Prompt: Hi! I was just wondering if you could do one of those song fics with the song ' mama do ' by pixie Lott ? I think it fits Effie really well !
Well there is a mama so it counts. I guess. ;)
In His Gaze
Haymitch's chest was rising and falling fast under her hand and Effie buried her face in his shoulder to hide her smile, happy to know she could still make him breathless.
"That was…" he mumbled, half incredulous and half mocking.
"Really good." she grinned, pressing a kiss against his sweaty skin, nuzzling his neck a little.
His arm closed on her waist, trapping her against his side. "I fucking needed that."
"So did I." she sighed.
The Games had been ugly, so very ugly… They hadn't been expecting Twelve to win, of course, but they hadn't been expecting their opponents to be so ruthless either. The children had died within half an hour and not in a merciful way. Those Games weren't merciful and everyone at the Center was discussing them, debating, betting, laughing…
Haymitch had been about to explode and she had needed the change of scenery as well. She had suggested they went to her apartment for a while, to have a drink and relax, try to forget about the outside world. The penthouse, at that moment, would simply have been a reminder, a golden cage from which they couldn't escape. The victor and the escort… She hadn't wanted to be an escort that day, she had wanted to pretend she was simply a woman.
It had felt a bit odd to share take-out in her kitchen and they had both awkwardly picked at their lunch, tossing each other guarded glances and gulping down the wine. It had felt a bit too much like a date perhaps, which was why he had eventually pushed the food aside and had had her on the table instead. And then later on, on her couch. And then in her bed.
And that last time…
Oh, that last time had been very good.
A glance at the window confirmed the sky was darkening, turning the pinkish color that meant sunset wasn't far away, and she wondered if they could spend the night there, if he would want to stay – if she could entice him to stay with more sex perhaps. She didn't want to go back to the penthouse. Not yet.
Nobody would miss them anyway…
She let her forefinger trail down his chest. It wasn't as firm as it used to be. His muscles were slowly disappearing over the years, she had noticed. He was still strong and, she suspected, he always would be, but the alcohol was starting to take its toll on his body.
She shivered a little and he tugged the sheets up on them. Their skin was covered in a quickly cooling sheet of sweat and there was a sticky mess between her legs but her body was too heavy and tired to move. She was cold but she burrowed against his warmth.
"Don't fall asleep on me." he mumbled, his own voice a bit on the sleepy side. "Shower."
"Bath." she countered in a hum. "A long hot bath… And then you will fuck me again."
She didn't think he meant to growl but the sound tugged at something primitive in her belly. He loved it when she was vulgar and she could be very crude when she wanted to – she simply reserved it for special occasions.
"In the tub." he warned, his hand trailing down her side. "I'm gonna fuck you in the tub."
She opened her mouth, her sassy reply already on her lips, but quickly closed it when she heard the unmistakable sound of the doorbell. Three shrill rings of it.
They both tensed at the same time.
"Expecting someone?" he asked.
"No." she frowned. "Everyone knows I am staying at the penthouse for the duration of the Games."
There was a calculating glint in his eyes that soon turned to determination. "Stay here. If it's…"
"Do not be ridiculous." she countered, as the doorbell rang again. Whoever it was, they were persistent. "This is my apartment. Why would you answer the door? You stay here. Out of sight."
"Effie." he snapped. And he wasn't worried, he was panicked. She didn't know what kind of scenarios he had been devising in that brain of his but she doubted Peacekeepers would show up at her door just because they had been having a little fun between the sheets. Not as long as either of them hadn't said or done something detrimental to the Capitol in public. She was sure she hadn't. And if Haymitch had…
Waiting would make it worse.
"Stay here." she echoed, snatching his shirt from the floor. "I will go see what it is about. It is probably one of my friends who is trying to locate me for a party or another. Do not worry yourself so."
She hurried through the living-room, buttoning the shirt as she went, but she heard key noises well before she even reached the door.
There weren't so many people who had keys to her apartment.
She almost doubled back to warn Haymitch not to make a noise because this was worse than a flock of Peacekeepers swooping down on them.
"Be Lyssa." she muttered under her breath as she caught her reflection on the mirror on the hallway's wall. Her blond hair was all over the place, her curls wild from when Haymitch had grabbed them. Her make-up was a long forgotten story, she had taken it off after the time on the couch because it had been so smudged simply looking at her had made him burst out laughing. She was plain and bared and ugly and absolutely not ready for…
The front door opened and, of course, it was not Lyssa.
Lyssandra would never come to her apartment when she wasn't there to invite her in unless specified otherwise.
Truth be told, she didn't know who was the most surprised… Effie, who stood there like a deer caught in headlights, or her mother, who looked horror struck – not by being caught intruding but by her appearance, that went without saying.
