This oneshot was written especially for Jeeno2 (if you haven't been reading any of her stories so far, then you should do so right away!). It takes place immediately following chapter 11 of my story 'Someday', so you might want to read/reread that for context purposes.

"I know," she says into the phone that's wedged between her ear and shoulder as she nudges the door closed with her hip. "I was actually pretty worried that I'd overstepped some sort of line, but God, Prim - Even if I had, just seeing the way that her shoulders tensed and her stupid hands curled into fists at her sides… It was so worth it."

She tries her best to listen to what her little sister has to say, but it's hard for her to concentrate when all she can think about is the way Peeta's fingertips had dug into the sensitive skin above the waistband of her jeans as they'd kissed earlier. About how the pressure they had exerted over her hipbone had mimicked the ebb and flow of his mouth against her own. As she recalls the muffled sigh from deep in his throat that had been released when she'd brushed her tongue deftly over the crease of his lips, she's practically forced to bring the beer bottle that she just removed from the fridge to her mouth.

Fortunately, Prim prattles on about how proud of her big sister she is, and how she's so glad that it looks like her maid of honor won't be showing up stag to the wedding. She lets herself daydream just a little more, knowing that there won't be any reason for her to respond for a while now that the bride-to-be has gotten started. The call waiting beeps on her phone a minute later and she slips it from her ear in order to see who's calling. Peeta's face, one side of his mouth pulled up into the smirk that brings out the dimple in his left cheek, lights up the screen and she almost presses 'answer' without even bothering to tell Prim that she has another call.

"Prim," she tries to interrupt the younger woman's sentence about convincing Rory to aim the garter in Peeta's direction, but knows after half a second that she might as well save her breath. There's no stopping the rushed, excited sentences coming from the other end. Somehow talk about the garter, leads to talk about the bouquet, heading off into a completely new tangent about the florist.

Calla Lilies this and Gerber Daisies that...

She says her sister's name at least three more times, and when there's finally a break - well, more of a pause to catch her breath - Peeta's call has already gone to voicemail. There's no notification of a new message, though, and it makes her stomach sink just a little bit.

"Prim," she starts, but cuts herself off when she hears a steady, solid knocking coming from the front door. Her little sister doesn't stop talking to listen to her, anyway.

'Surely not,' she thinks, picking up her beer before padding her way out of the kitchen. The knocking peters off as she draws closer and she increases her speed, moving on only the balls of her feet to cover the distance between herself and the door.

She can't rid herself of the hope that it's Peeta on the other side. When she lifts her eye to the peephole, the first thing that she sees is his hand, nervously running over the top of his blond curls. She completely forgets that she's even on the phone until she has to cradle it between her ear and shoulder in order to open the door.

Peeta's eyes fly upward as soon as he hears the knob turning. When she smiles at him, her head turned sideways in order to keep her cell from falling; he immediately stops questioning his decision to come over. She's still wearing his hoodie from earlier, but has changed from the worn and ripped jeans that she wore to the game. He recognizes the tiny gym shorts as being the same pair that he woke up with his fingers tucked into the waistband of a few weeks ago. He can't say that he's not a fan.

She opens the door as wide as it will go and takes a step back so that he can follow her inside. He lifts a plastic takeout container out in front of him. She nods, and Peeta keeps his eyes glued to hers as she walks backward into the apartment, deftly avoiding any obstacles in her way with ease. Once they reach the kitchen, she raises the amber colored bottle in her hands to her mouth. He watches with darkened eyes as her tongue darts out to lick at her lower lip, and takes an unconscious step forward.

"Prim, I'm going to have to let you go," she announces loudly, not bothering to wait for a reply before dropping the phone from her ear. She slides it across the countertop behind her and winces slightly as it makes contact with something out of her line of sight.

'Toaster? Coffee maker? Fuck it,' she thinks.

And that's all that she has time to think. Because Peeta's suddenly in front of her - less than six inches separating their bodies - and pushing the hair that's escaped her messy bun back from her face. His lips cover hers and he cups the back of her neck with his palm. The feel of his fingertips lightly grazing the side of her throat makes her shiver. Actually shiver.

He pulls her closer, and can feel the small hum of satisfaction that she releases in the pads of his fingers and through the lower lip that he has trapped between both of his. The corners of his mouth are lifting into a smile now, making it harder to kiss her with the same intensity. She doesn't seem to mind, though, and snakes her arms up around his shoulders.

