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“Get in here.” Haymitch barely knows where he is let alone where he is going as he stumbles into a dark room with his escort.
“Effie, if you wanted some alone time with a dirty district man,” He drunkenly runs his hand up the rough glittered fabric of Effie’s dress, getting closer to the underside of her breast, “all you had to do was ask.”
He ignores how his heart skips a beat when his calloused fingers brush the soft skin on display in the cutouts of the dress.
Does his skin feel as good for her as hers does for him?
His hand is quickly slapped away with a hiss, and he quashes the disappointment that bubbles in his chest.
“Stop it, Haymitch.” Effie’s high-pitched voice is even higher due to her annoyance.
“Why, Princess?” He wobbles forward, he’ll say it was intentional and not due to the bottle of whiskey, pinning her against the wall. “You’re the one who dragged me into this…”
His gray eyes scan the room, well he tries to. It’s too dark to see, and he is too drunk for his eyes to actually adjust.
“Closet, Haymitch.” Her lace-covered hands push against his chest, but he doesn’t move. “It’s called a closet.”
“I know.” His attention snaps back to the small escort beneath him, and his breath hitches when he realizes how close she is.
“Do you?” Her blue eyes are teeming with annoyance at Haymitch, and Effie pushes against him again until he finally relents to her pressure.
“I know I’m not a Capitol elite, but I’m not an idiot.”
“Could have fooled me.” Effie adjusts her dress as best she can in the tight quarters, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles. “This is my second year with you, Haymitch. I cannot keep pulling you out of situations that you cause.”
“I didn’t do anything!”
“You punched a peacekeeper!” The annoyance turned to fire in an instant, and in his drunken stupor, Haymitch was fearful of the young escort.
“He deserved it. He was being an ass to Woof.” Effie feels the heat of anger die a little inside of her at the mention of the District 8 victor, but Haymitch had punched a peacekeeper!
“That doesn’t give you a right to punch a keeper, Haymitch.” Her finger digs into his chest as she points at him, “I can’t keep getting you out of jail at three in the morning.”
“But you were my knight in shining armor today, and saved me from the big bad peacekeepers.” Haymitch tries to bat his eyes, but in the haze of his drunken stupor, he doesn’t know how successful he is. “And in heels no less!”
“Haymitch—” Effie starts to lecture him, but he tunes her out like usual. He is sure she notices because she starts getting louder, and he hears a spattering of words.
Manners. Abhorrent. Unprofessional.
His eyes start adjusting to the small closet that seems to be filled with linens and such.
Wish it was liquor.
Through Effie’s prattling, his ears perk up to the distant sound of peacekeeper footfalls with his name and profanity mixed in.
“Effie shut up.” The voices and footsteps get closer, and he starts to panic. Haymitch didn’t want to spend another night in jail, and he didn’t want to find out the ramifications of punching a peacekeeper.
“How dare you! I will have you know—” Without thinking, Haymitch grabs Effie’s face, crashing their lips together. He muffles her protests by pulling her closer, wrapping his hand around the back of her neck. He doesn’t notice when she goes silent. He doesn’t notice her hand tangling into his hair. He definitely doesn’t notice how their kiss deepens or how their bodies are reacting to the other.
Time loses meaning in that linen closet.
“Haymitch.” Effie pulls away with a whisper, their breaths mingling together, “You’re drunk.”
Haymitch is lost for words as he stares down at his escort, her blue eyes shimmering with unshed tears.
Why was she close to crying?
“Effie—”
“I think they are gone.” Effie steps towards the door, pressing her ear against it, and Haymitch doesn’t even stop himself from staring at her ass. She takes a deep breath before turning back towards him. “I’m sorry for not listening. We should head back to the penthouse before they circle back.”
He can’t even respond as she opens the door, flooding the small room with light.
He’ll blame it on the alcohol tomorrow…
But he knows.