Prompt: Hey! I have a Hayffie prompt if you're up for it? When Effie is dating Seneca, Haymitch is obviously jealous but what really pisses him off is that she seems to like Seneca's beard? And she's always ranting about Haymitch's? Thank you!

A Bearded Rivalry

It was always the same thing.

One moment Haymitch was asleep. The next he was awake. Heart racing in his chest, fist tightly wrapped around his knife, his arm lifted for one of many downward strikes and a name on his lips. He wasn't sure what the name was because it faded away as soon as consciousness came back.

It took him a while, a few minutes at least, to realize the noises weren't just fading echoes of his nightmares, that someone was in the penthouse and not doing a good job at being discreet. Finally convincing his fingers to release their deadly grip on the knife, he glanced at the clock. Two thirty a.m.

Late.

But not for Capitols.

And he had lost track of his escort at some point during the night, when he had let Chaff convince him to go to Brutus' secret and very exclusive gambling party. Effie definitely wouldn't have approved so maybe it was a good thing she had been too busy gossiping with her friends.

He didn't bother with sweatpants when he slipped out of bed and out of his bedroom, following the familiar sounds of her giggles. Why she was giggling all by herself in the middle of the night was anyone's guess… He checked her room on the way but he knew she wasn't there. The sounds were coming from the living-room. Maybe she was hammered. That was her drunk laugh, no question about it.

In retrospect, charging ahead without thinking twice about it had been stupid.

Of course she wasn't giggling all by herself.

And the fact that, to his knowledge, she had never brought back a boyfriend or a lover to the penthouse before was irrelevant. She was free to do what she wanted, after all. They had an arrangement, nothing else. Hell, he could pick up a bird and bring her up if he wanted. That wasn't…

But the sight of his escort and sometimes lover wrapped all over that stupid Gamemaker… She had one arm locked around his neck and she was stroking his ridiculous beard with the other – if you could call that a beard, the man had shapes shaved into it so he was walking around with stars and moons on his chin and jaws like it was… normal. As for Crane, well, his hands were at the small of her back, low enough that they were almost on her ass…

Haymitch had walked in so abruptly that it took them a second to realize he was there and, when they finally noticed the intrusion, Effie shrieked, moving away from Crane and pressing a hand on her heart.

"Haymitch!" she exclaimed after a second when she seemed to realize it was him and not some monster. "You scared me to death!"

"If only." he scoffed by reflex, glaring daggers at the Gamemaker who, to his credit, had taken half a step to shield her when they had thought they were being attacked by whatever.

Crane recovered quickly from his own fright, though.

"Why, hello there, Abernathy…" the Capitol man practically purred.

Haymitch didn't understand until he noticed what Crane was staring was at and he had to make a huge effort not to flinch or flush. He wasn't shy about being naked with other men – hell, he had nothing to be ashamed of – but there was something predatory in the Gamemaker's gaze that…

"Oh, stop it, Seneca!" Effie huffed, shoving the Gamemaker like it was a perfectly reasonable thing to do.

Haymitch tensed, waiting for the rebuke, waiting for the threats and the demands…

But Crane just laughed a hearty laugh that betrayed just how drunk he was too.

"Is it my fault your victor walks around naked?" the Gamemaker challenged. "I cannot help but admire what is so readily on display…"

He wasn't ready to do anything and he certainly wasn't on display.

He resisted the urge to grab a couch pillow to hide himself.

He also regretted not having listened to Effie's numerous warnings that one day he would feel sorry about strolling around without clothes.

"That is not yours to admire." his escort grumbled.

"No? And whose would that be, sweetest?" Crane teased.

Haymitch did not grate his teeth at the stupid ridiculous pet name.

Sweetest.

Who called anyone sweetest? Why not baby or pet while he was at it?

Even Haymitch wasn't that tacky.

Effie pursed her lips tight, turning on the dramatics. "You are a pain, Seneca Crane! A pain!"

