A/N: This story is dedicated to iwantyoumellark. After Catching Fire was released, we both talked at length about the scenes where Katniss and Peeta were sleeping together. In the midst of that, this story was born. Thank you for trusting me to write this, P. I hope you like it!

Special thanks to ichooseupeetachu for pre-reading (several times lol), and helping me make this as best as I could!

Come talk to me on Tumblr. I'm mellarksloaves.

Peeta told me to watch the shadows. They leak in through the window as the train speeds toward its next destination, dancing across the floor and rising up like vines. They cover the bed sheets in blotted darkness that never stays long. Just as quickly as they sprouted, they slip away. He said if I kept watching them, I may be able to fall asleep. It'd be like counting sheep you could actually see, yet sleep still hasn't come. I'm still watching the silhouettes twist and turn at impossible speeds while Peeta sleeps next to me.

I press the side of my face into the pillow and focus on the slow rise and fall of his chest. It was never a question where Peeta would be sleeping for the rest of the tour. Since he ran in here that first night and climbed into bed with me, I can't imagine it any other way. Now, the robe he'd been keeping tightly wrapped around his body like armor is now draped over the end of the bed like it belongs there - like he belongs here. The covers he was initially reluctant to slip under are pulled up to his stomach, and his arm rests snugly under the back of his head. However, his face hardly looks content.

With his jaw clenched and eyebrows knit tightly, he looks like he's in pain. And all the while, the shadows never stop. They drift across Peeta's sleeping form and up to his face, drowning the troubled expression with their darkness and then vanishing without a trace before I can blink. Peeta grimaces again, but doesn't make a sound.

And then I'm reaching for him and rest my hand in the middle of his chest. Immediately, I feel the rapid and heavy beating of his heart against my palm and I know right away that he's trapped in a place where I can't reach him. I try to shake him awake, but his face screws up even tighter, and his breathing becomes erratic - a far cry from the shallow, rhythmic breaths he had been taking just minutes ago.

I'm reminded of our first night in this bed when I was trapped in a place in my mind so dark, so dismal that even my screams couldn't bring me back to reality. I remember the way Peeta touched me that night. Gently, carefully, and just enough to affirm that nothing was going to hurt me. Just enough so that I felt safe. He needs that same safety, now.

My body seems to move without thought, closer and closer to Peeta until I'm able to curl up right at his side and rest my head on his shoulder. As I whisper his name into his ear over and over, trying to bring him back from his nightmare, my hand finds his face and the tips of my fingers begin to trace every crease from every wince.

Slowly, the anxious tension in Peeta's body begins to melt away and as his breathing evens out again, he pulls his arm up from between us and wraps it around me, pulling me closer still. There isn't an inch of our bodies that aren't touching, now.

While I settle into Peeta's embrace, my eyes travel over his face. The relaxed expression that I see is such a relief, that I can't help but rise up just enough to press a light kiss to his mouth. This causes him to stir. Finally, his eyes open and he blinks twice while he turns on his side to face me.

Another protective arm wraps around my body and both hands come to rest on the small of my back. Peeta says nothing, but his eyes are locked on mine so fiercely, I feel a shiver run through my body. We're close. So close that I wouldn't have to move my head very far to kiss him again. Peeta isn't the only one surprised when that's exactly what I do.

This time, rather than pulling away before Peeta has a chance to respond, I let him. I feel his lips press back against mine, trapping my bottom lip between his. It's been a long time since we've shared a kiss with this level of intensity. Maybe not since the cave. I don't want to stop. Not even when Peeta's hands begin to travel up and down my back, dipping lower with each pass until his fingers just graze the top of my ass.

Even as I force myself to pull away, my cheeks warm and flushed, Peeta's gaze hasn't changed. The half-lidded expression bores into me and I feel a sense of insatiability under his scrutiny. The only thing I can do is bury my face into his chest for the rest of the night, hoping that this feeling will go away.

But the next night, as the darkness takes over the train and the shadows appear once more, our bodies seem to move of their own accord. There isn't an inch of space between our bodies; nothing that I tell myself seems to persuade me to keep my distance.

