AN: HAD TO UP THE RATING FOR THIS ONE.
Also, shout-out to you, the reader. Thanks for getting to this point and (if it applies?) wanting more! I'm only doing this because of you. Also, just to let y'all know, I've decided to focus all my attention on this fic and FINISH IT before writing or updating any other stories. Not that I'm promising daily updates, but I'm committing over here. Please enjoy the following installment... (the longest chapter in a while!)
My heart is beating in this erratic thumpety thumpety thump thump way and it feels like there's this bubble of water in my throat that keeps rising, then dropping into the pit of my stomach with no warning, and my breathing stops for too many seconds before it starts again, fast-paced and feverish.
He loves me. Haymitch said he loves me, and I alternately feel like I'm drowning and like I've never breathed so easily before. And I can't stop the physicality of my reaction. I'm glad I'm sitting down on the bed, or else I'd probably be on the floor.
"But... I thought we..." I thought we had agreed we didn't, even couldn't, love anymore.
"Forget it... Forget I said anything," he says. He looks alarmed though, and takes one small, halting step forward, about to reach up his hand, but stops and asks, "you okay, sweetheart?"
My hands fly to my forehead and I bend my gaze downward, eyes dilated, hoping to catch my breath, to stop myself from this intense reaction I'm having, rocking and nearly hyperventilating on Haymitch's bed.
That's when I see his feet, then his knees, and feel his hand on my back. "Breathe, sweetheart, c'mon." He sounds pissed, but that makes it easier to follow his directions. Haymitch, always there for me, Haymitch, comforting and coaching me.
"C'mon, inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. You can do it, come on."
I nod frantically, beginning to pull air slowly into my nostrils, then gaping my mouth open and dispelling it. Haymitch is rubbing calming circles on my back, and I take a few more deep, shaky breaths as he kneels in front of me.
"I'm sorry," I say after a while. He's sitting next to me now, his hands clasped between his legs as they hang off the side of the bed.
"I'm sorry," he enunciates.
"It's fine," I wipe at my eyes.
We just sit there stoically, thigh to thigh but so far removed from each other.
It is not fine. Because the worst part is, I think I feel the same. That I love him back. I take a shaky breath.
"I hate what the Capitol has done to me. To all of us," angry words start to fly out of my mouth. "How it's made us peasants while they sit like kings on their thrones, how I've been brainwashed into thinking that love is a bad thing that will kill my chances of survival. Because it's not, it can't be. Prim is the best thing that's ever happened to me, and she's the only person I that I -"
Well... I don't know about that anymore.
And while I choose to stay silent in order to dwell on that, Haymitch doesn't let me.
"I don't think that's true," he whispers.
I turn and look at him. He knows? How could he…
"And I'd like to believe that it's not just wishful thinking."
Of course he's right. I always underestimate just how well we get each other. I know he's right, and so does he. One look at each other, Victor to Victor, Seam kid to fellow seam kid, gray eyes to gray, and we both know it. There's something unspoken between us, and for all I care, it can stay unspoken on my part until I can wrap my brain around it. I let the moment linger, then pass, before I speak again.
"Haymitch," I say.
"Yeah," he responds, voice gravelly, husky.
I don't respond vocally, just lean over to kiss him, bending my body around and pushing his shoulders down, down so they're flush on the bed and I'm crawling over the top of him.
"I don't-" I try to speak between kisses, "know that I-" but Haymitch is adamant about making me shut up.
"You don't need to say it back," he pauses to tell me before his mouth covers mine again.
"I'm not, it's just-" and now I'm trying to get a word in while his hands reach for the hem of my shirt, "I trust you, and that's not something I do-" he pulls my shirt over my head and I shake the hair from my face, "normally. Or easily."
He pauses, gazing at me, eyes roaming over my exposed upper half, a faint smile ghosting at his lips. Then his eyes meet mine once again. "I know," he says simply.
And maybe I'm finally starting to realize how much I like this new side of us. So much so that I can't stop a corner of my mouth from turning up. Slowly, I unroll my body onto his, my stomach flattening into his, my covered breasts pushing against his exposed chest, my arms folding around his head as I lower mine, saying "stop staring," with no real gumption behind it before my mouth opens onto his and our tongues intertwine.
I've stayed away from Haymitch as long as I can, and now that we're together like this, I hold nothing back. His tongue slides across mine and his hands grasp at my exposed back, pulling my body even closer into his. I writhe into him, pushing up against his body as his hands slide up my form, pulling my brassiere over my head. For the first time on my own terms, I was completely bared to someone else. Not that Haymitch hadn't seen me naked before - he indubitably had during some point during preparation for the Games - but this was a moment for me. It meant that I felt intimate enough with Haymitch to bear myself like this and to feel little to no self-consciousness in his presence. His fingers graze over my nipples and I try to suppress a shudder.
