Come on Baby, Light my Fire by @katnissdoesnotfollowback
Published: 2017
Chapters: 14 | Complete
And up next on this week's Everlark fic classics! something modern, something funny, something naughty *wink*
It was such a life and death situation to choose among kdnfb's best works to feature in this tiny series of mine but alas, after one headache and a dosage of rereads, I finally decided to present Come on Baby Light my Fire. Oh just imagine choosing between maybe tomorrow, pure, wrapped in red, and this one??? the horrors. But not to worry, I shall succeed in presenting other kdnfb's works!
Anyways, I tried to match the moodboard as best as I can, so what more can be said? This fic is such a treat. It has biology teacher Katniss and firefighter Peeta. Actually in my part of the world, charity calendars are a foreign thing so that plot point alone was intriguing to me when I first read this masterpiece here in tumblr before it was published in ao3.
The chapter titles is also an interesting concept and adds some spice into what you'll encounter in each chapter. It recognizes the vulnerabilities of working in a dangerous field. And oh jesus, Katniss' panicky character here is always a good laugh. Along with my obsession for Pure, I always comeback reading my favorite parts and there's a lot. What's also amazing is how this fic was created solely with a bunch of different prompts. kdnfb just whipped it up with their creativity, as always!
Neighbors trope *ehem* hope that helps you in reading this if you haven't!
Hello! Are you planning on extending the Come on Baby, Light my Fire series? (P.S Its amazing) If yes then here's a new word prompt you could use : Malapert - Clever in manners of speech
You thought I forgot about this, didn’t you @mellarkablegirl? SURPRISE! It’s Firefighter Friday!!!
Part 1: Grapholagnia
Part 2: Neighbors/We meet again
Part 3: Callipygian
Part 4: Apodyopis
Part 5: Gymnophoria
Part 6: Mamihlapinatapei
Part 7: Basorexia
Part 8: Coitus
Part 9: Hypersexuality
Come On Baby, Light My Fire: Part 10 - Malapert
Does it count as a first date if you wake in the person’s arms?
We lounge in bed, drifting between awake and asleep, Peeta’s fingertips skating over my legs and hips, etching cool patterns or maybe words into my skin. It’s such a luxury to wile away the hours this way. We get up to eat, but it isn’t until early afternoon that we’re both awake and willing enough to actually go on our hiking date.
I dress in cotton pants and a t-shirt, tugging on a hooded sweatshirt for warmth. Peeta leaves me for a few minutes to dress in his apartment and returns garbed much the way I am, his black backpack slung over one shoulder.
It doesn’t feel like a first date as I drive us out of town, since Peeta apparently doesn’t own a car, preferring to walk or use public transportation to get around the city. We talk and laugh, the windows down and the crisp fall air making a tangled mess of flyaways even though I braided my hair. I tell him about the time my father and I got ourselves chased up a tree by a black bear when we plucked berries from a bush he’d apparently already laid claim to. And as I park in one of the lots at the trailhead near Lake Panem, I realize that I’ve never been this comfortable on a first date before.
That may have something to do with the fact that we’ve already kissed and…well…fucked like rabbits, but I think it has more to do with Peeta. I truly just enjoy spending time with him.
“Think you could make some more noise? Don’t think they heard you in Capitol City,” I tease after we’ve gone about a half mile. His booted feet crunch leaves beneath their weight. He’s so noisy, I haven’t seen a single animal. If we were trying to hunt or something, it might annoy me, but right now, it’s just amusing.
“Is there a noise ordinance out here?” he asks with a smile and I laugh and shake my head.
The day is warmer than we anticipated, probably nature’s last fling with summer before the cold of autumn takes over until spring chases it away. We have to remove our sweatshirts around the one mile mark and I can’t help the laugh that bursts free of my lips at the shirt Peeta’s wearing. He blushes and tugs on it.
“Need to do laundry,” he mutters sheepishly and I grip the cotton in my hands, pulling his body into mine possessively.
“Or just get rid of this shirt,” I say and he smiles.
“Jealous?”
“You’re proclaiming your availability with this shirt.”
“It was a birthday present from Finnick a couple years back,” he murmurs, his head dipping closer to mine. I release the shirt and keep on hiking.
“Why does that not surprise me,” I say and Peeta laughs. I take one last glance back at his shirt and he gives me an expectant look as I shake my head over the words: Feel Safe at Night, Sleep with a Firefighter.
“Care to attest to the validity of the shirt?” he asks and I scowl slightly at him, not willing to admit that at least, in Peeta’s case, the words are alarmingly accurate.
When we reach the lake, we’re both famished and quickly set out our picnic lunch. More stew from Sae’s and fresh bread that Peeta baked at the firestation last night. Cool apple cider and a small wheel of savory cheese. I stare out over the glistening waters as we eat, nostalgia creeping into the edges of my being until I can’t hold it back any longer.
“My dad used to bring us here all the time. He taught me how to swim in this lake,” I say with a nod towards it. “Caught my first sturgeon on that dock while my mother was reading a book to Prim.”
Peeta squints out over the water in the direction I’m pointing. Then he sets down his half-eaten bowl of stew and moves closer to wrap his arms around me. I rest my head on his shoulder and try not to be obvious about the sigh that leaves me.
“You love being out here, though. Even if some of the memories are painful?” he sounds a little uncertain, but he’s so right about me that my chest feels as though it’s about to burst. I lift my head and smile at him.
“What about you?” I ask softly, not wanting to be the only one left open and raw.
“What about me?”
“You’ve told me so many stories about your brothers, but they’re all in the past tense. Like they’re no longer a part of your life,” I say.
“I don’t want to ruin a perfect date with more of my tragic backstory,” he says and tweaks my nose before kissing me, but I will not be deterred. I lean back and shake my head with a smile and a laugh at the disgruntled look on his face at being denied a kiss.
“I want to know, Peeta. I told you mine,” I say with a wave towards the lake. He stares at me for a moment. I‘m thinking that maybe I crossed a line and he’s not going to tell me when he heaves a sigh, seemingly coming to some sort of monumental decision.
“Graham was already eighteen, so after Mom and Dad died, he took off on his own. Ryen and I lived with my mother’s family for just under a year, but that didn’t really work out.” His voice takes on this low pitch, almost monotone as he brings up painful memories.
“Why not?” the question slips out, rude and prying, but I’m humming with curiosity.
“Mainly because of me, but also because of Ryen,” Peeta says, his eyes averted. “We weren’t…easy to deal with.”
“You’d just lost both your parents,” I argue and Peeta scoffs a little, his shoulders shrugging.
“That doesn’t excuse it. We were kind of assholes, almost constantly getting into fights or into trouble,” he explains. “And there were medical bills that no one wanted to pay.”
I blink as he absently flicks a hand over the side of his neck. Reaching out, I twine our fingers together near his neck. He stops hiding from me, eyes locking as I caress our joined fingers over the edges of the scars.
“My parents weren’t…” he whispers and sighs before continuing, “The bakery was struggling anyways and whatever health insurance we had wasn’t enough to deal with mental trauma and burn trauma, so…Ryen started working to help pay for my expenses when Mom’s family basically refused to cover anything but basic care. The months went by and things with Mom’s family just got more awkward. He got angrier. When they moved us into foster care and I was finally old enough to get a job of my own, Ryen split. I haven’t heard from him in years.”
