Work Text:
Naked to the One you Love
| Peeta |
“What are we doing?” Katniss asks me as I lead us toward the meadow. It’s early still, the sun barely making its presence known along the horizon as it bleeds its hues of purples and oranges into the morning sky.
“Having breakfast,” I tell her simply, shivering from the cold.
“In the snow?” She quibbles, rubbing her hands together to warm them up. I sneak my arm around her shoulder and pull her close. She allows it, pressing her popsicle nose into my neck.
“Just be quiet and follow me,” I tell her, which grants me a scowl— no surprise there. When we finally reach our tree, we climb up and I surprise her by opening the door to our tree house.
“Wow, it’s a lot bigger than last time,” she smiles, looking around the tiny room to inspect my handy work. It was only a little more than a week ago when I found a large plank and, with Rye’s help we got it to the top of this tree. Using some of my dad’s tools, I nailed the plank to one of the sturdier branches. Each day since then I have come out here, adding more planks to it, and now it looks like a tiny little house. Or well, well . . . more like one . . . very small room of a rather tiny house. It is just spacious enough for the two of us to stretch out comfortably, but it’s a place of our own, somewhere to go when we need to get away. It’s the closest we can get to the woods since the fence is electrified twenty-four-seven now.
We spend the morning in our little makeshift tree home, enjoying the breakfast I packed for us and watching the miracle of another sun rise. After surviving the games with the love of your life, you learn to appreciate the little things in life. Like sunrises and sunsets. Like sharing meals with the ones you love. Things you didn’t think were important before suddenly become of the utmost importance. So, Katniss and I bask in the warmth from the sun and just enjoy being together like this. With no cameras and no Haymitch. No Effie or prep teams chasing our tails and scolding about schedules. As much as we love and adore all of them, it’s nice to have a break from them. Finally, it’s just us, which is just the way I like it.
“I think it’s time to get Prim,” Katniss tells me when she sees the sun positioned above the bakery. It always amazes me how she knows what time it is by the position of the sun.
I frown and poke my lip out, exaggerating my disappointment. “No, not yet. Just one more minute,” I say and lean in to kiss her.
“Come on Peeta, I don’t want Prim walking home alone.” Katniss says, squirming out of my arms. As much as I don’t want to leave right now, I know she’s right. We leave everything in the tree and climb down, deciding we’ll most likely return once Prim is safely at home. Together, we walk to the school and wait for Prim just outside the gates of the school yard. I’m not sure how much Prim knows much about what’s going on, if anything, but Katniss and I are too afraid to let her walk anywhere in the district alone. Afraid of what Snow might do.
Everyone, even Katniss’s mom said her father’s death was just a stroke of bad luck— that he had an aneurysm that no one knew about that ruptured. That if they’d had the technology the people in the Capitol have at their fingertips, they could have caught and treated it. But we know better. There was no Capitol technology or fancy devices that would have spared his life. There is no doubt in my mind— or Katniss’s that Snow was the cause of her dad’s untimely death. Of course, it wasn’t him per say, because he was clearly safe inside the President’s Mansion in the Capitol, but more than likely one of his spies here in 12. The timing of everything was just too coincidental, not to mention the fact that he offered his condolences before it even happened.
“Oh, I told Rye we’d stop by the bakery on our way home today,” I tell Prim and Katniss, giving Prim a little wink. It’s a lie, but Katniss doesn’t know that. When I clued Prim in on my master plan just the other day, she was more than happy to go along with it— knowing that we all need something positive in our lives— something to celebrate.
We stop by the bakery and I breathe a sigh of relief that my mother is nowhere in sight. She isn’t supposed to be here for another hour or so, but that doesn’t stop her from making an unscheduled appearance. Rye has trouble keeping a straight face as he prepares a bag for us, filled with Katniss’s favorite baked goods.
“Hey, I uh . . . I was about to head out and stop by to see Dad, I can walk Prim home,” Rye suggests, also aware of my plan.
