I have a bad habit of helping people. Most people see this as a good thing - and sometimes it is - but usually I find myself regretting all the choices I've made. In one of my more fruitful sessions with the head doctor Johanna Mason hates, he suggested that instead of dwelling on my regrets, I observe my choices and remember the good things that came from them. When I volunteered for Prim there had really been no other choice for me. I prevented her from certain death and today she lives, thrives even, as a doctor-in-training. I saved Peeta's life in the arena in that cave I still see in my nightmares but that choice I would make over and over again. I intervened on Gale's whipping and nearly got myself killed but I might have prevented his death. And therefore, prevented the deaths of several hundred people in 12.

Though, let's be honest, it's my fault 12 was targeted to begin with. Madge isn't here. None of the Undersees are. Countless others I may have never met are in mass graves, or worse. I shake my head to clear that thought. Plenty of other people survived and I should be grateful that I am alive, as is my family. I am grateful. I wonder if President Coin regrets her choices - especially the one about rescuing me instead of Peeta. He sits behind that glass, cold and unfeeling and wholly not himself. His cheeks are sunken in and his blue eyes - the ones that held mine with steadiness and thoughtfulness - are now unfocused. Selfishly I miss his comfort. I want him to be well, of course, but I miss the way his arms warded off nightmares and his calm, even tone made it seem like spring even in the cold winter. Look at what my help brought him. But, I remind myself, he is alive. I am grateful.

I volunteered myself to help Johanna Mason by agreeing to be her roommate for the remainder of our stay in 13, which I'm hoping isn't long. Not just because I need to kill Snow, but also because I don't know how long the temporary alliance between Johanna and I will stand. She knows I put myself out there for her to get this compartment. It was mostly Haymitch's support, but I'm sure I helped. This has founded an uneasy bond between us that the training helps cement. Maybe not cement, but something solid. I find out a lot of things about Johanna that are surprising. She claims to hate her head doctor but dutifully shows up to the appointments every two days. Her free time she spends studying on her bed or visiting Finnick every so often. I wonder if she was studious in school, before she was reaped. I wonder if she had a lot of friends, or if she was a loner like me. Johanna's always reminded me of myself in ways that aren't exactly flattering, which is partially why I disliked her so strongly. Though now that I know her better, and know that she risked her life and was tortured for me, I'm ashamed of how I felt on that beach in the arena. To be fair, she did slap me in the face and threaten to kill me.

Our relationship isn't close enough where I can ask her about her life in 7. Johanna, for all her bluster, isn't really a big talker. Neither am I. This sort of thing comes easily to Peeta, Prim, and even sometimes to Gale, but not to me. And not to Johanna. My head doctor calls me 'sensory' and I'm sure Johanna's sessions produce the same result. I like to touch things, experience things will all my senses and take in the world that way. Perhaps it's all the time I spent alone in the woods, before and after my father died. Johanna's nothing if not particularly physical and sensual. When we got the compartment she inspected the place and even fondled my things - something she was unexpectedly gentle about - but I think I might have done the same in her position.

I try to place Johanna in a spectrum of who she reminds me of but she's always defying my expectations. She's unlike anyone I've ever met, male or female.

Over the course of around two weeks Johanna and I slip into a comfortable rhythm of training, studying, and sleeping. We begin taking our meals together as well; some unseen force delivers us to each other at each meal time. We both look surprised when we wind up sitting next to each other during drill breaks or at lunch. Johanna's presence reminds me of spending lunchtime with Madge at school; we'd both sit there in silence but mostly enjoyed each other's company. Of course it's vastly different because Johanna enjoys riling me up whereas Madge was not an instigator. Johanna teases me about Gale and even Peeta, hurtfully so. She'll toss an insulting 'Mockingjay' jab at me or tell me I'm weak when I can't get out of bed. But I've come to even enjoy that about her. I like that someone in my life is giving me a challenge. It sparks a passion inside me that I thought was lost. Perhaps one I never had.