“How’d this happen?” I whisper as my fingers dip into his hair, over the smooth scarring and then across the ridge between car tissue and his untouched scalp.
“Graham had us get in a line behind him. Ryen holding Graham’s shoulders. Me holding Ryen’s. Then Graham walked us to the window. He didn’t want us to get separated, even though there was no way for us to get down from that window without help. But that meant that my back was closest to the fire while we waited. Didn’t take much. Just a few stray, grasping flames.”
A vice settles on my lungs as he finishes his story, a wish that he hadn’t needed to go through all of this.
“After Ryen left, I was shuffled between a few foster homes for the next year. No one wants a kid that damaged, especially not a teenager. When I turned sixteen, Graham filed to be my guardian. By then he was twenty and a lot more stable in life. It wasn’t great. He didn’t magically turn into this amazing father figure or anything like that, but at least he was family. And he understood me better than most. Anyways, I signed up for PFD right after I graduated high school. The guys down at the firestation are my real family now.”
“Oh Peeta,” I murmur and lean towards him. His hand shoots up between us, covering my lips. I sputter and blink in surprise, but his eyes are unwavering.
“Don’t kiss me because you pity me,” he whispers. “If you’re going to kiss me, do it because you want me.”
I nod in understanding and he slowly lowers his hand. Were our positions reversed, had I just told him about my father and mother and everything that followed, I wouldn’t want him to kiss me out of pity either. I wouldn’t want his pity at all.
When his hand has dropped back onto his lap, I close the distance between us. Peeta whimpers slightly in the back of his throat as I thread my fingers through his hair and tug, holding us together. His hands grasp my waist, hauling me onto his lap. I nestle there as we kiss. That’s it. No roaming hands or desperation to remove clothing barriers. Just lips, noses brushed on cheeks, shaking fingers caressing skin and scalp, soft sighs as our dinner waits and the world passes by unnoticed. Unmissed.
We come up for air, maybe ten minutes later. I don’t know. Peeta draws in a ragged breath, his broad hand holding my jaw to keep me close. His eyes open slowly, a smile stretching over his mouth as I stare down into the blue depths of his soul.
We manage to finish our food and pack up our picnic around twilight, deciding it’s time to head back to my car and the city. As we walk, he doesn’t let go of my hand, and I don’t try to reclaim it. At the edge of a clearing in the woods, I pause, tugging Peeta’s hand to get him to stop and I grin at him in the moonlight.
“What?” he whispers. “Did you see something?”
He sounds worried, but I let go of his hand and shake my head, slowly walking into the tall grass, hands skimming over the blades. The bugs take flight around me, an entire swarm glowing softly in the night. I laugh and spin, fireflies floating in the air around me. It’s probably one of the last warm days of the season. One of the last days the fireflies will be out. Slowly, Peeta walks towards me, careful not to hurt any of the insects. He pauses in front of me as I stop spinning, a smile on his face, eyes reflecting back the luminescence of the night time creatures. My breath catches in my throat as he lifts a hand and carefully removes from one my hair, letting it perch on his finger for a moment before taking flight again.
“You should wear fireflies more often. They suit you,” he says.
I scramble for something clever to say to him to break the tension building between us. It feels monumental, and it frightens me a little. But as we stare at one another bathed in moonlight and the glow of the fireflies, I can’t bring myself to say a word.
The fireflies do it for me, one of them buzzing loudly as it careens out of control and smacks into his cheek. I cover my mouth to stop my laughter as he winces.
“I didn’t mean literally wear you,” he says to the bugs and I take his hand again so we can keep walking.
We’re mostly silent on the drive back into the city, preferring to hold hands in the darkness and leave the talking for later. When we reach my doorstep, I struggle with the words to ask him in. So often in his presence, I’ve felt lacking in an area he feels so skilled in, the way he can weave words together and captivate my senses. It’s not just the words themselves, but the way he imbues each of them with a level of emotion that sometimes steals my breath away. So as we stand awkwardly on my doorstep, I wish for his gift with words.
“I think I’m going to get a shower,” I say. After our hike through the late burst of summer weather, I need it, but I don’t want to let a door to close between us, afraid it might change everything if I do. I finish unlocking my door only to toy with the keys in my hand and watch him for some sign or some help. Does the first date change everything, I wonder. But then he smiles, the same smile of burned cakes and cheesy dances at baseball games, or the rush of hurrying down the street for condoms because we can’t wait another second, and I can’t help but return it.
“Sounds good. You’re filthy,” he teases. Strong hands grab me and I squeal as I am tossed over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry. I scoff, reaching down to smack his ass as he opens my door and steps through, grateful that he seems to know exactly what I need without my even saying it.
“Like you’re any cleaner,” I say. He starts the water with me still draped over his shoulders. “This is not a sexy way to carry someone.”
“Nope. It’s efficient,” he says.
“Put me down, Peeta,” I say in exasperation when he turns a little and my foot hits the bathroom wall. The space is too cramped for this.
“Okay,” he says, and my brain only just registers the warning in his tone the second before Peeta yanks back the shower curtain and slides me off his shoulders. Still fully clothed, straight into the cold stream of shower water.
“Peeta!” I scream as frigid water rushes over my face. Then warm hands encircle my waist and pull me close. I sputter and he moves my hair out of my face. When I can finally look up at him, he’s grinning and also still fully clothed. My stomach flutters as his hands return to my waist, grip the hem of my shirt. I nod to answer the question in his eyes and lift my arms so he can peel the soaked shirt from my body. It lands with a squelch on the shower floor. Peeta’s pupils dilate as his fingers curl gently over my ribs, under my breasts. I bite my lip to hold back the moans, but my body is wracked with shivers.
To distract myself from the chill, I grab the hem of his shirt and lift. Leave him to get it over his head while I splay my hands on his chest and pepper it with kisses. Before I can get too involved with that, his shirt joins mine and he’s pulling me back to him, fervently kissing my lips. We sway, tongues rubbing and hands grasping as the water warms and the shower begins to fill with steam. I’m still shivering, but not from the cold.
He shoves down on my pants and they stick to my body, stopping every few inches as we laugh into each other’s mouths and I finally release him to help, grabbing back onto his hair and resuming our kiss as I kick the last of my clothes off to the side. Now it’s just Peeta’s jeans. It’s his turn to let go this time, and we nearly lose our balance as I cling to him and he tries to pry himself out of his soaked clothes with our mouths still locked together.
When he’s finally got them off, his hands splay on my back, water coursing between us as we press flush together. One of us moans at the contact of skin to skin, I don’t know which one of us it is. Maybe it’s both of us. I’m plotting the logistics of shower sex, when Peeta turns his head, wrenching his lips from mine. I whine softly with the loss and grasp onto his hair, yanking slightly on it to bring him back to me.
“Holy shit,” he murmurs.
“What?” I ask in annoyance. But Peeta’s lips curl in a smile and he tangles one of his hands with mine, removing my touch from his hair and flattening it on his chest. He’s breathing heavily, but I can still feel the thundering of his heart beneath my palm.
“That,” he whispers, making my lips lift in a mirroring smile. With a sigh, Peeta reaches behind me and grabs my soap. Soon, we’re both slathered in suds and laughing as we find each other’s most ticklish spots. My ribs and the sides of my kneecaps. The crease between his hips and thighs, the bottoms of his feet. Stolen kisses with water streaming over eyes, blinding us to everything but the joy locked away in this small, steamy world.
