A few days ago someone asked me on tumblr what I thought about Haymitch accidentally saying "I love you" during sex. So the scenario post MJ had been prompted but I thought it would be fun to do one pre-THG as well, even though it goes against my default verse headcanons. It contains some smuttish references so beware. Here goes! ;)

Just A Dream

Haymitch tripped long before he even reached the elevator in his mad dash for safety.

He fell flat on his face in the corridor, barely managing to catch himself on his right hand so he wouldn't break his nose – or anything else. As a result, his wrist hurt like hell and he was less than careful when he remembered to tug his underwear and his pants back up – something you should always do before trying to bolt away from a woman sucking you off, it seemed.

It was painful. Not just the wrist or the finger he jammed several times on the ground floor button once he finally reached the elevator, but the constricted erection that didn't quite want to fit back in his boxers. The deadly silence in the penthouse too, was painful.

He would have thought she would have tried to run after him.

The erection problem didn't last long. By the time the elevator chimed and he walked out in the lobby, he was limp. What had happened was too big for him to remain aroused much longer. If anything could sober his lust clouded mood… That was that.

And perhaps sober was the problematic part, he decided, hurrying to the mentors' lounge as fast as his feet would take him. Perhaps if he hadn't been sober… Perhaps if he could pretend he hadn't been all along…

He smacked the counter with the flat of his palm as soon as he reached the bar. "Whiskey. No ice. Leave the bottle."

He needed to drink. He needed to get wasted. It was the only way he could ever live that down, the only way he could ever face Effie Trinket again.

He downed the first glass in one long swallow, tossing his head back, and immediately poured himself another.

"You've gone blind or what?" Chaff's familiar voice suddenly rang from next to him. "I've been waving like a crazy person."

"You are a crazy person." he automatically replied, downing his second glass in much the same fashion as the first. He felt a bit better already. His hands were shaking less, the pool of liquid fire – that he figured to be dread – in his belly didn't hurt as much.

His best friend studied him before taking the closest stool, dark eyes twinkling with amusement. "Must have been some party. You looked fucked and freaked."

Haymitch glanced at the mirror behind the bartender, found his reflection, and downed the third glass, all the soothing effects of alcohol vanishing into thin air. Fucked and freaked was an appropriate description. His hair was all over the place, his waistcoat was open, his shirt was unbuttoned almost halfway to his chest and not quite tucked in his pants, there was a distinctive bite mark on his collarbone… And there was also that dazed look on his face that only a good lay could bring. However, his eyes were wide open and his hands were shaking and he was downing glass after glass in a dead give-away of nervousness.

Chaff waited for an answer and, when none came, nudged him with his stump.

"You picked up a kinky Capitol?" he insisted. "Too much for you or what? Some of them have got weird ideas of what sex should be, let me tell you… Thought I taught you to spot the crazy ones, buddy… So what, the girl was more than you bargained for? What was she into?"

He blamed the fourth drink and the fuzzy feeling it brought for what came out of his mouth next. "It was Effie."

Chaff's glass froze on its way to his mouth, his eyebrows rising high in obvious surprise. He tapped his forefinger on the rim of the glass, mercifully quiet for a minute, and slowly but firmly placed it back down on the counter. "Not denying it anymore?"

A blot of color caught his attention at the corner of his eyes and he jumped to his feet, ready to run for it. It was Valeria though, Two's escort, and not Effie. He watched the woman in her green puffy dress and her silver wig make a beeline for Brutus with a bright smile, he watched the way Brutus smiled back, and he wondered if he and Effie were that obvious. Clearly, yes, given that all his friends had been giving him a hard time about it.

And if they were that obvious and given what had happened earlier… Wasn't it time to end it?

"I need to get out of here." he muttered.

Chaff followed him close by, a concerned frown on his face he was doing his best to hide. "Wanna tell me what happened?"

"No." he snapped. "Just want to drink."

Eleven's victor lifted his hand and his stump in a peace offer. "Okay, buddy."

