On Sunday morning Effie wakes up after nine, uncharacteristically late for her but it's probably due to the fact that she hasn't exactly had a restful night's sleep, tossing and turning well into the early hours of the morning. After she's worked out on the elliptical for an hour she takes a boiling hot shower before sitting down to a late breakfast of a sliced banana, a scoop of yoghurt and exactly one quarter of a cup of granola. Once she's finished and made sure the kitchen is completely tidy with worktops wiped down and bowl washed and put away, she moves to her desk, opens up her laptop and works for five hours straight, ignoring the instructions from her boss that she should get away from work for the weekend. She needs something, anything to take her mind away from how completely mortified she feels after last night, and somehow she doesn't think that a romantic Christmas movie is the best idea right now.
She can't believe she'd actually fooled herself into thinking that this thing between Haymitch and herself had the potential to become something real. Evidently, she's built it up far too much in her head, has read into things too much. He'd probably spent his night laughing about her texts with the reprobates at the bar, and the thought of how stupid, how utterly foolish she's been has her banging her fist on her desk. The sound startles her almost as much as the uncharacteristic gesture. She's clearly nothing more than a source of amusement for him when boredom strikes. She should never have allowed herself to get her hopes up.
She looks at her laptop and sighs. She's rewritten the same sentence three times now, made a mistake on the figures more than once. She moves her hands away from the keyboard as she realises that it's probably time to leave work alone for the day. She presses save and closes her laptop before making her way through to the kitchen.
She opens her refrigerator and it becomes immediately apparent that she's going to have to go shopping today. She would usually have gone on Saturday, but well, she hadn't exactly had a usual Saturday so a trip to Whole Foods had been the last thing on her mind. She'll need to change her clothes and fix her hair and face before she leaves the house, and so she closes the fridge and makes her way into the bedroom.
She takes off her comfy sweater and yoga pants and opens her wardrobe, pulling out a grey sweater dress which she teams with a pair of thick black tights. She ties her hair back, deciding that it's late enough in the day to get away with a messy updo just this once. Then she sits down in front of her mirror and applies her makeup; nothing too dramatic or over the top, just enough so that she feels comfortable, so that she feels like herself. And really, it's not like her to go a whole day without wearing makeup, even if she is just at home. The importance of appearances, of showing the world her best self, has been drilled into her head by her mother for as long as she can remember, and the thought of letting anyone see her like this, stripped down and bare, is unthinkable.
On her way out, she steps into a pair of boots before picking up her keys from the coffee table, walking to her car and pulling out of the driveway as quickly as she can while still adhering to proper road safety guidelines.
All of the radio stations seem the be playing Christmas songs and Effie turns up the volume and tries her best to get into the Christmas spirit. She's bought almost all of her Christmas presents and half of them are wrapped already, so she tries to busy her mind with thoughts of the last minute things she needs to buy over the next week or so to complete her preparations. It works, and before she knows it she's pulling up into the parking lot and making her way into the store.
She takes her time browsing the aisles, and by the time she reaches the wine section she's got a healthy selection of fruits and vegetables in her cart, along with some chicken breast and fresh fish. She selects a malbec and a rioja, and then decides to throw caution to the wind and picks up a bottle of chardonnay too. It's not like her mother's here to judge her.
The sun is starting to set as she makes her way out of the sliding doors, and she'd usually take the time to appreciate the view, but instead she just packs her bags into the trunk of the car and starts the journey home. When she arrives back it's dark, and she hurries to her front door, the sensor light outside her door flickering to life as she lets herself in.
Effie puts the groceries away slowly and pours herself a glass of wine, chuckling mirthlessly as she realises that she's probably consumed more alcohol over the course of this weekend than she usually would in two weeks. It's probably also significantly upped her calorie intake, and the thought has her frowning before she pushes it to the back of her mind, resolving to put in an extra hour on the elliptical tomorrow to make up for it.
