Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

There was a long list of things Haymitch hated about his time spent in the training center every year. The tributes, who he learned to avoid at all costs. The stupid outfits he was forced into. The noise of the Capitol whenever he wanted a bit of fresh air.

The strangely thin walls in the District 12 penthouse, however, remained at the top of his list. He could always hear Effie's heels clicking around her room, or her voice chattering on the phone with her sister, or her crying when the tributes inevitably died. Her loud noises never paired well with his hangovers.

Normally the sounds would at least stop in the night. Haymitch would have a few hours of peace, draining a bottle of whatever was nearest him in silence. He didn't need to think, or be told to be polite, or act even ruder just to spite the critique on his character. There was no need for frilly shirts and rigid collars. Just Haymitch, boxers, bottle, and the lights of the city coming in through the window.

Which was why Haymitch was so surprised when he heard giggling outside of his door. The sound was quiet, someone—Effie, obviously, as their tributes had been long dead in the arena—trying to sneak in without waking Haymitch. It was strange, the steps of her bare feet padding against the floor rather than the sound of her heels. Odder still was the second set of footsteps that accompanied her.

He heard her door open, close, and then was mortified by the wet noises of sloppy kisses.

Haymitch had known that Effie was popular among the men in the Capitol. He had seen how they had fawned over her at the countless parties she had dragged him along to. She was never without a glass in her hand or a partner to dance with. Having seen how she dressed at such events, with short fluffy skirts and high stockings, he couldn't blame the men for turning into animals around her. For years Haymitch had been throwing jabs in her direction, insults that had started as a way to force her to keep her distance, but had eventually become an easy habit. Even so, he still couldn't deny how attractive she was.

The thoughts of her stockings (he believed he had seen her leave in a deep purple pair) were not helping his body maintain normalcy when paired with the breathy moans now coming from the room next door. He took a large swig from his bottle, willing some solution to appear. There was an escape to the shower, which might drown out the noises. Or he could bother Chaff, but Effie would no doubt hear him leaving.

"We need to be qui—Fuck. Yes. Just like that."

His mind betrayed him immediately, picturing the compromising position Effie might be in. Her back pressed against the door, her lover's lips clinging to her neck while his hand fiddled under her skirt. Haymitch took another drink before sliding himself out of his boxers, closing his eyes to better imagine.

It was Effie's moans, high and breathy, that were coming out the strongest. The man must have been keeping his mouth busy. Haymitch pictured him leaving a trail of little red marks as he descended down Effie's chest. No memory lingered of what the top of Effie's outfit had looked like, so Haymitch didn't bother, picturing her already defrocked, breasts visible through a mesh bra that matched the stockings. Even though it was just a guess, the idea of Effie matching every layer of her undergarments seemed plausible. She was always so perfect, matching wig to eyeshadow to nails.

Nails. He gave a small shiver, picturing her fingers running down the man's back. Somewhere in the story he must have lost his shirt as well, replaced with tan skin, a soft physique, and a prominent vein on his forearm as he played with Effie over her underwear.

Haymitch heard the door give a wiggle, and imagined it to be a side effect of Effie's hips rocking against the man's hand, eager for him to finally give in and touch her properly. His own cock was becoming increasingly difficult to resist touching, hard and leaking with desire. It was the final line, the one he knew he shouldn't cross.

"Fuck. More."

It was the second word that made him finally unable to resist, his hand coming up to gently stroke over his dick. Her voice had been so simple, yet so demanding. It was a tone he knew all too well. She often had similarly short orders for him. Haymitch, bathe or Change, now. He knew that the next time she talked to him in such a way he would end up with a rather uncomfortable problem.

That was an issue for another day, however. Haymitch was more concerned with imagining Effie's lover giving in to her request, finally dipping his fingers beneath her underwear. He imagined how wet her pussy must have been. How long had they been teasing each other before finally making their way up to her room? Long enough for the fabric to be soaked through, he imagined. Haymitch rolled his thumb over the top of his cock, letting the precum slide over his skin, wishing he could feel her arousal instead.

