AN: Sorry this took me so long. Apparently I'm super bad at taking care of my baby plot bunnies. BUT a (friendly?) little push by hunger games hungry and an influx of follows/faves/reviews alerted me to the fact that, yes, you guys are still reading, and yes, I suck for leaving you hanging. I STILL LOVE YOU THOUGH. I need to figure out a way to send you all DQBirthdayCakes because those are my fave and you all deserve one/five with flaming never-able-to-extinguish candles mounted atop them. FOR YOU. As is this chapter.
Disclaimer: As usual, I don't own the series or the rights or the anything, and probably am unable to send you all ice cream cakes because if I could, think how creepy that would be.
I sat at the table for another ninety seconds, fighting the urge to get up and follow Haymitch.
Like I said, it only lasted about ninety seconds. Ninety seconds for my head to wrap around the sense that this was my chance. That, for the first time in more than a week, Haymitch and I might actually be on the same page. Maybe for the first time ever. And if I wanted to continue… whatever I do here, maybe I should get up.
My heels had been stacked upon each other on top of the table, but went flying in every direction as I rushed to get on my feet, practically falling out of my chair in my hurry to stand up.
I take the stairs two at a time until I reach level ground where the stairs become a hallway.
"Haymitch-"
And I only have to spin to my right to see him raise his head to look at me. He's in his room sitting on his bed, shirt crumpled in his hand as if he was getting ready to go to sleep before I appeared. The sun, though, is still up, and slanting through the gap in the curtains, leaving a line of sunlight running over Haymitch's left shoulder.
His eyes reach mine, forcedly blank. My chest is still rising and falling noticeably as my breathing regulates itself, and I speak again, my eyes never wavering from his.
"There's something else."
He rolls his head back, letting out a sigh, before planting the crumpled shirt next to him and pushing himself off the bed and walking over towards me. His pants, they're hanging off his hips again.
When he's close enough that I can smell the spices on him, he stops, finally lifting his head of matted blond hair again to raise his eyes to mine, failing to hide the sadness in his own. I take a step forward, trying to inhale his scent, my eyes fluttering closed on their own accord until he swerves slightly backward, muttering, "you can't-", but I clasp my hand to his arm, keeping him near.
"Haymitch." I'm too afraid to say anything else, like maybe my words will betray me even more than my body is, so I simply settle my eyes on his face, waiting as he stares back. I don't even know how we communicate like this, but, somehow, it always seems to work. I only hope that he can read what I can't say, what I don't know how to say, don't have the courage to...
I think I need you. I want you.
And his eyes, they look like they might want it, too, but he's holding back. He needs to be sure. I pause only a second longer before I pull closer to him, the distance between our lips becoming nearly non-existent.
"Sweetheart," he mutters against my lips before I stop him with my mouth.
Earlier, when he said he had no hope? He was lying. Because in that moment, I saw it. His eyes, his steely gray Seam eyes, they spoke volumes. They gave away his secrets. In that moment, I saw hope.
We stood in the doorway for one blissful moment, his hands coming to my hips and holding me to him as our lips connected.
Taking a breath, I pull away to look at his eyes again, but in the glance I sneak they're still closed, his brow furrowing at my distancing myself, and his hand comes up to guide my chin back to him, his lips once again pressing themselves to mine. But this time there is something else in his kiss. Something faster, something electric. I feel it right away, and I cling to it. Suddenly, it felt like I'd never kissed anyone ever before. Like this is how you're supposed to kiss people: Hard and fast, and with substance, not quick and feathery with fear like it was with Peeta. His hand tightens around my hip, and my arms reach up around his neck. Gliding my tongue across his bottom lip, I feel them part for me; I touch his tongue experimentally with my own before letting him take the lead. I'm pushed into the doorframe, his hands roaming over my clothed form, up my sides and grazing my chest before swirling back to my waist…
But I don't stay there for long. I take my chance when his lips leave mine for a fraction of a second, and before he can process it, I push away from the doorframe and spin so my back is to his room. With his pushing and pulling, my feet are leading us slowly back towards his bed. We're halfway across the room before he notices where we're headed, and opens his eyes in shock.
"Sweetheart," he breathes, hand on the back of my neck, "do you know what you're doing?"
I looked at him like he was stupid.
He considered me for a moment before closing his eyes and shaking his head, trying to hide a smirk but failing miserably. "Just checking."
