a willing receptacle [alannah]

“I wasn’t gonna claim to know anything about your monastic ambitions,” she joked with partial honesty (and then paused to mentally pat herself on the back for being able to say ‘monastic’ without slurring).  Alannah tried not to make pre-judgements of people.  Or at very least, she didn’t rely on hearsay to form opinions.  “For all I knew, you might’ve had a hard-on for those robes.”  The athlete was feeling warm and contented as she suckled at her beer.  Her face was going to start hurting from all this laughing and smiling soon. 

Metal chafes.  “Oh really?”  Alannah smirked and raised one eyebrow as if to say: and how would you know that. 

At least Charlie seemed to like her impression, a sentiment apparently not shared by everyone else in the room.  He giggled, again, and more uncontrollably than before.  Alannah decided that she liked it when he giggled.  It was less cool guy and more – more.  With the next thing he said, it was her turn to crack up laughing again.  “Oh wow.  Yeah.  But which parts would you shave?  Like all of it?  Or would you leave some modesty tufts to cover their, you know, bits?”  The suggestiveness of her smile could leave little doubt what she meant.  Alannah wouldn’t claim to be an expert on alien genitalia but she figured there must be something under the fur.  When he asked if Chewbacca was her party trick, she grinned and raised her bottle to take another drink.  “Among other things.”

He settled on Han for his pseudo Star Wars identity.  She could respect that.  “So all you need is a spaceship and a leather jacket?  A man of simple tastes.”  Alannah twisted the bottle in her hand thoughtfully, the contents making a soft sloshing sound.  “Han’s sorta sexy,” she admitted with a shrug, and then threw him a wink.  “For a scruffy-looking nerfherder, that is.”

Charlie seemed to be particularly interested in bikinis all of a sudden.  It seemed a little suspicious.  That, and the gaze he turned on her now was somehow more considering than before.  Fuck.  He did know who she was.  Or had at least recognised her from that notorious ad campaign (which always felt worse than being recognised for any other reason).  “Oh.”  The smile started to slip from her face.  Alannah tried to hold onto it and the happy feeling in her chest – but failed.  Her smile broke. 

“That.  That’s what it did.  That look you just gave me.”  The brunette didn’t bother to temper the bitterness in her tone.  Even now, even here, the bloody past was still ruining things for her.  Frustration and anger warred with disappointment as paranoia drove her to start thinking the worst of Charlie.  And to think that she’d wasted her wookiee on impression on him?!  “How would you like it if the first thing anyone thought about when they saw you was how good you look in a swimsuit, Mr Baker?”  She met his eyes squarely.  Yeah, I know who you are too.  “Is that the only reason you wanted to talk to me?”

“Kind of you,” he grinned, though he genuinely appreciated the fact she hadn’t taken the opportunity to kick him while he was down, as he was sure plenty of women would have liked to do. He laughed, silently thanking Fflur for allowing him not to be surprised by the novelty of women with a crass sense of humour. “Maybe it were the nuns," he quipped. "Can't stand it when they flash a bit of ankle." He fanned himself softly.

He lifted his beer to his lips and shrugged, eyebrows raised suggestively at her. Let her imagination run wild, if she wanted.

“Oh, jesus,” he rubbed at his jaw, considering her question as seriously as one could, given the circumstances. "Their bits?" he repeated, teasingly. "Depends what's going on under all that hair," he said, fighting another grin (his cheeks were beginning to ache). "Not sure I really wanna find out," he admitted. Among other things. His dark eyes lit up slightly, his grin turning devious. “Such as?”

"Yeah, I think so," he confirmed. He pushed his bottom lip out and sort of nodded. “That’s one way to describe me,” he offered her a rueful smile. Really, the simplest of tastes; Liam had once commented if a woman had a pulse Charlie would be interested -- he liked to think his standards were a little higher than that, but not by much. Sexy. Charlie turned a little more sharply to look at Alannah (who, though he hadn’t yet tested it, he was sure had a pulse). He shrugged. “Yeah, he is.” He drank, then followed it up quickly with another sip. "I still can't believe you like Star Wars," he said, more to himself as he laughed softly.

Her face fell, and so did his. "What?" Mr Baker. He blanched. To his credit, Charlie at least kept his gaze at eye level, now. Shit. "Hey, no, I-- I didn't click until you brought it up," he said defensively. He'd started talking to her because she was fit, but he didn't think pointing that out right now would help his cause. "I'm sorry, I didn't realise--" He took half a step back to give her some space, as if to try and prove he wasn't being a creep. "I thought I recognised you but not… from that." He abandoned his drink temporarily. "When you said about being forced into a bikini, I just…" He opened his fingers out from a fist above his head, miming a lightbulb.

"I get it," he started again in a softer voice, "not, the--” insert B word “-- exactly, but the…" he looked down at her beer bottle, label half-peeled off, frowning softly as he tried to articulate his thoughts. "The people judging you before they know you." He flicked his eyes back up to meet hers -- he wasn't aiming for lost puppy, but if he made it there it was just coincidence.

"In my case it's probably warranted," he admitted a little darkly. He sighed and ran his free hand back through his hair, holding it there for a moment. "Can we…" He swallowed, dropping his hand. Start from the beginning, he wanted to ask, cliche as it was. "You obviously know who I am," he said quietly, meeting her gaze again. “What is it you do now?” he asked, taking an educated guess that she was no longer modelling. "Not a divorce lawyer by any chance, are you?" he joked, a little sadly.

