THG Holiday Exchange: Victors' Game
Title: Victors' Game
Word Count: 3384
Pairing: Katniss/Peeta, Finnick/Annie, others as you see fit.
Rating: R
Summary: The victors play 'never have I ever.'
Spoilers/Warnings: Spoilers for Catching Fire. Adult language. Explicit sexual language and themes.
Recipient: Written for deathmallow for the Hunger Games Holiday Exchange.
Beta: A huge "thank you" to mizzy2k for beta-reading. Without her talent this story would not have been half so interesting. All remaining errors are mine.
Additional Notes: Giftee requested "Something with Haymitch and other victors, either during any post-50th Hunger Games or potentially during K/P's Victory Tour. Mood and tone are basically up to the author." Prompt: drinking games
Victors' Game
It was the last night of the Victory Tour before Peeta and Katniss would return to District 12. In all his time in the Capitol, Peeta had never slept well. It was no different even after the Games. The Capitol had a twisted way of making his dreams come true. He didn’t dare close his eyes, out of fear of what twisted visions would come to him next. He tossed and turned until the silken sheets stuck to his sweat-damp skin.
At home, on sleepless nights, Peeta would imagine his wedding. He had planned it out so many times; the spun sugar flowers on the wedding cake, the way Katniss’s veil would fall over her braided hair. She was happy. They were in love.
Tonight those thoughts brought him no relief. He was going to marry Katniss, but it would be nothing like the intimate ceremony he had always wanted, the one he thought she would have liked. The Capitol had managed to taint even that last bit of hope.
The longer he lay awake, the more his leg-the one he had lost-plagued him with phantom pain. At last he cast off the rumpled sheets and pulled himself out of bed. He made his way through the vacant halls of the complex where he and Katniss and the victors were housed during the festivities in the Capitol.
Even at night, Peeta realized as the glass coffer of the elevator descended from the District 12 apartments, lights never really went out in the Capitol. He wondered if any of the residents had ever even seen stars for themselves. On the main floor, he followed the rows of glowing aquariums filled with brightly-colored fish until his ears met with the sound of laughter.
He followed the sound down to the bar. Only a few of the sconces on the wall were lit, the chairs and stools were still turned up, and on the freshly-polished floor there was gathered Haymitch, his friend Chaff, Finnick Odair of District 4, Johanna Mason of District 7. Even Brutus and Enobaria of District 2 were reclined on the rich hardwood.
“Look who’s made it to the party.” Finnick lifted his brow and raised a glass of clear liquor to his lips.
“You just missed Wiress and Beetee,” Johanna said. “Old folks.”
Haymitch scoffed, drinking from a green long-necked bottle.
“Don’t forget Cashmere and Gloss,” he slurred. “District 1 needs its beauty sleep.”
“Should you be doing that?” Peeta eyed the bottle warily.
“Such a baby,” Enobaria, wearing little more than a lattice-worked undershirt, ran her tongue across her sharpened teeth. Peeta tried not to look at her.
“Isn’t it just like your District,” said Johanna, casting a sidelong glance at Haymitch. “Showing up uninvited. As long as you’re here, have a seat.”
She patted the floor between herself and Haymitch.
“Game time,” Johanna said.
“Game?” Peeta asked, lowering himself awkwardly onto the floor as Johanna poured a few inches of pale liquor into a stout glass.
At the center of the circle was an array of food and drink, the castoffs of the evening’s festivities. There were bottles of varying shapes and sizes, and an assortment of brightly-colored glasses. There were bowls full of salted crackers, nuts, sugar cubes, and slices of citrus fruits; tastes as different as each of the districts.
“The victors’ game,” Finnick said.
Finnick placed a sugar cube on his tongue and passed the bowl across the circle. Johanna plucked a cube from the bowl and dropped it into the liquor. She tilted the glass as the concoction fizzed.
“A drinking game,” Chaff added, wrestling the bottle from Haymitch and taking a swig.
“A truth-telling game.” Johanna handed Peeta the glass.
Brutus shrugged his heavy shoulders; beside him Enobaria arched her back like a wild cat.
“It’s how we remember what we are,” Brutus said.
Peeta had heard that many of the victors had become close over the years, but he hadn’t imagined this. The past victors of 12, 7, 4-even 1 and 2-sneaking off in the middle of the night to drink and play games, like the bored merchants’ children in District 12.
None of his old school friends had easy lives at home. Every now and then, one of them would trade a tangled ball of yarn or an old toy with one of the Seam children for a bottle of mysterious white liquid. They would meet in the middle of the night to share sips from the glass bottle and call their parents wicked names. Peeta had never been brave enough to try the alcohol, but living with his mother had given him an advantage in name-calling.
