
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2698406.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      The_Hunger_Games_(Movies)
  Relationship:
      Haymitch_Abernathy/Katniss_Everdeen
  Character:
      Haymitch_Abernathy, Katniss_Everdeen
  Additional Tags:
      Additional_Warnings_In_Author's_Note, Cunnilingus
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-12-01 Words: 4232
****** Life Left In The Soil ******
by impertinence
Summary
     Katniss can't relax. Haymitch helps her.
Notes
     THANKS TO ANGELSAVES FOR THE BETA. title comes from Battle Hymn by
     Doc Feldman & The L D 50. Listen to that, OR just listen to Blue &
     Yellow 900 times because it's 2002 and Haymitch has never showered.
     This is kind of...not very canon compliant, because I am terrible at
     timelines.
     Warnings: While it's not non/dub-con, it's not terribly healthy. Set
     during Catching Fire, so Katniss is technically underage. Mentions of
     sexual coercion (non-confirmed/not discussed in great detail).
The first time was after District 11, after remembering Rue. She was alone in
her room on the train, feeling like her insides had been ripped out and trying
to think of what she was going to do about Peeta - about her false pregnancy -
about the anger and rebellion that was starting to replace acceptance and
grief, in her and in almost everyone she met.
Haymitch knocked. He usually did, unless he was more drunk than usual, or felt
like making a point. So, he sometimes did.
"Come in," she said. She knew who it was before the door opened. Three solid
knocks was Peeta; a knock and a half-assed tap was Haymitch.
Effie didn't knock. She trilled.
Haymitch came in, closing the door behind him. Katniss wondered if it occurred
to him that people might think something was going on. Something like what
would, and did, happen in the Capitol.
Maybe not. Sometimes she overestimated how aware Haymitch was.
"Katniss."
"Haymitch." She was curled up on her bed. She nodded at him, then waved a hand
at the chair near her bed. "Sit down. If you want."
"If I could avoid ever standing, I would." He dragged the chair closer to her,
then sat in it, legs wide and feet planted on the ground. His hair was greasy,
and he looked at her too directly for her to be comfortable. But he smelled,
and looked, sober. For once.
"You're still mourning her."
"Lots of people." Katniss looked away from him.
"But Rue was special."
"I knew her for a few hours." Her voice sounded harsh, like she'd been
swallowing sandpaper. Crying had that effect, even now, when she was so used to
it. Or used to wanting to cry, anyway.
"Don't give me that shit."
Surprise made her look back at him. He'd pushed his hair back and was leaning
forward, eyes piercing.
"I know how it is in the arena," he said. "I know how - you're close to
someone. Closer than you'll be to your mother, your brother. I know how that
is."
At first, Katniss couldn't think of anything to say. Then she managed to say,
"I don't have a brother."
"No." He reached forward, but he didn't touch her. She didn't flinch - didn't
even move - because the Games meant people touching her. But he didn't. His
hand hovered above her thigh, warm, but never making contact. "I'm telling you
I know," Haymitch said. "What you want to do? How you want to hurt them, how
much you miss Rue, how you see the arena at night. I know, Katniss. I was
there."
"Different year," Katniss said.
"They change it for entertainment," Haymitch said. "But the essence remains the
same."
His hand was so warm. Katniss shifted without thinking, pressing her thigh
against his palm. His palm was, impossibly, rough; years of drinking and never
lifting a finger hadn't completely done away with his callouses.
His palm was rough enough that it caught the fabric of her sleep pants. He
curved his hand, and her thigh stilled. They sat like that for a long moment,
so close that she could feel his breath. It smelled like cinnamon.
Katniss closed her eyes. Rue's face was there, every time she did. Rue's voice,
so hopeful. She felt a rush of anger thinking of it, because Rue had to have
known she was going to die. But she'd trusted Katniss all the same.
"I need to forget," she said. "I don't know how. But I need to."
"I know how."
Katniss opened her eyes at that, frowning. "I don't mean getting drunk," she
said. Her voice caught on the last word. Anger did that.
"I know," Haymitch said. "Neither did I." He took his hand away and leaned back
in the chair. "How do victors forget? Booze, drugs." He held up three fingers.
"And sex."
Katniss almost swallowed her tongue.