Sometimes, most startlingly of all, she'll remind me of Peeta. She nightmares like he does; she doesn't scream or cry or even move that much. Oftentimes I'll be plagued with insomnia and I'll watch her jolt out of her sleep soundlessly, some unseen force making her grip her sheets in pure, white-knuckled terror. I watch her with interest as she slowly looks around and orients herself, careful to close my eyes when I feel the burn of her deep forest brown eyes on me, and I'll listen to her breathing steadily slow. When I open my eyes again she's flat on her back, staring at the ceiling. I want to call to her, to give her some words of comfort, but like I said, we're not women of words. I don't think she'd be receptive. Peeta never asked for my help, either.

I decide I want to help her. I don't know where this impulse comes from but it's as strong as sunlight for me and I don't try to circumvent it. I don't know how to help her just yet, but I want to make a difference in her life as she's made in mine. The question, of course, is how. You don't walk into a wolf's den to mend an injured paw. You must draw it out, gain its trust.

We crash into our beds after an exhausting day of training and though I fight to stay awake until Johanna falls asleep, sleep overtakes me. Peeta figures strongly in my nightmares that night. The sun is low in the sky, that subdued orange I know he loves. His voice echoes from the jabberjays in the arena, pleading for my help but I can't find him. The birds circle my head and I have no arrows to silence their voices. The swoop down at me, pecking at my face and knocking me flat on my back. Johanna Mason appears above me, shouting. I narrow my eyes because I can't make out what she's saying. Her wide brown eyes are staring right down at me. She straddles my waist and places her hands on my shoulders. There's a disjointed feeling of hunger in my stomach as the thin fabric of her jumpsuit from the arena does nothing to prevent the heat of her body from permeating into mine. This is different from my actual memory of Johanna straddling me before she cut into my arm. She's also much stronger than she looks. Finally her high-pitched voice shouts over the Peeta jabberjays.

"Katniss! Katniss you've gotta wake up!"

I do. I shoot up in bed and knock my head right into Johanna's. She moves up quickly to avoid a real smack but we hit each other enough to make my head throb in the place she hit me with the coiled wire. As my vision clears I see her rubbing a spot on her temple and scowling at me. I don't know why she got into my bed but I make the assumption that I must have woken her up. "I'm sorry," I apologize. My breathing hasn't returned to normal and Peeta's voice rings in my ears.

"Must've been a bad one," Johanna comments mildly. "Usually you don't wake me up with your nightmares." I shrug. I don't want to tell her about the Peeta jabberjays. I don't think she'd care anyway. "You want me to stay?"

She offers this so casually, like her and I sleeping together is some common thing, that I'm stunned for a few moments. I scrutinize her face because I'm wondering if this is another trick. I guess I still don't entirely trust her, and she has a reputation for deception. "You don't have to do that."

Johanna rolls her eyes and scoffs at me, which is typically her reaction to anything I say. Every time I open my mouth she makes me feel like the dumbest person in all the Districts. "No kidding. I'm asking if you want me to stay. I know what I do and don't have to do."

After another few moments of 'brainless' silence, I realize this is Johanna's attempt at niceness. She oscillates between barely tolerating me and almost enjoying my presence that it's hard to gauge, but this is the nicest she's ever been to me directly, I think. Because I'm a terrible person I wonder immediately what she might want from me in exchange for this kindness. However, if I expect to repay this kindness eventually, I know better than to turn it down. And the countdown clock to Johanna giving up on me is getting close to zero. "Yeah," I reply, my voice unsteady. "Stay."

She nods and makes a motion with her head that I should turn over. I do, facing the wall, and curl into myself. I feel her tiny body lift up the blanket and the crinkling of the fabric of her sleeping uniform against mine. Suddenly my body is swathed in warmth as her skinny legs and arms wrap around me like a vine squeezing a railing. The heat of her breath washes over the back of my neck. It's a weird sensation - not unpleasant - to feel someone smaller than me wrapped around my body. Peeta is so stocky and his body is hard, but Johanna is slim and though she's impressively muscular, her body is soft and curvy. Some bones stick out still from her lack of nutrition during her torture but her arms that are around my stomach and back are soft but strong.