Peeta finishes first, and steps from the shower while I’m using conditioner.
“Crap,” he mutters.
“What is it?”
“There’s only one towel in here.”
“Just go ahead and use that one. The extras are in my bedroom closet,” I tell him, closing my eyes and tilting my head back to rinse the creamy lather from my hair.
“Be right back.”
I finish and turn off the water, peek around the curtain and find Peeta standing there with his towel wrapped around his hips, water droplets still clinging to his chest. He’s got my towel draped over his shoulder, his head bent as he pages through the thin book in his hands. No, not a book… a glossy charity calendar.
Shit. Shit and FUCK! I forgot that the damn thing was hiding in my closet all this time. Right next to my spare towels.
My entire body heats as he glances up at me. The laughter in his eyes does nothing to quell my embarrassment.
“Hand me my towel, please,” I say, stretching my arm out to him.
“In a second,” he says, twisting back out of my reach so I can’t snatch it off his shoulder. “First tell me how long you’ve had this.”
“Little over a month or so? I think. The cashier at the bookstore wouldn’t shut up about it so I bought one,” I say, and something flickers in his eyes. Pain? Disappointment? I don’t know, I just know that the air is cooling and raising goosebumps and I’m humiliated and about five seconds away from shivering or screaming. He hands over my towel and I snatch it from his grip. Setting aside the calendar, Peeta sweeps the curtain open, but offers me a smile and a hand to help me out. I take it, hoping he doesn’t notice that I’m shaking.
“I’m curious now,” he says as I tuck the ends of my towel in to keep it secure. “Which month is your favorite?”
My head snaps back to look up at him. My stunned answer stuck under my tongue. I see it again in his eyes. Not pain, but insecurity. Hidden behind laughter. My pulse trips as I realize that Peeta might be jealous or insecure, even though we’ve spent the day kissing and confiding in one another. He just seems so put together all the time, and well, so fucking hot, that I had just assumed he’d have the unwavering confidence to go with all that, like Mr. July. But then I think of the things he told me about his past and wonder if his walls are as high and thick as mine sometimes are.
“Well,” I say, stepping up to him plucking absently at the spot where his towel is tucked in, “my birthday is in May.”
Peeta arches an eyebrow at me, skeptical. I release his towel and let it fall to the floor.
“Is it?”
“May 8th,” I tell him as I place my hands on his pectorals. “So I’m partial to that month.”
“So if I’d been randomly placed in November instead of May, would we even be here right now?”
“Yes,” I say and smile up at him. “Best part of November is the food. But you could probably give that some stiff competition.”
His eyebrow shoots up at my innuendo and his shoulders shudder for a second beneath my touch as the doubt slowly dissipates from his gaze.
We’ve been so rushed or shrouded in darkness or facing one another every time we’ve been together, that I haven’t been given the chance to give his body more than a cursory or frontal look. Even the roaming of my hands as we’ve had sex is a poor substitute since I’m usually occupied with the rest of him at the same time. I mimic his motions from in the shower, tracing my nails over his ribs, around his nipples then back down to his navel. His muscles spasm beneath my touch as I do something I’ve wanted to do since I first saw his picture in that calendar. Down the golden trail, lower, watching his cock grow hard and rise as my heart thuds in my chest.
“Katniss,” he murmurs, and I look up to meet his eyes. He reaches out for me, and I evade him, maneuvering myself around to his back. He exhales through his nose in a huff, but lets me go. His hands fist at his sides as I take in his scars, fully for the first time. Puckered pink from his nape down to just above his ass. A few fingers curl around towards his ribs. His right shoulder still smooth, but his left clearly injured.
Reaching out, I run my hands over the surface, familiarize myself with the feel of him in concert with the sight. I want to know him by heart, so that even when we’re in complete darkness, with just a touch, I’ll know the way over his scars. He stands there breathing, tilting his head back at one point, but allowing me to memorize the lines of his past.
When I step back around to his front, his nostrils are flaring and his cock is erect, jutting towards me and twitching once as I grasp onto my elbows, suddenly nervous. Because it’s not the calendar or our histories of loss that link us together or makes me want him. It’s more than that. It’s him.
“I wanted you when you were just Mr. May. But then you were Peeta, my neighbor, and I still wanted you. Before I even knew you had these scars or brothers or survived an unimaginable fire.”
“Why?” he breathes, and even though I’m raw and on the brink of tears, I tell him.
“I think it was the way you smiled. At me and at Mags. In that picture. Everything since then has just made me want you even more.” He stares at me as I watch his pupils widen, darken, the air around us alive with sparks. And then, they ignite.
We are a blur of color and discarded towels. Wet hair fanned over twisted sheets and fingers gripping for solid ground, finding nothing but supple flesh and not being disappointed in the slightest. My legs embrace him as our cores align and we grind against one another, gasping at the flashes of heat and moaning our praise in haphazard kisses, too consumed to be thorough. Maybe later. Maybe next time.
“Peeta,” I whine. “Please.”
“Yes,” he gasps. Something crashes off my nightstand as he yanks on the drawer. He curses and flings a ripped condom aside as I curl my hands around his arm left holding him off of me, sinking my teeth into his bicep. Licking away the sting.
“Please,” I plead again.
“Fuck! Help me with this, Katniss,” he says in a voice crackling with need. We work together and shout as he plunges deep inside me. I dig my heels into his backside and spur him, urging him faster as his hips shove me further up the bed and closer to the tips of an inferno. Just a hint of air and I’ll explode.
I run my hands over his back, his neck, his straining arms, his ass, as I smile and laugh in relief at dreams turned real. His teeth tug on my earlobe and I will him to say it. To let me hear it and soothe my depraved soul.
“Fuck, fuck yes, oh fuck ye-essss,” he puffs, and it’s close. So close to what I want to hear. I dance on the edges, holding back out of hope. My grip on him slips and he loses his pace for just a second, our bodies once more slippery with sweat. Then his hips tilt and my body snaps into an arch. He shouts in triumph as he whips into me, sending me reeling. But I still catch the words.
“Oh god, yes. Come on my cock, Katniss! Arngh!”
He crashes to earth with me still fluttering and clamping down on me him and my wails of exquisite pleasure reverberating off the bedroom walls. Rolling us as we both pant and moan, his hand skims over my hip. Mine over his cheek. Frantic kisses where words aren’t possible. There will be time for that later, but for now, neither one of us can move. I don’t want to. Lying here with tangled legs and pounding pulses, still throbbing folds as he slips from me.
“I can’t believe you acted so pure this whole time, like you didn’t know what was in that calendar. You infuriating hussy,” he teases as I catch my breath. I’m teetering on the edge of sleep now, but shiver in delight as Peeta traces the backs of his fingers up my arm to my cheeks.
“You’re the hussy, posing half naked and making me crazy with want for months, putting out before our first date,” I tease back and he gasps in feigned outrage.
“What does that make you then?” he says, a teasing grin on his face.
“Positively virginal,” I say and he laughs, the sound soothing and exciting all at once. “And don’t expect a repeat of this after every date, Mr. May. I plan on leading you on a merry chase.”
I tease him around my yawn. My limbs are just so heavy and I feel so good. So relaxed, despite the soreness blossoming between my legs.
“That’s fine. I won’t be giving up on this anytime soon. Not unless you tell me to get lost,” he whispers, the words skimming over my forehead right before he drops a soft kiss there. The kind of kiss I want to wake to.
