This isn't a prompt but I couldn't get it out of my head so… Here have some D13 cuteness ;)

The Hairdresser

Sometimes Haymitch thought Thirteen's compartments were designed to be uncomfortable on purpose and it made him long for his house – which was very ironical because he had always hated his house with a passion on his best days.

He was reviewing the latest reports about Six, sitting at the small table in the living area – or what passed for a living area giving that it was smashed between the bunk beds and the small bathroom – and even though he tried to focus on the words, he couldn't help but shift every five seconds to try and ease the pain in his back. Fuck, but those chairs were hard and he spent his days sitting on one in Command…

He was vaguely aware of Effie moving around behind him in the sleeping area, most likely getting ready for bed and stalling for time because she didn't like lying down in those beds without him – she complained about the cold incessantly to the point he was starting to find it easier to just roll with it and warm her up than telling her off for acting like a spoiled princess. He distractedly rubbed is shoulder but it did nothing to relieve him.

And then, just as his eyes reread the same sentence for the third time, a hand covered his and he let go of his shoulder with a sigh. She was probably the only person he never minded standing behind him like that. Anyone else, it would have felt threatening, but Effie… Her hands took over his sloppy job and she kneaded his flesh at exactly the right spots to get a few groans out of him. He tried to swallow them back but it felt too good, the perfect amount of pressure on knots days in the making…

"You work too much." she remarked with mild disapproval.

He supposed from her point of view he had morphed from a victor who couldn't bother to mentor to someone who worked long hours and sometimes didn't go back to their compartment for days on end.

"Someone's got to do it." he muttered.

She sighed and pressed a quick kiss on his neck. "I suppose I should count myself lucky you are happy to remain behind the scenes. I do not think I would have handled it very well if you had insisted on actually fighting."

The idea was so ridiculous he snorted. "Bit old for that, sweetheart."

If he had been younger… Yeah, he probably would have insisted on doing his part on the battlefield. But right then, with the tremors in his hands and the shape his body was in, the best thing he could do for that rebellion was give his tactical brain to the cause. Nobody needed him on the frontlines. He would have been a burden more than a help.

There was a good reason Boggs had refused to take him along on the victors rescue mission…

"And for that I am grateful." she whispered.

She kept kneading his shoulders in silence and he went back to reading the reports, slowly but surely melting against the back of the chair and leaning more and more again her chest. When the back of his head rested completely against her breasts and the angle became too awkward, she started running her fingers in his hair, massaging his skull…

"Fuck…" he breathed out because that was good, that was the best…

Finally giving up on being productive that night, he closed his eyes and let her work her magic. She gently guided his head forward and he bowed willingly enough just so she could do whatever she wanted. Her tongue was her best asset, he had often thought, but her fingers… Her fingers could be very deft.

He felt her gather his hair in her hands a few times only to let it flop down – he loved the feeling of her hands running through the tangled strands. It was only when she started doing… stuff with it that he opened his eyes, straightening his head in sudden concern.

"What are you doing?" he asked warily, not quite daring to move because she had his hair firmly in hand and when she pulled, it hurt.

"Braiding your hair." she replied, matter of fact.

"What?" He didn't squeal. It wasn't a squeal. "No way!"

They had done weird stuff over the years – well not so weird but he had painted her nails with nail polish and he loved brushing her hair and she might or might not have forced a face mask on him once or twice but… He drew the line at braiding hair.

She clucked her tongue but didn't relinquish her hold. "No, you are right. It does not work for you. Let's try a half-ponytail…"

That did not sound good.

"How about we don't try anything and you go back to making me feel good?" he suggested, trying to twist away from her grasp. "Or I can make you feel good, that works for me too…"

Bribing her with sex usually did the trick but she wasn't to be deterred and she tightened her grip on his hair so he had no choice but to sit still. "We have to find you some hairstyle, Haymitch. Your hair is utterly out of control, you look like a crazy hermit who just escaped his cave."

He scowled, resenting that a lot. "Yeah, well, they don't have prep teams in this part of the country…"

She scoffed. "When was the last time you let a prep team touch you?"

She wasn't wrong so he simply muttered a couple of obscenities under his breath, leaving her to interpret that as she wished. It didn't stop her from pulling half his hair at the back of his head or, he was sure, from securing it with one of her own hair ties. She was severely limited on hair ties so he figured he should have been flattered she was willing to part with one for this.

"I ain't doing some fancy hairdo." he warned her, finally managing to escape her hands.

He felt at the back of his head but couldn't find anything more than something that felt like a small ponytail. He had to admit that it was easier to see without strands of hair constantly falling into his face… And yet…

"It is too long and not cared for enough to be worn loose." she declared pointedly, folding her arms in front of her chest. "It looks unkempt and not in an endearing way like that dead porcupine you call a beard. You are playing at politics here, Haymitch, you need to look the part."

She looked so haughty, standing there in a grey baggy shirt that belonged to him, lecturing him like she had the superior authority there…

Well… She was the PR master, she probably did, but…

"I ain't playing at politics." he denied, knowing all the time he was lying. Sure, he just wanted that rebellion to be successful but then… Then they would need to deal with Coin and that would require politics and… Yeah… Maybe he did want to have an input about the Panem that would emerge from the ruins and… Still, there was no way he was going to do some fancy hairdo every morning. "I'm just gonna shave my head."

That would require some work because there was a reason he didn't use a razor anymore but he figured his shaky hands didn't need to be anywhere close to his jugular for this so it might be okay.

