She's not ready to say "good-bye" yet. Her boxes are all packed and loaded in Gale's truck. There's an apartment in Louisville with her name on the lease. Tomorrow, he'll make the four hour drive behind her beat-up Honda and help her move in. Her friends surprised her with a Farewell Party two days ago that resulted in a god-awful hangover. Technically, she was an adult when she moved in here, but this massive, noisy house is where she grew up.

Outside, snow is starting to fall. The crappy heater keeps the house close to sweltering, no matter how low they set it. Multiple complaints to Madge's father, who technically owns the place, got no results, and the residents just got used to it. Standard procedure in winter was to change to shorts and t-shirts as soon as you got home.

Tromping down the stairs, she smiles at memories of Guitar Hero sessions in the living room, Finnick leaping from the couch and twisting his ankle. The trip to the clinic that led to him meeting Annie. Nights spent with Gale, experimenting with alcohol and concocting new drinks and new ways to get their friends trashed. Study sessions with Peeta and Thresh, their books spread across the counter and a wipe board propped in the corner so they could organize their thoughts on their current projects. Johanna bursting into the hallway and flinging her coat open to reveal her naked body. The mortification on Madge's face when she told Jo that her family had dropped by for a surprise visit, so please go put on some clothes.

Evenings spent curled on the couch watching movies and waking up with her head lolling on Peeta's shoulder, his chest, sometimes his thigh.

The night Katniss and Jo came home early from a movie, arguing over whose idea it was to see the latest Twilight when the movie they wanted to see had been sold out, only to learn, the hard way, that Delly and Thresh were now a couple. The months after that Johanna filled with jokes about getting the sofas disinfected and steam cleaned.

Katniss snorts and makes her way towards the back of the house, towards the rec room, the site of countless games of pool, darts, and beer pong. Also one fist fight and one very ill advised proposal that made Cato and Clove the first to leave the house after the most memorable wedding any of them had attended. It's not every day the groom's father throws knives at the father of the bride to win a bet.

Madge has already strung Christmas lights in here, and Katniss bends over to plug them in, giving the room a soft white glow. Leaning over the pool table, she runs her hands over the scratched wood, smiles as she recalls nights spent beating each of her roommates at this game. Everyone else is out today, either home for the holidays already or out catching a last shift at their job. Somehow, she managed to graduate early, a desperate attempt to save her mother some money and almost cost her summa cum laude instead. But she did it. Bachelors and Masters in five and a half years. Now, she's leaving a semester earlier than the rest of her friends, and it feels all wrong.

The front door opens and closes. A pair of keys jangles as their owner drops them in the glass bowl. Then, loud footsteps make their way towards her and she smiles, her insides twisting at the now familiar sounds.

She knows his footsteps from the others.

"Never did manage to win this game against you," Peeta says and she turns, leaning her hip against the table. He's shoved his hands in his pockets, his gray peacoat unbuttoned and his scarf wrapped loosely around his neck. She gave him that green flannel scarf for Christmas one year, after he complained about the walk to class leaving his ears cold.

"So wear a hat," she teased.

"Uh-uh. Have you seen what dry winter air does to curly hair? A hat only makes it worse."

She bit her lip and shook her head, trying so hard not to laugh at his earnest expression. He mimicked his hair exploding, making the crackling noises to go with it and she couldn't hold back the laughter.

"Laugh all you want, Everdeen."

The next day, he wore a sock hat just to prove his point and Katniss didn't even bother trying not to laugh when he pulled the hat off, his blond curls instantly standing on end in a frizzy mess. She stopped laughing when he poked her, giving her a nasty electric shock. He grinned at the squealing noise she made then chased her around the house, zapping her each time he could reach her. So she bought him a scarf, showed him how to wrap it to keep his ears warm.

"It's all in your aim," she reminds him as she racks the balls. "One last game?"

"Sure," he nods and slips out of his coat, draping it and his scarf over a nearby chair.