“Stay with me, Peeta,” I manage to say as exhaustion pulls me under. I miss his answer, although I feel the vibrations of it through my palm resting on his chest.
Many thanks to @peetabreadgirl for beta work and sending long strings of smut gifs to help with um…inspiration…yeah. Anyhow! There will only be two more chapters to this story and then I’m calling it done. Hope you’ve all enjoyed the indulgence that is firefighter!Peeta as much as I have! *Smooches*
Katniss rounded the corner of the hotel hallway, towards the vending area, in search of ice for her cooler. She was on her way down to the beach, where Prim was waiting for her, ready to make the most of their first day of vacation. The annual Everdeen family trip to District 4 was something she looked forward to each year, but especially now that she and her sister lived in different districts and were busy with their respective careers.
I’ve been craving a getaway for awhile now. The past year has been nuts. I really want to relax and unwind.
This much-needed week away from her worries and responsibilities was sacred to Katniss, so though their parents hadn’t been able to join them due to mandatory work commitments, she and Prim had still made the journey to the beach.
I’m really glad we were able to come, even though it’s just the two of us. I’ve missed my sister. And I have an action-packed ‘bucket list’ of ten things I want to do while we’re here. It’s going to be awesome.
As she filled her cooler at the ice machine, Katniss grinned. A whole week with her sister at their favorite beach destination was exactly her idea of heaven. She had so many ideas for how to spend their time together. Massages, beachside yoga, boogie boarding, and surfing lessons were just a few of the things she planned to do while in District 4.
First, though, she wanted to spend some time relaxing under the sun, with a good book, and a cocktail in her hand.
Margaritas by the ocean, here I come.
She had just shut the lid of her now-full ice chest and turned to walk towards the elevator when she collided with a very solid, very sizable something.
“Oof,” she heard a deep voice say. “I’m so sorry! Are you alright?”
Katniss looked up and nearly fell over when she laid eyes on the most attractive man she had ever seen. Blonde and brawny with sky blue eyes, he was breathtaking. The fact that he was sweaty and shirtless, wearing only a pair of red swim trunks with the words “D12 Fire Department” on them, only made him sexier.
Well, hot damn. Hello, handsome.
She was stunned speechless by the stranger’s muscular physique and gorgeous face, likely making her look like some sort of creep as she ogled him, but she just couldn’t look away.
I’ve never seen a more perfect male specimen.
“I’m really sorry about running into you, Miss,” the most beautiful man in Panem said, sounding slightly embarrassed. He winced and looked at her in concern. “I swear I didn’t see you there. I was trying to get some ice for my water cooler, and in my hurry to get back to the guys I’m here with since we’re mid-workout, I completely spaced out.”
“It’s okay,” Katniss replied breathlessly. She was trying to gather her wits but failing spectacularly judging by how husky her voice came out sounding.
Get it together, girl. You’re not a virgin or a naive sixteen year old, so you shouldn’t be this affected by a member of the opposite sex. Take a breath and act normal, for crying out loud.
“Okay, well I’m glad you’re not hurt. I crashed into you pretty hard.” Sounding relieved, the man smiled at her and added, “My name’s Peeta. I’m here for a firefighter training convention with a group of guys from all over Panem.”
He paused, as if considering something, then grinned widely and said, “I’m here for the next five days, by the way, so if you see me around the hotel or the beach, don’t be a stranger.” He winked at Katniss playfully, causing her stomach to flutter with excitement.
I can’t believe someone as gorgeous as him is hitting on me, but I’m not dumb enough to waste this opportunity.
“I’m Katniss,” she answered with a smile. “And I’m here all week, too.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Katniss,” Peeta answered cheerfully. “Hopefully I’ll run into you again, although preferably not literally next time.”
Katniss took in the way he gave her body a very obvious once over, and mentally added one more activity to her bucket list.
Item number eleven: spend quality time with Peeta the firefighter.
She had a feeling it was going to be an amazing week.
Posting a bit of my last mS2SL fic because I’m happy with how tight the dialgue is. And I very, very rarely say that!
mS2SL is all about getting rid of DIPG, a virulent form of brain cancer. It affects children. Consider joining us and writing for this next round! Submissions are due in late August. Check us at at ms2sl.tumblr.com, or ms2sl.com.
Johanna stood with her hands on her hips tapping her foot. "Brainless, it's about time you got here. You look like shit, by the way. If this is how monogamy affects you, maybe you and Guy Montag over there shouldn't have moved in together."
"Who?"
Johanna rolled her eyes. "Guy Montag. Bradbury. Anything ringing a bell? No?" She shook her head and muttered, "It's only one of the best dystopian stories of all time. Personality of a slug, I swear." She turned to their quietly glowing friend Annie. "Annie, what do you make of our friend Katniss's dark circles?"
Annie settled her newly rounded curves on a beach chair set up for her by a very solicitous Finnick. After kissing him in thanks, she replied, "I can make a broach or a pterodactyl…" at Katniss's continued blank look, she shook her head. "Huh. I really thought you'd get that one."
Jo looked smug. "Now tell her she looks like shit."
Katniss interrupted, "Look, you guys, Peeta and I spent all day yesterday moving so we could come to this party, and then stupid Buttercup woke me by batting at my face and meowing at five in the morning. He wouldn't get off my face until I got up and gave him a treat-"
"-You know, I have that happen all the time. Not with a cat though," Jo added.
"-so I'm tired because of Peeta's asshole cat."
Peeta approached to give Katniss a beer and clinked his bottle against hers. "He's not my asshole cat. He's our asshole cat. And I'll take that over him yakking up another mouse any day."
"So true," Katniss vehemently agreed.
Jo grinned. "So, Peeta, tell us how much you've been looking forward to being awakened by an insistent pussy every day. We all want to hear about it."
Peeta took a calculated sip of his beer, then stared at the lip of the bottle before meeting Johanna's gaze. "I'd rather hear all about the payback for the little purple pill you slipped Pollux."
"You told?" Jo wheeled on Katniss. "You told your fucking boyfriend that I let Pollux have payback for dosing him with Viagra?"
Katniss shrugged. "I also told him that Pollux reminds me of one of the kids from The Mighty Ducks. I didn't think it was a secret. You practically announced that he surprise glitter-bombed your girly-parts to everyone in Starbucks. Annie and I both thought you should be worried about yeast infections, remember? "
Annie nodded. "Yeah. It doesn't matter if the web site says it's safe. It seems icky."
Peeta rubbed the back of his neck. "That wasn't why Katniss told me. We were, uh, discussing performance enhancement techniques. Katniss said the pill you slipped Pollux that night was purple. I don't know where you got it from, but that's not Viagra. That's Prilosec." He paused. "Or, in your case, maybe we should call it Prilosex. Because I'm pretty sure you treated his dick for heartburn."
Mamihlapinatapei - The look between two people in which each loves the other but is too afraid to make the first move. I am loving your firefighter!Peeta / teacher!Katniss drabbles. ;)
I am so sorry, @louezem. I was trying to get this done in time for your birthday, but that didn’t happen. Hope you don’t mind this being a few days late. :-)
Also, I wrote a canon compliant piece for this word already, you can find it HERE if you’re interested. But it fit so well with the direction the firefighter story was headed I figured what the hey! I can write for the same word twice.
My thanks to @peetabreadgirl for pre-reading and not gloating too much.
