Chapter 1: The Awakening
Chapter Text
Lenore Dove Baird is a shy creature. She’s always been that way, unchanged since she was young. She stays quiet in public for the most part, not speaking unless spoken to. She prefers to sing in the privacy of the meadow with her geese and to quietly play piano at the parties in the Mayor’s house. She is rebellious, yes, but not loud, at least not in the vocal sense. Her shyness was something that used to bring her insecurity; after all, it set her apart from the rest of the Covey, made her feel like a stranger in that group of singers and performers. It still does.
But it doesn’t bother her as much now; when alone with someone she trusts, she can launch into speeches and ramblings that span hours. Haymitch was usually the main victim of these, which he did not seem to mind. When she realized that he didn’t mind them, enjoyed them even, a few more people joined that small group. Clerk Carmine. Sid Abernathy. Tam Amber.
She is shy, yes, but she doesn’t hate that about herself. It inspires her to express her rebellious nature through her actions, through her music. She burns flags in the dead of night. Assists in rebel plots. Refuses to perform for Peacekeepers anymore. Her shyness has not affected her sense of morality, her need to do what’s right. So no, she does not hate her shyness.
But what Lenore Dove hates is how her shyness changes the way people in the Covey treat her. Even as she developed breasts, even as the baby fat left her cheeks and the sound of her voice matured, they continued to treat her like a child, one whose “innocence” was never to be tampered with. If someone made a dirty joke, a Covey member would playfully cover her ears. If she tried to drink the liquor offered to her during concerts, they would snatch the bottle away from her, shaking their heads in mock disapproval. She knows it’s a joke, that they’re teasing her, but beneath the humorous remarks, there’s a hint of truth. That they believe her to be innocent, pure, too pure for sex or alcohol or any of the other numerous “adult” parts of life that others her age have begun to indulge in. This is their perception of her, and she has not been able to shake it, no matter how hard she tries.
Lenore Dove does not feel innocent. She does not feel pure. At least, not in the way they perceive her to be.
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The first time it happened, it was an accident. She swears on it, even though no one ever believes her.
A cold had been passing through the Covey. It wasn’t severe by any means, just a sore throat and a few sniffles that cleared up within a week. But there was a concert that night, and it was the night that they were going to begin incorporating singing back into their music. The main singers were panicking, their voices still scratchy and hoarse, not at all ready for a concert that evening. Clerk Carmine had ordered Lenore Dove into the Hob to purchase some herbal teas. Normally, he would do it himself, but he was busy at the time, his hands full with trying to help Tam Amber repair a broken guitar string on one of the Covey’s guitars.
“You could always cancel the concert,” she had suggested, her voice failing to hide the irritation she was feeling. She didn’t particularly want to go to the Hob; she was in the middle of reading the most recent chapter book Haymitch had snagged for her, and the main character was currently readying herself to face off against a large beast. She wanted to know what happened next. But Clerk Carmine just frowned at her, his expression simmering with a barely-contained sort of rage and irritation. The Covey had let out various sounds of fond laughter, and Tam Amber reached out to ruffle her curls affectionately, then dropped the small amount of money needed into her hands and pushed her out the door.
So Lenore Dove adjusted the straps of her overalls and marched down to the Hob. She haggled the price on the herbal teas low enough that she had some money leftover to buy a packet of rainbow gumdrops from the Donner’s sweets shop (She figured she deserved it, after being forced to make such a perilous journey to get those teabags). She tucked the bag of various tea leaves into the pocket of her overalls, and set back towards her house in the meadow, chewing on the sweet candy as she went.
She had decided to take the slightly longer way back to the meadow, the one that maybe cut through the street where Haymitch lived, but she would never confirm nor deny that to her uncle. She wanted to surprise Haymitch; when he was surprised, his eyes would light up like the sparks that flew from his flint striker. Then he’d start laughing, and kissing her like he couldn’t help it, pressing the curve of his smiling lips against hers. It was adorable. She always tried to surprise him with something, just to see that expression again, to hear that laugh.
She was coming up to the front yard of the house, chewing on her last gumdrop and reaching up to adjust the cloth that held her hair away from her face, when she saw him. The sight made her stop in her tracks, made her eyes go wide, made her mouth water.
Now, Lenore Dove knew by this point that Haymitch was a looker. She knew of other girls and boys during their days at school who had practically swooned whenever he entered the classroom. Haymitch was completely clueless to them, but Lenore Dove could see it. Her quiet nature meant that people didn’t try to conceal themselves as much when she was around, so she’d heard plenty of giggles and whispered admirations of Haymitch.
She couldn’t blame them, really. She had always thought he was handsome too. She loved his dark curly hair, his tan skin, the curve of his nose and jaw. Most of all, she loved those eyes of his; gray as a stormy sky, framed by dark lashes. He was a beauty, one that inspired songs and late night dreams, romantic fantasies and wandering thoughts alike. She had once let him rest his head on her lap to sleep as she read her latest book, and before she could even finish a chapter, she ended up putting the book aside, using the hours that he was asleep just to take in the beauty of him. To comb her fingers through his thick hair, to run her thumb over his cheekbone. To touch and admire.
So she was no stranger to the beauty of Haymitch. She was no stranger to admiring it.
But this was different.
It felt different.
In his front yard, Lenore Dove could see that Haymitch was refilling the cistern on the side of the house. This was a task that involved lugging buckets of water to it with those muscular arms, the ones that had resulted from years of being Hattie’s mule in her liquor business. Then the pumping; the gritting of his teeth as he pulled the lever of the pump up and down, the way the tip of his tongue came out to wet his lips as he panted with the effort.
And he was wearing a tank top. Muscular arms and shoulders on full display for anyone on the street to see. He was glistening a little too, not overly sweaty, but the strain of this chore had dampened his skin.
He was pretty still, yes.
But something else too.
The heat started in her face. When his eyes landed on hers, and they lit up with delight, there were butterflies in her stomach to accompany the hotness of her cheeks.
Then he bounded over to her, wrapping those muscular arms around her waist, lifting her feet off the ground and kissing her. Again. Then again. This was a habit of Haymitch’s, the way he always tried to playfully pull her in for another kiss when she tried to break it. Normally, this made her laugh, made her scrunch up her nose and lightly slap his shoulder until he finally broke with a smug grin, shrugging good-naturedly.
But then, that heat spreads.
And the sensation of butterflies moves lower.
Settles between her thighs.
She was burning up. Her skin had become like a livewire, hyper-aware of every place Haymitch was touching her, every place where their skin pressed against each other.
It was terrifying.
It was exciting .
She made a strange noise then, clutching onto the straps of Haymitch’s tank top and trying to calm herself. Her face was hot, and her lips were strangely clumsy against his. Clumsy enough that he pulled back with a laugh, kissing her forehead as he set her down. He reached up to touch a stray curl that had come loose and had fallen across her face when he jostled her.
“Sorry,” he said, though the apology was ruined by the smile on his face that still hadn’t faded. “Maybe I shouldn’t have jumped you like that.”
His hand smoothed that curl behind her ear, then rested on her cheek, warm and calloused. She found that she was going weak under his touch, her body almost falling forward with the sheer intensity of her desire to be closer to him. His other hand had moved to the small of her back, and it was warm, heating up her skin and anchoring her to the world that she was growing increasingly distant from.
“It’s fine,” she heard herself say, shaky and slightly desperate. And then she was tugging him back down. Desperate to be close to him, to feel those powerful arms around her, lifting her again. His eyes widened slightly in surprise, but he followed, his forehead pressing to hers as his lips moved to capture hers once more-
“Haymitch!”
When Haymitch pulled back, Lenore Dove was momentarily unable to concentrate on anything. The world kept spinning around her, her knees were weak, and that butterfly-sensation was still between her thighs. Most of all, she felt almost feverish. Her skin was searing hot to the touch, flames licking beneath her flesh and heating up her core to an unbearable degree.
It was Willamae, Haymitch’s mother. She scolded him, something about getting distracted during chores, but Lenore Dove couldn’t hear with the blood rushing in her ears. She could barely see, and she used her weak knees and dizziness as an excuse to lean against Haymitch for support. Haymitch shouted something back, and then Willamae moved back into the house, closing the door behind her.
“Sorry, I should… get back to the cistern…” Haymitch frowned, his voice trailing off as he took in her face. He reached up to press the back of his hand to her forehead, and the space between his eyebrows creased as they always did when he was concerned. “You feel a little too warm.”
“I feel fine,” she said, her voice breathless and not at all convincing. Haymitch gave her a look, but he released her, making sure that she was standing okay on her own before giving her that crooked smile.
“Thanks for swinging by,” he said, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck as he tried to hide the disappointment in his voice from having been interrupted. “Sorry to cut it short. But I’ll see you tomorrow in the meadow, okay?” She just nodded, accepting the goodbye kiss he gave her. She tried not to stumble as she waved in farewell and resumed her trek to the meadow.
Her hands were shaking uncontrollably as she wiped them on her clothing. The sensation between her thighs had only gotten stronger, and her overalls suddenly felt like they were suffocating her. But despite her best efforts, the sensation didn’t go away; especially when her mind decided the best course of action to take while she was walking home down a street full of people was to replay that kiss, that memory of his powerful arms sweeping her up over and over and over and over-
Calm down, she thought frantically, praying that no one else would notice her state as she hurried home. Please calm down-
Her pleading was of no use.
When she arrived home, no better than when she had left Haymitch’s, Clerk Carmine also noticed her strange behavior. After a long debate with the rest of the Covey, he told her to stay at home alone while the Covey performed to recover from her “fever.” Lenore Dove was not a singer, and the songs would sound fine without her tune box, albeit a bit empty. The herbal tea helped soothe the Covey’s throats, and soon, Lenore Dove was alone in that cabin on the meadow, shifting restlessly in her bed.
That was the night she touched herself properly for the first time. She had fisted the pillow by her head and bitten her lower lip to muffle the sounds, her mind reeling with thoughts of her Haymitch. When she came, it was with a cry, and the sensation tore through her, almost painful in its power.
She felt strangely guilty afterwards. So after her hands had stopped shaking so much, she slowly picked up her book, and tried to banish any thoughts of Haymitch and his shoulders from her mind.
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Lenore Dove had known about sex since she was twelve years old.
She read about it in a book that she swiped from one of the teacher’s desks. One of the school books, that is. It was very clinical, and she remembers how her face had gone hot, how she had slammed the book shut, quickly placing it back on the desk. Somehow, she felt that she shouldn’t have seen that. That it was forbidden somehow. The next year at school, the classrooms were divided by gender for the day, and a teacher stood, awkwardly and looking deeply uncomfortable, telling them about “the process by which we procreate.” This included pointing to pictures in the book Lenore Dove had peeked in a year ago. The one she wasn’t supposed to read, most likely.
She wasn’t ashamed or scared of sex; at least, she didn’t think she was. She thought about it sometimes, but mostly, she wondered if it would hurt. It sure seemed like it.
For the most part, sex became something she was aware of, but something she never had the time to even consider. She was usually always in the presence of people; she could kiss Haymitch in the meadow, but Clerk Carmine was usually nearby in the house. Haymitch had a small house with a child and a mother. There were hardly any private places in Twelve. Maybe if they put their mind to it they could find a place, but both of them usually had better things to do. Lenore Dove had performances. Haymitch had his brother and ma.
So neither one of them had ever brought it up really. Besides, Haymitch was a gentleman if nothing else. He’d never really shown any desire to do anything but kiss her and hold her. It felt really nice when he kissed her, so she didn’t think about trying anything more, at least not right now.
Of course, she thought about sex with Haymitch specifically, but more from that same clinical perspective that the book had used. She wanted to marry Haymitch, maybe even have kids with him, and so sex would likely happen at some point in the distant future. She still wondered, again, if it would hurt, and figured it would, but Haymitch would probably understand. By that point, she’d feel awkward thinking about it for so long, and so she’d stop. She’d touched herself a little too as she got older, but it was more of a curiosity than a need for release. Lenore Dove had never been ashamed of her body, never been ashamed of the desires and complications that could come with it.
The next morning came with her mind somewhat cleared from her release the night before, but still reeling. And as she got dressed, as she combed back her hair and ate her breakfast of biscuits and strawberries plucked from bushes in the forest, as she fed her geese the cracked corn she had been gifted for her birthday, she found her mind wandering. Found herself imagining Haymitch in a way she never had before.
She wondered if Haymitch had ever touched himself to the thought of her. The idea was strangely thrilling; that he was so attracted to her, loved her so much that he would fantasize about her as he stroked himself, would moan out her name as he came. She remembered how she had clutched the pillow the night before, and her mind conjured the image of Haymitch doing the same, one hand shoved down the front of his sleepwear, the other twisting in the sheets, his lower lip caught between his teeth to muffle himself.
That image made those butterflies settle back between her thighs. She tried to force the thoughts away, which only seemed to make them worse.
Haymitch swung by to visit her as he had promised. He sat with her while she tossed dried corn to her geese, and checked her temperature again to see if she was still “sick.” He smiled with relief when it was clear she wasn’t, leaning forward to press a kiss to her forehead. He sat back on their favorite rock, head tilted back to soak in the sun, ready to listen to her ramblings again.
But all she could think about was the night before. The way thoughts of him had only fueled the need to come as quickly as possible.
She could barely look at him without feeling a strange sort of guilt, and so she just stayed quiet, keeping her eyes on her geese.
Was it worse that she thought of him while touching herself, or was it worse if she didn’t? Lenore Dove is pretty sure that of all people, Haymitch is the one she’s supposed to be thinking about. He was her boyfriend after all. So why does she feel so guilty about it?! Wasn’t she flattered, (maybe even turned on) by the thought of Haymitch touching himself while thinking of her? So what made her feel like what she did was forbidden?
It doesn’t help her rationality that he looks extra good today. He’d clearly bathed the night before, and he smells like lavender soap and moonshine, his hair soft and face clean. That conjures up an image of him in the tub, head leaned back, muscular arms resting on the sides, hair wet and water droplets sliding down his neck, which did not help in her mission to control her wandering thoughts. Her only saving grace seems to be looking down at his pants. It’s hard to be turned on by someone who wears Capitol flour shorts.
Though, he does manage to make those look good too…
“Are you mad at me about yesterday? About how I kinda… jumped you a little?” he asks nervously. She blinks in surprise, then quickly shakes her head, her mouth reeling before her mind can catch up.
“No! Of course not!”
She tries to reassure him, to steer the conversation away from yesterday with lighthearted jokes and ramblings about her thoughts on the new book he had gifted her, but he’s frowning at her, and she knows she’s getting nowhere in that department. He knows her too well, knows her habits and patterns of behavior down to a science.
Usually, this is endearing. Today, it’s absolutely infuriating, because all she really wants to do is change the subject to something less humiliating than what had happened a day earlier.
No. That wasn’t right.
All she really wants is for Haymitch to touch her again.
The idea from earlier appears to her again, the one of Haymitch touching himself to the thought of her. She remembers the intensity of her own release, and she realizes with a start that she wants to make Haymitch feel that way. She wants to give him that kind of pleasure, wants to be the hand that takes him to that brink.
She imagines Haymitch spread out on her bed, looking up at her with those storm-gray eyes. She imagines kissing Haymitch, him melting in her touch with a desperate sound as her hand slides down the front of those hideous Capitol flour shorts-
She needs to stop.
She wonders if Capitol flour bags will turn her on now. The thought horrifies her.
She should probably just ask him if he wants to try things with her, but she doesn’t have the courage to. Not yet.
But she wants to push the boundary a little. Wants to say something risky, something that could be plausibly denied if Haymitch grew suspicious, but one that also suggested the way he made her feel yesterday. The problem is that she has no idea how to flirt, and she only knows a handful of sexual innuendos, all of which would sound absolutely ridiculous coming from her. So she’ll have to make up something on her own, which she is almost certain she can’t do. Still, it’s better than sitting here and pretending like nothing has changed.
She turns to face him, but finds that she can’t look him in the eye. So her eyes fall on her flint striker, still hanging around his neck, glistening in the sunlight. She wets her lips with the tip of her tongue, squares her shoulders a little in a vain attempt to convey some kind of confidence.
“I like when you kiss me like that,” she says softly.
For a moment, she regrets everything. It’s humiliating to say something like that, makes her feel weirdly childish.
But when she looks up at Haymitch, he’s staring at her with an emotion that she can’t place. If nothing else, he seems very caught off guard by her remark. But she could swear that there’s something more too, something deeper and more primal. It makes her heart begin to pound in her chest, the familiar feelings from yesterday reappearing suddenly, and she feels suddenly desperate for his touch. Suddenly desperate to touch him.
So she moves a little closer. Their shoulders press up against each other, and she nudges his nose with hers, letting her whispered words dance across his mouth as she speaks.
“I like when you lift me up like that too,” she says, her throat feeling like it’s going to close up. Her eyes flick downwards, take in his lips, parted and oh, god, so tempting. “I always forget how strong you are.”
His eyes widen a little, but he doesn’t pull back. He opens his mouth to reply, but can’t seem to come up with a response to her statement. So she closes the distance and kisses him, her hand moving to cup his jaw, her fingers carding through the newly-washed curls by his ear. His own hand moves to grip her wrist, and then he’s kissing her properly, tilting his head and moving his lips against her in this absolutely delicious way that makes her toes curl in her socks. He makes a soft, involuntary noise against her lips that makes her throb, and then his hands are gripping her waist, pulling her closer as their lips part, and his tongue curiously meets hers, hesitantly sweeping between her lips and then gently tracing the roof of her mouth. It feels good, so good, and she’s desperate for more of it, a sound of her own falling from her lips, which seems to awaken something in Haymitch, who kisses her so hard that their teeth briefly clack together. The change in him absolutely thrills her, and then she’s trying to press up against him, her arms wrapping around his neck as another noise escapes her lips, the bag of dried corn in her lap spilling onto the grass-
The geese swarm at the sight, and Haymitch jumps back with a yelp as they descend, slipping off the rock and ending up landing hard on the grass, hard enough to bruise from the sound of it. Lenore Dove is still sitting on the rock, her head spinning, hands shaking, and her lips kiss-swollen. The butterfly sensation is back between her thighs, and she presses them together.
She apologizes profusely, and he keeps dismissing her apologies, waving them away as he stumbles to his feet. He mumbles something about needing to go, something about picking up Sid from school, and then he’s gone. Limping slightly from the looks of it too.
She’s scared him off, she realizes. She probably came on too strong, and now he’s fleeing to get away from her. Her face goes hot with humiliation; was she really so childish, so unable to control her own desires?! She had practically climbed on top of him in the middle of a meadow, a meadow where, oh by the way, Clerk Carmine could have easily seen them!
She buries her face in her knees and lets out a muffled scream into the flannel patch on her overalls.
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Lenore Dove is terrified that she’s ruined what they have forever. She’s not really sure how she can look at Haymitch again, both out of a fear of her own desire and out of embarrassment for her failed attempt at seducing him. But he shows up the next day, and seems to be acting like nothing had happened, which makes her feel so relieved she could cry. For a while, things return back to their usual routine. But there’s something new lurking under the surface; Lenore Dove can feel it. A desire neither one of them wants to voice for fear that the other would reject them.
But maybe that “desire” is just in Lenore Dove’s imagination; she’s been dreaming about Haymitch. About his hand between her legs and his lips moving against hers. She dreams of reaching down his stupid Capitol flour shorts and gripping him, stroking him until he gasps out her name. She dreams of his arms around her, his strong hands squeezing up her waist deliciously, of him lifting her up like she weighs nothing at all and carrying her to bed-
The point is that Lenore Dove could just be projecting. That number of absolutely filthy dreams can’t be helping her judgement.
They don’t talk about that day in the meadow. She’s not really sure how to. Still, things between them seem to have returned to normal. Haymitch still kisses her sweetly, still throws an arm around her shoulders and pulls her close during her ramblings, still gets her little gifts whenever he can. He hasn’t changed, and it makes her feel almost ashamed of her desires. Still, she tries to just be grateful for the return to normalcy; she hadn’t scared him off entirely. He could still look at her, thank god.
That’s the week when a Covey member, Molly Blaze, gives her one of her old dresses to perform in. It was a simple cream color, soft orange flowers stitched into the collar, the front laced up by a matching ribbon, and a brown leather belt to separate the cream upper half from the burnt orange skirt. Together, they took it in around the waist to fit her better, and though it was still a bit big around the shoulders, she found that she loved the way she looked in it. The dress felt a bit more adult somehow; maybe it was the neckline that dipped down into a v-shape, exposing her collarbones and teasing a hint of cleavage too. She absolutely adored it, though she had to constantly refuse offers for a scarf or shawl to cover her chest.
“It would cover the flowers!” she insisted, and then Molly Blaze gave up entirely, throwing her hands up in the air with exasperation.
She performs with the Covey in the bootlegging bar by the Hob. It’s wonderful, Lenore Dove must admit. Though performing always makes her nervous, people are too drunk for the most part to make note of any mistakes that she could make on her tune box. Besides, this dress gives her a new kind of confidence. It makes her feel pretty, and she likes showing it off to the crowd, spinning as she plays and laughing when she sees a group of men playfully fanning themselves, pretending to faint at how good she looks.
But then her eyes fall to the only person that she really wants to be noticed by.
Haymitch is stunned. He’s by the back of the bar, near the exit. He had clearly snuck in to watch her perform. But he’s staring at her, eyes wide, completely in awe. It sets her heart pounding in her chest, because looking at him now, there’s no denying it; he does want her. In the same way she wants him.
She likes his eyes on her as she performs. Likes the way that she’s so thoroughly captured his attention. Likes the way he seems to be held hostage by her very appearance.
She likes this, she realizes; she likes the feeling of being desired.
When the concert ends, she doesn’t bother with talking to anyone in the audience or thanking the host; she’s already racing towards Haymitch, throwing herself at him and kissing him. He reciprocates enthusiastically, wrapping his arms around her and lifting her up, spinning her around as they kiss. When he sets her down and tries to move back, she grips his collar in her fists, stepping forward.
“Don’t,” she whispers, her voice cracking.
He hesitates. Glances around at the drunk crowd. Then his hands, careful and soft, come up to rest on her waist. She can feel the warmth of his touch, even through the fabric of the dress, and all she can think about is how badly she wants to feel that touch on her bare skin.
“Lenore Dove?” he asks, his voice hesitant. Nervous. Waiting for her reaction.
She swallows. Meets his eyes.
“I need to go somewhere private with you,” she says, her voice urgent. “Somewhere we won’t get caught.”
She sees his eyes go slightly wide. She sees him glance around, checking to see if anyone else is listening to their conversation. Her eyes follow his to the Covey, who are all chatting amongst the drunk crowd, unaware that Lenore Dove has left, all of them dispersed throughout the Hob.
His eyes meet hers again.
“Why?” he asks shakily.
Her hands grip his collar. Her voice drops slightly, and it almost feels like the words that leave her lips are not her own, but rather those of a creature buried deep within, clawing to the surface after years of silence. And she finally lets it.
“I think you know why.”
Chapter 2: The Beginning
Summary:
Lenore Dove and Haymitch have their first time together.
Notes:
Hi! How do y'all feel about 7.1k words of smut?
The list of specific sex acts in this chapter will be in the bottom notes. But this is their first time! I tried really hard to capture the nerves and the awkwardness that can come with the first time having sex, while also keeping it plenty steamy and sweet. They both love each other so much, and I hope you enjoy!
The next chapter will be a lot more steamy as they get more experienced. It looks like this might end up being four chapters instead of three, so everyone make a prayer circle in the comments and pray that I will make life easy on myself for once in my life and not add a chapter to a self-indulgent smut fic 😂
Anyways, I hope you enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Haymitch takes her into an unfamiliar house, one that clearly has some kind of residents that live there, but none of whom seem to be home at the moment.
