So, in apology for the lack of Seize Me updates, here's a drabble that's been hanging around in my "finished" file for a while. A hundred thanks to Court, who beta'd this.

Dedicated to my sister-in-law, who was the only one ballsy enough to ask if I was pregnant or just fat and therefore the only person I actually had to lie to. Sorry, sis, hopefully this helps to make up for it. Love you!

Witches and Ice

Louis: "Run...or shoot?"

...silence...

Louis: "Run or shoot?"

Bill: "...both!"

Left for Dead-Intro Scene

"Peeta!" I scream, ramming my right shoulder into his left. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Keep up," he growls, pulling the trigger to release a spray of bullets into an oncoming zombie horde. "We'll never reach the signal if we hang around here."

"You're going the wrong way...witch!" I gasp, bringing my character, Rochelle, to a halt on the screen. A desperate wail and eerie music blare through the speakers, alerting us to the witch's presence. "Lights off."

"You've got the shotgun," Peeta hisses, pressing up on the D-Pad on his controller to turn off his character's light. "Get behind her and get her in the head."

"Oh, sure," I hiss. "I'll just do that. And if I die?"

"I've got your back," he says lowly, positioning his character to follow behind mine. "Now go."

The wraith-like figure of the witch glows a slight red and is pacing back in forth forlornly as she cries. I set up Rochelle directly behind the witch. I adjust the joystick a little so the crosshairs are centered directly over the back of the witch's head. I smirk a little in satisfaction, knowing this will be an easy one-shot kill.

That is, until one of our computer-controlled group members decides to be a hero and lets loose a quick series of shots into the witch, who is about a foot away from us. Her head immediately turns, and I feel my heart jump at the sight of her. She's launched on us and has knocked me quickly to the ground, rendering me useless. Peeta tries to get his character to eliminate the witch and help my character back up, but a fresh horde descends without warning, lured by the witch's screams. He's immediately incapacitated as well, ending our game.

I'm speechless, my mouth gaping open as I stare at the ending credits of our game, Left for Dead 2, scrolling up the screen in front of us. I'm still tightly gripping my controller, as if the screen is going to magically rewind and give us another shot. We were so close. All we had left to do was signal the rescue and we'd have been on our way to safety. But Peeta insisted we take a try at the witch.

Fucking. Idiot.

"Goddamn it, Coach," Peeta snarls, throwing his remote to the ground in frustration. "This is why I hate the second Left for Dead. The characters are retarded. I hate that guy."

"Oh sure," I mumble, tossing my remote a little more civilly to the side. "That was all Coach's fault."

"It was!" Peeta insists, reaching over and putting his hand on my knee bare knee. "You had her, baby. If Coach wouldn't have startled her, you would have had her."

"You always have to try to kill the witch, Peeta," I sigh, brushing his hand away and I move to stand. "We could have gone around her and gotten to safety. But we can't ever leave a zombie alive."

"No," Peeta says firmly, reaching up to take my hand in his. "Never leave a zombie alive; they'll infect more people."

"It's a game, Peeta," I groan, trying to tug my hand away from his.

"It's the principle of the thing," he says matter-of-factly. He gives my arm a quick tug, pulling me into his lap.

"You're ridiculous," I sigh, tilting my head to the side to rest it against his.

"I'll tell you what's ridiculous," Peeta growls low in his throat. "This dress."

"Oh, this?" I ask with a smirk, reaching down to toy with the hem of my new red sundress, which stops a good three inches above my knee. "Do you like it?"

"Why do you think I insisted we stay inside after I got home today?" he asks, tracing his fingers along my arm to follow down to my wrists to toy at the hem of the dress with mine. "A dress like this can give a guy indecent thoughts. Wouldn't want you walking around inspiring that, would we?"

"It's hot out today," I say with a snarl, knowing where he's trying to lead this. "I think I'm entitled to wear whatever I please, Mr. Mellark."

"If you're so hot, I'm sure I could think of better ways to cool you down," Peeta says with a smirk, trailing his fingers back up my arm to my shoulder, where he drops the thin strap of my dress to expose my skin fully to him. He drops his lips to my skin, pressing heated kisses and nips that instantly sends sparks of heat straight to pool between my thighs.