For a while I don't attempt sleep. I listen to her breathe and feel each bit of our bodies that are connected. Her slim calves wrap around mine and her leg is rubbing mine absently. I know she's not doing it on purpose because her breathing almost immediately went shallow when we curled in closely. Her tiny belly presses against the small of my back and the two swells of her breasts against my shoulder blades. I don't know whether it's the heat of another body, the fact that it's Johanna, or just the distraction of this sleeping arrangement, but a deep, uninterrupted sleep consumes me. Another way she reminds me of Peeta. Her comfort instantly brings me emotional relief.

Who would have thought?

Though I don't ask, she repeats the same action the following night. When I awaken from my nightmare, I find her climbing into my bed and taking me into her arms. I don't turn away or question her companionship. I haven't slept this soundly in... I don't know when. Johanna offers me a security that I can't seem to understand. It's not like the comfort Peeta afforded in his arms, or even the gentle familial comfort of sleeping in bed with my sister. It's something else entirely. Again, Johanna floats outside of the orbit of people I know. A rogue satellite flinging through my worlds.

There's something else about this arrangement that's strange and new: the nugget of desire I felt on the beach with Peeta is back with a wicked vengeance. Johanna's thin lips press against my neck as she sleeps and her hips will roll against me, and I'll get a surge of desire I've never known before. Maybe because Johanna has a danger to her, maybe because she's so outside anything I've ever known, or maybe, just maybe, I'm actually attracted to Johanna Mason. I don't know what it is, but I allow myself this harmless indulgence. My body is so unused to anything pleasurable that I will savor this, even if it goes nowhere.

What am I saying? Of course it will go nowhere. I'm not sure I even want it to go anywhere. I don't even know where it would go. Johanna's certainly given me no indication she's interested in me one way or the other.

It's this unanswered question that plagues me on the nights I find her curled in my bed. What does she want from me? Peeta and Gale want my undivided love and attention. Coin, Plutarch and the rebellion want my image and my voice. Haymitch wants my obedience. Panem wants my strength. Mom and Prim need me. What does Johanna Mason want from me?

I find myself aching to find out.

The next night I think I finally might be able to help her. I can't fall asleep - probably because I have begun craving Johanna's presence next to me - but she fell asleep quickly in her own bed. An hour or so later she springs up like a coil, paralyzed with fear. A single, heart-wrenching, but rather soft sob escapes her lips and she clamps her hand over her mouth. Her hyperventilating breaths reach my bed, and my stomach twists in concern. In a quiet rage she slams her hand down on her bed. "Fuck," she whispers to no one.

I don't want to give her time to object so I slide out from under my covers and pad noiselessly across the room. "Johanna," I whisper as I near her. Her head jerks in my direction and quickly she uses her shirtsleeves to wipe her face. "It's okay."

"I know it's okay," she seethes through her teeth in a heated whisper. "You can go back to bed," she instructs in a trembling voice. I stand at the edge of her bed and evaluate her face. I'm concerned that if I press too much I won't be presented with this opportunity again.

I try flattery. "I really appreciate what you've done for me." After seeing her droll stare, I re-evaluate. "Not the rebellion, but the ...in the bed," I stutter. Her face remains infuriatingly impassive. "Maybe I can help you," I suggest in a casual tone, as if I don't care. I don't want to give away how much I want to help her. She'll think it's pity and it isn't. It's a need. A desire. I haven't allowed myself to want or desire anything in so long but I know I want this now. I want to help her now.

"I've been sleeping alone a lot longer than you have, Twelve. Not everybody won themselves a built in teddy bear with their Games." Ouch. Her axe-sharp jabs are a defense, I know them as well as my own, but that particular stab was hurtful enough to make me back off.

I roll my eyes with impatience and nod curtly. "Fine. I offered, okay?" I place my hand where I think her leg is underneath her blankets and give it a small squeeze. It takes me a while, but eventually I fall asleep - alone - to the sound of Johanna's soft crying.

The following morning I'm treated to her body snuggled into mine. I don't move. My eyebrows furrow in confusion because I don't remember having nightmares last night, and I thought Johanna was mad at me.

