'Tinting the solitude,

Put on your dancing shoes,

And show me what to do,

I know you've got the moves...'

-All My Own Stunts, Arctic Monkeys

The thing about Katniss Everdeen is that while she makes a good hunter, she's terrible at being covert. He catches her glances, her small frowns and pouting of the lips, and he wonders how the hell she ever made it through the Games, let alone the rebellion, with such an easy face to read.

But that's something he likes about her, though he'd rather not admit it sober, or at all. She's honest, and she tells him exactly what she thinks or she shuts up. The shutting up's taken her a long time to perfect, but the honesty is all her.

And what brings Haymitch to these thoughts, as he sits on the back porch of his house and she sits on the back porch of hers, is Peeta.

Haymitch wonders how the boy can be so intuitive with people, so good at spinning words for them with one glance of examination, and yet he can't see what's right in front of his eyes. Peeta's blind to Katniss, perpetually love-drunk, and he is therefore blind to Haymitch.

Katniss' eyes remain fixed on the flowering grass beyond the wooden plank steps down from her porch. Haymitch's eyes are on her from the corners, though it probably looks like he's staring at the yew tree at the end of his yard.

He knows she's thinking about it, the last time, because her thumb's tapping out a disjointed rhythm against the step she's sat on. She only does that when she's anxious or itching for something.

He knows her itch, knows her like the back of his hand, and it's probably why she's taken Peeta into her home and not him. Haymitch knows she hates the way he can guess her every move, her every intention, and he knows that shacking up with her would be bad from beginning to end.

They drive each other crazy enough anyway without adding living with each other to the mix. Besides, he also knows that she loves Peeta, in her own way, and that she's gone through too much with the other younger victor not to have it hold sway over her decision.

And yet, she still returns. Like now.

She's shifting, looking like she wants to stand up and march over to him, and instead of drawing it out as he's done previously, Haymitch merely stands and goes back into the house, leaving the back door open behind him.

He's not in the mood for games, wants her just as much as she obviously wants him, and the fact that Peeta's out working for the day means that they have some rare long stretch of time together.

She follows him inside, shutting the door behind her with a soft snap.

"He wants kids," Katniss tells him, and Haymitch doesn't blink.

"Well, I'm not exactly shocked, sweetheart. How long have you been married now? Two years?"


He makes a noise of disgust. "Wonderful."

She eyes him as he leans against his battered kitchen table, the wood chipped and marked from many years' drinking and bottle smashing.

He's sober now, cleanliness that he knows shows in his clearer complexion and surer and steadier footing, and he hardly ever needs a watery wake-up call for important days anymore. But occasionally he'll have a drink once they're through, just to keep the buzz lasting a little bit longer.

Katniss leans against a disused cabinet, eyes steady on his. She'd wearing a dress, one he hasn't seen before, and it makes him smile.

"Wearing that for me, are you, sweetheart?"

She doesn't look away. "You tore my pants last time."

The memory of pale flesh, torn leather, and teeth rises unbidden.

"I thought a dress would be better."

Haymitch says nothing, just tugs at the buttons of his creased blue shirt and crooks a finger. Katniss comes willingly, bare feet on wooden floorboards, and once she's in front of him her hands take up the task of leaving him bare-chested.

Her dress is nothing to him, just a swathe of thin pale yellow held up by innocent-looking little bows across her slender shoulders, and it falls to the floor in under a moment. She is naked. Her hands are unbuckling his belt.

Haymitch leans back, letting her have the reins for now. He knows she's twenty-two and he forty, but when they're like this, just hot breath and heated looks, he can't help but feel more equal, younger, more whole.

They both have scars, hers painted across her body in a patchwork of pink and rose and his stark white lines against his tanned skin, but he knows they mean nothing to either of them, because it's not all just physical.

He listens to her in a way no one else can, and she tells him the truth about whatever he asks. They sit sometimes, by the fire, quiet and thoughtful, and they don't speak at all.

His pants drop to the floor, he kicks them off, and suddenly her hand is around him, squeezing his cock and running her thumb up to the head.

