stillplaying | Real [for @peetasbread]

Entry tags:

peeta mellark,
psl

Real [for @peetasbread]

It's not unusual for nightmares to visit her during her sleep. More often than not, her dreams are reminders of mutts and death and children that never had a chance to live. She doesn't have happy dreams. She doesn't deserve happy dreams. She tried once to explain it to Dr. Aurelius - how she still deserved those dreams that made her awake screaming. But she couldn't find the words. Even now, months later, she has trouble finding those words.

But Peeta understands. Somehow, he's always understood. It's been weeks now, weeks since they've started sharing a bed again. At first, she had been afraid. Afraid that he'd wake up and try to strangle her, completely forgetting what's real and what's not. But as the days passed, that never happened. Instead, he had been there each and every night.

Tonight's no exception.

Though she wakes up screaming, she knows she's not alone. She can feel him stir even as her heart beats rapidly in her chest. It had just been a dream. It had just been a dream. A dream that still feels too real. Watching Peeta die tonight. In that clock arena, Finnick unable to resuscitate him like he had. She chokes back sobs and curls up in a fetal position, tears stinging her eyes.

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Peeta doesn't sleep deeply anymore.

There used to be a time when he'd sleep so soundly his mother used to say the bakery could catch on fire and burn to the ground around him before he'd notice a difference. All of that changed after the Games. Peeta was always just floating above the surface of sleep, his body and mind ready to spring into action. It didn't matter that the danger was gone. What he knew while awake didn't always match up to what he knew while he slept.

He could feel her stirring before she ever made a sound. His thoughts were tuned to hers - had been for so long that it was simply second nature now. Peeta knew the flavor of Katniss' dreams and none of them were happy. This one was one of the more nasty ones and he shakes himself awake, his hands on her back and shoulders, rubbing soothing circles in an effort to calm her and ease her distress.

"I'm here," he whispered softly. "It was only a dream. You're safe. You're home. You're not alone."

She feels him move around her, hands making soothing circles through the fabric of her nightshirt. She knows he's here in bed with her. Has known since the first moments of wakefulness had sunk in. But it doesn't make her feel any better. Not when she watched him die yet again. It doesn't matter if it was in her dreams. It hurt. It hurt so much to think that, somehow and someway, she could easily lose him too.

She squeezes her eyes, feeling the tears stain her cheeks as she does. He's here. He's alive. He's right next to her. But she can't get away from that bone-deep fear. She can't seem to get it to go away.

"Peeta," she sobs, turning around to curl against his chest. She bows her head as she tries to make her body as small as possible. "Peeta?"

He wraps his arms around her and pulls her close to his chest. "Shhh," he soothes her, kissing her forehead. "I'm here. I'm here."

Peeta knows how difficult the dreams are for both of them. There aren't any words to say that provide much comfort. Only the sound of his voice and the warmth of his arms can offer any sort of relief from the horror.

He doesn't mind the tears but he can't help the fact that it breaks his heart to hear her sobs. If he could do anything, he'd take away her pain. If he could have the nightmares instead, he'd make that exchange in a heartbeat.

She feels his lips on her forehead and shivers just a little. His lips are warm and tender against her skin. They feel like home. Like the safety she hasn't felt since before her father died. She can't remember when they started kissing again. When he had started using more than his arms and his voice to soothe her at night.

Not that she questions it. No. She'd never question kisses from Peeta. Instead, she'd treasure each and every one he deemed worthy to give her.

"Alive?"

The question is quiet and meek, almost as if she's afraid of the answer. Tell her this isn't a dream. Tell her he isn't in her imagination. That he's truly here with her, that he hadn't died in the arena.

Peeta's lips curl into a small smile against her forehead and he shifts his head down, sliding his nose against her own. "Alive," he says softly. "And breathing. This is what's real. It's not a dream. I'm here."

He kisses her again, his lips brushing her cheeks this time. He wants to kiss away her tears and hugs her, needing Katniss to know that she doesn't have to be afraid any longer.

She should open her eyes. She should look at him, see for herself that everything he's saying in true. That this is real. Not a dream. That he's really here.

