Alex's hand tapped against the table, an agitated pattern that changed as soon as it had become one, her gaze moving just as irregularly about the room but always returning to Phillip, seated opposite her, whose fair hair was bright in the dim light of the bar, rather like the hint of teeth in his smile. It was a look that suited him, she thought lazily, preventing him from looking too pallid, and- she looked away, wishing that she could delude herself into thinking that the lack of light would keep him from seeing her blush.

Instead, she distracted herself by glancing around the bar's clientele, which helpfully reminded her that were she to take an approximate average of the ages of those present, she and Phillip would lower it by a couple of years. It was enough to make her look back at Phillip, who was by far the more attractive option, and she managed a smile, a minute one that grew after a shaky moment where Alex had been expecting it to stutter out, a hand curling around her glass and pulling it defensively towards her, before taking a quick gulp from it and placing it on the table as quietly as possible.
 
Merlin, she was a wreck. She should never have agreed to accompany Phillip, and given how uncomfortable she now felt, Alex was almost beginning to think that it was a bad decision. If only Aunt Emily possessed the grace to leave with the rest of her family and the cessation of the holiday season, Alex would have far fewer qualms about returning home. Of course, Alex felt she could concede within the safety of her own head, even when not being compared to the banshee known as Aunt Emily, Phillip was good company.

Taking a sip of her drink warmed her a little, reassuring there was no logical reason for her to be anything other than fine, and her smile relaxed into something more genuine. "So," she started, biting her lip hesitantly and taking another cautious sip, "I take it you come here regularly?" It only just had the lift in tone that intimated that it was indeed a question, and as soon as the words left her mouth, Alex was already cursing herself for asking such a dull question, "and why am I here?" As it was a matter on which the Ravenclaw was not entirely certain herself, Alex was hopeful that his answer would provide clarity. It wasn't objectionable, but Alex was curious as to why Phillip had dragged her along with him.

This was ragged, definitely. Incredibly, outrageously, dead, deaky bloody mint. He had no darn idea what the bloody hell made him think 'Ye, I'm havin' it', and despite being a knapper in general, this was just—well, skrikey! She'd been moping about the store, like some pathetic shed head-fadgoir, and his mang brain somehow decided it was a mint idea to just grab 'er and drag 'er along to the Cauldron. Because getting someone depressed to go on a binge was not off the trolleys, no, not at all.

So, 'ere they were sitting in the most ridiculous silence Phillip had ever had the horror of enduring, while he stuffed his face with some peanuts and emptied pint after pint, occasionally smiling and grinning -for no reason other than the fact that it was what he did best, aside from his glare, of course - and she just sat there... Looking pretty, indeed, but still just sat there. And she kept skenning at him when she thought he wasn't looking, which was making his napper bloody cabbaged! He started squirming in his seat, once or twice opening his mouth to say something, but what did ye say to mopey girls? What did ye say to any girl ye didn't want to shag, or get leathered with or just, ye know, just act with 'er like ye did with yer lads?! "Bloody brill idea, ye minger... Bang on, Phillip, bang on" he muttered sarcastically into his pint.

But then she finally seemed to come into 'er senses and he saw 'er smile, really smile, and he thought she had a pretty smile and—'Rein yer horses in, mate' his subconscious suddenly interjected. Point was it seemed 'er head was out of the biscuits. He could deal with angry Carstairs, or irritated Carstairs, but not with some draggy, silent and awkward Carstairs. And then she bit 'er lip, before continuing 'er speech and Phillip suddenly turned to glare at some scowler grabbing at his pint, like it was the last drop o' water in the desert. He hoped his gob did not go into its bloody stupid habit of turning red in an instant.

He cleared his throat and settled better into the chair. "Am, indeed" he said grinning at 'er rather shed headed observation. "And yer here cause ye looked like the wreck o' th'Hesperus, and I thought a scoop would do ye good. Speaking of... Oi, laddie! Think ye can bring us a bottle o' Firewhiskey? Right, thank ye" he said with his brows furrowed as the boy gave him a deathly glare before he skittered to the bar.

The bar-help returned quickly, with an almost menacing step to his walk and practically stabbed the table with the bottle, making Phillip jump in his seat, but luckily he managed to rein in the incoming shower of curses, bout mothers and saints and scallies and what not. The bloke proceeded to do the same as he did with the bottle for Phillip's glass, but then turned to Alex, staring for a second too long and put the glass gently in front of 'er. "Wha' are ye skenning ye cocknobber? Off ye go, back to yer business now" he said almost shouting, ready to stand up if the lad really wanted to get banjoed.

He angrily opened the bottle and started pouring into their glasses, filling both of them to the rim, still focused on the bloke muttering behind the bar. "On then, Carstairs, sup up" he said as he took his glass and clinked it with hers before downing half of its contents down his throat. "So, what got yer knickers in a twist, love?" he said smirking, knowing he never actually called 'er any of the names he usually used with girls.