When they break away for air, he thrills at the fact that she leaves her hands on either side of his face. Her thumbs move softly over the corners of his jaw, effectively keeping him in place as she kisses him one more time, slowly and sweetly. He smiles even wider, letting his hands travel down to rest on her hips. Her breathing picks up just the slightest bit and, like so many times before, he adds the sweet spot to his mental list of things he knows about the woman that's pressed against him.

"Come all this way to get your sweatshirt back?" She asks, one eyebrow raised as she starts to pull up at the hem.

"Nope," he grins, running his nose along the length of hers before nipping at her lips once more. "Looks better on you, anyway."

'Aaand insert cheesy movie line here,' he thinks, groaning in his head.

She doesn't hesitate to call him out on it, muttering 'dork' affectionately as she slips the garment over her head.

"Well, I'm taking it off anyway," she starts, fixing him with the best overly dramatic expression that she can muster. "It's suddenly a lot hotter in here."

'Jesus Christ... Pornos start off like this,' he thinks, but dismisses the thought as quickly as he can. It's not that hard to do when Katniss is already starting to laugh at herself. Even if her movements and close proximity do cause her chest to brush up against his torso. 'Okay, maybe it's a little hard.. Literally. Shit.'

Blissfully unaware, she grins up at him, and he can barely stand the distance between their faces now. She's not exactly a fan of it herself. In fact, she's so not a fan of it that when his fingers flex just slightly where they rest on her body, she presses herself closer - hoping that he'll get the hint when she wraps her arms tightly around his neck.

His hold is firm as he lifts her up onto the counter. The action sends a steady, fiery bolt of heat straight to the pit of her stomach and really, she has no choice other than to wrap her legs around him.

She's not used to being this bold. Or being held this close.

'Or, God damn it, being able to feel the muscles in his back against my legs...'

She's pretty sure that she can get used to it, though.

"So," she smirks, still riding on the high from their kisses. Both the ones in her kitchen and the one that took place on the soccer field. "If you didn't come for the hoodie, why are you here, Peeta?"

He smiles at her, and she knows that it's not the same smile that lit up her cellphone screen only a few minutes ago. It's still crooked and, yes, it still makes that ridiculously cute dimple appear, but it doesn't leave her with the same, giddy sensation in her stomach. No, this smile makes it seem like she's just ran a race - complete with racing pulse and that winded, out of breath feeling. In fact, she's pretty sure her chest is heaving, but doesn't get to think about it long before he leans into her again.

Large, strong hands move from their place on her hips and around, settling into the small of her back. She doesn't think to fight the urge she has to scoot closer to the edge. The sound that releases itself from the back of his throat (a low moan with an even lower growl mixed in) when she feels his stomach come to rest between her legs only solidifies her decision. She would scramble to get even closer if she could, but he seems to be taking care of that part for her.

With her hands linked behind his neck like this, fingertips toying idly with the hair there, it's difficult for him to think. Not that he wants to. Nope, he'd rather just let himself get lost in the feel of his lips on hers and the way that they move in sync – the pushing and the pulling, and the way that she sucks his lower lip into her mouth and brushes her tongue along its surface.

He just hopes that he hasn't gone too far as he becomes fully aware that his hands have migrated. One farther south, resting on the curve of her ass, and the other… Well, the other decidedly in the opposite direction. The realization that the heel and palm of his left hand have come to rest along the side of Katniss' breast is enough for him to give pause, and he practically forces himself to pull away. Not before taking note of just how petite she is compared to him, though. Or the way that her forearms tense the tiniest bit in an unconscious effort to keep him in place. Or, shit, the way that she actually seemed to be arching into his touch…

'Calm down, Mellark… Calm the fuck down,' he chants to himself as he watches her eyes flutter open.

It's too much to ask for him not to imagine that same heavy-lidded, dazed look on her face, as she wakes – her head on the pillow next to his. So he takes half a second to do exactly that before he moves his hand from her side, up to trail along the line of her jaw.

"I thought that much was obvious," he starts to answer her question. Her eyebrows furrow together slightly before she understands the sentiment – that he's actually answering her question. "After all, I did give you fair warning."

Her face is already flushed, but she can feel her cheeks start to warm all over again at the reminder of his words from earlier this afternoon.

"True…"

"I did bring dessert as a cover, though," he announces as he leans back and grabs the plastic container that she'd completely forgotten about off the table behind him. "Unless you had other plans, that is…"

Her eyes are closed again when he turns back to face her, and she opens them just in time to save face. Meaning that it seems as if he hasn't realized that the way he's angled the top half of his body away from her has only managed to press the lower half closer to the counter… And closer to her lower half. The feel of his zipper moving across the dangerously thin material of her shorts almost makes her squirm. And that most definitely wouldn't make things any better.

