Prompt: I've a prompt. Hayffie are discussing something and she's like "If you win I'm gonna let you take me to bed". He wins so she's all nervous, afraid and acting awkward (maybe it's post Mj) and Haymitch's like "what's wrong with you?" and when he figures out that she's like that because of the bet he says "do you really think I could do that to you?" and says some cute things and Effie sleeps with him just because after all, she really wanted to do it.

This is an extra long one so it will do for today and tomorrow ;)

Decision Making

Effie used to be good at decision making.

She used to be able to make choices with confidence and little to no regrets.

Now, though… It was entirely a different story.

She stared at her reflection on the bathroom's mirror and she did her best not to sigh. The dim lights of Haymitch's guest room were helping a little but the sight still wasn't pretty. She was too thin, her blond hair hung in limp curls, the cute yellow nightgown wasn't hiding the scars… There were a thousand flaws to list and nothing appealing to see. She used to be sexy.

She used to be…

This was the worst idea ever.

She had been growing comfortable in Twelve lately. After six horrid months in the Capitol trying to survive in a city where nobody wanted her, she had caved and had run to Twelve, her proverbial tail between her legs, with more problems than she could count. Haymitch had taken her in, had offered his guest room, had tried to help where he could… She had spent the first two months hiding from the world in his house and now, after three months, she was finally starting to get her life back together. She was starting to feel at home.

She had made a few friends in the District… She, Haymitch, and the children had a routine of shared dinners and occasional lunches or breakfasts… She and Haymitch had started flirting like teenagers again…

She liked the flirting. She liked the fact that he still obviously somehow desired her. She also loved the fact that he had been understanding enough not to ask anything before now, that he had never pushed, never tried anything… She had crawled in his bed in the middle of the night more times than she could count over the last couple of months and every time he had been a proper gentleman. Every time.

She knew Haymitch like the back of her hand. It was sex that had brought them together in the first place and she knew just how much he liked the activity – with her in particular. She appreciated the way he always angled his hips away in the morning, when she fell asleep in his bed, because she knew just how much he liked her taking care of his morning wood.

They had kissed a few times – if innocent pecks could be called kissing. They had been accidental really. Something she had done without realizing it and then spent hours agonizing over because he always looked so happy about them and she hadn't been ready to do anything else – and it made her feel terrible to let him hang like that.

There were women in the District who would have been more than happy to warm his bed. She saw it every time they walked to the market or to the new Hob. She saw the looks and the smiles and the obvious attempts at seduction… He never looked at any of them twice. She was the only one he bantered with, the only one he watched… He was either clueless or indifferent to the attention – she was leaning toward the latter.

She liked the way he still automatically offered his arm when they took a stroll – she had spent years drilling that into his head – even though she didn't really need it to steady her now that she wasn't perched on towering heels anymore. She liked bundling against his side for warmth. She liked the fact that he would sometimes wrap his arm around her shoulders and let her hold his waist despite the fact that they were outside and people might see. She liked that he always placed a hand at the small of her back when they changed rooms. She liked the little attentions he bestowed upon her without really realizing it.

She felt safe with him. It was almost scary how safe she felt.

But she hadn't been ready for more.

Her body had been so foreign after those months in a cell… Broken, stiff, not working as it used to…

Did she feel ready now? She wasn't sure. She was looking in the mirror and she wasn't seeing anything a man could want.

If you win, I will let you take me to bed.

What in Panem had possessed her to say that? He had been teaching her how to play chess lately. It wasn't his first attempt but she had always been a poor substitute when Chaff hadn't been free to play with him. She wasn't good at it, she had never been. And yet, that afternoon, for the first time, it had seemed like she would win. The words had been out of her mouth before she could check them in.

If you win, I will let you take me to bed.

He had looked so smug when he had taken her king…

Seems like a date, sweetheart, he had joked. And the smirk… The smirk and the spark of lust in his grey eyes and the way he had been turning the chess piece between his forefinger and thumb… She remembered exactly how talented his fingers were.

Oh, it is a date… She had purred the words. She had actually purred the words and there would be no getting out of it now. He had chuckled and he hadn't mentioned it again all day but it was all she had been able to think about. She had been distracted throughout dinner and had barely been able to fake smiles for the children. He must have noticed. He always noticed.