Katniss squirms in place, uncomfortable to even the thought of letting Prim out of her sight but I reassure her it’s okay. Rye will protect Prim and keep her safe. They have grown rather close over the last few weeks . . . or, well, ever since Mr. Everdeen got sick while Katniss and I were still on the Victory Tour.
I remember thanking him for being there for my surrogate family and he rolled his eyes and said, “Yeah, like you’d ever let me hear the end of it if I was there and didn’t help if I could.”
‘Right,’ I thought to myself. ‘It had nothing to do with you actually caring about them, let alone that you are a decent human being,’ but I kept those thoughts to myself.
“Prim is safe with me, I assure you that I will take extra good care of her,” Rye assuages. Katniss squirms uncomfortably, so Rye adds, “Katniss, I promise. You have my word.”
“Extra good?” Katniss smirks after a second, her shoulders slowly relaxing. “Maybe on your way there, Prim can teach you some grammar,” she says in that snarky tone of hers.
“Katniss, we’ll go straight home, I swear!” Prim decrees, clasping her hands together and poking her lip out. Katniss narrows her eyes, which is preceded with a scowl, but then she finally concedes.
“Fine. Go straight home. NO detours.”
Prim wraps her arms around Katniss’s waist and squeals, “Thank you, thank you, thank you Katniss! You are the best sister ever!”
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Katniss remarks, trying to hide her grin. Like me, she finds it extremely difficult to deny Prim anything.
After Katniss and I collect our stuff from the treehouse, I get an idea. “I want to make a snowman,” I tell her with a cheeky smile.
“A snowman? Seriously? But it’s cold Peeta,” she whines.
“That’s the point. You can’t make a snowman when it’s warm.” So, that’s what we do, we build a snowman until she gets the bright idea to chuck a snowball at my face. And then— it’s on. I scoop up a ball of snow and sling it at Katniss, hitting her square in the shoulder.
With her impeccable aim, I should have known that I had no chance in the world of besting her in a snowball fight.
“Hey, that’s not fair,” she whines when she sees the pile of snowballs I have hidden behind the snowman. She might have impeccable aim, but I am the youngest of three boys— I had to work twice as hard to keep up with them.
“You started it,” I tell her and chuck another ball of snow at her. For the next hour or so, we have fun, smiling and laughing while getting snow blasted in our faces. Katniss tackles me from the side and slams me down on my back. She straddles my hips, pinning my arms to the ground.
“I win, you lose,” she says triumphantly, planting a victory kiss to my lips.
“That may be true, but I think it’s me who is the real winner here.”
Her eyes knit together in confusion, “And just how exactly do you figure that?”
“Well, you’ve got me pinned to the ground, I’m trapped underneath you. I’ll gladly lose to you if this is my punishment,” I tell her with a crooked grin.
“Come on, let’s go home. I’m cold,” she says, climbing off my hips and helping me up. Under normal circumstances I do not need help getting around with my prosthesis. However, the snow adds many challenges to my already uneven gait.
No longer able to feel either our fingers, toes, or our faces, we make our way back to my house to warm up. Rye and my dad are hanging out two doors down, at the Everdeen’s, so I don’t have to worry about anyone barging in on us. Once I get the fire started, we curl up on a blanket I spread out on the floor, soaking up the heat from the flames.
“I’m going to take a shower,” Katniss tells me once the feeling in her fingers returns and then she makes her way upstairs. Her absence gives me the perfect opportunity to get everything in order. The moment she is out of sight, I begin creating a mental list of everything I need to do. Once I hear the water splashing against the tile floor, I zip into the kitchen and get to work. I begin by filling a tray with the cheese buns from the bakery— Katniss’ favorite, and pop them into the oven to warm them up. And then I take out the dough of the white bread I prepared a few days ago, made for this exact occasion. I open the drawer that contains the papers and pull them out. “Certificate of Marriage,” I whisper the words aloud.
“Please be okay with this Katniss,” I anxiously tell myself. “Stop it Peeta. She loves you, you love her; that’s the only thing that matters.” I remind myself, talking myself up so I don’t chicken out.
Once all the bread is ready to go, I place them on a table next to the couch and wait for Katniss to come back down.
