Each move was slow, deliberate, perfectly executed. Everything about it was smooth, and in his arms, even Katniss felt like she could be a professional. Because Peeta Mellark had moves.

Good ones.

"You know, you're not a bad dancer, Mellark," she said with a faint smile as her fingers flexed gently in his hand. "I figured all that wrestling in high school would have made you heavy footed."

Peeta smiled back as he turned them in a slow circle on the dance floor. "Oh, I'm heavy footed, no doubt about it," he admitted cheerfully. "But the thing about wrestling is that it keeps you aware of your opponents' body, of each move they make. There's a surprising element of agility to it sometimes – it's not all grappling and pinning people down. You have to be agile enough to go with or away from your opponent at any moment. It's not a bad starting point for being able to dance."

She lifted an eyebrow wryly. "And I'm your opponent, am I?"

"Not at all," he said smoothly. "But I just have to be aware of your body...for dancing purposes, of course. I wouldn't want to stand on your toes."

"Definitely not," Katniss laughed. "These shoes are making my feet ache like a bitch already without factoring in some stubbed toes."

Peeta grinned in reply as the final strains of Frank Sinatra led into Love Shack, and a whooping Finnick - Aaran's long-time best friend and groomsman - grabbed the mic, started yelling about a faded sign at the side of the road.

With a laugh, Katniss and Peeta pulled apart, their dancing obligations over, and watched as the slow dancing that had been happening only minutes before exploded into a bunch of people finger pointing, duck face-ing and singing along at the top of their voices. Everyone was smiling, laughing, happy.

She might be biased, but she thought her little sister had managed to pull off a pretty kick ass wedding.

"I just have to be aware of your body. For dancing purposes."

Dammit.

She really hadn't been paying attention.

Looking back now, she couldn't believe how oblivious she'd been. The exchange they'd shared while dancing had come to the forefront of her mind - as if it had stored itself away just waiting for this day to arrive – immediately after slamming Prim and Aaran's front door, and had run on a continuous loop in her head from the moment she'd begun stalking down the sidewalk. His real meaning had been obvious, hidden cleverly by propriety - and he'd used wrestling, for crying out loud. And on reflection, it hadn't been the only one during the wedding and reception. She'd just completely and utterly missed Every. Single. One. of them.

It was apparent that Peeta Mellark, her brand new brother-in-law, had been flirting with her at their own siblings wedding, and she hadn't had a clue.

She folded her arms tightly across her body as she continued down the sidewalk, wished she'd had the foresight to bring her old leather jacket with her. The weather was definitely starting to turn, and while the 15 minute walk to her sister's had been fine at 5 in the afternoon, it wasn't such a great idea at 9 at night. All things considered though, a brisk walk and a chilly breeze was probably the best way for her to calm down. Because Peeta had definitely managed to turn her on on about 20 different levels with his dinner table flirtations. Every word out of his mouth had been golden, every brush of his hand or foot against hers electric.

She bet he was dynamite with the ladies.

"Katniss! Katniss, wait up!"

Shit.

She increased her speed, two steps to her usual one in an attempt to outwalk him.

So, of course, Peeta Mellark jogged.

"Katniss!" This time his voice was impatient, and, annoyed, she whirled on her foot. Anger was her best defense when her walls were cracked or broken, and she fell back on it like a comfort blanket.

"What?" She snapped.

He lifted his hands in question. "What was all that about? Prim is freaking out right now. I had to tell her you were queasy before dessert, and probably still felt ill, that's why you took off in a rush."

"You didn't want to tell her the truth?"

"Which is?"

"That you were hitting on your own sister-in-law while she was playing kissy face with her husband in the kitchen?"

Peeta opened his mouth, then closed it again, instead shoving his hands in the pockets of the faded, comfortable looking jeans he wore. The breeze played havoc with his hair, blowing the disordered waves across his forehead. "Kissy face?" He finally said. "Is that what they're calling it these days?"

Katniss rolled her eyes, annoyed that out of all of her statement, that's what he focused on. "I wouldn't know, and I don't really care." She dug into the back pocket of her jeans, pulled out her iPhone and dashed off a quick text to Prim telling her she was fine, that she thought maybe the brownies Madge had made for afternoon tea at the community centre had made her feel ill. Then she locked the screen, returned it to her pocket and stared at Peeta balefully. "I backed up your story, ok? Prim thinks I'm not feeling well - now run along back there."