She briefly considers going back to her laptop and trying to get some more work done, but she's going to have enough of a telling off tomorrow as it is when her boss sees just how much of a start she's made on the figures. She abandons the idea, instead making her way into the living room and turning on the Christmas tree lights. The room is bathed in soft, red light-the only proper colour for Christmas lights, Euphemia- and it is suddenly cozy, comforting. She sinks down onto the sofa and lets her head tip back as her eyes flutter shut for a blissful moment.
She lets herself relax for a few minutes, silence filling the air around her, and she's debating whether or not she should go and change into her pyjamas before she gets too comfortable here when there's a knock at the door. Effie frowns slightly as she turns her head to look. She's not sure who could be knocking at her door at seven on a Sunday evening, and she gets up slowly before walking across the room, the knock sounding again as she comes to a stop in front of the door.
"Who is it?" she calls cautiously, her hand resting against the cool wood as she waits for a response.
"It's me...uh, Haymitch," comes the muffled response, and Effie's spine stiffens, her fingers tightening around the glass of wine in her hand until she's afraid it might crack under the pressure.
"What," she starts, her voice cracking and so she clears her voice and continues, "what do you want?"
"I want-I mean, I wanted to... Christ, princess, can you just let me in? I can't have this conversation through a fucking door," he responds. It almost sounds like a plea, and Effie's hand is reaching for the door before she can think better of it.
Effie stands in the doorway, watching as Haymitch sways on his feet, and were it not for the slight shiver that shakes his shoulders, she'd think he was drunk. She steps back, alarmed at the look on his face, unsure what to make of it. Her heart's beating rapidly, though she can't say why, and he stares at her, swallowing nervously. It's a moment before she remembers her manners and steps further into the apartment, raising her palm in offering.
"Come in, please. It's cold tonight," she murmurs. And it is; her feet are cold even in her tights, and she hopes he makes up his mind soon, lest they both catch a chill. He steps in the doorway and she shuts the door with a click, turning to regard him as he stands there somewhat hesitantly.
"Nice carpet," he compliments, and while it is a lovely carpet-thick and white and expensive-the statement seems so incongruous in comparison to their previous interactions that it makes her pause. Maybe he's nervous. The thought strikes her, and she reels. Haymitch Abernathy, nervous? The thought is so ridiculous that she almost wants to laugh.
Effie steps forward, ready to take his coat, but he's already shrugging off it off and dangling it awkwardly on his arm as he looks around the room.
"Um, would you like a drink, Haymitch?" Effie asks, desperate to fill the awkward silence that suddenly fills the room, but he doesn't answer her question, instead looking up so that his eyes meet hers as he starts to speak.
"I, uh...I came here to explain what happened last night. About your text, and why uh..." he trails off, and Effie can feel embarrassment starting to creep into her body. He obviously thinks he needs to tell her face to face that he's not interested, and she doesn't think she can deal with that right now.
"Oh, no please, Haymitch, let's not...let's not talk about that. You don't have to explain yourself to me. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable," she rushes out, and she hopes that this will put an end to it, so that she can start to put this whole incident behind her.
Haymitch looks at her blankly for a moment and she feels the blush on her cheeks intensify. She grabs the jacket from his arms and turns around to hang it up, and she hopes he doesn't notice the way her hands are shaking slightly. She's trying to think of something to say, anything to shift the focus away from this, when the sound of his voice startles her. "You sure as hell didn't make me uncomfortable, and I want to explain," he says, and she turns around slowly to face him.
"Got pretty wasted last night...Christmas isn't the best time for me," he mumbles, his hand reaching around to rub the back of his neck somewhat sheepishly, and Effie knows there's a story there, knows there's something deeper beneath the surface, but she also knows that it's not the time to ask questions. He continues, "Plus I barely ever use the phone, haven't charged it in a while so the battery on that thing died pretty fucking quickly. I didn't see your message until I woke up and charged it this afternoon. Definitely kicked myself for missing that."
He almost growls when he says the last part, and Effie can feel the heat rising on her cheeks, a shy smile tugging at her lips before she can stop it.
"This afternoon?" she asks, and there's a slight teasing tone to her voice, something which Haymitch picks up on straight away if the raise of his head from where it's been tipped downwards is anything to go by.
"It was by the time I surfaced. Like I said; I was pretty damn wasted."
