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“We should…go…up to bed,” I pant as Peeta’s pressing needy kisses all over my neck.
He pulls back with an almost crazed look in his eyes.
“Are you tired?” he asks, bewildered.
“No, I’m wide awake,” I say with a soft smile.
“Then why…” he frowns. Then he understands. He raises his eyebrows in disbelief, and I give him a little nod. “Katniss, are you sure?” he whispers.
“I’m sure,” I say, taking his face in between my hands. He moves slightly below me, and the shift of his hips causes a jolt to run through me that solidifies my decision. “Peeta, I need you,” I breathe out.
A mischievous grin grows on his face as he hooks his hands under my thighs. Then, before I can realize what he’s about to do, Peeta stands up with me still wrapped around him. He carries me as we laugh and kiss our way up the stairs. When he gently deposits me onto our bed, I pull his shirt off of him before dragging him down to lay on top of me.
My hand acts of its own accord, cautiously continuing the exploration it began on the couch. I run my fingers slowly up his abdomen and across his chest as he settles in more comfortably between my legs. With every roll of his hips against mine I get braver, finally gaining the courage to dig my fingers into his shoulder blades and pull him closer. Peeta's hands start to wander, too. The feel of his fingers grazing my lower back sends sparks flying through my body, and I arch my back off the bed.
"Take it off," I mumble against his lips.
He doesn't need to be told twice. In one motion he pushes my shirt up and over my head, breaking apart from our kiss momentarily. He sits back on his knees while I prop myself up on my elbows and we stare at each other, both panting slightly. Peeta's eyes roam down my body across my chest—still mostly covered in a simple black bra—then snap back up to my eyes like he's been caught.
"I don't care if you see me," I tease, pushing my breasts together slightly.
"Fuck," Peeta whispers. His pupils are blown wide, jaw slightly slack. "Katniss, is this really happening? I mean, are we—we don't have to, if you don't want—we can stop whenever you—"
I cut off his rambling with a soft, slow kiss.
"Peeta, I want this," I say. "I want you."
"I have no idea what I'm doing," he admits, his face still inches from mine.
I laugh. "You think I do? I'm pure, remember?"
Peeta shakes his head, and for a moment I think he's forgotten. That somehow this is one of the memories stolen and manipulated by the venom. But then he smiles.
"You're perfect," he whispers. He presses his forehead against mine and steals another kiss from my lips. "For me, you're perfect."
There's more kissing after that. I maneuver my hips against his to flip us over so I'm on his lap again. He's sitting up against the headboard now, fingers fumbling on my back. It takes a moment for me to realize he's trying to get my bra off.
"How the hell?" he mumbles, peeking over my shoulder to get a better look.
"Hooks," I say, taking a moment to catch my breath with my lips pressed to his shoulder.
After a few more seconds, Peeta manages to unhook my bra and is quick to slide the straps from my shoulders. He throws the thing across the room dramatically before he catches his first glimpse at my bare breasts, at which point all of his gusto is gone. In his eyes I see years of adolescent fantasies becoming reality, and he smiles like it's the best day of his life. It probably is, actually.
I'm confident in his assertion that he has as much experience in this area as I do, so what happens next must be purely on instinct. His lips wrap around my nipple as if they were magnetically attracted there, and he cups the other breast in his hand and starts to knead it. The sensation is so new and so good that I cry out much louder than I expect.
"Okay?" he asks, lips hovering against my skin.
"Very okay," I answer.
Peeta continues his exploration of my chest while I tangle my fingers into his hair and repeatedly roll my hips against his experimentally. We're both learning each other's bodies as we go; with every sigh and gasp and moan we both get a little bolder. Finally, I build up the courage to undo the button on Peeta's pants and he lets out a low, guttural noise. I scoot down his legs slightly, landing around his knees as I pull his pants off. He kicks them off the rest of the way, and I'm left pondering Peeta's left knee.
