A one shot.

Because I'm in the mood for a one shot.

Get well soon Stacylk!

Seriously thinking of getting rid of my tumblr account, due to lack of time and effort.

The minute her mother leaves with Prim in the car for ballet practice, her eyes dart towards his body lying limp on the couch.

As she turns the key, paying particular attention to make the clicking noise loud in the silence, the signifier that they're alone, with no parental supervision, Katniss relishes the spurt of fire that rips through her, progressing from her toes and up through her spin, tickling each individual nerve ending along the side of her neck.

Being with Peeta gives her these fluttery feelings, wreaking havoc with her hormones and inside her body, making her deliciously needy for his long, slow, torturous touches that only serve in making her needier and in turn making him more erect.

Smiling to herself, Katniss saunters back to the kitchen, deliberately slowing her paces, teasingly placing one foot in front of the other as if she's in some sort of interpretive dance that only she can understand.

But it's much more than that.

The low hum of the television disappears completely as he sits up, noticing the way that she's walking, and the outfit of tiny emerald green shorts that contrast with her golden legs. He sits upright, watching her intently.

These moments always seem predatory to the pair of them, the tension in the space between them; the huntress and her tasty baker prey.

When she reaches the marble island of the counter, her palms settle flatly on the cool, hard surface, whilst she eyes him, grey on blue, staring at the space between them; a knowing smile playing on the corners of his mouth, her eyes tightening playfully, flirtatiously.

No matter how often they do this, it never feels tarnished or old; but rather exciting and challenging.

A few more sultry steps later, she produces the slip of paper from her pocket, slowly removing it, making sure that he can see her hand glide against her ass as she delves in, her eyes forever locked with his; the hazy blur of arousal that she can only ever feel when she's alone with Peeta hits her squarely between the thighs.

It's already happening.

He looks at her; a knowing grin curled at the sides of his mouth as the note, warm from her backside presses into his large, coarse palm, the skin brushing her fingertip in a deliciously tingly manner.

Their eyes never separate.

She watches as he unfolds the yellowing paper, her list that she'd given him when the time was right. A list that only Peeta can ever read, a secret between the two of them, a private joke for them to whisper to each other when they're out with Annie and Finnick or Madge and Gale.

The anticipation hits her squarely between the thighs and the slow burn starts again, her chest fluttering a little. Although she knows every single item on this growing piece of paper, she ultimately leaves it up to him to decide. And that's what makes it both enticing and exhilarating for her: the pursuit of pleasure, the unknowing methods that he'll use in order to attain it and the prolonged, deliberate slowness of his ministrations that really bring her to life.

She'd put a few more ideas of the sheet, additions to the list of acts that she imagines, places she feels Peeta's fingers roaming over her bare skin that cause her to tingle with delight, different methods he uses every time, making the sensations the same but completely foreign and alien to her at the same time. Scenarios she's dreamed of that have never escaped her lips, but are written down for him, and him alone to see.

It's time.

She knows it is when he closes his eyes and waits for her to disappear to the room he sleeps in when he stays over. The cold, sterile blue room that Katniss has never really liked, but has an intense jealously of whenever he sleeps in it. His room. The room that smells of tobacco and hand rolled cigarettes. Of faint deodorant and old books. The room where a lone bass guitar sits, its cracked navy blue paint indicating its age, along with the misfit of random strings that hold it together.

This, all of this, is what she wants.

All of this is Peeta.

The pale cream and blue stripped pyjama bottoms that he wears at night sit neatly folded by the edge of his double bed. Her mother had bought them for him last Christmas, and they remain in this room for his sleepovers. The matching flannel shirt that accompanies them lies crumpled on the floor of her bedroom. He doesn't like wearing shirts to bed and wanted to give her something of his to hold her at night when he couldn't. It hangs like a dress on her, hitting her just before the knees, covering her completely if she curls up like a ball.

They're the same person really, just a different half of the same coin, different halves of the same pyjama set.

Katniss removes the other sheet of paper from her pocket, the one Peeta doesn't know about. She's felt his heat before, witnessed his body tower over hers, smelled the nicotine in his hair, clawed his skin delicately, but has never heard him. She wants to educate him in words, the use of them, and the effect that they have upon her body and mind, causing an even greater tension to grow, more than any amount of heavy petting or oral could ever achieve.

