"Hostage" (Peeta/Katniss, Rated R)
Title: "Hostage"
Author: skellywag
Fandom: The Hunger Games
Pairing: Peeta/Katniss
Rating: R
Warnings: Spoilers for Mockingjay, though by this point that really shouldn't be a warning. Also. This ficlet is not Nice and Happy. There is blood, and there is violence. P.S. I wrote it in present tense, which I know is obnoxious but I couldn't help myself.
A/N: Written for a prompt on thgkinkmeme: Katniss/Peeta, hijacked hate sex. And though things are supposed to be anon there, I seriously hate being anon, so reposting here. :|
Katniss wonders who told the guards to let her in if she came. Haymitch, who wants Peeta well again as much as she does? Coin, who would welcome a much more fitting figurehead to her revolution? It doesn't really matter much who, she supposes, only that she has been permitted this, and the guards have closed her in with him, and there is no knob or handle on this side of the door. Nothing there to jab painfully into her back when Peeta is there, instantly, to pin her to it.
Her throat gives a faint twinge of residual discomfort in response to his sudden proximity, so like the last time that for a moment she doubts her ability to speak. But his hands are on her biceps-hard enough to bruise, yes, but nowhere near her neck-and it is his warm, bare chest that pins her in place. There are no guards on this side of the door to stop him, and no shackles, either. He wouldn't need them now, since it's after lights out and he should be sleeping. But he wasn't sleeping, was he? Probably Peeta has even more trouble sleeping now than he used to.
"I wondered when you would come," he murmurs. "You just can't help yourself, can you?" This close, he could do almost anything before the guards could get in to save her, and he realizes it at the same time she does because he grins, and her eyes dart behind her, out the window at her back. She knows better than to show such blatant fear to the enemy-it hurts to think of him like that, but right now how could he be anything else?-and he laughs hot and harsh, right in her face. "Why are you scared, Katniss? You're the mutt… What does a mutt have to be scared of?"
If he's trying to frighten her more, this is not the way to do it. Addressing her fear only serves to help her control it, and Katniss sets her jaw defiantly. "No," she grinds out, and she's almost insensibly angry though she knows it's not his fault he's acting this way. "I can't help myself. I want to help you, but I can't do that, either."
"You can't help anyone," Peeta chortles, and it's almost nauseating, how much loathing is contained in his voice. So different he is, from the boy with the bread, from the boy who has spent so much effort keeping her alive. "You're selfish, Katniss, and you have caused nothing but pain and grief to everyone who has been foolish enough to care about you. Do you know what they did to Cinna? Did Plutarch tell the precious Mockingjay how long it took him to die?"
With strength she doesn't know she has, Katniss wrenches her arm from Peeta's grasp and punches him in the mouth as hard as she can. She wants to do more, but common sense returns as she struggles to free her other arm and as Peeta reclaims the first. He pins them both over her head with her thin wrists in one large hand. "Let me go," she snaps, going still since even she can recognize the futility of such a hold. "You think I don't hate myself for what's happened to him?"
"I don't think you hate yourself nearly enough," he mutters back. His eyes narrow until he's watching her from beneath his eyelashes. "So help me," he mocks softly. "Help me understand why I don't know if I'd rather kill you or kiss you."
This is an opening she can work with, though she wasn't expecting half so much-didn't know what to expect, if she was perfectly honest. She lunges against his grip, mashing their faces together painfully (more painful for him, probably, after the blow she's just dealt), but she is kissing him, hard and sloppy, but also desperate in a way none of their kisses has been. Peeta freezes, his entire body gone so tight and rigid Katniss wonders if he's about to snap her wrists. But then he's kissing her back, if anything this vicious can be called a kiss. This is not sweet and eager Peeta; the kissing contains none of his gentle warmth. Peeta is feral, and he bites her lips bloody so that the kiss is painful for both of them. He flattens her to the door until she can feel his arousal digging into her stomach.
He doesn't ask permission, and Katniss doesn't argue, not even with herself. She doesn't know what she really wants, except that she wants the boy with the bread back, not this angry, hateful boy that wears expressions she doesn't recognize. She hopes this will remind him how he used to feel about her, but if it only makes Peeta resent her later, well, at least it will not be a resentment that the Capitol has engineered.