Haymitch stood up and walked towards the door. "Peeta will help you, or someone
else, when we get to the Capitol," he said. "Let someone make you forget,
Katniss. It'll be good for you."
He almost had his hand on the doorknob when she said, "What about you?"
He froze.
"You're here," Katniss said. "And you won't tell anyone."
Still staring at the door, he snorted. "Very convincing. Kid."
"I'm not that." Katniss swallowed. "You know that."
He turned, then, and looked at her straight on. "Do you know what you want?"
Katniss thought of Gale, of Peeta, and shrugged. "To forget." She met his gaze.
"If that's your advice, why isn't it on offer?"
It reminded her, morbidly, of bargaining for food. But Haymitch apparently
didn't want to bargain. He walked back to her bed and dropped to his knees
beside it. She had height this way, and leverage. But she didn't want to use
them. He'd said he could make her forget. She didn't even need to be prompted
to pull off her sleep pants.
"I could," she said, touching the hem of her shirt.
He shook his head. "Just tell me what works." He didn't look at her directly,
even when she pulled her underwear off. She thought he might, but instead he
focused on her belly. "Tell me if anything hurts, Katniss, you understand?"
"Yes," she said, and he trailed one finger down her right thigh.
Since she'd noticed her body reacting to - sensation - she'd resented it. When
she was hunting with Gale or almost-kissing Peeta, it wasn't important. Right
now, though, it was the point of what they were doing. So she didn't mind as
much when she felt her body getting interested, when she felt herself getting
wet.
She licked her lips and leaned back on her elbows, her legs dangling off the
bed. At first she looked at the ceiling, but that felt clinical, so instead she
looked at Haymitch.
He didn't make any sense. This whole thing didn't make any sense. And yet,
there he was, leaning in and kissing her thigh, tongue darting out to make a
warm impression in her skin.
"It's no wonder people loved you," Haymitch said. "You're so alive."
She wasn't totally sure he meant it as a compliment. But he splayed a hand on
her stomach, scooting forward so that he could run the nails of his other hand
up her thigh. With that hand, he slowly - so slowly she was almost annoyed -
touched her, her folds and her clitoris. Her hips jumped at that, and he smiled
just a little.
"I didn't do anything," she said, obscurely annoyed.
"Not yet," he said. "That's good, though."
She relaxed a little at the words. He pressed his thumb against her clitoris,
then swept it down before she had time to react too much, dipping into her,
then pressing, until his thumb was all the way inside her.
She hadn't realized she was ready for that. But she was - oh, she was. Warmth
traveled up her spine, and her knees shook a little.
His hands were so warm. And she could feel his breath on her, still, on her
thighs and her cunt, as he watched her.
She didn't feel the need to perform. Not for Haymitch. But on the heels of that
came a wish that he enjoyed watching her. She dropped her head back and moved
her hips, just a little, just enough to make his thumb slip a little.
"I think I want more," she said.
The train was soundproofed, or close to. Her voice still sounded too loud to
her ears.
"I'll give you more," Haymitch said. "Give it time, sweetheart. Let it build."
Sweetheart. She looked at him again, but he was focused on other things - his
own hand, as two fingers circled her opening, and his thumb rubbed her
clitoris.
It felt good. Her nipples, she realized suddenly, were hard, the fabric feeling
too rough against them. She made an impatient noise and tugged at her shirt,
wiggling out of it one-handed.
"I told you," Haymitch said, but she cut him off with a glare.
"I want this." She touched her breasts with one hand. Kneading didn't do much,
and even her nipples weren't that impressive. There were no fireworks. But it
felt good, and as she pinched and brushed her fingers over them, "good" got a
lot better.
Haymitch looked away again. She responded by pressing herself more firmly
against his hand.
"Do you like this?" he said, rubbing his thumb over her clitoris. It was direct
and rough, sending shockwaves through her that were almost too much.
Almost. "Yes," she said, and spread her legs wider. "Your fingers..." Two
fingers, just outside her.
He pressed them in. Slowly. It had never occurred to Katniss to question if she
could do this, but now she was a little surprised that they fit. His hands were
big, and it felt like a stretch. But it felt good, too, and she could feel
herself getting more open, wetter, more ready for him to move.
But he didn't move. He went still with his fingers, his thumb still rubbing.
Katniss glared at him. He looked up in time to see it.