A smile grows on my lips. She did want me to help her. Typical. She's going to pretend I had a nightmare and she came to save me. Slowly I turn over, careful not to disengage our limbs, and face the sleeping girl. Johanna looks much younger when she sleeps, when you can't see the walls in her eyes or the hard set of her jaw. Her eyebrows are knitted together, as whatever she's dreaming isn't entirely pleasant. Her tiny lips are set in a pout and I resist the urge to remove my hand from where it rests around her back to trace them with my fingers. Her nose is tiny and feminine, with a little rounded edge that turns up ever so slightly. She's kind of adorable.

Adorable? Now there's an adjective I didn't think I'd ever use for Johanna Mason. I'm not sure I've ever used it for anyone. Not even animals. Prim's goat wasn't even adorable. But I definitely think Johanna Mason is adorable and I might be in trouble.

That day runs smoothly. Johanna never mentions how she ended up in my bed, and I don't ask her. We blaze through training, which is much better now that we've been moved into the advanced classes. Johanna can assemble her rifle without help and I can run my miles without stopping. Soldier York is pleased with our progress, and my roommate is pleased as well. Her face stretches into a broad smile after we leave our last class of the day.

"Not too shabby, Mockingjay," she teases, but there's less vitriol in her tone now.

"Not too bad yourself, Seven," I tease back, tossing my arm around her shoulders. She doesn't push me away.

Haymitch gives us a surprised raised eyebrow, and as I self-consciously start to let my arm slide off her shoulder, she wraps her arm around my waist possessively and steers me toward the food line.

What are we? Friends? Allies? I don't know, but I need to figure it out.

We part for dinner, as she sits with Finnick and Annie, and I return to my family. Prim and my mother are engaged in some lively discussion of what Prim learned today. My eyes are either on my food, or on Johanna across the room. She whispers something to Annie, which turns the girl's cheeks as red as her hair. After having a good-natured laugh at Annie's expense, her dark eyes find mine across the room. Now I'm blushing up a storm, and I divert my attention back to my family, but not before she winks at me and returns her attention to Finnick. I can't eat. My stomach flutters and churns.

I am in trouble.

Johanna sleeps in her own bed that night, but she's tosses and turns something fierce. I keep my eyes closed and my breathing steady so she thinks I'm asleep. She groans quietly in frustration, and then there's the weird sound of fabric rustling. Her mattress makes soft, rhythmic squeaks and her breaths puff quietly from her mouth. There's a sharp intake of breath, and a jolt of arousal shoots directly to my groin.

Oh my god.

I realize, with my eyes screwed shut, what she's doing. Or trying to do. She's pleasuring herself. The thought is so alien to me. I didn't have a bed to myself growing up, and when I did, that was the last thing I was thinking of. My beaten up body hasn't felt a pleasure like that ever. It wasn't something I could do sharing a bed with Prim and ever since my reaping I haven't been able to produce a desire strong enough to want to. Not until now.

Hearing Johanna's soft moans makes me have to stop myself from joining in. I squeeze my thighs together and hold my lip between my teeth as she groans once more, a little louder. Then suddenly, disappointingly, she stops. It's quick, like someone hitting mute on the television, and all her noises cease. Johanna whispers "Goddamn it" and the fabric rustles again, her body turning to face the wall. I'm bewildered at this turn of events. What happened? Did she give up? I don't think she finished because her breathing never got heavy. I'm unsure of how to proceed. I can help her sleep but that... I don't think I can help with that. The throbbing between my legs begs to differ.

I'm reminded of back home when women would make jokes about men "thinking with their small head" and I never understood that. Surely desire for sex isn't strong enough to override common sense? Apparently it is, because I have no experience with anyone, let alone a woman, yet I am overwhelmed with the desire to 'help' Johanna.

Help her what?

No use denying it. I want to help her reach her pleasure point. I want to touch all the soft parts of her body. I want to kiss those tiny pink lips. I want to feel her breath against my skin. I want desire and passion and all the things Johanna Mason has come to cull from me.

Shit.

What am I going to do? As I try and formulate a plan, I realize Johanna has fallen asleep. Good. I can think in peace if she's not over there making those... those noises anymore. You can't just waltz up to someone and say, 'Hey I know we're barely friends but do you want me to get you off?' But I realize that's how I can help Johanna. It's just like training. When you can't do it yourself, you use a partner.