It took less than an hour after he'd moved in for her to declare he was her new best friend. He brought cinnamon rolls. Gale was highly offended that he could be ousted so easily. Until he tasted one and swore his everlasting fealty to Peeta. Finnick thought they were both nuts, but then ate one too, and asked Peeta to marry him. Over the next few months, Katniss learned all about Peeta, all the little details that seemed so trivial but added up to the person who could get her to laugh when she was her lowest, to find calm when she was angry, and to channel that anger into something useful. He was her rock, and of all their friends, she thought she might miss him the most.

It's comforting, this last quiet game with Peeta. They move around the table easily, and her eyes keep flicking towards him, watching the way he moves and winces when he misses, groans when she sinks another ball. She wonders if he groans like that in bed.

The thought nearly makes her miss, but the shot is good, although sloppy, and she's beat him within ten minutes. Peeta groans dramatically again and bends over the table, arms sprawled.

"I am the opposite of that trope with the guy teaching the hot girl how to play pool. Someone's going to revoke my man card," he jokes.

She laughs and uses the opportunity to appreciate the way his jeans fit snug over his ass, his toned forearms displayed so nicely by the pushed up sleeves of his shirt. She had her first dirty dream about Peeta within a year of them living together, but she'd shrugged it off as hormones. It was when the dream wouldn't go away and then started intruding on her waking thoughts that she started to worry. Surely someone would notice the way she found herself staring at his eyelashes, his lips, his hair, his…well just him in general. Her cheeks would flame and she'd try to avoid him for a few hours, but that never lasted. She just couldn't seem to stay away from him, although she tried to maintain a friendly distance.

And today is the last day she'll get to spend with him. The thought of losing Peeta sends fear coursing through her veins. How did she come to lean on him so heavily? Her breathing escalates and she tries to distract herself with something. Anything.

He's wearing jeans and long sleeves still. He didn't change.

Fighting the grin threatening to overtake her face, she walks over to him, very casually, and hops up onto the edge of the table. She's terrible at keeping in touch with friends, hasn't spoken to anyone from high school in years…so really, there's no risk. Most likely, Peeta won't even remember her in a few months. No reason not to claim one last memory of him before good-bye. She dives ahead.

"Maybe the problem is one of motivation. You need something to focus on. A goal."

He lifts his head and props his chin on one hand, eyeing her speculatively. "What did you have in mind?"

"Well, it's warm in here, as always, and you didn't bother changing." She toys with the end of her braid and his eyes follow the motion before returning to her face.

"I'm listening," he says, his eyes growing dark. Or is that just her imagination?

"Strip pool. One piece of clothing per ball," she can feel her face flushing at the bold words and thinks Peeta's cheeks are turning pink, too, although it may be the heat in the house.

"Are you sure?" His voice is gruff, eyes intense, locked on hers. Chills run across her skin and a dull throbbing flares to life between her thighs.

Before she can second guess herself, she hops down, racks the balls again, and looks him straight in the eye. "I'm sure. I'll even let you go first."

"Do I have to call my shots?"

"Of course," she wrinkles her nose at him. "Wouldn't want to make it too easy on you."

"In numerical order, too?" His voice raises just a pinch and she wonders if he's nervous about the idea of being naked in front of her.

"How about this…I have to go in numerical order, but you don't. A sort of handicap." Peeta nods at this then sweeps his gaze over her, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Do you even have on seven articles of clothing?" For a moment, she's thrown by the low, seductive tone he uses.

"No," she answers, clearing her throat of some strange hoarseness that's decided to take residence. "But you'll be naked long before me anyways."

Pushing himself off the table, Peeta looks at the clock, then nods. "Alright. Jo isn't supposed to be home for another two hours."

Two hours. Katniss tingles at the thought.

She slides the rack off and stows it while Peeta lines up his breaking shot. Positioning herself in his line of sight, she pops her hip to the side and watches as his forehead furrows in concentration. He's mouthing words, and after a moment, she realizes that he's repeating her pointers to himself. With a swift crack, his cue connects and the balls scatter. As the balls slow, the four comes to rest right on the edge for an agonizing moment before falling into the pocket.

"Ha!" Peeta crows and stands, watching Katniss expectantly.

"Don't get used to it," she warns, wishing for an ounce of Johanna's confidence right now.