"Move," she said.
He smiled a little - it went away almost right away, like most of Haymitch's
expressions that he hadn't planned. But he moved his fingers, thrusting,
curling them as he did it. She wasn't surprised when that movement made her
gasp, arching back on the bed. It felt so good - warm all through her, solid
and heavy. He rubbed his thumb and thrust again, and she found herself holding
her breasts, squeezing, moving frantically to get more of that sensation.
It should have been awkward, but it wasn't. Not even when he moved the hand on
her stomach to - work with two hands, like you would whittle a stick. Her thigh
brushed his face, his stubble, and that send thoughts running through her mind
of his mouth - and even that wasn't awkward. He had to know, but he didn't say
anything. He just watched her as she moved, feeling liquid, coordinated like
she never felt, except when she was hunting. He thrust his fingers, again and
again, and she grabbed fistfuls of the sheets, reaching, reaching -
She couldn't get there, though. Not quite. She kept seeing blood and death, and
it kept her tethered. Clenching her teeth didn't help, but she did it anyway,
letting out a frustrated moan.
Then he spoke. "Easy, sweetheart," he said. "Let it happen. It's okay."
It wasn't. It never was. She wanted to argue, but then his lips brushed her
thigh. It wasn't quite a kiss, but her body didn't care. That was enough to
make her clench around him, spinning out of her own head.
He stayed close as she came back to herself. The loss of awareness also made
her forget, for a minute. But when she became aware of him again, and aware of
how hard she was panting, she felt a little embarrassed.
He must have known, judging by the way he squeezed her thigh and said, "Okay?"
It was like she was preparing to go into the arena, and he was grounding her.
It was unnerving. But she managed to get her mind together enough to say,
"Okay."
He stood up. Her eyes went right to his - crotch. He was hard. "I could," she
said, and reached for him.
He moved away so quickly he practically blurred. "It's fine," he said. "You -
sleep. You need it. I'm going to leave. Get a drink. Christ." He looked at her,
then looked away. As he left, he laughed. It didn't sound happy.
She got up and walked over to the door, pulling up her pants as she went. She
thought she heard movement just outside. Maybe the doors weren't soundproof.
Or maybe she was imagining things. Maybe she shouldn't be thinking about
Haymitch at all. There wasn't, she thought, anything that interesting about him
touching himself. He was Haymitch; he was, in all honesty, kind of gross. She
shouldn't want to watch, or touch. She didn't want to, she thought. Probably.
Almost definitely.
She backed away from the door. The images in her mind were still there, but a
little more distant. She fell asleep with a hand splayed on the sheets, trying
not to think about the slide of big, rough hands on her skin.
-
They arrived in the Capitol. Katniss wasn't sure if she was avoiding Haymitch
or not. She didn't really want to be around him, but that was nothing new. What
was new was the way she was overly aware of her body when he was around. She
couldn't help but think of his fingers inside her, his breath on her legs. It
was a sense memory, like mist on her skin in the mountains, or the pain of her
burn in the arena. Of course, it was nicer than anything that had happened in
the arena. She had that to comfort her, at least.
She knew Snow was planning something. Snow was always planning something, and
people were unhappy. But they had a few days, she guessed, before things got
really bad. A few days for Snow to plan, and for Katniss to wait.
It was going to be a distinctly unequal couple of days. But there was probably
nothing to be done about that.
She went to bed early for the Capitol and late for her. Her room connected with
Peeta's, but the door was locked, and she didn't see a reason to change that.
She changed into pajamas and lay down on the bed, hoping that the sheer
exhaustion of the day would make her sleep.
No such luck. She was tense from head to toe. She rolled onto her back and
stared at the ceiling, which was actually a moving display of the stars. It was
accurate, she thought, to the night sky. The stars were in the right places.
But somehow, that made it look even less real.
Her skin tingled a little. She rested a hand on her thigh. Maybe if she touched
herself, sleep would come more easily. Maybe this time, she wouldn't be
overwhelmed by bad memories. If she could with Haymitch - even though now,
after, her mind shied away from the memory - if she could then, why not now?
She curled her fingers, and her too-perfect nails dug into her thigh.
Someone knocked on her door. Haymitch, unless someone was imitating his knock.
Risking it was easier than getting out of bed. "Come in."
