Prompt :"Going commando with haute-couture, truly! What a crime against fashion!" - jup, that truly is the problem at hand here. any care for Effie following those dirty thoughts? ;) (chap 534)
It can stand alone! Please leave a comment!
Trinket 1, Haymitch 0
"Not to alarm you, buddy, but your escort's staring so hard at your ass I'm afraid it's gonna catch fire." Chaff chortled in his glass of whiskey, his eyes regularly darting over Haymitch's right shoulder.
They were in a corner of the room the victory party was taking place in, it was loud and crammed with people and Haymitch refused to turn around to check, giving his friend a half shrug in answer. His escort, he had concluded early on, was weird. She had been around for two years and gave no hint that she would quit soon. He loathed her on good days, hated her on bad ones and most days made him furious out of his mind. He had reconciled himself with the thought that she wasn't going anywhere but only just. Although, if he ignored her unbearable Capitolness and her very irritating quirks, she wasn't the worst he had had. She was efficient if nothing else and his work load had been reduced by half since she had come on the team. And he had never had a smoother PR than since she had started handling it. So, yeah, she made him mad but she also had her uses.
Now, it would have helped if he hadn't been growing hard in his pants every time they fought a bit too hard lately. She had a way of getting under his skin. Not that he would admit it. Not that he would ever admit it.
So what if she was now staring at his ass… Maybe she was dealing with the same problems he was. There was a tension between them that was thick enough to cut with a knife. They were both adults, they both knew what that tension was. He was in deep denial about it – or tried to be, at least – but that didn't mean she was.
He wondered what he would do if she made a pass at him and concluded he might let himself be tempted. At least once. To get it out of his system.
"I missed something?" Chaff insisted, dark eyes twinkling with curiosity.
"Nah." he dismissed. "I don't know what's up with her, she's been weirder than usual since the other night."
He had troubles even recalling that night. He had been so drunk… He remembered coming back from Eleven's floor so wasted that he couldn't see straight… He had tried to reach his bedroom but he was pretty sure he had collapsed somewhere in the corridor. How he had woken up in his bed the next day wearing sweatpants instead of his suit was a mystery. Well… Not so much of a mystery probably but he refused to entertain the thought of Effie Trinket helping him to bed. It was more likely one of the Avoxes. She would have gladly left him to choke on his own puke, he was sure.
At least, he supposed.
The lack of certainty annoyed him, mostly because someone had undressed him while he was far too gone to know better and he had no idea who it was.
"What happened the other night?" Chaff asked, clearly invested in the story now.
"No clue." he shrugged. "Can't remember."
He lifted his glass of whiskey as an explanation and his best friend nodded with understanding.
"Maybe you fucked her." Chaff suggested helpfully.
Haymitch snorted. "I would remember that."
At least he thought so. The state he had been in, he wasn't sure he would have been able to get it up anyway. And he may hate her on principle alone but he didn't think she was the type to take advantage like that. She probably liked her men to be clear-headed so they could tell her just how much they adored as they made sweet love to her.
Fat chances of that happening with him.
"She ordered me socks and underwear." he finally admitted and, when Chaff's eyebrows shot up, he rolled his eyes. "Ain't that weird. She's in charge of my wardrobe."
"Yeah, 'cause that's not the stylist's job." Eleven's victor mocked. "Your escort's got control issues."
"You think?" he smirked. Trinket was all about control. She went ballistic when they were off schedule by a minute. He made a face and shrugged. "Don't mind that too much though. She knows what I like and she doesn't force ridiculous colors on me. Our stylists always suck. She's been good at picking out clothes I don't hate so far. But the socks and underwear thing is new."
And it wasn't like she had been really subtle about it even. Well, the socks that had appeared in his drawer he had actually appreciated. Most of the ones he owned were really going threadbare and he had been planning to buy some once he would be back in Twelve but the other drawer full of underwear he hadn't seen coming. Mostly because it was full and there were all kinds in there as if she hadn't been able to decide which one he would like.
