Painted Words, Piercing Paragraphs

By: KaKaVegeGurl

Author's Note:

Alright everyone! Looksie, looksie! Omg, I'm so excited.

So, first of all, this chapter is long, longer then my usual. I wanted to give you lot something more to read, that'll satiate you all, since it's been a while. XP Two weeks since the end of Tip/Blades.

I can't wait to get down into this one. This will be far more mature then yer all prolly expecting. This chapter almost felt like writing a porn or something. But it had to be done.

The next chapter will prolly be similar. Remember, these two are raging teens, it's gonna happen.

So I haven't decided on the Opt A/Opt B yet.

I was thinking one with Katniss RLY preggers, that would be Opt B, and one with her not (more by the book, kinda); that would be Opt A. Opt A seems to be the book norm, more or less. So yeah, yay or nay? Yer choice.

Also, I need to name Peeta's prep team, big time. I haven't decided on names or personalities, but I think they will show up in chapter 3. So if you lot have suggestions, all are welcome.

Okay, I'll let you lot go with that, I don't think I've forgotten anything. ^^;

Thank you all so much fer the continuing support and reading of my fanfic! Please, have a nice steaming cup of yaoi.


Side Notes:

'Cause I know, that you know,
You're all over me now.
And it's clear, it will show,
Your curtains will close.
But if your heart is cold, my sheets are warm.
I will shelter you through the storm.
I will shelter you all through the storm.

Chapter 1 - Persistent, Foolish, and Relentless

Katniss Everdeen.

That's who this entire story started with, and that's who it will end with.

She's the girl that was from the Seam, in the beginning, now she's most known as 'the girl that was on fire'. The girl that won the Hunger Games. The girl from the Victor's Village.

She's the girl that my mother still can't stand, the girl that my father adores.

She use to sell squirrels to my dad. Now she simply delivers them.

She is the girl that I've always been in love with. The girl that loves me.

That's Katniss Everdeen.

I watch her run to the stand to save Prim, slowly pushing through the people around, her bangs flying back with the wind, her arms struggling through a crowd that was pre-parting for her anyways. I watch her as she knowingly puts her life on the line for her only, young, beloved sister. Her eyes glassing over with tears, Prim fights to stop Katniss's selfless act, she is the small angel, with her tears and choking voice, that mirrors what is happening to me on the inside. Gale Hawthorne pulls the crying little blond away and allows Katniss to take up the stage.

And I am helpless to stop her myself. Helpless because this was a time that Katniss didn't know who I was. It wasn't my right, to go to her, to call her back down, to beg and plead with her as Prim had.

If that was now though, I would've done so. I would've willingly put my life on the line in front of everyone in Panem. Including the Capitol, including Snow and his soldiers.

But as it was, I only watched in horror as they condemned the girl I loved to death, and then called my name as well.

The fear in my stomach bubbled, I remember, and I couldn't even grasp back onto reality. Whether I couldn't, or didn't want to, I'll never know.

In the arena, nearly a week after that, I fought for her life, not caring about my own. And as a reward, Katniss and I lived through it all, survived the deaths surrounding us, the injuries caused to us and causing, my lost leg, and even through Cato.

But Snow loomed over still, glaring, his dark eyes haunting as he placed the tiara on Katniss's head. And I saw him as Cato, clawing down on Katniss, wanting to hurt her. And inevitably wanting to kill her.

Snow would have to die if Katniss was ever going to be free again.

Alright, I accept your terms, Game Maker. Just put me in the arena, and I'll fight for you again. Whatever landscape you choose is the landscape that I'll spread Snow's blood over like jam on toast.

I'm holding the back of the arrow so close to my cheek that it caresses the soft, invisible hairs over my skin. It could be ticklish if the feather of it wasn't so completely stiff. I feel my tongue wanting to glue itself to the floor of my mouth, the soft serenity of the forest around calms me.

I watch the sparse snow fall, slowly and patiently through the leaves. And a piece of it has to have landed on my cheek as I feel the wet of it become a bead of water when it reaches the heat of my skin. It drips down quickly, slides over my throat, and dies in the collar of my shirt.

The silence around is sharp and I enjoy the feel of the taught string pulled under my hand. I thumb the bladed tip of the arrow before my fingers as I wait patiently.

Katniss is as still as a statue by my side, she sits unnoticed by everything around, but I enjoy knowing that she's there. I can hardly hear her breathing, but she takes a deep one to let me know, it's the only way she can communicate at this point. Because, if she makes even the smallest move, she'll startle our pray. My pray.

