AN: Written for my wonderful friend Amelia on her birthday. I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: The Hunger Games belongs to Suzanne Collins.

He's never opened the tube of fuchsia paint before. He's never really needed to. He can do well enough with mixing the oranges and reds for sunsets, and the tans for skintone. And the skintone he paints most often isn't based in any pink. It's a complicated combination of tan and olive and white- he can mix it together with his eyes closed before spreading it across the canvas, adding more golden hues where the sun hits, and spotting it with tiny freckles in the most unexpected places. It will never truly live up to the real thing, though.

But the top she wore today was definitely pink. Not fuchsia exactly. Never fuchsia. He's fairly certain it's not even her top. If the color weren't enough to confirm that, the way it clung to her chest would. Katniss has tiny, slender shoulders, and frame-wise, she's probably the same size as Prim. In fact, Prim will probably end up surpassing Katniss in height. But where Katniss falls short in height, she makes up for in...other places.

Peeta swallows and squeezes out a large amount of white paint. Because that perfect shirt was barely pink at all. There was just a hint of it. Katniss was grasping at straws when she tried to call it off-white- defensively, adorably- but maybe it could be called off-pink. Just enough to brighten her cheeks. And her collarbone, where at some point there was definitely a flush to match her cheeks that bloomed all the way to the low neck of the shirt.

He adjusts his pants, and squeezes his eyes shut. He's never going to get anywhere at this rate. This isn't the first time he's gotten hard while considering Katniss' form in front of a canvas, but usually he's at least picked up a brush first.

Not that he ever paints her naked. His entire body perspires at the thought. His paintings are limited to her face, the curve of her neck, her silhouette from a distance, sometimes even just her eyes down to the bridge of her nose.

The times when he sits in his bed late at night with his sketchbooks and only a small desk lamp on so as not to draw his mother's attention...those are the times when the temptation is the greatest. When he finds his breath coming quick and his fantasies crowding his mind and his hand unconsciously drawing the curve of a perfect, pert breast down to a nipple whose color he can only imagine.

Until he comes back to himself at a noise or the shifting light of a passing car, and his head clears like he's breaking the surface of water, and his bed sheets fill with frantic eraser shavings.

More than the shirt though- how it clung to her body in a way he usually only dreams about and, in real life, rarely sees except for those spare overwhelming days by the pool- what he really wants to capture is her expression. What it looked like at the cramped kitchen table. Nervous, a little frantic. Vulnerable. It's rare to see Katniss vulnerable. Sullen or defensive maybe, at most, but not vulnerable.

But at the end there, after he told her about his summer trip, and their palms met...there was something sad and earnest in her eyes, like she was reaching out to him through their stormy gray depths. If he had the same expression on his face (which, realistically, he probably did) he might call it longing. But that's too much to hope for.

For every time their skin meets, he curses his body for not being the kind that he could easily press up against hers. Even as just a friend, with a hug or a casual arm around her shoulder. But why would she want a sweaty, chubby chest pressed up against her? Katniss doesn't even like to be touched.

One day she will though. One day, someone will touch her in a way that makes the invisible hair on the back of her neck stand on end, and her heart drop to her stomach so that the blood flows more slowly to her brain. One day, she'll feel this and she won't be able to get enough.

He knows because that's how it feels when she touches him. When she entwines her tiny fingers through his own. When a strand of her hair brushes against his ear.

And he doesn't know if he can stand being around for that inevitability. But he also doesn't know who he is if he isn't Katniss Everdeen's best friend. If he isn't the boy who would follow her to the ends of the Earth. His mother would say he's weak, whipped, a pussy (he cringes every time this word leaves her lips). But somehow, he knows he's a better man for it. For being there without any hope of a reward besides her presence and her friendship. For loving with no hope of it being returned. And ironically, that's a kind of forbearance he wouldn't have learned without his mother.

"I'll miss you,"Katniss had said. Almost wistfully. Why hadn't he pulled her hand up to his face so he could have smelled her skin?

"Hey! Watch your hands!" Katniss hisses under her breath.

Peeta removes his hand from the inside of her thigh and raises both of them in the air in an innocent expression. She tries to give him a scowl, but half of her mouth revolts and lifts up tellingly. She crosses her arms against her chest like this is going to stop his advances.

