stillplaying | 7th Game [action/voice]

Entry tags:

7th Game [action/voice]

[Action]

[The bakery is a mess. She never meant for it to end up that way. It just sort of happened. Flour covering hair and body, the smell of something burning from the kitchen, flecks of pink frosting teasing her cheeks. Peeta's normally presentable window displays are less than ideal; a poor attempt at recreating the alluring cakes that always caught her attention back in District Twelve. The frosting's melted from the summer heat on one that's sat out since Friday. Another is poorly covered with a grey color -- an attempt at mixing food dyes gone horribly wrong.

Ingredients for various baked goods have somehow escaped the kitchen, piled up on the counters, half covering the note cards Peeta had left for her. Cookbooks borrowed from the library lie open elsewhere, pages now far from pristine. Half baked pretzels stock the shelves along with burnt chocolate chip cookies. Deformed cheese breads and crumbled brownie bites still in their trays sit nearby. Even Buttercup, easily pleased by any free food, ignores the easy pickings.

She tried. She had tried so hard. Peeta had left her recipes. Had tried to teach her how to bake on lazy days when she was more content to spend time with him in the bakery than go about her own thing. It seems that every lesson has been forgotten. Any skill she might have had in the kitchen, utterly gone.

The rain pours outside as she plucks at the rock hard shortbread cookies she's recently retrieved from the oven, trying her best to peel them from the tray. It's a halfhearted effort as she leans her head against her hand and stares out the window. She'd rather be hunting. But it's been raining ever since Peeta left for his mission, raining so hard, all she's been able to do is check a couple of the traps in the river behind their house. And she had promised, hadn't she? Promised she'd look after the bakery?

Look how miserably she failed, the worry making it hard to breathe, harder to concentrate. Shouldn't he be back by now? Shouldn't he?

Every few minutes, she checks the journal for signs of life. Ignores Buttercup begging for real food. Glances at the door to see if Peeta's finally return. No luck. No luck at all. He's supposed to be back today. Why isn't he back yet?]

[Voice]

Why do you bother? [The words aren't meant to be recorded in the journal, but they are, anyway. It barely processes to Katniss that she's left it laying open, close enough to pick up any mutterings.] Going on these missions? Being a piece in their games?

It's stupid. This is all stupid.

[ooc: timed to after mission is over, when people start arriving home. but if you want to tag during -- feel free to have katniss in the bakery making a mess from friday on!

also, edit for warning of sexual content in the Peeta thread.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[He smiles against her neck when she begins to lift his shirt. It gives him the confidence to move both hands to her belly and lift her shirt up, up, and hopefully, over her head.]

[She senses what he's doing. The shirt rises further up, past her stomach and towards her breasts and she nearly does panic. Grips on to his shirt so tightly that her nails nearly pierce the fabric.

But she lets go. And she moves her arms so that her own t-shirt slips off to reveal a basic black bra underneath. But she doesn't move much more. Just looks up at him with fright and embarrassment in her eyes, terrified that he won't like what he sees.]

[His eyes flicker from her face to her body and back again. Seeing the anxiety in her face, he leans down to kiss her collarbone lightly. His hands remain stationary on her waist until she relaxes.]

I can't believe how beautiful you are.

[She can almost believe the words, hearing Peeta say them. And he's kissing her, somewhere new, and that's also a good sign, isn't it?

She lets herself smile, albeit it doesn't entirely defeat the worries in her eyes. But she tries. Even tries to look a little coy despite the way her cheeks flame.]

I think... we're both supposed to do this, right? Remove our shirts?

You want to do mine?

[She nods shyly. She's seen him naked before. She's even undressed him before. But that was all in the arena, during the Games, when she was doing everything in her power to keep him alive.

This... this is completely different.]

Yeah.

[It still takes her a moment or two after whispering the word to move her hands back to the bottom of his shirt. And another couple of moments before she's finally able to lift it up and off.]

[The slight chill of the air around him isn't the only thing that makes goosebumps stand up along his arms. His hands, raised to help her in her task, come back down and land on her shoulders. One cradles the back of her neck as he kisses her again, while the other traces the gentle curve of one soft shoulder.]

[Katniss is grateful for the distraction of his lips when he kisses her again. Nakedness still embarrasses her, as silly as it seems. And while she knows it's a necessity for what they want to do, it's not easy to completely put herself at ease.

He's warm though and his skin is smooth. No burn scars yet, not like her own body. It's not so bad now, not like they were when she first arrived. But she knows they're there, all over, up to her neck.

She's a fire mutt. And he still found her beautiful.

A sudden enthusiasm fills her and she lets herself place her hands back on his back. Touching the warm skin, actually truly exploring every exposed bit of his back, even the base of his dandelion wings.]

Edited 2012-08-21 04:13 (UTC)

[He's seen more of her scars than she might realize, sleeping by her every night. A shirt creeping up her back as she lies on her stomach, pajama pants riding up or down, a sleeve rolled up. It's really not that much of a shock to see the rest of her body, and the little shock there was, he hid well. He really does think she's beautiful.

To make his point, he kisses a scar just above one breast, drawing the hand on her neck down to her waist. The sensation of her hands exploring his back makes the goosebumps go crazy, but when he hands reach his wings, he sucks in a sharp gasp.]

[She's been good up to now. Any time she's been afraid, she's found ways to overcome. Deep breaths, frightened gulps, even just losing herself in his kiss.

But when he gasps, she startles. Her hands move from his wings as quickly as they possibly could and she bolts upright in the bed. In the end, it's not the worry over her own insecurities that gets a reaction. It's fear for Peeta's well being.]

Are you okay? Peeta? Did I hurt you?

No! [He pulls away enough to look her straight in the eye.] No. It felt good, actually. Do you...?

