One-Shot: Kiss the Mentor

Peeta and I actually have the day off from preparing for the 75th Hunger Games or Third Quarter Quell. Haymitch deemed our interview experience from last year sufficient preparation. As we explore the Penthouse suite of the Tribute Training Center, where all District 12 tributes stay, we discover our drunken mentor passed out on the couch.

Peeta grins conspiratorially at me, and I can only imagine the boyish things passing through his mind: taking a picture with a camera, crafting a rude drawing on his face.

But what Peeta proposes is far worse.

"I dare you to kiss him. On the lips."

I am disgusted beyond words. I have absolutely no desire to know what Haymitch's lips taste like. The idea is revolting. "You do it," I snap, clearly showing my distaste.

But Peeta shakes his head. "Kiss him, or you won't get any cuddling from me tonight."

I scowl, both at his insistence and use of the word 'cuddle' as I stride over to the couch. Wanting to literally hold my nose, I bend over my mentor. Haymitch's mouth is open slightly, and he is snoring quite loudly. Tentatively, I snap his jaw shut and the snoring stops, replaced by deep breathing.

Taking a deep breath of my own, I lean over him and slide my lips over his.

He tastes awful. Like days-old whiskey. And remembering that Peeta did not stipulate how long I had to kiss Haymitch for, I do not overstay my welcome and spring away, afraid my kiss will be all that it takes to wake him. I shudder to think of Haymitch's wrath.

But he doesn't stir. Instead, he giggles. "Effie... baby..." He murmurs.

My mouth falls open as I half-laugh, half-gawk. Peeta and I tear from the room, stuffing our faces in our shirts, only bursting out laughing in the safety of the hallway.

Peeta collapses in a fit of giggles. "He was dreaming of Effie?"

"More like wishing Effie was kissing him instead!" I blast.

This makes Peeta only laugh harder. "Effie and Haymitch kissing! Now that I have to see!"