"I thought maybe you weren't interested after all," she confesses, and her voice sounds shy, meek even to her own ears.
"Jesus Christ, of course I'm fucking interested," he says exasperatedly, and he steps forward and suddenly there's no more than a breath of space between the two of them, and Effie feels her chest contract at the proximity. His hands cautiously reach out, and when she makes no objection, he rests them on her hips, pulling her forward slightly so that she can feel his chest brushing against hers. Her nipples harden at the slightest hint of contact with him. His breath is hot against her face, and she looks up to meet his gaze as she brings her hands up to gently rest on his forearms.
"Do you still want this?" he asks, and Effie realises that this is it. She could tell him that he's burned his bridges, ask him to leave. Despite his assurances that he's not an alcoholic, he clearly relies on alcohol a bit too much, and he definitely leaves a lot to be desired when it comes to 'romance' and she knows that realistically, her life would be easier without him in it.
Or she could do the opposite. Give into what she actually wants without thought of what's proper for once in her life, and ask him to stay. She musters of all her courage, all of the bravery that she's still not quite sure she possesses, and then she speaks.
"I told you before. I want this-I want you," she breathes as she brings her arms up to loop around his neck, her chest pressing against his and eliminating any space that may have remained between them. His hands grasp her hips more firmly and he tilts his head down so that his lips meet hers in a passionate kiss.
They stay that way for a while; Haymitch's tongue is massaging hers, and his hands have shifted slightly to stroke across the top of her ass, and she can hear the little sighs that are escaping her mouth with every swipe of his tongue against hers.
He shifts his leg slightly and suddenly his knee is between her thighs, pressing against her tightly, and she can't remember the last time anyone got her this riled up so quickly. His hands are still on her ass, moving steadily lower until they grip her over her dress and pull her forward, and the soft slide of her center across his knee has her moaning into his mouth.
She almost thinks about moving them to the bedroom, but she's sure that if she does, they're going to end up having sex. It's not that she doesn't want to have sex with him; she probably wants it more than she should. But she's still feeling vulnerable after last night, and there's a voice in the back of her head reminding her that it's only been two days since they first kissed, and nice girls don't take men to bed after two days.
Instead, she urges him backwards to the sofa, letting him push her back until his weight rests on top of her, and she has the brief thought that nice girls don't do this either, but she can't bring herself to care. Not when his tongue is sliding against hers, and his knee is shifting to press between her thighs again, and she can feel his hardness against her leg.
She doesn't want him to think that she's leading him on, and so she breaks away from the kiss and tries to catch her breath. "I know what I said yesterday, and I do want this, but-no sex tonight. That is-I don't want you to think that-I mean, we can still..." she breaks off, mentally chastising herself for her inability to even string a simple sentence together.
Haymitch seems to sense her frustration, because he's bringing his hands up to hesitantly touch her face, his thumbs brushing the corners of her mouth before he starts to speak. "Sweetheart, shut up. Whatever you want," he murmurs, and when he kisses her again, Effie can't stop the smile that plays at her lips.
His knee is still pressed up against her, but he's stopped moving, as if he's unsure of just how far she wants to go after her little speech. She shifts her hips under his so that she presses against him more firmly and then she repeats the motion, stuttering out a breath when he starts to grind his knee against her with gusto.
She's content to let him carry on like that for a few minutes, but before long her dress starts to scratch uncomfortably against her stomach, and her breasts are crying out for some attention, and so she breaks the kiss and reaches down, pulling her dress up and over her head in one swift movement. She lets it drop the the floor, resisting the urge to fold it up properly, and when she looks at Haymitch she finds that his eyes are riveted on her lacy white bra.
"Jesus Christ! Do you wear stuff like this every day under those boring clothes? Even when you're just sitting in the house?" he exclaims, and Effie knows she should feel offended at the fact that he's just called her dress sense boring, but she's more focused on the fact that he's clearly enjoying what's underneath.
"Every day. Do you like it?" she asks coyly, nerves pooling in the pit of her stomach even though she already knows what his response is going to be.