Send me a word and I’ll write a drabble
Come On Baby, Light My Fire (Part 6)
Part 1 - Grapholagnia
Part 2 - Neighbors/We Meet Again
Part 3 - Callipygian
Part 4 - Apodyopis
Part 5 - Gymnophoria
Part 6 - Mamihlapinatapei: The look between two people in which each loves the other but is too afraid to make the first move.
Field one is like another planet. Extra bleachers have been set up, and although I spot Rue and a large group of her friends as well as a handful of other students and teachers, there are so many more in the full to bursting stands who are complete strangers to me. Unlike at the other fields, the small announcer’s booth is full and in use, music playing through the speakers. There’s a tent set up behind the firefighter’s dugout, selling the calendars and promoting volunteer work at the Twelfth and Oak Soup Kitchen, the charity group that receives the proceeds from the sales this year. As I watch, a woman who’s just purchased a calendar calls out to Mr. July and screams that she loves him. He blows her a kiss through the wire fencing of the dugout while her friends fan themselves.
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Annie grumbles. “You gotta be kidding me.”
If the rest of the park feels like a carnival, this little patch of it is the full-blown circus. And we’re the clown act.
I can’t help it; I scan the dugout for Peeta, and when he’s not there, switch to the field. Sure enough, he’s squatting behind home plate, full catcher’s gear on, taking warm up throws from their pitcher. His blond curls poke out from underneath the mask and his backwards ball cap. And if that wasn’t a dead giveaway, the number 5 partially obscured by the back straps of his chest plate and the word MAY in screaming fire engine red across his shoulders confirm it.
Plus that ass.
“I’m with you, Annie,” I croak out. Jackson mutters an agreeing curse under her breath.
“Lighten up, girls,” Seeder says as one of the firefighters steps onto the field and stretches, holding his bat over his head for a few seconds before dropping and rotating his arms. His shirt falls back in place, once more concealing the strip of finely tuned abs that his stretching revealed. “This is gonna be fun.”
“Uh, let’s try not to get distracted, okay ladies?” Thom says and Mitchell scoffs.
“Hey,” Annie snaps and links arms with me. “It’s gonna take more that a bit of male flesh to throw us off our game. Isn’t it, Katniss?”
“Yes it is,” I hear myself say, even though history is not behind me on this one. Not with Mr. May on the opposing team.
“Well, let’s get set up, okay?” Thom ushers us into our dugout and I studiously keep my gaze averted from Peeta.
I can feel his eyes on me. He knows I’m here, and it occurs to me that we’ve never once talked about his being in that damn calendar. Not once. I smirk as I realize that whatever reason he kept it a secret from me, I’m one step ahead of him. Two can play this game.
With a deep breath, I bend over to rummage in my bag, toss my glove on the bench then undo my hair. Stand back up flipping it over my shoulders, wrinkling my nose at how sweaty and gross it is. But since my back is to him, Peeta can’t see the face I make. I hastily rebraid it and put my cap back on. When I turn back to the field, my heart sinks. He’s huddling up with the other members of his team and not even noticing me. Damn it. I’ve never been good at this kind of thing. I think I missed the day at school when they taught all the girls how to flirt. Or maybe that’s something your mother teaches you.
Grinding my teeth together, I jog out onto the field with my team and we quickly warm up. After a few throws and couple half-assed hits that show either how tired or already demoralized we are, Thom calls us in for a quick pep talk.
“Look, guys. I know this isn’t gonna be a walk in the park. But we can beat these guys, okay? Just like Katniss said. We beat Precinct 2. Let me repeat that. We. Beat. Precinct 2. All we gotta do is get under these guys’ skin and we’ll have an advantage, yeah?”
“I’d like to get under some of that skin,” Bristel whispers, but we all hear it and gawk at her. “What? December and January are hot. May’s not too bad either. And lord almighty, have you guys seen July?”
“Yeah,” Annie snaps in disgust. “He’s a prancing peacock. Focus, Bristel.”
The music abruptly stops and Thom throws his hands up in the air in exasperation, grumbling something about what a great pep talk that turned out to be as the music changes and some classic rock guitars blare over the crowd. Caesar Flickerman walks onto the field, a remote transmission pack clipped to the back of his belt as he shouts into the microphone.
“It’s time, ladies and gentleman! The final round on field one. Have we got an exciting matchup for you today! Are you ready to meet the players?”
The crowd yells enthusiastically. Some goon in an official looking polo shirt with the KAPT radio station logo on the breast ushers us into a line near Caesar. It’s only when Caesar steps up in front of Thom that I realize what’s going on. I swallow heavily and hope they don’t ask us all to talk.
“Now, tell us your name, good sir,”
“Thom Buckley from District Twelve High School.”
“We’re glad to have you here, Thom. This crowd is pumped, wouldn’t you say?”
They prove Caesar right with loud stomping and whistling. Thom looks a little shell shocked and I feel a bit sorry for him.
“Let’s tell them why this is the game of the series to watch,” Caesar prompts, but Thom falters a little. Annie somehow knows where Caesar is trying to lead us, though.
“We’re undefeated today,” she says, and Caesar whirls to face her.
“Say that again, my dear, along with your name and what you teach.”
“Annie Cresta,” she says into the microphone. “I teach chemistry and general science. I’m one of our pitchers. Thom here teaches mathematics and plays first base. And our team is undefeated today.”
Her voice grows in strength until she gets to the last two words and she nearly shouts them.
“HA-HA!” Caesar crows as the crowd applauds us. “I LOVE IT! TWO UNDEFEATED TEAMS!”
Caesar takes Annie’s hand and motions for her to take a bow. Flustered, she does so, and as the noise finally calms, he moves to the next teacher in line. Slowly, he works his way towards me. I keep my eyes focused on him because every time I’ve glanced over at Peeta since Thom announced us, he’s been looking anywhere else. We’re avoiding one another right now, and I’m not sure what that means. Finally, Caesar gets to me.
“And you are?” he thrusts the microphone in my face and I startle a little, despite my preparations for this moment.
“Katniss Everdeen,” I say and Caesar waits expectantly for a beat.
“What subject do you teach?” he asks with a soothing smile and once more the microphone is at my mouth. I blush stupidly, but manage to answer the rest.
“I’ll be at second base today, and I teach biology and gen science.”
“Wait a moment, wait a moment,” Caesar says, gesturing negatively at my answer. He steps back a little and points up the line at Annie. “Chemistry,” points to Leevy, “physics,” and finally points to me, “and biology.”
“Yes,” I confirm, a little confused at where this is going until one of the firefighters whistles around his fingers and Caesar fans himself. “Science at District Twelve, everyone. The lessons must be explosive!”
“Caesar, please. Not in front of our students,” I say and wave at a few who cheer back at us. I bite my cheek until I taste blood, but if Caesar notices my shock at what I just said, he doesn’t show it. He’s skipping and gushing over what fun this game will be with such fiery players, and then moving on to Jackson, the last player in our lineup.
My eyes dart up and meet Peeta’s laughing blues. This time, he doesn’t look away. So I roll my eyes as if to say Can you believe this joker? and he winks at me.
“Now for our home team!” Caesar shouts and the music cues back up again. Jackson leads us back into our dugout, and Thom collapses on the bench next to me.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I had no idea they were going to do that.”
“Hey, it’s fine,” I say, patting him awkwardly on the shoulder. “You were great.”