Now all I need to do is find my courage. I'm sure it's here somewhere.

Two days go by.

I think Johanna has picked up that something is different, because she's even more flirtatious with me than normal. And, aggravatingly enough, flirtatious with everyone else, too. I think she even winked at Soldier York. I've come to terms with the fact that I have developed feelings for her and I recognize the stewing in my stomach as jealousy. If she's realized I have feelings for her, it's going to be hard to get into her bed casually. I try not to dwell on who the hell I've become, trying to seduce a mentally unstable former victor who, only weeks ago, smashed my skull with a coiled wire.

She was saving my life, I remind myself. Because that's who she is. That's one of the reasons why I like her so much.

A few nights later, the familiar rhythmic crackle of cotton on cotton and the sharp breaths start up again. It only continues for a minute or two before she gets frustrated and stops. My body reacts immediately, tingling and turning hot. Johanna swears a lot underneath her breath until she hears the creaking of my mattress as I vacate my bed. I don't even ask for permission. I slip into her bed and pull her blanket over us both.

"What are you doing?" she asks, still slightly breathless from her effort. It doesn't help how turned on I am already. "I don't need your help."

I prop myself up on my elbow and turn her over so she's flat on her back. She's surprised at my action, now that I can see her eyes, but she doesn't look pissed. That's good. Her skin is flushed. My heart pounds. I gather up my courage. "I think you do."

My attempt to sound seductive fails because Johanna chuckles. "Really, Everdeen? You? I don't think you know the first thing about 'helping me' right now."

She's not wrong. I don't have any experience in this situation. I've never even gotten myself off. She doesn't know that, of course. She may think I've been with Peeta, she just likes to point out my shortcomings. I bet my pride that she's willing to take the chance, though. Her wide, aroused brown eyes and her tone, while insulting, are both unconvincing. "I can go back to my bed, and you can lie here and curse. Or, you can let me help you."

One of her eyebrows raises high on her head, but she's definitely more aroused than surprised. Her expression changes to pensive as she stares into my eyes. I try to firm up my stare and give off the confidence that I definitely don't feel inside. My stomach's a hard mixture of aroused and scared. She relents. "What do we have to lose?"

Not exactly the reaction I wanted, but she isn't wrong. It's not like we're so close that this will ruin our friendship. A hard punch of fright hits my belly as I realize I don't know how to begin. Do I kiss her? Will she not want that? If her fingers aren't enough to help her then just my fingers aren't going to do it, either. I mean, my fingers are strong from years of archery, but I've never used them like this.

I should probably kiss her. I want to kiss her. So I do.

I lean down and kiss her gently. I'm taken aback at how soft her lips are. Peeta's lips are soft, too, but not like this. Johanna's soft but she's not gentle. She returns my kiss almost immediately with her little pink tongue darting out and sweeping into my mouth with authority. I suppress a groan at the pleasure of the contact because I don't want to reveal how much I want this. My hand travels to the side of her face as I move around to kiss her more deeply. I'm already wet, I feel it between my legs as I straddle her thigh. That's not new to me but it's never happened this fast.

I need to do something with my hands. I remember that Peeta was always conscious not to touch my breasts as we slept so there must be something to that. I brush my hand over one of her breasts and she makes a little groan into my mouth that sends my libido raging. Good. I shift my weight so I'm straddling her like she did to me in my nightmare, and I reach down to pull off her sleeping shirt. I try not to look too enthusiastic but I want her to know I find her attractive. I pull my hair to the side and lean back down to kiss her, filling both my palms with the heft of her breasts. My thumbs graze her nipples which come to life beneath my touch. My own nipples strain against my shirt and ache, but I put that aside. Johanna's hands are tangled in my hair and push my mouth away from hers and directs me toward her breasts.