Closing her eyes, she whips her shirt over her head and flings it onto the chair with his coat.

Peeta stands there, drinking her in with his eyes and she shivers, not from the cold, but from the heated look in his eyes. She fights the urge to cover herself, to hide her plain beige bra from him. If she'd thought this through, she would have taken time to slip into her sole set of matching lace undies and bra. He swallows and tears his gaze away, focusing back on the table.

"Um, six. Corner," he points to his target. The shot goes wide and he hangs his head dejectedly.

"As I said," she scampers around the table, "Enjoy it while it lasts and prepare to get naked. Nine ball, center pocket."

A crack and a thump and Peeta takes off one of his shoes.

"That's cheating," she scowls at him.

"You didn't specify the order the clothes had to come off. And you didn't give the winner choice of clothing item to be removed."

"Hmmmm. Ten ball, corner pocket," she leans over the table and sinks the ten. His sock follows and she glares. "Clearly I need to be more specific when wagering with you."

Peeta laughs and steps aside to let her around the table for her next shot. She doesn't miss the way his head dips as she passes, giving him a better view of the swell of her breasts. With a smile, she makes two more shots, forcing Peeta to remove his other shoe and sock. Ignoring Peeta as he hums the Jeopardy theme, Katniss takes a long moment to determine the best angle to sink the thirteen.

"Thirteen, corner pocket. Your mind games won't work on me," she says as the orange striped ball rolls across the table and thunks into the pocket. With a grin, she stands back to watch.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to get me naked," Peeta teases her, folding up the edge of his shirt to expose a strip of skin before dropping it back down.

"Deal's a deal, Peeta. Lose the shirt."

"Alright," he chuckles as he reaches behind him to pull the shirt over his head. "I was going to lose the pants, but I can be nice."

She gulps at the sight of his bare chest, the muscles rolling across his shoulders as he tosses the shirt to add it to the growing heap of clothes. She can't look away from his abs and the trail of dark blond hair leading down into his jeans. He spreads his feet and stands erect, allowing her an unobstructed view of his arms and torso. She wants those arms surrounding her, holding him over her as he moves inside her…

The lusty thoughts break her trance and she returns to the pool table, taking calming breaths as the heat in the house becomes almost unbearable.

"Fourteen. Center pocket," she croaks. Her vision skews left as he moves into her sight. The cue ball careens off to the side, knocking the eight instead and bouncing it off a wall.

Damn it.

Peeta grins and lines up his shot, his face screwing in concentration again. "Five, center pocket."

His tongue peeks out of the corner of his mouth, dark pink and wet. Would it be hot against her skin? Would he be a licker or a biter?

She almost misses his successful shot, she's so distracted by thoughts of his tongue, but Peeta's shout of triumph jolts her back to the game. He grins lasciviously and makes a motion with his hand, indicating that he's waiting.

Katniss debates removing her shorts or her bra. She doesn't have much left on, which she never considered a problem, certain she'd win easily and have Peeta naked in one turn. But now…

Leaning her cue stick against the table, she gives him what she hopes is a coy smile, toys with the button on her jean shorts and watches him as he watches her every motion. Then, she slowly slides her hands up and behind her, unclasping her bra. Peeta's eyes go wide and his lips part. Katniss slips the straps down her arms and lets the garment fall, catching it in her hand before tossing it across the table at him. His hand automatically shoots out to snatch the bra from the air, but he just flings it over his shoulder, his eyes trained to her naked torso, gleaming with unfettered desire.

"Shit, Katniss," he whispers and licks his lips.

His reaction makes her bolder. She has no idea how this will end, but she knows what she wants, even if she can't yet find the courage to say it. All her life, she's been more of a girl of action, anyways. So she perches on the edge of the table and leans over, giving him a full view in the soft glow of the lights.

"You're shot, Peeta," she aims for flirty or sexy, but isn't sure she hit the mark until Peeta shuts his mouth and shakes his head, running a hand through his hair.

"Uh, right. My shot. Um where? Am I stripes or solids?"

She laughs and reminds him that he's solids. He leans over and calls the two in the corner, but his eyes keep darting over to her as she leans low and lets her breasts sway enticingly over the table. He scratches this time and curses.