“I don’t think I should be here,” Peeta said, setting the glass down. He tried to push himself up and get his feet under him without making a fool of himself.
“Sit down!” Enobaria growled and Peeta flopped onto his backside in spite of himself.
Enobaria rolled over on the floor, the whites of her eyes glistening in the dim light. “It’s not you we have a problem with. It’s her.”
“Katniss? You don’t like her?”
Enobaria shimmied her shoulders and lifted her chin in reply.
Peeta remembered the District 2 tributes. The girl, Clove, had made him very uneasy; she was volatile, unstable, over-confident. But the boy, he could have been sitting where Peeta was now if things had been a little different.
“Because she killed Cato?” he stared at her intently.
Enobaria laughed a biting, cruel laugh.
“Because she thinks she’s better than us,” Brutus said, and took a long drink from a bottle of wine.
“That’s enough,” Finnick said, glaring between Brutus and Enobaria. Peeta thought perhaps being a Capitol favorite gave him a kind of authority even in these informal meetings. “Keep it civil. We have rules for a reason.”
Enobaria rolled her dark eyes.
“Cato had a sister, too, but you don’t hear much of her now, do you?”
“Cato didn’t volunteer for his sister,” Peeta snapped.
Finnick held up a hand to quiet the others.
“They have a point,” Finnick said evenly, staring across the circle at Peeta. “Your girl’s not like us. She’s…” he paused a moment, leaning over over to pluck another sugar cube from the dish. “Justified. Victors, we tend not to make excuses for-”
“Staying alive,” Haymitch added gruffly.
“No more talk about the games,” Chaff added, while Haymitch drank. “We get enough of that from Caesar Flickerman.”
“Oh, yes, how could we forget,” Enobaria clapped her hands to her chest dramatically and batted her eyelashes. “I told her I would try to win for her.”
“Hey,” Johanna snapped. “Are we going to talk, or are we going to drink?”
Enobaria blew a puff of air through her pursed lips and rolled back onto her stomach, pushing herself up on sinewy arms. “I don’t drink with babies.”
“I’ll go too,” Brutus rose to follow after her. “The company here,” he glanced pointedly at Finnick. “Not so great.”
“Don’t mind them,” Haymitch shook his head.
“The story goes,” Finnick added, “that Enobaria had a thing for her District partner before she slit his throat. Naturally, Brutus has a thing for her.”
“I’m of the opinion that the women in 2 all come out a little nuts,” Johanna said, drinking from a dark-tinted bottle with a round base.
Peeta kept his mouth shut, but Haymitch spit out a mouthful of amber liquid at her words. Johanna reached around Peeta to strike Haymitch on the shoulder. Her elbow connected with Peeta’s chest, knocking him onto one side.
“Jo,” Finnick said. “Not appropriate.”
“Easy goldilocks,” Haymitch laughed and wiped his chin with his sleeve. “I can take her. Not so sure about the kid.” He clapped Peeta roughly on the back.
Peeta righted himself and stretched his legs into the circle to steady himself. Johanna lifted the glass from the floor and held it out to him. Peeta took it from her tentatively.
“They make this stuff in District 10,” she said. “It’s got a kick, so you’re going to want one of these.”
She plucked a wedge of lemon from the dish and handed it over. Peeta brought the glass toward his nose experimentally and sniffed. It left a burning feeling at the back of his throat and he eyed the bowl of fruit uneasily.
“Now the rules are simple,” Johanna scooted into the newly vacated space to keep the circle even. “I’ll say something I’ve never done and if you’ve done it, you drink. No more hiding behind a persona-nothing from the arena counts, nothing you’ve ever done in front of a camera counts. Just the truth.”
Peeta nodded in agreement.
“And of course,” Finnick added, quite sternly. “Whatever we say here never leaves this room. Under pain of death, you tell no one.”
Peeta did not like the idea of having to keep secrets, not for people he barely knew or trusted.
“Not even Katniss,” Peeta said. She was, after all, still a victor, despite what the others thought of her.
“You can’t tell Katniss and I can’t tell Annie,” Finnick said. “Or Mags, for that matter, though she’s getting a little old to hear about Haymitch’s drunken belligerence anyway.”
In response Haymitch overturned the bowl of crackers into Finnick’s lap. Finnick grinned and swatted them away good-naturedly.
“Mind your elders,” Haymitch said and took another drink. Both he and Chaff laughed.
“So I start by saying I’ve never kissed a woman,” Johanna tilted her chin toward Peeta’s glass. “And you…”
The other victors looked on in anticipation. Peeta took a breath and lifted the glass to his lips and poured it down his throat as quickly as he could manage. The liquid was bitter and harsh on the way down and settled heavily in his stomach, making him gag.
