Archive of Our Own ^beta

Eighteen years. I made it eighteen years. My name in the reaping pile 28 times. And it came down to this.

Peeta lets out a soft sigh in his sleep next to me. The hunger pangs wrack my body, and I imagine he’s feeling the same way. When you get this hungry, even sleep isn’t a reprieve.

It’s been three days in the cave. Three days, and the game makers are only going to draw it out longer, I can sense it. They’ve pulled all of the animals out of the area, from bigger game to the most pathetic squirrels. Peeta and I have to trek further and further out to find any meat, and it’s becoming dangerous with Cato still on the loose. He may be starving too, but he’s also only one person. I have to feed the both of us.

The audience in the capitol has to be getting bored. Our sponsors have to be getting bored. And yet the game makers keep us here, starving us. I think they’d just as soon see us starve to death than anything else.

But no, there has to be something else. Bodies succumbing to malnourishment is hardly the exciting end the capitol is thirsting for. They want blood now more than ever.

I look down at Peeta next to me. His hair is a mess. We bathed this morning, an incredibly risky move given everything, but I couldn’t stand the grime and the stench any longer. Besides, it was a momentary distraction from the hunger. Now his hair is stuck up in different directions. It looks funny, but also suits him.

A long, low growl sounds off in my gut. The pain from the hunger is empty and gnawing, and I feel like I’m back in the Seam. The capitol’s seven course meals seem like a lifetime ago. At this point, anything would do.

Haymitch says a kiss equals a thermos of broth. But no, broth won’t be enough for us now, especially if we’re going to build up enough strength to face Cato.

A kiss. A kiss won’t get us far for long...
I swallow, the realization hitting me like a lump in the back of my throat. They want to see more. My face heats up imagining the possibilities.

It’s not like I don’t know how to do those things. I’ve read about it, talked about it with Madge and the other girls on occasion. Prim asked me about it once, but then I could barely stutter through an explanation. Our mother had to take over. Better to keep her far, far away from that for now.

There were moments with Gale. Him catching me by the waist when I took a tumble, moments in the early morning hours laying in the dew, waiting for game to cross our path, where our faces were so close I could feel his heat on my cheek. Moments that could have been more, if I tried.

Even now I feel a tingle of electricity in my stomach at the thought.

Will I regret not doing these things with Gale? Are these things even special enough to regret?

If they are, will I regret doing them with Peeta? I look back at Peeta. His sharp jaw, relaxed in sleep, and those inexplicably soft lips set in the slightest smile. His eyes framed by long blond lashes. The slight rise and fall of his muscular chest.

Of all the things done in this arena that I could regret, this seems like the lesser of many. No, I won’t regret this. The boy with the bread will do just fine. Besides, it’s all for show. And if it gets us fed, I don’t see many other options.

The more I sit and think about it, the more it’s become clear to me that this is what the game makers want, what they’ve been trying to coax out of us this entire time. How stupid of us to fall into this plot now. If only I insisted we stay out, insisted that Peeta learn to sleep in trees, we could have followed the game... but even as I think about that, it occurs to me that they could have done this anywhere, anytime, even if we were exposed and not in a safe and secluded shelter like this. I realize it’s actually better this way. But I hate them for it.

I think about the women in the Seam who use their bodies to make ends meet. Exchanging pleasure for food and money. That’s basically what this is. I steel myself in that realization. It’s not shameful. It’s what I—what we—need to do if we have any hope of getting back home.

As much as I try to be pragmatic about it, I can’t escape the lingering feelings of resentment. It’s embarrassing... the thought of millions seeing this... whatever it will be... but it’s necessary. I just hope that Prim isn’t watching. The thought of that makes my stomach turn.

And Gale... no, I can’t think about Gale now. He’s going to see it, and he’ll have to sort out his feelings alone. We can deal with it when we make it out of this arena alive. If he can’t understand that then maybe it’s for the best anyway.

The night is frosty and the chill is seeping into the cave through the gap in the rocks. I guess this is as good a night as any. My stomach is gnawing at itself as I think about it. I’m really only delaying one of two inevitable outcomes, and I would rather the one where we both survive.

“Peeta,” I whisper softly above his face. “Hey.” I gently caress his cheek. His eyes slowly open, and he meets my gaze with a soft grin.