She doesn’t question it. As soon as Haymitch closes the door, she’s spinning him around and yanking him down to kiss her. Her fingers sink into his dark hair as her lips part against his, and she can taste the faint taste of berries somehow, the kind that grows in thorny bushes by the edge of the meadow, and it’s coming home.
Haymitch is her home. The place to rest her head, the safety net to fall into during times of strife.
She doesn’t know how to tell him this, not in a way that feels like it would ever be good enough. So she presses closer, lets her hands run down the sides of his neck to the collar of his shirt, her hands shaking as she unhooks the first button.
“Wait-“ he moans, muffled against her lips. “Wait-“ She pulls back just enough to let him talk, her cheeks burning. Despite the fact that he so clearly wants this too, she can’t shake the feeling that she’s somehow scaring him off. That she’s pushing things too far.
He pauses just to look at her, his hand coming up to touch her face, tucking a stray curl behind her ear.
“Let me get the fireplace lit,” he says shakily. “I…I want to see you.”
A shiver runs through her, her throat suddenly thick with emotion. She’s helpless to do anything but nod.
It’s incredibly awkward as they move to try and find a position. Lenore Dove figures it isn’t a good idea to do anything on furniture, especially since it isn’t theirs, so there’s an awkward moment where both of them are trying to maneuver towards the fireplace while being unsure if they’re supposed to let go of each other or not. He finally separates to use his flint striker to start a fire, and she moves to sit on the floor in front of the fireplace, legs folded at an awkward angle so that he can’t see up her skirt. After a moment, she suddenly feels incredibly stupid. Because he’s going to be seeing up her skirt soon anyways, so why is she hiding?
What was the protocol for moments like these? When was it okay for her to expose herself? How much of herself should she expose at once? Questions that she had never once considered about this whole situation are now flashing through her mind at an unbearably fast pace.
The presence of the fire makes jittering nerves rise in her, sudden and unbidden; this wasn’t going to be a fumbling affair in the dark. Haymitch wants to see her, and it’s almost terrifying to realize how exposed she’s going to be to him for the very first time. Distantly, she wonders if she’ll disappoint him somehow, maybe by not being pretty enough, maybe by being unable to finish, maybe by being unable to make him finish. She had been fantasizing about this, but now, with it so real so suddenly, she’s become acutely aware of how easily she could mess this up. Of how lost and unsure she truly felt in the face of it.
Maybe she should be stripping by now, but she feels suddenly… well, embarrassed by her body. She’d never cared about her body before, never cared about what others thought of it, but now that she’s presenting it to someone else, asking to be desired and touched, her body suddenly feels like something shameful. The feeling is unfamiliar and alien, and it feels wrong. Because she wants this. So badly.
The fire is burning now in the fireplace, orange flames casting the room in an amber glow. When Haymitch turns to face her, his expression is of one of such pure want that it makes it seem like the whole world has gone still. It’s less restrained than the expression he had given her at the concert.
It’s hers .
So powerfully hers that it makes all other feelings of doubt and insecurity dull, even if for just a moment.
Lenore Dove feels her breath catch, feels herself leaning towards him without thinking.
And then he’s kissing her, his hand cupping the back of her neck as he gently lowers her to the ground and crawls over her, his lips claiming hers once more in a hungry kiss. He’s hungry for her; the thought makes her lightheaded. She tries to pull his weight down more firmly onto her, but then her skirt gets in the way, and Haymitch has to struggle for a moment to hike it up to her thighs before his hips fit between her spread legs, and he presses against her fully now, the weight of him sinking down on her until every bit of his clothed body is pressed against hers.
It feels incredible, him on top of her like this. Strangely grounding, and real. Her hands fly up to grip the fabric of his shirt that stretches over his powerful shoulder blades in some desperate attempt to pull him down impossibly closer, and when his lips part and his tongue sweeps across her lips, she moans out loud, high and desperate. He jerks slightly on top of her, and then she feels it; through the layers of fabric, down where their hips are pressed together, something hard pressing against her center.
Heat flares at the feeling, hot enough to make her vision go white, and before she can think, her hips thrust down against him. He makes a strangled noise against her lips, and then he’s moving, hips jerking unevenly against her, rubbing up against her through the layers of clothing between them, and it feels good, it feels wonderful, even through the layers of cloth and the unbearable heat coming from inside her and from the fireplace just next to them, it feels divine, somehow so much more intense than the night she had touched herself, and so she holds onto him for dear life and grinds down on him again-
Haymitch breaks the kiss with a frantic noise, his hips forcefully going still, and buries his face into her neck, panting against her soft skin. His hands grip her hips so hard it almost feels like it’s going to bruise.
She realizes with a start that she wants it to bruise. That she wants to trace the marks he leaves on her skin later, wants proof of his touch etched into her flesh.
Another realization hits her. This one less pleasant.
Lenore Dove swallows. Tries to stop her voice from shaking.
“Did you…”
“No!” Haymitch says quickly, slightly high-pitched.
Lenore Dove feels her face go scarlet. “I-it’s fine if you did-”
“I didn’t.” Haymitch has distanced his hips from hers, but when he presses forward a little, she can feel that he’s still hard. Haymitch still has his face pressed against her neck though, so after a brief moment of hesitation, she reaches up to card a shaking hand through his hair.
The pause has made her aware of their positioning. Of the way her skirt is bunched up around her hips, how her thighs are bare and gripping his hips in an iron-clad hold, legs spread and propped up slightly, and how the knee-high knitted socks and worn brown leather boots she had put on earlier that day were now on full display in the firelight.
How she’s slick between her legs. How she can feel the fabric of her plain white underwear sticking to her.
Haymitch takes a deep breath. Another.
“I’m sorry for stopping,” Haymitch mumbles, his face going hot against her neck. “I just didn’t want to… um… finish like that.”
Oh.
Had he gotten close? The idea makes her stomach go fluttery; that he wanted her so badly that he had to restrain himself so that he didn’t end things too soon. She was desirable. She was attractive to him, just as he was to her.
He presses his lips to the hollow of her throat, just like he’d done hundreds of times before this moment. The familiar action grounds her somehow, makes her eyes tear up for a moment from how overwhelmed she feels right now.
“It’s just… I’ve wanted this for a long time,” Haymitch admits breathlessly, pulling back to finally look at her. “And I want to do this right.”
The air seems to drain from the room, the only sound present that of a fire in the hearth.
I love him, she thinks.
I didn’t think I could love him any more than I already do. But I find reasons, over and over again, to fall harder.
“Me too,” she whispers, squirming slightly with just how much she needs him to touch her. “I… we shouldn’t…” She chews her lower lip. “I don’t want to get pregnant.”
“That’s fine,” Haymitch says hurriedly. “We don’t have to… to…” He hesitates. Struggles to find the words before finally mumbling, “...go all the way.”
It’s funny, the way neither one of them can seem to use the proper words to describe what they’re doing. Lenore Dove can’t say where that instinct comes from, but she feels suddenly that it’s one that will fade with time. She hopes it will, at least.
“I still want to,” she whispers, hands shaking against him.
His lips move a little further up her neck. She lets her head fall back entirely, pressing her neck to the slightly-chapped skin of his lips, and then he’s kissing her there, soft and curious, trailing his lips up and down the sides of her neck.
The sensation is almost ticklish. The hand laced through his dark hair tightens, and when his tongue brushes against her pulse point, her eyes flutter shut, and she lets out a strangled noise as she starts to throb.
“Haymitch…” she whispers frantically, and then his teeth are sinking gently into her neck, his tongue soothing the slight sting, and she’s sinking her nails into his shoulders through his shirt, she’s gone, she’s ascended, she’s-
She pushes his suspenders down, tugs desperately until he’s no longer tucked into the waistband of his pants, unbuttons his shirt with trembling hands, hands that shake so much that it takes her far too long to get them all undone. He pulls back to push it off of his shoulders, moving to rest most of his weight on his knees so that he can look down at her while he tosses the shirt aside.
She had seen him shirtless before, of course. Swimming in the lake was a constant activity for her, Burdock, and Haymitch in the summer, so she was no stranger to Haymitch bare from the waist up.
But she’s never seen him shirtless in the light of a flickering flame, never beneath him while he stares down at her like she’s a meal, like she’s his whole world. Her eyes take in the muscles beneath his skin, the small scars and markings that dot across his body, as if painted on by a delicate paintbrush, as if designed by the most talented artist; and there is no denying that Haymitch is a work of art. Beautiful and powerful above her like this.
His hands move to the top of her dress. She doesn’t hesitate as she nods, and his fingers make quick work of the buttons, unbuttoning down to the belt at her waist and then pulling it open to reveal her brassiere. His hands go to the straps, and after a brief moment of checking her face to make sure she’s okay, he pulls them down her shoulders, fully baring her breasts to the firelight.
He stops then, his hands going still on her and his eyes locking onto the expanse of her chest, and it makes her feel… well, embarrassed somehow. She’s truly exposed beneath him, and it suddenly feels like every nerve ending of her newly bared skin lights up, demanding attention, touch, anything . Her nipples have gone stiff, and her breasts are rising and falling with each panting breath she takes, and she suddenly wonders if he can see the skin over her heart pulsing in time with her thumping heart.
For some reason, she can’t look at him. She doesn’t want to know if he’s disappointed or pleased or any other number of emotions, so her eyes flick away from his face to the ceiling. Her throat closes up again with an emotion that she can’t identify. Her face is blooming with heat, though whether it’s from the fire or her own pounding heartbeat, she can’t say. She feels the sudden ridiculous desire to cover herself, which confuses her, because she wants this, she wants this so badly , so why is she nervous?!
She wants to beg him to keep going. She doesn’t want him to pause, to take her in. It would be easier, so much easier if he just ripped off her clothes and got straight to work.
But he wants to see her. She’s finding that there’s something so strangely vulnerable about this, about being laid bare in front of someone that she loved so much, to be touched and worshipped, for them to be watching her every reaction so closely and drinking in every part of her exposed form. He’s slowing down to memorize her, and there’s nowhere to hide, no way to conceal the parts of her that could be ugly or undesirable.
And like so many things regarding sex with Haymitch, the realization inspires the rising of fluttering nerves, both of excitement and nervousness.
He’s paused for too long, she thinks to herself; her eyes flick back down to Haymitch’s face, and she can’t breathe. She can’t breathe because he’s looking at her like she’s something precious. Like she’s something worth worshipping and touching, like he’s honored to have permission to do so. He’s looking at her like he can’t believe his luck.
It awakens something in her. Something she doesn’t have a name for, not yet, but its presence is made known to her then and there.
The urge to cover herself is gone now.
When his fingers finally move, it’s slow, carefully deliberate. His hand smooths over one of her breasts, his thumb rubbing curiously over her nipple. The sensation makes her spine tighten, makes her breath catch and her eyes widen slightly. She’s never particularly paid attention to her breasts when touching herself. But when he repeats the action, the sensation makes her body tighten, and she wonders if she should have been paying them more mind after all. His other hand comes up, the fingers dragging across her skin like he’s trying to memorize the feel of her all over, and then he’s palming both breasts, fingers working her nipples until she gasps and pushes her breasts up into his hands desperately.
He moves like he’s been thinking about this. Like he’s been fantasizing about how he would touch her if he ever got the chance. The thought brings a new gush of slick from between her legs, and she whimpers.
He leans down and kisses her, and before she can gather up the mind to kiss him back, he’s dragged his mouth to her jaw, down her throat, down between her collarbones and then he’s exploring the skin of her breasts with his mouth. She can’t breathe with how good it feels, and when his mouth closes around a nipple, she makes an embarrassingly loud and vulgar noise, her legs kicking slightly against the floor, her whole spine tightening and head tilting back as her mouth falls agape. Haymitch pulls off for a moment, his eyes worried.
“Is that-” he swallows. “A-are you okay?”
“Yes,” she chokes out, almost in a sort of yelp. “Please, don’t stop-”
When her hands raise to his head, he lets her guide him back down to her chest without any kind of protest or hesitation.
She’s throbbing, so turned on it hurts, muscles clenching around nothing at all. His hands and mouth are on her breasts, but his eyes are on her face, watching her every reaction as he explores her. His tongue flicks over a nipple, and when his hands give a gentle squeeze at the same time, she almost cries out.
“You’re beautiful…” Haymitch murmurs shakily. He presses a few more kisses to her breasts, drags his tongue up her chest to taste the skin of her throat before he’s kissing her again. She moans softly against his lips, eyes rolling to the back of her head as she feels his bare chest press against her own. It doesn’t take long until the kiss becomes a messy, clumsy thing, a tangle of tongues and lips that refuse to slow down enough to find a rhythm.
It’s addictive, kissing Haymitch this way.
She feels one of his hands gripping her bare thigh before he pulls back, panting, pupils so dilated it reduces the silver in his eyes to a mere ring around pools of black.
The hand on her thigh moves to the edge of her underwear. Not reaching in, just resting his fingers on the hem.
The action makes her vision black out with need.
“Can I-“
“Yes,” she interjects, face burning at the desperation in her tone. Haymitch huffs out a shaky laugh, his fingers hooking into the waistband of her underwear before pausing, his teeth worrying the inside of his cheek.
The realization strikes, and her heart twists fondly in her chest; he’s nervous too. The thought brings her a strange sort of comfort, and at the same time, a quiet kind of guilt. All this time, Lenore Dove had been so focused on her own nerves, and she hadn’t even noticed that Haymitch was nervous as well. Slightly terrified, just like her.
Not because they don’t want this, but because it’s new . It asks for vulnerability, to show both the parts of themselves that they treasure and those that they hate, and it’s asking to be loved for every part, good or bad. It’s revealing themselves fully and risking that it won’t go well, that it will hurt, because people are messy and imperfect, and vulnerability always comes with the awareness of your own imperfections and mistakes. It’s the act of love brought into a physical form.
This isn’t something that Lenore Dove is expected to face as a challenge. It’s not a test that she takes alone. Like so many things in their relationship, it’s a journey. A journey with someone that she loves.
And she wants to be with him every step of the way.
She sits up slowly, brings her hands up to cup his face. His eyes flick up to meet hers, and she tries to put on a brave expression, even as her whole being is still adjusting to being so exposed
“It’s okay,” she whispers. She strokes his cheekbone with her thumb, presses her forehead to his. “I can show you.” She kisses him, soft and slow, pulling back just enough to murmur, “I’m not expecting this to be perfect.”
His face crumbles then, as if some kind of wall or barrier has collapsed. He leans back in and kisses her again, which makes her head go fuzzy and her chest go all fluttery in the best possible way as he captures her lower lip, swipes his tongue gently against hers, swallows the sounds she makes just as she muffles the ones he makes. His hands take a firmer grip of the waistband of her underwear, and she lifts her hips when he pulls them down. He places them not too far away, kisses her a final time, his hands bunching up her skirt around her hips once more. The familiar action grounds what they’re doing, acts as an anchor to come back to in times of doubt.
He finally breaks the kiss when she’s good and breathless, almost dizzy with how many hungry emotions are filling her head. As she gasps for air, tries to calm herself to have some semblance of her mind to walk him through this, his eyes fall to the dark curls between her legs. His pupils somehow dilate further, his gray eyes now seeming black, dark enough for her to see the reflection of the dancing flames in them, and when his tongue darts out to wet his lips, she actually whimpers.
His hands move to the insides of her knees, and he gently nudges them apart, spreading her more for him. She grips onto the back of his neck for support with one hand, places the other on the floor to hold herself up. She breathes heavily through her nose as his fingers trail curiously up the inside of one of her thighs, his eyes taking her in with a sort of awe that makes her stomach flutter.
It’s a strange thought to cross her mind, but she realizes then just how… well, indecent she looks right now. Hair wild and lips swollen, the top of her dress opened, breasts exposed, skirt bunched up around her hips and core practically dripping with need, knees up and thighs spread, the only thing covering her legs being the white knee-high stockings and boots.
Maybe she should feel more vulnerable. A part of her still does.
But most of all, looking at Haymitch, whose eyes appear black in the firelight and whose touch is reverent, who’s waiting for her command and guidance to pleasure her…
It makes her feel powerful.
She likes feeling powerful. Likes having him at her beck and call like this. She craves more of it, wonders with a dizzy mind how this may come into later encounters of this nature.
“Lenore Dove?” he asks, voice strained, fingers tracing shaking circles on the inside of her thigh, still waiting for her to speak.
“Right,” she manages. She tries desperately to concentrate, a task which is made so much harder with Haymitch’s fingers so close to where she’s aching for him, where she’s yearning and frantic and soaked-
“Okay.” She takes a deep breath, willing her thighs to stop shaking. She tries to recall what she likes when she touches herself, tries to figure out how best to explain it.
“Um…don’t put your fingers in right away,” she manages. Haymitch nods, and so she continues. “Just kind of… rub around for a second. Try to…” She bites her lower lip. “... i-it feels better if your fingers aren’t dry.”
His eyes widen slightly as he picks up what she’s saying. But he nods again, quickly, nervously. His eyes fall back between her legs. His jaw tightens with nerves, his fingers still trembling slightly against her skin.
And then he moves.
Her breath hitches as two of his fingers start to trail curiously through the slick folds of her core. The touch is feather-light at first, hesitant and shakily curious. He makes a noise as the moisture gathers on the pads of his fingertips.
“God, you’re…” His touch grows a little bolder, exploring her a bit more firmly, which makes her hand tighten on the back of his neck and her eyes flutter at the wonderful yet foreign sensation of someone else’s touch between her legs. “...you’re so wet.”
He sounds completely in awe, and she bites back a noise, pressing her forehead against his cheek frantically as her whole body tenses. He takes notice, turns to press a reassuring kiss to her forehead, not looking where his fingers are as he moves them up a little-
She lets out a yelp as his fingers accidentally press over her clit, sending a jolt up her spine and making her legs jerk slightly. Haymitch’s eyes go wide, his fingers freezing against her.
“D-did I hurt-”
“No!” she whimpers, screwing her eyes shut and taking a few breaths. “Sorry, just…” She swallows, tries to calm her racing heart. When she opens her eyes, Haymitch is still looking at her, his eyes dark and filled with concern, waiting for an explanation. Her face goes hot, and she barely manages to mumble out, “... t-that was my clit.”
“Oh,” he says quietly. Then; “Oh!”
Despite herself, she lets out a breathless laugh. His eyes fall back between her legs, and he hesitantly rubs over her clit again, making her whole body seize up. He repeats the action a few more times, and when a whine falls from her lips, he actually shivers, his fingers pressing down harder and movements speeding up.
“N-not so hard…” she chokes out after a moment, trying to keep her head straight. “...little slower…oh, god-”
She can’t get the words out anymore as he obeys. Her hips jerk unevenly against his hand, her eyes struggling to stay open. Noises fall from her throat, frantic and almost pathetic-sounding, as he rubs her clit over and over, his eyes watching his actions with rapt attention, each move careful and calculated.
“Can I put a finger in now?” he asks breathlessly, and she tries to respond, she does, but he’s not stopping, and her hips jerk up against his hand once more, her moans growing slightly higher. “Lenore Dove?”
“Yes,” she whimpers, spreading her legs wider and using her grip on his neck to kiss him, sloppy and biting. He breaks away far too quickly for her liking, clearly on a mission. His fingers leave her clit and move lower, circling her entrance gently. She takes a moment now that he’s not actively making her fall apart so thoroughly to gasp a few breaths, to try and calm herself before she nods her encouragement.
His fingers are thicker than hers, and calloused. He pushes one in gently, far too slowly for her liking, and she moans raggedly at the sensation, her other hand falling to the ground, both her hands now being the only thing keeping her upright as he starts to dip his index finger in and out of her, slow and gentle.
“It’s… you’re so warm,” he murmurs in awe, his eyes trained on where he’s entering her. She whimpers, her thighs shaking uncontrollably and hips shifting restlessly. His eyes move back up to her face again, and he stops, drinking in her expression with a sort of shocked awe.
“G-give me another one,” she manages. Her joints go weak as he obeys, and she can feel her arms shaking like a leaf, her eyes fluttering at the stretch, slightly bigger than she’s used to, but a stretch that she finds herself craving . She moans, breathless and hazy, manages to speak once more.
“Curl them forwards- ah!”
His fingers press on that spot inside of her, the one that makes her vision go white, and a strangled moan, one that’s far too loud, falls from her lips. He repeats the action again, and her hips buck helplessly as pleasure burns through her, lapping at her insides like a wave of flames.
“Yes,” she chokes out. “Haymitch, please-” His fingers drag as he pulls out a little, and when he thrusts back in, he nails that spot once more, making her cry out. Her whole body is tingling, her mind going foggy, only able to focus on Haymitch and the expanse of his skin, the way he’s straining against his pants, the dilated pupils of his eyes-
“N-now that’s-” she whimpers, her hips rolling, jerking, like they have a mind of their own. It feels so good, it feels like nothing else, like nothing she could even imagine, and she suddenly wonders if she’s going to lose her mind, if she’s going to be driven insane by this and never be able to return back to earth.
His thumb moves to hesitantly rub up against her clit again, and the combination makes her arms give way entirely.
She falls back onto the wooden floor with a loud cry, her whole back arching painfully and her eyes screwing shut. He repeats the combination over and over and over again, his free hand coming up to squeeze one of her exposed breasts in his palm, and she’s squirming against the wood like a pinned butterfly, unable to catch her breath, her hands tense against the wooden floor because she wants to reach up and grab him, but she’s terrified that she’ll grip him so hard that it’ll hurt, that she’ll cut into his skin with her nails. It takes her a moment to realize that Haymitch is making noises of his own, and the realization that he’s getting some kind of pleasure out of this too makes her feel only all the more frantic for him.
Her body has become an instrument, like her tunebox, one that Haymitch is learning to play with his clever and attentive fingers, one that makes music with the curve of her spine and the noises that fall from her lips.
“C-close…” she whimpers, her voice barely audible. Seemingly emboldened by this, he speeds up the motions of his fingers, but it’s too fast, and she has to gasp out for him to slow down again. It takes him a second to get back into the rhythm, takes him a moment to work her back up again, and then he just keeps going , keeps massaging the soft skin of her breast, keeps rubbing her clit in a steady motion and thrusting his fingers into her so that her hips rock against the wood, pressing up and forward and rubbing inside of her until-
She clenches down around him, hard enough that she wonders if it hurts him, and throws her head back with a loud cry as slick gushes from between her legs, her whole body locking up and arching with need. His fingers go still inside of and against her, and she can feel him watching in awe as she rides out the release that he’s given her, watching as she mewls and cries out and bucks against his fingers over and over and over again, until she finally collapses into the floor, overwhelmed with sensation, her skin tingling all over.
She flinches as he gingerly removes his fingers from her, the sensation slightly painful and uncomfortable, but then he leans down over her and captures her lips in a tender kiss, his clean hand coming up to cup her face and soothingly stroke her hair with trembling motions. She melts into him, her hands feeling weak and clumsy as they move to press against the skin of his back. His skin is warm to the touch, the corded muscles beneath his skin shifting beneath her hands, tensing as her fingers trail across them.
“Are you okay?” he asks shakily. She nods, her hands moving up his neck and resting in his face. Her breath hitches as he tilts his head to kiss her palm, achingly tender and gentle. They stare at each other for a moment, hands trembling and breathing labored, both of them clearly trying to process what had just occurred.
She’s not sure what to say, she realizes. There’s so many thoughts running through her head, so many things that she could say, but isn’t sure if she should. More than anything else, she wants to thank him; to thank him for being gentle, for being so attentive and careful with her, for giving her what she asked for in such a wonderfully beautiful way. But somehow, that feels silly, almost childish. To make matters worse, she seems incapable of speaking right now, her voice caught in her throat.
