frombucking wildly on top of him.
“Katniss, please,” he begs and bites his lip,lifts his head and smacks it back on the floor in distress. “I wanna cum insideyou.”
With a nod, I shift myself and he aligns us,releasing a string of expletives as I sink down onto him, his right leg kickingin rapid succession as he tries to hold back. Taking his face in my hands, Ibend over and kiss him as we move. Short, sweet tastes as I slide up and downhis cock. Peeta’s arms wrap around me, hold me close as he draws hearts andswirls on my back, guides my hips in riding him. I try to keep it slow, but hekneads my ass and pushes my hips so they roll over him instead of bouncing. Mybody grasps hold of the pleasure and I take it, following his lead until mylegs start to cramp and I have to straighten them alongside his, laying my bodyflat on top of him.
When I can move again, I slide up his body andkeen into the night as he curses beneath me. It’s the best of both, taking hiscock in and out while still grinding my clit against him. I grab his chin andhold him so I can stare into his eyes, foggy with need and deeper than theocean. He whispers to me, dirty words in broken phrases.
“I dreamt about this every night, alone in ourbed and then in my bunk. How fuckin’ sexy you are when you’re on top of me, mycock deep inside you. Jerking myself off when my balls ached with the need tocome. I’d have to bite my lips so no one would here me and blow my load in ashirt or a sock and do laundry the next day. Fuck, Katniss,” he breaks off toswallow and kiss me a moment before I push his head back to the floor because Iwant his words right now.
“I’ve been starving for the feel of your lips anywhereon me I could get them, your legs around me, and fuck, your tits on my chest,god they feel so good there. And your pussy. I’ve needed your pussy on my cockevery day since the day you left. Fucking starving so bad for the clench ofyour walls and the smoke in your eyes as you come for me.”
I grip his shoulder and move faster, his wordsdrawing forth a greater arousal and making the slide smooth and easy asbreathing. But it’s not enough to get me there. I whimper and tell him that Ineed more and he grips my thighs, spreading me wide over him as he bends hisknees and leverages himself on his feet to thrust up into me. He’s groaningloudly, getting close as I still lag behind him. And for some reason I think ofthe night I first mentioned the possibility of our future together. I had noidea where we’d be on this night, but I remember the tremulous way he’d offeredme an out, if I’d wanted it. How scared and brave he’d looked as he tried tohide the hurt that just the thought my leaving caused him. Then how he cededcontrol to me without question and let me fuck myself sore and hoarse on him.
“Pull my hair, Peeta,” I urge and brace myselfto help.
“What?” he asks with wide eyes.
“Pull my fucking hair,” I order him and his handshifts to grip the short locks. Then I borrow the words that sent me hurtlingtowards my own orgasm all those years ago. I’ve never forgotten them. “Now takewhat you want. Your cock wants it so bad. I can feel it. Hot and pulsinginside of me.”
He makes a strangled noise as his fingers tanglein my hair and his hand yanks on me, slamming our bodies together again andagain as pain tingles across my scalp then mellows into pleasure.
“Stop holding back and fill me with your fuckingcum,” I demand and my muscles ache with the effort of maintaining this pace,but he shouts my name and his hips jerk erratically as his eyes squeeze shut.He stops moving, but I keep going, milking him until he grabs my ass and shovesme down onto him even as he thrusts up into me one last time. We remain there,hips suspended above the floor while he finishes with an elongated moan.
When he relaxes, dropping us to the floor, Itake his lips with mine and kiss the shuddering breaths from his throat. Hishands flex and clench on my ass and then start my hips rolling again, andbefore I can think or prepare myself, I shatter with a soft sigh, my clitpulsing against him as warmth and wonderment floods through me.
Peeta makes a sound of contentment in his throatas his leg spasms once more before we lay there, a mess of heavy breathing andfinally sated bodies.
“Too long,” he groans, his voice rumbling in hischest beneath my cheek. “A year is far too fucking long to go without you.”
“Yeah,” I agree. Then, because I am an idiot anddon’t think before I speak when I am a melted puddle spread across him, I saysomething stupid. “How long do you think we can live like this?”