“Hi sweetheart,” he says and sits up in the sleeping bag. He’s so warm next to me and so solid. His arms are thick from work, but the skin is soft from living a life indoors. His hand finds mine above the sleeping bag and he grabs it. I feel a little jolt from the intensity of his eyes combined with his touch. I’m starting to entertain the idea I might actually enjoy this when he speaks again.

“My turn to watch?”

“Um,” I stammer, blushing now as I realize that I actually have to commit to this, realizing I didn’t even plan out what I was going to tell him. There’s no strategizing this. The capitol is hanging on to every word. I’m sure we’re plastered on every screen.

Peeta quirks an eyebrow, and the gesture relaxes me a bit. It’s just Peeta. I just have to pretend it’s only the two of us and no one else.

I lean forward and kiss him, and I think he can immediately tell it’s different from the rest. My lips slant over his, gently sucking, and I pull away slightly with each kiss to pant against his chin and neck. I can feel Peeta’s body begin to tense next to me. Yeah, I think he knows what I’m getting at.

He grabs my chin with his hand and lifts my face up to his again. Now he’s starting to lead a bit more, deepening the kisses, and they last longer. It’s so sensual and private and my entire face is on fire. It’s so hot in the sleeping bag. Was it this hot before? I realize I’m genuinely breathing heavily now, making little gasps between the moments when our lips separate and when they come together again for more.

Peeta drops his hand from my face and uses his fingers to gently pry away the collar of my shirt and jacket, where he begins to gently kiss and nibble at the exposed skin. It’s sending fireworks through my spine and I can’t help a gasp. Can he feel my heartbeat racing? I’m suddenly embarrassed. It feels like he’s done this before. Does he know what he’s doing?

The heat is becoming unbearable. I reach behind me and start to unzip the sleeping bag. Peeta understands what I’m doing and he lifts his lips from my collarbone just long enough to pull the now open sleeping bag over his body, creating a large tarp for us to lay on.

He leans back, shifting a little bit away from me, and I follow. We were propped up against the cave wall, but now Peeta’s lying flat on his back. For a second, I hesitate. Do I lay down too? Would that look right? Peeta’s eyes find mine in the dim twilight. I think he can sense my hesitation, so he decides for me.

He grabs me by the hips and lifts me onto his lap. I let out a shocked sound before I’m nestled over his hips. My thighs straddle him, and with the angle, he’s placed me exactly where I need to be. I feel the hardness under me and I give a cursory rock forward just to see what will happen.

I can’t help biting my lip at the sensation. At the same time, Peeta’s mouth falls open for a second, and he lets out a soft groan. Peeta’s face, the pleasure on it, that sound he made, and the pulse in me that I felt when I rubbed against him, they’re just compounding into this delicious feeling. I feel so warm still, despite being exposed to the cold air, but I need more contact.

Peeta’s hands are still on my hips, gripping them harder now than when he first hoisted me up. I feel the tension in his body, feel the slight tremble he’s giving. Is he just as nervous as I am?

I lift his hands off of my hips just long enough to pull my tunic over my head. I only have a second to doubt my decision before it’s off, and I’m completely exposed. My nipples immediately react to the cold, hardening, and I can’t help a slight shiver. I can see Peeta’s eyes ripping over my exposed chest and stomach. I feel my face grow hot under his gaze.

I’m sure he’s seen this before, some other girl, but with the way he’s looking at me, it feels like I’m the only one that ever mattered.

Suddenly Peeta surges up, his hand reaching for the small of my back to steady me, the other grabbing one of my legs to the side and bringing it behind him. His lips find mind and I melt into him. His hot, inexplicably gentle hands run over my back and come up to tangle in the hair at the nape of my neck. His hands leave these icy trails behind them as the cold air hits my skin, and for a wild second I think I need him everywhere, all over me.

Peeta pulls his mouth away from mine and gently grabs my chin again with the hand that’s not on my back. He tilts my face to look into his eyes and I see something there, an unexpected tenderness that for a moment transports me. In his eyes, we aren’t in this cave, fighting for our lives and starving, sharing these intimate touches with a captive audience. We’re just a boy and a girl, with fumbling hands and warm kisses behind a locked door, seen with no one’s eyes but each other’s.

This thought makes me shudder slightly, my heart stuttering in my chest. The image is so powerful, and it’s raising feelings that I had pushed down ever since our first kiss. Confusing feelings about what’s really happening here, how much he’s been lying to me, and how much I’ve been lying to him.

