Prompt: Holla! I have a prompt ( kinds steamy sorry ) and u are the best hayffie writer that i have read so i was wondering if you could write something where effie feels insecure about the way she *ahem* tastes to aymitch and aymitch asurres her tht shes amazing , thank you if you do
Hello everyone! First order of business, this is smut. Second order of business, it's now official I'll be in Paris next week so you won't get prompts unfortunately. I should have WIFI (let's pray because I can't survive four days without) so you can always reach me on my tumblr.
How To Be A Perfect House Guest (Don't Have Sex!)
Their kisses were heated but Haymitch was careful to keep a level head, not to lose himself in this like he used to do. He was wary of hurting her, no matter how many times she told him she was fine.
How could she be fine?
She had been released from the hospital three weeks earlier but the bruises were barely fading on her skin.
There was a noise in the corridor, behind their bedroom door, and they both froze. Someone coughed. A door was opened further down the hall and then softly closed. Haymitch slowly relaxed.
"We need to find a place to live." Effie sighed, making sure to keep her voice low. "My apartment…"
"Has been trashed from floors to ceilings. It will take a while to make it livable again." he cut her off. "We talked about this. It's either here or shelters."
Plutarch's house had still been standing at the end of the war and the Head Gamemaker had immediately extended his hospitality to him and Effie when the stay at the Presidential Mansion had become too much. Paylor would have gladly kept them there, he thought, but Haymitch hated the place and Effie kept flinching every time she met someone with a gun – and there were plenty of people with guns back there.
Katniss' trial was expected to last months – as long as her detox probably – they needed somewhere to stay. Granted, he would have rather used her apartment too. He wasn't sure how he felt about living with her but sharing a space with her was something he was used to, something they could probably work around. Being guests at Plutarch's now…
He hated the house.
It was huge and soulless and white and everything was either too easily breakable or stainable. Fulvia kept watching him like a hawk everywhere he went, kept asking him to please be careful about this or that… The only place he could really relax was the guestroom and then again the staff cleaning in everyday kept moving his stuff, fixing the mess he left behind him and very much making him feel as if he was intruding.
Effie was the perfect guest naturally, but her growing animosity for Fulvia was blatant and the cold but very much obvious despise between the two women contributed to make the atmosphere tense. He didn't know why they had hated each other on sight, maybe because Fulvia had been a dedicated rebel since her teens and Effie had been an escort, or maybe because they had been born on different sides of the social ladder… In any case, it was stressful.
Effie was supposed to rest, not be exposed to stressful situations. Physically, she was recovered or would be shortly enough. She was still underweight, too underweight… It was partly what was prompting him to be so careful when he touched her. He could feel her every bone and he was afraid he would break her without meaning to.
When she had realized he was holding back the first time they had had sex after her release from the hospital, she had gone mad. Very, very mad.
He was used to her temper and to her screaming at him. He was less used to the cold fury she had displayed that day. It had been a mix of anger, shame and loathing that hadn't been all directed at him.
She didn't want him to treat her differently so he had forced himself to be natural, to be careful but not suffocating in his need to protect.
"I always feel like they know what we are doing." she pouted as he retraced her jaw with his lips, nibbling on the spot under her ear that always triggered the best response. She let out a soft sigh.
"You think they ever have sex?" he snorted, the very idea almost ridiculous. He had no doubt Plutarch and Fulvia loved each other but he also had trouble imagining what any kind of intimacy between them could be like. "Vanilla, yeah?"
"It is rude to speculate about such things." she chided him, burying her fingers in his hair. "But, yes, probably. A few thrusts home and then goodnight. He seems that kind to me. She, on the other hand, probably has a lot of secret kinks she keeps to herself because she knows he will be hopeless at them."
He chuckled in her neck, letting his mouth wander to the flat line between her breasts, pushing the nightgown down with his chin as he did so, talking between two hot kisses pressed against her skin. "Spent a lot of time thinking about their sex life, sweetheart?"
"Occupational hazards." she offered, vague as always.
He didn't question her, he knew what she meant. She had a gift for guessing what people were after in their lives. She was cunning when she needed to be, very much a survivor in her own right. That gift had served her ambition more often than not.