I am not waiting long when she comes gliding down the stairs in an immaculate floor-length orange summer dress. The straps holding the dress up on her shoulders are skinny, and for some reason they remind me of spaghetti noodles. It is snug at the top and gets looser the more the light orange fades into a deeper orange. My eyes nearly bug out of my head at the sight of her. She is beautiful, she is exquisite and stunning and just . . . WOW. It must be one of the dresses Cinna sent back with her, because I’ve never seen this one before. And although this one is clearly a dress meant for days with bright sun and scorching heat— it’s not like we’ll be going outside.
It is so unlike her when she twirls around once, a huge smile on her face. “Do you like it?”
For a moment, I’m speechless, “I . . . I love it, it’s beautiful; you’re beautiful.”
She blushes, joining me on the floor and I prop some pillows up for us to lean against.
“Are you hungry?” I nervously ask her. Dammit, why am I so nervous?
“What do you think?” She huffs, her eyes narrowing with her trademark scowl, which forces a chuckle to escape from my throat. It’s a stupid question to ask anyone who is a resident of 12. Everyone is hungry, even those of us who are more fortunate than the others. I hand her the platter of cheese buns, but she’s eyeing the other tray. “What’s that?” She asks, pointing behind my back.
“Oh, it’s nothing.” I tell her and shift my body, to block her view.
“Oh my God, Peeta; is that—” The papers are all but forgotten as her eyes go saucer eyed when she catches sight of the bread behind me. She crawls over me and picks the bread up, delicately turning it over and over in her hands. “Is this—”
I bashfully look away and nod my head, “It is,” I admit. Her head snaps to the right as she surveys the room. And then it all hits her at once as she realizes what this is. For a moment, I am afraid she’s going to go running for the hills, but instead, she reaches for the bread knife and begins sawing at the loaf. She frees the piece of bread and impales it on a poker before placing it over the fire. While she rotates the poker to evenly toast the bread, she looks over to me, her silver eyes glistening with the flames and smiles.
“Do I ever tell you how much I love you? H-how important you are to me?” She asks as her eyes meet mine.
All my anxiety dissipates into her gray orbs as I extend my hand out, curling a strand of her hair around my finger. “It is implied every single day, in everything you do,” I tell her softly.
She pulls the poker back and places it down next to the hearth, but not before removing the slightly toasted bread from its prongs. She juggles the bread from one hand to the other— again and again while she waits for it to cool.
My eyes are cemented on her while my anxiety rises to a new level as I await her next actions.
“Peeta . . . you are . . . the most amazingly incredible person I know— have ever known. And . . . I never thought I wanted this, but you— you changed everything for me. You changed the way I see the world, and I . . . I can’t imagine a life without you. And . . . even if I could, I don’t want to.”
Woah, wait a minute, what is she doing? Those are supposed to be my words.
‘Katniss, what are you doing?’ I ask her in our silent form of communication.
‘I think you know,’ she smiles mischievously at me.
“Uh-uhn, no, that’s my job, I had this all planned out.”
“Oh, so that’s what today was all about?” She exclaims with a bright smile on her face. I can’t help but return the smile as I lean over and press my lips against hers. Using my weight, I push her down onto her back and kiss her deeply— thoroughly running my tongue along her lips, sucking . . . pulling her bottom lip into my mouth until she shivers.
“I love you Katniss Everdeen,” I mumble through our connected lips. “I love everything about you; even the things I hate about you, I love.” I crawl up next to her, our bodies continuing to absorb the heat from the flames as I stare longingly into her beautiful grey eyes.
“You ruined my plans, I’m not sure if I can forgive you for that,” I quip, smiling and gazing into her perfect eyes.
“What if I . . .” She pauses, lifting the seam of my shirt up and tracing her fingers lightly across my stomach, “do this?” She finishes, sending goosebumps prickling against my skin and I squirm from side to side with her touch.
“Nothing’s ruined,” she promises. “All I said, was I wanted for it to be ours; that I didn’t want the day I became yours, and you mine to be in front of a Capitol audience. As long as it’s just us, I don’t care about the rest.”
And she says she’s not good with words.