"So hard for me, sweetheart," he utters as I turn to jelly in his touch while the nipples on my breasts had other ideas. My groin presses into his as he ripples my tits between his fingers, mouth slowly moving towards me before veering off to the right. His tongue flicks over the skin on my neck, his warm breath fanning across it, and it's all I can do to exhale. I let myself sink down into him, pressing my hips into his at intervals, grabbing his neck and never wanting his lips to break contact with my skin. He's suckling on my neck now, and I swear I've never felt so aroused before in my life. I just don't know that I'm making Haymitch feel the same, and unsure how exactly to do that.
"Haymitch," I finally say when I don't think I can stand another minute of this exceptional torture. "Haymitch, how can I..."
But his lips have moved to mine. I get caught up in his kiss until he pulls back and looks up at me. "How can you what?"
"How can I make you feel... Well..."
"Don't you worry about that, sweetheart," he assures me, hands at my waist and pulling me forward. "Today's about you."
And my breasts are staring him in the face, hanging in their different directions as if a leaden bulb exists within each of them that draws them downward. He lifts his head slowly to place one kiss on each of my tits, making them harden with satisfaction. Without meaning to, my hands claw into his shoulder, into his hair, as I slowly begin to stop thinking and start only feeling. What Haymitch is doing to me is certainly the divine cause. My mind is starting to get foggy around the edges as I succumb to Haymitch's gestures, until something suddenly jolts me back into the here and now:
"Haymitch!"
A call echoes up the stairs from the direction of the front door. Alerted by the shout, then hearing the door slam shut behind it, Haymitch and I are both jarred to attention and look at each other in alarm, wide-eyed like we're getting caught red-handed by our mothers or something, holding each other slightly apart as if that'll make us look less guilty.
"Peeta." We say it in unison. Luckily he's still downstairs, judging from the direction of his footsteps now faintly echoing up the staircase. I take a split second to gather a mental picture of our situation. Me, upper body completely bare, laying atop a shirtless Haymitch, our clothing strewn across the bed. Not exactly the thing I want Peeta to see, especially when we're making amends.
"Damn him," Haymitch says as he reaches for my brassiere. Taking his cue, I snap to attention, grabbing up my shirt and then taking my undergarment from his hand.
"Plan," he says, shaking out his own shirt and finding the head hole. "You go down first and tell him I was sleeping. Then I'll stalk down and be my usual cheery self. How does that sound, sweetheart?"
He looks up at me, and I'm just flipping my braid out of my reassembled outfit. I lean in to give him one more kiss before I head out.
"Good," I say, fingers flying to rebraid my mussed hair. I hurriedly twist out of the room and down the stairs, trying to keep my footfalls muffled.
I expect to meet Peeta coming up the stairs or something, but I find him in the kitchen, warming a pot of water as he pulls together a cutting board and knife.
"Peeta."
He turns to look at me, then smiles.
"Hey," he says, striding towards me, then, as if remembering that we don't really touch anymore, stops and turns abruptly back to the counter before jolting back around to face me. "Are you hungry?" he asks.
"Nah, I'm fine," I wave him off, but as we stand in awkward silence, my stomach growls. Peeta gives me a dubious look.
"Good thing I brought these," he says, pulling a cloth off a platter and revealing the cheese buns from earlier.
"You didn't!" I snatch one and hoist myself up onto the counter to eat it, holding it close to my face and breathing it in like a squirrel might regard its acorns. He just smiles at me and turns back to his cutting board, pulling out a handful of long, fresh carrots. It's still strange to me how people like us can afford delicacies like these.
"Haymitch is sleeping," I offer finally, as I'm peeling the warm bun apart and feasting on it.
"Figured," he nods, moving his hand up and down in a fluid, graceful chopping motion. Everything Peeta does is art, I swear. "Did you get to talk to him at least?" he asks.
I shrug. "He was awake when I got here." It's not really lying, but it's not really saying much, either.
"That's good," he says, "because-"
"Haymitch Victor Abernathy!" A shrill voice rings through the house as a pair – no, many pairs – of feet click and clomp into the house.
I look at Peeta in alarm. Why in hell is Effie Trinket and her band of prep teams and video crews here?
He regards me solemnly, as if he knew this was coming and unfortunately didn't get to warn me. Too late now.
A clickety-clack later and one Effie Trinket, electric blue clown wig and matching Capitol attire, strides into Haymitch's kitchen and clasps her sparkling, long-fingernail-adorned hands together.
"Oh, just look at this!" she shrieks in delight. "Our two favorite Victors all cozy and making a meal together in their mentor's kitchen!" She turns to the cameraman behind her and demands in a sharp whisper, "You're rolling, aren't you? Well roll some footage!"