[He tries to show her by ghosting his fingertips over the top of one of her wings, very gently.]

[He wouldn't lie to her. At least, he wouldn't lie to her about something like this. She can trust him. It's a thought that's only confirmed when their eyes meet.

He wouldn't lie.]

It did? It-- [The sentence breaks off when he touches the tip of her wing and she finds herself shivering. Hugging herself and looking away in an attempt not to drown in the way that felt.

She looks up, bashful.] Can you do that again?

[This time, he uses both hands, one for each wing, and goes a little slower and firmer, admiring the mockingjay pattern as he goes. He has so much of her body left to explore and map, and he can't help his eyes doing so.]

[It takes a moment for her brain to catch up with the rest of her body. By the time she notices the exploration of his eyes, she's too caught up in the way his hands are touching her wings to care. It's... liberating.

And it does feel good. He was right. It feels even better than the way his lips had felt on her neck.

Huskily,] You're good at this.

[The sound of her voice. Gosh, does she even know what that does to him?]

So are you. [It's just hard to explain why. With his hands thus occupied, he lowers himself down to kiss another scar, this one on the top of her breast. How long should he keep up the wing-stroking, though, before it gets old?]

I don't -- [She stops herself. She doesn't agree with his opinion. But then, Katniss doesn't agree with most of Peeta's opinions about her.

And what he's currently doing with his lips is a lot more interesting than being self-depreciating. She looks down at the way his head hovers over her chest and comes to a quick decision.] You can remove the bra, too. If you want.

Are you sure? [He looks up at her, not surprised, only checking. Still, one hand moves to hover beside her, poised to follow her suggestion.]

[She nods quickly. If he gives her too much time to think on it, she'll back out. But for now, for now she's feeling almost confident, almost comfortable being naked in front of him.]

Yeah.

Okay. Sit up a little.

[It's a bit of a struggle from this position. He practically has to bury his face between her breasts, although he's not exactly complaining about that. Between the two of them, though, they manage to unhook the offending garment. It doesn't take much uncovering to see the extent of the damage done even to this tender part of her body. When the bra is cast aside, he takes a moment to absorb the sight. He can't...feel sad for her, not right now. He can't imagine the pain of the burns, or the surgeries, or the long recovery. All the same, he can't help but think about it, consider what this body has been through for the sake of Panem, for the sake of her family. For his sake?

If that's the case, then he'll worship this body. He'll compensate for the pain with pleasure, and honor the punishment she took by loving every part of her, even the scars. His hands reach out to gently cup her breasts, smoothing over them delicately. His blue eyes, pupils dilated, flicker upward to meet hers.]

You're beautiful.

[She does what he says, remaining practically frozen in position otherwise. Katniss watches as the last remaining shield of modesty is dropped on the bed, leaving the faded scars of her upper body completely exposed. Leaving her completely exposed.

But she's certain - even before he says it aloud - that in Peeta's eyes, she's still beautiful. The scars are beautiful. Something he can kiss and tease. Something more than a painful reminder of loss and suffering. Rebirth instead of destruction. That constant reminder that things can be good again.

So even as his body reacts to his touch, to how right her breasts feel in his hands, she keeps herself steady. Looks down at her body, a body she's avoided looking at any time she could help it, and tries to see it in new light. She can't, not yet, not entirely. But maybe it's a start.]

Thank you.

[She manages a small smile when she meets his blue eyes. Beautiful blue eyes. So much nicer than her own gray ones. She could look into them forever right now.]

[When her eyes meet his, he smiles. And leans in to kiss her again, deeply, while his fingertips circle her breasts, spiraling inward slowly. He's really not sure how sensitive they are, but since treating her like glass seems to be going well, he refrains from squeezing and makes a note to refrain from nibbling as well. But maybe as a result of the delicate treatment, he doesn't quite spend enough time there before he winces and sits up.]

Sorry.

[His hands move to his fly, the pressure underneath steadily in greater need of easing.] Or, um, would you like to unzip? It's getting kind of uncomfortable.

[She kisses him back, one hand resting against the juncture of jaw and throat while the other slowly resumes its early exploration of his side. The way he's touching her, featherlight strokes of her breasts, makes it hard to concentrate on her own actions. It's not as potent as when his hands were on her wings but its enough to add on and on to that tingling warmth.

And it's enough to make her startle a little when he moves away. Briefly worry that her touches might not have been enough, that he's finally grown tired of her skin.

The real reason is much more embarrassing. Her eyes follow the direction of his hands, steadily causing a rosy blush to bloom on her cheeks and spread downward to envelope most of her olive skin. Would she like to? Oh. Oh, right. Her mother was as close to a doctor as you could find the Seam. She knows this. Knows the basics of how it works.

Why can't she stop blushing? Katniss bites her lip and ducks her head as if it would make the blush go away. It doesn't.]

Maybe, um. Maybe you should.

[What if she pulled the zipper to rough? What if she hurt him?]

[Right. Maybe some other time. He just feels like kind of a jerk, unzipping his own fly around her. But he does so without ceremony, kicking his wet jeans onto the floor.

Apologetically:] Not a fabric that allows for expansion.

[Maybe he can make her blush all over. Wouldn't that be a sight? But his fingers ghost over her stomach to remind her he hasn't stopped.]

[While she's undressed him before, the circumstances had been completely different. He had been sick, nearly dying. And he wasn't... well, his lower anatomy didn't look like that.

The blush reddens, teasing the tops of her breast. She wants to look away but she doesn't know how. It's... well, embarrassing, yes. But also inexplicably fascinating.

A hand darts forward as if to touch and then pulls back just as quickly.] I did that?

A little bit. [An almost shy smile.] Or a lot. Um. [His hands land on the button of her pants, and he looks up, inquisitive.]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]

[action]