“Put the lemon in your mouth!” Johanna slapped his leg, the artificial one. He heard it, but he didn’t feel it; not as a slap, but a vibration that traveled up the residual limb. The sensation was strange enough to keep him from vomiting. He put the wedge of lemon between his teeth and sucked until the nausea passed. In the meantime, Haymitch, Chaff, and Finnick all took a drink.
“Well done.” Across the circle, Finnick grinned and offered him a subdued round of applause. “I puked my first time.”
Johanna laughed. “You were also this big,” she indicated a space a little narrower than her slight frame.
Haymitch clapped Peeta on the shoulder encouragingly and handed him a long-necked bottle. Peeta tossed away the lemon peel and glared back at him.
“How do you do this?” Peeta wiped his mouth in disgust and took a tentative swig from Haymitch’s bottle. The taste reminded him a little of bread.
“Just keep drinking,” Finnick said. “You get used to it.”
“Hold on a minute,” Chaff interrupted, leaning around Haymitch to face Peeta. “This one’s such a good actor; I think he’s a little confused. We’re not talking about you’re little love scene in the cave. Because that doesn’t count.”
“That’s true,” Haymitch agreed.
“You don’t think I’ve ever kissed a girl,” Peeta said, and Haymitch snorted at the mouth of his flask.
“When our lives weren’t at stake?”
Haymitch shrugged, and scratched his chin. “You might need to explain yourself.”
Peeta shook his head incredulously and Johanna eyed him predatorily.
“Give us the story,” she insisted.
Peeta sighed. “Delly Cartwright,” he offered up with some reluctance. “The most unlikely sexual fiend in all of Panem. She caught me walking home one day and kissed me behind the schoolhouse.”
“Was there tongue?” Johanna pressed, nudging his shoulder encouragingly.
Peeta nodded and took a measured sip from Haymitch’s bottle. A cozy sort of warmth began to spread across his limbs as he drank. He thought Finnick was probably right in that it wasn’t so bad the more you went along.
“Sexual fiend having her way with you behind the schoolhouse,” Finnick said. “I think I like this girl.”
Beside Peeta, Haymitch appeared to be in deep concentration. “Cartwright? Kind of a big girl?”
“Yes, that’s her,” Peeta sighed.
Johanna howled with laughter and flopped over onto her side.
At last, Haymitch nodded. “I can see it.”
“All right, all right,” Johanna panted, grabbing onto Peeta’s nightshirt to pull herself upright. “Now it’s your turn”
Peeta sat in thought for a moment, mulling over all the things he had never done, but his memories of the arena kept getting in the way. He thought of things like going to bed without being hungry, wearing a new set of clothes, celebrating a birthday, but that had all changed after the games. Across the circle, Finnick grinned around a slice of an orange.
“I’ve never been on a boat.”
Finnick spit out the orange rind; it bounced off a bottle of wine and landed in a half-full pint glass.
“You little brat,” he laughed, snatching up the nearest bottle and taking a long drink. “I’ll get you back for that.”
Peeta looked to Haymitch, who set aside his regular flask as he spoke.
“I’ve never done anal,” Haymitch said succinctly. “Given or received.”
“That’s disgusting,” Peeta balked.
He was thankful for the way the alcohol had slowed his mind and made it hard for him to imagine Haymitch’s realm of sexual experience.
“I’ve done a lot of things,” Haymitch said. “I haven’t done that.”
Peeta looked to Chaff, as if for an explanation, or to see if he would drink. Chaff only shook his head in denial. Peeta turned instead to Johanna; she held up a finger threateningly.
“Don’t you even think it,” she said.
On the other side of the circle, Finnick very quietly took a drink from his glass.
“No,” Johanna pushed on Finnick’s shoulder. “The Capitol doesn’t count. The Capitol doesn’t count.”
Indeed, Peeta thought he was beginning to understand what Haymitch saw in drinking. It meant he didn’t think too deeply about what she meant. So as a pang of anxiety began to uncurl in the pit of his stomach, he just went on drinking.
Finnick smiled sheepishly and took another sip.
“Give us the story,” Chaff pressed as both he and Haymitch sat forward in interest.
“It was Annie’s idea,” Finnick said. “And it wasn’t particularly pleasant for either of us.”
“No,” Johanna wailed, raking both hands down her face. “Annie! I’ll never look at her again.”
“She’s got, you know,” Finnick gestured uncertainly. “Shallow waters. Penetration hurts her. She thought we should try something different.”
“Why did she think that would help?” Haymitch ran one hand through his Seam-dark hair.
