#pre games

He was only twenty-three after all and rather lonely. He had long resolved not to get close to anyone in Twelve for everyone’s safety including his and that ruled out possible affairs during the rest of the year so he tended to make the most of his time in the city - even if he was always uncomfortable going for Capitols and their weird ideas of make-up.

He didn’t have to see their make-up in the dark though.

A waiter walked nearby with a tray and he snatched a glass, looking around curiously, still somehow flabbergasted by the parties those people threw even eight years after his victory. The flashing lights, the loud music, the hysterical laughter and the food…. They were far from the more distinguished events the Games usually threw. This felt more genuine, just a couple of friends – or a hundred – having fun in a mansion with what looked to be a foaming pool. He understood the purpose when he spotted the people rubbing together in the middle of the foam in time with the beat of the music.

He wandered a bit at random, sometimes whirling around and walking backwards to better stare at a pretty ass a second longer. Models indeed.

He was busy doing just that when someone pointedly cleared their throat next to him. The woman was gorgeous, there was no other word for it. Endless legs that immediately made his mouth water, nice curves that her sequined white dress was barely covering, a red wig styled in a puffy bun at the top of her head outlining her slender neck, bright blue eyes that sparkled with amusement. The bearing of a queen and the body of a goddess.

“Rude.” she commented, tilting her head toward the woman he had been ogling and could now barely remember.

The smirk was instinctive. “Hi.”

Her crimson painted lips closed on the bud of a cigarette. Everything from the way she took a drag to the way she breathed out the smoke was graceful and so obviously a rehearsed act of seduction that he wavered between being put out and succumbing to it.

“Hello.” she answered at last, flicking ashes in an ashtray placed on the dresser against which she was leaning. “Mr Abernathy.”

“Now you have me at a disadvantage, sweetheart.” he joked, propping his own hip against the dresser, his whole attention on her. The room could have caught fire, he didn’t think he would have noticed.

“Being famous has its perks.” she agreed, a twinkle in her eyes.

“Sure does.” he toasted her with his half-empty glass. “Got a name of your own?”

“I am disappointed you don’t know.” she retorted. “I happen to be quite famous myself, I will have you know.”

It was said with the perfect mix of arrogance and humor to make it endearing rather than irritating. She was witty. He loved witty.

“Let me guess…” he teased. “You’re a model.”

“Brilliant deduction. Of course the fact that almost everyone here works in the fashion industry might have been a big clue.” she taunted right back.

And he found himself chuckling. “Tell me, sweetheart… You ever did lingerie?”

“Shocking!” she exclaimed, laughing. When she stopped laughing she gave him a heated look. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” Actually, he really did. “Do you dance, Haymitch?”

“Not if I can help it.” he answered truthfully.

“A shame.” she deadpanned, crushing her cigarette in the ashtray before sauntering away toward the dance floor without even a look for him.

So confident he would follow…

He wanted to stay there just to so he wouldn't give her the satisfaction but given the heads that turned in her wake, he was pretty sure someone else would soon make a move.

With a muttered curse at his own incapacity to resist difficult women, he caught up with her and tugged her on the dance floor without giving her a choice. It wasn’t exactly Twelve’s dances or even the more regulated waltzes that were mandatory to every victory party though and he had never really mastered the art of wriggling to those songs without looking like an idiot. She saved him by tossing her arms around his neck and rubbing against him slowly, in total opposition to the quick beat. That was a sort of dancing he could handle though.

“So, mystery girl, you’re ever going to give me a name?” he asked after a few seconds, mainly because he was drowning in her eyes and quickly losing sight of… a lot of things. He had never been so drawn to a Capitol before and it was wrong on many levels. He wanted to keep ahead of it.

“I still think you should know.” she grinned. “I am quite popular at the moment.”

“Never heard of you, sweetheart.” he shrugged apologetically, letting his hands wander from the small of her back to her ass. “But I ain’t likely to forget you.”

“You are not likely to forget the slap I will give you if you leave your hands there, that is certain.” she grinned.

He didn't move them and she didn’t slap him.

“Not to alarm you but I’m gonna seduce you into sleeping with me tonight.” he warned her, his smirk so genuine it almost hurt his lips. He couldn’t’ remember the last time he had had so much fun trying to hook up with a girl.

“Not to alarm you but you will have to buy me dinner first.” she chuckled.

He shook his head, pressing her tighter against him. She was the one doing most of the dancing, he was just following her lead. “I don’t do dates.”

“You do not dance if you can help it either and yet here you are…” she pointed out, far too smug.

Oh, she was dangerous that one…

“Here you are!” Chaff cut in, grabbing his arm with his good hand and tugging him away from the girl. “We need to go. Quick.”

“What?” he frowned, trying to shrug his friend off because he just knew the girl was playing hard to get but he still had a shot. “Why?”

“Cause stalky Katy just arrived and I’m so not in the mood for that. Not even for so many models.” Eleven’s victor explained, tugging hard.