Alex hoped that she didn't look as surprised as she felt, because even though she had trouble predicting Phillip's actions at the best of times, she hadn't expected something so… considerate to be her answer. It forced a startled "Thank you," from her, when the server had left, but she'd been tongue tied enough that she hadn't managed to say anything else before he returned, although the silence was far less agitated than it had been before.

She tried, although not too hard, to hide her amusement at Phillip's indignation, ducking her head downwards and pressing her lips together to get it under control before meeting Phillip's eyes again, a less mocking smile in place. Seeing his sulk, her hand reached out to brush reassuringly against his, before she realised what it was doing, and pulled it back as quick as if she'd made contact with the scales of a serpent. Quicker, even, and there was no disguising the ruddiness of her cheeks now, although Alex would be damned if she didn't do her utmost pretending that they were as pale as usual.

To that end, she accepted the glass gratefully, careful to keep it between her hand and Phillip's when they made their toast (to what, Alex couldn't fathom- the indiscretions of youth?). Deciding that Phillip had, for once, the right idea, she lifted the glass, about to drink when she heard his question, which made her still for a moment longer than wise before tilting the glass upwards, grimacing slightly as she swallowed the liquid.

It gave her a much needed pause for thought while she placed the glass on the table again, using her little finger to cushion the noise, and leaving her hand curled loosely around the tumbler. Less convenient was the way her thoughts were lingering on the diminutive he'd used, but Phillip would flirt with a dementor- it didn't mean anything. Alex leant forward slightly, still hesitant about discussing her family- but it was primarily her Aunt who was the cause of her upset, and Phillip had made the effort to improve her spirits, something which he'd been doing very well until the mention of her moping.

Drawing in a quick breath, Alex began, "My Aunt doesn't approve of my career choice,"  she reached deftly for the bottle, re-filling her glass before she continued, "And has no compunctions about sharing her concerns," she said, fingers forming mocking air quotes around the word, "with me." It was the tip of the iceberg- Aunt Emily approved of nothing and no one, but it was as much as Alex was prepared to tell Phillip, and a good deal more than she would share with most people.

A change in topic, then, was required, and urgently, because that topic was dull as ditch water- duller, in fact, and uncomfortable to boot. There were two logical routes to follow, one being work, and the other being Phillip's family, and considering he slept at Rick's, that would likely be just as excruciating. "How did you end up working at Donovan's?" she asked instead, idly sliding the bottle back towards him.

He saw—saw 'er hand move to his, and for a second, just a tiny lil' second he was caught in this buzzing state of knappering euphoria, his subconscious skrikin' 'Ye, mate, lookie 'ere, she is dead into you'. but before his cabbaged face could turn into full-on lobster-red she took it back, obstropolous, as if burned by some bloody fire from the pits of Hell. Just like that! And Phillip huffed—silently, ye, but huffed like a four year old not getting that brill toy truck he wanted all his life. Oh, he was getting knackered like barmy Hell, and he looked at the bottle o' Firewhiskey and he glared at it like it was his nemesis, THE nemesis—the one thing that was at fault for his entirely crappy life.

And from the corner of his eye - which was still seeing perfectly fine, thank you - he saw 'er pretty face flushing and he smirked, like the bloody cocky arse he was. 'So, laddie, not completely hopeless, aye?' his utterly undecided subconscious thought. He cleared his voice, hoping his alcohol-induced overactive imagination would stop wondering just how far beyond the collar of her blouse that flush went, and poured himself another glass. Quickly deciding on his course of action, he also replenished hers. To the rim. Again. He was a class A wupding and he'd be mithered about his idiocy in the morning. But not now—no, definitely not now.

He waited and waited and thought he had been waiting for a bloody eternity when she finally, finally started talking. And he listened to her talking about 'er aunt, and Phillip frowned—frowned as in are ye completely off yer trolleys-frowned. And he waved off her change of topic with crazed movements of his hands, closing his eyes and shaking his head in disbelief.

"What the bloody hell, Carstairs, I never took ye for a bloody goober?! I mean, yer Carstairs—Carstairs I Will Burn A Hole In Yer Sorry Arse Skull If Ye So Much As Look At Me The Wrong Way and yer taking this kinda smack-talk from yer aunt?" he almost skrieked at 'er. "Seriously, woman" he said while pointing a menacing index finger at 'er "get yer pair o' ballz back from wherever ye left them and shove 'em in the wrinkled-arsed face of that aunt of yers" he said with a scowl as he emptied the second glass of Firewhiskey.

He put his hands on his thighs and his nostrils flared like some rabid bull in the arena. Women, he'd never bloody understand them. Mad as toast, all o' them, but he'd never actually think Carstairs would go manky. No, not 'er. Carstairs was Buffy, friggin' Buffy. You did not bloody mess with Buffy. And she gone all nowty over an aunt?! 'Ye daft apoth' his mind interject 'she's a woman, of course she's barmy'. Of course, he didn't know how he always seemed to forget, but she was a girl too... a bum hot one at that, his Firewhiskey addled mind thought.