Such as?  He challenged Alannah to share more of her hidden talents and she wasn't about to back down.  Yet faced with his grin and the enthusiasm in Charlie's deep brown eyes, she found herself unable to think of anything cool – or at least not ’girl’ cool.  (Being able to burp the alphabet was hardly likely to impress him.)  Stalling, Al drank some more beer, taking a moment to enjoy the taste of it.  The drinks were going down easy tonight.  Truly, the only thing missing was some food - preferably something salty or greasy.  “Oh!  I can fit three burgers in my mouth at once!"  She announced with glee and then blew out her cheeks to demonstrate.  “Or does that still count under my Chewbacca impression?”  

Alannah could tell that his disbelief was meant in a complimentary fashion so she just shrugged, ducked her head and grinned.  “Believe it.”  Still, she rather wished it weren't that big of a deal.  While it was nice not to be met with hostility, she didn't want adoration either.  Alannah wasn't looking to be worshipped as some kind of nerd goddess.  She just liked what she liked.  In her head she was nothing that special, just plain 'ol Al.  There had to be plenty of other girls out there who were into these things.  Maybe she'd never met any, but surely they existed?  Thankfully it didn't look like Charlie was about to erect a shrine, moving on with the conversation instead.

Alannah was ready to be pissed off - the words 'go fuck yourself, Charlie Baker' sizzling on the tip of her tongue - but she hadn't expected him to backpedal quite so effectively, both verbally and physically (even stepping away from her personal space).  This mollified Al slightly, as did the look on his face.  He actually seemed genuinely surprised that he had caused any offense and apologetic for having done so.  Charlie claimed to 'get it' (the it being what it felt like to be prematurely judged).  From the way he was speaking, it didn’t feel like a line.  She watched him cautiously, looking for any sign of dishonestly in his posture but could find none.  Alannah thought she believed him.  She wanted to believe him - teetering on the brink of trusting Charlie, or at least that he was being honest about this. 

It was Charlie's sigh, the hand in his hair and the soft ‘can we’ hovering in the air between them which finally tipped the balance.  Realising that he appeared to be just as upset about the derailment of their conversation as she was, Alannah instantly warmed to him again.  It was all just a misunderstanding.  A stupid, stupid misunderstanding.  She regretted her harshness.  Raising a hand to her face, Alannah pinched the bridge of her nose and squeezed her eyes shut.  "Shit.  Sorry.”  Withdrawing the hand, she let out a deep breath and a shaky laugh.  “It’s… It’s a bit of a sore spot for me."  The 25-year-old knew that she shouldn’t let the past have such a power over her, but she sucked at letting stuff go sometimes.  “I just get sick of all the assholes, you know.”  Her eyes flicked down to the floor and then back up to his face.  “But I don’t think you are one.  An asshole, that is.”  She smiled crookedly, one side of her lips curling up slightly higher than the other.  “Although maybe a moderate level prick.”  Al held a hand out mid-air in a parody of his earlier gesture.  “But on the scale of things, that’s not so bad.”  Waving her hands dismissively, she stepped forward to close the distance between them again.  “Let’s forget about it.”

"I know of you," she clarified in a cautious tone.  "I know you're with that band and stuff...  But… I don’t -"  Alannah spoke softly, slowly; wanting to reassure him that she was no hypocrite.  "I don’t really put much stock in what they say in papers," she said with a little shake of her head.  "They get things wrong all the time.  Don’t they?”  In her case that was certainly accurate.  "No, I’m in Quidditch."  Alannah’s grin held a touch of pride.  "I play professionally.  A Seeker.” She picked up her beer to take a sip.  "Maybe that's where you recognised me from?" Al added a tad hopefully, lifting her eyes to meet his.

Alannah couldn’t completely ignore what was suggested by Charlie’s… joke?  It seemed unlikely that 'divorce lawyer' was just the first random career to pop into his head.  Now that the matter had come up, Al couldn’t help wanting to know.  “So, you and your wife?” She cleared her throat awkwardly, unsure how to broach the subject.  “I didn’t know… I mean, I wasn’t sure if...”  Al leaned on the counter, putting down her drink so that she could use both hands to brush back her hair.  “Is it unfixable?”  She asked gently.  Almost immediately, Alannah felt cruel for asking him to share something so personal just to satisfy her own curiosity.  She scrambled to take back the question.  “Never mind!  You don’t have to answer that.”  She shook her head vigorously, dark curls rippling around her face.  "Really, it's none of my beeswax."  For one more time that night, she gave Charlie’s elbow a nudge but now it was less playful and more of an ‘it's ok’ gesture.  “And honestly,” Alannah mused out loud, “I know more about Star Wars than grown up relationships.”  It was her turn to smile sadly.  What she’d said was true, Al couldn’t claim to have successful experience with relationships.  She had plenty of opinions on the subject, sure, but she doubted very much that he wanted to hear those. 

Attempting to be light-hearted, she prompted him, "Go on.  Ask me anything."

Charlie glanced at Alannah anxiously, hoping he seemed sufficiently innocent -- or at the very least remorseful. Somehow, it appeared he’d been successful -- her body language softened as she lowered her hand with an apology. A sore spot? He decided to bet on the feeling that he’d somehow dragged himself out of his self-made hole. “You don’t say,” he smirked teasingly. He quickly adopted a more serious expression -- sympathetic, by his standards. “I, yeah.” He couldn’t really say he got his fair share of arseholes, but he could imagine (having been one himself more than once) how many a girl like Alannah might attract. He smiled when she (mistakenly) told him she didn’t think he was one, then laughed as she reused his earlier description. “I think there’s a compliment in there somewhere.”

He nodded as she suggested they forget about it, rolling his lips together rather than risk saying anything wrong.

