prompt :hayffie having sex after the war and effie admits to haymitch that she loves it when he talkd dirty to her even when she told him she didnt like it

Talking Smooth

The war had put an end to the Hunger Games but there were still games to be played. And as much as Haymitch would have loved to be released from them, he was still trapped in the same prisons of smoke and mirrors. Public appearances were expected at least once a year, for the anniversary of the surrender. He was paraded around on the double account of belonging to the endangered species of victors and of being a key member of the rebellion.

The balls and parties were just as tedious an affair as they always had been and he hated being dragged back to the city for them every year, summoned like the slave he wasn't anymore.

The first thing he did when they were finally allowed to retreat to their hotel room was to collapse on the bed, absolutely exhausted by all the pretending. Waving, smiling, being charming and witty… It should have belonged to that other life they had fought so hard to bury deep in the ground.

He heard the ruffle of fabric and turned his head in time to watch Effie plant herself in front of the floor to ceiling mirror, studying her reflection with obvious self-criticism.

The gown was rather simple compared to the ridiculous stuff that used to be in fashion once upon a time. The blue veil was light and embroidered with small flowers all over her sides, the neckline was daring, leaving a triangle of flesh from her shoulders to the dress' waist, covering only what it ought to cover for her to remain decent.

She was stunning and very much gorgeous still. The last breathing escort living up to the public's expectations…

There had been a lot of younger women at that ball but none of them had hold a candle to her. She fitted in that world, she was born for that world… It was, in part, why he didn't make such a fuss about going back to the Capitol every year. For all her promises that she didn't miss it, he was always afraid she would one day grow bored in Twelve and leave. A few days a year were a poor concession to her staying there permanently.

Even if that meant having to bear other men and quite a few women ogling her like a potential prize to be won. That was what he hated in the Capitol. They were all trapped in their own roles. She would forever be the escort, the dumb debutante, the doll exhibited for everyone's enjoyment… And he would forever be the Quell Victor, the one who defeated impossible odds… It didn't matter who they were or what they had done with their lives, that was how they would always be remembered.

He did hate the ogling, though. Nobody in Twelve would have dared look at her the way those vultures did, right in front of him. They weren't married but everybody knew and people respected that in the Districts. She was his.

"You do not need to scowl like that, you know." Effie teased, slowly tugging her elbow long gloves off. "I know."

"Know what?" he grumbled, watching with unashamed fascination as she discarded the second glove and let it flop down to the floor. She was putting on a show and it was working.

She met his hungry gaze in the mirror, her blue eyes twinkling with amusement and affection.

"Who I belong to." she replied, matter of fact.

It sent a shiver down his spine and he rolled on his side to study her, propping himself on his elbow. "Not sure what you're talking about."

She chuckled and took off her earrings. "You look at me like you own me. My body, at least."

"Bullshit." he snorted. "You wouldn't stand for that. You hate cages."

A secret smile played on her lips and she raised a challenging eyebrow. "What would you do? If you owned me. Right now… What would you do to me?"

She wanted to play games, then. He had never said no before, he wasn't about to start now…

He stood up to join her in front of the mirror, briefly placing his hands on her shoulders before letting them trail down her arms and to her waist, looking for the buttons or the zipper that must have been hidden somewhere…

"Don't show me." she frowned. "Tell me."

"Bossy." he complained, giving up on his search to wrap his arms around her waist, holding her tight against his chest. "See, that's why I can't own you. You think you're wearing the pants in this relationship."

"I am wearing the pants in this relationship." she teased. "Or, at least, you let me believe so, which is very clever and diplomatic of you." He nuzzled her neck and she dropped her head to the side, giving him full access. "If you owned me…"

"Does it make you wet?" he mocked. "My owning you?"

She licked her lips and pressed her ass back against him. "Yes."

It made him chuckle against her neck. "That's what you want, sweetheart? A show of strength? You want me to push you down on that bed and fuck you until you can't think? Or maybe I should push you down on your knees, let you suck my dick… You always liked that, yeah?" Her breathing quickened and he swatted her thigh, the veil doing little to cushion the smack. "Answer me."

"Fuck, Haymitch…" she breathed out.

Profanities in her mouth were always a turn on. He forced her to turn around and shoved her against the wall. There was an impish grin on her lips that he erased with a punishing kiss. Before long they were tearing at each other's clothes, his tux and her dress ending up on the floor in a heap of torn fabric.

There was something in the Capitol that always made them revert to their wild ways.

Perhaps they hadn't escaped their old roles as much as they would have liked to believe. In the city, they still fell back on old patterns. Mentor, escort… The excruciating need to fuck each other senseless to bear the boredom of it all, to make themselves feel…

The bed was only a couple of feet away but they never made it that far.

Straight against the wall, a quick rushed affair… More biting than kissing… More scratching than stroking… Almost more frustrating than rewarding…

Afterwards, she locked her arms around his neck, panting to catch her breath back as he struggled to keep both of them up.

"It drives me crazy when you talk dirty to me." she confessed a long known secret.

Even when she had still played at being a lady, he had always known she was lying about his behavior putting her off. His vulgarity, his brashness, had always been a turn on to her. Nobody had ever been that bold with her. What she had wanted, she had taken. Never before had anyone said no.

"Everything drives you crazy." he accused.

"Everything you do." she hummed, resting her head on his shoulder.

She would fall asleep, standing up or not, he figured, and so he would be forced to carry her to bed. She was annoying that way.

And yet…

He wouldn't change her for the world.