wesleynotponcy | Room 504, Thursday Evening

And his nervousness made her feel a little more comfortable -- she wasn't alone in her confusion, and in just sort of...feeling her way through this. He was, too. Katniss had sort of abandoned thought as soon as his lips touched the curve of her breast -- she'd been told she was beautiful, sure, by adoring Capitol fans who didn't understand, and by Peeta for the cameras, and it had never meant anything. She believed it, right now, because that was the only word appropriate for how exquisite she felt right now.

She was shy, still, but ignoring that part of her because everything he was doing felt so wonderful. It wasn't just physical, either. Wesley's ministrations warmed Katniss through, and for the first time since Prim's death, she felt loved.

"I'm just me," was her soft reply to that, because she never knew what to say to people when they said that sort of thing. Least of all Wesley, who believed it. She could tell.

Well, Wesley didn't know about that -- he doubted he would ever be able to look at Katniss and think just her. She would always be a larger-than-life figure for him, the beautiful, strong girl who spearheaded a revolution and ignited firestorms wherever she went and somehow, for whatever reason, seemed to love him.

"I love you," he breathed, lips close enough to tickle her skin. In between kisses, he murmured it again and again, until finally he'd covered every square inch of each breast with a thousand tiny kisses and slid up the length of her body to kiss her lips.

It felt trite to say 'I love you too' but she did, with every inch of her. For months, Katniss had been consumed by how much she hurt. Tonight -- and often, lately, distractingly often -- she was filled with how much she loved him. And life, in general, and warmth (though not fire) and simple things like food and fresh air and smiling, but mostly, her thoughts tended to wander to Wesley when she was feeling warm and sweet.

And so, as he kissed her, she didn't say, 'I love you too,' because that wasn't it, she realized. This felt entirely different from her affection towards others, and her initial declaration had been fueled by a cold acceptance of her death, and the last remnants of fear about leaving him behind.

This was more.

She pulled back a bit, reaching a hand up to touch his cheek, and chose her words carefully. She could feel the heat of his skin against hers, and the shakiness of their mixed breaths, and the way her heart was thumping so near his. She memorized it all as she whispered, "Wesley, I think I'm in love with you."

There was a distinction, she thought.

Wesley's breath hitched for a moment, his body realizing before he did the significance of what she'd just said. Then the words made sense and he drew in a quick breath, surprised.

Except that... it wasn't that surprising, if he gave it a moment. He loved books and his mum and helping Angel and that one stake that he nearly always hit the target with. But none of those things were in league with Katniss and the way he felt about her. She was... different. Special. Vital.

"I -- I think so too," he breathed, eyes wide and earnest. "I mean. I think I am as well. In love with you."

Edited 2011-10-29 21:28 (UTC)

"I've never done this before," she murmured, blushing lightly but also beaming from ear to ear. "I mean, I wouldn't know what to look for, but I...have never felt like this before, about anyone."

She shrugged, trailing her hand down his chest hesitantly, curiously. "But I love you so much. And not just because you've been making me feel incredible lately."

"I have?" Wesley wondered, caught by surprise, then blushed faintly. "I mean. You... you have too. And I -- I'm not accustomed to feeling this way either. About anyone." His chest tingled where her hand lay, encouraging him to admit, "I -- that is -- you make me see things differently. Like Faith and the Capitol and vampires and demons aren't -- aren't everything, I suppose. That there's more."

He searched for words for a moment, words that would even come close to approximating what it was about her, then added earnestly, "And how I feel about you, it feels -- just as powerful as anything else. More, even."

"It's bigger than my grief," Katniss said softly, and as she said it aloud, she realized it was true. It wasn't that she'd forgotten how much everything ached, or the isolation she'd felt. It was that this was bigger and brighter than that. "Or my guilt. There's more to life than Prim's death, or Finnick never seeing his child, or reliving the Games in my head. You're helping me remember that."

At that, Wesley leaned in to softly kiss her cheek. Then, deciding he'd have countless more opportunities to resume his exploration of her body, he rolled over to lay on his back beside her.

