Work Text:
"Just… go slow, okay?"
Wyatt's jaw is still aching slightly from when he'd been sucking Haymitch down his throat, his bared body still overheated, slick with sweat. Normally, this would bother him more than it does, but, truth be told, it's hard to care about anything, anything at all; because Haymitch is beneath him, legs thrown wide, his dark hair deliciously mussed, lips swollen and parted, gray eyes as dark as ebony as he stares up at Wyatt, his expression pleading.
Wyatt swallows, moving up a little further until he can brush his nose against Haymitch's, tilting his head so that he can press a heated kiss to Haymitch's mouth, nipping at him with his teeth, tugging his lower lip before releasing and mapping Haymitch's mouth with his tongue, barely able to contain his hunger, the wild lust that he feels for the man beneath him. Haymitch moans brokenly against Wyatt's lips, brings his hands up to sink into the hair on the back of Wyatt's head with a whimpering sigh of relief and agony alike.
"Whatever you need," Wyatt assures him shakily. A brief hesitation, then, "I-I want this to be good for you, Haymitch, you're—"
Haymitch's lips twitch upwards. He chuckles, reaches down to grip Wyatt's hip.
"It will be," he reassures him. He pushes Wyatt forward, just enough so that the head of his cock is lined up with Haymitch's entrance. "Now, hurry up before I lose my nerve about this whole thing."
Wyatt swallows, gives a sharp jerk of his head. He lets out a long, slow breath as he adjusts above Haymitch, gripping himself in his hand, and he can feel Haymitch shaking slightly beneath him, can hear him suck in a sharp breath, his head falling back on the pillow, jaw tightening, and he's tempted to stop again, to make certain that Haymitch is okay, that he's not hurting, but Haymitch has already told him to stop worrying so much— says that he'll tell Wyatt if he needs to stop, that Wyatt can just go— and so he doesn't. Instead, he steels himself, rubs reassuring circles into Haymitch's ribs with his thumb.
And then he pushes forward.
Haymitch's eyes widen, his chest catching in a way that looks almost painful. Both of them let out a ragged moan, the noise seeming to be torn out of their lungs like a splinter; both agonized and relieved all at once, exiting their lips with no real input from either one of them. Wyatt hears Haymitch let out a wince of pain beneath him, and he tries to stop, tries to check in, but Haymitch just presses his hand to Wyatt's lower back, gritting his teeth and moving his free hand to brace on the headboard above him, head thumping back against the pillow with a shaky sigh, so Wyatt keeps going. He keeps pushing forward, slow and steady, until he's buried to the hilt inside of Haymitch, and then he just… stops. Grips Haymitch's hips and lets himself catch his breath, allowing his mind a moment to just… take it all in.
The feeling of it— the soft muscles clenching around Wyatt, the slick heat, the way he can now feel every one of Haymitch's breaths, every shifting part of him— is enough to make Wyatt's face go slack, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. Whenever he's snuggled close to Haymitch, whenever he's pressed up against Haymitch, desperately trying to draw Haymitch ever closer, Wyatt is always struck with the desire to crawl into the cave of Haymitch's chest, to press into Haymitch until they've fused into one being, and now— here and now— a part of that desire is finally satiated.
"Fuck," Haymitch pants, the edges of the word melting into a whine. "That's… ugh… a stretch…"
"Does it hurt?!" Wyatt asks, his voice so ragged and rough he scarcely can recognize it. His whole body has gone taut, every muscle beneath his skin screaming for Wyatt to grab, to pound, to take his fill of Haymitch for as long as Haymitch can stand it, but he clenches his jaw and holds back, determined to be as patient with Haymitch as Haymitch has always been with Wyatt in their relationship. Haymitch, who never seems to lose his patience, who watches after Wyatt so carefully, who doesn't hesitate to explain something that Wyatt missed in a conversation, who expresses his love for Wyatt in a million ways, both big and small— Wyatt wants this to be good for him.
Haymitch licks his lips, shakes his head. "A-a little at first… just k-kind of a weird feeling… d-doesn't feel bad though."
"O…okay." Wyatt nods, leans down to press his lips to Haymitch's—kissing Haymitch, just like before, just like as always, is a constant to come back to, the only thing that Wyatt feels like he's good at in moments like these. Haymitch doesn't even seem to have the wherewithal to kiss him back, merely panting against Wyatt's lips, his soft winces and grunts muffling against them as he adjusts. Finally, he tilts his head to break the kiss, staring up at Wyatt with wide eyes.
"Okay. You can move."
Wyatt blinks down at him. "Are… are you sure—?"