She felt a strange sense of anticipation, a mix of apprehension and impatience. He would make her feel good. She knew that without a doubt. She simply wasn't certain what she would be able to offer…

Nothing in the mirror looked appealing.

Perhaps she would have looked more attractive in some skimpy negligee… She didn't have any of those anymore though.

She would need to shop soon. He liked lingerie. Lingerie might be enough to distract him from the scars and the ugly body, in the future.

With a last sigh at her reflection, she switched off the light and left the guest room. She hurried down the stairs because it was dark and darkness freaked her out nowadays. It brought back bad memories.

The living-room was fully lit though. There was a fire roaring in the fireplace and all the lamps she had switched on after dinner were still on.

Haymitch was standing in front of one of the bookshelves, clearly perusing his collection for something to read, a glass loosely dangling between his fingers. He was wearing checkered sweatpants that hung low on his hips – she made a note to either check if they could be mended or to buy new ones – and a light blue long-sleeve shirt and… He looked good.

She remembered how it felt to be pinned under his body, how hard his chest was under her palms, how strong he could be… She remembered how pleasurable the feel of his chest hairs rubbing against her nipples was, how slick with sweat their skin could get, how mad with lust he would become if she bit down on that spot at the juncture of his neck and shoulder…

The memories were enough to send a pool of warmth in her belly. They were good memories. Not quite enough to make her nervousness vanish though, but good nonetheless.

He must have felt her presence because he turned his head in her direction.

"Thought you'd gone to bed." he frowned, eyeing her up and down. "You're gonna get cold. Should have covered yourself. This ain't the Capitol, Princess. Temperatures drop low at night."

She had been submitted to that particular lecture a hundred times already and it helped her relax a little. She licked her lips and folded her arms over her chest – because it was a bit chilly even though the fire made the room warm enough – not quite sure how to go about this.

Another thing she used to be great at and that now felt foreign to her: seducing men.

"You're okay?" he asked, when she remained silent too long.

He brought his glass to his mouth, watching her with rapt attention, as if she was the center of his world. He often did that. It made her feel special. Precious. She walked closer, forcing a smile, and nodded to the liquor. "Are you willing to share?"

He lifted his eyebrows, his lips stretching into a smirk. "You're after my booze, sweetheart?"

"Not just your booze." she hummed, snatching the glass from his hand. She tried to act confident, cocky, sassy… Everything she used to be and that used to drive him crazy. With someone else it might have worked but his eyes immediately focused on her quivering fingers. She swallowed what was left of the liquor in one go, tossing her head back, and she almost died coughing. It was moonshine, nothing refined, and it burned badly on the way down. It was worse than vodka or tequila. This was liquid fire. "This is terrible."

He wasn't deeply moved by her complaining.

"Not really meant to be downed like that." he commented, his frown deepening. "There's wine in the kitchen. Somewhere."

It was in the cellar actually, on the shelf next to the washing machine. It was nice wine and she had decided it needed to be kept in a cool place.

"I do not want wine." she denied, trying to sound sexy despite the tears from the coughing fit still shining in her eyes and her burned throat. She placed the glass on the shelf behind him, trapping him against the bookshelf, pressing her body against his. That felt good. Familiar.

He placed his hands on her waist, not quite encouraging her closer.

"Effie, what are you up to?" he asked.

"Well…" she grinned – and, perhaps, it was a bit forced but he wouldn't be able to tell, would he? "I seem to remember us making a bet…"

She waited but he didn't jump on the bait she was offering. He didn't make it easier for her.

Another time in their lives, if she had paraded around in front of him wearing nothing but a flimsy yellow nightgown, he would already have had her pinned to the closest flat surface. Of course, in those times, she had been pleasant to look at.

Whatever he was thinking, she couldn't tell. His features were schooled. "You're serious?"

"Absolutely." She raised on tiptoe, brushing her lips against his neck, her fingers toying with the hem of his shirt. "A bet is a bet…"

He pushed on her hips, not quite shoving her away but keeping her at arm length all the same.