"Do you want this off?" I ask, my fingers brushing along the edge where flesh meets metal.
Peeta freezes and stares at me, his expression hard to read. Suddenly I'm afraid I've embarrassed or insulted him somehow.
“I don’t care either way…I only thought…if it’s more comfortable…” I stammer.
His lips suddenly crush against mine, urgent and needy.
"Yes," he whispers, "I want it off."
I've seen him remove his prosthetic dozens of times, but never done it myself. It takes a moment to find the right way to unlatch the device, but eventually I get it. I set it on the floor, leaning against the bed the way Peeta does every night.
I can't help but stare at him, my eyes roaming slowly down the image laid out before me. His lips, pink and slightly swollen. His hair, sticking out in odd patches where I've been holding on. His underwear, straining against his ever-growing arousal. And the stump of his leg, stopping just below his knee, more exposed to me than it's ever been. He's gorgeous, every inch of him. And he's completely mine.
I press several soft kisses onto the clump of scars on his stump before crawling back up his body. I go to settle into our previous position, but Peeta has other ideas. He flips us over so he's hovering above me once again. He kisses me deeply while his hands slowly caress their way across my breasts, down my ribs, and stop just above my hipbones.
"Can I take these off?" he asks, in a husky voice I've never heard before.
"Yes," I breathe. "Take it all off."
Peeta unbuttons my shorts and pulls them down in one motion along with my underwear. There's a new kind of fire in his eyes as he admires the view. Every trace of shyness has evaporated as he takes in my bare form with a kind of reverent determination. As if it all might disappear any second now. I'm feeling a little vulnerable being so exposed, but it's pretty dark. And I know how long Peeta has imagined this, so who am I to deny him.
All at once he pounces, returning his hands to my hips as he kisses me. And, oh, does he kiss me. Maybe it's because I'm far too aware that there's only one thin layer of fabric between our most intimate spots now, but these kisses feel even more purposeful than any others of the night. My hips begin drawing a map of him, memorizing the outline of his erection. Peeta lets out a noise that I would think was pained if it wasn't for the look of intense pleasure on his face. He moves his pelvis away from mine, but replaces the lost sensation with his hand, his thumb lightly brushing the top of the curls between my legs.
"Can I—"
"Yes," I interrupt.
Peeta chuckles. "You don't even know what I was going to ask."
"Doesn't matter. You can do anything you want," I say. "I trust you."
He lets out a shaky breath as his fingers start to explore me in earnest. I've never been touched like this down there, not even by my own hands, so the sensation is something entirely new. At first his touch is more exploratory, like he's strictly getting his bearings. But after a few minutes he's gotten the lay of the land and his touch becomes more intentional.
There's one spot that made me gasp when his fingers brushed past it, so he finds it again and begins rubbing his thumb over it in steady circles and even pressure. The effect on me is immediate. Hunger and pleasure course through my veins, I can feel it all the way down to my toes. Little noises keep escaping me. They seem to be fueling Peeta's confidence, his touches get more precise with every stroke, honing in on exactly where I need him.
His curls are sweaty as I try to push them out of his eyes. He's watching me, studying me, with such softness and determination. I can't help but smile at the sight of him hovering above me.
"I thought you didn't know what you were doing," I say, playfully accusatory.
"I don't, really," he says. "I've just saved up every bit of knowledge I could gather for this exact moment. That okay?" he adds, as I feel him slowly sink one finger inside of me.
"Nothing has ever been more okay," I say, moaning involuntarily as he pushes deeper. I'd be embarrassed about the sound if this was anyone else. But, of course, it would never be anyone else.
Another finger joins the first and soon I'm a whining, writhing mess beneath him. That delicious feeling of pleasure and tension gathers at my core and spreads out through my limbs. I don't know how much longer I can take this, I feel as if I might snap.