"Why, in Panem, do you look like this?" Elindra gasped, quickly shutting the door behind her, probably in case a neighbor wandered by and accidentally got a glimpse. "Are you ill? Do you need a doctor? Why does your hair look like that, Euphemia? Truly, wigs are all good and well but honestly… You know what lies underneath. And accidents happen. What if your wig slides, have you thought about that? Do you really want to impose that awful sight to all Panem? Your reputation alone…"
"Hello, Mother." she cut her off, knowing it could go on forever. "May I ask what you are doing here?"
She added a pleasant smile but Elindra pursed her lips, not keen on being interrupted.
"Your father paid for half the place. I have a duty to make sure everything is in order." Elindra retorted, as if it absolutely justified her presence.
So you are snooping around when I am not here, she almost accused. She thought better of it though. There was never any winning against her mother. And there was no point starting a fight when she had a naked man in the next room.
"Everything is in order." she confirmed. "It was considerate of you to check."
"You are my daughter. Of course, I want to check." Elindra huffed, still eyeing her from head to toes. "It is only eight at night. Why are you not dressed? Laziness does not do you any favor, Euphemia. You think you have arrived but fame is a fickle mistress. I have told you times and times again… Girls like you have to work twice as hard. You should be out there being seen right now."
She clenched her jaws but smiled even harder. "Of course, Mother."
"Why are you not at the Games Center?" her mother insisted, narrowing her eyes. She took several steps toward the living-room and Effie swiftly placed herself on the way.
"I am on my way back there." she lied. "I simply stopped for a change of clothes. I would offer you some tea but I am afraid I truly do not have time."
Elindra pursed her lips harder and walked around her to the living-room. The door to her bedroom was wide open. Haymitch was nowhere in sight – and she breathed a sigh of relief about that – but the crumpled sheets were enough evidence anyway.
"Did you have a man in there?" Elindra asked.
"Mother." she hissed. "I do not think it is any of your business."
"Do not talk to me in that way." her mother snapped back. "You must think me an idiot not to understand what is going on. Truly, I am appalled. If you had a boyfriend – finally, must I add – you should know I would be thrilled."
"I do not have a boyfriend." she countered.
"Then, whose shirt are you wearing?" Elindra retorted. "Who is he? Is he from a good family? Is he wealthy? Those are important points, Effie. You have to keep your future in mind when you marry…"
"I am not marrying anyone!" Effie huffed, her voice rising.
"Don't you dare shout at your mother, young lady." Elindra warned in a strict tone, her blue eyes studying her so intensely that Effie shuffled. "Please, do tell me you did not let that man see you like this." Effie closed her eyes and audibly sighed. It didn't please her mother. "Do not give me that attitude, Euphemia. Why do you always have to be so difficult? Lyssa would have never…"
"Oh, no." she chuckled. "God forbids Lyssa does anything wrong."
"You sister is married, wealthy and happy." Elindra scowled – or she would have scowled if her face hadn't been so full of plastic it had still been capable of facial expressions. "Envy makes you green and jealousy is unbecoming of a lady." Her mother tossed her a dismissive glance and started inspecting the stack of magazines she kept on the coffee table. "I can also assure you Lyssa would never let her husband see her the way you are looking right now. And she is naturally beautiful. You do not have that advantage, Effie. You are plain. I do not say this to hurt you but to help. You need to work twice as hard to look perfect."
It was nothing she hadn't been hearing since her childhood but the words still cut deep.
"He happens to like me best without wigs or make-up." she heard herself challenge, her voice barely more than a growl. There was pain in her voice too, and, naturally, her mother heard it. She was like a predator: betray the slightest sign of weakness and she would pounce.
"Is that what he told you?" Elindra asked, pity in her tone. "Then he is making fun of you, playing you for a fool. He is probably sharing tales about how plain you look all over town. You are so naïve, darling…"
"He is not like that." she hissed. "He is genuine."
Her mother burst out laughing, one of those fake little laughs she used in society. "How droll you are. Men are never genuine. Have I taught you nothing? They flatter to get what they want and then they discard. That man played a trick on you, no doubt."
She folded her arms over her chest, slightly comforted by the smell that still clung to Haymitch's shirt. "Is it so hard to believe a man could find me beautiful?"
"Oh, of course not, darling…" Elindra hummed. "I have seen you look radiant before. If you would just dye your hair a pretty color… Maybe consent to have those curls permanently straightened… A few plastic surgeries wouldn't be amiss either… You could be so good-looking if only you made an effort…" She shook her head. "That lover of yours… Perhaps he wants to please you by lying to you but, trust me, nobody likes an ugly woman and none of us are at their best without their artifices. You are too romantic for your own good."
There was no winning that argument and she wanted her mother gone. She collected herself and plastered an obedient smile on her lips. "Of course, Mother."
"There, there…" Elindra lamented – not frowning because the plastic surgeries made that impossible, but certainly looking like she wanted to. "I do not say this to hurt you, please understand. It is not your fault if you are plain. That is why make-up, dye and fashion exist."