“Thanks, Katniss,” he says and smiles warmly at me. I pull my hand back and turn my attention to Caesar, who’s just wrapping up his spiel about the firefighters who pose for the calendar and how they spend the next year as ambassadors for the city, spearheading any number of charitable efforts. He pauses and the music that’s been accompanying his announcement ramps back up.
“Here they are! At right field, you know him as Mr. January, Vincent Gloss!”
The first of their players jogs out onto the field and pumps a fist in the air for the cheering crowds before standing along the third base line. I barely recognize him with clothes on. Caesar works through the lineup from the outfield in, each of them seem to have some kind of signature move to greet the crowds. A short dance, like Ms. August, Johanna Mason, who steps onto the field and twerks to loud masculine shouts of approval. Kisses blown in abundance from Mr. July, Finnick Odair. By the time Caesar’s halfway done, any semblance of professionalism in our dugout has vanished.
“Hello, February,” Ms. Seeder says as a muscular firefighter, probably in his mid to late forties, who looks more like he should be a Marine, jogs out onto the field to wave at the crowd. Caesar had announced him as Macarthur Boggs, playing pitcher. I pull my hat down as Caesar announces the final player.
“Playing catcher today, Mr. May…Peeta Mellark.”
Alright, I peek. His movement is hampered by the heavy catcher’s gear, and while the applause isn’t quite as loud for him as it was for July’s showmanship, when the noise peeters off, someone in the stands screams:
“I wanna have your babies!”
Annie makes a noise of undisguised disgust, but on the field, Caesar is playing it up. He points towards himself in confusion.
“Did you mean me? Of course not. Peeta, someone out there is interested in your time. Can you give this lovely young lady some hope?”
Peeta’s face turns red and I stand, grabbing the nearest bat to test its weight. I’m batting first anyways and having something to do keeps me distracted from tearing the crowd apart to find the groupie who screamed those distasteful words.
“Uh, sorry Caesar,” Peeta says, snaring my attention.
“Oh? Is there already a special someone in your life?” I stand with my back towards the shenanigans, gripping the bat, ears perked.
“Not exactly,” Peeta admits. “I haven’t managed to work up the courage to ask her out yet. Besides, I think the lady meant that shout for Finnick.”
I am tossed on a strange sea. The crowd laughs as I am certain Mr. July does something else obnoxiously risque to get the reaction of the crowd. Caesar wraps up and yells for us to Play Ball! My ears ring with Peeta’s words, though. I risk a look over my shoulder, and as the firefighters spread to take their spots on the field, I swear Peeta looks right at me for a second before donning his mask.
Heat floods my entire body. Dizzy with fever, I wander out onto the field. Take a few practice swings and demand that my body get a grip on itself. I’ve got a game to play. And he probably only said that as a bluff, to deflect the advances of the woman in the stands. The announcer’s booth plays a few brief notes of a song, an introductory blurb like they do for professional baseball players, but it’s too short for me to pinpoint the tune. After I take a few warm up swings, I step into the box. Keeping my eyes focused on their pitcher, I force myself to speak to Peeta.
“Fancy seeing you here, neighbor,” I say.
“Yeah,” he says, his voice strangely choked. Probably just the mask.
The pitch comes screaming at me, and I wait on this one. Umpire calls a strike as Peeta stands to return the ball.
“So you’re in the naked firefighters calendar,” I say as I reset, ignoring the fact that I already knew that.
“Are you slut-shaming me, Katniss?” he asks.
“STRIKE!” the ump shouts as the pitch flies right past me and I turn to glare down at him.
“The calendars are all about promoting different non-profits and community involvement. Didn’t think you’d scoff at something like that,” Peeta teases me as the ball flies back into Mr. February’s glove. “Besides, I’m not actually naked in the calendar. Most of us aren’t.”
I snort as Peeta squats behind the plate. He’s close enough to naked in that picture to drive all sorts of sexual fantasies, and I should know. But I can’t call him out on it without admitting that I’ve already seen the calendar. Even behind the bars of his mask, I can see his smile, though. I simper at him and block him from my attention. I plan on knocking the seams off this pitch. That’ll show him.
Except the next one is too fast and outside. I wait. Umpire calls it a ball, and I huff in frustration, annoyed that I’m losing my momentum. February throws another ball, low and away, and beside me, Peeta chuckles.
“Boggs is baiting you. Next one is a strike. Right down the middle,” he says. I glare at him.
“I don’t need your help,” I say. “And I won’t fall for your mind games.”
Peeta shrugs and settles back in his stance, but now he’s got me psyched out. I swing hard at the next one, tipping it off my bat. It flies up over the fence into the crowd along the third baseline. Foul ball.
“Still alive,” Peeta says as he accepts a new ball from the umpire and throws it to his pitcher. He doesn’t give me any more hints, though, and when the next one comes flying over the plate, I swing as hard as I can.
It connects and I take off for first, but it isn’t enough as they get the ball there before me. Dejected I run back into the dugout and slouch on the bench, arms crossed and fuming at the whole situation. I’m really not sure why I’m so angry, but I hold onto the feeling and polish it to a high shine.
Peeta thinks he’s funny or even trying to be helpful – well I’m not falling for it. Maybe I’ve been wrong about him and he’s just another preening peacock like the rest of these fire jocks.
They prove me wrong. All of them. As the game progresses, the firefighters encourage not only each other, but us as well. They play introductory songs for all of us, several of them spot on in terms of personality, even though they had maybe thirty seconds of us talking to gauge us by. Their own introductory songs are a plethora of fire puns. Everything from Mr. April taking the plate to Disco Inferno to Ms. August taking it to Fire Starter.
Peeta gives Leevy a high five when she hits one out into the left field corner and makes it back home before his team can get it in. Their second baseman laughs and jokes with Mitchell while they wait for the umps to discuss a controversial call. Instead of turning the game into a nasty competition, they make it fun. We share our triumphs and harmless trash talk when we make mistakes. It’s so different from the two other games we’ve played today, that I don’t know what to make of it. But it’s hard to hold onto my anger with so much laughter around me.
Between the first and second inning, Caesar announces that most of the schools will host their annual play in the upcoming weeks. He not only provides the dates and titles being performed for at least a dozen schools, including ours, but also informs the crowd that there are flyers on the tables at the booth selling calendars as well as a website with all the information.
“Did you do that?” I ask Thom, but he shakes his head.
“Wish I’d thought of it, though,” he admits. “Guess we’ll have to thank them later.”
The mood is catching, and before the second inning winds down, the game feels more like a simple one between friends than an actual competition. That’s only amplified when Haymitch Abernathy, our crusty sociology and psychology teacher stands in the bleachers and heckles Mr. October. Hard to admit it, but the resemblance between the two is striking, confirmed when Leevy mentions that they’re brothers.
It’s during the bottom of the second that Peeta is finally up to bat. He lobs one right over Annie’s head. It bounces in the gray zone between infield and outfield, but he’s not a very fast runner, so even though it takes us time to recover the ball, he only makes it to first. Annie’s getting tired, though, and walks the next batter. Peeta jogs up to second and tags the base before smiling at me.
“Are we still on for tonight?” he asks shyly.
“Unless you decide to give Miss Babymaker her wish instead,” I nod towards the stands and he flushes.
“Look, they don’t interest me,” he says, waving vaguely towards the crowd. “They’ve just seen a picture of me shirtless and think that means they know me or own a piece of me in a weird way. But they don’t.”