I know of you. “Sounds ominous,” he said before taking a sip of his drink. “That band,” he clutched at his chest dramatically. “You actually not know the name or you just trying to impress me?” he joked, turning her own words back on her. He nodded again, focusing on his beer bottle. “Yeah well, where there’s smoke there’s fire, right?” He lifted his gaze to meet hers, smiling sadly. “Half of it’s bollocks and half of it’s...” he shrugged, “close enough to true, I suppose.”

“Quidditch?” he raised both eyebrows at her. Her earlier comment about being seen with him made a shitload more sense now; she had her own press coverage to worry about. He almost wished she’d just said so from the beginning, they could have skipped their little upset -- but then would he have overthought the entire conversation had he known? He definitely wouldn’t have brought up Star Wars to a Quidditch player and that had been the lion’s share of their exchange so far.

He knew almost for certain by this point that it was indeed the advertisements he recognised Alannah from -- not her Quidditch prowess -- but if she was offering it as an alternative Charlie figured it wouldn’t hurt to go along with it. He held her gaze. “Yeah, maybe,” he offered her a small smile. “Were you at that Ireland afterparty? The Four Nations match,” he suggested, thanking Sam silently for dragging him along to that particular game. He could at least sound like he knew something about the sport this way. “Ireland wiped the fucking floor with us,” he grinned, ‘us’ being England, obviously. He drank.

You and your wife? Charlie inhaled slowly, eyes averted, and took a longer drink from his beer, getting a little closer to emptying his bottle. He wet his lips slowly, knowing he should stop Alannah and put her out of her misery but unable to find the words -- and she was going a mile a minute, which made interrupting more likely to come across as brusque and hostile. “It’s fine,” he placated her when she finally took a breath, his lips twitching up at her elbow nudge. “Smoke, fire,” he said quietly, meeting her gaze and referencing his earlier comment about tabloids and gossip.

He looked away again. “Ex-wife, soon enough,” he sighed ruefully, running his hand through his hair again and assessing how much liquid was left in his bottle. “Part of it’s unfixable,” he said cryptically, “the other part’s perfect as it is.” He lifted his eyes to meet hers and thought better of it, blinking away again. He didn’t really want to talk about his impending divorce, about the woman who was leaving him because he couldn’t sort his shit out -- because he’d pushed her away -- to someone he had literally just met. Much less someone whom he would have, in different circumstances (and, honestly, in present circumstances too), wanted to secure an invite into her bed.

The Irish woman mentioned her own ‘grown up relationship’ woes and Charlie laughed lightly. “Yeah, well, think that makes two of us,” he smirked.

Charlie blinked at her. “Anything?” he repeated. Here he was faced with a dilemma: he had the opportunity to fully redeem himself, or to confirm Alannah’s earlier suspicions that he was a pig. He frowned as he thought, leaning a little more heavily on the bar and regaining a couple of the inches he’d lost when proving he could be polite. “Hmm,” he hummed. “If you had to wear a bikini--” he started seriously, before flashing a cheeky grin at her, “I’m just joking -- sorry,” he laughed breathily. “Okay,” he licked his lips quickly, frowning again softly. “Earlier, when you said you’d get in trouble just for being seen with me, and that you were a -- what was it, free agent? -- what was that all about?” he asked, keeping his warm dark eyes fixed on her piercing blue ones.

 "Of course I know your band's name.  What?  Did you really need me to remind you?"  She smirked at his overdramatic chest clutching.  "What're you getting old?  I could spell it if you like...  It's B-A-N-S-H-E-E."  Alannah teased mercilessly.  Where there's smoke there's fire?  From the sounds of things maybe the rumours about Charlie's womanising ways were not completely exaggerated?  Noted.  "Sounds ominous," she replied lightly, sipping some more of her drink.

"The Four Nations match?"  She brightened perceptibly at the mention of the event.  "Yeah!  Like I would have missed it!"  Alannah's enthusiasm for Quidditch easily matched her earlier excitement about Star Wars.  "We smashed you," she grinned, 'we' being Ireland (obviously), not Alannah personally.  She only wished that she could have played that game.  Maybe one day she'd make the national team.

Charlie's response about the breakdown of his marriage was vague but since she felt bad for even asking, it was more than Alannah had expected him to share.  "Shit.  Sorry mate," was all she said before letting the matter drop.  At least she wouldn't have to worry about getting him in trouble with the missus.  Not that she had been worried.  Still...

"Anything."  She repeated back at him, raising her eyebrows for extra emphasis.  Charlie surprised her then by starting to frame a question about wearing a bikini...  Urgh.  He certainly was ballsy to risk joking about it so soon!  Fortunately, Alannah did laugh before exclaiming - "Hey!" - and mock punching him in the arm.  Chuckling, the brunette resumed her slump against the bar while barely noticing that she was now almost shoulder to shoulder with Charlie.

"I meant you could ask anything about Star Wars."  Alannah muttered, yet not in an unfriendly way - still smiling through a spike of annoyance.  It wasn't the sort of question she really wanted to answer but considering that she had asked about his wife, it seemed only fair that Charlie get to drag up an uncomfortable personal matter of hers too.  Rolling her eyes, Al decided to try and approach the subject with a degree of humour.  "Oh, haven't you heard?  I'm a slut," she explained with false casualness.

"Been fucking my way to the top of the league!"  Alannah cheered drunkenly and raised her beer bottle high into the air before bringing it back to her lips and tipping it up.  After drinking deeply, Alannah shrugged and continued in a slightly more serious tone, "I just meant that, with my rep-u-tation and all... if the paparazzos see me chatting with The Charlie Baker" - she discarded her drink to crook both sets of fingers in air-quotes around his name - "They're going to assume that we're shagging."  Al sniggered and reached for the last of her beer, nearly missing and knocking the bottle over.  At the last second she caught it but bumped against Charlie as she did so.  "Whoops!"  She continued to snigger as she regained her balance and then resumed talking as if there had been no interruption.  "I don't have to answer to anyone for how I spend my time, but that's just what people will think."  Another shrug of her shoulders.  Looking him in the eye, Alannah nodded then childishly stuck out her tongue.  "Are you satisfied?"


