hey, prompt for hads: can u do one where elindra finds out effie can't have children and insinuates or makes her feel like she's less of a woman for it? and haymitch comforts her? thanksss
When She Needs A Hug
Haymitch kicked his foot to get rid of whatever bug was stinging him, groaning in his half-slumber. The sensation came again though. A flick more than a sting this time and he pulled his legs closer to his chest, shifting from his stomach to his side with a grunt…
"Are you awake now?"
The voice was high-pitched and familiar and very much not one he wanted to deal with in the middle of the night – well, he assumed it was the middle of the night – when he was finally sleeping. He figured it was at least a good thing she wasn't dumb enough to just climb in bed with him or try to wake him up by sucking him off or something like that… That kind of happy surprise wouldn't have ended well for anyone.
"The fuck do you want?" he grumbled, forcing his eyelids open.
It was still dark in the bedroom except for the night lights spilling through the huge windows so he wasn't late for whatever bullshit interview they would have to do in the morning – because losing Districts always had to go to bullshit interviews that would be used as filler when the Games weren't 'interesting' enough.
"Are you drunk?" she asked.
His eyes finally found her, standing at the foot of the bed, fake nails still in the air as if ready to poke his big toe again. Her wig and make-up was off and she was wearing… "Is that my shirt?"
A shirt he had given up for lost almost two years ago, if he wasn't mistaken. He had thought she had tossed it away because there were holes in it and it was, admittedly, really worn out. She was rocking the washed out brown shirt look though. She was rocking it so well he was almost not mad that she had stolen it in the first place.
Was that something she did? Stealing his clothes to secretly wear them when…
When… what? What was this? She wasn't really in a habit of waking him up in the middle of the night.
"Perhaps." she confessed, wrinkling her nose. "Are you drunk or not?"
He had been drunk when he had staggered to bed, that was for sure. He and Chaff had spent the night drinking in the penthouse and he had enjoyed his rare night off from official events and the likes. She had to go to a party at her parents or something like that and she had said he didn't have to go down to that night's official event if he didn't want to because she didn't trust him to behave without her there to watch him. She had cleared it with Crane and everything.
It should have been insulting but he had just been glad to be spared the circus for one night.
"Buzzed." he mumbled. "Why the fuck do you have my shirt?"
She sighed. "Because it used to smell like you and, for some stupid reason we are not getting into, it sometimes comforts me."
He was too sleepy to make much sense of that – or he pretended to be.
"Stupid." he echoed.
"Quite." She edged closer to the bed, lifting a corner of the sheets dubiously. He had made a mess of the bed, as he usually did. The sheets weren't tucked in at all and they were tangled around his legs, really not hiding the fact he had stripped down and climbed on without bothering with pajamas. "Did you have a tramp in here tonight?"
Despite the late hour and the weird wake-up call, he snorted, his lips stretching into a smirk. He rolled completely on his back – enjoying the way her eyes roamed over his naked body – and lifted his eyebrows. "Jealous?"
She answered the taunt with a haughty huff but it sounded a bit tense, as if she was putting on a show for his benefits, sticking to lines they had exchanged a hundred times before. "Hardly. I just do not want to catch diseases."
She knew there had been no woman that night because it had probably been three years since there had been another woman at all. They didn't use condoms. The deal was that if one of them slept with someone else and didn't get tested again before they saw each other, they would say they needed a condom. And they hadn't used condoms in three years so…
"Is this a booty call?" he asked, a touch hopefully.
If it was, it certainly was a weird one. Booty calls usually meant more lingerie and more flirting – and more arguing too.
"No." she said, climbing on the bed and straddling his legs. "Well, perhaps. But not right now." His body tensed as always when she got on top, it was a reflex, but he forced himself not to move, not even when she lied down on top of him and nestled on his chest like she had any business snuggling to him in the middle of the night without even giving him sex first. "Can you just hold me for a while?"
That didn't help him relax.
It felt like toying with a line he had always been clear they would never cross.
"What?" he mocked. "Shirt wasn't enough to comfort you? You need the real smelly thing?"
She didn't answer for the longest time and when she did her voice sounded… a little strangled. "Maybe."
She was rigid on top of him and, just for that reason, he did end up wrapping his arms around her.
"Are you crying?" he asked, a little terrified it was the case.
He didn't deal well with her crying. She cried when the tributes died but she always relocated to her room to do that so he didn't have to see it and call her a hypocrite instead of doing what he really wanted to do and cradle her close. He hated it when she cried and it was a relief that she never let him see that. Some women cried all the time, they used the tears as weapons, Effie never did.
When she was being loud – in anger or in supposed sadness – she was actually fine.
It was when she was quiet that he knew she was really upset.
And, again, it took too long for her to answer. "No."
It was a lie.
