prompt- Haymitch is furious with Effie and drunkenly mocks her for loving him when she knows he will never love her back

So… I definitely remember I wrote this in the middle of the night because I couldn't sleep. It's not important but I feel it needs to be shared ;) also smut.

Playing Pretend

"You're pathetic" he spat against her neck.

"So are you." she hissed back, sucking in a short breath of air when he curled his fingers.

They were probably a sight and a part of him hoped that there was no hovercraft about to board the roof of the Training Center. He couldn't quite remember what they had been arguing about. Something insignificant in the grand scheme of things most likely – it was always like that with them, they could argue about everything. He hated it, her... He hated that it led to them standing pressed together against the outer wall of the Center, his pants and underwear around his ankles, her dress bunched around her waist, her panties in his pocket. He hated enjoying it.

He had been done for a few minutes now and he could have walked away, could have left her hanging, but even though he wasn't sure what they had been arguing about, he was very sure it was a power play and he couldn't lose to her. She had brought him down with a few rocks of her hips and teeth biting his neck. She had brought him down too fast and too strong and if he had walked away now she would have won because it meant admitting she was in control.

He was in control.

And he loved the way she pressed the back of her head against the wall and groaned when his fingers pumped in and out of her at a punishing speed. He hated to love it but he did. She was close, he knew.

"Faster." she requested.

He slowed down with a cruel chuckle. "You're more pathetic than I am. Poor broken princess... You think a smoke on the roof is going to erase those kids' faces? You think they won't come to haunt you in your sleep?"

"That is why they invented sleeping pills." she retorted. "And given that you were here drinking, should you even be lecturing me?"

He hated how collected she could always be even on the edge of an orgasm. He liked her stuttering and incoherent. He liked her with her lips bruised, lipstick smudged on her face, a dazed lusty look in her eyes, debauched and finally speechless. Sometimes he could get her there. It took work. But it happened.

He stilled his fingers, ignoring the slight tinge of pain in his wrist. The position wasn't ideal and he was starting to feel the strain.

"Shut up, Trinket." he warned.

"Make me." she growled.

She didn't wait for him to take up her dare, she took action. Her mouth sought his, her tongue forcing its way past his lips. He surrendered to it for a moment before remembering he was supposed to be in control, here. He needed to be in control. He tore his mouth away, relishing her disappointed whine and the awkward rocking of her hips to get some friction back. His thumb stroke her clit once and she gasped.

"You're more pathetic ´cause you hope this means something." he accused. "´Cause you went and fell in love with the drunkard victor just because it would piss off your Mommy if she knew what we're doing right now. ´Cause you're a stupid girl who thinks she's gonna make me change my mind about life. You think it's a fucking fairy tale."

She laughed. It wasn't exactly the reaction he had been hoping for. It sounded like broken glass, all bitter and rough. "Fairy tales don't exist, Haymitch. And I don't love you." Her lips stretched into a sneer. It was ugly on her. "Now do something or get out of here so I can finish by myself. It wouldn't be the first time I would have to do your job."

That comment angered him and he added a finger just to hear her gasp again, moving his hand too slowly for her tastes. He knew he wasn't always the best lover. He didn't want to hear it.

"It's so fucking obvious when you lie..." he mocked, raising his free hand to touch her face. He brushed his fingertips along a powder covered cheekbone, wondering what she really looked like under that shit. The gesture was a parody of tenderness but she didn't let her guard down and he didn't push. "You're so fake and it's so fucking obvious... How does it feel to know nobody cares, sweetheart? How does it feel to know nobody cares enough about you to look beneath the mask?"

He couldn't decide if the tears shining in her eyes were from frustration or due to his words.

"You do." she retorted, forgetting the dumb act and it sent a chill down his spine. He started stroking her with his thumb again, rejoicing in her soft whimpers.

"I do." he snorted. "That's how I know you have fucking feelings for me."

"If hatred and loathing count as feelings." she deadpanned but he hit the spot again and she moaned.

"Stop lying." he ordered.

She stared at him with half open eyelids, her teeth biting down on her bottom lip, her head pressed hard against the bricks at her back... He speeded up his movements, pumping hard and fast, knowing that was the surest way she would get off.

"Do you want me to say it?" she whispered, out of breath. "Is that what this is about? Do you want to hear the words? Do you want me to pretend I love you? Do you want me to be sweet and naive like one of your District women? I can do that if you want. I am good at pretending."

Her words made him furious. Truth be told, he wasn't sure what she felt. He liked to tease her with the crush she had sported for him when he had won. On bad days, he liked to taunt her with having feelings only to demean her, to remind both of them he was a cruel and bitter man who wasn't capable of having feelings of his own. But deep down, he didn't know. She was a fucking good actress and she had a good poker face when she wanted to.

He wasn't even sure it was what it was about, really. Maybe it was about those three words. Maybe he did want to hear them. How long had it been since the last time someone had told him they loved him? Decades. He didn't deserve it. He wasn't even sure he could hear them without it triggering flashbacks from his goodbyes at the Justice Building. Those three words were powerful, all the more so when they were the last thing you heard from the people most important to you.

"I'm not." he scoffed. He curled his fingers, pressed with his thumb and she cried out, her body tensing before going completely limp.

He waited until he was sure her legs would support her weight again before jerking away, pulling his boxers and pants up, wincing at the sticky mess they had made. He wiped himself off with her panties before tucking everything back in.

She was watching him with an acute attention he didn't like. He handed the soiled panties and she simply shook her head, tugging her dress down so she would look decent again.

"Burn them." she cringed.

He rolled his eyes and considered tossing them over the edge of the roof before realizing they would most likely just bounce back up so he buried them in his pocket again. He would get rid of them later.

He looked around for his flask, eventually spotting it a few feet away, right where he had been sitting when she had barged in on his quiet moment. He wasn't surprised to hear the familiar clicking of her lighter. He was a little annoyed because it meant she wouldn't be leaving right away but he held his tongue. He didn't want to argue anymore. The thrill was gone for tonight.

He sat down, his back against the wall enclosing the roof, and slowly sipped his liquor. She leaned against the roof's brick railing and she watched the city underneath, playing with her lighter without actually lighting the cigarette in her mouth.

They remained silent.

He pretended he wasn't staring at her legs.

She pretended he wasn't there.

She was good at it.

He wasn't.