"Do they match?" he asks, and Effie pauses for a second, unsure of what he's talking about until she looks down and sees the thick black fabric of her tights obscuring the lower half of her body from his view.
"They always match," she replies huskily, and Haymitch curses quietly as he starts to trace patterns on her stomach with his fingertips, stopping right above the waistband of the tights. She brings her hands down to join his, and he unsuccessfully tries to muffle a groan when she bats his hands out of the way and peels the tights down her legs.
He's quiet above her for a few seconds, and she resists the urge to cross her arms over herself because although she's still in her underwear, it's not exactly providing her with much cover from the scrutiny of his gaze. But then he dips his head down, dropping little kisses along her neck as his hands resume their stroking against her stomach. When he reaches the bottom of her neck he sucks the skin into his mouth, and Effie knows she should protest, knows he's going to leave a mark that she's going to spend all morning trying to cover, but all that leaves her mouth is a quiet moan of his name.
When he reaches her breasts, he kisses a line along the edge of her bra before following the route he's just taken with a hot lick of his tongue. He pays the same attention to her other breast, and then Effie reaches behind her back and unhooks the clasp of her bra. She pulls it off and lets it fall somewhere beside the sofa. Immediately, he's on her, flicking his tongue against her in a way that has her hips shifting up in an effort to seek some friction. Haymitch must notice this because he gives one last firm lick to her nipple before shifting his head slightly to look at her.
"Are you wet?" he asks gruffly, his stubble rasping against her nipple in a way that has her hands flying to his hair and clutching so hard that she's worried for a moment that she must be hurting him.
"Y-yes, I'm so..." she manages to splutter out, licking her lips and composing herself as much as is possible in her current state before continuing, "I'm so wet, Haymitch. For you."
Her admission has him uttering a low "Fuck!" and then he turns his head and takes her nipple between his teeth as he trails his hand down to rub her firmly through her panties. She widens her legs slightly, and on the next pass of his fingers, the lace rubs directly over her clit and her mouth drops open on a wordless cry.
She's feeling particularly brave all of a sudden, and she's not sure if it's because of the glass of wine she'd almost finished before he arrived or if it's just because of him, but she feels bold when she speaks her next words. "I want you to do what we talked about in the text. When you-when you said you wanted to taste me," she whispers, and his hardness presses against her leg as a guttural sound escapes his mouth. He gives her nipple one last deep suck that leaves her gasping below him, before scooting down, trailing wet kisses along the skin of her stomach until his mouth is resting at the edge of the white lace.
She thinks he's going to tease her, that he's going to make her beg, but she's pleasantly surprised when he simply pulls away the sodden lace until she's bare before him. His thumbs trace the skin of her thighs, urging them further apart, and when he blows a stream of air directly over where she's warm and aching for him she lets her legs fall open, her left foot coming to rest on the floor.
His fingers dance along her soft skin, moving higher and higher as he drops soft kisses across her belly, leaving goosebumps in his wake and Effie has to bite down on her bottom lip to stop herself from moaning aloud.
Haymitch pauses and looks up at her. "Don't be quiet. There's no one here to hear me but you. And I want to hear you," he says, and then he dips his head and licks a line across the join of her hip and thigh. Her next moan is louder, less restrained, and Haymitch carries on with his descent until he's pressing a kiss right above her clit. He stays there for a few seconds, his lips pressed against her and then he's finally moving, running his tongue across her aching clit, and Effie whimpers slightly as her hips jerk up towards him.
Effie threads her fingers into his hair and drags her nails across his scalp lightly as he repeats the action, and when his thumbs move up to spread her slightly, her eyes flutter shut of their own accord. It's been a while since she's found herself in this position, and she's not used to feeling so exposed, so she has to will herself to stay calm and resist the urge to shy away from him. She whines softly as he starts to alternate between long licks and quick flicks of his tongue, and then she feels his fingers stroking through her wet heat and that whine turns into a gasp of his name. She's so distracted that she almost doesn't hear him when he starts to speak.
"Touch yourself," he murmurs as he slides his finger inside of her, coating it with her wetness and withdrawing, before sinking two fingers back inside.