I take her hands into mine, our heads sharing the same pillow as we stare into each other’s eyes, “Katniss, I was mesmerized by you since I was a five-year old, snaggle-toothed little boy. I can’t even remember a time I didn’t love you; and for so long, I never thought you would give me the time of day. I thought . . . for so long I thought that just being your friend would be enough, but after having your love, after having your heart . . . I can’t imagine a life without you. I know you only said yes because of . . . well, because of everything, but I swear to you, I will be the best husband you could ever hope to have. I—”
“Peeta, I—” She interjects, but I stop her.
“Please Katniss, please let me finish,” she nods, not pushing it any further. “I offer this toasted bread to you with the promise of being your best friend. I will listen when you need someone to talk to; when you just need to vent, my ears will be open, or if you just need a sounding board, I will be that too. You will never have to be alone again because I will be by your side. Even when you don’t think you want me there, I will be. I will hold your hand when you’re scared, and I will be right here, right next to you, scared with you. I will tell you that everything will be okay— because even if it’s not, we will have each other. I will always be there to catch you before you fall. And . . . and I’ll give you a push if that’s what you need, too. Because I love you.”
Her eyes are pooled with tears and her chin quivers as she reaches for our toasted slice of bread and holds it up between us. It is the only thing separating our lips. And then I part my lips and allow her to feed me the bread, our bread. Our little slice of heaven that signifies our love. I sink my teeth into the perfectly toasted bread, as does she. Our teeth sink into our promise to the other and then we seal it with a kiss.
“I love you Peeta Mellark, my husband.”
“And I, you; Katniss Everdeen; my wife.”
“I think that would be Katniss Mellark now; get it right,” she tries to scowl at me but fails, erupting in a giggle.
“I like the sound of that, Mrs. Katniss Mellark— Oh, that reminds me!” I exclaim jubilantly, nearly bursting at the seams as I jump up to collect the papers the mayor had given me earlier this week.
“What’s that?” Katniss asks me.
“It’s um . . . they’re the papers. To make it official.”
“Seriously? When— How?”
“The mayor. But . . . we can’t tell anyone; she’ll be in a load of trouble if anyone finds out.”
“My husband . . . conspiring with the mayor,” Katniss beams, glowing with pride. I am incapable of concealing the cheesy, ear-splitting grin when she calls me her husband.
As I watch her grip the pen in her hand and sign her name on all the dotted lines, I pinch myself to see if I am dreaming. I can’t believe it; I am actually, really, truly and officially married to Katniss Everdeen— Mellark.
“Wait! I have something for you,” Katniss says and rushes up the stairs. I hear her run into my room and then hear a drawer slam before she is racing back downstairs.
“You already gave me a ring, and I um . . . I want you to have this Peeta,” she says, her cheeks flushing as she reaches for my hand. Refusing to meet my eyes, she slips something onto my finger.
I pull my hand up to look at what she’s put on my finger to see a ring adorned to the pointer finger of my right hand. Then she takes her ring off the chain of her necklace— the one I gave her in District 4, the night of my true proposal to her— the one that once belonged to her mother, given to me by her father and does the same.
It’s a tradition in 12 that goes along with the toasting. Everyone knows that your wedding ring is typically worn on the fourth finger of your left hand, but in 12, it starts out on the pointer finger of your right hand. There was a tradition from before the dark days that said you start off like this because there is a vein . . . or maybe it’s an artery that runs from your finger to your heart. And since marriage is the ultimate promise, by doing this you are connecting your hearts together. Once the ceremony is over, then you switch it to the fourth finger of your left hand.
Katniss leans over to kiss me and we switch the ring to our proper fingers while our lips are still conjoined. For now. I will eventually have to find a clever place to keep mine until . . . until well, I don’t know. But the Capitol cannot know we are already married.
After all the traditions are complete, I take our marriage papers to the office room upstairs and tuck them away in a safe place. Then, with a little extra pep in my step, I find my way back to the main room and scoop Katniss into my arms.
