Chapter Text
The District 7 justice building smelled aggressively of fresh pine shaving and expensive, heavy perfumes brought in by the Capitol entourage.
Katniss adjusted the bodice of the red strapless gown her prep team had practically sewn her into. The silk felt like cold water against her skin, a jarring contrast to the thick, oppressive heat of the crowded ballroom. Across the room, Peeta was trapped in a circle of laughing lumber barons, looking impossibly dapper in a tailored black suit that made his shoulders look broader than usual. Katniss found herself having trouble looking away. He looked breathtakingly polished in that suit, his jaw set in that practiced, charming smile he wore for the cameras.
Catching his eye, Katniss gave a subtle tilt of her chin. Peeta excused himself flawlessly, slipping through the crowd to meet her by the towering glass doors leading to the veranda.
"If one more Peacekeeper Captain or Forestry Secretary tries to place his hand on the small of my back while guiding me across the dance floor, I am going to stab him with a butter knife," Katniss muttered under her breath, her jaw tight.
Peeta’s lips twitched, a faint, tired smile breaking through his Capitol ready mask. "I don't think that's on the itinerary, Katniss. Effie would have a stroke. But I agree, you look spectacular, and they’re getting entirely too handsy."
"Let's get out of here," she whispered boldly, leaning in so close her lips brushed his ear. They had gotten incredibly comfortable with being in each other's space during this tour. They had to, there really wasn't any other choice. "Let's sneak off to be 'alone.' If we're lucky, some gossiping Capitol official will follow us and catch us in a compromising position. Give Snow something else to look at besides the scowl on my face."
Peeta blinked, a flash of surprise crossing his blue eyes before he nodded toward the dark balcony at the far end of the terrace. "Getting some air sounds perfect," he said as he tugged at his collar. "But Katniss... you've had hands on you all night. We can just hide for a little while."
"I am much more comfortable being alone with you in the dark than I am with all these city officials constantly trying to touch me," she said flatly, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the shadows. She was genuinely grateful for his restraint, but didn’t really find it necessary at this point.
They slipped into a small, recessed stone alcove. The air out here was biting and cool, cutting through the heavy silk of her dress. Katniss shivered, and before she could ask, Peeta was already slipping his black suit jacket off his shoulders, draping it over her. The wool was warm, smelling faintly of cinnamon and the expensive cologne Effie had sprayed him with.
"Better?" he asked softly, stepping closer to shield her from the wind.
"Much," she breathed, looking out at the beautifully lit forest below. The pine trees stretched out like a dark, glittering ocean under the twinkle lights District 7 had strung for the occasion. "It's almost pretty. If you ignore the fences."
"You know, if we stay out here long enough, Effie will probably send a search party," Peeta joked, his voice low and comforting. "She’ll claim the draft from the pines is bad for my complexion or something."
Katniss let out a sudden, genuine laugh, a rare, sharp sound that surprised even herself. "She would. She’d say the sap is a hazard to the fabric." She said the last part in her best Effie accent.
Peeta smiled down at her, his expression softening. "I missed that sound. Haven't heard it in a while."
Katniss felt a little flip in her chest. What is that? And how does he always do that? Just say things like that so easily.
Katniss looked past his shoulder, noticing the rhythmic, telltale flash of camera lenses reflecting off the glass doors inside. The Capitol media was tracking them on this tour. An idea, sharp and sudden, took hold in her mind. She cleared her throat, suddenly feeling incredibly awkward.
"Peeta?"
"Yeah?"
"I... I have an idea," she stammered, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. She looked down at his tie, unable to meet his eyes. "I’ve heard girls talk at school before. In the Seam. They... they show off these marks to their friends. Hickeys, I think Madge called them once. If you... if you give me a mark on my neck, the cameras will definitely catch it tomorrow. It’ll prove we can’t keep our hands off each other."
Peeta stared at her, utterly speechless. The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. "Are you... are you sure?" he finally asked, his voice strained. "Katniss, I don't know if I should. Stage kisses for the audience are one thing, but... do you really want me sucking on your neck?"
She sighed heavily, an impatient defense mechanism for how flustered she actually felt. "Well, I obviously can't do it to myself, Peeta. If we want Snow to believe us, we have to go all in."
Peeta shifted his weight, looking wildly uncomfortable. "Katniss, it’s a bad idea. It bruises. It hurts a little. What if it looks terrible? What if—"
"Do you even know how?" she interrupted, crossing her arms under his jacket. "Because it's okay if you don't. I've never done this either. We can just... figure it out."
A dark, deep flush spread up Peeta’s neck, coloring his cheeks. He looked away, clearing his throat. "Yes. I know how."
Katniss froze. A strange, sharp pang struck her chest, hot and entirely unwelcome. "You do?" she asked, her voice dropping into a dangerous, quiet register. "Have you given a girl a mark before?"
Peeta rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes darting everywhere but at her. He sighed heavily before answering, "Yes, Katniss. I have."