They walked out of the Center by a side entrance, not in the mood to deal with the fans that camped in front of the main doors. It annoyed him to no end that the Peacekeeper on guard duty at that exit gave them a knowing look, as if the man was certain they would be in a holding cell the next time he would see them – he supposed there were precedents. But there would be no getting arrested for being too drunk that night, not because he didn't plan on getting too drunk but because there was no way he was calling his escort to save their ass.

The air was warm and unwelcomed. It ruined the buzz it had going by sobering him up. He couldn't quite focus on whatever Chaff was complaining about – something Viola had done after both Twelve's and Eleven's tributes, who had been in an alliance, had gotten killed. His mind was a hundred miles away, trying to escape the problem only to obsess over it.

"Wasn't the first time." he said finally, as they were entering the part of the city that Effie deemed uncivilized – although they were in the Capitol and that word needed to be taken with a pinch of salt – but that had the best shady bars where people didn't ask for autographs or stare at them like they were animals in a zoo.

"Sure, it's not the first time my escort's a bitch." Eleven's victor shrugged. "But still. Every time I think she's got some humanity left in her, she…"

"Effie." he cut his friend off, not in the mood to hear rants about Viola Summercket. Viola had been his escort for one year before she went to Eleven and that had been far enough for him. Effie had been an angel sent compared to that harpy. "Wasn't the first time with Effie."

To his credit, or maybe because he was less drunk that Haymitch was, Chaff took it in stride.

"You don't say…" his best friend mocked. "My bet is… Five years. Give or take."

"Seven." he corrected and earned himself a whistle.

They had started at the end of the Sixty-fifth Hunger Games, after a particularly violent fight regarding Finnick and what would be expected of him. If she had started to open her eyes to the cruelty of the Capitol before, Haymitch lying down the naked truths in a brutal way had almost been too much for her. The fight had been explosive, violent, and it had come to a point where it had either been sex or murder.

"She must be something." Chaff commented carefully. "Not like you to stick to a sex-friend that long. Hell, I didn't even know you had sex friends… You used to like your one-night-stands… Once dance and in the trash, yeah?"

She was the only woman he had slept with more than once.

She was the only woman he had wanted to sleep with more than once.

He was hot suddenly despite the half open shirt, and he ducked in the first bar they passed. He went straight for the barman and ordered two bottles, slamming crumpled notes he found in his pocket on the dirty wood. Effie would have freaked out in a place like this. No coasters, no cleaning crew to speak off…

He grabbed both bottles and headed straight for a secluded table in a corner. Chaff followed, carrying the glasses. Haymitch didn't bother with that, he cracked the lid open and brought the bottle directly to his lips, taking a long gulp.

Eleven's victor wordlessly waved his glass and when he couldn't swallow anymore whiskey without breathing, Haymitch poured him some, gasping for air. His foot was restlessly tapping the floor, his eyes were darting everywhere… He worried the label on the bottle until some pieces came loose and then he proceeded to tear that to shreds.

"Okay." Chaff sighed, relaxing back into his chair. He looked casual enough but Haymitch could read the worry on his face. "You've been fucking her for seven years…"

"Haven't fucked another woman in three years." he cut him off.

His friend stared at him and then shrugged. "Easy enough to correct." He looked around and made a face. "Nothing interesting here. But we can go to that club on the Fifth. There's always chicks eager to sleep with any victor there. Wouldn't have to work hard to…"

"I don't want to." he interrupted. His admission was scary and he brought the bottle to his mouth again. He was really starting to feel the buzz now. He might have been tipsy. Tipsy was good. Tipsy was a step closer to drunk and drunk was one breath away from wasted. He couldn't be hold accountable for anything he would say while wasted.

That didn't please Chaff, he saw it plain as day. Eleven's victor wasn't drinking, his glass was still full. Haymitch was steadily knocking back the whiskey, focused on his goal.

"What happened tonight?" his friend asked. "What did she do that freaked you out?"

He shook his head, gripping the neck of the bottle harder. "Don't wanna talk about her."

That didn't please Chaff either but his friend didn't insist. He made fun of the various Capitols in the room instead, never touching his drink but letting him gulp down the alcohol in peace. It wasn't long before the room was spinning and Haymitch finally felt himself relax a bit. Under the cover of alcohol, it didn't look so bad. Nothing looked too bad.

