Author's Note: Oh my gosh! Oh my goodness! I'm back! Maybe it's because I have a thing for cave-sex... Okay, no really, I don't, but I couldn't help myself with this one, it was just asking to be written. Get your hand out of your pants; the sexy stuff hasn't even begun! Sooooo... I went to college and got a boyfriend and a life and stopped writing fanfiction. But, as they say, once a pervert, always a pervert. But I leveled up. Now I'm a covert-pervert. Crouching Tiger, Hidden Pervert. I just do my creepin' at frat parties now. But anyway, I have a whole pile of chapters already written for my other fic, I'm just too lazy to post them. So if any of you stuck around to read this whole AN (kudos!), you can PM me or something and beg me to put them up. Okay, you can put your hand back in your pants, now.

It isn't until after I pick up the breadcrumbs with my moistened finger that I feel like dinner is finally over. I lick them off before stacking the plates back into the picnic basket.

"You know, we could wash those and use them tomorrow," says Peeta, pointing at the dirty dishes and then at a spout of water gushing through the cave ceiling.

I laugh and slide the basket toward him with my foot, "How about you wash them, Mrs. Mellark?" I lean back, smiling; no one but Peeta could be so domestic in this situation. I reach my hands out for the water and am surprised by how warm it is. The contrast with the frigid stone hints at game-maker interference. Crawling to the edge of the cave, I stick my torso out into the rain. The water fills my cupped hand and I splash it onto my face. The feeling of grubbiness is washed away with the layers of dirt and sweat on my body. I push off my shoes and socks before making my way out into the mud. Peeling off my torn and burnt jacket, I lay it out on the branches of a nearby tree. The rain falls so heavily that I feel confident that the Capitol's cameras will be sufficiently obscured. I wash out my mouth, untie my braid and run my fingers though my hair. Soon I am drenched and my tank top sticks to my body. I secretly thank Cinna; my last defense is the tight, comfortable sports bra that he included in my ensemble. I practically hear Haymitch's voice in my mind... the warm shower is nothing less than a down payment.

I lie on my side at the mouth of the cave, watching her. She's standing there, arms at her sides and her face up to the sky. Suddenly she pulls off her camisole, setting it on a branch. Left in only a bra and panties, I can almost hear her sighing; her modesty was trumped by a need to be clean. Through the thick wall of rain I watch her stomp back over to the cave and crawl in next to me.

"Your turn," she says, and although my body is registering the half-naked girl next to me, I slide outside. "... Now let's see if this basket came with warm pajamas."

The strangely warm rain soothes my aching shoulders, but I waste no time in pulling off my shirt. I use it to scrub all the extra riverbed muck that Katniss wasn't able, or willing, to rinse off me the other day. I walk to the side of the cave and lean against a rock near the opening while I slowly ease my pants over my injured leg. The pain and swelling are down considerably but it's now clear that Cato's knife sliced only inches from my femoral artery. I marvel at the ability of the medicine to not only expel the blood poisoning, but also encourage the wound to heal.

"Hey, what's taking so long?" Katniss' voice echoes from the cave.

"Hold on," I yell back over the rain. "I'm butt-naked. Give me a second."

"You're what?" She calls out. "Where are you?" Her head pops out of the cave and whips around, looking for me.

"Here," I say and she shrieks, not expecting me to be so close. Her face turns beet red when she realizes that I'm naked except the t-shirt I hold in front of my crotch.

"Oh my gosh," she backs into the cave, uttering a string of apologies and a few choice curse words, bumping her head on the way in. It's all I can do not to laugh; instead I pull my now-clean boxers back on and follow her in.

I can't tell how much, or if any, of Haymitch's message is clear to Peeta, but the steam that is rising from the cold stone is embarrassingly... explicit to me. The glimpse of his nearly naked body remains fresh in my mind, and I'm finding it hard to concentrate. It's a veritable sauna when he appears, obscuring the beams of moonlight that play off the moist air. Admitting it to myself is hard, but the cool rocks I lay against are soothing and this is the first time since the Reaping that I've experienced any semblance of relaxation.

