two ficlets | hunger games | peeta/gale | haymitch/peeta
title: this mute language they share
pairing: peeta/gale (past peeta/katniss)
rating: pg-13
prompt: you look so angry when you sleep
words: 446
beta: girl-on-sunshine
disclaimer: no profit is being made; no copyright infringement is intended. the hunger games belongs to suzanne collins, the title is by jean hegland.
author's notes: originally posted here.
this isn't the story of a boy who loves a girl any more
.
There once was a time when he needed to hear those noises she makes when he draws circles at the base of her spine, presses his chapped lips to hers and whispers caresses, aiming straight for her heart.
But they're not Peeta & Katniss any more, no Star-Crossed Lovers, no fake fake, and sometimes so real scenes only build for the cameras around them.
She, all scuffed knees and tangled hair, is his past now.
.
this is the story of a boy who loves another boy now
.
He watches his own pale pale fingers dancing across honey arms. They're soft, yet so strong, and it shouldn't even matter to him who's waist they circle at night, he knows that, but oh, it does.
He looks so angry when he sleeps. Maybe because they're hurting his best best friend, together, and don't ever want to stop. Maybe because the people around him die and die and die. Probably both.
“Why are you staring again?” Gale opening his eyes ever so slightly makes the breath catch in Peeta's throat. A mess of tangled feelings tries to flee from his heart, wants to take the path over his tongue and escape into real, said out loud words Gale isn't supposed to ever hear.
There aren't many words between them; Gale isn't one for talking. But there is this mute language they one day discovered they shared, the fluent and precise language of tongues.
Gales lips are a bright, brilliant flash of colour in the darkness of the room that's surrounding them. Peeta thinks about the perfect blush of him, how his sweat tastes, and the way his own stomach makes a weird kind of almost somersault just before he knows he is about to get kissed.
“Fuck knows why I bother with you.” Gale sits up, the sheets pool around his hips, and scratches at his chest. “Lie back.” And Peeta lets Gale fuck him into the mattress, his legs wrapped tight around his body.
He isn't sure if Gale loves him back or please please ever will, but he knows their story will continue - has to.
.
title: in the end, what's left?
pairing: haymitch/peeta
rating: pg-13
prompt: you are beautiful, but you don't mean a thing to me
words: 466
beta: girl-on-sunshine
disclaimer: no profit is being made; no copyright infringement is intended. the hunger games belongs to suzanne collins.
author's notes: originally posted here. set before the third quarter quell.
Peeta wakes with the morning sun. The buttermilk skin of his bare hip is peeking up from underneath the sea blue sheets. A thick, heavy arm is slung around his waist, sticky with cool, dried sweat.
I'm doing this for Katniss, he tells himself; he always does. He's here to keep her safe, his not really fiancé, see, not because he longs for these chapped lips to glide across his body, these rough hands to keep him in place and pin him to the mattress.
Staring at the marigold tapestry instead of the warm body he left in bed, he pulls on his clothes and tries to leave without another glance. He fails, of course, but that's nothing new.
He is already back when the day he spent with nothing and nothing but thinking of him loses it's usual fight against the creeping dusk of the night.
There's no how are you or how was your day, there never is, but it's okay. As long as he has the kisses and touches and what they do in the dark, it's okay.
Haymitch seems lost in drunken reverie. A cup of something dangles lopsided from his loose grip. Peeta combs one of his pale pale hands through his hair - like a claw - and keeps getting it caught in a thousand little knots.
“God, stop this already,” Haymitch suddenly snaps and pushes Peeta's hand aside. His large fingers close around smaller wrists. Peeta doesn't mind being pulled towards the bedroom, pushed into soft soft sheets and pretending it's all about Katniss, remember?
Though his pale grey eyes, cutting sharply through the darkness of sleeping nights and sometimes mornings white as diamonds, always leave a tiny space for maybe - maybe not.
Still.“Save her, save Katniss and let me die,” he begs, again and again, and stifles all answers with needy kisses he'd never admit to anybody else.
Haymitch is kneeling above him. There's no space between them, their hot bodies, and please please he even presses them closer together.
Peeta licks his wanting lips. His fingers itch with the desire to cling to Haymitch's skin, drown in his thick curls, something. “Do it for me” he whispers, and oh, he should have known better. There's suddenly so much air between them, too much, please.
Haymitch's laugh is hoarse with the anticipation of sex and the hungry kisses they just shared. “You are beautiful, boy, but you don't mean a thing to me, just so you know.”
