The Space Between

On the train. In the dark. Hands wander. Emotions run high. In the dubious world between sleeping and waking Katniss and Peeta find a new source of comfort in each other and blur lines between fantasy and reality. Rated M for smutty reasons.

Written for the Dream!Everlark Prompts in Panem challenge on tumblr. Day 5: tongues.

The train slips silently through the night like a great silver serpent slithering along on its belly, making no more noise than the dry rustling of dead leaves it disturbs in its wake. Inside, only the shadows whipping through the open window give any indication of movement. Peeta Mellark tries to count the shadows passing by on the wall, but they are highly elusive, lingering for only the shortest of milliseconds before they are long gone. Katniss stirs in her sleep next to him and he knows what's coming. It happens every night. Often more than once.

A choked sob escapes her mouth. Then another. Her hand searches blindly, unconsciously, for him. His heart leaps when her fingers twist into the front of his undershirt. Even in the throes of a nightmare, some part of her subconscious knows that he's there, ready to pull her out of it.

On instinct, Peeta pulls her into his chest, wrapping his strong arms around her quaking body. "No. No please…" she begins to murmur.

"Katniss, wake up. It's okay, it's just a dream," Peeta whispers into her ear. But it is fruitless, and he knows it. She's in too deep. By this point the nightmare will have her firmly in its clutches, and experience tells him there is little to do but wait it out. Sure enough, her whimpers escalate into screams as he clings to her trembling form, begging her to wake. "Katniss, please!" He shakes her shoulders, pushes the stray hairs from her sweaty forehead creased in terror.

It is several, agonizing moments before her eyes blink open, wide and searching in the darkness, her frantic gaze settling on him at last. "Peeta," Katniss breathes. Her hand is still clinging to the front of his shirt in a vice grip, but he doesn't care. Her nightmare is over. She's back with him. He can feel the residual tremors in her shoulders; runs a comforting hand up and down her arm to chase away the goose bumps. Peeta doesn't ask what the nightmare was about; he never does, but as she holds him trapped in her mesmerizing gaze he can tell that something is different this time.

He is still trying to decipher the blazing look on her face when the unthinkable happens. Katniss pulls him forward by his shirt and crushes her lips to his. It is a hard, unforgiving kiss, unlike any they've shared so far. Her lips are unyielding; his frozen in shock. A beat passes, and Peeta opens his eyes to find that hers, too, are open. She releases him, chest heaving with shallow breaths. The moon shining through the train window gives Peeta just enough light to see the lingering traces of fear in the depths of her pearly grays, and something else as well. Something like… desire? Perhaps the same pang of longing he feels in his stomach every time she says his name, or allows him into her bed, or in those rare unguarded moments when she lets out a real snort of laughter at something he says.

Her lips move then, but almost no sound comes out. He leans in closer and she breathes it again.

"Kiss me."

The words make no sense to his foggy brain. It is so unlike Katniss, so much bolder and confident that she usually is with him, but her intentions could not be clearer. Her defiant chin is tilted up toward him and the pure desire is evident in her eyes. Whatever her confusion about him may be, it is obvious in this moment he is what she wants.

He traces her cheekbone delicately with his thumb, giving her time to reconsider, time to pull away from him. She doesn't. So, heart pounding furiously against his ribcage, Peeta presses his lips to hers for the second time. It is the opposite of their last kiss; soft and gentle as the brush of a butterfly wing against the skin, but it still floods his entire body with warmth. Katniss seems to melt against him, releasing her grip on his t-shirt at last to favor the back of his neck. Her fingers twist into the fine hairs at his nape, securing his face to hers. Peeta's tongue darts out to taste the flesh of her full lips and she obliges eagerly, opening her mouth to him. Her own tongue slides against his in a languid dance. It coaxes a groan to rumble up from the back of his throat, and she clings to him more tightly still.

When at last their lips part for air, she whispers into the space between them again.

"Touch me."

Peeta doesn't hesitate this time. He brings a shaking hand to her breast, clothed only by her thin nightgown. He can feel her erect nipple under his fingers as he palms her gently, in awe of how perfectly she fits into his hand. Almost like it was meant to be.

Then her fingers close over his and she guides his hand down her body to the hem of her nightgown. Together, they slide it up to expose her silken olive skin inch- by- inch to the palm of his hand. His hand finds her breast once more, this time entirely bare to him. She is as soft and smooth as velvet under his fingertips and he longs for the same sensation beneath his lips. When he brings his mouth to her chest, she lets out a low, searching moan. He pulls her nipple between his lips to lave it with his tongue, delicately pinching the other with his free hand.

