Prompt: I have a prompt for you. Effie goes on a sex strike because Haymitch pissed her off and he tries to seduce her but it doesn't work. Please write it for me. :-**
Today is my birthday so you get crack. I am now old. Old people are allowed some crack.
On Strike
Haymitch was quite certain Effie was out to kill him.
He licked his lips, watching her over the edge of his book as she walked around the bedroom in a red negligee that didn't hide much, in search of who knew what – he rather thought she was simply making sure he saw her. Hard not to when she was wearing something like that. Parts of him were twitching in anticipation.
But he wouldn't make the first move.
He had his pride.
And the fight had been ugly. She had shouted, he had shouted… He had called her a harpy, she had called him a lazy sloth… He had laughed at her because lazy sloth was a pleonasm, she had taken it to mean he was calling her dumb. The fight had dangerously escalated and had ended with him slamming the front door, hoping a stroll and a few mouthfuls of booze behind the shed would calm him down. When he had come back, the kids had already been there for dinner and she had been acting normal. He had thought she was pretending for their sakes but after they had gone back home, she had asked him to take out the trash in her polite but clipped voice. Since he figured the fight was more or less his fault – it had started because he had left mudded footprints in the kitchen – he had taken out the trash without complaining and he had helped her to do the dishes too. After that they had spent the rest of the evening like they usually did, he had read his book on the couch while she watched a ridiculous show on TV, they had shared a mug of tea and then they had gone upstairs to get ready for bed.
He was suspicious because fights like the one they had were rarely so easily swept under the rug but at the same time he was grateful for the reprieve.
Still… He wouldn't make the first move.
Even if that red negligee barely covered her ass and he could guess she wasn't wearing much in terms of underwear. She had a great ass. She had great everything. And he was doing a poor job of convincing anyone he was reading. He dropped the book in his lap, abandoning the pretence to openly stare.
Eventually, she located what she was after and turned to him with her worst devilish smile, gathering her hair in her right hand and pulling it up as if to tie it in a ponytail. The negligee rode up and it became very clear she was wearing nothing underneath. He sat up a little, feeling constricted in his sweatpants.
"Are you alright, Haymitch?" she asked innocently, dropping her hair. "You look a little flushed…"
"That's a word for it…" he smirked.
She batted her eyelashes with a small worried pout. "I hope you didn't catch anything."
"Wanna play doctor?" he snorted, lifting his eyebrows. She did that sometimes, invent ridiculous scenarios that came straight out of some porn she thought he enjoyed. He didn't really need the fancy stuff, having her in his bed was enough to get him up, but he never protested too much because she was having fun with it.
She crawled up the bed slowly, offering him a good view of her cleavage, and placed her hand on his forehead with a frown. "You don't feel hot."
"I'm hot down there." he teased, lifting the covers.
Her face remained blank. "Well… Whatever it is that has you so flustered, I think you will live."
She pressed a kiss on his lips but she was gone before he could try to deepen it. She slid between the sheets on her side of the bed, turned her back on him and switched off the lamp on her bedside table.
He was left sitting there, blinking in confusion. "What are you playing at?"
"Playing?" she hummed, adjusting the blankets around her. "I don't know what you mean."
"If that's payback, that's low." he grumbled.
"I don't know what you mean." she repeated, too innocently to be true.
"Sure, you don't." he growled, picking up his book and trying to ignore his painful arousal. He wouldn't give her the pleasure of letting her see just how well her ploy had worked.
Eventually, he fell asleep. Their sleep habits weren't the best. They both had nightmares and they were used to waking up either because of their own night terrors or because the other had screamed. He didn't really wake up when she had her nightmare, he automatically wrapped his arms around her and held her close until she calmed down, still half-asleep. He thought he had one too but aside for her voice guiding him through it, he didn't remembered much the next morning.
The bed was already empty which wasn't surprising.
He staggered to the bathroom even though he heard the shower running, in a rush to relieve himself. He waited for her to rant and berate him because she hated when he used the toilets while she was in the shower but it didn't come. Suspicious. He finished his business, washed his hands, got rid of his pajamas and opened the door of the shower stall. Her hair was pinned high on her head in a messy bun – to make sure it didn't get wet probably – which suited him just fine because it gave him open access to her nape.