We lie chest to chest, unmoving at first. But soon Peeta's hands begin the familiar back and forth motion from the night before. The soft tips of his fingers run across my back tenderly while he keeps his eyes locked on me. It's as though the lower his fingers travel across my body, the more he searches my face for disapproval that never comes. I can't find an explanation or the words to tell him, but I suddenly crave to feel his hands on me for more than just comfort.

Instead of disapproval, I offer Peeta a surprisingly assertive nod that seems to urge his hands lower until they both rest, palms down, against my ass. He gives a gentle squeeze, evoking a high pitched yelp from me that shocks us both.

Peeta loosens his grip, his eyebrows raised questioningly, apologetically, even. I realize quickly that he's mistaken my response for displeasure. Before I can talk myself out of it, I press my lips to his and hope he understands. But when his hands remain still against me, I know he's still unsure.

"It's ok," I whisper, keeping my body pressed flush against his. "You can touch me."

I watch Peeta's worried expression change. His eyes grow dark and I try to hold his gaze, but fail when I feel a rush of heat wash over me. I want him to know that I meant what I said. He can touch me; I want him to touch me. I bring a tentative hand up to his cheek and pull him into another kiss and when I finally feel his hand tighten and squeeze, any noise I make is silenced by his mouth.

The combination of Peeta's hands gently kneading my ass and his lips planting delicate kisses against my mouth is thrilling in a way that it never has been before. And I know he feels it too, because when I open my mouth and feel his tongue slide across mine, it's him that shivers.

As many times as I've kissed Peeta since I found him in the arena, we've never kissed like this before. Every time his tongue dips into my mouth and I taste the mint flavor of his toothpaste, the less willing I am to stop this. It's warm in a way it never has been before, too. That warmth burns through my body, heating me up in ways I don't dare think about right now.

Ignoring every question I could be asking myself, I allow my body to take over. Without breaking away from Peeta's lips, I shift just enough so my hand can easily pull my nightgown up. It temporarily forces Peeta's hands off of me, but he's quick to bring them right back to where they were as soon as I've raised the garment high enough. When his hands settle, I feel them against the thin fabric of my underwear. And the sound that I make when I feel his fingers dig into my exposed skin can only be described as a moan.

Peeta mutters a soft "Shh" against my lips, reminding me of how thin these walls on the train are. The last thing I want is for anyone to hear us. It's bad enough that everyone on this train is well aware of the nightmares. I don't want to give them anything else to talk about.

I try to hold back. I try to silence myself with Peeta's lips, hoping that any noise that escapes will be swallowed by his mouth, but this only seems to increase the frequency of my cries due to the way the warmth of Peeta's tongue dipping into my mouth feels. It slides against my own in a pattern that quickly becomes familiar, and I find myself matching his advances with equal fervor. The high pitched sigh that slips out when he takes my bottom lip between his and begins to suck makes him pull away and stare at me with wide eyes.

Peeta's next move is unexpected, but not unwelcome. With his grip on my ass even tighter than before, he pulls me toward him. My hips press into his and Peeta exhales loudly, a groan of his own escaping at the contact. I smile against his lips and attempt to tell him to stay quiet the same way he had shushed me just a minute ago, but the sound dies in my throat when Peeta pulls me into him again and I feel his erection against my hip.

My first thought is to freeze and stop this before it goes any further. Yet, I don't. I can't. Rather than stopping this, I begin to push further, emulating the way Peeta pulled me into him. With each roll of my hips, I ensure that his erection presses against as much of me as possible. His hands never leave my ass. It's as though he's afraid that if he lets me go, I'll disappear. But I have no plans to leave this bed. Not when it feels like every nerve in my body is throbbing and alive.

Every touch sends a jolt of electricity up and down my entire body, and every soft groan that slips from Peeta's lips when his arousal presses into my hip only seems to make the throbbing worse - especially between my legs.

For the first time since we slipped into this bed together tonight, Peeta removes his hands from me completely, bringing them down between our bodies. The ache I feel without his hands on me is even worse than I remember, and I'm forced to pull away to look at him quizzically.

"Have you ever thought about.." Peeta's voice catches. He clears his throat before continuing. "About where else you'd like being touched?"

He asks the question in a whisper that's so low I can barely hear him. His eyes, half-lidded and dark, pore over my face while he waits for an answer.