And then I do. All at once the tension gathers and releases around Peeta's fingers. An indescribable kind of calm sweeps through me, relaxing every muscle in my body. Peeta looks equal parts pleased with himself and relieved.
After I've come down from the high, Peeta rolls off of me and reaches for his bedside table.
"What are you doing?" I demand, already missing the weight of him on top of me.
He fumbles around in the drawer a moment before holding up one of the infamous foil packets I embarrassingly brought over from his house before I knew what they were.
"I'm on a pill," I tell him, "to prevent pregnancy."
He raises his eyebrows. "And you took it today?" he asks.
I nod. "I've been taking it for a while."
I can tell he wants to know how long, exactly—and someday I'll tell him—but for now he lets it pass.
"We can still use this if you want another layer of protection," he says.
I consider a moment, but shake my head. "Not tonight, at least. I trust the pills. And I want…" the words threaten to die in my throat but I push them out. "I want to feel all of you."
I think this is the moment it hits us both. Where we are. What we're doing. What we're about to do. Our lips crash together for the thousandth time tonight and it all becomes very real.
My name is Katniss Everdeen. My home is District Twelve. I'm in love with Peeta Mellark. We're naked in bed and about to make love.
It's only as my hands start to roam all over him again that I realize, no, only I'm naked. Let's do something about that, shall we? I steel my nerve and push down that last bit of fabric between us, exposing him fully to me.
My eyes go wide at the sight of him. I've seen men naked—far more than I ever cared to—but never aroused like this. And never this big.
"That's not going to fit inside of me," I blurt out.
Peeta laughs so hard he wheezes a little.
"Katniss, I am so incredibly flattered, but I assure you it will," he says.
"You really undersold yourself with that whole painting debacle earlier," I add.
He shakes his head, still laughing. "I'm certain that what I'm working with here is average at best."
I just continue to eye him skeptically. "If you say so," I mumble.
"Trust me, it'll fit," he says. "If my body isn't made to have sex with Katniss Everdeen, then there's no point."
I give him a soft chuckle, part nervous and part excited, and press my lips against his. The kiss would be considered chaste, if not for the fact that our hips bump together and this is the first time there's nothing in between us. Peeta gasps and grunts at the same time, then he starts to rub against my entrance.
"I'm not going to last much longer," he says.
"I'm ready when you are," I tell him.
He stills above me, and for the first time in my life I see Peeta experience stage fright. It's sweet to see him this nervous, but I want him to be comfortable too.
"Peeta," I say softly, "we can wait if you want."
"No! No, that's not…I don't want…" He runs his fingers through his hair and I can see the slight shake in his hand. "I just…I don't want to mess this up."
"It's already perfect because it's us," I assure him. "Nothing else matters."
Peeta's gaze goes soft and his hand caresses my cheek. Every inch of his expression is filled with love, and I can only hope I'm reflecting even a fraction of that back at him. For a moment I think he's going to say it, but then he kisses me tenderly instead. I sigh into his mouth happily. Even if neither of us says it, we both know it's true.
I feel him fumble around to align himself at my entrance.
"You'll let me know if I hurt you?" he whispers.
"I will. But you're not going to," I tell him.
Slowly, gently, he presses inside me. It's a different feeling altogether from his fingers. Much…fuller. It doesn't hurt, necessarily, but I can tell it doesn't feel as good as it's supposed to.
"Katniss?" he asks, concern etched into his face.
"I'm okay," I promise. "Keep going. I just need to—" There's a pinch as he presses further and I wince, "—get used to it."
Peeta won't accept this, though. He pulls nearly all of the way out, before readjusting the angle and pushing in slower than the first time. It's a little better, and I'm able to relax a bit more so he gets deeper this time. I close my eyes and focus all of my attention on the feeling of being filled by Peeta. Finally I feel his hipbones brush against mine and I let out a sigh of relief.
"That's good," I tell him. "Just stay there for a moment, it's getting better."