To banish them, I kiss him deeply again, rolling my hips into him. My breasts press against his chest and the sensation is like scratching an itch that’ll never be satisfied, and it feels so damn good I can’t help but moan softly. When I pull back for a moment, Peeta grabs the lower corner of his tunic and in one swift motion yanks the thing off of his body.

Soft wispy blond hairs fill the center of his chest, but the rest of his abdomen is bare. The skin is soft, slightly dry from exposure, but the lean muscle beneath is rigid and powerful. I’m caressing his chest without realizing it. I suddenly notice what I’m doing and find his eyes on mine.

There’s a heat in his gaze that makes my heart flip. Electric heat courses through my belly and further down. I impulsively grind on him again, the sensation sending a spike of pleasure through my belly and chest, and for a moment we both clutch each other desperately, breathing hot and heavy into each other’s ears. We stay like that for a little while, rocking into each other. The rhythm is intoxicating, every second, every shift of our muscles jolting me with warmth and pleasure. My teeth are clamped to my lower lip and I have to remind myself to stop biting it, but I can’t help it. Peeta has started to kiss my neck again, one of his free hands dancing around my back and up into my hair. I feel like we could do this forever, but at the same time, it’s not enough. I need more, and so does the capitol.

As if Peeta was reading my mind, he decides to lead again. With one hand on my back and the other under my backside, he deftly flips us over, so that I’m lying on my back on the warm sleeping bag and he’s hovering above me. My heart jolts a bit at the sight of him above me, his strong arms boxing me in, his eyes so full of heat. His mouth is so close to me and slightly pink from all of the kissing and sucking.

He ducks his face down and starts kissing one of my nipples, his hot tongue moving in circles. His other hand is rolling my other nipple gently between his fingers, which I guess he licked at some point because his fingers are warm and moving smoothly. I can’t help but moan. This feels so different from the times I’ve touched myself. I remind myself now that unlike those times, I can be as vocal as I want. I need to be as vocal as I want. I moan again, a little bit louder.

I arch my back a bit, too, despite myself. It feels so good and for once I feel like not having control over my body is a good thing. I lean into the headiness of this feeling of desperation. I’m surprised by how much I’m enjoying this. I’m surprised by how much I’m enjoying doing this... with Peeta.

As if the thought summoned him, Peeta moves up my body to my face, bracing himself on one of his arms to hover above my chest, his other hand still toying with one of my nipples, and he plants more kisses on my lips. I’m barely able to respond in time, so lost in the feeling of his touch, and the kisses are sloppy and obscene. It sends a thrill through me all the same, but then Peeta surprises me again.

He moves his lips from my mouth and starts gently pressing kisses into my cheeks and then up to my forehead. The tenderness shocks me, but not in a bad way. Still, I’m confused.

What is he doing? Is he just playing up the romance for the capitol? Making it last longer, look a bit sweeter to milk the sponsors as much as we can?

I look into his eyes when he finishes kissing my face, but they’re as indiscernible as ever, just a little sly and full of heat.

Then, Peeta starts to shift down again. But he doesn’t stop at my breasts this time, though he does take a brief pause to kiss the one that was being neglected while he kissed my face. He moves down my body until his head is between my thighs. Then he sits up on his knees and slides his hands under my hips. He’s looking at me expectantly, not moving. I realize he’s waiting for something.

“What?” I pant out, my voice embarrassingly wrecked sounding. I want to pull it together, but I realize it’s probably for the best I sound that way.

Peeta is looking at me intensely, like the sound of my voice wracked with pleasure was the sexiest thing he had ever heard, and he squeezes my ass in his hands. I give a soft moan in response, and he looks down sharply at his hands, as though he didn’t mean to do that. His face flushes a bit.

“Do you want me to go further?” His voice is low and full of promise, but also hesitance. He was leading, but now he wants to hear from me? This is so different from what I heard about from other girls in the Seam.

What does he mean anyway? Where else is there to go, other than the obvious? Which, of course we have to go there. Unless he hasn’t realized that?

“Yeah, but you’ll need to take your pants off for that,” I say, trying to sound flirty and sexy, but with the breathiness behind my words, I know it probably comes off as a little desperate instead.

Peeta raises an eyebrow. Always the eyebrow.