Of course, this can't last long, because I am acutely aware of Peeta, stretching out across from me. I remain on the ground but roll onto my side, rubbing my head where it hit the rock. Suddenly nervous, the same feeling from when we kissed before washes over me. I try not to over think my actions when I lean over and kiss him lightly, just on the side of his mouth. The feeling increases, and this time when I kiss him he kisses me back. His lips follow mine as I sit up and crawl onto his lap, straddling him. I run my hands down his chest and find myself surprised. Lying in the riverbank, he was so pale and dirty and sick that I hardly noticed how soft his skin was, or how firm the muscles underneath were. Waves of warm steam create droplets on our skin but I still feel chilled. I stop kissing him, worried because his hands remain on my waist. I thought this is what he wanted...

She stops kissing me and her eyebrows knit together. Oh my gosh, she noticed my boner. I had been thinking about the way she had crawled across the cave floor on her hands and knees, the way her mouth looked as she sucked breadcrumbs off her fingers, and the way her lips felt as they were up against mine moments ago...

"Are you okay with this?" I whisper, referring to a great many things I can't get into words, but primarily my hard-on.

She bites down on her lip, causing it to flush red, and nods. I realize she's waiting for me and I bring my face to hers. Before, I had let her set the pace, not wanting to push the limits especially with the cameras. Now I let my hands wander. Suddenly I am wondering how much of this territory has already been explored by Gale, but the idea of them together raises so many questions that I block it out. I let my hands drop to her butt. The Hunger Games contestants have never really been known for their ethics, anyway.

His hands slide down to my hips, pulling me closer so that I unintentionally grind into him. He moans, rocking my body as his hands slide up and stop just at the edge of my bra. As if on cue another wave of steam rolls in, theatrically obscuring us. His skin glows in the moonlight. I roll my hips again, savoring the feeling of his hardness. He rolls me over so that he's on top and I groan, having been enjoying being in control. Planting kisses down my neck, he runs his hand up my thigh and presses his fingers in between my legs. Even through my panties this is too much and a moan escapes my mouth. I press my hips into it, but then he stops and I feel him break the kiss, smiling.

"I never expected you to be so amorous," he says softly and I realize how turned on I am by the idea of him expecting me to be anything.

"Shut up," I whisper against his mouth as I kiss him.

My hands explore the anomalies of her body as we kiss. Her soft, muscular legs contrast with her collarbones, prominent after a life of being underfed. Her skin smells sweet like tree sap, probably from those nights alone in the canopy, and it reminds me of how fortunate I am to be with her now. The sound of her sigh when I touch the wet spot in her panties is heaven to me, and it's ecstasy when she calls out in frustration because I stopped. I lift her wet hair off her neck and kiss it, but she's pulling my hand back down between her legs.

"If you want," I whisper against her neck, "we can go further."

She nods and allows me to pull her bra over her head. I had assumed- because of this bra, years of seeing her dressed rather conservatively, and living a hungry life in the Seam- that she'd be flat-chested, but when my hands finds her breasts I am surprised by how full and round they are. In a moment of selfishness I lean down and take her nipple in my mouth, noticing again the scent of the forest on her warm, damp skin. Suddenly her hand is on my crotch and she's stroking me. I moan.

My hand goes to the tent in his boxers and his face breaks from my chest as he moans. I have my other hand in his soft blond hair and he's kissing my breast when I push his underwear down with my feet. Peeta's nose traces between my boobs and again he is kissing me... his hips are now against mine and I writhe underneath him. My legs are around his muscular torso and I pull him against me, very aware of how hard he is. As our bodies collide I buck my hips, aching underneath my thin panties. He easily finishes removing his boxers, then turns his attention to the remaining article of clothing between us. He tugs my panties down with one hand and a shiver travels up my body. Even though we are hidden by the steam, I shield myself with my hand.

