Prompt: I am so sorry but all these fantastic sex prompts and what you do with them make me want to read even more of them. So would you mind and write about the first time he allows her to be on top? Thaaanks!
The Floor
Haymitch watched the city's sky slowly darkening through the bay window from the plushy rug in the living-room. He was lying on his back next to the upturned coffee table, sipping from his now warm glass of whiskey from time to time – and how the glass and the booze had survived the fall of the table he wasn't sure but he was grateful for it. It had been hours since Trinket had left in a hurry and he had more or less promised to fix the room – or, at least, the upturned furniture – but he had yet to move.
He was comfortable on that rug. And, truth be told, accidentally rolling off the couch in the middle of angry sex and hitting a massive wood and glass table hadn't do any wonder to his shoulder. So he had remained there after rolling off her, he had watched her glance at the clock and gasp in panic, he had watched her shimmy back into her dress and fix the askew wig on her head…
He would move, he promised himself.
Any second now, he would move.
The shoulder wasn't that painful. It was only a dull throb that would go away with enough liquor. It would leave a nasty bruise but it wasn't that bad. Maybe he could even laugh about it with Chaff later – assuming he kept his escort's name out when he recounted it. The shoulder wasn't that painful but he was tired.
He hadn't been sleeping that well since the Reaping – no surprise there – even less than usual and he felt… unsettled. Not just angry and powerless as usual but… unsettled. And his brain's answer to that had apparently been starting to seek Trinket's warm body without bothering to start a fight first. And he wasn't sure how this shift in dynamic would work on the long term.
Having sex with his escort was never a planned thing. At least it didn't use to be. It happened. They fought, they screamed, they shouted, they pushed each other's buttons, they pushed each other full point and it happened. Against the wall, in an elevator, in a dark corner, in an empty room, on the dinner table… Hands roamed and found the right places to punish the other, to torture…
It suited Haymitch just fine.
If it just happened, it still counted as an accident.
Purposefully seeking her out to scratch an itch, all the while assuming she would be willing to humor him… She had always been so far, too. But he was the one who started it, pinching her ass to annoy her or kissing her hard enough that she wouldn't have time to ask questions… She rolled with it. All of it. She was a bit more clingy afterwards, he had noticed, slower to get away from him than when it just happened, not quite cuddling because it never lasted long enough to be called that but… Something like that. It was the only real difference though.
The whole thing puzzled him and, in turn, that annoyed him because he couldn't figure it out. His own reactions were a mystery, those desires he never even attempted to resist were a pain…
When the elevator chimed, he made no move to get up. Either it would be Trinket or it would be Chaff coming to drag him out to a new bar or another – that was the thing with the Capitol, they hardly ever could find the same bars from one year to the next. If it was his escort, she would probably scream because he hadn't done what he had said he would – shocker, really – and if it was his friend he would have to explain why he was lying there, naked, with his half-hard cock curled toward his hipbone because he couldn't stop thinking about the marks his teeth had left on Trinket's inner thighs.
He hoped it wasn't Chaff. That would be embarrassing. Not as much as other stuff they had shared but embarrassing all the same.
The clicking of heels told him he would be saved an awkward encounter with his best friend.
He wasn't sure it meant he would escape an embarrassing moment anyway.
"What are you still doing down there?" she frowned, her high-pitched voice immediately grating on his nerves. It had been three hours, he thought. Give or take. She had a right to be curious.
"Taking a nap." he lied.
"On the floor?" she challenged, clearly not buying it.
She sat on the couch and studied him, taking her sweet time observing him from his toes to the roots of his hair. His treacherous cock twitched under that gaze because it was hot, he felt hot. The way she looked at him… She licked her lips and it was all he could do not to grab her ankle and pull her down with him.
He finished his glass of disgustingly warm whiskey and pushed it away, toward the broken coffee table, where it wouldn't be in any danger of getting crushed. "Where were you?"
She seemed to debate how to answer that. They weren't good at lying to each other though, truth was always more painful and they loved hurting each other.
"I had a date." she said eventually in a flat guarded voice. "I told you I have a boyfriend."