Peeta continues to pin her wrists with one hand, but with the other he pushes at her standard-issue pajama pants and Katniss squirms to help him, wriggling out of her underwear as well. His own prove to be even less of an obstacle; he doesn't even have to fully remove them. At no point does he stop ravaging her mouth, except to drop his head to leave livid red bite marks on her neck, where the pale skin is still marred with yellowing bruises from his fingers.
He does, finally, release her wrists, only to seize her by the waist. He lifts Katniss up the door with ease, levering her until her thighs part around him, and tighten at his hips. Katniss grips his shoulders, attempting to help support her weight, but she probably weighs less than the large bags of bakery flour did. Peeta snarls into the side of her throat when he drives his cock up into her, but Katniss allows only a choked whimper: her only acknowledgment of just how much it hurts as he breaks through her hymen. She's got no desire to hurt him, but as he begins to thrust, she digs her nails into his shoulders, rakes them down his arms until her fingers are wet with his blood. Her body wanted this-he slides easily in and out, again and again. But he didn't give the muscles any opportunity to stretch, and Katniss aches as he plunges into her, hard and fast. Yet she's still done more damage than he ever will. She holds Peeta tight as he growls his release, even though he also bites down on the join of her neck and shoulder until he breaks the skin. She strokes through his sweaty hair like she did when he was dying of blood poisoning.
And that is when he shoves himself away from her, gone pale and shaking. He drops her so quickly she nearly lands on the floor, before she manages to catch herself against the door. Peeta's eyes are so dilated, Katniss can barely see the blue in them, but he's forcing himself not to look at her. He's seeing something else; he has to be-she watches his gaze dart to blank spaces of wall. Is it a residual effect of the tracker jacker venom (which she'd been told has worked its way out of his system by now), or a memory?
Either way, it's clearly terrifying for him and Katniss takes a careful step forward, extending her hand towards him. He shakes his head, backing away. "Get out," he hisses, but it isn't anger that has made his voice so hoarse. That knowledge makes Katniss obey without question, banging on the door until a guard opens it, fleeing without bothering to dress first. Before she causes him even more pain.
~Fin.
Author: skellywag
Fandom: The Hunger Games
Pairing: Peeta/Katniss
Rating: R
Warnings: Spoilers for Mockingjay, though by this point that really shouldn't be a warning. Also. This ficlet is not Nice and Happy. There is blood, and there is violence. P.S. I wrote it in present tense, which I know is obnoxious but I couldn't help myself.
A/N: Written for a prompt on thgkinkmeme: Katniss/Peeta, hijacked hate sex. And though things are supposed to be anon there, I seriously hate being anon, so reposting here. :|
Katniss wonders who told the guards to let her in if she came. Haymitch, who wants Peeta well again as much as she does? Coin, who would welcome a much more fitting figurehead to her revolution? It doesn't really matter much who, she supposes, only that she has been permitted this, and the guards have closed her in with him, and there is no knob or handle on this side of the door. Nothing there to jab painfully into her back when Peeta is there, instantly, to pin her to it.
Her throat gives a faint twinge of residual discomfort in response to his sudden proximity, so like the last time that for a moment she doubts her ability to speak. But his hands are on her biceps-hard enough to bruise, yes, but nowhere near her neck-and it is his warm, bare chest that pins her in place. There are no guards on this side of the door to stop him, and no shackles, either. He wouldn't need them now, since it's after lights out and he should be sleeping. But he wasn't sleeping, was he? Probably Peeta has even more trouble sleeping now than he used to.
"I wondered when you would come," he murmurs. "You just can't help yourself, can you?" This close, he could do almost anything before the guards could get in to save her, and he realizes it at the same time she does because he grins, and her eyes dart behind her, out the window at her back. She knows better than to show such blatant fear to the enemy-it hurts to think of him like that, but right now how could he be anything else?-and he laughs hot and harsh, right in her face. "Why are you scared, Katniss? You're the mutt… What does a mutt have to be scared of?"
If he's trying to frighten her more, this is not the way to do it. Addressing her fear only serves to help her control it, and Katniss sets her jaw defiantly. "No," she grinds out, and she's almost insensibly angry though she knows it's not his fault he's acting this way. "I can't help myself. I want to help you, but I can't do that, either."