“I don’t... necessarily,” he says, his voice heady. I have no idea what he’s referring to. Saying we don’t have to have sex? Of course we do. We don’t have another option. But I try to play along with him, for all I know this is his strategy for the donors, maybe playing innocent or something, and I don’t want to mess it up.

“Oh?” I gasp a bit, playing up the moan that was hinging in my throat with the way he has been kneading my ass and thighs this entire time. “What else did you have in mind?”

“Do you trust me?” Peeta whispers, and for a second, it feels like he’s asking somewhere else, somewhere far away in a different world. It feels different. My heart seizes a little bit, but then I focus in on the pleasure, and the moment we’re in, and what we have to finish. What’s the best thing to say right now? My mind flashes with responses, thinking what would the capitol want to hear? But I blurt out the first one that came to mind.

“With my life,” I whisper to him. Do I actually mean that? I think back to him fighting Cato, telling me to run. The sparkling boy with the strong arms, saving me from that maniac. The memories are foggy and clouded with doubt from the trackerjacker venom, but the feeling associated with knowing what he did remains, unspoiled and without question. Yeah, I think I do mean it.

“Okay,” Peeta says, and a soft smile reaches his lips. He reaches down and grabs my hand, which was sitting on my left hip, and he pulls it up to his mouth to give my fingers a soft kiss. I bite my lip again.

Then Peeta uses his other hand to lift my hips. I give a little noise and sit up a bit, but he hushes me.

“Trust me, sweetheart,” and I can’t feel the annoyance around the pet name around the jolt of panic that shoots through me as he starts to loosen my pants from around my hips.

This is it. He’s going to do this and we’re both going to be naked and on display to the entire capitol. It’s really happening. He gently works the fabric over my ass and down my thighs, at which point he lays me back down and finishes pulling it off my feet. Then, he settles down between my legs, his head so close to me, and grabs one of my legs and drapes it over his shoulder.

“Comfortable?” He asks, and I’m so confused by what he’s doing that I just nod. He smiles again and brings his gaze between my legs.

Part of the prep team’s full-body waxing did include this area. It was painful, and I was confused at the time why it was being included. I didn’t want to ask because I was humiliated, but I guess it happens for moments like this, if they ever happen in the arena.

My thoughts shoot back to the present when I feel his mouth pressed against me. I already felt hot but his mouth brings on something else, a new kind of heat that I need more of. One of his arms is bracing himself under my leg, and the other comes up under his mouth to feel me.

Peeta gently slides a finger down my slit, then moves back up to my clit. I can feel the slickness as he gently spreads my lips. Peeta looks mesmerized and utterly wrecked. God, he’s really good at this, the facial expressions, the words... I need to match him.

I don’t find it hard to do that when suddenly his forefinger is rubbing small circles around my clit, and I can’t help a breathy moan from escaping me. Peeta’s eyes shoot up to my face, but I see something darker there this time. Also, a bit of nervousness. Has he truly never done this before? Is this all a really convincing act?

Then he ducks his face down, and I feel his lips kiss my clit, his tongue darting out to give it a cursory flick, and my eyes screw shut. I raise my hand to my mouth to muffle the moan that shot out of my chest. I never, ever heard about this from the other girls.

While he’s licking my clit, Peeta, now having found a good rhythm on it, frees the hand that was spreading me and gently moves it down my slit to my opening. Suddenly, Peeta’s mouth comes off of my clit, and my eyes flit open again.

“Wh-why did you stop,” I ask, stuttering slightly. I’m so embarrassed, but I can’t bring myself to care.

“I need you to tell me if I’m hurting you,” Peeta says softly. “Can you do that? And tell me to stop if it’s too much?”

I’m shocked by the gentleness of his words. He’s being so tender and careful. It feels... different, from anything else I’ve ever experienced.

I swallow hard, trying to push back those feelings. They’re too complicated for this moment, for right now, when we’re just trying to put on a show.

“Of course, Peeta,” I say instead, and to send the tenderness home, I reach up with one of my hands and gently dig my fingers into his hair. He leans into my touch, and for moment, I can pretend we’re somewhere else, doing this for ourselves. The notion is... not terrible. It could be nice.

Suddenly, I hate that we’re doing this for the capitol. I hate that millions of those disgusting perverts are glued to their television screens right now. Our friends, maybe even our families, got a glimpse of this and the humiliation of it all wells up inside of me suddenly. I can’t help it; my eyes spring up tears.

