He walked in barely 30 seconds ago but was already feeling annoyed. The flashing lights bothered his eyes, the strange music hurt his head, and the shallow conversation took years off of his life. One of the only things that got him through these unbearable parties was – oh, champagne. Thank God. He swiped a flute from a tray being carried by one of the waiters passing by. 

Downing it in seconds, he placed the empty glass on a nearby table, already looking around for another. With no luck, he put his head down and walked over to the bar. His hand flashed up in a gesture to get the bartender’s attention, shouting for a scotch. He felt much more relaxed with the glass of amber liquid in hand. 

He’s able to socialize, slightly, talking to a few Capitol citizens he recognized from trying to get sponsors for previous Games’ tributes. He mainly keeps to himself, eyes scanning the room intensely. He won’t admit it out loud, but he’s searching for you. 

You were one of the only people in this world he could tolerate, no that’s not the right word. He accepted you, enjoyed your company more than anyone else's. You were a fellow victor from a different district, and although younger, understood the horrors he had endured. 

You were the only person he felt like he could talk to properly, the only one who could meet him where he was. You could take a joke as well as you could make one, and didn’t get wrapped up in all the frivolity. You performed for the citizens, then went back to real life in your district. 

He didn’t have to put on a front for you, could simply talk about what was bothering him and you’d sit there and listen all night long if that’s what it took. You always knew what to say. He found your emotional intelligence wildly attractive. But that’s not all, physically, he thought, you were perfect. Of course he’d never tell you, if you ever asked he would chalk up all of the pet names and feather-light touches of your back or your knee to the influence of the drink. Sometimes it was just that, but most of the time he knew what he was doing. He couldn’t help but put a hand, or both, on you when you were near. 

It was about an hour into the party when he first spotted you, wrapped up in some conversation with two other women clearly from the Capitol. You were dressed up of course, but not like them, no, never like them. They wore enormous blonde wigs, blinding white powder, monochromatic dresses, and lipstick in the shape of a triangle. But you. You wore a strapless, forest green dress that fell above your knees, structured as if it was floating off your body. The back was partially open, with sparkly gold chains hanging down in a U shape, which ghosted across your skin every time you laughed or moved. 

He felt like a shy teenager when you caught his gaze, waving and smiling before running over to say hello. 

“Hi Haymitch,” you said, and hearing his name roll off your tongue was already pulling him under. 

“Hi beautiful,” he replied, smiling for the first time all night. “Having fun?” 

“God no.” You replied immediately, and he was reminded all over again why he was infatuated with you. “Those two women I was just talking to were going on and on about how their wig stylist is retiring at the end of the month. I truly could not have cared less. It’s so out of touch it makes me want to scream.” 

He took a sip of his drink as you spoke, hoping the glass to his lips would cool off the burning sensation he felt when you were near. “Sounds utterly awful.” He replied. “At least it’s over with.” 

“For now.” You continued. “Until the next group comes and swoops me away. I’d much rather be hanging out by the bar with you.” 

He tried to ignore how his heart rate sped up at your words. “Trust me when I say the same, sweetheart.” 

He admired the way your eyes seemed to sparkle when he called you that, something he always pretended not to notice. You continued talking about your night as he fell deeper and deeper into the trap that was you. He hoped you didn’t register his gaze flicking down to your chest every so often, not in an entirely vulgar way, just watching the way your collarbones flexed when you used your arms to get a point across. It seemed your stylist had dusted them with a gold shimmer, making them pop even more. 

“(y/n)! That you?” Someone called from behind you. You turned around at the sound of the voice, connecting in a hug with another woman you obviously recognized.

You turned back to him. “Haymitch, I’m so sorry to interrupt our talk. I have to run for a minute but I’m sure I’ll see you again later.” 

“Go go. Don’t worry about me.” He gestured to the pair to go off and have fun. “We’ll be in touch.” 

“Absolutely.” You replied, and you were off again. Too sweet, too popular for your own good. Another reason you’d never want a recluse like him. 

He almost audibly groaned as you walked away, honing in on the lean muscles of your back he could see through the open back of your dress. He watched the way your smooth legs carried you off in those high heels so effortlessly, pursing his lips. 

You seemed to be sculpted by the gods. 

He didn’t know how much time had passed, how many more drinks he had, but he knew he was more than ready to leave. 

On his way out to the front where the cars would be waiting to take guests home, he felt lucky to run into you again. 

“Hey.” He said, tapping you on the shoulder. 

“Hey!” You exclaimed, clearly under the influence of far more liquor than the first time he had seen you that night. “You heading out?” 

“Yeah. ‘Bout that time for me. I’m not as young as I once was, can’t keep up with you party animals anymore.” He joked.

