Prompt: Haymitch show to Effie what is the difference between having sex and making love.

Wrote this as a prequel to Belief (chap 209) but can stand alone. Some steam, I guess.

Worship

The light from the screen projected strange shadows in Effie's otherwise dark living-room. She had closed the curtains as soon as they had arrived to her apartment, not keen on the sunlight spilling from outside, not keen on the joy it usually brought her, when Katniss and Peeta were trapped in a deadly arena for the second time.

She was staring at the television and Haymitch was staring at her.

The Quell would be over by midnight and, if they were lucky, the Hunger Games would end with it. He would need to leave soon, Plutarch had insisted on the importance of punctuality in that matter. Two hours, he figured, that was all he had left to share with her. She wouldn't be coming naturally, she didn't even know what was in store and he felt sorry for her, sorry for what she would have to go through on her own while he ran for safety.

Bringing her with him wasn't an option, it had never been an option. The only time he had ventured to broach the idea with Plutarch, the Head Gamemaker had been clear : an escort in Thirteen wouldn't be welcomed and, even if they managed to seal some kind of deal to give her immunity, she would never be accepted. Besides, there was no guarantee they would even reach Thirteen alive. There was no guarantee they would win the rebellion in the planning. There was no guarantee Thirteen would survive this new war. It was all a gambit, really, and Haymitch wasn't ready to gambit with her life when Plutarch swore she would be safer in the Capitol.

They would arrest her, that was bound to happen, but the Gamemaker was confident they would release her when they would realize she knew nothing. She had no great importance in the game, after all. She was just the escort and a loyal Capitol to top it off. Nobody was interested in her, it was him the Peacekeepers were shadowing, him they were watching like a hawk… She would be safer here, he had to believe that. And she would never follow him anyway if she knew what was going to happen. She would scream and rage and accuse him of finally going completely mad and she wouldn't be wrong.

Two hours. He had never thought the deadline would sadden him that much. He was used to being parted from her. However, he wasn't used to being worried about her and that was all the difference, he mused. He would be on the other side of the country and she would be alone and he knew in his soul it wasn't supposed to be that way. As dysfunctional and fucked-up as it was, they were supposed to watch each other's back. They were a team, they were partners.

"We should go back." she suggested, her eyes never straying far from the screen. "Perhaps we could find new sponsors… If we play on Beetee's plan…"

They weren't supposed to be in her apartment, that much was true. They should have been at the Games Headquarters, courting sponsors, trying to help Katniss and Peeta, and if it were any other Games, that was exactly where they would have been. But those Games were different and the dices were already cast.

"There's nothing else we can do." he said.

She accepted his answer without a blink. She was exhausted, he mused. He couldn't recall the last time either of them had properly sat down before they had crashed on her couch. He didn't know when they had last eaten something either, never mind sleeping. He was slouched against the back of the couch, she was leaning forward, her elbows on her knees.

He glanced at the TV but nothing had changed. Enobaria and Brutus were still recovering, Chaff was desperately trekking through the jungle and the rest of their friends were on the beach, waiting for the right moment to put the plan into motions. Nothing would happen until late into the night. There was no point waiting around.

"You need to sleep, let's go to bed." he offered, standing up and outstretching his hand to her.

She glanced up at him in surprise. A smile that would have been teasing if it hadn't been so drained appeared on her lips. "You and me going to bed together just to sleep would be a first."

"Never said just to sleep, now, did I?" he smirked.

She shook her head with badly suppressed fondness and glanced back at the screen, chewing on her bottom lip.

"They will be fine." he promised.

Finally, she took his hand and guided him to her bedroom. He entwined their fingers halfway there. She shot him a puzzled look over her shoulder but he didn't answer the unspoken question, instead he kissed her. It was slow and lazy, she tried to take control, she pulled at his clothes, pushed him against the wall but he wasn't following the dynamics she was imposing them, he wasn't falling in the familiar pattern.

Sex was always wild with them but he didn't want wild today. He didn't even want sex. This was a goodbye and he felt it needed to be special because there were things he wanted to say, things he didn't know how to say. He could show her though.

"Slow down, sweetheart."

The command was a whisper or maybe the whisper was a command.

He wasn't sure.

She stopped tugging at his shirt to look at him with a frown. He brushed his shaky fingers against her cheek, dropped kisses along the line of her jaw, she tilted her head and gave him free access. One of his hand was at the small of her back, pressing her against him, the other one was busy taking pin after pin off her wig. He could hear pin after pin dropping on the floor but he didn't take his mouth off her long enough to see her reaction at the mess he was making. She was clutching at the front of his shirt, her breathing quickening with every passing second.

When her hair tumbled down on her shoulders, he ran his fingers through the mane of curls a few times, enjoying the softness of her blond tresses. Then he unzipped her dress and let it pool at her feet before letting his hands roam all over her as if it was the first time.

"Haymitch…" she murmured, his shirt bundled in her fists. "What is going on?"

"You need me to draw you a picture?" he taunted without any heat. His lips trailed down her throat to her chest, his shaking fingers fumbled with the clasp of her bra, unable to undo it.

"That's not us." she said.

It wasn't. They weren't only wild, they were rough. Sex, for them, was an ongoing war and this felt like a truce.

"Maybe it should be." he shrugged, pressing a kiss over her heart.

She brushed a tentative hand against his cheek, her nails scrapping against his stubble. Her eyes searched his, so blue it almost caught his breath away. She didn't understand where this was coming from and he couldn't explain it but she was good at reading him, she guessed he needed this. In silence, she unclasped her bra and slipped his shirt off his shoulder before wrapping her arms around his neck.

He was used to the feel of her skin against his but the embrace felt different somehow, more intimate. He steadied his grip on her waist and bent to grab her under the knees. He had carried her like that once or twice before, more often he had tossed her over his shoulder only to hear her call him a caveman, every time he had carelessly dropped her in a heap on the bed. He was careful this time and he pretended he couldn't see the spark of amazement in her eyes if only because it hardly hid the wariness behind it.

He laid her on the bed and covered her body with his, pressing his lips against hers for a kiss that was entirely too tender. Her hands and her mouth were hesitant, testing the boundaries, but she grew more confident when he didn't start laughing or mock her for her gentleness. He had always stopped her from showing anything remotely akin to feelings before. The rest of their clothes were soon discarded and what they did next could only be compared to worshiping. They knew each other's body by heart but it felt as if they were learning anew.

The sex in itself was almost lazy. They had stronger climaxes in the past but the whole experience didn't compare. It was the difference between mere sex and making love, he mused, as they settled side by side, their legs still tangled in the sheets. The thought was terrifying for a moment. Love wasn't something he allowed himself to consider, ever. But the point was moot, the damage was done and he was already lost.

She was watching him, her expression guarded, but remained silent. Even when he started brushing the tip of his fingers against her face, following her delicate features, she only studied him. He continued his exploration, attentive.

If he had to be parted from her, he needed to be able to remember her perfectly.

So he was intent on committing her to memory.