She had told him she had a boyfriend the first time he had tried to fuck her on the train after the Reaping. He had told her he didn't care and, at the time, he had meant it. Naturally, she had retorted that she did. Any remorse or guilty conscience had only lasted a couple of hours though. The next fight they had had, she had stopped protesting when he had kissed her.
"Old and rich, yeah?" he snorted. "Looking for a sugar daddy again?"
She narrowed her eyes at him, not pleased by that accusation. Wasn't that the truth though? Every time she found herself a boyfriend, he was way older – sometimes even older than him and he had a good five years on her – and always with an overflowing wallet. He wasn't sure if it was simply her taste in men or if she was that pragmatic.
The thought of old wrinkled hands running on her soft creamy skin though…
"You're disgusting." she spat. "He is a very nice man. A gentleman. He doesn't deserve…" She stopped abruptly and averted her eyes. "I do not know why I let you do this to me, get under my skin the way you do."
They may have been dealing in truths but truth didn't imply honesty and it made him uncomfortable. It hit too close to home, to his own misgivings…
"You let him fuck you tonight?" he asked bluntly, almost angrily.
He didn't know where the anger came from.
"Please." she huffed. "I will admit my behavior is not stellar but to have sex with two men in one evening…" She shook her head and, when she glanced back at him, there was a lost look on her face. "Even if I had wanted to… How do you expect me to explain the marks you left?"
Ah, yeah… The marks that had him throbbing without the help of his hand… He wanted to leave more, truth be told. He looked at her and he wanted to leave many more. On her breasts. On her throat. On her stomach. On her ass. Anywhere. Everywhere.
Mark her as mine.
The thought was sobering. Maddening.
"Get naked."
The order was almost a bark. It bounced off the walls.
She glared at him, mouth pursed. "Certainly not."
"You're dripping wet for me, ain't you?" he smirked, entwining his fingers and cushioning his head on them. "Been soaked since you saw me there, I bet."
"You're disgusting." she said again, in a soft whisper.
"Wonder what that says about you how much you want something you're so disgusted by." he taunted.
"I do not want you." she hissed. He didn't answer that. He just stared at her, insolent smirk on his lips, until she bolted to her feet with obvious anger. "I hate you. I hate you."
"Right back at you, sweetheart." he chuckled, more turned on than was probably wise by her towering above him. Instinct told him to scramble up, to control the threat because she was Capitol and thus not trustworthy, to push her down until she parted her legs and he could find a release he was desperate for. He forced himself to stay still. They had been quick and rough earlier and now he wanted to drag it out. He wanted her to beg for it. He wanted… "Strip."
She stared straight into his eyes and he saw it, the internal debate about obeying or rebelling. Not that it would change the ending because she was in it now but it could go two ways.
He was glad she chose the easy one.
She unzipped the blue pencil skirt and let it fall at her feet before stepping out of it and planting both of her feet on either side of his hips.
Maybe not the easy way after all.
That, he wasn't sure he liked. Her being right on top of him like that. He liked it even less when she placed one of her heels in the middle of his chest. His fingers immediately coiled around her ankle.
"Why is it you always feel entitled to giving me orders?" she growled.
"'Cause you're a bossy person and I'm bossier." he shrugged, a touch uneasy. It wouldn't have been difficult to tug on the ankle and make her fall. He would have caught her, made sure she didn't injure herself. It would have been… more comfortable than this.
He was feeling an odd thrill though.
She was hot when she was in control – when she thought she was in control. Yeah. He could have her flat on her back in two seconds and she might be looming over him but he could overpower her so he left her be, curious to see where she would take it. They had never really taken their time like that before.
She reached behind her and unclasped her bra, tossing it on the couch without any hesitation and he licked his lips at the sight of her breasts. He wanted to suck and lick and bite… His fingers clenched on her ankle.
"Take my panties off." she requested, replacing her foot on the floor. She was definitely keeping the heels, he decided. The heels worked for him. He reached up but she batted his hand away, which made him bristle in annoyance. "With your teeth."
He considered that for a moment but since it would bring his face closer to where he wanted it… He sat up and clumsily caught the lacy white panties that didn't hide much – and white was as good on her as red, he decided – and pulled them down. Once they were around her thighs, he nuzzled the wet warm…
She shoved him back.
It took him by surprise enough that he fell back, confused and irritated. The slight pain flared in his shoulder which didn't help him at all.