I nod solemnly but refuse to look at him. He’s too busy explaining to notice that Annie’s ready to pitch to the next batter. It connects, but Peeta doesn’t move. Someone on his team yells.
“STOP FLIRTING AND RUN, MELLARK!”
“Shit,” he mutters and jolts into action. But he’s too late. Bristel’s already lobbed the ball to Jackson at third, and before Peeta’s halfway to the next base, the ball soars back over his head into my glove. Double play. End of the inning.
The game continues with the score pretty even, and spirits high on both sides. Caesar keeps the crowd ramped up, and at one point, they manage to start a wave and keep it going for a few rounds. Thom’s looking less pale and more into it, once more coaching us through strategies, but with a lighthearted voice.
“Alright, folks,” Caesar yells out once the top of the fourth is in the books, the score sitting at 5 to 4 with us leading. “You’ve heard of the seventh inning stretch, well this is the fourth inning stretch! On your feet!”
A few piano notes blast over the speakers as the firefighters split, half of them on each of the baselines in front of the bleachers. Bristel hollers and whoops as I recognize the song. Annie rolls her eyes, but we crowd the exit of our dugout for an unobstructed view. This is obviously something they’ve coordinated, as the firefighters launch into a synchronized dance to Great Balls of Fire.
Part way through the dance, July waves at Annie to join him. She shakes her head firmly, her arms crossed. He pouts and when that doesn’t work, asks if she doesn’t have the guts.
“Oh that’s it,” she says and stomps out towards him.
“Don’t give in to him!” Jackson shouts, a shocking burst of laughter on her lips as Annie starts dancing with the arrogant firefighter. And puts him to shame. Mr. July, surprisingly, doesn’t seem the least bit disappointed. Beside him, Mr. September motions for the rest of us to join them.
“Come on,” Leevy says, grabbing my hand and tugging.
“No,” I protest, digging my heels in, but the rest of my teammates have a different idea and I am carried onto the field with the tide. I stumble a little and a pair of strong hands catch me. For a second, as I look up into Peeta’s smiling blue eyes, the rest of the world falls away. Then he tugs on my hands and spins me around, drawing a laugh from me. The choreographed dance dissolves as we all pair off and wing it. Even Thom’s side-bumping hips with Ms. August in front of their dugout.
It might be sloppy and ridiculous, peppered with horrid robot man and really bad two steps, but the crowd is eating it up. At one point, I glance back in the stands and my smile widens at the sight of several of my students dancing their hearts out, joyful smiles on their faces.
When the music finally ends, the applause and cheers are deafening, and Caesar gushes over the loudspeaker. Peeta backs away from me with a smile on his face, but the look in his eyes is so intense, I can barely breathe until September grabs his shirt collar and drags him back towards the dugout.
There’s only an inning and a half left, and I am suddenly eager for it to be over.
Annie fires in two outs right out of the gate, including one against Mr. July. Oddly enough, he lingers at home plate for a second, a faint smile on his face that I doubt Annie even notices since she’s turned her back to the plate to gather her thoughts for the next hitter.
I shift nervously as Peeta heads towards the plate. July claps him on the shoulder and says something. Then a burst of music screams over the speakers. It’s not the song they’ve been playing to introduce Peeta’s turn at bat, though.
I’ve got it bad, bad, bad.I’m hot for teacher!
Peeta freezes and turns back to face Finnick, who seems to be gesturing to defend his innocence in the music change. His grin would suggest otherwise, though. I feel my neck and cheeks heat, eyeing each of my teammates and wondering which of them Peeta’s team seems to think he’s got a crush on since he laid eyes on them all for the first time maybe an hour ago. I flex my hand in my glove as Peeta shakes his head at his teammate and steps into the box. But his gaze finds me again and butterflies create chaos in my middle.
When he swings on the second pitch, the clank echoes through the field as the ball soars off towards right field. Cecilia dives for it, making a spectacular catch and bringing the inning to a close. And even though it brings us one step closer towards winning, I feel a slight twinge of disappointment. I most likely won’t be able to distract him again during the game.
Our bats are on fire throughout the top of the fifth, though, and I get a surprising turn at bat with two outs and the score at seven to four. They’ve swapped February out for a different pitcher, but I can’t really blame them since by this time, we’ve played fourteen innings. Peeta doesn’t say anything, and neither do I. I’ve got a game to focus on, despite the lingering warmth of his hands holding mine or the weird nausea I’ve felt every time I think of the mystery girl he mentioned at the start of the game or the playful teasing of his teammates.
I swing at the first pitch without thinking, but as soon as it’s airborne, Peeta stands, flipping his mask off his face.
“Nice hit,” he says, and I stand there dumbly staring at him. “Go. Run, Katniss!”
I take off as my teammates applaud and whoop. I’m expecting it to come back to earth into the waiting glove of their left fielder, but instead, it just slips over the fence and the stands erupt. As I jog around the bases in a daze, the firefighters offer high fives and congrats. How do you respond to an opponent that doesn’t seem to mind losing? I don’t know, so I smack their raised palms and smile my thanks for their words.
After that, though, the new pitcher strikes out Ms. Cecilia and the inning turns over.
“Alright,” Thom says as we prep to take the field. “All we need to do is hold them to fewer than four runs. Annie?”
“I can last, I think.”
“You let me know if you need to rotate out, okay?”
She nods, and we run to our positions to the stomping and cheering of an energized crowd. Mr. September makes it to first on a low curve, then Mr. June hits one straight for me and I tag out the leading runner. When Ms. August steps up to the plate, a hard glint in her eyes, Annie falters. It’s enough to get the ball past the infield on a spectacular hit.
“Yeah!” she shouts as she runs and tags first. Then she gets in Thom’s face. “That’s what I’m talking about.” Thom blushes as she says something to him, popping her gum before returning her attention to the game.
Mr. October, Haymitch’s brother, brings two runs in, but then we tag Mr. January out at first. With only one out between us and victory, Thom rushes up to the mound to speak quietly to Annie. I can’t hear the words, but I can see Annie shaking her head.
“Come on, Rocket!” Mr. July shouts from their dugout. “Three more strikes; you got this!”
Annie stares at him with narrowed eyes, but her lips twitch in what appears to be a restrained smile. July’s faith in her seems to spark something, though, because she nearly knocks Seeder off her feet with the next pitch. Two throws and two whiffs of the bat through the air later and it’s all over.
Thom throws his hat in the air and the celebrations fly by in a blur. I remember lining up and shaking hands with the line of firefighters. I remember July grinning at me suggestively. And September smiling and nodding, signing something that I don’t quite catch to June who looks to be his brother, maybe even his twin. June laughing and congratulating me on a great hit. And then there’s Peeta, holding my hand a second longer than the others did as I can’t seem to look away from him or move on.
“Your winners! The District Twelve High School teachers!” Caesar screams and Peeta drops my hand as I move towards my huddled team and throw my arms around them, joining them in our quiet victory celebration. Even if the schools don’t win the series overall, at least we did everything that we could to help.
The crowd disbands quickly as we gather our gear together. Thom races off ahead of us to hand in our last card, an umpire’s signature on it to prove our win. The rest of us meander towards the amphitheater as a team. The others recount their favorite parts of the day in joyful tones, and I smile, surreptitiously searching the flowing crowd for a familiar face.