He shook his head and poured another glass. "Not a very intesting—inte—bloody hell" he laughed. Yep, definitely getting leathered. "In-te-res-ting story. I was already into the—erhmm, hmm" he stopped and took a breath. Words were not his best friends tonight, and that damn mouth of 'ers was outrageously distracting. "Well, I was already having connections 'round, with me potions side business and word got to me ears that Rick was hiring, so I sort of showed up in his shop and started cleaning up and he sort of had no other choice but to hire me. I'm persistent like that" he chuckled.

Alex laughed, a startled chuckle that she covered for by taking another sip from her drink. Phillip's assessment was hilarious, and if not entirely complimentary it was at least accurate. The encouragement was gratifying, too, because while his support couldn't do much, it was at least nice to know that she had some, other than her Father's unreliable interventions. Of course, she could probably garner sympathy if she wanted to, but it was so belittling- Phillip's outrage was far more welcome.

The problem was that his assessment was massively oversimplified; just because you ignored Aunt Emily didn't mean that she'd ignore you, or stop asking all manner of invasive questions, and there was still the next day, and the day after, and being too obviously insulting generally got her into trouble, and all in all it was simply not worth the hassle. That didn't mean she wouldn't retort, of course- Phillip wasn't far off in his description- but the constant insults and criticisms were still wearing.

Obviously Rick constantly criticised and insulted her, but since she could retaliate and the criticism was constructive- well, sometimes- it was acceptable.

She watched in silence while he re-filled his glass- and how much had they drunk by now? Alex, foolishly, hadn't been counting, but she didn't think she'd drunk too much- certainly not enough that gulping down half her glass, eyes still on Phillip's hands, was an awful idea. Or maybe it was, because stumbling over words as a result of intoxication should not endear Phillip to her, as stumbling over words, no matter the reason, was something that morons did and was thus her smile as she took another sip from her glass was entirely unrelated to it.

"Of course," Alex said, sighing softly, "I was hoping for something more dramatic." Like, oh, a life debt that had to be repaid through servitude? That seemed reasonably possible, the Gryffindor was crazed and clumsy enough at school that almost killing himself accidentally hardly stretched her imagination. He was practically a walking disaster, it was alarming how frequently he managed to injure himself.

"It's probably a good thing you were stubborn," she admitted, "you keep making cogs from being unbearably tedious." Well, just about- it wasn't as though making cogs would ever be interesting, but at least with someone around to talk to there was something  to distract her. Even if Phillip was slightly too distracting, sometimes.

"Wha'cha on about, harpy?" he asked laughing. "My lovely arse might be wicked hot, but not many people jump ta save it, ye know" he said chuckling as he downed yet another glass down his throat. He was already getting that giddy, hazy feeling, and he know he'd get biblically wasted, but in all honesty he couldn't be arsed. But if he managed to get Alex dead-buzzed, too—well, tha'd be even more bloody awesome.

"I am not tedious, and ye know it" he suddenly shrieked. "Everybody fancies 'aving me 'round, I'm the soul of the party" he said fervently and the he got on his feet, wobbling a little. "I AM THE KING OF THE BLOODY HILL!" he suddenly shouted, every eye in the pub turning on him. And he threw his head back and started laughing, more choking on air than anything else. He slowly let himself fall back on the bench, still laughing then he stilled, smile on his kite and stared at Carstairs. Because she was suddenly glittering. No, not glittering, glittering, but ye know like having an epiphany with radiating light, and angels singing in the background and all that—like when ye realize someone's really beautiful. And Phillip's face suddenly turned from enlightened to horrified, because he was apparently fancying the socks off of Carstairs. Carstairs, out of all the people on the planet! "Jesus bloody Christ" he muttered under his breath before he choked on his own saliva and started suffocating.

He flailed around helplessly for a few seconds, coughing his lungs out, and then his hand stilled on the bottle of Firewhiskey and before he could realize his stupidity he was gulping down half the bottle. He felt the burn on his neck and he swallowed despite the nauseating sensation. When he finally felt like he could breathe again, he settled the bottle back on the table, only two fingers worth o' alcohol in it and he decidedly stared at the table.

He knew his face was literally on fire, but he could blame it on the booze. Right? In fact, his mingin brain was in overdrive going over his entire memories with Alex, trying to realize when exactly had this happened. He thought it impossible, he was already in love—sort of. He knew he stood absolutely no chance with him, but it didn't stop his goober of a brain from obsessing over him. So when had this happened? "Bloody apocalypse is coming, mate..." his internal voice kindly supplied.

"Shite" he said dazed while he raised his eyes to look at her. "'M gettin' awfully knackered 'ere. He he he" he laughed disbelievingly, trying to fill the silence, the bloody reverie in his brain, with as many words as possible. But hiss mouth was failing him, for probably the first time in history. He tilted his head sideways and squinted his eyes and just skenned at her, almost cross-eyed. And then he straightened, instantly and he tapped his hands on the table. "How 'bout we get something with a bit of a kick and play a game, eh?" he said grinning almost mechanically.  Drinking games—drinking games were the answer to this nightmare. And tequila. In boatloads...