"No," I finally manage to say, offering nothing more.

Peeta's lips crash into mine. He wastes no time pushing his tongue past my lips and I drink him in greedily in return. His hands return to my ass and his erection presses against me again. This time, Peeta angles his hips lower, slipping between my legs in such a way that his hardness rubs right against my core.

I didn't think the throbbing coursing through my body could get any worse. I'm quickly proven wrong when Peeta's length seems to skim right over the part of me that's pulsing the most. The gasp that I emit seems to be exactly what Peeta was hoping for. His lips quirk up into a grin against mine.

"Mmmhmm," he hums, licking his lips as he pulls away. "Where did you feel that?" he asks. "Show me."

Even though his voice is faint, there's a gruffness behind it that lights a fire in my stomach. I bring my hand down, watching Peeta's eyes follow before I slip it between my legs and rub against the thin fabric of my underwear in the same spot where Peeta was just pressed against me.

"How does that feel?" Peeta asks.

At first, I want him to stop talking. What if someone hears what he's asking me? His voice is low, though. So low that even I can barely hear him, and I decide talking is probably better in this case.

"Good," I croak. My voice sounds shaky and anxious.

Peeta raises an eyebrow at me, uncertainty written all over his face. I clear my throat and glide my fingers across the fabric of my underwear again. The material is warm and damp against my fingers, and I wonder if Peeta would be less uncertain if he felt this, too.

My hand finds his nestled between our bodies, and I guide him between my legs. He inhales sharply and shifts his hips when his fingers brush against my cloth-covered middle. Taking a chance, I look down and see his erection straining against his cotton sweatpants. Should I touch it? He's touching me, but it's with my guidance. What if he doesn't want me to touch him?

And then before I can contemplate any further, his hips are moving again. The same way they moved when he pressed himself into me, but this time there's nothing for him to grind against. His fingers begin to move without my direction, two fingers gingerly rocking back and forth along my folds. It feels so good that I can't stop myself from wrapping my hand around his erection.

I don't move - I wait. Wait for Peeta to react. To tell me what he wants, though all he does is close his eyes and stills the movements of both his hips and his fingers. My blood runs cold at the thought of doing something wrong. Just as I'm about to pull my hand away, however, he starts moving again.

He juts his hips forward, making sure my entire hand is full of him. His rhythm isn't what it was before. It's erratic, and I can tell he's struggling with this. He also seems to have forgotten that he shushed me earlier, because his whimpers are growing louder. If anyone were to overhear, there'd be no mistaking what's happening in here.

Quickly, I cover Peeta's mouth with my own, pushing my tongue past his lips and try my best to stifle the moans. I'm not prepared when his hips and fingers still unexpectedly and his body shudders against my hand. A few more moans slip between our lips, but most are absorbed by our frantic kisses.

I wait several minutes for him to begin again, but instead, Peeta pulls away from me and refuses to meet my gaze. All at once, I realize what's just happened.

"I'm going to the bathroom," Peeta grumbles, slipping out of bed without giving me a chance to answer, though I briefly contemplate following him. But then I decide it'll probably only embarrass him further, so I let him go. And when he returns, a fresh pair of sweatpants hugging his hips, I pretend that I'm asleep.

Even though I noticed Haymitch staring at me and Peeta a little longer than usual the next day, I don't bring the incident up and Peeta doesn't either. We go through the motions as always. New day, new district, new challenges. Once we were safe to leave and Effie shuffled us back onto the train that immediately sped off toward the next destination, we had a quiet dinner and retreated to our bedroom compartments for the night.

Any embarrassment Peeta may have felt last night seemed to have vanished the moment my compartment door slid closed. He shrugged out of his robe easily and sat down on the edge of the bed, watching me. His eyes never left mine once. I returned his burning stare and slowly walked toward him, each second that ticked by filling me with a boldness I've only felt while in this room. And as I closed in on Peeta, rather than sitting down next to him, I crawled on top of him.

