Prompt : HIIII! I hear you writing Hayffie fics (and I know because I read all of them) and I was wondering if you've watched Walk of Shame with EB, the scene when she's stuck on the stairs with her heels, and would maybe write a take on the same case scenario with Effie and Haymitch instead? :D pretty pls? (Could also end in smut if you're so inclined! *hinthint*)
Fair warning, this got out of hand on the steamy side.
Vodka Of Doom
Effie was tipsy bordering on really drunk, there was no in-between with her. She had indulged a bit too much in liquor over the course of the evening, a lot more than she usually would allow herself when the Games were in session and she had to babysit Haymitch. She didn't quite know where Haymitch was at that very moment, the party – mandatory for escorts, mentors and Gamemakers – was taking place in the latest fashionable club and the place was simply packed. She had lost her victor two minutes after they had walked in and had been drawn in a group of her friends who hadn't relented until she joined their little celebration. It was someone's birthday or, at least, she thought it was. That certainly explained why they insisted she drank all those little shots of vodka cocktails…
Vodka had never been Effie's best friend.
She was beginning to feel crowded in the middle of those colorful glittering dresses so she slithered her way to the nearest exit board, barely taking the time to yell an excuse for her friends over the deafening loud music. It quickly dawned on her that what she had taken for an exit wasn't an actual exit but, rather, an emergency exit. Of course, because it obviously was a night doomed to go wrong – night when she drank vodka always went wrong – she realized it only when the door had already slammed shut behind her, leaving her trapped on what was nothing more than a fire escape platform.
It was a good thing she wasn't scared of heights.
She would just have to go down the stairs and step around the building to ask for her car, then. She would have to find Haymitch, though, but perhaps an Avox could do that. It was a good plan, a perfect plan and it would probably have worked if she hadn't drunk vodka. The vodka of doom. It always jinxed her.
She tried to take a step down the stairs and found her foot didn't want to move. She tried to step back and now her other foot was frozen in place too.
"Oh, no…" she whined when she realized that she was standing on a metal grate and that her high heels had dug themselves in two of the holes. "No, no, no…" She looked around in despair but the back alley below was quite deserted. The door wasn't that far, she knocked on it, hammered on it with her fist but the music was so loud she could still hear it so she doubted anyone would pay any attention to her. She tried to pull on her feet but it only resulted in her losing her balance and falling on her bottom. Vodka of doom, she should have known better. Fortunately for her, she had good lungs.
She called for help as loud as she could for several minutes but that left her slightly dizzy so she stopped. Her lips started to wobble and she was sure she would have begun to cry if there hadn't been a crash in the alley below.
"Help?" she sniffled not so elegantly.
"Effie?" replied a somehow familiar voice.
"Yes! Yes, it is Effie! It is me!" she laughed in relief.
The figure of a man stepped out of the shadows to stand at the foot of the metallic stairs. It took her a few seconds to recognize Haymitch.
"I thought you were being murdered." he grumbled. "What were you shouting for?"
She blinked slowly, trying to make sense of the question. "Well, I'm in dire need of help, Haymitch."
"Yeah?" He gripped the railing and climbed a few steps, probably to have a better look. He was drunk too, she could tell, but perhaps a little less than her. That was a first. "So, what are you doing sitting here, sweetheart? Besides flashing the rest of the Capitol, that is…" His mouth was pinched in amusement and his eyebrows raised in mockery.
She looked down at her spread legs, noticing that her dress had indeed ridden up her thighs. "Dear me!" she exclaimed. She gave up on trying to push it down after only a few seconds. "A good thing I'm wearing underwear… I almost didn't because I thought they would mark under my dress. That would have been embarrassing."
"'Cause that's not embarrassing now?" he snorted before studying her. "You're drunk."
She rolled her eyes. "Pot, kettle, a lot of black."
"And yet I'm not the one showing my bits." He leaned on the railing so heavily the metal groaned.
"Be careful!" she gasped before wrinkling her nose in distaste. "And language, Haymitch, don't be vulgar."
He didn't bother answering that. His eyes trailed from her feet up her bare legs. "Is the spread-out legs the new proper, Princess? 'Cause I'm all on board if it is."
