One year later…

As the tumblers of the lock click and Peeta slowly pushes the door to their apartment open, Katniss bounces impatiently on the balls of her feet, wondering why she stupidly chose to wear these monstrous heels today. When he turns to her with a sweet smile, she warms and releases the quiet sigh she's been withholding all afternoon and most of the evening. Maybe even longer than that.

Peeta's hand rests gently on the small of her back as she hobbles into the darkness of their home. They forgot to leave a light on. While her eyes adjust to the shadows, she clutches the plastic container of leftovers Hazelle had shoved into Katniss' hands as they departed the reception, insisting that there was so much food, even her massive brood wouldn't be able work their way through it before it all went bad.

The familiar shadowed shapes of their home and Peeta's touch, warming her through the layers of her dress, are comforting. Ever since the invitation to Gale's wedding had arrived three weeks ago, Katniss has sat on the edge between anxiety and a semi-lucid state, constantly worrying about everything.

Why Gale had even bothered inviting them after over a year of silence and her last fight with him. What if Gale caused a scene. What if she caused a scene. How would Peeta react to the whole thing. How would she handle it…

The soft click of the deadbolt draws her out her litany of useless worries. It doesn't matter anymore. Gale had acted as though there were no vile words still hanging between them until halfway through the reception when he'd asked her to dance and then offered her a half-assed, sheepish apology. But she knew that's probably the best she could expect from him. So she took it and even managed to return an apology of her own. After that, things still felt awkward, if no longer hostile. They were neither of them ever very good at apologizing to each other.

All she can feel now is relief. Gale is married to someone that is not her, and no one caused a scene at the wedding. Unless you count Finnick and Thresh sneaking nineteen year old Rory several shots of whiskey and then encouraging him to give an impromptu toast. Poor kid was drunk off his ass by the end of the night and probably won't remember much of it.

She smiles and shakes her head at the memory, squinting as Peeta flips on the lights.

"I thought that went well," he says, the twitch of his lips hinting that he might be thinking about the same events as her. Katniss chuckles and toes off her heels, padding carefully to the kitchen in her stockinged feet to place the leftovers in the fridge.

"I'll go check on Buttercup," he tells her.

Buttercup. Prim's cat who lives with them for now because she adopted the mangy beast before she checked on her dorm hall's pet policy. Prim's cat who apparently suffers from separation anxiety and hides under the bed and claws the stuffing out of a pillow or two whenever they both leave the apartment, only to be coaxed out by Peeta's gentle urgings and the occasional bit of bacon.

As she shuts the fridge, Katniss glances at each of the pictures in magnetic frames on its surface and smiles at the memories they conjure. Mostly sweet but a few with a bitter twist.

The image of her and Peeta, his arms wrapped around her and his face buried in her neck, just the corner of his smile visible as she blushes and laughs, boisterous in response to words he'd whispered to her right before Madge had snapped the picture. That one was taken on campus, shortly after she'd showed up at the house to visit him, one week after his spring break had ended.

"Madge is insufferable now. Claiming she knew we were meant for one another all along. Think we could get her to shut up if we told her about the pool table?" he'd painted the words over her neck with his lips.

"You tell her," Katniss had said when she'd finally gotten her laughter under control. Then she'd kissed the mock terrified expression off his face and they'd kept the secret to themselves.

But that weekend hadn't been all happy photographs and laughter. She'd taken the first opportunity to talk to Gale. Only he hadn't wanted to hear the things she'd had to say to him and it wasn't long before they'd begun hurling obscenities at one another. Drawn by the shouting, their friends had intervened. Johanna and Finnick restraining Gale as he redirected his anger at the person pulling Katniss back from the fight...Peeta.

When her fury had finally cooled a little, she could see that Gale's angry words hurt Peeta almost as much as they hurt her. After all, her two boys had been friends since Peeta had moved in. Still, she couldn't stop the rapid swings between fury and sorrow, and spent most of that night in Peeta's arms, alternately crying and raging into his shirt as he rubbed his hands over her back and listened. His steadiness eventually calmed her through the hiccoughs that arrived after her tantrum and until she fell asleep beside him in his bed.

