Prompt: Effie and Haymitch play 20 hot questions and because Effie is drunk, she can't stop teasing Haymitch.

Worse Games To Play

Effie Trinket disliked being idle.

She prowled the penthouse living-room like a caged lion, looking for something, anything, to do. In the last two hours she had already rewritten most of their schedules, re-arranged her whole closet by color and fabrics and downed half a bottle of wine following Haymitch's irritated – and irritating – advice.

The storm raging outside didn't give any sign of relenting soon. It was beautiful to watch, really, the bay windows ensured a front seat to the show. Lightnings would make the sky flash white every so often and then thunder would drum like the earth was going to split into. The whole city was in the dark, it was the first time Effie saw it like that, without twinkling lights and colorful beam to lighten up the night sky… It was odd and strangely upsetting in a way. They had lost power an hour and a half ago, the Training Center was running on a back-up generator but most power was directed toward the Gamemakers floor because the arena had to be monitored. The lights in the penthouse were dim and kept on flickering until Haymitch had asked her to switch them off entirely because it was more annoying than useful. He had started a fire in the fireplace that she would have sworn to be only decorative until then and she had scraped scented candles from her bathroom to put on the living-room. The setting was intimate, certainly more intimate than she had ever shared with Haymitch, some could have even called it romantic…

Haymitch of course had taken to the storm with his usual slackness. His answer had been to laugh at the Gamemakers who were probably tearing their hair out in figuring out how to maintain the arena a safe and locked space and at President Snow who was, no doubt, raging over the fact that the Games had been interrupted for the time being. He had then slumped on the couch and started drinking as he usually did, contemplating the storm with a thoughtful look on his face.

Effie was sure it must have been chaos out there, in the lower floors, and she was anxious to help, to do something, but even with the back-up generators, she wasn't enough of a fool to tempt fate with the elevator. She didn't fancy getting stuck until someone realized she had disappeared.

"Would you stop pacing?" Haymitch sighed. "Sit down, drink your wine."

She had drunk enough, she wanted to tell him, but for lack of a better thing to do, she sat down and took another sip. She was tipsy already and on the verge of becoming outright drunk. She wasn't a lightweight but she was petite and her body only tolerated so much before her brain turned to mush.

"I'm bored." she replied.

"Then go to bed." he retorted.

"It's nine thirty P.M., Haymitch, and you've been pouring me drinks for the last hour." she snapped. "How do you expect me to sleep?"

"Easily, sweetheart, if you don't stop fidgeting, I will knock you out…" he said but there wasn't any real threat in it. For all his misgivings, Haymitch would never hurt her. If she was sure of one single thing in her life, it was that.

"What about a game?" she suggested.

"Yeah, see…" he snorted. "I'm not sure I like your Capitol ideas about games. Didn't go so well for me the last time."

His hand flew to his side briefly and then he put it back behind his head as a make-shift cushion. She knew where the scar was, she had helped him out of his shirt and into bed enough times when he was too drunk to care or too sick to wonder whose hands were handling him. Time had whitened the scars on his body but they were still bulging slightly where the skin had been torn open. It wasn't a pretty sight and it must have hurt like hell.

"I would never ask you to do something harmful." she frowned, eyes burning with unshed tears. "How could you even think that of me?" She was hurt. Really, really hurt.

Haymitch took a good look at her and chuckled. "You're hammered."

"I am not." she protested, taking another sip of wine. "I will let you know when I am. You can carry me to my room for a change."

He rolled his eyes. His grip on the bottle's neck was lazy, he was making it twirl one way and then the other, it was quite hypnotic to watch. "What's that game of yours, then, sweetheart?"

She thought hard about this – a feat given that she did have half a bottle of wine in her system – there was a bunch of games they could play but she set her mind on… "Twenty questions." she decided. "It's a get-to-know-you game. We take turn asking twenty questions each, you can ask anything that strikes your fancy but you must answer truthfully."

His face in the flickering light of the candle looked half challenging half weary. "Truth is never kind, sweetheart. You're sure you're up to that?"

"It's supposed to be fun, Haymitch." she clarified. "I will start. What is your favorite color?"

He stared at her and then shook his head like he couldn't believe she had been idiotic enough to ask that. "Well, that was a waste of a question if you ask me. White."

