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Synchronicity

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My movements were slower than usual as I worked the sleep out of my joints and focused on what was sitting before me; on top of me. Petite, but harboring a commanding presence that still makes me weak, she slowly runs her hands down my chest, letting the tips of her fingers linger and causing my skin to heat up under her touch.

Katniss wasn't always like this. This playful woman I now know had far more rules at one time. Love making never occurred spontaneously like this in the beginning. There was always a routine. Hunt, cook, eat, clean, bed and always in that order, never straying. Part of it was her healing. A clear routine helped her avoid breakdowns. There was nothing she had to doubt, second guess, or be blind-sided by. Another part of it was learning to trust not only me, but her. She had herself and the idea of being in a relationship so far separated that she didn't even know how to behave. She used to tell me that she didn't deserve my love, or anyone else's for that matter. The rules helped her learn just how false that kind of thinking was, and also taught her how to love in return… physically.

Other guys may have not been so patient with her, but the reality of it was that it was a learning experience for me just as much as it was for her. We came out of the war with more experience in killing than having sex and we knew that, even if neither of us said it out loud. We used this time to learn everything we could about our bodies and what they could do together. I learned that if I curled my fingers inside her, she would arch her back and make the most beautiful sounds I've ever heard, and she learned that all she had to do was gently suck on my left earlobe and I would be hard almost instantly.

Early on she used to cry a lot afterwards. At first I thought I hurt her; that maybe I'd been too rough on her, but she always shook her head when I asked her if I did something wrong. The truth was, she cried because she never knew that something like sex could feel the way it felt with us. On the nights she cried, I gently reminded her that what we did was more than sex. We were making love. After a while I learned that crying meant progress. With each passing month she slowly started to believe that she deserved this; that she deserved me. The rules lessened, the routines broke and eventually it was me that was wondering what I'd done to deserve this.

She became a different person in all the best ways. She laughed more, her smile became infectious, and even though many nights were filled with her screams of terror rather than pleasure, and she had days where she felt it was best to stay in bed all day, it was nothing compared to the smiles and laughs she gave me. It was everything I had ever imagined before The Games; to love her and be loved in return fully.

However, not even in the outrageous erotic fantasies that my 16 year old self often conjured in those days before The Reaping did I ever imagine walking into the front door of our home only to be screwed almost senseless by her right on the floor of the entryway the very first time she broke her rules and routine. While that isn't a term I normally use, there is no other way to describe what we did that evening as anything but screwing. We had each other for dinner that night, carrying it over to the couch in the living room and retiring to the bedroom for several more hours and one more time just before the sun rose. Neither of us walked right for days. It's always different with us now. The rules are simply a memory and routine stops when we cross the threshold of our bedroom, or if we're not in the bedroom, whenever our clothes come off.

Haymitch learned rather quickly that he now needs to knock before entering our home. He says that he still has unwanted mental pictures of the time he barged into the house the night of our Toasting. Katniss couldn't look him in the eye for weeks; since then he has never barged in. Now he waits until we answer the door before stepping foot in the house.

Six years later and it still feels brand new every single time. She is straddling me, replacing the hands that were on my chest with light kisses and a cool trail of saliva that she stops to blow on from time to time, causing me to shudder as she slowly begins to grind our hips together.

We still have the clothing on that we went to bed in, so all I feel is pressure as she rocks her hips. I know she feels me, the sound she makes each time she moves tells me so and the urge to feel her is beginning to take over more and more as the sleepy fog clears from my mind and body.

It's a quick and dirty move that I learned when I wrestled, but it's effective. In one fell swoop I've hooked my good leg up and around her back and push up, flipping her onto her back and pinning her arms above her head. She lets out a small squeak when she realizes what happened, a squeak that only I ever get to hear in our most intimate moments. I release her arms and she immediately snakes them up around my neck and buries her hands in my hair, pulling me down in an open mouthed kiss; our tongues playing together.

When we break apart I sit up on my knees as best as I can, intent on getting rid of the clothing both of us still has on. I run my hands up the front of the button down pajama top Katniss is wearing. It's mine and it's all she's wearing besides her underwear. I stop for a moment and take her breasts in my hands, giving them a gentle squeeze; as if we were instructed to do so, we both let out low moans when I do this. This makes me unbutton the top faster than I normally would, I need my skin on her skin and I can't do that with the top in the way.

A grin spreads across my face now as I take in the vision before me. Katniss underneath me in nothing but her underwear, smiling. She's smiling because she knows she's got me. She knew she had me the minute she decided to wake me up by reaching her hand to the front of my boxers and squeezing, but she sees what's in my eyes now and she knows her job is done. Now, it's up to us to let our bodies become one in perfect synchronicity, the phenomenal act of expressing our love that we've perfected over the years.

I close the space between our bodies now and am on top of her. My skin on her skin, her nipples grazing my chest as she breathes beneath me. Taking a page from her book of foreplay, I begin to grind into her in a rhythm that I know does her in. The more I do it, the heavier her breathing becomes until finally, her hands drop from my hair for the first time since I flipped her over and she immediately repositions them down the back of my boxers, each hand cupping and squeezing my ass. This is a silent game that we play. We tease each other just enough until eventually one of us gives in and begs for it. Right now, I'm winning.