There was a soft thuddy squeak that must have been somebody hitting the mattress. He wondered which he would prefer, Effie with her legs spread, writhing under a man, or her taking the high ground, bouncing on the man's ready cock. He liked the idea of her getting tossed around for once, finally giving up to control to someone else, but in the end he struggled to invent a man that would have the capabilities to convince Effie to let someone else lead.

"You're so fucking hot," came a low voice. Haymitch could understand why she had picked the man. Even the sound of him was enticing.

He could imagine Effie smirking, enjoying the heated compliment as she lowered herself onto the man's cock. The bed was thankfully loud, giving Haymitch a pace to match with his strokes. It was difficult to keep himself from finishing right away when he pictured the bounce of Effie's breasts, and the mystery man whose eyes were undoubtedly glued to them. Effie gave a breathy squeak, and Haymitch imagined the man's fingers having found their way back to her clit, increasing her pleasure as she rode him.

Haymitch was having trouble keeping his own noises from escaping, having to bite down on his free hand in the hopes that he wouldn't be heard. Luckily for him, Effie and her partner seemed to have given up any attempt to be silent. The bed was loud enough, and Effie's breathy gasps seemed to rise with each presumed thrust.

He could feel his orgasm getting closer with each salacious noise. Somehow he thought he could hear just how wet her cunt was, despite how abrasive the other sounds coming from her room seemed to be. Haymitch couldn't help but wonder who would give in first, succumbing to pleasure. Effie was certainly close, her gasps getting erratic, but her partner, though less frequent in his groans, seemed to be thrusting at an impressive pace. And Haymitch? Well he was just happy to have made it as long as he had without blowing his cover.

"Fuck, fuck," Effie said, her voice the tone of a whisper despite it being at a normal volume, "Need to come so bad." It was practically a whine. Haymitch wondered what the trick was to making her so desperate.

"Come for me," the man urged.

Before he could even listen to Effie's response, cum started to pour from his cock, splattering upward and onto his chest. The release surged through him, sending a warm tingling through his core, his heart beating fast as he listened to Effie ride out her own orgasm with repeating yes, yes, yes's. She seemed to go on forever, her cries eventually joined by the fluttery groan of her partner's climax.

Haymitch struggled to catch his breath, hoping they couldn't hear him fumble with bottle before taking a long drink. He tried to stop listening as their sheets ruffled, the couple turning cozy in their post coital bliss.

His drawers were all closed, making it difficult to find some way to wipe himself off without making his presence known. He was just about to settle on using his boxers and dealing with them in the morning, when he heard the man whisper.

"Shall I get something to clean you up, or would you prefer me to lick it off of you?"

Haymitch couldn't help but picture the man's finger slowly gliding over Effie's naked body, tracing in and out of a trail of his cum.

"If you start licking, I don't think I'll be able to resist forcing you into a second round."

When he heard the man start kissing down Effie's skin, Haymitch knew that he too would be unable to resist.

Chapter Text

Effie hated Snow's end of victory tour party. Wrangling Haymitch into Capitol approved outfits, having to hear people offer condolences for tributes whose names they couldn't remember, playing nice with potential sponsors who would no doubt forget about District 12 as soon as she walked away from them.

It was all worth it, however, for the after parties. While Snow's affair was stuffy, with bland canapes and zero music, the club owners in the Capitol spared no expense, filling their venues with booze, thumping bass, and more people than Effie knew lived in the city. Effie suspected that this was the only reason Haymitch came out to the Capitol after the victory tour each year.

Despite their near constant bickering, there seemed to be an unspoken truce when they would step foot out of Snow's mansion. They would race back to the training center, changing out of formal wear for outfits that were far more salacious, before riding together to whatever party Effie had picked for them that year. The crowds were typically so large that once they stepped foot into whatever swanky club they chose, they didn't have to run into each other again. Haymitch liked the arrangement because, despite being a victor, he wasn't particularly good at being invited to things. Effie just enjoyed putting all her drinks on his tab.

