Gone Rogue - an Everlark ficlet
There was a great post last week, about making shitty pots. Challenge accepted ;)
This came out of a completely irreverent discussion with my fellow smutketeers @burkygirl and @peetabreadgirl, and is rated M for coarse language, sexual situations and terrible puns. Reader discretion is advised.
Gone Rogue
“This is pretty slummy, even for here,” Katniss breathed, looking up and down the deserted street. Desolation and neglect were evident in every abandoned storefront, every crumbling façade. But the marquee over the cinema, Sala de cine, had most of its bulbs illuminated.
Peeta nodded, distracted, as he triple checked his phone. He was sure this was the place, trip advisor listed it as the only English movie theatre in the province. “I can’t imagine it’s very popular,” he said, staring at the empty display boards where movie posters should have been, but where only pieces of torn paper remained, faded to unreadability by the relentless sun. “I haven’t heard a single word of English since we stepped off the bus.”
“I hope it’s air conditioned,” she grumbled, and he sighed.
It had seemed like such a good idea when they planned it. Take a semester off college, spend three months in the southern hemisphere with his best friend, rebuilding earthquake-ravaged schools and community buildings. Good karma and bonding, away from the bitterly cold Panem winter. Away from his family and hers, away from school and the day to day drudgery of his parents’ bakery and her job at the diner. Away from Gale-fucking-Hawthorne, the stupidly tall and buff asshat who had his eye on Katniss.
But four weeks in, Katniss was obviously miserable. She hated the oppressive heat and was endlessly frustrated with their inability to understand the language. Peeta suspected she was homesick too, though she never mentioned that. Even in front of her closest friend, she tried to hide her feelings behind an almost impenetrable wall. Selfishly, that was the main reason Peeta had agreed to this service trip when she suggested it. He’d hoped that being out here, away from the real world, she’d let down her defences.
Let him in.
Because as much as he loved being her best friend, he also loved her, and wanted so much more. And he wanted to tell her that, to show her that, while they were together in this new place, where maybe she’d be able to look at him with new eyes.
But he needed to lift her mood first, if there was any chance of her being receptive to his words.
So he suggested an excursion to find a movie theatre where they could watch the new Star Wars movie in English. Katniss was a huge Star Wars fan, and he knew she’d been steadfastly avoiding social media since the movie’s release, trying to avoid spoilers.
She’d jumped at the chance, the first time he’d seen her smile in days.
Peeta reached for the handle of the heavy wooden door, pulling it open and peeking inside. It was dim - everything in this country was dim - and while not airconditioned at least substantially cooler than outside. He stepped back to allow Katniss entry; she wrinkled her nose as she stepped through the door. “Smells funny in here.”
“It smells funny everywhere,” he grumbled. He was generally a patient guy, but Katniss had been whining practically since the moment they boarded the bus to the city. “Do you want to just leave?”
“No,” she said, her tone softer. She grabbed his hand, squeezing gently, and Peeta relaxed.
The lobby did smell funny, musty and old, and there was no concession stand, but they made their way to the ticket booth. The man inside eyed them both suspiciously, but Peeta managed between rudimentary Spanish and a lot of pointing to buy two tickets.
Peeta wasn’t surprised to find the actual theatre completely deserted, though he was pretty sure that the ticket seller said the show was starting in ten minutes. He and Katniss made their way to the middle of the second-to-last row, which she always said was the best place to see all of the action, and settled in the threadbare but reasonably comfortable seats.
They chatted while they waited for the movie to start, and she seemed much calmer than she had all morning, happier. Peeta told jokes, teased her. It was comfortable. It was good.
He wasn’t sure how much time had passed before the house lights went down and the screen flickered to life. Once his eyes adjusted and Peeta could see the title shot for the movie he frowned. It didn’t look quite right. Katniss clearly noticed it too; she snorted as she pointed to it. “It’s misspelled,” she giggled.
Peeta squinted. It was indeed misspelled. Rouge One. “Must be a bootleg,” he laughed. “That’s better than subtitles anyway.” A huge explosion filled the screen, drawing their attention, before fading to the inky blackness of space dotted with stars. She grabbed his hand, and he grinned.
But as the music started playing - that’s definitely not John Williams, he thought - it became obvious this movie wasn’t the one they were expecting. A ship that almost passed for a star destroyer came on screen, and then the scene cut to two women with their hair in side buns, a la Princess Leia, but definitely not dressed in rebel alliance uniforms. In fact, they were dressed in practically nothing at all, strips of flowing fabric and thigh-high boots that were not at all suitable for space travel. When a tall stormtrooper whipped out his rouge one, Peeta sucked in a horrified breath.