"You really think I'd do that?" he scowled. "You really think I'd force you to spread your legs 'cause I beat you at chess? For fuck's sake, Effie, you suck at chess. Make it even easier, yeah? Maybe next time we can bet on how long you can go without commenting on my manners. Hey, if you go less than a day, you get to blow me off. How does that sound?"

She looked down so he wouldn't see the blush on her cheeks. She wasn't ashamed, not really – because obviously he wasn't expecting her to sleep with him, she had never truly thought so – but she was embarrassed.

She would have run away in an attempt to keep her pride intact but his grip on her hips was firm and he didn't loosen it even when she coiled her own fingers around his wrists.

"Perhaps I need it to be easy." she whispered. Her face was on fire. She knew she was crimson. She knew the blush probably stretched as far as her throat and her cleavage.

"You need an excuse to sleep with me now?" he scorned. "There are no strings attached to you staying here."

"Perhaps I do, yes." she snapped, shooting him a glare before looking away just as fast. "And do you truly think I would sleep with you as some kind of payment?"

"Don't get on a high horse, now. It's not like you never did that before." he retorted.

And it wasn't even a lie… Her beauty, her body… Both had been weapons to be used in whatever way suited her best. Before.

She suddenly felt stupid.

What was she doing? She was ridiculous standing there in a nightgown that wasn't even remotely sexy, trying to seduce him when she wasn't attractive any longer.

Tears of anger and shame burned her eyes and she tried to turn away but he wouldn't let her go, no matter how much she struggled.

"Don't." he muttered quickly. "Effie, I didn't mean…"

"Oh, yes, you did." she hissed. "At least, be brave enough to…"

"Stop." he grumbled, tugging her closer. He wrapped his arms around her and she melted into his embrace. She wanted to remain angry, she wanted to storm to her room and make it clear he shouldn't talk to her for a few days, she wanted to run away. Because it would have been easier than facing the elephant in the room. He pressed his lips against her temple. "I don't wanna fight, sweetheart."

"I did not come down here to fight." she replied. "You…"

"You're not sleeping with me 'cause I won a fucking game of chess." he cut her off.

She sighed and pressed her forehead against his shoulder. "It is not about the bet, Haymitch. I… I want to. I think."

"You think." he repeated flatly.

"I know." she amended. "I am just… I am scared."

He coiled a hand around her nape and she relaxed.

"I can wait." he said softly. "When you're ready…"

"I am ready. As ready as I will ever be, at least." she insisted. "I want to." She breathed out, pressing her face harder against his shoulder, letting his scent wrap around her. It was familiar and comforting. "I do not think I will ever be less scared. I want to. I do. But until we actually do it… I do not think the fear is going away until we try it."

He didn't answer her at once. The hand that wasn't around her nape was running up and down her back and she closed her eyes, relaxing even more against him. This was easy. This, she was used to from waking up so many times in the midst of a nightmare only to fall into his arms.

"What are you scared of?" he asked eventually. She let out a choked chuckle. There were so many things to list, she wouldn't have known where to start. He tightened his hold, his voice dropping to a low and dangerous growl. "Did they… Did they hurt you like that?"

He had never asked before.

He hadn't asked about the months in a cell at all – the doctors had summed up her injuries for him, she knew, but he had never asked her. She had offered some bits of information over the last couple of months. Never all at once. Often at unexpected times.

She had told him about them using her to coax Peeta and Johanna into talking. She had told him about the pain and the sick games. She had told him about the weeks she had spent trapped alone in a cell too small for her to stand up after the victors were rescued… There were things she hadn't yet said but that would probably come out eventually.

He always listened and offered whatever comfort he could but he had never asked. It was implied that their respective trauma were their own and that they shouldn't try to force each other's confidence. It had always been that way long before the Capitol had captured her.

He was exuding hatred at that moment, as he often did when she told him about the Peacekeepers. He wanted all of them dead. He had never said so in front of her but she knew him. She knew.

"They didn't… They didn't do anything really." she hesitated, her voice barely louder than a murmur. "But there were threats and jokes and…" She closed her eyes tight and burrowed further against his chest. "There were hands in places sometimes." He dropped his head on her shoulder. He was shaking with fury. She swallowed hard. "It is nothing I couldn't handle, Haymitch. It is not… The torture was worse than that to me, honestly. It is not what scares me."