"Funnily, this isn't helping," I manage to gasp out, rolling my shoulder in an attempt to dislodge his lips from my skin. "And I'm still annoyed with you."

The only warning I receive from Peeta is the feel of his lips morphing into a smile against the sensitive skin he's been nipping and kissing. And then his fingers lock around my wrists and pull them behind me, effectively locking them in place at the small of my back. And then he leans to his left, pulling us down onto the plush cushions of our couch. The fall is surprisingly jarring, which I suspect is what he wanted, and catches me completely off-guard.

"Still annoyed, huh?" he says lowly in my ear, giving it a quick nip at the end. "Anything I can do to help with that?"

"Let me go?" The statement comes out as more of a question than I would have liked it to. His breath is hot against my neck and the heat of his body raises my own body temperature. I don't know how he can be comfortable; he's still wearing his dress shirt and tie from his meeting at the bakery this morning, interviewing a new assistant. God, he looks so sexy on those few days he puts on a tie. I can feel the dampness of sweat forming on my back while another patch of wetness forms between my legs. "This isn't doing much for how hot I am."

"You're too hot now?" There's something in the way he says those words that makes me immediately freeze. Something in them sounds predatory and dangerous. It's made even worse by the fact I can't see him with my back facing to him. "We'll have to fix that."

He keeps my hands firmly locked behind my back easily with one of his hands while I feel the other one leave my wrists to reach elsewhere. He fidgets a little and I can hear the sliding sounds of silk on silk. I'm intrigued, especially when I feel him raise his head up behind me. I'm about to turn around to see what he's up to when his tie falls over my eyes.

"Hey!" I gasp, suddenly blinded. Peeta grunts and the sound is muffled, as if hindered by a gag. He tugs at something and the tie cinches over my face, effectively blocking out all light from my vision. He's removed his tie, apparently, without fully untying it. He's placed the neck loop over my face then, I'm assuming, used his hand and teeth to pull it tight over my face.

The fucker has just blindfolded me.

Something, the tails of the tie I'm guessing, tickles the back of my neck as he says, "Relax, baby. I'll cool you down."

I can feel Peeta's body stretch behind me, as if he's reaching for something. My nerves sing in anticipation, swept up by the sensation of being blinded in foreplay. He's never done anything like this to me before, and it's exciting. My body tenses as the sound of clinking meets my ears and I cock my head to the side to get a better angle to hear the sounds. It's a sort of twinkling, but it's not akin to a bell or anything. The sound is familiar, but I can't place it.

And then something icy touches the back of my neck. I gasp, jumping from the shock of cold against my overheated skin. Something cool and liquidy splashes on my shoulder, and I curse as Peeta chuckles.

"Peeta Mellark," I snarl. "What did you just spill on my couch?"

"Me?" he asks with a snort. "I think that would have been your fault."

"Ass," I retort, rolling my shoulders with irritation as the gradually warming droplets on my skin slide down to the cushions. "What is this?"

"Just water, baby," he croons. I hear the tinkling again and I realize it's the sound of ice bouncing around in a glass. His body stretches again and the sound of the clinking gets softer and I understand he's put the glass back on the table.

I'm sure the icy part of this torture has concluded now that the glass has been put away, but when his lips touch my shoulder again they're chilly from the water that's passed over them. I groan, trying to roll my shoulders again to dislodge his lips. It doesn't work, and if anything, his lips grow more insistent as they brush again and again over my hyper-sensitive skin. And then the cold is suddenly more intense and in a more concentrated area on piece of my skin at a time. Fuck. I'm pretty sure he's got an ice cube in his mouth, and he's running it across my shoulder to my neck. He shimmies down my body a little, dragging the ice cube with him as he does so. It glides over my spine, sending involuntary shivers and spasms shooting across my skin and muscles.

"Shh," Peeta soothes as he pulls away from my skin. His voice is distorted a little, leading me to believe he's pulled the ice cube back fully into his mouth. "Relax, baby."