Stalky Katy was what they had nicknamed the woman who followed Chaff around like a shadow. She was the crazy sort of fans, the kind who sneaked past security to surprise you in the shower. Repeatedly. Stalky Katy was driving the Peacekeepers at the Center completely mad. She wasn’t to be trifled with and Haymitch so didn’t want to get caught in the middle again. Last time she had accused him of stealing Chaff’s attention away from her and had tried to claw his face off.

So he let himself be dragged away, tossing a last regretful look to the now extremely annoyed girl. The pout was sexy.

“The girl I was dancing with… You know her?” he asked, once they were a few streets away from the house and hopefully safe from the likes of Katy.

Chaff made a sound of ignorance. “No idea, buddy. With all that make-up they all look the same. Can ask around if you're interested.”

He hesitated for a moment and then waved a dismissive hand. “Never mind.”

He was a bit too sure she would have found a way to be a little more than a one night stand.

It was safer to forget all about her.

2.

They had been forced to play this game two times already and Haymitch still hated every minute of it.

It was traditional – and by that he meant more or less mandatory – for mentors and escorts to share a dance at the Victory Banquet after the Crowning.

The first year Effie hadn't been able to shut up about it for days before the actual ball. He could still hear her rant about how beautiful and inspiring the whole charade was and what an honor it would be to partake in it. That had lasted until the actual dance when he had made it his duty to ruin the experience as much as possible for her by stomping on her feet, tripping her and generally acting like a klutz.

Then, of course, there had been the second year when he had forgotten to pretend he couldn't dance and when she had sworn she would get her revenge for the previous year’s humiliation – which had ended with them having a terrible argument in the middle of a waltz that had had everyone covertly laughing at them. They had stormed away from each other long before the last note.

And now there they were again for the third time, waltzing around that room with moderate ease - he had been doing this for more than a decade, after all – unable to look at each other because of what had happened the other day in the elevator. And then a few days after that in the living-room. And that morning on the hallway’s carpet. He still had burns on his knees from all the rubbing against the rug.

It was awkward on many levels and, while Haymitch pretended not to be bothered by what he had insisted were simple accidents, it was a bit difficult not to remember the softness of her skin or the taste of her mouth or even how her nails felt when they dug deep into his back.

Being forced to hold her so close wasn't helping any.

It had been inevitable, he figured. They were simply too… explosive together. They clashed. They didn’t know how to do anything else but clash. They fought and argued and screamed at each other in frustration. He hated her and she loathed him. He loathed her and she hated him.

And the more they fought, the thicker the tension between them became.

He wasn’t exactly surprised they had ended up fucking, clothes still on and roughly shoving the other away only to tug them back closer. He wasn’t even sure it could be called fucking. It had felt more like fighting. Animals giving in to their baser instincts, rolling around because they couldn’t help themselves. It was either fucking the brain out of each other or murdering each other.

It wasn’t even that good. The first two times had been over before it had really begun and he didn’t think she had even really enjoyed it. And yet they had still ended up flat on the carpet that morning, her hand angrily pumping him and her mouth unforgiving against his.

She had come that morning, a mewl escaping her throat as she had strained her neck, exposing her throat to his teeth… He could still guess at the mark he had left there under the make-up and it left him hungry for more. He wanted to bite her again. Scratch her. Bruise her. Fuck her so bad the only thing she would remember was his name…

It scared him to death how much he wanted her.

“You are staring at my chest.” she murmured, her eyes still looking at a point over his shoulder not to meet his gaze. Her tone was slightly subdued compared to her usually bossy attitude.

Any other time, any other year, he would have replied with an inappropriate gibe because for how annoying she was, he liked that she could always match him wit for wit.

Right then, their peculiar brand of flirting felt like playing with fire.

“Sorry.” he muttered and made an effort to look away.

It seemed to surprise her.

He didn’t pause to wonder if that was disappointment flashing on her face.

He couldn't wait for the dance to end before he lost his sanity.

3.

The hand that felt on Haymitch’s shoulder was light and almost hesitant.

He looked up from his seat to find his escort looking anything but that. When did she ever look hesitant? Effie Trinket was arrogant to the point of blindness. She had to know better than anyone else and particularly him, always. And when confronted with ugly truths she would have preferred to keep on ignoring…

His jaw clenched and he brought his glass to his lips, ignoring the questioning looks Chaff and Blight were both giving him. “Not in the mood, Trinket.”

She pursed her lips in clear irritation but didn’t outright verbally attack him. Maybe because they were in public and she didn’t want to cause a scene. Maybe because the party wasn’t the right place to reenact the nasty fight from the night before. He hadn’t seen her all day and he had been grateful for her absence.