Regretting the loss of Gale's friendship more than she was willing to admit, even if Peeta's suggestion to give him time and space worked out and made the loss temporary, Katniss couldn't bring herself to return to that campus until a month later, for Peeta's and everyone else's graduation. Even then, Gale had kept his distance and his silence. At least until a few weeks ago with the invite to his wedding to a girl Katniss didn't know.

Her eyes swing to the next picture, capturing an instant of Peeta losing his balance from Thresh smacking him on the back and leaning heavily on Katniss as she looks at them both like they're idiots. Madge and Johanna on the other side of her, cheeks pressed together and wide smiles on their faces as they actually managed to pose for the picture. Everyone in their black satin graduation robes except Katniss.

She'd chosen a green dress with a skirt that swirled around her legs and dipped low in the back. Rue had gone shopping with her for that dress, told Katniss she looked like springtime in it. That was how Katniss knew it'd be perfect.

All day, Peeta's hand kept gravitating to her exposed back and shoulders. His breath would heave for a second or two as his shining eyes roamed over her. When they went out to dinner with his family, his hand wandered up under the skirt to rest on her thigh and stayed there, fingers sketching lazy patterns on the sensitive skin. A warm promise of the night ahead, sending shivers chased by frissons of desire through her body to the point that his mother had scolded him for not giving his clearly frigid girlfriend his suit jacket to keep warm.

As Peeta had peeled off his jacket, Katniss had squeezed his thigh, as high as she dared in the presence of his parents and tried to tell him with her eyes that it was okay. They had each other, after all. They could deal with his mother and her veiled insults as long as they did it together.

He must have gotten the message because he'd kissed her right below her ear as he draped his suit jacket around her shoulders, enveloping her in his heat and his scent. Making her squirm even more and wish for the dinner to just end already.

Barely ten minutes after his family had departed, Peeta's suit was strewn across his room and Katniss was perched on the edge of his bed, nestled in the jumbled heap of clothes he still had to pack. Her skirt shoved up around her waist, bodice tugged down, and her panties hanging around one ankle. Peeta pouring filthy words into her ear in his honeyed voice, punctuated with his ragged groans. Words about how hard he'd been all day. How insane she'd driven him in her flowing, springtime green dress. How his fingers had itched for just a sampling of her skin. The tiny touches he'd indulged in throughout the day not nearly enough to satisfy.

She flushes anew at the recollection of the feel of him snapping his hips into her. The decadent feel of satin and chiffon sliding between them as night and starlight danced over her eyes and through her body.

All. Damn. Day. He'd moaned as he followed her off the precipice.

In the cool of their kitchen, she shivers and moves her focus to another picture. Eyes skimming over family and friends and a few more of just her or Peeta before coming to rest on one mostly out of focus picture that is actually her favorite. This one taken after he'd moved in with her. After a rough day at his new job, she'd shoved him on the couch and they lay there, comforting one another in whispered words, feather touches, and chaste kisses. When his phone had rung, a call from his mother, he'd stared at the screen a few seconds before hitting Ignore and switching on the camera. Then he'd tickled her.

Her face screwed up in laughter and his illuminated with joy, the colors and the way he looks at her the only clear thing in the otherwise blurry image.

"Hey, Buttercup's up on the bookshelf this time. Figured I'd let him lord over his domain a little longer, " Peeta says as he comes to stand behind her, winding his arms around her waist and settling his chin on her shoulder. "Whatcha staring at?"

"Our memories," she tells him, turning her head enough to kiss his cheek. "I'm thinking we should add to them."

"Did you have something in mind?" he asks, dipping his mouth to suck lightly at the junction of her neck and shoulders. Her eyelids flutter at the sensations, her lips parting breathlessly as his hands wander down over her hips.

"We could," she stops talking as his teeth tug on her ear.