There had been trunks, boxers, pouch briefs and some stuff that looked like thongs he had pushed to the back of the drawers quickly. They came in different colors and fabrics and he had been so puzzled by their mysterious sudden appearance that he had stared at them for a good fifteen minutes.
"Capitols." Chaff sighed as if it explained everything. And it probably did.
But Haymitch couldn't shake the thought that the underwear thing had to do with her current weirder-than-usual behavior.
"Right?" he snorted, raising his glass to that.
Seeder signaled Chaff over not long after that and, since she was talking with one of the sponsors, his best friend left with a muttered apology about duty calling. Haymitch remained in his corner, sipping from his glass and watching the party unfold.
He felt her presence long before she actually stopped next to him, mostly because her staring had been a little overboard.
"You keep looking at me like that people are gonna get ideas, sweetheart." he attacked before she could.
It was always good to get the first gibe in as soon as possible with her because, as he had discovered quickly, she wasn't shy about throwing the first taunt. He refused to admit that was part of the reason he found himself so attracted to her. Usually, his escorts could barely keep up with him intellectually but Trinket… Oh, he had dismissed her as another pretty face as soon as he had met her and he had been so, so wrong. She may like to play dumb but he suspected she was anything but.
"That suit is Galanis. Please, tell me you are wearing something under those pants." she almost begged as if the thought physically pained her.
It took him a beat to recover because that wasn't what he had been expecting.
"Do you have something under that dress?" He openly leered at her.
She was wearing a purple number of thick see-through lace and nude-colored fabric that made it look as if she was very naked on first glance. It culminated in a huge hem made of something that looked like puffy purple fur around her knees. It was really ugly. Even the rainbow–colored wig towering over her head like the ice cream on top of a cone didn't look as bad as the dress and that was saying something.
It was in moments like that, that he wondered why his body so strongly responded to her sometimes. She looked ridiculous and terrible and even the long legs and the swan neck couldn't make up for it. Not with the pot of paint she had smeared on her face.
"How improper!" she chided – and not in a coquettish way either, she was genuinely offended, it seemed.
He rolled his eyes. "You literally just asked me the same thing."
"I asked you in the interest of fashion and you are not a lady." she retorted. "You cannot keep on wearing nothing under those suits, Haymitch. I won't stand for it."
There were several possible reactions to that statement and he jumped on the easiest one first. "That's what the underwear thing is about?" And then he frowned, suspicious and a little angry. "Have you been spying on me? How do you know I don't wear anything down there? You've got a peeping-tom act going on?"
She studied him for a second, obviously shocked and more than a little defensive if not outraged, and then she blinked and he was faced with her usual cheerful expression. He wondered, sometimes, if she was on drugs to be that happy all the time – although probably not because the pole in her ass was huge and drugs was probably as big a no-no as alcohol for her.
"Oh, you do not remember the other night. How awkward." she laughed. "I have wondered."
Whatever was going on wasn't funny and something like dread coiled in his stomach. Maybe Chaff had a point. His frown deepened. "We slept together?"
He was so very sure he would have known. There had been no clue he had had sex with anyone for starters but maybe…
"Of course not!" she almost shrieked. "Do not be preposterous! How can you even… You… Oh!"
She was so furious he could guess at her crimson cheeks underneath the make-up.
"Alright, alright…" he chuckled, a little amused by the strength of her reaction. "Calm down, sweetheart. Just asking."
She narrowed her eyes at him, her lips pursed and her head tilted to the left in that very attitude that always made his body react in way he would rather not.
"I found you passed out in the corridor and I helped you to bed." she hissed. "Not that you ever thanked me for it, you ruffian."
Well, it was one mystery solved.
He glared right back though. "And you thought it was alright to take my pants off without my permission?"
Because that was what had happened, wasn't it? She had helped him to his bed and she had taken his clothes off and she had put sweatpants on him. It was humiliating on more than one level but he figured most of it was his own fault because he had been the one getting wasted out of his mind.