But as soon as she feels his nose against hers, as soon as she feels lips against her cheek, she decides not to. Because nothing feels as real as this. As being in Peeta's arms.

The sobbing slowly starts to reside. Though she snuggles up closer to him, lifting one arm to tentatively rest it on his side, her body still remains a little bit stiff. She murmurs a little contently, unconsciously turning her head so he could continue kissing her.

"Promise?"

"I do," he said, lifting his hand to brush his fingers against her cheek. He kisses her forehead again, before he lifted her chin, wanting to see her eyes.

"Look at me, Katniss," he said, wanting to see her eyes before he leaned down to brush his lips against her own. "I promise you I won't leave you alone. I'm here. Always."

She opens her eyes to see his own beautiful blue ones staring at her. They're not necessarily as innocent as they once were, before the Hunger Games and before his hijacking. But they're still, she thinks, far nicer than her own dull grey Seam eyes. They're eyes she can find as much warmth and safety in as in his touch.

"Thank you," she whispers against his lips, not wanting to move too far from him. She refrains from saying she doesn't deserve him or that he deserves better. Because losing him in that dream had hurt so much. She doesn't want him to ever leave her.

She takes a breath. "I promise, too."

He doesn't want her thanks but he takes it all the same. He knows how important it is for her, especially since she doesn't think she deserves any of this. He places soft kisses against her cheeks once more before he finds his way back to her lips. He can't help the fact that he wants her to kiss him back more than anything but as difficult as it is, he doesn't push. He only offers on the hope that one day, she'll accept.

She lets him continue to kiss her, savoring the warmth of being so close. His lips are soft, warm, familiar. And when he finds his way back to her lips, she feels that hunger start to stir inside of her again. The hunger she hasn't felt since that day on the beach. A hunger that Gale never elicited within her. Something that's always been Peeta's.

She opens her mouth to him, her lips move against his and she returns the kiss. Close as they are, she can't help but move in closer, wriggling on her side until only inches separated them. And still, it doesn't seem enough.

Peeta is very surprised when he feels her kiss him back. He almost doesn't believe it, thinking that it's just in the way she's shifting. It's not until he realizes that she's moving closer that he thinks perhaps it was real, this was the change he'd been waiting for night after night.

He slides his arms up her body, touching her cheek as he kisses her back, adding a bit more heat and want. This wasn't a comforting kiss any longer. This was an invitation to something more and Peeta was curious as to what her response would be.

She's seeking another form of comfort now. A reminder that he's still alive. They're both alive and currently wrapped up in each other's arms and she doesn't want this to stop at all. It's that hunger within her that can't be sated no matter how many kisses they share.

A low moan escapes her lips as the kisses heat up and something that feels strangely like fire starts to build in her stomach. She stays open to him, tentatively darting her tongue against his lips, relying on instinct as she nuzzles her cheek against his hand briefly.

The moan makes Peeta think he's the one that's dreaming and he wonders if this is real, if it isn't just another hallucination brought on by the venom that had colored so many of his memories. But this isn't a painful feeling, it's a good feeling and hallucination or not, Peeta doesn't question it as Katniss continues to kiss him, parting his lips so that he could kiss her more deeply.

He slides his hands from her face, drifting them down the front of her shirt. He wants to touch her so badly, but everything is a question, every touch waiting for a response. If there's a no anywhere Peeta would back off, content with how far they've gotten this night and hopeful for the ones yet to come.

She keeps kissing him. Keeps kissing him as if he's oxygen or water or something else completely necessary to her survival. And maybe he is. He got her through not one, but two arenas. And every day, bit by bit, he's getting her through losing Prim. It's more than Gale had ever done. He's too much like her. Too fiery, too angry.

Peeta... Peeta calms her. Calms her and excites her all at the same time. She doesn't entirely understand it. She only knows that she craves it.

Still, when she feels his hands hover right above her breasts, her breath comes in with a sharp hiss. Her lips still against his and she pulls away just enough to glance down. Her cheeks heat in embarrassment, but she doesn't attempt to move her body from his palms.

Shyly, cautiously: "Peeta?"

Peeta's heart was pounding and he had to consciously keep himself from panting. He wants her so badly but he doesn't move his hand, not when she begins to pull away slightly.