She simply got rid of her panties, apparently not caring at all that he would have strangled anyone else for what she had just pulled. She was that trusting or that stupid. With her it was hard to tell.
"You started without me." she observed, nodding at his now completely hard penis.
"Catch up." he retorted, wondering how they had gone from him ordering her to strip to her pinning him to the floor with her dangerously sharp high heel.
"With pleasure." she purred, trailing one hand up her stomach to her breast and placing the other between her legs.
He could only gape as he watched her play with herself, unconcerned. He stop resenting the floor situation. It was a very, very good view. "Fuck, you're so hot…"
He hadn't meant to say it and he made a face at his own lack of control but…
She smiled at him, almost indulgently, as if she was well aware of how hot she was. And she probably was.
He almost asked her to lose the purple wig and then thought better of it. It was one thing to fuck his escort, it was another to ask her to look human while he did it.
He was so enthralled that he didn't even think of touching himself. That was secondary to watching her.
"What were you thinking about that got you in such a state?" she asked.
"Licking you." he answered without hesitation. "Fucking you with my tongue." Her breath caught and he could see the exact moment she was done playing. She kneeled down, straddling his hips, wrapping her hand around his base and running it up to the tip, squeezing just enough for him to stare at the ceiling and wonder how stars had gotten there. "Fuck, Effie…"
Her first name slipped past his lips, almost foreign. He hardly ever called her Effie. She was Trinket or sweetheart or princess or darling or whatever name he felt like giving her that day…
"Fuck me." she requested and she sounded almost desperate. "Just… Not with your tongue. That won't be enough. I need more. I need…"
He was almost offended because he certainly could make it good with only his tongue but he was too desperate for her to resist.
He grabbed her hips, about to roll her under him, when he stilled, his heart racing. It wasn't something he really enjoyed, putting himself at the mercy of someone else, but…"Fuck yourself."
"Haymitch…" she begged, sounding desperate and a bit hurt at the perceived rejection. He had to cover her hand because she was jerking him off a little too well. He wouldn't last long if she went on like that.
"Fuck yourself." he insisted, guiding her hand away from him to grab her hips once more, pulling her down, showing her what he wanted. "Fuck me."
Even lost to lust as she was, she hesitated. "Are you sure?"
It had never been discussed but the rare few times she had ended up somehow straddling him or tying to get the upper hand, he had put an end to it very fast.
"Get on with it." he ordered, whacking her ass to make her move.
He didn't have to say it twice. She guided herself on him and fuck that was new and awesome and maybe he would have to think about letting her do that again sometimes…
It was difficult to let her remain there though. She set the pace, she was in total control, and if it hadn't been for how gorgeous she looked riding him, her head thrown back, her breasts bouncing, his own fingers playing with her…
He had grown used to how loud she was – easily the most vocal woman he had ever been with – but the noises she let out… A series of sharp little cries that climaxed in a shout of pure bliss… He had thought he would flip them over once she had come but she clenched so hard around him, he was so deep inside her… Her orgasm triggered his.
When he came back to himself, she was slumped on his chest, they were both panting hard and he wasn't sure he would ever pick himself off that floor. He had a newfound appreciation for it.
She was limp and heavy and he didn't nudge her off him because if she felt anything like him, it would take a few minutes to be able to stand up. His hand found her nape and coiled around it.
"That boyfriend of yours…" he mumbled, not quite sure why he was even opening his mouth. "He makes you come like that?"
She laughed.
She muffled it against his chest and it was… strange. Intimate.
"Don't get what's funny." he grumbled.
"Obviously not." she chuckled and he wasn't sure if she was answering his question or making a statement.
Not that it mattered.
Not that it should matter.
He tightened his grip on her nape to the point it must have been a little painful. "Break up with him."
And where had that come from?
Maybe he was possessed.
He felt possessed.
"Alright." she agreed after a heartbeat.
He didn't dare comment.
He was a bit too afraid of what would come out of his mouth next.
He loosened his hold on her neck and rub his thumb up and down the side of her throat. She completely relaxed, crushing him down with her whole weight.
"What are we doing?" she asked after a few minutes.
He sighed. "I've got no clue, sweetheart."
Something incredibly stupid, no doubt.