Her skirt was ruffly enough that it spewed over the middle seat of the car, partially onto Haymitch's thigh. This was typical for her outfits, but that didn't mean he didn't spend half their drive complaining about it. Effie just stared in her compact, touching up makeup that she had just done, while he told her she was a nuisance and car horns blared outside.

"—and clearly the whole clown makeup thing ain't working, otherwise you'd have an actual boyfriend by now."

She scrunched her nose, compact closing with a decisive click.

"A boyfriend? What am I, sixteen?"

"What, people in the Capitol don't date?"

"In our twenties? When we finally have some semblance of independence from our families? When everywhere we look there's new people to fall in love with? No, we don't date," she answered, "Why? Is everyone in Twelve pairing up? Can't get a girlfriend back home and taking it out on me?"

She regretted it as soon as she said it, but she couldn't take it back. That wasn't how they worked. There were no apologies, no reason to forgive. Barbs that crossed the line just sat there, like buried landmines. They might kill you then and there, snapping into an argument that left you red in the face, or they might linger, you holding your breath, waiting to see if you could stand your ground long enough to move past it.

"Nobody's got girlfriends back in Twelve. We're in our twenties. They've just got wives." As Haymitch said it, Effie let out a breath, relieved that he didn't start yelling. The back of a car wasn't the place to be shouting at each other. Even still, she could hear how his voice had changed, coming out dark, his head leaning against the window, fogging up the glass as he spoke. "Kids too. Gotta make the next crop for the Hunger Games."

That year, while their tributes said their goodbyes to their families, Mayor Allister had introduced them to his new deputy, a man by the name of Undersee. All seemed normal until the deputy mayor pointed out his wife making her way through the crowd towards them. She was practically waddling, one hand on her hip, the other on her very pregnant stomach. Effie had nearly gasped when she saw the face of Maysilee Donner. Haymitch whispering Merrilee had helped her to compose herself, and better yet was him making some excuse to leave towards the train before the woman had made it up the steps of the Justice Building.

Effie placed her hand carefully, not on Haymitch's thigh, but on her skirt that just happened to rest there.

"Well it's a good thing you're one of us tonight. No wife to get home to, just bottles and bottles of alcohol and hundreds of dancing bodies."

He gave a grunt of agreement, letting them sit in silence (if one wasn't counting the noise from outside) for the remainder of the drive.

Prosie and Vitus met Effie outside the entrance to club, and as soon as they stepped in Haymitch was able to spot Chaff, his head towering over the rest of the crowd. There were no goodbyes necessary as he peeled off in his friend's direction, while Effie and company made their way to the bar for a round of shots.

This year Effie had managed to get them into a party hosted by Caesar Flickerman. The invite was meant to feel exclusive, and yet somehow the club seemed more packed than ever. There were no windows, just lights glowing cerulean all around, matching the color his wig had been that year. A large amoeba shaped bar took up the center of the room, the rest all morphing into a dance floor. There was no escaping the upbeat energy, the pull of bodies. It was just what Effie needed.

All three of her group seemed to be on the hunt that night. Even as they danced, they didn't pay each other much attention, eyes always scanning for some beautiful partner to glue themselves to for the night. What Effie hadn't anticipated, however, was that going to an event like this meant an overwhelming amount of familiar faces. She had tried to get them into a more illustrious affair, afraid she was running out of options in her usual scene, but somehow this was worse. There would be a nice set of shoulders, but when the man would turn around she'd realize they belonged to a Gamemaker. A beautiful head of hair would sit on the head of District 7's stylist. It wouldn't have been a problem—nothing was considered an HR violation during the after parties—if she didn't hate everyone she worked with.

They were at least an hour into the shindig when Effie found herself alone in the crowd, Prosie and Vitus both having both abandoned her after finding someone to entertain them for the night. She made an attempt to still enjoy the night, closing her eyes, trying to dance to the music and not think about how sweaty everyone around her was. It didn't work. There were hundreds and hundreds of people, and she was alone.

