Disclaimer is attached to the first chapter

Note: This is another M-rated chapter.

Capitol Nights, chapter 55

The very first words the john says to him are, "Get undressed and lie face down on the bed."

Haymitch raises an eyebrow and bites back the bitterly sarcastic words that rise to his mind: So much for the acclaimed manners of Capitolites. Wordlessly he complies with the command, dropping his clothes to the floor at his feet. This is where every appointment ends up, anyway. Just as well to cut to the chase.

He lies prone on top of the blankets, propping himself up on his elbows to keep an eye on the fine gentleman who'll shortly be buggering him.

"Put the pillows under your hips." Not one to waste words, this guy. "Spread your legs. Wider, damn you!" A hard slap lands on his ass.

Haymitch growls a low expletive into the blankets and forces himself to relax. Others have said and done a lot worse. There's nothing this asshole can do to him that will make much of an impression at this point.

The bed shifts as the man climbs up behind him. Haymitch hears him unzip his fly and listens as he snaps open the cap on a travel-sized bottle of lotion. He lets the familiar sounds ease him into a disinterested state and waits for it to begin. Rough hands grab his hips and the john shoves his cock in with a loud grunt. It's too sudden, even though he was expecting it. Haymitch clenches his hands in the sheets and closes his eyes tightly as he muffles the pain-filled gasps and curses his body wants to voice into a single drawn-out hiss. Behind him, ol' John shoves more of himself in, his grunts giving way to sighs. The sighs are worse, almost moans. Then he begins to talk.

"Yeah, take it, you slut. You filthy whore. You like that, don't you? Say you like it."

"I like it," Haymitch says, trying to make his voice as flat and toneless as possible. It hurts, even with the lube it hurts, and the pain adds a roughness to his voice that he can do nothing about. He closes his eyes again and bites the flesh of his forearm.

"Yeah, you like it, you pussy. You trash. You'll spread your legs for anyone, won't you? You cheap, dirty slut. Girly boy. Cock sucker. You don't care who you get it from." John delivers his unending stream of abuse, all the while sawing in and out with long, even thrusts. It's pretty repetitive stuff, mostly. He doesn't require any further replies. Apparently hearing Haymitch say he likes it once is enough to fuel his fantasy.

This is new. Plenty of his appointments talk during sex, but none of them are like this. As the thrusts get quicker and shorter the insults get viler. It ends suddenly. The john shoves into him and cums with a final cry: "Piece of shit whore!" He collapses onto Haymitch's back, murmuring an exhausted litany of, "You're disgusting, slut, eager little slut…" as his cock goes through its final spasms. Haymitch lies still beneath him, just hoping the man isn't going to go to sleep on top of him. That can't have been much more than twenty minutes. What the hell is he supposed to do for the next two and a half hours? Well, he supposes there'll be time for a round two. If this son of a bitch would just get off him, maybe then he'd roll over and fall asleep and it would really be over.

The john rolls off him and sits up. He wipes his cock off on the blanket and tucks it back into his briefs. Only then does Haymitch realize he didn't even get undressed, which is another first.

"Thank me," he demands.

Haymitch rolls onto his side to see the man clearly and lets several seconds pass before he deadpans, "Thanks."

"Get your clothes on and get out of here," the john says brusquely, not looking at him.

"What?" Haymitch asks incredulously. He sits up, then stands and snatches his briefs off the floor. "Uh, you've still got more than two hours, so…"

"Get lost," the john snaps.

Haymitch closes his mouth with a click. He dresses quickly, clumsily, all the while waiting for the other shoe to drop. He finishes buttoning his shirt and the john still hasn't said anything else. Fuck, the guy's actually going to let him go. Haymitch shoves his feet into his shoes, eyes on the door.

"Hey."

Haymitch lets his breath out in a sigh, his whole body slumping, making him look shorter and slighter than before. Stupid whore, he chastises himself bleakly. Of course it isn't over.

"Your money's on the dresser," the john says.

Haymitch looks at him uncomprehendingly.

"Take it and get out," the john says, pointing. Haymitch looks where he's bidden. A small stack of bills waits on the dresser's polished surface. He picks it up with a shaking hand, counting automatically. 150 marks.

"I'm already paid for. You don't have to…" he says, faltering. This is… this is just… he doesn't even know what this is.

"Consider it a tip."

Not knowing what to do, Haymitch shoves the money into his trouser pocket and heads for the door. He has to try twice to grab the doorknob. His hands are shaking like he hasn't had a drink in two days. He shambles out into the hall without looking back.

In the elevator it suddenly crashes down on him with the impact of a load of bricks. He sobs at the intensity and suddenness of it. Jabbing the stop button, he steps out into a random and thankfully deserted hallway and sinks down against the wall, hiding his face in his hands as his whole body shakes. For a while he thinks it might even be possible for the shame to kill him, to shock his heart into stopping.

After a long time, he takes the money out of his pocket. He looks at it, spreading it out on the floor and recounting it. Rationally, he should take it back to 12. Leave it in the Hob or something. It's money, and he knows there are plenty in 12 who need it. Doesn't matter where it came from. They won't know it's money he got for letting a man fuck him and saying he liked it.

He piles the bills into a stack and picks them up. He starts to tear the stack in half. Then he stops, folds it over, and pushes it back into his pocket.

Balthamos would be so proud of you, his mind sneers. He stands up like a man in pain, leaning against the wall. He walks down the hall until he finds a bench in an alcove, partially hidden by a potted fern the size of a small tree. He sits and twists the cuff around his wrist.