Prompt: "In polite society a lady doesn't kiss and tell, but her lipstick does" when I read this I felt Effie feelings.

Of Lipstick, Hatred and Belonging

Effie Trinket hated Haymitch Abernathy.

Everyone knew that for a fact, it was public knowledge.

Effie and Haymitch knew that for a fact, they had never been shy about telling each other just how much they despised and loathed and hated the other – be it face to face or to the other's retreating back as they sneaked out of their room in the dead of night.

Still, the seventy-fourth Hunger Games were different and Effie wasn't dumb enough not to see that. For the first time in many years, they were working together – and not just in the bedroom.

She watched, leaning against a pillar of the majestic hotel in which the party was taking place, as Haymitch owned the floor, talking with sponsors, laughing with rich Capitol men, flirting with wealthy Capitol women, mustering that charm that was her undoing more often than not. He could be charming when he wanted to be, he sported that rare boyish grin sometimes that came unguarded and never lasted long… She loved the smirk better though. The smirk was very different from the smiles and teasing grins he was handing out freely to all those sponsors. The smirk was meant for her only, often to mock or taunt but, sometimes, to share a moment over someone's absurd behavior. The smirk was something special in her mind.

She was awfully glad he wasn't smirking at any of those people who were swarming around him like bees. They were looking like bees too. Bees that were very interested in a jar of honey.

Haymitch was anything but honey.

He wasn't sweet and he wasn't golden.

If anything, he was dark chocolate : all bitter, sinfully delicious, a guilty pleasure.

Effie Trinket hated Haymitch Abernathy but she also hated the way those people were touching him : a hand on his arm or on his shoulder to catch his attention, bumping against his side in what was supposed to be a playful manner… They were all over him. She hated it. She bet he hated it too.

She should have crossed the room and helped him court sponsors if nothing else, she owed it to Katniss and Peeta, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. He was doing very well by himself. He looked dashing – she had made him dashing, she had forced him to scrub raw and dressed him from head to toes – and, better than that, he looked alive. There was something in his eyes that looked dangerously like hope and she prayed the children could make it through, could win, because she didn't like to think about what would happen to him if they failed. Haymitch never hoped. In thirteen years, he had never once told her before : this year, we can make it.

And yet, there they were : Haymitch was finally playing the game, he was almost sober, devising plans and seeking out sponsors and Effie was worried sick. She wanted the children to win but she wanted that every other year and that never stopped their tributes from getting killed. If Peeta and Katniss died, she knew in her guts it would destroy him for good.

"You stare any harder, he's going to catch fire, love." Chaff mocked suddenly, coming to a stop next to her. "Although, that's your theme this year, yeah?"

"Drunk again, I see." she retorted, wrinkling her nose at Eleven's mentor. It wasn't enough to discourage him. It never was. There was no love lost between them and passing on a chance to taunt her was too much for Chaff.

"Afraid he will find another woman to take home?" he chuckled, sipping from his glass slowly. "'Can't blame you, some of those girls are pretty hot. And you're not getting any younger, are you?"

The gibe didn't hurt even though her age was indeed starting to become a concern. She was reaching thirty-five and that was the end of the line for most escorts.

"What Haymitch chooses to do and with whom is none of my concern." she replied tersely. "Please, excuse me."

The last part was added out of worry for proper manners rather than a real intention not to cause offense. She walked away to another group of sponsors, a beaming smile on her lips, happy to be welcomed as one of the promising Districts for once. Flirting, grinning and shamelessly trying to steal those people's money didn't stop her from glancing over her shoulder from time to time.

She told herself it was to make he wasn't getting drunk while she wasn't looking.

Deep down, she knew it was because she was desperate to walk over there and tell those women he wasn't free for the taking.

Not that she would ever do that.

A lady didn't kiss and tell, after all, but her lipstick did and hers was currently smeared all over Haymitch's thighs – amongst other parts of him – from the long car ride that had taken them to the party. He had been yearning for a drink and she had been happy to provide a distraction.

She would have to be content with that small possessive brand.

She must have been staring for too long because their eyes locked and he granted her a small smirk.

She grinned back briefly before averting her eyes again.

He belonged to her.

It didn't matter that those women didn't know it or that they flocked around him in an absurd gaggle of silly giggling geese.

They hated each other and they belonged to each other and that was how it should be.