"Is this ok?" he asks softly when she says his name. His fingertips rest over the tops of her breasts and he looks up at her, his eyes meeting her gaze. "If you want me to stop, I will."

She follows his gaze down again, cheeks flushing once again in embarrassment. And a strange sort of heat as she oh so hesitantly arches her chest into his fingers. It... it feels good. Better than she could imagine. Kisses had been one thing, but this? Touch? She wonders, for a moment, what it would be like if the shirt wasn't in Peeta's way. What it'd be like to have him touch her everywhere.

"It's..." She meets his gaze and gives a small nod. It's the best she can manage for the moment. Because she's not sure how to put what she feels into words. "Don't stop?"

His lips curl into a smile when she gives him her permission and he kisses her again, his eyes opened as he watches her face. He wants to see her every expression, needs to know that when he touches her she enjoys it and it's just enduring it because it's what he wants.

He rests his hands over top of her breast, touching her through the thin material. He's never touched anyone like this before and it's new to him as much as it is to her. He moans softly against her lips as he kneads her breast, his thumb sliding over her nipple that grows hard beneath the shirt. He wants to see what her skin feels like against his hand and he stops his movements for a brief moment, moving his hand down to slip beneath her shirt and touch her warm, skin.

It's better than he expected and he gasps against her lips, feeling his arousal grow hard. There's really no hiding it, not when she's pressed up against him.

There's something in his eagerness that makes her laugh into his kiss. It's a girlish sound, a rare sound. She doesn't have many reasons to laugh anymore in her life. Not that she had many to begin with in the first place. But he looks so happy that something within her soars in delight. She knows where this is heading. And it scares her more than she wants to admit. But seeing that smile on Peeta's face?

She kisses him back, wanting to lose herself in the feel of his kiss again. But it's harder to focus on his mouth this time. Not as her nipple hardens as he massages her breasts. All she knows is the basic mechanics. That little bit of information taught in school. That her body can feel like this? That the touch of his hand against heated skin makes her moan louder this time, a noise that sounds embarrassing to her own ears. But she can't help it. She can't help how good he's making her feel.

"Oh," she gasps against his lips, feeling him stiffen by her pelvis and trying very, very hard to ignore it. There's so much to focus on, so much to be embarrassed about. And all she can think to do is murmur another, "oh," against his mouth and hug him tighter to her.

He remembers a little bit of the mechanics. They went over it in school - how to be a good husband but this isn't anything like that. It was all so clinical and they never talked about the way she would make all those funny little sounds that made his mind spin, his body warm as though he's standing in front of an open fire. They never talked about what to do to keep those sounds growing louder, only he's supposed to roll her on her back and enter her once, twice, maybe three times before it's over.

Those pamphlets didn't help and he's happy about that because he doesn't want it to be over so quickly. He moves his mouth from her lips and kisses her chin, her neck, his hand still caressing her breast. He does shift, rolling her on top of him, wanting her to control just how much and how far she wanted to go.

"You can take my shirt off," he whispers to her with a smile, leaning up a bit so she can reach the bottom of his shirt.

Her eyes close when his lips trail away from hers and press kisses to other parts of her face and neck. It tickles a little. But at the same time, she doesn't want him to stop. It's not like when her father or mother would kiss her forehead as a child to comfort her. Not like when she'd kiss Prim's cheek. She suddenly wants him to kiss her everywhere. She wants to know what it might be like to have his lips where his hand currently is.

When he rolls her over, her eyes open with surprise. She knows he's strong, even if at times she forgets it. But it's not a bad reminder. Even if her laugh becomes a little more tinged with nervousness as she looks down at him, straddling his stomach and feeling... very much not herself.

Except for the way she almost can't meet his gaze. Her hands move to the hem of his shirt and start to lift before she pauses with second thoughts. "You sure?"

Peeta nods his head and smiles. He knows that he's scarred from the games, knows that she has her own that she's self-conscious of, but here in the dark they are barely visible and he wants to touch her with his entire body. Maybe seeing that he isn't scared will help her, maybe it will help him, too.

"I'm sure," he says. "I'm sure about a lot of things right now."

