August 7, 2011

Note: This is my first foray into the fanfiction world for The Hunger Games trilogy. If it wasn't evident in the summary, I am fascinated Gale's and Katniss' dynamic. This was written to relieve that "What if?" bug that was bothering me after I finished Catching Fire. Set immediately after Gale's confession on p. 96. Reviews are greatly appreciated. Will most likely be more than a one-shot if I can get into Katniss' head a little better.

Disclaimer: I do not own or pretend to own anything related to the Hunger Games. They are the property of Suzanne Collins.

I have never been good with words. So I shouldn't be frustrated that nothing comes rushing to rescue me from the awkward silence that has fallen between us. Gale's dark eyebrows pull together, his eyes harden slightly as he processes my hesitation as rejection. Which it's not. I just can't bring myself to say those three words back.

"Gale…" I plead, when he starts to pull away from me. He stops his retreat, caution spreading across his face, though he does grant me his attention.

But for what? What am I supposed to say that won't make more of a mess of things than I already have? Voice my feelings in return only to say it can't be, that we can never be because the Capitol won't allow us? That I have to keep up this charade with Peeta to keep my family safe? To keep us all safe? Wouldn't that just hurt him more? Won't that just drive Gale away?

All of this races through my mind in an instant before I realize that no matter what I do, I'm going to lose him anyway. If I refuse him, I'll have undone all the repair to the fractures the Capitol has driven between us. To say the least, our friendship has been strained since my return from the Games. Since Gale kissed me. Under the tree that afternoon, I had struggled to see this new version of Gale, who forced me to look at him and I in a whole different light. But in the days after, when he refused to bring it up and I couldn't find the words to do so, I had been driven insane by the tension. Crying myself to sleep, I finally had admitted to myself how much he means to me. And to not let Gale, my best friend, know how I truly feel and watch him walk away, wounded, would be more horrific than anything the Capitol could ever do. Than what they are doing to us.

So I decide to let him know it.

Tightening my arms around him, I press my entire body to him, capturing his mouth with my own. My lips work a desperate dance against his, willing him to understand that I choose him. That I won't let anyone, even that monster Snow, take him from me. I'm just about to come up for air and try another assault when I feel the pressure returned.

Gale's fingers spread across my back and somehow I'm even closer against him. My head begins to spin as he takes over our kiss, not relinquishing me once. Instead, his mouth coaxes mine open and deepens the contact. A split second of air vanquishes the stars I was beginning to see behind my closed lids before he's sliding his mouth once more against mine.

I'm drowning in the intensity when Gale slides his hands to the backs of my thighs. Deftly, he lifts me, hooks my legs around his waist and pins me between his body and the wall. The aggressive movement startles even him because he pulls back, though he doesn't release me from where he's trapped me.

He stays close and I can see something warring across his face, the firelight illuminating the dilemma in his gray eyes. There's confusion and desire dancing in those beautiful depths and something like danger that floods me with a strange kind of heat.

"Katniss," he says, his voice low and rough. "I didn't want it to be like this."

My face falls and I know he sees it because he starts rushing his words.

"I mean, the first time… I just wanted…" he fumbles. "… it to be different."

He looks up through his thick lashes to see if I'm registering what he's trying to say. Gale's never been good with words either, but I understand.

"It's not like we have a choice," I say softly. "We might not get another chance. And Gale…." I bring my hands to either side of his face so he can't look away. Because this next part is important.

"I want it to be you."

Gale's eyes widen as he fully absorbs what I have just told him. Their gray seems to darken and something in my core starts a slow burn. He barely brushes his lips against mine, trailing kisses over my cheek, along my jaw, down my neck. Then suddenly, Gale is everywhere.

His hands slide under my shirt, run up my front, and take my tunic with them. If it makes a noise when it hits the floor, I'm oblivious. Gale is touching me, holding me, kissing me all over and I'm finding it hard to follow the trails his hands and mouth are forging. I'm aware that we're moving but only vaguely.

When he stops just as suddenly as he started, I open my eyes to find him hovering over me. Somewhere in the frenzy, he's removed his own shirt and I am mesmerized by the way his skin seems to glow russet in the firelight. I've seen Gale shirtless many times, but not like this. Never like this.