“Peeta! What are you doing?” She squeals like a giddy schoolgirl, encircling her arms around my neck. Carefully, I make my way up the stairs and into my room— our room. Who am I kidding? It’s always been our room— no piece of paper or ceremony needed to decide that for us.
“I am carrying my wife over the threshold. The toasting isn’t complete until that’s been done,” I remind her with a kiss.
“Okay,” she says, nuzzling her head against my chest. No thanks to my artificial leg, we make it up the steps successfully. I press my lips against hers as my foot passes the threshold. Now, all the standard traditions of 12 are complete, except for the final one. The one that really seals the deal. Consummation.
Just thinking the word in my head causes me to stumble. My brain seems to forget how to gracefully put one foot in front of the other and I fall face first onto my bed, my body nearly crushing my beautiful wife.
She giggles; a foreign sound, but it is one that I cherish. “I love you,” I say, pressing my forehead against hers.
“Smooth,” she says, and I can feel her lips forming into a smile against my mouth.
“So, now, we’re supposed to um . . .” There is a nervous energy between us; she’s scared, as am I. Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever been more terrified in my life, and that’s saying something— having survived an arena and all.
“Katniss, you know . . . we don’t have to do this, we can just—"
“What? You don’t want to?” She interjects defensively.
“No, no— I mean, yes, I do. I was just saying . . . if you don’t want to, it’s okay. We don’t have to, we can wait,” I stumble over my words trying to reassure her.
“I want to. I have wanted to for a while now, and I think we’ve waited long enough. Will you . . . will you help me unzip my dress?” Her eyes flit to the floor as she smiles, her cheeks taking on a rosy hue.
She doesn’t have to ask me twice. While Katniss and I have done many things, getting caught up in heated kisses, touching in places I would rather not mention, we have never gone this far. We have never gone all the way. She turns around and pulls her hair to the side, granting me access to her zipper. I scrupulously glide the zipper down until it refuses to budge another inch and delicately slide the sleeves down her arms. A frown of disappointment encases my lips when she begins to braid her hair.
I press my lips to her bare neck and kiss my way to her shoulder, which causes a moan to expel from her. “Leave it down, please.”
“Mmm hmmm,” she moans.
“My God, you are so beautiful,” I tell her, my lips trailing down to the crest of her shoulder. Finally, I sling her dress into the chair next to my bed and she nervously flips onto her back, incredulously facing me.
‘Oh my God, Katniss is naked, bare to me and in my bed,’ I think to myself as I stare her up and down.
Feeling self-conscious . . . probably due to my ogling her, she reaches over and pulls the sheet to cover near-naked body.
“No, what are you doing?” I ask her, tugging the fabric back.
“I just . . . feel so . . . naked without my clothes,” she says, flushing with embarrassment.
“Well, that’s kind of the point, isn’t it?”
“Well then . . . be naked with me,” she says, tugging on the hem of my shirt, eager for me to remove it. I slide my shirt off and it joins her dress on the chair. I am hesitant to remove my pants, still self-conscious about my leg.
“Pants too,” Katniss whispers in a raspy— so, so sexy voice.
“I . . . I—”
“Peeta, I love all of you, even the Capitol-made parts,” she takes charge and flips me over, undoes the button on my pants, and I am too paralyzed to refuse; not that I want to. She removes my pants, then sits up and straddles my hips. With nothing but our underclothes on, we are completely bare to each other, and I understand what she meant about feeling naked without her clothes. There is nothing to conceal our insecurities, both physical and emotional. But that’s the point, right? To be completely open, bare— naked to the one you love. To have nothing— no secrets between you. Underneath all my anxiety, I don’t know if I’ve ever felt anything quite this amazing before. We slip under the covers and I click the lamp on that sits on my nightstand. It emanates a soft glow, perfectly lighting the room, while producing a shadow over the insecurities.
“Can I take your leg off?” Katniss asks me. She must be in my head again— I was just too embarrassed to take the initiative— afraid she would find my mutilated leg . . . repulsive.
“Okay,” I say. She’s had a lot of practice helping me put it on and take it off and she slips it off with ease.
“I don’t want any part of the Capitol here for this,” she says, placing kisses against the scar. I pull her up to me and flip her back onto her back.