It takes her a moment to process his words, and when she does she's confused. "I-What do you mean?" she asks, and she sounds breathless, as if she's just spent an hour on the treadmill.
"Your tits. I want you to touch your tits while I eat you out," he says, and Effie feels herself grow impossibly hotter at his request, simultaneously shocked and excited by the vulgarity of his words. She's pretty sure that her cheeks must be bright red, and she opens her mouth to speak before closing it quickly, unsure of how to respond. This is-that is, no one's ever asked her to...
Haymitch must notice her lack of response, because he looks up and regards her carefully. "Something wrong?" he asks, his tone teasing, and Effie feels even more colour rising to the surface of her cheeks. He must sense that she's nervous, because he props himself up on his free arm and looks her in the eye. "Listen sweetheart; I'm not asking for a show. But we're partners in this. I can't be the only one doing all of the work." Effie takes a deep breath and hesitantly brings her hands up to cup her breasts.
Her touch is hesitant at first, the tips of her fingers barely touching the surface of her heated skin as she skims the edges of her breasts. Haymitch is watching her intently and she squirms for a moment under the heat of his gaze before closing her eyes when her fingers finally come into contact with her sensitive nipples. She keeps her touch light at first and it's nice, it's pleasant, but it's not enough. She needs more, and so she swallows any remaining trepidation and cups both of her breasts in her hands, grasping her nipples and rolling them firmly in tandem. She lets out a soft Oh! at the feeling, releasing her fingers so that she can flick her thumb against her nipple softly before repeating the motion.
He watches her for a minute. His fingers are still moving languidly in and out but his mouth is hovering over her clit as his eyes remain fixated on her hands on her breasts. "Haymitch, please," she gasps, and that seems to break the spell. He brings his tongue back down tracing a lazy circle around the edges of her clit before flicking his tongue against it, and she realises he's mimicking the way she's touching her breasts.
She whines helplessly, one of her hands abandoning her breast and moving down to grip his hair, clutching his head against her wet heat as her hips rock against the movement of his tongue. His fingers speed up to match the rhythm of his tongue, and they're thumping in and out of her steadily now, drawing gasps of pleasure from her on each inward thrust. Her nipple is trapped between her thumb and her forefinger and she's squeezing it rhythmically in time with his thrusts, and it's like there's a current of electricity zinging in her body, and it's too much, it's too much and not enough all at the same time, and she needs something, something…
"I need-your mouth, Haymitch, I-please," she gasps, the end of her sentence trailing off when he curls his fingers just so.
"Need what? Tell me what you want me to do, Effie," he says, and once again, it's the sound of her name on his lips that does it.
"My-my clit, will you-oh god, suck it, Haymitch, please," she pleads, and she knows she's begging but she's too far gone to care, and she's so close, so so close, if only he'd just...
Haymitch wraps his lips around her clit and sucks, and Effie's climax crashes over her like a wave. Her hips buck up against his face, and she's dimly aware that she's panting his name like it's some sort of mantra and she's not usually so unrestrained, not usually so wanton, but his fingers are still gliding in and out of her, and his mouth is on her clit, and she can feel him everywhere.
Effie pushes his head away when it all gets to be too much and he gives one last lick to her clit, and her body shivers in response. He drops a kiss to the skin of her belly and props himself up on his elbows as he makes his way up her body, stopping when his lips hover over hers.
She reaches up and threads her fingers through his hair, pulling him down into a clumsy kiss. She can taste herself on his lips, and the noise she makes could probably be classified as a whimper, but she's too far gone to care. She slides her tongue against his, nails scratching against his scalp in a way that has him thrusting his hips against her, and it's then that she realises he's still fully dressed.
Her hands leave his hair and travel down to grip the edges of his shirt, and she tugs slightly as she breathes, "Take this off?" He pulls back to look at her quizzically. "I'm not-I don't want to be the only one naked," she explains falteringly, before adding, "And I want to-I want to see all of you this time."