She made it back to the bar, perching herself on one of the stools. Almost all of them were empty, no one lingering long enough to sit. Effie made herself comfortable, fluffing out her skirt so it lay perfectly. It was several minutes before the bartender was able to make it down to her, so she figured she'd make the most of his presence, ordering multiple shots, a cocktail, and a hard seltzer. If she was going to start having a good time, she was going to need all the help she could get.

There had to be a strategy to having fun, some trick to make herself let loose and not care who she ended up dancing with or if they had anything to do with her tributes' demise that year.

She gave a shiver, downing one of the shots before starting to sip on her cocktail. The bartenders, though unable to keep up with their many patrons, were at least pouring heavy.

The Games that year had not been the most pleasant. Effie and Haymitch both seemed to prefer the years when their kids were scrawny and wouldn't last. It made it easier, not having any duty to try to help them win, only making their last moments worth having. This year, however, one of them was on the older side, and not totally inept. Haymitch seemed to know him, some cousin of a cousin of someone that made it difficult for Haymitch to look him in the eye. He made it to the top ten, which meant Effie and Haymitch had to care until then. It meant when the new victor stopped at Twelve that year on the tour and addressed the crowd, she actually remembered their tribute's face, and said he made a strong opponent.

Effie had become good at shaking the Games off. She couldn't control them. Couldn't stop them. But on years like these, it was harder to pretend she wasn't culpable. If it weren't for Haymitch, she might ask for a way out.

Almost as soon as she had thought of him, he appeared at her side. He didn't seem to notice her, glancing around for a bartender before just leaning over the counter, swiping a half drank bottle from the well.

"That's theft," she remarked, lips still partially bent around the straw of the drink she was sipping on. It was almost gone by that point.

Haymitch turned to her, sweaty and grinning. "Pretty sure my tax dollars help fund these things. S'not really stealing then, now is it?"

"Not the after parties, just Snow's events."

"But my tax dollars go to pay Caesar Flickerman, and then he pays for this. So it's essentially my money."

"And you're paid by other peoples' taxes. You have very little grounds in this argument."

"So are you. All government employees here it seems," he replied, "Will you stop bothering me if I share?"

She looked back at her trove of drinks. The cocktail was mostly melted ice, and both shots appeared to be gone. She had no recollection of taking the second, but time seemed nonexistent in that windowless room.

When she nodded, she expected him to pour into one of her empty glasses, but instead he held up the bottle, grinning as he said "Open up." She rolled her eyes, but obeyed all the same, letting him tip the spout over her mouth for a moment. The sting of the liquor wasn't so rough after the amount she had already drank.

"Cheers," he added, pulling the bottle back and taking his own swig.

"…Are you having a good time?" she asked. She couldn't imagine he was, surrounded as they were by colleagues of the Games. If she had such a strong aversion to them, she couldn't imagine the disdain Haymitch might have.

"Not as good of a time as I'll be having later."

"How crass," she said, unable to hide her annoyance that even the ever depressed Haymitch Abernathy was having a better time than her, "How'd you manage to find someone who isn't a colleague?"

"I didn't. Apparently Sven keeps the horses," Haymitch answered, "He's hung like one too, judging by what I've been grinding against for the past hour. Hope you weren't planning on sleeping at the training center."

Technically Effie was meant to always stay in the penthouse when Haymitch was there. As an escort, she was supposed to keep an eye on him. During his winter stays, however, no one would notice if one or both of them didn't return at the end of a night.

"I don't see how that should matter," she replied, crossing her arms over her chest.

Haymitch grinned, leaning forward as he answered. "You want to hear 'unnnh, Unnnh, UNH, Yes Yes Yes, God Fuck, YES'?"

Effie felt a blush rising over her chest. Maybe she was too drunk, or too lonely, or too desperate, but even his fake noises were oddly enticing.