"We could what?" he asks.

"We could get married," she says, squeezing her eyes shut against the fallout of her words. The callous way she basically just proposed to the man she loves with every fiber of her being.

"This isn't about Gale getting married, is it?" he asks, spinning her to face him.

"No," she tells him, although she can see how he might think that. Her timing and choice of words, as usual, is awful. Peeta quirks an eyebrow at her and shoves his hands in his pockets, waiting for further explanation.

"I just thought you wanted to, and-" Peeta laughs, cutting off her words.

"You are terrible at proposing," he says and she scowls up at him.

"And I suppose you think you could do better?" she crosses her arms and Peeta's eyes dip to her chest.

Inwardly, she smirks, but she keeps the angry expression on her face, not willing to let him know that once again, she selected her dress specifically to tease him. Sure, she feels sexy and powerful in the dark blue sheath that hugs her few curves and dips low enough to reveal a hint of cleavage with some help from a black lace push-up bra. And that feeling of power and confidence was certainly something she needed to endure her ex-boyfriend slash one-time best friend's wedding. But really, it was the way Peeta couldn't seem to keep his hands or eyes off her the whole day that boosted her confidence from strong to Fuck yeah! Just what she needed to survive any potential drama.

When he finally looks back up at her face, he grins devilishly and leans over her.

"I know I could do better," he whispers, the silk of his voice and hot breath curling over the shell of her ear and pulling a soft whimper from her throat. He's not even touching her and already she feels liquid want puddling in her panties. The lacy thong she's wearing won't stand a chance if he keeps this up much longer.

"Don't you want to marry me?" she challenges, and Peeta chuckles, stepping away from her, leaving her chilled and leaning towards his retreating form.

"Tell you what," he says, pausing by the pool table. "Since I know you can do better, too, let's play a game. In say four months, the loser of tonight's game has to propose to the winner. Sincerely. And we'll see what happens then."

"You're being awfully lose with our hypothetical future marriage, staking it on a game," she says, but the idea intrigues her.

"I'll admit it's a little more risky than losing a few articles of clothes," he says and Katniss smiles at the cherished memory. "But it's no more cavalier than that pathetic excuse for a proposal you just made."

"Okay," she says as casually as possible. "Start thinking of your proposal speech. And if it involves a jumbotron, I will kick you in the balls."

"We'll see," he says with a wink.

Katniss sets up the game as he removes his suit jacket, draping it over the back of their couch before he rolls up his sleeves.

"You first," she says with a bow and a grin when he once again blatantly checks her out. He scrubs the back of his neck and breaks with a swift stroke of the cue, astonishing her as both the twelve and the thirteen fall into pockets. "Lucky hit."

He grins at her and moves around the table. Sinking the nine and the ten before he misses his shot on the eleven. Barely. Katniss releases a breath she'd been holding in as Peeta steps back from the table, and she comes to the rapid realization that she might actually lose this time.

"Have you been playing without me?" she accuses as she lines up her shot to sink the one ball, carefully assessing her angles before she strikes and scores.

"Maybe I have," he says with an innocent gleam in his eyes and mischief flirting with his lips. "Or maybe I just needed the right motivation."

Katniss snorts but she gets the two and the three on the same stroke. Then she scratches on the four when Peeta braces his hands on the table and leans over her target pocket, the glow of the lights on his curls burnishing them golden and making her think of nothing but the feel of them on her thighs.

As they continue - the game one of quiet cracks and thumps, murmured flirtations, whispered touches - and the balls slowly disappear from the table surface, Katniss watches him and decides that even if she loses, the worst part of losing will be coming up with words romantic enough to let Peeta know how sincere she is when she proposes to him.