For the longest time, he didn't speak. He was fisting the back of her nightgown with one hand, his other one still coiled around her nape.

He blamed himself for what had happened to her and she felt sorry about that.

"It wasn't…" she tried.

"Don't say it wasn't my fault." he cut her off. "Should never have trusted Plutarch with your safety."

She let out a deep breath. "What's done is done. I survived. I will survive. I want to move on. With you. I want this. I really do."

It took him several minutes to relax again. He pressed a brief kiss against her neck. "What scares you? If you've got triggers… We can work around triggers. If you're sure this is what you want, we can try."

"I do not think there are triggers per se." she whispered. "It is just… I am not… I am not like I used to be. I am not… beautiful anymore. What if… What if you…"

"Sweetheart, please." he scoffed. "I want you. Always have, always will. Never doubt that."

"There are scars." she warned. He had seen some of them in the hospital but he hadn't seen them all.

"So, we match now." he shrugged. He drew back from the hug a little, forcing her to look at him. "Effie, you're alive and you're here. The rest… I really don't care about anything else." He averted his eyes, a light blush darkening his cheeks. He was embarrassed by that admission because everything that had to do with feelings was a pain to express for him. She brushed her knuckles against his cheekbone and he stared back at her. The look on his face was so tender, it took her breath away. She wasn't completely used to this yet, how different their relationship was from before. He turned his head and kiss the inside of her wrist. "What else are you scared of? 'Cause I swear there's nothing to be afraid of on that front."

She bit down on her bottom lip, never letting her eyes stray away from his. She tried to think about the best way to word the rest of it.

"My body was so broken…" she winced. "It feels so different now… It is almost as if…"

Her voice trailed off because she wasn't sure how to put it in words.

"As if you're not at home in your own skin. Yeah. I remember the feeling." he finished for her. His hand automatically reached for his side, wedging itself between their bodies. Pain flashed on his face but then it was gone. "You've got to relearn everything. Stuff you could do easy, now you can't."

"Yes." she agreed immediately, relieved that he understood. "I… I feel better now. More myself. But my body… It is still foreign to me sometimes."

His grey eyes studied her for a moment, then he took his hand away from his side to brush her hair back. "You think it won't be good."

It wasn't something she had admitted to herself yet and hearing him stating it so plainly, without judgment or resentment, was like a punch in the guts.

She couldn't lie though.

Not to him and not about that.

Well… She could have lied, she could have faked it if it had come down to that… However their relationship – even when they hadn't had a relationship – had always been about truth, painful as it could sometimes be. She had never faked in his bed, never. When she had been left unsatisfied, she had always made it clear.

"It will be different, won't it?" She rushed the whisper out, taking a step closer to lean against him again. She rested her cheek on his shoulder, her forehead pressed against his neck. "I am certainly not as flexible. And I still have troubles with my shoulder, you know. And I… Some things feel different. Like cold, for instance." She had always been more partial to warm weather but ever since her capture she was extremely sensitive to cold. She couldn't bear it. It was actually painful. "What if I cannot… What if it does not feel…"

"Then, we stop." he told her with a small shrug. "And we try again another time."

"What if it never works?" she insisted, managing to work herself into a panic. She used to love sex. Hell, she still loved the idea of sex. She craved the weightless oblivion that came with a very good climax.

"It will." he promised.

She wrapped her arms around his waist, clinging to him. "What if it doesn't?"

His fingers ran in her hair, gently tugging on the curls. His voice was guarded when he spoke next, a bit on the awkward side. "You've tried to… You know."

It was sweet how flustered talking about sex could still make him given everything they had done over the years.

"It was frustrating and it did not work out." she answered, not needing him to spell it out properly for her. She had tried to get herself off twice, her body wasn't cooperative. Her shoulder had stayed out of its socket for too long. She had fought to get a decent range of motion back but the angle something like that required hurt her and one hand wasn't enough to do the trick. "I need you." That, at least, was the honest truth. She wouldn't get there by herself.

"It's gonna be okay, sweetheart." he repeated. "We'll try. If it doesn't work, we'll try again another time."