They had had fights before, of course – they hardly did anything but fight. But that one had been the worse they had ever had. Her incessant insistence that he ought to talk to Finnick about the company he kept and about what he was doing with said company… His repeated requests for her to drop it… The inevitable culmination of that argument in a screaming match where he had accused her of being blind to what was going on behind closed doors – and he knew it wasn’t really her fault because she may have been an escort for five years but he wasn’t popular enough that she had to deal with that and the whole thing was rather hush-hush – and where she had accused him of being a liar…

Her shouting at him that he was a liar hadn’t set well with him and he had told her every bit of nasty truth she might still have been unaware of… She had flung a glass at his head with a roar of rage, repeating again and again that he was a liar, a coward, that he got their tributes killed every year because he was too lazy to do his job… He had shouted back that she was the one reaping the children so that if she wanted to cast blames, she should start at her own door, he had told her she was stupid, shallow, ridiculous, that she was nothing exceptional, that he had seen a hundred girls like her thinking they were it before and that there would be a hundred more once she would be gone…

He had pushed her every buttons, ending with the one he knew would really hurt her: her pathological thirst for fame and how those people out there screaming her name didn’t really love her… It hadn’t been that much of a surprise that she had tried to jump on him, to hit him… But it had enraged him. He had shoved her away easily, had warned her to stay away… She had brought up his Games with something akin to sick enjoyment…

He had almost hit her then.

He had come very close.

It had taken every ounce of control he had to just grab a couple of bottles and head to his room.

All in all, he thought she had been lucky he hadn’t been completely wasted because then… Then, he wasn’t sure what he would have done.

The fight, his behavior, her stupidity, had been bothering him all day but he wasn’t in any mood to confront his feelings about it and certainly not at a party where everyone would study them and try to decipher what was going on. A victor had no private life. He had learned that early enough.

“I did not come here to fight.” she sighed, waving a hand in a clicking of bangles. “This whole thing is ridiculous anyway. Let’s just… Let’s just forget about it, shall we? Let’s be friends again, Haymitch.”

She was all smile and cheers, her bright eyes briefly darting to Eleven’s and Seven’s victors – the only hint perhaps that she was more nervous than she appeared.

“Friends.” he scoffed, sneering at her. “I ain’t your friend, Trinket. You’re a pain in my ass I’d gladly be rid of.”

Chaff and Blight exchanged a look and fought off smiles but didn’t make any attempt to cut in. Good. He wouldn’t have welcomed any sort of teasing at that moment.

“Language.” she pouted. She deflated but it only lasted a second, then she was bubbly again, her perpetual good mood apparently impossible to vanquish. “There is no reason to be rude when I am simply extending an olive branch.”  

“Oh, you’re extending an olive branch…” he spat. “How fucking generous of you. ‘Cause you’re the injured party here, yeah?”

“I think we can both agree we both crossed the line.” she hissed. “However if you intent to keep a grudge, far from me to stop you. I was willing to be the bigger person but clearly acting like an adult was expecting too much of you.”

She stormed off into the crowd, immediately finding a group of people to mingle with, leaving Haymitch to glare at her. The red dress she was wearing wasn’t helping any. It left her back bare right up to the swell of her ass and made him want to… He downed his glass. Damn those endless legs of hers. Damn that ass. Damn the slender neck he was desperate to squeeze. Damn the breasts he could almost feel in his hands…  

“What was that about?” Chaff asked, a touch of humor in his voice.

“Nothing.” he grumbled. “Drop it.”

It was asking too much of his best friend though. Eleven’s victor chuckled. “Well, you know what I think, buddy. You should just fuck her. Get rid of all that sexual tension between the two of you… Get rid of her in the process too.”

He let out a non-committing grunt.

He had fucked her. Not every way under the sun but close enough.

They had kept stumbling in bed the previous year, had kept on repeating it was just as much an accident as it had been the year before that, had kept on avoiding each other… This year though… This year they had stopped claiming it wasn’t on purpose. They fought and they fucked. That was how it worked now. And if both of them sometimes pretended to get more angry than strictly necessary just so they could have an excuse to push the other against the closest flat surface… Well…

He had fucked her. Repeatedly. In every position he could think of.

The sexual tension wasn’t going away and neither was his lust for her.

The more he took her, the more he wanted her.

Even now, he was staring at that dress she had on and all he could think about was bending her over a table, bundle the fabric up around her waist and have her way with her while biting at every bump of her spine. She would let him too. Beg for more probably. Cry out in pleasure when he would…

His grip tightened badly on the glass and he snatched the bottle Blight had been hogging to pour himself another that he downed just as fast. It did nothing to steady his nerves or to help the bulge in his pants.

Fighting with her made his blood hot.

But not the kind of fight they had shared last night. That one… He could have hurt her. He really could have. He had been so furious it had driven him mad.

And there she came sauntering back with an offer to pretend nothing happened…

He barely followed the conversation between Chaff and Blight, completely focused on Trinket. He watched her laugh with a sponsor, watch the way she let the guy place a hand on her arm, watched as the man’s hand trailed down to her hand in a confident caress…

And he gritted his teeth, might have snarled a little even…

“You’re okay there, Haymitch?” Blight frowned, stopping mid-sentence.

Chaff followed Twelve’s victor’s gaze and rolled his eyes. “When you go get your girl back, try not to punch the sponsor.”