There were no hesitations, no questioning stares. Our lips crashed together immediately with an urgency that felt as desperate as it could get. Then we were wrapped up in each other once more. Chasing the burdens of the day away with each ardent kiss. I remember Peeta's arms wrapping around me tightly and the room spinning around while he scooted us both to the head of the bed, but I can't remember anything else until Peeta's hands settled on my thighs confidently

Peeta's touches have always been a welcoming sensation for me. Full of warmth and steadiness, every graze and hug fill me with a sense of calm that I haven't felt in years. But as my body hovers over his and those same steady hands travel up my thighs with purpose, I feel the opposite of calm. All his caresses seem to do is make me feel frenzied. Like his hands can't possibly touch me as much as I crave.

Now, with the sounds of our kisses growing louder in the silent room, Peeta's hands continue to inch their way up until they completely disappear under the hem of my nightgown. One hand grasps my hip while the other moves between my legs, rubbing the inside of my thigh.

The wait to feel his fingers pressed against my middle is so agonizing that I want to grab his hand and speed up the process. But I don't, and I'm glad, because when I feel two of his fingers slide across the cotton of my underwear, the relief is so sweet. Sweet, but short lived. The ache between my legs grows more and more urgent as Peeta teases and massages me through the fabric. I need more.

My hips seem to make the decision for me, and soon, I'm pressing myself down against Peeta's hand, groaning with satisfaction when his palm presses right against the spot that has been aching the most. That always aches the most when I'm with him.

My nightgown pools around my thighs, continually forcing me to gather it up and move it out of the way so I can watch Peeta's hand as it works in tandem with my hips. Each time it falls back down, it pulls me from the rhythm I've found.

With my frustration mounting, I finally grab hold of the offending garment with tight fists and swiftly bring it up and over my head, discarding it on the bed. Immediately, I realize just how exposed I am, now. I want to get off of Peeta's lap, gather my nightgown, and forget about this whole thing until I feel Peeta's hand on my hip giving me a gentle squeeze, as though he can sense my discomfort.

"You didn't have to do that," Peeta says, his hand stroking my hip and side tenderly.

"I wanted to."

"Are you sure?"

I nod. "I think so.."

"No." Peeta shakes his head firmly, reaching out and snagging my nightgown from where I dropped it on the bed. He presses the balled up garment against my chest, covering my exposed breasts. "Not unless you're sure."

But as a I look at him and see the concern in those blue eyes, tamping out the heat and fire that were present before, I realize that I am sure. I've never been more sure of anything before. The thought almost scares me.

Rather than taking hold of the nightgown so Peeta can drop his hand, I cover it with my own, securing his hand against my chest before pulling at the fabric that's trapped between us. Slowly, it starts to slip from Peeta's grasp, and when I've discarded the nightgown for the second time, I guide Peeta's hand to my bare breast.

"I'm sure," I whisper, exhaling loudly when I feel Peeta's hand squeeze the mound.

With his hand gone from between my legs, his erection is noticeable. I don't look down to see, but I imagine it straining against his cotton pants just as it did last night. The thrill I feel when I remember the way he thrust into my hand and the audible gasps he made as he finished makes the pulsing at my center even more insistent than before.

Positioning myself over Peeta's arousal, I drive my hips forward, holding on to his shoulders for leverage. We both whimper in unison, trying as hard as we can to stay as quiet as possible, but I don't know how long that will last. If it feels this good now, what will it feel like when- Peeta's head dropping to my chest brings me back to attention. I feel his lips, warm and wet, brush against the cleft between my breasts. I pause, watching Peeta move across my chest and press his lips to the breast he is still palming, and suddenly he's kissing a place I never imagined wanting to be kissed before. And I'm enjoying it.

I almost cry out loudly when Peeta's tongue flicks against my nipple. The act is so surprising, but the sensation is so warm. I'm taken to another level completely when Peeta's mouth closes around the hardened nub. My hands fly to the back of his head, raking and clenching his hair between my fingers while my lower half moves in short thrusts, pressing Peeta's erection against me as hard as I can, but something still isn't right. There are is still too much in the way.

Dropping my hands back down to Peeta's shoulders, I give him a gentle push, separating the connection between his mouth and my nipple. He gives me a confused stare, and I give him a half smile in return before pushing him down until his back is flat against the mattress.

I don't know how to explain what I want to do, so I let my body speak for me. I slide off of Peeta, burrowing close against his side. He reacts as he would if this were any other night on this train by wrapping a protective arm around my shoulders. Once we're settled, I look down at his pants for the first time tonight. The straining is evident even in the low lighting.