After a long moment, they finally start to move, slow and awkward. He gently crawls off of her, and she begins to slowly push herself up. He moves to help her, wrapping an arm around her waist and hoisting her up gently, moving to sit next to her and watching with trembling eyes as she pushes her skirt back down, her hands moving to pull the straps of her brassiere back up and to shakily button up the front of her dress. She takes a secret sort of pride when she sees a hint of disappointment on his face as she covers up again, but he doesn’t pry, doesn’t move to stop her.
He looks down at his hand, the one still slick and sticky from her, as if unsure of what to do. After a second of thought, he pulls out a handkerchief from his pocket and cleans his fingers off on it, gingerly setting it aside.
That’s when she notices that he’s still straining against the front of his pants.
Almost on instinct, in a moment of curiosity and hazy lust, she reaches out and places her hand over the bulge in his pants. He stiffens, a muffled noise escaping his lips.
Swallowing, her fingers move slowly, gently massaging him through his pants. His hips jerk forward into her hand as he makes another muffled sound, and a thrill runs through her at the action. She presses down a little harder, and he moans, his hand reaching out to grab her wrist, his voice gasping and strained.
“Lenore Dove, you don’t have to-”
“I want to,” she pleads. “Please let me-.”
He moans helplessly, pressing his mouth to her shoulder. She stills her hand to let him think. Haymitch lets out a ragged breath, screwing his eyes shut and slowing his breathing. Her eyes travel over his exposed form lit by the flickering firelight of the hearth; the olive skin that’s been tanned further by the sun, the muscles shifting beneath his skin, the small trail of hair that travels down into his pants, where he’s hard and begging for her touch.
She wants to run her mouth all over him. She wants to sink her teeth into every part of him that she can reach, wants to taste the salt of his skin. She feels like a glut with all the things she wants to do to him at this moment.
“I won’t… last very long,” Haymitch admits, his face darkening with embarrassment. Her heart swells, and she shakes her head, shifting onto her knees in front of him and reaching for his belt.
“I don’t care,” she says firmly, hands shaking as she undoes the buckle. Haymitch swallows and nods, moving to get up on his knees as well. She unbuttons the front of his pants, grabbing onto the waistband and tugging down until his cock springs free, and then she stops, taking a moment just to look.
Haymitch pants, his hands coming up to grip her waist just a bit too tightly, but she doesn’t care, not at this moment. Her hand reaches out, and she trails her fingers curiously down the length of him. The skin is hot, velvety-soft on her fingertips.
But the noise he makes…
A faint pang of desire echoes between her thighs. Without thinking, she reaches for him and wraps her hand around him more fully. He lets out a whine, one that makes her want so much more of his sounds, and he buries his face into her neck, hands twisting the fabric by the waist of her dress. She loves him like this, putty in her hands, clinging to her like a lifeline.
She begins to pump him, slow at first, and he makes a broken sound that goes right to her core. Her hand speeds up, and she listens carefully to the noises he makes, watches the way his hips buck into her until she finds a rhythm and a pace that seems to work best. He’s swaying slightly, his mouth pressed to her neck, and she can feel the vibrations of his moaning against her overheated skin. She tilts her head to nip at his ear, mouthing at it as she twists her wrist, and true to his word, he doesn’t last long.
His hands grip her like a vice, his hips giving a few uneven thrusts. She feels him press his face more firmly against her neck, and he lets out a guttural groan as his release coats her hand, hot and sticky. She keeps stroking him through it, kissing his neck and cheek and hair, anywhere she can reach with her lips, not stopping until his shaking hand comes down to grip hers, stopping its motions.
His knees seem to give, and he falls back into a sitting position, leaning back against a nearby chair and gasping for breath. She quickly wipes off her hand with the same handkerchief, and moves towards him, suddenly overcome with the desire to be close to him, as close as she can be. He seems to understand, because he scoots to lay out on the floor, pulling up his pants before holding out his arms to her. She gladly collapses into them, wrapping an arm around his waist and throwing a leg over his, pressing her face into his chest as his strong arms come up to hold her.
Her hand moves up to his chest, her fingers tracing absentminded patterns on his skin. Haymitch’s hand smooths up her back, his fingers coming up to gently play with her hair as they both catch their breath, basking in the afterglow of it all. She feels warm and fuzzy, like a blanket of soft static has been laid over her mind. She feels strangely sleepy too, and being so close to a warm fire while being wrapped up in her Haymitch doesn’t make matters any better on that front. Despite herself, she closes her eyes, feeling herself begin to doze off in the warmth and soothing touch of Haymitch.
“I’m sorry,” Haymitch murmurs, stirring her awake from her drowsiness. Frowning, she props her chin up on his chest to look at him, her eyes soft as they take him in with an aching fondness; hair messy, eyes gray once more, a slight glistening sheen on his cheekbones.
“What for?” she asks softly. He shifts awkwardly, his hand going still in her hair for a moment.
“For not…” He clears his throat. “...lasting longer.”
“Oh.” She lets out a breathless sort of chuckle, moving up so that her face is level with his, her hand moving up to cradle his cheek. “That’s okay. We’ll keep practicing.”
She realizes what she just implied right as Haymitch does, and her face goes scalding hot as a teasing smile breaks across his lips.
“Are you saying we’re doing this again?” he asks, his voice barely containing a giddy sort of laugh. She rolls her eyes, trying to play off her flustered state.
“Yes. Of course we are.” She hesitates, her eyes meeting his again. “Unless you don’t want to, of course.”
He smiles at her then, moving his head to kiss her palm in a mirror of his earlier actions. “Oh, I do,” he laughs, lifting his head to kiss her.
“I love you like all-fire,” he murmurs. She can’t help the dorky smile that spreads across her lips, and she presses the curve of it to Haymitch’s mouth.
“You too.”
She kisses him again. And again. Soon, the kisses turn hungry, slightly biting as her leg swings over his hips. Somehow, she’s already aching for him again as she straddles him, her hands gripping his face as she teases the tip of her tongue against the seam of his lips. He melts into it at first, but then makes a noise of reluctant protest, tilting his head to break the kiss.
“We- oh, god…” His eyes flutter shut as her lips move to his neck, mouthing at the soft skin there while her hands tangle in his hair. That desire is back, the one that demands that she runs her teeth and tongue over every inch of him, and Haymitch is moaning so sweetly beneath her that it makes her dizzy all over again. She nips at his pulse point, her hips unconsciously beginning to grind down against his thigh, slow and deliberate.
Haymitch lets out a shaky sigh of pleasure, his hands gripping her hips and eyes rolling to the back of his head. “As much as I would love to let this continue-” Haymitch groans, lifting her off of him reluctantly and setting her aside as gently as he can manage, moving to sit up. “-we are in Hattie’s house.”
Lenore Dove glances around curiously; she had wondered at the beginning of the night who this house had belonged to. Hattie was at the bar like she always was during parties like this at the Hob. That’s why Haymitch had known this house would be empty.
“And I don’t know how soon she’ll be home,” Haymitch adds, his voice slightly strained like he wants to pull her back down and continue. But he shakes his head like he’s clearing it, giving her a reluctant smile. “So I think we’d… better go.”
Lenore Dove sighs. “You’re probably right…” She groans, rubbing a hand over her face. She can’t help but lean into his side, resting her head on his shoulder when his arm comes up to wrap around her waist. “The Covey will be wondering where I am soon too. They’ll get worried if I’m not home.”
“Right.” Haymitch nods, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. But they linger for a moment, Haymitch pressing kisses to her forehead and Lenore Dove admiring the expanse of his torso.
They finally move to actually leave after a long while of this. She pulls back on her underwear while he pulls on his shirt, and she has to bite back a whine when the skin of his chest is no longer visible to her. He douses the flames, runs the handkerchief under the running faucet of the sink, wringing it out before gingerly folding it up and placing it in his pocket.
Ever the gentleman, he offers her his arm as he walks her home. No one from the Covey is home yet from the party by the time she arrives back at the house; she plans to tell them that the party just got too loud, and she was tired, so she had gone home early. Hopefully no one saw her leave with Haymitch; she’s not ready to have that conversation with Tam Amber or Clerk Carmine.
Haymitch kisses her one last time at the doorway of her house, achingly slow and firm, like he’s savoring this moment, like he doesn’t want to leave, not yet. And she grips onto him desperately as her knees go weak, clings to him when they threaten to give way.
He leaves her giddy and trembling, already yearning for more.
Notes:
Clothed Sex
Slight Breast Worship
Vaginal Fingering
HandjobsGuys, I think Lenore Dove would love being in control with Haymitch. And I think Haymitch loves that too! I personally head canon that they switch the more "dominant" one of the two, which isn't super obvious in this one just because it's their first time, and they don't know all about sex just yet! They're still exploring.
Anyways, let me know what you think! Next chapter will be up when I can get it up, so no guarantees of it within the next two weeks. Sorry! But I love y'all, have a good night!
Chapter 3: The Journey (Part 1)
Summary:
Haymitch and Lenore Dove begin to experiment a little. Lenore Dove discovers something new that she likes.
Notes:
...so to the people who did not pray hard enough for this fic to only be three chapters, I want to say that you did this to me.
Kidding of course! Allow me to explain why the chapter numbers have jumped so high so suddenly; originally, Chapter 3 was a series of snapshot smut pieces linked together to show Haydove evolving in their sex lives over time. But then each snapshot got about 3k words long, and so I decided to split them up to expand on them further. Since they're all pre-written and just in need of editing, you can expect another chapter of this next week! Hooray! But yeah; expect three more smut chapters, a brief intermission chapter, and then smut again. What can I say? Sorry 'bout that.
The list of sex acts in this chapter is at the bottom notes. This one is less lovey-dovey, more spicy for sure, but it's Haydove; they're always a little bit lovey-dovey with each other. This and the next three chapters all span about three months of time within the universe of the fic.
Also, apologies for the slight change in spacing, I started using a new writing tool since Google Drive is being a bitch.
Please enjoy the result of many hours of work!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
So, Lenore Dove had assumed that indulging her fantasies with Haymitch one time would make them ease for a while. She assumed it would work like hunger; she had eaten her fill that night in the house with Haymitch, and so she would be okay for a while, at least until time had passed and then she would be hungry again. It was going to fade, just like hunger did upon a meal. And god, it had been a good meal. He had left Lenore Dove satisfied and giddy. Truly, she could not have asked for a better first time with him.
But no; having sex for the first time after fantasizing about it for so long it seems to have had the opposite effect in terms of desire.
She craves sex with Haymitch constantly now. Parts of it have gotten easier, yes; she doesn't feel guilt anymore for fantasizing about him in intimate scenarios. And with practice, she becomes more confident in asking him to help her fulfill these fantasies. It's wonderful, really, not feeling like she has to keep this part of herself as a dirty secret from him anymore. It's wonderful to know that he loves her too, that he wants her in that same way. It's freeing, knowing that your partner loves and accepts all parts of you.
But now, everything seemed to be a trigger for memories to resurface, for dirty thoughts to emerge. Getting dressed, reading in her bed- even as she’s out feeding her geese, it’s all she can think about. And with memories and experiences to add to it all, these fantasies suddenly become so much more vivid. Now when she imagines things, she has the phantom feelings of Haymitch's fingers and tongue to go with them.
And with the experimenting they've been doing, now she finds herself thinking about the future too; her mind is constantly filled with the things she wants to do to him next, the things that she wants him to do to her. They spill into her thoughts at any given moment, into her dreams as she sleeps. She's found herself more nights than not with her hand in her underwear, gasping and biting down on her pillow to keep herself muffled as she pictures him, over her, under her, and on some particularly intense nights, inside of her.
No, having sex with Haymitch did not make the hunger go away. Not in the slightest. It suddenly feels like the flood gates have burst open, every bit of pent-up desire suddenly surging forward, demanding to be reckoned with, to be satisfied. And he does satisfy her, over and over as the months pass. And yet, it only grows, like a plant that's been watered after months of no rain.
It's utter insanity. It's both heaven and hell, to feel a lust like this.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"They're at the lake, don't worry about it-"
"Clerk Carmine will kill me if he comes home to us-"
He's so cute when he's worried like this. He gets a crease between his eyebrows, and she's always overcome with the urge to press her lips against it until it smooths. Truthfully, he's cute all the time; Lenore Dove didn't think that a person could be so… well, endearing. So wonderfully dorky and ridiculously attractive. Really, it's almost a problem, but it's one that she's sure doesn't have a solution, and if it does, she has no interest in finding it.
He's still rambling, waving his hand through the air as he talks, but truthfully, it's incredibly hard to listen right now. Her eyes are following his fingers, traveling down his exposed forearms and pushed-up sleeves, tracing down the curve of his neck to where the first two buttons of his shirt are undone, revealing a tantalizing and teasing view of his chest, his collarbones.
God, she wants to press her mouth there. She wants his calloused hands on her. She really, really wants his fingers in her again. There's so many things she wants to do with him right now, all of them appealing.
"-and you know he already hates me, I don't want him to have any more reason to-" He pauses suddenly, his hand frozen in midair, staring at her quizzically. With a start, she realizes that she's been staring shamelessly at the open buttons on his chest, arms crossed, her teeth working her lower lip.
She pointedly clears her throat, forcefully lifts her eyes to his face as her cheeks go hot. He studies her for a second, then seems to realize what had happened. His face shifts into something that's almost playful, and she bites back a smile.
"Were you listening to anything I was saying?" he asks, raising an eyebrow at her.
Lenore Dove tugs Haymitch forward with a laugh, and despite his worrying, despite his playful protestations, his face breaks out into a wild smile as he goes willingly, stumbling towards the doorway, closer to her. She can't help the giddy smile that spreads across her face in return, and she reaches up, fists the collar of his shirt, drags him down into a kiss that almost immediately becomes sloppy, tongues tangling, teeth nipping at lower lips, mouths becoming slick as they slide and move against each other.
She had meant to drag him in further, but he's distracting her now, kissing her so thoroughly like this. And well, she indulges herself for a moment, letting him stand in the doorway as they kiss. The heat only climbs, and soon both of them are grabbing and pulling at each other's clothes to no avail, as if they're going to have their way with each other out in the broad daylight. She's not ready for that though, at least not right now.
But she can't seem to stop herself, and Haymitch isn't even fully inside yet, which should be a crime because she doesn't particularly want to do this in a place that's not her bedroom, and she needs him badly, so badly that she's becoming impatient, so why is he still outside?! She tries to yank him inside again, tries to stagger backwards as his tongue traces the roof of her mouth, but really, she's terribly distracted, and so in her hasty and disoriented state, she stumbles and ends up slamming her shoulder hard into the doorframe of the Covey's house. She breaks the kiss with a yelp as pain shoots up her shoulder. Haymitch pulls back, his eyes widening in shock.
"Fuck, are you okay?!" Haymitch pants, his hands already coming up to gently cradle her shoulder, prodding gently with his fingers as if to feel whether or not she broke any bones. But the pain is already fading, and she can see that he's straining against his pants, that his lips are kiss-swollen and still slick. She wants to sink her teeth into them like a piece of fruit.
So she nods quickly, batting his hands away and bringing hers back up, and in a sudden motion that makes a surprised yelp fall from his lips, she yanks him forward roughly by his collar, sending him stumbling into the house. She lets go once he's inside, and Haymitch trips slightly, catching himself on the kitchen table. When she reaches to slam the door shut behind him, she peeks over her shoulder at him, and he's staring at her, his eyes dark, his face in complete and utter awe of her.
She hurriedly turns to face the door again, trying to shove that look out of her mind so that she can focus. The house has a lock with a chain, one with a little circle of metal at the end that's meant to slide into a track of sorts that's screwed to the door. She's grabbing the end of the chain, preparing to lift it to the track, when she suddenly feels a warm body pressing up against her back, strong arms wrapping around her waist. She nearly drops the piece entirely when his lips move to press to her neck, right on the spot that he's learned makes her whole body shiver with need.
He's hard against her, pressing up enticingly against her backside. She moans, quiet and breathless, and then he's mouthing down her neck hungrily, his hips pressing forward like he can't help it, like he can't resist any longer. Her eyes flutter shut with a choked sound, and she has to force them back open, bracing one hand against the door as the other one frantically fumbles with the lock, trying and failing to slide it into place, her grip weakening and hand spasming as he kisses and nips at her neck, his nose squashed against her skin, his hips canting forward against her in a way that makes her whole brain fill with static.
He's never been like this before. Not in any of the small number of fumbling sessions they'd had since that night at Hattie's.
She likes it. She really, really likes it.
"Fuck," she pants, unsure if she should push him off to finish locking the door or if she should give up entirely on it. Her hand aches to push off of where it's braced on the door, to delve into his hair in a vain attempt to pull him impossibly closer. But by some miracle, she finally manages to slide the lock into place, cutting off any possibility of unexpected interruptions. She lets out a heavy sigh of relief, her hand finally moving to grip the back of his neck to hold him close, her nails digging into the warm skin there.
It's hard to say whether Haymitch was the one to spin her around or if she did herself, but regardless, she ends up with her back pressed up against the door, her hands sliding up his arms and shoulders, up into his thick hair, his hands gripping her waist, pressing her back into the door, crowding her against it until she's surrounded by him, his warmth and scent permeating every one of her senses, both of their moans muffled by each other's lips and tongues.
Not close enough, her mind whispers frantically, which is completely illogical because she's completely pressed up against him and his tongue is practically down her throat, but she can't help it. So she wraps her arms around his shoulders, clings to him like she'd die if she let go, one of her legs lifting to try and wrap around him. He groans against her, and she almost whines when one of his hands releases her waist, until it comes down to grip her thigh, hoisting her leg up and over his hip and stepping even closer.
She leans back further against the door, suddenly thankful that it's there to support her weight. She can feel the hardness of him against her hip, and in a blind sort of desperation, she shifts until it's pressed up between her legs, moaning brokenly as it presses up against her throbbing clit through the layers of clothing. He lets out a noise as well, his hands tightening on her, and then she's breaking the kiss with a helpless gasp as his hips start to shift restlessly, grinding up against her until she sees stars.
Fuck, is this what it would feel like to have him inside of her?
She forces the thought out of her mind; both of them had talked, and agreed that they would wait on that. Neither one of them had any kind of protection, and Haymitch had confessed that he didn't feel quite ready for that yet; he had told her that he was nervous about not being able to last, about not being able to satisfy her. He had told her that he wanted to get better at this first.
Well, maybe Haymitch hadn't done the best in school, but he's a fast learner.
He's making these noises as he grinds up against her, a sort of grunting sound falling from his mouth with each thrust of his hips, a sound that shoots straight to her core. She moans as he captures her lips again, but he's still rubbing up against her clit, sending jolts of pleasure up her whole body, and so she ends up just panting against his mouth, moaning with each press of his hips, her eyes screwed shut and hands digging into him. He stops forcefully after a moment with a gasp, dropping her leg and jerking his hips away from her. She can't stop the whimper that falls from her lips, sighing with relief when he kisses her again.
"Sorry… came close… w-want to focus on you first…" he manages between kisses, carefully angling his hips away from her. It's an echo of their first time together; it makes her heart do something funny in her chest.
Haymitch is a provider. Always has been since the death of his father. He works tirelessly to provide for his family, to put food on the table. He works tirelessly to have the money to provide Lenore Dove with books from the Hob. Back in their school days, he gave pieces of his lunch away to kids who couldn't bring their own, merely asking for something small in return so that they didn't feel guilty for taking his food. There were days where he would give away his entire lunch to someone, and she'd find him sitting with a crown of flowers, a smooth throwing stone, a handful of wild berries. Always things that could be easily gotten by kids who couldn't afford to pay him in money for his kindness. And when Lenore Dove would offer up some of her own food, he'd politely refuse, shrugging with his signature crooked grin and claiming that he wasn't that hungry anyways, even as she heard his stomach growl in protest.
He's always thinking of others. Always providing what little services and help he can. It's one of the things she fell in love with him for.
But one day, she wants him to be selfish. One day, she'll make him forget all about anyone else, make him forget about anything but his own pleasure, his own desires. One day, she'll pin him to something, maybe a wall or a bed, anything really, and she'll make him absolutely delirious for her. She'll make him tell her exactly what he wants her to do, and then she'll do it to him, over and over, as many times as he'll let her. God, she wants to drive him crazy; she wants him to surrender to her, to be unable to do anything but lay there and take it. She wants to lift the burden of responsibility from his shoulders for even a single minute so that it's just him.
But he'd gotten the advantage this time, made her putty in his hands. She's too dazed, completely unable to think clearly enough to flip the table onto him. So she reluctantly files the thought away for now, tucks it into the back of her mind, and nods, letting out a happy sigh when his lips press back up against hers, melting back against the door, moaning as it heats up again, as he presses her back against the door and slides his tongue against hers.
Her dazed mind whirs; she wants to get him to the bedroom, she really does, but she also does not want to stop kissing him, even as she goes lightheaded and dizzy from it. So she keeps her lips locked against his as her hands move down to his chest, right over where his heart is pounding against his ribcage. She keeps her lips against his as she frantically shoves him backwards, off the door and in the general direction of her bedroom, heat pooling between her legs.
Unfortunately, they are both still very much in the kitchen. And Lenore Dove is finding that she's terrible at maneuvering people while she's kissing someone, especially someone who is as skilled at kissing as Haymitch is. So when she shoves him backwards, she miscalculates how hard she'd done it; Haymitch trips slightly, breaking the kiss as he scrambles to catch himself, and his hip slams up against the table with a loud bang, certainly hard enough to leave a nasty bruise. He lets out a hiss of pain, and she gasps, everything else forgotten as she rushes forward, her hand moving to touch his hip.
"I'm sorry!" she blurts out frantically. Really, she needed to get herself under control; here he was, being so sweet and saying that he wanted to focus on her first, and how did she repay him? By shoving him into a table. Truly, she was a terrible girlfriend.
But to her shock, he quickly shakes his head, grabbing her wrist to stop her hand from touching his hip, using his grip to tug her back in. She makes a noise of surprise as he pulls her up against his chest, and she tries to insist on checking on him as his arms wrap back around her, but then he's licking at the seam of her lips in a way that makes her knees buckle, in a way that tears a whimpering moan from her throat, and then she's not thinking about bruises at all. She clings to him for support as her lips part, a delicious shiver running up her spine as his arms tighten around her.
He's too good at this, she thinks hazily. She's too turned on to particularly care about the consequences of that right now.
His hands suddenly grab onto her hips in an iron grip, effectively halting her in place, and in a single smooth motion, he hoists her into the air. She lets out a surprised yelp, her arms and legs scrambling for purchase as her feet are lifted off the ground. Her legs hook over Haymitch's hips, her arms frantically wrapping around Haymitch's neck to keep herself from falling backwards; by the time she stops frantically clinging, he's moving towards her bedroom.
"Good?" he asks, his voice slightly husky.
"Yeah," she breathes, dazed and far too breathless.
He carries her like she weighs nothing.
In a single instant, she's overcome with a feeling so powerful and primal that it's animalistic. Purely on instinct, out of some kind of frantic desperation, she slides a hand down the back of the collar of his shirt, her hand pressing up against his warm skin, against the muscles that flex beneath it. Her head moves to press into his neck, and then she's mouthing hungrily at his ear and throat, her legs squeezing so tightly around his waist that he makes a gasping noise. A rush of heat flashes through her, and she clings tighter, licks at the shell of his ear, delighting when he lets out a strangled, almost whimpering sound that drives her absolutely insane.
"Hang on, Lenore Dove-" He pants, fumbling with the doorknob to her bedroom, but she doesn't care, not when his skin is so close to her lips like this. She tangles her hands back into his hair, mouths at his pulse point in an almost frantic manner. She feels suddenly like a wild animal, lustful and feral, driven by nothing but starving desire and desperation. She wants to mark him, she wants to devour him, and before she can think better of it, she opens her mouth and sinks her teeth into the inviting skin of his neck with a loud groan.
That's when he growls.