“I don’t know,” Finnick shrugged. “I love her more than anything, but she’s a few oysters short of a bushel basket. We’ve given up on intercourse: she’s scared to death of getting pregnant, she can’t relax.”
“Have you tried having her close her legs while you’re inside her?” Chaff suggested.
Peeta thought Finnick and Annie must have been very much in love to trust one another so completely. There must have been a significant trust between the other victors as well as they went on discussing their sex lives. Even Johanna, the only woman among them, seemed quite comfortable and eager to offer her advice.
The notion was quite foreign to him, especially in that Katniss did not seem to trust him at all. It was laughable, so he laughed, in the middle of Haymitch’s very careful explanation of how lying side-by-side could be a more comfortable position. It seemed a good enough time to laugh; it was not something he had ever considered Haymitch would have knowledge of, except that Johanna looked as though she could punch him for being so immature.
“Alright,” Finnick agreed. “That’s quite enough. How do we always end up talking about sex?”
“Well, we only have two things in common,” Johanna said. “Sex and murder, and between the two, I’d rather talk about the sex.”
“Well,” Chaff said. “I’ve never worn matching socks.”
“What?” Johanna said indignantly.
“I’ve never worn matching socks,” Chaff repeated.
“That can’t be right,” Finnick protested.
One at a time, Chaff pulled up the legs of his pants revealing one solid brown sock and one argyle blue.
“Socks are a precious commodity in District 11,” Chaff said. “You’re lucky to find one good set out of every six pairs that ever got passed down through your older siblings. Now it’s just habit. Without two different socks on I feel-” he gestured with the stump of his arm. “Uneven.”
They all drank.
“Alright,” Finnick said, pouring two shots worth of liquor, sliding one across to Peeta. “I’m going to fall on my sword so we can get this boy tight.”
Finnick punched the hard tile of the floor with one hand, hard enough to bruise at least. Peeta lifted the glass tentatively.
“Look at me,” Finnick leaned across the circle. “Eye contact. Don’t look away, or you’ll have bad sex for seven years. And that’s from when you start having sex, after today. So don’t think you can hold off on having sex to avoid the curse, because you can’t.
“You tap your glass on the floor,” Finnick demonstrated. “Or the table, but for our purposes it’s a floor. You touch glasses, and then you chug. Ready?”
Peeta nodded, somewhat foggily.
“I’ve never been in love.”
Floor, glass, drink. Finnick’s liquor was only slightly less objectionable than Johanna’s, though it left a lasting burning sensation in his chest.
Beside them, Haymitch and Chaff brought their flasks together and drank. Then they turned on Johanna.
“No,” she said firmly, crossing her arms. “No I won’t.”
Haymitch leaned around Peeta, bringing his face so close to Johanna’s Peeta thought for a moment that he would kiss her.
“Go on, Jo,” Haymitch said, sounding more sober than he had all night. “Tell the truth.”
At last Johanna unfolded her arms. “Fine,” she declared, drinking from her bottle. “Fine. You’ve got me.”
And then she began to cry.
“I’m just another good for nothing love-sick girl, I guess.” No one spoke; Finnick looked away. “And I know crying is against the rules, but I don’t care. I can’t help it. I just want to be able to sleep without drinking myself into a stupid, stupid girl, but I can’t.”
She seemed so earnest that Peeta began to wonder which was the act, the tears or the savagery? Johanna sighed and wiped her eyes and turned to look at Peeta.
“I guess at least I never lost a leg,” she said.
“We’ll make it a limb,” Chaff announced. “And I’ll drink to that.”
He took a sip from his flask and passed it to Peeta. Peeta drank and returned the flask silently. The dimness of the lights suddenly made him feel very tired.
“I miss Annie,” Finnick said at length. “It’ll be another month, at least, before I can see her again. She has this enormous dog that sleeps on my side of the bed when I’m not home. By the time I get back my pillow will be covered in hair.”
“Right now in 11, they’ll be harvesting apples. The kids can’t eat them right off the trees, like they should, but every now and then they can sneak one that’s already fallen on the ground,” Chaff said. “You can smell them for miles, even after you leave the orchards.”
“I miss the quiet,” Johanna said. “There’s just something about the woods that means you can be alone without being lonely.”
Peeta tried to summon up a happy memory of his family’s bakery, of his life before the Games. But there was no joy so complete it wasn’t marred by an impending sense of doom. Except for, perhaps, Katniss singing, Katniss in pigtails, Katniss biting into a soft cheese roll.
In the cave, at least, he had been content. He had thought he was going to die, so he let himself believe. Now he had a very hard time unbelieving it. He never thought he’d miss the arena; that he’d long for the truth they had built to keep one another alive.
“I never thought I’d live this long,” he said.