Something flashes in Haymitch's eyes, but then he nods his head and sits back on his knees. He pulls the shirt off and over his head and Effie's eyes are immediately drawn to the scar on his stomach. It's jagged and painful looking, and it's running straight across something that looks suspiciously like a badly healed gunshot wound. She wants to know; wants to ask what happened to him, and how, but she knows that this is most definitely not the time, and so she bites back the question that threatens to escape from her lips. Instead, she brings her hands up to rest over the fly of his jeans. She can feel his hardness through the thick denim, and she's struck again with the memory of him thick and hot in her palm. She briefly wishes that she hadn't insisted on no sex tonight, before banishing that thought from her mind. There are other ways she can please him.
His comment about wanting her to be an active participant has stuck in Effie's mind, and she wants to show him that she's interested in this; that she's interested in him. She sits up slowly and shifts so that she's kneeling in front of him and matching his position, moving one of her hands down to steady herself. The other remains at the front of his pants; not moving or even touching really, just resting against his hardness. She leans forward and he moans when the tips of her breasts brush against his bare chest. He dips his head and presses his lips against hers, and she nips at his bottom lip before letting her tongue come out to massage his. His hands stroke down her back until they reach her ass and he hauls her against him, the hard length of his cock pressing against her belly.
Effie lets herself get lost in the kiss. His hands are kneading her ass in a way that makes her wish he would slip his fingers between her thighs again, and her nipples are hard against his chest, and she feels surrounded by his warmth. She lets things carry on for a few minutes and she's loathe to stop, but she's about thirty seconds from throwing caution the the wind and jumping on him, and that's not the way she'd planned this evening to go. She breaks the kiss reluctantly and untangles her hands from his hair.
"Lie back," she whispers, and he groans and grips her ass as he presses himself against her more firmly, and she thinks he might have worked out where she's going with this. She rests her hand against his chest and pushes slightly and he gets the hint, leaning back and arranging himself so that Effie's kneeling between his thighs and his head is supported on the arm of the sofa. His eyes are flicking between her face and her chest, and she can feel that telltale blush spreading across her chest, so she ducks her head and drops a quick kiss to his lips. She doesn't linger; instead she lets her mouth trail softly along the line of his jaw, travelling lower until she reaches his neck. She presses soft kisses there, and her tongue peeks out of her mouth to lick a line across the slightly salty skin as her hands flutter against his stomach. She skims across the scar that stretches halfway across, and she thinks she feels him tense slightly beneath her, but she doesn't comment.
Instead, Effie continues past the scar, flattening her hands against his stomach and slowly sliding them up and across his chest as she presses a line of kisses down his sternum. She kisses past his navel, her nails lightly scratching back down his chest, until her hands and her mouth are both resting at the edge of his pants. She manages to undo the button of his jeans, to pull the fly down, and he helps her push the jeans and his boxers down his hips and off his legs until he's just as naked as she is.
He's fitter than she'd first thought. He's not an Adonis, by any stretch of the imagination, but he doesn't have a beer belly as she might have imagined, and the muscles in his thighs are strong. It's clear that he's probably led an active lifestyle in the not so distant past, even if he doesn't seem to be all that active at the moment. His cock is hard and just as thick as she remembers, and before she can stop herself, Effie licks her lips. Haymitch must catch sight of the movement because there's a hitch in his breath, and if he hadn't been sure of her intentions before, well he definitely is now.
She scoots down the sofa until her head is between his thighs and she decides that she's not going to make him wait for her touch. She wants him incoherent, and she thinks that maybe she'd like to hear him say her name again, so she leans forward and licks a firm line from the base of his cock to the tip.
"Oh fuck," he groans, and she feels one of his hands touching her head. She has a brief moment of panic when she wonders if he's going to try and shove her head down, and she bites her lip because she doesn't know how to tell him that she's not-that that's not really her thing. But his hand just strokes over her hair, collecting the strands that have escaped from her updo and pulling them away from her face softly, and she flushes when she realises he wants to look at her face while she does this.
She licks him again, her hand gripping the base of his cock as her tongue flicks across the tip, collecting the beads of moisture that have gathered there. He grunts above her and she wraps her mouth around him, sucking him into her mouth and taking in more of his cock on each downward bob of her head. He's looking at her intently, mouth slightly open and his eyes darkened with lust, and she keeps her gaze fixed on him, fighting the impulse to look away.
