stillplaying | 7th Game [action/voice]

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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

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.]

[His shy smile is met with one of her own. It's amazing just how much his grin seems to reassure her. Remind her that she's not alone in this new thing.

When his hands slip downward, she does finally break her gaze away. Katniss glances down at where they rest briefly and then looks up to smile shyly again and nod.]

Please?

[The smile broadens, then he leans down to kiss her belly softly. His hands deftly undo her button, then fly. Then, he hesitates, realizing he's not...quite sure what to do with what he's about to, um, get into, so to speak. He knows what girl parts look like, of course. But the touching and the pleasuring is supposed to be a rather precise art that he is unfamiliar with. What if he hurts her?

His fingertips curl over the top of her jeans and underwear. Without anywhere else to go but forward, he starts to slide them down off her hips.]

[Her heart beats loudly in her chest. How can he not hear it? Her nerves feel as if they'll get the better of her any moment and she's doing her best not to let them. She digs her hands into the blanket, propping herself up a little on her elbows, determined not to look away.

Slowly, almost painfully slow, her garments seem to be pulled off her body. She arches her back and lifts her legs when necessary, wanting to help in any way she can.

And then, in no time at all, she's naked. The scars on her arms and chest and stomach continue down onto her legs but Peeta's already shown that he doesn't seem to care. That she's still beautiful. Maybe still that girl on fire, rather than the fire mutt.]

Wow.

[Whispered, shocked. She's actually doing this, isn't she? Now, here. With the boy with the bread.]

Do you still...want to? [His hands are already on her thighs, but his eyes are on her. He heard that shock, and doesn't want to pressure her if she's having second thoughts.]

Yeah.

[Her voice is still quiet, that awe and shock still there. But there's no hesitance in replying. None at all. She wants this. She even thinks she wants this more than she's wanted anything in a long time. Because she can't imagine being here with anyone else, being with anyone else.

Maybe needing someone like this, needing them to survive, is a sort of love in its own.]

Yeah, I do. [She laughs, happy and relieved. She does, doesn't she? It might've happened eventually, but it's happening now.] Do you?

[His hands draw up and down her thighs reassuringly.] Yeah. Yeah, I do. [He keeps caressing her thighs as he leans up to kiss her.] Just tell me what you want me to do.

[Never leave her.

It's not what he's asking, but it's still the first thought to come to mind. Never leave her. Not unless he has no other choice. But never of his own free will.]

You're so warm. [The words are mumbled between messy kisses as she continues to lean forward, following his lips, trying to get as close as possible. Her hands play with his hair, the back of his neck, any bit of skin they can find.] I like it.

[A small, self-conscious chuckle bubbles into the kiss. One hand moves from her thigh to work at the tie in her hair. It takes some doing, but he wants to see her hair undone about her, splayed on the pillow, while he lies nestled between her legs. When it's done, he spends a moment arranging her hair about her with artistic interest. It's something of a stall, since as increasingly physically desperate as he is, he's getting increasingly shy over what to do next.

One hand lands on her thigh again, sliding upward, then hesitating at the top.]

Can I...touch you?

[it takes her a moment to realize what he's doing. Not brushing or stroking her hair, like he had been earlier, but something more worth removing the hair tie for. She feels self-concious for a moment. Here she is, lying naked in front of Peeta Mellark, and she feels self-concious about freeing her hair from her braid. And it's not like he's never seen it down before.

She giggles shyly as she lets him play with her hair, still lazily stroking his back and side. It's a nice sensation, different from all the other ones he's been causing tonight. Tender instead of hungry. But still loving. There's no mistaking the love in any of his carresses. Do her own touches feel the same to him?

He's done. Suddenly, procrastination seems to be over. And he's being shy again. Asking if he can touch her. Hasn't he been doing just that this whole time? Why ask for permission now? Why... oh.]

Y-yes.

Edited 2012-08-21 20:21 (UTC)

[His hand just might shake a little as he smooths over her lower belly, then trails his fingers downward. Warming more than caressing. He tries to keep looking her in the eyes. Then, one finger begins to explore. It doesn't enter, and he tries to very hard to be as gentle as possible. In fact, it might be too gentle, but he'd rather err on that side than hurt her. His other hand keeps caressing her thigh as his finger slides over the little nub.]

You're...soft.

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