Peeta tenses when I reach my hand out to touch him. I have to wonder if he's worried about a repeat of last night, so I pull away. I'm not ready for this to be over just yet. I want to see him, and the soft tug I give to the waistband of Peeta's pants tells him this loud and clear. His eyes travel from my hand to my face, and I see the burning stare has returned. The heat his stare brings to my body drives any nerves that may have been lurking far away, and my hand grips the soft cotton of Peeta's pants and I begin to pull eagerly.

I can just make out the angle of his hips and the way they plunge down on a slant that seems to point right at the part of him I'm most anxious to see. He lifts his lower half from the mattress just enough to allow me to slip the pants down past his ass, and as he settles back down I'm forced to tug a little harder when the pants get caught as I try to pull them past his arousal.

Peeta hisses, and at first I think I'm hurting him until I hear a moan escape. With one final yank, his erection springs free and for the first time, I look at all of him. Not even in the arena would I look down to catch a glimpse of him. But now, I can make out every inch of him in this dim compartment. How it rests against his stomach and how he's slightly curved toward the end. He's so hard. There is nothing in the way of feeling just how hard he is now. I hesitate for a split second before wrapping my hand around him. He's heavier against my palm than I expected, but also softer than he looks.

My hand begins to move despite not knowing what to do. The pads of my fingers brush against the tip of Peeta's erection, and I hear him suck in a deep breath on contact. So I try again. The way he writhes with such a simple touch is fascinating, and I'm grateful when his hand covers mine and guides me in drawing my fist up and down his length.

After we find a good pace, Peeta lets go of my hand and mutters not to stop. He wiggles around, pulling his white t-shirt up to his ribs as I continue to stroke him. His breathing grows more and more labored with every second that passes, every inhale and exhale suddenly so audible that they seem to reverberate from the walls and back into my ears. I should be concerned about who might hear him, too, but I'm not. The sounds are too pleasant, too tempting for me to care right now.

Wetness gathers between my legs, dampening my underwear for the second night in a row. Between Peeta's moans and the way he feels sliding through my hand, my thoughts are full of wondering what it would feel like to have Peeta's hands on me without the barrier of clothing. The thought alone makes me clench my thighs together in attempts to ward off the nagging throb that still persists.

Peeta screws his eyes shut, and let's out a shaky, strained groan. I notice his hand clutch the bedsheet suddenly and know he must be close. He doesn't speak to let me know that he's there, but I feel him tense in my hand just seconds before his orgasm hits and his body is overcome with intense tremors.

Something about watching him fall apart like this is arousing. To see his body, spent and sated, the evidence of his orgasm present on his stomach and dripping down my knuckles, almost makes me dizzy with need to feel the same, but not tonight. I don't think I could possibly handle anything else right now, no matter how unrelenting the throbbing has become.

Instead, Peeta and I exit the bed and slip into the bathroom to clean up. I watch him wipe off his stomach with a wash cloth and tuck himself back into his sweatpants. When we get back to bed, I know I could let him touch me and bring me to the same state of contented bliss he's in right now, but I don't, and he doesn't press me to let him. We settle in, my back pressed flush against his chest. When his hand slips into my underwear and his fingers settle low on my hip, I let him keep them there. It's the first night since the tour started that I fall right to sleep.

Over the next two nights, I find that I can't keep my hands off of Peeta. I touch him any chance that I can get, sometimes more than once a night. Tonight, with my hand wrapped firmly around Peeta's erection, I realize just how much I enjoy doing this. There's something about the way he feels in my hand, soft and rigid all at once, the way his body relaxes under my touch until the last possible moment until every inch of him tenses under my grasp and he comes undone that keeps me entranced and makes me want to touch him every chance I get.

The effect it has on me is one that I haven't let myself think about much. Despite how pleasurable it is to see Peeta like this, to watch him climax and to know it was me that brought him to the edge and the thought of how much I enjoy it and how much I want him to do the same for me both thrills and terrifies me. At first, it was easy to tell myself that I was doing this for Peeta. I had less to think about when I told myself that. But tonight, as I watch him come for the third night in a row, I know that isn't why I'm doing this. It's never been why I did it. And I know I can't possibly go another night without asking him to do the same for me, no matter what it forces me to think about later.