"It's not like you'd be doing it in the living room," she willed herself to say, forcing composure. Normally she wouldn't need to fight him on the matter, happy to stay outside of the training center and away from him, but she had no where else to go. That year she had the genius idea to get her apartment painted while she was being regulated to the penthouse, leaving her place uninhabitable.

"Thin walls between our rooms, Eff, or have you not noticed?" he replied, "All this time I thought you were putting on a show for me, and now come to find out you had no idea."

"You've been listening to me have sex!?" She pushed against Haymitch's shoulders, appalled by the idea. He had the audacity to laugh, which only infuriated her further.

"Hard not to, with how noisy you are," he said, his voice overly giddy, "Your men too. You really know how to pick 'em."

"You could have told me!"

"Didn't want to embarass you." He shrugged. Despite the fact that it seemed like the truth, it did little to quell Effie's anger. "And then it got frequent enough that I assumed you knew and just didn't care. "

"You're a pig." Effie rose from her seat, grabbing her final remaining drink before starting to push her way through the crowd. She needed to leave—to get the idea of Haymitch out of her head—but to leave she'd have to have somewhere to go. Really what she wanted was to scream, and there was a part of her that wondered if the roar of the crowd would be loud enough to cover it up.

The sea of people had certainly grown, which hadn't seemed possible when they first arrived. She was now having to use her elbows to push past people, "Excuse me"s not working, and "Get the fuck out of my way"s only slightly more helpful.

"Effie?" came a familiar voice when Effie reached what felt like an impassable wall of people. She glanced to her right, seeing Plutarch Heavensbee, looking strange in his casual clothes. Even in the hot sun of District Twelve's summers, he had still always wore some smart getup, polished and well groomed. Now his hair had a gentle rustle too it, as if someone had been running their fingers through it. His shirt was half unbuttoned, sleeves pushed up, and she thought she noticed a hint of glitter on his skin.

"Plutarch! Hello," she smiled, "Good to see you."

"Likewise," he agreed, "Nice to see a face in the crowd that I don't have immense displeasure for."

"Oh, yes, I should have known that this being a Flickerman event would mean that everyone was awful," she agreed, "Well everyone except Sven, apparently."

"The new horse guy?" Plutarch asked. Effie didn't know why she had brought Sven up, or why she was surprised that Plutarch knew the man by name. Of course he would know everyone in the Games, down to those mucking stables.

"Yes. He's dancing with Haymitch tonight."

Plutarch rolled onto his tiptoes, peering through the crowd until he spotted their victor. "More than dancing, by the looks of it."

Effie covered her face, trying not to think about Haymitch with his tongue down some man's throat. She just wanted to be asleep, not able to think about her embarrassment, or Haymitch, or the alcohol making her wonder if Sven really was as endowed as Haymitch had implied. She just needed a place to go.

"Plutarch?"

"Yes?"

"Can I stay at your house tonight? I'll have sex with you if you want me to, I don't mind, I just need somewhere to go—"

His hands came to rest on either of her shoulders as he gave a laugh. She wasn't sure if it was directed at her, or merely the absurdity of the situation. Effie had at least figured that she wouldn't be the first person to try to seduce their way into the Heavensbee household. Although, she also supposed that no one could realistically call what she was doing "seduction".

"I feel like I should be offended by the implication. I don't think anyone has ever said they 'don't mind' the idea of having sex with me."

"Right… Sorry. That's not what I meant, really," she replied, "Just a bad night."

"Mmm," he hummed, looking her over. If it wasn't Plutarch, she might think he was checking her out, perhaps mulling over her offer. With him, however, it seemed more like he was trying to figure out what was really going on in her head. He was noticing her blush, the wrinkles in her ruffles from sitting too long, some other evidence of her misfortune. "Feeling jealous are we?"

At first, the idea seemed absurd. Jealous? She couldn't imagine who she would have to be jealous of, until she realized the crowd was full of people that had exactly what she wanted. A partner to spend the night with, a body to grind against, someone to make them feel alive. Even Haymitch, as curmudgeon as he was, managed to find the one person in the room that would have no problems with his awful demeanor.

