Prompt : I've got a prompt for you ^^ Could you write a sequel of Worship/Believe? Like about the first time Hayffie making love post-mockingjay? So much time has passed, so much has happened since then. I know you can think of something :) Thanks !

Belief was chapter 209 and Worship chapter 291 but this one can stand alone.

Warning for light smut.

Devotion

His eyes remained on her as she straddled his hips. She didn't do anything more than that and he didn't dare touch her. The lights were all on, his room at the Presidential Mansion too unfamiliar for him to be comfortable in the dark. He and Plutarch had finally managed to convince Coin to clear her of all charges, through a lot of bargaining, and she was now wearing Thirteen's grey uniform like the rest of them. It didn't suit her. Grey wasn't her color. It only enhanced how hollow her cheeks had become, it almost matched the dark bags under her eyes.

It was the first time he had had her to himself since she had been found in one of the Capitol cells, seemingly unhurt compared to others. She had been dehydrated, starved, but aside for a few bruises, a few infected cuts and months old healed wounds, she was alright. It was better than what he had expected. His pessimism had told him he would only find a corpse. At the hospital, there was always a doctor or a nurse around, and Plutarch who couldn't seem to get a hint and would never leave them alone. Then there had been the guards Coin insisted were necessary and now that she was cleared...

He had been nervous about being alone with her but she had followed him to his room as if it was normal, barely commenting on the mess he had managed to create. He had a gift for creating messes, he thought.

She was watching him and he was watching her, each one of them mapping the differences on the other's face. The new lines that hadn't been there a few months ago, the consequences of weariness and exhaustion... When she slowly brushed her fingertips from his forehead to the tip of his nose, he submitted to her touch with a blissful sigh. She retraced his features, either remembering them or relearning them, and ended up framing his face with her hands, her nails scrapping against the rough hair of his beard.

"You need to shave." she whispered.

"Can't." he shrugged, showing her his unsteady hands. There were days when the tremors were barely noticeable and others were they were very pronounced. He didn't dare bring a razor blade too close to his throat.

"I will do it." she said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to offer. He supposed she had done worse for him over the years. "Later."

She took her hands away and started unbuttoning her grey shirt. It was only when that was gone and she grabbed the bottom of the grey tank top underneath that he understood what she was doing.

"We don't have to do that." he frowned slightly.

It was her turn to frown and she froze, the tank top pulled up somewhere around her midsection.

"Don't you want to?" she asked, her voice strangely fragile. "I know I am not much to look at anymore but..."

He sat up, cutting her off with a kiss.

"You're beautiful." he growled against her lips. "You're always beautiful to me."

She searched his eyes for a second that seemed to last an eternity.

"Then let me make love to you." she murmured. "I need to. I need you."

His hands dropped to her waist and he waited until she had pulled the top off to pepper her throat and collarbones with kisses, noting her wording. Not make love to me but let me make love to you. It was so symptomatic of their relationship : she gave and he took. That would change, he vowed.

He unclasped the plain white bra they had given her at the hospital and let it fall off the bed, knowing she would never want to wear it again anyway. He would get up early the next day and find her proper clothes, he decided, everything she liked and he hated : blinding colors, shiny slippery fabrics... He would wrap her in her usual brightness and perhaps it would help healed the wounds that ran deeper under her skin.

When their lips finally met for a proper kiss, it felt like breathing after spending too much time underwater. It felt like freedom.

He let her set the pace of the kiss, happy to run his hand on her back just to feel. He had dreamt of having her in his arms against too many times to trust his eyes. He needed to touch, to feel her close.

She grabbed hold of both his shirt and undershirt and pulled them over his head. He obediently lifted his arms to help and lied back down when she gently pushed on his chest. He wanted to roll them over, kiss, lick and suck until she cried out in pleasure but he sensed it wasn't what she wanted. She wanted the control, she wanted to make sure he was real just how badly as he needed to check she wasn't a withdrawal induced hallucination. He placed his hands on the back of her thighs and waited while she caressed his chest, her fingers lingering on the white lines of the scars... She rested her hand on the huge swollen scar on his right side and placed her other hand on the burn patch of tissue over her left hip.

He knew what she was thinking without her having to voice it. They were matching now.

Her scars were pinkish and the doctors had said most of them would disappear with time. The burn mark on her hip would stay.

Slowly, he reached for it, replacing her fingers with his, learning the shape, the length, the thickness of it. He was still learning that new part of her when she unbuckled her belt and awkwardly tried to wriggle out of her pants and panties.

"Let me." he requested.

He had never asked for permission before. Not for anything.

But things were different now and they both knew it.

She nodded and let him lie her down under him so he could tug the pants and underwear off her. He got rid of his while he was at it and then slowly kissed his way up from her knee to her mouth, lingering in the places she liked best so she was out of breath when he finally met her lips.

He found her hand on the pillow and entwined their fingers. They had never hold hands while having sex but there was a first time for everything and he stared straight at her when he settles between her legs. Their eyes remained locked when he started moving, following the slow rhythm of her hips, their hands squeezing each other tight as their pleasure built...

And tears pooled in her eyes when her climax hit her. Her head fell back, her mouth opened in a silent sigh, and when she looked at him again, her blue eyes were made bluer by the tears. He wanted to stop but he was too far gone. A few more rocking of hips and he tumbled over the edge. He didn't even let himself catch a breath.

"You're okay?" he frowned, propping himself on his elbow and cupping her face with his other hand. "Did I hurt you?"

He should have been more careful. He should have let her go on top. She was still bruised in some places, her body aching from too many time spent in a cell and weeks of being stuck in a hospital bed.

"No." she denied, placing her hand on top of hit to keep it where it was. She pressed a kiss to the inside of his wrist. "I'm fine."

"Bullshit. You're crying." he scoffed, pressing a desperate kiss on her forehead and then another one on her lips. "Don't cry, sweetheart. Whatever it is, we'll fix it, okay?"

"I've missed you, that's all." She smiled through her tears and though it was a little forced, he didn't think she was lying.

He waited for a few seconds, just to make sure nothing more was coming, and then he snorted bitterly. "You're never going to miss me again because I'm never letting you out of my sight. We will be sick of each other in two days but I don't give a shit. You're stuck with me."

He pressed kisses along her throat and shoulder, settling right next to her and keeping his arm wrapped around her. She snuggled into his side with a content sigh.

Haymitch rested his head against hers and closed his eyes.

Never again, he vowed.