“I don’t know,” he murmurs, shifting us so thatwe’re eye to eye. “But I’m willing to work for us for the rest of my life, ifthat’s what it takes, Katniss.”
“Me, too,” I whisper and kiss him once more toseal the promise.
Wow! It will be a year at the end of May since we started this birthday blog. The intent was to be able to celebrate every birthday in the fandom. We saw a few of the bigger bloggers had well-known birthdays and received gifs, stories, asks; all types of bday wishes, but we knew there were so many more out there that we didn’t know about. So many that we wanted to know about! And so EBD was born to give opportunity for birthday blessings on anyone’s special day. All they had to do was ask.
We begged for our first asks - please let us write a story for you! - and once they began to roll in we knew we were going to need help. That came in the form of our fandom’s talented authors, without whom this blog would have been an utter failure! We can’t thank you enough for getting behind us and supporting our vision, and helping us be able to celebrate with everyone!
We have loved every minute, every story, every submission that this blog has attracted and we’re so thankful for the fun and fulfillment it’s given us to be able to connect with the fandom. That being said, we have closed our ask box. If you’ve already submitted an ask that hasn’t been posted don’t worry! We will be posting the rest of the birthdays that have made it to us until there are none left. We hope you’ve loved this as much as we have! The blog will stay up - there are just too many great stories here for future fandom bloggers - and we will complete our masterlist, but at this time we will not be accepting more birthday asks. It kills us to close the ask box, but we hope you’ll understand.
Thank you all so much for everything! The girls at EBD
Happy birthday @hutchhitched! We are pleased to post this story for you, submitted by the always wonderful @norbertsmom. (Be nicer than this guy when you get your cake, yeah?) ;)
Happy birthday! I hope you enjoy this little story.
Rated T for mention of traffic accident and mention of death.
Guard You From Harm
Katniss walked into the classroom and smiled at the only person outside of her immediate family who had that effect on her.
“Good morning, Peeta,” Katniss greeted as she plopped down in her chair and handed him a cup of hot chocolate. “How was your weekend?”
“Great,” he grumbled while struggling with his laptop. He absentmindedly slid a bakery bag with grease stains over to Katniss. He quickly looked up and her and said, “It’s always nice when I can get home to see my dad. How was your weekend?”
“Ugh, don’t ask,” Katniss answered then opened the bag and inhaled deeply. She gave Peeta a quick grin, even though he was already back with his nose in his computer, and reached inside the bag. She pulled out a cheesebun and popped it in her mouth. She loved it when he went home on the weekends. He always came back with her favorite.
Katniss let out a little moan that caused Peeta to chuckle. When she finished her treat, she took a quick sip of her hot chocolate before continuing. “I had to work both days, so I didn’t make it home. My sister and I had to skype on Saturday night after I got off work.”
“Woo hoo, got it,” Peeta crowed when his computer finally came to life.
“When are you going to replace that thing? Haven’t you learned your lesson by now that it can’t be trusted?” Katniss asked, pointing at his sad excuse for a laptop.
“Eh, I’m hoping it holds out until the end of the semester. I’ll get a new one then,” he replied. “Besides, I can always get a copy of notes from you if I have to,” he said with a grin.
Katniss was amazed how quickly she and Peeta had hit it off. Usually she just kept to herself. They were about halfway through the semester, but they had come a long way from the stranger who met on the first day of class to friends who brought each other breakfast and asked about their weekends. She was tempted to call Peeta her friend even though they only talked in the short amount of time they had every Monday and Wednesday morning before class began.
On the first day, the classroom was already full when Katniss had arrived, and the only seat left was at the table at the center of the front row. Katniss had hoped she could grab a seat in the back somewhere so she could just take notes and not worry too much about getting noticed by the professor, but she didn’t have much of a choice since all the other seats were taken. Katniss had grabbed the front row seat just as the professor arrived. She and the blond haired boy nodded in greeting to each other that day, neither saying anything else. After class, she quickly left.
