[fic: the hunger games]
for the discerning connoisseur
the hunger games. peeta x katniss. pwp. not necessarily because she insists on being the one in control, but more because Peeta insists on being the one without it. ~800 | nc17
for the porn battle
“I want to try something,” Peeta says.
Katniss is shocked, at first. She’s always been the one to take the lead, to instigate; not necessarily because she insists on being the one in control, but more because Peeta insists on being the one without it. She knows he’s afraid, of what he could do if he ever goes to those dark places chained around his ankles like weights. And they’re still so new together, with each other, that she isn’t sure how to show him he’s wrong.
So he tells her I want to try something and she gives him a half-blank stare, limply allowing him to boost her onto the counter. He’d cornered her in the kitchen, a place she’d come to think of as his sort of haven, developing the habits of sneaking in and out with food unless expressly invited, afraid of interrupting his hard-won peace.
When he urges her to pull down her pants, understanding dawns inside her and she offers a surprising murmur of protest. It’s not like-she’s thought of it, this, before of course. Mostly in relation to what she could to do to him, but then that had lead to thinking if he could do it to her, and she had laid awake in her bed that night feeling overly hot and not sure what to do about the rampant marathon her imagination started running.
“Trust me,” Peeta says and really, that’s enough. She does. Completely and wholly, and together they shimmy her out of her pants. Katniss sighs breathlessly as he pulls her underwear down, and then releases a pent-up moan when she feels his mouth kissing at her ankle, making its wet, warm way up her leg.
She’s easing off her jacket when his mouth ghosts over the inside of her thigh. An instinctual knowledge seems to make her body hum, and she trembles beneath the hands that urge her legs farther apart.
He drops to the knee of his good leg, then eases down on the other. The counter’s lower than normal, and it puts him at eye level. Katniss would think she would be beyond blushing after everything she’d been through, but still she feels the heat rush down from her cheeks to her stomach to settle like a hot liquid ball between her thighs.
“Oh,” Peeta says and she jolts as he licks at her outer lips. Katniss releases a long, low sigh and maintains her balance by gripping the edge of the counter.
“Peeta,” she murmurs, breathless. The a of his name seems to feed into a throaty moan as his fingers delve into the syrupy moisture between her legs, fingers gliding upward to the bundle of nerves perched at the top of her sex. She arches into his hand as he plucks at it. This is familiar. He knows to touch there, has learned that before.
But then the tongue. The tongue is new. His chin brushes against her left thigh, and she feels his rough, calloused fingers opening her, allowing his tongue to lap up the moisture gathered there. She trembles, and moans his name again, lifting her legs and settling them over the breadth of his shoulders. He places one big hand along the curve of her hip.
“Yes,” she says, bucking up into him. She coils up against his seeking mouth, and then he presses his tongue inside her and she has to slam a fisted hand against her mouth to keep from screaming the house down. His free hand moves higher, thumb tracing a lazy path over her stomach, and she guides it to her breast and they knead it together as she rocks against his mouth, as his tongue moves deep inside her channel.
The fingers on her free hand tug sharply at the tuff of blonde hair and she feels him groan against her, the rough texture of it reverberating straight up to the breasts caught in his grasp. Her heels press into jutting bones of his shoulder blades, and Katniss has always been rather quiet but fierce. This time she comes loudly, bucking against him, clamping her legs around his head as if to lock him in place. Peeta doesn’t seem in a hurry to go anywhere, not until he at least milks the last bit of release from her and slumps downward, spent.
He stands, struggling a little on his bad leg, and pulls her in for a kiss and she tastes the heady, strange sensation of her own arousal on his tongue-spicy and dark.
Her fingers find a small scar to trace at the underside of his chin. “Why?” she asks.
Peeta smiles. “Because I’ve always wondered if you taste as good as I imagine.”
Katniss laughs. “Well the next time we’re in the woods, I’m going to have a surprise for you.”
the hunger games. peeta x katniss. pwp. not necessarily because she insists on being the one in control, but more because Peeta insists on being the one without it. ~800 | nc17
for the porn battle
“I want to try something,” Peeta says.
Katniss is shocked, at first. She’s always been the one to take the lead, to instigate; not necessarily because she insists on being the one in control, but more because Peeta insists on being the one without it. She knows he’s afraid, of what he could do if he ever goes to those dark places chained around his ankles like weights. And they’re still so new together, with each other, that she isn’t sure how to show him he’s wrong.
So he tells her I want to try something and she gives him a half-blank stare, limply allowing him to boost her onto the counter. He’d cornered her in the kitchen, a place she’d come to think of as his sort of haven, developing the habits of sneaking in and out with food unless expressly invited, afraid of interrupting his hard-won peace.
When he urges her to pull down her pants, understanding dawns inside her and she offers a surprising murmur of protest. It’s not like-she’s thought of it, this, before of course. Mostly in relation to what she could to do to him, but then that had lead to thinking if he could do it to her, and she had laid awake in her bed that night feeling overly hot and not sure what to do about the rampant marathon her imagination started running.
“Trust me,” Peeta says and really, that’s enough. She does. Completely and wholly, and together they shimmy her out of her pants. Katniss sighs breathlessly as he pulls her underwear down, and then releases a pent-up moan when she feels his mouth kissing at her ankle, making its wet, warm way up her leg.
She’s easing off her jacket when his mouth ghosts over the inside of her thigh. An instinctual knowledge seems to make her body hum, and she trembles beneath the hands that urge her legs farther apart.
He drops to the knee of his good leg, then eases down on the other. The counter’s lower than normal, and it puts him at eye level. Katniss would think she would be beyond blushing after everything she’d been through, but still she feels the heat rush down from her cheeks to her stomach to settle like a hot liquid ball between her thighs.
“Oh,” Peeta says and she jolts as he licks at her outer lips. Katniss releases a long, low sigh and maintains her balance by gripping the edge of the counter.
“Peeta,” she murmurs, breathless. The a of his name seems to feed into a throaty moan as his fingers delve into the syrupy moisture between her legs, fingers gliding upward to the bundle of nerves perched at the top of her sex. She arches into his hand as he plucks at it. This is familiar. He knows to touch there, has learned that before.
But then the tongue. The tongue is new. His chin brushes against her left thigh, and she feels his rough, calloused fingers opening her, allowing his tongue to lap up the moisture gathered there. She trembles, and moans his name again, lifting her legs and settling them over the breadth of his shoulders. He places one big hand along the curve of her hip.
“Yes,” she says, bucking up into him. She coils up against his seeking mouth, and then he presses his tongue inside her and she has to slam a fisted hand against her mouth to keep from screaming the house down. His free hand moves higher, thumb tracing a lazy path over her stomach, and she guides it to her breast and they knead it together as she rocks against his mouth, as his tongue moves deep inside her channel.
The fingers on her free hand tug sharply at the tuff of blonde hair and she feels him groan against her, the rough texture of it reverberating straight up to the breasts caught in his grasp. Her heels press into jutting bones of his shoulder blades, and Katniss has always been rather quiet but fierce. This time she comes loudly, bucking against him, clamping her legs around his head as if to lock him in place. Peeta doesn’t seem in a hurry to go anywhere, not until he at least milks the last bit of release from her and slumps downward, spent.
He stands, struggling a little on his bad leg, and pulls her in for a kiss and she tastes the heady, strange sensation of her own arousal on his tongue-spicy and dark.
Her fingers find a small scar to trace at the underside of his chin. “Why?” she asks.
Peeta smiles. “Because I’ve always wondered if you taste as good as I imagine.”
Katniss laughs. “Well the next time we’re in the woods, I’m going to have a surprise for you.”