Chaff was in the middle of an anecdote about whosever escort had done whatever when Haymitch belched and half slumped on the table, finally letting go of the now empty bottle. He reached for the second one and was happy to spot a third. Of course, when he tried to grab it, it soon turned out there was a problem with his eyes because there were also two Chaffs sitting in front of him.

"I think you've had enough, buddy." his friend declared.

Haymitch snorted because since when did they try to stop each other from drowning in booze? But when he finally managed to close his fingers around the bottle, Chaff's stump came down hard on his wrist, preventing him from lifting it. It was his bad wrist too, the one he had hurt earlier, and he pouted.

"You're no fun." he accused. He had a furred tongue, his mouth felt parched, and he smacked his lips open and close a few times, trying to get rid of that feeling.

"Yeah." Chaff snorted. "I ain't drunk enough to face your girl's lectures, sorry, man. Come on. I'll take you back to the Center."

"She's my girl." he repeated, the words strange and unfamiliar. He was so busy pondering that puzzling problem that he didn't protest when his friend hauled him up.

"Seems like it." Eleven's victor grumbled, disapprobation clear in his voice.

Chaff wanted to call for a car but Haymitch shook his head, declaring he wanted to walk. A distant part of his mind knew there would be pictures and probably articles in the press tomorrow and that Effie would be mad about another binge night out scandal. He couldn't care one bit. His arm was slung over his best friend's shoulders, Chaff's good arm gripping his waist to keep him upright.

Haymitch was having the time of his life, pointing at bright neon signs and staggering every few steps, but Chaff was gritting his teeth and didn't look very happy. He wisely thought that his friend should have drunk more.

"She can do this thing with her tongue." he slurred, out of the blue, when they came in sight of Main Square. It was buzzing with people who had gathered to follow the Games on the giant screens. They remained at the edge of the crowd, Chaff guiding them through narrow alleys to avoid the crazy people who would swoop down on them. "She's got a very clever tongue."

"Yeah, no kidding." Chaff humored him.

"She can spell stuff." he insisted, vaguely aware she would violently murder him – maybe even rip off his balls first – if she ever learned he had shared that information.

"Trinket can spell?" his friend taunted. "Now, I'm surprised."

There was an insult in there, he figured, but he wasn't quite in a state to understand subtlety. He shoved his friend a little but let him urge them on all the same.

"With her tongue." he clarified, his words melting together because of his fuzzed tongue. He would have liked some more whiskey. He lost track of his thoughts for a moment and then found it again. "When she blows me off. She spells stuff when she blows me off. It's a game, yeah? Like… Teasing. Drives me crazy. Can't think when she does that. That's the game. She spells and I try to guess and half the time I can't 'cause she feels so good, Chaff… She feels…"

"She's good, yeah." Eleven's victor cut him off. "Got that."

"You can't tell her I told you." he mumbled, suddenly worried. "She's gonna get mad."

"I'm a tomb, buddy." Chaff snorted. "But you might want to speak a little less loud."

There were people in the street and they were staring.

Haymitch immediately found the most likely explanation.

"They're jealous." he growled. "They're jealous 'cause Effie's mine."

"Sure. That's it. They're jealous." His friend burst out laughing, upsetting the balance they had going.

"She's so good…" he repeated. "She spells stuff on my dick…"

"Yeah, I got that part. Loud and clear." Chaff was still laughing but there wasn't anything funny.

"You're making fun of my girl?" he scowled, ready to defend her honor because… Well… That was what he was supposed to do, yeah?

"Nope, buddy. I'm just wondering if there's a point to the story." Eleven's victor countered as they reached the side entrance to the Games Compound.

The Peacekeeper looked smug and there was a small argument because he wanted to call security for him but Chaff told him he wasn't drunk and could get Haymitch back to the penthouse without any trouble. Haymitch was eager for a fight and tried to help his friend by threatening the guard. Eventually, Eleven's victor got his way and shoved Haymitch back inside. Instead of heading for the elevators though, Chaff sat him down on the edge of the huge fountain in the deserted lobby. The noise of the water was too loud and it would cover most of their conversation so he wasn't sure why Chaff wanted to stop there when they could go back to the comfortable mentors' lounge.

