Prompt : Hi, there. You've done ffs where Finnick's over his crush on Effie. Could you please do one where he is not, and maybe goes for Haymitch for advise, much to Chaff's amusement?
Fair warning, Haymitch was in a terrible mood when I wrote this and it's a bit… darker than usual. There is some smut too – again nothing too graphic but don't like don't read.
Metaphors.
"Is it really bad that I'm glad Gloss lost?" Chaff snorted in his drink – really not his first of the night, Haymitch had lost count. "His tribute was as stuck-up as he is, I mean…"
Haymitch nodded to the rest of the rant without really hearing any of it. They were at a party – the most important party of the year, according to Trinket – their tributes died a bloody death at the Cornucopia and Haymitch was done with everything. All he wanted was to crawl back to the penthouse and drink some more but no… Trinket had to drag him to this stupid hotel where she was fluttering from group of people to group of people, laughing in delight at everything everyone said, touching arms, flirting, charming, dizzying all the men and some of the women too…
His eyes tracked her progresses around the room by habit – or maybe it was instinct, he wasn't sure. Everything in her was fake : the smile, the laugh, the make-up… It was her way to cope when they lost a tribute, she pretended everything was alright and that she absolutely needed to start courting more sponsors for the next year, hoping it would make a difference when they both knew perfectly well it wouldn't. The point was, she was all fake.
He couldn't look away from her.
It was because of her legs.
Or maybe it was because of the defiant look she always gave him.
On second thought, he didn't want to crawl back to the penthouse and get wasted enough to sleep. He wanted to pin her against a wall, rip that stupid wig from her head, rip that dress to shreds, destroy everything Capitol about her and screw her until she begged – Trinket screamed a lot but she rarely begged; Haymitch had made it his mission to get her to that point as often as he could, it gave him control and as long as he had control, this was just mindless sex and nothing more. Then he would drink more alcohol.
"Hello." Finnick Odair, sixteen and darling of the Capitol, greeted them with one of his trademark wolfish grin. "Should he still be drinking?"Finnick nodded at Chaff.
Haymitch glanced at his friend, wondering how he could have managed to get wasted quicker than him. He blamed Trinket. He had been so focused on her endless legs that he had forgotten to sip from his glass.
He answered Finnick's question with a shrug. He wasn't going to tell Chaff how to cope no more than Chaff would tell him how to live his life – although that wasn't quite true, Chaff made an awful lot of disguised warnings about his little arrangement with Trinket. Not your business was Haymitch's favorite reply.
Finnick hovered uncertainly in front of them, not quite sure of his welcome it seemed. His and Mags tributes were still alive after all – even though Mags mostly handled the mentoring, Finnick had other engagements – and victors tended to separate in two groups by that point in the Games : those who were still in and those who were now out.
"Sit down, boy, you're making my head spin." Chaff laughed good-naturedly, pouring himself another glass of the expensive whiskey bottle they had sneaked from the bar in another room. They were experts in snatching liquor when the barman wasn't looking. "What do you need?"
Because Finnick obviously needed to ask them something. He was too hesitant, too far from his usual confident persona.
"I was wondering…" Finnick started only to fall silent, looking at Haymitch rather than at Chaff. It wasn't good and Haymitch downed his drink. He didn't want to play the mentor that night. He didn't want to answer questions about things he would rather not know about. He had been sixteen, he had been in Finnick's place, he knew what people expected of young dashing victors. He didn't want to think about it and he certainly didn't want to talk about it.
"Go ahead." Chaff encouraged him, ignoring Haymitch's glare.
Finnick winced. "Do you know if Effie has someone? I mean…"
"Yeah, I know what you mean." Haymitch cut him off, holding his glass to Chaff so he would refill it. He couldn't say he was surprised by that particular question. Finnick tended to gravitate a bit too much around his escort. "Aren't you done with Capitol women by now?" Chaff's elbow collided painfully with his side but Haymitch didn't think it was an accident. It wasn't enough to stop him, though. As Trinket had informed him no later than the day before, he was a mean old drunk. "Are you developing a taste for them or what?"
Finnick looked taken aback and a little hurt but he hid it well. At least, the boy had that going for him : he was good at hiding what he felt.
"Don't mind him." Chaff rolled his eyes. "He's very defensive when Trinket is mentioned."
"Effie isn't like that." the teenager argued with a frown. "She would never…"
"'Cause you know her so well, uh?" Haymitch chuckled in his glass. "She's a stuck-up bitch."
"Stuck-up bitch is Haymitch's type, in case you didn't know." Chaff told the boy very seriously. "You're stepping on his toes, here."