He sounded so calm and confident… It felt so good to be able to let go… To melt against him and to let him carry the heavy burden on her shoulders for her…

"Alright." she surrendered. "I trust you."

"Sure hope so." he snorted, dropping a kiss on her head. "There's anything else?"

She pondered that for a second and then licked her lips. "Rough sex is probably not a good idea right now."

"'Cause I was about to push you on the floor and have my way with you." he teased, shaking his head. "Not where I was going to take this, sweetheart."

It wasn't a stupid comment to make though. Rough sex was how they rolled. It was always wild bordering on violent – and she loved it that way, but she was wary of triggering a panic attack.

"We should take it slow." she added as an afterthought. "And you should dim the lights."

She didn't need to look to know he was frowning. "You want to do it now?"

It was her turn to frown. "Why not?" She made a face. "Is it the nightgown? It is not really alluring, is it? I need to buy lingerie. You always loved lingerie."

"That's not it. It's just…" He shuffled his weight from one foot to the other. "It's gonna feel forced now, no?"

"Forced." she repeated, taking a step back, just out of his reach. "Are you saying you feel compelled to have sex with me?"

He was wincing so badly, she almost burst out laughing.

"'Course not." he grumbled. "I just don't… You…" He caught sight of her face and rolled his eyes. "You enjoy fucking with me, sweetheart, yeah?"

This time, she didn't have to fake the slow sassy grin on her lips. "In both senses of the term, absolutely, yes."

He shook his head, smirking. "You're a minx."

"I do try." she teased and then looked down, turning serious again. "I think I would like some wine, now. Get the wine and I will take care of the setting."

"See, I feel like I should ask… But I won't." he snorted, heading straight for the kitchen, letting his hand trail on her hip and stomach as he passed her by.

She didn't waste any time in switching off a few of the lamps, not all of them though. Neither of them was comfortable in darkness. She left the one furthest from the fireplace on, couple with the glow from the fire, she felt it would be just right. Cozy. She dragged the rug from under the coffee table closer to the fireplace and tossed the cushions from the couch on it before making a grab from the blanket that resided on the back on an armchair for late cold nights.

She should have opened up with that approach, perhaps. A romantic setting. Of course, Haymitch had never really been one for romance… But he had his days.

"You hid the wine in the cellar." he accused when he came back, after what must have been a ten minutes search. He froze when he caught sight of her sitting amongst the numerous cushions and he lifted his eyebrows, eyes sparkling with obvious amusement. "Sitting on the floor, sweetheart? Nice. We haven't done that for at least five years."

She rolled her eyes at him, fighting off a smile, and patted the empty space next to her. She covered their laps with the blanket while he poured the wine. He had grabbed regular glasses and not the wine ones but she let that slide. She thanked him softly for her share and they sipped in silence, staring at the fire.

She was quickly tensing up again. Her insecurities poking their ugly heads with every passing minute spent without him making a move. At some point, she simply put her wine down and started worrying the blanket between her fingers. He covered his hands with one of his.

"No pressure, Effie." he said seriously.

"This is awkward." she sighed, looking away. "It should not be awkward."

"First times are always kind of awkward." he shrugged, reaching out behind them to place his glass out of the way.

"It is certainly not our first time." she huffed. "The things we did together…"

"Fun, yeah?" he snorted, tugging on her hand a little.

She moved a bit closer, entwining their fingers, not even trying to hide her smile this time. "It was."

She was expecting the kiss but he had been so gentle until then that she thought it would be a mere peck. His mouth was firm and warm against hers, his tongue pushed past her lips and, just like that, she forgot what she had been worrying about. Kissing him was just as natural as breathing. She tilted her head to the side, humming in contentment when he spread his hand at the small of her back, prompting her even closer.

"It's a first time." he mumbled against her lips. "'Cause now we know for sure we're never doing it with anyone else, yeah?"

The next kiss prevented her from answering. It grew heated. It was only when they separated, panting and breathless, that she rebuked him. "Do not make promises you do not know you will keep."

"I know I'll keep it." he argued with a frown but she fisted the front of his shirt and tugged him in another kiss before he could add more. It was several minutes before he drew back. "I'm fucking serious. There's bread in the kitchen. You need me to toast that to believe me?"