The sudden thought stops her cold and she misses her shot on the eight ball to win the match. As she walks the length of the table to go grab something to drink, because she's suddenly parched and also now there's just the cue, the eight, and the fifteen left on the bright green surface. Katniss pauses in front of him, grasping his tie and pulling him down so she can kiss him soundly. But the kiss affects her as much as it does him as she finds herself in an all too familiar position with Peeta plastered to her front and the table digging into her back as his hands roam leisurely up and down her sides, his tongue lingering in her mouth with each kiss she wants to turn frenzied but that he keeps sensual instead. When he stops kissing her, they're both panting and she can feel his arousal, hard against her hip, but Peeta steps back and lets her go.

"Stop trying to sabotage me," he growls playfully.

"And I suppose that ass grab earlier was completely innocent," she says as he bends over the table to line up with the fifteen. He scores, and moves to examine the eight ball before he looks up at her and grins. He misses his shot, though, and hangs his head dejectedly for a moment.

"I'm just impressed you made it this far," she taunts, drink forgotten. Peeta stands up straight and smiles broadly at her.

Warmth settles low in her belly, reminding her that she's wanted him most of the day. Not a burning longing, but a constant smoldering that kept her keyed up and looking for distractions. Enough to leave her a little disappointed that he hadn't found a quiet place for a quickie at the wedding. And maybe a part of her had thought that if he'd make her come, she could let go of the anxiety over the wedding itself once and for all. She wore the damn Fuck Me Heels and everything, but to no avail. Peeta had been the perfect gentleman instead. All. Damn. Day.

It was frustrating as hell and too damn appealing for her peace of mind.

Bending over the table, Katniss takes aim, her entire body jolting when his palm singes her through her dress, dragging up the back of her thigh, over the swell of her ass as he plants one hand next to her and leans over her, caging her in and creating a pocket of heat around them. His lips trail fire over the wide swath of her back left exposed by her dress, up to her shoulders where he releases a shuddering sigh that makes her elbows slacken and her neck arch so he can taste it too.

"The way I see it," he whispers to her neck. "I win either way tonight. Either you allow me to propose to you, to say the things I keep locked away for fear of scaring you. Or I get to hear in excruciating detail why you'd want to marry me."

"Peeta," she pleads as he nips the delicate skin of her neck and Katniss allows his hand to sear its way up her ribs to her breast. She gasps and bucks as his palm comes into contact with the bare skin of her chest then dips below the neckline of her dress, cupping her breast then pulling it free of fabric restraints.

"What kind of things?" she moans and her hips gyrate slowly against his, echoing the plucking of his thumb over her hardened nipple.

"You're not getting them out of me that easily. Are you squirming because you're so wet for me it's about to drip down your thighs?" he murmurs into her ear before tracing the shell with the tip of his tongue. "Or is it because you're angry and thinking that I didn't notice or ignored every hint you dropped throughout the day that you wanted to disappear and let me fuck you hard enough to make your pussy ache?"

"Stop trying to sabotage me," she groans, a smile curling over her mouth as his hand leaves her breast and travels back down her body.

"Well guess what I'm gonna do right now," he whispers, his weight pressing down on her as both his hands push her dress up over her hips and she bites her lip, waiting for his touch to find its way to where she needs it most, her clit pulsing in anticipation.

"Fuck me," he murmurs and she looks over her shoulder, suddenly uncertain. Only, Peeta is staring at her body, blue eyes impossibly dark. She watches as his tongue swipes over his pink lips, leaving them glistening in the light and he swallows heavily. "When did you get this?"

Katniss squirms, uncomfortable with his perusal now that she knows the reason. The lingerie she purchased last week and stuffed in the back of the dresser, debated wearing until she'd gone to put on her skin tight dress this morning and realized that the thong and garter belt combo was really her only choice if she didn't want panty and pantyhose lines visible beneath her dress.

"Um a week ago," she says. "I know it's not really my style."

"It's incredibly sexy," he says, pulling her upright and turning her to face him. Their eyes lock and he smiles at her, his hands skimming over her arms, around her back. He buries his face in her neck and she grips his shirt as Peeta drags the zipper down her back. Lower. Slower. His lips a fire brand on her skin. She's about to take the dress off herself when his hands finally cup her shoulders, his thumbs hooking under the the fabric and tugging the whole thing down, exposing her shoulders, her breasts adorned in matching black lace, her arms and belly, and eventually her hips before the garment falls the rest of the way to the floor.