You laughed, a hearty, belly laugh that made him feel like the most notable comedian in the city. He knew you were drunk, but he didn’t care. “I think you could still outdrink everyone in here.” 

He shrugged. You were probably right.

“Who knows. But I’m not gonna find out tonight, anyway.” He replied. 

“Well get back safely. It was so wonderful to see you.” You said. 

“Thanks darlin’.” He replied. “You too.” 

“I will.” You beamed, leaning in for a hug that he gladly accepted. His arms wrapped around you, giving you a small peck on the cheek before pulling away, a sign of affection. The only one he could muster without giving himself away. 

You waved as he walked off. 

He sighed as he slumped down in the backseat of a cab, gruffly telling the driver which hotel to go to. He closed his eyes, replaying all of your conversations over again. Your sweet voice was all it took to make him feel…stirred.

It was about a 15 minute drive to get back to his hotel, and he stumbled through the too-bright lobby once he was dropped off. He accidentally pressed the button for the 10th floor instead of the 12th, which made his elevator ride a bit slower than he would’ve liked. 

Stumbling into his room he immediately loosened his tie, feeling like it had been suffocating him all night. He kicked off his shoes and discarded his suit jacket on a chair. 

He was alone again, and drunk, but not enough that he wouldn’t remember all this in the morning. He practically fell back onto the bed, button down shirt half open and tie loosely around his neck. 

Should he shower? Probably, he thought, and forced himself back up after a few more moments. Before that though, he walked over to the complimentary mini-bar to pour himself a glass of something. He didn’t even bother to look at what it was before it splashed into the intricate vessel and he brought it up to his lips.

He brought the drink into the massive bathroom, turning the light on and quickly dimming it. Why does every room have to be so fucking bright? He grabbed a towel from a shelf on the far wall and threw it onto the sink counter. 

He swore every shower in this godforsaken city was different. Why did they all have an ungodly number of buttons and switches? Give him on and off and he’d be fine. He pressed one, and all it did was project a cityscape onto the frosted glass walls. 

He sighed deeply, composing himself and taking another sip before fumbling with some more buttons, finally getting hot water to stream out of the showerhead. He placed the glass on the edge of the sink for easy access.

With all his clothes discarded on the floor he hopped in, letting the water run over his tired shoulders and sweaty blonde hair, relaxing for the first time all night. As he relaxed, his mind calmed, thinking about nothing for a few moments, until the thought of you crept back in.

He tried to shake it off, tried to use the strong scent of whatever soap he grabbed to distract him, but to no avail. The pretty picture that was you in that dark green dress wouldn’t leave his mind. 

Practically every part of you had been carefully looked over by his eyes at some point in the night. Your eyes, of course, sparkling like diamonds in the moonlight, your hair, curled without one strand out of place, your legs…man he loved your legs. So smooth as you walked around and danced, wearing heels but still managing to be shorter than him. The gold chains that hung over the back of your body, barely covering the supple skin there. For all the body parts that he couldn’t see, well, he had no trouble imagining them. 

His eyes were closed at this point, and he didn’t realize he had tilted backwards against one of the shower walls until a blue light turned on when he accidentally leaned against one of the buttons. 

“Shit,” he muttered, trying to figure out how to turn it off. He quickly discovered he had no idea, but it didn’t end up bothering him much. The cobalt light shining reminded him of the party, which once again reminded him of you. 

Shaking the thoughts away once again, he reached for the bar of soap to finish cleaning himself off. He traced the velvety product around his body, starting at his arms, moving to his back, his stomach, and below the belt. Important to keep that clean, too.

As he did so, he realized the touch of his hand in the area sent shivers down his spine. And not in a way that signified he was cold, but instead that he was aroused. He sucked in a sharp breath as his fingers ghosted over his cock, which was beginning to take on a life of its own. Was this all because he was thinking of you? 

He reached out a soapy, soaking wet hand to grab his drink that still remained half full on the sink counter, hoping it would help him forget everything. It didn’t, in fact, he thought it only made it worse. 

When he finished rinsing off his body, he was met with what could only be described as a raging boner. He felt like a fucking horny teenager.

He didn’t even know the last time he felt like this; definitely months, maybe even a year. Couldn’t tell you the last time he’d gotten himself off. He decided to try and keep it that way, hoping some sleep would help it all settle down. 

He couldn’t, wouldn’t give into the temptation. Not when you had no idea of his attraction, because he knew if he…saw this through…he’d never be able to be normal around you again. No, it would be all he’d think about when he looked at your pretty face. 

Shaking his head forcefully for what felt like the millionth time in the last hour, he turned the water off and grabbed the towel to dry himself off. The bathroom was filled with steam now, hot and humid from his unusually long shower. He downed the rest of his drink. 