"I guess you could say that," Effie affirmed.

"Of which one?"

"Huh?"

"Haymitch, or the horsemen?"

Effie was the the one to laugh that time. What could she possibly be jealous of Sven for? She had no interest in animals; horses or Haymitch.

"I wasn't thinking of anyone specific," she replied, "Just generally… everyone. Everyone that has someone to dance with."

He gave a nod, and Effie wasn't sure if it was the cerulean lights hitting him, or if she really could see some puzzle he was working through in his eyes.

"You can dance with me then. Give everyone else something to be jealous of."

There was part of her that wanted to say no. While reasonably attractive, and with just the gravelly sort of voice that always made her melt, Plutarch was one of the people in that club that she was guaranteed to be brushing elbows with on a regular basis. She couldn't avoid him like she could some stylist from another District. Although, admittedly, she had just offered to have sex with him. For some reason, dancing in public seemed far more intimate than sleeping with someone.

"Whatever you want," she replied, taking a gulp of her drink before discarding it on a server's tray as they walked by.

"I'd be a fool not to want to dance with Effie Trinket," he replied, taking her hand. He lead her through the crowd to a bit of the dance floor that wasn't quite so packed. Effie pretended not to notice that they were also far closer to where Haymitch and Sven half kissed, half danced.

His hands made their way around her waist, his touch warm around her midriff. She closed her eyes, focusing on the music as she swayed, trying not to think too hard about how Plutarch was essentially her boss. It didn't seem to matter so much, the more she let her mind unwind, anxieties starting to dissipate with the melody building in her ears. Her hands raised to his chest, thumbs brushing over skin while the rest of her fingers skimmed the edges of his shirt. He wasn't a bad dancer, not stiff like some men. His hips gave their own little rolls against her that she found enticing.

They were positioned fairly close to a large pillar, one of the amps pumping out music positioned on it far above their heads. The proximity made the music feel almost tangible, like the vibrations were sending trembles through her skin, her veins, controlling every movement. It also meant that when Plutarch decided to talk, he had to lean in close, his lips hitting against her ear.

"Sven is rather pretty. I'd be jealous too." His voice sounded different than before. Lower, almost sweet, syrupy as it trailed through her eardrums.

"I haven't really seen him," she replied, trying to sound nonchalant, as if the booze, and music, and sound of Plutarch's voice hadn't combined into a pleasant feeling in her core.

He used hands on her waist to turn her until she was facing fully way from him, able to see a few rows back where Haymitch and Sven moved together. This seemed to be only part of his plan, as he was now able to press his front fully against her, her ass doing figure eights against him as she danced.

Sven was rather attractive, long blonde hair falling down his back. He was dressed plainly, in a brightly colored mesh shirt that pleasantly clung to his biceps. Tattoos formed a pattern that Effie couldn't quite make out from their distance, the ink flowing up and down the man's arm, trailing around his neck, up to his ear that his hair was pushed behind. More than anything though, he was tall, standing a good few inches over Haymitch, who wasn't known to be small of stature either.

"Mmm, not bad to look at," she acquiesced. Sven was, at the very least, a good distraction from the fact that she was letting herself lean back against Plutarch, feeling his chest hairs tickling against her neck.

"No, not at all," he agreed, "Makes me wonder then, why you're so keen not to go back with them. I'm sure they could have no objections to someone as lovely as yourself joining in their fun."

Effie blushed, her mind unable to turn away from the thought.

"Haymitch and I have plenty of objections to each other," she forced herself to say, trying to pretend that her eyes weren't focusing in on where Sven's fingertips were teasing their way just under the hem of Haymitch's shirt that she had picked out for him.

"Well that's part of the fun." Plutarch's hand had moved to her leg, trailing over her thigh, gliding over that small sliver of bare skin between stocking and skirt. It was strangely tantalizing, and she hoped he couldn't feel the goose bumps that tingled their way to the top of her skin. "The two of you, always bickering, always trying to out do each other. Sounds like my idea of a good time."