 

“Twenty-seven is old for some people,” he countered, his mind briefly recalling the likes of Cobain, Hendrix, and Joplin. He frowned, resolving to be less fucking morbid and not take the conversation down that path. He fixed a grin onto his features. “You got a pen so I can write that down? Otherwise I’ll need you to stick around and remind me," he said, a flirty tone creeping its way into his voice. Sounds ominous. He searched her face. “Maybe it is.”

Charlie felt his mouth stretch into another grin, her enthusiasm bleeding over to him. “You did,” he nodded once. He hoped she didn't press him for any other details about the tournament, because fucked if he knew anything other than 'Ireland won'. He rubbed the side of his neck, trying to remember anything Sam had said that hadn't been about Quinn (he wasn't sure if bringing her up might ruffle some feathers -- they were both Irish, Seekers, fit, he knew how women could be even if Alannah was otherwise tearing down his assumptions one-by-one) -- he came up wanting. "I erm,” he shifted his weight from one hip to the other, “don’t follow Quidditch, to be honest with you.” He met her gaze again. “Who d’you play for?” He almost said ‘not the Cannons, right?’ as a (rare) show of sporting knowledge, then thought better of it when he realised he didn’t know for certain that she didn’t play for them.

Charlie took another swallow of his beer, draining the last of it and idly trying to remember how many he’d had -- did it matter? He kept his eyes low, running his thumb over the label. “S’alright,” he replied, then added a “thanks,” as he turned to look at her, his lips pulling up at one side weakly.

He held his breath, worried he’d miscalculated for a moment before she broke into a laugh, taking the nudging match up a notch and hitting him softly with her fist. Charlie grinned back at her, shrugging playfully. “You said anything,” he defended himself. He wet his lips, watching her carefully as she moved in closer; it was tempting to close that last little gap between them but he was meant to be playing nice.

As she explained her own brand of notoriety (which was apparently, if he was to believe her, not true) Charlie laughed. “Are you actually at the top of the league?” he asked first, trying to not hone in on her reputation -- the one he surprisingly hadn’t been aware of. He glanced at her bottle, gauged it must be almost as empty as his if it wasn’t already, and waved the barman down for another round. “The Charlie Baker?” he repeated with a quirked eyebrow -- wasn’t the first time he’d heard that, doubted it would be the last. He chewed on his lip, the alcohol in his system bringing him closer to asking aren’t we? with all the subtlety of a brick, but the very small (growing smaller) remnant of sobriety in his mind telling him they weren’t there yet.

Two fresh beers were set down on the counter right as Alannah lost her balance. Charlie wrapped an arm around her instinctively, meeting eyes with the man behind the bar before turning his attention back to the petite brunette in his arms. Christ. “Shall we sit?” he offered, picking up both of their bottles by the neck in one hand and tilting one towards her to take, “my shoes are killing me,” he joked, letting go of her as she righted herself. “You’re right though,” he agreed, “you don’t. People can get fucked.”

Charlie hesitated, eyes on her mouth as she poked her tongue out at him. “Satisfied?” he asked distractedly as he led the way, loosely holding her fingertips with his. “Almost,” he answered as he slid into the booth first, making sure to leave enough room to accommodate her if she chose not to sit across from him (unlikely, but he wasn’t going to rule it out). Charlie held his beer up to her as she sat, “Look at us, two sluts having a drink.”

Charlie wasn't really into Quidditch but Alannah's disappointment was not so great since he was at least being honest about his feelings on the subject.  "Shame," she said with a tilt of her head, "but I won't hold that against you."  Briefly she considered teasing him for not knowing which team she played for, in the same way that he had waxed dramatic over her not saying the name of his band.  However, that wouldn’t be much fun if he was ignorant of Quidditch like he claimed.  “I'm with the Griffins.  Gravesend Griffins.  If you've heard of them."  She shrugged nonchalantly.  As proud as Alannah was about her team, she probably wouldn’t be upset if he hadn’t.  There might be a chance to convert Charlie into a fan later but that was hardly a priority. 

“Top of the league?”  Alannah snorted in amusement.  Wow.  He really was clueless!  “Still working on that,” she responded vaguely.  It was certain that Al was no longer a small-time player, however, she still doubted anyone would rank her among the greats.  She really did feel like she’d been nailing things lately though, having found her stride with the Griffins.  Alannah had successfully caught the snitch in all but the very first of their games over the season.  Devoted as she was to her training, Al believed she was only getting better with each match.  One day, maybe, her name might be held in the same high esteem as ‘Viktor Krum’ once had.  If that ever happened she might finally be able to feel like people took her seriously and that they might remember her for something more important than just having a great rack. 

Charlie caught her when she stumbled and the touch of his arm sent a shiver down her spine which was not at all unpleasant.  Yet Alannah tried not to think too much about his action, nor her body's reaction.  It had really only been a gentlemanly thing for him to do.  However, the 'Charlie was just being a nice guy' argument lost some validity when he didn't let go right away.  He was taller than her, Al realised; tall enough that if she weren't wearing heels it might be possible to tuck her head under his chin.  Just an observation, she told herself while trying to shake the idea from her mind, nothing more.

