Hayffie prompt: Effie is in front of her vanity and Haymitch is frustrated that she's insecure doesn't see what he sees and angsty smuttiness ensues in front of the mirror?

Sometimes I fool myself into thinking I can write smut XD soooorry.

Power And Those Who Wield It

Haymitch rolled on his back to watch her leave the bed, not quite sure what had just happened.

Well… He knew what had just happened, it wasn't the first time they slept together and if the last ten years were any indication, it wouldn't be the last. However, it was rare for her to seek him out in his bedroom so late at night.

The Games were over for Twelve, they had gone out their separate ways that evening, no longer forced to put up an united front for the sponsors' sakes. Haymitch had followed Chaff to a game of poker with victors from Eight where he had lost enough money that he had preferred calling it a night before getting completely wasted. He had been drinking on his bed, trying to let the liquor lull him to sleep when he had heard the elevator's chime. He hadn't expected her to sneak in his room or to start stripping but he hadn't protested either.

"Where were you tonight?" he asked.

She was trying to find her clothes in his messy room and she wasn't having much luck. She picked up an earring with a pout and walked to the double mirrors mounted on the wardrobe's doors to put it back on. It wouldn't have been the first time she lost one because of him – although it was her own fault in his opinion.

"Does it matter?" she retorted, a tad too aggressively.

He knew she was upset.

He also knew he wasn't the one who had upset her for once.

"You tell me, sweetheart." he shrugged.

She stared hard at her reflection in the mirror and he let his eyes caress the desirable body so openly offered to his gaze. She never minded being naked. The blond hair with reddish hues tumbling down her shoulders and the smudged make-up she might have minded, but being naked? Never. And he loved it, that confidence bordering on arrogance. It turned him on.

"My mother was giving a dinner party." she said eventually.

"Ah." He didn't know much about her family but he had guessed enough from what she wasn't saying. She had never badmouthed them, she had never hinted at anything. She was deadly jealous of her sister – that, she had more or less admitted the rare times their paths had crossed Lyssandra's – but that was it. Every time the mother was mentioned though… "What new bullshit did she spit out today?"

She felt ugly without a wig or any make-up, plain was the operative word she always used, and it was because someone – he strongly suspected to be her mother – had brought her up that way. Every time she mentioned seeing her mother she came back upset and eager to fuck it out.

"Language." she snapped. Her eyes never wandered away from her own reflection though. She was cataloguing, he felt, making an inventory of imagined flaws. "Do you think…"

"No." he cut her off before she even finished.

She pursed her lips and shot him an annoyed glance. "You do not even know what I was going to say."

"Some nonsense about needing to be pumped with plastic." he deduced easily enough.

Pumping themselves with plastic seemed to be Capitols' number one obsession. Effie had a visceral fear of operating rooms – she denied it but he had seen her shudder enough times at the mere mention – and everything she had to boost was natural, something he was very glad for.

"So you think I do need plastic surgery." she triumphed bitterly. "Your mind was awfully quick to jump on that."

She watched herself in the mirror again, clearly displeased with what she saw.

He found it stupid enough when she was insecure about her bare face or her natural hair. If she started doubting her body…

"'Cause I know how you think." he sighed. "Not 'cause I think you need it." She didn't seem convinced and she turned a little to her left to study her ass. He wrinkled his nose. "Don't you dare ever touch that masterpiece."

Fashion was for curves at the moment and people went overboard with it. The number of skinny people with a gigantic fake ass that forced their spine to arch… He shuddered only thinking about it. Even Effie had mocked it under her hand because fashion changed every two weeks and it was safer to pad than to have it altered for good.

"It isn't so firm anymore." she complained, poking at the fleshy curve of her butt.

He rolled out of bed without thinking twice about it, jumping to the rescue of his favorite assets. She automatically relaxed against his chest when he plastered himself to her back, groping her hard and kneading the familiar flesh until she dropped her head on his shoulder with a spark in her eyes that told him she wouldn't be against a second round. He wasn't against a second round either. Seeing her stroll around naked had never left him indifferent.

"Perfect." he growled. Her hand brushed against her breast but he didn't leave her time to voice any offer to have them enhanced either. "No." He cupped one, pressing his hips harder against her ass when he felt her nipple tightening against his palm. She had suggested it half-heartedly more than once before, wondering out loud if he wouldn't have liked them bigger, perkier. He wouldn't. Plastic breasts weren't to his tastes. "They feel so good… You feel so good…"

"I feel old and floppy." she pouted. "I work really hard to keep everything firm and it doesn't work as well as I would like."

He nuzzled her neck, pushing her hair out of the way so he could bite down on her shoulder in rebuke.