“Not my girl.” he growled. “And I ain’t going.”

“Sure, you’re not.” Eleven’s victor mocked.

The guy was leading Trinket away. To where couples were rubbing against each other… The man’s fingers let go of her hand to rest at the small of her back as he guided her more firmly toward the dance floor… The hand was far too low. Haymitch was sure the guy’s pinky was brushing against the crack of her ass.

He shot out of his chair so fast he barely heard Chaff’s bark of a laughter.

He was next to his escort so quickly it almost made him dizzy.

“You owe me a dance, Trinket.” he snapped with a glare for the guy who backed away easily enough faced with his obvious irritation.

“That is so rude!” she protested even as he dragged her to the dance floor by the wrist and tugged her against him. “Truly! I have never!”

“Cut the act.” he mumbled. Because she was pleased, he could see it plain as day. She could play the proper lady all she wanted, she was very much a minx when it came to some things.

She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at him, tilting her head to the side before stepping even closer to him, her arms locking around his neck. His hands found their place at the small of her back, on her warm skin. Where they belonged.

“I thought you did not dance if you could help it?” she challenged.

He couldn’t remember telling her that but he had been wasted often enough at parties to have forgotten so he simply shrugged, glowering at her. “Don’t try to make me jealous.”

She lifted a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Why? Is it working?”

She had pink spirals curling from her eye to her cheek – the last trend in term of make-up apparently – and it was just silly. Like a child playing dress up.

“I ain’t jealous ‘cause I don’t give a shit about you.” he growled.

Hurt flashed in her eyes but it was quickly concealed behind amusement. “And yet that man barely brushed his hand on me and here you come running…”

He wasn’t jealous. Possessive, maybe. And even then… He wasn’t sure that it was the right word for what he felt.

“You’re playing a dangerous game.” he warned, barely making the effort to sway to the music. “What you did last night…”

“What about what you did?” she huffed.

“Just told you the truth.” he spat. “’Cause you were like a dog with a bone and…”

“Well, so did I.” she cut him off, jutting her chin high in the air with that arrogance that infuriated him so much.

They stared at each other for the longest time.

“I hate you.” he sneered eventually, pushing her hips harder against his, not even caring that anyone could figure out what was going on at any point because they were in the middle of a crowded dance floor and he had a boner. She drove him crazy. Completely crazy.

“So do I.” she claimed, her breathing a bit short for reasons that had nothing to do with the dancing. “Are we alright now? There is fighting and fighting… Last night… We went too far, last night.”

“Are we ever alright?” he snorted before rolling his eyes. “I want to rip that dress off instead of your throat now. So, you know… Progress.”

“Perhaps it is time for us to call it a night.” she offered, leaving him alone on the dance floor before she even finished her sentence.

He stared after her for a second.

And then he gave chase, already certain they would never make it past the elevator.

4.

The Victory Banquet was crowded and everyone wanted to talk to Haymitch about something or other. He didn’t remember the last time he had eaten something – probably the sandwich while they had been waiting for news of Peeta’s condition – and the glass of champagne he had downed after the Crowning hadn’t done much to stop the shakes. There simply hadn’t been time for drinking in the last few weeks and he had been forced to drastically cut down.

It had been worth it though.

Not one victor but two…

He could scarcely believe it still.

Even knowing that the stunt with the berries would come back to bite them in the ass, even knowing they couldn’t afford any mistake… He looked at the kids holding hands and all he could feel was relief and happiness and it trumped the dread and the worry that wanted to rail their ugly heads.

He looked around the Mansion’s ballroom for Cinna who had told him he wanted to talk to him about something important, something that would apparently change his life, but couldn’t spot the stylist anywhere.

He did spot his escort though.

Effie seemed to be in the same strange daze he was in. Ecstatic, exhausted and waiting for the other shoe to drop all at once. She was even more hyper than usual and he figured it had to do with the pills she had been popping like candies in the last few days. Nothing but perfectly harmless stimulants, she had claimed, to keep the edge of. He didn’t like it but there had been no time to address that either.

He wasn’t the only one with self-destructive tendencies. She was simply better at hiding them.

He made his way over to her, nodding in greeting at the couple she had been talking to – a Gamemaker and his wife.

“Oh, Haymitch, there you are!” she exclaimed in delight, her cheek flushed and her eyes bright.

Tipsy.

Not good, given the circumstances.

“Was hoping for a dance.” he said quietly, turning on the charm because it couldn’t hurt. “You don’t mind if I borrow her for a moment, yeah?”

The Gamemaker and the wife offered no protest and Effie wrapped her arms around his, clearly pleased by the attention. She snuggled into his side a lot more than was clever given the audience.

“You had to choose today to get drunk at a party.” he chided, once they were safely on the dance floor, away from curious ears. Fortunately, it wasn’t anything too complicated and they could get away with simply swaying to the music.