Katniss arrived early for the next class, determined to find a seat farther back, but she was greeted by the same boy waving her over. She didn’t want to be rude, so she approached him. He introduced himself and offered her a pastry. She was about to decline when the aroma made her stomach grumble, reminding her that she skipped breakfast to get the class early. So she sat down and took the proffered treat. Katniss enjoyed how the pastry melted on her tongue and went so well with the hot chocolate she brought. Peeta sheepishly admitted that his laptop crashed and he lost all of his notes from the first class. The pastry was a bribe to share her class notes. He had noticed that she took meticulous notes and he really needed a copy. Katniss reluctantly obliged. She couldn’t just accept the treat without paying the debt, so she sent a copy of her notes to the email address he provided. The next class Katniss brought a hot chocolate for Peeta and was surprised when he brought more pastries. She told him how well the pastries and the hot drink went together, and ever since, they both arrived a few minutes early just to spend some time together, sharing breakfast and small talk.
“How’s Prim doing anyway?” Peeta asked.
“Prim’s doing great,” Katniss replied. “She left yesterday morning to go visit the college she’ll be attending in the fall. They have some kind of get together for all their new nursing students. They’ll get to visit alumni on the job to see what to expect in the future. She’s so excited.”
“That’s great. I’m very happy for her,” Peeta replied. “Tell her I said congratulations.”
“Sure thing,” Katniss agreed.
Katniss was about to take another bite of cheesebun when felt her phone vibrate, alerting her that she had an incoming call. That was odd since anyone who would call her knew she was in class. She snuck a peak at her phone and saw that it was her mother calling. She let it go to voicemail since class would start any minute. She’d check it after class.
She let the call slip from her mind as she teased Peeta about his horrible excuse for a computer. Katniss felt her phone vibrate again. Something was wrong, she just knew it. She snuck another peak at her phone and saw that she had a text message from her mother telling her to call as soon as class was over.
Katniss became worried. She was reminded of the time when the principal had come to get her from class when she was 7 years old. Her neighbor Mrs. Sae was there to pick her up. Her father had been in an accident and was in hospital. It was such a scary time. If he hadn’t pulled through, Katniss wasn’t sure her family would have survived. Her mother wouldn’t leave his bedside, not even to care for her own children. Katniss had to look after little Prim herself. Luckily a nurse noticed that they needed a distraction and showed them to the children’s waiting area. Where they could play with other kids.
Prim had run off and found someone to play with right away. Katniss was so worried about her daddy and what would happen if they lost him that she just sat down at the nearest table and started to doodle. Not really drawing anything, just running the crayon over the page and keeping an eye on where Prim was.
There was a little boy there at the same table who seemed to be just as lost as she felt. He was furiously dragging his crayon across the page and the sound of it was annoying her. She wanted to find a quiet corner to be alone when she heard a lullaby playing over the sound system. It was one her mother sang to her and Prim before bed. Katniss could really use a song then, so without even realizing it, she began to sing along, singing about the meadow and flowers that would keep her from harm. Katniss forgot all about her sorrows and closed her eyes and sang.
When the song was over she was surprised at how quiet it was. The sounds of a crayon being dragged repeatedly across the page were gone. Katniss reluctantly opened her eyes and found the little boy with the blond hair had stopped scribbling and was just staring at her, crayon still poised in his hand as if he stopped scribbling mind stroke.
Katniss looked down at her page and began to doodle again, not wanting the boy to see her embarrassment. After a while, she could hear that he had started to color again, but not so vigorously. She lifted her eye for a peek and saw that he was drawing a real picture. He had his tongue sticking out while he concentrated on his work. It made Katniss smile.
Katniss kept looking out for Prim, who at only 4 years old didn’t seem to understand that their daddy was hurt bad and might not get better.
Eventually, a man came and picked up the little boy. Before he left though, he walked around the table to Katniss and handed her the picture he had drawn. It was the grassy meadow she had sung about in the lullaby. There were willow trees and daisies and other flowers. He had written in the neatest cursive, ‘Here the flowers guard you from harm’ across the top. At the bottom, instead of signing a name, he drew a perfect little dandelion. “You sing really pretty,” he said looking back over his shoulder as the man led him away.
