The usual disclaimer applies; I'm not Suzanne Collins, so I don't own the characters.

This is a one-shot of Effie and Haymitch.


It was the 70th Hunger Games. Haymitch along with Chaff had just left a bar with Chaff's only remaining arm slung over his shoulder in an attempt to support himself.

Haymitch was huffing as he trekked his way back to the Training Centre, intent on leaving the extremely inebriated Chaff to the mercy of his Escort.

Both of their tributes were dead; mercilessly slaughtered at the blood bath.

Stupid kids, Haymitch thought angrily. Was it so difficult to follow instructions? Leave the Cornucopia, find water. What did they do? They ran straight to the Cornucopia, to their deaths.

After depositing Chaff and making quick of his escape before the Escort for Eleven could chew his ear off, Haymitch staggered through the door of the penthouse.

He glanced at the huge clock above the television. 1 am and not drunk enough. He wouldn't be able to sleep, given how pathetically little alcohol was in his bloodstream.

He yanked open the cupboard in the kitchen where he stashed his liquor and grabbed a bottle of his favourite whiskey. Settling down on the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table; he made himself comfortable and began drinking.

As the hour pass & his vision began to blur, Haymitch decided to move to his bedroom. At least if he passed out, he would be near comatose on his own bed instead of sprawled on the sofa. He wouldn't hear the end of it from Effie.

"Fuck!" he involuntarily let out as he collided into a piece of furniture, he wasn't even sure which. The silence around the penthouse magnified the crashing sound of the vase as it landed on the floor shattering into a million pieces.

Even in his drunken haze, he realized that his toe was bleeding badly; a shard of broken vase making a nice slice in his flesh.

"What is going on? HAYMITCH!" Effie shouted from her door way.

Oh great, the princess has woken up, Haymitch thought as he gritted his teeth in pain.

He felt Effie's small hands guiding him back towards the couch.

"I'm going to call the medic for you. Stay here."

"Does it look like I can go anywhere, Princess?" he said through gritted teeth.

She replied by kicking his right shin, the same leg in which his toe is currently bleeding all over the carpet.

He hissed violently in pain, his voice muttering choice expletives about a certain Escort's sanity and upbringing. She smirked triumphantly and walked away.

The medic took some time to remove all the ceramic shards from his toe, a hard task made thankless by Haymitch's constant swills of his half-empty bottle and loud exclamations of threats towards the unfortunate medic's physical safety. As the medic dressed his injured toe in a sterile pad, wrapped it in a crepe bandage and left, Haymitch saw an Avox cleaning the mess he made.

"Can't you walk through the penthouse quietly, Haymitch? I was sleeping."

"No." he replied testily as he struggled to stand up and make his way once again to his room.

He heard Effie sigh and move next to him. He placed his hand on her shoulder; she acting as a crutch as he slowly limped to his room. As they reach his door, he stopped in his track and turned to her.

"I'm alright, I can walk from here. Best if you go back to bed, don't want to-"he stopped mid-sentence, staring at her face. His eyes widened in surprised, his mouth hanging open.

"What?" Effie asked, irritated at having her sleep interrupted in the middle of the night.

"You're Effie Trinket," he noted. The cloudy haze in his eyes clearing as he focuses his gaze on her.

"Well, of course I am. Who were you expecting? The First Lady?" she replied, annoyed.

"But... Holy shit," he breathed out softly, still staring at her. This is the real Effie Trinket? Haymitch wondered to himself. Her eyes were the clearest soft shade of sky-blue and he couldn't tear his gaze away from them. I can drown in her eyes.

He realised that he was making her uncomfortable. He was certain that she grew more self-conscious standing in his door way. But he was too enthralled by this version of Effie that was standing in front of him. Effie without her make-up, without the Capitol clothing and her wig; without her entire fa├žade, so to speak.

The hand that was still resting on her shoulder moved to touch her soft, blonde curls. He let her hair run between his fingers.

With his other hand, he trailed his finger over her cheek, feeling her skin without the powder caking it up.

"So soft," he murmured to himself.

His eyes followed the movement of his finger as it trailed over her cheek, down her nose and his thumb grazed over her pale luscious lips. He could feel her warm breath as she exhaled and his heart quickened. What would it be like to kiss those lips, he wondered.

He gazed at her from head to toe before snapping back to her blue eyes, horrified at his own thought. She was looking at him, flushed with embarrassment.

"Holy mercy, you're beautiful," he blurted out before he could stop himself.

"You're drunk."

"That might be so." he said with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders, his hands falling uselessly to his side, his head spinning.

She moved to leave his room and instinctively his hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, yanking her to him. He felt her heart rate increases, her breath becoming erratic.

"Where are you going? Running off to put those ridiculous make-up on?" he murmured, growing increasingly uncomfortable by how affected he was at the mere sight of Effie Trinket. Effie Trinket without make-up, he reminded himself. Teasing her is good; teasing her is normal and normal... Normal meant he wouldn't do something foolish like kiss her.

She was looking at him again with those pretty blue eyes and he was lost. Irrevocably and undeniably lost. He gave in, he kissed her. He covered her mouth with his in a soft kiss. His eyes flew open in surprise as he felt her responding to him. He broke off the kiss and gaze at her before once again, his lips were upon hers, kissing her hungrily.

As her hand tangled itself in his hair, his hands moved to circle her waist, pulling her closer to him. She deepened the kiss as their bodies pressed close against each other.

His lips trailed down the side of her neck and she unconsciously tilted her head to give him better access. She let out a throaty moan as he suckled between the hollow of her throat.

Her hand moved to his chest, fumbling with the buttons on his shirt. He chuckled when she growled in frustration having apparently forgotten to first take off his tie.

"Too many clothes, Haymitch," she said.

"For the first time, Princess, I think we have come to a mutual agreement," he smirked.

He dragged her to his bed, kicking strewn empty bottles of liquor as he walks past. He hissed once in pain when his injured toe made contact with a bottle. He avoided using that leg to kick things from that moment on.

His lips never once left hers as they made their way to his bed. Their clothes were strewn and thrown haphazardly around the room. She laid on her back as he towered over her. His steely grey eyes locked on her twinkling blue ones.

"You want this?" he asked, his hand brushing a lock of her blonde curl away from her face.

"Yes. Yes," trailing her hands up his arms, towards his shoulder before circling his neck. She pulled him down to her, kissing him. That was all the confirmation he needed before his body covered hers and they lost themselves to each other.

He rolled off her, panting with beats of sweat running down his back. He turned his head to her, he had to tell her once more, make her believe him.

"Wasn't drunk enough, you know. You are beautiful. The make-up... Nah, you look better without it."


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& to my beta, thanks for your help :)