He liked going to bars. Dugan enjoyed stiff drinks, liked chasing loose women, and enjoyed the attention he got. He was a big man, and people noticed. Sometimes men would get drunk and stupid and even try to fight with him- he always won. It had been an uneventful day, and a relatively uneventful week since the attacks on the eleventh. The ministry was confused, they'd taken all the werewolves into custody, and they had no idea idea what they were dealing with. It was nice. He had read the newspapers and reveled in glory. It would have been more glorious, though, if Dugan had been given credit for the mayhem.

Dugan hadn't been at the bar long before he saw a good looking woman that he wanted to... get to know. She was attractive, well developed, and slamming back shots like a pro. He liked that in a woman. And, of course, the more she drank the easier a target she became. (Or so he originally thought.) After watching her for a few minutes, Dugan had slid onto the stool next to her and ordered a pitcher of beer for the both of them.

He'd easily struck up a conversation with her. Dugan was self assured and confident- that went a long way with women. And a lot of girls couldn't help being attracted to someone who could be dangerous. Women liked manly men. Besides- he was a MacDuff, and the MacDuff men were irresistible.

The pitcher was over half gone at this point, and as he lounged in the seat across from her, the wolf made no attempt to hide the lusty gaze he kept focusing on her chest. When she emptied her glass, he poured more into it and grinned. "Keep drinking like that and you'll put me to shame."

Margo was angry.  This was a typical state of affairs for her, she vacillated between ridiculously giddy and seething on most days, and today, just the sight of Kurby Bagnold made the hair on the back of her neck stand up with frustration.  He hadn’t talked to her in ages, not since their families tried to insinuate something was going on between them and apparently that meant he couldn’t even be her friend, as though they had no free will.  She should have known a man that surly was a momma’s boy and wouldn’t be able to resist the whims of mummy, which had to mean if they were seen together she would have a ring and some sort of manor with their names on it.  Laughable!   

So, the best thing she could think to do was go to the pub and pound a few back.  She wasn’t drinking casually tonight.  She was drinking to forget his smug idiot face and have fun.  She seemed to forget what having fun was like recently, particularly with the damages to the department and the high alerts and whatnot.  So, when she got home, she put on her favorite boots and dragon leather jacket to apparate to the pub.

It was one of those places she could go whenever and there were no real regulars – except maybe her, so she didn’t have to deal with seeing the same people over and over again, like she did at work or something.  Sometimes there was a familiar face, and the occasional awkward run-in with a drunken one-night stand.  But, other than that, Margo wasn’t really used to having consistent friends in this place.

So, when she walked in, she went straight to the bar and started to do shots.  She had time to think and drink, her favorite combination, of course, one of those things stopped long before the other did – and it wasn’t the drinking.  So when a pretty good looking guy, kind of scruffy, muscular, tall – she liked that, and she wasn’t going to turn down free drinks. 

So, she was chatting, flirting, enjoying her time with the larger, Scottish man, twirling her hair and making use of her assets, giggling at times – because the drinks made her giggle, for some reason.  She wasn’t drunk, just happy, bubbly - effervescent.  “I think I already have by the looks of it,” she laughed, taking a long draw from the newly refilled glass, tilting it toward him, “I’d catch-up if I were you.”

She had surpassed him- but that was for good reason. It took a hell of a lot more alcohol these days to get him drunk. Perhaps he had built a tolerance, maybe it was from the extra bit of strength he enjoyed from his... condition. Either way, he had less to drink so far- but he enjoyed watching her have it.

"Is that a challenge?" he asked, brow arched, waving the bar tender over with another pitcher. He picked up the one that was almost empty- drained it straight from the pitcher, then poured another glass for the two of them. "What do you say to a little contest then?" Dugan asked. "A friendly wager?" Dugan pushed the drink toward her.

"What say we make it interesting?" he suggested with a mischievous wink. "If I win, I think you should give me a little kiss... What do you want if you win?" he asked.

“A challenge….” She paused, mulling her mouth for a moment, something like a chewing sheep, though she thought she looked a little more graceful than that.  Wasn’t that the trick with most women?  Drinking always made a girl think she was being a sex kitten, unfortunately, the reality of the situation was usually something along the lines of a three legged platypus trying to swim through cement – not pretty.  This did not deter Margo, however. 