The misinterpretation of her comment irked Alex, since she’d been saying the complete opposite of what he’d assumed, for once being complimentary – in a roundabout fashion, perhaps, but still complimentary. Her poor humour took another route when Phillip, ever theatrical, decided to make their meeting into a night of comedy, yelling before she’d had the chance to speak and then sitting down just as abruptly. Merlin, he was so confusing, whenever she thought she understood anything about him, something always happened that made her assumption disappear like leprechaun gold under the light of the sun.

“Well, if I had ever thought you were tedious,” Alex said, exaggerating the emphasis in the hope of avoiding further confusion,  “you certainly disproved it with that display,” the words came with only the slightest indication of bitterness, probably not the best idea since Phillip was quick to rile, so she busied herself tipping another glass before replacing the bottle on the table, deliberately closer to Phillip than her – because that would prevent her from drinking, obviously.

Half-standing in concern, Alex immediately regretted her decision when Phillip, whose unpredictability was due at least in part to his poor decision making, attempted to down the entire bottle. “Are you alright, Kinsey?” the Ravenclaw asked, her curiosity not clinical in the least, pulling the bottle gently away from him and waiting for his face to return to a more normal hue – unless – that couldn’t be a blush, surely? Leaning forward unconsciously, Alex’s lips curved into a smile that would have been irresistible even if she had tried to resist it, at the realisation that Phillip was turning scarlet, not because of drink, but because, she hoped presumed, of her.

When had that happened, exactly?

“You just drank most of the bottle,” the Ravenclaw drawled, the impression she was trying to give slightly ruined by the pink stain on her cheeks, present even though she was now leant back against her chair, back straight and eyeing the meniscus of the remaining firewhiskey with irritation, as though by sheer force of will she could increase the volume of liquid. It was a frown that only intensified at his suggestion, which seemed like it would end with Phillip choking himself to death on a shot that went down the wrong way.

“Like a donkey?” Alex suggested, head tilted to one side, but smiling again; Phillip, even when doing extremely stupid things (rather than his usual selection of low to middling stupid things), was almost distressingly easy to smile at, especially when he was smiling too. Able to recognise a challenge when she was presented with one, her smile showed a sliver of teeth, pale even when compared to her skin, and she lifted her glass, inclining her head in a toast before downing it.

“Please, explain the rules of your game.” The noise that the tumbler made seemed louder than usual, and she tapped her index finger against it idly, her other hand supporting her chin while she stared expectantly at Phillip.

"Fine, 'm fine, everythin's fine" he said still trying to clear his throat and wish his flush away. "Anyway, the game, the game. Right, just a mo'—Laddie! Ye, you with the sour face! Ye 'ave any tequila? Mint! Bring a bottle, two shot glasses, salt and lemon! Riiiight" Phillip finished with a frown as the boy muttered something at him, throwing his towel on the bar.

"Wha's wrong with him?" Phillip grunted as he turned to look at Alex when he was once more astoundingly hit by her beauty and his ridiculous crush on her and his flush appeared again with no shame whatsoever. 'Bloody hell, Kinsey, yer whipped. Yer whipped good' his unhelpful brain mentally voiced out his conclusion. He cleared his throat and shook his head before looking at a dent in the table and suddenly slapping himself on the forehead. Because that would be awfully helpful. Brain damage, was not something he needed. He had enough, thank you.

"Soooooooo-" he said finally looking at her. Well, sort of at her. Well, no—more like at a spot near her face, that happened to include a drunk old man making faces at his empty glass. Which prompted Phillip's rather confused expression. "Rules. Well, we're going to play a slightly modified version of I have never that me and the boys play. D'you know it?" he asked before plunging into an explanation without actually waiting for her answer. "Anyway, it goes like this: someone—let's say me. Me. I say I've never... Never... Hmmm. I've never snogged a goat" he finally exclaims happily, before horror etches in his face. "Which obviously, I haven't. The point is. You've never snogged a goat either—Have you?" he suddenly asked horrified, before shaking his head and laughing at himself. "No, of course ye haven't. That's just silly" he swallows around a very uncomfortable knot in his throat. "So, if you've done the thing that the other person says, yer supposed to drink. If not, ye don't. If someone says something, that no one has ever done, and therefore no one drinks, the one that says the I never has to drink and go again. 'm I making any sense ta ye?" he asks straining his neck to look for the bar boy.