She tried to glare but she thought it ultimately failed. "Don't mock me. I'm in a bit of a predicament." She stammered on the last word, not sure of the actual pronunciation anymore. Vodka of doom.
"I can see that." he smirked.
"Well?" she huffed. "Are you going to rescue me?"
He shrugged without committing to anything. "Depends. What's the problem?" The problem seemed obvious to her and she was not at her best brain-wise. She wriggled her feet – or tried to anyway. "You're stuck." He sounded delighted. "Told you those shoes of yours would kill you."
"They haven't killed me, they made me fall." she pointed out with a pout. "Would you help me, please?"
"You really can't think of a way to get out of here by yourself, sweetheart?" he chuckled, obviously having a blast at her expense.
Her pout deepened. "Are you going to make me beg?"
"Maybe." he mused, covering her with a look that she couldn't have described other than heated. "I love when you beg."
"You are not acting chivalrous at all." she sighed, shaking her head.
He rolled his eyes but climbed the last steps separating them and crouched next to her. His fingers fumbled over the straps of her shoes but soon enough, her feet were bare and she was able to stand up again, she hopped from one foot to the other, enjoying her newly found liberty. He got up too, outstretching his hands to prevent her to fall, it made it all too easy to hug him.
"You freed me!" she giggled, locking her arms around his neck. "My hero."
"You are very, very drunk, sweetheart." he laughed.
"So are you." she pointed out, leaning back enough to look at him in the eyes. "Heroes get kisses, you know."
"Only kisses?" he smirked. "Seems a bit cheap."
She tilted her head to the side and thought carefully about it – or tried to anyway, her archenemy named vodka wasn't helping matters. "You want more because you're drunk." she decided. "You always want more when you're drunk and then you're being mean about it when you're sober. Always. You kicked me out of bed last time. It wasn't nice." She pouted which was either a very clever move or a very dumb one because his eyes fixed on her mouth and never looked away.
"I'm not a nice man." he shrugged, holding her closer. "And I think better when I'm drunk anyway. You should see what I'm thinking right now, Princess…"
"Dirty, dirty thoughts, no doubts." She brushed her fingers against his stubble. She hated that he couldn't seem able to shave properly. She hated the fact that she loved the rough feel of his not-quite beard when they kissed. "Are you going to claim your reward or not?"
"How drunk are you?" he asked, brushing his lips against hers. The question was serious so she did her best to answer in kind.
"Enough to let you take advantage of me in a back alley where everyone could see us, not enough that you should feel bad about doing it." She nodded at her own assessment. It seemed right.
His mouth crushed on hers and she forgot to think for a few minutes, focusing only on the feel of his lips moving against hers, on the way his fingers were digging in the fabric of her dress and on the small moan she managed to coax out of him when she let her own fingers wander south. She grinned in the middle of the kiss at the sound, even more so when he grabbed her wrist and placed her hand back on his chest before leaning back enough to frown at her.
"Not here, sweetheart." he grumbled, glancing around. "Let's find our car."
He was already halfway down the stairs but she didn't follow, suddenly faced with a huge problem. "Haymitch, my shoes are trapped."
He froze and turned around. "Who cares?"
She blinked, trying to chase away the heavy fog of vodka pressuring her brain. "I do."
He sighed but obviously decided that it would be less trouble to retrieve the shoes than to discuss the point because he climbed up the stairs again and crouched next to her heels. Next thing Effie knew, he grabbed the soles and tugged but not in the right way, even her alcoholic induced mind could see it. There was a loud cracking noise and then one of the heel plummeted to its death a few feet below. Haymitch did the same to the other shoe before she could do anything but gape in horror.
"There." he snorted, dropping them in front of her. "A nice pair of flats."
Effie's jaw snapped shut. "Those were Algenzo. Have you any idea…"
"I'm sure I don't, sweetheart." he interrupted her. "Are we going?"
"You broke my shoes!" she shouted, folding her arms over her chest. "You…"
"You broke your shoes wandering around on a fire escape." He invaded her space, forcing her to step back until she was pressed against the wall. His hands fell on her waist, she pushed them away but her heart wasn't in it, she just wanted him closer.