"Who?" she demanded, the word slipping out before she could stop it. "When? How many?" She let out a sharp, bitter breath. "I had no idea I was dealing with some sort of an expert."
"Katniss, please," Peeta muttered, looking thoroughly miserable, his voice tight with embarrassment and discomfort. "It was before the games. It doesn't matter. Can we talk about literally anything else?"
"Fine," she snapped, stung by his reluctance and furious at the possessive jealousy clawing at her throat. She knew they were supposed to be acting. But the thought of him doing this with someone else back in 12 made her stomach twist. And she hated it. "Since you're so good at it, just get on with it."
She stepped squarely into his space, tilting her chin up and presenting the bare, pale line of her neck to him.
Peeta hesitated, his hands hovering in the air between them.
"Peeta, do it," she ordered, her anger flaring.
"Alright," he whispered.
His hesitation melted into something entirely different. Slowly, gently, Peeta stepped closer until the heat of his body pressed against the front of her gown. He reached up, his thumb catching her jawline, holding her neck with a tender, steadying grip. With his other hand, he slowly brushed her dark hair over her shoulder, his fingers lingering against her skin.
"Let me know if you want me to stop," he murmured against her skin.
When his lips finally touched her neck, Katniss inhaled sharply. It wasn't the clumsy, bruising force she had expected. It was a searing, agonizing heat. Peeta pressed his lips to the sensitive skin just beneath her jaw, his breath warm and ragged against her throat.
"You okay?" he mumbled, his lips moving against her skin.
"Yes," she gasped. "Keep going."
He continued, the suction firm but deliberate. A heavy, dizzying sensation washed over Katniss. Her hands, which had been hanging rigidly at her sides, found their way up to his chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt as if she might fall over. She let out a soft, involuntary sigh, her eyes fluttering shut. She could feel the faint, unmistakable curve of Peeta’s lips smiling against her neck, a small, secret victory as he felt her lean into him.
But even through the fog of pleasure, the thought pricked at her like a thorn: He’s done this to someone else. He’s held someone else like this.
Eventually, Peeta pulled back with a slow, lingering friction. Both of them were breathless, their chests rising and falling in unison. The air between them felt charged, heavy, and thick.
Katniss swallowed hard, trying to regain her footing. "How... how does it look?"
Peeta looked down at the darkening red mark blooming against her collarbone. A familiar, boyish wit returned to his eyes, though his voice was still rough. "Honestly? I think it’s some of my best work."
"Shut up," she muttered, shoving his chest lightly, pretending to be furious to hide how fast her heart was hammering.
Suddenly, the heavy click of dress shoes echoed from the terrace. Someone was coming.
The plan, Katniss thought frantically. We need to be caught.
Before Peeta could react, Katniss reached up, grabbed him firmly by the lapels of his shirt, and pulled him down to her lips.
This wasn't like the desperate kisses in the arena, or the stiff, orchestrated ones on the victory tour stages. Neither of them were holding back. Peeta’s arms wrapped tightly around her waist, pulling her flush against him, his mouth gently parting hers with a deep, consuming hunger that left her knees weak. She felt her fingers drift up and tangle themselves in his soft, blonde curls. The facade of the tour, the threat of Snow, the jealousy from moments before, it all burned away in the heat of the kiss. It felt terrifyingly real.
"Ahem."
A loud, thoroughly unimpressed cough broke the silence.
They tore themselves apart, breathless and flushed. Expecting a shocked Capitol socialite or a frantic Effie Trinket, Katniss braced herself, only to find Haymitch Abernathy leaning against the stone archway, a silver flask held loosely in one hand and a massive smirk plastered across his face.
"Oh, dont let me stop you," Haymitch drawled, his voice dripping with surly sarcasm. "I hate to break up this touching display of teenage hormones, but you're lucky it's me and not Effie. If she caught you two dry humping on the masonry, you'd be getting a three hour lecture on lack of decorum and improper engagement protocols during dessert."
Katniss glared at him, her face burning, while Peeta looked down, rubbing his crimson ears.
"We were just—" Peeta started.
"Save it, boy," Haymitch interrupted, taking a slow sip from his flask. He walked over, his eyes landing squarely on Katniss’s neck. He whistled low. "Nice touch, sweetheart."
"Shut up, Haymitch," Katniss scowled at him.
He smirked, eyes cutting to Peeta. "Come on. Back inside before they think you've escaped."
Haymitch turned on his heel and sauntered back toward the noise of the ballroom.
Katniss and Peeta stood in the quiet alcove for a moment longer. Without a word, Peeta reached out, gently adjusting his jacket over her shoulders, his eyes darting to hers for the briefest of moments.
"Come on, Katniss," Peeta said softly.
They walked back into the bright, suffocating light of the party side by side, their hands barely brushing, both of them locked in a suffocating silence, wondering exactly where the lie ended, and where the truth began.