She freezes slightly at the sound, her mouth still pressed to his neck. His hands tighten on her, and her blood runs boiling hot with pure, unadulterated lust, with excitement.
They had fooled around a few times now since Hattie's home. And it was loving, it was wonderful, achingly gentle and sweet and good in a way that kept her up for hours, made her toss and turn in her bed afterwards as her mind replayed it over and over again.
But somehow, she feels like she's crossed into something new, something that she'd only seen glimpses of up until now in the few times since that first night. That animalistic part to sex, the one that was almost violent in its desire to be satisfied. The one that both of them had been trying to hold back for the sake of the other.
Until now.
He throws the door open to the bedroom so hard it hits the wall on the other side, kicks it shut behind him right as his head turns to catch her lips in an absolutely biting kiss that makes her moan brokenly into his mouth. His hands grip her thighs harder, and right as she's praying that it'll bruise again, he breaks the kiss and tosses her onto her bed like it's easy, like she weighs nothing to him. She lets out a shriek as she lands onto the mattress, bouncing slightly upon impact, but she's already reaching for him as he crawls over her, his eyes dark, his pupils dilated. He leans down, practically devours her in a kiss that's all teeth and tongue, his hands already going to the top buttons of her blouse.
He practically rips it open, tearing it off her shoulders roughly and barely taking the time to even toss it aside before he's yanking her brassiere open and tossing that aside too. His hands immediately go to cup her breasts, his fingers pinching both of her nipples in a way that makes her gasp, before releasing them and dragging his fingers down her stomach, down to the button her pants. There's almost a forcefulness to his actions, to the way that he's tearing her clothes off of her, the way he's groping and touching her. But truthfully, she's no better than him, accidentally sending a few buttons flying across the room when she yanks his shirt off of him. She's not sure how Haymitch is going to explain those to his ma, but she doesn't have the time nor wherewithal to care right now, especially when Haymitch leans down and kisses her so thoroughly that her mind goes blank, empty of anything except for that desperate lust.
His chest presses up against hers, so close that she can feel his heart pounding. Both of their hands are fumbling for each other, their kiss biting and animalistic, like they're trying to fight each other, like they're both trying to wrestle for control of the situation. It's absolutely exhilarating, competitive in the best kind of way. It's a sharp contrast to their previous times together, and she already knows that she will be thinking about it for weeks afterwards, trying to conjure up the exact memory as she touches herself.
Really, it's a miracle that she can do anything right now, with his muscular chest pressed up against her breasts, with his tongue in her mouth, with his hand starting to dip beneath the waistband of her underwear. Still, after a bit of struggle and a few faltered movements, she manages to get a hand down the front of his pants, starts to wrap her fingers around him to begin working him.
But then he growls again, sounding almost angry. Before either one of them can think, his teeth sink into her lower lip, and his fingers encircle her wrist like a shackle, yanking it out of his pants and pinning it to the mattress next to her head, right by her ear. She lets out a strangled gasp, breaking the kiss as she feels a gush of hot arousal wet her underwear, her mouth falling open in shock, her eyes wide and frantic as they meet his.
He hesitates for a second, his eyes scanning hers, then flicking to her hand still pressed against the mattress. His grip loosens on her wrist, his thumb caressing the veins faintly visible beneath the skin, his touch suddenly achingly gentle.
"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice breathless and slightly husky in a way that makes her tremble.
"Yes," she pants, nodding quickly. He still looks concerned, his brow furrowed, his thumb shaking as it traces lovingly over the lines of her skin. His eyes travel over her face, and his own softens until he's looking down at her with so much love that she almost wants to turn away. She closes her eyes as he leans down and kisses her cheek, sweet and soft, a severe contrast to the way they had just been tearing at each other. She lets out a soft breath as he continues down her jaw, tenderly pressing his mouth against her skin as his hand releases her wrist, moving upwards instead to lace his fingers with hers.
For a moment, it seems like Haymitch has locked the wild lust away, like he's going to finger her gently like he always does, kissing her face and neck and breasts with complete and utter reverence until she clenches around him and orgasms with a cry.
And that's good. It's always good.
She almost lets it happen that way.
But before she can think, before she can stop herself, she blurts out, "You're so… god, Haymitch, you're so strong."
Her voice cracks with need at the end, and she feels her throat close up with humiliation at the admission, but it's true; Haymitch is strong. It had been the thing that led to the start of their physical relationship after all. He can carry heavy loads of corn and flour. He can lug water back and forth as easily as breathing. He can pick her up like she weighs nothing at all, move her like a rag doll into whatever position he wanted her in.
And it drives her completely insane.
He pauses, his lips pressed against the corner of her jaw, his whole back going tense. When he pulls back to look at her, his eyes have darkened slightly in a way that makes heat curl in her stomach.
He glances at her hand still resting on the mattress by her head, their fingers intertwined. He releases her hand, his fingers dragging down her palm, then lightly encircling her wrist again. His eyes flick back down to her face.
"You like this?" he asks slowly, low and vulnerable.
She nods, a whimper escaping her lips before she can stop it, pleading and soft.
His grip around her wrist tightens again, pressing it down to the bedsheets. Carefully. Like he's asking permission.
Her breath hitches. She twists her hand slightly and finds that she can't move it. That he's got her pinned by one wrist by her head, that he's resting his weight on his elbow as he hovers above her, and she can so clearly see the corded muscles of his bicep straining as he holds her wrist down and supports his own weight.
But most of all, she finds that she's thrilled by this shift. Excited. So turned on it hurts.
"Haymitch," she moans, broken and whimpering, trying to grab him with her free hand. "Haymitch, please-"
He grabs her other wrist and pins it down to the mattress by her head as well. She moans loudly, her fingers flexing helplessly against the sheets, her back arching up as he pins her to the bed beneath him. Something burning flashes in his eyes, wild and involuntary, and then he's pressing down on top of her, mouthing back down her throat. His teeth sink into her pulse point, and she cries out, tilting her head back to expose more of her neck to him to bruise, to mark as his, but then his mouth is dragging down her throat, leaving a trail of heat behind as he moves lower, his hands keeping her wrists pinned to the bed.
"Fuck," he curses under his breath, and then his face is pressed up against her breasts, mouthing at them with a desperate sort of hunger that makes her head spin. She actually cries out when he sucks a nipple into his mouth, her eyes slipping shut and mouth falling open with a loud moan as she feels his teeth tugging at it, just hard enough to send a jolt of pleasure through her whole being. He moans, his grip tightening as she starts to squirm, trying to free her hands so she can grab his hair, his biceps, anything to keep her grounded.
"Yes," she gasps out. "Yes, please, don't stop-"
He takes both her wrists in one hand, gripping hard and fast, moaning around her nipple as his hand drags down her chest, down her stomach, and shoves down her still opened pants, down the front of her underwear, fingers pressing right where she's throbbing and wet and clenching around nothing.
He lifts his head, his eyes dark and hungry as they take in the frantic desperation on her face with a mixture of awe and satisfaction.
He's so strong, is the last semi-coherent thought she has. Dazed. Dreamy. Practically swooning.
That's when his fingers thrust into her, hard and fast. They curl mercilessly inside of her until stars spark across her vision, his mouth still on her breasts, his hand holding her in place as his fingers work her with the ease of someone who's been practicing, learning, imagining this over and over again.
Yes, Lenore Dove likes this side of Haymitch.
Notes:
This chapter has a lot of Haymitch pinning Lenore Dove down (consensually), some grinding, some nipple play, and vaginal fingering. It's a bit similar to the last chapter tbh, but hey! They like to take their time with each other. They're going to get more adventurous as the chapters go on, don't worry. That whole thing with Lenore Dove wanting to take control? Yeah, get excited folks.
(And don't worry, it won't always be fade-to-black at the end.)
Please let me know your thoughts! Thank you for all your lovely comments, I am someone who is often convinced that they are a terrible writer, and those insecurities makes it hard to write sometimes. Your comments really do help ease those anxieties, and thus help me to write again, so thank you, thank you, thank you. This chapter happened because of all of you.
This past month especially has been a bit hard, as I've been writing every day, grinding for my WIPs. I'm gonna take the day off tomorrow I think! (Probably not. I am unable to relax if I know I have work to do) In the meantime, check out my other fics that I've uploaded this past month (which are NUMEROUS) and see you next week!
Chapter 4: The Journey (Part 2)
Summary:
Lenore Dove wants to drive Haymitch a bit crazy.
Notes:
Hey y'all!
Sorry this is 2 days late; shoutout to my princess of a horse. She moved barns, and immediately began causing trouble (not entirely her fault; the two horses she was introduced to started misbehaving in ways the owner said they wouldn't lmao.) I almost got kicked in the head, but I am okay! Unscathed, though lesson learned; if a situation feels dangerous, speak up, don't just go with it.
Also, I hated the chapter name of the last chapter, so I changed it. Whoops!
Anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter! As usual, the specific sex acts performed in this chapter will be at the bottom notes.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Haymitch is warm. Always has been, for as long as Lenore Dove has known him. It's like his heart is a furnace, heat radiating from his form in steady waves as the flames roar inside the hearth of his ribcage. It's something that she loves about him; she finds that she gets cold far too easily, and he has always been the quickest method of warming her up. During the winter when he would come out to the meadow to see her, she'd inevitably end up snuggled against him, his jacket opened and wrapped around her shoulders, his arms holding her, his smiling lips pressed to the top of her head as her shivers would gradually disappear, as his warmth seeped into her clothes and eased the chill.
She's reminded of his warmth now, standing behind the Hob, deep in the woods, deep enough that the sounds of that warehouse are distant, the lights barely managing to reach out where they're currently pressed together. (That's alright; she prefers Haymitch in the glow of moonlight anyhow.) Haymitch is standing, leaning back against a tree, his hand gently stroking her lower back as she presses into his chest, trying to fight off the slight chill of the night.
"You're doing the burrowing thing again," Haymitch says, his voice amused. Lenore Dove's cheeks go hot in reply. She tightens her arms around his waist, nuzzling her face further into his chest.
"You like me pressed up against you like this," she mumbles into his shirt. She can't see him smile, but she knows he is; he tightens his arms around her, presses a kiss to the top of her head. Her eyes flutter shut on instinct, basking in the warmth and affection of her Haymitch.
It was a loud party in the Hob, currently filled with intoxicated eighteen-year-olds, all of them shouting drunkenly over top of each other, all of them crowded up against each other, skin warmed with the glow of alcohol. A few of the rich kids from the merchant class of Twelve would occasionally throw a party like this for all the kids in their year. It always ended with incredibly angry parents and very hungover teenagers.
Usually, Lenore Dove declined attendance to such parties. Of course, Haymitch loved those kinds of parties, and so after double-checking with Lenore Dove to make sure she was okay with it, he would take Burdock with him, promising to get her something nice in return. And though she always appreciated the gifts, Lenore Dove truly didn't mind him going without her. If anything, she was secretly glad that someone was there to look after Burdock if he had one too many. Haymitch preferred not to drink, and if he did, he drank very little. Besides, Lenore Dove's fear of Haymitch leaving her for another girl has long since dissipated, having completely disappeared within a year of their relationship.
But tonight, Lenore Dove had agreed to attend. Tonight, she had gotten dressed up, had clung to Haymitch's arm as they entered, and let him drag her to the dance floor. She's had a good time dancing with him, a surprisingly good time overall, but after a while, she had leaned over and asked if they could step outside. She was feeling overwhelmed for one thing; everything was far too loud, and while it was okay at first, after an hour or two it felt suffocating. Haymitch knew this about her, and had no problem stepping out into the night with her, which was wonderful.
Well, wonderful for several reasons. Because tonight, she had plans. Plans that seem to be working so far.
"We should get back soon," Haymitch says with a sigh, though he doesn't make any kind of move to, his hands still holding and stroking her back, his lips still pressed in her hair. She smiles to herself. Haymitch was annoyingly endearing sometimes. Most times. Well, all the time, really, but he'd get too much of an ego if she told him that.
"I don't think you want to," she replies, pulling back slightly to meet his eyes. Haymitch grins down at her, bringing a hand up to tuck a curl behind her ear.
"Burdock will be wondering where we went," he says, again, not seeming to be in any kind of rush to return to the party. She hums in reply, lets her eyes drop away from his until they rest on his collarbones, bringing her hands up to smooth over his chest appreciatively. She feels his breath hitch slightly beneath her palms, and she grins in satisfaction, stepping a little closer to press herself more firmly up against him.
"He can wonder," she murmurs. She tilts her head back, rising up on her toes to kiss him. He melts against her, his eyes fluttering shut with a soft noise. She feels a spark of arousal flicker in her stomach as his arms tighten around her, as he leans more firmly back against the tree like he's suddenly afraid of falling over. The thought excites her, and she pushes him further back, capturing his lower lip gently between her teeth and tugging before kissing him again, over and over, teasingly pulling back whenever he tries to deepen them. After a few rounds of this, he makes a noise of protest when she pulls away again, leaning forward to try and chase her lips.
"Lenore Dove-" he manages, breathy and desperate, the words dancing across her lips in a whispered exhale. She giggles in reply, presses her hands up against his chest again and pushes him back into the tree, leaning in again. She's probably wearing the world's most smug grin right now, which makes it hard to kiss, but she truly loves him like this; she hadn't had a drop of alcohol that night, neither of them had, but she feels intoxicated, almost drunk off the way he's melting and giving into her.
And Haymitch seems to love it. At least, based on the way his Capitol flour shorts look like they're on the verge of tearing with how much he's straining against them.
He makes a pleading noise as she teasingly denies him again, and though she loves drawing this out, she's never been able to deny Haymitch's begging, especially not when he's begging like this, all pathetic and needy and completely hers. So she brings her hands up to cup his face, using this to hold his head in place as she tilts her own and deepens it. He moans out a grateful sound when her lips move against his hungrily, pressing forward with a helpless sort of desperation, but she keeps her hold on his face, pressing him back into the tree with her weight, her hands firmly guiding him exactly where she wants him.
(She notes with interest how his mouth goes slack against hers when she laces her fingers through his hair and tugs gently. She'll have to file that little tidbit away for later.)
His lips try once more to follow hers as she pulls away, but she presses him back again, running her hands down his neck and pressing them to his collarbones to keep him in place. She takes a moment to look at him, the kiss-swollen lips, the dialated pupils, the quick rise and fall of his chest, all of which she has become so intimately familiar with, before she presses their foreheads together, reaching up to cradle his cheek, her thumb stroking his cheekbone until he relaxes a little, his breath slowing and eyes slipping shut.
He's gotten better at lasting during sex; much better actually. But still, she tries to give him chances to breathe, to wind down if he needs to. She doesn't mind; it's sort of thrilling actually, working him up to the brink and then cooling him back down again, just to start the process all over.
Another tidbit to file away for later.
She kisses the corner of his mouth, the line of his jaw, then pulls back, waiting for his eyes to flutter open. She swallows, takes a small step back, her whole face heating up.
"Did you… notice what I'm wearing?"
Haymitch's eyes widen slightly. He swallows as well, his arms shifting as his hands go to her hips, his fingers digging in ever so slightly as he guides her a little closer to him. She goes willingly, trying to keep the nerves off of her face, trying to keep her breathing steady as his dark eyes travel up her form, over the fabric of her dress before they finally meet hers again.
"It was impossible not to," he admits breathlessly.
Her entire face breaks out into a smile.
She's wearing that orange dress again; the one that had led to their first time together. The one that she found she couldn't put on without remembering how he had looked at her up on that stage. The one that she couldn't put on without remembering his hands on her breasts, his fingers on her clit, the way his tan skin had seemed to glow in the firelight, how eagerly he'd bunched up her skirt and kissed down her neck-
Judging by the way his face was heating up, it seems that he was very much in the same boat as her.
"Good," is all she can think of to say.
Then she buries her hands back in his hair, tugging him down to kiss her again. He lets out a loud moan, muffled against her lips as she sweeps her tongue across his, his fingers digging into her hips deliciously. She breaks the kiss, her lips immediately moving down the side of his neck. He makes a gasping sort of noise, his eyes fluttering as she mouths at his pulse point, over a faded bruise she had made just over a week ago.
"Did you plan this?" he demands, his voice breathless and almost accusatory. She lets out a huff of laughter.
"Yeah," she admits breathlessly, pressing her lips to his ear. "I have to take my chances when I can get them." She nips at his earlobe, her hands coming down to undo the first few buttons of his shirt.
"Oh my god," Haymitch groans, squeezing his eyes shut only to open them a moment later when she tugs his shirt open. "That's mean of you, Lenore Dove. Taking advantage of a guy like that." But he's grinning, his voice teasing even as he's embarrassed. She giggles in reply, running her hands over his chest one last time before pressing up against him fully once more, capturing his lips with her own in a rough kiss.
They stay that way for a while, kissing beneath the moonlight, heat building in a steady crescendo that's become familiar to both of them. She had plans, yes, but they could wait for a moment longer.
They could, at least, until she feels Haymitch trying to turn them, trying to gently switch positions so that he could take her apart. She makes a noise of protest, and Haymitch breaks away, his brow furrowed in confusion.
"Lenore Dove?" His hands move to cup her face, gently halting her movements. She can feel herself blushing, can feel her throat close up slightly with nerves, but she tries to push it back, reaching to touch his wrists.
"I want to focus on you," she says, trying to sound braver than she felt. He looks at her in surprise, and she swallows nervously, slowly reaching out a hand and pressing it to his abdomen, right above where he's straining and rock hard. "And maybe…" She takes a deep breath, her eyes moving to meet his. "…put my mouth on you."
Haymitch's eyes widen in shock, his body stiffening beneath her hands. A small sense of panic rises in her, and she rushes to reassure him.
"O-only if you want me to!"
"No, I… Lenore Dove, you know you don't have to do that-"
"Do you want me to?"
"Do you want to?!"
"Of course I do!" She says it louder than she means to, and both of their heads whip around, frightened that someone could have heard. But the woods are empty still, nothing but the moonlight and the trees around them, only the faint sounds of the Hob in the distance.
She turns to look at him again. He's nervous, his throat bobbing slightly as he swallows, his eyes wide as they meet hers. She laces her fingers through his, squeezing gently.
"I want to," she says softly. He looks at her, stunned, like he couldn't imagine her wanting such a thing, and she laughs, a quiet, breathless sort of thing. "God, I really, really want to. I want to make you feel good." She meets his eyes, pleading and reassuring all at once, trying to make him understand. "Please let me. Please?"
Haymitch lets out a shuddering breath, hesitating slightly before nodding, his voice husky and slightly strained, like he's expressing a longing that's been long buried.
"Yeah. Yeah, okay."
Excitement rises in her chest, roaring to life in her chest. She throws her arms around his neck, dragging him back down and kissing him with every bit of strength she can muster. Haymitch moans into her mouth, his hands still cupping her face tightening in an iron grip. She responds by pressing her hand against his straining cock, rubbing him through his shorts, squeezing gently until he gasps.
"Oh, fuck, Lenore Dove-"
She shushes him, biting back a giggle as she presses a final kiss to his lips before pulling back entirely, removing his hands from her face, and dropping down onto her knees in front of him, her eyes level with his shorts.
Right. He's wearing those stupid Capitol flour shorts tonight, the ones his ma makes him wear, the ones that Haymitch always laments about. It's so dorky that it makes her throb.
She's maybe a bit too eager, but she's been fantasizing about this for what feels like forever now (despite it being only a month or so) and she's aching to start as soon as possible. She grabs onto the waistband of his shorts, pausing to lean forward and press a kiss to where he's straining. He sinks his teeth into his lower lip, just barely muffling another moan as his eyes watch her move, his hips automatically giving a small and involuntary thrust as her mouth presses against him through the cloth.
"I'm gonna die," he says hoarsely, his head thudding back against the trunk of the tree. "I'm gonna fucking die-"
"Don't," she says with a breathless laugh, tugging them down just far enough for his stiff cock to spring free. "Please?"
"I can't make any promises," Haymitch says, his voice strained, his mouth dropping open with a choked moan as she starts to stroke him slowly, her eyes taking every part of him in that she can, from the heaving of his stomach to the way his eyes darken, the way his lashes flutter as her hand works him, his head falling back to expose his throat. Her mouth waters at the sight.
Lenore Dove slows her hand after a moment, looking back down at his length. Admittedly, she can't compare Haymitch to anyone else, but she doesn't particularly want to have that chance. In her opinion, it's a good size, not overly long or thick, hard and dripping slightly at the tip. She steels herself a little; she can do this. She wants to. So badly.
She takes a deep breath, strokes him a few more times before looking up at him through her lashes. He's almost panting, staring down at her with that expression he always wears during times like these; awed, lustful, absolutely adoring. It never fails to take her breath away, and she hopes that it never will.
"Just…" she bites her lower lip. "…tell me if you don't like something, okay?"
"Yeah," he says, his hands shaking as they press back against the bark of the tree. "Yeah, of course, but please don't hurt yourself or force yourself to do anything-"
She leans forward, pressing her tongue to the tip of him where he's dripping, licking curiously and catching a few drops on her tongue. It's not too bad, honestly; kind of salty, kind of bitter, a hint of sweetness just beneath.
But what really makes her excited is the way he reacts; his whole body seizes up, and he curses under his breath, screwing his eyes shut as he breathes rapidly, his fingers clenching, nails sinking into the wood.
A rush of satisfaction runs through her, suddenly desperate to draw more of those reactions from him. She adjusts her position to relieve some of the pressure on her knees, then leans forward and licks the tip again, just to hear him moan, broken and needy. She strokes him gently in her hand, tilts her head and drags her tongue up the side of him so that he yelps. She repeats it again, faster this time, thrilling in the involuntary noises that fall from his lips. He brings a hand up, biting down into the side of his thumb to keep quiet, and she wants so badly to tell him not to; she wants to hear how she affects him, wants to hear every delicious noise he makes as she takes him apart.
Unfortunately, they are outside. And nearby a public location.
God, they really need to figure out a better place to do things like this.
"Fuck," he pants, his hand falling back down. He glances down at her, then quickly away again with a moan, like the sight is too arousing, like he can't handle seeing her on her knees like this. She drags her tongue up his length one last time before pulling away to let him breathe, which he does so in big gasping lungfuls of air.
She loves reducing him to this. Yes, he was strong. He was powerful. He could lift her easily, could do anything he wanted to her. He's proven it time and time again, lifting her in his arms, pinning her wrists to the bed, holding her hips down while his fingers expertly work her. He could so easily have her at his mercy. He could overpower her now if he decided to, turn the tables on her and bend her to his will.
And yet, he chooses to submit himself to her. He chooses to let her move him where she wants him, chooses to let her take control if she so desires. He chooses to let himself fall apart for her. That trust that he has in her is everything to Lenore Dove.
She's throbbing now, her underwear slowly beginning to soak through, making the inside of her thighs feel sticky with arousal. She's tempted to reach a hand into her own underwear just to get some relief from the unbearable heat building in her core, but she pushes that desire aside; this isn't about her right now. She doesn't want it to be. She's determined to focus fully on Haymitch, to drive him as crazy as he drives her. And Lenore Dove is quiet, sure, but she is also as stubborn as a mule.
So she sets her jaw, leans forward to lap softly at the head of his cock a few more times, gripping the base of him firmly in one hand while her other digs its fingers into Haymitch's hip. Haymitch's hips jerk, and he makes a frantic noise, tilting his head back and screwing his eyes shut, his whole form going stiff in a desperate attempt not to move.
"Haymitch," she says, her voice soft and slightly nervous. He makes a noise of assent, looking down at her with dark pupils blown wide in the dark of the night. And despite herself, despite the lewdness of the situation they're in, she smiles up at him.
Because she loves him so much it hurts. And she's the only one who's ever made him feel this way. She's the only one allowed to see him like this, and she loves him for it. She loves doing this with him. God, she loves him; there's no other word for it.
She keeps eye contact as she leans forward, wrapping her lips around the tip of him.