Katniss clutched the drawing to her chest and watched the boy walk away, talking animatedly and holding hands with the man who appeared to be his father.
Katniss had kept the drawing. It gave her hope. Even after her father recovered and they went back home, she still worried that he would get hurt again, so she kept the drawing in a special pocket in her backpack and pulled it out whenever she needed strength. She wanted to pull the note out right then, but she needed to call her mother first.
Without a word to Peeta, Katniss shoved her laptop back into her backpack and rushed out of the class and found a quiet corner to call her mother. She picked up on the first ring.
Her mother told Katniss she had to come home. Prim was hurt. There was an accident on the freeway. That’s all she knew. She was waiting for Katniss’ father to come home from work so they could go to the hospital together. Katniss assured her mother that she would meet them at the hospital as soon as possible.
When she hung up, she turned to leave and ran right into Peeta.
“Woah there,” he said as he grabbed her elbows so she wouldn’t fall. “Is everything ok? You rushed out of class in a hurry. I thought maybe something was wrong.”
Katniss explained about Prim’s accident and that she had to get to the hospital right away.
Peeta offered to go with her, but she knew he had wrestling practice later, and besides, she didn’t know when she’d be back. She just made him promise to send her a copy of his notes after class. She’d send an email to Professor Abernathy and all of her other instructors when she got to the hospital and had a better idea of how long she would need to miss classes.
Once she got to her car, Katniss pulled the drawing from her backpack and put it in her pocket. She was going to need it. Whenever her mind wandered to some of her scarier thoughts about what could have happened to Prim, she’d reach in her pocket and caress the drawing.
Eventually she reached the hospital and met her parents in the lobby. Her mother was a mess, and Katniss could tell her father was having a hard time keeping himself together too. They were both just standing there not sure what to do. Katniss realized she had to be strong for both of them. She asked the kind elderly woman at the reception desk where they could go to see her sister.
They were directed to go to the emergency room because most everyone who was in the accident was still there.
The emergency room lobby was full of people, some still waiting to be treated; other’s looking for a loved one, just like the Everdeens. Katniss found her parents a couch to sit in and went and waited for her turn at the reception desk. Eventually she was directed to a room where Prim was being treated.
Katniss gathered her parents and found Prim’s room. When they walked in the antiseptic smell and sounds of the machines reminded her of when her father was there, hurt. She reached in her pocket and caressed the drawing once again.
Her mother reached out and took Prim’s hand. She slumped down in the chair beside the bed and began to sob. It wasn’t clear from her appearance what was wrong with Prim. She was just lying there with small cuts on her arms and face, but no burns or bandages.
After a few moments, a doctor walked in an introduced himself. He read from the chart, “So, good news, no broken bones, no internal bleeding. Primrose is a very lucky girl. She just got banged up a little bit. We’d like to keep her overnight for observation. It was a very traumatic situation, after all, but she should be able to go home in the morning.”
“That’s wonderful new. Thank you doctor,” Mr. Everdeen expressed and went to sit on the arm of the chair next to his wife.
After the doctor left, the Everdeens stood in silent vigil watching over Prim. When she woke up she was a bit disoriented, but was able to explain what happened. The group was on a bus on the freeway going to visit a nurse on the job. There was an accident. Their vehicle was not involved, but when the students saw that it was a bus full of children that had been hurt, they all rushed to the scene to help. They just got all the kids off the bus when it exploded. Everyone was rushed to the hospital. Prim started to cry because she didn’t know what happened to the children they had tried to save.
Katniss reached down and took Prim’s other hand and started to sing their lullaby and Prim quickly calmed down. It was as if she were still that little 4 year old who loved to hear lullabies once again instead of an eighteen year old high school student.
Prim was cleared to go home the next day. They found out the only fatality was the children’s school bus driver. He had had a heart attack and veer into a semi-truck that was driving next to them.
Katniss followed her parent’s car home, just happy that Prim was ok. As she was driving she wondered why she hadn’t received an email from Peeta with the class notes from Monday. She was going back on Wednesday, so she’d have to ask him then.