'Actually…' she starts to think, but chastises herself internally. 'Stop it. Focus. He was saying something…'

She may have played off the zipper situation, but something about the look that he's giving her now says that she's not the only one feeling the heat that's resulted from it. She waits until he's pushed himself away before scooting to the edge of the counter, trying her damnedest not to shudder as her thighs slide over his when she lowers herself to the floor. The lip that he pulls between his teeth doesn't really help.

"I don't know," she starts, grinning up at him now that their faces are no longer level. Her bare feet press lightly onto the toes of his sneakers - another reminder of just how much smaller than him she really is- and he wraps his fingers around her waist. "My 500th viewing of Idiocracy is a fairly important event."

He laughs, and watches her lean out from between his body and the counter.

"I guess you can stay, though." She stops suddenly, pushing herself off of his feet and around his shoulder. "Oh my God, is that tiramisu?"

They're settled on the couch not long after, her legs pulled up to her chest as she practically inhales forkfuls of what he's quickly learned is her favorite dessert. He thinks back to that night at his house, after she'd gotten wasted at the bar, but before she'd fallen asleep on his sofa. He's just as, if not more, taken with her now as he was then.

'Only now I don't feel so bad about staring at her legs in those tiny shorts...' He sees her shift a little, the hem of said tiny shorts shifting just enough to start rolling up at the edges. 'Not at all.'

"You plan on sharing any of that?" He asks, his eyes darting from where her lips are closed over the fork to the screen. The movie's really just getting started, but Katniss is already close to demolishing the espresso-soaked ladyfingers.

The dim light from the television illuminates the otherwise dark room. It's not so dark, however, that he's unable to make out the blush that's rapidly blooming over her cheeks. Still facing forward, she glances down into the container in her hands, and he has to bite back his laugh at the way that her eyes grow wide as she realizes how little is actually left.

"Oh God," she says, turning to look at him. "I… I guess I just assumed you had some at the restaurant…"

Peeta thinks back to just how quickly he'd booked it out of the restaurant. The annoyance was apparent on his mother's face when he'd asked to have the dessert brought to the table, already in a to-go box, along with his check. Not that she hadn't been annoyed prior to that as well. In fact, when he'd lowered himself into the chair between his father and niece instead of in the vacant seat beside Glimmer, she'd practically shot daggers from her eyes.

The entire dinner had passed with Mrs. Mellark sending compliment after compliment in his ex-girlfriend's direction. How pretty she looked today and how wonderful a cobb salad sounds right now – no wonder she keeps her figure so well, and how nice it had been of her to take time out of her busy schedule to join them. He was sure that his mother's intentions were not to give him excuses to think about Katniss, but her words did exactly that. He thought of how pretty she had looked, wrapped up in his hooded sweatshirt with the sleeves dangling over the tips of her fingers. Of how wonderful it was to spend time with someone who seemed to enjoy food just as much, if not more so than he did. Of how nice it was that not only did she take the time out of her busy schedule to come to the game, but also had taken the time to get to know the rules and regulations as well as the girls that made up his team.

Those thoughts only took the (logical) route to him thinking of just how nice her lips had felt moving underneath his…

By the time that the server had come around to take dessert orders, he was bouncing his knee quickly enough to rattle his father's glass of sweet tea on the table. He knew that there was no way that he'd be able to wait to see her again.

He doesn't want to tell her these things, though. He doesn't want to seem desperate or too eager.

So, of course, his mouth betrays him.

"Are you kidding me? I ordered this to go, paid my bill, and got out of there as quick as I could."

'Damn it, I'm useless.'

She bites the inside of her lower lip, but it barely suppresses the smile that threatens to overtake her face. Thinking about the fact that the man in front of her was in such a rush just to be near her again is pretty overwhelming, though, and she scoots closer to him. Her folded knees land across his thighs, and she kisses the corner of his mouth.

'Damn it, he's cute.'

"Well, in that case," she pulls back, and lifts the fork to hover in the space between their faces. "I'll share."

There's hardly any time separating the moment that she slips the utensil from his mouth and when he finds her lips again. It's messy, and uncoordinated, and he worries for a split second that she'll view the whole thing as just a waste of perfectly good tiramisu. But then she sighs a little into the kiss and threads her fingers into his hair, letting him know that know that's not the case.

Later on, when all that's left of the tiramisu is the lingering taste on one another's lips and tongues; he can't help but think that the whole night - that this whole thing - is pretty perfect.