"Johanna would say that you clearly don't know how to wield your cue stick," Katniss teases.

He flings the stick on the table and stalks around to her. Placing his hands on either side of her hips, he steps between her spread knees.

"Sore loser?" she teases.

"I haven't lost just yet, Katniss. What are you up to? Are you trying to seduce me?"

She crosses her arms defensively. "What if I am?"

Peeta drops his head to rest on her shoulder and laughs. It isn't his normal laugh, though. It's tortured and bitter. "You could have just ordered me into your bed and I would have jumped."

"What?" she asks, leaning away from him.

"You have no idea, do you?" Peeta lifts his head and she searches his eyes. What did she miss? "You don't. I was sure I've been too obvious. Everyone else we live with seems to know. Katniss, I've been in love with you for years. Probably since day one when you moaned over my cinnamon rolls like you were in the middle of an orgasm and then kicked the shit out of Cato for being a douche to Delly."

She's shaking her head in denial, so he goes on. "That night, we all went out to a bar and you sang karaoke. Some stupid Katy Perry song, but you made it sound incredible. And when you were done singing, I knew. I didn't stand a chance."

Frantically, Katniss searches her mind for a clue, something she overlooked. A smile, a glance, or a stray touch that lingered too long. Could she really have been that oblivious?

Could we really have been that blind?

His eyebrows rise and she realizes she spoke that last thought. Peeta licks his lips and watches her. "We?"

"Why didn't you say anything?" She scowls at him, thinking angrily of all the time they've wasted. All the time she's wasted telling herself she didn't care for him that way.

"You never seemed interested. At least not in anything other than platonic friendship. And now you're leaving tomorrow. I told myself I wouldn't say anything. I'd let you go without ruining what we did have and try to move forward. But then you," he waves towards the pool table then at her bare torso. "And we…and now I don't know if I can."

She thinks about all those movie nights she'd fall asleep on him, those moments right after she woke when she'd feign sleep for a few moments longer just to savor the warmth surrounding them, the rumble of his voice if he happened to be talking. The even later nights she'd sneak downstairs for a snack and find him in the kitchen already, baking because he was stressed, although he'd never admit that's why he did it. The muffled laughter over pound cake and cookies and herb toasted bread as they tried not to wake their roommates.

The nights she couldn't fall asleep, restless and shifty, and found relief with her fingers and thoughts of blond curls under her palms, pink lips on her skin, blue eyes adoring her, and broad hands setting her on fire. The denials the morning after that she did not just masturbate while thinking about one of her friends and roommates. It could have been any blond-haired, blue eyed man in her fantasies.

But now, the same eyes that set her on edge and then over the edge in her dreams are examining her, vulnerable and very real.

Much in the way she decided to challenge him to this game, she makes another decision to end the game, slowly bringing her hands up to his cheeks. Running her palms over the skin as he watches her, his bare chest rising and falling rapidly. Her fingertips brush the curls at his temples. She spends a moment, toying with the silken strands before she buries her fingers in the soft mass. She lets her other hand trail down his neck to his arm, feeling the strength beneath the skin.

Once, he'd carried her to bed. She'd been too drunk to walk up the stairs safely, and she'd spent the short time with her nose nuzzled to his throat, savoring his spicy scent and the way his arms flexed beneath her.

She rubs her hand down to his wrists, her eyes following her own touch over his skin, back up the underside of his arms, down his ribs and around to his back.

"Katniss," he whispers.

"Stop talking, Peeta," she says before pressing her lips to his and tastes. Just a short kiss. A test. He goes rigid, eyes open, still locked on hers. She scoots to the edge of the table, wobbling precariously, and Peeta catches her, placing his hands on her hips to steady her. His fingers dig into her flesh as she kisses him again.

A little chapped, a little moist, hot, and gentle, his lips meld with hers, tugging on her bottom lip. She sucks on his top as warmth pools in her chest, spreads slowly down her limbs to her fingertips and toes, to the edges of her thoughts as her heart accelerates. Hesitantly, his tongue traces her lower lip and she opens for him. With a groan, Peeta plunges in, one hand traveling up her back to press between her shoulder blades, smashing her breasts to his chest. The heat of his skin singes her nipples and she sighs into his mouth, her fingers curling into scalp and back. His other hand moves to grip her hip, keeps her from slipping off the table.

