[He grabs her by the hips, tugging her gently towards him, pulling him between her legs. His head tips down, and he buries himself against the crook of her neck, lips dragging against the crook of her neck.]
[Oh. The abruptness is what catches her off-guard, and she drops the candy in favor of bracing herself against him. Is this different? It feels different. Or maybe it's just that this, whatever this is, has finally orbited beyond her wheelhouse. Haymitch is not a hockey player, he's not a skid or a hick and she does more than have his number at this point, but part of knowing him is accepting that she's always going to have a blind spot. He's always going to exploit it, too—whether it's purposely or accidentally, who's to say, but the fact remains that he's one step ahead of her. Always.
The part where it gets odd is that she's okay with that. She'd smack any other man for grabbing her all the sudden like this, if only just on principle—you do not throw Katy Kat off her game and live to talk about it.
Her fingers twine in his hair and she pulls him up so she can kiss him properly. Lord knows she's fucked him more than anyone else here, but fucking doesn't always mean kissing, and anyway, there's not much point in kissing if it doesn't lead to fucking, not when both parties are mainly here for the fucking. Maybe that's the difference: She kisses him, hard but gentle but there's a touch of urgency, we are still alive, and it's because she wants to kiss him. They'll fuck or they won't, and it'll be because she wants to be here with him, not because she's bored and too tired to run the numbers on whether or not a decent lay is worth the trouble.
They would never work outside of this ship, she knows. As friends, absolutely, but they're not a couple. He's got Effie, as much as he denies it, and she's... got her own things to figure out. That's all understood. But today is over, and tomorrow they'll have to wake up and watch another person die, and in the meantime? She'll happily burrow into the warmth of a buzz and a crush.]
[It's a good kiss, because it's a kiss that proves they're both still around to do it. Not sexual, not really, not the way they sometimes do. Just intense, his fingers gripping her hip and her mouth hot against his, hello we made it we're here again, and each week he spends three days with his heart in his throat, because if she dies he doesn't know what he'll do.
It's not love. He isn't in love with her, and she sure as shit isn't with him, a washed up forty-two year old alcoholic. God. But maybe it's something like it. Born of these Games, forged fiercely, a bond that will crumble when they're out (but they have to get out first, see, is the trick). He loves her, and there's not a thing he won't do, not a person he won't kill, to get her out of here.
If he's with her, well. That's just a bonus.]
Hey.
[It's soft. His voice is rough, the way he's rough, but there's an impossible tenderness in his gaze right now, as he strokes his fingers against her cheek. No sex, not tonight. Just her, his last chance, as behind her the reminders of his first failures play out on the screen, laughing and happy, blissfully unaware of how one of them would get them all killed.]
You stay right here tonight.
[Right here, between his legs, her body curled up against his.]
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polyapathy) wrote2019-10-12 09:47 pm
no subject
Well, well.
[Drawled out, but he trades her the panties for the bourbon.]
If you wanted me to eat off you, Katy, you only had to ask. Didn't have to lock me in here.
no subject
What did I just say? Now I'm not sharing with you.
no subject
[He grabs her by the hips, tugging her gently towards him, pulling him between her legs. His head tips down, and he buries himself against the crook of her neck, lips dragging against the crook of her neck.]
You will.
no subject
The part where it gets odd is that she's okay with that. She'd smack any other man for grabbing her all the sudden like this, if only just on principle—you do not throw Katy Kat off her game and live to talk about it.
Her fingers twine in his hair and she pulls him up so she can kiss him properly. Lord knows she's fucked him more than anyone else here, but fucking doesn't always mean kissing, and anyway, there's not much point in kissing if it doesn't lead to fucking, not when both parties are mainly here for the fucking. Maybe that's the difference: She kisses him, hard but gentle but there's a touch of urgency, we are still alive, and it's because she wants to kiss him. They'll fuck or they won't, and it'll be because she wants to be here with him, not because she's bored and too tired to run the numbers on whether or not a decent lay is worth the trouble.
They would never work outside of this ship, she knows. As friends, absolutely, but they're not a couple. He's got Effie, as much as he denies it, and she's... got her own things to figure out. That's all understood. But today is over, and tomorrow they'll have to wake up and watch another person die, and in the meantime? She'll happily burrow into the warmth of a buzz and a crush.]
no subject
It's not love. He isn't in love with her, and she sure as shit isn't with him, a washed up forty-two year old alcoholic. God. But maybe it's something like it. Born of these Games, forged fiercely, a bond that will crumble when they're out (but they have to get out first, see, is the trick). He loves her, and there's not a thing he won't do, not a person he won't kill, to get her out of here.
If he's with her, well. That's just a bonus.]
Hey.
[It's soft. His voice is rough, the way he's rough, but there's an impossible tenderness in his gaze right now, as he strokes his fingers against her cheek. No sex, not tonight. Just her, his last chance, as behind her the reminders of his first failures play out on the screen, laughing and happy, blissfully unaware of how one of them would get them all killed.]
You stay right here tonight.
[Right here, between his legs, her body curled up against his.]