After sliding on a pair of black pajama pants that hung low around his hips, he flopped onto his bed once again, wet hair sprawled out across the half a dozen pillows that decorated the mattress by the headboard. He decided sleep would be best, although somehow he didn’t feel tired. Nevertheless, he flipped on his side, closing his eyes and trying to drown out everything that was swirling inside his brain. 

When he woke up again, the first thing he noticed was that it was still pitch black outside, and the sound of car horns still blared in the distance. Do these Capitol assholes never sleep? But once he rolled over to look at the clock next to the bed, he realized it hadn’t even been an hour since he initially shut his eyes. 

He groaned in annoyance, rolling back onto his stomach with his face stuffed in a pillow. 

That movement, that’s what woke him up fully. With the front of his body brushing the bed, he realized he was hard. Again. 

He pushed his face deeper into the pillow, trying to surround himself in darkness, picture anything else in the world besides you in that dress. It didn’t work. His cock was aching, even more so now than when he went to bed in the first place. He had to do something about it. He wasn’t going to be able to sleep.

“Fuck.” He whispered. 

It was a few more minutes of trying to control himself before he finally gave in.  

That first gentle snap of his hips into the bed felt like he set a fire to his insides. He was still on his stomach, head leaning to one side, hands gripping a pillow with his eyes shut tight. He thrusted a second time, taking note of the way his pajama pants shifted deliciously against his shaft. 

God, what was he doing? He thought at first, but as he grinded into the bed with more force, he reached a point where he didn’t care. 

It was probably horrible how through his shut eyes all he pictured was you. He imagined it was you underneath him in this bed, squirming and gripping onto his biceps as he pounded into you. Or maybe you’d like it more gentle? He slowed down his movements, thrusting once every few seconds, teasing himself.

He slowed down to a stop, trying to catch his breath. Rolling over onto his back now, he palmed himself through his pants, feeling his rock hard cock through them. He once again pictured your soft hands, teasing him over the fabric, looking up at him with glassy eyes as your nails softly raked up and down, up and down. 

He couldn’t take it anymore, he slipped his hands under the waistband and threw the pants down his legs, kicking them off the bed with his feet. The cool air on his hot skin brought an entirely new sensation, breathing heavily as his hand moved to his bare cock for the first time. 

It felt so fucking good, all thanks to this fantasy of you. His mind dreamed up a scenario where he’d taken you home after the party, unzipping that dress and throwing it somewhere on the floor. His hands would’ve flown to your breasts, massaging them, twisting the soft skin. The cool air would’ve sent goosebumps down your arms, and he’d kiss down them to warm you up. You’d climb into bed with him, still naked if you like, and your limbs would tangle together in some sort of erotic dance the two of you couldn’t get enough of. His hands would slide up and down your bare body, squeezing your ass every so often. You’d let out pretty little moans that were only for him, and say his name in that sweet voice that drove him insane. 

He was vigorously pumping his cock as he came back to reality, breathing deeply, biting his lip every so often to stifle the sounds that threatened to spill out. But it got more difficult, the more he thought, the faster his hand moved, the closer he got to reaching that high he hadn’t felt in ages. It was all becoming too much. 

So when a moan of your name left his parted lips without thinking, he froze. His hand ceased its movements, dick twitching under his calloused fingers. 

Shouldn’t do that, he thought. Can’t go there. It was bad enough he was using the thought of you naked to help him reach his high, he couldn’t say your name as if you were actually in the room with him. 

Could he?

Fuck, it felt so wrong. But with the way his body responded, so right, too. 

He felt precum spilling from his tip, and he began to slowly, slowly, pump his shaft once again. But that pace didn’t last. In fact he quickened his movements almost immediately. 

He was right there. 

He imagined all the nicknames he’d use on you to help you feel special. Beautiful, sweetheart, gorgeous, would fall from his lips like it was nothing, but it would be the opposite. He’d mean every word he would say. He thought so highly of you, and this was a new low for him. The juxtaposition of those thoughts strangely only turned him on more. 

Broken moans he couldn’t contain spilled out as he twisted and pumped himself to reach his high. And eventually, it felt so good he couldn’t wait anymore. 

“Fucking hell…” He said. And with a few more quick thrusts up into his hand, white hot liquid was shooting from his cock, painting his chest with the proof of his strong arousal. He rode out his orgasm as the last few drops sprayed onto his shoulder, uncontrollable. His legs shook, he imagined because it had been so long since he or anyone else had touched him in this way. 

Once those nearly earth-shattering seconds were over, he attempted to catch his breath, realizing he was now completely spent. 

It took everything in him to get up and get another towel in the bathroom, quickly wiping himself off and discarding it on the floor. 

He fell down back onto the bed once he was completely dry and cleaned off again. 

“What the hell.” He muttered, so tired now he couldn’t think of much else to say.