"Fell in there once." he recalled, dropping his hand in the cool water. "Was naked."

"Yeah, let's not do a repeat." Chaff mocked. "So, she can spell stuff on your dick. I'm guessing she did that tonight, yeah?"

It took him a while to understand what his friend was talking about.

"Yeah." he nodded, waving his hand left and right in the water. He swung left and right too and he would probably have fallen in the fountain if Chaff's good hand hadn't fisted his shirt and held him back. "Thanks."

"What did she spell?" his friend sighed. "Spilled her guts out, yeah? Told you she's in love with you or whatever bullshit? And you freaked out."

The events of that night were a bit blurry around the edges now. The booze had done his job. He wasn't sure anymore.

"She worked me up real good…" he muttered, for his own benefit more than Chaff's. "She's got a red dress on… Red's good on her… And it's tight… And…"

"You wanted to fuck her." Chaff interrupted with impatience. "If she was spelling stuff on your dick, I'm guessing you got lucky. What did she spell?"

He made an effort to remember. "Words." He shook his head. "Too good. Couldn't focus."

"Sure you could." Eleven's victor snorted. "It freaked you out. What did she say?"

He shook his head again. "Ruffian."

"Ruffian." Chaff frowned, clearly looking puzzled as to why it could be either funny or a turn-on. "She spelled ruffian on your dick and…"

"I laughed." he mumbled. "'Cause I felt so good… And… I don't know…" For the third time, he shook his head but he almost overbalanced this time and without Chaff's help he would have probably fallen down in the fountain once more. "It came out. Didn't mean to. Didn't mean to."

His friend stared at him for a long moment and then rolled his eyes. "You say it came out… You unloaded in…"

"I love you." he clarified in a slurred sentence and Chaff abruptly shut up. "I said…" He rubbed his face and his eyes so hard it hurt. "Don't know why… Don't know… It came out. Wasn't thinking. Wasn't… It felt so good… She's…"

He fell silent, not quite as calmed down by alcohol anymore. The memory was clear once more. He had been sprawled on the couch, legs spread as wide as the constricting pants and underwear around his ankles would allow him, she had been kneeling in front of him in her red dress, her hands on either side of his knees, her navy blue wig not quite ridiculous enough that he minded it… She had tortured him like only she knew how to do, flashing him sly cunning grins from time to time, her blue eyes on him the whole time she…

He hadn't realized what he had said at first. It was only when she had frozen, eyes wide and stupefaction all over her face that it had registered. His own voice. His own voice whispering words he had sworn to never utter again.

"You think the bugs picked it up?" Chaff asked. A practical question his liquor soaked brain was in no position to answer. He was still blinking, stuck in that moment of horror. He had said… "Never mind. I'll get to that with your escort."

His friend hauled him up before he could protest and dragged him to the elevator. He could barely stand. His stomach started rebelling around the fourth floor. He lasted until they reached the penthouse but immediately threw up as soon as the doors opened, making enough noise to wake up the whole building probably.

"Where were you?!" Effie's voice echoed in the corridor, a second before she walked out of the living-room. "I was…" She stopped when she spotted Eleven's victor, her worry turning to irritation. "Hello, Chaff."

Haymitch grunted because his stomach burned and suddenly he wanted the booze out, out, out… But he couldn't help craning his neck to stare at her. She was still wearing her red dress but her navy blue wig was a bit crooked to the side.

"Awesome. You're drunk too?" Chaff sighed behind him.

"Tipsy at best." she answered coldly. "I will take it from here. Thank you for bringing him back."

"I'll get him to bed." his friend declared, hauling him upright again.

"I can…" she countered.

"You're coming too, love." Chaff snapped, not really giving her a choice.

Haymitch was steered to his room and to the en-suited bathroom where Chaff dropped him on the closed lid of the toilets before turning on the shower.