Haymitch entered. He closed the door behind him, but then he hesitated, not
quite looking at her.
She drew her knees up to her chin. "You wanted something?"
For some reason, he flinched. "Just wanted to check on you."
"I'm good."
He raised his eyebrows at that, like he didn't believe her. Well, she didn't
really believe herself, but she acted often enough without adding acting for
Haymitch in her room to the list.
"There are things we won't discuss here," Haymitch said.
Her fantasy pregnancy. Her and Peeta's fake love. She nodded.
"But I wanted to make sure you were...comfortable. With what we did on the
train."
Katniss frowned. "Well. You left." She wouldn't exactly call it teamwork.
"Aside from that."
She shrugged. "It was fine."
"Are you sleeping?"
She wasn't sure, looking at him now, that that's what he meant to say. But he
swallowed and watched her all the same, so she answered. "Sometimes."
He kept watching her. She lowered her legs to the bed again. "I slept better
that night."
He caught his breath. If they'd been in a room with people, or music, or even
white noise, she might not have heard it. Since they weren't, it was almost
painfully loud.
She met his eyes. It was stupid to be afraid of this. She wasn't afraid of him,
anyway. "Come here," she said. It was supposed to be a request, but that wasn't
how it came out.
It came out like an order, and he obeyed it, walking over to the bed and
sitting down on the side.
"If I want this," she said. She licked her lips. "If I want - touching - is
that okay?"
He took a deep breath, deliberately this time, and let it out as he tapped a
finger against his thigh. Those fingers were - Katniss pressed her legs
together, just a little.
"You're sure?"
Irritation spiked in her. She was tired of reassuring people.
But Haymitch didn't look afraid. He looked like he wanted a true answer, not
the right answer. She said, "I'm sure."
"Well, then," he said, and leaned in.
It should have been awkward when he kissed her shoulder, but instead it just
felt good. It felt easier than almost anything in her life, which was
ridiculous. Nothing about Haymitch was simple. But here, when he was sober and
not hounding her to make friends with the glittering, fake people of the
Capitol, it was easy to just feel things. With him.
He moved fully onto the bed, and she leaned back until she was mostly lying
down, propped up on four of the huge, plush pillows. His lips moved from her
shoulder to her collarbone, then to the edge of her jaw, and his fingers tugged
at the fabric of her pants.
She didn't need him to say anything. She slipped her pants off, with her
underwear - and then, when he didn't try to stop her, she took her shirt off,
too. It felt a little strange, lying naked while he was fully clothed, but she
knew better than to insist he take his clothes off too.
Did she want him to? The question stopped her for a second, just long enough
for him to notice. "Okay?" he said, one hand on her hip.
She did want him to, she decided. But that didn't mean he'd be willing, so she
just nodded and shifted her hips a little, to indicate that he should keep
going.
His hand was shaking a little as he rubbed her hip and trailed his fingers up
her side. She'd thought he didn't want her shirt off, and so when he moved his
hand up, up, and cupped her breast, she gasped. She was surprised, but also -
someone else touching her was very, very different from what she'd done last
time.
She couldn't predict this. She hadn't even really thought about it, how his
callouses - different from hers, his skin drier - would catch on her nipples,
almost hurting her as her skin tightened and her nipples got hard.
"Katniss."
He spoke quietly, but he didn't sound certain, so she made herself look at him.
He looked away first, focusing on her chest as he leaned forward and licked her
nipple.
She arched her back as feeling ran through her, concentrating in her groin. The
not-quite-familiar feeling was starting again; she wanted more, from him, right
then. The last time she'd moved without thinking, she had to have been a child,
but she didn't quite consider the ramifications of reaching up and tangling her
fingers in his hair until she'd done it and he went very, very still.
Except for his shaking hands. She wondered if it was the alcohol, or some kind
of nervousness. How could he be nervous? It didn't make much sense. Then again,
very little about him did.
It must be the alcohol. "Keep going," she said, voice harsh in the silence.
He bent his head and nuzzled the underside of her breasts, then moved down her
ribs, tongue occasionally darting out as he got lower and lower.
Finally he was lying on the bed, belly down, head on her thigh. He was so
close, closer than last time, but Katniss didn't want him to stop. She wanted
the opposite, actually, and he gave it to her. He parted her folds and stroked
her clit, watching as she shuddered, her shoulders pushing back against the bed
and her toes curling.