"You are right, of course." she agreed easily. "I really must hurry back to the penthouse now… I am terribly sorry to be so rude but…"
"Alright, alright…" Elindra waved a dismissive hand. "I understand when I am not wanted. I shall go. I have plans with some friends anyway. I simply wanted to check that everything is working properly. Your father was concerned."
"Tell Father everything is fine and thank him for me." she replied, not fooled at all. She doubted her father even cared what was going on in her life. She made a note to change the locks as soon as possible – and give her emergency key to someone a little more trustworthy.
Ushering her mother back to the front door took ten more minutes. She rested her forehead against the polished wood once she had turned the lock behind her and breathed out a long deep sigh.
How much had Haymitch heard?
Everything, probably. There was no use lying to herself.
She walked back to the bedroom with reluctance. She had always been so good at never letting her mother catch her looking less than her best… It had to be that day. Her good mood from earlier had vanished. The tension was back between her shoulders and when she glimpsed herself on the full-length mirror in her room, she quickly averted her eyes. She was hitching to put her wig and some make-up back on, to construct her public persona again because it was easier than just admitting to herself she wasn't as gorgeous as she wanted to believe.
Her body was fine. She had been working very hard for very long to make it so. But her face? And her hair? And…
"Guessed she was a bitch but that's pushing it."
Haymitch was leaning against the bathroom's doorframe, still naked, arms folded in front of his chest, a dark look in his grey eyes. He looked angry and she wasn't in the mood for that. Whatever she had done to irritate him, she would deal with it later.
She opened the first drawer of her dresser, looking for clean underwear. "We should head back to the penthouse."
"What about the bath?" he challenged.
He had a point. She needed to wash before she could get dressed again. Her skin was clammy, she was reeking of sex and she still felt sticky in places she didn't want to feel sticky in.
"A shower would be quicker." she answered, still averting her eyes. "You can go first."
She felt humiliated, she realized.
It was one thing to confess how she didn't feel beautiful without her fashionable armor and it was entirely another for someone else to lay it plain and bare in front of a man she was sleeping with and for whom she had very complicated feelings she did her best not to over-analyze.
"She's a bitch." he repeated slowly but firmly.
"She is my mother and you will watch your tongue under my roof." she hissed back.
She felt him move behind her, always so much swifter than people gave him credit for. Everyone always dismissed him as the drunkard, the joke of a victor, but people tended to forget that joke or not, he was a victor, a Quell's victor no less, and that hadn't gone away.
His chest was plastered to her back before she could move, an arm wrapped around her waist trapping her there, his free hand around her throat, tilting her head back against his shoulder. She grabbed his wrist because she hated being choked but he kept his grip loose, making his threatening attitude rather useless.
"You like my tongue." he reminded her, poking at the side of her neck with it. "My tongue takes you apart often enough." He licked a patch of skin and then sunk his teeth in her flesh, biting down not so playfully.
"You will leave a mark." she chided him, relaxing against his chest. She wasn't in any mood to humor his dangerous big bad wolf attitude. He would never hurt her, she wasn't afraid, the point was moot. "I need to get dressed."
"You need to get in that damn bath and let me fuck you senseless." he countered. "That's what you need right now."
She hesitated. "Just let me… I need…"
She wanted to put her wig and some make-up back on. She really needed to. She needed to be beautiful again, powerful. She felt weak and ugly and she hated that feeling. She was… vulnerable. She wasn't comfortable with that. She trusted Haymitch with it, and only Haymitch, but right then, she wasn't comfortable with that.
"No." he stated, tightening his embrace. "You don't."
"Haymitch, you do not understand…" she sighed.
"Yeah, I do." he growled. "Your mother's full of bullshit. And she's blind too."
She shook her head. "But she is right. I am…"
"Beautiful." he finished for her. "Gorgeous. Hot." He let out a deep sigh of his own. "I don't get how you can be so arrogant and yet so stupid about how you look without that crap."
"That crap is what makes me beautiful." she argued.
"Not to me." he countered.
"Perhaps she is right and you are making fun of me." she hissed. "Perhaps you laugh about it with your friends. Perhaps…"
"When I'm making fun of you, I do it to your face, sweetheart." he scowled, dragging her to the full-length mirror. "Look at you."
She did and she only saw her plain self. No wig, no make-up. All the flaws bared.
She liked the way he was looking at her though. She couldn't see what he was seeing but she liked the warmth in his eyes, the desire… Perhaps it was a district thing or perhaps he had odd kinks… Her mother didn't believe a man could want her like that but her mother didn't know Haymitch and she couldn't even begin to think about what she would have made of this thing between them.
When he told her she was beautiful, she didn't always believe him – but she wanted to.
"I could use a bath." she admitted at last.
He pressed a kiss on her shoulder and left her in front of the mirror to disappear in the bathroom.
She didn't linger in front of her reflection, there was no point.
Without his gaze, there was nothing beautiful to see.