I let the breath out silently, feel my arms numb with it, my chest tighten up despite that it should've loosened instead. And then I release the arrow with it.

The rabbit is struck before I can even blink and is thrown through the wet leaves of the forest floor as the blade of the arrow hits it directly in it's side. The small body is slung like a rag doll, lifeless, incapable of struggle or disagreement against my attack. I'm glad that it's died quickly, and I hear Katniss's smile, though it has no sound, just before she lets out a soft laugh.

We drop from the tree to collect my first kill. The pride that fills me is almost overwhelming and Katniss kneels to take care of the small creature before she puts it into her hunting bag.

When she turns to me, her grin is wide and heartfelt.

She lets out a soft, proud chuckle as she wraps her arms around my waist in a hug, "You did perfect–"

"Not in the eye," I start to argue as I hug back.

"Shush," she says as she pulls away and rubs her nose against mine for warmth, "You did great, Peeta."

"Thank you," I take her hand in mine as we start off finally, "After so much practice, I'm glad I actually have gotten to this point."

We tuck the bows and arrows away in the hollow log that she's been keeping them in for years, and then we start the trek back to her old home. It's still early in the morning for us, but we take from the forest anyways, the traps have all been reset, and we've managed to pull in more food then usual.

She stares at me with a smoldering look, and I know what she intends it to be taken as. Allowance. Or maybe... Request?

As we fold together on the bed in her old room, I take her up into my arms protectively, kiss the flesh of her neck, tangle my legs with her's.

She moans against me as we warm together. My hands slide patiently over her cold thighs, rubbing to warm them through her pants. I untie the hunting boots, strip them from her feet. Her back arches against the bed as I pull the damp pants from her legs finally, run my fingers through the soft hair of them and worship her for a moment.

The front of my teeth nip at the flesh of her calves, sucking to redden the skin. I pull the wet socks from her feet and kiss the soles of them, massage warmth into them with my large palms, I kiss her ankle and do the same to the other leg.

Her face is heated, red, and she watches me closely as I take my time, working up her legs like a practiced masseuse.

The cold metal zipper of my jacket brushes her leg as I lean over her to kiss her thighs and she shivers, "Peeta," she protests.

I sit up, shift out of my jacket as it sticks to my sweater, and then bend my body over her's again. I kiss her lips this time, raise her shirt, pull up her bra and knead at her firm breasts with my mouth and palms. Teeth graze over the sensitivity of her nipples, tongue roughly dragging over, saliva building in my mouth.

Her breathing is labored and hitches at times, she's sweating already with her cheeks flushed red, and her hand tangles up in my hair, "Peeta," she manages out again. My name has never sounded so beautiful before.

I leave the flesh wet to be hardened even more with the cold of the air around us. My palm runs over her smooth tummy, rests against her gut as she stares up at me. Her bangs stick to her face, long and messy, her braid over her shoulder sits between her left breast and arm. She looks completely undone.

I pull away for a moment, manage my pants halfway down to my knees, just enough to give her the feel of the fabric of my boxers against her flesh. Her gray eyes stare up at me through the lust that fogs them, she begs me with them.

I've only been so bold once before, on the train home from the seventy-fourth Hunger Games, and we normally don't get too physical. She knows what kind of man I am. But I want this, just a little bit for now, I think I've deserved it. I've been good enough.

"Peeta," she's growing impatient as her hands start to move towards my crotch.

I grab up her wrists and plant them so that they are with her palms pressed to my chest, and then I lower my waist, intentionally pressing the tip of my erection against her panties.

She lets out a shaky breath. Her acceptance warms me inside and her desire for me makes it so that I have to go farther. It's obvious that she's been wanting more for a long time, I intend to give her more, but I refuse to go too far. I refuse almost on a daily basis.

We share a look as I lower my body, dragging the tip of my need through the crease in her underwear, she spreads her legs acceptingly and I thrust my hips against her just a bit. A moan escapes her mouth and I let out a shuddering breath to her neck. I want her.

I want so much more. I want to pull away the rest of our clothes, I want to feel her around me, I want her legs to squeeze against my sides, want to feel her dull nails on my back, her sweat to mix with mine. I fight the want, however, with my respect for her.

"More, please." But she's demanding.

I hide my smile and whisper into her ear, "Marry me." It's not a question, it's a demand.

She breathes back, "Peeta."

"I know," I tell her, "I know, we're young, and it's so much more complicated then that. But dammit, Katniss. Marry me anyways."

"Why?" she laughs weakly as I nip her ear.