She blinked. "Are you asking me to marry you?"

"If that's what it takes for you to believe I don't want someone else." he spat, his mouth trailing down her jaw to her throat. He pushed the blanket off their laps and placed his hand on her thigh. His thumb brushed the bumpy scar there and she tensed. He stilled immediately. "Okay?"

"You would never have asked me that before." she sighed.

"Yeah, well, I've never spent months scared sick of having to watch you being murdered on live TV before." he retorted, absent-mindedly rubbing her thigh. "Kind of put things back in perspective. I'm clear where I stand, Effie."

She didn't think he had ever said her name as many times in such a short span of time. He usually stuck to pet names. Her first name was reserved for very serious conversations.

"You want to marry me – the crazy woman who has taken your guest room hostage and thinks she can seduce you in an ugly yellow nightgown by pinning you to a bookshelf." she clarified.

"Let's be fair, sweetheart…" he mocked, lowering his mouth to her neck again. "You've always been crazy. Part of your charm."

His tongue poked at her skin right before his teeth nipped at her flesh and her head fell back. She slipped her hands under his shirt, finding the familiar scar on his side, rejoicing in the way his breath caught in his throat at her touch.

"I am not marrying you." she answered the question he hadn't yet properly asked. She wasn't getting married right now. She was nowhere near ready for that sort of commitment.

"Fine with me." he shrugged, lifting his arms when she pulled his shirt over his head. Her mouth latched on his collarbone and he tangled his fingers in her hair. "Didn't ask anyway."

"Ask me again in a few months." she hummed as he tugged her head back to bite down on her throat.

His palm ran up her thigh, past the hem of her nightgown. Their mouths found each other again and, for a while, it was all hot dirty kissing and hands wandering on warm skin.

"Ain't asking you again." he mumbled, leaning in until she had no choice but to lie down. "Didn't even ask once."

His mouth was on hers before she could try to think about an answer. It was natural to spread her legs so he could settle on top of her… She didn't want him to stop kissing her and it was the best solution to that problem. He was propped on his left elbow, his right hand was still roaming under her nightgown, brushing against the flat plane of her stomach and slowly making its way up.

"Are you trying to distract me with marriage prospects so I won't be as nervous?" she asked between two kisses.

"Yeah." he chuckled.

Their noses bumped together which made her snort at their ridiculous clumsiness. She placed her hand on his shoulder and pushed a little. It was all it took for him to sit back on his knees, immediately giving her the space she requested.

He might have been expecting her to call the night to an end but all she did was grab the hem of her nightgown. She didn't let herself hesitate or think twice before slipping it over her head and tossing it aside.

She had never been shy with her body – her hair and her bare face, yes, but not her body – she had always been confident. Never before had she been forced to fight the need to cover herself from a man's gaze.

Yet, there was nothing to be scared of in Haymitch's eyes. They looked stormy like they always did when he was really aroused – and the bulge in his pants was proof enough that he was really aroused – and they roamed over the newly uncovered skin as if he had never seen it before – and she supposed he hadn't, not the new her anyway. He licked his lips and every lingering thought that he might change his mind about wanting her flew out the window.

"I missed you so fucking much." he confessed in a low voice.

"I do not think you will need those sweatpants any longer, darling." she taunted.

He kicked them off without even attempting to find a clever retort. With his arousal springing up between them, it was hard not to feel some sort of nervousness though.

"Hey." he called out softly, prompting her to look up from his erection. "We take it easy, yeah? You want to stop, you say the word, sweetheart."

She nodded, wishing she could look a bit less like an inexperienced girl on her first real night with a man. She was the most experienced there. She was the one with an impressive list of lovers and who had tried crazy things. And instead of taking full advantage of that experience, she lied back down, awkwardly tugging on his arm.

He was ready and there had been a time when he would simply have taken her right there.

Things had changed though.

He lowered his head to her belly, dropping slow but purposeful kisses around her bellybutton. She expected him to go down so, naturally, he slowly made his way up to her breasts. She sucked in a deep intake of breath when his mouth closed on the scar on her ribcage but he didn't linger and for that she was glad.