"You -" He broke off, shaking his head. She raised her head to look at him, but
apparently one word was all he was going to say, because he leaned in and
licked her, making conversation impractical.
At first, for a few seconds, it didn't feel like much of anything. Then he
found the spots she liked, slid two fingers into her and reached up with his
spare hand to play with her breast, and his tongue - his mouth -
She lost track of time. Sensation filled her, making her shake as she arched
her back and pressed against his mouth. He was good at it, which surprised her.
He seemed so standoffish - and yet, he sucked her clitoris and licked her
folds, thrusting into her with his tongue and his fingers until his entire
lower face was wet. Occasionally he paused and she bit back curses, tugging at
his hair until he went back at it. The stops were the best, though, in some
ways, because then she got his stubble against her thighs and his eyes on her,
the intensity in his expression making her feel everything that much more.
When she came, it happened in waves. She had to bite her hand to keep from
crying out, but even that wasn't really enough; she moaned from the back of her
throat, heels digging into the bed as she came against his mouth, over and
over, until she felt completely wrung out.
Then she noticed that he was moving.
He wasn't moving much; she wasn't sure if he realized he was doing it. But his
hips were working against the mattress, and Katniss, who'd spent half her life
tracking targets from a distance, noticed.
She shifted with purpose, and he froze. He looked up at her, his pupils blown
wide, and pushed himself off the bed. "I'll go."
Her words got stuck in her throat for slightly too long. He made it to the door
before she managed to say, "Wait. Don't."
"Katniss -"
"No." She sounded too irritated, too tense, and she knew it. No one liked her
like that - Haymitch himself had said. But when she snapped, "Get back over
here," he obeyed.
It was a good feeling. She pulled him onto the bed and splayed a hand on his
chest, then stopped and looked at him. He was hard; it was obvious. But she
wasn't really sure what to do next.
"What do you like?" she said. That seemed like a good place to start.
He laughed. It sounded bitter more than anything, but he was also moving, so
she didn't pull away. "What do I like?"
"Yes."
She waited. He looked at her, and the sarcasm in his expression slowly faded.
Holding eye contact, he pulled his own pants off.
"Touch me," he said. "You can't really fuck it up. Maybe use some lotion, if
you have it."
She did, so she got it and put a small amount on her hand. It meant that
touching him felt unreal - slicker than skin should be, and softer. And cherry-
scented. For a few moments, that alone was distracting. Then her senses
cleared, and she noticed other things: his ragged breath; the tiny movements of
his hips; the hardness of his dick under her fingers.
He liked when she moved her hand quickly, but he also liked when she slowed
down, rubbing her thumb over the head. He liked when she moved so that she was
between his legs, and touched his balls.
She tried not to watch him, but after awhile, as he thrust into her hand
harder, his eyes stayed closed. Then she felt free to watch, twisting her hand,
stroking his hip. He moved like she did, fluidly, almost desperately. It
occurred to her to wonder if he'd done this for - help - for District 12. She
buried the thought as soon as it arose, because it didn't belong here. Not when
he was twisting so he could press his face into the pillow and coming all over
her hand and his stomach. It made a messy thing messier, but it also smelled,
and looked, a lot more normal than the lotion.
She stroked him through it, then wiped her hand on the bed. She didn't want to
stay crouched between his legs, so she made her way over to the other side of
the bed, leaning against the pillows again as he let out a breath and pulled
his face away from the pillow.
The pillow was a little damp. She pretended not to notice.
"They can't know we've done this," he said. He pulled up his pants, grabbed
tissues and wiped his stomach. He was lucky that his shirt had ridden up.
Unless he'd done it on purpose.
"I know," Katniss said.
"That would cause trouble."
She thought of Peeta, who'd be happier at home baking bread. Peeta, who might
love her. Peeta, who she wanted to keep alive.
"Yes," she said finally.
He reached out. His hand was steady now. Not the alcohol, Katniss thought as he
tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
"I'll see you," he said, and got up.
For one crazy second, she wanted to ask him not to leave. Then practicality re-
asserted itself, and she got under the blankets, instead. "See you," she said.
She was asleep almost as soon as he closed the door.
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