When he asked if she wanted to sit down, claiming sore feet, Alannah cracked another grin.  "What're you, a girl?" She taunted him lightly.  An empty joke since he was presently standing close enough that even if Al had no other senses but her nose, she'd be able to smell the maleness of him - a tantalising medley of alcohol, smoke and sweat.  No.  Charlie was most definitely not a girl.  Alannah cleared her throat loudly.  "Yeah alright.  Let's sit."  She nodded and accepted the bottle he was holding out.

The way he commented that other people could just get fucked was charming.  It wasn't the sort of thing that should be charming, yet it was.  Alannah was charmed.  "Exactly!  Would you mind telling my PR manager that sometime?”  Smiling, she let Charlie lead her towards a booth, their fingers lightly touching.  There was something in the way he said ‘almost’ that set Al’s heart to racing.  "Oh?"  Her lips parted slightly as she stared at him.  Unable to look away, she was drawn along by Charlie’s smile and the warmth in his eyes.  She slid into the seat next to him without thinking about it, laughing at his ‘two sluts’ comment and companionably clinking her beer bottle against his. 

It was a whole different thing to be tucked in next to Charlie in the relative intimacy of the booth.  Alannah felt warm and buzzed by alcohol and was only distantly aware of the fact that her dress had ridden up when she’d scooched into the seat, revealing more flesh of her thighs.  Belatedly the brunette now realised that Charlie really wasn't like one of her mates at all.  She couldn’t claim that she'd ever imagined sucking on the bottom lip of one of her mates (no matter how many beers she'd had). 

A divorcee rockstar with a bad-boy reputation was hardly the sort of bloke Alannah should be attracted to, especially after taking offense at the mere possibility that he was only chatting with her because he wanted to get into her bed.  Yet she believed that there was more to Charlie, otherwise she probably would’ve walked away ages ago.  It was the quirky, nerdy parts that she’d enjoyed the most about their conversation.  He'd been nice.  He'd taken an interest.  He’d made her laugh.  Funny boys had always been her type.

"What do you want?"  Alannah asked softly, eyelids half lowered as she looked at him.  Then she immediately flushed upon realising how seductive those words had sounded in her husky voice.  She turned her body away marginally, not to shut him out completely but to at least appear less easy open.  One had slipped down to her lap to discretely tug her skirt down closer to her knees.  Her shoulder tipped forward and Al let her hair fall over her face like a wall between them.  This posture meant that Alannah couldn't look at him directly but that was probably for the best.  "I mean, if you could have anything in the world - or fictional worlds…  Riches, a spaceship, super powers…  What would your slutty heart desire?”

“Oh, thanks,” he said gratefully with another grin. Gravesend Griffins. “I have, actually,” he said, surprising himself even. He couldn’t place exactly where from -- could have been Sam, could have been literally anyone else who was into Quidditch -- but he thought he could comfortably try and commit it to memory, if he saw her again. Alannah snorted -- Charlie’s grin widened -- and she replied vaguely. “Well,” he shrugged, “could be worse, you could play for the Cannons, right?” he smirked, exasperating the last of his Quidditch knowledge on her.

“You can check if you want,” he challenged under his breath, the quip slipping out before he thought to keep it in -- those beers, however many he’d had, were starting to slow his reactions and cloud his judgement.

Charlie grinned. “Sure,” he agreed, “you take me to ‘em and I’ll tell ‘em.” He paused, considering the possibility that a Quidditch manager might be less svelte than the typical musical manager.  “S’long as they’re not like, built like a brick shithouse,” his lips stretched wider. Charlie wasn’t unable to hold his own in a scuffle but he was a lean man and he’d already lost some of the weight he had put on over the last year or so thanks to reverting to a poor diet that largely consisted of takeaways and booze.

Alannah slid in beside him in the booth and Charlie did his best not to look surprised -- he'd definitely anticipated she'd not take the bait. “Oh,” he repeated airily, not elaborating -- she could work it out on her own. She laughed and he grinned again, taking a sip from his new beer. He licked his lips slowly, looking at her from this closer distance -- they’d been side-by-side at the bar, but she was almost right up against him now. She really was stunning -- he couldn't understand how she was a 'free agent'. His eyes grazed over her, lingering a little longer than might have been wise at the exposed skin of her thighs--

What do you want?

His head snapped up quickly. She hadn’t sounded accusatory -- if anything he thought it sounded encouraging. Charlie wet his lips, leaving them parted and ready to answer her a little more honestly than he should-- Alannah shifted and he swallowed his intended response. He recognised her shuffling -- nervous, she was experiencing that sudden moment of clarity in the midst of drunkenness. Charlie swapped his beer from his left hand to his right on the table in the brief lull provided by her second thoughts. He decided to fill the gap by drinking.

Alannah spoke again and Charlie lowered his bottle, swallowing quickly before laughing. “My slutty heart?” he repeated, clearing his throat and lifting his arm behind her to rest along the top of the booth -- classic. He frowned softly, not looking directly at her in an attempt to avoid making her uncomfortable -- or, any more uncomfortable. He chewed on his bottom lip as he thought. You was the obvious, cheesy answer -- and a lie, honestly, even if it would work on the average Banshee fan. No, she was too smart for that. He kept looking forward as he answered: “Batmobile.”

Doubts and fears fizzled through Alannah's brain like the bubbles of carbon dioxide rising to the top of her beer.  It was one thing to joke around with Charlie, to chat and flirt, even exchange playful nudges...  but the athlete could recognise that their interaction was now entering more dangerous territory.  She wasn't sure if crossing the border between talking and touching was a good idea, no matter how much her body chemistry made the prospect seen appealing. 

