Author's Notes: So I finished reading the Hunger Games series and I absolutely loved it. I normally don't write lemony stories because I'm not really good at them, but this was in my head so I gave it a shot. This is a short Katniss x Haymitch Oneshot after Peeta-mutt tried to strangle Katniss in Haymitch's POV. I haven't written any fiction in a long while so it took a little extra effort to get in the groove of things. Let me know what you think. :D Sorry if I disappoint. :/
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. Suzanne Collins is the author of the Hunger Games Series.
~ Calming the Beast In Haymitch ~
I sat at Katniss' bedside, holding my head up uncomfortably with my fist. She'd laid there, unconscious, unable to break away from the distorted visions that haunted her dreams: the gritted teeth, the clenched fists, the angry and pained expressions on her face were telltale.
No doubt she'd have woken up if it wasn't for the steady stream of morphling flowing abundantly into her vein, sending her into a prison of oblivion. I took pity on her, yet admired her for her unwavering strength and determination.
The nightmares, the memories of my experiences at the Games that consumed both my conscious and unconscious being, those wonderful "dreams" that make any shut eye a complete and indescribably horror irrevocably ruined me. Add that to the long list of things that made my life unbearable. But I was forced to live, forced to suffer while I partook in the manslaughter of District Twelve's kids year after year in Snow's malicious Hunger Games.
But Katniss, she's a fighter. Never had she tried to escape her fate, always wanting to protect the people she loved and cared for. It was stupid, sheer, utter lunacy to endure torment after torment to keep those you love alive, to go against the very power that caused you to live the way you do, but it was admirable. My beloved liquor was my escape from reality. But for Katniss, nothing. She couldn't even drink without retching abominably short after. It was funny, I admit. But she still had no way to escape, and neither did she seek out one. For a girl who's been though a Games, a Quarter Quell Games, and now's a puppet in a war, the symbol of rebellion, the glimmer of hope for the whole of Panem, it was remarkable that she managed to keep her sanity, yet alone stay alive.
I laughed at the thought. That was my advice to her and the bread boy at the 74th Games. How ironic.
I stood by nervously, watching this chick get charred and seared, cut and flayed open, fall in love (even though she's a little too dense to figure that out) and resist mental collapse as she watched friends and foes alike drop dead around her, murdered by the Capitol.
Tired of my fist grinding into the hollow of my cheek, I laid my heavy head down on the mattress, by Katniss' side.
It was funny how well we knew each other. We didn't have to speak to know one another's thoughts. Who knew that we could be so radically different yet so incredibly alike? I still loathed her though, and I'm sure she's not too fond of me either.
The soft hum of the monitor that told me she was still alive and her slow rhythmic breaths began to lull me into unconsciousness. It's the first rest I've truly had in a few days. The stress of the war effort and trying to keep Katniss placid enough to be the Mockingjay without eliciting rage and impatience from Coin and the rest of the war's puppeteers have seriously taken its toll. I feel guilty about drinking my way into oblivion (here in Thirteen, liquor may be hard to get, but it's not impossible) so I've tried to stay sober, at least for Katniss' sake.
Katniss grunted and turned on her side. Her hands reached out for something…but what? A knife? Her bow an arrow? Eventually they found my hand and coaxed them gently into her grasp, nestling it close to her breast. I sighed exasperatedly, but let her hold my hand. I began to slip back into sleep when she started shrieking in a panicked frenzy. "Peeta! No! They can't take you too! I-I won't let them!"
The beeping on her monitor accelerated and her chest rose and fell, rose and fell, her breathing turning to gasps for air. Her hands squeezed my poor hand so tightly it cut off the circulation, and I wondered if I'd have to amputate it. I resisted the impulse to snatch my hand away from her.
Damn it, Katniss. I can't blame her though. I can't. The Girl on Fire…
Haha. Yeah, no kidding.
"Peeta…" she murmured, before softening the death grip on my hand.
Peeta. Ah yes, the bread boy.
The boy so hopelessly in love with her that he'd sacrifice himself for her happiness, even if his love was unrequited. He'd take his life for this girl, the fighter, who did it mainly just for the cameras, who didn't figure out that she was in love with him too. She'd felt trapped into kissing him, and at the prospect of being forced to marry him, to convey to Snow and the rest of the world how much she loved him. And yet she'd do anything to get him back.
No one had expected his attack yesterday afternoon. How could we know that he'd hated her so much? That he'd strangle her to death? That wasn't the Peeta I knew. As soon as I'd seen it, I'd known it was hijacking, one of the Capitol's new but highly damaging mind torture tricks. No amount of torture could stop Peeta from loving Katniss. But screwing with his memories, blurring the line between the real and unreal? You could bet on it.