"Look" he says without leaving her any time to talk "if I say I've never used Alohomora, we're both obviously going to drink. You drink, because you've done it, while I drink as penalty, because I'm obviously lying. Yer only supposed to say things ye've never actually done. Now, the wizarding version includes this tiny li'l spell that taps into yer heartbeat? Ye know, supposedly yer heart goes mad as toast when yer lying, so this registers if it goes haywire and yer lying, or sum'it, and lights up. They never actually explained it to me, ta be honest..." he said pensively. "Oh look, laddie boy, that took a while. Jesus, stop that, yer eyes are creepy. Thank ye" he said as the waiter once again attempted to murder the table with their order. He got his wand out and without even waiting for Alex's input he swished the wand around the bottle and two strands of magic wrapped around their chests and disappeared. "Hope I got that right" he muttered before filling the shot glasses. "So, I suppose I go first. I've never... had a pet" he said frowning at his own lack of imagination.

Following the garbled explanation Phillip provided was challenging, especially with the added damper of alcohol muddling her ability to process information and focus on things other than wondering what Phillip’s hair would feel like, but the basic rules didn’t sound too complex, so despite her uncertainties regarding some situations, she nodded her agreement to his game, assuming Phillip would be able to gloss over them as they arose, “So, the aim is to think of something that I’ve not done, but that you have,” she summarised, although since it was a game with alcohol involved the actual aim of the game was to get very drunk, ideally in an amusing and possibly humiliating fashion.

She offered the waiter a perfunctory smile in exchange for his increasingly angry service, although her motivations were more concerned with how much grumpier Phillip became when the waiter was around than any kind of gratitude. His reactions were almost sweet, but not so much so that she didn’t want to aggravate him further. Childish, perhaps, and certainly reminiscent of the juvenile act of pulling pigtails, but watching him glare made her smirk, shrinking it to a minute smile, the appropriate size for amusement at his outlandish examples, when his attention returned to her. If he knew she was doing it to needle him, it ruined half the fun.

“Do owls count?” Alex asked, because there were so few wizards who owned one – although it was possible that, as a muggle born, Phillip hadn’t ever been given one and instead preferred to use the school owls when sending correspondence, or possibly preferred not to send correspondence at all. “What if they’re practically feral and act like not eating you,” she held up one hand, pointing to the scar on the side of her palm as proof, “is some kind of favour?” It was a half-hearted attempt at avoiding losing – well, she assumed that having to drink meant losing, and even if she discounted Alba, they’d had a family cat when she was young which had disappeared without explanation, presumably because it had got into another fight, against an opponent less worn by previous battles. Sighing, she reached for the first shot glass, tipping it back before replacing it on the table.

“That makes it my turn to think of something, right?” she confirmed, her finger circling the rim of the glass she’d just emptied while she tried to think of something she was reasonably confident that Phillip had done. “I’ve never…” this was more difficult than she had thought; trying to remember something that she hadn’t done was almost a contradiction in terms. Frowning, she looked at the grain of the wood rather than at Phillip, the only idea that came to mind horribly dull and likely to make Phillip groan, again, about Ravie smart-arses. “Oh, I’ve never played this game before.” It was uninspired, and a little like cheating, but it was all she had been able to think of on the spur of the moment, so it would have to do.

“So, if you have played before, you drink?” because the rules mostly passed with her staring at Phillip with the attentive expression that she used in class when bored – not that she’d been bored while staring at Phillip. Just distracted.

"Yes, owls count" he said with a frown. "Owls are sorta animals, therefore sorta pets" he continued, now actually rather confused by the concept. Kinsey found himself fascinated by the scar on Alex's hand... and his brain was somehow providing him with images of finding out the exact shape, and original depth of it... with his tongue. "Tha' was one barmy owl..." he whinged and swallowed around a knot in his throat, eyes still glued to her hand.

"Sorry, wha'?' he asked, upon the realization of her talking and him still... staring and intently imagining things. It was bloody hot in this wretched pub. "Ye, ye I drink" he said, feeling blindly for his glass while staring at that scowler from before. He threw the contents of the little shot glass down his throat and put it back on the table with a little more force than needed. This was all about to go pear shaped if he didn't do something. And fast. So he took a moment, looking at her, then at the bottle, then back at Harpy, when he finally stopped and grinned with all his newtons.

Still grinning like some bell-end scally he gave both glasses a refill and settled back in his seat. "I ne-ver" he drawled the second syllable of the word with a lopsided grin "I never snogged someone at the castle" he finished with a smug look, just in time for the spell to create a blinking red light over his chest. "Would ye look at that... Apparently I get sorted with a penalty drink" he said, falsely resigned before emptying the contents of the glass.

Oh the game was on. Phillip had no problem 'sacrificing' his sobriety for the sake of making things more interesting. And he planned for his nevers to get much worse, much randier and surely to do yer knapper in. He extracted his pack of stogies from the inside pocket of his jacket and lit himself a cigarette. While lazily exhaling the smoke, he settled his head on one hand and wagged his eyebrows at her. "There's some'it missing for this game ta be proper top, ye know?" he mused with a smirk. "Ye can't have a mint game without a winner and a loser and some sort'a prize..." he dragged from his cigarette. "So, I propose... the loser -and in the case of this drinking game, the loser is whoever emptied fewer glasses - so, the loser, has to snog the winner, hmm" he said with a grin and both eyebrows arched in a sure sign of smugness.