"Really?" She lifted her eyebrows. That was a singular color to like…

"Yes, it reminds me of snow and I happen to like snow." He took a swing of whiskey and scowled. "The stuff not the man. The man I would gladly…"

"Haymitch." she warned, ringing bells echoing in her head even through the buzz of alcohol.

"Yeah, right." he cleared his throat. "Well those were two dumb questions, Princess."

"I only asked one." She frowned, pouring herself another glass. She would stop when the bottle would be empty, she decided.

"There was a question mark next to your really." he retorted. "Makes two. Now, my turn." He actually scrambled back up and sat down properly to study her.

"It isn't a competition, you know." she commented. Although if that was how he wanted to play it…

"Why did you become an escort?" he asked.

She hummed for a few seconds, trying to figure out how to answer what was probably the most complicated question he could have asked. "I wanted to be famous." she said at last, putting the glass on the coffee table to free her hands. She unbuckled the straps of her heels and kicked them off so she could fold her legs under her on the armchair. "I wanted to be loved."

She saw the judgment on his face, the condemnation, but she accepted it. A few years as an escort had been enough to make her sick of her job. Reaping children, sending them to die… Sure, she enjoyed being recognized on the street and asked for autographs and pictures… She enjoyed being the center of attention… She enjoyed being admired and told she was beautiful… But all of that didn't make up for the twisting disgust in her stomach each time she put her hand in a glass bowl and drew out a name. Haymitch already knew all that. Her inner disgust at her main role in the Games was probably the reason he tolerated her so much, he certainly wasn't kind to any other escort.

"And how did that worked out for you?" he asked.

The smile that grazed her lips was bitter and more honest than what she usually allowed to show on her face. "Not so well." she confessed. It certainly didn't make her mother like her more or stopped her sister from throwing cheap loathing or mean comment at her over Sunday dinner. She wasn't about to explain that to him however. Time to lighten up the mood, she decided, and as if on cue, lightning flashed and blazed the whole room in a blinding white. "How many women have you ever been with?"

It was what this game was for after all : embarrassing people with inappropriate questions. She took great pleasure in seeing him choke on his next mouthful of whiskey. Plus, she was curious. In all the time she had known him, she was ninety-nine percent positive he had never had a fling with anyone. Now, she knew he was into women because she had caught him staring at certain parts of her when he though she wasn't looking, there were sparks and a certain kind of tension when they fought that didn't leave any doubt as to what he would like to do to shut her up and there was the drunk groping she never ever mentioned and he never remembered, but she had never seen him interested in anyone. When women approached him – and it did happen quite often, he might only be a victor from Twelve but he was the only victor from Twelve; the fact that he was still quite handsome despite his neglected appearance didn't hurt either – he always turned them down. There had been no exception to that rule in all the time she had worked with him, he had never brought back a woman to the penthouse and he had never hinted at having someone in Twelve either. He lived alone, she knew that much – and not only for the benefits of the cameras either, she had been into his home, it was lived-in and there was no womanly touch there.

"What kind of question is that?" he coughed, trying to get the whiskey out of his lungs.

"The kind that makes you use a question mark and waste a question." she replied cheekily. "Now, answer me."

He glared at her and, for a second, she thought he would call an end to the game and storm to his room like he did when he was really angry. He didn't though, he took a swing of whiskey and met her eyes, a challenging gleam twinkling in the grey. "Five."

Five. She tried to wrap her mind around the number. Five wasn't a lot for a man his age. "I heard an abusive consumption of alcohol…" she started only to get interrupted when he grunted unhappily.

"There's nothing wrong with me." he cut her off.

"Of course not." she was quick to agree. "Erectile dysfunction is a medical problem and..."

"I don't have any problem getting it up." he growled, glaring daggers at her. "You can test that any time you want."

She tilted her head, watching him closely. She couldn't tell if he was lying to protect his ego or being truthful so she let herself wonder about his suggestion. Her lips stretched into a slow but teasing smile. "I just might."

He brought the bottle to his mouth but didn't avert his eyes and Effie felt a familiar thrill running down her body. His Adam apple bobbed up and down as he gulped down his liquor and she was seized with the sudden urge to bite it.

"Your turn." she reminded him. Her voice, for some reason, came out husky. She finished her glass of wine. She leaned to grab the bottle on the table, his eyes went down to her cleavage and stayed there even when she was upright again.

"How many men have you been with?" he asked. She was pleased to notice his voice was rough too.

