Chapter 35

There were colors everywhere.

Effie's kitchen – or what he glimpsed of it – was painted a bright yellow, the hall was lined with colorful paintings and the living-room was a masterpiece of white and pink. For having visited a lot of Capitol apartments, he knew for a fact that it wasn't at all the style in fashion. Rich Capitols liked their apartments with neutral colors, almost sterilized, all with expensive see-through materials, they were sad and monochrome and Haymitch hated everything about them.

"I know what you're thinking." she sighed "But if you had grown up in my parent's house, you would understand why I need colors."

He was surprised to find that, as ludicrous as it was, he liked it. It suited her. Just like her apartment, she was a blotch of colors, bright and blinding, and he found that, try as he might, he couldn't quite look away. His life, he felt, was grey from top to bottom and she was painting colors in it. She might not even be aware of it but there were small moments… A laugh she coaxed out of him, a hand on his shoulder after another of his lies to Hayden had backfired, her fingers in his hair when he needed comfort…

He walked to the large windows, judging the view. There were better sights in the Capitol – or so he had been told, he wasn't a fan of an endless skyline of buildings. She tapped on a panel riveted to the wall and the Capitol disappeared, replaced by a forest that seemed so real he almost could smell pine trees.

"Better?" she asked with a knowing smile. "Would you like something to drink?"

He accepted her offer, not bothering to specify what he wanted. She handed him a whiskey without having to ask, pouring a glass of pink cocktail for herself. They sat on the couch.

"What's wrong with your parents' house?" he asked. It occurred to him sometimes that she knew everything about him, even his darkest secrets, and he knew next to nothing about her personal life.

"Oh, nothing." she waved the question away. "Everything is perfect in my parents' house."

And that was the problem, he figured. She was far from being perfect. She played at being the perfect Capitol doll, and she played it well, but she wasn't and he doubted she had ever been.

"You never talk about your family. You like your mystery." he accused.

"Me?" she laughed. It was her fake laugh, though, her escort laugh. "I'm an open book. I'm as simple as it gets."

"Liar." he scoffed. She was nothing but simple. He had thought she was, in the beginning, but she hid her true colors very well. She was all layers. Perhaps that was why he was so fascinated, so taken with her. It was like her wigs, they were ugly and absurd but underneath…

His hand followed his train of thoughts and he reached for her wig.

"What are you doing?" There was a small frown on her face but she didn't sound otherwise surprised and she didn't try to stop him when he pulled pin after pin out of her wig. She closed her eyes and let him pull it off her head. "This isn't clever, Haymitch."

"No, it's not." he shrugged, running his fingers in her blond curls. It was crumpled from being kept under the wig all day but it was still glossy and soft under his fingertips. He placed his glass on the coffee table then he plucked hers from her hands and put it down too, sliding closer to her. Her eyes were still closed, her eyelids flown with garish blue and gold eye shadow. Her war colors… She used make-up as an armor.

"We are clever. The both of us." she insisted, when his hand ended up on her thigh. "We should know better. Everything is already complicated enough and…" She stopped talking when he brushed his lips against her shoulder and she let her head fall on the back of the couch. "This isn't clever." she whispered again.

Yet there was no doubt in his mind that she wanted it just as much as he did. Her breathing was quick and she bit her bottom lip when his mouth slowly trailed up her shoulder and up her neck. She couldn't quite swallow back a moan when he reached the spot under her ear and he smirked against her skin, nibbling and licking in turn. Her fingers found his on her leg and laced them together, making them go that little bit higher on her thigh.

"Perhaps… Perhaps, we can have one night." she hesitated, already breathless. "Just… to get it out of our system. Just one night."

"One night." he agreed. Maybe it would work. Maybe once she was less fantasy and more reality, he would stop thinking about her so often. Maybe he wouldn't wake up too tight in his pants with her name on his lips anymore. Maybe once the sexual tension was out of the way…

His mouth crashed on hers without any finesse or delicacy. She kissed back immediately and, for a few minutes, everything was glorious : bruising lips, wandering hands and clothes flying left and right. He drew her closer and she straddled his lap without the smallest hesitation and without ending the kiss. He was down to his pants and he had almost succeeded in taking that dress off her when he felt the change : her lips became pliant under his, her hands less demanding…

"You're holding back." he mumbled against her mouth. "Why are you holding back?" The lacing of her corset gave in but he didn't try to pry the dress away just yet. "You want to stop?"

That wouldn't be as easy as the question made it sound but he had never forced himself on anyone before so he figured he ought to ask.

"No." she hissed, her mouth trailing down his neck.

"Then what?" he insisted because the mood had somehow shifted and it was quickly turning weird. He cupped her cheek and nudged her head up. It wasn't easy to have a conversation now, when she was sitting on him and he was throbbing very badly out of need for her. "Spit it out, sweetheart."

She licked her lips nervously and looked down at his chest. "I'm sorry, it's just… They hurt you so much, Haymitch, I don't want… I don't want to do anything that would bring back memories or…"

"Shut up." he snapped, he couldn't help it. That was another reason he didn't want his family to know, not ever : the shame. Haymitch wasn't a victim. He never wanted to be labeled a victim. He would never be able to bear their gazes and the self-blaming that would follow because his mother would feel responsible and his brother would hate him for hiding the truth so long, for taking choices away from him. But above all, he didn't want them to look at him like Effie was doing right now. "I don't need your pity."

"I don't pity you." she denied at once, meeting his eyes.