She knew she should tell him that he was crossing some line with his implications. It was inappropriate, and an idea that she didn't want sticking in her head. Instead though, she just felt herself leaning further back against Plutarch, making some noise of agreement or curiosity that was swallowed by the noise of the music.

Plutarch seemed to take that as enough willingness to continue, his hand moving upwards, fully under her skirt.

"I can imagine it so vividly, can't you?" he said his voice sweet in her ear, "I think Sven would get the two of you on your knees, a fist in each of your hair. You'd have to take turns having your pretty mouths on his cock, which I'm sure neither of you would be particularly upset about, but that competitive spirit between you, well, it would be certainly enjoyable for Sven."

Effie closed her eyes, sinking into the scene. It was too easy to picture them, already half dressed before the stranger. She knew Haymitch's body intimately from years of being forced to care for him. The softness of his chest, his smooth pinkness of his scar. Effie was reliant on Haymitch's description for Sven's cock, standing taut for them. As she listened to Plutarch continue his story, picturing what Haymitch's lips might look like getting fucked, she felt Plutarch's hand sneak further up her skirt, sliding until it brushed against her underwear.

For a moment, his hand just rested there, waiting for her to push him away. She could feel the need tightening around her core, imagination, touch, and drunkenness swirling together dangerously. She chanced a look at the other party goers around her. Despite the salaciousness of Plutarch's ambitions, no one seemed to pay them any attention. They were all absorbed in their own sweet love affairs. The way that they were positioned, with the layers of her skirt, she determined that they appeared no different than any other couple dancing too close.

Effie looked up at Plutarch as she moved her hips with the music once again, seeing him smile as her dance brought his fingers against her clit.

"I wonder which one of you would be better at it," he continued, his voice seemingly unchanged despite his actions, "Haymitch might have the gusto, but I imagine you have more finesse."

"N-no. Not with cock sucking at least," she said, finding it difficult to speak with his fingers rubbing over her clit, "Can't stay polished with a gag reflex. I—fuck—I've found most men don't mind that though. Making someone choke on it is a stroke to their ego as well as their dick."

"Oh?" His response was short, but Effie could feel him starting to harden against her ass.

"Mmhm. Wet noises. Hand movements. This is what works for me."

Plutarch chuckled, the noise low, lustful in Effie's ear. "Somehow you've seemed to perfect messiness."

His hand switched, swirling counter clockwise over her in a way that made her bite her lip to keep from moaning. Plutarch seemed to have no problems keeping casual, unnoticed by the crowd around them, but Effie was having an increasingly hard time not drawing attention to herself with little squeals of pleasure.

"I don't think Sven would let the two of you get him off just from your mouths though. How could he resist fucking you?"

Plutarch went on, setting the scene for Effie. He imagined that, as Sven originally approached Haymitch, it would be rather rude of him not to give Haymitch his cock first. For a brief moment, she found it rather silly for Plutarch to be so concerned with politeness even in such a lecherous fantasy, but his finger slipping beneath her underwear distracted her from such critique.

He pictured Haymitch bent over the kitchen table in the training center, Sven at his back, cock slowly sliding in and out of Haymitch's ass. Effie, he explained, would have been laid out on the surface of the table, legs spread wide, perfectly positioned so that Haymitch's tongue could circle her folds. Plutarch's finger moved in time with his description, giving further clarity on just how Haymitch's mouth would feel, sucking against her clit, dipping into her entrance. She had to turn her head, burying it against Plutarch's neck to keep her moans muffled. This only served as further encouragement, his touch getting more daring, letting his middle finger slip into her while his thumb continued to circle her clit.

In her current state, coming undone by Plutarch Heavensbee in the middle of a crowd of her colleagues, her mind did not bother to disagree with his descriptions. She let the Haymitch of her mind be apt with his tongue, did not question the pleasant friction that his scruff might give between her thighs. There was no question how his moans from being fucked might reverberate through her body.