I sigh and try to focus on making my body limp but find it difficult. The ice cube is gone, for which I am grateful, but the effects are still there. My skin is covered with goosebumps and my nipples are pert and sensitive as they brush against the fabric of my dress. This is worsened as Peeta buries his face in my back and runs his hands gently down my arms, raising more goose flesh in their wake. His free hand doesn't move to my wrists as I think it will. Instead it travels to my navel and glides over the fabric of my dress until it reaches my breast. He palms it, rolling it expertly beneath his hand in a way that makes me grateful for the hundredth time that I married a baker. While the flesh of his hand kneads me expertly, his fingers move to my nipple, tweaking it deliciously in a way that makes me gasp with excitement.

"Easy," he murmurs as my hips thrust back into him. He's not lined up perfectly with me, my butt backing into his chest instead of his pelvis the way I'd like. I groan with frustration.

His hand leaves my breast suddenly, leaving it feeling heavier than before he'd begun his ministrations. But a moment later it's back, this time at the exposed skin above my knee. He strokes sweetly, his touch a butterfly's kiss against the inside of my thigh. He trails upward, not stopping when he hits the hem of my dress but instead continuing upward and dragging it with him. My breath hitches as he nears my core, but instead of going straight for the money like I want him to, he skirts to the right toward my hip. When he reaches the tops of my panties he moves across, sliding his fingers along the hem sweetly.

And then there's a new yet familiar sensation of cold. Apparently he's been holding the ice cube in his hand until he'd reached his destination. It's a small cube now, the bare remnants of the one he'd started this game with. As a result, I'm both scorched by the heat and electricity of his fingers and frozen by the cold of the ice cube. It's a collision of polar opposites, and I'm dying underneath it. And by the time the ice cube melts, I'm putty in his hands.

"Hm," Peeta sighs, his fingers still stroking the hem of my panties, even though the ice cube is gone now. "That didn't lasted as long as I'd hoped."

"That's probably a sign you should touch me now," I pant, thrusting my pelvis upward and into his hand.

"Oh?" Peeta asks, and I can hear the sounds of laughter in his voice. "And where would you like me to touch you?"

My hand is like lightning, shooting out of his grip and to my now slick panties, sliding downward until I find my clit under the fabric. I stroke it gently at first and shiver at the sensations, too worked up by the ice fun. But gradually my body becomes more insistent and I can touch myself firmer, working myself up to a fever in seconds. It's made worse as Peeta slides his body back up mine behind me to align our bodies perfectly and I can feel his erection pressed against my ass.

"Here, touch me here" I groan, tilting my head to the side in an attempt to find his jaw with my lips. God, I want to touch him. But my lips meet nothing but air. He's teasing me, not letting me touch him, the bastard.

Peeta moans something along the lines of appreciation and suddenly his fingers are over mine, not replacing them but following them, learning the rhythm I've set for myself. Once he has it he pushes my fingers away, resuming their job. I slide my hands away from my heat upward my belly button, dragging the hem of my dress up as I go.

"Wanting to show a little skin?" Peeta whispers low in my ear. "Alright then."

And then the hand on my remaining wrist at my back is gone and is now at my shoulder, pulling down the straps of my dress until my breasts are exposed. The freedom of my wrist itself is glorious and I use this newfound freedom to turn so I'm laying on my back with him pressed up against my side. But when his lips descend to take a nipple into his mouth I almost lose it. After all the cold from the ice, his mouth is scorching on my skin, sending fresh waves of pleasure racing past my belly button to pool where his hand is expertly stroking me.

When he gives the bud a quick bite, I gasp and thrust my pelvis up into his hand, electricity flowing through my limbs. Peeta pushes his erection into my hip, a subconscious reaction to my thrust. I groan at the feel of him next to me, his erection at my hip and his lips on my skin while his body radiates heat next to me. My breathing is beyond labored now, and I'm wet and desperate beyond belief. This has to happen now before I combust.

"Peeta," I pant, pressing my hip into his erection and giving it a gentle grind.

Peeta pulls his lips from my breast and his hand leaves my core, sliding up to my hips. "I know, baby," he murmurs, pulling down my panties.