He steps closer, aligning their hips while he discovers her mouth, the rough surface of his tongue stirring the warmth in her. She rotates her hips, pressing her heat to his, finding him already hard. The pressure against her clitoris drives her higher and hotter. Wrapping her tongue around his, she arches into the kiss. Peeta makes a strangled noise in his throat, his hand drifting up to the back of her neck before he pulls away. She gasps at the loss and tries to follow, but he rests his forehead against hers.

"Katniss…what…why…Fuck it," he grunts before he kisses her again and she thrills at having made verbose Peeta Mellark basically speechless.

His whole body presses into hers, bending her back over the table. There's a clatter and the sound of at least one ball falling into a pocket as he shoves the remaining balls out of the way before laying her down on the felt surface, his lips trailing open mouthed kisses over her chin, down her throat to her chest. She arches into the wet heat over her nipples as he suckles, darts of pleasure shooting down between her legs.

"I don't think that was a legal shot," she gasps.

"Don't care. I forfeit," he mumbles to her ribs.

His lips keep going, down over her stomach to her hips. He nuzzles and kisses her skin there, fingers toying with the waist of her shorts. She pulls her hand from his hair to reach down and unbutton then unzip the shorts, lifting her hips impatiently as he helps her pull the fabric down over her legs.

He licks his lips again and runs a hand over her underwear, down between her legs to press his thumb into her clit. She moans and arches her back.

"Peeta, hurry. Please."

"Oh, Katniss. There's no way I'm rushing this. Not with how long I've wanted to eat you out."

She pushes up to rest on her arms and watches him, astonished by his words as he runs his fingers delicately over the crotch of her panties. It's an erotic feeling, the heat of his fingers through the soft cotton. She wiggles her hips and whimpers, but he just tsks at her, sliding his hands back up to her hips to peel away the last of her clothing. They slide down her legs at an achingly slow pace. Peeta can't seem to decide where he wants to look, at her face or between her legs. Finally, the scrap of cotton is free of her legs and he drops them, biting his lip as she spreads her legs for him to see.

Then he kneels between her outstretched thighs, draping her legs over his shoulders so she can brace her feet on his back. He nuzzles his nose into her folds and she gasps at the soft contact. His tongue flicks out to taste the arousal already gathered over her folds and her hips jerk in reaction.

"Fuck me, you taste better than I could have imagined."

She whimpers and wiggles her hips again, eager to have his mouth on her fully, hoping this lives up to her fantasies, too. He looks up, locking eyes with her.

With a long swipe of his tongue, he settles in to tasting her in earnest. It starts as a tingling and grows in intensity as he licks over her then inside, in a swirling pattern then up to her clitoris where he flicks gently. Her body bows as the heat in her blood boils over, rages into an inferno. She thinks his fingers join the play, but she's lost in the glow of white lights along the ceiling, the softness of his curls against her thighs, and the scrape of his tongue right where she needs it.

Katniss is panting, soaring on billowing smoke while Peeta moans into her, laps at her, and sucks on her most delicate parts. Her arms give out and she arches her back, reaches down with both hands to grab fistfuls of hair, her nails dig into his scalp as she holds him in place, certain that her grip on him is the only thing keeping her from flying right off the table.

It washes over her in rolling waves of bright blue flames. Her toes curl against him, her head thrashing as a rush of moisture escapes her. She spasms against his mouth, his name torn from her throat in a hoarse scream. He moans again, licking at her release, holding her hips up away from the table.

She hangs suspended for a moment, brought slowly back down as he stands and wipes her juices from his mouth, holding her in place with his other hand. Her legs fall off his shoulders and thud against the table, but she doesn't feel it.

Peeta bends over her, pressing soft kisses to her skin, now slick with sweat as he reverses his path from her hips back up to her chin. Her sensitive skin twitches beneath his attention. Finally, his lips find hers again and they kiss languidly. She can taste herself on his tongue, a musky, heady taste. She smiles against his lips, already thinking about tasting him. When his hand gently probes through her folds, she bucks into the touch, sheathing his fingers in her heat. The rough denim of his jeans against her thighs reminds her that he's still partially dressed.