She slips out of the shirt easily, before shaking the shorts and the tights that follow subsequently. The neat pile on the floor is brushed away under the bed with a jerk of her ankle, goose bumps flooding her skin as she reclines on the mattress, allowing herself to fully sink into the down, before tucking the new sheet of paper into her panties.

This is Peeta's favourite game ever.

He loves how Katniss is brave enough to tell him, to depend upon him to take her seriously, especially when it comes to her more primal, carnal needs.

His eyes flick up and down at the paper, noticing the various cruelties and mishaps that it's battled its way through over the months. A coffee stain, a reminder of that time he took her on the kitchen table. Newspapers, mugs, cutlery and two of her mother's expensive plates smashed into the slate floor, scattering the like iron filings on a magnetic field as he lunged for her throat, feeling her pulse beat in his mouth; the rich smell of toasted Arabica beans soaking into her skin, the liquid warm against her back as he licked his way to her hip bones.

An earthier, muted stain taints the edges of the sheet from that time he'd made love to her in a field of buttercups, the sun beating down upon her face as she clawed at his back, dragging him into the grass, drilling him inside as the cool hardness of the ground soothed their frenzied bodies, thwarted by the constant spiralling in endless patterns of yellow until he could see nothing but the like grey of her eyes contrasting in the brilliant sunlight and the surrounding flowers.

Peeta scans the list, searching the new entries with delight before choosing one. Slipping a hand through his golden tresses, he stands to his feet, imaging her sprawled out on the bed as he slips to his bedroom. She lies in only her bra and panties, the coldness sweeps at her skin, puckering it with goose pimples. He allows himself a glimpse of her before taking the list and placing it down on the bedside cabinet. She watches him with a deep fascination, the way his hair curls at his ears, the red tint of stubble under his jaw, and his abnormally accentuated eyelashes that remind her of the oriental fans that geishas' faces hide behind.

Peeta does what he always does before giving the game away and revealing what he's chosen.

A kiss presses its way into her mind and she savours the heat that radiates off of him, even without touching her.

Then the words that never grow old or weary follow suit.

"I love you…"

He reaches for the tights that are under the mattress, where she always stows away her clothes, like a passenger would their luggage before embarking on a flight. Carefully and gently, he covers her eyes, fastening the tights so that she's left in darkness. He leans back once she's visually impaired, watching as she writhes against the cushions, searching for the warmth that has left her momentarily.

His mouth finds the skin of her navel, licking beside the titanium bar that adorns her stomach. The small magic eight ball in her abdomen jiggles slightly as he breathes cool air on the wet patch of skin, her hips both recoiling and continually searching for him in the blackness.

The slow torture continues further south as his mouth finds her hip bone, scars of experiences past etched like fine lines on either side of her stomach as his lips lightly kiss the scar before fully taking it into his mouth, sucking at it through the skin as she lightly moans.

He knows that by teasing her like this, he's prolonging the tension before arriving to where he wants to be at the apex of her thighs, her dark blue satin underwear stained slightly, but not as wet as usual. His fingers tread carefully along the sides of her underwear as she squirms from his touch, another gasp escaping from her mouth.

His eyes widen when he finds the folded note, hiding at the front of her mound against the flimsy fabric.

A fingertip traces the line of her hip down to her inner thigh, avoiding the junction in between her legs as he carefully removes the creased paper slowly, aware that this will probably aid him in the act rather than scare him. It does confirm that Katniss, his Katniss, is not like anyone else and he loves her dearly for it.

With his other hand still drawing patterns on her skin, Peeta reads her note, his fingers brushing against her ribs and sternum before progressing to her collarbones and the tops of her breasts.

Peeta,

I want to show you something that's not on the list in your hand. I want you to show you the power of words and the effect they have upon me. Words have so much more power than you'd imagine, Peeta. Words resonate in the mind more than any memory of touches can provide and I want you to discover that, even without touching me or looking at me, you still have the presence to make me come undone. I know this sounds silly, but promise me you'll try. If not, then…I can't wait for whatever you've picked from the list….;)

His breathing hitches as he finishes and when he finds her nipple, hard and pebbled against her bra, her breathing mirrors his as his pants become increasingly tight.

She feels the mixture of anticipation and terror simultaneously as he guides her into a kneeling position in the middle of the mattress, being careful to keep his touches to a bare minimum before settling himself behind her.

"Katniss…." He breathes, his mouth just ghosting her ear, the hair blowing against her lobe, his bare chest with the faintest hint of curling hair tickles the skin of her back.