Peeta wasn’t sure if it was still a part of the game, but nobody drank.
Word Count: 3384
Pairing: Katniss/Peeta, Finnick/Annie, others as you see fit.
Rating: R
Summary: The victors play 'never have I ever.'
Spoilers/Warnings: Spoilers for Catching Fire. Adult language. Explicit sexual language and themes.
Recipient: Written for deathmallow for the Hunger Games Holiday Exchange.
Beta: A huge "thank you" to mizzy2k for beta-reading. Without her talent this story would not have been half so interesting. All remaining errors are mine.
Additional Notes: Giftee requested "Something with Haymitch and other victors, either during any post-50th Hunger Games or potentially during K/P's Victory Tour. Mood and tone are basically up to the author." Prompt: drinking games
Victors' Game
It was the last night of the Victory Tour before Peeta and Katniss would return to District 12. In all his time in the Capitol, Peeta had never slept well. It was no different even after the Games. The Capitol had a twisted way of making his dreams come true. He didn’t dare close his eyes, out of fear of what twisted visions would come to him next. He tossed and turned until the silken sheets stuck to his sweat-damp skin.
At home, on sleepless nights, Peeta would imagine his wedding. He had planned it out so many times; the spun sugar flowers on the wedding cake, the way Katniss’s veil would fall over her braided hair. She was happy. They were in love.
Tonight those thoughts brought him no relief. He was going to marry Katniss, but it would be nothing like the intimate ceremony he had always wanted, the one he thought she would have liked. The Capitol had managed to taint even that last bit of hope.
The longer he lay awake, the more his leg-the one he had lost-plagued him with phantom pain. At last he cast off the rumpled sheets and pulled himself out of bed. He made his way through the vacant halls of the complex where he and Katniss and the victors were housed during the festivities in the Capitol.
Even at night, Peeta realized as the glass coffer of the elevator descended from the District 12 apartments, lights never really went out in the Capitol. He wondered if any of the residents had ever even seen stars for themselves. On the main floor, he followed the rows of glowing aquariums filled with brightly-colored fish until his ears met with the sound of laughter.
He followed the sound down to the bar. Only a few of the sconces on the wall were lit, the chairs and stools were still turned up, and on the freshly-polished floor there was gathered Haymitch, his friend Chaff, Finnick Odair of District 4, Johanna Mason of District 7. Even Brutus and Enobaria of District 2 were reclined on the rich hardwood.
“Look who’s made it to the party.” Finnick lifted his brow and raised a glass of clear liquor to his lips.
“You just missed Wiress and Beetee,” Johanna said. “Old folks.”
Haymitch scoffed, drinking from a green long-necked bottle.
“Don’t forget Cashmere and Gloss,” he slurred. “District 1 needs its beauty sleep.”
“Should you be doing that?” Peeta eyed the bottle warily.
“Such a baby,” Enobaria, wearing little more than a lattice-worked undershirt, ran her tongue across her sharpened teeth. Peeta tried not to look at her.
“Isn’t it just like your District,” said Johanna, casting a sidelong glance at Haymitch. “Showing up uninvited. As long as you’re here, have a seat.”
She patted the floor between herself and Haymitch.
“Game time,” Johanna said.
“Game?” Peeta asked, lowering himself awkwardly onto the floor as Johanna poured a few inches of pale liquor into a stout glass.
At the center of the circle was an array of food and drink, the castoffs of the evening’s festivities. There were bottles of varying shapes and sizes, and an assortment of brightly-colored glasses. There were bowls full of salted crackers, nuts, sugar cubes, and slices of citrus fruits; tastes as different as each of the districts.
“The victors’ game,” Finnick said.
Finnick placed a sugar cube on his tongue and passed the bowl across the circle. Johanna plucked a cube from the bowl and dropped it into the liquor. She tilted the glass as the concoction fizzed.
“A drinking game,” Chaff added, wrestling the bottle from Haymitch and taking a swig.
“A truth-telling game.” Johanna handed Peeta the glass.
Brutus shrugged his heavy shoulders; beside him Enobaria arched her back like a wild cat.
“It’s how we remember what we are,” Brutus said.
Peeta had heard that many of the victors had become close over the years, but he hadn’t imagined this. The past victors of 12, 7, 4-even 1 and 2-sneaking off in the middle of the night to drink and play games, like the bored merchants’ children in District 12.
None of his old school friends had easy lives at home. Every now and then, one of them would trade a tangled ball of yarn or an old toy with one of the Seam children for a bottle of mysterious white liquid. They would meet in the middle of the night to share sips from the glass bottle and call their parents wicked names. Peeta had never been brave enough to try the alcohol, but living with his mother had given him an advantage in name-calling.