Katniss and Prim spent the night like they did when they were little, staying up late watching movies, eating popcorn, and just enjoying each other’s company.
Katniss had secured her drawing back inside the pocket in her back pack where it would be safe. She left early the next morning to make it to class on time. When she walked into class she saw Peeta sitting in his usual seat, but without his laptop computer. “So did your computer finally die on you?” she asked.
Startled, Peeta looked up. “Hey Katniss. How’s Prim?” he asked.
“She’s banged up and upset, but she’s ok,” she replied. “So, no notes?”
Peeta rubbed the back of his neck. “Yea,” he sighed. “I mean no notes. I haven’t typed them up yet. I have to go to the library. Yes, my computer died mid class on Monday. I had to take notes by hand.”
“No big deal, Peeta. You don’t have to type them up. I can just copy them. Can I see if I can read your hand writing first?” she teased.
Peeta pulled his notebook out of his back pack, turned it to the page she needed and handed it over.
Katniss took the notebook and skimmed his notes. His handwriting was indeed legible, but also very familiar. She couldn’t remember when she would have seen it before though. He always took notes on that crappy laptop of his. She leafed back a few pages and noticed his doodles in the margins, if they could even be called doodles. Peeta was an artist. He drew people, buildings, animals, and plants. And that’s when it hit her. She knew why his writing was familiar. She reached into her backpack and pulled out the drawing she’s held onto for the past 15 years. She carefully unfolded it and laid it next to Peeta’s notebook.
“What have you got there,” he asked as he leaned in to get a better look.
The writing was the same. The drawing was the same. Peeta was the little boy at the hospital that gave her the drawing that gave her hope.
They turned to each other with huge smiles on their faces and simultaneously said, “It’s you!”
hi! My birthday will be 20th of April... I know it is far far away but.... ;-)
Happy birthday! We know this is a little late for your time zone, but we wish you a stellar day nonetheless!
It’s time. I gave myself two days to work up thecourage to tell my boss I won’t be working for him anymore. It’s beenexactly 48 hours, and if I wait any longer I’ll have to tell my new boss Ican’t start on time.
I take a deep breath, push the swivel chair awayfrom my desk and prepare to give my two week’s notice. I’ve been offered a jobthat pays a smidge more and I can advance within the company, so it’s kind of ano brainer. Although I do love my current job, I’ll only ever be a secretary.
And I really like my boss. Like, reallylike him. That’s part of the problem, too. I’ve been attracted to him from dayone. He’s a blond-haired, blue-eyed specimen of perfection worthy ofgod-status, but in two years he’s never given me any indication that he’sinterested. He’s single and, unless he keeps his private life under wrapstighter than a nun’s vagina, he never dates. Ever. His ring finger has beenbare since I’ve known him, he’s shown up at every company holiday party alone,and he has no pictures of anyone other than family in his office.
I smooth my skirt before rapping my knucklestwice on his door. I hear a muffled, “Come in,” from the other side and twistthe knob and step across the threshold.
“Mr. Mellark, do you have a minute?” I waitpatiently for him to raise his head from his computer. He smiles at me and Ireturn it automatically.
“I always have time for you. Have a seat.”
I do as he asks, but only because my knees areweak in his presence, just like always. I think I’d have learned to stand onspaghetti legs by now.
“And it’s Peeta,” he chides me, I suppress agrin at all the time over the last 24 months he’s asked me to use his firstname, but it’s the lifeline that keeps me from throwing myself at him like a besotted schoolgirl. “What can I do for you, Katniss?”
I’ve always loved the way he says my name. Theway the s’s roll of the tip of his tongue. It mesmerizes me. I clear my throatand the daydream I’ve perfected over the months of all the inappropriate thingswe could do across the fat, shiny desk that separates us.
“I need to give my two weeks notice.” There theyare. The words I’ve been dreading saying out loud. I watch as his face falls,then magically his smile reappears, even brighter than before and if I’m notmistaken, he actually looks happy.