Peeta shook his head. "I told her I'd walk you home, make sure you were alright."

Great.

"I don't need that; I've done this walk plenty of times," she said firmly.

"I'm sure you have. But tonight-" he shrugged his own jacket off, stepped towards her and slid it around her shoulders. "You're cold. And you don't need to get sick."

"I'm not cold. And what does it matter to you if I get sick or not anyway?" She countered, though she absently gripped the jacket tighter around her.

He blinked, slowly, so that those damn eyelashes did their perfect little tango and tangled up together. His left eyebrow lifted almost infinitesimally as he spoke. "Katniss…I really thought I made that clear to you before."

She swallowed, willed the anger to burst forth again. But it had already gleefully stepped aside for its arch enemy – lust, the sneaky bastard - to return, and it curled through her until it all but swallowed her whole. "You're...you're going to flirt with me on the sidewalk?" She managed to choke out.

He smiled then, the one that quirked up on one side and set those damn butterflies off again. "Katniss, I've waited about 10 years to flirt with you and for you to realise it. I'm not really bothered where it happens, so long as I get to."

She stared at him for a moment before speaking. "You're good at this, aren't you," she murmured quietly. "Like you've been perfecting it for years."

He shoved his hands in his pockets again. "I've learnt over the years that honesty is the best policy."

She shook her head. "No, not 'honesty'. The smooth talking charmer. You knew what you were doing in high school, and it's pretty obvious you've just gotten better at it as you've gotten older."

Peeta smiled. "I guess that confirms it."

"Confirms what?"

"That you did notice me in high school."

Katniss rolled her eyes, then gave up, and slid her arms into the sleeves of the jacket. Dammit, she was cold. "Everyone noticed you in high school, Peeta."

"It's not everyone that I thought about. Only you."

"That sounds like a line."

"Do you want it to be a line?"

She couldn't help the laugh that fell from her lips. "You're kind of incorrigible, aren't you?" She turned around, still laughing, and continued down the street towards home.

He fell into step beside her. "Not incorrigible. Just...not afraid to say what I think anymore. And I think about you, a lot. I always have."

She didn't know what to say at that. She kind of felt speechless, almost like how she'd been for most of the dinner. But she had to know.

"Then why didn't you say anything before now? If…if you've 'liked' me since high school?" she asked, still incredulous at his revelation.

"Would you have listened to me if I had?"

"No."

"Then there you go."

"Then why tell me now?"

"The truth?"

"The truth."

He shrugged, scuffed his foot along the ground, then stepped lightly over a crack in the footpath. "I hadn't seen you for years, and figured it was just a school thing. You know, that I had rose-coloured glasses on, and memories that were better than they really were. And then I saw you at the engagement party, and BAM. Nothing had changed. You were still the most incredible looking woman in the room, the most intriguing and interesting woman there." He stopped speaking as a car passed them, the headlights cutting through the dark, and waited until it had disappeared from sight before continuing. "I was going to say something at the rehearsal dinner, or at the wedding, but you were so focused on Prim, and making sure that everything was going great for her, that it just felt wrong to say anything. So I kind of...skirted around it."

"You flirted with me," she said matter of factly. "And I missed it."

He shrugged, and she could see the corner of his mouth quirk up. "Yeah, I guess I did. I must have been more subtle than I thought."

"I'm just pretty oblivious to things like that," Katniss replied honestly. "What made you change your mind tonight?"

He scuffed his foot again. "I don't know. But at the dinner table, I just knew that I couldn't not tell you anymore. Figured, what the hell and all that 'caution into the wind' bullshit."

Katniss frowned, brought the jacket around her a little closer. "You do know we're related now, right?"

He laughed, and it was long, smooth and drawn out, slid across her skin like warm honey. "I don't think being in-laws counts as illegal in any states."

"It doesn't weird you out?"

"Not in the slightest. I don't think of you as Prim's sister, or Aaran's sister-in-law, for a single second that I'm around you. What I think is much more involved. Much less...repeatable to other family members."

Ignoring the rampant thudding of her heart, Katniss turned the next corner sharply, onto Victor Drive – where she'd lived for the last 3 years - and his elbow inadvertently brushed against her arm as he shifted around her. At the touch, she remembered the jolt that had shot through her palm and up into her shoulder as she'd shaken his hand just before leaving. At the way his blue eyes had deepened until they were all but black, at the way his fingers had tightened around hers slightly before releasing her from his grasp.