He had been ready to bolt, he realized, hard-on or not. He had been ready to jump to his feet and slam the apartment door shut behind him. But he remained where he was because she wasn't lying. There was no pity in her eyes, only pain. For him, he supposed, for what they made him do.

"I'm sorry." she whispered again and he could see clearly that she was starting to panic, she pressed the dress to her chest and she placed a hand on his shoulder, obviously about to use it to steady herself when she would get up. "I shouldn't…"

"You don't hold back." he said, grabbing her waist to keep her in place. "It's different. I know it's different, there's no need to treat me like…" He sneered and looked away unable to spit the rest of it. In the window, the pine trees were rustling in the wind and he wondered if it was a recording or a live feed from somewhere in Seven.

She nuzzled his neck tentatively, pressed a kiss on his pulse point. "Sorry."

"You're saying sorry an awful lot and we haven't even started yet." he snorted. "I'm not going to break, Princess."

"If it were me…" she argued.

"But it's not, is it?" he cut her off. His arousal was quickly deflating and he didn't want to linger on that train of thought. "Look, you want ground rules, I will give them to you : don't hold back, don't act like I'm different from other men you're used to, just…" It was always tricky, even now. Sex had become something he was blasé about. Some abused him just because he was nothing more than a common good they had paid for, some wanted to pretend it was a real affair, that he loved them or would get to that point eventually, and others simply lost themselves in their own little fantasy. Effie would be none of those and he suspected sex wouldn't feel like such a chore. He had been thinking about it ever since the night she had come to hug him with her red shorts. "I trust you, Princess."

There was a moment of silence. He stared at the trees and she stared at him and he wondered which one of them would admit defeat first and start getting dressed again. He wondered if he would be able to pretend this humiliating scene hadn't happened at all the next day.

"You're wrong you know." she murmured softly, burying her fingers in his hair and tugging gently until he was looking at her again. "You are different." She gave a little thrust of her hips and as quickly as it had disappeared, the lust was back. "You send my blood running like no one else, Haymitch." She rocked her hips again and again until he was very sure he was going to humiliate himself in a brand new way. There was a smug grin tugging on her lips. "Do I send your blood running?"

He was all for the tentative playfulness on her face. Perhaps it hadn't been about pity after all. Perhaps it had just been about her and her already burdened conscience.

"You're sending my blood running south very fast, sweetheart." he snickered, his fingers ghosting over the lacing of her corset once again. The dress wouldn't go over her head so she had to stand and wriggled out of it and the sight of her towering in front of him in nothing else than blue lacy panties and golden high heels left him breathless. She looked like a goddess – not that he would ever tell her that – and he didn't hesitate for one second to grab the hand she outstretched for him in an unspoken invitation to relocate this to her bedroom.

He couldn't keep his mouth off her body. She wasn't holding back anymore and it was perfect. Like everything with them, it turned out into a confrontation, a fight for control, she was bossy and he was directive and they ended up tumbling on her bed in a tangle of limbs, his pants stuck around his ankles. It wasn't the most sexy and smooth of Haymitch's moves and she giggled when he struggled to free himself from his clothes.

He made her pay for that by sucking on that spot under her ear until she chided him for any potential mark – there would be marks, he already knew – and getting rid of the rest of her clothes. He had intended to take his time with her, to make it last, but a single glance at her naked body lying on the bed, all his for the taking, and he knew that wouldn't happen.

As it was, he was so impatient it took him three attempts and her amused help before he managed to roll a condom on himself. It wasn't his smoothest moment.

"Fuck, I want you." he mumbled, dropping a trail of kisses from her navel to her breasts.

It had been years since he had wanted someone so bad.

In minutes, she was wriggling under him.

"Please…" she begged, completely unashamed. "Haymitch, please."

He buried himself in her with something akin to awe and relief. Her mouth sought his but the kiss ended abruptly when she threw her head back against the pillow, eyes closed and teeth sunk deeply in her bottom lip to muffle a moan. Her nails were clawing at his shoulders in unconscious spasms and her legs locked tighter around his waist, so tight he knew her muscles would be sore later.

He loved watching her and he loved all the noises she was making so instead of rushing like he always did, he slowed down and then picked up the pace at random, switched angles, found out what was making her sigh and mewl and purr… Her body was shaking with pleasure, he licked the sweat from her neck and her whimper was his undoing. He came with a groan and he brought her over the edge with him, his name nothing more than a gasp on her lips.

His body felt deliciously spent, his mind was empty, he could have been floating on a cloud for all he knew. He tried to get his breathing back under control, listening to her heavy panting. After a few minutes, he became aware of the hands lazily roaming on his sides and he realized she was supporting his dead weight.

"I'm crushing you." he mumbled, dropping a kiss on her shoulder. "'Should have said."

"I don't mind." she hummed.

Still, he rolled on his back. There was a small moment of hesitation on her part but then she snuggled close, wrapping her arm around his chest, resting her head on his shoulder and hooking a leg over his. He found himself playing with her hair, tugging on curls only to watch them bounce back into place.

They didn't talk. It was nice, not that he would admit it. He never cuddled – except when he was drunk and he ended up in her bed in the middle of the night, it seemed. He started dozing off, sensing that, for once, his sleep wouldn't be plagued by nightmares. It wasn't a good idea to sleep there though. She was right and they weren't being clever. He had enough on his plate as it was.

They had agreed on one night and it was all it could be.

"I should go." he said.

"Yes." she agreed, a little sadly.

Neither of them moved.

It was a long time before he found the strength to leave her bed and it took all he had in him not to glance back.

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