If he had to plan his dream birthday, it would have included him and Katniss in a secluded place and a lot less clothing. Not him and a bunch of friends at a movie theater where he has to spend two dark hours sitting next to his PDA-allergic girlfriend.

But he quiets this complaint as soon as it forms in his head. Because there was really nothing sweeter than Katniss planning his whole birthday, from a cake she got his father to make, to a set of pastels she must have saved up to buy, and now, to a group dinner-movie date with all of his friends. Although, the latter he suspects Delly had some hand in planning as he can't imagine Katniss going out of her way to get so many people in one place, even for him.

And she seems as annoyed by their presence as he is. He didn't just imagine the way her thighs squeezed around his hand to keep it in place before she made a big show of looking around and forcing it away.

When her attention is back on the screen, Peeta fakes a yawn so dramatic that everyone in their row glances at him. His arms stretch up, and one of them reaches around and settles on her shoulder.

She shoots him an incredulous look. This time, he's the one who who has trouble suppressing his smile. She doesn't throw his arm off, though. Eventually, her head finds its way to the nook beneath his chin. If he could attach her there permanently somehow, that would be the ultimate gift.

There have only been a few times since they got together that they've truly spent the night together. There is no sweeter torture than having to pull yourself from a warm Katniss at dawn, and from a bed whose linens smell like her...and him. Them. Mingled together. And reminding him of how perfectly she fits in that nook and how, despite the way her restless legs kick the covers to the floor, her upper half stays perfectly glued to him like she's imprinted her shape there and all the other hours of the day, it's just preppred and awaiting her return.

The movie is some fantasy adaptation of a book series Peeta likes, but what he loves is in his arms and smelling fantastic, so he moves the arm around her shoulders closer so that he can run his fingers up and down the neck of her t-shirt.

"Peeta," she hisses again, eyes darting nervously to the people around them. But he can feel the way she shivers against him.

"Shh, it's fine. It's dark. No one can see."

"You sound so creepy right now."

They both laugh until the couple in the row behind shushes them. Peeta spends the rest of his movie resolutely ignoring everything on the screen, instead showering kisses and attention to Katniss' ear and neck, and nuzzling his nose in her hair when she her breaths come too quick. He doesn't intend to spend the whole movie working her up; really, he was just trying not to push her too far in public, beyond the boundaries of her comfort level. But he can't be expected not to touch her when she's so close and so beautiful and it's his birthday, dammit. She's always been the best thing about his birthday, ever since he was a kid.

But when they leave the theater, she grips his palm so tight it's painful. He looks down at her in question and she gives him a quick scowl before pulling him along behind her, making him trip over his own feet.

"Katniss, what's the hurry?" Thresh laughs from where he's still helping Delly into her coat.

"Yeah, you guys, we can go get coffee and dessert! The night is young!" Delly chirps.

"We've gotta get Peeta home!" Katniss yells over her shoulder, shoving him out the front doors and barely sparing their friends a backwards glance.

Peeta hears a chorus of confused, "Happy birthdays!" behind them, but Katniss doesn't break her stride.

When they reach his car, Peeta uses his free hand to dig in his coat for the keys. His fingers just find their way to the keyring when he's shoved up against the passenger door.

Katniss' entire body presses against his and her hands climb up his chest until they find purchase on his shoulders. She lifts up on tiptoe to get closer, but when he continues to stare at her in wide-eyed shock, she fists her hands in the fabric of his shirt and pulls him down to her mouth. Their lips mash together forcefully, and after a moment, Katniss brings her hands to his chin and forces his head to the side, gently coaxing his mouth open with soft lips. The kiss is deep and wet and he groans into her mouth. His hands go underneath her layers straight to the soft skin of her back. Just as he's drawing her closer, nearly scratching her back in desperation (something he's recently discovered she actually likes), she pulls back, leaving him to chase pathetically after her lips.

"Get in the car," she says shortly, brokering no argument. At some point, she must have pilfered the keys from his pocket because she lets herself in and closes the door behind her, waiting for Peeta to walk around to the driver's side, where the keys are waiting for him in the ignition.

"Where the hell have you been?"