I know he wants to, even if he's never pushed the idea. And with the way we've been sleeping lately, with one of his hands pushed just beyond the waistband of my underwear, he could easily let his hand slip lower, but he hasn't and I know he won't until I tell him I want him to. I just can't seem to find the words until I see Peeta move to get out of bed.

"No," I whisper. My voice isn't as firm as I'd hoped, but it gets Peeta to stop.

"I have to go clean myself up," Peeta reminds me. "I'll be right back."

"No," I repeat, putting my hand to his chest and pushing him back down against the mattress.

I wish I could say more to him. I wish I could tell him that I want him to touch me until I feel myself come undone, but I can't. Instead, I decide to show him. Sitting up, I grab my nightgown which has barely been on my body all night, and use it to clean Peeta up before tucking him back into his pants myself. It's not the soap and warm water he's used to rubbing himself down with each night, but it's enough. I'll need a fresh nightgown later, but that's the last thing on my mind right now.

The next thing I have to do is something I've never done before. I take a deep breath and loop my fingers through the top of my underwear and start to pull, looking at Peeta's face as I slip them down my legs. He sits up, his eyes traveling up between my legs as realization washes over him, and he murmurs my name when I throw my leg over him and climb into his lap.

Peeta's hand finds my breast immediately, squeezing the mound firmly. I long to feel his mouth on my breast. Wrapping one arm behind Peeta's head, I pull him to my chest and arch my back, willing him to take my nipple into his mouth.

When I feel his mouth close around the nub, I press two of my own fingers between my folds in attempts to alleviate the persistent aching that I've been feeling for days. I know immediately that won't be enough anymore. I need to feel Peeta's hand between my legs. Now.

My hands tangle in Peeta's hair, and I pull him away from my chest, forcing him to look at me.

"Touch me," I murmur. It's all I can manage to tell him, but it's enough.

He kisses me deeply, his tongue stroking mine languidly while his hand disappears between my thighs. His fingers slip between my slick folds and he groans into my mouth as he pushes a finger inside me. I shift my body and clench my walls around his finger, drawing it in further. The fit is snug, and while it doesn't hurt, it does little to relieve the throbbing that still continues. This feels different than when Peeta touched me through my underwear, like he's found a different spot to tease that isn't quite as easy to get to. It's not until he presses his entire hand against my middle and I feel his palm against me that he hits the spot I needed him to.

"There," I gasp into his mouth.

Peeta removes his hand and repositions it, slipping two fingers through the wetness between my folds but never pushing them back inside of me. As he brings them back forward, he stops and presses them gently to the nerve he hit earlier.

"Here?" he asks, smiling as I lurch forward in response to his touch. I don't have to answer him to tell him he's found the right spot.

Using my wetness, he slips his fingers back and forth across the swollen nerve, causing me to squirm. His swipes are gentle, but firm enough that I can feel the pressure build. I didn't think it could possibly get worse, but Peeta's fingers rubbing back and forth and his mouth wandering all over my body, I can see how wrong I was yet again.

I cry out louder than I should when his teeth find my nipple. The pleasurable sensation radiates through my body, filling me with a need so great that I can't help but swirl my hips to aid Peeta's fingers. The added pressure is exactly what I needed and soon the pressure turns into a tingle that grows and spreads through my core and down my legs.

"Tell me when you're going to come," Peeta says, kissing me and speeding up the pace in which his fingers slide over me. The faster pace is all that I need. I press my forehead to his and whimper.

"Now," I tell him.

His mouth closes around mine immediately, swallowing my gasps and moans as the tingling turns into a full fledged burn that sears through every part of me. My body doesn't feel like its my own anymore, and I can hardly breathe under the intensity in which it continues to seize and release.

Finally, when I was just about to think the buzz that had been tearing through me would never end, it does. I'm left panting and limp, with Peeta's solid body being the only thing keeping me upright. When he falls back onto the mattress, I go with him, making no effort to move to my side of the bed. I lay on top of him, drifting in and out of a light sleep, and this is where I plan to stay until sunrise.