Peeta is a Freudian Field Day.

Peeta didn't want to examine the psychology of it. All he knew was that whenever he got into it with his mother about how he was "throwing away his life" for whatever reason she had chosen on that given day—be it his dream of being a professional artist, his girlfriend from the wrong side of town, or his insistence upon inviting less fortunate people to her holiday meals—he came home determined to find Katniss, press her against a wall, and make her scream his name over and over until all doubt of his worth in life was erased from his mind. If his mother was capable of tearing him down with a single word, Katniss was capable of putting him back together with a single moan.

So, when after yet another failed attempt at visiting his ailing father had landed him a full-blown shouting match with his mother, he was particularly let down to find his and Katniss's apartment empty when he got home. He stalked from room to room, trying to find any other outlet that would distract him from the destruction he felt building within. He told himself to make dinner, but burned the pasta when he didn't hear the timer. He tried to paint, but he ended up mutating a cheerful piece he'd been working on for weeks into a dark nightmare. By the time he heard Katniss's key in the lock, he was two seconds shy of taking a sledgehammer to the wall they'd often talked about tearing out.

She barely had time to register he was home before he had her spun around and closing the door with her weight pressed against it. His hands immediately grabbed onto her thighs and hoisted her up around his waist, virtually smashing his lips against her own and stifling her choked gasp.

"Peeta…" He had no interest in talking, though the voice in the back of his head niggled that he should talk to her instead of assaulting her. But if he'd learned one thing from past experience, Katniss liked it when he was rough and silent. Particularly if he let her take the reins later the same night. It was an unspoken agreement between them and one that neither wanted to talk about—tapping into the darker places in both of their personalities.

Thrusting against her, still fully-clothed, he tore at her shirt, dislodging a couple buttons before finding her smooth olive stomach and delicate white lace bra staring back at him. He groaned in appreciation, his lips and teeth working their way down her neck to the peaks below. Tugging a cup out of the way, he indelicately pinched the nipple he found there, and felt her shudder beneath him before her own hands released their grip on his shoulders and started working his shirt up and off.

"No. Leave it on," he growled, capturing her wrists in one of his hands and holding them above her head. Her breath puffed out in resignation, but caught in her throat at the dangerous glare he shot her. He knew he was feeling more demanding than he normally did in these moments, but he couldn't hold himself back. He'd had too long to brood, too long to convince himself that his mother was right—that the woman before him had no good reason to love him.

He resumed sucking and biting at her neck and chest as she squirmed against him, her moans betraying her excitement. Her lower body sought relief against his erection but found it elusive with so many layers of clothing. He felt her ankles lock together behind him and her thighs begin to tighten around him, as she attempted to regain some control. As her grip on him became uncomfortable he backed away from the door, releasing her wrists but bringing her with him, still wrapped around his waist. He headed toward the kitchen table, and laid her down on top of the day's mail. Her head landed in the crumbs from her breakfast of cheese buns, but neither of them noticed or cared. He leaned back enough to snake his hand between them, and pressed the seam of her jeans against her clit, causing her to release her grip around his waist and groan his name from the back of her throat.

Quickly untangling her belt and removing her pants he grinned at the sight in front of him. On rare occasions, Katniss went commando. The braided nylon cord that peaked out of her folds meant one thing. She'd spent the whole day with her vibrator inside her. She knew where he was headed today, knew what shape he'd be in when he got home—knew what he'd want from her. Dipping his head between her legs he breathed deeply and growled again at the tantalizing aroma of her long-built arousal, before lightly nipping at her upper thighs.

"Have you let yourself cum yet today?"

She shook her head in reply. "I've been saving it for you."

He groaned in response, tugging on the cord until the little magenta bullet popped out of her, still vibrating rhythmically but almost imperceptibly in his hand. He pressed it to her clit briefly, watching her writhe beneath the pressure, before tossing it toward the sink, and replacing it with his mouth. He hummed against her and felt her writhe again, this time encouraging him by pulling him against her with her hands wound in his hair. His teeth grazed against her clit, sending yet another shockwave through her. Realizing how close she was, he pulled back and lapped long broad strokes along her crease, savoring each taste of her, and occasionally letting his tongue delve a bit deeper into her opening.

Panting his name, Katniss clung to him like he was her anchor to earth at the same time as her guide to heaven. This was what he wanted from her—this feeling that no one else in the world existed. That as long as they were together, as long as they kept finding each other, then life was worth it. They were worth it.

Returning his attention to her clit, he sucked the kernel into his mouth as his middle and ring finger found purchase in her pussy. Instead of pulsing in and out, his fingers remained still as he tugged her up and down, her clit pressing tighter to his mouth with each bounce. As her legs began to twitch on his shoulders, he knew he'd found the rhythm. Moans and grunts escaped her lips as her entire body began to convulse. Peeta pulled his head back to watch and caught the wide smile on her face just as her eyes slammed shut with the first wave. Katniss's orgasm hit her hard and long and Peeta could see the glistening liquid leaking out of her pussy as he grinned his satisfaction.

Still twitching with aftershocks, she glanced down at him. Her hands absent-mindedly pulled at her nipples as she spoke.

"How are you still fully-clothed?"

"I needed to see you cum for me."

"That hardly seems fair to you."

"You'll make it up to me later."

"The house smelled like you burnt something. Should I be worried?" Her hand slipped down to rub her cum around her pussy.

"Just know we're ordering in tonight."

"Gotcha…Peeta?"

"Yes, Katniss."

"Will you please stick your dick in me now?"

He laughed and scooped her up off the table, heading toward their bedroom and away from the smell of burnt pasta.