Peeta stops short in the entryway, not even halfway through the front door. He closes it behind him and scans the living room quickly without meeting his mother's eyes. His father sits quietly on the couch reading a newspaper, though Peeta sees the grimace on his face that's always present at his wife's harsh words.

Peeta should have known better. She can smell the happiness on him like it's a fire she needs to extinguish. To stamp out with her foot. If he'd walked in looking miserable, maybe it would have delayed the inquisition.

"Just...out with Katniss," Peeta mumbles.

"You have three months worth of clothing you need to pack," she says slowly, "and you spent the whole day carting around your trailer trash friend?"

His fists clench at his sides and if he could stop it he would, because he knows she can see. That she likes when she gets a rise out of him. But Katniss is his hot button, and she knows it.

"I am packed," he says carefully, bravely meeting her eyes. "The trunk is in my closet, ready to go."

She raises her eyebrows in challenge, like she's considering whether to follow him up to his room to check, but he doesn't even blink in response.

"Fine," she says shortly, turning her attention back to her tablet. "But go upstairs and shower. We're leaving early in the morning and I don't want you stinking of sweat. Though I suppose I should appreciate that you were involved in some physical activity for once."

His heavy footsteps echo on the hardwood floor. His whole house echoes. Marble. Hardwood. Neutral-painted walls. Like everything is hollow.

He's thankful that was a dismissal. She could have gone on longer. She has before. And he's too old to expect a simple, "Goodnight, Peeta. Don't forget to set your alarm." It's been a decade since he's been that naive.

But if she was that focused on her iPad, then she wasn't able to detect the devastation in his expression that he's attempted for years to learn how to hide. If anyone bothers to take note of his hangdog expression, or the sadness in his eyes, then all they're really seeing is the tip of the iceberg.

As is routine, when he reaches his bathroom, he peels off his clothes one by one and completely avoids the mirror. When he was about 12, he'd stolen a sheet from the linen closet and stapled it into the wall over the mirror so that it would completely cover it. The housekeeper found it and pried it down carefully, throwing it into the day's laundry. When his mother discovered the damage to the linen, she tore into his bathroom, inspected the holes in the wall, and smacked the side of his head until his ears rang.

This was a good day, he thinks. She can't take this from him. She has a whole summer full of days to ruin. Today was his. And Katniss'.

He steps into the shower just as the space fills with steam.

Katniss Everdeen owns an orange bra.

His mind seizes on the image before the water's even perfectly up to temperature. It's a reflex. To think about Katniss. In the shower. To get hard thinking about Katniss. All of it is a reflex.

There are times when his mind wrestles with the guilt of it- fantasizing about his best friend. But he wanted her before she was his best friend. Before he even knew what wanting could mean. And, it's not as if he has it written down in a journal somewhere, but he's pretty positive Katniss is responsible for his very first cognizant adolescent...reaction. So really, it's an inescapable chicken-or-the-egg type of dilemma, and neither his body nor his mind can really comprehend how to be turned on without Katniss somewhere at the forefront of his thoughts.

He closes his eyes and breathes in deeply, ducking his head so that the hot water beats against his scalp soothingly. He's already hard, a combination of the image burned into his brain and his location- it's the one place in his house he's always felt safe. Private. Even with the lock on his bedroom door, his mother has no qualms about banging on it at any hour until he answers, and he knows better than to keep her waiting. But in here, he is always truly undisturbed.

It doesn't even matter that it's orange, he thinks. He could give a shit about the color. That it's his favorite color just seems like some sort of gift from God, like a token for the pain he'll suffer this summer; a thank you in advance for his forbearance.

What really brings Peeta's hand to his erection without a second though is the idea that, for the first time in his life, he knows what Katniss has on under her clothing rather than having to imagine it. The thought that she could be wearing matching orange panties…

Peeta groans.

He's probably spent more time at her house over the years than he has in his own, and plenty of time in her bedroom. There were even times that Haymitch would send him in there to wait for Katniss while she finished up a shower- an exquisite form a torture.