I rub my throbbing erection into her underwear again, possibly pressing into her just a bit and she lets out a soft moan of desperate need.

"You get what you want," I tell her, "And I get what I want."

"Why do you have to be such a gentleman?"

I pull away to look into her eyes, "A gentle man is what I'll always be," I kiss her dry lips, lick over them to moisten and then kiss her again, her body swells to meet mine and I grope at her left breast with my right hand.

"Say yes, Katniss," I whisper to her, "Say yes, and when we're married, I will make love to you as often as you want."

She shudders against me, but it could be from the cold, and her eyes are closed.

She won't answer me, probably never, but then I will never stop asking. I'm persistent, and probably foolish enough, to chase after her relentlessly. There's no one as perfect, no woman as shaped and beautiful, no mind as curious to me as she is.

I bend down to gorge myself on her chest again, taste the salt of it, her knees shaking on either side of me and I thumb her underwear with my free hand, push the cloth aside to snake my fingers in. I move them down, feel the hair of her feather against my hand, and press a finger firmly against the sanative skin.

It's warm, she's warm, and wet; severely wet. So wet that I'd have thought I'd stuck my hand into a cup of warm pudding.

Katniss is falling apart below me, this is a feeling that neither of us have had before. I barely brush the tip of my finger against her and it's like lightening. She's arching off the bed, trying to push down against me, opening her mouth in shock.

"Marry me, Katniss," I demand again as she lets out a soft whine, I move down her body and suck softly against her rib cage. And even though I'm eager to press more, I hold my hand back patiently and just barely brush the tips of my fingers over the soft flesh between her legs, over and over. I play the movement in my head as I watch her for what excites her most.

Her eyes open and she looks up at me, "Peeta," she breathes as her eyes water.

I run the four fingers down her more, covering more flesh, touching her as a fine artist would shade charcoal pieces of work, blending the colors together with a practiced hand, making them melt together. And she melts.


I need more space to work with. And I sit up, with one swift yank of my arm the underwear is down her shaking thighs and I've spread her legs, moving my entire body down, I use both hands instead of one.

She's pressing down against them now that I'm not holding her in place, I smile wide at this but ignore her wants because her moans are becoming louder despite it, she's gripping tight against the sheets as I keep my hands gentle, distant still, "Yes, please."

I want, more then anything else, to do more, to taste her, or to be inside of her, to go further. I want it so badly, but I fight the urge back and keep the tips of my fingers as the only things that brush the delicate flesh.

"Peeta," Katniss moans below me, "Peeta," she repeats again. She doesn't know what else to say.

My fingers run over a particularly sensitive area and she gasps, I repeat the motion two more times and she sobs. Fingers soaked, I slow down my arm, not wanting to push too far. She protests, but she understands, and pulls me up into a deep kiss.

I lay my head to her chest, listening to her breathe, listening as her soft heartbeat slows down until it's back to normal. She runs her fingers through my wet hair.

"I love you, Peeta."

I smile wide and sit up to look into her eyes, "I love you."

Every time I've asked her to marry me, and every time she's ignored it. This isn't the first time we've been physical, yes it's the farthest by a lot, but not the first time we've done things. Most of the time, it involves being shirtless, without pants, but I've never actually touched her there with my hands. Most of the time it's kissing, and moving against one another.

I won't mind doing this though.

It's disappointing that she won't say yes though, that she continues to drag it out. She knows I'll give her anything and everything, more or less. But it doesn't completely bother me.

I know why she won't say yes. It's not the complication of being young, or her mother, those wouldn't stop her. It's children.

Katniss is afraid of having children. I'm sure that if we keep going this way, and I keep her heart in sight, she'll give in eventually. But even if she doesn't, a children-less Peeta is a lot happier then a Katniss-less one.

She goes to the bathroom and I shift around my boxers and pants, calm myself down before she gets back.

Katniss walks back in finally and pulls me into a soft hug. I wash up slightly, wash my hands and face, try hardest not to wet my hair anymore then it is. It's cold enough outside without a wet head. Then I join her in the room as she pulls out supplies from our second bag.

We change into new clothes, out of our more worn, 'hunting theme' ones, into our more pricy and uncomfortable collection. I pull on my new, thick, wool jacket and kiss Katniss on the nose.

There's a meow from behind us and we turn to see Prim's cat as he walks into the bedroom, his cute mushed face, his bushy body, and he's a little wet as well as he saunters over the wooden flooring. I reach down to him, scratch the sides of his face and nuzzle his nose as well, he purrs in satisfaction. Lets me know that I'm doing him right.