She was dauntless.    “Yes,” Margo finally chirped, “a challenge it is.”  Her throat rumbled with laughter and she lifted her nearly empty glass to her lips. As she took a sip, she raised her eyebrows, clearly to question his idea of a wager and when she lowered the now empty glass, unceremoniously wiped her mouth with the back of her hand – classy as ever – and leaned a little closer, a smirk on her lips, especially when she realized another glass was being pushed in her direction.  Beautiful. 

Wrapping her right hand around the glass, she nodded slowly, figuring she could take this up.  He’d probably get what he wanted anyway, Margo was not going to say otherwise, he was good looking with that sort of dangerous bad-boy edge she liked.  He also wasn’t swearing at her in the middle of the office, which, as it turned out, she really wasn’t a fan of. Enough of that, she reminded herself, no surly werewolf capture unit members around tonight – Thank Merlin!

“Mmmmm,” she hummed, leaning back again, scratching her chin as she crossed her prosthetic leg over her real one, “If I win… you pick up the tab for the whole night.”  She’d get her money’s worth, at least. “Ready to shell out some galleons?” she quirked a devious smile before taking another drink.  She was fully confident in her abilities. 

Dugan watched her wipe the beer from her mouth, grinning. He liked her mouth. And her eyes. And all of her other assets. He was hoping that this evening would end to his advantage- and that she would spend the night in his bed. Or, better yet, he'd spend the night in her bed. His dingy old apartment wasn't exactly the best place to take women. Most wouldn't go down Knockturn in the daytime, let alone in the dead of night with a large wizard like himself.

Her request for winning wasn't a bad one. Dugan figured that if he could win and still pick up the tab, it would help. He figured he had enough galleons to pay for it all. If not, they could just skip out on the check. It wouldn't be a big deal. "Sounds like a fair deal to me," he conceded.

Dugan watched her wrap her hand around her glass. "A few galleons is worth an evening with a beautiful woman," he told her. "I've certainly paid more," with a wink. "Right then- count of three." Dugan counted, and they both lifted the glasses. He watched her as he drank, letting her gain a bit of a lead before chugging his beer properly, slamming it down on the table, wiping his own mouth, while she still had a few gulps left.

He smirked at her, arrogant and confident. "Looks like you loose, sweet cheeks," he noted with a grin, leaning on the bar, looking at her with a hungry glint. She was damn lucky it wasn't his time of the month- or she'd be a tasty little morsel.

Margo could not help but laugh.  “Slow down Casanova,” she slurred, swaying a little on the seat.  Maybe she was a little drunk, but she reasoned in her head that she was not so very drunk that she could not do this.  She could absolutely win, even if she didn’t need to.  It wasn’t so much about the money, Margo had a very large trust fund that she dipped into whenever she needed anything.  She was set for life, thanks to her parents. 

She worked for fun, basically, and did everything in the same pursuit.  So, when he counted to three, she lifted her glass and tilted her head back, baring her throat for the world to see and gulping as fast she could.  She felt her hair brushing against her back and some of the beer was dripping out of the side of her mouth, she was drinking so quickly. 

Her drinking was not fast enough, it seemed though.  She dropped her mug as she finished and smacked it against the counter, only to find that he was very much done and slammed already.  Huffing a bit, having not really breathed during the whole thing, Margo could not, for the life of her, see how she lost.  “You cheat?” She questioned with serious eyes, well, serious and cloudy-glazed eyes. 

Frowning a little, Margo slithered off the chair, shaky on her feet for a minute and smirked deviously, “I guess, since I lost fair-and-square,” she giggled, “I owe you that kiss.”  Margo tripped forward a little, putting her hands out so they could rest against his (very hard) chest.  He smelled like beer, which she didn’t mind so much and leaned close, her brown eyes meeting his. 

“A bet’s a bet,” she laughed and leaned all the way, leaning down a little (as he was seated and she was standing at her full height), and pressed her lips to his.  He felt rough and gritty, just what she felt like she needed, and fell right into it.  Hook-line-and-sinker.