Peeta notices this immediately, and suddenly he’s right beside me, his face close and his hand on my cheek.

“Hey, hey Katniss,” he whispers, quiet enough that maybe even the capitol can’t hear.

“I’m sorry,” I say, my voice very small and tight in my throat, and I wipe away at my eyes.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, and then, “We don’t have to keep going.”

That sends a stone into my stomach. My stomach, which, for this brief moment, I had been able to forget was slowly dissolving itself. No, no we can’t stop. That’s death, either from hunger or from failing in a fight against Cato.

“No Peeta we—” and I just barely manage to catch myself from saying, we have to, although that could have been doubly interpreted as some crazed romantic urgency. I take a deep breath and raise my hand to his cheek, which is flushed and warm. “I want to. I want this. I... want you.” I realize I’m not lying.

Peeta searches my eyes, trying to see if I’m lying to him. He decides not, apparently, because he kisses me gently and tells me, “Okay.”

To prove it to him, I lean back into him for another kiss, pushing further and bringing back the slow and sensual kisses from earlier. The kisses that felt like we were all alone, the only eyes here being for each other. Peeta’s free hand moves to my chest, gently caressing my breasts again, and moves down. He shifts slightly, moving above me and slightly below my neck.

“Tell me, okay?” Peeta reminds me, and I nod, bracing myself for whatever is coming.

His finger slides between my lips and to my entrance. He crooks his finger slightly to get the right angle, and then he gently pushes inside me.

Stars explode in my stomach. There’s a slight burn, an overwhelming pressure inside of me, but it feels good. Peeta sees my face, can’t figure out what it’s saying, so I tell him, “Please Peeta,” and the moan behind my words is raw and Peeta’s eyes widen a bit, he bites his lip too now, and I feel so desperate for him.

Peeta’s thumb swipes down into my wetness and then comes back up to my clit, rubbing gentle circles around it, and the dual stimulation is almost too much. It feels so good, so overwhelming, like nothing I had ever done to myself before. His fingers are wider, moving faster, there’s no ache in my hand from working too long, it’s just him taking care of me. It feels good to be taken care of.

Peeta pushes his finger in deeper, and then pulls it out gently, setting a rhythm to fuck me. His eyes are so intense, I feel like I’m burning under his gaze. Every time he pulls out completely, the loss is aching, but then as soon as he pushes back inside, it’s like a miniature explosion.

Peeta works up to a faster pace, and I hear slight wet sounds echoing around the walls. Oh, it’s so lewd. I’m about to lose my train of thought, let go of the pleasure, remembering of the circumstances of this performance, when Peeta adds a second finger, pushing in slowly. The fullness is exquisite, and I can’t help curling upwards, clutching Peeta’s shoulder as I moan unabashedly.

Peeta’s eyes are so dark, trained on me, and we lock eyes. I feel a jolt in my heart and my stomach just from his gaze, it’s so... heavy. The way he looks at me like I’m the most beautiful creature on the earth. The way his eyes, not his words, are telling me how badly he wants me. I feel a slight ache in my heart. Why did it have to be this way? All fanfare, an act?

Before I can think too hard about it, I curl upwards again and give him a long, sensual kiss. Hopefully the feeling can come through that. The apology, too.

Peeta returns the kiss, so deep and hot, and I’m melting from the heat of it all.

When I pull back from him and lie back down, Peeta starts to move. He goes back between my legs, somehow never breaking his rhythm.

His eyes are trained on mine when he slowly brings his lips to my clit. My mouth falls open at the sudden wetness, the heat, the stimulation is so much. Peeta fucking me, Peeta licking me, Peeta staring at me. I can’t keep watching, it’s too much.

I avert my eyes and my head sinks backwards to the sleeping bag, and I just focus on the warm wetness, the constant circular back-and-forth across my clit, the sounds and feeling of his fingers fucking me, all of it sawing pleasure into my stomach and ever so slowly building up in pressure. I realize I’m biting my lip again and slowly let it loose. At the same time, I bring my hands up to my breasts. Need to give them a show, right?

I start to play with my nipples, and I hear (and feel) Peeta groan slightly into me at the sight of it. Yeah, he’s really enjoying this too. For a second, I think of his hardness beneath me, the desperate grinding we were doing earlier. Surely he’s going to fuck me soon, right?