"I'm going to try your idea but I'm going to keep you blindfolded..." he continues, still causing her to shiver unintentionally.

"…and I'm still going to do what I picked from the list, is that a fair deal?" he whispers against her skin.

"Mmmm….I'd expect nothing less, Peeta".

He gives her a backside a small squeeze, loving how she presses against his erection, teasing him to press back into her, adding to the friction.

She groans as he shifts his body so that his hands hold her hips in front of him, steadying her, keeping her near as possible.

"Peeeta….." a strangled cry comes from her mouth as he pulls his hips away from her behind.

Seeing her, totally dependent and open to him, fragile and delicate; vulnerable even whilst naked awakens some beast in him.

"Feel me. Katniss feel me, feel how hard I am, feel how badly I want to slide myself up and down those soft red folds of yours. How I want you to completely drench me when you come" his breathing is raspy, lungs clogging full of warm air as he watches her rock forwards and back, in search of the friction she desperately requires from him.

"Touch yourself; here" he grabs her hands with a little force, leaning her forward a little so that a sloppy trail of kisses are placed from the back of her neck to the space between her shoulder blades. His teeth lightly claw at her skin before opening her bra with only his mouth, a skill that's taken a while to master but was definitely worth it for a moment like this. The strapless garment falls from her chest, exposing the rosy tips of her nipples to peak.

"You've no idea how much I want to feel those harden in my hands Katniss, but I don't want to touch you much. Guess you're going to have to discover for yourself…"

Together, they travel; one set of hands work her nipples, whilst the other travels to the front of her slit, the dark stubble of her mound peaking as they push her underwear so that it falls around her knees. Katniss' head flies back, colliding with his shoulder as the sensitive spot comes into contact with her fingers.

Peeta strains, feeling that tense ache register in his balls, indicating that he's close.

He watches her, watches how her hands, her little hands, under his guidance, stroke and tease her sweet spots until her thighs start shaking and she rears back into him, the added friction of his cock finally sending her over the edge as he grabs her index finger and plunges it inside of her, curling it forward with his own.

Her orgasm floods their hands and the urge to lick the liquid from his fingers is painfully ignored as she rubs against him again.

"Ooooohhhh! Peetaa!..."

Her head rears back again and it's too much for him to not give her more, to fill her with words, now that he knows the power they possess.

"Feel how wet you are, move your thighs together, feel yourself getting wetter and wetter. I want you really wet Katniss, I want nothing more than to have you stand up against that wall and run my tongue from here…" he squeezes her hardened nipple, his thumb flicking it effectively making her shiver.

"Peeta….Ohhh…."

He shifts them so that they stand up, bracing her against the wall for balance.

"….all the way down your body until I reach your clit. I want to tug and pull at that little ball of nerves with my teeth gently before sweeping my tongue over it and sucking you dry until you scream my name and your knees cave in"….

He can smell how wet she is, making his mouth water at his own words. He arrives at her nipples, carefully using the flat of his tongue to tease them hard again. He sucks slowly, watching how the little beads of sweat form on her forehead as he shifts towards her ribs, nibbling away at her skin before reaching her swollen folds, hot and wet from moments earlier. Peeta kneels in front of her, placing light kisses against her thighs before finding her clit and latching himself to it. His balls painfully tighten again as she grinds against his mouth, intensifying the feeling of satisfaction as he guides one of her legs over his shoulder and sucks harder, gently flashing his teeth to her clit before curling his tongue quickly at the bundle of nerves.

"Peetaaaaaaaaaaaaaa…."

Her hands grab his hair, threading through his tresses until her body shake uncontrollably and he tastes the essence of Katniss.

And it's better than what he's ever experienced.

She rips the tights from her head, her vision finally cleared before his mouth is on hers again; her hands tug at his boxer shorts, the rest of her body limp in his hands as he effortlessly lifts her by the thighs and against the faint blue wall, slides effortlessly into her, feeling the delicious pull of her walls coating him fully, quenching the raging fire within him, a fire that he started with nothing but words.

Peeta thrusts her harder and harder as her nails claw his back, dragging long red lines along his skin as he sucks on her neck, his hips moving faster of their own accord until the culmination of events sends him crashing onto the floor, still buried deep inside of her.

He looks at her, looks at how she curls against his chest, panting.

Katniss smiles.

Peeta smiles back.

Later that day, Peeta starts a list of his own.