His chest wasn't the only thing that was hard after she pressed against him, and he caught her lips with his. She seemed more than willing- and he quickly tangled his fingers into the hair at the nape of her neck, tugging gently- restraining from sinking his teeth (fangs) into her. They were still in public after all- and he didn't need to get too far in public. It wasn't appropriate. Instead he carefully pulled himself away (making sure to help keep the drunker woman steady) and grinned.

"S'more than I bargained for," he commented, pulling her between his legs and snaking one arm around her waist. He thought about settling her onto his lap- but making his- uh- "problem" too noticeable would seem a tad desperate. Though Dugan had decided he would have Margo- there was no need to make her toss him a night of pity. If she was as fun as he suspected, then she was the sort of woman worthy of a repeat performance. But if she wanted to take notice while he had her so close- well, that was alright.

"What's say we make another bet?" he asked, using his free hand to push hair out of her face and tuck it behind her ear. "Think you're up for it? Or do I need to take you home? You look a bit wobbly on your legs."

Being dainty and delicate was not Margo’s thing.  She wasn’t the kind of girl that broke if you handled her the wrong way, hell; she had survived a feckin dragon attack.  So when he pulled her hair, it elicited some sort of visceral sound from the back her throat and  she was very easily pulled forward.  Margo was also not the type to put up a fight about some things, and this was one of those things.  She was drunk, angry at someone else, and as a result, pretty much willing to do whatever.  It was her life, after all, wasn’t it? 

Licking her lips as he extracted himself, Margo raised her eyebrows, “Then why stop?” she commented in a husky tone, steadying herself with his chest once again, shifting her weight from her prosthetic to her real leg, shifting just enough to notice a natural  male problem.  Margo, being the mature individual she was, started to giggle, repeating the shifting motion in a way that would be impossible to mistake for anything else. 

“Another bet?” her head moved with his hand, tilting back with the motion of his hand.  “Let me hear it,” she murmured, “take me home later.  Not ready yet,” she said indignantly, though her inability to form a complete sentence like a big girl might tell someone differently. 

Dugan growled softly when she shifted against his problem- twice. And that giggle. He hated it when girls laughed at him, and it would have flared his temper had she not invited him to take her home later. "Well, in light of that little comment- whether I take you home now or later," he said.

Oh- to hell with it. Dugan easily scooped her up, settling her securely in his lap. "I don't know if I can wait until later," he breathed into her ear. "I think I'm done playing cat and mouse for the time bein'." Dugan motioned for the bartender and had him pour two shots of tequila.

"How about we have these shots, I take you home, and teach you what a real Scottish man feels like." He picked up one of the shot glasses and held it to her lips. When she parted them, he poured in the tequila and kissed her again. "We go now, I pick up the tab. We go later- you pick up the tab. You're not the only woman in this bar making eyes at me all night."

At this point, Margo was like a very lanky rag doll.  She was easy to move and when she was tugged into his lap, Margo did not make any move to get away.  No, in fact, she leaned in and a shiver ran down her spine as he indicated that he might not be able to wait.  Margo steadied herself with her hand on his thigh, and turned her head a little to get in a nip on his jawline.  Apparently, when Margo was feeling very loose and free, she was biting. 

She couldn’t imagine he minded all that much and leaned back a little to watch him with those glazed over eyes motion for something.  She was in no state to do much of anything for herself and following his hand slowly, it seemed by the time her eyes made it to the bar, everything was already done and she had to slowly readjust her focus on him again, being given directions about taking a shot.  “Alright,” she announced –the first word in a while that was not obscured by any drunken slurring and she sat up a little straighter. 

When she was about to open her mouth to speak, the cool rim of the shot glass hit against her bottom lip and the liquid poured down quickly.  She gulped it, her mouth wet and slick, of course, seized for another kiss at the most opportune moment.  Margo smirked and listened to him, feeling an overwhelming tightness in her chest and nodded along enthusiastically, “We go,” she stated, sliding down off his lap and trying to take a steady step toward the door, though she still needed to use his leg to steady herself. 

She glanced over her shoulder at him, a drunken smile and half-lidded eyes glancing through her veil of dark hair wisps, “Let’s go, Boyo.” 