"Do not make it sound like that." she warned. "I was trying to be kind. I thought surely you would be uncomfortable sleeping with your belt on and I could not know you weren't wearing any… What sort of civilized man do not wear underwear?" She shook her head. "Truly, I am not the one at fault, here. I was just trying to be helpful."
"And you got an eyeful." he snorted, calming down a little. "Bit unfair, that. You should let me take a peek…"
He was very sure that if they hadn't been standing in a crowded room she would have tried to slap him.
"Do not push your luck. I was not exactly happy to find myself eye to eye with…" She quickly looked down at his crotch and back up. "… that."
"Never had any complains before." he smirked.
"I would not think so." she muttered under her breath but before he could ask what she meant by that – or more likely tease her about it – she cleared her throat and went on. "Anyway. I sent you the underwear for a reason and I strongly suspect you are not wearing anything under those pants."
"How would you know that?" he snorted.
"I am an expert at determining what hides in a man's pants, Haymitch." she deadpanned with a straight face.
Fuck, but she was good at banter.
He downed what was left of his glass for appearance's sake and tried not to let her words affect him too much in case she really could tell what was in his pants. He wasn't sure how she would take the knowledge she made him hard but he suspected she would be smug about it and that was far too annoying an idea to bear.
"I don't wear underwear." he grumbled. "You can stop buying them."
She pursed her lips. "Unacceptable. If you like another type than what I ordered…"
"There's still stuff you haven't ordered?" he taunted.
"Haymitch." she said firmly, refusing to get sidetracked into a pointless argument. "Please, hear me out. Not only is it really distressing for me to think you are going commando under haute-couture, but and I do not say this to be judgmental, you have a tendency to pass out when you drink too much and that's when you are not being sick all over yourself."
"So what?" he scowled, folding his arms in front his chest.
"So… You may need me to help you again. Or an Avox." she explained. "And if not me, then you may find yourself in need of medical assistance. Do you truly want to find yourself potentially naked with strangers?"
He hated it when she made good points. He really, really did.
He glared at her ugly purple shoes.
"Don't see why you would help me anyway." he grumbled.
"I know we are not the best of friends but if I pass out on the corridor's floor won't you, at least, make sure I am safe and comfortable?" she asked.
"No." he spat, just to spite her.
He tried not to mind the flash of hurt in her blue eyes. It was gone in a blink anyway, chased by the heavy weird-looking fake eyelashes she had on. "Very well. Then, I suppose there is nothing more to discuss."
She turned around and was probably about to march back into the fray when he grabbed her wrist. He quickly let go, letting her turn around, the clicking of the numerous bangles on her arm almost impossible to catch with the loud music.
"I don't like the weird thong things." he declared. "The pouch briefs are uncomfortable and the trunks make me feel like I have two pair of pants on."
She took it in strides. "That leaves the boxers briefs."
"They crush me." he mumbled, averting his eyes.
"I will order them in a bigger size." she answered joyfully, as if they weren't discussing an incredibly awkward topic. "Any preference regarding fabrics?"
"I can order them myself, you know…" he muttered. He was sure he was red in the face now. He could feel the telling burning sensation in the tips of his ears.
"But will you?" she deadpanned, probably knowing he wouldn't.
"I like the cotton ones." he sighed in defeat.
"What about colors?" she asked and he was pretty sure she was doing it on purpose now. To annoy him even further.
"Whatever." he scowled. "We're done now? Not that I mind you staring at my ass all day but…"
She rolled her eyes. "Always so vulgar. Can't you mind your language? Please, excuse me, I actually have other things to do this evening than having embarrassing conversations with you."
He let her saunter away this time and made a beeline for the bar.
The next day, he found the underwear drawer empty of the stock she had previously bought but full of boxers. He should have known better than tell her he didn't care about colors, of course. Her idea of a joke seemed to have been ordering whimsical ones. Most of them were pink, some had big flowers on them and others had sentences embroidered.
His favorite, by far, was the grey one with I'm an asshole stamped on its back in pink flourished letters.
He should have been mad but he could recognize it was actually funny.
And he was an asshole most of the time so…
Trinket 1, Haymitch 0.