The arm along the back of the booth was so highschool but it was just right for Alannah.  For all that she was passionate and bold in most areas of her life, Al was a skittish creature when it came to romance - prepared to bolt or bite at any unexpected movements.  She didn't snuggle in against Charlie but nor did she shift away, simply maintaining the negligible distance between them.  In fact she barely reacted to his gesture at all, blithely pretending not to have noticed, except for a slight smile which hid at the corners of her lips and gave her away.

"Batmobile?" she repeated, plainly trying (and failing) not to break out into a grin.  His unexpectedly geeky answer was exactly the sort of thing she was enjoying so much about their conversation.  How many people could claim to know that Charlie liked Star Wars and Batman?  "Tsk, really?  Not peace on earth?  That's a bit of a selfish waste of a wish," Alannah jested, giving Charlie's shoulder a bump with her own.  "First the Millenium Falcon, now a Batmobile - I think maybe you have a thing for fast vehicles, Charlie?"  That was something she could relate to if he did.  Al loved the adrenaline inducing feeling of speed, it was one of the best parts of flying.  "Or is it just about the leather?"  She chuckled briefly at picturing Charlie in a Batman costume.  Tight.

Alannah couldn't resist sneaking a look at Charlie, turning around slowly - only to be caught off guard by the realisation that Charlie's face was just inches away.  She froze, and then blurted out the first thing which popped into her head - "That's not actually that unobtainable actually... The Batmobile." Al grinned nervously and licked her lips.  "I don't know any Batmobile salesmen, but maybe you could commission something?"

He glanced at her and mirrored her grin, shrugging. “Why not?” he asked. Alannah offered some alternative wishes and Charlie scrunched his nose up, jokingly repulsed. “Well, I am a moderate level of prick,” he countered with a smirk. “Got a reputation to maintain.” His dark eyes focused on her mouth as he wet his own lips, her gentle jostle into him giving him some ideas.

“Maybe I do,” he replied, forcing himself to look her in the eyes again. Fast vehicles. He’d never considered himself a petrolhead, but he did have a certain affection for famous cars at least. “If I had a car,” he continued on that tangent aloud, “I’d probably get an Aston. Bond.” He shrugged as if to say can you blame me? “Don’t see the point in having one though, ‘ve got a bike -- does the job when I want to seem normal.” Muggle, he meant. “You obviously ride,” he said, alluding to her racing broom but not unhappy with the potential double entendre she might pick up on.

Charlie laughed lightly. “I do like leather,” he admitted, not making any effort to not sound suggestive. “What about you?” he asked, turning slightly in his seat to see her better, careful not to close her in with the arm behind her. “Speed, not leather,” he clarified before she could accuse him of being untoward. “Well, unless you’re into that too,” he teased with a drink from his beer.

He could see her looking at him out of the corner of her eye -- watched as she turned and their faces came inches apart. He smirked again, then she spoke and his lips twisted into a grin. “I suppose it ain’t,” he agreed, “but where would I park it?” he asked, fixating on her mouth again as she licked her full lips -- habitually, he did the same. “I’ll have to look into it.” He sipped at his drink, vaguely registering that he really didn’t need any more alcohol in his system.

They were practically on top of each other now -- Charlie found himself wishing that they were, no ‘practically’ about it. As he gazed at her he stood by his earlier thought: she looked like she’d been crafted, rather than born. If she hadn’t been so well-versed in her space opera lore he might’ve suspected her of being some sort of plant -- another headline out of him, another nail in the coffin that was his reputation. He sincerely hoped she wasn’t, now that the fleeting possibility had crossed his mind -- he was genuinely enjoying himself and he wanted to believe she was too. He felt like they were getting somewhere, at any rate. ”What does your slutty heart want?” he murmured, holding her gaze.

“An Aston Martin?  Nice.”  She nodded, relieved that Charlie had named one of the few real world cars she actually knew of.  “Complete with machine guns?”  Alannah couldn’t claim to be a big James Bond fan but she had seen enough of the movies to know what it was all about – babes, cars and guns (plus surprisingly little stealthy spy work). 

The fact that Charlie kept a bike wasn’t really a surprise to Al.  It fit with everything she knew about him so far.  “Never got my licence,” she commented before picking up her beer to finally take a sip.  Driving had always seemed a bit pointless to Alannah when she could just apparate to places instantly or, if she wasn’t in a hurry, fly.  Cars were alright but Al got far more excited about new broom handles and bristles than she ever could about engines.  Plus she didn’t really like the idea of getting stuck in Muggle traffic.  “Not really had much experience with bikes either.  Although I’ve always sort of fancied the look of them.”  Al’s smile contained a touch of affection as she added, “Funnily enough my parents still consider motorcycles more dangerous than broomsticks.”

“No strong feelings about leather,” she replied, unfazed by his cheekiness.  “But I do like to go fast.”  Alannah kept her gaze averted from Charlie but tipped her head back, incidentally bringing it to rest against his arm for a moment.  The tone of her voice became wistful as she commented, “It has this way of making you feel… weightless.  Untethered.  Free.”  There was no better feeling in the world in her opinion. 

Where would he park it?  “Dunno.”  Alannah’s light eyes sparkled with amusement.  She gradually began to feel more at ease in close proximity with Charlie, sinking back into the seat as she relaxed.  “Maybe get a valet?” she offered helpfully between sips of her drink.  “Probably why Bruce Wayne employs Alfred.” 

