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Victors n Vices

Summary: you and Haymitch Abernathy were always an unlikely pair- two victors, years apart in age, crossing paths in capitol evenings where flirting and conversation came easy and nothing ever had consequences. now in district 13, sober for the first time in years, those same glances and jokes carry a different weight neither of you can ignore. Haymitch has spent a lifetime building restraint out of necessity, out of survival for him and others, out of knowing better than to reach for something so soft. but your presence undoes him anyway, quietly and completely, until wanting you stops feeling like a choice he can refuse. set in the middle of the mockingjay era, where the world is falling apart- he finally stops pretending you’re out of reach.

Warnings: smut! age gap, yearning, tension, guilt/restraint, making out, slight handjob -> oral m! recieving, hair pulling, fingering f! recieving, banter, fluff, flirting, soooo many pet names, self-aware jokes

District 13 was colder than anyone liked to mention, being so deep, it was unquestionable.

They give you a pair of gloves or a hat if you ask, but work is what they care about, production, sustainability, and above that, the rebellion.

You were lucky to make it here, you reminded yourself, sitting on a bench outside the nursery, the only place anything is green or peaceful, or even fresh.

The dank, dark depths of 13 were depressing to say the least, but you were alive. There was a sense of gratitude for whatever small pieces kept you going, but a nauseous pit in your stomach that turned every time you were reminded of your rescue, and of those lost to cruel Capitol hands.

Chaff, who didn’t make it to the arena’s destruction, and Seeder, who died in your place in the Quarter Quell’s bloodbath.

You stared at your hands, your mind replacing the scenery with the crowd of District 11, where your name was pulled from that bowl again, and Seeder stepped forward without a crack in her voice.

You grabbed her then, with those same hands, telling her ‘no’, that she couldn’t- but she just smiled and nodded, cupping your cheek. And it was done.

Another round of guilt like a shot running through your veins, watching your mentor lose her life in the midst of the plan. She was missed- so very missed.

Making it out of the Capitol was lucky by itself; you were roped in by logistics and Plutarch’s orders. You’d been pulled from your floor and to the roof of the Penthouse, hurried by false peacekeepers alongside the remaining Victors- or who was left. The Capitol had gotten the few on the lower levels, and again, that luck came in for you.

It had been a whirlwind of chaos since- and still was, but there was time to settle now as new plans formed. This was no usual, home was gone, along with all the usual ways to pass time as a tortured victor. You’d taken to the garden most days, planting their food, tending and trimming- bored but again, glad to be there and not dead.

Today had been better than yesterday, and that day better than the day before, but much better than any of the empty days spent gardening. In meetings. Even doing a propo they scrapped because it was better to keep your survival a secret anyhow. There was hardly anyone there you knew. Not many survived or made their way out of 11. The only real familiar face was that of Haymitch Abernathy.

He’d not been around, presumably in forced detox down on the med floors, good for him, but boring for you. Haymitch was the only non-11 victor you truly had ever befriended in your eight years of being one too.

Meeting him had not just been happenstance- there were galas, Capitol events for sponsors- situations that forced you into proximity. You were two years post-games before he even approached you, drink in hand, slurring out some ‘hello’ and a quip about the dress your stylist had given you that night.

‘Sparkly’, he said, which brought a smile to your face before he handed you the drink, telling you that you needed it.

You did need it. And the conversation that came with it, too. That, you both needed.

Thereafter, it became habitual, almost ritual, to seek each other out at any and all Capitol events, work off of each other, sometimes together on getting sponsors until the night died down and you talked late, sometimes even into the blue hours of the morning.

You’d talk about the games, about life, about nothing at all sometimes. Other times, he’d just ask you to tell him something and poke fun at which details you found important, with a teasing grin. He would ask about old friends of yours, ask for context for stories so you’d go on longer. It was friendly, though he was undeniably sweet on you. More than what one would consider friendly.

It was entertaining, though. The best way to pass time in the Capitol, to get your heart beating quickly in a good way, was to speak to him for those few nights a year.

There was always a sly comment, some wink, or a hand on your lower back that put some warmth in your nose and cheeks. And alcohol to follow, loosen, and remove the edge that being in the big, bustling, hyper-coloured city gives a survivor.

He was your vice, an enabler for drinking, thieving food and leaving the parties once you’d each secured enough sponsors for the evening. Nothing was better than the roof and a bottle of whatever was available.

He told you once, one of the first times you’d done so together- that you shouldn’t- that it was dangerous and frankly that there are ‘better things to do for a pretty girl like you’, but there truly… wasn’t.

You wouldn’t tell him this, but you waited keenly on those nights you’d spend in conversation. Even while back home for the better part of the year. You’d dread the Reaping, but still would count down the minutes until you could be away from the craze and drama. Waiting on his amused eyebrows raises and laugh that made you laugh, the things he’d say about your dresses- your hair. He’d taken to calling you by almost anything but your name, dishing compliments that passed as nicknames- beautiful, gorgeous, angel. And he never took them back, never backed away from his own words.

You’d line up some clever response that would make him lean on his fist and look you up and down, like he was pleased someone could finally meet him where he was, drink with him, and understand the weight of it all.

Granted, he had it worse, being a Quarter Quell victor. It took him six years to tell you a real lick about them, but you were given pieces, enough to understand why he was the way he was. And to understand that you were probably the first person he opened up to, truly.

There was something sweet behind that kind of trust, as well as just companionship. Always buzzing in the static between you both, in late nights spent sitting a little too closely, and the details that come with that, like the brushing of your knees or elbows. How he spoke to you in that lowered tone he couldn’t spare for anyone else. How he’d find his way to weasel you away from Capitol men, which was particularly helpful.

But what got you best was always just the way his eyes would settle on you, even from across a room.

His eyes were always dark, despite their clear blue. Narrowed, shrouded by his eyelashes most of the time. His gaze held as much of his pain as they possibly could, eyes that had seen more of the world than you had- but when on you, the look was different, but again, never really acknowledged out loud beside casually flirtatious quips that made their way back and forth.

Those didn’t really start until you were about 22, but somehow, they kept you going. You were hardly sober when those nights would end, but the only thing you could find yourself addicted to was how he made you feel when that hardened gaze settled on you.

It wasn’t a roving look, no, if he looked anywhere, his eyes would settle and stay. Fixed on your mouth when you spoke, your eyes, and when he wanted to, whenever else his eyes would land. There were a couple of times he’d said goodnight where you thought for sure he might ask for more time with you, but it was always a goodnight, a smile, a small hug with lingering hands, and a peck to your cheek, your lips occasionally. Only a peck, nothing more than you’d seen him exchange with other old friends- Chaff, even.

Your heart continued to skip, and for the last few times, you’d almost wanted to kiss him- really kiss him. For lack of better judgment, despite his age, despite everything that could stand in your way, it was dangerous. Haymitch almost always reminded you of it, any time things got a little too close to real. He’d look the other way, almost like he was physically having to pull his eyes off of you to keep from falling in as well. At least, that’s what you theorized to keep the fantasy alive.

But that was most likely what it was. Fantasy. A crush, at best. That was easier for your heart than admitting just how close it seemed to becoming something else. Something more.

The last time his gaze had fallen on you before District 13 had been in the hovercraft, the day the plan worked and Katniss destroyed the arena. It was brief, his attention almost entirely elsewhere and rightfully so, but he’d stayed behind just one extra second to nod your way, almost to confirm that you were okay, alive, and going. You nodded back. You knew then that things would most likely never be the same again.

That was the last you’d seen of his gray-blue eyes before the empty weeks that followed. Today had broken that streak- his eyes had caught yours from across the cafeteria. He was back, and it was different. It wasn’t the bustling, smoky, multi-coloured sea of people you were used to locking eyes through- no, it was colder here. In every way possible. Sterile. Grey.

But for the first time in all this coldness, you felt a warmth spread out from your chest.

His silent nod came quickly, tongue darting over his lips, head bowing just slightly. He looked changed- good, but changed. For one, he stood up straight, no sway to his stance or glassy eyes, just… eyes on yours.

You averted your own stare, feeling all too bare in the harsh light of the fluorescents, no makeup, no pretty dress. Somehow, he pulled off the grey District 13 clothes better than you were. He was sporting one of the hats they give out, also grey, but it all went so well against his eyes.

Not that he wasn’t a good-looking man before, he was- he always had been, from what you’d known, but alcohol had taken its toll on his appearance the way it does- and sharpened his features past maturity. He’d once turned your hand in his, upon a drunken conversation, talking about the way your skin felt, and you’d be lying to say it hadn’t made something burn hot in your stomach. Like his flattery might mean something, but that was just your youth, your naïveté. The fantasy, of course.

It was easy to indulge in the way he made you feel delicate, despite your heavy traumas and the weight that brings. Big hands, strong ones, that wrapped around you at the end of a night. You’d forgotten what that felt like by now.

You kept your eyes off of him at dinner, still unable to eat. 13 had dwindled your appetite, as well as stress, lack of coping mechanisms. Eating the food they served… was hard. Always hard. It was why your stomach growled the way it did now, looking down at your hands in the empty hallway outside the greenhouse.

It was the warmest place, really. Golden, dim light poured out from the glass. Work was done for the day, so you knew nobody would come by. It was why it was so surprising to hear footsteps coming your way.

You kept your head down, not wanting to be disturbed or disturb anyone else, pulling your hands back into your lap and waiting for the steps to pass, but they didn’t. They got closer and closer until two shoes stepped into your vision at your feet.

“Y’know, I don’t think a person can survive on spite alone,” came the gruff, but recognizable voice of Haymitch. Your breath caught at the unexpected visitor. Oh.

You looked up at him, standing tall above you, holding a bottle of water and a piece of bread in his hand. “I think maybe-“ he continued without so much as a hello, yanking the stopper off the top of the bottle with his teeth- “You need to eat something before you let this place wither you away, same as it’s done to me.”

You blinked, shaking your head, “I ate already.”

“No, I’m pretty sure you didn’t, princess. Mind if I sit?”

“No, no, I don’t mind,” you answered, trying to dull the eager tone you felt underneath your dulled surface. You felt oddly bare, though you were in similar outfits. You didn’t feel as pretty as you usually did, which is probably what he meant by ‘withering you away’ in all senses. “How are you?”

He shook his head with a small smile pulling at his lips, sitting down next to you, closer than necessary, but welcomed. Always welcomed. “Awful.”

“Awe,”

“Well, it’s what happens when they hang you out to dry without any warning. I’d kill for a real drink right about now, I’ll tell you that. Or something that works… the same.” He took a swig of your water, throwing it back the way he would a bottle, then passed it to you. “What about you? How’s 13 treating you?”

You looked over at him, head leaning against your arm, “It’s been… boring. I’m not much help to anyone here, I feel a little… purposeless.”

“Mmm… untrue. Nobody here is purposeless, unfortunately. They keep you busy, even lying in a bed, begging for a bottle. You know this is the first time I’ve been sober- really sober, since I was sixteen?”

“I don’t blame you,” you chuckled. “But it’s good to hear. It’s good for you. I’m glad you’re back, as well.”

He chuckled, handing you the bread. “Missed me, then, pretty girl?”

There it was. Another little nickname, surviving past his drunken stupor. “Don’t flatter yourself,” you replied, fighting a smile. Your first genuine smile since your arrival.

“I think most people would think I’m trying to flatter you. I think that’s the point of the compliment. So you’re saying you didn’t miss me, hm?”

You tsked, fingers pressing to your lower lip, his eyes dipping just a moment, “Not saying that, no. I did miss you. You’re one of the only people down here I know.”

“Likewise, princess.” But he didn’t make an effort to say which.