"Perfect." he countered, squeezing her breast hard enough that she sucked in a breath. His other hand wandered from her hip to her stomach, teasing…

"I have been told I would look better if…" she insisted.

"Stupid." he countered.

"You might be the only one thinking so." she sighed.

"Good." he snarled. He gave up on the teasing to cup her other breast. He kneaded them for a while, a bit on the rough side, which made her wriggle in pleasure. "Mine." he said firmly before letting go to grab her hips and rub himself on the crack of her ass. He was already hard but he wanted her to feel it. "Mine." he repeated. Her lips were slightly parted now and her breathing was quick. He knew he wasn't taking many risks of hurting her when he slipped two fingers in her but finding her so soaked almost made him lose it. "Mine." he declared a third time.

She rocked her hips a little, trying to take his fingers deeper and rubbing herself against him in the same process. She grabbed his wrist, brought the hand that was still on her hip back to her breast but he didn't touch her like she wanted to. He brushed his thumb against her lips instead, retracing the shape that the smudged lipstick wasn't quite covering. It aroused him to know why the lipstick was gone, it aroused him to know half of it was on his groin.

She sucked his thumb in her mouth without a moment of hesitation and he briefly closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, making a conscious effort to calm down before he jerked off against the small of her back. When he opened them again, she looked terribly pleased with herself. Too cocky for her own good.

"That one's mine too." he told her, more to keep the upper hand than because it needed stating.

The shiver that ran down her spine had nothing to do with her being cold and everything to do with how much she liked it when he took charge like that. She denied it and often tried to wrestle control away from him, she also enjoyed being in charge now and then, but her strongest climaxes had always happened when he had had her as much as his mercy as he had dared. There were lines he wouldn't cross, things he didn't want to play with. His demons were kept on a tight leach on the best of days but he was too aware of just how easily a victor could snap. There was a beast inside him and he didn't trust it not to hurt Effie if he let it out to play. The arena had fucked him up too much.

He curled his fingers in her but didn't move his hand, letting her get worked up on her own.

"You like this, yeah?" he mocked, almost fond. "Fucking yourself on my fingers?"

He outstretched his thumb and with every move of her hips, it brushed her clit. She moaned around his other thumb and he took it out of her mouth before she accidentally bit down on it – it had happened before and she had very sharp canines – using the wet digit to rub her nipple.

"Haymitch…" she whimpered.

Her rocking was becoming frantic and he was throbbing with need against her lower back.

"Don't come yet." he forbade, twisting her nipple to the right. The brief flash of pain didn't help her control herself.

"I can't." she whispered, shaking her head. "I need…"

"I said no." he growled in her ear, slipping his fingers out. She whined. "Look at yourself in the mirror." She licked her lips, annoyance flashing on her face, but she knew that game by heart and she also knew that, to get what she wanted from him, she would either have to surrender or to try and force it away from him. It wasn't one of those nights when she wanted to go for the latter so she opened her eyes and stared hard at her reflection once more. He placed his hand on her stomach, still lazily playing with her breast with his other fingers. "Touch yourself."

"I want you, not myself." she protested.

He twisted her nipple again. "Touch. Yourself."

She sighed but replaced his fingers with hers, bringing her other hand up to squeeze the breast he wasn't holding. Her legs were shaking so he pressed on her stomach to encourage her to lean further against him, holding her up. He let go of her breast to tangle his fingers in her hair, brushing the wild curls away from her face, tilting her head to the side, making sure she could see herself. He could feel her quivering as her fingers worked their magic inside her.

It was torture.

It was torture because every rocking of her hips made her ass rub against his dick and he was ready to burst.

"How do you look?" he asked after a couple of minutes, when her eyes started fluttering closed. She wouldn't last much longer.

She blinked a few times and then studied her reflection. She flashed him a confident sassy grin. "Hot."

It was said without any hesitation or self-consciousness.

"Good girl." he praised, using the grip on her hair to prompt her to turn her head a little. He rewarded her with a deep dirty kiss

"I am going to come." she panted against his mouth.

She wasn't quite asking for permission – she never did unless they made it part of the game – but it was uncertain enough that he kissed her again before nipping at the soft skin under her jaw.

"Come for me, sweetheart." he murmured.

He had barely finished his sentence that she cried out, her legs giving under her. He held her up though and made sure she wouldn't fall until she had recovered enough to be steady on her feet. He watched her all the while in the mirror, a little red in the face himself. She was hot. She was hot and he was starting to feel desperate.

Her head was rolling on his shoulder and he reminded her they weren't done yet by not so subtly jerking his hips forward.

She opened her eyes and pressed a kiss against his neck.