“Might be cool to be able to fly Superman style,” she mused as he turned the question back on her.  Holding his gaze, Alannah swayed forward, her lips parting.  “I want…”  There were plenty of things that the young witch wanted - material objects she might like to possess or goals she might like to achieve...  Al was also not immune to physical desires, being only human.  Yet it was her most base and core desire which floated to the forefront of her alcohol-fuzzed mind at that moment.  She drew back before the distance between her and Charlie could completely elapse.  “To matter.  To be respected,” Al said a little breathlessly.  Her eyes flickered away and then back to Charlie’s face uncertainly.  “Sorry, that’s not as sexy as a Batmobile.”

Charlie watched Alannah finally take a drink. “Have to keep up appearances,” he explained vaguely, regarding his licence-having, “my family already think I’m a waster, can’t give them any more reason to write me off.” He smiled. “It’s bad enough I moved to London, apparently.” He wasn’t referring to his immediate family -- his parents -- though he supposed given (very) recent events they were less enthused with him too, but not for his locale or his (fake, muggle-friendly) career. “Have you never been on one?” he asked, partly out of surprise and partly as a potential lead-in to come and have a go on mine.

She liked to go fast. He smirked, even if he didn’t think she meant it the way he was choosing to interpret it. “Noted.” Her head fell softly onto his arm and Charlie paused, wholly distracted by her presence; listening attentively. He brought his bottle near his lips, “Then you’d probably like bikes,” he offered before drinking. “Fast if you ride them properly.” Charlie’s track record of doubling-up on his Triumph had only served to put his dates off motorcycles, but he wondered if that was because previous invitees hadn’t been speed demons in the first place. If he ever did get Alannah behind him then he’d have to put the theory to the test.

Charlie smiled, shifted just slightly to recline back beside the Irish woman without disturbing her. “A valet, you reckon?” He pushed his bottom lip out, tilting his head to one side as he pretended to consider her suggestion. “Bruce Wayne’s a billionaire,” he argued with another smile in his slow Northern drawl, “and even if I could afford it, don’t think I’d like some old bloke living with me.”

He’d left it wide open for her, thought she might play ball -- or at the very least step on the pitch. Apparently not. He hid his disappointment. “You gonna name-drop the entire Justice League to impress me?” he asked with a small smirk, recalling an earlier moment in their conversation. I want… Alannah started and held his gaze, leaning in towards him slightly as he did the same to her, allowing his hopes to rise again. He knew he shouldn’t be doing this -- not in public, not until everything was finalised -- but at the same time what was stopping him, really? He was already getting divorced, everyone was already talking about him.

But he wasn’t the only person they’d be talking about, and Alannah either realised as much or she was an even bigger tease than Charlie could have imagined. To be respected. There went his hopes and dreams. He bit his lip softly, still staring at her -- not pulling back the same way she had. Charlie’s fingers tightened around his bottle, then loosened as he slid them up to the mouth, fingertip resting on the lip delicately. "Nothing's as sexy as a Batmobile," he said, full of conviction, before breaking into a devilish grin.

He sat up straighter -- more determined to not let her get away, this was a challenge now -- and he managed to close the small gap between their bodies without pressing against her. "Do you think you don’t matter?” he asked gently. He frowned and shook his head softly. “Sorry, that’s-- you don’t need to answer that,” he said, his hand slipping from his beer to touch gingerly on her thigh -- half on her dress, half on her bare flesh (fully on either would have been too high or too much skin-on-skin contact). He withdrew after a moment to his own, denimed thigh. “Ask me something else,” he offered as a distraction, reaching for his drink, “whatever you want.”

Alannah cast her mind back to the past, trying to remember her few encounters with motorcycles.  "Once or twice when I was a teenager, but never really full throttle."  She could remember enjoying the ride well enough but could believe that those tame experiences had probably barely scratched the surface of the potential thrill.  Yet, since Al had been more interested in the thrill that flying provided, she had never pursued it further at the time.  "Can't say I've had a lot of opportunities since."

"I think I would like 'em", she agreed confidently with Charlie's assessment.  It did sound like the sort of thing she'd be interested in.  "If I was with someone who knew how to ride properly, that is."  Alannah smirked and quirked an eyebrow at him.  "Do you know anyone?"  She posed the question as innocently as she possibly could whilst fixing him with a cheeky grin.

The brunette rolled her eyes at Charlie's objections to getting a fictional valet for his fictional Batmobile.  "I'm sure that it doesn't have to be an old dude."  Al nudged him gently in the ribs.  "Although the hot, young one's probably cost more so I see your point."  She considered making a joke about how it was a shame that Charlie wasn't a billionaire, but held back, not wanting to put such ideas in his head.  The last thing she was interested in was his money.

Charlie accused her of dropping names to impress him.  Frankly Alannah was a little offended at this point that he would still be surprised if she knew who all the Justice League members were.  "Probably could."  She pouted at him before breaking back into a wide grin.  "But do I need to?"

Alannah let out a shakey laugh, relieved that he  didn't seem too put off by what she'd shared.  This was promising. Maybe.  It at least helped her feel more comfortable.  "Correction.  Nothing is as sexy as a man driving a Batmobile."  She matched his devilish grin and raised him a wink.

Do you think you don't matter?  A shiver rolled through her body and Alannah instinctively curled up against the warmth of Charlie's chest.  "To some people, sure.  But to others... not for the right reasons."  What kind are you?  She chewed on her lip rather than asking.

Apparently he was the kind of man to touch her thigh without invitation.  Al shivered again but this time due to a sense of tension.  Charlie's hand felt warm, yet his fingertips raised goosebumps when they lightly brushed her skin.  She didn't hate it.  Still, it was far too intimate of touch to be shared so soon.  "Charlie..."  She sighed reprovingly, but he had already removed his hand without having to be told.