"Don't be stupid." Haymitch scoffed. "I wouldn't touch her with a ten-foot pole." Except when she got into his face so badly that he couldn't help himself. Except when she sauntered around him with an ugly sneer on her lips, listing all of his flaws for him to ponder. Except when lust clogged his brain so badly he couldn't function until he had her against the closest flat surface.
"Sure." Chaff replied, absolutely not convinced.
Finnick looked from one to the other, apparently not knowing who to believe. "Does it bother you if I…"
"No." Haymitch interrupted him, swallowing the content of his glass in one go and snatching the bottle from Chaff's side so he could be in charge of his own consumption of liquor. "Go ahead. Knock yourself out. She likes flowers, poetry and all that kind of shit but if you want my advice, get yourself a nice District girl. Play romance for a bit and then let her go. You're doomed to be alone for all eternity. Congratulation, you're a victor."
He forgot the glass and drank directly from the bottle, not minding at all the glances Chaff and Finnick exchanged. Four's victor was still very much a boy, he wanted love. Haymitch could have told him it wasn't on the table for any of them but that wouldn't have made any difference. Certain things you had to find out for yourself.
He watched as Finnick approached Trinket, confident grin back in place and flirted with her for a bit. He saw her fake smile morphed into a genuine one and wondered if she would actually go for a sixteen years old or not. There was a lot she would do to spite him but he didn't think she would take it that far. He wasn't sure though. How could he be? She was Capitol. She was the enemy.
"You were a bit harsh." Chaff pointed out after ten minutes of watching Finnick's attempts from afar. "I don't think you should worry about him seducing her. Trinket isn't…"
"Fuck you." Haymitch spat, knowing he was slowly stepping out of line but unable to stop himself. He couldn't tear his eyes away from his escort. He couldn't quite suppress the urge to go over there and cut the hands that kept touching her arms to get her attention. He couldn't shut up the voice in his head that kept repeating she was his to touch and not those men – and certainly not Finnick's. He was a boy and she was humoring him, it was clear even from where he was sitting. She didn't want to hurt him. "If he still thinks he can have something real in this place, he deserves harsh."
"Are we talking about Finnick or about you?" Chaff asked, very casually and a tad too perceptively for someone who was that wasted.
It was fortunate that he finally caught Trinket's eyes.
"Again, fuck you." He stood up and left the room without a backward glance, taking his sweet time to get to the elevator.
She slipped through the doors as they were closing.
"Must you always be so creepy, Haymitch?" she hissed as soon as she was inside – she was angry or pretending to be; it generally meant she wanted sex but refused to ask : a fight almost always ended up like that now. "You spent the whole evening glowering in your corner, staring at me. Would it have killed you to try and talk to some sponsors? Must I…"
"Finnick wants you." he cut her off.
That left her speechless which was a rare feat. He didn't take any pride in it, though.
"I am sure you're mistaken." she huffed. "I admit I noticed he has a small crush but…"
"He fancies himself in love with you." Haymitch snorted. "Good for you. Maybe you can have him for free."
He glared at her but she looked too shocked to glare back. In the end she lowered her eyes. "I know you loathe me but if you really think I am that kind of person then…"
"He wants romance." Haymitch shrugged. "You could give him that."
Her blue eyes met his, even more shocked. "Are you asking me…"
"Do you want to?" he interrupted her, slowly advancing on her.
She stepped back but immediately stepped forward again, not keen on losing ground.
"You disgust me." The sneer was back, ugly and hateful. "Finnick is sixteen and I don't…"
"You don't what? You don't fuck victors?" He walked closer and closer but she refused to step back again and she ended up pushing him. They struggled for a few seconds, neither of them knowing if they were pushing or pulling until she pushed too violently and his shoulder slammed into the metallic wall of the elevator. He grabbed a fistful of her dress – it was made of tiny pearl and a lot of them tumbled on the ground – and tugged until she stumbled into his chest. Another kind of fighting began then but they were painfully familiar with that one. Mouths, teeth, tongues and wandering hands… It was a fight for dominance. A fight for control. "How long do we have?" He didn't fancy getting caught with his pants down but on the other hand, he didn't want to stop and start all that again either.
Instead of answering, she reached for the control panel and pushed a button. Lights flickered and then the elevator stopped. She never said anything, she pushed him back against the wall and fumbled with his belt, keeping her eyes averted.
He grabbed her chin and tilted her head up, grabbing her wrist with his other hand. "What's your problem now?"
Anger and resentment flashed on her face. She shrugged her hand free of his grip and sneak it in his pants without a second thought. His breath caught and he leaned more heavily against the wall.