With great effort, she pushes them upright, her hands yanking on his belt buckle, his fingers still teasing inside of her.

"Upstairs, Peeta. Now."

He shakes his head and slides his fingers from her, making her growl with frustration. But he just reaches behind him and retrieves his wallet, pulling out a foil packet that she snatches from his hands and tears into while he holds her steady with both hands, nibbling softly at her neck.

Trying to multi-task, she uses her feet to shove his jeans and boxers down around his ankles. She's already soaked again from his ministrations. Finally, she has the thing open and rolls it on, making Peeta flinch and hiss.

"Too rough?"

"No," he rasps. "I just really like your hands on me."

Katniss smiles giddily and slides off the table, her hip brushing him as she turns her back to him and bends low over the table, arms splayed, the rough felt stimulating her nipples as his hands run over her backside. His fingers trace lower, gathering her arousal, spreading it around while the other grips her hip. Then he takes himself in hand and nudges the tip inside, rotating it as she writhes a little, trying to get him to go faster.

He pauses, and she looks back at him. "Katniss, say you want this. You want me."

She bites her lip, nodding at him, but it isn't enough. He pleads with her once more to say it.

"I want you, Peeta. I…I need you." Her words end on a moan as he slides slowly inside her, just a little, then back out. And in. She rises on her toes, urges him deeper and his moans join hers. When he's fully sheathed, he rolls his hips, throws his head back.

"Fuck, Katniss. I may not last long."

She throws her arms in front of her, bracing her hands on the flat surface and grinding against him. "It's okay, Peeta. We still have over an hour."

He looks down at her and smiles, then snaps his hips against hers, making her gasp in delight.

"Maybe I can't beat you at pool. But I can make you come at least twice more before the others get home."

Peeta trails his fingers up her spine, the touch almost tickling and completely delicious beside the rough snaps of his hips. She clenches her legs and uses her arms to push against him. He bends over to chase his fingers with his lips and her back bows, pushing her hips up into him and her breasts down on the table. When he hits a spot deep inside, she calls out his name.

Her hips slip and Peeta grips her tighter, careful to hold her hips away from the table so he isn't ramming her into the hard surface. But she's almost there again, tells him so. Gradually, he picks up the tempo. A shift of his feet and hips lays his chest against her back, the heat of his skin scorches her. His thrusting transitions to a shallow rocking motion. One arm snakes around her torso, hand curled around her ribs and holding them close together while the other wraps around her hips. His fingers search frantically before finding her clit once more and then rub furious circles. The new angle touches some deep part of her, causing shockwaves through her abdomen.

"Oh god, Peeta," she moans, letting her head fall back.

His lips brush gently against her neck and shoulders as he whispers confessions to her. About how he'd dream of doing this with her. About how incredible she'd feel around his cock and how dreams fell far short of reality. How he'd touch himself to thoughts of her and hoped she did the same with thoughts of him. And how he wants to fuck her until she can't breathe or move or do anything but beg for more.

The words and the pressure of him inside her push her higher. She grasps for something to hold onto, but there's nothing in her reach, so she flexes her fingers against the felt and rides the storm. As his thrusts grow erratic and his voice ragged, she pushes harder, faster.

"Katniss, I can't—"

"Let go, Peeta."

He groans and bites her shoulder, presses more firmly against her clit. He rears back and thrusts deep. Hips snapping, fingers clenching, skin slapped upon skin. She feels him pulsing inside of her and she follows, her vision tunneling, thighs trembling.

Her body quakes beneath him, tremors wrack her legs as she squeezes her walls around him then loses control and they clench on their own. Katniss's mouth opens in a silent scream that releases in a final stuttering curse and his name before she goes limp on the table and lets the pleasure roll through her. He rides out his orgasm with a few last erratic thrusts before he collapses heavily against her back.