"I'm glad," he said softly as he settled into a comfortable position. "And you -- it seems silly, compared to everything that's happened to you, but you truly helped me the other night, when I came back. It wasn't -- that is to say, it's not comparable, but -- I appreciated having you here. You helped. You're still helping."

"Good," she said firmly. "And it's -- everyone has their own pain. Mine's just...very loud and explosive. And I've never gone through...what you went through, so I'm glad I'm helping," she added, more quietly. "They never got me. Just Peeta and Johanna and Annie, and I was never good at helping them...after."

"I've read about it," Wesley said quietly. "I used to study some of the more vicious vampires, who made a sport of it. Somehow being tested on their methods isn't quite the same as experiencing it firsthand."

He paused, searching for words, then finally settled on: "But... I thought of you. And how strong you are. It made it easier to get through."

Katniss curled against him. "I'm not strong. I'm just lucky," she said quietly, draping an arm around him. "And I didn't have to...to watch you. I think I'd go insane if I did. Having to watch someone hurt you, while I couldn't do anything about it...I couldn't do it. You're strong, Wesley, because you can do that and I couldn't. You watched both of my Games and lived through it. I'd probably still be stuck in my own head if our positions had been reversed."

"Well," he said, ducking his head a bit at the praise. "It's only thanks to Karla and Professor Skywalker and Professor Cabot that I'm not. They were immeasurably helpful. Before their help, at the end of your second Games, I was... not really all that functional."

Try "drunk on the floor surrounded by books."

"You all thought I was dead, didn't you?" she asked softly, because she knew the districts had thought so. She wasn't sure about Fandom. "I wish I could have sent you a message, or something, when they pulled me out, to tell you I was just paralyzed."

"Yes, it... it certainly seemed that way," he admitted, glancing down at his hands because the memory still hurt to think about. "But then that propaganda segment aired, and we realized what had happened, and after that we were all rather anxious to come see you. Firekeeper and I made a point of suggesting it.

"I sort of wish you hadn't," she admitted softly, curling tight against him. "You could've -- that could have been you, not Finnick. Or you, instead of Boggs."

Huh.

"I suppose so," he said softly, slipping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her close. "But then, even if it could've been... it never felt like that was a risk, at least through most of it. I was always too focused on you."

"I managed to get out with one of the two people who'd cripple me if they died," Katniss said quietly, resting her head on his chest. "It was always you, when we were running for the Capitol. I was always worried about you."

And then Prim had been there and she'd forgotten everything else.

Wesley ran a gentle hand through her hair, fingers gently rubbing at her scalp. "Me too," he said softly. "I was -- rather curt to the others. Peeta and Gale and... I just couldn't concentrate on anything else."

His hands found a rhythm in her hair, stroking and then massaging her scalp with his fingertips. "I didn't mean to be a distraction," he said after a while. "But... I thought I could protect you. If I went along."

"You helped," she offered quietly. "I wouldn't have come back if it wasn't for you."

And even if he'd probably known, she hadn't really said that aloud before now.

Oh. That was... oh.

He blushed, because that was... kind of a lot. "Well," he said, ducking his head a little. "I -- that is to say, I had help. Professor Cabot, and... Kennedy, and..."

Huh. He really was that important to her, wasn't he? It was crazy to think that, but he supposed it had to be true.

"I need to talk to Professor Cabot," she decided quietly. "And thank Kennedy for me. Because if it hadn't been for you, I would have stayed in that bed forever."

Well, he would, except that her phone wasn't working now for some reason, Sunnydale. But that was neither here nor there.

"Well, however you did it, I'm glad it worked," he decided softly, tilting his head slightly awkwardly to kiss her forehead. "Even if ironically we do seem to spend a disproportionate amount of time, er. In bed. Now."

...why did he say words?

"Are you objecting?" she asked, smiling at him.

He certainly didn't seem to be....

"Oh, absolutely not," he replied immediately. Then he blushed, his hand stilling in her hair as he checked, "And -- you aren't either, are you?"

He knew she wasn't.

"Noooo, but if you're so concerned about being in bed, I'm sure we could find other locations...."

Like the woods. She thought she might like that.

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