"Wyatt," Haymitch interrupts with a breathless laugh, an action that makes him clench and unclench around Wyatt rapidly, the feeling temporarily making Wyatt's vision go hazy at the edges. "I'm fine. Honest. Just… just move, okay? Please?"
Wyatt is helpless to do anything else but nod stiffly, carefully adjusting so that he can press his hands on either side of Haymitch's ribs. And then finally— finally— he allows himself the smallest thrust of his hips. It lights him up from the inside, wrenches another moan from both of them. Panting, Wyatt grips him a little tighter, mouth going slack once more as he begins to rock into Haymitch, as slow as his frantic body will let him. It feels so… god, Wyatt doesn't have the words for it. It just feels good— like everything all at once, like some part of him that had been knocked askew his whole life has finally clicked into place.
"H-Haymitch—" Wyatt chokes. "Haymitch, c-can I… ugh… c-can I go faster?!"
"Hngh!" Haymitch keens, arching up beneath Wyatt with a gasping moan. It takes him a second to gather his bearings, something that is no doubt not helped by Wyatt's hips bucking into him, but finally, he manages to choke out, "Yes, Wyatt, g-go ahead— ngh!"
From there, it's all Wyatt can do to cling to even a fragment of his sanity.
Everything is hot— the knot that's slowly tightening low in Wyatt's belly with each thrust, the friction of each blissful movement, Haymitch's breath against Wyatt's ear as he falls forward and buries his face in the blazing skin of Haymitch's neck, wrapping himself around Haymitch with a whimpering moan as his hips buck and snap up against Haymitch's ass. He can taste the salt of Haymitch's sweat as he presses his mouth against his racing pulse, and each fragmented moan that Haymitch makes vibrates in the space between them, making Wyatt's brain fill with a hungry sort of static, a kind of vague urge for more, more sounds, more heat, more skin, more of his Haymitch— and so Wyatt finally lets himself go, the headboard thumping against the wall in time with each increasingly erratic thrust, in time with each of Haymitch's cries of pleasure. And Wyatt is starved, desperate to get his mouth on every bit of Haymitch that he can, so he frantically licks down Haymitch's throat, down his collarbones, sinks his teeth into the curve of Haymitch's chest, his hands coming up to curl beneath Haymitch's shoulders just to hold as he pounds into Haymitch, harder than he'd ever imagined he could. And Haymitch doesn't protest, merely grabs onto Wyatt's face and yanks him up into a biting kiss, practically sobbing against Wyatt's lips as Wyatt shoves a clumsy hand down to grip Haymitch, jerking him as best he can in his lust-crazed state.
When he climaxes, it's with a whining sound, his sweat-soaked and trembling body surrounded by his Haymitch.
The exhaustion that follows is unexpected; as soon as Wyatt manages to gingerly pull out of Haymitch, his whole body gives, all at once, and he collapses next to Haymitch, his head feeling as heavy as a block of iron. Haymitch seems surprised, but he recovers quickly enough, carefully limping to the bathroom before returning to crawl under the sheets with Wyatt, allowing Wyatt's desperate hands to pull him close until they're finally tangled together, heated skin pressed close beneath the blankets.
"God," Haymitch laughs, soft and aching. "That took the life right out of you, huh?"
"Guess so." Wyatt presses his forehead to Haymitch's cheek, his eyes slipping shut. He feels Haymitch chuckle again, and then his lips are pressing to Wyatt's hairline, so tender that it stings.
And it's stupid. It's a terrible idea, the kind fueled by a sleep-deprived brain and the realization of what has just transpired between them. But Wyatt lifts his head, forces his eyes open as he brings a hand up to cradle Haymitch's cheek, and then the words tumble out, soft and blurred with sleep but so honest that it's terrifying.
"I love you."
Haymitch's eyes widen. He swallows, the kind that makes his throat click, and Wyatt's heart sinks in his chest, his eyes pricking with emotion.
"I do," he croaks, unable to hold it back any longer. "I… I love you, Haymitch. I love you so much. I didn't think I could love someone this much."
Haymitch's eyes soften. He leans forward to nudge his nose against Wyatt's, his voice hoarse as it dances across Wyatt's lips.
"I know. I love you, too, Wyatt."
When morning comes, Wyatt will wake Haymitch and ask him to say it again. And again. Over and over, until the words lose their meaning, and then a few more times after that, just so that he can sear that soft declaration into his memory like a brand.
But right now, he's tired. Tired and safe in the knowledge that his Haymitch loves him too.
So he presses his lips to Haymitch's in a final, clumsy kiss before letting himself drift off a final time, sleep claiming him like a vengeful spirit.