He chokes then, his eyes bugging as she sinks down onto him, slow and deliberate. She's careful to avoid scraping him with her teeth as she pushes forward, her hands holding him in place. She's slightly terrified that she'll take him too far too fast and start gagging, so she breathes through her nose, slow and steady, forcing her throat to relax in preparation.
She pauses about halfway down, her eyes flicking up to check on him. The sight of him above her, completely wrecked, shaking and choking back noises, his eyes struggling to stay open as pleasure overwhelms his senses. Emboldened, she sinks down a little farther, runs her tongue over the velvety texture of him, and then he moans, far too loud for where they are, his breath hitching like he's crying, his whole being overwhelmed and needy and completely and utterly hers. Encouraged by this, she goes as far as she can, wrapping her hand around the part that she can't comfortably fit in her mouth.
His breathing evens out slightly when she stops moving, his hands twitching as he tries to adjust to the feeling of her mouth and hands on him. She doesn't give him that chance, gripping him more firmly as she begins to suck in long, slow pulls. He lets out a yelp, his eyes shooting open, his body pitching forward a little as he struggles to stay upright. Right as he manages to lean up against the tree again, she begins to bob her head up and down, flicking her tongue over the head of his cock before swallowing him down again, moaning around him.
"L-Lenore Dove-" he pants in an almost panicked voice. "Jesus Christ-" She takes him deeper, revels in the taste of him as it fills her mouth, and he whimpers, the sound going directly to her groin. When she moans around him again, she sees his hand flying up, freezing directly above her head. He's shaking, his hips stuttering a little as she works him, and she realizes that he's trying to resist the urge to grab her hair; he's trying to control himself.
She doesn't want him to.
She grabs onto his hand, guides it to her hair with a pointed look. He hesitates, but when she flicks her tongue against the head of his cock , he lets out a broken moan, and his fingers sink into her hair, not pulling, just holding on, not hard enough to cause any real pain. She lets out a noise of approval and refocuses on the task before her; her jaw is starting to ache slightly, but she tries to push that aside as well, resuming her efforts and picking up the pace, suddenly frantic with the need to overwhelm him until he can think of nothing else.
"Fuck!" he moans, his hips suddenly jerking forward. The motion pushes him even further into her mouth, and she gags slightly at the sudden intrusion, her eyes watering as he hits the back of her throat. He yelps at the feeling, tries to pull out a little as his hands already reach to try and see if she's okay. But she swallows around him again, tightening her hold on his hip to hold him still and sucking with all her strength.
He slams his head back against the tree with a loud cry. His hips thrust forward again, but she's ready for it this time, taking him down without gagging. She focuses as much as she can on breathing through her nose as he pushes deeper into her mouth, deliberately moans around him to make his hips jerk forward again, and after a bit of trial and error, she's able to bob her head in time with his thrusts, her jaw aching deliciously, her moans muffled by his cock in her mouth, the taste of him filling her mouth as she sucks, as a small amount of saliva dribbles from the corner of her lips. She's a bit lightheaded from the restriction in her breathing, but it just makes her more determined to make him come, to make him completely fall apart, so she keeps going, reveling in the way his thrusts are getting more erratic, in the way his hand tightens in her hair, the way his face twists into pure ecstasy as he climbs higher and higher and higher into oblivion.
"Gonna- hah… g-gonna come," he pants brokenly. He tries to tug her off, and in a desperate attempt to stop him from doing so, she pushes him down further, much too fast, far too eagerly, making her gag. Unfortunately, it's then that he lets out a broken cry, and his cock starts to spurt down her throat, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as he comes, hard and fast.
She wants to swallow it, but she's already gagging slightly from taking him so deep, and truthfully she wasn't expecting so much of it. She manages to get a little bit down before she has to pull off of him with a gasp, his cum dribbling from her mouth and spilling the grassy ground below. She coughs a few times, gasping for air, and then Haymitch is beside her, worriedly trying to lift her face to see if she's okay.
"I'm sorry," he blurts. "I'm so sorry, god, Lenore Dove-" She quickly shakes her head, coughing a few final times before sitting back, giving him a shaky smile.
"Don't be," she says, the hoarseness of her voice shocking her. "That was…" She wipes her chin with the back of her hand, feeling far too proud of herself. She'd done it. Sure, it hadn't gone entirely to plan (she had been hoping that she could swallow him down; the girls at school used to make it sound so easy), but she had actually done it. She had made him feel good. She had moved him where she wanted him and taken him apart.
She moves closer, her eyes trailing appreciatively down his opened shirt, her cheeks going hot as she mumbles, "I liked it. A lot."
Haymitch's face twists with surprise, so over-the-top and unexpected that she laughs. She reaches to lace a hand through his hair, pressing insistent kisses to his lips in a state of dazed giddiness. He makes a noise of protest, pulling back slightly after a moment to stare at her in bewilderment.
"There's no way you actually-"
"I did!" she insists. He lets out a huff of laughter, shifting to pull his shorts back up and sitting back against the tree. Unable to help herself, she moves to straddle him, careful to avoid his oversensitive groin, her hands coming up to push his shirt open more, her fingers tracing the lines of his chest.
"I like making you feel good," she continues, strangely shy suddenly despite having pinned him to a tree to suck him off mere moments ago. "I like when I get to be in control sometimes, you know?" Haymitch fights back a smile, and she laughs again, her hands falling to his neck as she moves to kiss the corner of his jaw. His eyes flutter shut in bliss, and he lets out a low hum of contentment.
She spends some time just touching him, gentle and soothing, her mouth moving softly down his neck and jaw as he comes down from the high of his orgasm. She could do this for hours if he let her, just feeling him with her hands and tasting the salt of his skin with her lips, but he moves after a few minutes, his hands capturing her face and pulling her up to kiss her. He kisses her for a good, long while, lazy and open-mouthed, his hands moving down her body in a trail of heat, landing at her waist when he pulls back.
"I like you in control sometimes too," he admits, low and husky. She inhales sharply, sitting back with wide eyes.
"Really?"
"Yeah," he says softly. He reaches up to take one of her hands, lacing their fingers together before bringing it up to his lips, pressing kisses to each of her knuckles, the back of her hand. His eyes meet hers again, and he smiles, warm and hazy. "I'm yours, Lenore Dove. Yours to command." He leans forward to kiss her collarbone, exposed by the low neckline of her dress, murmuring into her skin. "I'd do anything, anything at all if you asked."
She lets out a breathless sound, the declaration making heat crawl across her skin, warming her core as her mind fogs with lust. Haymitch smiles, pulling back to meet her eyes again.
"Careful," she says quietly, breathlessly, her eyes flicking down to his lips as she suddenly becomes aware once more of how turned on she is, how she'd been ignoring herself to make him fall apart. Now, she's truly hot and bothered, slick and throbbing as Haymitch's hands squeeze her waist, traveling up her ribs. "I might take advantage of that."
Haymitch laughs, leaning forward until his nose brushes hers, one hand coming up to cradle the back of her neck.
"I wouldn't mind if you did," he murmurs before kissing her, hard and slightly rough, his free hand already pulling up her skirt and dipping into her soaked underwear.
Notes:
Oral Sex (Specifically a blow job)
Implied hair-pulling kink
Implied Vaginal Fingering
Clothed SexI know, I know, I keep cutting away before Lenore Dove can get her turn. But rest assured, that will be more than made up for in the next 2 chapters. Besides, Haymitch needed a bit of a confidence boost, which he is definitely getting.
I hope you enjoyed! The next chapter is almost done with final edits and will be up on Saturday, so keep an eye out for that! As usual, if you liked, please don't hesitate to leave a comment! I reply to every one, and they really help me keep writing when I'm fighting executive dysfunction. And if you want updates on writing and the chance to leave requests, please check me out @theballadofthesunandthestar on Tumblr! I answer all anons as well, so don't hesitate to shoot me one.
In the meantime, my sweet mare says hello from her new home. Have a great week!
Chapter 5: The Journey (Part 3)
Summary:
Haymitch meets Lenore Dove for a piano lesson.
Notes:
Hello!
Yeah, these chapters keep getting longer. Sorry, not sorry! The next one is also super long, though I'm currently in the second draft phase where I rewrite the whole thing, so it's probably only going to get longer.
Anyways, we all know why we're here. As usual, the list of specific sex acts in this chapter are at the bottom notes!
Sorry in advance for the location. They should really work on finding better places to hook up!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"Haymitch, we're in the Mayor's house-"
He laughs as he leans in, cutting her ramblings off with a hungry kiss, the kind that makes her whole mind go blank, makes heat pool low in her stomach, makes her moan into his mouth as her hands reach blindly for him. They cup his face as he pushes her backwards, pressing her up against the curved side of the grand piano she'd just been practicing on, and pinning her up against it, using this new vantage point to kiss her senseless.
It's hard to remain focused on being reasonable when Haymitch is this laser-focused on taking her apart. Maybe she should have a lot more willpower than this, but he's unfairly attractive when he gets a bit pushy, and she doesn't particularly want to put a stop to this anyways.
She ignores how the closed lid of the piano digs into her lower back in favor of pressing him up against her, soaking in the heat that radiates from beneath his clothing as he practically devours her lips, nipping at them with his teeth, teasing the seam with the tip of his tongue until her knees are giving way, the only thing holding her up being the piano pressed to her back and the calloused hands of her Haymitch, which take a firm hold of her waist as he pulls back just enough to separate their lips. He lets out a breathless laugh when she tries to rise up to meet him again.
"I can see that," he says, amused. His fingers absentmindedly trace the little white flowers stitched into the waistband of her skirt, an action that drives her far more crazy than it probably should. "But I gotta take my chances when they come up Lenore Dove."
He's grinning now, like he's just told her some kind of old joke. It takes a moment for her hazy mind to recognize the words, and when she does, she's not sure if she wants to slap him or kiss him again. Because that's just what she had said to him in those woods. He's using her words against her.
"You're terrible," she pants, though it has no real bite to it. Especially when she's pressed up against him like this, her mouth frantically seeking his.
"You love it," he mumbles cheekily.
And god help her, she does.
She lets out an undignified squeak when he grabs her waist and effortlessly hoists her up onto the lid of the piano, hands scrambling as she tries to keep upright. She barely has the time to breathe before his hands lower to her hips, tugging her forward sharply, and stepping between her spread legs until his hardness presses up deliciously against her through her underwear, his tongue licking into her mouth as he makes a low groaning sound.
"I want to put my mouth on you," he pants, dragging his mouth down her jaw to nip and suck at her pulse point. "I've been wanting to for a while, actually."
She makes a broken sound at the admission, her teeth sinking into her lower lip, her hips grinding down against him even as she gasps out, "You don't have to-"
"Hey." He pauses, his hands coming up to cup her face, turning it to look at him. He gives her a crooked grin, playfully nudges his nose against hers. "It's like you said to me; I want to focus on you. And I want to make you feel good."
"You always do," she says breathlessly. He laughs in reply, kissing the corner of her lips before murmuring, his voice sinfully husky and rough.
"Well, this time I want to do it with my tongue."
She's going to pass out from the sheer dizziness that overcomes her at his words. She's going to collapse backwards on this piano, and immediately fall unconscious.
His hands move to bunch up her skirt, hiking it up to bare her thighs, and then he's gripping them in his hands, massaging them in his palms, his lips back on her neck, kissing her throat. "If you don't want to though, I am more than okay with what we usually do." He presses his lips to the corner of her jaw, behind her ear. "It's up to you. You're the boss here, Lenore Dove."
She shakes her head, tilting to kiss him yet again. "No, I-I'm willing to try. I just didn't… mmph…" Her words trail off against his mouth, her eyes rolling to the back of her head as his tongue slips into her mouth once more, brushing up teasingly against hers. She manages to clear her thoughts long enough to pull back a little, gasping for air and choking out, "…d-didn't want you to feel forced to or something just because I did it for you."
He huffs out a laugh, tilting his head and kissing her yet again, his hands running up and down her sides in a soothing sort of motion.
"Trust me," he whispers against her lips. "I don't feel forced."
Without warning, his hand delves beneath her skirt, moves to cup where she's soaking through her underwear. He grins wildly as her mouth falls open in a combination of shock and pleasure, shushing her gently as she makes a breathless little noise, so needy and pathetic that makes her face go hot.
He's gotten so much more confident since they first began. She still initiates most times, but he's slowly begun doing so as well. There's less hesitancy in his hands, a firmness to them that comes from a steadily growing confidence, and recently, he seems to be developing a growing sense of boldness, almost pride in the way he touches her. There seems to be few things that he takes pleasure in more than making her come apart under his hands, and Haymitch is a thoroughly attentive student when it comes to her body. The whole thing is extremely unfair, because it melts Lenore Dove's brain, and he's ridiculously attractive when he's smug. Especially when he's smug about making her feel good.
"Okay," she manages, her hips moving in a desperate attempt to rub herself up against his hand. "But make it fast, Mayor Allistor is only going to be out for another hour or so-"
He cuts her off with a kiss that makes her completely melt in his hold, makes her limbs go weak and her mind go fuzzy. She doesn't even realize that he's tugged her blouse out of the waistband of her skirt until she feels both his hands sliding up under her shirt, cupping her breasts in his palms and squeezing hard enough to make her throw her head back with a gasp. He doesn't even slow down, merely moving his mouth down until he's nipping and licking hungrily down the skin of her exposed neck, his hands massaging her breasts and working her nipples with his fingers until she's practically writhing on the piano, so worked up and frantic that really, it's a miracle that she's managed to stay sitting upright this whole time.
"How fast it goes depends on how long you're going to last," he teases, grinning at her in a way that makes her throb, his hands leaving a trail of heat as they slip back out from under her shirt to grab onto the waistband of her underwear. His mouth drags down her neck, down the buttons of her blouse, nipping and kissing at her stomach as he encourages her to lift her hips so that he can slide her underwear down her legs, finally managing to work them past her shoes before tossing them aside.
He doesn't dive right in like she thinks he is, instead taking a few more moments to press reassuring kisses to her stomach, sending ticklish sensations up her body that make her squirm slightly, make tiny squeaking noises fall from her lips. He pauses for a moment, his eyes flicking up curiously to her face. She uses this break to try and catch her breath, panting and adjusting her hands where they rest on the piano lid in a vain attempt to stabilize herself. She can practically hear the cogs turning in his head, and her brow furrows as his face shifts ever so slightly.
"Haymitch?"
He opens his mouth, teeth sinking into the hem of her blouse. She feels her eyes widen in surprise as he begins to rise, the fabric still clenched between his teeth, dragging her blouse up her body in a slow, deliberate manner. She's unable to form words as he pulls it up just enough to expose her brassiere, his hands digging into her hips.
"Where did you learn that?!" she demands in breathless disbelief. He just grins at her, his cheeks darkening, the fabric still clenched firmly between his teeth. After a moment, he releases it so that it bunches up stiffly above her chest.
"I think about this a lot," he admits.
Her breath catches in her throat, nearly choking her.
He fantasizes about me.
Maybe it should have been obvious that he did. But the verbal confirmation makes her whole world shift, makes her vision blur with need, sends her mind reeling with images of Haymitch; in bed, at work, at one of her concerts, his whole face darkening as he imagines the things he wants to do to her.
She's brought back to the present in a single, sharp moment when he ducks his head down to begin mouthing at her breasts through her brassiere. His tongue teases one of her nipples through the fabric until it goes stiff, and then he's sucking it into his mouth, moaning around it as she lets out a high-pitched moan, nearly falling over backwards as her hands leave the piano to try and untie her brassiere, her fingers uselessly clumsy and shaking too hard to make any real progress. He grabs onto her wrists as he moves on to the other nipple, pinning them down far more gently than she had hoped he would as he licks and suckles on the sensitive nub before pulling back, burying his face briefly in her cleavage to press a few biting kisses there.
The fabric of her brassiere is wet where his tongue had been working her, the area quickly turning cold as the air conditioning in the Mayor's house kicks into gear. It rubs up against her nipples, making them tighten in a way that has her throwing her head back with a choked sound of surprise. It's different than the feeling of Haymitch's warm mouth, but it still sends tiny shocks of pleasure up her body, teasingly stimulating her over and over even as Haymitch's attention has moved elsewhere. It makes her brain even more frazzled, makes it harder to concentrate. Most of all, it creates a delicious contrast, makes Haymitch's hands and lips feel impossibly hotter against her skin.
He tugs her blouse back down, his hands moving to grip her bare thighs again. He gives her a moment to catch her breath, a task that's next to impossible in her current state. He really has gotten so good at this.
"You okay?" he asks, his hands gently spreading her thighs as he kisses her throat. She has a million thoughts, a million questions for him running through her head, but she can't seem to voice a single one of them. She pushes them aside for now and nods frantically, barely managing to whimper out a quick, "Mm-hm!" He grins rakishly at her in reply, his hand moving to clasp hers. He laces their fingers together, gives a reassuring squeeze, and the sweet gesture helps to calm her racing mind and heart for a moment, bringing her back down to earth.
A result that's immediately ruined when he begins to lower himself down. And she remembers just what he had wanted to do to her in the first place.
A wave of anxiety begins to bubble in her chest as he crouches down, not quite able to kneel and keep his head level with her throbbing core. He seems to notice her sudden rise in nerves, because his face visibly softens. He squeezes her hand again, smiles up at her when she squeezes back. He takes a moment just to look up at her, at her wild curls and panting lips, seeming to take in how she trembles above him, like a violin string pulled taut.
"You're beautiful," he says finally, awed and achingly reverent. He leans forward to press a kiss to the waistband of her skirt, and in her daze of lust, in a moment of involuntary weakness, she makes a broken little sound, her thighs falling open further. He lights up when he sees this, his eyes flicking back up to hers as his whole face breaks out into a smile.
And then he turns his head, pressing his lips to the inside of her knee. His free hand holds her leg in place, his eyes closing in a state of complete and utter contentment as he begins to trail soft kisses up the inside of her thigh, both of his hands beginning to tighten slightly as he draws closer to where she's practically dripping for him.
She takes a slightly panicked moment to take in her current state; still sitting upright, but leaning further back now, one hand behind her to shakily support her weight, the other clasped with Haymitch's, resting by her trembling thigh. Her skirt is still up around her hips in a pile of wrinkled fabric, her core exposed and practically dripping with need as his mouth moves slowly up her thigh. She glances around wildly, scanning for any sign of movement, but no one seems to be in the house.
She huffs out a sigh of relief, silently hoping that the Mayor wouldn't unexpectedly decide to cut her errands short. She didn't want to have to explain to her why she was currently sitting on top of her piano instead of playing it.
Her eyes snap back down to Haymitch as his mouth presses up even higher on her thigh. His eyes are opened now, locked on the curls between her legs as he draws nearer. When he can't go any higher without moving her skirt, he pauses, his hand stroking her thigh soothingly as he drinks in the sight of her. She's struck with a sudden wave of nerves, and she screws her eyes shut, unable to look without feeling like she's going to spontaneously combust.
Don't lose yourself too quickly, she thinks, her breath quickening as anxiety rises once more, sudden and unbidden.
His hand leaves her thigh, moving to grab onto the bunched-up fabric of her skirt to lift it ever so slightly. She hears him takes a deep breath, feels him resolve himself to some kind of decision, and then his head ducks underneath, releasing the fabric and returning his hand to her thigh.
Her eyes shoot open again, practically bugging out of her skull, and she bites back a squeak as she feels his breath puff softly over her folds. Her whole face goes white-hot with embarrassment, and she desperately fights the urge to squirm as his hair tickles the insides of her thighs, as she feels his mouth move closer, closer, closer-
The first lick is curious more than anything else, the tip of his tongue tracing her entrance, dragging through her slick. Her breath hitches in her throat, and despite her best efforts to the contrary, she squirms slightly. It's an almost… ticklish sort of sensation, like the first time he had kissed her neck. It makes her whole body start to tingle, makes the hair on her arms stand on end, and her cheeks burn with humiliation as she forces her hips still again. Humiliation because his face is right there, and she'd never imagined that someone would ever be that close to such an intimate part of her, much less running their tongue through it.
He's paused now, and she half-expects him to pull away, to change his mind. She wouldn't really blame him, especially if she didn't taste good. Come to think of it, she had no idea what she tasted like.
And now she's wondering if she tastes okay, and she kicks herself for it because why does that matter, it certainly didn't matter to her what Haymitch tasted like when she went down on him, except that it absolutely does matter for her, and Haymitch has paused just a second too long, and now she's anxious about the whole thing again, and maybe Haymitch was having second thoughts, and maybe, just maybe for his sake, she should put a stop to this, take the burden of guilt off his shoulders-
She feels his hand leave her thigh again to press down the bundled fabric of her skirt. Her eyes immediately snap down to look at him, and she nearly passes out again at the sight of his head between her thighs. His nose and mouth are still hidden beneath her skirt, but his gray eyes are now visible to her, looking upwards to her face as if checking in. Granted, she can't see much of his expression, but he doesn't appear disgusted or like he wants to stop. Merely like he's making sure that she's still okay with this.
She doesn't tell him to stop. Instead, she takes a few shuddering breaths, just enough so that she's no longer spiraling out of control anymore. Then she gives a shaky nod, biting her lower lip to try and stop herself from making any other kinds of embarrassing noises. He nods as well in reply, lowering his hand back to her thigh but keeping his eyes locked with hers, watching her face carefully as his tongue presses up against her again.
The second lick is harder. He presses the tip firmly against her and drags it between her folds in a slow, unyielding stripe. The ticklish sensation returns, then intensifies, then shoots up her spine in a white-hot streak. Her hips jerk forward, and a strangled sound leaves her lips, her eyes going wide and hand tightening around his in a frantic attempt to remain grounded. But Haymitch's eye lights up at her reaction, darting between her sopping core and her face, a growing excitement clearly visible. She whimpers as her whole body begins to shake with need, her thighs trembling against the piano.
"Haymitch-"
He licks her again, even more firmly, this time with the flat of his tongue, and she yelps. Her back arches painfully, her hands spasming against the surface of the piano, in Haymitch's hold.
"Haymitch," she whimpers, because it seems like she can't say anything else, not when he has her like this. But something seems to have awoken in Haymitch; his eyes flick back down to her core, and he lets go of her hand, dragging it down her thigh before his fingers move beneath her skirt. She squeaks as she feels his fingers spread her folds apart, sending a gush of slick from between them, and then he drags his tongue up the length of her, hard and slow in a way that makes her whole body go tense, her hips jerking up as a needy sound escapes her lips. He repeats the action gain, then again, seeming to revel in the way her hands scramble against the piano, before he carefully draws her clit into his mouth and flicks his tongue over it curiously.
"Oh my god-!" she gasps, her legs spasming. "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my-"
He sucks it into his mouth, and she lets out a loud yelping sound as her back bows, curving so hard that she loses her balance, feels herself begin to fall backwards. Her hands scramble blindly, and one of them tangles into Haymitch's hair, accidentally yanking it as she frantically pulls herself upright again. She realizes with horror what she's done, opening her mouth to try and apologize, but he moans against her, low and ragged. She yelps again as the sound buzzes against her core, the vibrations making her hips jerk unevenly, making her hand tangle hopelessly in his dark locks. He pulls off of her clit with a strained sound, and then his tongue starts to hungrily lap at her, over and over, dragging over her entrance and over her clit, faster and faster. She moans loudly as the sensations start to overwhelm her, pitching forward with a loud cry at a particularly well-aimed swipe of his tongue, her hips canting upwards towards his mouth, her thighs fighting against his strong hands in an attempt to close around his head.
She tries frantically to regain some semblance of her thoughts, tries to regain control over her body in a desperate attempt to avoid suffocating or hurting Haymitch in any kind of way. But judging by the way he's tightening his grip on her thighs, by the way he's pressing his mouth harder against her with a muffled groan, he doesn't seem to share that fear with Lenore Dove. Besides, he's not relenting, not in the slightest, and now it's almost impossible for her to control what her body is doing, especially because Haymitch is getting better and better at this far too quickly.