"Don't wanna wash…" Haymitch grumbled, in no mood to shower right now.

Effie hovered on the threshold, looking puzzled and, yes, a bit tipsy. Chaff grabbed her arm and pulled her closer to the raging shower.

"What he said earlier… Was it loud?" his friend asked. "Did the bugs pick it up?"

His escort flushed crimson and she shrugged Eleven's victor's hand off. She looked nervous and uncomfortable and Haymitch didn't like it. She folded her arms over her chest, as if she was cold, and averted her eyes, lips pursed.

"I do not think so." she offered eventually.

"Not good enough." Chaff insisted. "That's your life on the line, here, Trinket."

"Why, I did not know you cared." she hissed back with obvious resentment.

"About you? Couldn't care less." his friend spat. "About how crushed he will be if you get your pretty Capitol ass killed 'cause he was stupid enough to fall for you? That, I care about."

Her jaw clenched and, for a second, he thought she would slap Chaff. Her manners took the upper hand though. She simply cleared her throat. "It was barely a whisper, I doubt they heard. I do not think he intended to say it at all. I do not think he meant it." She sounded a bit lost. "He cannot have meant it. He does not… He…"

She stammered to a stop, shooting Chaff a pleading glance that went unanswered.

"It'd probably be best if he hadn't, yeah." Eleven's victor stated firmly. "You get why."

"It is not safe." she nodded.

"Understatement of the century." Chaff scoffed. "Snow's been dying to find him a pressure point, love. And you… Oh, you fucking reeked of a trap from the start… You're everything he fucking likes."

Haymitch didn't understand what they were talking about or why Effie suddenly looked so offended. He didn't like that though.

"I would never… I…" she stuttered. "I am not a spy!"

"I know." his friend shrugged. "You're genuine. That's the bloody genius of it all. A fake one, he would have sniffed a mile away. But you…" Chaff shook his head. "Maybe it was a long shot, but I know Snow. He was hoping for this."

"I do not want Haymitch to get hurt." she murmured.

"Might be too late for that." his friend sighed, glancing at Haymitch. "You can take care of him? I need a bloody drink."

She nodded without another word and Chaff left.

Haymitch was utterly confused.

"What's going on?" he asked when she walked closer.

Her eyes were bright and her fake eyelashes kept fluttering closed as if she was fighting back tears. She brushed his hair back and then cupped his cheek.

"Nothing." she hummed, sounding just as cheerful as usual. "Everything that happened tonight… It was a hallucination… Do you understand? We did not have sex. You drank too much."

"You sucked me off." he frowned. "That was before…"

"You are drunk." she insisted. "We did not have sex tonight. It was a dream, Haymitch. Just a dream."

"Just a dream." he repeated obediently, because he was tired. He leaned in and rested his head against her stomach, breathing her smell in. "Did I say…"

"No." she cut him off firmly. "Why would you? You hate me."

"No." he frowned. "I…"

"You loathe me." she interrupted again. "I am simply a way to get even with the Capitol, nothing more. Having sex with me does not mean anything. Deep down, you hate me."

He buried his face in her stomach, his confusion increasing. He knew he didn't hate her. On that, he was very clear in his mind. "Tonight was a dream."

"Exactly." she confirmed. "Now, let's get you to bed, shall we?"

He let her do what she wanted, going through the motions. It was a well-oiled routine by now. She undressed him and didn't bother helping him into pajamas because it was hot and he liked sleeping naked. She forced him to drink a glass of water and left another full one on his nightstand with a bottle of pills for the next morning. And she pressed a kiss on his forehead before leaving the room despite his pleas that he wanted her to stay – she did stay at least until he fell asleep usually. He wanted to cuddle – not that he would have admitted as much as in many words – but she refused to remain in bed with him.

When he woke up the following morning, he had the mother of all headaches.

His memories of the previous night were unreliable.

He remembered some parts, the unforgettable part, but he also remembered her voice. It was a dream, Haymitch. Just a dream.

He didn't let himself freak out over what he had said or what he could be feeling.

A dream…

A dream was a good explanation.

He had no room for anything else.