The doctor is right, I am sensory. All of these feelings - her hands in my hair, her skin against my mouth, her moans that she's trying to keep quiet - are overwhelming. I flick my tongue over her breasts like I had been doing with my thumb and her hips jerk toward me involuntarily. It's interesting to feel her skin in my mouth but it's extremely pleasant. I leave a trail of saliva from one breast to the other as I move my hands between her legs. My palm is flat against her center as I rub up and down over her pants. The dampness creates friction against my hand, even through the fabric of her underwear and her pants, and I smile over her nipple as I take it between my teeth. Her hands move down to my chest and she begins fondling my breasts through my shirt. I move up and take her lips passionately, bruising her lips with my teeth, unable to control my breathing. I take deep gasps in between kisses and my hands move like they're possessed and they yank her pants down, taking her underwear with them. Not even all the way, just enough for her to spread her legs and for me to run my fingers through her folds.

She's so slick, and I spend a few moments amazed at how it feels. I want to look at her, at her most intimate parts, and see how pink and wet she is but I can't seem to get myself to stop kissing her. Her tongue is doing amazing things inside my mouth and I don't want her to stop. I like how she feels and I like swallowing down the moans and grunts she can't help but make. I find the nub of pleasure I remember reading about in our anatomy class in school, and my index and middle finger begin rubbing it in slow circles. Johanna gets frustrated with my shirt and she almost tears it off of me to get her palms against my naked breasts. She uses this brief time to move her legs and kick her pants off, spreading her thighs wider. I maneuver myself so I'm straddling her right thigh, still close enough to her where she can palm my breasts. She seems to be enjoying that and I'm certainly not going to complain.

My fingers dip down lower and I find there's no resistance when I push. I wiggle around a little until her insides give way to me and I end up swallowed in her up to my knuckles. For a split second I panic but Johanna's slim hips push down harder to encourage me to continue my action. I repeat this penetration and Johanna gasps and squeezes my breasts and I bear down on her leg, pressing my center against the strong muscle of her upper thigh. We move like this for long minutes, with my fingers inside her, feeling the pressure of her increasing arousal and her hands manipulating my breasts and circling my nipples. I begin grinding against her thigh in earnest. I know I'm supposed to be helping her, but I'm only human. She's touching me and she's so incredibly hot like this I can't stop myself.

"Take off your pants," she husks between hard puffs of her breath. "Take off everything," she instructs. I am loathe to remove my hand from inside her but I do to wiggle out of my pants and underwear, discarding them at the edge of the bed. I return to my position, and, wow, she was right. Feeling her skin against me instead of my pants is much more pleasurable. My sex coats her thigh in arousal, and her hands move from my breasts to my hips to encourage me to grind against her. I follow that advice and return my fingers to their place inside Johanna. This gives me an opportunity to lean down and kiss her again. This time our kisses are long and furious, our breaths mingling and faster and full of moans neither one of us even pretends to stop. My arm is cramping, as this is not a normal position to be in, but I don't stop. I can't, not now that I can tell Johanna is getting closer to her peak. And so am I, between the clenching of her sex around my fingers and the friction of her leg against my center.

My skin is hot and I feel like I can't breathe but it's kind of amazing. Johanna's mumbling delirious words and her hands come around my back to dig her fingernails into my flesh. She pants "Yes" and instructions like "faster, harder." Most amazingly, is this:

"Oh, Katniss."

It fuels my hunger for her and compels me to take her harder. Her thighs tremble beneath me, vibrating against my throbbing center. I can't believe that it's my actions that are causing this. I know that if we're caught, we may be in trouble. For some reason that heightens my arousal. Perhaps I'm more of a rebel than I think I am. Let Coin and Plutarch put this in their propos, I think smugly to myself.

My palm begins hitting Johanna's clit as I put all my effort into fucking her. After another minute of this furious motion, Johanna's hips rise off the bed and she grabs my hand that's inside her, moving my fingers around her clit as she rides out her climax and smothers my hand in her arousal. She uses her other hand to grab my neck and kiss me, but unexpectedly softly this time. I slow my movement against her thigh as she comes down from her peak. Both of us are breathing hard, like we've just run miles on the track outside. Johanna's arms loop around my neck and she holds me against her damp, trembling body. My thighs shudder involuntarily around her leg since I haven't quite reached my own orgasm and my lower half is screaming for release.