But Peeta never went through her underwear drawer. He's not a creep, and he had no intentions of invading her privacy, despite the fact that Katniss' room is like a treasure trove of telling and alluring objects. The few photos on her wall (including one that features the two of them together, a fact that always makes his chest ache). The snacks she hides for them so Haymitch doesn't drunkenly raid the cabinets and leave them bare. The dresser where she leaves her spare personal, girly things sitting- some hair ties, cherry lip balm, lotion, and a solitary bottle of perfume.

He couldn't help it, that one day a year or so back. It was just sitting there. A simple bottle, no silly embellishments, or pink-tinted liquid. Just a plain, glass bottle of perfume. He realized he didn't even know when she had started wearing it. Maybe it was his own naive idealization of her, but whenever he caught her scent, he always figured it was a combination of soap and wild flowers, things that scented the air and just hung about her person- juniper or jasmine or something. He had to know.

Peeta picked up the bottle and took off the cap, bringing it up to his nose. At that moment, the door swung open and he startled, nearly dropping the bottle to the floor. His wide eyes flew up to the figure in the doorway.

"Forget your deodorant today, boy?"

Peeta quickly set the cap back on the bottle, and replaced it on her dresser. Avoiding Haymitch's eyes was pointless- his face burned and he was sure the man could spot his sweaty palms from across the room. Haymitch took a deep breath and braced himself, leaning casually against the door jamb.

"She's almost out, ya know." Peeta looked up in confusion and Haymitch nodded to the perfume. "Sister bought it for her last birthday. But Christmas is coming up. And I sure as hell can't afford it."

Haymitch raised his eyebrows and Peeta struggled to get enough saliva back into his back to form a response. Haymitch took a slow sip from his glass. He continued to study Peeta, but when the boy didn't say anything, Haymitch sighed heavily.

"Girls like getting girly things," he said, motioning with his hands for emphasis and almost spilling his drink in the process. "Even this one. Reminds her that you think of her that way." Peeta regarded him with barely concealed shock. "So I've heard, anyway," Haymitch grumbled, stumbling back down the hall.

Peeta can smell it now, that perfume- the one he buys her every Christmas- and the way it mingles with her skin and creates that natural, outdoorsy Katniss scent. He was almost overcome with it tonight when she pressed up against him in that hug. He was so scared that she was going to step back quickly, squirm out of his arms after a requisite few seconds, realize he was large and sweaty and just unpleasant to be so close to.

But she didn't. She stayed there. Like she was clinging to him. If he hadn't been so overcome with emotion and with the reality of losing her, even if only for a few months, he probably would have been mortified. Because if a tiny peek at the strap of her bra was enough to give him a raging hard-on, surely pressing up against her for that many seconds, and touching her silky hair, would have been more than enough.

It is now. And he's been stroking himself for God knows how long, inspired by his regular repertoire of sexy Katniss-thoughts, now enriched with the image of her underwear (her real life underwear), and her smell, and the way her small body pressed up against his and her breasts flattened against his chest. Even her thick braid, and the way it would feel to pull on it if she were above him.

He groans.

Even as images of sliding into her and feeling her snug and wet and warm around him play against his eyelids, he always seems to linger longest on the idea of tasting her. Of sliding down her body and burying his tongue between her thighs. Not just to taste her and to know parts of her no one else does, but to have her at his mercy. Held down and squirming and making noises that have to be as beautiful as her voice when she sings. Breathy. A little smoky. Sweet and completely vulnerable. He imagines his strong fingers digging into her thighs, or her tiny waist, and holding her down until he's explored her thoroughly, until she's shattered over and over again on his tongue.

Only after he cycles through these fantasies thoroughly, bringing himself almost completely to the edge, can he imagine her going down on him. Katniss in the shower with him right now, her dark, wet hair plastered to her face, causing her gray eyes to stand out even more sharply. The way she would drop to her knees in front of him and take him into her hand before he could utter a protest, moving her tiny fingers up and down his length in a tight, confident grip. How her lips would part so that he could see her wet tongue before he slid his cock inside and over it. She'd hold eye contact with him for as long as she could, keeping him in a trance with her intense eyes and her beautiful, hot mouth. Until he couldn't bear it any longer and would have to throw his head back in a moan. And in response, her eyes would shut like they do when she's tasting something really delicious, and she'd moan around his cock.