Her other hand slips between his thighs to massage his balls, and his hips jerk upwards. Effie feels his cock hit the back of her throat and she splutters around him, pulling backwards so that he slips from her mouth as she tries to regulate her breathing.
"Shit, sorry, sorry," Haymitch gasps, his hand coming down to smooth across her cheek. "Didn't mean to do that, you just- you feel so fucking good. I won't do it again."
He sounds as if he's genuinely sorry, not like he's willingly tried to push her boundaries, and she smiles softly as she says, "It's ok."
Her hand is still resting on him, so she grips him lightly, making a fist around his cock as she starts to stroke him softly. He thrusts up into her slick hand and she gives a few more lazy pumps before lowering her head once more. She flutters her tongue against the head of his cock before pressing soft kisses and wet licks along the length of his shaft, and he's groaning her name by the time she parts her lips and takes him into her mouth.
She sucks him firmly, swirling her tongue against him and taking more of his cock with each downward bob. It only takes a few minutes before he's groaning out a warning that he's about to come, but she carries on bobbing her head, one hand gripping the base of his cock while her other hand rests on his stomach. He cries out when he comes, a string of curse words and gasps of her name, and she keeps sucking him softly until she feels him starting to soften. She releases him from her mouth, licking her lips and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as delicately as she can manage. She's wondering what to do next, unsure of which boundaries are in place when his hands close around her arms, hauling her up so that her chest is flush against his. His lips meet hers in a lazy kiss, and he shifts so that they're lying side by side and stretched along the sofa.
"Glad I came to apologise now?" Haymitch murmurs against her lips, and Effie huffs out a laugh as she opens her eyes to look at him.
"I suppose so," she agrees. His arm is draped over her, and his fingers are tracing over the heated skin of her lower back, and it's almost as if they're cuddling. She feels safe, and warm, and comfortable, but she also feels as though he's going to pull back and put some distance between them at any minute. She presses the palm of her hand against his chest lightly and disentangles herself from his arms, moving so that she's perched precariously on the edge of the sofa.
She turns her head to look at him and paints a confident smile on her face before opening her mouth to speak. "Well, that was fun. But I have work tomorrow, and I have a lot to get ready, so..." she trails off awkwardly.
"Kicking me out so soon, sweetheart?" he chuckles, making no effort to cover himself up, and Effie wills herself to hold his gaze. Her stomach flutters in response to his words, and she's half tempted to ask him to stay. But she doesn't want to overstep any invisible lines that have been drawn, and it's probably safer for both of them if he leaves.
She stands up and retrieves her dress. "Of course I'm not kicking you out. You're more than welcome to stay, but I shall be otherwise engaged. I have things to prepare for a meeting tomorrow," she says, pointedly not looking at him in the hope that he doesn't hear the lie.
"Okay, okay, I'm leaving," he snorts, reaching down to grab his clothes from where they're resting on the floor. Effie pulls her dress on over her head and rises to her feet to wait for Haymitch as he pulls his clothes on leisurely. Once he's half decent, Effie makes her way over to the doorway and Haymitch follows, coming to a stop to stand in front of her on the threshold. She leans up on her tiptoes and presses a chaste kiss against his lips and he deepens it immediately, his mouth moving against hers as his hand comes to rest dangerously low on her back.
She breaks the kiss with a sigh, brushing her lips against his one last time before reaching past him to open to door. "See you soon," she says, her voice breathy and hopeful despite her plans to play this cool.
"I'll keep my phone charged," he says, before adding in a teasing tone, "You're good with your fingers." He mimics texting but his smirk hints that he's thinking of something else.
He turns and steps into the cold, missing the blush that reappears on Effie's face at his remark. She watches him go, and he's almost out of sight when she calls out into the cold night, "I've got drinks with colleagues on Thursday. Bu- but I'm free on Friday."
"Well what do you know...so am I," he replies, grinning at her before turning and rounding the corner.
The smile remains on Effie's face long after she's shut the door.