And then he flips me onto my side again, his back pressed up against me with his erection at my ass. I half expect him to make a grab for my wrists again, but he doesn't. In fact, he does something quite the opposite. The tie is suddenly off my eyes and I'm blinded for a moment, the bright afternoon sun too bright despite the drawn blinds.

We never draw the blinds, come to think of it. Had he been planning this?

"Peeta..." I draw out, turning my head to meet his sheepish blue eyes. "The blinds?"

He has the decency to look a little embarrassed as he slowly unbuttons his pale blue dress shirt. "I told you, that dress gives men indecent thoughts."

"Uh huh," I mutter, distracted by the decadent skin he's exposing. "I suppose it must."

And then all room for argument disappears as he tugs down his dress pants, boxers included, and kicks them to the foot of the bed. I love that he's discarded the pants and leaves the shirt on, as if he's in too much of a hurry to be bothered to remove unproblematic fabric. He's only unbuttoned the shirt enough that our skin can meet as he presses his chest up against my back again. He takes my long braid in his hand and uses it to pull my head to the side the way he likes, exposing the sensitive bit of skin on my neck.

"Delicious," he groans, leaning down to suck my neck while his arm reaches to hook my knee over his arm, exposing my dripping core to him. I can feel his cock there, brushing against me teasingly without entering. "I love to taste you like this, after you've spent the morning outside. You're so amazing, baby."

"Peeta," I sigh, pushing my pelvis back toward him anxiously. "Please."

Peeta doesn't respond, and he doesn't need to. Instead, he presses forward, sinking into me smoothly. He goes slower than usual, savoring every inch as if he'll never get it back again.

"Shit," he mutters, giving the skin he's been worshiping a quick bite. "Why is it every time feels like it's the first time?"

I moan in confirmation, then say, "Because I love you as much now as I did then."

Peeta slides in fully, then says, "I love you too, Katniss."

His movements are smooth and we move together in perfect synchronization, this dance one that we've done a hundred times before. He knows the angle to move at to hit my sweet spot with each thrust and I know how to gyrate my hips the way he likes. And as we meet with each thrust, him pushing forward with me pressing back, I can't help but mirror his earlier statement in my mind. It truly is like the first time every time, the moment when we come together. It's moments like this I know I made the right choice when I promised to spend the rest of my life with this man, to be at his side forever. I know it every moment I'm with him, but it's never more apparent than in moments like this.

"Peeta," I gasp, feeling the familiar, cliched coil spinning up to the point where I know it will soon snap.

"I know," he murmurs as his lips move up the column of my neck to my cheek where he presses fervent kisses. "I can feel you."

I whimper as he makes a minor adjustment to give himself a better grip on my hip. And then he hits that spot a little harder and the coil reaches its breaking point, just waiting for a cue to let it snap free.

"Let go," he groans in my ear, giving the lobe a bite. "I'm right behind you, baby."

And so I do. The coil snaps and everything inside me clenches and pulses, sweet release overwhelming me temporarily as I ride out my orgasm. The part of my mind that's still functioning coherently hears Peeta curse behind me as he finds his release too. When I finally stop vibrating against him I find he's stilled behind me, wrapping his arms contentedly around me as he pulls me to him, burying his face in my neck.

And I suddenly can't help but realize how hot I am.

"You know," I mutter, wiggling my shoulders at him in a pathetic attempt to dislodge my heavy husband, "this isn't doing a lot for the 'hot' factor from earlier."

"Hm?" Peeta asks, still groggy from his orgasm. "Shall I get the ice again?"

"I think not," I say in clipped tones, a betraying smile falling onto my lips. "Once was quite enough and I'm sure my dress is ruined."

He lifts his head for a moment, taking in the dress that's pooled into a jumble of fabric around my waist. It's not really ruined, which he quickly ascertains, but I'm definitely going to need to take the thing off and wash it instead of wearing it for the rest of the day. It's an annoyance, but one I'm okay with at the moment.

"That'll teach you to wear dresses like that," he mumbles, planting a soft kiss on my cheek as he says it.

"Or maybe," I tease, turning to capture his lips in a kiss, "I'll just have to wear them more often."

"Oddly enough, I'm okay with that," he says firmly.

And then, finally, he lets his lips meet mine for a kiss.