Peeta reaches out with his free hand, fruitlessly gripping the slick tile until he can steady himself, the last spurts of his orgasm making his stomach muscles jump.

He squeezes his eyes shut.

Just a few months. Then, he'll be back, and she'll be here- perfect and Katniss and...and he'll be her overweight best friend.

Fuck.

He gets out of the shower, wraps a towel around his waist, and goes to pack his trunk.

Peeta's only managed to get out one sentence in the car ride over. Which was work in and of itself, considering his racing heartbeat and throbbing erection, like she thought she could just pull him into a hot, drugging kiss and then expect him to operate heavy machinery immediately afterward.

"Um, Katniss, you know I love you. But that was a little...abrupt. Even for you, yeah?" He can only imagine the nagging texts he's going to get from Delly tomorrow.

"Just drive to my place, Peeta," she says, completely unappreciative of his efforts.

And she looks pissed. Is she pissed? Is that why she wants him to drive her home so badly? What did he do to rile her up so badly on his birthday of all days? Well, besides try to cop a feel in a movie theater.

But then that kiss was hardly punishment. She has to know that.

When he pulls into her driveway, the house is dark.

"Katniss?"

"Get out of the car, Peeta," she says, like she only has enough words to command him what to do with his car. But he follows anyway.

"Are you going to be here alone? I don't feel comfortable with that," he says behind her while she unlocks the door. Katniss spins on her heel, grabs him by the front of his shirt and tugs him inside.

"I'm not alone," she says, her voice low. He can barely find her eyes in the darkness, so he feels around for where the hallways light switch is. He flips it on and finds her staring up at him, her eyes hooded and her pupils large in the dark.

"What-"

"We're having a sleepover," she says simply and tugs him up the stairs behind her.

No matter how many times they make this walk (particularly frequently in the last few months), his heart never fails to race. He swallows heavily.

"Um."

"We used to have sleepovers for your birthday, remember?"

He trips on the stairs trying to keep up with her. "When we were like 12."

"This isn't going to be like when we were 12," she says simply. "Unless you want me to roll out the sleeping bags and dig out the Indiana Jones DVDs."

"'I don't like fast women,'" Peeta jokes nervously.

When they reach her room, she crawls on all fours across her bed and switches on the small lamp on her nightstand. It takes him a second to look up from where her ass was in the air, but she flips around to face him and perches on the edge of her bed.

"'And I hate...arrogant men,'" she returns with a smirk and whips her sweater off over her head.

Peeta's jaw drops.

"Are-do you-I mean, where...?" he sputters, calling up every word in his vocabulary with no hope of turning them into a coherent sentence.

"Peeta," Katniss says, drawing his name out in a low voice, making his cock swell. He swallows again and frantically shuts her bedroom door behind him.

"Where's Haymitch?" he asks.

"Night shift."

"Where's-"

"Prim is at a sleepover. Your dad thinks you're sleeping at Thresh's house," she says, beckoning him forward with her finger. "Your mother is a bitch." He barks out a laugh, but it gets stuck in his throat when she reaches out to grab the waistband of his jeans and tugs until he stands right in front of her. "They're all none the wiser. And you," she continues, popping open the button on his jeans, "are here with me. So strip."

His mouth gapes open and he blinks at her, her words trickling through his mind like molasses. The clunk of her boots being tossed to the side wakes him from his stupor and he pulls his thermal over his head.

It's silly to be nervous. They do this as frequently as they're able to. But everything about tonight feels different- the determined glint in her eyes, the empty house they'll have to themselves until morning. And, particularly, the devastatingly sexy way she's ordering him around. Bossy Katniss is something he's been familiar with since they were kids. But this is a completely different variety.

His eyes linger on where she's pushing her jeans down over her hips.

"God, you're beautiful," he breathes. Katniss rolls her eyes good-naturedly.

"You might wanna start with your shoes," she teases, raising her eyebrows and gesturing to where he's shoved his pants down so they pool at his feet.

He kicks them off and doesn't stop until he's stripped down to only his boxer shorts. In his haste, he fails to notice Katniss' state of undress. When he looks up at her, his breath catches in his throat and he pushes an errant strand of hair out of his eye to get an unimpeded view of her. She's perched on the edge of the bed, biting her lip and looking shyly up at him, the first sign of hesitance she's shown all night.