"Is Buttercup jealous?" I ask him. He purrs louder then at the sound of his name and nuzzles me back.

I kiss his forehead a few times and Katniss leans over to him, "Ugh, he's hideous."

"Aw, don't be mean to him, Katniss," I start to argue as she stuffs him in her hunting bag, clearly not a cat person.

She turns and smiles at me though, "We should get going." Poor Buttercup is completely forgotten about.

"We should," I say and kiss her softly, run my tongue over her bottom lip and nip gently with my teeth, "Places to be, trips to bathe and dress for. I'll see you later?"

Her eyes melt over my body and she smiles, "Hopefully we can have some more time together before I have to get ready."


She... Is a beast. That is seriously in heat. I almost feel sorry for the annoyed, ignored presence that throbs between my legs. Unsatisfied physically, so often, but so completely satisfied where it matters most.

"You're going to the bakery," She starts, thinking out loud as we set out from her old home, "Maybe when you get back from that. I should be done with Hazelle and the Hob, I'll meet you back at my house?"

"Alright," I kiss her softly, "I'll see you then," and we split ways.

I walk silently through the snow until I reach town, then into the busy bakery. My father is behind the cash register and he smiles wide when he sees me.

I bring the package in my arms into the back and put it in the refrigerator, not shot by me, I was honestly a little hesitant with anything smaller then a rabbit. I pull on an apron and turn to the orders on the wall.

The back is empty, so I frost all of the baked cookies and cakes alone; listen to my mom as she complains from up stairs. And when she comes down finally to glare at me, I take the offering and raise my brows, "Have I done something?" I'm not as subtle as I use to be. Her attitude doesn't settle with me anymore.

She huffs and walks by. She even gives me 'that' look before she enters the front of the store. Another normal day in the bakery.

My relationship with my mother has always been an unsteady one, all of my life, even before I snook the bread to Katniss so long ago. And it's only been more unsteady since I came back from the Capitol. When I think back on the chaos from then, I always get a queasy stirring in my gut.

The arguments between Katniss and her mother, about our relationship, were almost overwhelming. The accusing points from my brothers about 'that girl from the Seam', my mother's relentless bitching, "I was embarrassed." It was complete, uncontrolled chaos.

And Gale Hawthorne.

He still hasn't said a thing to me.

Of course he's said things to Katniss, of which she doesn't speak much about, but I know enough to get the idea that he's not happy with the developments.

I can't imagine how it was for him to see me and Katniss on the screens, to hear people talking about us, to have people asking questions. And now he was more-or-less branded as her cousin. That had to hurt.

But I wasn't concerned about another man then, and I'm not now. I won't regret my relationship with Katniss, ever.

If they all knew how serious her and I really were... It would be worse.

We may have not had sex yet, but it was definitely a thing on our minds, and not completely far from our actions already. Katniss's mother would be furious enough for Gale and my mother on her own from what she's told me already.

I finish the cookies, pile some on a plate for Katniss, and pull off my apron. I hang it up and pull my fingers back into the warmth of my gloves.

My father is at the kitchen door and he walks to me silently. The man of few words, but he doesn't need to say anything to me to get his point across. His hand rests on my shoulder suddenly and he quickly kisses my forehead, over my hair. It's a gesture that tells me that he's not angry like mom is. That I couldn't do a thing to anger him. That he's proud of me.

I hug him tight and pull back, "I won't see you again before the trip, I hope you enjoy the squirrel."

He smiles wide, "I will," he winks. And I leave the store for Katniss's home in the Victor's Village.

The snow is more heavy now and I stuff the plate in my jacket to keep the cookies warm.

I make it to Katniss's house in record time and knock, her mothes answers and I step in, "I come bearing gifts."

She smiles weakly and takes the plate from my hands with a quiet 'thank you'.

"Where's Katniss?" I look around and her mother puts a hand on my shoulder, "Come on, Mrs. Everdeen. Where's Katniss?" I'm not particularly ready for one of her speeches about my 'feelings for her daughter', which is what she's been prone to do any time that her and I are left in a room alone, so I move to walk in more but she holds me back again.

"President Snow is speaking with her."

I stop and look down to her, my stomach sinks and I frown, struggle to understand, struggle not to run through the house to find them, to protect; most likely with a large, sharp weapon in hand. "Alright," I manage out and my voice sounds petrified, like my brain is, "I'll be at my house. Tell Katniss that I came by."

"I will," she promises, sincerely.

I know she won't.

Ending Notes:

*Skips, hops, flees* Reviews, please?