"I will be so mad at you tomorrow for this stunt." she warned him, looking up at his grey eyes. She loved his eyes. His eyes were her favorite thing about him. "I will be even madder once I've realized I've slept with you after you destroyed those masterpieces."
"It was only a pair of shoes, not art." he snorted, pressing a kiss right under her jaw line, in that spot that always made her knees go weak. "Can we get a move on about the sleeping together part, sweetheart?"
"You're always in a rush." She shook her head in disappointment.
"You're criticizing my sex skills, now?" he chuckled, nibbling a bit harder on her neck. She tangled her fingers in his hair to keep him there as her head fell back against the wall, eyes closed. Her breathing was quickening too, maybe he had a point about getting to the next level. His hand sneaked under her dress to grab her right thigh, she didn't need any more hint to wrap her leg around his waist but he didn't lift her up like she thought he would, he only pressed against her further, dropping feather like kisses from her jaw to her ear. "I'm going to make you beg, sweetheart. That will teach you." His fingers ran up and down underneath her thigh and she could swear she had never been as frustrated as she was at that point.
"I don't beg." she still protested. "Never. Ever."
"You begged me last time." he reminded her and to her utmost embarrassment she realized she had indeed done so. His smirk was as irritating as his absolutely horrendous imitation of her voice. "Please, Haymitch, please. Oh, right there… Right…"
She kissed him silent, deciding it was time she took control of the situation back. "This doesn't sound like me at all." she said, lowering the leg wrapped round his waist so it would hook around his knee : a slight tug and he was falling. She barely slowed his fall but still managed to end up on top, straddling him for good measure. "Now… Who was going to beg who again?"
The infuriating smirk hadn't disappeared. His hands slowly trailed up her thighs to her waist. "Never knew public sex was one of your kink. You should have said."
She looked around in fright, sure she was going to see an audience of Capitol people staring at them with eyes wide open. The alley was just as empty as it had been previously, though. There was no guarantee it would stay that way. "We are rather exposed."
"You know what's not exposed? The car." he pointed out, using her waist as leverage to get in a sitting position. It brought them chest to chest and she couldn't help but undo the next two buttons. Since it was never properly done in the first place, it meant a good portion of his torso was now on display. She allowed her fingers to roam the naturally tanned skin. "Sweetheart, the car." he reminded her, clasping her hand in his.
"Yes…" she blinked and then stood up. "Yes, the car." The car was a good option. The limousine was spacious and they would be separated from the driver by a soundproof and opaque window, plus the driver was an Avox so it wasn't like tales of what would happen in the backseat would float around. The car was the best option except… "I can't walk to the car. I don't have shoes."
He stared at her like she had grown two heads. "A minute ago, you were literally ready to have sex on the floor and now you can't even walk on it?"
A perfectly sound argument but she rejected it anyway. "I am not walking barefoot. The streets are filthy. This is disgusting. Carry me."
"What?" he snorted in obvious disbelief.
"Carry me." she repeated, deadly serious. Perhaps she would have reconsidered this request if she hadn't been drunk because she wasn't sure having an inebriated guy carry her down a fire escape was the best idea she ever had. Unfortunately, she was drunk so she thought it was the most logical option.
"I'm not going to carry you." he scowled.
"You destroyed my shoes." she pouted.
"I didn't…" Haymitch started only to roll his eyes. "Oh, fuck that." He advanced on her and she yelped when he grabbed her legs and threw her over his shoulder. She struggled but he refused to put her down. "Stop this or you're going to fall, sweetheart." he grumbled.
"That is so not what I meant!" she replied. " This is not the proper way to carry a lady! You are a ruffian! An uncivilized barbarian! You are a…" She was so focused on finding new synonyms, she didn't even realize he had signaled the car over, away from the flashes of cameras and the crowd of admirers hoping for a glimpse of someone famous. She was still trying to think of a suitable word when he dropped her on the leather seat and slammed the door shut behind him.
"Ready to beg, sweetheart?" he smirked.
She wasn't. Yet, she did.