“I don’t think I should be here,” Peeta said, setting the glass down. He tried to push himself up and get his feet under him without making a fool of himself.
“Sit down!” Enobaria growled and Peeta flopped onto his backside in spite of himself.
Enobaria rolled over on the floor, the whites of her eyes glistening in the dim light. “It’s not you we have a problem with. It’s her.”
“Katniss? You don’t like her?”
Enobaria shimmied her shoulders and lifted her chin in reply.
Peeta remembered the District 2 tributes. The girl, Clove, had made him very uneasy; she was volatile, unstable, over-confident. But the boy, he could have been sitting where Peeta was now if things had been a little different.
“Because she killed Cato?” he stared at her intently.
Enobaria laughed a biting, cruel laugh.
“Because she thinks she’s better than us,” Brutus said, and took a long drink from a bottle of wine.
“That’s enough,” Finnick said, glaring between Brutus and Enobaria. Peeta thought perhaps being a Capitol favorite gave him a kind of authority even in these informal meetings. “Keep it civil. We have rules for a reason.”
Enobaria rolled her dark eyes.
“Cato had a sister, too, but you don’t hear much of her now, do you?”
“Cato didn’t volunteer for his sister,” Peeta snapped.
Finnick held up a hand to quiet the others.
“They have a point,” Finnick said evenly, staring across the circle at Peeta. “Your girl’s not like us. She’s…” he paused a moment, leaning over over to pluck another sugar cube from the dish. “Justified. Victors, we tend not to make excuses for-”
“Staying alive,” Haymitch added gruffly.
“No more talk about the games,” Chaff added, while Haymitch drank. “We get enough of that from Caesar Flickerman.”
“Oh, yes, how could we forget,” Enobaria clapped her hands to her chest dramatically and batted her eyelashes. “I told her I would try to win for her.”
“Hey,” Johanna snapped. “Are we going to talk, or are we going to drink?”
Enobaria blew a puff of air through her pursed lips and rolled back onto her stomach, pushing herself up on sinewy arms. “I don’t drink with babies.”
“I’ll go too,” Brutus rose to follow after her. “The company here,” he glanced pointedly at Finnick. “Not so great.”
“Don’t mind them,” Haymitch shook his head.
“The story goes,” Finnick added, “that Enobaria had a thing for her District partner before she slit his throat. Naturally, Brutus has a thing for her.”
“I’m of the opinion that the women in 2 all come out a little nuts,” Johanna said, drinking from a dark-tinted bottle with a round base.
Peeta kept his mouth shut, but Haymitch spit out a mouthful of amber liquid at her words. Johanna reached around Peeta to strike Haymitch on the shoulder. Her elbow connected with Peeta’s chest, knocking him onto one side.
“Jo,” Finnick said. “Not appropriate.”
“Easy goldilocks,” Haymitch laughed and wiped his chin with his sleeve. “I can take her. Not so sure about the kid.” He clapped Peeta roughly on the back.
Peeta righted himself and stretched his legs into the circle to steady himself. Johanna lifted the glass from the floor and held it out to him. Peeta took it from her tentatively.
“They make this stuff in District 10,” she said. “It’s got a kick, so you’re going to want one of these.”
She plucked a wedge of lemon from the dish and handed it over. Peeta brought the glass toward his nose experimentally and sniffed. It left a burning feeling at the back of his throat and he eyed the bowl of fruit uneasily.
“Now the rules are simple,” Johanna scooted into the newly vacated space to keep the circle even. “I’ll say something I’ve never done and if you’ve done it, you drink. No more hiding behind a persona-nothing from the arena counts, nothing you’ve ever done in front of a camera counts. Just the truth.”
Peeta nodded in agreement.
“And of course,” Finnick added, quite sternly. “Whatever we say here never leaves this room. Under pain of death, you tell no one.”
Peeta did not like the idea of having to keep secrets, not for people he barely knew or trusted.
“Not even Katniss,” Peeta said. She was, after all, still a victor, despite what the others thought of her.
“You can’t tell Katniss and I can’t tell Annie,” Finnick said. “Or Mags, for that matter, though she’s getting a little old to hear about Haymitch’s drunken belligerence anyway.”
In response Haymitch overturned the bowl of crackers into Finnick’s lap. Finnick grinned and swatted them away good-naturedly.
“Mind your elders,” Haymitch said and took another drink. Both he and Chaff laughed.
“So I start by saying I’ve never kissed a woman,” Johanna tilted her chin toward Peeta’s glass. “And you…”
The other victors looked on in anticipation. Peeta took a breath and lifted the glass to his lips and poured it down his throat as quickly as he could manage. The liquid was bitter and harsh on the way down and settled heavily in his stomach, making him gag.