It seems this really only is about Katniss in the end.
pairing: peeta/gale (past peeta/katniss)
rating: pg-13
prompt: you look so angry when you sleep
words: 446
beta: girl-on-sunshine
disclaimer: no profit is being made; no copyright infringement is intended. the hunger games belongs to suzanne collins, the title is by jean hegland.
author's notes: originally posted here.
this isn't the story of a boy who loves a girl any more
.
There once was a time when he needed to hear those noises she makes when he draws circles at the base of her spine, presses his chapped lips to hers and whispers caresses, aiming straight for her heart.
But they're not Peeta & Katniss any more, no Star-Crossed Lovers, no fake fake, and sometimes so real scenes only build for the cameras around them.
She, all scuffed knees and tangled hair, is his past now.
.
this is the story of a boy who loves another boy now
.
He watches his own pale pale fingers dancing across honey arms. They're soft, yet so strong, and it shouldn't even matter to him who's waist they circle at night, he knows that, but oh, it does.
He looks so angry when he sleeps. Maybe because they're hurting his best best friend, together, and don't ever want to stop. Maybe because the people around him die and die and die. Probably both.
“Why are you staring again?” Gale opening his eyes ever so slightly makes the breath catch in Peeta's throat. A mess of tangled feelings tries to flee from his heart, wants to take the path over his tongue and escape into real, said out loud words Gale isn't supposed to ever hear.
There aren't many words between them; Gale isn't one for talking. But there is this mute language they one day discovered they shared, the fluent and precise language of tongues.
Gales lips are a bright, brilliant flash of colour in the darkness of the room that's surrounding them. Peeta thinks about the perfect blush of him, how his sweat tastes, and the way his own stomach makes a weird kind of almost somersault just before he knows he is about to get kissed.
“Fuck knows why I bother with you.” Gale sits up, the sheets pool around his hips, and scratches at his chest. “Lie back.” And Peeta lets Gale fuck him into the mattress, his legs wrapped tight around his body.
He isn't sure if Gale loves him back or please please ever will, but he knows their story will continue - has to.
.
title: in the end, what's left?
pairing: haymitch/peeta
rating: pg-13
prompt: you are beautiful, but you don't mean a thing to me
words: 466
beta: girl-on-sunshine
disclaimer: no profit is being made; no copyright infringement is intended. the hunger games belongs to suzanne collins.
author's notes: originally posted here. set before the third quarter quell.
Peeta wakes with the morning sun. The buttermilk skin of his bare hip is peeking up from underneath the sea blue sheets. A thick, heavy arm is slung around his waist, sticky with cool, dried sweat.
I'm doing this for Katniss, he tells himself; he always does. He's here to keep her safe, his not really fiancé, see, not because he longs for these chapped lips to glide across his body, these rough hands to keep him in place and pin him to the mattress.
Staring at the marigold tapestry instead of the warm body he left in bed, he pulls on his clothes and tries to leave without another glance. He fails, of course, but that's nothing new.
He is already back when the day he spent with nothing and nothing but thinking of him loses it's usual fight against the creeping dusk of the night.
There's no how are you or how was your day, there never is, but it's okay. As long as he has the kisses and touches and what they do in the dark, it's okay.
Haymitch seems lost in drunken reverie. A cup of something dangles lopsided from his loose grip. Peeta combs one of his pale pale hands through his hair - like a claw - and keeps getting it caught in a thousand little knots.
“God, stop this already,” Haymitch suddenly snaps and pushes Peeta's hand aside. His large fingers close around smaller wrists. Peeta doesn't mind being pulled towards the bedroom, pushed into soft soft sheets and pretending it's all about Katniss, remember?
Though his pale grey eyes, cutting sharply through the darkness of sleeping nights and sometimes mornings white as diamonds, always leave a tiny space for maybe - maybe not.
Still.“Save her, save Katniss and let me die,” he begs, again and again, and stifles all answers with needy kisses he'd never admit to anybody else.
Haymitch is kneeling above him. There's no space between them, their hot bodies, and please please he even presses them closer together.
Peeta licks his wanting lips. His fingers itch with the desire to cling to Haymitch's skin, drown in his thick curls, something. “Do it for me” he whispers, and oh, he should have known better. There's suddenly so much air between them, too much, please.
Haymitch's laugh is hoarse with the anticipation of sex and the hungry kisses they just shared. “You are beautiful, boy, but you don't mean a thing to me, just so you know.”
It seems this really only is about Katniss in the end.