I thought he’d ask me to reconsider. At the veryleast throw a few encouraging words my way about how I’ll be missed. Maybe giveme a pat on the back and a sentiment like ‘I’m sorry to see you go’. Something.Anything to let me know the last two years of my life have been more tosomeone than earning a meager paycheck.
Resentment gets the better of me in this momentas I ask, “This makes you happy?”
His smile falls again, but I can tell he’strying to suppress it and that pisses me off even more. I stand on wobbly heelsand my hands make fists at my sides. I’ve never scowled at Mr. Mellark, buttoday he’s getting more than he could have bargained for.
“Instead of two weeks, would you be able to maketoday your last day?”
I gasp surprised at his statement, then huffwhen it hits me that he’s completely serious. I shake my head to clear it ofthe litany of curse words I want to throw his way and stomp towards the door. “Howabout I don’t even wait until the end of the day. I’ll just go now if itpleases you so much!”
I’m inches from escape as a hand catches myelbow and spins me around. My back is flat against the door in half a second,the handle digging into my back, and Mr. Mellark’s hand rests next to my head.His breathing is heavy, as though he ran ten miles to get to me even though Iknow he only crossed ten feet.
“It does please me, Katniss. But not for thereason you think.” His crystal blue eyes search mine, then flit to my lipsbriefly. “You’ve been the best secretary and I am going to hate coming into theoffice in the mornings and not seeing your silver eyes wish me a goodmorning. I’m going to miss the way your braid hangs over your shoulder and theway you purse your lips together when you’re working on a spreadsheet. I’mespecially going to hate not being able to hear you laugh when you read throughthe comic section of the newspaper after Delly drops it on your desk.” Heinhales so deeply I feel the air being sucked out of my own lungs, then helowers his mouth to my ear and whispers, “Do you want to know the reason Iwon’t miss you, Katniss?”
His warm breath hits my neck and my eyes closeinvoluntarily while my mind begins to play one of my fantasies. Without myconsent my head tilts to the side, and he’s so close I can almost feel his lipson my skin. I can’t speak. I can barely move and I hope he takes my slight nodfor what it is- a plea to tell me what I want to hear.
“I won’t miss you, because as long as you’re myemployee, corporate won’t let me touch you. Not in the ways I want to touch youanyway. And there are so. Many. Ways, Katniss. You have no idea.” I hear himlick his lips and I can feel how dry mine are as well. All moisture has gonesouth for the winter. “They won’t let me kiss you. They won’t let me date you.They won’t let me be with you the way I want to be with you.”
He pulls back and for the first time that he’sbeen so close our eyes lock. His pupils are fat and dark and my temperaturespikes as he holds me in his trance.
“I see the way you watch me. You follow me withyour eyes. You smile at me and scowl at everyone else. And I can’t make anyadvances on you. What I’ve done already is enough to get me fired.” He stepsaway and I want to pull him back to me but I’m frozen. I am not capable ofwords or movement.
He sighs at my speechlessness and steps backfurther, looking defeated. His gaze hits the ground and he buries his fists inhis pockets. “I’m sorry. I must have read everything wrong. I- I can’tbelieve-”
“I quit. What you said. I- I can’t work hereanymore.”
It’s his turn to freeze and he looks as thoughhis lunch is about to reappear. “Katniss, I’m sorry, God, I shouldn’t have-”
“I quit,” I repeat adamantly. “Right now. I’mnot your employee anymore.”
“Please, Katniss, at least let me honor the twoweeks. You don’t even have to see me… I’ll… I’ll take a vacation!” He yellsas a light bulb goes off in his head, as though this will convince me to staywhen he’s just dangled everything I’ve wanted for two years in front of me andtold me why I can’t have it.
Wrong light bulb.
“Peeta!” I yell the name I’ve always wanted tosay out loud but never had the nerve to. I just knew it would feel right andI’d never be able to go back. He looks like I’ve just smacked him, and Isuppose I have, just not physically. “As of…” I look down at my watch, “2:04 PMI am no longer under your employ. Is it official?”
He nods, purses his lips, nods again. “Yeah.Yeah, it’s official.”
“Thank God,” I say to the ceiling and then throwmyself at him like I’ve always wanted to.
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