“I barely had a flute of champagne.” she denied with a pout and then she giggled. “Perhaps I should not have drunk while taking those pills…”

“Those pills are going straight into the trash as soon as we’re back in the penthouse.” he ordered. “I need you focused.”

“I am focused.” she sulked and then admitted. “I may be really tired too.”

“Tell me about it…” he sighed, adjusting his grip on her waist so she could lean against his chest a little more without it being too obvious. “I’m gonna hunt down Cinna, then we grab the kids and we get out of here.”

She shook her head. “We need to stay at least another hour. We cannot afford to cause offense, not now.” He grunted because she was right but he also was desperate to collapse on his bed – or on hers, he had a vague idea he didn’t want to sleep alone that night. They swayed in silence for a little while and then she hummed “I had no idea that winning would be like this. I thought it would be all celebrating and partying… All I feel like doing is going to bed and sleep for the rest of the week.”

“I could sleep for a month.” he agreed, briefly letting go of her waist to rub his face. “No chance we will get a day off tomorrow, right?”

“The children have to appear on Caesar’s live show at ten.” she muttered. “Then we will all have to record interviews for Talia’s talk show. And then you and I will have to sit with Claudius for a joined interview.”

“And that’s only tomorrow.” he snorted.

There would be more days of that to come.

“I am so tired I cannot feel my body anymore…” she whispered.

They had been up and running after sponsors for weeks and he wouldn’t have had anything against a holiday. “Another hour and we’re out of here.”

“Another hour.” she repeated as if it was the golden goal.

5.

“It is not that difficult!” Effie sighed in frustration. “You simply have to remember to keep count. Again. One, two, three and one, two, three and… No, Katniss! You have to let Peeta lead…”

Haymitch slouched on the armchair that had been dragged to the wall to clear a space in the middle of the penthouse’s living-room, trying not to be too obvious in his hilarity. Watching Effie whirl around the kids, waving her arms in the air to illustrate her advices, all the while trying to teach the children to waltz was hilarious.

They had started teaching them on the train but the Tour had demanded attention from everyone and there hadn’t been a lot of time for dancing lessons – something they were now regretting given the speed at which the victory ball at the Presidential Mansion was approaching. Victors were expected to open that ball and given that the kids had just announced their engagement…

Effie was falling apart over their victors’ lack of talent on a dance floor.

It wasn’t exactly Peeta’s fault. Not only was he handicapped by his leg but Katniss was like a straight rod of wood in his arms.

“No, no, no! Stop! This is no use.” Effie lamented, tossing her arms high only to let them fall in defeat. “It should not look so… So…”

“Awkward?” Haymitch suggested, fishing a piece of ice from his glass and popping it in his mouth. He studied Peeta and Katniss in turn. The boy looked put-off and the girl was staring at her feet, arms crossed defensively in front of her chest. “You’re in love. Try to act the part.”

Katniss’ head shot up and she glared at him. “I’m doing my best.”

“You’re stiff and you’re moving like you’ve got a giant stick in your ass.” he shrugged.

“Haymitch!” Effie snapped. “There is no need for your usual brand of vulgarity, thank you very much.”

“It’s a waltz, it’s supposed to be stiff.” the girl retorted. “Effie lectured us for two hours about proper dancing and stuff.”

“Now, that is not what I said at all…” their escort protested.

“We have to stay at a certain distance and keep a straight back and…” Katniss shot back.

“Yeah, that doesn’t mean you have to look like a breadboard.” Haymitch shook his head. “You know, waltzes were the most romantic dance once upon a time, yeah? Really scandalous too.” Effie let out a noise that was halfway between a snort and a huff and he looked at her with annoyance. “What?”

“Nothing.” she dismissed. “You talking about romance…”

“I know a thing or two about romance.” he argued with a pointed smirk. When he made the effort. He turned his attention back to the kids. “Look, the distance is the whole point, yeah? You don’t want to keep that distance. You want to be closer.”

“But Effie said…” Katniss argued.

“Forget about what Effie said.” he scoffed.

“Lovely.” Effie commented. “Well, if you think you would be a better teacher, please be my guest. I have done what I could.”

He rolled his eyes and hauled himself out of the armchair, finishing his glass in one long mouthful.

“Watch and learn.” he muttered to the kids.

And without any warning whatsoever, he grabbed Effie by the waist and pulled her in his arms. She squealed in surprise but soon adjusted with a small annoyed glare. She placed her hand on his shoulder and let him outstretch her other arm so they would be in position like they had done so many times before.

They started moving in perfect synchronicity. She followed his lead and they went through the steps slowly so the children could watch.

“Alright, see?” he called out after a minute of that. “We start at the right distance ‘cause it’s all proper and shit.”

“Language.” Effie grumbled for the second time.

He ignored her, sliding the hand that was resting on her hip to the small of her back, forcing her a little closer.

“Then, after a minute or so, you pull her closer, Peeta, yeah? Cause you can’t bear to be so far from her anymore. Cause that’s how people in love feel.” he instructed.