"At once?" she teased. His eyebrow shot up and he raised his bottle in a silent toast, letting her know she had won that round. "I honestly don't know. Around twenty-five, perhaps. More probably." There were one-night stands to take into account and she had had some wild nights in her youth. Her years as a models had been full of drama too… It wasn't a huge number by Capitol standards but maybe it was different for Twelve, she realized.

"Well, that's a lot." he commented. It was matter-of-fact and not judgmental so she kept her instinctive defensive speech to herself.

"Afraid you won't live up to the comparison?" She was beyond tipsy – albeit not yet drunk – and the bottle wasn't being cooperative. She had to put bottle and glass back on the table and sit on the floor cross-legged to be able to pour herself another glass. Given the short length of her dress, she was probably showing her underwear to everyone who wanted a peek but she had a good idea of where this game was going to end and she didn't think Haymitch would mind much. He wasn't one to be picky about manners and proper conduct of behavior. Her mother would be appalled.

"Not really." he snorted, eyeing her from the couch with a smirk. "That was a question. My turn." She rolled her eyes because he was obviously cheating but gestured for him to go ahead. She wasn't greedy with her questions like he seemed to be. "What are you hiding under that wig?"

Ah, she should have seen that one coming. He was always taunting her about the wig, at times hinting she was bald and speculating on her hair color at others. It was a subject of eternal wonder for him. Wigs were common enough in the Capitol but he knew some women simply dyed their hair regularly instead.

"Hair." she replied. "Who were they? The five women?"

"But what color?" he grumbled.

"You asked what I am hiding, my answer is my hair." she shrugged. "Answer my question and I will answer yours."

He drank some more whiskey and his demeanor shifted so perceptibly she almost regretted her question. "First was my girl, right before my reaping." he said and she couldn't control a tinge of jealousy at the affectionate way he still called her his girl even after all those years. She knew everything there was to know about that story. She had pieced it together from his drunken mumblings, his nightmares and the rumors flying left and right about his family. "The others don't matter much. Two were victors, two were sponsors. It was before your time."

She was sorry for asking him. She could easily imagine a younger Haymitch sharing an attraction for another victor and hooking up with her out of boredom or despair. It had probably been drunk sex too. She wondered who it was and if they were still mentoring or if younger ones had taken their place. As for the sponsors… She had a pretty good idea of why he had slept with them so she didn't ask.

"Strawberry blond hair." she said instead.

"I don't even know what that means." he snorted. "Show me."

She shook her head no. "No one has ever seen my hair since I was a child."

"Not even your twenty-something lovers?" he arched an eyebrow in surprise.

"Of course not." she huffed. "I want my lovers to desire me not to be repulsed."

"Why would they be repulsed?" he frowned.

"My turn." she denied him, taking a sip of wine to regain her footing. She wanted the conversation back on track. "What do you like most about me?"

He thought about that for longer than she would have liked. She expected a joke about her breasts or something about her cheerfulness because that was the usual answer she got when she asked that question but he surprised her of course. He had a knack for doing things like that.

"You care." he said quietly.

She lowered her eyes, staring at the flickering flame on one of the candles. Haymitch was very much like a flame sometimes. He was inconstant, one second he was warm and the next he was biting her, it was hard to look straight at him because his image would stay branded on her retina otherwise, and he was very much captivating. If Haymitch was a flame, she was the moth and she had understood a while ago that, at some point, she would crash and burn.

"Do you trust me?" he asked suddenly and she was at a loss of how to answer that. It was supposed to be a fun game not having that serious undertone.

She watched as he carefully put the bottle down and stepped around the coffee table, a bit unsteady on his feet. Lightning flashed just as he outstretched his hand to her, she took it, of course, and let him pulled her to her feet. The sudden height difference was strange, she wasn't used to being so much shorter than he was. She immediately missed her heels because without them, she couldn't look him straight in the eyes, although on the positive side of things it looked like she was a the perfect height to rest her head on his shoulder. Not that she would. Not now at least.

It seemed the sudden loss of her heels affected him too because he placed a gentle hand under her chin and tilted her head up so she was looking at him. "Do you trust me?" he repeated.

She swayed lightly on her feet, a bit dizzy from the sudden standing up. She grabbed at his shirt instinctively to steady herself. "I do." It came out breathless and a bit unsure. "You know I do."