He sat frozen for what seemed like hours as his mind tried to understand what the hell was going on.
“Holy shit, look at his lightsabre,” Katniss murmured beside him, and he tore his eyes away from the screen - where a ripped Jedi was using the force to direct a scantily clad alien’s head as she blew him aggressively - to look at his best friend.
His shy, pure best friend, who he had apparently dragged into a porno theatre.
Her eyes were wide as saucers.
He finally snapped out of his stupor. “Shit, I’m sorry,” he gasped, dread knotting his gut. She was going to be so fucking pissed at him. “Let’s go,” he said.
“Yeah,” Katniss murmured, but she didn’t make any motion to leave. Her eyes remained locked on the screen, absolutely unblinking. As he watched, her tongue poked out to wet the lush lower lip he’d spent years dreaming about. She was breathing heavily, her chest heaved in the reflected glow of the screen, and her nipples were erect, sharp against her thin tank top.
Katniss was aroused.
His best friend, and the girl who’d starred in every damned one of his fantasies, was sitting beside him in a fucking porno theatre and getting hot and bothered.
He wondered if she was wet.
Nothing happening on screen was as big a turn on as watching Katniss squirm. Her hand still clutched his; through it, he could feel the way she was shifting in her seat.
He was going to blow his load in his pants. “Katniss,” he whispered, pained.
She turned to face him, her quicksilver eyes locking onto his, pupils blown wide. Her pink tongue snaked out again, slid sinuously along her lips. Under a soundtrack of guttural grunts and over-the-top moans she whispered, the barest puff of air over his lips. “Kiss me, Peeta.”
Some small, rational part of his brain offered a weak protest. It was a bad idea. It wasn't real. But maybe he’d dreamed of it long enough for it to become real? Real enough anyway, reasoned the part of his brain that was connected to his throbbing cock. It strained against his shorts and the girl of his dreams was leaning in, lust in her eyes and a plea on her lips.
So he kissed her.
It wasn’t how he’d imagined their first kiss would be. It wasn’t gentle or tentative, it wasn’t a soft mutual exploration. It was hard, frantic. It was wet and sloppy, her tongue thrusting greedily into his mouth, taking.
It was perfection.
She groaned around his tongue, hands tangling in his hair, tugging hard - but the pain only made everything so much fucking better. Peeta growled, pulling her closer, cursing the armrest between their chairs. Her breasts pressed against his chest, pebbled but softer than he imagined. And when she shifted side to side just enough to drag those hard little nipples across his chest, the blood pounding in his temples chased decorum to the wind.
He pulled back, but not enough to separate their lips. Only just enough to snake his hand between them, sliding down into the neck of her camisole. She was braless; when his fingertips brushed against her nipple she shuddered. He cupped her breast in his large hand. It was small, but firm, the skin soft, silken. He plucked and played, rolling and teasing her taut peak while she writhed. She begged against his lips, words tumbling between kisses. More. Please. Peeta.
His name in her voice, husky and hot, was nearly his undoing. He shoved the strap of her tank top down, freeing one perfect peak, sweat-misted olive skin glistening in the faint light of the screen. Her dusky nipple stood at attention, begging for his mouth. She was breathtaking.
Wrapping his lips around her was a wet dream come true, and he knew the noises she made would be the soundtrack to his every fucking future fantasy. Her hands clawed; his hair, his shoulders, his back, grappling for purchase. Further inflaming him. And when he bit the rigid peak she buried her face in his hair, moaning more loudly than the actors onscreen.
He trailed kisses up her neck, laving the salt from her skin, listening to her breathing hitch. “Katniss,” he whispered against her ear. “I - I want to get you off. Can I?” It was a risky request he knew, but she only swallowed hard and nodded.
Peeta undid the little snap on her jean shorts one-handed, reaching in to cup her over her soaked panties, and he nearly bit through his tongue at the sensation. She lifted her hips, rocking against his hand, her head dropping back.
He shifted, slipping his hand under the fabric. Thick fingers parted her folds, sliding in all of the wetness. His groan was louder than hers.
She pressed her face against his neck, panting, hot puffs of air and whispered praise as he worked her, thumb circling her clit while two large fingers plunged and curled. High pitched whines filled the air, competing with the noises on the screen, and even though anyone could have walked in, she seemed unable to quell the sounds of her pleasure.
Peeta kissed her, claiming her lips, swallowing her moans. She rode his hand, awkward though the space was, kissing him until she couldn’t, kissing him until her lips went slack and she pulled back just enough to lock eyes with him.