"Absolutely not." she huffed, narrowing her eyes at him. "Not if you wish to still have an active sex life, at the very least. I do not sleep with bald men."

He lifted his eyebrows, more amused than annoyed by her assumptions. "Who says my sex life depends only on you, sweetheart?"

She didn't answer.

She just glared.

He held out for thirty seconds and then rolled his eyes, lifting both hands in a peace offering because he did want to keep his sex life active, thank you very much. "Fine. No shaving my head. Guess, it's back to wearing the beanie, then…"

It was almost hopeful but she just narrowed her eyes harder. "I disposed of that monstrosity."

She hadn't been a fan of the wooly hat from the get go so he wasn't surprised.

The whole conversation was starting to annoy him however so he sighed. "What do you want me to do then? Cause you've got a plan, it's all over your face."

The grin that appeared on her lips was instantaneous and satisfied. She unfolded her arms and patted the chair he had been sitting on. "I stole scissors."

He rubbed his face, his irritation growing into a frustrated sort of exhaustion. "Why don't you get what keeping a low profile means?"

"See, I knew you would react this way so that is why I offered several hairdos options first." she replied casually. "Sit."

He did sit but he strained his neck so he could keep glaring at her as she rummaged under a pile of clothes to grab the scissors she had sneaked out of somewhere. Tools of any kind were closely regulated down there. Even pens were counted. Stealing anything for one's compartment… Well, he wasn't sure what the punishment for something like that was but given what they did when someone walked out of the hall with a piece of bread, he was very sure he didn't want to know. Never mind the fact scissors could be used as weapons and weapons were absolutely banned.

"Do not look at me like that." she grumbled, walking back toward him. "You need a haircut and I know you… When is the last time you let someone other than me do that for you?"

"Could do it myself." he grumbled.

She pouted. "Let's not repeat the disaster from four years ago, shall we?"

He wasn't a vain man but he had to admit it hadn't been pretty. And she hadn't managed to salvage it…

She had a point.

She was the only one he allowed so close to him with scissors. It had started so long ago he couldn't even remember how it even had started.

Maybe when he had first started to implicitly trust her. His stupidest move, probably. If he had kept mistrusting her, she wouldn't have been in Thirteen. She would still be in the Capitol, safe and sound… Better for all concerned.

No, he decided, grabbing her around the waist when she stepped close enough and briefly burying his face in her stomach before pressing a kiss there. He let her go, cleared his throat and pretended really hard he wasn't embarrassed even though she could probably tell by the reddish tips of his ears. No, it wouldn't have been better. Not at all. Well, maybe for her but not for him.

He would have missed her.

It scared him how much.

"I just want you to be careful." he muttered. "You know Coin doesn't like you… All she needs is an excuse…"

"She doesn't like me but she won't touch me because you protect me." Effie dismissed. "And I will put the scissors back tomorrow, nobody the wiser. Trust me a little. If I had thought there was any risk of them being missed, I would not have taken them. Now… Sit up and be still, I need to focus."

Haymitch did as we told, not liking it much when the scissors snapped close to his face but confident she would never purposefully hurt him. It would have triggered him if she had been anyone else but Effie… Effie he trusted more than he trusted himself some days.

It didn't take long.

She knew the exact length he preferred and she always made it look sort of stylish. When she was finished, she stared at him for a while, studying her work, and then she smiled, planted a kiss on his lips and declared it was done.

"If anyone asks, you cut it off with my razor." he told her.

Nobody would ask and nobody would probably care but… He had learned long ago it was better to be prepared rather than put on the spot.

"Sure." she hummed. "Speaking of razors… I could also take care of that beard for you…"

He made a face. "Keeps me warm."

That was a lie and, the truth was, it wasn't that he really minded her shaving him because they had done it before – more as foreplay, true – but he wasn't quite ready for her to swing a blade so close to his throat at the moment. Not when he just had to sit through fifteen minutes of scissors snapping around his face.

She sighed, clearly humoring him because she must have been aware of the problem. She knew him too well. "Perhaps tomorrow."

"Yeah, maybe…" he snorted, grabbing the hem of her shirt and pulling her back to him. She straddled him without hesitation, her lips pursed to fight a smile, her eyes twinkling with mirth… He put his hands on her bare thighs and she ran her fingers in his hair a few times, testing the weight and the length… "Like what you see?"

She didn't mind the taunting.

She tilted her head to the side, her pursed lips turning into a fake pout, and let out a falsely disappointed sigh "I suppose it will have to do…"

"Minx." he accused and he darted forward, biting her throat. Pretending to, at least. His teeth dug in but he didn't close his jaw with enough strength to bite. It was all playful and she laughed – too loud, he could already tell there would be complains the next day – trying to squeeze out of his arms. He didn't let her go.

"Caveman!" she accused, through her laughter.

He kept playfully pretending to bite her wherever he could get his teeth: her throat, her shoulder, her arm… Then he found her breast and he stopped biting to just suck the nipple in his mouth through the shirt and she stopped trying to get free to let out a breathy sigh that was halfway to a moan.

His brain was already working out if he wanted her right there or on the table or if it was worth the trouble of carrying her to bed…

"I'm glad you're here." he murmured against her chest, low enough that she could pretend not to have heard it.

Thirteen was a difficult place to be but… He was pretty sure he would never have made it through this war without her. Not with his sanity intact. Not without unraveling.