Thunder chose that moment to rumble, giving her words a sort of ominous meaning. He didn't seem to pick up on it however, his smirk softened. She thought maybe he was going to kiss her, maybe now was the time she would start her inevitable fall toward the flame… Her heart started to race painfully in her chest, she was shaking a bit… He didn't kiss her, though. He let go of her chin and reached for the wig. She gripped his wrist before he could get any idea. "No."

"I promise you I won't get repulsed, sweetheart." His tone wasn't patronizing exactly but it certainly wasn't very serious either. He was talking to her the way you would talk to a child being unreasonable. "Whatever there is under that thing, I'm positive I've seen worse."

"Haymitch, it's ugly." she argued. "I don't want you to think of my hair every time you see me."

It wasn't just the color or she would simply have it dyed. Her hair was untamable on its best day.

"I don't think you could be ugly if you tried." he chuckled. "And you certainly try…"

"Why do you care so much about my hair?" she huffed, refusing to let go of his wrist in case he tried to remove the wig despite her objections. She wouldn't put it past him.

"Because you look like a clown and I want to see the real you." he replied. "Even if you think it's less than perfect. I would pay to see you without make-up too, you know."

She bit her lower lip, uncertain. "That's not how we do things in the Capitol." she explained. "It's rude and improper to ask a person to remove their wig and make-up. And it's even ruder to impose the sight of your bare face and undyed hair on someone else, not to mention unfashionable."

"I'm rude and improper, sweetheart." he chuckled. "Come on, I want to see." He took a step closer that brought him in her space. "Please."

Haymitch never said please.

"You are not being a gentleman about this." she chided him but it was hard to think when he was so close to her their chest were almost touching. She was wrapped in the smell of liquor, faint sweat and cheap soap that was so Haymitch it made her feel more inebriated than wine.

"Isn't that why you like me, Princess?" he snickered darkly. "You're bored by your proper phony gentlemen. You want rough and real, don't you?" He brushed his nose against her, taunting with the prospect of a kiss that wasn't actually coming. "You have to answer, it's your rule." he reminded her.

"That's two questions." she whispered but it was almost entirely muffled by thunder.

"Okay." He looked smug, too smug really. She needed to get the upper hand back and quick. "Why do you like me?"

"Because…" she hesitated. "Because you're brave enough to be true to yourself."

She could tell he was surprised but that was the truth. She admired him for his refusal to dissent from the Capitol rules and his passive resistance to everything he couldn't condone. The bad boy vibe he had going certainly wasn't hurting either.

"You can be brave too." he told her. "Step one. Take that wig off." She gripped his wrist tighter to prevent a movement on his part. He placed his hand on her shoulder and squeezed. "Effie, I won't make fun of you. I swear."

He seemed sincere enough. She sighed. "Alright." she yielded. After all, it would be better for him to see her without her wig when there was no proper light but the occasional lightning and candle flares. "Do it, then." She didn't think she could come up with the strength to do something so humiliating by herself.

He didn't wait or make sure she wouldn't change her mind, he went straight for the wig. He was careful not to hurt her though, he slid his hand from her nape to the back of her skull, under the wig, to remove it and then, struggled with the pins and the nylon net holding her hair in place. She watched him while he worked but he didn't even notice. It took a few minutes before she felt her hair tumble on her shoulders and she closed her eyes, waiting for the laughter he would never be able to suppress.

There were no chuckles, snickers or outright laughter though… She opened her eyes again when she felt his hands brushing through her crumpled hair, coiling one of the loose curls around his finger and letting it bounce back into place. He seemed riveted by the sight.

"Ugly, isn't it?" she tried to joke but there was a lump in her throat. She was feeling insecure and she wasn't used to it.

"Really not, sweetheart." he snorted, grey eyes glancing away from the mane of curls to her eyes but only briefly. He didn't seem to be able to stop touching it. "So much not in fact I will even pretend you didn't just waste a question on that."

"It doesn't repulse you, then?" He certainly looked like it didn't. That was a first. "You can't lie."

"I like it." He met her eyes and tentatively tucked one of the curls framing her face behind her ear. The tip of his fingers trailed down her jaw, brushed her lips… "My turn, right?" She could do nothing but nod. "Since when do you have a crush on me, sweetheart?"

"Who says I do?" She realized one of her hand was still clutching his shirt and she tugged a bit. Not that he could step any closer even if he wanted to…

"You're supposed to answer not ask more questions." he replied with a smirk.

His smugness irritated her. "I had a crush when I was twelve. It disappeared quickly once I met you."