He wants to say something resassuring, but it's a struggle not to choke on his own tongue. She isn't clad in her usual black boyshorts, or the orange bra she wears for him on occasion. She's wearing lingerie- the kind they actually sell in sets together. He knows this because he shoved enough of those pilfered catalogues under his bed as a boy. Both her bra and panties are ice blue with a lace overlay and make a startling contrast with the color of her skin.

"Well...happy birthday," Katniss mumbles, shrugging her shoulders when he continues to stare at her blankly.

Her voice snaps him out of his stupor. Peeta reaches down and scoops her up so quick she actually squeaks. He swallows the sound with his mouth, feeling like he's going to die if he doesn't get to her lips fast enough. Katniss always feels tiny in his arms and she immediately wraps her legs around his waist. He thrusts his tongue into her mouth and savors the surprised gasp he draws out of her. But she doesn't protest; she simply opens her mouth wider and moans around his tongue, meeting it with her own. He squeezes her ass in his large hands, exploring the lacy underwear with his fingers, wanting to commit them to memory for later. When he starts to lower her to the bed, she pulls away from their heated kiss with a giggle.

"Wait, wait," she laughs breathlessly, and before he can stop her, she's hopping down from his arms.

He ignores her protests and pulls her to him again.

"I'm glad you like it," Katniss gasps when he starts sucking on the sensitive skin where her neck meets her shoulder.

"I love it. I love you," he says gruffly.

"Good, but there's more."

This gets him to finally pull back. His eyes move restlessly over her form, taking in her lingerie again, but he can't keep his eyes off her face for long- the beautiful flush on her cheeks that make her freckles stand out. His chest aches just looking at her, and he reaches forward to pull the hair tie from the end of her braid and moves his fingers through her hair to loosen the waves. This makes her laugh again and she grabs his shoulders and spins him around.

"Sit down," she insists, forcing him down onto the edge of the bed.

He waits with baited breath for her next move, wondering if he should scoot back and sit against the headboard so she can straddle him. Fuck, he loved those few times she's been on top.

In moments like these, it's hard not to wonder if he's slipped into one of his fantasies, if he's going to wake up and realize that no time has passed and he's still the chubby sidekick pining over his best friend and wallowing in self-loathing. And even when he pinches himself and convinces himself that this is all real, there are still wounded parts of him that prickle with self-doubt. But, as ever, Katniss is the best part of his life. And in the present, she is completely his.

He smiles at the thought and Katniss drops to her knees in front of him.

His eyes widen comically.

"Wha-" His breath whooshes out of him and he can't finish his thought. He has no thoughts. Just the image of Katniss in lingerie on her knees in front of him.

Katniss stares up at him from under her lashes, the nervousness still present, but suddenly, she juts her chin out and her expression settles into one of determination.

"Lift your hips," she says, pulling at the waistband of his boxer shorts. Peeta doesn't move.

"You...you don't…" He licks his lips and his chest heaves with gulping breaths.

"Peeta," she says firmly. He lifts his hips and she pulls his underwear down his legs, and his next sentence is cut off before it begins because she immediately wraps her hand around his erection.

His eyes fall closed as she works her hand up and down his length, pausing to caress the head with her thumb. He grunts and fists his hands in her comforter.

When he feels her tongue lick a wet line from the base of his cock to the tip, his eyes fly open.

"Katniss," he manages in a strained voice. "You don't have to. You-"

"Peeta," she repeats in a voice that brokers no arguments.

But he can't help himself. He's somehow determined to talk his girlfriend out of giving him a blowjob. Jesus.

"No, you really don't. Just because it's my birthday doesn't mean you have to do something you're not comfortable with, or-"

"I want to anyway," she interrupts with a huff. "I just figured you'd let me because it's your birthday."

Her expression is one he recognizes as badly-concealed frustration and he wants to laugh at the idea that what she's so annoyed about is the fact that he won't let her put her mouth on his dick.

He does laugh, just a little. But instead of smacking him like he expects, she bites back a grin.

"You never let me," Katniss complains. "And you do it to me. All the time." Peeta grins unrepentantly. "Just...relax. And don't look a gift horse in the mouth."