We both look at her with alarm.
"Oh, dears, just ignore our being here for one or two more seconds...! Oh, this is just too precious not to get a snapshot or two of!" She remains a few feet from us, tilting her hips wayyy to the side, her hands still clasped in front of her as if she's watching a pair of baby bunnies or something.
"Haymitch's middle name is Victor?" I ask, scoffing, ruining the effect she was going for. She scowls before answering shortly, "Yes, Haymitch Victor."
"How is that something you'd name your kid? Or does the Capitol just change it after you win a Games?"
Effie sighs as if she was hoping that, for once, I wouldn't choose to ruin the moment by being myself. She waves a hand forcefully at the cameraman with a "that's enough, turn that thing off!" before she clickety-clacks toward us.
"Victor is a heteronym, Katniss, and while it does mean victor in your sense of the word, it is also a very old name, a male name, that used to be very common before the Games were invented. It also happens to run in Haymitch's family, and his parents did choose to name him that." I regard her with silence. "Now come here," she says, reaching to give me a hug. "Oh, Katniss!" She exclaims when she pulls away from me, "You smell putrid!"
Peeta gives me a glance as if to say, I told you so. I ignore him and open my mouth to defend myself to Effie, but she has already turned to Peeta and is hugging him now, asking him about the bakery and then chattering about nonsensical things I know nothing about. She and Peeta are holding conversation for minutes until I hear something that catches my attention.
"…and where IS that man?"
"Where do you think Haymitch is?" I ask, finally able to contribute to the conversation and hitching my head toward the stairs. "Asleep."
"Upstairs?" Effie asks with worry.
"Yeah, we thought it was weird too," Peeta covers for the both of us. "Must be the sobriety thing."
"You make that sound like it's a bad thing." Haymitch's voice startles us all as we spin to find him walking into the kitchen.
I fight the butterflies in my stomach as I watch his entrance. He's looking a little bedraggled, but knowing I was the reason for that only made me more fidgety.
"Trinket," he drawls. "Didn't think I'd see you here this early. You miss me or something?"
A small wave of jealousy passes through my gut at his comment... Wait, hold up, Katniss, what are you...
"No, but I did miss these pleasant little love birds who actually remembered we were coming today and who so kindly arrived at your house early to make you your breakfast."
She leans forward to give Peeta and I little confirming squeezes to our shoulders. Her eyes go wide mid-squeeze, though, and those green eyes zoom in on me like a microscope. On my neck, to be specific. My hand flies up to where she's looking. What does she...
And then it hits me. Oh shit. Where my hand is? It's the exact spot that Haymitch had been... paying attention to... earlier.
"Well well," she struts like a peacock showing off its feathers, "looks like our star-crossed lovers have been busy reacquainting themselves in our absence. Peeta," she regards him with a half-reprimanding, half-joking glare. "No more of that if we're going to play up the innocence angle! We'll have to get that covered before the shoot."
"Yeah, Lover Boy," Haymitch says, leaning into the kitchen table like he tends to do, "knock that off."
I throw glare at Haymitch before turning to look helplessly at Peeta, only hoping he won't take this badly. At least not in front of Effie and her Capitol crew, anyway.
"Sorry," he says to the room, placing his hand over mine on the counter before turning to look at me. "With Katniss, I just can't help myself." And before I know it, he's moving closer to me and is suddenly placing his soft Peeta lips on mine and sliding a hand behind my neck.
My body is screaming at me. What is this? What are you doing letting this happen?
But there's nothing I can do. Though Effie's tried to make it appear otherwise, I know that there's gotta be a camera filming us from somewhere in this room. So what can I do? If I can make it seem like I like kissing Peeta, I can continue to live.
So I put my hand to his shoulder and lean into his kiss as Peeta slides closer, his hand coming to my waist. Whatever is happening outwardly, my mind is racing, is mutinous, and my head is screaming, please Peeta, just don't open your lips... I could so not handle making out right now, not like this and certainly not with him. It seems to be working, Peeta is keeping the kiss PG, but his hands are proving otherwise as one is roaming pretty close to my...
"Okay, okay, enough," Haymitch finally objects and waves Peeta off. I look back at him and so does Peeta. Haymitch's expression is only for Peeta, though, as his eyes zoom directly to his. And though I can't see Peeta's face, I don't get good vibes from the energy between them in that look.
"Well!" Effie says. "Young love!" Haymitch looks pissed, Peeta looks defiant, and I'm trying not to look like a scolded puppy as the cameras roll.
I suddenly have no idea how I'm going to get through this with my moral commitments in tact... not to mention my sanity.