"Yeah?" His thumb retraced her lower lip. He was so close she could feel his breath roll on her flushed cheeks.

"My turn." She had to go on tiptoe but she brought her mouth closer to his ear, pressing her chest against his body. His hands instinctively clenched her dress at her waist. She chose her timing with care. She waited for the flash of lightning before she whispered her question so that it would be followed by thunder for maximum effect. "How long has it been since you last were with a woman?"

"Too fucking long." he growled, wrapping his arms around her. He leaned in for a kiss but she turned her head away.

"That's not a real answer." she pouted. "You're cheating."

"I don't know." he replied, placing his lips on her offered throat. She hadn't thought of that when she had turned her head. His mouth explored her throat, kissing, licking and nibbling in turn. She didn't need lightning to see white anymore. Haymitch was right, it was a very good color. "Seven. Eight years, maybe."

A shame.

She tangled a hand in his hair, locked the other around his neck and then she kissed him like she had wanted to since the first time she had seen him on her TV screen back when she had still been an ignorant teenager. It was everything her teenage self could have dreamed of. She had never been turned on by mere kissing before but Haymitch always had to disturb her habits. It was a messy affair of a kiss, he did things with his tongue that shouldn't have been allowed.

"What would you do if I tore that dress off you?" he asked between two kisses.

"I would ask you why you didn't just use the zipper." She tried to steer him toward the couch but she tripped and they ended up falling on the carpet in front of the fireplace. Her elbow took the worst of her fall but she didn't need an elbow for what she had in mind so she paid it no mind. She sat down but put a hand on his chest so he would remain on his back. "Do you want me?" she asked bluntly, because she didn't want him to start something he wouldn't finish. He didn't sleep with Capitol women, she knew that, and apparently he didn't sleep with any woman either so… She wanted to know for certain he was sure and not only aroused, she wasn't sure she could survive the humiliation if he suddenly decided he didn't want to go through with that.

"I've wanted you since the first time you told me to behave, sweetheart." he snorted like it was obvious. "You are so irritating… Your corset needs loosening."

And just like that, they were kissing again. He used the zipper to take her dress off but she didn't bother with gentleness when she popped the buttons of his shirt open, some were torn and ended up rolling to the other end of the room. His naked skin against hers was her downfall. She wasn't able to think coherently anymore although she didn't think the amount of wine she had drunk was helping.

For someone who only had five lovers in all his life, he was really good. At some point, she lost the ability to discern lightning from her bliss. His hands, she quickly decided, were her favorite things in all the world quickly followed by his mouth and soon replaced by other attributes of his.

"What is it you said about erectile dysfunction?" he mocked her because she was mumbling his name repeatedly and incoherently. She wasn't in any state to answer so she let him have the last word and win the match probably. He was panting as hard as she was though and when she twisted them around to be on top, he didn't sound as cocky anymore. He didn't beg but he came close.

"I like your get-to-know-you games, sweetheart." he joked as they laid side by side afterwards, their body satisfied and exhausted. "We should play again sometimes."

"Definitely." she hummed, fighting sleepiness.

"Did I put your thirty lovers to shame?" he teased, his hands ghosted over her hip to her breast and then back down.

She stretched like a cat under his caress. "Do I detect a bit of insecurity, Haymitch?" She rolled on her side and snuggled up close to him. He made a displeased sound but didn't push her away.

"An answer for an answer." he commented.

She pressed a kiss to his shoulder and hooked a leg between his. "We're not playing anymore. Sleep now."

"That's how you work, isn't it?" he snorted. "Wine, sex and sleep."

She didn't dignify that with an answer. "The storm is still raging." she noticed, wondering how much longer it was going to last and if the Games would be ruined by Mother Nature. President Snow wouldn't be pleased if that happened, they probably would all have to slave themselves to make people forget this incident…

Haymitch was playing with her hair absent-mindedly. She didn't like her hair and disliked the idea of him seeing her with such a bad hairstyle but the way he was petting and lightly tugging it made her want to purr.

"I wish it could rage forever." he sighed.

She knew what he meant. He wished they didn't have to go back to the Games. It was a stolen night of freedom in three weeks of hell for him but she shared his opinion on the matter. She kissed his shoulder again and then his neck and then his mouth, all the while whishing that storm would continue for another couple of hours. She very much enjoyed their stolen night and she didn't want it to end too soon. She had other games to teach him.