He lifts his head suddenly, like he's just remembered something important, pulling his mouth off of her, and she has to bite back a cry of anguish. She feels jittery, nearly out of her mind with lust, but she forces herself to sit backwards, looking down at him with wild eyes, panting and squirming slightly.
"Feels good?" he pants, his face flushed between her thighs, and in her hysterical and dazed state, she almost laughs. Because only Haymitch would be asking if she felt good while she's actively grinding up against his face and crying out loud enough to echo through the empty house.
"Yes," she chokes out, spreading her thighs further apart. "Yes, it feels good, Haymitch, please-" She briefly remembers the way her fingers are tangled in his dark hair, and she tries to loosen her grip to give him some kind of relief from her pulling, only for it to tighten once more as his head eagerly ducks back beneath her skirt and seals his lips around her clit. He begins to suck in a slow, pulsing sort of motion that gives and takes, that makes waves of ecstasy hammer into her over and over again, and she moans so loudly that she's pretty sure anyone outside the house would hear her too, her eyes screwing shut, her hand yanking his hair furiously as she tries to jerk him in closer.
"Fuck," he moans helplessly against her, and before she can give any kind of response, he presses the flat of his tongue to her so hard it makes stars shoot across her vision, and her hips jerk up in surprise, thrusting forward to grind against his tongue. She tries to stutter out an apology, tries to force her hips still, but then both of his hands clamp around her hips, tilting them forward, moving her deliberately, encouraging her to thrust up over and over again against his face.
And so she does; she falls forward, bracing a hand on his shoulder, her mouth agape, unable to form words or sounds as her hips rut helplessly against his mouth. She can feel herself start to climb up, up towards that heavenly peak, and she moans, over and over with each thrust of her hips, each drag of his tongue, her noises slowly growing more high-pitched as she gets closer and closer. Her hand drags blindly down to the hair at the back of his head, tangling it further as she uses her grip to hold his head firmly in place, her legs shaking and fighting in his hold as she cries out, over and over and over and oh, god-
"Fuck," he swears in a pained voice, his mouth immediately leaving her. The sudden change nearly has her pitching forward off the piano entirely. She's completely and utterly confused for a moment, her lust-ridden mind frantically trying to figure out what happened as Haymitch lets out another pained groan.
"Hang on, sorry, my back just started cramping like crazy from being crouched down like this-"
He lifts his head up, panting, tongue flicking over his lips, and much to her humiliation, she lets out a whine of protest, broken and cracking at the edges, her hands trying and failing to push his head back down. His face lights up at the sound, and he pulls back entirely to get a better look at her, his eyes scanning over her wrecked form in awe.
"Jesus." He lets out a breathless laugh, disbelieving and husky. "You're-"
"Haymitch!" she snaps, pathetically ragged, almost tearful as she throbs. This snaps him out of it, his eyes widening as he realizes just how painfully turned on she is. He stammers out an apology as he moves quickly, grabbing the piano bench and pulling it up in front of her. His chin and mouth are slick and tinged red, and she whimpers at the sight, her hands already reaching for him as he sits down on the cushioned surface. She yelps in surprise as he grabs her thighs and hoists them over his shoulders, dragging her hips down closer to the edge of the piano. A surge of arousal gushes between her legs, her spine thumping against the lid of the piano as she falls back. His powerful arms wrap around her thighs, his fingers stroking the sensitive skin on the inside of them as he looks up at her.
"This okay?" he asks breathlessly. She nods frantically, trying to sit up again, but she's shaking, and with her legs now over his shoulders like this, it's much harder to stay upright. She whimpers out a needy little sound, and he shushes her, one hand coming up to gently push her back down.
"Just lay back," he says, his voice strangely hoarse and vulnerable. He turns his head to kiss her inner thigh, so close to where she needs him most, his eyes still pleading with her, dark and ringed with silver. "Let me do this for you, please-"
Truly, she's never been able to deny Haymitch's begging. She can only nod helplessly, biting her lower lip as his hand moves to squeeze her breast before sliding back down her body. He takes a deep breath as he readjusts, wrapping both arms around her thighs once more, holding them open to his gaze.
And then she's throwing her head back with a loud cry as he buries his face back between her thighs, his tongue already working her eagerly again.
It really doesn't take long for her to get riled up again. Slick, wet sounds fill the air, and she realizes with horror that those sounds are coming from her, from where his face is pressed up against her. This new angle gives him ample access to her core, and blessedly, he takes full advantage of this. His hands are gripping her thighs hard enough to bruise, and he keeps unconsciously using his grip to drag her down further, her back sliding against the surface of the piano as he presses his face harder between her legs like he can't get enough, like he could never have her close enough to satisfy him. His face is now fully hidden behind the skirt that is still bunched up around her hips, only the top of his dark hair visible to her, but she can feel his jaw working, can feel how he moans against her, how his lips suck at her clit, how his tongue laps her before going stiff and thrusting up inside of her, curling in an absolutely sinful way that makes her wail, makes both her hands fly down to grip his thick hair once more. Haymitch doesn't even miss a beat, his tongue withdrawing briefly to thrust back up into her with a loud moan.
It feels like he's eating her alive.
"Oh, god-" she gasps out, her hands yanking harshly in his hair. He makes a helpless moaning noise against her, tightens his grip as he sucks her clit into his mouth again, so hard that it makes her whole body spasm with white-hot pleasure. Her thighs clamp around his ears as she lets out a loud cry, squeezing his head and holding him in place by his hair as her hips thrust upwards helplessly. He moans wantonly, muffled by the mouthful of clit that he still has, and she tries again to gasp out an apology, tries to loosen her thighs to give him room to breathe, only for him to jerk her forward a few more inches, curling his tongue against that magical spot inside of her with a loud groan.
And she shrieks, flailing so hard that Haymitch has to pin her down by her hips so that he can keep his mouth firmly on her, and she can't move, can only lay there and take it, her ankles hooking together behind his back, her upper body twisting and jerking uselessly against the piano. God, she'd almost forgotten how strong he is, how easily he can hold her in place to eat her out however he wants to, and fuck it's hot, it's all so hot, and he's not relenting-
She orgasms with a sound bordering on a scream, head thrown back and eyes wide, her whole vision going white as it burns through her, feeling almost hot enough to blister. Distantly, she's aware that her thighs are squeezing around his head far too firmly, that her hips are fighting against Haymitch's hold, that she's pulling on his hair so hard that it has to hurt, her fingers hopelessly tangled in the thick locks. But most of all she's screaming, broken and cracking at the edges as her orgasm barrels though her like a train, as it keeps going and going and going until she becomes suddenly terrified that it's never going to stop, that she's going to be stuck in a state of ecstasy until she dies-
Her whole body gives out all at once, and then she's limp on the surface of the piano. Her thighs shake uncontrollably against Haymitch's ears, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she pants, as she gasps frantically for air, her hands tangled but limp in his locks. Haymitch pulls his mouth off of her with a wet smacking sound, but doesn't move away, his breath rapidly puffing against her as she comes down, bit by bit.
Her mind clears slightly, horror dawning as she realizes just how much she'd lost control. Oh god, she must have nearly suffocated him when she came, yanking on his hair and squeezing his head like that. Really, she should count herself lucky that she didn't yank out his hair entirely, that she didn't kill him when she trapped him like that.
He's not moving, she realizes. He's breathing, sure, but his face is still between her legs, his cheek resting against one of her thighs. Guilt and shame and panic rise all at once, all demanding to be reckoned with.
"Oh, god, Haymitch-" She quickly untangles her fingers from his hair, her breathing beginning to grow rapid. "H-hang on, just-" He's still not moving, just trembling a little against her. She tries to lift her shaking thighs off his shoulders so that he can move away, tries to reach for his face to hold him. But then his grip on one of her thighs tightens, pinning it in place. He lets out a broken moan against her skin, making her freeze in confusion.
That's when she feels it; the way his shoulder is jerking up and down in a steady motion, the way his breathing is growing more rapid and heavy against her. And her mind is still sluggish and dazed in a way that she's been slowly getting used to over the period of time that they've been intimate together, but she suddenly realizes exactly what he's doing. She whimpers, trying to sit up.
"Haymitch-"
"N-no, wait, I'm close-!" he gasps out, his free hand frantically trying to hold her in place as his other one jerks roughly in his pants. He's not touching her, not properly, but she's so oversensitive and he's so incredibly close to her core that she moans helplessly, her hips bucking forward. His breathing quickens as she does so, and he starts to make these adorable, breathless, whimpering sounds that make her go hot all over. And she wants so badly to sit up, to reach down and take him in her hand, her mouth, wants to be the one who brings him to that edge, but she's unable to sit up, unable to do anything but lay there, her whole body shaking with sensitivity as Haymitch frantically jerks himself off to the sight of her.
That's when it clicks into place. How his breath had caught when her fingers tugged his hair in the woods. The noises he had made against her, how his tongue grew more frantic inside of her each time she tried to loosen her grip in his hair, like he was trying to get her to tighten it again.
She tangles a shaking hand back into his hair once more. His whole body goes tense, his breathing halting as she buries her hand deeper, curling her fingers along his scalp. She swallows nervously, praying that she hasn't completely misread him, that she hasn't made something out of nothing.
She fists his hair and yanks, hard enough to make his head jerk upwards.
He lets out a loud, strangled moan, burying his face into her thigh as he orgasms, long and hard. He holds her as his body is wracked with pleasure, his fingers digging into the meat of her thigh, his noises buzzing so close to her core that she twitches helplessly, whimpering as she tries to just let him enjoy the high. He's earned it, after all.
When he finally lifts his face, it's sticky and absolutely smeared with her arousal. His eyes are hazy, face slack as he presses his cheek back against her thigh, panting softly. A dull pang of pleasure echoes through her at the sight, and she gently strokes his hair, feeling a secret sort of thrill when his eyes slip shut in bliss.
"Wow," he laughs after a long moment, breathless and dazed. His fingers move to gently stroke her inner thigh in a soothing manner, his tongue clumsily sliding over his own lips like he's trying to get as much of it as he can. She starts laughing too, high-pitched and giddy, because she's overwhelmed and she can't believe how good it all felt. And then he's grinning up at her, lifting her untucked blouse to press sticky kisses to her ticklish abdomen, just to hear her laugh climb in pitch.
"Stop that!" she shrieks, unable to stop her laughter as she hits his shoulder repeatedly, trying to pull him up by the collar of his shirt. He relents with a wild grin, lets her drag him up her body and down into a messy, open-mouthed kiss, their tongues tangling together deliciously. The taste of her fills her mouth, musky and strangely sweet, with a hint of some kind of citrus.
"I wanted to get you off too," she says when he pulls away a little. He laughs yet again, dragging his mouth to press kisses to her cheek, the curve of her jaw, her ear. Her eyes flutter shut at the sensation, and she basks in it, basks in the affections of her Haymitch, in the afterglow of such an intense orgasm.
"Sorry," he pants, his hand coming up to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. "Next time, I promise." He presses another wet kiss to her lips before gingerly helping her sit up. She winces slightly as she does do, but immediately brings her arms up to loop around Haymitch's neck, one of her hands trying to smooth down his now-wild hair. His eyes flutter shut as she does so, which makes her giggle.
"You're cute," she teases, leaning farther forward to press a kiss to his lips. He makes a content noise against her mouth, his eyes fluttering open when she pulls back.
"We're doing that again, by the way," Haymitch says breathlessly. "It was insanely hot."
"Oh?!" she laughs, burying her burning face into the crook of his neck.
"Yeah." He grins, nudging his nose against her hair. "Next time I'm going to get you properly naked though. I figured I shouldn't undress you too much in the Mayor's house."
That's when she remembers exactly where she is. That's when she realizes the dangerous position she's currently in.
She pushes him back so that she can hop off of the piano, speaking rapidly as she shoves him towards the bathroom.
"Go wash your face and get out of here before she comes home!"
"Hey!" he whines, halfheartedly obeying her insistent pushes. "I was promised a piano lesson!"
"That was before you… you…" Her ears go scalding hot, which makes him smile in a way that makes her whole body start to tingle again, and so she quickly pushes him into the bathroom, stepping back and turning away
"As my lady commands!" he shouts after her as she dashes back into the sitting room. She moves as quickly as she can, grabbing her underwear from where he had tossed it aside and pulling it on, then dragging the piano bench to its original place, sitting down as she adjusts the ribbon in her hair.
A sense of giddiness overcomes her again, making her whole body tingle, and she claps a hand over her mouth as an absolutely dorky smile spreads across her face. It's a mixture of things, really; the way she can still feel the damp fabric of her brassiere, the already-replaying images of his head between her thighs, the thrill of doing such a… well, dirty thing in such a dangerous location. She buries her face in her hands, resists the urge to let out a high-pitched shriek of delight.
She doesn't even hear him approach, just feels him lean down and press his smiling lips to her hair.
And despite desperately wanting to shove him down, to climb overtop of him and strip him down to get her mouth on him too, she bats him away, an effort that is no doubt completely useless because of the way she's still smiling from ear to ear and laughing.
"Alright, alright, I'm going!" He holds his hands up in surrender, slowly backing away with a wild grin. He lowers his hands as soon as he rounds the corner, and she can hear him hurrying down the hallway, can hear the front door swing open and then shut behind him.
God, she was going to kill him for this later.
Or maybe just get revenge.
Yes, that sounds like the better option.
Notes:
Clothed Sex (again, I know, it won't be every single one)
Nipple Play
Minor Temperature Play
Cunnilingus
Hair-pulling Kink
MasturbationA heads up that there might be a one-week delay on this next chapter. A lot's been going on recently in my life, and after I got my period last night and it almost sent me to the hospital with how badly it fucked up my body, I figured that MAYBE I should slow down a bit. So I'm taking today off of writing, and I'm gonna watch cheesy romance movies to try and plan for my next Haydove fic (because I have been working, my dears!), and I'm gonna nap. So yeah! I'll keep you guys updated on Tumblr @theballadofthesunandthestar, and feel free to shoot me any questions you may have about other WIPs. Sick of Losing Soulmates, I will update you if it kills me <3
Also, nobody told me that I don't know how to count; this fic with my current outline only needed 8 chapters! So I'm adding an epilogue smutshot at the end. I don't want to deny you guys any smut lmao
As always, comments and anons are more than welcome!! I am more than willing to match people's freak, so as long as you're not being disrespectful to me, you can go off and I'll meet you where you are! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I'm very excited for you all to see the next one <3
Chapter 6: The Journey (Part 4)
Summary:
Haymitch has a rough day. Lenore Dove provides some assistance.
Notes:
Greetings from the writing desk I made at my new dorm room at my new college!
Things have been going shockingly well over here! Stressful, but tbh I skipped most of orientation so as to not get too overwhelmed. I went to the stuff that I thought was important, and said "fuck it" to the rest. Rest assured, I am in contact with every department that I need to be <3
Now.
Am I proud of writing over 11.5k words of smut? No. No, I'm not. Will this be the norm for chapters going forward? Almost certainly no, but I've said that before and well, look at me now. Consider this my apology for both the delay and for the lack of smut in the next chapter.
Also, yay to me for finally having an excuse to explore my ADHD Haymitch headcanon. CW for brief depiction of ableism against someone with ADHD, but this chapter is mostly just fluff and smut I promise.
As usual, the list of specific sex acts will be in the bottom notes if you wish to see them. But yeah! A bit of a slow start, and then feral!Lenore Dove for the rest of the time, because she's earned it. And so has Haymitch, bless his heart.
Please enjoy this demented chapter.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It's hard for two people like Lenore Dove and Haymitch to find the proper time or place to indulge themselves as they pleased. They manage, of course, usually by rushing through the act itself to make each other orgasm as quickly as possible or by keeping as much of their clothing on as they could so as to provide a quick way to cover themselves if someone were to come home unexpectedly early.
There's something exciting about that. After a lifetime of being viewed by the Covey as the "pure" one of the bunch, it feels deliciously sinful to see just how thoroughly Haymitch can take her apart with most of her clothes still on. Recently, she's been replaying a memory in her mind of her propped up against the wall, blouse open, breasts bared, and skirt hiked up around her hips while Haymitch's hand moved expertly beneath her underwear, his mouth sealed around a nipple. Haymitch has unfortunately not stopped improving in his ability to drive her absolutely wild, a fact that she both loves and loathes about him.
But every once in a while, all schedules line up in the most perfect of ways, giving Haymitch and Lenore Dove the proper time needed to thoroughly enjoy themselves. Every once in a while, both Tam Amber and Clerk Carmine find themselves busy with one thing or another for the entirety of the day, whether it be tending to shops or visiting lovers, really any number of things that keep them busy and out of the house for the day. The night before, Clerk Carmine and Tam Amber sit her down and go over the rules for staying home alone; the main one being, "No boyfriends over," of course. Needless to say, Lenore Dove ignores that rule quite a bit. But it's a stupid rule anyways, so it doesn't count as one.
Lenore Dove has gotten into a routine on those days; she wakes up nice and early, rushes through her chores so that she can run into the Seam to Haymitch's house, catching him before he leaves for whatever odd job he has that day. She tells him the good news, takes a secret pride in the way his eyes light up with excitement, and the two of them arrange a time to meet up at Lenore Dove's house. Back before they became intimate, those days were mundane but wonderful; cuddling in Lenore Dove's bed, going for walks in the forest, sneaking out to go swimming in the lake perhaps. A bit of making out sometimes, but nothing that ever went too far.
Now that the two of them have started… well, sleeping together, that's usually what those days are dedicated to.
This particular one was the first one in weeks. It was a gorgeous fall day outside, just the right amount of chill for Lenore Dove to have an excuse to cuddle up to him under the guise of "staying warm," the sky clear, the leaves all shades of soft orange and yellow. Haymitch even said he could be there earlier than usual; nearly the entire day would be theirs. And truthfully, Lenore Dove wanted to spend it tangled in the sheets with him.
But a few things happened that changed her mind.
First, Haymitch came about an hour later than he'd originally said he would. Now, Lenore Dove didn't necessarily mind this; after all, her Haymitch struggled to keep track of time sometimes, tending to let it get away from him if he's not careful. And sometimes his odd jobs take longer than he expected. It wasn't a big deal; it let Lenore Dove have time to finish her most recent book, gave her time to sit out in the meadow and sketch the local wildlife.
The problems really began to arise when Haymitch finally arrived at her house.
He was tired, for one thing; he was limping slightly as he came up the meadow towards her, his eyes distant and foggy. She set her notebook aside, ran up to greet him, already reaching for him in concern, and when her arms came up around him, he leaned against her for support, buried his face in her hair with a shuddering breath, eyes closed as his hands smoothed down her back.
She tried to ask what was wrong, but he'd quickly shaken his head, moved to kiss her clumsily. When she gripped his shoulders, he let out a pained hiss, pulling away with a heavy gasp. He was hurting, Lenore Dove realized; his muscles had been far too tight beneath her hands, his shoulders practically up by his ears.
"Haymitch," she said softly, reaching up to gently stroke his face, cradling it in her hands. "We don't have to-"
"I just-" He leaned into her touch, his hands shaking slightly as they traveled up her form. "I just want to-" He seemed to be struggling to find the words to express his desires; and Lenore Dove didn't want to do anything with him if he couldn't communicate those properly.
"Hey," she interjected gently, giving him the best reassuring smile that she could. "Let's just lay down for a bit, hm? Let you rest for a second."
He had hesitated for a long moment before nodding slowly, stammering out an exhausted apology.
Sure, Lenore Dove had been excited to get started as soon as possible. But she wasn't all that disappointed for the delay. Even if Haymitch had downright refused for the day, she'd be fine with that too. If nothing else, it was nice to have a quiet afternoon with him.
The time now seemed to be a little bit past midday; Lenore Dove was laying on her back, shoulders propped up on her pillows, Haymitch's body half-laying on top of hers. His head was tucked under her chin, his arms wrapped around her torso, legs tangled together beneath the covers. She had a hand up to card through his hair, twirling the locks absentmindedly around her fingers as she pressed kisses to his forehead, the top of his head, any part of the limited area she currently had in reach.
After a while of this, his breath evens out, his form going still against her. She presses one last kiss to the crown of his head before laying back on the pillows, reaching for her book on the side table. Haymitch's grip briefly tightens around her, and he grumbles in protest.
"Why'd you stop?" he asks, adorably grumpy and muffled against her throat. She lets out a soft chuckle, adjusting her hold on him until one arm is wrapped around his broad shoulders, the other coming up so that her fingers can scratch through the shaggy locks just behind his ear. He immediately lets out a sigh, nuzzling closer and tilting his head to press a kiss to the inside of her wrist, directly over the fluttering pulse there.
"I thought you fell asleep," she admits sheepishly. Haymitch lets out a snort, and it's so ridiculously adorable that she has to tilt back his head and kiss him. He smiles a little against her lips, allowing their lips to melt together for a moment before moving to duck his head back under her chin and cuddling impossibly closer. She lets him stay that way for a moment longer, before finally murmuring, "So… do you want to tell me what happened today?"
He lets out a sigh, pressing his face back into her neck. "It's… it's not a big deal, Lenore Dove. I'm just being stupid."
"You're not," she insists. "If it's affecting you, then it's not stupid." He lets out a soft huff in reply, and she presses her cheek against the top of his head, waits quietly until he shifts, inhaling shakily before beginning to speak.
"I was helping the Mellark family this morning with the renovation of their bakery. You know the mother? The one who runs the bakery?"
"Yeah?" Lenore Dove says, her heart already sinking with dread.
"She needed a mule to bring the construction stuff inside. The bricks for the new ovens, those fifty-pound bags of flour, sugar, salt… that kind of stuff."
"Sounds pretty brutal."
Haymitch lets out a pained chuckle, nodding against her. "It was. Anyways, I started early this morning after you left. I spent a good hour or two lugging everything inside of the bakery, stacking it, all that stuff. And then Mrs. Mellark shows up, and she gets angry, because apparently that wasn't where I was supposed to put that stuff; I was supposed to take it out to the back and stack it there."
Lenore Dove frowns. "How were you supposed to know to do that?"
Haymitch goes tense, and she rubs his back reassuringly, kissing his hair until he lets out a broken huff, melting further into her and tightening his grip.
"She told me to 'get everything out of the way.' I figured she meant 'out of the way' of the people on the street, but apparently, having them inside was 'in her way' too, so…" He trails off a moment, his fingers fidgeting slightly against her. She feels her eyes prick with emotion.
Haymitch struggles with spoken instructions sometimes. It's something that Lenore Dove learned about him when they were both very young, and something that she is always careful to be mindful of. She's learned to make her language specific when telling him what to do, to talk through steps slowly, and she's learned to be patient when he makes mistakes. Because he tries; his mistakes and misunderstandings are never for a lack of trying.
Others have not been so understanding; in their second year of school together, when they were both still young and merely crushing on each other from afar, they had a teacher with a bad temper and a particular hatred of kids. One who demanded that students "figure things out on their own" while also yelling at them if they made mistakes. Haymitch was a particular favorite target of hers; on multiple occasions, she'd pulled him up in front of the class to humiliate him, repeatedly told how stupid he was for struggling to understand her instructions, forced him to sit directly next to her desk so she could crack a ruler across the surface of his desk every time he lost his focus.
Lenore Dove was still a deeply shy person, but that teacher's treatment of Haymitch had made her so angry that she marched up to the teacher during lunch and demanded that she stop or she'd be sorry. The teacher had merely rolled her eyes at the little pipsqueak of a child. That sealed her fate in the eyes of Lenore Dove; the next day, the teacher found her desk filled with live crickets and her leather schoolbag stuffed to the brim with frogs and worms. (Which was still a fond memory; both because of the teacher's shrieking reaction, and for the flower Haymitch had shyly snuck in her desk the next day as a "thank you." She still gets giddy thinking about it sometimes.)