Once again, the amphitheater is packed and noisy. Caesar glides up on stage to monstrous applause. The cops have taken back up their chant. Annie threads her arm through mine and smiles nervously at me. I return it and we both focus on the stage.
“Are you ready, Panem?” he shouts and shudders with glee at the loud response he gets. “Let me tell you, this has been an exciting day. Such a close competition. But I won’t waste your time. I know what you want!”
The crowd screams as Caesar puts his hands out, wriggling his fingers and throwing his head back in laughter as the noise somehow gets louder.
“Alright! In fourth place, with a fantastic comeback in the final round – three wins bringing their total to seven! I give you, the city workers!”
There’s a decent amount of applause as Mayor Paylor steps up to the stage to smile and shake hands and receive one of those massive, tacky fake checks. She poses for a few quick pictures with Caesar and a few other officials in suits and then quickly clears the stage.
“In third place,” Caesar continues, “with two wins in round three, bringing their total to nine…Panem Police Department!”
The applause is meek compared to this morning and the cops barely manage their chant as the Chief of Police, a tall and striking woman with a hard set chin and short hair, strides onto the stage to accept their prop check. She barely smiles for the cameras but shakes Caesar’s hand hard enough to leave him grimacing.
“Wow. I suggest not speeding on your way home this afternoon, folks,” Caesar jokes to scattered laughter. “And now, what you’ve all been waiting for. The grand prize. We’ve had an unexpected development here today. A tie.”
“A tie?” Annie whispers and we all look at each other with wide eyes as we realize that there are only two groups left, and one of them is the school districts. Murmurs ripple through the crowd as the news sinks in.
“That’s right!” Caesar booms. “With ten wins each, Panem Fire Department and Panem School Districts! Let’s get the chief and the superintendent up here, shall we?”
His final words are nearly drowned out beneath the noise. When the ruckus finally dies out, Caesar announces that the money reserved for first and second places will be split evenly between the two groups, or each of us will be given 35% of the proceeds. Thom smiles and nods as several people congratulate them. He’s scribbling numbers on a piece of paper, and finally looks up at us while the masses begin their departure from the park.
“Thank you all for doing this. I hope you had as much fun as I did.” Bristel interrupts with a quick whoop and Thom’s grin widens. “Based on the amount this event pulled in last year, we should have enough for everything on our wish list. So go home, rest up, I’ll see you all on Monday.”
I make my way towards the parking lot, tossing my gear in my trunk before plopping down in the driver seat. The place is a nut house, so I sit and wait for the traffic to die out. The adrenaline of the competition drains from me and I suddenly feel so bone deep weary that all I want to do is curl up in bed and sleep. But I have a date.
Well, not a date per se. I don’t think. And then I’m thinking about all the times today I caught him looking at me with something in his eyes or smile that I couldn’t place. The nameless girl he’s trying to find the courage to ask out. I hate her already. Or the faceless ho who claims she wants his babies but couldn’t possibly know the look of concentration on his face while he draws, like he’s got thousands of worlds locked away in his mind, just begging to be released onto paper. Or that he never takes sugar in his tea. And always double knots his shoelaces. Or that he bakes to keep his hands and mind busy because it’s soothing to him, in spite of or maybe perhaps because of the connections to his dead parents. She might know that his left cheek dimples when he smiles deeply, but not the way his shoulders shake first before he’ll let an audible laugh past his lips.
A car horn honks, yanking me from my reverie. Looking around, I see that the traffic has thinned considerably, so I crank my engine and head home, satisfied that whoever those faces and names in the crowd are, they won’t be stretched out on Peeta’s couch in less than an hour, sharing a meal and a drink and probably a few laughs with him.
************
Up next…Part 7: Basorexia - an overwhelming desire to kiss
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Great Balls of Fire by Jerry Lee Lewis
Gloss (January) - Hot Blooded by Foreigner
Boggs (February) - Fight Fire with Fire by Metallica
Dalton (March) - Midnight Fire by Steve Wariner
Chaff (April) - Disco Inferno by The Trammps
Peeta (May) - Sex On Fire by Kings of Leon & Hot for Teacher by Van Halen
Castor (June) - Hot Stuff by Donna Summers
Finnick (July) - Come On Baby, Light My Fire by The Doors
Johanna (August) - Fire Starter by Demi Lovato
Pollux (September) - Sleep Now in the Fire by Rage Against the Machine
Lucas Abernathy (October) - The Heat Is On by Glenn Frey
Daniel Odair (November) - Smoke On the Water by Deep Purple
Ugh go away @peetabreadgirl. You should know better by now than to trust when I set a deadline for myself. Teaser! For the next part of Come On Baby, Light My Fire. Who wants some Finnick???
“Welcome!” he continues. “Welcome! To the fortieth annual Panem Metropolitan Baseball Series! Wow! That’s a mouthful! Alright! We’ve got our city workers!”
A lukewarm cheer lifts up over the crowd, and Caesar pouts.
“Come on now, you can do better than that. These are the folks responsible for your water, your trash, your roads, and--”
“AND YOUR TAXES!” someone yells and the crowd laughs.
“Right you are!” Caesar rolls with it. “We have Panem School Districts in the house!”
Beside me, Thom and Annie whoop loudly while the rest of us clap. At least we get a better response out of the crowd than the city workers, though.
“Panem Fire Department, burning it up!” A massive cheer rocks the park and Seeder laughingly covers her ears. As the noise dies down, someone whistles in a cat-call and Caesar laughs boisterously.
“Now, now, Mr. Odair. Don’t steal my spotlight just yet. There will be time for that later!”
All of us stand tall and try to find the source of the commotion, but Caesar has moved on and there are just too many people.
In which Katniss has a thing for her firefighter neighbor. The first drabble in this series can be found HERE. Now for a teaser of the next part, which is maybe halfway written.
This is ridiculous. I am twenty-six years old and avoiding my neighbor like a sixteen year old with a crush. It’s just a picture, that’s it, I remind myself and square my shoulders to face him.
“Hey neighbor,” he says cheerfully, although as I get closer, I notice that his eyes are ringed in purple splotches, the tips of his hair damp and melded together. Like he took a shower recently. Or spent a decent amount of time with it smashed to his head beneath a mask and helmet in a very hot situation.
Somehow, my mind jumps from him fighting fires to that damn picture of him in less than half his gear, and even that was falling off of him. With his happy trail, enticing abs, and broad shoulders, and arms that were sculpted by the gods. Ugh those arms.
“Hey,” I say and peer out the glass door towards the street as we come to a halt facing one another. There’s no sign of Gale yet. Which means no escape route whatsoever. I cross my arms as 4C eyes my bow.
“Archery range or…”
He trails off as I whip my head back to glare at him.
“Hunting,” I say succinctly and wait for the usual response from anyone with testicles.
“Cool,” he says, and his unwavering smile suggests that he means it. I blink, thrown by his simple reaction. I wonder if maybe he’s simple or something. Maybe too much smoke inhalation fried his brain cells. “How long have you been into hunting?”
“Since my Dad decided I was old enough to hold a bow,” I tell him and shift on my feet.
“Just you or…”
“I’m waiting for my friend,” I say as my eyebrows snap together in a scowl.
“That’s good,” he says and then laughs a little. “Safety first, right?”
I blink. He coughs behind his fist, his eyes darting away from me. It’s too early in the morning for small talk. Especially with Mr. May.