They lay there, listening to the other draw gasping breaths. His hands skim over her slick skin, lips caress her back. Her legs are jelly; his weight keeping her from sliding to the floor. Her only regret is that she couldn't see his face.

Sweat trails over his arms, pools between them and she shifts restlessly beneath him. Peeta kisses her back then tightens his arms around her and pulls them upright. With careful motions, he turns her then bends to cup his hands behind her knees, sweeping her up and linking her legs around his waist. She clings to him as he sways and then takes a few steps towards the door. He has to pause a moment, one hand braced on the wall, but when he pushes away, he breaks into a run, racing up the stairs as Katniss laughs.

Taking them into the bathroom he shares with Finnick and Johanna, he sets her on the counter then starts the shower. Coming back to her, Peeta cups her chin in his hands and examines her flushed, sweaty face.

"You're unbelievably beautiful, Katniss." He fuses their lips again and relief flows through her. She's not sure what she expected. A callous redressing and a "Thanks for the fuck. Have a good life"?

Not likely.

He ends the kiss and he pecks her nose. "Be right back."

He's only gone a few minutes, and the water has warmed, so she undoes her braid and steps under the spray, sighing at the soothing feel of it against her skin and her now aching muscles. Thoughts intrude. What now?

She's leaving tomorrow.

She's leaving tomorrow.

It may have been better if they'd just had a casual fuck instead of…what exactly was that if not a casual fuck? She thinks of the words he poured in her ears and against her skin and how his touches felt both soothing and sensual. Had she planned on having sex with him? She did suggest strip pool. What had she hoped to gain? A memory of him naked for future lonely nights? Well she got that and more and now she's got no idea what to do with it.

Desperate for a distraction, Katniss picks up a bottle of soap, flips the lid, and sniffs. Not Peeta. She looks around the shower a moment before finding another bottle and sniffs that one. Peeta.

She lathers herself with his soap, thinking maybe she can scrub away some of these feelings. This is just like her to go and complicate things.

"Katniss?"

She peeks around the curtain and tries to smile brightly at Peeta. He's carrying their clothes from downstairs in a bundle. His body still glistens with sweat. His skin pink, cheeks rosy and eyes bright in a post-orgasm glaze. His curls are a mess, and she can see the evidence spread across his groin, although he's already discarded the condom. And he thinks she's beautiful?

She needs to speak. He said her name like a question. Speak, Katniss.

"Hey."

Really? Is that all she can manage to say to the guy who just fucked her brains out on the pool table?

"I asked if you wanted me to get you clean clothes from your room. I don't want to mess up your packing."

Her packing. What has she done? She can see it in Peeta's eyes, too, the dawning realization that things just got horribly messy. She takes a deep breath and shoots for damage control.

She shakes her head. "No, it's fine. Come join me?"

It's his turn for relief as he piles the clothes on the counter and climbs in with her. He steps behind her, allowing her to remain in the stream of water, and shampoos her hair. She leans back into the touch as he massages her scalp. She ducks and turns, Peeta laughing as he twists his hands to keep massaging her scalp. Reaching behind him, she grabs the shampoo and pours a glob into her palm. With a wink, she smears it over his hair and mirrors the motions of his fingers. He inhales through his teeth and closes his eyes a second. When he looks back at her, the naked desire is back.

Fingers still soapy and tangled in each other's hair, they move together. Their wet skin makes a squelching noise and Katniss laughs into Peeta's mouth. It's a slow kiss, all swollen lips and secret smiles, suds running down their wrists as they keep their hands firmly in each other's hair. The water has started to cool when they pull apart. Without a word, she tips her head back into the stream and Peeta helps her rinse her hair. They switch places and she peppers kisses over his chest and shoulders while he rinses. Then she helps him wash his body.

Her stomach flutters when he towels her dry and hands her the stack of her clothes. She pokes her head out the door and listens to the house. It's still silent, so she grabs his free hand and pulls him down the hallway to her room where she grabs a clean pair of underwear before tugging him back out into the hallway and to his room.

The door slams behind him, and Katniss flings her clothes and the towel off to the side. With a grin, she pulls off his towel too and pushes him down onto the bed. Might as well, she decides. Since she's not leaving until tomorrow.