It's dark, but there's still enough ambient light that she can see the smile on his face. She can see the outline of his body but not necessarily the fine details. Besides, it's not as if she hasn't seen him naked before. But that was in the arena. That was an entirely different circumstance.

She peers down at him, taking in his smile and the look of his blue eyes. He wouldn't lie. Not Peeta. Not to her. And she wants to make him smile like he did before so, so much.

Leaning down, she brushes a light kiss to his lips. Just so he knows. So he knows it's not him. And then, softly, she admits: "I'm afraid."

"I know," Peeta says, resting his hands on her legs, brushing his fingers against her skin. "I'm scared too, but, it's a good kind of fear. It's not like before. I... I want this. I want you, Katniss."

She shivers at the feel of his fingers on her skin, the cropped cut of her bottoms exposing her leg knee down. It feels good, him touching her. Having any sort of contact with him. She's not sure if she agrees that it's the good kind of fear, but he's right about one thing:

She wants this, too.

"Okay," she whispers, pulling up his shirt and helping him remove the garment. Her hands go flat against his chest, and she stares at him, a smile in her eyes. "Okay."

Then she leans forward to kiss him again. And again and again, until her lips start to trail down his neck, echoing his earlier actions.

Peeta closes his eyes when she kisses his neck, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. Her touch leaves burning trails against his skin and he lets out a quiet moan. His hands slide down to the bottom of her shirt, fingers trailing beneath the hem. He waits, though, each touch a question and even though she's said 'ok' he is patient and kind, wanting every touch to be agreed upon. It's not a chore, he has to ask - because he wants all of this to be real and not a beautiful, hazy dream that was created for him.

She nods against his neck each time his fingers pause beneath her shirt. He doesn't have to say a word aloud for her to know what he's asking. After the Games, after all they've been through, they can read each other so well now. She's certain that he knows her better than she knows herself. She doesn't know if she can say the same about him. Not yet. But this much she understands.

Even the scars that litter her body don't scare her. Because she can almost believe that in Peeta's eyes, she's beautiful.

Peeta hears her silent permission and he lifts her shirt over her head, dropping it on the bed. His hands softly slide over her body, drinking the sight of her bare chest in the moonlight. His heart beats fast in his throat and he leans up to kiss her belly, to trail his tongue around the curve of her breast and suck a tight nipple into his mouth. He's hungry for her and he kisses and touches her like a starving man, needing her more than he ever has before.

She watches wide-eyed as he rids her of her shirt, unable to pull her gaze from his. She fears for a brief second that there'll be some sort of disgust in those blue eyes of his. Revulsion. She's not the same girl she was, the girl he had fallen in love with. The scars are only an external reminder of that.

But there's nothing in his gaze to indicate disgust and she finds herself falling in love with him just a little bit more because of that. Her breath catches in her throat when his palms touch her, followed by lips and-

"Peeta." His mouth is at her breast, suckling like she's seen the infants of District 12 do to their mothers. But this? This is so much more. It makes heat curl in her stomach, hunger rise in every fiber of her being. Her back arches, silently begging for more of his kisses and more of his touches. "Peeta, please."

He loves the way she moans his name. He can't imagine a sound more erotic especially when he knows that it's only for him. Peeta's touch his gentle but heated as he slides his hand down, his lips and tongue leaving a trail of kisses as he gives her other breast just as much attention.

His hand rests on her hips, fingers lightly tracing the outline of her panties. He hesitates, only because he's never touched anyone before, worried that he won't do it correctly, scared that it's too fast, too soon but he wants her in every way. He needs to hear her say his name again in that same, gasping, breathy tone that blocks out the memories of her harsh screams.

She holds him to no expectations. Peeta Mellark had loved her since they were five years old. She has no doubt that he's never been with anyone else. That this is as much entirely new for him as it is for her. Maybe she's selfish but she prefers it this way. She can't imagine doing this with anyone else. Letting anyone else touch her like this.

Not that Peeta's making it easy to hide in her thoughts. If anything, she's finding it harder and harder to think. He's inflicting so many new sensations and she doesn't want him to stop.

"Please Peeta," she gasps again, reaching forward to caress his cheek and push back sweat slicked hair. "Don't stop touching me."

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