“Oh, is that what you were trying to convey all those years with that little move?” Effie muttered under her breath, low enough that the kids wouldn’t catch it. “And there I thought you were just trying to get me into your bed.”

“Shush.” he told her pointedly. “See how Effie’s not looking anywhere but in my eyes, Katniss?”

“How am I supposed to know where to put my feet if I’m looking at Peeta?” the girl replied.

“I don’t care.” he retorted, never leaving his escort’s gaze. “You’re dancing, you’re in love, it’s all magical… He’s the only thing that exists for you. Forget your fucking feet. I ain’t looking at my feet and I’m drunk.”

He wasn’t drunk but Katniss didn’t need to know that.

Effie wasn’t fooled though and her lips twitched in amusement. She stepped a little closer too, resolutely breaking the codes of the dance. Her fingers tightened on his shoulder as they adjusted their speed to something a little more natural for a waltz.  

“Easy for you to say. You’re leading!” the girl complained.

“I wouldn’t let you fall.” Peeta protested.

“Trust me, Katniss, if Haymitch managed to never trip me, Peeta certainly won’t.” Effie huffed.

“You make it look so easy.” the boy remarked, half impressed and half depressed.

“We have a lot of practice.” their escort cajoled, briefly glancing at him over her shoulder as Haymitch led her for another tour of the room.

“At waltzing like you’re in love?” Peeta teased.

Haymitch made Effie twirl under his arm and released her, turning to the boy with his mouth set in a hard line. “At dancing together, smartass.” He waved at the kids. “Try again.”

He slumped back in his armchair, not quite surprised when Effie perched herself on the armrest. Her short dress rode high on her thighs, tempting him with the shimmering fabric of her stockings.

The kids were busy trying to apply what Haymitch had just showed them and weren’t paying them any attention so he risked it and placed his hand on her leg.

“For all your claims, I believe you do enjoy dancing.” Effie hummed quietly.

“Only with the right partner, sweetheart.” he smirked.

6.

Haymitch leaned against the doorframe of their living-room, smiling to himself as he watched an oblivious Effie wriggle and sing out loud to the music that spilled from the stereo. A music he had been able to hear from the backyard and that he had initially come in to tell her to lower it down a little because he doubted the neighbors wanted to know what her taste in music was.

She was too cute though.

She was shaking her head left and right, her arms high above her head…

He wondered what it said about him that he found her so sexy when she was wearing woolen socks up to her knees, a baggy long-sleeve shirt that belonged to him and shapeless boxers. Maybe it was the fact that every item of clothing belonged to him. Maybe it was the fact that she trusted him enough to wander around the house not looking all dolled up anymore. Maybe it was just the crazy way she was shimmying to that music like she was twenty instead of almost forty.

She spotted him eventually and he lifted his eyebrows, the smirk impossible to fight. The look of surprise on her face soon morphed into a grin and it wasn’t long before she advanced on him. He tried to escape but she was determined and soon she had dragged him to the middle of the living-room, their fingers entwined together as she waved both of their hands in the air. He refused to wriggle but he humored her twirling and squirming in front of him.  

Eventually, the song turned into another slower one and she wrapped her arms around his neck. They swayed slowly for a while until he started nuzzling her cheek, brushing his lips against her jaw…

“What about another kind of dancing?” he mumbled in her ear, sneaking his hands inside her shirt.

She had developed a habit of using him as a portative heater system. She stole his clothes, borrowed his woolen sweatshirt in the middle of the day and never handed it back, only sighed in contentment at night once he was draped over her like an additional blanket…

Although to be fair, they were naked and sweaty.

And the blankets were scratchy – as she hadn’t failed to grumble about.

“It’s to compensate for you thinking so little.” he shot back a beat too late, running his fingers from her shoulder down her arm.

They were on their sides with his back to the edge of the mattress and the emptiness separating them from the floor while her knees were brushing against the wall. Why those bunk beds had to be so small, he couldn’t figure out.  And it wasn’t even because they didn’t have a family compartment. He had seen the beds in the Everdeens’ room and they weren’t any bigger.

He would have enjoyed some freedom of movement. He liked sleeping on his stomach better. Or on his back. His side wasn’t really a favorite position of his. Spooning Effie had its perks but he liked it better when she snuggled against him instead.

There was no really getting comfortable in those beds.

“I do not know how I can still marvel at your insensitivity.” she huffed. “What a thing to say to a woman whose bed you are sharing…”

“You dragged me to your bed, remember?” he snorted. “Come have dinner, Haymitch. Look at me sucking on that coffee spoon full of yoghurt, Haymitch. Walk me back to my room, Haymitch… Real subtle, you were.”

He could almost hear her roll her eyes.  “I am fairly sure I did not make any remark about the yoghurt. In fact, if I had made a remark, it is more likely I would have told you about how vile that thing they call yoghurt is.”

“I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but I know your spoon number by now.” he mocked. She had perfected it over chocolate cake. There wasn’t anything she couldn’t turn into a sexy display when she wanted to.