Suddenly, she isn't squeezing anymore, but pushing me closer toward her. It's something she often does when one of us has already given in and I'm buried deep inside her. She does this to coax me to go deeper, even if I can't possibly do so. When I've gotten as close to her as our bodies and undergarments will allow, she stops pushing and holds me there, and I stop as she starts grinding underneath me. She cranes her neck upward and takes my left earlobe in her mouth and gently sucks and few times before trailing her tongue down my jaw and settling her mouth on my neck to resume sucking. She's cutting out all the stops tonight, because this is going to leave a mark and Haymitch is going to give both of us a hard time about it, because he misses nothing. She hates the idea of Haymitch even acknowledging the things we do in the bedroom let alone present him with evidence, so I know she really wants to win tonight.

I prop myself up with my arms on either side of her and give her a smile. She raises her eyebrow at me, suspicious of what I will do next; she knows I'm not ready to give in. Relying on only one hand now to prop me up, I take my right one and move it down to the front of her underwear and graze my thumb very gently over the material that is covering her most sensitive spots. It's wet and warm, and she's been ready for a while, but I know she won't give in so easily and either will I. Two can play at this game.

I move my hand back up to the top of her underwear and put my hand underneath the fabric to cover her entirely. It's even warmer under the fabric and I know that I'm just as ready as she is, so I have to do this correctly or I will be the one to give in. Tracing her outer folds with two fingers, I caress her; watching her as she begins to relax and enjoy the sensation. Then, without warning, I drive those same two fingers inside her and work them in and out, switching from a straight plunge to curling my fingers to tickle the spot that I love so much. She gasps now and arches her back, removing her hands from my boxers and throwing them down on either side of her to grip the sheets. Then she does it, she makes that sound that I love. The half gasp half moan in the most delicious tone that I've ever heard as she orgasms and her body contracts around my fingers. It's almost like she's singing a song that only I'm allowed to hear.

When I take my fingers out, I look at her and we share a drunken smile. Her smile from being brought to the edge and back, mine from hearing my favorite sound. I bring my fingers to my lips and lick them clean, letting out moans of satisfaction as I do it. This causes Katniss to writhe underneath me, still not satiated. Her hands are moving again, back to my boxers. She curls her index fingers under the top of my boxers and looks into my eyes. She's giving in.

I won't let her off that easily, though. I want to hear her beg for me to take off the rest of our clothes and finally bury myself inside of her. I say nothing and she now moves both of her hands inside of my boxers and grips my shaft tightly, letting her thumb graze over the head. I inhale a deep breath but hold my ground, not moving or saying a word; waiting for her to realize what I want. Finally, after minutes of stalemate, I hear it, "Peeta. Peeta, please… I want to feel all of you."

And she means it. Katniss is shy to talk about this part of her life with anyone, so the day that she told me that she didn't want to use condoms anymore and was going to talk to Dr. Aurelius about finding a doctor that would prescribe her birth control pills, I knew we had hit a breaking point in our relationship. Her reasoning for this decision was a simple one and one she reminds me of often and it's the same reason she gave me just now, "I want to feel all of you."

When she says this, my mind immediately switches out of play mode and enters into the intense expanses where all things sex resides. In seconds, I've removed her underwear and my own and was now hovering over her. I take my fingers one last time and place them inside her, gathering her wetness and rubbing it on my shaft and head, mixing it with my own juices that have begun to leak.

I position myself and enter her in one swift motion, her hands go immediately to my ass and she whispers, "Deeper." into my ear. I readjust my legs so that I'm still kneeling, but I'm lower now, the space that was between our lower halves was now gone. My upper body was flush with hers, skin to skin once more and my arms came up under her arms, and I placed my hands underneath her head, linking them together at the fingers.

Burrowing my head in the crook of her neck, I pull out and then drive my hips back towards hers, using my hands and her head as leverage to bury myself as deep as I can inside of her. She's told me before that this is her favorite thing, it makes her feel like we're one body and when we are in this position she forgets where I end and she begins. When she instructs me to go deeper, I know this is what she means.

We move together like one being, never faltering, and never stopping. I trail kisses along her neck and moan softly into her ear as I continue to push myself inside of her. The way her body is shaking now when she exhales tells me that she's almost there, she's almost ready for the big one. The orgasm I gave her with my fingers was just a prelude to these big ones she has. It feels as though they could go on for hours and maybe in a way they do. A woman's body is a masterpiece, especially this woman's.

She gives a final shuddering breath and I feel her contracting around me as I continue to move in and out. She pulls my head down so that my ear is in line with her mouth and she moans, and then whispers "Come for me, Peeta." I moan in return and continue my thrusts until finally I feel myself bubbling over and I stop moving, burying myself and my seed deep within her walls. She doesn't want kids, and even though I hope that she will change her mind one day, the act of filling her up this way cannot be any more intimate.

After a minute I finally pull out and move back to my side of the bed, post-coital bliss taking me over. Katniss is on her side now, head propped up by her hand and she's looking at me, smiling. She takes her other hand and brushes my sweaty bangs from my forehead, trailing her hand down to cup my cheek. Though we never talk about our game out loud, we know it exists and no matter how badly she hates to lose; there are really no losers in this game. Her smile says many things "I love you," "Thank you," and most of all "I'm happy."

For the longest time I wasn't sure we would ever get to a point in our lives where I could look at Katniss and truly believe that she was happy. There will always be demons plaguing both of us, but as we've learned over the years, there comes a time when you have to learn to exist in a world that isn't perfect, in a life that isn't perfect and start to create a new reality for yourself. We are doing just that and it's that fact that gets us through the bad days; that and each other.