"They are smaller." she whispered, when he finally reached her breasts. It was stating the obvious but she felt the need to say it anyway. She had lost so much weight… She was trying to gain it back but fattening up didn't come naturally to her, not only did she feel sick after eating normal portions but every time she over-indulged she heard her mother's voice in her head counting the calories a single woman didn't need.

"They're perfect." he replied. He kissed and licked and sucked until she had no choice but to close her eyes and press her head hard against the rug, her breath catching with every new attack of his mouth. When he pinched her nipple, she arched her back with a breathless moan. When he nipped at the other, she whimpered. He buried his face in the flat plane between her breasts and chuckled. "Guess this is that, then. You can definitely still feel good, sweetheart."

"Make me feel good, then." she ordered, half glaring at him.

"Bossy." he smirked, lowering his lips to her neck, barely brushing his mouth against her flesh, the stubble leaving a pleasant itch in its wake. He kissed her and she took the opportunity to scratch her nails on his back while he settled more firmly between her legs. He was hard against her entrance and it was difficult to ignore. He was big and it had been so long… "You need to relax, Princess." he breathed into her ear, sucking on her earlobe. "I've got you."

His hand slipped between their bodies. He knew how to work her up. He knew exactly where to stroke, where to press, and when to bring his mouth back to her breast again.

"More." she begged.

He went slow. One finger at a time, waiting until she requested it to add another. She rocked her hips a little, trying to find a rhythm to the thrust of his fingers, feeling herself getting closer but not quite able to let go enough to get there.

She wouldn't come on his fingers, she knew that with certainty.

"I need you…" she breathed out, nipping at his shoulder. "I need you to fuck me."

Crude language coming from her lips was a kink of his and she wasn't surprised when his hips buckled a few times. He was humping her leg but she didn't mind because his fingers were keeping their steady rhythm and it made her feel light-headed.

"You're still tense." he muttered in her neck. "Don't want to hurt you."

"It will be fine. I just need…" she insisted, biting down on her bottom lip to swallow back a whimper.

He sucked his fingers clean and then cupped her cheek, his thumb freeing her lip from her teeth. She closed her lips around it, probing at it with her tongue.

The sound that escaped his throat was half a grown and half a moan and it made her grin with pride because he wasn't a vocal person in bed. Getting him to make some noises was usually a challenge – one she had undertaken many times along the years.

Suddenly, he flipped them over. She barely had time to understand what was happening that she was straddling his hips, her hands sprayed on his chest to keep herself steady.

"Your turn to play, sweetheart." he offered.

"You do not like it when I am on top." she frowned, exploring his torso with her hands, getting reacquainted with the feel of his skin under her palms.

"Don't mind." he grumbled. She snorted at that and lowered her head down, dropping very purposeful kisses on his stomach, following the path of darker hairs toward… "You do that and we're never finishing this the right way." he warned. "You're fucking hot and my hand's never been as good as you. It's been some time. Won't last long."

"Why am I on top?" she insisted, pressing a quick kiss on his head with a mental promise to get reacquainted with that part of him later. She didn't linger though. When she wrapped her hand around him, he groaned again and she stilled, certain that if she so much as stroke him, he would come on the spot.

"'Cause being in control's gonna help you relax." he mumbled eventually, his palms slowly brushing up and down the back of her thighs. "And 'cause there are worse fates than you riding me."

He was right.

She had the power – or the illusion of power, at least, because she was pretty sure he could roll them over at any time – and it felt good.

She was careful when she guided him inside her. Her movements were very slow at first, not nearly enough to quench the fire in her belly, but there was something to be said about having Haymitch Abernathy flat on his back, with his eyes screwed shut and his jaw clenched. He was trying to keep himself from coming too fast and it was a little funny to watch him turn a nice shade of purple with the effort it took.

When she did climax, it triggered his release. His groan was almost one of relief.

She laid down on his chest while he recovered, simply happy to listen to the fast thumping of his heart under her ear. It calmed down slowly, lulling her to sleep. His fingers tangled in her hair, his other arm wrapped around her…

It felt like heaven.

Perhaps…

Perhaps, she wasn't so bad at the decision making after all.