Effie feels drunk, and she's pretty sure she hasn't taken a proper breath for at least two minutes, but breathing isn't too high up on her list of priorities at the moment. Not when Haymitch is kissing her, and his lips are slightly chapped against hers, and she's not sure if the whisky she can taste is from him or from her.
His lips are moving insistently against hers, and when his tongue licks against the seam of her mouth she opens up eagerly to allow him entrance, his tongue massaging hers as his hand smooths up and down her thigh. They're not in the most comfortable position; she's pressed up against his side and she doesn't have the level of access that she'd like, but her skirt is tight, doesn't allow her much flexibility, and she guesses that she'll just have to make do for now.
She hooks her leg as tightly as she can manage over his knee, and Haymitch angles his body towards her slightly, hand leaving her thigh and travelling up her back before coming to tangle in her hair. He clutches the back of her head as he deepens the kiss, tongue sliding over hers in a sensuous rhythm, and Effie moans into his mouth as her hand comes up to caress the side of his face.
He breaks the kiss, lips brushing against hers gently and she takes the opportunity to breathe properly for the first time since this whole thing started.
"We should probably stop. I don't think you want this."
It takes a second for his words to register, but when they do they surprise her, and she feels her face contort into a frown.
"What do you mean? I don't think we should stop," she murmurs, and she steals another kiss, mouth meeting his languidly.
He allows the kiss for a few seconds, eyes closing before he opens them and stops the kiss again, breath huffing out against her lips.
"You're drunk, and I don't think you'll thank me for this in the morning," he mutters, and there's a reluctant tone colouring his words, and Effie can feel the frown stealing over her features again.
She flattens her palm against his cheek and turns his face so that he's looking at her square in the eyes, keeping her hand in place as she considers her next words.
"I'm not going to deny that I'm drunk; I think we both are," she says, and he snorts disbelievingly, hand still tangled in her hair.
"But I'm not sure where you got the idea that I don't want this. I don't tend to do things like this unless I want to," she breathes against his lips before capturing them in a fiery kiss, intent on showing him the full extent of her desire.
When the kiss ends, she sucks his bottom lip into her mouth before breaking away from him, forehead coming to rest against his as they both try to catch their breath.
"I want this," she sighs breathily, "I want you."
He still doesn't look like he totally believes her, eyebrows raising slightly as his hands slowly untangle from her hair and come to rest on her back.
"We'll see if you're still saying that in the morning Princess. I think it's probably time you got some sleep" he chuckles, but there's a somewhat self deprecating quality to his laugh, and Effie wants to challenge him; to tell him she wants him now damn it, and that she's not tired at all, but the yawn escapes from her mouth unbidden and she finds that she's in no position to argue.
"Fine," she grumbles, and he looks surprised when she pushes on his chest lightly to encourage him to recline on the couch, settling down next to him so that her back presses against his chest and pulling the blanket over them both.
"Too cold to lie here alone," she mutters, and she's too drunk to care about how desperate she must sound, can really feel the effects of the alcohol now that she's horizontal, head swimming slightly as her eyes close.
His hand comes down to rest on her stomach under the blanket and Effie is dimly aware of the racing of his heart as she drifts off to sleep.
.
When Effie wakes, the first thing she notices is the arm draped across her stomach, fingers just barely touching skin where the sweater has shifted and ridden up in the night. The second thing she notices is the lamp in the corner, light just visible in the already bright room. The power has obviously come back at some point in the night, and Effie jolts slightly as she realises that she's slept all night fully clothed on this couch. With Haymitch.
She must jump quite violently, because she feels him stiffen behind her, and she clears her throat awkwardly as she extricates herself from his arms, busying herself straightening her skirt so that she doesn't have to look into his eyes.
Her head is buzzing; not a full blown hangover as such, but there's a definite pressure there, and Effie brings a hand to her head as she scrunches her eyes shut tightly.
"Looks like the power's back on. Expect you'll be wanting to call a locksmith; phone's over there."
His voice is gruff and when Effie turns to finally look at him she finds his eyes downcast, focused on the blanket that still lies across his lap. She wants to say something; to say anything to break the uncomfortable silence that's settled over the room, but she can't form the words, can't think of anything that won't sound inane and ridiculous and completely out of place.
She makes her way over the the telephone and calls the number she finds in the phonebook, voice hushed and hurried, and when she leaves twenty minutes later he doesn't say goodbye.
.
Effie's been staring at the sweatshirt that's neatly folded on her sofa for the last twenty minutes or so, eyeing it distrustfully as if it may burst into flames at any moment.
The locksmith had turned up mercifully quickly, and she's been back in her apartment for a good few hours now, trying to fill her time with as much as possible so that she doesn't think about the events of last night. She's freshly bathed, hair blow dried and styled, and her nails are shining with a double coat of Christmas red. The kitchen has been cleaned to within an inch of its life, laundry folded and stored away; all in all, the house is in pretty good shape.