"You know, that's sort of my job," I place my own hand on top of hers, putting pressure on her fingers so they slide in. Her eyes close and she moans, arching her back and letting me take over. Wetness covers my fingers as I press one, and then another into her opening. My groin begins to throb to the rhythm of her ragged breathing. I lower myself to my elbow so Katniss' slender frame is entirely pinned under my own.

My back arches again instinctively, reveling in the feeling of his warm hand between my legs. I'm grateful when he positions himself directly above me; his powerful body obscures mine from view and the feeling of my breasts yielding to his firm frame turns me on. I feel his breath in my ear.

"You're sure?" he murmurs, his voice gravelly. I nod and he kisses my neck before gently biting down on my earlobe and pressing into me.

Katniss cries out and I hold still, letting her stretch around me. I push her damp hair off her forehead, trying to read her expression. Pain, anxiety, ecstasy? I suddenly realize that, until moments ago, she was a virgin. A feeling of chagrin washes over me, knowing that I just deflowered a girl on national television. But then her shoulders are relaxing and she looks up into my eyes. I take that as a sign to continue, and begin moving slowly within her.

Soon we are moving in tandem, our voices quite literally drowned out by the storm still raging outside. I press into her again and again, trying to memorize the feeling of her body as it rocks against mine. The beginnings of words begin to form in her mouth. Impatient gasps are mixed with my name and her hands are everywhere. In my hair. On my chest. Her nails rake down my back.

Pressure builds within me and she cries out, clearly almost at the point of ecstasy. She lifts her hips, allowing me to go deeper than ever and I wrap my arm around her, holding us together.

His strong arms lift me, his warm hand on my butt. I feel myself tightening around his shaft and I am overcome with a wave after wave of pleasure. I wrap my arms around him, pressing my face against his neck as I choke out his name. It echoes through the cave, accompanied by his voice as he reaches his peak, too.

I feel his warm body relax, and the weight of it on top of me is comforting. Breathing heavily, we lie there for a few moments before he rolls off of me. The steam is gone by now, blown out the door who-knows-when, and I cover myself with my arms. The cold, hard ground is no longer soothing and the rain is quickly cooling off. I sit up and splash some on my face while taking stock of the situation.

I'm just beginning to miss the feeling of his body when Peeta wraps his arms around me from behind, kissing my neck. "Are you okay?" He quietly whispers into my hair. I know that this isn't meant for the sponsors or audience or even for my mother's sake, and I nod. Without another thought of the Capitol, we crawl into the sleeping bag and I curl myself against Peeta. Wrapped in his arms I quickly fall asleep, protected for at least a little while by the relentless rain.

Off in the distance, or maybe just in a dream, a canon booms.

Author's Note: Okay, so recently I've been trying to figure out why I hate Josh Hutcherson so much. I have looked at so many pictures of this kid that I'm forgetting what my own boyfriend looks like. At first I thought it might be because he just has so much face. Like, Batman Big-Jaw Syndrome or something. It's just asking to be punched. Maybe it is his white-gangster attitude, too-cool-for-thou presence. His height (or lack thereof)? His penchant for henna tattoos? His starring role in Journey to the Center of the Earth, the most cringe-inducing, kitten-punching action flick of our generation? The fact that he beat out Evan Peters for the role of Peeta? Nope, none of these things. I'm thinking it's probably because he is still a childstar in my eyes, despite the fact that he's only eight months younger than me. I have a policy of not hating on childstars. So for now, Mr. Hutcherson, I will refrain from hating on you.

That being said, I can't imagine what kind of face he pulls when he has an orgasm... hence why I was looking at pictures. I feel like Brendan Fraser, his compatriot from JttCotE, probably just screams when he orgasms. Or, like, howls, I don't know. George of the Jungle fucked up my childhood. None of you are reading this author's note, anyway.