"You'd be bored with a guy like him." he commented for no particular reason than, in another life, that was what could have happened. She would have married a man her parents and society would have deemed suitable, rich and much older probably, and she would have been bored out of her mind after a week. Effie was wild fire. She wasn't meant to become a trophy wife.
"Fortunately for me…" she purred. "You are nothing like him."
And good thing too.
Because the Hummingbird Operation he hadn't been privy too before the bombs were being dropped on innocent kids was still stuck in his throat and he couldn't swallow it. Beetee and Plutarch had been in on it from the start. Beetee had been warned too late but Plutarch had supported Coin's decision all along.
Haymitch was so happy the bitch was dead.
He was less happy to be forced to accept Plutarch's hospitality.
He might have called the Gamemaker a friend in Thirteen but that had stopped that day at the City Circle. Their relationship was now pure business. He needed the man to secure Katniss' pardon and he also needed a place he knew Effie would be safe. Outside of that…
"You are far away from me." she whispered, running her fingers in his hair.
He blinked, realizing he hadn't moved for a couple of minutes, his forehead resting against her collarbone. He pressed a kiss there, shaking his head to let her know he didn't want to talk about it. He had told her about the kids. He had told her everything after she had woken up. He had been hurting too much. He had needed her. He was selfish still.
He kissed her with renewed energy, letting the kisses and small touches growing heated again. He slipped the nightgown over her head and let his mouth and hands roam on every part of her he could reach.
"Haymitch…" she pleaded after a while, trembling with want, her thighs pressing on either side of his hips with all the meager strength she had left.
He smirked at her, wanting to tease her a little further, and escaped her grip easily to slid his lips down her chest and to her stomach, kissing the ugly scars as he went. She was so lost to her building pleasure that he didn't think she realized at once what his target was.
His hands ran up and down her inner thighs twice while he nipped at the skin under her bellybutton and then nudged her legs open. They fell almost flat on the bed and he took a second to kiss each knee, marveling at her flexibility.
She was watching him with clouded eyes, propped on her elbow, her chest rising and falling in quick huffs and puffs.
"Haymitch…" she said again.
Another plea.
He surrendered to it this time, bringing his head between her legs and giving a slow lick. She shuddered and he smirked in contentment, thinking of all the ways he could take her apart with his mouth – right up until she suddenly crawled back on the bed and huddled against the headboard, her legs hugged close to her chest, a glassy look in her eyes.
Trigger, he thought.
He wasn't sure he wanted to know what sort of flashbacks he had triggered by licking her. The mere idea was making him want to kill.
"Effie." he called out softly, sitting back on his knees at the other end of the bed. "Sweetheart, come back to me. You're safe. You're…"
"I am fine." she interrupted, her voice strong enough that he knew she wasn't lying. Relief flooded through him. She had said nothing like that had happened and the doctors had seemed to confirm it but… The lengths she would do to protect him… Lying wasn't so far-stretched. She blinked and outstretched her hand to him. He immediately took it and came closer, finally relaxing when she leaned against his chest. "I apologize, I didn't mean to spoil the mood. I just… I don't want this."
He wrapped his arms around her, pressing a kiss against her shoulder.
"You used to love it." he pointed out carefully. "Hell, you taught me how…"
"I know." she interrupted. "But it was before. I don't want your mouth down there now."
He petted her hair for a moment, pondering what to say and what to keep to himself. In the end he relented to the part of himself who wouldn't know peace until he was certain she was alright.
"Did someone…" he started.
"No." she answered immediately. "I told you. Nothing like that happened."
"Then why…" he frowned.
"I am filthy." she hissed. "I am…" She stopped, took a deep breath and breathed out slowly a few times. "I haven't washed in months."
He licked his lips, making sure to keep petting her hair regularly. "Princess… You took a shower before coming to bed. You took a shower this morning. You took a bath yesterday…" He let his voice trail off. He was pretty sure she had been washing twice a day for as long as she had been allowed showers in the hospital. Truth be told, she had been covered in grime and filth when they had rescued her, her porcelain skin almost black with dirt. The sponges had darkened in seconds when the nurses had washed her. But it had been almost a month and a half earlier. "You're clean."
She had been a bit obsessed with showers and baths, now that he realized.