I pitied him too. I genuinely cared for him, but not in the mushy way. True, Katniss was a survivor, but it was Peeta that kept her intact, kept her whole, kept her from shattering into a million irreparable pieces. He provided a sense of calm in her world plagued by chaos and turmoil. The Capitol was determined to snap Katniss in half, to break her will, to conquer even Peeta's love and use him as a lethal killing machine on her, to crush everything she ever loved or cared and bury it into the dirt, until she was empty, a corpse rotting from the inside out, like they did to me.
A medic came in to check on Katniss, the increasing heart rate a cause of alarm. A dead Mockingjay is no good for the Cause you know.
"She's fine." I mutter impatiently. "The nightmares."
The young medic nodded in recognition but still came up to her side and pressed the back of his palm on her forehead.
"She's breaking out in cold sweats," he informed me. "I'll increase her morphling dosage."
Wordlessly, he dunked a cloth into a cool bowl of water and wiped her face, then laid another across her forehead, then pressed the buttons on a screen and scanned his retina before upping the dose of the clear blue liquid flowing into her arm and relaxing the facial muscles that refused to allow her countenance to unfrown itself. Hmph. Katniss, a druggie. I managed to hold back a laugh.
"It's nice to know that our Mockingjay is well cared for," he said with a smile, darting his eyes in my direction.
As the boy left the room, I couldn't help but roll my eyes. I have no patience with this soppiness. Unwilling to be disturbed by anyone else, I made sure to tell him to bolt the door.
The vision of Peeta snarling like a vicious animal, and Katniss' complete and utter shock, while Plutarch and the others stood by, slightly bemused, irked me. Coin's sneer especially filled me with fury. I traced the bruises on Katniss' skin with my thumb and she winced in pain.
"Haymitch!" Katness said in a swift, reprimanding breath.
For a second there, I thought she was awake, aware of my presence, but she was out of it, stuck in the deep recesses of her mind. She probably does know I'm here, subconsciously. She swallowed and sighed, pulling my hand closer to her chest.
Huh. So she immediately associates me with pain. Given our long history, it's not really a surprise.
Time for a drink.
I reached down into my pocket to hear the familiar clink and downed the bitter white liquor in a couple of swigs. The good thing about Thirteen is that the buildings aren't all bugged. No one can catch me now.
Sweetheart here has my hand trapped under her cheek now, and I've got nowhere to go and nothing to do so I just stay with her. Ugh, why do I always have to babysit her?
When she's finally sleeping peacefully, Katniss doesn't look that annoying. And the idea that pain equals Haymitch in her mind just rubs me the wrong way.
I lay my head down, but the liquor got me all riled up and no there's little chance of me getting shut eye until its effect dulls.
Suddenly Katniss shifts her body from her side onto her back, her hand falling on my arm and her head moving onto the hand she had been cuddling. She bit her lip and sighed exasperatedly, sending a rush of blood to her lips, staining them a delicate berry red.
Then I got an idea. A perverse one, probably, but no one's looking and there's no way sweetheart is going to wake up. I'd be surprised if anything could rouse her, not with the steady stream of morphling surging through her system. She looked irresistibly innocent, in stark contrast to the worn out expressions of pain, confusion, abandonment, and rage that normally occupy her face in waking life. Plus, it really bugs me, that she still loathes me, even after everything we've been through.
Finally curiosity got the best of me and I leaned in slowly, pressing my lips gently to hers. Immediately the soft warm of her breath and her skin inundate me, intoxicating my senses. I planted another peck on her forehead and brushed back a stubborn lock from her eyes. And what do you know? A tentative smile escaped onto her lips. A smile. You don't see much of them on this chick.
I began to feel all ridiculously giddy inside, and smiled internally. Old Haymitch Abernathy was able to make Katniss Everdeen smile. What a feat. And it wasn't because of some wisecrack joke I'd made. Still wordless, though.
It must have been the alcohol, but to me, Katniss started to emit a warm golden glow. The kiss was enough, maybe too much, but I must have been in a drunken stupor because I craved more. I wanted to redeem myself and get her back for nearly scratching my eyes out after we'd rescued her from the Quarter Quell where she had blown the arena into bits. Smart girl. The carnal devil in the pit of my stomach began to emerge, laughing profusely as I tired to debate what I was about to do.
I gently removed my hand from the base of her head and propped it up on the pillow, careful not to touch the bruises or the collar around her neck. I swung my chair around the bed to her feet. She was still on her back, her knees slightly parted. The paper thin gown Thirteen had dressed her in was almost transparent. Talk about being minimalist. And beneath that gown, nothing but her glorious, stark naked body.