But the damage had been done. Haymitch was absolutely crushed by the abuse; he'd never really been the same afterwards.
It always stung when he made jokes about his own stupidity, because Lenore Dove knew that it was far from the truth. Haymitch had a fast-moving mind, one that could easily pick up patterns much quicker than that of his classmates. And he was eager to learn; a trait that was rare and admirable, one that the old crone had nearly beat out of him. He still gets self-conscious about it sometimes. He jokes, of course, brushes it all off the best he can, but Lenore Dove can tell that it still stings.
"Anyways," Haymitch continues, his voice carefully detached, forcefully even. "She made me move it all again. Then wouldn't pay me afterwards. Said I'd 'wasted her time.'"
She turns her head, presses gentle kisses to every part of his face he can reach until his eyes slip shut, a low noise of contentment rumbling from his throat. She pulls back a little, looking him in his soft, gray eyes as she holds him gently against her.
"That Mellark woman is evil and doesn't know what she's talking about," Lenore Dove says firmly. Haymitch opens his mouth to protest, but she cuts him off with a kiss, cupping his face and combing her fingers through his hair as her lips move against his, over and over, until he makes a soft noise against her lips, pressing up more firmly against her. He's breathless by the time she pulls back, his gray eyes slightly dazed. Lenore Dove smiles at this, brushing a lock of his hair away from his eyes.
"Should I release crickets into her bakery?" she asks teasingly.
Haymitch's eyebrows raise. He considers for a moment, a smile growing on his face, until he finally mumbles, "…I won't stop you."
She laughs, shifting down the bed so she's more level with him and tugging him close again. They kiss for a long while, lazy and content, hands running over each other, not grabbing or tugging, but just feeling. Just holding each other, Lenore Dove trying desperately to pour every bit of her love for every single part of him into their soft kisses that she can. She's not sure how much she succeeds, but he seems to be relaxing, melting against her with breathless sounds, his hands reverent as they smooth over her clothed body.
He was tense still, she realizes; his muscles are taught beneath her hands, locked up with pain, the kind that comes from hours of hard physical labor. She pulls back, biting back a smile and placing a finger over his lips when he tries to chase her. His eyes peek open, confused, and she swallows, moving her eyes down to rest on his collarbones.
"If you're still sore, I could… um… rub your back a little?" she offers, her face immediately going scalding hot at the suggestion. "J-just to help a little with the pain."
"Oh." He blinks in surprise, his cheeks darkening as he takes in her request. She holds her breath as he considers, her anxiety slowly beginning to rise until he gives a quick nod, clearing his throat and seeming to try and hide his own nerves. "Yeah. Yeah, I'd like that."
The process is slow at first; Haymitch gingerly gets up out of the bed with Lenore Dove's gentle guidance. When he's up and off the bed, she turns away from him to adjust some of the pillows, pulling the covers aside to make a space for Haymitch to comfortably lay down. She smooths the sheets, gives a shaky nod.
"Right," she says, turning towards him and trying to hide her own nerves the best she can. "Lay on your stomach here, I can-"
Her eyes land on Haymitch, freezing her in place and effectively cutting off her sentence.
Haymitch has frozen as well, eyes wide, his chest bare and shirt clutched in his hand. He swallows as Lenore Dove slowly takes in his appearance, his ears going hot with embarrassment.
"Sorry, I thought it-"
"No! No it's fine!" she insists, forcefully tearing her eyes away from his chest to meet his again. "It's a good idea! T-taking off your clothes I mean. Helps me see what I'm doing, and it…" She trails off, unsure of how to continue. He gives a quick nod, his eyes averting to the floor. She feels herself frown slightly.
Why was he so nervous? He had long since forgone being self-conscious about his body when they were intimate together, and the sudden shift back to his old nerves put her on edge, makes nerves of her own start to rise.
His fingers are still clutching his shirt in an iron grip, his jaw clenched, his whole body rigid. Swallowing, she steps forward, reaching out until she can gently close her hands over his. His eyes rise to meet hers again, and she gives him the most reassuring smile she can, pressing her forehead against his and closing her eyes. She hears him let out a shaky exhale, feels him press up more against her as he breathes, slow and steady. For a while, it's just the two of them, standing in this warm embrace, basking in the closeness, the quiet intimacy of it all as they allow themselves to quiet down, to soothe their nerves.
"Haymitch, you know you don't have to do anything you don't want to," she murmurs, soft and slightly shaky. "But if you're worried about not being able to reciprocate or me not getting something out of this, then please don't be. I really like touching you. And making you feel good. Not just… sexually." Her face goes hot again, but she feels Haymitch let out a soft chuckle, which makes a smile spread across her face too.
"That's what you keep saying," he mumbles, his arms looping around her waist. She frowns, shaking her head.
"No, that's how I feel. There's a difference." She reaches up, cupping his face in her hands to force him to look at her. "I'm not just saying all this for the fun of it."
Haymitch shivers slightly at her words, his pupils dilating as they meet hers. He doesn't so much lean as he does fall forward, capturing her lips with his in a desperate kiss. Desperate to prove himself to her, desperate to show a worthiness that Lenore Dove has always known was there, even if he didn't.
She can show him. She wants to show him.
She pulls back after a moment. Both their eyes seem to open at the same time, because they meet, hold each other's gaze in an intimate steadiness. She swallows, reaches up to unhook the straps of her overalls. She lets it fall around her waist before reaching for the buttons of her blouse, slowly undoing each one. Haymitch stands, held breathlessly captive by her gaze until she stands before him in her underwear and brassiere, her hands reaching up to adjust the kerchief that keeps her hair away from her face.
There's a lust in his gaze, sure, but it's an undercurrent; Haymitch's eyes soak up her form like she's a painting, a sunset that he wants to remember every detail of. His eyes linger on the shape of her hands, the birthmark on her left hip, the freckles across her nose, taking it all in with an awed silence. He looks at her this way not because it's new, but because it's familiar.
Her hands come up to unbutton his pants, and she helps him push them down and step out of them before she gestures pointedly to the bed. This time, he doesn't hesitate; he moves until he's laying on his stomach, his arms folded around the pillow that he rests his head on, face pressed to the fabric to inhale the scent of her that permeates her bed.
He relaxes into the mattress, only to stiffen again slightly when she straddles the back of his thighs. She places her hands on the small of his back, running her thumb gently over the skin in soothing strokes until he relaxes again, then smooths them up his spine until they're at his shoulders. She pauses then, closing her eyes briefly and taking a deep breath in an attempt to control her racing thoughts.
But it's hard. Nearly impossible to keep her lustful musings at bay. His tanned, olive skin is deliciously warm against her palms. His dark hair is adorably rumpled, his cheek resting on the pillow, lashes resting against his cheek as he closes his eyes. Her eyes travel over the corded muscles visible beneath his skin, the broadness of his shoulders, the soft swell of his biceps. A heat curls in her belly, not a roaring fire that demands to be reckoned with, but glowing coals, fully susceptible to growing into a leaping flame if not carefully monitored. Her breath catches slightly as she takes yet another breath, her hands pressing a little more firmly into his muscled back as she wills herself not to lose her mind quite so early.
Just go slow, she thinks, practically pleading with her already-unstable mind. Watch yourself.
The heels of her palms begin to dig into his shoulders, pressing down against the muscle that's wound tight beneath his skin. He lets out a breathless sound, a hint of a moan present in the timbres of his voice, one that goes straight to her core,fogging her mind and lighting her up from the inside.
This was already proving to be a problem for her steadily-growing hunger.
She forcibly banishes the thoughts again, moves a little further down, leaning her weight into her hands as she presses her palms against a particularly tight section just below both his shoulder blades. His breath hitches slightly, and she releases, gently stroking his impossibly-warm skin.
"Feel okay?" she asks softly, cursing herself at the slight huskiness present in her tone.
"Yeah…" he mumbles, already sounding half-dazed. He swallows, turns to press his face into the pillow so that his words come out muffled. "Yeah… feels good…"
She smiles as a rush of affection warms her cheeks. She moves her hands to his lower back to press her palms down yet again, firm and heavy, compressing the tight muscle in her hands. He makes a low moaning sound, his fingers twisting slightly in her pillow as she holds, then releases, dragging her hands back up his spine to his shoulders.
"Good," she manages, which makes him shiver slightly beneath her. Her tongue comes out to wet her lips without meaning to, and she shakes her head, steels herself again as she adjusts her position on top of him. "Now, this might hurt a little, just… tell me if it's too much."
He nods, face still pressed into her pillow, back tensing slightly in anticipation. She curls her fingers around the tops of his shoulders, rubs her thumb lightly over the back of his neck. Already, she can feel the knots beneath his skin, and though she's not even pressing down hard yet, he makes a muffled noise, his fingers tightening in the pillowcase.
"God…" she breathes, frowning slightly as she feels just how tense he really is, how much it must hurt. "You're so tight, darling…."
He actually melts at the pet name, sinking into the mattress with a low, broken sigh His head shifts to press his cheek into the pillow, eyes closed, and from this angle, she can see how the corners of his lips twitching upwards as his back arcs slightly, subtly pushing up into her hands.
She can't help the affectionate smile that spreads across her lips. Can't help but lean forward to press a kiss between his shoulder blades, delighting in the small, almost inaudible noise that falls from his lips, in the way is eyes peek open to look back at her as she sits up.
"Ready?"
He nods quickly, shifting slightly under her in a manner that's almost impatient.
She leans forward again, pressing down as forcefully as she can manage before digging her thumbs into the knots on either side of the vertebrae of his neck.
He actually moans, his hips canting up against the bed slightly, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as her thumbs knead away the knots, pinching them between her thumbs and his back before smoothing the muscle. Her breath hitches at his unexpected response to her touch. Dragging her hands down his skin as quickly as she can, she moves to his left shoulder, digs her fingers in again. He lets out a small hiss of pain, tensing beneath her, but doesn't tell her to stop, so she shushes him gently, presses and rolls the knots of muscles in her fingers until they start to give, until he relaxes completely in her hold with a loud moaning sound, which he tries again to muffle in the pillow. Excitement races through her, her body beginning to heat up with it, but she keeps her hands steady, forcibly focuses on the expanse of his back beneath her.
Her hands slowly make their way downwards, running over ever inch of bared skin that she can. She rubs circles into the tight muscles, works out the knots with her fingers as gently as she can, delighting in the way that he moans, tightens and loosens beneath him, his hips pressing forward into the mattress with a soft, helpless sort of sound as his back arcs subtly to press up into her hands. When she reaches the dimples of his lower back, she works her way back up his spine, rubbing and digging gently into the muscles on either side, higher and higher until her thumbs are back on his neck, just below his hair. She releases him then, resting one palm between his shoulder blades as his eyes slip shut with a breathless sound of complete and utter relief.
There's no denying that she's soaked through her underwear at this point, throbbing with need, aching to start anew. But she doesn't want to work him too hard, doesn't want to hurt him in her eagerness. (After all, that would ruin the whole point of the massage.)
Still, she can't help herself; she keeps her hand pressed between his shoulders, her other moving up to gently run her fingers through his hair. He tenses slightly in surprise as she scratches gently at his scalp with her blunt nails, only to relax again after a moment, making a low, almost whimpering sound, pushing his head up into her hand as much as he can manage in his current position. A new wave of arousal burns through her at the sight, and she closes her eyes, swallows forcefully before speaking.
"Feel better?" she asks, far too breathless. He lets out another shaky sigh of relief, his gray eyes hazy when he peeks them open, his lips parted slightly as he pants ever-so-slightly beneath her.
"Yeah…" he mumbles after a long moment. "Y-you're really good at that, Lenore Dove." She smiles, gently removing her hands from his hair and neck to smooth them lightly down his back again. He makes a pained noise, squirming slightly beneath her, and she frowns, reaching up to gingerly place a hand on his shoulder.
"Are you okay?" she asks, slightly panicked, he other hand running over his back as she tries to feel for any injury she may have caused. She hadn't thought that she was hurting him in any kind of bad way, but maybe he's been too scared to tell her that she was doing it wrong. Why else would he be moving underneath her like this?
"I-I'm great…" He swallows. "Golden. Peachy-keen." He licks his lips nervously, squirms beneath her for another moment. The sight doesn't help her fear that she's hurt him; she's about to climb off of him entirely when he suddenly blurts, "Is it okay that I'm really turned on right now?!"
She freezes, her eyes widening as her mind replays the past ten minutes or so. Her cheeks go burning hot as she realizes that his squirming and pressing into the mattress had been him trying to grind into it for some relief. Something that she no doubt had been unconsciously preventing him from doing by straddling him like this.
She retracts her hands from his skin, closing her eyes with a small, inaudible intake of breath as her mind starts to race with absolutely filthy image of what she wants to do to him right now, a new wave of arousal further soaking her underwear, the burning coals within now having grown into a burning wildfire that singes through her inhibitions, her very humanity and soundness of mind, leaves her nothing but a creature of want.
"S-sorry," he says quickly, his cheeks darkening with humiliation. "I know you were just trying to do something nice, I shouldn't have made it weird-"
He continues to ramble, unaware of the way she's practically vibrating on top of him with barely-controlled hunger. She brings her hands up to quickly untie the loop at the front of her brassiere, pulling it open and letting the straps slide down her arms, her nipples already stiff, standing at attention.
"-we can go back to cuddling, we don't have to-"
He suddenly cuts himself off, his eyes widening, breath stopping entirely as she dangles the brassiere in her hand, holding it teasingly in his line of sight for him to see.
She lets it hang for a moment, lets his lust-fogged mind catch up with what's happening before she drops it to the floor, bringing her hand down to shakily comb through the hair on the back of his head.
Haymitch makes a frantic, needy sound, his arms tensing as he tries to push himself up to turn over, to face her. But before she can think, her hand tightens in his hair, and she pushes his face back down against the pillow again. A noise, half-confusion, half-arousal, falls from his lips, his whole body going tense as he remains pinned against the mattress. She loosens her grip then, strokes his hair as soothingly as she can until he relaxes slightly, swallowing and shifting nervously beneath her.
"I just…" Her face goes hot. "I want to keep you like this a little while longer." Her eyes travel down the expanse of skin beneath her, and she bites her lower lip at the sight before forcibly looking back up again. "I-is that okay?"
"Yes," he says raggedly, his head shifting to press his mouth into the pillow. "Yes, that's okay, more than okay, god, Lenore Dove-"
Unable to stop herself anymore, she leans forward, pressing her lips to the back of his neck, just below his hairline. He instantly goes quiet, his breath hitching, his soft noise muffled into her pillow.
God, he's so warm. So incredibly warm. His hair is so thick and impossibly soft in her fingers, and he smells like his ma's lavender soap, and it's all so overwhelming in the best possible way. She moans at the intensity of it all, quiet and needy, pressed into his skin. She shifts until she can lay her full weight atop him, pressing her mouth to the back of his broad shoulder, her hand tightening in his hair as the other begins to blaze a trail up the side of his ribs, up his shoulder, his arm, until her fingers curl around his bicep, her palm pressing into the muscles that shift beneath his skin. She bites her lower lip, her mind reeling, vision hazy with need.
"You're so… so…"
She can't find the words.
He shivers slightly beneath her, which makes her vision almost white out entirely. She tilts her head to press an open-mouthed kiss to the burning skin of his shoulder, her hand curling in his dark locks with a low moan as she mouths at his skin. She can feel her breasts pressing up against his warm back, can feel the way his breathing rises and falls, can feel the way it hitches when she nips at the base of his neck. A needy sound falls from her lips; god she wants to press impossibly closer. She wants to merge against him, wants to keep him this way for hours for her to map with her lips, her tongue, her teeth, her hands, everything. Her fingers drag down his bicep, curls beneath him, up and around his shoulder so that she can press her lips harder against the curve of it, moaning as his heated skin sears her lips.
"L-Lenore Dove," Haymitch whines, shifting restlessly beneath her, trying frantically to turn over. "Lenore Dove, please-"
She tightens her grip on him, gives his hair a pointed tug. He cuts himself off with a helpless moan, thumping back down onto the bed, body limp and eyes hazy as her lips leave a trail of hungry kisses up the curve of his shoulder, up the back of his neck. The hand still in the curls on the back of his head drags upwards, her nose and lips pressing into them as she kisses him there, inhaling his heavenly scent before she drags her mouth to his ear, her lips kissing at the curve of it before moving lower, brushing against him as she gasps into it.
"You're so handsome, Haymitch."
He freezes in shock, stiff beneath her as his dazed mind tries to comprehend what's happening. She ignores his shifting, licks the shell of his ear before tugging it in between her teeth with a breathless moan, one that Haymitch mirrors, his eyes rolling to the back of his head.
"You don't even know…" she pants, releasing his hair to brace a hand next to his head, using her grip on his shoulder to pull herself up more firmly against him. "Y-you don't even know how many times I've touched myself in this bed. How many times I've fantasized about how handsome you are-"
"L-Lenore Dove-"
She shushes him quickly, pressing kisses to his hair, mouthing at the corner of his jaw, her tongue flicking out to frantically lap at where his pulse is racing against his skin. God, something mut be possessing her in this moment, making it impossible to think about anything but her Haymitch, his warmth, his smell, the feeling of his skin-
"You drive me crazy," she admits, barely able to keep her mouth off of him long enough to speak. "Your face, your hair, those arms…" She makes a whimpering noise, switching to suck on his other earlobe, which makes him gasp slightly."E-even when I'm sleeping, I can't escape you. I wake up from dreams about you, absolutely throbbing. I have to shove a hand down my sleepwear just to get some relief, but it never feels as good as when you do it-"
"You- hah…" Haymitch moans, burying his burning face into the pillow. "Y-you don't have to say that-"
Her hand delves back into his hair and yanks, hard enough to jerk his head up and out of the pillow, allowing his strangled moan to ring out into the air of her bedroom. She lets his head fall back into it, and he presses his cheek against the soft fabric of her pillowcase, eyes glazed with pleasure and breathing ragged as she strokes his hair in apology.
"Please let me enjoy this," she begs, whines, almost cries. "Please, I want to so badly, I need it, Haymitch-"
He moans again, his eyes slipping shut as he gives a helpless nod. She almost sobs with relief, burying her face into the crook of his neck to press grateful, open-mouthed kisses to the burning skin there, making a small, needy noise when she feels his throat vibrating against her lips as he moans, opening her mouth to sink her teeth into him.
She's lost her mind, she's certain of it; no mortal person was ever supposed to feel such an all-consuming hunger for a person.
She forcibly pulls herself off of him, sitting on the bed next to him and pushing on his shoulder insistently until he's laying on his back, then grabbing at his patchwork boxer shorts, pulling them off of him as quickly as she can and tossing them aside. She takes a moment just to pause, to take in the glorious sight of him completely naked on her bed, hair wild, eyes dazed, his skin bathed in the sunlight from her window, his cock standing at stiff attention. Her mouth waters at the sight, her eyes watching the drips of arousal that run down his shaft, forming a trail that she wants to lick clean.
God, she loves him. The sight before her is going to be making frequent appearances in her dreams, her fantasies, in her dirty thoughts for the rest of her life, she's certain of it.
Haymitch tries to say something, tries to sit up and reach for her. Slightly panicked, she grabs his face and kisses him, shoving her tongue into his mouth and tangling her fingers in his hair, tugging insistently until he falls back down onto the pillows with a broken moan, hands blindly groping for her, holding onto her in any way he can.
She feels for a moment like she's going to pass out at the wave of arousal that burns through her. Without any kind of real input, one of her hands tangled in the hair at the top of his head yanks it back roughly. He lets out a gasping moan, eyes screwing shut as his head is forcefully jerked back, exposing his throat to Lenore Dove.
Not willing to wait any longer, she presses her lips with a loud moan to the burning skin there. Pulls his hair a little harder until his head is tilted so far back that it must hurt, but he doesn't protest, seems to try and tilt it back impossibly further with a moan that buzzes against her lips as she practically devours the skin of his neck, licking at the hollow of his throat, sinking her teeth into his pulse point, dragging her lips over every inch of skin that she can manage, all of which does next to nothing to satiate her hunger, the licking flame of arousal that sears inside of her, impossibly hot, demanding more, more, more-
She releases his hair, dragging her hands down to grip his hips as her mouth moves to his collarbones, biting and licking hungrily. Haymitch's head lifts for a moment, only to thump back onto the pillow with a low groan as she starts to mouth at his chest, the curve of his pecks, the small number of scars and freckles and marks dotted across his skin, until she's lowered herself to his waist. She grasps him in her hand, runs her tongue up the trail of precum that's formed over the course of their time together, and seals her mouth around the head of him, the taste filling her mouth as she begins to suck in earnest.
"Fuck!" he moans, throwing his head back, a reaction which only serves to spur her on even more. She moans around him, sucks him down deeper until he pounds the mattress with his palm, his whole body seizing up with pleasure, his eyes wide, a broken sort of sobbing noise falling from his kiss-swollen lips.
"Wait-" he chokes out after a moment, a shaky hand coming down to tug at her hair. "Wait, Lenore Dove- fuck!"
She pulls off of him, wiping the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand as her eyes rise to meet his. She gives him a moment to catch his breath, watching as he shakily sits up, his throat bobbing as he swallows nervously.
"Was that too much?" she asks, guilt overcoming her, clearing her head a little. He quickly shakes his head.
"N-no it was good!" he reassures her breathlessly, bringing a hand up to push his wild hair out of his eyes. She frowns at him in confusion, and he glances down a second, licking his lips nervously before forcefully meeting her eyes again. "I was just wondering… um…"
He's become bashful again, his cheeks darkening in a blush. She moves up to sit next to him, reaching up to touch his face. He steels himself, his darkened eyes meeting hers, pleading.
"Can you… talk some more?" he manages, so soft and desperate that it tugs at something in her chest. "L-like you were while you were on top of me?"
"Oh…" She feels her own face heat up in a blush. She clears her throat, her hand coming up to gently rest on his thigh, her fingers rubbing soothing circles into the muscle there. "You… you liked that?"
He nods, his eyes falling away from hers with embarrassment. The request is so adorable, so insanely endearing that she feels a smile spread across her lips, one that she has to press to his in a biting kiss.
"I can do that," she reassures him, almost beaming down at him. He lets out a soft, dreamy noise, and she kisses him again before pulling back, her mind already turning as she assesses their current situation, chewing on her lower lip as she thinks.
She could bring him to completion with her hand, maybe; she could press her lips to his ear while she strokes him, murmuring sweet nothings until he came into her palm. But right now, she's so incredibly turned on that it aches, it burns between her thighs in a way that's become impossible to ignore. She can hardly concentrate as well as she would like to right now; really, she needed to be more careful about this kind of thing.
That's when the idea hits her, the image so downright filthy that it brings a rosy heat to her whole body.
"Here…" she pushes him back down onto his back as gently as she can, adjusting the pillow to rest comfortably beneath his head and neck before moving to pull off her own underwear, tossing the soaked fabric aside so that they're both now gloriously naked. She moves to straddle him, bracing her hands against his chest as she slowly lowers herself down until his stiff cock is pressed up against her soaked folds; not inside of her, but sliding against her in the most delicious way.
Both of them let out a breathless moan as she settles on top of him; they had grinded against each other before, of course, but always through layers of clothing, never with absolutely nothing separating them. He's throbbing against her, the velvety texture of him rubbing up between her folds, up against her clit, and it feels so good, so good that she bites her lower lip, closes her eyes to stop herself from humping up against him until her own completion. This was about him, about him, about-
She leans down to catch his lips in a proper kiss, her hands moving to cup the back of his neck, thumbs stroking the line of his jaw in a soothing pattern as she tilts his head back to deepen it. He clumsily kisses her back, dazed and helpless against her, letting out a soft moan of contentment as their mouths move together. A thrill of excitement jolts up her spine; he's submitted himself before, but she's never seen him so thoroughly melt like this, staring up at her with those hazy eyes, following her every command, her every push and pull like a lovesick puppy. It's exciting, intoxicating in the best way imaginable.
