Heat.

Fire burns, they say.

They say it burns hot and fast, and it can devour anything from wood to fabric to skin in an instant. It is wild and ravages everything in its path, never failing to leave its mark. It is a million shades of bright red, blinding yellow, and striking orange. It is something that gives us food and warmth and life, but it can take those things away just as quickly as it gives them.

Fire is what cooks my dinner. Fire is what burns the coal we mine every day. Fire is what they dressed me in, and fire is what I felt when we kissed. The all-consuming feelings of passion and confusion and oh what the hell, because it was what we wanted after all, wasn't it?

Wasn't it?

The first kiss was unexpected. The second, much later on, was soft and even sweet. The third was intentional and deep. The fourth turned into the fifth, and the sixth… It turned into at least the hundredth kiss, and I lost count after a while. But I did not lose any memories of the rest of that day. The images, the feelings, and the smells still linger in my senses long after the fact.

He was bigger and stronger than me by far, and I could still feel his scars as I moved my hands up his back. We had the house to ourselves and at last, he felt confident enough to remove the bandages. The scars were awful, deep, and still rancid with the memory of violence. Senseless violence that he had suffered for my sake. Maybe it was he who had been caught with a fat turkey in his hands, but it was I who received the deathblow, knowing that it was my fault.

But here, we did not want to dwell on that. It was many, many weeks later and everything had gone far past its boiling point, including our tempers. We exploded at one another for various reasons – his jealousy, my anger, his lust for revenge, my inability to put up with anyone – and the result was us tearing at one another's clothes. No one stormed out the door in a fury now; no, we were transfixed with each other and the only thing that could have stopped us was a bullet to the head. Fortunately, no such impediment came.

"Katniss."

By this point I had heard my name uttered by a thousand different voices. My mother, my father, my sister, Effie, Haymitch, Cinna, Caesar, Peeta, Rue, President Snow himself…but none of those voices had the effect that Gale's did. My name was something entirely different when it was uttered in that deep voice that was so good at comforting me. The way he said my name made shivers go up my spine and goosebumps form on my upper arms.

"Katniss…"

"Shh," I hissed, and after peeling his shirt off I pushed him towards the bed. I was far too eager and far too desperate for him to waste time with pillow talk. We knew that we loved one another – didn't we? Why else would we kiss or do something like this? Some might say the fire was too powerful for us to control, but I knew what I was doing. And I don't regret it to this day.

Whimpers and moans on my part, grunts and groans from his mouth, all making the act that much more exciting. Naked. He was naked on top of me and I was naked underneath him, and before I could be astonished at how great he looked, he kissed me. I was thankful for the distraction, because if he had paused to ask if I was okay, I might have chickened out at the sheer size of him.

"I don't—"

"What?"

"I—"

"Shush."

"Are you sure?"

"I said shush."

"Katniss…"

Back to square one. I was putty in his hands and he was molding me back into my old self. The Capitol had pruned me of every physical imperfection, the Arena had brought me to the brink of death, and after another airbrushing from the Capitol I was someone completely different. Now I was home in Twelve with Gale Hawthorne holding me, caressing me, and kissing my every freckle and birthmark. Things began to feel and taste and look like normal again. He was hot and woodsy and raw, and I would rather smell of him than of the Capitol's sickening rose soap. He was everything I wanted. The first time is special, because it can only happen once.

And it was the best moment of my life thus far.

He was so warm and soft, even gentle as he enveloped me, like a much-needed blanket after a night in the rain. He was careful but strong, loving but intentional. It was perfection, and I had never felt anything like it. It was even better than the lamb stew.

"Gale…oh…"

My mouth, while usually full of sarcasm and other bitter remarks, could now make nothing more than the most elementary human sounds. Oh, ah, mmm, ugh, and that most basic word, yes. Yes. Yes. Never no. It was yes, a hundred times over, maybe even a thousand, because I couldn't keep my mouth shut. Maybe that wasn't always a bad thing, then, because he seemed to enjoy it immensely. He would go a little faster and a little deeper, if my body would even allow him, and he kissed me after every whimper or moan I made.

"Gale!"

That set the both of us off into a sort of frenzy in which we attacked each other, clawing and grabbing and sucking and grunting, and the old mattress began to join in the chorus of groans. It was an out-of-body experience, it was every cliché in the book, and when I came to my senses again, he had collapsed on top of me and we were both attempting to recover.

There was a new kind of fire burning in me at that moment. It was deep inside of me and it was going to consume me, heart and soul, and I let it. I let it swallow me up without a second thought. Long ago, Gale had given into the same kind of fire for me. There was no going back for him after that first kiss so long ago, and now there was no going back for me.