Peeta steps back to drink in the sight of her, his perusal warming her in the chill of the apartment. She self-consciously tugs the cup of her bra back over the breast he'd fondled earlier, hissing a little at the scrape of the lace over the sensitive bud of dark flesh.

"Shouldn't you be used to seeing this by now?" she teases, biting her lip and as always, overwhelmed by the way he looks at her. Whether her clothes are on or not.

"Never," he murmurs, his hands bracketing her waist as he lifts her up to sit her on the pool table, kicking her dress into the shadows beneath.

Her hands automatically settle themselves on his shoulders for stability, her legs falling open to let him move closer. The elastic bands of her garter belt stretch taut as they come back together, heated lips to eager tongues, hands exploring familiar terrain. He tugs his tie loose while she flicks open his shirt buttons. They work together to push the crisp white fabric off his shoulders.

She manages to loosen his belt and unzip his pants before his fingers pull her thong to the side and curl through her. As many times as he's done this, she still reacts with a deep moan, leaning back on the table with hands braced on the felt as he holds her hip steady with one hand and destroys her ability to form a lucid thought with the other. Legs squeezing his hips and stuttered breaths encourage him. She holds perfectly still, muscles aching with the effort of not falling over and striving with his touch.

She cries out his name as she gets close enough to feel the first tremors and his fingers leave her. She exclaims again as he slides inside her, a delicious burn from the inside out as her arms buckle and she follows the motions of her body. Lays back, throwing both arms over her head. Singing out her quiet moans to the beat of his steady thrusts.

Peeta's hands grip her thighs right where they meet her hips, his own quiet grunts joining the melody, growing louder the closer he gets.

"Fuck, come for me, Katniss," he begs breathlessly, pulling out and leaving her bereft for a moment before his tongue and fingers move over her in harmony and she scatters to the wind with his name on her lips and her hands flying to grip his hair and hold him as deep in her as she can.

Before she's done coming, he stands abruptly, her hands caught in his hair pulling her upright as he slams back into her and she shatters once more, wailing and half laughing in release and astonishment as she thrashes and the only thing keeping them from falling to the floor with the force of her movements is his steady stance and hold on her.

"Oh, Peeta!" she screams, transported to a realm where the only thing that matters is the feel of them pulsing and clenching in unison, his fingers digging into her hip and back as he holds her to him, hovering off the table now, and the sound and feel of Peeta groaning her name directly into her ear.

He places her back on the table, leaning heavily into her as they both gasp for air and coherent thought. She manages first, cupping his jaw in her hand and kissing him with everything. Lips, teeth, tongue, soul.

"Fuck," he mutters when she releases his mouth with a soft smack.

"Fuck," she laughs back, throwing her arms around him and holding him close, ignoring the feverish temperature of their skin. Katniss closes her eyes, and even though she was laughing a second ago, something else sweeps through her in that moment. An unquenchable need that sparks deep in her chest and engulfs her entire being, threatens to spill over her skin and escape any corporeal bonds. She bites her lip, but the words take flight anyways. Tremulous and tender.

He returns them without a moment's hesitation. Steady and unflinching. A caress over her ear and her soul. Her cheeks hurt with her wide smile, and it doesn't leave her face until much later, when her features finally relax into slumber, cocooned in Peeta's arms. Or maybe it stays even then, she can't be sure.

But when she wakes in the morning and shuffles out to the kitchen, greeted by his sleepy smile and the smell of fresh pancakes and raspberry compote, she saunters over to the pool table, picking up her cue stick and beaming at him before she leans back over, takes careful aim at what she wants, already certain what her answer will be in four months. She slides the cue back and forth, bites her lip, takes a deep breath.

And strikes the cue ball, straight as an arrow towards the eight and the pocket beyond.