She feels his hands come up as they kiss, shaking slightly with need. He cups her bared waist, squeezing with a breathless noise as her tongue traces the roof of his mouth, runs them up her ribs, curls them around her back. When she pulls gently at his lower lip with her teeth, he moans against her, an arm wrapping around her back to pull her down more firmly against him, his other hand dragging down the side of her to cup one of her breasts in his palm. She feels her mouth stutter against his as he starts to knead it in careful, well-practiced presses of his fingers, rubbing her nipple in steady circles before he pinches and rolls it between his index finger and his thumb. She makes a low moaning noise, her back involuntarily arching to press her breast more firmly into his hand right as she sucks his tongue between her lips. It takes all of her willpower to break the kiss, pulling back as she shakes her head.
"N-not too much of that, Haymitch" she pants, removing one of her hands from his face to grab his wrist, carefully pulling his hand away from her breast, ignoring his whine of protest as she pins it gently to the mattress below them. Her core throbs in interest when his hazy eyes open to look up at her again, slightly confused and desperately needy. She smiles a little, releasing his wrist to drag her fingers gently up the skin of his palm, playing with his for a moment before releasing and bringing her hand back up to his face again. "This is supposed to be about you."
Haymitch give a quick jerk of his head before melting into the sheets with a low sound as she licks into his mouth again. She kisses him until his mouth goes completely slack against hers, then breaks away again, presses an open-mouthed kiss to the corner of his lips, his chin, the underside of his jaw. He moans, and her hips jerk up to grind against him, an action that sends a jolt of pleasure up her spine, that forces a gasping moan from her throat. She sits up, bracing her hands against his chest as she starts to roll and grind her core against him, His hands grip her hips, not guiding or forcing her anywhere, merely holding on for dear life as she begins to hump herself up against him, dragging her sopping folds over his stiff and leaking cock.
"I-is this okay? Good, I mean?" she pants, swiveling her hips so that her clit rubs up deliciously against the shaft of him, an action that makes her breath catch and her eyes roll back in pleasure.
"I… I… huh?" He stares up at her, eyes hooded and absolutely in awe of her, so overcome with ecstasy that he can't seem to understand a word of what she's saying. She lets out a breathless laugh, rubbing herself up against him more firmly.
"I said does it feel good?"
"Hng… don't… don't…"
"Don't what?" she asks, slightly worried now, pausing briefly to make sure that he's okay. He lets out a breathless whine, his hands tightening as he clumsily tries to move her hips against him again.
"Don't stop… please…"
Haymitch is a wreck beneath her. Hair wild from her constant yanking and playing. Lips shiny and kiss-swollen. His neck and chest dotted in small marks where she had sucked at his skin, sunk her teeth into him. Eyes completely glazed over with bliss as he stares up at her, throat bobbing as he swallows, as he looks up at her like she's some kind of goddess, one that he wishes to worship until his dying days.
Well, it's not his turn to worship. Not right now.
"You wanted me to talk a little more?" she asks, panting, her hips jerking against him. He makes a noise of agreement, nodding rapidly, so she leans over him, braces a hand on either side of his head. It takes a moment for her to come up with any words; admittedly, she'd getting very close to an orgasm, but she tries to shove that aside, tries to focus on the beauty of her Haymitch beneath her, tries to let the words fall unbidden from her lips.
"I… I love everything about you," she begins shakily, biting back a whine as his hips thrust up from beneath her. "I love doing this with you. I love your fingers in me. I love your tongue- oh, fuck Haymitch- I-I love the way you look at me while you're undressing me. I love when you pin me down-" She swallows, ducks down to frantically kiss his cheek, his temple, any part of his face that her clumsy lips can run over before pulling back again, her voice going thick as she continues.
"I really like it when you lose control and get rough with me," she admits breathlessly. His gray eyes snap open, and she whimpers, the pace of her hips slowly beginning to pick up as she rocks against him. "You know, sometimes you leave bruises on my hips from pinning me down."
"Ah… oh, god, I'm s-sorry…"
She drags her mouth down until she can sink her teeth into the base of his throat, thrilling in the way he makes a yelping sound, then soothing the mark with her tongue until he lets out a ragged breath. Satisfied with his response, she drags her lips back up to nip at his ear.
"Don't be," she pleads. "D-don't be, I love it so much." An image flashes through her mind, and she whimpers. "You know, sometimes…" She screws her eyes shut, tries to swallow back the confession before it escapes from behind her teeth, but it escapes anyways, ringing out in the air between them.
"S-sometimes when I touch myself, I press down on the bruises with my fingers. Just to feel that pain again."
Haymitch's eyes bug out in surprise at the shocking admission. She lets out a breathless laugh, her face burning with a quiet sort of shame, a shame that she tries to hide by tilting her head to seal her mouth over his in a hungry kiss. He barely seems to be in the state of mind to kiss her back, his mouth slack against hers, so she just nips at his parted lips, tugging them between her teeth, sucking them into her mouth before sliding her tongue between them. She pulls back after a moment, which makes him let out a needy little sound, one that makes her laugh again. She pushes him back down onto the bed, rubbing her dripping core up against his stiffened cock that's still nestled between her thighs.
"Are you close?" she whimpers, already so dangerously close herself, so overwhelmed, so weightless in the feeling of him beneath her, in the warmth of him pressed against her skin that she feels delirious with it. He gives a quick nod, and then his hands are tightening on her hips, gripping her so hard that she lets out a surprised yelp, throwing her head back with a loud moan as he tightens the vice of his fingers even further.
"'M close… c-close… fuck, this is-" he gasps out, his voice climbing in pitch as he starts to move her forcefully against him. She falls forward, licking up the side of his neck with a frantic moan, her hands bracing against his shoulders as he starts to thrust up against her from underneath, and then her mind is conjuring images, and she's fighting against his hold, blindly moving to meet his thrusts as she blurts out-
"I want you inside of me so badly!"
Haymitch pauses for a moment, his wild eyes meeting hers. He licks his lips, searching her face for any hint of irony.
"You do?!"
She nods desperately, thrusting her hips against him with a whimpering sound. "I-I think about it all the time, I'm s-sorry-"
His hands dig into her hips again as he sits up, capturing a nipple in his mouth and beginning to suck harshly. She lets out a wail, grabbing onto his shoulders and clinging as one of his hands shifts enough so that he can rub circles into her clit with his thumb, his hips resuming their frantic thrusting up against her.
"Haymitch-" she sobs, barely able to catch her breath. "T-this is supposed to be for you, I- ah!" She cries out as his teeth graze her nipple, and in a frantic attempt to regain control, she lifts a shaky hand from his shoulder, tangling in in his hair and yanking as hard as she can. She practically rips him away from her breast, and he releases her nipple with a loud moan as his head is jerked back, his grip on her hips loosening just enough for her to thrust down hard against him, coating the shaft of him in her slick arousal. The final motion is enough to send them both over the edge simultaneously, their moans and cries echoing through the empty house as they reach that blissful peak and tumble down the other side together.
It's feels like an eternity before they're finally freed from the terrifying pleasure of it all. He collapses back onto the pillow as she falls forward, and she ends up on top of him yet again, one arm wrapped around his shoulders, the other still hopelessly tangled in his hair, cheek pressed against his neck. They lay there for a moment, completely limp and panting, a sheen of sweat glowing on both of their skin, minds entirely blank and fuzzy as they come down together. I's so wonderful like this, to have their bare skin pressed up against each their so thoroughly, nothing keeping them from one another any more. If there was ever a heaven, Lenore Dove is certain that it must feel exactly like this.
When Lenore Dove finally returns to her senses, she's still burning up inside.
With a mounting sense of horror and slight incredulity, she realizes that she is still very much turned on, throbbing with a desperate need, apparently barely satiated by the orgasm she'd just received. Which didn't make any sense, because it had been a good one too, so why was she still aching for release?! She swallows hard, shakily pushing herself up and shifting her weight to her knees as to give Haymitch's spent and oversensitive groin some space as her mind races, trying to figure out hat the right move would be in such a predicament. Surely, she couldn't ask him for assistance; perhaps she should touch herself instead, but she can't bring herself to do that either, so she sits there, still on top of him, gasping for breath and completely frozen with indecision in the face of such an unexpected conundrum.
Haymitch's eyes flutter open, glazed over still from the aftereffects of such an intense orgasm, looking up at her with such adoration that she can hardly stand it. He stares up at her for a good long while, but after a moment, his brow furrows slightly, his eyes taking in her frazzled appearance above him.
"You're… you're still turned on, aren't you?" he manages, his voice slightly hoarse. Caught red-handed, she gives a quick nod, reaching forward to reassuringly touch his face, forcing a smile to play across her lips in an attempt to dissuade his concerns for her.
"J-just a little," she says with a shaky laugh, starting to move to climb off of him. "Give me a few minutes, I-I'm sure I'll calm down in a moment-"
He shakes his head rapidly, his hands grabbing back onto her hips and pulling her down against him again. She nearly falls over in surprise, managing to catch herself on his chest before she does so, but he's already tugging at her hips, pulling her upwards. Unsure of what's happening, she obeys, moving up until she's straddling his abdomen, and gingerly settling there, but he keeps tugging insistently. She frowns, looking down at him curiously. His eyes are still glazed slightly, but there's a desperation to them, a frantic sort of hunger as he tries to pull her further up. But his cock is still soft against his belly, completely spent. He couldn't be aroused, could he?
"Haymitch?" she asks, her voice quivering slightly.
"Up," he insists, tugging her so that she's now straddling his chest. The realization of exactly what he's suggesting hits her like a blow to the chest; she lets out a squeak, her hands scrambling at his on her hips, trying to slow him down a moment.
"Haymitch, I couldn't possibly-"
"I can handle your weight," he pleads, his hands snaking up under her thighs. A gush of arousal wets her inner thighs, and she whimpers, her breathing becoming rapid, like that of a rabbit's.
"What if you can't breathe?!" she gasps out, trying to hold her hips in place for a moment, trying to make him understand the risk of what he's asking of her. "What if-"
"I'll hit your thigh if I need you to get off of me," he whines, his hands gripping the backs of her thighs in an iron grip. "Please, Lenore Dove, come on-"
He's not helping in her attempts to control her inhibitions, not in the slightest. She sinks her teeth into her lower lip, looks up and away from him, managing in a shaky voice, "Okay, but be careful-"
At her uttered words of permission, he locks his shoulders and lifts her up the bed in a single smooth motion. She lets out a startled yelp, her hands scrambling as she falls forward until they land on the headboard, gripping it so hard that her knuckles go pale. When she finally has the sense to look down, she sees that she's currently hovering overtop of him, her knees pressed into the pillow on either side of his head, thighs quivering with need.
"Fuck…" he exhales, his breath puffing over her sopping folds in a way that makes her twitch above him. His eyes are locked onto where she's dripping down her thighs, and his tongue darts out to wet his lips, an unconscious action that makes her whimper in agonizing anticipation, her nails digging into the wood of the headboard as his arms start to snake around her thighs, his fingers pressing down on the soft skin within them that's streaked with trails of her arousal. "Been thinking about this all day, god, Lenore Dove-"
She opens her mouth to reply, (though truthfully she's not sure how to reply to such a confession) but that's when his arms tighten, yanking her down right as his head lifts up off the pillow to latch his lips upon her clit, which he begins to suck with lustful enthusiasm. She cries out, her hips jerking down unexpectedly, pushing his head back down to crush into the pillow below again, squishing his nose against her pelvis. She stammers out a breathless apology, tries to lift up a bit to give him some room to breathe, only for him to hold her in place, yanking her down further as he starts to rapidly flick his tongue over her clit, over and over until she's crying out, leaning fully on the headboard for support, her mouth pressed to her folded and trembling arms as her hips begin to forcefully thrust down onto his far-too-talented mouth.
She's scared that he's going to keep her on edge for a good long while,but luckily, he wastes no time, not bothering to work her up any more than she already is and instead seeming to focus on making her come as quickly as possible. His lips release her clit with a wet sucking sound, providing a single moment of relief before he stiffens his tongue to a deadly point and thrusts it viciously up into her, licking and probing at her inner walls, curling against every sensitive spot inside of her while his nose rubs up against her clit. She shrieks, her whole back arching so sharply that she nearly falls over backwards, only her grip on the headboard and Haymitch's powerful arms keep her upright, her thighs tightening around his head as she starts to helplessly rock her hips against his mouth. He moans, muffled in her folds, sticking out his tongue as far as it will go so that she can grind down on it as she needs to, which she does, pitching forward with a helpless sound, her forehead pressed up against the wood of the headboard, eyes screwed shut and mouth agape, one of her hands delving into his hair and tightening to hold his head in place as she jerks her hips, dragging herself over his tongue over and over again, gasping and crying out each time he moans into her.
"C-close!" she gasps out, panicked, almost sobbing. He makes a noise of frantic approval against her, and she grits her teeth, biting back an absolutely humiliating sound. "F-fuck, I hate h-how good- ah! H-how good you are at t-this-"
He has the audacity to laugh into her folds, a sensation that makes her squeak in surprise, her thighs clamping together much too hard, and Haymitch lets out a loud moan that vibrates through her so powerfully that she yelps, her hips thrusting down against his trapped face. In a far-too-brief moment of sanity, she tries to spread her thighs, but Haymitch clamps them in place, moaning something into her dripping arousal.
"W-what?" she gasps out in confusion. Haymitch moans, shifting restlessly beneath her, not to escape but to free his mouth just long enough to gasp out a single word.
"Tighter-"
He sounds so desperate, so needy for it, that she's helpless to obey.
She yanks on his hair, her thighs pressing so hard into his ears that she's certain that she's cut off any sound from being able to enter them. He moans up into her a final time before thrusting his tongue up back into her, rocking it back and forth against that spot inside of her that makes stars shoot across her vision, shifting slightly so that he can press his thumb against her clit, rubbing tight circles into it as his tongue curls wickedly inside of her. She orgasms with a loud, high-pitched, cracking moan, her thighs clamped like a vice around his head, hips jerking down against his mouth as she rides out the high, still clinging onto the headboard for dear life.
If that orgasm isn't enough to satisfy her, then she's not really sure if anything ever will.
When she comes to, Haymitch has wiggled out just enough so that his sopping lips are no longer pressed to her, his arms still wrapped around her thighs, eyes closed in complete and utter contentment, his lips parted as he pants, tongue licking at the arousal still lingering on his lips. She feels a lazy smile spread across her face as she stares down at his blissed-out state; one that's quickly replaced by a horrified frown.
"Oh, god, Haymitch, your nose-" She tries to scramble off of him, but her legs are weak and shaking like a leaf, and so she barely manages to swing her leg over before she falters and collapses onto the bed next to him in a heap of sweaty limbs. She manages to push herself up to look at him, but he's already frowning slightly, eyes still closed as his hand comes up to touch his nose. When his fingers brush the bruised, swollen flesh, he flinches with pain, gritting his teeth as he bites back a wounded sound. But by the time her hands are cradling his face, tilting it towards her to look, he's laughing, soft and giddy.
"'S fine. Not broken, just bruised…" he mumbles, his hands coming down to pull her in. "C'mere, you-"
"Haymitch!" Despite herself, she starts to laugh as her eyes take in his completely obliterated form on the bed; hair completely ruined, face soaked, his nose and the inside corners of his eyes darkening with a bruise, his neck and chest covered in marks that had been bitten and sucked into his olive skin in her lustful frenzy. She buries her face in his neck in an attempt to muffle her growing laughter, and she feels him start to laugh as well, gently lifting her face away from his neck and tucking her wild curls behind the curve of her ear.
"What? It's not how I look, is it?" he pants teasingly, which just makes her laugh harder, her fingers coming up to gently wipe the wetness off of his lips and chin.
"How on earth are you going to explain this to your ma?!" she demands, which just makes him chuckle, propping himself up above her, his hand coming down to cradle her face as he gives her a mock serious look.
"Well, I was attacked, you see," he says solemnly, which makes her snort.
"Oh yeah? By what?"
"An animal." He grins, leaning in to press kisses to ever part of her blushing face that he can reach. "An insane, feral, absolutely beautiful animal-"
"Is that right?!" she laughs, scrunching up her face in playful protest.
"Uh-huh." He grins against her cheek, pulling back to look at her again with that same faux- imposing look. "You should have seen her. She lulled me into this false sense of security, and then before I knew what was happening, she latched onto me from behind-"
He digs his hands into her ticklish stomach as if demonstrating, and she lets out a squeal of laughter, squirming beneath him as she tries to bat his hands away.
"-tore at my throat with her teeth, tried to pull my hair out with her terrifying claws-"
"Haymitch!"
"-god, Ma, I'm just so lucky that I managed to escape with my life-"
Still laughing, she manages to grab ahold of his wrists, yanking them off of her and flipping him onto his back, moving to position herself over him and capturing his lips in an insistent kiss, which he eagerly reciprocates. They kiss for a while, slow and gentle, still giggling a little into each other's mouths, until Haymitch finally pulls away, his expression unbearably fond.
"Thank you, Lenore Dove," he says softly. He squeezes her hand in his, reaching up to stroke her face. "I needed that. I really did."
"Anytime," she replies with a cheeky grin, her whole face burning up as she recalls everything that had just happened in the past hour or so. She presses a final kiss to his lips, careful of his bruised nose, before murmuring, "So… you'd let me do that again sometime?"
Haymitch's head thumps back against the pillow as he lets out a guffaw. "Warn me ahead of time so I'm ready. But yes. We can do that again."
She bites her lower lip in a failed attempt to hide her smile, leaning down to kiss the corner of his mouth before climbing off of him, snuggling up against his side with a happy humming sound.
It's a long while before she goes to help him out of bed; she imagines that Clerk Carmine and Tam Amber will be home any minute now, and as much as she would love to keep Haymitch around for just a little while longer, she doesn't want to test Haymitch's "animal attack" story on them. The two of them gather up clothes, slowly get dressed, help each other smooth out their general look the best they can before she walks him to the door. Unfortunately, his hair is still a hopelessly tangled mess. She pauses at the door to reach up and try and comb it somewhat with her fingers, an attempt that is thoroughly unsuccessful. When she lowers her hand, he's staring at her, his teeth worrying his lower lip.
"What is it?" she asks, slightly nervous. He glances outside to make sure that Clerk Carmine and Tam Amber are nowhere in sight before he leans forward, his voice low.
"Did you…" He swallows."Did you mean what you said? While you were on top of me, I mean."
"Oh." She clears her throat as her face heats up in a blush, her eyes falling to the collar of his shirt. "Yeah… I mean, obviously you don't have to bruise me every time we're intimate, but-"
"No! I mean, yes, I was wondering about that too, but-" He cuts himself off, taking a deep breath before meeting her eyes again. "I meant what you said about… um… me being inside of you."
She wants to crawl into a hole and die of embarrassment. She nods stiffly, forcing herself to maintain his gaze as she talks. "I did, but if you're still not ready for that I understand." She takes her hands in his, swallowing back the uncomfortable emotions that arise. "I can wait as long as you need me to. We could never do it, and I'd still be-"
"I'm ready," he interjects, his voice firm, slightly shaky with nerves still but honest nonetheless. He squeezes her hands in his. "If you are too, of course."
She lets out a huff of disbelieving laughter, nodding quickly. "I am. I really am." She hesitates for a moment, steadying herself with a deep breath. "But we should make sure we do it right. I mean, I do want to have kids, just-"
"-not right now," Haymitch finishes for her. She nods, and he gives her a crooked grin, bringing her hands up to his lips to press kisses to her fingers. "I get it. We'll figure something out, okay? No rush."
"No rush," she confirms, bringing her hands down and stepping forward to press a final good-bye kiss to his lips. She pulls back a little, scrunching her nose at him. "Although, you should probably figure out what do do about those bruises."
He shrugs. "I'll stop by Asterid's place. See if she has some medicine she could lend me to get rid of some of them. She's a merchant girl, so I'll bet she'll accept the 'animal attack' cover story with no real resistance."
"Here's hoping," she laughs, releasing him to allow him to step outside.
She swears that she can see him skipping slightly as he walks, so overcome with giddiness and excitement. She has to bite back a fond laugh as she closes the door behind him.
Notes:
Massages
Body Worship
Minor Restraint
Hair-Pulling Kink
Oral Sex (Specifically Blowjobs)
Dirty Talk
Grinding
Praise Kink
Multiple Orgasms
Face-SittingLong fucking list, sorry.
Anyways, the next chapter is about halfway done being written. I'll try to get it up a week from now, but I'm writing a big finale chapter for one of my WIP's, so no guarantees. As always, come yell at me on Tumblr @theballadofthesunandthestar ! I am currently drafting responses to longer comments on my fics, so if you left a long comment and haven't heard back from me yet, rest assured I have read it, loved it, and will respond shortly!
Next chapter has no smut. But it's essential for Lenore Dove's character arc in this fic, so it's gotta happen. After that, it's 1 more chapter of smut, and then a smutty epilogue to the whole shebang. Don't expect another over 10k word chapter, though at my rate, it might happen let's be honest with ourselves.
Love you all! And please, don't be afraid to comment your thoughts, they bring me so much joy and inspire me to keep writing.I'm also working on some other Haydove smutshots, and in the process of outlining a multi-chapter Haydove fic that I'm very excited for, so go check me out on Tumblr if you want more details!
Love you all! Take care!
cameliamichi on Chapter 1 Thu 14 Aug 2025 04:34AM UTC
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funlildude on Chapter 2 Fri 15 Aug 2025 03:40AM UTC
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LampintheCorner on Chapter 2 Tue 19 Aug 2025 06:02AM UTC
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funlildude on Chapter 2 Tue 19 Aug 2025 02:29PM UTC
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Tree_ss on Chapter 3 Sun 03 Aug 2025 07:41AM UTC
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funlildude on Chapter 3 Mon 04 Aug 2025 07:58PM UTC
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linmanuelmaranda on Chapter 3 Wed 06 Aug 2025 04:19AM UTC
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funlildude on Chapter 3 Mon 11 Aug 2025 08:48PM UTC
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funlildude on Chapter 3 Mon 11 Aug 2025 08:48PM UTC
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Maryiaaamaryiko on Chapter 3 Thu 07 Aug 2025 06:47AM UTC
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LampintheCorner on Chapter 3 Wed 20 Aug 2025 04:37AM UTC
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funlildude on Chapter 3 Thu 21 Aug 2025 11:34PM UTC
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LampintheCorner on Chapter 3 Sat 23 Aug 2025 04:11AM UTC
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Blues_stuff on Chapter 5 Sat 16 Aug 2025 05:13PM UTC
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funlildude on Chapter 5 Sun 17 Aug 2025 06:13PM UTC
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LampintheCorner on Chapter 5 Sat 23 Aug 2025 04:08AM UTC
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funlildude on Chapter 5 Sun 31 Aug 2025 02:47PM UTC
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Blues_stuff on Chapter 6 Mon 01 Sep 2025 03:21PM UTC
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funlildude on Chapter 6 Fri 05 Sep 2025 04:14AM UTC
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LampintheCorner on Chapter 6 Fri 05 Sep 2025 05:13AM UTC
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LampintheCorner on Chapter 6 Fri 05 Sep 2025 05:13AM UTC
Last Edited Fri 05 Sep 2025 06:14AM UTC
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funlildude on Chapter 6 Mon 08 Sep 2025 02:33AM UTC
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LampintheCorner on Chapter 6 Mon 08 Sep 2025 03:07AM UTC
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funlildude on Chapter 6 Sun 07 Sep 2025 11:14PM UTC
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