"And you are wasted, Euphemia dear." the Gamemaker accused, sounding amused. He glanced at Haymitch and, this time, the look was less admiring and more calculating. "Can I trust him with you or should I tuck you in myself?"

Effie rolled her eyes. "I can tuck myself in. I am not that drunk."

"Debatable." Crane snorted with open affection. The man cupped her chin and drew her close enough that he could plant a soft peck on her lips. "Do not forget we are having dinner with my parents this Saturday."

Haymitch wasn't seething.

Not at all.

He didn't care what she did with her boyfriends.

Not even one who looked as stupid as Crane.

The Gamemaker gave her one last assessing look and then crossed the room, slowing his steps when he neared Haymitch. "Do not take advantage of her while she is incapacitated. I will know."

The warning was obvious.

As if Haymitch was…

As if he would…

Crane was gone before he could find the best expressive way to tell him to go fuck himself.

"I am not drunk." Effie huffed once the elevator's chime told them the Gamemaker was gone. "Well… Not that much. I have been worse. There was a very, very mean tequila cocktail. You know what tequila does to me…"

He did know.

But he wasn't sure he cared.

"If you're not that drunk you can get yourself sorted." he growled. "Wouldn't want your boyfriend to get jealous, now, would we?"

She watched him, blue eyes twinkling with amusement under her slightly smudged make-up. "Oh, I do not think he is the jealous one. And he is not my boyfriend. Well… Sometimes he is but not right now."

"Right…" he drawled out, anger twisting his stomach as he realized their arrangement wasn't as unique for her as it was for him. He didn't have another fuck buddy. Clearly, that wasn't the case for her and he felt stupid for not having realized before. Maybe she had a whole notebook full of them. Maybe she looked at it sometimes to decide what flavor she wanted at that particular moment. "And you weren't about to jump his bones?"

She pouted, tilting her head to the side, still studying him. "I hadn't decided yet."

He snorted, more bitter than amused for a reason he didn't want to explore. "Funny… Thought you didn't like beards… You certainly bitch about mine all the fucking time…"

"Yes but his is soft since he actually takes care of it…" she hummed, slowly walking closer to him, swinging those hips of her…

"He has fucking holes in it." he deadpanned.

"Fashion." she dismissed. She was in front of him now and he didn't stop her when she brushed the tips of her fingers on his jaw, her nails scratching the stubble… "Yours is all rough and itchy." He glared. She laughed and then lowered her voice to a whisper. "Do not be jealous, Haymitch… I like yours better. I like the way it burns when you eat me out. Seneca is not as good as you at eating me out…"

Well… That was always something, he supposed, even though the images she was putting in his head and the anger simmering in his guts made it very hard to remember why shoving her against the wall and ducking under her dress would be a bad idea.

"You're torched." he spat. "Go to bed."

He tried to turn away but she had her arms locked around his neck before he could take a step.

There hadn't been any hiding how interested he was before, not when it was all on display for her, but if he had only been half-hard… Well… Having her pressed against him like that…

Her mouth was at his ear, her breath hot against his skin… "You fuck me better too."

His mouth was dry and his hands – that he didn't remember putting on her body – clenched at her waist.

"You're drunk." he half-accused, half-warned again. He was mostly sober, sleep would do that. He didn't feel good sleeping with her when she was drunk and he was sober. She always refused to sleep with him when he was too wasted and he grudgingly respected her for it, no matter how frustrating it could be sometimes.

"A shame." She grinned, stealing a kiss. Not the chaste peck she had allowed Crane to take. A real proper kiss. A dirty one. With tongue and teeth… He was a bit stunned by the time she let him go and sauntered away. "Dream of me."

He didn't need the command.

He knew he would dream of her.

And he knew he would wake up in wet sheets.

Pooooor Haymitch He didn't get any. XD But Neither did Seneca and isn't that the important thing? And Effie is a little minx. I hope you enjoyed this! Let me know your thoughts!