I start to imagine it. Peeta above me, strong arms around me, his eyes intense and burning, lining himself up, the head, how big will it be? Gently touching my lips, he rubs it up and down, pushing slightly on my clit so I feel a jolt of pleasure, then he’s pushing inside of me, slowly and staring at me, and fuck he’s so big, it feels so fucking good, and then he’s kissing me and—

“Fuck,” I moan, because the imagery, losing myself in that fantasy, combined with Peeta’s tongue and his fingers is bringing me to the edge. The slow build from earlier has grown into a massive wave inside me. “Peeta,” I gasp, giving a small moan because I can’t help myself, “Peeta, I’m close,” I am telling him this, so he will know to stop, take himself out of his pants, and fuck me like he’s supposed to.

But he doesn’t stop. My words urge him further along. He keeps doing exactly what he’s doing, his tongue moving in the perfect way, fucking me with the perfect rhythm, and then he brings one of his hands up to my breast, squeezing me and gently playing with the nipple.

“Peeta,” I whimper, my voice is wrecked and my bottom lip is hurting a bit from how hard I was biting it. But he doesn’t stop, and I can’t help finishing. The jolts come in waves, one right after the other, and I lose control of my legs, which slowly begin to clench inwards and around Peeta’s head. I’m inadvertently squeezing his skull, the waves riding through me, and I couldn’t stop myself if I tried. Peeta continues, licking a little bit harder now, fucking me a little bit slower, but harder, and it’s so much. It feels so good, but it’s so much. What is happening? The waves don’t stop, and I feel myself building up again, coming a second time, and I moan Peeta’s name for a second time, my legs truly clamping down on him, my hands coming down to his head of their own accord. To push him away or to pull him closer, I have no idea.

My fingers curl into his hair, the tips digging slightly into his scalp. My mouth hasn’t closed since I last moaned his name, and my eyes are shut tight. I’m riding Peeta’s face at this point, but I can’t help myself.

It feels like this goes on forever, like I’ve been coming all night, when finally, finally my legs start to sink down. They’re shaking, my whole body is trembling.

Peeta gently moves my hands off of his head, and my arms fall limply at the sides of my hips. I can’t speak, all I can do is slowly open my eyes and look at Peeta.

Peeta is breathing hard, his nose, mouth, and chin are shining slightly in the light. Oh, wow. That’s from me. Peeta takes the fingers that he was using to fuck me and puts them to his lips, gently sucking my taste off of them. A jolt races through my whole body at the sight, and I’m so sensitive it feels like a mini version of one of those waves.

“Peeta,” I sigh, my voice very weak and sounding thoroughly fucked.

“Katniss,” Peeta responds, his eyes full of something far too sweet for someone who just fucked the daylights out of me.

“What about you?” I manage to say. I can tell he’s hard under his pants. It’s only fair. They want to see the whole thing, after all. And I would be lying if I said I didn’t want to see it too.

“No, it’s okay,” Peeta says with a chagrined smile. “I’m really fine. Plus, you look a little too out of it for that.”

I feel slightly embarrassed, my cheeks warming up despite the heat I already feel burning across my body. I know I’m probably flushed from my cheeks down to my breasts, so it’s not like he can tell that now, of all times, I’m getting shy.

“Are you sure?” I ask him, although for once I’m really not in the mood to argue about it.

Peeta grabs one of my limp hands, drops a sweet, long kiss on the back of my palm. “I’m sure,” he says. Then he stands up. The tent in his pants is more obvious than ever, and I feel an ache in my already overstimulated clit just looking at it and imagining how it would feel... but he’s probably right. I don’t think I could do much in this state, and I feel like he deserves more than that after the show he just put on.

“Let me help you clean up,” Peeta says, and he grabs some scraps of fabric and before I can reply, he shimmies out of the gap in the cave entrance.

I sigh, deeply, and it’s the air rapidly leaving my lungs and giving me a headrush that brings me to my senses. In an instant, reality rushes back to me.

The games. The capitol. Everything is being broadcast. That moment will live forever in the archives, probably in the personal collections of thousands of viewers. The thought of it makes me want to cry, but I hold in my tears. I close my eyes, willing the thoughts to go away.