“And this is no Capitol party,” you smiled again, eliciting a contented chuckle from him. The sentence was a little funny, but didn’t come from a place of humour. Moreover, it was born from the slight fear that your companionship didn't make it out of the Capitol. “No pretty dresses, no… Capitol makeup.”

“Not even close,” he nodded. “Not that you needed those things anyway, I’ve never really been one for… fuss and feathers. It’s pretty lonely down here. Cold as winter on the lower levels. Could’ve used the company.” He rubbed his jaw, staring ahead, eyes settling on some point on the wall. “You know this is probably the first real conversation I’ve had in weeks?”

You smiled a little wider, his way of clarifying that he missed you too. “And it’s with me? How unlucky.”

“I’ve been unlucky, angel, this is not that.”

“No?”

He shook his head, “You always ask this many questions?”

“I’ve barely asked one,” you giggled, bumping his shoulder. He still didn’t bring his eyes back to you, hand rubbing his jaw. “It’s also my first ‘real’ conversation, too, you know. A girl has questions.”

“You should eat,” he followed.

That made you roll your eyes, but to oblige, you took a bite of your bread, receiving an amused snort from him. “Happy?”

“Something like that.”

“I didn’t take you for the kind to notice if or when I eat.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I promise I won’t tell anyone you cared enough.”

He chuckled again, looking at your hands as you turned the bread over, “You are something, aren’t you?”

“I think so,” you said, taking another bite, letting comfortable silence fill the space. “Farmer. Gardener. Victor. Mentor. Rebel, now, apparently.”

“Well, you’re not failing at any, as far as I’m concerned. That’s a win. Have to take them as they come.” You were surprised by the advice, but it was good, something to think about. Something to keep with you. So you let it ricochet.

“You too, Hay.” You said, softly, hoping it would break past his walls of solemnity.

He just grunted, shaking his head. “Feels… strange, hm?”

The words resonated, but you wondered what went on in his head. “How so?” You asked, leaning forward, studying the clench of his jaw, the stubble of a few days without shaving, the grey shade of his eyes in the warm lighting. Something in you stirred, new and warm. Like being around him was waking up some part of you that had fallen comatose in 13’s paradoxical wash of craze and boredom.

“Sobriety… Situation… Sleeplessness.”

“Those are just s-words.”

“Can you-“ he huffed, shaking his head again, with a familiar look- one he used to try and keep himself straight. You fought your own smile. “It’s… strange, I don’t know how else to explain it. I feel you might understand, but I myself understand you have about two weeks of bothering me that you need to catch up on.”

You rolled your eyes, clicking your tongue, “Only partially true. But I do… understand. It’s all the s-words, and I can’t imagine what that’s like… for you. Worse without a buffer, a… vice.”

“A vice,” he repeated.

“You can… tell me… about it.”

That seemed to amuse him as well. “Some things are just too heavy for such pretty shoulders. I’d rather not set that on you if I can help it, angel.”

He was protecting you from something. Himself, maybe, but he didn’t understand just how open you were to hearing it. That wouldn’t change his mind anyway. At least not before. “Okay. So what about differences?” You pried.

He looked at you, cheek bitten between his back teeth. His gaze was always hard to exist under sober. Before, you could hide your blush under makeup or the guise of alcohol. There was no doubt he would notice the pink you felt creep across your nose, the upper parts of your cheeks. You knew you weren’t hard to read, either, which added to your embarrassment.

But to save you from the moment of silence, he answered.

“Can walk in a straight line.”

You smiled, “Amazing.”

“Don’t go inflating my ego about it, princess.”

“Oh, never.”

“Mhm.” He said, with a tone so disapproving but a smile that just kept widening. You were glad to give him that, at best. A friend.

“What else?”

“Again, with the questions, gorgeous- Where do you get off-“

“What else, Haymitch?”

“You are relentless, you know that?”

You just raised your eyebrows, pinching your lips with a small shrug. “Just rooting for you to see the bright side. Even I don’t really believe it, but maybe lying can be your vice. You can start by lying to yourself.”

“You’re just full of good ideas, aren’t you, gorgeous?”

You looked the other way, the nicknames landing differently, with more feeling than they ever did. Each one was like swallowing fire. “I try.”

His next move came easy, almost casual to him, but by that point, it felt like swallowing hot lava that hit your stomach and spread throughout your body, through every nerve ending, every receptor that felt how his hand fell to your knee. Above your knee, actually, you noted, his large hand splayed across the space that blurred between knee and thigh.

“I know.” He said, lower. “And I do appreciate it, angel, I do, but some things- as I said, aren’t…” He trailed off, fingertips gently pressing into the plush of your thigh. You sensed protection in his words, the only explanation for someone who did not ever fumble for the words to use. This was a new feature in him. It came off almost like… restraint.

Still, his hand didn’t move away.

“Whatever you’re doing, this… acting like I’m too fragile to understand. It’s not needed. Not with me. I may not understand everything, but I know what it is to be a victor.” You hushed, leaning against him gently. “Unlike others, unlike back home or in the Capitol, we can say… do whatever we want here. I’m trying to help you see the highlights, the same way I do, to keep you and me sane down here without drowning ourselves in alcohol.”

“Always was easier.”

“Mhm.” You sighed, ready to give up and dissolve the conversation into something smaller.

“Okay. You want me to lie or to be honest, then?”

“Whatever makes it easier to talk about,” you answered, eyes soft, your sight tracing his jaw again. You watched him gently lick over his lips again, hand coming up to rub his chin. “You never used to hesitate this much around me.” You added.

“I didn’t use to feel as much, either, darling.” His hand flexed on your leg again, then pat once, before settling just an inch higher than it had before. There was an undertone to this, something you felt vibrating in the air around you both. “The… trauma, the years between, things I never let myself have, all take forefront now. Things I used to blur out, or as you’d say, ‘push down’. And I’d say I notice more. See more.”

“Like what?”

“Like how you’ve been picking at your bread instead of eating it.”

“That’s not what I meant.” You deadpanned, taking another bite. He chuckled, looking away again. “You know, I’ve never known you to be this silent, either. This is all new. And you did notice things before, did you not?”

The conversation shifted; you felt it, your body warming as you thought back. To before. To him, playing with tassels on your dress on the roof, standing a little closer than anyone would to you. Teasing, laughing about watching you fumble a sponsor from across the room.

How it felt when he’d do what he was doing now, hand on your leg, so casual. When he spoke to you, it was almost always a flirt, but easily brushed off, away. Hot, but behind a glass wall. Unspoken, half-unattainable.

Sitting outside the greenhouse, it was almost symbolic that you both sat in front of that real, physical glass wall. On the same side. In reach.

It felt good, it always did, to have him pay so much attention. You were a girl with a crush, anyway, why wouldn’t it feel good to get drunk and have him look at you like you were a meal, give you all the adrenaline rushes you could ask for, then retire to your own beds? Addictive, as stated before. There always was an undertone, now that you thought about it. One that was returning now, but different, the way you both were, here.

“I did.” He returned, slowly. “Notice things. Didn’t have to… or didn’t want to, depending on the night. But I did. I do.”

Your breath betrayed you, thinking into it, hitching, just slightly. It was almost like your words had turned from surface to a code, a language you were both speaking, that only the two of you could understand, but enough camouflage in it to pass- if you didn’t dive deeper.

“And… More now, sober?” You bit your lower lip.

He gave a slight nod. “Louder, I suppose. Harder to ignore… play off.”

You listened, biting your lower lip just a little harder. Not meaning to. He looked at you now, eyes falling to it, his own tongue pressed to his cheek. Your heart began to pound hard against your ribs, the way it always did around him. “Before, could drink somethin’- push it away until it didn’t matter much. Or pretend it didn’t.”

There was no pride in the way he said it. The way it was strung was laced with that restraint again and a hint of what seemed to be… guilt?

“I know that feeling.” You agreed, cautious, your words meaning two things at once. “But you said things-” You huffed, too nervous for your own good. You both looked away, feeling the tension settle. Comfortable, but somehow unbearable. Another paradox. “Thought it was just… You being you. All talk.” Your words came from their hiding, out into the open, visible. Bare.

That earned a glance your way again. His gaze felt heavier in his tired eyes. His voice came gruff, but quieter. “That was the general idea. Blame it on the drink, make it sound like nothing-”

He cleared his throat, eyes jumping across your features, pushing on, “-Easier than admitting I shouldn’t be sayin’ it to you at all.” A beat passed, heavier, longer than it genuinely was. “Didn’t stop me from meaning it.”

You bit your lip a little harder, hoping it’d stop the new flush that spread across your skin. White-hot and dizzying. Did that mean what you thought it meant?

“Haymitch…”

He was quick to be deflective. “Y’know what, angel, I think it’s just about time we turn in. Could do with the beauty sleep myself, can’t say the same for you-” His hand gave a final squeeze to your thigh, before he made a slight groan, getting up from his seat.

“Haymitch.”

He gave you his hand to help you up as well, his hands warm, large, making yours feel daintier, almost. The way they encapsulated yours, only for a moment. It was distracting, pulling your thoughts from all he’d just said. It was almost a confession, but it seemed he didn’t want it to be that way? That maybe he hadn’t meant to say it?

But it was what you wanted, right? To see into his head, to understand where it all came from, and you had a half-answer now. It could mean everything if he would just finish the thought, rather than what seemed like running away from it. From you. It still felt oddly like protection, like he was doing it for your sake- which wasn’t what you wanted. No, you wanted him. Undeniably. Your heart continued to pummel, hard and strong.

He turned when you said his name the second time,

“Walk me back?” You said, almost a whisper, trying not to let on about the rapid thoughts that ran through your mind. He clicked his tongue, shaking his head, like you’d foiled his escape plan.

“Sure, ang-” he stopped himself, both of you too aware of the little things. He knew it. You knew it. Knew what, was the question, both of you beating around the bush enough, there was a moat full of tension. What did he want? Not long ago, he’d sat beside you, admitting he had missed you too, and now he wanted to go to bed. That wasn’t him.

“No, finish that,” you urged, trying to tease to ease whatever was thickening the air. It was suddenly very hot, despite 13’s damp coldness.

He waited for you to step with him before answering, “Angel.” He said it, obliging. “You really don’t make anything easy, do you?” You walked the empty corridors toward your room, walls grey and concrete.

“No, never,” you bounced back. “Plus, that’s unlike you, wanting easy, instead of the long game.”

“That’s different.”

“You say it like it’s different now,” you replied.

“It is.” His answer came bluntly, quick. “Back then- never had to answer for anything I said as long as there was a bottle in my hand. Could say what I wanted, make you blush- smile, and walk away from it, pretend to forget it by morning. Gotta think about what I say now.”

You blinked a few times, hearing him. You looked to him, eyes on the ground as you walked. “But you’re still saying them, now. Can’t pretend not to stand by it, can you?” Your words felt poorly chosen for a moment, but they seemed to land.

“No excuses for me,” he shook his head, “Though if I didn’t know better, I’d say you liked what I had to say, pretty.”

You couldn’t help but smile, doing your best to keep hidden just how much the line made something in your stomach flip, “Ooh, so being sober hasn’t dwindled your cockiness at all.”

An amused breath from him, “Was never the drink that brought that on.”

“Guess not, hm. I’m trying to figure out which parts were and weren’t. The drink, I mean.”

Your shoulders brushed as the hall narrowed, but neither of you would say anything, nor would you make the effort to make sure it didn’t happen again. Your heart continued to flutter as your hand bumped the back of his.

“No use dissecting. It’s all me now- no drink, no excuses, as I said.”

You tilted your head a little, peering up at him, his jaw staying tense. He looked the same way he did when you were sitting together- restrained and guilty, like there was effort to be had in this conversation.