“Fine.” she sighed. “I might have tricked you into actually getting into bed with me. It certainly wasn’t to think.”

“Pretty sure you made that clear.” he chuckled. The yoghurt show had given him  a good preview of what she had had in store and he hadn’t been disappointed. Then again, he never was.

She refused to be distracted though. “How long had it been since you slept?”

“Too long.” he admitted. He nuzzled her nape because it was right there. “Can’t shut off my brain.”

“I did a very good job of shutting off your brain.” she retorted. “You had to go and make it work again. You can be so annoying sometimes.”

Her tone was entirely teasing and he smirked, pressing an open mouth kiss against her neck, letting his tongue poke at her skin. She tasted a little salty and he kind of wanted more. His hand ended up on her belly, his thumb running distracted circles…

“Cause you’re a walk in the park, yeah?” he taunted right back.

“I am indeed, thank you.” she grinned. His hand drifted south and easily found her leg… “I do not have any trouble shutting off my brain…”

“You don’t say.” he chuckled, wedging his hand between her thighs.  

“You are nowhere near ready for a second round and I am tired, Haymitch.” she stated more plainly.

“By the time I get you through round two, I’d be up for round three.” he tried even though nothing was less certain. Since he had stopped drinking… They had given him meds that he regularly forgot to take because the side effects were actually worse than the shakes and the headaches. Like the fact he didn’t seem to be able to get it up for very long and not exactly at the firmness he was used to. He wasn’t sure he would be able to get hard again that night.

Still, if he wasn’t going to sleep…

“As tempting as the offer is…” she insisted, squeezing her thighs together so his hand was momentarily trapped before giving him back his freedom by shifting a little. It gaven him better access but he could take a hint and be a grown man about it.

“Fine…” he surrendered. He didn’t move his hand away though. He drew silly patterns on her skin, just because he was bored and he liked touching her, until he felt the familiar rougher patch under his fingertips. He smirked against her skin again as he retraced the shape of the tattooed butterfly on her inner thigh from memory alone. Perspectives made it look as if the blue butterfly was about to take flight from the flower it was on. He wasn’t a fan of tattoos or physical alterations but this one he had long reconciled with. She had had it for as long as he could remember, a secret next to her most private parts. “You never told me how you ended up with a butterfly next to your…”

“Language.” she muttered before he could finish. “Try to sleep. It is late and, no doubt, that thing around your wrist will beep and summon you back to Command any minute now.”

“Come on.” he whined without shame. “There must be a story there… How old were you when you got it?”

He had known her pretty young. She had been twenty-two when she had started as his escort although she had been twenty-five by the time they had started sleeping together and twenty-seven by the time they had bothered to properly remove clothes. After that… Well… After that he had become really familiar with that butterfly.

“Sixteen.” she sighed. “Tattoos were all the rage. My friends all wanted one, I went with them and once there… Let’s just say peer pressure is a terrible thing.”

He couldn’t see Effie Trinket being coerced into anything she didn’t want. Sixteen or not.

“Why a butterfly?” he asked.

It suited her though. Butterflies… They were good animals for her. Beautiful, delicate and yet a symbol of rebirth… Of hope. Of death – but that one he didn’t want to linger on.

She shifted awkwardly. “We should really sleep.”

His fingers danced on her skin, teasing.

“Got a boyfriend who was into butterflies?” he taunted with blatant amusement. “Thought you were going to keep him forever and it would be really romantic to have a symbol of undying love on your skin?”

She let out an annoyed sigh. “Something like that.”

She sounded a bit brisk and he couldn’t help his chuckles. “Good thing you didn’t get his name down there. Awkward for other guys.” She remained resolutely silent. He bumped her with his hips. “You have to tell now, Princess. Who was the guy? Some jerk, yeah?”

“He is certainly a jerk.” she snapped.

“Is?” he repeated, something dangerous now stirring in his chest. “You still see him around?” He tightened his hold on her and it didn’t escape her notice. Of course, it didn’t. She knew better than to call him out on his show of jealousy but she still grinned with satisfaction. Haymitch really wasn’t satisfied. “He’s that important to you?”

“Oh, I think at this point we can safely ascertain he is the love of my life.” she answer casually, as if they were still discussing Thirteen’s yoghurt. “I was twelve when I fell in love with him, thirteen when I swore I was done with him and sixteen when I fell in love again… Then, of course, I properly met him at twenty-two and decided I wanted nothing to do with him anymore because he can be so irritatingly rude… I was twenty-five when we slept together for the first time and I had to wait to be thirty-five for him to merely hint at having some semblance of feelings for me that weren’t linked to his penis. So, you see, it has been a long and eventful story.”

Haymitch wasn’t dense.

He could take a hint.

“I’m confused.” he frowned.

“Isn’t that role reversal refreshing?” she mused, moving his hand from her leg to her waist and forcing him to hold her tight. “Sleep now.”

He curled up a little around her, hooking his leg over hers when she folded the other one between her chest and the wall to roll a little more on her stomach. He ended up propped against her back but he didn’t mind. There was actually more space for him that way.