He wrapped his arms around her and dropped a few kisses on her shoulder and neck. She leaned against his chest, her nails pleasantly scratching his forearms, and then she turned around, locked her arms around her neck and kissed him. Deep. With tongue. The way he could never resist. He nudged her toward the tiled wall but she placed a hand on his chest.
"I have a headache." she said. It was lie. An obvious unconvincing lie. She pecked his lips again, making sure to press her breasts against his chest, and sauntered off, grinning. "The shower is all yours."
He waited until she had left the bathroom to switch the water to icy.
She was standing at the kitchen counter when he finally came down and he had to do a double take because she was wearing a skirt he was very sure she hadn't worn in years. It was tight and short – shorter than what she wore nowadays anyway – so constricting he didn't see how she would be able to sit without flashing the whole District. She wasn't wearing any tights either and she had her black stilettos on, the ones with the laces that went up mid-calves and that he liked her to keep on when they had sex. The silk top was an icy blue that matched her eyes and it shimmered under the light, it also fell down one shoulder, revealing the absence of a bra strap.
It wasn't even subtle.
He wanted to lift her up and step between her legs. He would go down to his knees. He would bury his head between her thighs and obtain her forgiveness without having to apologize. He would make her scream.
He already knew how any attempt at doing that on his part would be received.
She leaned against the counter, crossing her ankles so she was balanced on one heel, her cup of coffee in her hands, and flashed him a smile.
"How's the headache?" he deadpanned, pouring himself some coffee of his own – he spiked it with liquor but she didn't even comment.
"Worse." she sighed – she didn't even try not to make it sound fake. "A lot worse, I'm afraid."
She ran one of her heeled foot along her other leg, up to her knee and back down. It was meant to look distracted and seductive and, fuck it, it was working. He loved her legs. Her legs were the first thing he had started to fantasize about so many years earlier.
"Any idea when that nasty headache is going to disappear?" he snorted, not bothering to hide his sarcasm.
"Do you have anything to say to me?" she hummed.
"Nope." he replied, making the p pop.
"Then I am afraid it will be a chronic ailment." she lamented, waving her cup of coffee in an apologizing gesture.
"Two can play that game, you know." he warned.
"Perhaps." she granted in a hum, taking a sip of coffee. "But we both know I have the best self-control."
"In your dreams." he scoffed although he knew she had a point.
"We shall see, shall we?" she challenged.
Haymitch never backed down from a challenge. He spent the whole day bare-chested. She laughed when she realized his master plan was to seduce her with his torso – that wasn't nice. He didn't let that minor setback discourage him. He set up to straighten the geese's pen, working under the hard summer sun for long enough that he got sweaty. He knew she was watching from the study where she usually spent her morning sketching clothes or sewing, she always kept an eye on him when he was doing this sort of things in case he hurt himself – which was ridiculous but which also suited his purpose at the moment. He checked she was at the window before grabbing his bottle of water and splashing himself with it, letting the water trickle down his chest. He might not have abs anymore but he still had some muscles left and, yeah, there was a small pouch at his waist but he wasn't fat by any mean.
He turned in the window's direction and lifted his eyebrows. She didn't seem troubled by being caught staring, her lips were stretched in an amused grin.
"What the fuck are you doing?"
Haymitch startled and turned around, wincing a little when he found himself face to face with Katniss. The girl was watching him with round eyes and looked ready to have him committed. He grumbled something about the kids having no boundaries and invading his house at all times and then fled inside where he put his shirt back on.
It was a complete failure.
A failure that had for downside a nasty sunburn on his shoulders and neck.
Effie was annoying him. She acted like everything was perfectly normal but she kept making suggestive gestures – be it running her hand up and down the TV remote or moaning around her spoonful of chocolate – and he was getting painfully aroused. His own attempts at tempting her failed one after the other even when he made sure she walked in on him with his hand around his dick and her lingerie magazine open on the bed. She didn't even blink. She went about putting away the clean laundry, humming a cheerful song to herself, and it put him off so much he tossed the magazine in the trash at the next possible occasion.