“Good. Hated the excuse anyway. Made me feel like I was imagining…everything.” The last word in your sentence came heavy, charged with past tension, heat, the things you brushed off as fantasy. Were they? What did he know? Feel?

“From back when?” He questioned.

“Mhm.”

“You weren’t.”

It was quick, in his gruff tone, almost dismissive, despite being another half-confession. Meant to be unclear, deciphered wrong, if he was hopeful.

“You seem more cautious now, with it all. Censoring yourself.”

He seemed to find that funny. “Cautious? You think I’ve been cautious, angel?”

Angel. Angel, angel, angel, angel, angel.

You took a half-breath, shallow, “Did you rehearse that one or-”

He waved his hand, a small smile continuing to pull at his lip. “No, that one slipped. Bad habit.”

You bit your lip again, feeling another wave of blush sweep your features. What did he mean? What didn’t he mean? How much did he mean it?

“Your new vice.” You said, looking up at him again through your eyelashes. Studying. If you aren’t mistaken, you watch him take two steps with his left foot, as if it was caught on what you said. “Or maybe not so new.”

His smile fell quickly; you could see your words had penetrated his coolness about the whole thing. “I shouldn’t talk to you that way, darling. Not right of me. Something I need to work on, but you sure don’t make it easy. Nothing is easy here. Never has been, really.”

You shook your head, earning a glance from him, “You sound like it’s something horrible.”

“Isn’t it? Pretty young thing and a man like me, calling you all sorts of sweet things? I warned you ages ago, didn’t I?”

“And did I ever heed that?”

“No. You didn’t know better.”

“I did know better, Haymitch.”

“Careful.” He cut in almost on top of you. Warning, again. Like he was attempting to scare you with it. It was sharp, demanding, almost. It seemed to have the opposite effect, though, your stomach flipping again, your whole body lighting up with heat. Something about the way he said it.

You were nearing the bedrooms, just a few halls away, all quiet, footsteps echoing lightly as you walked. Most people were still upstairs in downtime or already in their rooms. It was only you and him here. “I can be,” you answered, softer. “If you want me to be, but you have to really want it. And really mean it. I don’t know if you do.”

He glanced at you again, keeping his gaze quick, palms gesturing flatly as he spoke, “Y’know what I think? You need to re-sort your priorities, pretty girl. Better things to do than… whatever this is.”

“Hm, okay,” you nodded, twisting your mouth to the side, silent for a few paces. “Maybe. But you’re giving me an awful lot of warnings for someone who agreed to walk me back. Someone who chose to come and find me.”

Again, he seemed to find that funny, eyes narrowing at the space in front of him. His pace slowed, so you matched it. “I see your point. You really ought to stop saying smart things to me in empty hallways, though.”

You were anxious for a real answer, something substantial enough, no jokes, mixed messages… “Why?”

“‘Cause I’m running out of noble responses.”

Fuck. It was so like him to run circles around you, cryptic. More double meanings. He could mean he didn’t want to be sharp with you, but it could also mean… Your pulse jumped to your throat, your hands, low in your stomach.

“Am I supposed to think that’s a bad thing?”

“You should.” Another warning. His hand bumped yours again. Your skin continued to burn hot; you hoped he couldn’t feel how it seemed to radiate off of you. “I’m trying pretty hard to be decent, here, and…”

Was that…?

“Failing?” You teased, trying to keep things comfortable. Your knees were a little weak.

“Badly.” He chuckled. You were glad to hear it, though his expression kept solemn after. He looked lost in thought, refusing to look at you as much as he could manage. You knew so because you hadn’t stopped studying him.

You watched intently as he ran his fingers over the bridge of his nose, up once, then down. This thumb and pointer finger followed that route down over his mouth, and to his chin, then his neck. You felt how your lips parted, just watching.

His next question came unexpected, “How old are you, again?”

Your heart skipped two or three beats, if that was possible. You smiled to cover it up, “That's really how you’re gonna change the topic?”

“Old as I am, my memory going…” he teased, self-depricating, but there was still something behind it. “Just a question.”

You huffed, desperately wanting to crack him open, understand what went on in his mind beyond all the half-sentences. To find what was at the end of the trail of breadcrumbs that he was leaving with everything he said. You continued to fake confidence, speaking strategically.

“Old enough to know when a man says one thing but really means another.”

Your words seemed to cut into him, or maybe scratch the surface, because he looked at you then- really looked at you, hard, eyes still narrowed, tongue against the inside of his cheek again. The sad blue-gray of his eyes moved about your face, expression unreadable in a mix of thought, being caught, and yet still masked by a straight face.

You tried to keep yourself together, composed- at this point, you wanted to ask him outright what he was thinking about. Letting on that you knew he was cryptic on purpose, maybe that would push him, open him up more, but it was always a slow process. He had a hard shell you’d been working years to crack, to understand better.

His breath came heavy, another huff, not unfamiliar. “Hm.”

Your door was only a few paces away. You hadn’t been able to get through. Maybe you’d embarrassed yourself here; the silence was almost unbearable. He looked away from you almost entirely now, hand still rubbing his chin, in thought.

As frustrated and curious as you were, you stopped outside your door. He was putting a pointed effort into not even looking at you, standing in front of you now as you stood, a foot away from the entryway, your back facing the door.

The lights above you were bright, humming gently in the silent hall. He looked so good like this, jawline easy to trace again, looking more rugged down here. Truly, more aged, but not that you’d ever care. Did he know that? Could you tell him that? How close could you get to admitting, without admitting, the way he did?

He was staring off with a slight frown to his expression. You wouldn’t judge that habit; you did it a lot here as well. Things were just so dull, understimulating, but there was something different. He was thinking about something that kept him quiet with you. You made the effort to break the silence, seeming to snap him out of thought again. You spoke up, “So that’s it then, hm?”

He shook his head, eyes landing on you, settling narrowed on you. Straight on. “What’s it?”

“You walk me back, say a hundred loaded things, and go mute by the time we get here. Not like you.”

“Said I’d walk you back… Followed through, didn’t I?”

“Admirably.”

He tsked, smirk pulling at his lips. Briefly. “Smart mouth.”

You tilted your head down at him, taking this as your last chance to make sense of this new dynamic. “You like it.”

That made his expression darken, his jaw tense, and you watched his hand flex at his side, open, then closed into a fist, then flat again. His voice dropped again, “That’s the problem.”

Oh. Your heart fluttered so much that it felt like there was a buzzing vibration in your chest. The sound of it wooshed in your ears, hot and stronger than it had been before. You straightened a little, “Haymitch.” His name escaped, without you really meaning to say anything at all.

Maybe you hoped it’d provoke him, make him say more, get more serious, spell it out for you, maybe. You obviously needed that- otherwise you weren’t sure if you were making this up, looking too far into it all. Your lower lip found itself between your teeth again, a magnet for his flickering eyes.

“What?” More gruff. Hardened. “You want me to be honest, don’t be upset when it comes out ugly.”

“I didn’t say ‘ugly’,” you replied, slowly, eyes not leaving his. “It’s not.”

“No. You just keep asking questions you don’t want the answers to. Looking for responses, testing… me. You don’t understand what you’re asking for.”

You bit your lip harder, looking away, intimidated by his hard gaze. It was intimidating, but gorgeous, and for you. Something about it always got you. His seriousness, his words, his belief that you were more naïve than you were. Like you were too fragile to handle it. If it were a different situation, you’d stand your ground again, but maybe you liked how he handled this- you.

“Then help me understand.”

“You don’t need my help with that. Something tells me that you know exactly what you’re doing.”

“Do I?” Fuck.

“Seems so. Talking like you are. Looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Christ,” he groaned, eyes dropping to the floor, hand coming up to gesture. “This interrogation, angel, it’s taxing stuff. Nothing about what I have to say in response to you is pretty. That’s that. Like you’re trying to get me to say something more, when you know what you’re doing.”

You stayed persistent, though you found it a little hard to breathe. He knew. He’d known. “And if I were? If I did. Know.”

He shook his head, mouth pulling to the side, considering his answer. The tension was crushing you both, it seemed. “Then I’d say you ought to be kinder.”

“To you?” You almost laughed.

“To yourself,” he said, looking at you again, batting his hand like dismissal. “You’ve got no business wasting time on whatever this is, with me.”

“Do you ever think…” You pondered, narrowing your eyes at him, “That I might prefer to make that decision for myself?”

Haymitch didn’t flinch at that, just taking it in. “I don’t think you know what you really want.”

“Because I’m too young?”

“Because it’s not right to want.”

For you or for him? “And that makes it out of the question that I would?”

“It should be. If you were smarter.”

You blinked, eyebrows narrowing at him. It sounded almost silly. “Is that really what you think? That I’m stupid?”

He shook his head, gravel in his voice, eyes on the floor, “No. ‘Course not.”

“And I know that, too. Believe me in that, at least. And the whole thing… Never been a waste of my time. A waste of yours, though?”

“No.”

“Okay.” You hushed, knees weakening more by the second. Nothing more would come from him, it seemed. You would have to give up; the tension felt like it would push you to the floor if you stood under it. Under your grey jumpsuit, your chest rose and fell in a way you hoped wasn’t noticeable.

You put your hand to your temple, a small smile breaking across your face. This would be over; it would have to be, before your body burst into flames under his gaze, that rose back to you now. No guilt left, you thought, studying his expression. You bit your lip when he, once again, licked over his.

He looked at you through his brow, the way he had back when he used to put his hand on your bare lower back and tell you how ‘a dress like that ought to come with a warning’. Maybe none of that stuff, none of those habits still existed, here in 13. His walls stayed up, maybe even built higher than before.

You swallowed hard, attempting to swallow the confession you wanted to make, starved for more of him after missing him. Weeks without a friend, without him. After letting your little crush run rampant, making its way here, even now. Fuck, you wanted him. Badly. Always, really. But nothing of the sort escaped your mouth yet; instead, softly,

“Thank you for walking me back, Haymitch. It’s been good to see you, truly. I’m glad you’re well. Thank you for the bread and the…” You realized you’d left the bottle over by the greenhouse, but it didn’t matter now. “-Water. Means a lot to me.”

He nodded in response, his Adam’s apple bobbing once, like he too was swallowing a hard pill, though his eyes didn’t ease. If he looked at you any harder, he might bore a hole right through you. “Don’t mention it.”

“Told you I wouldn’t,” you smiled, “Can’t let anyone know Haymitch Abernathy has a heart and soul, of course.”

That made him chuckle for the first time in a few minutes, his hand on his lower stomach. It wasn’t there to brace against his subtle laughter, but something else, you knew. A habit. “Kind of you. Thank you.”

“Always,” you said, tilting your head, lip bitten again. You couldn’t help it. So many things wanted to escape through them. You weren’t sure if you watched his eyes dip, but you swore they did. It made you dizzy. All of it did, the entire walk, the whole conversation.

It was a bad decision, maybe, to say one final thing, but you did. So that maybe you could try again another day, leave him with something to think about until that comes to be.

You said, simply, “You know, you don’t need to worry about what’s ‘right’ and ‘wrong’, with me. I think that we’ve had enough ‘wrong’ done to us that we deserve to have our vices, in any form they take. I do hope you find a new one that doesn’t… kill your liver.”

It came quick, his sharp inhale, but soft enough to accompany his small, amused, “Mmm.” Seemed he took the words in; that was all you could hope, and his sight on you eased. So did his jaw. It was wordless, this third shift in the air. Somehow, the tension tightened, the air becoming stiflingly hot.

You had to get away from this before the embarrassment of the entirety of the conversation came down on you, too. You’d revealed your cards as much as you’d been able to. “Goodnight, Haymitch.”