At the way she was fairly certain she'd never felt the kind of attraction she felt towards Peeta Mellark ever before in her life.

She stopped in front of her building, the warm red brick with ivy crawling up the corner, and turned to face him. She opened her mouth to thank him for the unnecessary assistance home, to send him back to Prim and Aaran's so she could go inside and deal with how damned turned on she was, then stopped.

She could tell him goodnight, and that would be it. He'd fly back to Paris in two days and that would be the end of it; she'd likely see him at the occasional family function over the years, and she'd awkwardly remember the time he'd told her he was attracted to her, and she'd felt the same.

Or she could invite him in, for coffee, tea...whatever other excuse she wanted to use. Use that caution into the wind bullshit that he'd sprouted. Because right now, everything inside of her was buzzing. And not just buzzing from the fact that she hadn't gotten laid in months.

But because the only person she wanted was standing right in front of her. And, whether she liked it or not, she'd wanted him for months. Hell, for well over a year. But because she wasn't like Peeta Mellark, because she was afraid to say what she thought, was afraid to even think what she wanted to think half the time, she hadn't wanted to admit it to herself.

Biding her time a little longer, she turned to the entrance, shoved her hand into her pocket for her keys.

Nothing.

Where the hell were her keys? She'd-

"Shit," she muttered, as realisation dawned.

"What is it?" Peeta asked.

"I left my keys at Prim's," she sighed, picturing them in the little pearlescent dish that sat on the side table in the foyer.

"You don't have a spare lying around?"

"That key was my spare, that I hadn't replaced."

"Your Super?"

"Is a dickhead," she told him bluntly. With another sigh, this one exaggerated with annoyance, she reached up into her hair, pulled free a couple of pins that had kept wayward strands that always fell out of her braid secure. They tumbled around her face haphazardly as she dropped to her knees in front of the door, inserted the pins into the lock and began to jiggle it.

"Wait, you're breaking in?!"

Turning her head, Katniss glanced up at him to find him staring at her in surprise. "It's my own apartment block, Peeta. I don't think I'm going to get pinged for breaking and entering alright? Anyway, I've done it before."

She focused on the lock, twisting the pins left to right, a sharp jerk upwards, a rotation, all the while trying not to tuck her nose into the collar of Peeta's jacket and inhale the scent of aftershave and something...else that was uniquely him. Finally she felt the lock give, and with a quiet yelp of success, pushed the door open. Rising to her feet, she turned to him, extended her hand in a flourish. "Voilà," she said, expecting him to laugh, or smile - or hell, even clap her for opening it. Instead he just stood there, staring at her intently until she awkwardly dropped her arm. "What?" She demanded.

"Where'd you learn that?" He asked.

Katniss frowned. "Some of the kids at the community centre have some...interesting past life hobbies."

"Really?"

She shrugged. "I don't ask, don't tell. I'm not there to judge the ones who've got a past. But we got locked out of the storage facility once. Marvel - once you get past his douchey persona - is a good kid. Helped me out and I haven't been locked out since."

He shifted on his feet, then took a step towards her. "Can I tell you something?"

"I thought honesty was your best policy," she said smartly.

He nodded slowly, ran his tongue across his bottom lip. "That was really hot."

She scoffed. "Me, breaking into my apartment block?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"Hell if I know, but let's face it, I've been going crazy all night." He swallowed – she could see the movement of his Adam's apple as it bobbed, and the twitching of a muscle in his jaw. He ran a hand across the back of his neck, took a deep breath that made the cotton of his shirt stretch across his chest. "You feel it, don't you, Katniss?"

She could have played stupid, could have played dumb. But she didn't. "Yeah. Yeah I do," she breathed out in a rush, and her heart doubled over at her admittance. Tension danced around them, thick and heavy in the air.

He nodded slowly. "Katniss, will you ask me upstairs?"

Right. It was definitely option two then.

"Peeta, come-" She didn't even get to finish as he lunged forward, reaching his hands up to cup her cheeks, his mouth landing on hers with an intensity she hadn't expected. He guided her backwards with measured steps until they were inside the foyer, then reached out with a hand to slap the door closed. It echoed with a sharp thud, but for once she didn't give a shit if grumpy old Mrs Coin in the ground floor apartment came and reamed her out for being noisy.

Because Peeta Mellark was kissing the hell out of her.

And she liked it.