She gasped his name breathlessly as she shattered, slick walls pulsing, pulling his fingers deeper. And he couldn’t tear his gaze from her face, her gorgeous face - always beautiful but more radiant than the sun as she came down from her climax. Her eyes were so soft with affection, her hand tender on his cheek, stroking the sweaty skin delicately.
Katniss leaned in to kiss him as he withdrew his fingers, and the gentle press of her lips to his was enough to make him almost forget about his aching dick. She laid soft little kisses all over his face, loving him, and he held her close. It was almost perfect.
Except that they were in a porn theatre.
The rebellion was still raging on screen, the hero in danger of being seduced by the dark side - which was apparently a euphemism for anal. Peeta carefully repositioned her tank top and Katniss laughed and fastened her shorts before grabbing his hand to tow him out of the theatre.
They practically ran out into the street, into the wall of heat, the relentless sun stabbing their eyes. Both squinted and staggered, the breathless fantasy of the theatre melting away in the face of bright sunshine and heat.
They made their way back to the bus stop slowly, almost reluctantly. She still held his hand, but there was a tension in her body. And though he was normally so silver-tongued, he found himself wordless. He wanted to ask her if what had happened between them was going to change anything, everything, but he couldn’t. She was flushed and looking everywhere but at him. Peeta’s heart sank as each step took him away from the most incredible experience of his life, and back towards reality, towards that place where he and Katniss were just friends.
By the time they were sitting side by side on the bright orange bus that apparently had no shocks, Peeta was close to despondent, and Katniss was again scowling. The tension got the best of him. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.
Her entire body stiffened; he knew she would be running away if she wasn’t sitting next to the window, caged in by his larger body. “Sorry?” she asked, steel eyes glinting dangerously. “You’re sorry?”
He swallowed hard. She was more upset than he’d hoped. Not that he could blame her. He’d taken advantage of her. “I shouldn’t have-” he started, but she cut him off.
“You regret that? W-what we did?” Her voice shook a little and it gutted him.
“No! I mean, yes, sort of. A little. But…” Peeta trailed off, then banged his head against the seat in front of them, groaning loudly. An electrically-charged silence hung between them. He broke it first. “Katniss,” he said softly, turning his head to look at her. She was staring straight ahead, silhouetted by the bus window, expression tight and tense. So incredibly beautiful, fierce, proud. Fiery. But he knew her, having breached her walls at least a little he could see through the angry mask, to the hurt beneath.
He couldn't keep lying, not to her. Not to himself. Couldn't keep pretending it didn't destroy him when she dated other men. Couldn't keep wondering if there was any chance there could be more between them. “Katniss,” he tried again, more firmly. Her chin trembled. “You have to know by now, how I feel about you.” She shook her head slightly, side to side. It could have meant no, it could have meant she didn't understand. It could have meant she knew but didn't want to accept it. He tried to push that third possibility out of his mind.
“I have wanted to kiss you for as long as I can remember,” Peeta murmured. He heard her suck in a sharp breath, but she remained steadfastly facing forward. “I’ve wanted to touch you like that forever.”
“Then why are you sorry?” Her question surprised him, the lack of anger in her tone gave him hope. She was still facing forward, but her silver eyes flicked to his.
“Because you deserve so much better than a copped feel in a porn theatre,” he said, regret evident in his voice.
Katniss turned to fully face him. They stared at each other, as if perched on the precipice of the unknown.
“Why do you think I asked you to come with me?” she said softly. “I though maybe here, away from home and everyone, maybe you’d see me as more than just your buddy. Maybe you’d see me as a woman.”
“I have always seen you as a woman, Katniss,” he groaned, one hand reaching up to cup the back of her neck. “I have fantasized about you so many times.” The slow smile that spread across her face spurred him on. “But it's more than that, Katniss. I-” He swallowed hard. “I'm so in love with you.”
“Me too,” she whispered. Then she kissed him.
This was the kiss he'd always imagined, sweet and sensual. Unhurried. A confession. “Finally,” she murmured when she pulled away, and he laughed. Her fingers stroked the scruff on his jaw, ruffled his curls. His arms pulled her closer. Then they were kissing again.
She laughed against his lips when the bouncing of the bus bashed their noses together. But they were undeterred, making the most of their vehicular captivity. Stolen kisses, breathless whispered revelations. Relieved laughter and promises. A new hope filled his heart.
And when they finally reached the village where they were staying, far, far away, Katniss again took his hand and led him at light speed to the dormitories.