The initial pain gives way to that feeling of fullness again, and I relax further into our embrace. I open my eyes again to find him watching me carefully, and I smile.
"Hi," I whisper.
"Hi," he whispers back. "Are you okay?"
"Never better, actually," I tell him, and he breaks into a wide grin. "You?"
"Just happy to be included," he says, nodding seriously.
I laugh, and cup his face in my hands as I kiss him. I feel him twitch inside me and he grunts against my lips.
"I think you can move a bit more now," I tell him.
"Thank you, I don't know how much longer I can hold out here," he says.
He starts to move in earnest and I begin to wonder why we didn't do this sooner. Then I begin to wonder how I ever lived without this. I tangle one hand in his hair, the other greedily traces his back. I want to memorize every muscle, every freckle, every scar. I want to lay like this forever, completely united with him until I know his body better than my own.
I watch the intense look of concentration on his face. It's the look he gets when he mixes paint for hours, trying to get the perfect shade. Passion, I think, realizing the name for it. Every thrust of his hips is a brushstroke of our love, every touch a determined experiment. I may never be able to look at his paints the same way again, but that's a sacrifice I'm willing to make.
"I'm so…" Peeta stops himself with a grunt, "I can't believe we're here."
"We were always going to end up here," I say with complete confidence. I've never known anything to be more true. In any life, no matter what had happened to us. As long as Peeta and I had air in our lungs, this would've happened anyway.
He finishes so suddenly it surprises me. Peeta yells out a garbled version of my name, presses his forehead against mine, and empties himself inside me. I see the same relief I felt earlier on his face as I kiss him. On his chin and his jaw and his lips.
Peeta rubs at that spot between my legs again and manages to coax a few sparks out of me again, but it's not like it was before. I don't mind, I'm just savoring these last seconds of having him inside of and on top of and all around me.
There's a bit of commotion when he pulls out of me. Apparently it's kind of a mess, and in a fit of gallantry Peeta tries to clean up as discreetly as he can. But he forgets his leg isn't attached and nearly falls on his face. I manage to stifle my laugh until he's hopped into the bathroom, and luckily I've gotten myself under control by the time he returns with a damp cloth.
"Can we pretend that last part didn't happen?" he says, while gently running the cloth between my legs.
"I don't know what you're talking about. It's so dark in here," I say.
Peeta laughs. "Thanks, my dear." He kisses me lightly and leaves the cloth hanging over the side of a wastebasket to dry. "But you're still a terrible liar."
After, we’re laying side by side, face to face. With several inches of space between us, not touching at all. It’s such a bizarre contrast to what we were just doing, with so much contact. We stare at each other with wide eyes, as if we’re each waiting to see what the other will do next.
“Well, that was fun,” I finally whisper.
And with that, the tension is broken. We both break into giddy, wonderful laughter. Peeta runs his hand along my bare hip to pull me closer to him once more, and I lace my fingers through the sweaty curls at the nape of his neck.
“That was very fun,” Peeta agrees. “And just imagine how good it’ll be when we actually know what we’re doing.”
I laugh a little, but the more I consider his words the less I agree. Objectively, I know he’s right. But in this moment I can’t fathom anything better than what just happened, than what I have in my arms right now.
“I don’t know, Peeta. Maybe we’re just so in love that we just got it perfect on the first try,” I say before pulling his lips to mine.
Soon we’re so caught up again that I’m trying to work through my limited knowledge to determine if we’re able to go another round so soon. Then suddenly, Peeta freezes against me. I pull away, confused, only to find him staring at me so tenderly it makes my heart melt.
“You love me,” he whispers, “real or not real?”
“Real,” I tell him.
His smile is bright enough to light up our dark bedroom, and I can’t help but notice the tears that form in the corners of his eyes.
“I love you, too,” he says, with a little laugh of disbelief. “But you already knew that.”
“It’s still very nice to hear,” I say, leaning in to smile against his lips.