"I can't believe you would think that of me." she retorted, her fingers squeezing almost to the point of pain. She didn't go that far though. It was odd how he trusted her with his body, how she trusted him with hers, when they hated each other so much. Even in their most heated argument, they had never hurt each other – not physically at least, physically it was all about release. "I have never forced myself on anyone in my life. Look at me, Haymitch, I don't need to."
"That has nothing to do with how hot you are, it has to do with power and fame and whatever shallow people like you desire." he spat. "You're no different."
She shook her head and took her hands away, leaving him frustrated and aching for more. "I don't want Finnick."
"Everybody wants Finnick." Haymitch retorted, lifting his arms only to let them fall again to make his point. "Everybody wants a piece of that victor. Why not you?"
"The exact list would be too long but it starts with he's sixteen and ends with I already have my own victor." she snapped, turning her back on him. "Not tonight though. I'm done with you for tonight. You infuriate me." She reached for the button again but he grabbed her arm and pinned her to the wall. She didn't resist but she didn't respond to the trail of kisses on her throat either. "Haymitch, I'm not playing anymore."
She truly wasn't. She wasn't pushing or tugging, she wasn't touching… She looked tired even with the make-up on. He didn't know how to deal with that side of her. It was the same thing every time they had sex: when she was naked and free of wig and make-up, she looked human. He didn't want to think of her as a human being. He wanted to think of her as an escort, as a joke he had turned against the Capitol : they had screwed with him and now he was screwing them back. It was a metaphor, he loved to think of it as a metaphor.
And it was all getting so damn complicated…
He used to not care at all what she did and with whom when they weren't together. He used to laugh with Chaff about her latest conquest. He used to be able to look at men leering at her without seething with that acidic burn in the pit of his stomach.
She was still not looking at him and he didn't like it. He secretly loved it when she stared, preferably with annoyance.
He tried something else. He leaned in and brushed his mouth against hers tentatively.
"What are you doing?" she whispered. They had never done something like that. It was always rough, always brutal, from kissing to the actual sex. Passion was a word she had used once. He liked the term : passion. It could befit a hateful relationship and it certainly explained the spark between them.
"I don't want you switching teams." he replied. "You're my escort. Nobody else's. We're clear?"
He wasn't sure if he was talking about the Games, Finnick or their whole arrangement but she seemed to get it anyway because she kissed back just as tentatively. It was slow and awkward at first, they had never taken the time to explore before, although it didn't take Haymitch too long to decide that he liked that too. It was different but not a bad different. When he grabbed her under the thighs, she wrapped her legs around his waist without much more prompting.
It was all about anticipation and making it last rather than their usual quick desperate fumbling to find release. She buried her face in his neck, her sharp nails scraped his shoulders even through the thick fabric of his jacket, she was trembling with need, almost purring like a cat but following the slow rhythm he was imposing them. He made sure she came – something he didn't always bother with – and then he picked up the pace enough to trigger his own climax.
They remained against that wall for several minutes, her legs still wrapped around him, her whole body still shuddering from the aftermath of her orgasm while he panted against her neck, desperately trying to find his breath back.
When they finally moved apart to straighten their clothes, he mused that a single glance at her was enough to know what she had been doing. Her wig was askew, her make-up smeared, the dress was ruined – entire rows of pearls were missing – and her eyes were shining. Beside she smelled like fine whiskey just as he was sure he was reeking of her perfume. Nothing for it, though, he figured, he simply tugged her wig back into place but neglected to mention the rest.
They stepped out of that elevator to a line of angry people waiting to go up and Effie made a point of creating a scandal about being stuck in there for half an hour with a drunk man – no matter that the drunk man in question was her colleague. He watched, playing the part of the man so drunk he could barely function to the perfection, as she almost reduced the hotel employees to tears. She had a sharp tongue and she knew how to use it.
By the time their car rolled up in front of the hotel Finnick and Chaff had come down too, ready to call it a night. Chaff took one look at Trinket and rolled his eyes, leaning more heavily on Finnick for support. The boy didn't look clueless about what had happened between him and his escort either. He glared before he smoothed the sulk off his face and hid it behind a grin, suggesting Haymitch helped him drag Chaff to the Training Center or, at the very least, to Four's car.
Although it felt tensed, Trinket wasn't discussed during the long minutes necessary to get Eleven's victor into a car with the help of the Avox driver. When Haymitch climbed into his own car, where Trinket was waiting, he felt a bit sorry for the kid. Finnick was going home with a drunk one-handed man when he was going back with the most popular escort.
Life wasn't fair.
But, then again, he thought, as Effie started nagging him about the state of her dress, Finnick didn't need him to tell him that.