Haymitch isn't known for staying silent, and that doesn't change when he's with Katniss. In fact, it is amplified.

He moans, clenching the edge of the table in a hard grip as he throws his head back, his light hair falling off of his shoulders.

Katniss strokes him as she kisses his neck, running her teeth down across his pectoral. Her touch gets harder, quicker, and soon enough he's fighting for breath as she kneels before him, pink tongue pressed to the flushed head of his cock. She doesn't suck him, just tastes him the way he likes.

She's suddenly speaking to him again. "He asked me to think it over before he went into the bakery this morning, whether I'd change my mind at all."

It takes him a moment to realise they're talking about those phantom children again, but when he does realise it he frowns down at her. She looks back up, straight-faced and curious.

"It bothers you that I'm talking about this, doesn't it?" Katniss' lip quirks with amusement.

"I know what I'd rather you'd do," Haymitch mutters, twitching his hips as she takes to thumbing the head of his cock again.

Katniss hums thoughtfully. "What do you think I should do?"

He's had enough talk of Peeta and children, and before she can say another thing he's lifting her up and placing her on the edge of the table, pressing himself between her silky thighs.

"You should shut up," he tells her, his teeth at her jaw.

And she does – for the time being – hooking her legs around his waist and opening herself up for him. He presses a hand to her cunt, curling two fingers against her, and he sighs at how wet she is.

His cock finds her easily, seeking her out like its always done, with eagerness and finality. Ever since she'd worn that slim blue dress on Day Zero, the day the districts finally became united, he had known that they would end up in bed together.

He'd had a haircut the day of the celebrations and she hadn't been able to keep her eyes off of him. He'd found his teeth at her navel and her hands in his hair a few hours later that night in his bed, Peeta fast asleep the house across.

Katniss rocks against him once he's fully inside her, her long loose curls swinging softly around her face. She smells like spring, all dew and new life, and he knows he should let her go but he can't, because she feels so damn good.

They might be poisonous to each other in large amounts, but a small dose every now and then is a powerful drug, one that keeps them coming back for more.

Haymitch slides his hands up her thighs and grips her hips, his own snapping into hers with a vengeance. There is no 'slowly, softly' approach with him – it is always all or nothing, and he thinks this is why she likes him. She is open with him, and he doesn't treat her like she's something to be shelved in case of damage.

Her breath is hot against his ear, damp too, and she mutters nonsense while she's riding up to that peak of bliss they're both so close to.

He presses close and runs a strong thumb up her spine, stroking the regular notches. She shivers, tensing around him.


He doesn't need anything else from her to make him come, her thickened voice is enough, and he knows she's already there, tasting that high as she stiffens, her legs gripping him tight.

Haymitch bites her shoulder as he pulls out from her, fisting himself as he comes against the edge of the table, a scant inch or two from Katniss' perfect pink pussy. He can still feel her heat, her wetness, but the talk of children's scared him off a bit from his usual practise of coming apart inside of her.

He sees her disappointed frown. He knows she likes the feel of his cum.

She doesn't bother asking him why. He tells her anyway.

"Have kids with him," he murmurs breathlessly. "Don't drag me into all of this."

Katniss pushes away his hand, taking his cock in her grasp once more as she strokes all she can from him. He shudders as the last drop leaves him, before he can feel himself getting hard again, with that tight coil of desire only for her burning low in his gut.

She pulls him close with her legs. He tangles both hands in her long dark hair.

"I'm going to have a proper life with him," Katniss tells Haymitch. "But I want you there, too."

"You're asking to keep what we have, aren't you?" He asks.

Her eyes tell him yes.

"I've told you before," Haymitch near-growls, pulling her up off of the table and back onto his cock before pushing her against the unforgiving wall, "you won't get rid of me as easily as you think."

Katniss throws her head back and gasps as he reaches some deep spot inside of her that has her eyes glazing over and her fingertips digging into his broad shoulders.

"Good," she hisses, pulling him back and down into those deep, deep waters. "Because I don't plan on living without either of you."

Author's note: My OTP may be Peeta/Katniss, but I can't deny my love of Haymitch/Katniss lemons (;