Johanna chuckles in a low tone and moves her hands to my face, pulling me away enough for her to look me in the eyes. I narrow my eyes in concern as I see the darkened trail of moisture from her eyes down the sides of her face. She mirrors my quizzical expression and I don't want to use my hand - it's still covered in her slickness - so I kiss the side of her temple where her tears fell. "Oh," she says, looking away. "That's not, not a bad thing." She heaves a deep sigh and begins stroking my hair with her fingers. "It's just been a while."

I don't ask her to explain any further. I don't know if she means since she's had an orgasm or since anyone was intimate with her. Maybe both. I nod instead like I understand and again my thighs twitch around her. I mumble an "I'm sorry" into her skin and she smirks. I don't want her to think she's obligated to do something about my sexual short-circuiting.

"You didn't come, did you?" she asks in her typical blunt way, pulling my hair back gently so I'll lift my head off her chest. My embarrassed look away answers for me. "Hey," she calls. I meet her gaze again and find it surprisingly tender. "Spread your knees on each side of my shoulder," she says and shuffles her weight so she's flat against the mattress.

I choke. "What?"

She rolls her eyes at me. "There's a million ways to get off, Everdeen, and most of them you can do alone in your bunk. I got a feeling this will be much better. Now try and follow instructions. I know it's difficult for you." I lean up and sit on my heels. There's not a lot of room between my head and the ceiling. "Don't be shy." She winks at me and I sass her right back. Wracking my brain, I try to visualize what's she's suggesting. If I put my knees on either side of her head, my -

Ohhhhhh. I really am brainless. She's going to use her mouth the same way I used my fingers. That sounds... very, very much like something I would enjoy. How will she breathe? If she suffocates, how exactly am I going to explain that to my mother? Johanna looks at me with a narrowed gaze. "What?" I ask.

"You're overthinking it. Just do as you're told. Trust me, okay?" Her voice is commanding at first, but then she softens it by the end. As I begin crawling over her she grins up at me. "You control how much, how fast." I nod but I'm still very nervous. "I'm just going to eat you out, Everdeen, we're not getting married." I like the sound of that. I do as she instructed and straddle her shoulders. Her hands come up and grip my butt and her breath is hot on my sex. When I peer down, she is staring almost reverently at my intimate area. The thought that maybe she wants me as much as I want her ups my already embarrassingly high level of arousal.

I want to beg her to touch me, but I won't. As it turns out, I don't have to. She pulls my hips forward a little and that tongue that was doing wonders to me in my mouth begins doing the same inside my sex. I'm almost blinded with pleasure on contact and my one hand grips the back of the bed, the other stretches up to the ceiling. Her tongue slides inside me and I hear the sucking noises of her drinking in my arousal. I guess that's what she meant by eating me out. She goes inside me as far as her tongue will go and slowly drags it upward until she hits my clit and my body jerks hard at that motion. It feels like ...I can't even compare it. Either because there's nothing to compare it to or because I'm not coherent anymore. Her lips pucker around the nub and her tongue flicks it back and forth.

I think I'm losing my mind. If they thought I was crazy when I arrived in 13, I'm certifiably insane now. Her name spills from my lips over and over again. I can't think of anything else to say. I swear a bunch, too, which makes her moan into my folds, which makes me swear again. Her fingernails are making little half-moon marks on my butt that I'm glad I won't have to explain to anyone. I move my hand from the ceiling to the edge of the bed, then my other hand from the bed to the back of Johanna's head. I begin to rock my hips forward in a quick rhythm against her tongue. For her part she does exactly what she said she would. I control the rhythm and she's got her tongue flattened against me, rubbing my clit and my folds as fast as I can move back and forth.

The power is intoxicating. My eyes flutter open to look down at her and I catch her gaze. It's the single most erotic thing I've ever seen. My fingers loosen in her hair as the swelling wave of climax begins in my stomach. Johanna must sense that I am quaking on the edge because she wrests control from me and begins lapping at my nub with much more force. She takes almost the entirety of my clit and my folds into her mouth and begins sucking hard. I'm going to scream. It's in my throat. I can't scream. My sister and mother are asleep across the hall. But I'm getting louder and louder as my orgasm nears.