They stumbled upstairs, grappling at clothes, hands sliding under fabric hems to glide against skin. Their kisses were bruising, needy, and they rammed into the bannister, into the wall, into the doorframe to her apartment along the way. Peeta nipped at her earlobe, his breath hot against her neck. "Fucking keys. How are we getting in?" He muttered.

"Spare. In the pot plant in the corner," she groaned as he bit down a little harder, jerked her thumb over her shoulder to the decorative faux plant that sat at the opposite end of the hall. He drew away, practically sprinted towards it, bending down and plucking the key from in the soil.

Oh, damn. He absolutely had one hell of an ass.

She snatched the key from his outstretched hand as he reached her, shoved it into the lock as Peeta attached his lips to the back of her neck. Her hips jerked back almost involuntarily against him, causing a simultaneous groan to fall from both of their mouths.

"You're uh, really good at that," Katniss murmured as she fought with the lock, and he hummed against her skin in reply as she pushed the door open when the key finally turned.

They barely had the door closed behind them before Peeta had wrapped his arms around her again, one hand fisted in her braid, the other splayed around her waist. She wasn't sure she could breathe, didn't care if she couldn't, only knew that she wanted to get closer, feel his skin on hers, feel all of him on all of her. She boosted herself up on her toes, then used her arms banded around his shoulders as leverage to wrap her legs around his waist.

Then they were tangled up again, nips and pecks and a dragging of teeth over skin as they stumbled their way across the small lounge until Peeta's legs hit the back of the sofa, and he leant back against it. Inhaling sharply, Katniss opened her eyes and stared at him; he was all flushed face, disordered blond hair, cloudy blue eyes.

"Are we doing this?" she muttered, absently biting down on her lip as she unwrapped her legs from around him, lowering herself back to the ground. "Because...I really want to do this."

"We're doing this," Peeta confirmed, "You have no idea how much we're doing this."

"We can't let it ruin family stuff," she demanded as she rolled her hips against him.

"Not at all," he agreed, then crushed his mouth to hers again, his hand drifting down her back, moulding over the curve of her hips, his fingers digging into her flesh even through the layer of jeans.

She slid her arms from around his neck, down his chest, to the buttons that held his shirt together. Even while their mouths warred, her fingers yanked at the buttons, one slipping through the eyelet properly, another popping free from force and hitting her in the forearm.

"I broke your shirt," she mumbled against his mouth.

"Fuck the shirt," he groaned back as her hand slipped inside to brush against the smooth, pale gold skin of his chest.

"Yeah," she agreed. "Fuck the shirt." Then she yanked at either side so the rest of the buttons popped and the fabric hung limply off his shoulders.

All bets were off after that.

Her top got dragged over her head, and he palmed her lace covered breasts in his hands, slipping his fingers underneath the fabric and teasing her until she all but whimpered. Then he snapped it open expertly, dropped it on the ground with their discarded shirts, and lowered his mouth to one of the dusky peaks, this time eliciting a moan that she barely even believed came from her own mouth.

Zippers were yanked, jeans flung across the couch, her hair tie was unwound and tossed on the carpet, the ebony waves tumbling down her back, the long silky strands winding through his fingers.

"You're so beautiful," Peeta murmured between kisses, as his hand trailed down her stomach, teased the edge of the plain black underwear she'd thrown on that day with no intention that they'd be seen by anyone other than her. She inhaled sharply as his fingers inched along the cotton, bit down on her lip hard enough that she swore she drew blood as they brushed, first as light as a feather, then with more pressure in small, lazy circles against her centre.

She wasn't going to last, and from the way he was straining against his boxer briefs, she was about 1000% certain he wasn't either.

Katniss stepped back so that his hands fell limply to his sides, both of them uttering a soft whine at the loss of contact. Then she turned her back, stalked down the hall to her bedroom, not even waiting for him to follow. She was certain he would.

He did.

They tumbled onto her bed, hands tearing at the final few scraps of clothing they wore until they were kneeling in front of each other on the mattress, panting and naked and needy, sheets tangled around their legs.

Peeta leant forward, meeting her mouth in another bruising kiss as he wrapped an arm around her waist, dragged her to him until they were aligned, flesh against flesh, from shoulder to knee.

And dammit, it felt glorious. Everything about him felt just like she'd imagined, only more.