We are a tangled mess of arms and legs, our tongues dancing together in a frenzy, yet in perfect synchronicity. As if they’d been practicing for years and years until they reached perfection. I trail kisses along her neck, down to her collarbone and across her shoulders. I want to kiss every inch of her body; I don’t want to miss a single bit of her skin. I reach down and cup her perfect breasts in my hands and she moans out in pleasure, which causes my cock to twitch until it is fully erect.
“Touch me Peeta,” surrendering to her every command, I stroke her arms, and then add light touches to her perfectly flattened stomach. I caress my hands up and down her legs, trying to muster up the courage to touch her there. Finally, I do, and she’s so hot and wet for me. I slide one finger inside her center and keep it in there while I use my thumb to rub circles on that little bundle of nerves that I know has the power to make her come undone.
Her body tenses up and I know I’ve hit the right spot when she pants out my name. “I could be satisfied . . . happy, just doing that to you . . . every second of every minute, of every single day,” I tell her once the intensity of her climax has subsided.
“Then how would you make me cheese buns?” She says with a heavy breath. Smiling, I inch up to her face and kiss her. Soft and light at first, and then harder, deeper— as if I am starving and her lips are the only way to satiate my hunger.
“I need you Peeta; I— I need you closer,” she breathes into me and I instantly know what she means. She wants me to be inside her. We have both wanted this for such a long time, I almost can’t believe it’s actually happening. I kiss her softly as I fumble my way on top of her. Using one elbow to prop myself up, my other hands grips onto my cock as I tease her entrance with my hardened member. Even without being inside her, I can feel how wet she is. Which only causes my already rock-hard cock to pulse even harder. She spreads her legs open for me and I fumble nervously, guiding my cock into her entrance and sliding inside her, slowly at first.
“Is this okay?” I ask her, recalling an embarrassing conversation with Rye as he gave me the intricate details that a girl’s first time can be painful, and that it’s important that they are “ready” prior to penetration.
“More Peeta, I need all of you,” she demands, locking her legs around my hips and digging her heels into the back of my calves. Slowly, I push myself deeper into her, impaling her, until finally, I am fully submerged into her heat.
“Holy FUCK!” I gasp, crying out when my cock is surrounded by her walls. “Is- is this okay?” I ask her again, not wanting to do anything that might hurt her. It is taking every bit of willpower that I possess to keep my body still— to prevent my hips from ramming deep— and hard, into her.
“Oh God, Peeta, you feel so good. Please . . . please, Peeta—” she begs me, and I’ve never been very good at denying her anything as I submit to her will. Slowly, I retract myself from her center and then slowly push myself back inside, our pelvises grinding against each other. Her nails dig into my back, finding their way to my ass and then she squeezes—”
“Holy FUCK, how did you just do that?” I ask when her walls tighten around my cock.
“What . . . this?” She grins, repeating the action, “You like that?” She says in a teasing, seductive voice.
“Katniss— stop . . . or I’m going to . . . or I won’t last, and I want . . . this has to be perfect,” I beg her and then she reaches up, encircling her arms around my neck and pressing her mouth to mine.
“It’s already perfect because I’m with you,” she tells me in-between heated kisses. And once again, she stupefies me with her words.
“Oh God, I love you too, my perfect, beautiful, amazingly gifted wife,” I tell her, while gliding in . . . gliding out of her sex.
“Katniss . . . I’m not sure how much longer I’m going to last if you keep doing that . . . where do you want me to—”
“Right where you are,” she tells me, knowing what I am trying to say.
“But,” I question her with a raise of my brow.
“I took that pill Effie gave you— I mean, me,” she explains, running her tongue along my ear.
I shiver from the contact and lose all control as I slam into her— again and again before grinding into her center once again. We both grind; hard and slow and deep until I feel the familiar stirring deep in my stomach— and then we’re both moaning, and yelling, and whispering— shouting— gasping the other’s name and I’m spilling into her, filling her with my seed; both of us believing that Effie’s miracle pill from the Capitol will prevent any watering of said seed.