Alex wasn't distracted enough by watching Phillip exhale smoke to miss what he was saying, not that it wasn't an attractive distraction, and her eyes widened momentarily before she affected unconcern. She suspected, however, that he hadn't missed the flicker in her expression. Sighing, she reached for her glass, a finger circling the rim idly while she considered her answer.

“You could at least have pretended that you weren’t making up the rules as blatant exploitation of my inebriated state and better nature,” she drawled, the deliberate lengthening of syllables barely preventing her from tripping over the words and stuttering through the sentence - although she wasn’t so sure that she’d said inebriated correctly. Or exploitation.

But she didn’t disagree. It wasn’t like a kiss was so high a price to pay, and Phillip was attractive, and she was attempting to justify herself.

It was obvious, reasonably swiftly, that Phillip was playing to lose, or, according to his nonsensical rules, to win, and Alex was happy to let him do so, reasoning that since she had now been conned, whether willingly or not, into kissing him, or being kissed by him, imbibing minimal quantities of alcohol was the best course of action.

Still, it was a more enjoyable game than she’d expected, even if Phillip’s lewd suggestions made her face heat up more than once, particularly when she had to drink. It was embarrassing, especially when Phillip’s mouth went round when she lifted her glass, before easing into a smirk at her expense, wide and infuriatingly superior, as though he hadn’t just emptied his glass as well, and she had to either stare at his arrogant expression as though she couldn't care less, or stare at her glass to avoid looking at him.

Finally, though, Alex called the game to a halt – Phillip was a bottle ahead of her, and since he was trying to lose, or to win if she accepted his ludicrous rules, there was no way she would catch up to him. “You’ve lost. Or won. Your rules are stupid.”

He was so smug, it was just - did he have to be such a prat about everything? Especially since, either way, they’d have ended up kissing, because he was a cheater. “If you don’t lean forward, I’m not bothering,” Alex informed him, half-standing and sliding the empty glasses aside, a hand resting on the table lightly to give her something to balance against.  As she leaned forward slightly, her eyes drifted from Phillip's eyes to his mouth, following the curve of it with a now vested interest, wondering why on earth she'd ever thought it was a good idea to agree to any of this.

"Me rules are not stupid. 'M not havin ye dissing me rules. Me rules are doodey" he muttered with a lopsided grin, looking bolody ridiculous on his obvious drunk kipper. He was probably more amused than he should be at her obvious discomfort, but he was a mingey arse, and she should've known that by now. Wasn't like she was awfully sound, for 'aving stuck around so far... But she 'ad some clemmies—actually goin' for his penalty snog. But he supposed with the booze and all, she ought to be shaped like a bloody wooden duck by now. He was no better. Ratted didn't even begin to cover his current state o' mind, he was dead 'ammered. Pretty sure, he'd be sparking out soon, as a matter of fact, or get a savage headache in the morning.

His mind came back on course when he heard her speak, and when he turned to see 'er half-standing ready for their snog, his bloody throat went on strike and he choked. On air. He recovered quickly, standing himself, but not before awkwardly wiping his palms on his jeans. Skrieking! 'S not like he was suckin face the first time, what the bloody hell was wrong with him?! He cleared his voice taking a a deep breath, and tha was that. His  shed of a head cleared out immediately. 'S not like it was that hard really—the second his eyes were on her lips, his entire circulatory system redirected the flow... elsewhere.

He raised his hand, slowly, a small smile at the corner o' his lips and he settled his thumb on her chin, tipping her head back  a sec. He almost shat himself and wanted to make a run for it like the mard arse he was when he, stupidly decided to look into her eyes, but once his gaze was back on her lips, slightly open, and damn perfect, it was all fine and dandy in Kinsey land. He leaned down, slowly, licking his lips as he drew closer to her. He was tentative at first. Merely pressing his mouth to her stupid soft lips—like baby flying Jesus, really soft, mentally berating himself, for thinking on how perfectly their mouths seemed to fit together. But then, it was like something got his mad up, and it was all wet and thorough and intense, worrying his teeth into her bottom lip until he had her open up, sliding his tongue in to lick into her mouth, tasting the tequila on both their tongues. His other hand grappled for a hold, settling at the back of her neck, and tangling it into her hair to grip gently, while turning her head just a tad for better access.

It was mind-bogging, how spine-tingling the entire thing was. And he was pretty sure, that were the darn table not between them, he would've forgotten about the pub entirely and he'd just jump over the table to press their bodies together and trap her in a hot, searing embrace. But, as it were, his luck was a mithering daft apoth and just as he was losing himself in th' snog, some mingin scally started skriking something 'bout decency and teenagers these days and whatever the bloody hell not. He opened his eyes just a li'l, straightening his knapper and bit slowly into her lip, dragging it slowly, only to let it go as he was leaning back. He dragged the hand at her chin, slowly down her neck, settling it on her shoulder and finally looked at her. His eyes were glazed and half open, he knew that, he also knew his air supply was currently on a shortage and his heart was probably hammering its way to a bloody heart attack. He lowered his eyes to look at her lips again, glistening in the shabby light of the pub and he was instantly aware of how right it all was. Obviously, he'd probably beat himself with a broom and a dustpan in the morning, but everything was pure mint right now.