"It doesn't feel like it." she whispered, burying further against his chest in an unintentional display of vulnerability. "I can still smell it. That awful stench of rot… And it was me… I was rotting alive." She shook her head. "I don't want you to… I haven't washed myself in months. I… Haymitch, I soiled myself in there." Her voice was full of horror and shame and he tightened his hold on her. It was nothing he hadn't known before but to hear her say it… "And I couldn't wash and… I must taste and smell disgusting down there now. I don't…"
Her voice faltered and he seized the opportunity, settling more comfortably against the pillows without letting go of her, dragging her on his lap.
"Effie…" he said quietly. "You're clean. Both sense of the word. Clean bill of health, clean body."
"Still." she mumbled. "You will be disgusted and you won't want me anymore."
It came out almost as a whine, so far from the strong woman she was it made him want to break something.
"Trust me…" he scoffed. "I will always want you. Even when I hated you I wanted you. Me wanting you is one of the only sure things in my life." He nuzzled her hair with his nose. "You smell just as good as you used to. And you taste normal." That wasn't exactly true. Her body had been through a lot. The taste of her was slightly different. Slightly different but not unpleasant. "Do you trust me?"
"Yes." she offered in a heartbeat, without a moment of hesitation.
"You're still in the mood?" he asked, dropping purposeful kisses down her neck.
He could have let the matter rest for that night – should have probably – but he knew her. She would find ways to avoid the problem in hope he would forget about it.
"I could be persuaded." she teased, letting her hands wander on his ribs.
He focused on that task, persuading her, until she was out of breath and insistently rocking her hips toward him again to create some friction. Then he started touching her between her legs. She didn't seem to mind that. Not until he brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean, at least.
She pursed her lips tight, her eyes still bright from pleasure but wary at the same time. The wariness edged away when he started stroking her again. It came back when he brought his wet fingers to her own lips.
"Trust me." he requested.
Slowly, she opened her mouth.
There was something undeniably hot in watching her do that, suck herself from his fingers, but his own victory lied elsewhere. She relaxed.
"Now… Can I eat you out, Princess?" he smirked.
She gave him a brief nod, not quite confident but less anxious than before.
It took her a while to completely let go when he buried his face between her thighs but he was very good at this and she was panting and whimpering before long.
Her cry of pure rapture took them both by surprise and neither of them had time or presence of mind to muffle it.
Haymitch started chuckling against her thigh, certain she had woken up both Plutarch and Fulvia and the staff.
Effie, on the other hand, looked less amused than mortified.
He rolled his eyes and playfully bite at the fleshier part of her thigh.
"Now Fulvia's going to be jealous…" he snorted.
"We need a proper place to live. Only for us." she mumbled.
"We do." he relented because he was tired of making sure no one could hear them. Effie was loud in everything she did, that included sex. He loved it. He didn't enjoy having to muffle the sounds she made. He didn't enjoy everyone knowing what they were doing either. "But first I need a proper fuck. Think you can shout louder than that, sweetheart? Might be one or two people you haven't woken up yet…"
He kicked his boxers off. He was so hard it had become painful to be restricted and he settled between her legs, almost groaning when she wrapped them around his waist, tight enough that he felt as if she was trying to suffocate him.
"Hard and fast." she demanded with a sly grin.
Any other time, he would have gone slow and lazy only to annoy her but right then, he needed it too much.
He was still mindful of her recent injuries when he relentlessly slammed his hips against hers, sweat running down his back from the strain it took to make it last. It would have been easy to come in a few thrusts but he didn't want that.
He wanted to watch her fall apart again.
And fall apart she did, biting down on the pillow. It wasn't enough to completely suppress her mewling and he was sure they could hear her from down the hall.
He was also very sure they heard his groan of pleasure when he found his own release.
He didn't care much. Not when she curled up against him and they fell asleep like that, sweaty and sticky in a way that made her wince first thing in the morning.
He started to care at breakfast when the tension was so obvious he could have cut it with his knife. Fulvia tossed them dark disapproving gazes in turn, Plutarch didn't look either of them in the eyes and kept on coughing to hide his embarrassment and Effie did her best to be her brightest cheerful self and act as if nothing was amiss.
He grabbed her arm as soon as they could make their escape and whispered in her ear. "We're stopping by your place later. See what can be done."
He was tired of having to walk on eggshells.