So now Effie's sat on her couch, mug of coffee in her hands forgotten as she stares at the offending garment from where it mocks her on the arm of the sofa. She hadn't intentionally left Haymitch's house while still wearing his clothes earlier; had only registered the fact as she was running her bath, bubbles rising steadily to the rim of the tub.
She places the cold cup down onto the coaster on the coffee table and chews her lip as her fingers worry the white angora of her sweater between her newly painted nails.
Although the heat's back on, a chill still lingers in the air, and she's dressed with comfort and warmth in mind, content in the knowledge that she's got no plans to be anywhere today. The angora is cosy and thick, and fitted denim black pants (she refuses to call them jeans) complete the look.
Effie slaps her hands down on her thighs and gets to her feet before she can think better of it, walking over to the sweatshirt and letting her hand hover, suspended in mid air and wavering slightly, before dropping it down slightly to rest on the fabric.
She's been trying not to think about last night; about the feel of his lips on hers, and the way his stubble had brushed against her cheek while his hand gripped her thigh, and oh god his hands..
Glancing at the door, Effie chews her lip slightly as she considers her next move carefully. She could take the cowards way out; wait until she hears him go out and leave his sweater in a bag on his doorstep with a note thanking him for his hospitality. They'll be back to their old ways within a week, kiss forgotten...
Or, she could be brave. Could march up there, knock on his door and see him face to face. Possibly stay for a coffee if he offers. He won't, of course, but the thought takes shape in Effie's mind, and before she knows it she's grabbing his sweatshirt in her hand and marching over to her door.
.
10 minutes later, and Effie's on Haymitch's couch. To be more specific; she's on Haymitch's couch, under Haymitch.
She's not sure how exactly they'd gotten to this point; she'd knocked on his door and he'd answered after thirty seconds or so, cautiously regarding her as she'd stammered out something about his hospitality. She'd thrust her hands out, sweater folded neatly and offered like a gift. Their hands had touched when he'd reached to retrieve it, and before she'd known it her lips had been on his, and the sweater was thrown to the floor, forgotten.
She'd not planned this per se; had only had a vague hope that something like this might happen, but Haymitch's hands are tangled in her hair, and his knee is pressed between her thighs, and she's really not complaining.
His fingers are lightly scratching her scalp in a way that's sending pleasant shivers down her spine, and for a moment she has a blind moment of panic at the thought of what her hair must look like. She's going to look like a mess, she'll look awful, and oh god she's not even wearing much make up, but then Haymitch's mouth finds a particularly sensitive spot on her neck and Effie just tries to feel.
Haymitch covers her neck with soft kisses, lips ghosting a trail against her throat, and when he lightly nips the sensitive skin he finds there before soothing it gently with his tongue, Effie can't help the breathy 'oh!' that escapes her lips.
"Good?" he asks, voice gravelly and for some reason slightly doubtful, and Effie struggles to find her voice, settling instead for a jerky nod of her head.
Haymitch carries on with his motions until Effie is panting beneath him, one hand coming up to grip the back of his head and drag him up so that their lips meet in a drugging kiss. The movement causes his knee to press more firmly between her thighs, and Effie exhales a shaky breath at the feel of him, hips rocking forward of their own volition.
His hands tighten in her hair and Haymitch groans harshly into her mouth. Emboldened by his reaction, Effie tentatively rocks her hips forward again, back arching slightly as she grinds down on the hard muscle of his thigh. She carries on with her motions for a few minutes, the pressure on her clit dulled pleasantly by the denim of her pants, before tearing her mouth away from his on a particularly pleasant press of his knee against her.
"You can touch me..if you want to, that is," she whispers, unaccustomed to voicing her wants so openly. There's something about Haymitch though; something about the way he looks at her as if he can't quite believe she's choosing to be there with him. She feels the overwhelming need to show him that she wants this just as much as him; maybe more, judging by the wetness she can feel seeping through her panties.
"Do you want me to?" His voice is unsure, and Effie decides that in this case, actions speaker louder than words as she reaches up and latches onto his wrists before bringing his hands down to rest at the hem of her sweater.
Haymitch leans back slightly so that he's half sitting, and for a moment he's completely still. Then his thumbs move downwards, pushing the angora up slightly so that the soft skin of her belly is exposed. He rubs gently along the exposed strip of skin, and Effie feels the muscles in her stomach jump beneath his touch.
His hands continue their soft caress, the material of her sweater moving steadily up her stomach until it's resting below her breasts. His eyes meet hers, and she sees the question swirling in the grey depths. She makes the decision for him, hands moving up and swiftly pulling the garment up and over head, and then she's lying in front of him, dressed in only her pants and bra.
"Jesus fuck," he breathes harshly, and it takes Effie a couple of seconds and a glance down at the exceedingly lacy black bra she's wearing to realise the reason for his outburst.