When he has had his fill, Peeta releases her with the slightest pop and kisses a wet trail to her other side to lavish it the same way. Katniss's body is precious, a revelation to him, and he intends to treat it with all of the reverence she deserves. Her fingers find purchase in his curls as his mouth explores her newly exposed skin before trailing down his back. She teases the hem of his t-shirt, sliding it up the plane of his back. The smooth tips of her fingers brushing against his spine and the gentle scratch of her perfectly manicured nails make him shiver, raising goose bumps on his pale skin. And then his shirt is gone, her hands snaking around to the front of his body to continue their exploration. He's growing hard now. He tries to disguise it by shifting his bottom half away from Katniss, but she's too quick for him.

She hooks a leg around his waist before he can move, drawing him impossibly closer. Her breasts sit flush against his naked chest, and it is enough to make Peeta forget about everything else as he revels in the feeling of her lustrous skin against his. Katniss grinds her hips deliberately into him, sending a jolt of pleasure through his body, already thrumming with anticipation. Only the thin layers of her panties and his boxers separate them now. She grinds into him again, capturing his lips between hers in a fevered kiss.

Finally, he gives into his desire and thrusts into her hips in turn. Her legs open wider to accommodate him and even through her underwear, he can feel the heat pulsing from her core. Then Katniss abandons his lips to whisper a third and final command.

"Take me."

It happens in a hazy blur of lust and pure desire. Before he can fully comprehend what is happening, Peeta's cock is pressing into her folds, slick with her arousal and begging for his entrance. She's wet enough that he slides into her in a swift, sure motion. It's all he can do not to cry out loud at the sensation. The velvety warmth encompassing him so securely that it feels like home. It feels right. He pulls out and pushes back in again, desperate for friction. Katniss arches into him, her breasts heaving into his chest and the long column of her beautiful neck exposed just for him. His lips latch onto the skin under the line of her jaw. He can feel the rapid bounding of her pulse beneath his tongue. He kisses a trail down her neck to her clavicle, punctuating each kiss with a thrust of his hips.

Though he's not in the position to see their joining, he wants to feel it. Peeta slides a hand down to the apex of her thighs and her eyes jolt open as he hits a sensitive spot with his calloused thumb. "Peeta." The word curls up from the back of her throat, intoxicating him like a flute of the finest Capitol champagne. Her legs wrap firmly around his back to hold him in place: he thinks it is unlikely she will ever let go. He keeps his hand between her legs, following the nonverbal cues she gives him- the pleasurable wince on her face and the dig of her nails into his biceps- to bring her pleasure.

Her hips grind into him with each of his subsequent thrusts and he is all too aware that he won't be able hold off much longer. But Katniss has to come first. She deserves that, and he is determined to make it happen. Peeta brings his mouth back to hers, wasting no time before drawing her tongue into the heat of his mouth. The vibrations of her moans reverberate through him and he shudders in pleasure. His thumb is moving furiously in small, tight circles, and just when he thinks he can't hold onto his sanity any longer, her walls begin to flutter around him, signaling her release. It is Katniss's unintelligible cry of ecstasy into the black of the train compartment that is Peeta's final undoing. He pulls out of her just in time to spill his seed onto her stomach.

She has never looked more beautiful to him than she does now, sprawled beneath him with her hair in a messy braid and still moaning with the aftershocks of her orgasm.

The pair lock gazes as their bliss fades to be replaced by a sated relaxation. He's quick to wipe the sticky mess off her stomach as her eyes begin to drift closed. He can't blame her for falling sleep. It is very late, and tomorrow will be yet another long day. Peeta tucks her into his chest with waning strength, wanting nothing more than to stay in this moment forever. Right now, it seems almost possible. His leaden eyelids slide closed, and he sleeps.

But morning dawns swift and sure, the sun streaming in brilliantly through the open window. They are moving more slowly now, he can tell. They'll be in a new district within the hour.

As he stares out the window of the speeding train at the unfamiliar foliage of this new place, Katniss stirs next to him. A dewy smile crosses her lips when she sees that he, too, is awake. A familiar pang of longing shoots through his stomach and he knows that for whatever reason, it is most assuredly connected to her. "No nightmares," she says.

At her words, the events of last night come flooding back to him in a hazy rush of sweat and skin and pleasure. But there are only bits and pieces; a flash of Katniss's dusky nipples, her tongue clenched between her teeth, a misplaced moan or whimper. But it all seems so far away, like he's trying to see something clearly through a mass of fog or catch an elusive wisp of smoke in his fingers. As it is, the memories seem to be fading the longer he's awake even as he tries desperately to cling to them. But despite his confusion, one fact remains irrevocably true.

"No nightmares," he confirms.

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xoxo