You said it softly, closing the space between the two of you in an embrace goodbye. He welcomed it, surprisingly quickly, arms around your waist when yours wrapped around his neck. He was warm, smelled good, too. Somehow, still smelled like the petrichor of a rainy day in 11, mixed with the scent of autumn, and faintly his cologne that he’d maybe managed to smuggle in.

His arms were strong, wide, large hands splaying your ribs, almost crushing against your frame. He probably needed it. So did you. One of his hands slid slowly up your back, to the back of your head, just briefly bracing it before going back down.

This had always been your favourite part of his goodbye, how it felt to be in his arms, even for a moment. It made the girl in you squeal inside. With that note, you hoped he couldn’t feel how hard your heart was beating against his chest.

This was a bigger hug than your usual goodbyes, easily assumed that maybe you both did just crave the contact. It did end, though, his grip loosening when yours did. Your faces came close as he brought his head from where it rested on your shoulder. It was simple, easy, habitual, how your lips connected in only a peck. Small. Momentary. Possibly not even longer than a second. Casual for him, but just to say goodbye.

Your eyes flickered about his face, your eyelashes fluttering, a small final smile returning. His eyes looked back, soft on you, but something burned behind them. Visible and bright. Hot.

Ready to dismiss yourself, slip away, you left his embrace. His hand fell down your back, brushing your hip as it went. It made your skin crawl with goosebumps, adding to the sensory torture the moment's suspension was giving you. In a moment, you’d be behind your door, able to reset.

He didn’t say anything as you stepped back, one pace away, your hand reaching behind yourself to grab the cold metal handle. It was ice against your flushed skin, almost jarring. Maybe he wouldn’t say anything- another thing you’d have to give up on. Maybe you’d crossed a line. You could accept that maybe it was a lot for someone still in recovery, but he proved you wrong.

His voice shattered the secondary silence, same gruffness, same semi-lighthearted tone. “You call that a kiss?”

No, I don’t. You thought it immediately, along with a million other things that immediately raced through your mind.

First, that the kick drum of your heart might punch a hole through your chest, second, that you were hotter than you’d ever been in your life, and third, that you were losing your train of thought…

Your mouth went completely dry, hand tensing around the door handle. You hadn’t turned away from him yet, so your eyes stayed on him. You were frozen like a deer in headlights. What did that even mean?

“C’mere, pretty girl.” Came second, from him, voice warmer. Lower. Two fingers rising to beckon you back to him. Oh, fuck.

Not goodnight, not goodbye, just that. You didn’t wait to find out what he meant or what he wanted, because it was clear almost immediately. You let go of the door handle, stepping toward him again.

His hand, gorgeous hand, that was beckoning you, slid up the side of your neck when you approached. Your breath hitched hard, but you welcomed his second hand at the crook of your waist. It gave you a shiver that spread motionlessly through your veins. The motion seemed extended, time slowing just for you to figure out what was happening. He was going to kiss you. Again, oh fuck.

It hit hard, but sweet, when he did kiss you. He pulled you in gently, but eagerly, and you met him in the middle, crashing against each other in a moment of heat that felt like a dam breaking. Your arm was hastily thrown up and over his shoulder by him, Haymitch taking a step toward you that pressed your bodies together. It happened so quickly, you were already stumbling backward into the door. Heat flowed through you, turning your stomach, making your thoughts fuzzy.

Oh, he was good. More than good. There was no effort to be made, just white-hot need guiding you perfectly- his mouth against yours, his arms around you, holding, grasping. His fingers tangled in the back of your hair, the hand at your lower back holding you close to him.

The kiss was hot, open-mouthed and unrelenting. Your free hand reached around behind you, fumbling for the freezing cold door handle until you found it, pushed down on it, and the two of you stumbled, kissing passionately, into your quarters. For a man you’d never seen close to a woman beyond a hand to the shoulder, he knew how to kiss. How to meet you, how to drown you in it in only a matter of seconds.

You’d thought about this before- what girl with a crush doesn’t imagine- how his hands would feel on your body, further than how his hand brushed your skin back then. It was only a passing thought, an unspoken desire you let fester when you both got flirty. When he leaned in close to your face, when you smelled the whiskey on his breath, when you wanted to find out what it would be like so very badly- you had it now. And oh my god.

Your thoughts were cut off by him turning you to press you against the back of your now-closed door. He was pressed close, heat radiating off of him now.

Haymitch was taller than you by a good chunk, something you always admired, something he always took advantage of, to tease. You wished you could tease him now, how he had to bend to kiss you.

The hand that was at the back of your head shielded you from hitting it against the metal, but left so that it could splay flat on the space just above your head.

You kissed him back, matching his pace, fast and fervent, completely taking you under. You were dizzy, you felt like you weren’t even sure which way was up or down, all good sense out the window. Oh my god, he was kissing you, he was touching you, things you only dreamt about on your most intense nights in the Capitol after spending them with him.

Both of your arms wrapped around his neck, on your tiptoes to meet him properly. You couldn’t help the sigh that slipped from your lips and over his between kisses.

He pressed right against you, pinning you to that wall with his body. You welcomed it, pressing back against him just to be closer, just to feel how he pushed back- making sure you stayed pinned to the wall. You were already breathless.

Haymitch always had a way about him- mannerisms, attitude, that really said without telling, that he would kiss like this- like he was starved, couldn’t get enough.

Every time you’d thought maybe you could try to kiss him, drunk, you imagined he’d grab you like this. You didn’t anticipate just how good it would feel, beyond imagination’s abilities, as his hand slid up over the back of your jumpsuit. If you thought you had goosebumps before, they doubled.

You pushed back again, rising on your toes, hands up his neck, stopped by the District 13 gray hat. Wasting no time, you grabbed hold of it and tossed it far, eliciting an unexpected chuckle from him. This chuckle was deep, different, and instantly, you felt heat pool differently. Low.

It broke the kiss because his chuckle made you laugh, sweet and breathless between those hungry kisses.

His hand came up to cup your face, pointer finger sliding your jaw until it came to rest, folded under your chin. The touch sucked the air from your lungs, stifling your giggle. For another split second, you could see only the product of the abrupt hat removal- messy hair, his eyelashes, eyes low-lidded, and his smug grin, before he tilted your head back up to kiss you again.

This fuelled you, already overcome, starved for him in return. You kissed him harder, thoroughly welcomed by his perfect reciprocation, hand travelling down from your jaw to land on your neck. Bracing, fingers spread over your throat, thumb pressing gently to a pressure point. Not choking- placed so carefully for a man kissing so roughly.

He inhaled the heavy breath that slipped when his hand moved just the slightest bit higher. His kiss strayed just an inch, to the corner of your mouth in a way that was so beautifully intentional it almost made your knees give out for real, that time. “Haymitch,” you whispered in the space between.

“Tell me no.” His mouth grazed your cheek, his beard tickling, prickling slightly as he moved his head. Warning, again. Somehow.

“I won’t.”

“Good.” His lips connected with your ear, where the cartilage met the hinge of your jaw. You inhaled sharply, eliciting another chuckle from him.

You turned your head to look at him, faces inches, breaths shared. He was grinning that smug, satisfied grin he always had when he knew something had gotten to you.

“Hey.” It was almost banter, him teasing your reaction like he was, you trying to reprimand lightly, but you genuinely couldn’t look at him for more than a second before you were kissing him again.

This time, his hand found your throat much quicker as you pushed against him, kissing him harder, both of you walking together from the door to the cement pillar that stood (in)conveniently in the middle of your room. You couldn’t get enough, truly, but apparently, neither could he.

There was a humming sound he made that felt like downing eight drinks at once. You absorbed it as his back hit the pillar, his tongue gently breaking the kiss open further. Oh, he was so much better than good. You allowed it, learning his strategy, letting him tip your head back as his fingers gently dipped into the flesh of your neck.

You rolled against the pillar so he could press you to it again, this time pressing close with what felt like new intention. Like seeking friction. It was happening so fast, you could barely register how his knee parted yours, slipping between.

Fast, desperate, hot, you were lost in him. In this. That heat pooling in your stomach dropped lower at the contact. He fit so perfectly against you, you wondered if he would fit other places nicely, but that was… ambitious. But it was real, it was… he was already between your legs in one way. His knee was strategic, pressing higher without even having to move, really. Height’s advantage.

His tongue dipped perfectly into your mouth, over the plush of your lips, facial hair not bothersome, but abrasive in the best way possible. You were wet. To say the least. It only took two seconds of contact.

It felt like a tide washing in, over you. You couldn’t help the sound that escaped when he moved his leg a little further forward, then back. For you. Knowing what he was doing. He didn’t hesitate this time to kiss your cheek as he crossed back toward your ear.

That steady hand eased your head back, giving him full access to your ear, your jaw, kissing feather light just once before his hand slid to the back of your hair, rooting itself as he kissed your neck hotter, heavier.

Need, was the emotion. Needing more, needing him, needing to slow your roll, maybe- impossible, actually. You recognized the way your hips pushed against him, following his thigh as it pressed against where you needed it. You’d let him do anything right now, honestly. You always would have, now that you thought about it.

It was possession, almost, that made you grab the front of his uniform. The thick canvas material was hard to get a hold of. “Haymitch-“

“Shhhh,” he hushed, hand sliding back over, so smooth, strategic, coming back up to your chin as he continued to kiss your neck. He was sucking gently every other kiss- it felt like nothing you’d ever felt in your life. “Easy, angel.”

A nickname in this context, you were becoming a puddle of a woman. You drew a breath from the depths of your lungs when his hand continued to move up your jaw. Cupping, almost, making your face feel so small in his big hands, his thumb stroking your cheek lightly. It was an affectionate action- He’d done that before, obviously never while kissing- and when you thought that motion was going to kill you here and now, his thumb found your lower lip.

Your breath slipped heavier, hotter, as his thumb moved to part your lips, pulling gently on your lower lip. He continued to relentlessly press warm kisses to the side of your neck, the other side of your jaw, humming slight satisfaction into your skin.

Finger pressing to the plush of your lips, you tilted your head forward slightly, thumb passing between your lips and into your mouth. That got his attention again, a sharp inhale coming from him this time. You wanted to tease him back, but with his thumb in your mouth, it’d be a little hard.

“Fuck,” he groaned, with a rasp to his whisper. “You just-“

He turned to look at you, nose bumping your cheek. It was almost incredulous, his expression, like he didn’t see it coming. Your lips closed around his thumb, slow, watching how his shock turned again, to amusement, a smile into a grin. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me right now, pretty girl.”

You slowly eased off his thumb, pulling your lips up it until it slipped against your lower lip again, wet with your saliva. His eyes flickered down to it, then to your eyes, dark. “Wanna show me?” You asked, quietly.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why is that?” You replied quickly, with a soft pout that he traced with that same thumb. His smile fell slowly, but stayed alight in his eyes.

“You don’t need this in your life.”

“And what if I do?”

“You don’t want this.”

“I can show you how much I do.”

“Yeah?” Came quick from him. He shook his head, like you’d broken a wall of his without him meaning to let it crumble. He put up his hand- “No. We can kiss, I will kiss you, darling, but I won’t do that. Not with you. You’re too young to be messin’ with someone like me.”

“Haymitch.”

“Mmm?”

“Has that ever stopped me?”

“No.”

“Has it ever stopped you?”

“No.”

“Do you want this?”

“Yes. Goddamn it.” His eyes stayed steady on your lips, looking hungrier by the moment. You wished he’d just kiss you again. His other hand came back up to his forehead, pressing to his temple while he shut his eyes tight. “It’d be a mistake. A bad thing, all around.”

“For me or for you?”

“For you. Always for you.”

You shook your head, looking at him through your eyelashes. He let out a huff, like that alone was defeating him. “Fuck.” He added, proving that point. “Listen to me, I am trying to be decent here-“ He put emphasis on ‘trying’, hand gesturing to you.