His thumb seeks out her straining nipple through the almost see through lace, and when he flicks at it lightly Effie lets out a shuddering breath, eyes fluttering closed and head tipping back. He repeats the action on her other breast before removing his hands, and Effie opens her eyes and looks down ready to rebuke him for stopping, only to be greeted by the sight of him dipping his head towards her.
He swirls his tongue around the erect bud before giving her a gentle suck, the lace of her bra rasping against her nipple in a way that has her fisting her hand in his hair once more. He carries on for a couple of minutes until she's writhing beneath him, and then he pulls the cups of her bra down slowly, as if giving her a chance to back out.
She's got no intention of stopping now; not when she's half mad with lust, and her clit is throbbing against the lace of her panties, and she can see that he's hard against the fabric of his pants.
He seems to get the message, because he's leaning forward again, and this time when his tongue meets her breast, there are no barriers in the way. He's riled her up with his previous teasing, and he seems to know it, skipping any further light touches and drawing her nipple into his mouth on a deep suck. When he releases her, he scrapes his teeth against her lightly and Effie bucks up underneath him. Her hips lift up off the sofa, but his knee isn't in position anymore and she's left seeking friction where there is none, a desperate whine escaping her lips.
He pauses, lips still against her, and for a fraction of a second Effie has the horrible thought that he's going to stop. That he's going to tell her this is all a big mistake and ask her to leave. But then his hand is dragging down her stomach, burning a hot trail against her skin before coming to rest directly above her center.
Effie feels the hitch in her breath, and she tugs him by the back of his head until their noses are touching, lips brushing against in a whisper of a kiss. His hand starts to move, pressing firmly against the seam of her pants, and Effie crashes her lips against his once more, allowing her moan to be swallowed by his kiss.
He's rubbing rhythmically, hand pressing down right against her clit, and Effie can feel the soft slide of fabric against her as she grows wetter with every minute. After a while though, she needs more, needs to feel him, and when she gasps out "Inside Haymitch, please," he makes a sharp noise as he drops his forehead down to rest against hers.
"Are you sure?" he pants out, short of breath after the intensity of their kisses, and her sincere yes seems to be all it takes.
He makes short work of the buttons on her pants, and his hand traces over the skin of her lower stomach before dipping inside, and Effie inhales deeply while she waits for him to make his next move. It doesn't take long before his hand is dipping lower, and when he encounters sodden lace he sucks her bottom lip into his mouth.
He teases her lightly over her panties for a while before moving to the side and sliding under the flimsy edge to finally touch her where she wants him most.
"Christ Effie. You're so wet," he groans, and Effie realises with a start that this is the first time she's heard him address her by name, and she tightens her grip on his shoulder, feeling herself grow impossibly wetter at the sound.
He trails soft circles around her clit before his touch becomes firmer, avoiding touching her directly and her hips are rotating desperately, wanting more of his touch, and then he leaves her clit behind, fingers coming down to trace at her opening and oh.
It must be difficult for him from this angle but he manages it, fingers slipping into her wet heat and curling slightly as his palm presses against her clit. He starts off slow, fingers sliding in and out lazily as he kisses her languidly, as if they've got all the time in the world.
"How do you like it?" he asks, and it takes a moment but Effie manages to choke out a faster and Haymitch obliges, hand speeding up immediately. Her pants aren't skin tight, but he doesn't exactly have lots of room, and his fingers are thumping into her now, palm grinding against her clit firmly, and she's moaning and whimpering almost constantly, hips thrusting up against his hand as she struggles to pull him deeper inside.
It takes a shift in his angle, a particularly deep thrust and a sharp grind of his hand against her clit and she's coming, babbling nonsense and clutching at his shoulders and oh god, his fingers are still sliding in and out of her but they're slower now, calmer, and Effie's back arches as she comes down from her high.
His hand leaves her panties and comes to rest at her side as he rests his forehead against hers once more, and Effie brings her hand down to fumble with the fly of his pants before slipping inside and drawing him out. He's hot and hard, and when she wraps her hand around him he sighs out her name again, and Effie thinks she could get used to hearing him say it.
Effie brings her thumb up to stroke across the tip of him, and then fists her hand around his cock once more, letting him thrust into her hand. He's thick in her palm, and Effie has to stop her eyes from fluttering shut when she thinks about how he would feel inside her.
He's clearly worked up after watching her come, and it doesn't take long before he's hissing out a warning to her but Effie just carries on, working his cock until he spills across her belly with a groan of her name.
He's panting, eyes scrunched shut as he breathes heavily, and Effie waits patiently until he open his eyes and looks into hers.
"Now do you believe that I want you?" she asks, trying to tamp down the blush that's threatening to spread across her cheeks, and what is it about this man that makes her so brazen, she wonders?
Haymitch holds her gaze and then he laughs, chuckling "I guess so, sweetheart," as he kisses her again, sweeter this time, mouth almost gentle against hers.
As Effie lets herself get lost in the moment, thoroughly sated and completely relaxed, she resolves that this year, he'll have at least one gift to open under the Christmas tree.