"How do you want me?" she hummed, languid enough that he almost pushed her on the bed to have his way with her.

He was trying to prove a point though.

"Brace yourself." he demanded.

She got what he wanted without him having to be more precise, that was the good thing with a decade long – not so – casual affair. She bent forward, feet firmly planted on the floor, hands on the mirror, arms strained. He hesitated a second, afraid the glass would shatter, but the view was too enticing for him to waste time with those considerations.

He forced her feet a little further apart, prompting her to bend lower with a hand between her shoulder blades but not low enough that she wouldn't see what was going on, and then he brushed his head against her slit.

He could tell she had been expecting him to immediately take her.

"I want you to look." he ordered.

There was that shiver again but, this time, she pouted. "You are being awfully authoritative. Beware."

He grabbed her hair in a tight grip again and she automatically strained her neck back to avoid him pulling on it – he wouldn't have or not too hard anyway because she didn't like her hair being pulled too much and he didn't want to antagonize her on that subject for fear or never getting anything else than wigs.

"I can ask or I can take." he warned.

"When did you ever ask anything?" she hissed. "You are rude and uncouth and…"

Her sentence ended in a moan when he slid home in one powerful thrust. She was faintly clenching around him, still sensitive from her last orgasm, and it took everything he had to remain seated in her.

"Would you please shut up?" he smirked.

She glared at his sarcastic tone but wriggled her ass to prompt him to move. He pushed his hips forward in a move that was out of his control. He whacked her ass once in rebuke, it was a light slap but the sound echoed, more impressive than the actual sting it must have left. Her flingers clenched on the glass but she remained silent. She knew that game. She loved that game.

He reached around her thigh to stroke her, never taking his eyes away from hers in the mirror.

"I am not sure I can come again." she said. "It is not fair on you to wait. It's alright, you can…"

He pinched her clit and she cried out a high pitch yelp that was half surprise and half pleasure.

"You're gonna come again, princess." he taunted. "Watch us."

They had never done it in front of a mirror before, or at least not like that, and he decided they would need to do it again because it was awesome.

He let go of her hair to brush his fingers along the line of her arched spine, letting her anticipation build while he lazily stroke her with his other hand. He wasn't a poet by any mean and he certainly wasn't a romantic, but there was beauty beyond compare to her naked back. His touch left goosebumps in its wake and it made him smirk.

"You are too smug." she commented, still obediently watching in the mirror even if he had released her hair.

"Hard not to be smug when I'm fucking you." he replied.

He was deadly certain a lot of people would have killed to be in his shoes. She was a well-loved popular figure and she had a lot of fans, a lot of them being perverts about her too, that was the rule of the game. To them, she was an object of fantasy. To him, she was living flesh and blood. He might have taken her for granted a lot over the years but he had never been stupid enough not to realize he was lucky to be allowed so many privileges.

"Flatterer." she accused with a pleased chuckle.

His fingers curled around her hipbone, his other hand still busy between her legs. He liked feeling the place they were joined at. He was throbbing with need and he had never been good at denying himself pleasure but for her he was always willing to try and delay it a little. Half the enjoyment was making sure she came apart.

"How do you look now?" he asked.

"Powerful." she answered, not sparing a glance for herself but staring straight back at him.

His mouth twitched but he didn't deny the term. He might have been the one in apparent control but she was the one with the real power. Because she was the one driving him mad.

He drew back slowly and then brutally thrust into her.

"No good girl?" she taunted, prompting him to do it again.

"You want me to tell you you're a good girl?" he snorted. "Not sure your style isn't naughty, sweetheart."

"Oh, I can be a very good girl." she purred. "I do it best on my knees…"

The picture she was painting…

He couldn't hold it anymore.

He started pounding into her, entranced by the sight of her bouncing breasts in the mirror. He could tell she really hadn't been expecting to come because, when her climax washed over her, it took her by surprise. It triggered his, though.

He emptied himself inside her, his hips restlessly rocking until his legs gave in. They both tumbled to the floor, half groaning and half laughing at their own folly. She grumbled a bit when she realized just how dirty his carpet was but she was too boneless to care. She snuggled against his side and he opened his arm without a second thought.

They didn't do cuddling but there were circumstances, he figured.

She buried her face in the crook of his neck and pressed a kiss that was entirely too tender.

"Thank you." she whispered. "For making me feel beautiful."

There were a lot of things he could have answered to that.

He could have dismissed it.

He could have mocked her.

He could have pushed her away.

He couldn't quite explain to himself why he brushed his fingers up and down her arm in a comforting gesture instead.

"You're always beautiful." he mumbled. "If people don't see it then they're blind and stupid."

He tried not to notice the three words she mouthed against his skin.