Author's Note: HEEEEY BIIITCHES! It turns out that a few of you sent me facebook messages awhile back, but since y'all weren't my FBfriends and facebook is weird, it puts all of the messages into a part of the inbox labeled "other". Sooo until I discovered this a couple days ago I actually didn't know any of you had sent me anything. If you still want to be my BFFEAEAE, send me a facebook friend request (and for the love of all things THG, please do not post weird shit on my timeline, I actually have a reputation of being half-normal).

As soon as we step into the ballroom of the colossal District Three town hall, we are met by an enclosing wall of paparazzi. Peeta holds me tightly by the waist and with the help of the Peacekeepers, we slice through with only enough time to smile and answer a few banal questions. Of course, they all seem to be about my outfit.

Cinna's most recent creation- a tight metallic gown that is reminiscent of the technology that this district produces- hugs me tightly and doesn't allow for much bending. That being said, I'm sure nothing Peeta and I could have conjured up would have incited the media more than this seemingly simple dress. Thousands of hidden sequins reflect with the flashes of the cameras when we pass through, turning the folds of the fabric into the waves of a beautiful copper and gold ocean. The nerves that I normally feel before a big event like this are evermore present; I worry that the guests will notice that something has changed between Peeta and I... What would they make of the star-crossed lovers falling even more in love? As we sit down at our table to wait for appetizers I lean over to Peeta and whisper it into his ear. "And what if they realize what was going on before?"

"They won't; they can't fathom it. But I'm sure they'll come up with countless stories about why you're finally in a genuine good mood." He lifts my chin and kisses me. "And we can read all about it in the tabloids tomorrow."

I make a face then sit back in my chair, taking in a deep breath. Even just leaning over for a conversation is pushing the wind out of me and I remind myself to take it easy. Of course, then the food arrives and I busy myself with an attempt to load as much of it into my belly without my dress bursting.

While pilling various cheeses onto my plate I notice a cluster of four men in black suits across the room, holding what appear to be walkie-talkies and clipboards. They're certainly not members of the paparazzi flown in from the Capitol, nor are they guests since this is a white-tie event... Why is there a security detail at a Victory Tour event in District 3? I set down my plate of cheese and squirm out of my chair. The district major is taking his seat at the end of the long table and I mosey over to him, taking small steps due to my ridiculous heels. I introduce myself, glancing over his shoulder at the group of men while I shake his hand. One of them looks over with a bored expression before tuning back into whatever conversation he is having with the others. So, the security isn't for me or for the mayor...

"You also noticed the extra muscle they've got tonight?" says Peeta when I come back.

"Do you know who it's for? I always thought District 3 was poor like 12, and we always had Peacekeepers work security. Maybe it's for the riots."

"Maybe... but the rebels wouldn't break in here, it'd be too risky."

I don't respond, but the thought weighs heavily on me and I'm no longer able to taste my food. The group of men walks toward a darkened corner, exiting through a service door. Peeta follows my gaze just as the door swings shut behind them.

"You're planning on following them, right?" His tone is teasing, but then he kisses me on the forehead and stands up, taking my hand. "Well at least drag me along." We prowl the outskirts of the room, chatting with some guests before we arrive at the door. Peeta subtly leans against it, but it doesn't budge. I look over at the kitchen door a few feet down and he nods. We wait for the band to finish its song and slip through when everyone turns to applaud. Three avox girls are waiting inside, loading their trays. They pause when we enter and one of them lifts a finger and points lamely back at the door through which we entered. She shrugs when we hurry past them. We exit into a service hall that must connect up with the locked door, just in time to catch sight of one of the security men pulling up his zipper, a woman in a tight black dress on her knees in front of him. He lets out a muffled curse, yanking the girl up by her arms.

"Oh, sorry about that," says Peeta, holding up a hand in peace, "Great minds think alike." He chuckles convincingly and the man gives a rueful grin. He quickly pulls the girl down the hall in the opposite direction, turning only when he reaches the corner. Peeta must've anticipated this, because he grabs my butt and shoves me through the nearest door, which is thankfully unlocked. I stumble into the blackness, turning just as Peeta let's out another laugh and slips in with me.

"What was that?" I whisper, reaching out for him in the darkness.

"He said it was a good idea."

"No, not that. What are we doing? Where are we?" As I say this the faint smell of cleaning fluid and paint tell me we're in a supply closet.

"We're improvising," he says indignantly and I let out a low laugh. Peeta stifles it with a kiss. He runs his hands over the dress, feeling for a zipper. "How do you get this thing off?"

"Oh my gosh, are we actually doing this right now?" Disbelief mixes with vexation, and yet I'm turned on by his spontaneity and the danger of being caught. "Well... I don't know how to get it off, and I certainly don't know how to put it on again. There are laces in the back, but..." His hands are already there, and I push them back down to my waist. "Really, though, I wouldn't know how to get back into this." The little light from the crack in the doorway shines in his eyes.