The beast in my stomach began to laugh delightedly as I peeked under her gown. Besides the few healing scars she'd acquired since the Quarter Quell, her creamy porcelain skin gave off a moonlit glow, soft and pristine. Her breasts sat in pretty little mounds and there it was, the soft triangular mound of flesh at the apex of her thighs.
I bit my tongue uncertainly, but the liquor whisked away any of my guilt and along with it much of my rational thoughts. Eventually I submitted to my lascivious little imp. I traced my fingers along Katniss' thigh and she shuddered under my touch. Hey, she deserves to feel pleasure at some point. And I've got a feeling that the prospects of that happening anytime soon in her dismal sphere of reality are pretty nil. I'd be doing her (and myself) a favor anyway.
I took her knees in my palms and spread her legs apart, revealing in full her treasures. My fingers lightly stroked the smooth creamy white flesh and down and along her inner thighs.
She deserves this, I try to remind myself.
I straddle the small bedframe and spread her lips to gaze at the perfect magenta gem. I brush my fingers across it, and eagerly I leaned my head in and furtively flicked my tongue over the little ball of nerves, and flitted my eyes over to Katniss to make sure she hadn't gotten up. Phew. How awkward that would be.
She's still smiling though.
Unthinkingly, I ran the tip of my tongue along her tiny slit and all throughout the inside. I press my tongue on her clit, flicking it slowly at first then rapidly and alternating between the two, drawing playful circles on and around it and sucking on it. Her sweet juices start to flow and I press my nose in rubbing it all about, ensnared by her luscious scent. Her juice hot, sweet and plentiful, I lap vigorously, trying to satisfy the appetite of the sex demon inside me. She tastes so good! I play with her, teasing different parts of her clit, varying slow and deliberate strokes and fast ones, and the degree of pressure, and loving every delicious minute of it. When my ears pick up a subtle, yearning whimper, chills run up my spine; I look up at her, to find her biting her lip and clenching the clean white thin cotton bed sheets in her fists. She arches her back ever so slightly, eliciting a smirk from both me and my demon.
So she likes it.
A new flame began to rise up inside of me as grabbed her bare, round ass cheeks and delved my face in between her thighs, taking in her taste, her smell, her feel with greater fervor and coating my face in her sweet nectar. I thrust my tongue inside her, and fell the pressure of her walls, so I pull it out and thrust it in again and again until I hear a soft moan and return to flicking my tongue across her clit. I insert my finger in her, feeling the tight walls clamp down on my finger. This is going to be fun. As I lick her, the salty sweetness of her juices counteracting the bitterness of the liquor, her bead growing more and more fiery and inflamed, I thrust my finger in, rubbing her slick insides and then continue to drive it in, at first slowly and then rapidly with more force. With my free hand, I caress her thighs, her soft belly curling at my touch and her tender, swollen breasts. A tickle turned into a wild sensation, all because of moi.
Katniss' breathing becomes more labored, in subconscious anticipation for my knowing touch. She emits a low feline growl, and cries out softly, spreading her legs wider, beckoning me to devour her, as her hands clutch the sheets desperately. As I plunge down, and get a good rhythm going, her legs begin to shake uncontrollably, her muscles twitching sporadically, begging for release. I know she's about to climax so I just continue on, burying myself deeper inside her and then it came, the sweet milky stuff that gave my unkempt, grizzly beard a nice sheen. This probably is the only opportunity I'll ever have, so lick her clean, savoring every last drop.
Katniss' chest is heaving now, rising and falling as her heart rate begins to descend and return to normal. Good, because I don't want any more medical personnel coming to check on her, at least while I'm here. Her muscles still twitch but she releases deep breaths of relief. I smirk and plant one last kiss on her beautiful sensitive clit, send another round of shudders through her.
I resist the temptation to enter inside her, to please her in every way I can think of, deciding it would be too selfish. I'll leave the rest to Peeta. He could handle that, couldn't he? Assuming that he regains any semblance of the love and devotion he once had for Katniss before Snow turned him into the enemy, but something tells me that he'll never be the same.
Caressing her skin, I slide her legs to a close and smoothed her gown down. A pretty good cleanup on my part, I'd say. I smirk proudly at my work. Circling back my chair around, I come beside her and hold her now relaxed hand in mine.
Unexpectedly, the soft smile returns to her face and she begins to hum in her sleep. I brush her cheek, now flushed a rose red color, with my fingertips and press my lips onto her forehead again. She sighs contentedly as she whispers something.
"Peeta…" she had said.
The chuckle comes out unexpectedly. Oh, she'll never know. But she won't forget either.
I rest my head on her mattress, my hand firmly holding hers and finally the drowsiness of the alcohol kicks in and I doze off, this time without waking from nightmares.
It's true. She's got no idea what effect she can have on people.