That was easy... Dugan thought as she hopped down, and started to walk away. He swallowed the last shot of tequila, paid off the bartender and gave him a large tip for putting up with how demanding the two of them had been, and quickly stepped in stride with her.

Dugan tucked on arm securely around her waist as they made their way toward the door. "Best we head to your place," he said. "Probably closer." And less disgusting. Which was his main concern. Maybe he could convince her to spend all day in bed with him tomorrow, too. That would be agreeable. Dugan needed it after the month he had. And, since Margo was a pureblood, he wouldn't have to feel guilty about it like he did when he found himself in bed with halfbloods now and again.

"You better make it worth my while after the coin I just put down for all the beer and liquor you inhaled," he said, leaning down take a nibble on her ear. She had started it by nipping at his jaw- he was only going to return the favor.

Once he was securing her ability to stand up, Margo felt each bump her hip bone made against his. See, this was the benefit of finding a man who was taller than her in a bar, which did not happen all that much.  In fact, Margo was usually the Amazon that was leading the pipsqueak away, and having to bend her knees and generally act like a dude, but right now, she was being wrapped and held and supported, which was nice. 

It was also necessary.  She tripped a little over her own boot and laughed at herself, nodding.  “S’not very far,” she slurred, being lead out of the door.  It wasn’t so far.  Usually, she would floo, but she didn’t know if she could pronounce where she wanted to go and didn’t want to end up in someone else’s flat again – that was completely embarrassing and really hard to explain to a screaming old lady and her husband ready to fire off all sorts of unforgivable…

Wasn’t gonna happen tonight, no siree, she told herself.  She was going to make it home, even though she couldn’t take a straight step to save her life on the cobbles, and she was so distracted by her ear being nibbled on.  Purring like a kitten, Margo leaned into him and shook her head. 

“I’ll take care of you,” she stopped them for a moment in the middle of the street and managed to feel comfortable enough to put her index fingers in his belt loops, and pull their hips together, breathing against his neck, near his ear, “and you won’t be disappointed,” she breathed before turning, leaving her right hand in his belt loop to pull him forward toward a building in the near distance – presumably where her flat was located. 

Dugan liked that she was tall enough to reach him- that didn't happen often. And she was against him, breathing, talking- promising him things he hoped she could deliver on. This girl was a hell of a lot more fun than any other pureblood he'd managed to get his hands on. He liked it. He was going to kiss her again when she turned, pulling him toward a building by his belt loops. Heh. Feisty. And impatient. Just like he felt.

"Better slow down," he said to her. "Don't need you falling. I'd rather not spend the evening at St. Mungo's when we're so close to home." Dugan pulled her back, hoping to keep her at a steady pace toward the building. "Looks like you need some help," he chuckled when she tripped again.

"You need me to carry you the last of the way?" he asked. Dugan wouldn't mind slinging her over his shoulder caveman style, carrying her to the door of her flat and throwing her in her bed (or on the floor- whichever she preferred).

Margo whined impatiently as she was tugged back, not wanting to slow down.  “I won’t fall,” she groaned, despite her tripping and glared over her shoulder, “I can do it.”  She was indignant, and wasn’t going to be treated like an invalid and with the front door so close, she could het there.  Of course, she did not imagine he liked being told what to do or when to do it, so Margo softened her features and smirked.

“Besides, you should save your energy,” she winked and then continued forward, steady pace maintained since she was not nearly strong enough to change it herself.  Margo wasn’t a porcelain doll, but this man was strong, very strong.  It was sexy. 

Before she knew it, they were in front of the door to the building and Margo pulled her keys from her pocket.  The way the flat was set up was there were two doors next to one another, one that stayed on the first floor, and one that went directly to stairs and up to the second floor.  Margo’s was, thankfully (for both her and her neighbors), the first floor flat and she shoved the key in the keyhole, roughly turning it to throw it open.

“Home sweet home.” She c commented, sauntering into the entryway and shrugging off her jacket, dropping it to the floor with an unceremonious thud.  Tripping against the wall, one hand bracing herself low and the other above her head, eyes closed and laughing, “watch your step!”