You wouldn’t let him go further, eyes wide, intentional, on him. “Decent?”

“Decent,” he repeated, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. Your eyes flickered over his lips that had just kissed you, that had just been on yours, where his thumb still rested.

“I don’t think this is decency,” you pushed.

“No? Knowing better than to let myself touch something so… Hm.” He stopped himself again, but you were tired of the censorship,

“I think you’re scared,” you challenged, inching the slightest bit closer to him, watching how his eyes roamed your face, looking like he wanted to devour you.

He chuckled, “That what you think, huh? What about this tells you I’m scared?”

You pressed against him more, against where you knew he would need it. He looked up, away from you, jaw clenching hard again. You saw the way his muscles worked, tight. The air between you was thick with emotion, pent-up, locked away for too much time.

“I think…” You said, slowly, “That you’re afraid you’ll ruin this. Or me.”

“Maybe I know better than to put my hands on something too good for me.”

You couldn’t help the smile that pulled your lips, “Where are your hands right now?”

He shook his head, “You know damn well what I meant. My hands are not ones meant for you, by choice of my morals, my hands aren’t hands that should be on you.”

You didn’t think, just spoke, raising up on your toes to be closer, “Then let me use mine. For you.”

That shut him up. Completely. He shut his mouth, shut his eyes. You knew he had a problem saying ‘no’ to you; he always had. And if he doubted you or your wants, you would find a way to prove them to him. You’d come this far. There was no denying nor hiding the attraction- It’d been there far too long to push down anymore.

“Please,” you added, whispering. “Let me show you how much I want this. You won’t have to do a thing- Please.”

“Angel,” warning.

“Let me…” You tilted your hips against his, eliciting a sharp breath from him again, “-Prove it to you. Please.”

His thumb brushed your lower lip, eyes opening just to settle there. “I want you.” You said with intent, staring him in the face, so that there would be no mistaking the words he felt off your lips. Your hand began to slip down his chest, but there was no protest. Nothing smart or quippy.

His other hand rested at your hip again, pointer finger hooking the belt loop on your jumpsuit.

“Trouble,” he muttered.

“I thought you liked trouble.”

“That’s the problem. It’s all you are.”

“You like me?” You put yourself right under his gaze, just under his nose, rising up on your toes as you pressed further against him.

“Don’t go flattering yourself now,” he replied slowly, a small smile tugging his lips, while he pulled on your lower lip.

“Haymitch,” you sighed, almost a laugh, but things were too charged for you to breathe right. Your eyes flickered across his face, watching the decision settle in his face, his expression.

He tilted your head up to his, nose brushing yours again. Slow. Hot. His thumb eased your lips apart further, watching, until he couldn’t.

Until he kissed you again.

This time, it was different. His tongue swept your lip before your lips even met, but when they did, it was like electricity shot through each and every nerve in your body. You kissed him back, matching his every move, paced slowly, then faster, faster, until you were both breathing hard.

This kiss was heavy, weighted with emotion and that same, white-hot need. His finger that had looped your belt pulled you in against him, while his leg between yours continued to press against you.

Your hand continued to slide downward, to where his shirt was tucked into his cargo pants. His hand continued to brace your jaw, kissing you relentlessly, like a man starved, pace increasing the closer you got. Like he was distracting himself.

Your hand slowly moved lower, past his ribcage, gliding gently over his stomach.

“Angel-“

You just smiled as he kissed you, more, heavier, more open-mouthed, more tongue. He was maybe, finally, giving you what you’d wanted. Trusting you, your judgement, your passion.

Wary as he seemed, he did not stop kissing you when your hand rested on his lower stomach. You’d ached for this, his touch, your hands being allowed to roam the places that had drawn your eyes for so long.

You knew now that when Haymitch had teased, prior, about men your age, commenting on their builds, that maybe it was the same part of him that knew he wanted you, and the comments had been born out of projection. Not believing that he would be as worthy, but it was just another thing to prove to him. You could never want more than what he had.

You wasted no time at his waistband, fingers clasping the buckle. His hand left your waist, sliding around your back, taking a break just to huff, “So eager, hm?”

“Uh-huh,” you smiled, clicking the belt into the open position. Pressing against him, you could feel how hard he was- for you. God, it made you shiver just thinking about it. He was contained by his pants, but with your hand so close, you could feel it against the palm of your hand. “Haymitch…”

“You sure? There’s no going back from this type of thing, pretty girl.”

You kissed him hard, “Please.”

And that weakened him, pushing away to create a gap small enough for you to put your hand between yourselves. He didn’t stop kissing you, not even as you pulled his belt completely off. A hard tug and the buckle clattered against the cement floor.

You didn’t waste much more time in untucking his gray shirt- he let you, kissing you harder and better, seemingly, with every waking moment. It was messy, but in the hottest way possible. Hands deliberately holding you close, splayed across your back, sliding up and down as you kissed.

He opened his mouth for a breath that slipped between kisses as you slowly let your fingertips rim his waistband again. The top button came undone with ease, then the zipper, slowly. Even with your fingers treating his clothes with urgent, but delicate touch, you could feel how hard he was through his pants.

You could feel it pulse, gently, against your fingertips, like his body just knew it wanted you. You were the same way, though; admittedly, you could feel the heat between your legs from the friction he’d supplied. There wasn’t any more time to think, just dip your hand below the waistband of the cotton boxers he wore.

He groaned as you did, before you even really touched him, but it was no trouble finding what you were reaching for. “Fuck,” slipped his lips as your fingers wrapped gently around his length, your hand now entirely in his pants. He was hard beyond what you’d known was possible. “There she is.” He enthused you, breathy. He was referring to the action, so simple, but enough to start the ball rolling- really rolling. There was no turning back now. He seemed to know that now.

His skin was surprisingly soft there, compared to his semi-rough hands that you’d always admired. You could feel the gentle trail of hair that spread up from it. You started slowly, moving your closed hand up the length within his boxers. His hands tightened on you, sliding up your ribs, the back of your shoulder, up to the back of your neck.

“Oh, you-” he kissed you. Hard. You kissed him back, beginning to pick up the pace. He was letting you do this, hips angling against your hand as you worked him. Up and down, slightly twisting your wrist. It was good, this was good, how his breathing shifted, heavier now, because of you. “That’s it, pretty girl- You know what you’re doin’, hm?”

And you’d only been at it for a minute. Maybe he was as starved as you were. Maybe alcohol had inhibited his pleasure. You hadn’t known Haymitch to sleep around, so maybe… this would be something you both needed badly. His mouth, kissing hot over yours, grew more desperate. Wider kisses, more tongue, messier, sloppier.

Desperation was the word. It really was. You, desperate to prove you wanted him, him, desperate for you in a way that was telling of how long he’d really been wanting you too. By the way he kissed, you’d expect it to be around the same amount as you.

Impossibly, the passion was only climbing. His hand was now pulling at the button at the top of your jumpsuit’s zipper. In just a moment, he had the zipper down to your waist. You let him, excited to finally feel his hands on your skin as the fabric slipped down to your elbows.

It was everything, as his hand slipped your upper arm to climb back up. Your hand left him for just a moment, shrugging the material off your shoulders. He let you, hands then meeting the bottom of your undershirt, assisting in pulling it off over your head. That left your top half in just the basic white District 13 bra that you’d been given. It wasn’t a pretty thing, but it fit well enough- Nor did it seem to matter to him.

He took a brief look, huffing out a ‘whew’, the second you were exposed. You smiled shyly as his hand pressed just above your breast. Large hand splayed like he was afraid to put it lower, but his smirk said he knew you didn’t care about where he put his hand. Because you sighed so deeply, pulled from the pit of your stomach at the feeling of just his hand on your skin. Hot. Pressed. Your eyes locked, his half-lidded as he looked you up and down.

The tension was unbearable, the eye contact boring holes into your soul, like he could see into your head and find your every desire, every fantasy you’d ever had about him.

It was only seconds before you couldn’t take it anymore, and you kissed him once more, hard. One hand gripping his shirt, the other dipping back into his pants. He groaned into your mouth, low, rumbling. You’d eat it up every time.

It was fast, how a few more quick pumps made him curl into you, grabbing you a little harder. How that turned into your own moan as his hand closed around your neck again.

You physically couldn’t take it anymore. Filled with lust and determination, his hand on you the way it was, the heat that pulsed between your own legs- there wasn’t a better, more logical option than slip his grasp and drop to your knees, turning to him, who was now back to the cement pillar.

The way he braced you, with a half-gasp, half- grunt. Disbelieving. “Fuck, angel- You can’t do that.”

“But I can.” You replied, “If you let me, Hay. I want to. Let me. Please.”

“Can’t say no to you and you know that,” he grit, hand rising to his forehead as you ran your hands over the front of his thighs, settling. “-Ought to be ashamed of… taking advantage of me like this.” His thumb came to your jaw, holding your chin in his hand

His voice lowered, eyes dark, but gaze settled. His chest rose and fell, “-God, you’re beautiful, you know that?”

You smiled softly, completely drunk on him alone. There was no need for a drink, and that was the best part. “You think so?” You said, both of you working to tug his pants down. You were breathing just as hard as he was, heart pounding.

“Gorgeous,” he affirmed, looking down over you. “You’re sure about this? This isn’t something I take lightly, angel. This is… not pretty.”

“I’ve never been more sure in my life,” you hushed, lip bitten again. His thumb moved over your lip once more to undo that bite. The action made you want to moan, whine, anything- It was rush after rush of adrenaline, emotion, the need to see this through. His pants were down to his ankles, his dick was tented in his dark gray cotton boxers. “You’re so-“

You couldn’t finish that- Still somewhat shy. You blinked hard, shaking your head. “Look at me,” he added as you took hold of it through the fabric. He shut his eyes, grimacing, trying to get the thought out. You looked up at him, to his eyes, god, he was hot. He breathed out, “You don’t like somethin’, you tell me. You say stop, we stop. I’m telling you now, I am a man starved, and this is going to be the first good thing I let myself have in a long time, but you are in charge here. Got that?”

The way he said it was so demanding, you nodded, wide-eyed. ‘A man starved’ almost made you smile, but you were too stuck in awe to make fun of him, reading your mind.

“Use your words,” he said, swiping your lower lip again, thumb wet with your saliva from the last pass. “Need to hear you say it.”

“I say stop, we stop. And you do like me, hm? ‘Good thing’.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said through the gentle caresses of his thigh that went with your one hand pulling up and down his length through the fabric. “Fuck me- you’re-“

The need, desperation, turned to pace again. Acceleration, flames lapping at your inner thighs at the ideas you had. There was no stopping on your end as Haymitch pulled down the front of his boxers to give you full access. You weren’t expecting much grooming, but it was surprisingly decent. And he was big, as far as average goes.

You were sure you couldn’t fit all of it in your mouth, but you’d definitely try. “Good enough for you?”

“Oh my god… I...,” you sighed, wrapping your hand around it again, slowly. The question itself was attractive. His hand moved from your chin, raking through your hair gently, fingertips at your roots. You shut your eyes momentarily, feeling how he gathered your hair in his hand. He was pulling it back for you- a sweet gesture amidst the craze, his dick literally inches from your face.

You took it in, the length, the width, the gentle, barely noticeable veins that wrapped like tree roots. Despite the charge in the air of the moment, there was a sense of being completely comfortable, unjudged on both ends of this. Everything had unravelled to this moment, ages of restraint and a few years of not knowing if flirting ever meant anything. It did. That was obvious now.

“Slow, now.” He whispered, under his breath, as you took him in your hand again. “Slow, babygirl. Don’t force yourself to-“

You kissed his tip gently, not breaking eye contact for a second. That stole his breath, his words. You watched as he covered his eyes to shield himself from the sight, like part of him that was still letting you do this, thought he was undeserving of the sight.

