Prompt : If you're still accepting prompts: What about the first time Haymitch and Effie share a bed?
The Wrong Side Of The Bed
Effie wakes up on the wrong side of the bed. She knows it's the wrong side because she's on her stomach and her right arm is dangling over the edge but she always sleeps on the other side because that's where she keeps her alarm clock, the book she has started forever ago and has never finished, and a glass of water in case she ever gets thirsty at night. There is nothing on the other nightstand except for the customary lamp.
She is accustomed to space on that empty side, not to find herself with an arm dangling from the bed. She wriggles back sleepily, trying to find her favorite spot on the mattress, and bumps into something big and warm that groans in protest before rolling over, taking half of the covers with him. She lifts her head and studies the sleeping man, not quite panicking but not quite at peace either. She doesn't let just anyone sleep in her bed and it's been a long time since her last boyfriend.
She's naked though and her body is still sore in places like it always is after a session of angry sex with…
She relaxes when she remembers what happened last night. The endless argument about making an effort with sponsors, the same argument they had a thousand times and will probably have a thousand more, the slap she has tried to land on his cheek, his gripping of her wrist and the inevitable violent kiss that followed if only to make him stop insulting her… This, whatever it is, is the most toxic relationship she has ever been in. She hates him on good days, loathes him on the bad.
She stares at his back in the dark, retraces a few of his scars with her eyes, feels proud of the numerous fresh scratches on his skin…
He never fell asleep in her bed before, she doesn't know how she feels about that. It makes it more real somehow, less likely to be swept under the rug right after they're done. It figures he would sleep in her spot, she muses, he lives to make her life more difficult.
Let sleeping dogs lie, they say. Effie has never been good at following rules, she bends them to her will instead, finds ways around them if she can get away with it, twists them around her will smiling all the while so nobody ever finds fault with her…
Even if she doesn't quite know how she feels about the intrusion, having him in her bed presents an immediate advantage and she's determined to help herself. She hates him, she loathes him – and no doubt he feels the same about her – but she can't deny the way he makes her feel. She can't deny that she is always waiting for that telltale moment in a fight where the anger turns to lust in his eyes.
She presses her lips against his back, sucks on one of the scar, licks one of the scratches her nails have left… He doesn't wake at once. When she sneaks an arm around his waist and takes him in hand, so to speak, he moans but it's still sleepy. He's relaxed, far from his usual aggressive stance every time they're sharing the same space… He rolls on his back a little, which gives her better access and brings him in her arms. His eyelids are fluttering and she knows he's fighting to wake up properly. She also knows he's likely to get alarmed if he wakes up in a strange place, without his knife in easy reach. She knows a lot of things about Haymitch, sometimes she wishes she didn't but she can't unlearn what she knows.
"You're expecting me to do all the work, I see." she huffs, if only to let him know he's with her, not with a stranger – it might not be much better in his book, but she knows it's at least a little better. "Typical of you."
His eyes are open now, he watches her as she slowly straddles him and presses kisses on his chest. He doesn't say anything and she wonders if he thinks he's dreaming – does he ever dream about her? Them? He doesn't try to stop her either. This feels different than usual and not just because, for once, she's in charge and he lets her – he has control issues and despite all her attempts at gaining dominance, he always ends up being the one pining her against flat surfaces – it's less hurried, more purposeful.
It's only when she presses her lips against his, slightly hesitant because she can't remember a time when they have not kissed in the heat of the moment, that he truly seems to wake up. He grabs her hips and kisses back and for a second she's sure he's going to roll them over. She feels a tinge of disappointment about that because she would like to be on top once in a while. But instead of doing that, he digs his fingers in the flesh around her hipbones.
"Get on with it, then, sweetheart." he demands. "Or are you just being a tease? Waking me up and leaving me hanging?"
It's a challenge she is only too happy to accept.
There are perks to having him in her bed after all, even if that means losing her favorite spot.