"I never understood that expression," he says.

"Be quiet."

She lowers her mouth back to his erection, dragging her tongue up his cock again and again and coating him in her saliva. Her face is set in content determination and he thinks she's never looked sexier.

"Wait, wait!" he gasps, clinging to the last coherent thoughts in his brain.

"What?" she snaps.

"Here, just-" He reaches behind him and blindly grabs for a pillow. Katniss eyebrows furrow when he hands it to her, but he cuts her off before she can open her mouth. "To kneel on."

He means it to be gentlemanly and considerate, but is there a way to be gentlemanly about making sure the love of your life is comfortable while she sucks you off? His cheeks flush when she continues to stare at him. But after a beat, her entire expression softens and her warm eyes peer at him through dark lashes. Though it only lasts half a second, these moments convince him, beyond all doubt, that as impossible as it ever seemed, she may love him as much as he loves her.

Katniss brings her lips to the head of his cock and places a gentle kiss there, letting her lips linger. After a few seconds of this, he can't help it. It's too tempting and he can't suppress his instincts- he thrusts up gently into her mouth. At this, she smiles wickedly and opens her mouth to take him inside. His head drops back with a tortured groan.

"Oh, Jesus fucking God."

Katniss moves her head up, dragging her tongue along with it, and releases him from her mouth for a moment.

"You're never getting into heaven with that mouth," she teases, her low voice causing his cock to swell even bigger in her hand.

"Don't care," he manages after a tortured groan. "This is heaven."

Katniss moves her mouth down over him again, pausing when she can't go any further. She tries to make up for it with her hand, but there are times when it goes out of sync with the bobbing of her head and she has to slow down to catch the rhythm again. He could not care less; it is easily one of the best things he's ever felt in his life, second only to being inside her. And the way she constantly glances up to gauge his reactions, and gets frustrated with herself when things don't go perfectly before forging onward with quiet determination- it's all just so perfectly Katniss that he can't actually imagine anything hotter than this. It feels like a shallow, typically male response to believe that in this moment he's falling even more in love with her, but deep down, he swears it's the case.

When she hollows her cheeks around him, he's done for. She can only manage to suck for so long before it's clear that her mouth is getting sore, but it doesn't matter. It's more than enough. He's so close that when she moves up his cock again and focuses on the head again while her hand continues to pump him, he barely has time to warn her.

"Katniss, Katniss…" he pants. He's trying to get her attention, but she continues to work him like this is praise. And it is, really, but he also just wants her to know-

"I'm gonna...I'm gonna come," Peeta finally manages. All the muscles in his abdomen clench, his toes curl into the carpet, and he tries to use his hand to gently guide her head back, but she smacks it away. He screws his eyes shut and tries to stop himself from thrusting into her mouth, but he can't. His hips jerk restlessly and he starts to come, the first spurts of him releasing into her mouth. Katniss continues to move her hand up and down through his orgasm, eventually letting her mouth relax around him until she's swallowed every drop. She opens her eyes and blinks up at him with molten, silvery eyes.

Peeta drops back on the bed and throws an arm over his eyes, completely boneless. A soft weight presses down on the bed next to him and Katniss immediately snuggles up to his side. When he opens his eyes, she's propped on her elbow and smirking down at him.

"You look proud of yourself," he says breathlessly.

She shrugs, but can't hold back her grin. "You're easy to please. If I'd known, I would have saved my money on that pastel set. I could just do this again and again instead."

"Oh god," he moans hoarsely, throwing his arm over his eyes again. "You're gonna kill me."

"I want you," she whispers into his ear, sucking the lobe into her mouth. Her leg sneaks in between both of his and her soft, smooth skin slides against him.

"Katniss-" he warns.

"You taste good, by the way. Better than I'd have thought."

Impossibly, his cock jumps at this. His heart hasn't even stopped thumping since his last orgasm. Katniss smooths her hand down his chest, lingering on his nipples, grazing them until goosebumps appear on his skin.

"You're insatiable," Peeta pretends to complain.

"I'm a good girlfriend," she teases, leaving a soft kiss on his lips.

Peeta smooths her hair back and frames her face in his hands. He smiles tenderly at her and nuzzles her cheek with his nose. "The best."