You were so nervous your hands were shaking, but it was not a nervousness that would stop you. Not one that was negative either. You’d wanted this for so long- and you parted your lips and gently put him in your mouth.

He took a very deep breath, deeper than you thought a breath could go, at the contact. He was warm. You were running hot, almost like you both had a fever. “Fuck, that’s it-“ he sighed, hand at the back of your head holding your hair, tightening slightly. “Slow for me, slow for me.”

You did your best to watch him as you pushed further down on him, taking more of him in your mouth. He made a sound like clearing his throat, still covering his eyes with one hand. “Fucking hell-“ he groaned as you continued down him, mouth meeting your knuckle at the base of his dick. “Atta girl. Taking all of it like that- didn’t know you had that kinda skill up your sleeve. Feels so good.”

You smiled with your eyes, slowly drawing back toward the tip. The next noises he made were mixed with breath, the heave of his chest making its way down to his cock in your mouth. Pulsing, twitching with arousal. “That’s a girl,” he sighed as you took him deep in your mouth again. Finding a pace. Finding a way to move your hand at his base to follow the pressure of your lips wrapped around him.

It was easy to pretend you knew what to do, just by following the cues of his sounds. He was big; it was hard to fit as much as you could in your mouth without tears forming in your eyes, but he still wouldn’t look at you, so it didn’t matter.

You slowly got more comfortable, his breathing getting heavier, gentle hums in appreciation of the way your mouth moved over him. Maybe now he would understand that there was nothing wrong about this. It couldn’t be so bad if he was already in your mouth, leaking something neutral, slightly salty, that you took happily.

Fuck, this was everything. You were so wet for him, every part of you aching for him in particular. In any form.

You picked up the pace, eliciting a deep groan from him. You shut your eyes a moment, hand pumping, the other hand on the back of his leg, keeping yourself steady on your knees. They’d begun to ache from the cement floor, but you liked it the same way you liked how his hand was starting to pull on the hair he’d gathered.

You tried to go deeper, taking just a little bit more of him, more than pleased when he moaned louder than before. A real moan, not a groan or a grunt, a real sound. Guttural. You almost moaned yourself just at the sound, but it was the way he gave your hair a little tug extra that made the sound slip through.

“Sweet girl,” he said, voice not as soft as when he usually used that little pet name. Slightly broken, raspy, deeper. “You take me so well, I don’t know why I never-“

“Fuck-“

“That’s it, babygirl. Just like that, fuck you feel good.” His words unravelled him. No censorship, no beating around the bush, no cryptic double meanings. Just him, feeling.

“You’re too good at this.” That phrase, particularly wild, was paired with a gentle push from his hips. Into your mouth. You looked up. His hand was still over his eyes.

You used your tongue, licking a strip on the underside and continued to use your hand, but you paused on your mouth for a moment, “You’re allowed to look-“ you were breathing hard- You’d barely been aware of how little breath you’d been taking.

“You’re going to fucking kill me, you know that?”

You smiled, still pumping him with your hand, thumb swiping his tip, making him buckle inward at the contact. A grown man, so sensitive. Your eyes were full of tears from the strain, but you were so unbelievably turned on right now. “Really?”

“You’ve got no clue.” His hand fell from his face, eyes still shut tight. “Can’t do it. Don’t deserve it.”

“Haymitch.”

“Angel,”

“Please, look at me. I want you to see how much I love doing this. For you. With you. Just- look at me.” You asked it softly, looking at him through your eyelashes. His hand rubbed his eye as he contemplated, hearing you out. “I want this. I need you to watch.”

You kissed his tip again, pre-cum spreading over your lower lip. Your eyes stayed on him, watching, kissing it again. Hearing him moan, running his free hand down his jaw.

“Please,” you whispered between kisses to it. “Please.” Another kiss, feeling the way it slipped, soft against your lips. Addictive. “Please.”

“Oh, fuck me-“ He broke. You parted your lips, taking him in your mouth again, with teary eyes looking up at him to see him looking down at you. “That’s it, that’s- God, you’re perfect. So perfect for me, you’re so-“ He breathed out hard, a sharp huff.

“That’s it, angel, just like that- Fuck, you’re so gorgeous. So gorgeous, so… young, fuck, this is wrong.”

You made a point to take him deeper, even if it sprang a new wave of hot tears to your eyes. “Pretty girl, so-“ he moaned, “Fuck. Fuck.”

The words kept falling from his mouth, rougher, accompanied by a gentle push from his hips. You took it, letting him, faster, harder, deeper in your mouth. Hand pumping him, his hand in your hair getting tighter. He was losing control, it seemed. Losing himself to you, all you’d ever wanted.

“Fuck, angel-“ He fucked into your mouth again. Your sight blurred. “Atta girl, taking it so well- so well for me, pretty thing.”

Heavy breathing, hand tightening at the roots of your hair, while your pace sped up still.

“Gonna make me come like this, angel, can you handle that?”

You looked up at him, meeting his eyes only for a second. They were dark, his jaw slack, hand pressing now at the back of your head. Carried away. “Yeah, you wanna make me come like this, angel?”

You licked up the length to ease the pressure, but it was seconds before you went back to it, same pace, same heaviness. “Oh, fuck. Fuck. I’m close.”

Your heart leapt, a new wave of stamina washing over you. You could, you would finish the job, no matter what it took. No matter the ache in your jaw, or the ache at your kneecaps- “In your mouth, angel, if you don’t stop soon-“

Want. Need.

“Warning you-“ He said, more ragged. “It’s not a good thing, not somethin’ you want- You keep going like that and I will, and I haven’t in some time, so you’re gonna get the-“ He let out a breath that shook as it drew from his lungs. “Gonna take all that from me?”

You hummed an ‘mhm’ that made him pull your hair, hardest he had yet. You moaned with him fully in your mouth. “God, look at you.”

His head tipped back, “Been trying not to picture you like this for too long to count, but… look at you. You wreck me, always have-“ he grunted, “- you know that? Always been weak for you, pretty thing-“

Heavier moments, heavier sighs, heavier moans.

“My pretty girl,” he said quietly, pushing your head gently as you bobbed up and down on his dick. “Keep lookin’ at me like that.”

You would follow his order; you loved this too much to look away anyhow. “That’s it. Take it. Atta girl.” You navigated the head-pushing, getting the hang of it, tasting the sweet salt on your tongue from him still leaking. “So good for me, so- Fuck.”

He was tensing; you could feel it. “Tell me to stop.”

You wouldn’t.

“Fuck- Fuck, FUCK.”

He was on the verge, you knew it. You continued faster, muscles faltering, knees in pain, head pounding from how hard he was pulling your hair. You wanted it. Needed it. All of it.

“Warning you again- darling, it’s not gonna be-“

You looked up at him a final time, eyelashes fluttering wet, saliva and pre-cum on your lips, glossed from him. You didn’t know all this was possible at his age, but then again, what did you know? You welcomed it because it was him, some thought in the back of your mind telling you that maybe you could come untouched, just hearing him call you all these pretty little nicknames. He had no clue how every word, erotic or not, was hitting exactly where you needed them to.

“Oh, fucking hell, I’m going to- That’s it, that’s it, that’s it- Fuck, you’re so pretty, such a pretty- little- oh fuck,” he was tensing harder. The grovel in his voice wavered, “Right there, angel, right there, I’m close, so close.”

“So good for me, fuck, so good, I’m going to-“ You put in that final bit of effort, and this time, his moans came in the form of broken breaths. Loud, heavier than before, mixed with a groan that sent shivers through your body. His hand pulled your roots harder. His muscles coiled, dick tensing impossibly hard as a spill of heat filled your mouth.

It was slow, him making a sound of relief, but he grabbed onto you the entire way. It was a symphony, how he sounded so ragged above you, body slightly curling, jerking as he finished it out on your tongue. You’d take it all, gladly, completely lost in this. Your heart pounded harder, knowing the task was done successfully.

Happily, trying not to look too proud of yourself, you swallowed everything he had to give. His hand loosened on your hair, and he breathed out hard again. A final time. “Did you-“

You eased off of him, “Swallow it?” You nodded ‘yes’.

“Fuck.” He replied, looking both surprised and impressed. “Had you pegged all wrong, didn’t I?”

“Maybe so,” you stared up at him, eyes still wet, lips glossed from saliva.

He reached for a towel on the shelf that was pinned to the other side of the pillar. You let him, watching him clean off and pull his boxers back up. “Spent years talking myself out of wanting this, building restraint you managed to… obliterate… In ten minutes. You’re really something.”

“Was it okay?”

“Okay?” He took your hand, pulling you to your feet, eyes falling over you, still half-dressed in only your bra on the top half. He inhaled deeply. “Better than okay. I meant every word I said. Been wanting that longer than I genuinely care to admit, I think at best you should… know that I meant what I said.” Ironically, you picked up that there was a double meaning to that again, but this time, you understood exactly what both options meant. Pleasure, fantasy, and reality.

He was being honest. You could tell by the way he paused, by the way he wasn’t looking at you until after the words were said. “I did too, Haymitch. Despite what you might think is right, I do want you.”

“Bad judgment, beautiful,”

You smiled at his self-deprecation, “Can’t just say you want me too?” You teased as you wiped your lip with your own thumb.

His hand slid your bare waist, up over the back of your ribcage as he pulled you in, “I could,” he said, clearing his throat. He’d caught his breath, but was still hushed. “But that makes it sound easy, when I’ve been trying so very hard to make it seem complicated.”

You giggled, but only for a second as his hand continued to splay your skin. His hands were so warm, continuing to make you shiver as they contrasted the chilly air that circulated the room. “Ever think maybe you could just… let it be what it is?”

“No, never,” he returned, a twinkle in his eyes as they followed your hand that fidgeted with your lip. You were still nervous under his gaze. You’d half-thought that’d go away, seeing as he just came in your mouth after years of you yearning, pining after him and that very activity.

“It’s just us,” you said quieter, borderline shy, with how it felt to be so bare in front of him. “You’re allowed to want. To… have. Nobody here can take that from us.” You felt a new blush spread across your face. This was all real. You, in front of him, both of you dressed with items missing.

“You make a good point,” he said, jaw tensing, but a smirk returning. His usual. His other hand came to your hip, pulling you just the slightest bit closer. “You are the closest thing I have to a drink down here, in the best way possible.”

“So you do want me,” you smiled, teasing again. It was easy with him. And you needed to ease the tension before you melted into a puddle at his feet.

His hand came back up just to move your hand from your mouth, “You’re real funny, you know that?”

“I think that’s why you want me,” you nodded. He let out a breath like a laugh through his nose, hanging his head. “Too much?”

“No. No, I mean that too, but give me a break here, angel, I’m still recovering from having my cock in your mouth.” Your body flushed hot again, head to toe in one big flash. You bit your lip, feeling his blunt words weaken the muscles in your sore knees. He said it like it was nothing, but it was so charged. The words hovered between you. You almost wanted him to say it again. So vulgar. “-Also trying to recover what little dignity and pride you left me.”

Your mouth pulled into a slight smile, trying to hide it the same way you tried to hide how your cheeks were probably a bright pink. “And how is that going?”

“Poorly,” he admitted, tongue pressing to the inside of his cheek. “But I’m optimistic.” He guided your hand down to your side, then put his hand back on your hip, thumb rubbing back and forth beneath the crumpled fabric that gathered there. “Down to scraps here, ‘cause of you. Unravelling my morals, breaking down walls I worked hard to build.”

You could barely stand to look at him, tension climbing again. “Still getting shy on me?”

“You like it,” you whispered back, trying desperately to hold his gaze.

