stillplaying | 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 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."

Real [for @peetasbread]

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