“Put the lemon in your mouth!” Johanna slapped his leg, the artificial one. He heard it, but he didn’t feel it; not as a slap, but a vibration that traveled up the residual limb. The sensation was strange enough to keep him from vomiting. He put the wedge of lemon between his teeth and sucked until the nausea passed. In the meantime, Haymitch, Chaff, and Finnick all took a drink.
“Well done.” Across the circle, Finnick grinned and offered him a subdued round of applause. “I puked my first time.”
Johanna laughed. “You were also this big,” she indicated a space a little narrower than her slight frame.
Haymitch clapped Peeta on the shoulder encouragingly and handed him a long-necked bottle. Peeta tossed away the lemon peel and glared back at him.
“How do you do this?” Peeta wiped his mouth in disgust and took a tentative swig from Haymitch’s bottle. The taste reminded him a little of bread.
“Just keep drinking,” Finnick said. “You get used to it.”
“Hold on a minute,” Chaff interrupted, leaning around Haymitch to face Peeta. “This one’s such a good actor; I think he’s a little confused. We’re not talking about you’re little love scene in the cave. Because that doesn’t count.”
“That’s true,” Haymitch agreed.
“You don’t think I’ve ever kissed a girl,” Peeta said, and Haymitch snorted at the mouth of his flask.
“When our lives weren’t at stake?”
Haymitch shrugged, and scratched his chin. “You might need to explain yourself.”
Peeta shook his head incredulously and Johanna eyed him predatorily.
“Give us the story,” she insisted.
Peeta sighed. “Delly Cartwright,” he offered up with some reluctance. “The most unlikely sexual fiend in all of Panem. She caught me walking home one day and kissed me behind the schoolhouse.”
“Was there tongue?” Johanna pressed, nudging his shoulder encouragingly.
Peeta nodded and took a measured sip from Haymitch’s bottle. A cozy sort of warmth began to spread across his limbs as he drank. He thought Finnick was probably right in that it wasn’t so bad the more you went along.
“Sexual fiend having her way with you behind the schoolhouse,” Finnick said. “I think I like this girl.”
Beside Peeta, Haymitch appeared to be in deep concentration. “Cartwright? Kind of a big girl?”
“Yes, that’s her,” Peeta sighed.
Johanna howled with laughter and flopped over onto her side.
At last, Haymitch nodded. “I can see it.”
“All right, all right,” Johanna panted, grabbing onto Peeta’s nightshirt to pull herself upright. “Now it’s your turn”
Peeta sat in thought for a moment, mulling over all the things he had never done, but his memories of the arena kept getting in the way. He thought of things like going to bed without being hungry, wearing a new set of clothes, celebrating a birthday, but that had all changed after the games. Across the circle, Finnick grinned around a slice of an orange.
“I’ve never been on a boat.”
Finnick spit out the orange rind; it bounced off a bottle of wine and landed in a half-full pint glass.
“You little brat,” he laughed, snatching up the nearest bottle and taking a long drink. “I’ll get you back for that.”
Peeta looked to Haymitch, who set aside his regular flask as he spoke.
“I’ve never done anal,” Haymitch said succinctly. “Given or received.”
“That’s disgusting,” Peeta balked.
He was thankful for the way the alcohol had slowed his mind and made it hard for him to imagine Haymitch’s realm of sexual experience.
“I’ve done a lot of things,” Haymitch said. “I haven’t done that.”
Peeta looked to Chaff, as if for an explanation, or to see if he would drink. Chaff only shook his head in denial. Peeta turned instead to Johanna; she held up a finger threateningly.
“Don’t you even think it,” she said.
On the other side of the circle, Finnick very quietly took a drink from his glass.
“No,” Johanna pushed on Finnick’s shoulder. “The Capitol doesn’t count. The Capitol doesn’t count.”
Indeed, Peeta thought he was beginning to understand what Haymitch saw in drinking. It meant he didn’t think too deeply about what she meant. So as a pang of anxiety began to uncurl in the pit of his stomach, he just went on drinking.
Finnick smiled sheepishly and took another sip.
“Give us the story,” Chaff pressed as both he and Haymitch sat forward in interest.
“It was Annie’s idea,” Finnick said. “And it wasn’t particularly pleasant for either of us.”
“No,” Johanna wailed, raking both hands down her face. “Annie! I’ll never look at her again.”
“She’s got, you know,” Finnick gestured uncertainly. “Shallow waters. Penetration hurts her. She thought we should try something different.”
“Why did she think that would help?” Haymitch ran one hand through his Seam-dark hair.
“I don’t know,” Finnick shrugged. “I love her more than anything, but she’s a few oysters short of a bushel basket. We’ve given up on intercourse: she’s scared to death of getting pregnant, she can’t relax.”