There were no sobs but he could feel the occasional hot wet tears on his skin where her cheek was resting on his chest.
He petted her hair slowly, not quite sure what he was supposed to say or what had even happened to get her in that state.
"You are quite smelly." she joked after a moment. Her voice cracked a little.
"Didn't think you'd show up for a booty call." he teased. "Would have showered."
"No, you would not have." she refuted and she chuckled a little so he chuckled too.
Her body lost some of its tension which was both good and bad. Good because it meant she wasn't too seriously upset anymore, bad because it made her heavier. She was a small thing when the wigs, the heels and the couture were gone but most of her weight was on his chest and that made it a little bit difficult to breathe.
He kind of liked it though – which was probably concerning on a few numbers of levels. Her weight was familiar and, sure, usually when she pinned him to the mattress like that he was buried deep in her, but… It was sort of comforting in a familiar way.
"Nah, wouldn't have." he admitted, coiling his hand at the back of her neck. "Won't ever bother again now that I know you like the smell of my dirty clothes…" She grunted in disgust and he snorted, squeezing her nape and then moving on to the knotted muscles of her shoulders. "Wanna tell me what's wrong?"
"It is nothing." she lied. He knew it was a lie because if it had been nothing she wouldn't have been lying on top of him and she wouldn't have woken him up for cuddles of all things. "Just something Mother said."
It was a good thing she couldn't see his face because she would probably have scolded him for his expression of pure loathing. He had only met her parents once, by chance and very briefly. He had seen them from afar a few times too though. She never talked about her family in depths but she said stuff sometimes and it hadn't taken him long to gather every insecurity or issue she had was rooted in her relationship with her mother. Even her pathological need to be famous, to be loved. Never mind the lengths she would go to when it came to pleasing people she wanted to keep in her life.
"What wisdom did the bitch have to give today?" he growled.
"Haymitch, that is my mother you are talking about." she snapped but it sounded tired and more for propriety's sake than because she truly was annoyed.
He should have known, in retrospect. Every time she disappeared at her parents for brunch or a party or tea time or something, she came back eager to fuck a comment or another out of her brain. He had lost count of the numbers of times she has asked him if he thought she should have her breasts redone because her mother hinted they were too small or if he thought she had gained weight and was too chubby or if he thought she was still pretty despite her age…
Her age.
She was barely thirty-three.
But she wasn't trying to forget whatever it was by fucking him, right then, and that told him it must have been worse than usual.
"What did she say?" he insisted.
Her finger drew distracted patterns on his side. "The usual. I should already be married, I am getting too old to attract good prospects and that is without taking into account my… deficiencies."
There was so much bitterness in that word.
He frowned. "The fuck does that mean?"
Again, silence stretched too long. "The fact that I cannot have children. Or, at least, not without extensive treatment."
It was his turn to remain mute – but not because he didn't know what to say, just because… "That's fucking bullshit. That doesn't make you deficient. You know what's deficient? The fact your mother's such a cold-hearted bitch."
She didn't correct him for the term this time around.
"I do not think she meant it." she hummed. "We were arguing, she wanted the last word. She went for that because she knew it would hurt."
"Which is worse." he pointed out.
"It's just… The way she said it… It made me feel…" She turned her head, briefly buried her face in his chest. "… like I was less of a woman… Like my only worth as a person was my ability to produce babies… That's…"
"That's fucked up." he scoffed. "And, again, bullshit. You're the most fucking womanly woman I know. You're… Hell, you know what you are. You're smart and sexy and gorgeous."
And he was going to shut up right then before he said too much.
The line he didn't want to cross… They were practically dancing on it, right then.
"I know it is bullshit." she agreed and, as always, the vulgar term sounded out of place in her mouth but also strangely arousing. "The topic is just a weakness of mine and I should not be surprised she pounced on it."
"Look…" he sighed, petting her hair. "Anyone makes you feel like less of anything, they're not worth your time. You tell anyone I say that I'm gonna plead the drunk card but, for a Capitol, I think you're fucking awesome."
"For a Capitol?" she teased.
He rolled his eyes and finally gave in to the urge to roll them over so he was the one on top. She didn't seem to mind because her legs parted to bracket his hips. "You know what I mean."
A slow smile stretched her lips. "Yes… Yes, I think I do."
"Good." he grumbled, tugging on the shirt she had stolen from him. "You know it was my favorite, yeah? I'm gonna have to get it back."
The smile turned into a challenging grin. "You cannot have it back. I refuse."
He smirked. "Oh, is that how it's gonna be?"
"What will you do about it?" she dared him.
What he did about it was tear it off her but he had very little interest in the shirt and more interest in her skin.
He even pretended he didn't see her sneak it away the next morning.
He was nice like that.
He kind of like that he could still somehow comfort her when she needed a hug and he wasn't around.