“But I don’t get it.” he protested against her nape. “So you had a crush on me when you were a kid…” That was more or less public knowledge. “What has that got to do with your tattoo?”

“It is embarrassing.” she grumbled. “Won’t you drop it?”

“No chance in hell.” he scoffed. “You know you’re gonna tell me or I’m gonna find out anyway…”

She sighed. “If you make fun of me, I am kicking you out of bed. Let this be very clear.”

“Fine.” he accepted without thinking twice about it. Her chances of succeeding in kicking him out of bed were equal to him dropping that line of enquiries.

Again, she let out a sigh. The reluctance was obvious in her voice. “When I was sixteen I met you in a club once. I tried to seduce you and you were not at all receptive. You were drunk, I believe.”

That would have made him twenty-one. He tried to remember but… “Got no memories of this…”

And why would he? Capitols had been flinging themselves at his head since his victory. He wouldn’t have made the difference between her and another one. Faces blurred, all the more so with the make-up altering their features so much. And Effie… Chances were he would have dismissed her outright as soon as he would have realized how young she actually was. He had been despicable, still was to some extent, but not to the point of taking advantage of younger girls. That had been the Capitol’s ploy, not his.

“I did not expect you to.” she confirmed. “Nevertheless… You were not… You were quite charming actually. Some idiot was bothering me, dancing too close, not taking no for an answer… You told him to leave me alone. It was quite the dashing rescue.”

He frowned, trying harder to recall… “You’re sure it was me?”

“You were with some other victors.” she said and although she was careful not to mention anyone by name, he supposed she meant Chaff. And, given the timeframe, probably Alina and Seeder. Maybe Beetee if they had managed to drag him to a club… Thinking about his friends… It made his heart clench. He hadn’t had time to properly grieve for them yet. He hadn’t had time to… Effie squeezed his hand. “You would not dance with me. Or have anything to do with me really. You called me a baby. I was quite vexed.”

“I bet.” he snorted. He didn’t have much on her in years. Five years was a nice difference in his opinion. Now. At twenty-one, five years younger would have been unthinkable.

“You were not mean about it though. You were more amused, I think.” she hummed. “To me, it was all very lovely and romantic… You said… Well… You said I made you think of a butterfly with my blue dress.”

He was sure she was blushing.

For his part, he contemplated that and snorted. “Yeah, I was probably wasted.”

“It meant the world to me.” she admitted, not sounding very proud of herself for it. “Anyway, when my friends dragged me to the tattoo parlor and time came to choose a design…” She shrugged. “I almost had it removed a few times when I decided you were more trouble than you were worth but I never could go through with it in the end. I like it. And I like the memory.”

It was almost beyond his understanding how she could treasure a random night he couldn’t even remember that much.

But…

“So the tattoo on your inner thigh is meant for me.” he smirked.

“That is all you would take out of this.” she sighed as if he was being insufferable.

“It’s on your inner thigh.” he snorted. “It’s so close to your…”

“I fancied myself in love with you.” she snapped. “And my mother would murder me if she knew about this. Obviously it is alright to have your breasts remove but get a tattoo?” She shook her head. “Where else did you want me to put it?”

“Ain’t complaining.” he denied. “Like it just fine where it is.” He tightened his hold on her waist a  little. “I like that it’s mine.”  

She hesitated for a second before breathing out. “Everything I have is yours. Haven’t you understood that yet?”

It was saying something without saying it.

Haymitch wasn’t sure he was ready for that Pandora box to open. He liked how things were right then. Easy despite the hell they were in. Being with her was a breath of fresh air in that place. They were less careful about hiding it, true, but he wasn’t sure he was ready for everyone to know either.

As for actually discussing his feelings… What was the point when they were so obvious? He had put her on his list, had made it very clear to everyone of importance in Thirteen she was under his protection and that he would get very, very difficult if anything happened to her…

“Maybe I should get a tattoo of my own.” he mocked. “Could get a clown painted on my ass… Oh… What about a parrot, sweetheart?”

“Horrid man.” she huffed but he suspected she knew he was only trying to lighten the mood. “I should have my name tattooed on your forehead. Perhaps that would keep those women away from you.” He rolled his eyes at that, more amused than annoyed by her repeated claims that some of the female refugees were very interested in him. He couldn’t see it. He didn’t even care to see it. She was the only woman he tended to notice. “Can we sleep now?”

“Yeah.” he surrendered at last. At least he could let her sleep while he tried to stop thinking about Four and the rebellion. Not that he was thinking about that now. No. Thanks to her, he was thinking about what she meant to him and why it had taken so long for him to admit it to himself and where they would go – could go – from there. It was at least fifteen minutes before he came to a conclusion on that front. “Sweetheart?” A sleepy hum was all he got in answer. “You don’t need to brand me with your name, you know? I’m kind of yours anyway…”

He was pretty sure she was asleep.

Mostly asleep.

He pretended he didn’t hear the three words she mumbled in her pillow.