He nodded, smirk widening. “Mmmhm. Recovering still, pretty girl, don’t go saying stuff like that. Recovering.”

“Getting there?”

“Hardly, but I am optimistic. And while I am… down to scraps, as I said. I’d prefer not to lose my manners, too.”

“Your… manners?”

“I don’t think it’d be very polite to let you get on your knees for me with nothing in return, would it, gorgeous?”

You stilled, inhaling sharply, realizing what he was implying. “No, you don’t have to- I didn’t expect you to-“ He stopped you, pressing his finger over your lips. Your heart pulsed in your temples, hard in your chest, and between your legs.

He dropped his voice quieter, pointer finger tapping just under your chin. Time slowed when he asked, gruffly, “That something you want, gorgeous?”

You blinked hard, eyelashes fluttering as you nodded. You couldn’t lie. He saw through you; you knew that.

“Good, good.” He pulled you in closer, until your chest was against his, your faces close. This was… not happening. His hands slipped further down, both now meeting at your hips, then lower, over your ass. You thought maybe he just wanted to touch you; you wanted him to, more than anything. He could really touch anywhere he wanted to, but this was with intent.

In a swift movement, he lifted you up off the ground. “Haymitch-“

“I want you.”

You huffed, lips inches from his, “I knew it-“ you grinned and kissed him, hard. Things resumed, zero to a hundred in just moments. He pinned you back to that pillar, cement cold against your back, but the heat between your legs and radiating off of Haymitch was enough to keep you warm. His tongue was back in your mouth, body pinned close to yours, and this time, you were more than desperate.

It felt so good, so heightened, that you moaned into his mouth when his hands squeezed you even slightly. You pulled at his shirt, at the top buttons, managing to open them and slide your hands over his undershirt. Grasping for anything, really, trying to get him closer.

Your hands slid up around his neck, wrapping there as he pulled you off that pillar and, without stumbling or struggling, carried you across the room to your bed. You had no clue which direction this was going, but you’d never stop him. This was a long time coming, and maybe soon, you’d be too.

You wrapped your legs around him as he tipped you over the bed, still made from the morning. You hit the mattress with a bounce as he dropped you down, gaze hungry as he climbed over you. You smiled, kissing him messily, a mix of euphoria, nerves, and lust completely taking over your senses.

His kiss strayed again, which was awful in the way it made you squirm as his kiss pressed to the corner of your mouth and over your jaw, back to your neck. Tiny gasps escaped, worsening as he got closer to your ear, kissing up your neck with those same alternating nips from before. He was so good at that.

“Same rules as before,” he muttered, finally kissing over your ear. Your hands were wild, roaming every part of him you could reach, unable to stay still. “You tell me to stop, we stop. Let me hear you say it back.”

“I tell you to stop, we stop,” you whispered between your little sharp inhales. “Just tell me what to do, I want you so badly-” You confessed it. And that wanting was a broad spectrum. He could do whatever he wanted right now, and you would take it, gladly. Anything to have him touch you more. Anything.

“Don’t have to do a thing, princess,” he muttered into your ear, breath tickling, facial hair grazing. “Already did your part so well. Let me take care of you, hm? Show you how polite I can be.” His hand came up your bare stomach, large hand splaying over your chest. Warm, his thumb rubbing your nipple through the fabric. That had never felt good for you before, but he was working some sort of magic, it seemed, as it added weight to your breath.

He continued that combination as his words sank in, so well-chosen, so hot, so- You couldn’t even think straight anymore. “Touch me.”

“Yeah?”

“Please,” you almost whined it, but there was no time to be embarrassed, because your desperation was matched. His hands were on your belt, clicking it open, finishing the zipper the rest of the way down. He helped you shimmy out of the jumpsuit, not even caring to move the thing from the bed, just letting it rest by your feet.

“Gonna use my hand, darling, you tell me what feels good. Want to make you feel good for me- want to hear you, too, so don’t get shy on me now.”

You nodded, turning his head with your hand so that you could kiss him to distract yourself from how bare you were in front of him. Only in your underwear now. If nothing from before had proved how badly you wanted him, this was about to.

His hand squeezed your breast lightly, once around it, the second time to the underside of it, and you felt his hand slowly slide down your ribcage. Fuck, this was all real. All happening.

He was hard again; you could feel him press against your thigh. You didn’t know that was an option, but you welcomed the fact that he was so into you. His kiss grew rougher, more open-mouthed to match you, in your heat and the height of your senses. His hand came over your stomach, gently, before he turned his wrist and angled his hand toward between your legs.

You kept them shut, now, nerves making them that way, despite how badly you ached for him. His hand completely skipped your lower stomach, coming down to your thighs just to part them with a careful touch that almost made you whine again. He was slow with you, bracing, understanding. It was kind of sweet.

To keep his pace, his hand went back over your side as you kissed him, sliding over your ribs, back and forth, soothing. You were so nervous, but doing your best to keep from closing yourself off from him. That soothing hand was helping to ease that a little, an affectionate action in the midst of all of this- It was only Haymitch. Only Haymitch.

You’d always admired his hands. Always. How they curled around his drink, how he would graze your shoulder, your back, before. The size of them, the veins, the heat they’d give off. They were part of so many of your fantasies, but this… this was everything you’d ever wanted and possibly more. His hand began to slide again, dipping gently over your stomach. Reverent, almost, in how he managed to make everything feel good before even going where you needed him.

You kissed him harder, the same way he had when you’d started on him, hands grabbing him, pulling him in as his fingertips hit the waistband of your underwear. But he didn’t go beneath them, no, overtop of them. He flattened his hand as it slid over the fabric, lower, lower, lower.

Your chest rose and fell quickly, but the moment he pressed his middle finger down, you were both making noise. From you, an accidental squeak, and from him- a groan.

“Fuck, you’re soaked-” he breathed unevenly, breaking the kiss, mouth hovering just above you. “All for me, angel?”

You couldn’t even answer, his middle finger pressing again, over the fabric, sending ripples of light through you already. “Denying myself this, when I could have had you like this sooner… Taken care of you sooner.” He added, low, almost regretful. “So wet for me… All that restraint for nothing, hm?”

Your breath hitched hard, his hand pressing, gently moving back and forth. He was concise and knew exactly where to touch through the fabric. You wondered if he could feel your pulse there, the way you felt it, hot, urgent.

“That good for you?”

“Mhm,” you managed, overwhelmed already, but slowly easing. You did wish he’d done this ages ago, but that was too comedic to say. You couldn’t find the words. Just the simple ones that came to mind, h:ppy to have him here, happy to have him back, happy to be alive. “I missed you.”

“Missed you too, pretty girl. You have no idea how glad I am to be sober right now.” He mumbled and kissed the corner of your mouth, still oddly sweet, affectionate for him. You were glad to be sober, too, understanding that there was not a moment either of you wanted to miss or dull down. This was just yourselves, no motivation born of dizziness- just the two of you and the thin cotton fabric that stood between.

He kissed your temple, then your hair, settling somewhat on his side. His hand that was moving up and down over the fabric began to gently rub in circles. You breathed out shakily, the contact soft, but stimulating nonetheless. “Still good?” He checked on you.

“Uh-huh,” you breathed, glancing up at him as best you could. He was so focused, eyes not on where his hand was, but on you. Your lips, which were parted for him. “Haymitch…”

His name was just about all you could manage to get out, but he looked up at your eyes, and you used your hand to pull him into another kiss. You wanted him in so many ways it that was overwhelming. That slow hand rubbing circles allowed his middle finger to dip again, speeding up just a little, adding more pressure.

Warmth like water spread over you, easing your legs further open, easing you into the fact that it was just Haymitch. That he was doing this for you. You’d always trusted him, just as you’d trust him now. There was a gentle shift, your body acclimating, accepting, melting, almost, into it. His hand, his kiss, him.

He noticed. Of course he did, you were sure that you were only getting wetter now, impossibly so. Your cheeks burned hot, and you raised your hips just a little. “Atta girl,” he said again, encouraging. You were both feeling your desperation rise, letting him have full access, thighs now completely open to him. He groaned, just touching you, “Fuck…”

You kissed him, hand coming up around his head to grab his hair, the way he’d grabbed yours. He kissed you, hand continuing until you moaned again. “Oh my-“ you hummed, sentence fragmented, “Feels so-“ Your words were broken by another moan. You felt his smirk against your lips.

“That’s my girl,” he hushed, seeming breathless with you. Not from effort, but passion. “Let me hear those pretty sounds, no need to… hide them away. Want to hear you.”

His hand moved sideways. You thought maybe he was just misjudging for a split second, but you were very wrong. His pointer finger hooked the side of your underwear, pulling it to the side. Oh, fuck. “This okay, too?”

You nodded quickly, kissing him again, only to have the kiss stolen by the contact of his middle finger on you. No fabric, just you. “Oh, fuck…” he muttered, a groan escaping him. You sighed as he gently began to rub gentle circles on your clit. He knew exactly where to touch, exactly what to do- You didn’t have to guide him whatsoever. A natural knack, maybe. “So perfect. So good for me, sweet thing.”

“Haymitch,” you whispered, before he took your lower lip with his teeth, just grazing gently.

“Yeah, darling?”

“You can… do more…” You said, shy, but in need. “Touch… more.”

“Use your words,” he prompted. Fuck. You weren’t sure if you knew more than five words right now, your mind completely blank. “Tell me what you want.”

Your chest rose and fell against him, his nose nudging your face to the side so he could kiss your jaw again. He was alternating paces, slow circles with his middle finger, quick side-to-side movements. It felt so good, already building on itself.

You were a little embarrassed about the sound his hand was making against your folds, but he was moaning himself, kissing your neck, your jaw. “I-“ you couldn’t speak, genuinely. Couldn’t find the words or the way. His teeth on your neck, his hand literally on the most sensitive part of your entire anatomy, his words as they whispered hot in your ear.

“Come on, babygirl, tell me what you need.”

Babygirl. Fuck, if he would just string a line of nicknames in your ear, you could probably come untouched. “Inside me.” You whispered, craving.

He dropped his head to your shoulder, kissing it once, like the ask had weakened him, still. “You want my fingers inside you?”

“Uh-huh,” for the third time, all you could find. He made it sound so dirty, and it was, but off his tongue… “Please.”

He kissed your ear, then your temple again, and you pulled him back into a kiss. He did not waste any time on an affirmation, fingers slipping down, through you, and lower. Two of them, together, over the outside.

“Gonna go slow,” he told you, between kisses. “Fuck, you feel so good…”

“Please.”

“Can a man not enjoy the tease? It’s not exactly often I touch anyone like this, angel.”

You appreciated the mix of self-deprecation and comfort that sentence provided. You kissed him again, more tongue slipping into this one, before you smiled, “I need you to touch me. Like you’ve wanted to.”

‘Need’, seemed to get his attention. “Can’t say no to that,” he said, muffled by you still trying to kiss him. He kissed back, sloppier as his focus was put toward his hand again. The two fingers that had been edging around the rim, firm and steady, removed themselves for a split second.

Then they returned to your clit again, a quick press to it, and his hand moved through again, then dipped the way they had through your underwear, but this time they dipped inside of you.

You clutched onto him, squeaking the second they pushed into you. He revoked, returning with only one, but you still breathed hot into his mouth as it pushed deeper, deeper, curling gently to follow. You’d always loved his hands, and now they were inside of you. Thick fingers, finding their way.

“Like that,” you whispered. He drew that finger back out just slightly, not all the way, then slowly curled it inside you again, just to test the sounds you made. You could feel that smug grin on his lips as you kissed him, faltering, trying to keep your breathing steady.

“Yeah?”

“Ugh,” you moaned again, a little louder than you meant to. “Mhm. Mhm. Keep doing that, a little- a little faster.”