She could ask him anything?  "If you had to wear a bikini..."  Alannah started off with a joke.  A classic at this point.  "Kidding."  She was distractingly aware of every place their bodies were touching while she effectively leant against him.  Charlie had been better behaved than she might have expected, aside from that mild lapse with her thigh.  After a pause Al reached up to draw Charlie's arm around her shoulders fully.  She kept her hand lightly resting on his.  This was ok, if he wanted.

"Ok, Charlie," she spoke softly, as though it were just the two of them in the bar (or the entire world), "would you tell me about something that makes you happy?  Anything.  It can be something big or something small, like... the smell of coffee in the morning."  She gave a little shrug.  "What's something that makes you glad to be alive?"  Alannah began to idly draw patterns on the back of Charlie's hand with one finger while she waited for his answer.

Charlie mirrored her smirk. “Yeah, I know someone,” he said. He glanced down at the beer in her hand and lifted his chest a fraction in a mock show of pomposity; “He’s very responsible though, doesn’t drink and drive, so you’ll have to ask him another time.” His eyes flicked back to hers with another small smirk as he relaxed back into the seat with her.

He grinned, playfully wincing at her elbow, then shrugged. “Probably.” He sipped at his beer and smiled. “No, you don’t need to.” He was plenty impressed already -- a little frustrated, too, by her slowness to respond to him, but for the most part she was putting up with him so he couldn’t complain. Every minute they spent together he felt like they were getting closer to his desired destination, and -- he gave her another unsubtle once-over -- she looked like it’d be worth the extra time it was taking to get there. It helped that she was actually interesting to talk to, entertaining.

The musician laughed, raising an eyebrow at her wink. “Maybe I should get one then,” he offered with another smirk, drinking again.

Alannah leaned into him more fully and Charlie felt something stir in his chest -- a familiar feeling, one he thought might have departed entirely, until now, leaving him hollow. He curled his head towards her, better to see her face and watch her pull her bottom lip between her teeth; he swallowed, eyes drooping just a little as he thought about his mouth on hers, how she might taste. Then he felt her shudder softly and he drew back just the slightest, not going so far as  to acknowledge his supposed wrongdoing with a verbal apology. Honestly, Charlie thought she didn’t sound entirely convinced that she didn’t want his hand on her thigh.

The serious moment was over when she chose to bring up the bikini again and Charlie grinned despite himself -- despite wanting to remain in that serious space just a little longer. But she surprised him again when she took his hand in hers, drawing it around her shoulders properly. He didn’t resist her, cuddling her closer and entwining his fingers loosely with hers when she chose not to withdraw her hand. “Mm?” he responded when she used his name, perking up somewhat. Charlie listened, his face adopting a solemn expression as he considered her question(s). He felt her fingertip teasingly touching across the back of his hand and absently stroked the back of hers with his thumb in response.

What made him glad to be alive? An interesting -- entirely too deep for casual bar chat, in his opinion -- thing to ask. Especially of him, especially now. He wished something as simple as coffee made him happy, but he was far more complex than that. Many of his other potential answers were either depressing (his wife had made him happy) or another joke (bikinis, batmobiles). She deserved a proper answer, he supposed.

He thought back to how she’d described flying: weightless, free. “Music,” he answered her suddenly, honestly. “Makes me a lot of other things, too,” he admitted, not meeting her eyes, “but music makes me happy. Makes me feel alive.” He felt his cheeks warm, chose to blame it on the alcohol and the warmth of the bar and of Alannah’s body pressing in on him. “Listening, playing. Whatever it is,” he continued, his gaze still lowered. “Not all music,” he clarified, “but some of the really great records, they take you somewhere, you know? Make you feel something, even if you’ve never felt it before.” He looked at her finally, their faces now incredibly close, holding her gaze.

"You do, do you?"  Of course she knew that Charlie was talking about himself.  Alannah grinned and watched him with amusement, then paused mid-drink when he said 'another time'.  Was Charlie suggesting that he'd be interested in seeing her again in a more sober setting?  Possibly.  This made Al hopeful that he wasn't just being flirtatious and might actually want to spend time together beyond tonight - even if it was just for a ride on his motorcycle.  "Maybe I will," she replied with genuine enthusiasm for the idea.

It felt good to be held by him, even loosely.  Alannah's heartrate spiked as she imagined what it might be like to press their bodies closer, tighter, together...  No.  She couldn't let desire cloud her judgement.  This casually affectionate touching was more than enough for now.  It was still closer than she'd been with anyone in some time and Alannah couldn't be sure if Charlie was the right sort of guy to allow closer.  Focusing her attention on where their fingers were intertwined, she let herself enjoy the sensation of his thumb gently stroking her hand.

Music.  Of course.  It made so much sense that music would be Charlie's way to express himself - or escape from the world.  Alannah listened, a little awestruck, as he elaborated on why he loved it.  She hadn't expected him to go into such depth on the subject, since he easily could have just shrugged off the question with a joke.  What Charlie gave her instead was so much better than humour - it seemed personal.  Special.  She warmed to him for it. 

Music could take you somewhere, make you feel something...  There was no denying that she was feeling something for Charlie now.  He had avoided meeting her eyes while he spoke - an unexpected shyness possibly?  When he finally turned back towards her, Alannah practically melted under his gaze.  What're you feeling right now?  She wanted to ask as she gazed deeply into his eyes.  Do you feel this... this chemistry?

"That's really beautiful," she whispered softly, without looking away.  "Thank you."

Alannah was sure then, as the moment held her spellbound, that she wanted to kiss this man - a self-proclaimed 'moderate level prick' who liked beer and motorcycles and Batmobiles.  A man with an appreciation for science fiction, a taste for adrenaline and music wrapped up in his soul.

He was so close, it would barely take any effort at all...