"Who do you think would come first, Effie?" Plutarch breathed, clearly noticing how close she was to finishing, "I'm sure as Sven got close he would start thrusting harder, harder, faster, desperate for any kind of release. This, of course, only makes Haymitch more eager to be please, to be used. His ass filled, his cock gliding against the table, his lips on your pussy. He'd certainly be the most stimulated. But you? You have the best view to watch it all unfold, see how needy they both were, feel every thrust of Sven reach you in Haymitch's desperate breath."

Effie couldn't help but wonder if her whine was too high pitched to be fully covered by Plutarch's skin and the thump of the bass. Despite that, she couldn't bring herself to want to stop. She was too entranced by touch, by fantasy, by Plutarch's deep voice and the smell of his aftershave on his neck.

"Fuck, Hay—"

She was rewarded for her choked back moan with Plutarch's fingers moving quicker against her.

"Haymitch, is it? You think you'd like to feel every noise he made against your clit as he orgasmed, making a mess over the table? Or are you just eager to have Sven be done with him? Haymitch, exhausted and spent, could move to sit while you got pulled forward, though Haymitch's mess, to finally have your pussy filled with Sven's big cock. Is that what you want?"

She couldn't manage words, but her nods against Plutarch's chest were affirmation enough. He slid a second finger into of her, detailing how it would feel to finally have someone inside of her after waiting so long. Effie's imagination couldn't help but add to his story, allowing the once discarded Haymitch to sit up from his chair, too entranced to keep his lips off Effie for long. She imagined him sucking on her breasts, teeth nipping at her skin. In her mind, once her skin was sufficiently red, nipples raised, he would trail upwards, over her neck, until finally he was able to kiss her properly, the taste of her cunt still on his swollen lips.

"F—I'm coming. Oh fuck…"

Plutarch's free hand gripped her harder around the waist, holding her steady as her orgasm began taking over, knees going weak. She wasn't sure which lights were flashing in the club, and which were merely the little post climax fireworks, dancing around and making her dizzy. Her breath came out in little gasps against Plutarch, his fingers beginning to slow as the immediate effects of her orgasm began to diminish.

"I… Oh god…" Effie's blush was immediate as the reality of what happened started to settle in. The roar of the music, the lights, it was no longer ambiance in her mind. She blinked, once, then again, willing herself to wake up from a strange dream, rather than be faced with the absurd reality that she had just been fingered by Plutarch Heavensbee until she came in public.

"Shhh, it's alright, no need to feel ashamed," he said, his voice far gentler than the huskier tone it had taken earlier, "You performed marvelously."

He slowly removed himself from inside her, his hand sliding against her skin just firmly enough to wipe away any residue from it before it was fully out from under her skirt. Effie wanted to face him, to apologize, or interrogate, or anything productive, but instead when she turned she just pressed her face back into his chest, unwilling to make eye contact. Plutarch's arms came around her, some strange form of a hug.

"Shall I take you back to my place now?"

Effie took a deep breath, hoping to behave as the independent, sexy woman that she was meant to be. "I can lend you a hand. Or a mouth. Or whatever you like when we get there."

Plutarch gave a laugh. "There's no need. This was exactly my idea of a good time. Anything more puts me in a far more vulnerable position than I'm comfortable with."

Had it been any other man, Effie might have taken offense, feeling it as a rejection. With Plutarch, however, it was easy to be convinced that his words were the truth. He was a puppeteer, and not even in fantasy would he give up a semblance of control.

"But you can still come back to mine," he added, "Guest bedrooms are very comfortable. Fully stocked kitchen. Anything you could need, so long as you don't need to get dicked down by anyone."

"No. I mean… yes. No, I don't need to 'get dicked down'. Yes, I would like to leave."

"…And, would it be too presumptuous to think you might like to accidentally bump into Haymitch on our way out? Make sure he knows you're leaving with someone?"

She couldn't imagine why Plutarch would think she would care what Haymitch thought, nor could she understand why she found herself nodding to the idea.