Johanna reaches up and shoves two fingers into my mouth, and I clamp down on them with force as she brings me over this incredible, leaping edge. It feels like taking flight. It feels like drowning. Her fingers stifle the strangled scream that falls out of my mouth. My hips shake as Johanna doesn't let up with her incredibly dextrous tongue. She takes her fingers out my mouth and raises both hands to massage my breasts. She hums in approval against me as she laps up the surge of my cum that surely must've dribbled out during that insanely powerful orgasm. I brace my weight on the sides of the bed and let her continue doing what she's doing because it's the most pleasure I've ever had in my life. She's being so gentle, and so tender, that I don't want her to stop anyway.

She must be finished because she gives my clit a closed-mouth kiss, and I can't help but snicker as I shuffle backward on the bed. Now that I can see her whole face, her mouth and chin and parts of her neck have clear liquid all over them. That's me, I think. She licks her mouth in the most lecherous way possible and smacks her lips like she's just had a great meal. I flush in embarrassment although it's not distinguishable from how warm my cheeks are already. Dread begins to fill my stomach instead of pleasure because again, I don't know what to do. Do we cuddle together now? Johanna doesn't seem like a cuddler. But I also didn't think a few hours ago that she would be tongue-deep in my sex, so, things change.

She's too goddamn intuitive. The wily victor laughs, swinging her legs around and jumping off the bed. "C'mon, let's wash up. I don't think anyone will approve if we show up to breakfast tomorrow reeking like sex." That's a good point. Not that I know what sex smells like, but I'll take her word for it. Johanna washes her hands with her damp towel, and brushes her teeth. I catch her eye in the mirror and she winks, then spits into the sink. "Not that I didn't enjoy the taste."

I blush hard and use the sink after her, oddly not perturbed by my own nudeness. Seems a little ridiculous considering what we just did. Johanna eyes me up and down before leaving the bathroom. Bracing my hands on the edge of the sink, I look at my reflection in the mirror. I guess I should be ashamed of myself. Somewhere, Peeta is sleeping with restraints around his wrists, caged by his love and hatred for me. Gale is in his bed, dreaming of rebellion and freedom and hoping I'm at the end of that rainbow. But when I see myself, I grin. I'm happy. Happier than I've been in a long time. This choice I made, to "help" Johanna, yielded wonderful results. Beneath the hunger and arousal, there was a tenderness. Somewhere in there, she likes me. I like that she likes me.

And I like her. I don't know what that means. Switching off the light, I exit the bathroom and pad into the center of the room. My clothes are neatly piled on the desk, and Johanna is back in her bed, facing the wall. Her clothes still strewn about her bed, so I guess she's sleeping nude. I put my sleeping shirt and pants back on and stand in the middle of the room. Where do I go? Back into my own bed, with my nightmares and my coldness? But then I won't have to stand the possible rejection of Johanna pushing me away.

"Gonna stand there all night? I'm getting cold," Johanna complains without turning to me. I smile and say nothing. Without a word, I climb into her bed - where it still smells of our sex - and tuck myself underneath her blanket. My arms and legs wrap around her unclothed limbs and she sighs contentedly.

I don't think we're ever going to talk about this. Johanna already claims, I think too much and neither of us like to hash out our feelings. I'm comforted by our lack of conversational skills. I fear, of course, that Johanna will push me away entirely but if she's inviting me in her bed like this, maybe she won't. Her barbs during the day will be easier to take if I know that this soft, sexual, wonderful Johanna awaits me at night. I like the thought of being the only one that she's this way with.

"Go to sleep. I'm not dragging your ass out of bed in the morning," Johanna gruffly mumbles into her pillow, squeezing my hand that's around her middle. I settle in behind her and inhale the salty musk of her skin as I place my nose by her neck.

I peck a soft kiss there, and though she tries to hide it, her cheeks move into a smile. "Good night, Johanna."

We're not going to make any promises. Johanna isn't going to hold me to anything. She has no expectations for me because she's a victor. She lives for the now. We may never do this again. I'm not sure it's okay with me, but I'll figure it out. Right now, this is the happiest, most comfortable I've been in years.

There's no edge to her tone when she reaches her hand back to scratch the side of my head affectionately and replies, "Good night, Katniss."