Sweat slicked skin slid against sweat slicked skin as he lowered her onto her back, fingertips danced down stomachs and hips, up along the inside of thighs. Mouths ensnared, hot open mouthed kisses trailed across chests, tongues slicked across collarbones or the shell of an ear.

They rolled again, and this time she rose over him, straddling his thighs and taking him in her hand. She watched as his eyes rolled back in his head, as he thrusted instinctively with each movement of her palm around him. They fell into a rhythm, one that got them closer and closer to where they both wanted to be.

"I can't- Katniss- I, ah, fuck, I need you," he managed to choke out, his hands ghosting up her thighs, clenching them tightly before sliding up her sides and cupping her breasts. She nodded, reached over to the bedside table, and rifled through the drawer until she found the silver foil packet she kept there for just in case. He watched her intently as she tore it open, then rolled the condom down his length almost painfully slowly. They locked eyes as she lowered herself down until he was completely sheathed inside her.

"You feel so good," Peeta murmured, locking his hands with hers as she began to move. She murmured her reply, flexed her fingers in his before drawing their hands up onto his chest, and closing her eyes. The pressure built, stronger and headier and sharper, breaths panting, hearts racing, a shimmer of silver flashing behind her eyes until they both finally tumbled over the edge with a simultaneous moan.

As she caught her breath, as her body drifted down to fall limply atop his, she realised it wasn't his eyes, or his jaw, or his smile - it wasn't even his ass. It was everything about him that appealed to her.

Katniss didn't think she'd ever been more thankful for dinner plans in her life.

"Will we see each other again?" He asked later, fingers dusting along the back of her hand.

"You're moving to Paris, not the moon," Katniss told him wryly, brushing a sweaty strand of hair back from her forehead.

"I know that. But..."

"Prim and Aaran are married - of course we will," she replied softly, before he could finish.

"You know that's not what I mean."

She curled over him, rested her head on his chest. "I'd...I'd like to think so."

He blew out a breath, of what sounded to her like relief. "So do I," Peeta said, stroked a hand down her back. "See? It's not so weird, is it? Us?"

"No," she admitted, then closed her eyes and fell asleep before she heard him say anything more.

2 months, 3 weeks, 5 days later

Peeta slid the key in the lock to his pied-à-terre, repeating a string of words like a mantra under his breath. His French was improving, no doubt, but sometimes he still felt like an ass when he ordered an espresso at a sidewalk café. For what it was worth, it wasn't his favourite, but meetings with other artists, exhibitionists and art agents invariably always ended up in a place where the espressos were endless and cigarette smoke bloomed. And while he'd stuck firm with the no smoking policy he'd set himself years ago, he'd had to give in to the coffee.

For the love of my art, he always thought, and he'd sip at it and pretend it was tea.

Closing the door behind him with a gentle thud, he bent over to pick up the mail Crèssida in 13A would have slid under his door for him, then shot upright as he realised he heard the shower running.

What the hell?

He'd heard of burglaries like this, where the person made themselves feel at home before they robbed you blind. Hell, it had happened to Flavius, the flamboyant owner of a small gallery tucked up near Sacré-Cœur, and it had been a hot topic in the art community for weeks.

With a heart beating like a drum, he clenched his keys in his fist, the length of them poking out between his knuckles, and crept down the minute hallway to the doorway that led to the bathroom that was barely big enough to for two people to fit inside at the same time. Steam billowed out from under the crack of the door, and with a quick twist, he flung it open.

He dropped the keys.

"Katniss Everdeen," he murmured as she turned to face him from under the sluicing water. She smiled at him, slowly and innocently.

"Peeta Mellark," she replied.

"Still picking locks, I see." He leant against the doorframe, his eyes travelling the length of a body he'd managed to hold close for one night before he'd moved across the world.

"Those kids are masterminds," she said simply.

"They are indeed," he agreed, tried to silently tell his deprived body to calm itself down. He'd thought of her every day since he'd seen her last - imagined walking along the Seine with her, showing her his favourite pieces in the Louvre, sneaking through the gardens at Museé Rodin and mimicking The Thinker. Imagined her naked in every room of the small apartment. Emails and skype and phone calls hadn't done either of them justice.

But now here she was. Finally.

She slid the door open, tapped her fingers lightly on the glass.

"Why don't you come on in?" she invited.

He didn't need a second invitation.

A/N - Thank you for reading. You can find me on tumblr, where I blog about THG, Everlark and whatever else takes my fancy, under sponsormusings as well :)