He didn’t say anything, just kissed you and obeyed. His hand picked up the pace. His other fingers stayed curled at the sides of where you opened for him, knuckle strategically on your clit. He was good. Too good. You grabbed onto him harder.

“That’s right, pretty girl, let me hear you.”

“Haymitch-“

His pace continued to rise, finger going deeper, while curling more. That other feeling, like a knot in your stomach beginning to unravel, was back. Starting again. “Fuck.” He growled.

You raised your hips gently, not meaning to, as his hand moved faster, gasping as he managed to hit that perfect spot inside you. Long fingers, thick fingers, working almost every part. He kissed your neck, your jaw, messily back to the corner of your mouth. “That’s it, there she is… Pretty girl. So beautiful, so, so beautiful.” He breathed it hot over your ear like this was all shared pleasure.

He felt so good, touching you like this, but the fabric was still mildly in the way, and it seemed he read your mind. “Down.” He ordered, gruffly.

You reached for your hip, pushing the fabric down your thighs urgently. He pulled with his hand on the other side, so quickly that his hand was back on you already. This time, he wasn’t dipping inside, but focusing for a moment on only your clit, making you genuinely put effort into trying not to squirm. It was a sensitive balance between too much and perfect, and varied with every touch, pulling you back toward that edge gently,

“Can you take two for me?” He asked. You loved that he was asking; it made everything feel safer, hotter.

“Please.” You hummed.

He grinned as you kissed him again. He was so smug, it killed you. And it killed you more as he gently pushed his finger into you again, this time differently. One, then two. You felt how you clenched around them, letting out a long breath like a hiss, almost, feeling how they gently stretched you open. It hurt only for a second, him giving you a generous moment to acclimate before he started up again.

This time, different. This was better.

Your head was spinning, reeling, trying to keep from crying out profanities, his name, anything that came to mind as his fingers slowly pumped faster and faster. “You like that?”

You could only nod.

“Want you to come on my hand, angel, can you do that for me?”

You nodded again, lips grazing his, open-mouthed, breaths mingling. The knot in your lower stomach was pulling tighter by the second, warm, hot, hotter. You were dizzy now, emotion building, sensation climbing. You had no notes for him, no guidance; he was doing everything right. You’d never even been able to make yourself feel like this.

He could probably feel how close you were getting, your muscles clenching around him. His fingers curled perfectly, and just when you thought it couldn’t get any better, his thumb came back to your clit.

A combination of sensations crashed over you, causing yet another squeak you were too busy to be embarrassed about. Oh, fuck. You were going to come, and it was getting closer rapidly. He was so good at everything he was doing, thumb moving in gentle circles as his fingers pushed in and out of you. “So tight around me. You feel so perfect, angel, so perfect, so-“ he groaned. “Let go for me, princess. Right there, that’s it-“

He kissed your cheekbone, continuing his laudation. “My pretty girl, taking my fingers so well.” Affectionate. A new side to him you desperately wanted to explore. You’d always been his, always wanted these words against your skin. His praise was deep-voiced, but light as a feather on your heart that had been his for some time. “-Use your words when you’re close.”

Faster, deeper, more pressure on the sensitive bundle of nerves above where his hand was so busy. “Haymitch-“

He kissed your ear, “Yeah, darling?”

“I’m close, I’m close, I’m so-“ you moaned gently, kissing him once. Wrong. Messy, the corner of his mouth and not on purpose. You couldn’t think, couldn’t see, really. Vision turning to stars and colours. “Please-“

He groaned in your ear, “Follow that. Come for me. That’s it, babygirl.”

Babygirl. You were teetering on the edge. You’d never wanted anything more than him, and here he was, pulling you to a violent verge. “I’m so-“

His hand sped up, his lips pressed to the sensitive shell of your ear. It was overwhelming how good it felt, a simultaneous touch everywhere you needed it. He was going to break you open, you felt it a long time before the peak was impending. “Gonna come for me?”

“Mhm, mhm-“ you knew how panicked you sounded, only making his grin turn back to a focused smirk. You could see it in your peripheral vision, before you turned and kissed him again, faltering to even close your lips enough to do so. More, more, more. Faster, hotter, pressure to the most sensitive of places.

“Let go, angel, I’ve got you.” He coaxed, hand moving rapidly in almost a ‘come hither’ motion, “Just like that, on my fingers, doing so well-“

“So-“ You wished you could form a proper sentence, but he had you literally wrapped around his finger. Your muscles started to tense, feeling his thick fingers inside you as you clenched around him. He groaned like he would when his drink was made perfectly and went down smooth. Completely pleased. Your thighs were drawn together, but that didn’t stop him or slow him down; he was more than determined.

“Fuck.” He grunted, kissing you this time, despite your struggle to kiss back. You liked how it felt to be reduced only to how good he was making you feel- how you couldn’t see anything but him, feel anything but him, want anything but him. And it was that thought that pushed you as you teetered over the edge.

There was a coil he was pressing within you, tightening. Every second, getting tighter, white hot over your whole body. You felt your muscles tense a final time as your orgasm split you in half from the core. Warmth, flush, and complete trust as everything that had coiled undid itself onto him.

“There we go, good girl.” That name added to the feeling of it all. Haymitch didn’t stop, just slowed, drawing it out so long you were getting lightheaded. Your legs were clenched around his forearm until it faded, and you were left, chest heaving, and head still spinning.

Your lips were still parted as you opened your legs again, untrapping him as his fingers came to a slow, final pump. You turned your head to look at him, both of you breathing hard. He looked at you for a second, “Good enough?” He asked, rhetorical. He knew what he’d done.

You couldn’t believe him. Or any of what just happened. Your heart ran a mile a minute. This was more than adrenaline. More feeling, more than just a crush would allow. It really wasn’t much of a crush anymore anyway. “You really…”

“Mhm.” He cut you off, slowly pulling his fingers out, nonchalant. Your mouth fell open again, hearing how it sounded, then watching as he raised his fingers up. They were glossed with you, completely soaked. You propped yourself up on your arm, heart accelerating again, just seeing his hand.

That was more than you thought you could give. More than you’d ever seen from yourself. Your body was still buzzing, heart accelerating and dropping to your stomach as he brought his fingers to his mouth. Without breaking eye contact with you, he sucked his middle and pointer finger completely clean.

“Huh,” you breathed, completely bewildered and consumed by the remnants of your lust. Like it was so casual, he just… cleaned his hands of you… into his mouth… and wiped his own saliva on the far corner of your blanket.

“New to you?”

“Uh-huh…” you were dazed, awestruck. Never in your life had you ever thought anything could be as attractive as what he just did. You gestured to yourself, then him, trying to catch up to yourself. “You just… and then in your mouth… like it was nothing.”

“First, only fair.” He said, dryly, but a smirk pulled at his lip. “Second, that wasn’t nothing. Don’t go insulting my work, now.”

“Your work?” You huffed, smiling and fixing your clothes. “All that it was to you?” You said, grabbing your clothes and tossing them into the grey bin hamper and coming closer to him again.

His eyes roved your body, still hungry, but softer, now. His sharp blue-gray eyes blinked slow over you, his hand coming to your ribcage, sliding around you just for a moment. Reverent, again, sending cold goosebumps over your skin. “Not all.” He answered.

“Good.” You nodded, kissing him once. You felt like you could now, and he didn’t stop you. Your heart was rapping against those very ribs and you were glad he could most likely feel it. “You’re good at… all of…”

“Natural talent.”

“Shut up,” you laughed, pushing him in the chest lightly as you climbed over him and stood up. His eyes followed your body, hand following your waist until you moved out of his reach. Off your table, you grabbed up your folded sleepwear. He let you tease him, eyes just following what you were doing. You could feel them on you, even when you weren’t watching in your peripheral. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Take two, angel. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

That made your head strangely fuzzy.

You slipped into the bathroom and washed yourself up, brushed your teeth, finally taking a second to look at yourself. Your lips were puffy, your eyelashes were clumped pointily from the tears from earlier, and your hair was unfathomably tangled. You’d been so close to the mirror that when you leaned back to spit out your toothpaste, you were given sight to the amount of marks he had left on your neck.

Gentle lovebites, mostly to your left side, where he’d been when he was touching you. Your hand slid over them, admiring. You were still lost in a daze, trying to ground yourself in the reality that it took a rebellion to get you here, to this very place, standing, looking at the evidence that you both had broken- Had finally admitted what you’d been dancing, flirting around for so long. All worth it, incredibly so.

There would be a lack of that double-sided cryptic wording, now that your mouths had both tasted your own words, and what letting them out could do. You turned your cheek to see the marks left on your jaw and close to your ear. It was a good thing the District 13 jumpsuits had such high collars, but really- who might blame you for giving into something sweet down here? And even if they did care, you knew it was better this ‘vice’ than none at all.

You and Haymitch were nothing without your bad habits. This was going to become a new one- set in the middle of a war, but there’d been worse things to do to pass time. You brushed your hair quickly and took a final glance at yourself. You’d put on the grey pajamas, but had not buttoned up the top half, letting his marks to your collarbone and neck show.

You turned the light off, slipping out and back into the room, where Haymitch still lay, half-reclined, like he hadn’t moved an inch. You tossed the rest of your clothes to the hamper and crossed the room back to him, his head turning to acknowledge your approach. He looked rough, ragged, as well, but it suited him. Always did.

To your surprise, his hand reached out for you, “Have I ever told you-” he started, clearing his throat and pulling you back onto the bed. “-How beautiful you are?”

There really was no end to the blush in your face. “I think maybe you’ve mentioned it once or twice.” You smiled. He also seemed to recognize that there had been a massive shift- no restraint left. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“All of that. Trusting me, wanting me, touching me, being honest.”

He smirked, letting you settle in under his arm. Comfortable, casual, like you’d always been meant to stay there. “Don’t go making it sound all mystical. Was just me.”

You shook your head, tilting up to look at him. “Exactly.”

That made him pause, looking down at you, eyes over your features again. Settling on your eyes. Maybe a part of him still didn’t believe you, but you had faith you’d break him in soon enough. You unbuttoned his gray shirt the rest of the way, just casual, helping him out of it. He’d already taken his shoes off at this point, and if there was one way you knew to get him to stay- in case he had any plans of going, you tossed his shirt into the hamper with your clothes.

“You are…” He trailed off, hand slipping back over your skin. Under your open shirt. “So perfect.”

He was warm, and he smelled good. He let you get closer to him, holding you close while your head came to rest on the space between his arm and chest. He wanted you close. The silence was comfortable, soft, new. His warm hand began to run circles over your skin ever so lightly.

He continued, “Been a long time since I let anything be so simple.”

You smiled, hand coming to rest on his chest. “Me too.”

All your overthinking had no place there anymore. It was all clear, out on the table, cards shown. Played. Won.

He picked up your hand in the fist it rested in and kissed your knuckles. The heat was gone, now. This was just him. What he wanted. No more pretending. “Could get used to this, gorgeous. Better to stop my bullshit pretending, not knowing how this’ll all go. Hoping for better days when I could have them as they come. Deprived myself of something so incredibly sweet, thinking you were out of my reach.”

You tilted your head back up to him so you could see his expression. He was wistful, it seemed. Content, in this moment. You’d never known this side of him, but it was yours to witness, to hold. You moved upward and kissed him once, slowly, your hand on his cheek. He kissed you back, just as tenderly. It was easy for him now, it seemed. No rush. No guilt. Lips against lips, his facial hair tickling again. “What with the world falling apart out there, I think… we do deserve our vices, down here.”

It was true. More than. Then, he added, “Long as mine’s you, I can’t complain. Nice to have something worth keeping.”

A/N: first fic on this account! will be posting more, but inbox is open for any and all requests! love u <3

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