“Have you tried having her close her legs while you’re inside her?” Chaff suggested.
Peeta thought Finnick and Annie must have been very much in love to trust one another so completely. There must have been a significant trust between the other victors as well as they went on discussing their sex lives. Even Johanna, the only woman among them, seemed quite comfortable and eager to offer her advice.
The notion was quite foreign to him, especially in that Katniss did not seem to trust him at all. It was laughable, so he laughed, in the middle of Haymitch’s very careful explanation of how lying side-by-side could be a more comfortable position. It seemed a good enough time to laugh; it was not something he had ever considered Haymitch would have knowledge of, except that Johanna looked as though she could punch him for being so immature.
“Alright,” Finnick agreed. “That’s quite enough. How do we always end up talking about sex?”
“Well, we only have two things in common,” Johanna said. “Sex and murder, and between the two, I’d rather talk about the sex.”
“Well,” Chaff said. “I’ve never worn matching socks.”
“What?” Johanna said indignantly.
“I’ve never worn matching socks,” Chaff repeated.
“That can’t be right,” Finnick protested.
One at a time, Chaff pulled up the legs of his pants revealing one solid brown sock and one argyle blue.
“Socks are a precious commodity in District 11,” Chaff said. “You’re lucky to find one good set out of every six pairs that ever got passed down through your older siblings. Now it’s just habit. Without two different socks on I feel-” he gestured with the stump of his arm. “Uneven.”
They all drank.
“Alright,” Finnick said, pouring two shots worth of liquor, sliding one across to Peeta. “I’m going to fall on my sword so we can get this boy tight.”
Finnick punched the hard tile of the floor with one hand, hard enough to bruise at least. Peeta lifted the glass tentatively.
“Look at me,” Finnick leaned across the circle. “Eye contact. Don’t look away, or you’ll have bad sex for seven years. And that’s from when you start having sex, after today. So don’t think you can hold off on having sex to avoid the curse, because you can’t.
“You tap your glass on the floor,” Finnick demonstrated. “Or the table, but for our purposes it’s a floor. You touch glasses, and then you chug. Ready?”
Peeta nodded, somewhat foggily.
“I’ve never been in love.”
Floor, glass, drink. Finnick’s liquor was only slightly less objectionable than Johanna’s, though it left a lasting burning sensation in his chest.
Beside them, Haymitch and Chaff brought their flasks together and drank. Then they turned on Johanna.
“No,” she said firmly, crossing her arms. “No I won’t.”
Haymitch leaned around Peeta, bringing his face so close to Johanna’s Peeta thought for a moment that he would kiss her.
“Go on, Jo,” Haymitch said, sounding more sober than he had all night. “Tell the truth.”
At last Johanna unfolded her arms. “Fine,” she declared, drinking from her bottle. “Fine. You’ve got me.”
And then she began to cry.
“I’m just another good for nothing love-sick girl, I guess.” No one spoke; Finnick looked away. “And I know crying is against the rules, but I don’t care. I can’t help it. I just want to be able to sleep without drinking myself into a stupid, stupid girl, but I can’t.”
She seemed so earnest that Peeta began to wonder which was the act, the tears or the savagery? Johanna sighed and wiped her eyes and turned to look at Peeta.
“I guess at least I never lost a leg,” she said.
“We’ll make it a limb,” Chaff announced. “And I’ll drink to that.”
He took a sip from his flask and passed it to Peeta. Peeta drank and returned the flask silently. The dimness of the lights suddenly made him feel very tired.
“I miss Annie,” Finnick said at length. “It’ll be another month, at least, before I can see her again. She has this enormous dog that sleeps on my side of the bed when I’m not home. By the time I get back my pillow will be covered in hair.”
“Right now in 11, they’ll be harvesting apples. The kids can’t eat them right off the trees, like they should, but every now and then they can sneak one that’s already fallen on the ground,” Chaff said. “You can smell them for miles, even after you leave the orchards.”
“I miss the quiet,” Johanna said. “There’s just something about the woods that means you can be alone without being lonely.”
Peeta tried to summon up a happy memory of his family’s bakery, of his life before the Games. But there was no joy so complete it wasn’t marred by an impending sense of doom. Except for, perhaps, Katniss singing, Katniss in pigtails, Katniss biting into a soft cheese roll.
In the cave, at least, he had been content. He had thought he was going to die, so he let himself believe. Now he had a very hard time unbelieving it. He never thought he’d miss the arena; that he’d long for the truth they had built to keep one another alive.
“I never thought I’d live this long,” he said.
Peeta wasn’t sure if it was still a part of the game, but nobody drank.