I want to wrap myself in the sleeping back to hide myself, but it’s wet and I’m so tired that I can’t bring myself to do it. I do start to feel the chill coming back, especially now that the interior of the bag has been exposed to the open air for so long, so I reach over and grab a tunic. Whether it’s mine or Peeta’s doesn’t really matter at this point. I drape it across my chest and over my hips as a meager blanket, but it mostly serves to cover me, which, while I’m still freezing, I’m okay with just that for now. I think they’ve seen enough.

As if on cue, I hear Peeta push back into the cave, carrying a large silver toned box.

“Katniss, look what we got,” Peeta says, his voice brimming with excitement. Oh, Peeta. His surprise is so convincing. I already know what’s going to be inside. A fresh meal, maybe two, and provisions surely to last us through the rest of the game at least.

Peeta gingerly sets the sponsor gift down and comes to me.

“Here,” he says, lifting the tunic above my hips and over my stomach. I blush, despite everything that just happened, I blush. This is different. This is so intimate with none of the raw passion. There’s no lusty fog to hide behind, just complete vulnerability. This feeling terrifies me. It’s the feeling that leads to love, to marriage, to children, and I will never let that happen.

But this is the games, and we’re putting on an act. I need to sell it for now. I will myself to smile at Peeta while he takes care of me. Peeta gently wipes the insides of my thighs with the wet rag. It’s cold from the night air, but it’s getting the job done. I look at his face. It’s not shiny anymore, but small water droplets cling to his eyebrows and drip off his chin. He must have cleaned himself up too. Peeta lifts my legs to clean the undersides, and I thank him silently, because I honestly don’t think I would have the strength for lifting them myself.

After he finishes cleaning me, Peeta tosses the rag to the side. I mutter a tiny thank you. Peeta just smiles sweetly at me and kisses the top of my head. My blush burns hotter now.

To distract myself, I pull the tunic off of my stomach and start to bring it over my head. Peeta grabs the other tunic and moves to do the same, then stops short and chuckles.

“Katniss, I think you’ve got the wrong shirt,” he laughs lightly. Sure enough, the tunic he grabbed is about four sizes too small for his large frame. I pause, already so relieved to be covered up again, hesitant to undress myself for everyone one more time. Peeta must see the hesitation in my eyes because he softens immediately.

“Hey,” he whispers, then leans to me and kisses me. “It’s okay. Who needs a shirt to sleep in this bag anyway?” It’s true, the bag does grow extraordinarily hot between both of our bodies’ heat.

That just reminds me of how cold I am, and I let out a shiver.

“Speaking of, how about we zip that up again?” I feel a bit guilty being so terse with him, after everything we just did. But we got the food. Mission accomplished, so it doesn’t matter anymore, not right now at least.

If Peeta was offended, he doesn’t show it. “Of course,” he says, a bit quieter, and then reaches over for the zipper. Soon we’re cocooned again. At this moment, us laying on our sides, my back to his chest, I realize I never put on pants. Despite the length of the tunic, my bare legs are pressed against his clothed ones. His chest is radiating heat, and it’s distracting. The most distracting thing of it all is the way that my ass is pressed against his crotch, and I can feel him getting hard again.

I turn my neck to look at him over my shoulder. The question is already in my eyes before I can say it, but Peeta simply slings his bare arm over my chest, wrapping his hand around my waist and giving me a light squeeze.

“Come on, rest up. It’s my turn to watch anyway.”

The dismissal stings more than it should. Why am I hurt? He’s practically doing me a favor. But I can’t help feeling rejected all the same. As I’m processing this, he moves to sit up and assume the position he’ll keep watch in. Despite what he said about the sleeping bag, his upper half will be exposed to the cold air anyway while he sits up to stay awake. Annoyed, but not heartless, I shimmy out of the tunic under the sleeping bag.

Peeta protests but not before I’m pushing the tunic up the bag and into his lap.

“There you go,” I say, tensely, and then, “Please try not to freeze to death before I can wake up and see you,” I finish, trying to take the edge out of the first half of what I said. I push it a little further. “I want you alive for a repeat performance when we get home.”

My voice is lower, a little dangerous, and actually sexy, and for a ridiculous moment I think I mean what I say. Peeta must feel that too, because his eyes widen a bit and he looks taken aback. Then he just takes up the banter, saying his line to tell the audience what they want to hear.

“Wouldn’t dream of dying on you now, sweetheart,” he says, and I can’t help the small smile that fights onto my lips. Then I close my eyes and fall into a dreamless sleep, my whole body weightless for the first time in weeks.