Slowly, I drag my fingers across the muscled planes of his chest, our skin connecting with each of his deep breaths. My nerves flutter when I reach the waistband of his pants. I pause, unsure how to continue.

Offering me a crooked grin, Gale lets his hand find its way to the snap on my leggings. His fingers curl around the fastening, but he waits. I realize he wants me to do the same. Together, we slip out of the last of our clothes.

I have seen men naked before. Being a daughter to the local healer has left me detached to the human form when exposed in its entirety. The sick and injured. The dead and dying. I have learned to ignore it all.

Gale, however, will not be ignored. He is the antithesis of those filed through our home. Young, strong, alive. My face is burning underneath his watchful gaze. I'm afraid to do anything, in case it is the wrong thing. I am only two years his junior, but those two years could be decades for all the anxiety and inexperience I feel right now.

I try to jerk away when he grabs my wrist, pulling my hand lower. There is no relief from the heat between our cradled hips and I squeeze my eyes shut, uncertain and unnerved.

"Catnip, look at me," Gale says. I obey, mainly out of habit. "It's okay."

My chest is heaving, my heart sounds loud in my head, and I feel like I might bolt… Slowly, he closes my hand beneath his. He is softer than I imagined. Firm, yet silky. Satin stretched over sun-warmed marble. Intrigued, I slide my hand back and forth, exploring the sensation of his skin against my palm. Gale tries to suppress a groan and I freeze at the noise. My eyes dart to his face. His forehead is creased with the same line of concentration he gets when targeting game. His eyes are now shut tight, his breathing harsh and hot on my cheeks. When he's convinced I've stopped, he opens them and I can feel the edge of my mouth turn up into a shy smile. I have control too, it would seem.

Gale smiles devilishly back at me and releases my hand to tease me in return. His fingers trace me lightly, spiraling inward in a very specific motion. The knowing glint in his eyes sends a surge of anger through me, he's clearly done this before. I stare at him as he watches me, his hand still moving deliberately, and I'm trying to decide how I feel about my realization when…

Heat. White hot heat rockets through me and I cry out involuntarily. The intense pleasure fades quickly leaving a dull throbbing in its wake. And then Gale moves. Again, blinding pressure and heat, over and over and over, until I am trembling underneath him, waiting to fall over some invisible cliff, dazed and a little disoriented.

He brings both hands to my face, pushing back loose strands that have tumbled from my braid. He traces my nose, my cheeks, and lips with his thumbs, studying me intently. Frustrated, I roll my hips as if that would relieve some of the pressure that's settled between my legs. Gale understands and he shifts himself slightly forward, his mouth next to my ear, telling me to relax. Then, he slides in.

I can't help but tense anyway. While not entirely uncomfortable, it's not an entirely comfortable feeling either. I feel stretched, wound, and tight. Gale's perfectly still, his lips moving gently over my face, letting me adjust. A moment passes, or maybe minutes, I'm not really sure until my fingers unclench from where I've dug into his back. My knees ease up and my legs slacken.

Gale takes this as the sign to start a slow pace. With each press, I feel the heat rising, the pressure building. He's tying knots inside me and I'm finding it hard to focus on anything but him between my legs. He buries his face into my neck as the pace quickens. My own hips rise and fall to meet his, the new angle pulling soft cries from the back of my throat. Our breathing is ragged and loud, interrupted by the occasional crackle of the fire blazing away in the hearth.

I'm afraid I'll burst into flames, the ache is so intense. I want him to stop and not stop, all at the same time. A voice inside that sounds like me, only breathier, is begging more and faster and please. As if he hears, he quickens. My mouth is dry, my hands struggling to find purchase on his slick skin. I want to anchor myself somehow, I'm so dangerously close to the edge. Gale finds my grasping hand and locks our fingers just as I explode beneath him. My body arches up and falls back as the relief floods throughout me. I lie shuddering, trying to catch my breath when Gale grunts and finds his own release.

Then we're still.

My mind is racing, though not with thoughts I'd imagined I'd have during this moment. I used to think I'd feel elated and satisfied, a sickeningly sweet gooey feeling. At least, that's what I'd gleaned from overheard conversations from some of the girls at school. And while part of me does feel something tingly and wonderful, a larger part can only focus on one question that leaves me reeling with horror.

What have we done?