"You can't help anyone," Peeta chortles, and it's almost nauseating, how much loathing is contained in his voice. So different he is, from the boy with the bread, from the boy who has spent so much effort keeping her alive. "You're selfish, Katniss, and you have caused nothing but pain and grief to everyone who has been foolish enough to care about you. Do you know what they did to Cinna? Did Plutarch tell the precious Mockingjay how long it took him to die?"
With strength she doesn't know she has, Katniss wrenches her arm from Peeta's grasp and punches him in the mouth as hard as she can. She wants to do more, but common sense returns as she struggles to free her other arm and as Peeta reclaims the first. He pins them both over her head with her thin wrists in one large hand. "Let me go," she snaps, going still since even she can recognize the futility of such a hold. "You think I don't hate myself for what's happened to him?"
"I don't think you hate yourself nearly enough," he mutters back. His eyes narrow until he's watching her from beneath his eyelashes. "So help me," he mocks softly. "Help me understand why I don't know if I'd rather kill you or kiss you."
This is an opening she can work with, though she wasn't expecting half so much-didn't know what to expect, if she was perfectly honest. She lunges against his grip, mashing their faces together painfully (more painful for him, probably, after the blow she's just dealt), but she is kissing him, hard and sloppy, but also desperate in a way none of their kisses has been. Peeta freezes, his entire body gone so tight and rigid Katniss wonders if he's about to snap her wrists. But then he's kissing her back, if anything this vicious can be called a kiss. This is not sweet and eager Peeta; the kissing contains none of his gentle warmth. Peeta is feral, and he bites her lips bloody so that the kiss is painful for both of them. He flattens her to the door until she can feel his arousal digging into her stomach.
He doesn't ask permission, and Katniss doesn't argue, not even with herself. She doesn't know what she really wants, except that she wants the boy with the bread back, not this angry, hateful boy that wears expressions she doesn't recognize. She hopes this will remind him how he used to feel about her, but if it only makes Peeta resent her later, well, at least it will not be a resentment that the Capitol has engineered.
Peeta continues to pin her wrists with one hand, but with the other he pushes at her standard-issue pajama pants and Katniss squirms to help him, wriggling out of her underwear as well. His own prove to be even less of an obstacle; he doesn't even have to fully remove them. At no point does he stop ravaging her mouth, except to drop his head to leave livid red bite marks on her neck, where the pale skin is still marred with yellowing bruises from his fingers.
He does, finally, release her wrists, only to seize her by the waist. He lifts Katniss up the door with ease, levering her until her thighs part around him, and tighten at his hips. Katniss grips his shoulders, attempting to help support her weight, but she probably weighs less than the large bags of bakery flour did. Peeta snarls into the side of her throat when he drives his cock up into her, but Katniss allows only a choked whimper: her only acknowledgment of just how much it hurts as he breaks through her hymen. She's got no desire to hurt him, but as he begins to thrust, she digs her nails into his shoulders, rakes them down his arms until her fingers are wet with his blood. Her body wanted this-he slides easily in and out, again and again. But he didn't give the muscles any opportunity to stretch, and Katniss aches as he plunges into her, hard and fast. Yet she's still done more damage than he ever will. She holds Peeta tight as he growls his release, even though he also bites down on the join of her neck and shoulder until he breaks the skin. She strokes through his sweaty hair like she did when he was dying of blood poisoning.
And that is when he shoves himself away from her, gone pale and shaking. He drops her so quickly she nearly lands on the floor, before she manages to catch herself against the door. Peeta's eyes are so dilated, Katniss can barely see the blue in them, but he's forcing himself not to look at her. He's seeing something else; he has to be-she watches his gaze dart to blank spaces of wall. Is it a residual effect of the tracker jacker venom (which she'd been told has worked its way out of his system by now), or a memory?
Either way, it's clearly terrifying for him and Katniss takes a careful step forward, extending her hand towards him. He shakes his head, backing away. "Get out," he hisses, but it isn't anger that has made his voice so hoarse. That knowledge makes Katniss obey without question, banging on the door until a guard opens it, fleeing without bothering to dress first. Before she causes him even more pain.
~Fin.