Any chance that you might write something similar to Thirteen Love Bites? But this time with Effie being "marked"?. I think it was somehow erotic and I also imagine it a Haymitch thing to do. Pleaaase?

In the interest of safety, there is nudity and a light touch of steam.

Claimed

Staring at a sleeping woman was creepy, a voice – that strongly sounded like Johanna's – whispered in the back of Haymitch's mind. He went on with his watching anyway, having nothing else to do. They had kicked him out of Command three hours earlier and had instructed him not to come back before he had rested for a while. The fact that he wasn't able to get any proper sleep without getting wasted or without his knife didn't seem to register with those people. So, instead, he had crashed at Effie's and had indulged in the only distraction he had left in this world : her.

She was just as exhausted as he was, the evidences were there for everyone to see : without make-up, her delicate china doll skin was even paler than usual, there were dark bags under her eyes and her bad habit of biting her bottom lip – that she usually covered with lipstick and chapstick – had left a permanent mark.

She was still asleep, lying on her right side, in the small space left between him and the wall on the narrow bed. The blankets had slipped down from her shoulders and were barely covering her breasts, causing her to shiver in the cold air from time to time. He pulled the covers over her, careful not to wake her, regretting not having had the forethought of telling her to get dressed again before she had fallen asleep. He wasn't affected by the cold as much as she was, he was suffering from random hot flashes from the withdrawal anyway.

He retraced the curve of her shoulder with the tip of his fingers, following the hard line of her collarbone and trying not to wince when he spotted the bruises that were forming there, reddish and purple hues on her white flesh. She marked easily, true, but he had bitten too hard, he figured – he could guess at the imprint of his teeth on her skin.

They always had a "no marks" policy – at least not where people could see them – but lately that had gone down the drain. It had started with her leaving a noticeable hickey on his neck after an epic row about him flirting with women all over the place – that was utter bullshit, he was too busy looking out for Katniss and helping the rebels win the war to chase after women he didn't care about in the first place – and had quickly evolved into trying to mark the other in some way. It was strange because Haymitch had never felt that compulsion before, not truly. Hickeys and love bites he had left on her body in the past had been the result of an instant of passion, of his brain being too addled by lust to know better, it had never come from a primitive urge to show the world she belonged to him.

He didn't know what it was about this place…

Effie being Effie, she had not complied with the uniform rule – or, at least, had bent the rule so much she might as well have gone on wearing Capitol dresses – and that had mostly triggered negative reactions in the conservative District in which respect for the rules was a way of life if not a necessity. However, there had also been other kind of reactions. The women in Thirteen all wore, without exception, the shapeless pants and shirts that had been provided and the refugees from other Districts had soon caught up with that trend. She was the only woman he knew of in that District who wore tunics over grey woolen tights as if they were a suitable substitutes for a dress, or who walked around with shirts buttoned together so she looked like she was wearing a fashionable top that left one shoulder bare. She was showing her figure, she was flashing more skin than people were used to in Thirteen and some men trailed after her like well-trained little puppies. She had no qualms about using that to her advantage either, it was her way, she had always charmed men into doing her bidding.

She had done that in the Capitol too. Haymitch had watched her do precisely that for years and he had laughed and laughed at those men who didn't have the common sense to know better. They were the sailors and she was the mermaid, they would drown or walk unscathed on her whim, they were her toys. It used to make him laugh, he mused, because he had been immune to her Capitol snares. He didn't fall for the escort's act, he knew the carefully painted face was just a mask, he knew the clothes were designed to make her figure perfect, that she wore corsets or padding depending on how she wanted to look, he knew the heavy fragrance of her perfume only aimed at disguising the delicate fruity sent of her shampoo, he knew there was a wild mane of dark blond curls hiding under the wigs… He knew what she was selling to those men she seduced was only an image, an act. Haymitch, on the other hand, knew the real deal.

He figured that was why it felt so different in Thirteen…

In Thirteen, she had no make-up, no fancy clothes, no padding and no corset, no wigs, no jewelry… They had even torn away her fake nails. She still clung to her defiant regal attitude and her insufferable stuck-up personality but it was the last protective layer she had. All the rest, all those men were panting after her for, it was the real deal. That didn't belong to Haymitch alone any longer.

It was like she was slipping through his fingers, as if something precious that had been reserved to him alone for him had been stolen and exposed to the rest of the world. He hadn't been ready for that. He hadn't been aware he needed to get ready for that. So he was claiming her with his teeth like a caveman or a wild animal desperately trying to mark his territory…

He was so focused on the light bruising on her collarbone he didn't immediately realize she was watching him.

"I woke you?" he asked, his voice low and rough.

"There are worse things than waking up to you touching me." she hummed. She brushed her own fingers against his ribcage and winced. "Does it hurt?"

He glanced down at himself, surprised to see the collection of love bites on his side, not too far from the scarred tissues an axe had left behind so long ago.

"No." he answered truthfully. "You?"

He stroked the length of her collarbone, trying to figure out if she was hurting in any way. It was the last thing he ever wanted to do: hurt her. Sex, with them, was always rough and they had ended up with bruises, scratches and various injuries more than once but he was careful and so was she. They never intended to cause pain, pain had never been a kink for either of them. That was a line neither of them wanted to cross.

"No." she answered and he didn't think she was lying. "It will be difficult to hide though."

"Good." he growled, pressing his lips against hers hungrily. "Let them see."

"Let everybody see that we had sex?" she chuckled, responding to his kiss eagerly. "I am not sure President Coin would appreciate that sort of gossips distracting her troops."

"Let them see you're mine." he retorted.

"Who says I am?" she taunted but it turned into a whine when he sucked her earlobe into his mouth. She cradled the back of his head in her hand, tangling her fingers in his hair, and urged him closer until she could kiss him again. "See?" she grinned against his lips. "There are worse ways to wake up."

"You're mine." he growled again, unwilling to drop the point.

She studied him for a few seconds, a soft smile gracing her lips. "Are you mine?"

He waved at the hickeys on his ribs with a snort. "You need another proof? You think I would let just anyone use me as their personal chew toy?"

"You have a gift for saying the sweetest things in the most awful way possible." she mocked gently but he could tell she was pleased.

"Say you're mine." he demanded, tossing the annoying blankets aside. They were in the way and he wanted better access. He dropped a kiss between her breasts, relishing in her sharp intake of breath, and continued leaving a trail of kisses down her chest and stomach. "Say it."

"Yours." she whispered, out of breath.

"Good." he smirked, nudging her thighs apart to kiss her where she desperately wanted to be kissed.

And if he left a bite mark on her inner thigh, well… One couldn't be too thorough.