For the first time in his life, Phillip Kinsey had absolutely nothing to say about what just happened...

Alex’s nerve, despite the supposed ability of alcohol to induce bravery, failed her, and she faltered just before the distance between them was closed, unable to lean forward the centimetres needed. It was a relief when Phillip did it for her, his hand warm against her cheek, and the sigh she made was inaudible, and then she didn’t have to think, or more accurately, couldn’t, at least not sensibly. Unsurprisingly, Phillip tasted of the alcohol they’d been consuming so liberally, sharp against her lips, almost stinging, and it almost made her want to recoil despite the dampening effect her own drinking had placed on her ability to taste it, but she didn’t, leaning in instead, her hands lifting without her input, hovering at the back of his head uncertainly before settling on his hair.

When Phillip leant back, she almost leant forward with him, but she had managed to retain enough sense not to; if nothing else, there was a table between them, one which at some point during the kiss had begun to dig into her stomach slightly. She lurched back, stumbling and falling heavily into her chair, staring at Phillip with – with what? Alex was torn between thinking she’d made a terrible mistake (because she’d just kissed Phillip Kinsey), thinking that it had been an excellent idea (because she’d just kissed Phillip Kinsey), and leaning forward again. Unfortunately, her thinking was more than a little slow, because she’d imbibed more than a little alcohol and she’d just kissed Phillip Kinsey.

In other words, her panic was beginning to outshadow the… other feelings caused by the kiss, and the more she stared at Phillip, the more his appearance fuelled the confused mess of feelings. She’d thought it would be a simple thing – after all, it was just a prize for the stupid game they’d been playing, but now that she thought about it, that was a stupid expectation, and there was absolutely no way in which thinking, or more likely overthinking, the importance of this was a good idea. Especially because it was Phillip, who flirted with everyone on reflex.

Swallowing a little, she tried to scratch together enough coherency of thought to say something, but when Phillip was sitting there like that – staring at her like that – it was difficult to achieve. Instead, she stared a little more, feeling trapped by his gaze, which was firmly on her mouth, but unwilling to look away from him, taking in where his hair was ruffled from her hands running through it.

Like her initial courage in leaning forward, it died, and she stared downwards, reaching uncertainly for the bottle she’d moved aside earlier, lifting it hopefully. Really, the only sensible course of action was to get even more horrendously drunk and hope that Phillip had forgotten everything in the morning. Taking a gulp, she kept her eyes on Phillip, putting the now empty glass down with satisfaction. Since Phillip was still incapable of doing anything, which was making her increasingly uncomfortable and seemed grossly unjust since it was his fault they were in this situation anyway because he’d been the one who insisted upon kisses as a reward, it fell to her to take action and save them both from the supreme awkwardness.

Excusing herself might do it, but that would just make it worse later, and she had already established that she didn’t have the guts to just kiss Phillip, which left either further drinking or discussion the only option; neither seemed like a good idea. For all that he’d been so set upon stealing a kiss, Phillip was now completely failing to do anything about it – for instance, kissing her again, which seemed to Alex to be a fairly pleasant course of action, that wouldn’t involve any more painful silences.

Why could nothing be simple?

“So,” she began, pausing at the sudden widening of Phillip’s eyes, “Do you know any other drinking games?” It came out in a rush, almost hopeful, and she bit her lip uncertainly, hoping that Phillip would catch the intention of her words, although he was anything but subtle. That she’d leant forward slightly, not entirely deliberately, would probably help, but Phillip continually perplexed her.

Philip came back to reality crashing, when he found his hands not making contact with her skin anymore. He was just left there like a daft wupding—one hand in the air, suddenly feeling cold and wishing for the warmth of her shoulder back. What was she doing? Was she gonna spark him one out? Was she gonna run away? Did she just realize she made the worst mistake of her life? What the hell was going through her knapper? What the bloody fuck was she going to do?!

Phillip just stood there, completely ladged, eyes growing more and more alert, frozen in place, hand still propped on an invisible shoulder. Whoever said booze made the brain go slower obviously never met Phillip Kinsey because his bloody nappa was skriking with possible theories. His mind was sparking, his breath was stopping and his heart was drumming its way out of his chest and he was pretty damn sure he'd never been so terrified in his entire life. He gathered enough wits to sit back down when some spanner coughed so hard, Phillip expected his lungs to be all over his table. So he sat down, finally, but he felt like he was on his last ride on a train that wass making its way to a concrete wall in slow motion...