"Well, I guess you have no choice but to leave it on." He kisses me and I run my hands through his hair. I'm finding it impossible to keep my balance in these heels, and I fall up against a wall, letting Peeta press me against it. I'm content with just this, but he's fumbling through the layers of the dress, his hands moving to my butt. He pulls up the fabric so his fingers can press into my bare skin. He begins kissing my neck again, and turns me around so I'm facing the wall. His hand wraps around my thigh, rubbing me through my lace panties. With his other hand he explores under the dress, my sheer thigh-highs held up by a garter belt that matches the black lace thong. With one finger he snaps the band from the garter and the sting of it turns me on even more. "Cinna really packaged you up tight tonight, didn't he?"

"Yeah, getting these off is going to be about as hard as getting the dress off." I'm cursing my styling team; they clearly thought I had the patience to make it back to the train tonight. The panties are under the belt, and if I remove that then my pantyhose will fall down. I huff as I try and think of a solution, turning around to face him in the darkness.

"We could always just leave them on...?" The charged silence after he says this has me imagining his face, how one of his eyebrows would raise and a smile would play on his lips. Because I can't stand imagining any more, I reach out to for him in the darkness, and my fingers feel the soft fabric of his pants rather than his hand. I go with it, rubbing him though the thick wool cloth. Unlike my dress, the zipper is easy to find and I pull it down, letting Peeta's firm cock free. Peeta leans in to kiss me, but I focus on my technique, pressing my thumb along the bottom and swirling it around the top. With my left I press Peeta's hand up against my thigh. I want him to reach back between my legs, so he can feel the wetness that is sliding down them. Peeta moans as I spend a little too long rubbing the head of his dick, and pressure builds in me as I think about how far ahead he is. He must know this, because he turns me around again, shoving me up against the wall. With one hand he pulls up the layers of the dress, and I feel his hardness against my butt. He pulls aside the fabric of my panties and I arch my back so he can find my opening. His fingers flutter near my clit, and he presses one into me.

"You're so tight." He whispers into my hair, his voice low and gravelly. "Spread your legs." Before I can, he puts a foot between my legs and pushes them apart with one of his own. He slips another finger in. He guides himself closer, until he slips his cock into me from behind. His hand pushes down on the small of my back, and since I'm wearing sky-high heels, my ass is up in the air. Like this, with my forearms against the wall to prevent me from falling over, I allow him to go deeper than ever before. I feel him at my core; feel my body stretching in ways I never thought possible.

A moan rises in my throat, and he reaches his hand around to cover my mouth. "Shhh, one security guard knowing we're in here is enough," he whispers against my neck. I bite down on one of his fingers instead then suck until he lets go.

The friction has already warmed the room, but the heat between my legs continues to grow and it gets harder and harder not to cry out. I can feel the soft skin of my butt chafing against his pants and I reach down to push it away, but Peeta grabs my hand and pins it back to the wall. "Oh my gosh, what are you doing?" I gasp.

His warm breath condensates on the side of my face and ear: "Improvising".

Our quick inhales echo in the tiny room, and the fumes from the cleaning products have me almost to heaven. Peeta knows just how to push me over the edge and he starts kissing my neck, his other hand back between my legs. I break out in a cold sweat, and arch my back to take in more of his warmth. I know he's close too because his thrusts become more deliberate, and when I hear his breath catch in his throat I let myself go as well, trying to keep my legs from giving out as I tighten around him, savoring the white-hot pulses of pleasure at my core, that aching fullness between my legs.

He pulls out just in time, emptying his load on the back of my thighs and my butt. I try to catch my breath, slouching up against the wall and letting the dress slide down my sticky back. Peeta leans in for a kiss, lingering for a moment. I hear him zip his fly.

"Let me make sure the coast is clear." He whispers, and I know it's accompanied by a wink. I tiptoe up behind him, peeking around his shoulder as he quietly cracks open the door.

But suddenly it's not a charade anymore, because just outside the door a tight, quick moving group of people scurries through the hall. I catch sight of a wisp of white hair and the smell of roses... President Snow, here in District 3? I feel the panic build in my belly, and suddenly the closet seems far too cramped and enclosed. Holding my breath, I silently pray that the group will carry on by the closet. Fifteen feet, ten feet, five feet... I involuntarily draw in a sharp breath, and to my horror President Snow and his security detail stop walking.

Author's Note: Oh my good gracious, you're probably thinking, what will happen to our wily heroine and her hunky boyfriend? They're going to need a lot of moxie to get out of this jam! No, but seriously, I have no idea. The storyline has pretty much become about nymphomania getting in the way of Detective Everdeen's super sleuthing. It's like some perverted version of Harriet the Spy... jeez... I'm having a hard time creating more plot to balance the hot, hot dickings. And in all honesty, 80-something people subscribe to this smut, and I know not all of you have lives. So take two minutes, lick the Cheetos dust of your fat little fingers, and leave a review. You disgust me.