Three days of this and he was ready to climb the walls in frustration.
The kids must have understood something was going on because they were making themselves scarce.
"You know." he spat on the fourth night as he was failing to focus on his book because she was right next to him on the bed, humming to herself while rubbing a body lotion on her leg – slowly and sensually and fuck. "I'm still famous. I'm a Quell victor. I'm a key player of the rebellion. I'm the Mockingjay's fucking mentor. I could go to the bar and pick up a silly young bird and she'll probably thank me after we're done."
She capped the lotion bottle, placed it on her nightstand and lied down on her back, on top of the covers. Her nightgown was riding high on her thighs, too high for it not to be on purpose.
"Do remember to lock the door behind you, darling." she retorted matter-of-factly.
He hated when she called him pet names. She only did it when she was making fun of him.
He was half-tempted to do it, to put some pants on and head out to the bar, to leave her wondering if he would go through with it and pick up a random woman – he wouldn't, she had ruined him for other women but she didn't need to know that. He decided it would cause more problems than it would solve. She was jealous and possessive and it was all fun and games until she actually felt threatened. Then it took hours to convince her he didn't want anyone else.
"You know what I take out of this?" he grumbled. "I'm more attracted to you than you are to me."
"That is patently untrue." she countered. "Nobody makes me wet like you." He groaned but she wasn't done. She planted her feet on the bed, her legs spread as if waiting for him to settle between them and the sight was already too much but when she trailed her hand up her stomach to cup her breast, watching him languidly, all he could do was lick his lips and stare. "Why, the things you do to me…" She closed her eyes, kneading her breast. "Do you know what I am picturing right now? The way you would bite on my nipple and tug on it with your teeth…" She hissed as she pinched the hard bud and he gulped down loud enough that she opened her eyes and smirked at him. "Do you want to know what else I am picturing?"
Her free hand slowly inched her nightgown up and he shook his head, kicking the covers off his legs. He slipped his shirt off and took off his boxers. Was his pride hurt? Yes. All the more so given that he had tried the very same trick on her and that it hadn't worked. Was preserving his pride worth getting a severe case of blue balls for another couple of days? No.
She laughed when he rolled on his side, propped himself on his elbow and fisted the nightgown at the level of her hip, ready to tear it off her. She stopped him by covering his hand.
"Do you have anything you want to say to me?" she hummed.
"You're set on humiliating me." he accused.
"It is not humiliating, it is teaching." she denied. "And truly, it is only humiliating because you made it so."
He scowled but shrugged. "Shouldn't have left mud tracks in the kitchen."
She pursed her lips. "And?"
"Don't push it." he snapped.
She batted her eyelashes with a pout. "But I want to push it, Haymitch… Inside me." His arm was next to the pillow, she only had to turn her head to poke his thumb with her tongue. He breathed in deep as she playfully nipped at it. "I would squeeze. So tight… Just like you love best. Or maybe you would like me to use my mouth? I would do that. I would…"
"I'm sorry I fucking called you a fucking harpy." he cut her off.
"What about saying I am dumb?" she hummed.
"Never said that." he denied. "You said that. But I'm sorry. I'm fucking sorry. I'll be fucking sorry for the neighbors' dog digging holes in the yard again if that's what you want, just… Enough."
Her lips stretched into a smile and she coiled her hand behind his neck. "At last. I thought I was going to go mad with lust."
She pulled and he didn't resist, finally taking that nightgown off her. He kissed her. Her breasts, her stomach, her face, her lips, her thighs… He kissed and he touched and licked and bit until she cried out and then he slipped inside her and it was almost embarrassing how fast he came. It had been too long. And she had teased too much.
She snuggled close to his side while he tried to get his breath back, resting her head on his chest and her hand on his side.
"Lesson learned?" she teased.
A huge part of him wanted to tell her to fuck off but another part could admit this whole mess was his fault in the first place and he didn't want to fight anymore. Not for a couple of days at least.
"Well played, sweetheart." he granted. "Well played."