Thankfully, however, his body reacted better to reality than his brain did, so he turned to look at her. And it was bloody obvious. The silence may have been awkward like hell... but she's wasn't running like someone set her clothes on fire, she was not wiping her face going ewwww, instead she was actually sort of uncertain, but into it. Defo into it. His gaze fell back on her lips, and his brain was just out. Pitch black. Switched off. Nada. Well... something. He watched her with a sort of dreamy fascination as she downed her glass, and as if he had lost a couple of seconds, she was talking again.

He jerked a bit, preparing for the worst as she started with that bloody mingin' horrible 'so', but his eyes just grew bigger as she continued. He smiled a bit, just this side of smug and cheeky as he willed his eyebrow to stand the fuck down. Smug, wouldn't do it now. Nope. She leaned forward, but Phillip had other ideas. He stood up swiftly and pulled his chair right next to hers, taking the back of it in it arms. He skenned at her for a few seconds, from her waist to her eyes to end on her lips and his mouth opened as if on command. He leaned into the back of the chair tipping it forwards, putting something between them, because sweet baby Jesus if this was going' to pan out like the first time, there'd be no stopping Kinsey this time.

He put his hands under her chair and dragged it closer in one swift move, until their foreheads where this close of touching. He looked at her, just looked into those damn perfect blue eyes and it was just them again. Like some stupid girlflick where the world just fades out when the bloke and the girlie snog. Suppose it was based in reality. He breathed on her lips for a second, leaning in close, barely just brushing their faces together and lowering his eyes to her lips. He lifted a hand to her face to brush a strand of hair behind her ear and closed his eyes as he gently pressed their lips together. It was nothing like the first time. It was nothing like his usual snogging. It was slow building, and soft and warm, like he was taking the time to learn the shape of her mouth. And as his breath grew ever so heavy he gave a kiss to the corner of her lips and dragged his lips over her cheek to her neck, nuzzling into her hair as he exhaled sharply.

He gave a short kiss to the place where her neck meets her shoulder and brushed his nose upwards until they were cheek to cheek and he was breathing on her ear. "I'm peppered" he finally hummed in a low, rough voice. "But I 'ave a bottle o' Red Label back home" he rasped out, eyes still closed, breathing in the scent of her and the sweet lulling smell of tequila.

The lack of an answer perturbed Alex only for as long as it took for Phillip to move his chair round to be next to hers, and she stayed still watching him position himself closer, and closer again, to her. Her smile when he looked over her was nervous, despite her best efforts to make it otherwise. It was surprising how much she wanted to close the gap – the slightest tilt of her chin would do it – but instead, she stared, eyes flitting uncertainly from his eyes to his mouth, and her smile relaxing silently when she realised that he was staring at her just as intently.

If anyone were ever to ask – not that anyone ever would, because there was nobody here other than Phillip – then Alex would claim that the tiny sigh was born of relief that Phillip had been able to pick up on the suggestion, since usually nothing short of yelling in his ear while hitting him about the head seemed to get ideas through his thick skull. It wasn’t completely untrue, she was relieved (to some extent) that Phillip had realised what she was trying to suggest, but it wasn’t the reason for her sigh. That had far more to do with the unexpected gentleness of the kiss, and how warm Phillip felt.

It wasn’t like the last kiss, at all, and the change disconcerted Alex, or would have if she weren’t preoccupied with Phillip’s mouth refusing to leave her skin, a situation that was gratifying to her pride and made her breathe out soft and slow, too quiet for a sigh but almost there. Instead, she found herself curling her fingers in his hair, keeping his head close, and smiling like an idiot in her satisfaction and relief that he’d responded as she’d hoped. It would have been so embarrassing if he’d realised, and then rebuffed her, but she didn’t need to worry about that, if the way he’d kept their heads pressed together, barely an inch of space between them, was anything to go by.

And then there was the suggestion that reminded her sharply that they were in a pub, in full view of the general public. More importantly, that they didn’t have to be, and Alex found that she was reluctant, extremely so, to part with just two kisses. It wasn’t just that parting meant returning home, to sit with her family and be asked prying questions about where she’d been and what kind of hour she called this, but although she hadn’t expected this turn of events – and blamed Phillip for them, although she wouldn’t ascribe any of the usual negative connotations of the word to what had happened.

She wouldn’t call Phillip’s suggestion sensible, but it wasn’t as stupid as some of his other ideas, and she nodded in confirmation, aware that their proximity meant that he’d be able to feel the movement. “Yes,” she said anyway, rubbing a strand of hair between two fingers before moving back reluctantly. “We need to pay,” she pointed out, hand already digging in her pocket to get out the correct coinage. What she pulled out was a little higher than necessary, even accounting for a tip, but spending time counting out every last knut would be too time consuming.

Stepping close to Phillip, she paused, still uncertain, before wrapping an arm around him and looking up, “Go on then,” she added, “Or were you lying about the Red label?” she teased, smiling. Even if he were, she wouldn’t care.