He let me lead him to his bed, even took the liberty of lowering me down onto it without breaking his kiss.
o0oOo0o
"You better go," he whispers. He's leaning over me, kissing me thoroughly like he has been the last who-knows-how-long, running his hands up and down my sides beneath my shirt.
"But we're just getting to the good part," I whine.
He chuckles. "I know. And if you stay here I'm going to have a hard time stopping myself from doing things you won't want me to do."
I push myself up in the bed. "What kinds of things?" I ask slyly.
"All sorts of things," he answers, kissing my neck and trailing down from there.
"I'm not so sure I'd be opposed," I think aloud.
"Sweetheart," he stops to look at me, suddenly shifting his body until he's hovering over me, then lowering his body down onto mine, not crushing me, just getting closer until I feel his legs surrounding mine and… woah, I feel that. Haymitch is aroused, and I stop myself from inhaling sharply as it comes to rest on top of me. I look up at him with a start. Could I really be the cause of this? This had never happened with Peeta, and I know he liked me, even professed love for me. Not that love has to have anything to do with it, but still…
"You might be opposed," he continues. His words bring me back into the moment.
"I'm not!" I try to argue with perhaps too much force. I try again. "I'm not."
Without my consent, my hips are rising to get in closer contact with Haymitch's, and I shudder at the effect it has on me down there.
There's a cloudy expression in Haymitch's eyes as he gazes at me. "I don't want to mess this up," he finally says, gathering himself to roll off of me.
But I lift my hands to his neck first.
"You're not," I reply, pulling him towards me so I can kiss him.
He lets me, and but it's quickly getting out of control so I let him pull away. He rolls off of me, and I watch him, turning to do so. He's laying on his back, looking up at the ceiling, and lets out a breath before turning his head to look at me.
"I don't either," I whisper.
"What?"
"Want to mess this up."
"Oh." He takes that in, looking somewhere else and, after a moment, nods silently to himself in quiet acknowledgement.
We lay there another moment like that until I slide closer, resting my head on his shoulder. He brings his arm up so I can lay my head on his bare chest. This is entirely new territory for me, and while I'm feeling jittery and nervous, it feels so okay that I'm not worried. I'm not freaking out. I'm not overanalyzing or doubting or doing all of the things I usually do. I'm happy.
"So the Victory Tour," he says casually. I scoff. There goes happy. And casually? Yeah right. "What about it?" I ask, not wanting to talk about this. I'd gladly talk about anything other than this.
"It's in a week."
I arise with a start. "A week?!"
He nods, amused.
I groan and settle back onto his chest. "Time flies…"
"Since you're so chummy with Bread Boy, I think getting through it'll be a breeze."
This was Haymitch throwing a jab at me.
"It'll be a breeze because we can be together all the time and I won't have to explain anything," I mutter to his chest.
"Ah, I knew it, return of the Star-Cro-"
"You and me, Haymitch," I chide, pounding my fist to his chest. "Not Peeta, you and me."
When I look up at him, he looks like he wants to believe me, but is keeping his guard up. "Yeah yeah, we'll see what happens when the time comes."
When is this going to end?
That really sets me off. "Do you need me to prove it to you then?" I spit out. I spring to my knees, straddle my mentor on the bed to make my point. He looks alarmed, grabs my forearms to stop me, but I continue, "I will fucking prove it to you if I need to, Haymitch, if you just-" But he closes his eyes as if in pain before grasping my forearms even tighter and flipping me to the side. It's the first time I feel overpowered by Haymitch. I stare at him, taken aback and wide eyed as he propels off the bed and turns to point a finger at me.
"Don't you prove a damn thing to me, sweetheart," he growls before letting a droop enter his posture and running a hand through his hair then down his face. "Not a damn thing."
I regard him silently.
Finally, he speaks again. "I've always believed in you, you know that?"
"Yeah," I croak out, "I do."
"Then don't sell yourself short. You're worth so much more than-"
"Don't say it, we've had this conversation-"
"We'll it's true! And I love you, Katniss, I always will but sometimes you can just be so damned hard to knock sense into!"
"I'm independent!" I shout.
"I know!"
"And I know what's important to me and I'll fight for it!"
"I know."
"And you're on that list now, so you better get used to it. Because that's how I'm always gonna be."
He looks at me a moment, as if waiting for something.
And then his words catch up to me.
"Did you just say you loved me?"