Teague sat at the bar, his guitar case resting on the floor, the strap hooked around his foot. He had a drink in front of him,... and several empty glasses scattered nearby, evidence that it had been a long night thus far. He downed the contents of the latest drink, made a face, then leaned forwards on the counter on his elbows. Considering his nearly stress-free lifestyle, one would think the musician wouldn't have any need to get smashed, forget his troubles. One would never guess that he had any.

His dark hair, damp with sweat, hung over his face. It was impossibly warm in this place. He wiped the back of his hand across his face, the black, ragged cloth glove scraping across his skin. Teague appeared scruffy as usual, but no one gave him a second look, for which he was very thankful.

His smoky blue eyes were swimming with the haze that had settled in his head from all the drinks he'd had. He felt pleasantly light,.. now if only it wasn't so hot in here, everything would be perfect.

A pair of slender, manicured fingers walk up his arm and across his shoulders. A sugary sweet voice from red lips croons, "Hey there, handsome," in the musician's ear. A smell of lilacs and vanilla. A faint jingling, from the jewellery that adorns this not-so-nameless beauty's ears and wrists.

Teague, meet Jetta.

We all know Jetta. If there's a remotely attractive guy within two blocks, chances are she'll find him, flirt with him, and probably bring him home for adult entertainment.

Is it just me, or does she need a hobby? Oh, wait, this is her hobby.

He turned his head very slowly, looking at the newcomer with a dazed sort of interest. One hand fluttered up, and (after a near-miss) pushed his hair away from his face. A dimly amused smile pulled at his lips.

"H'lo, there, lovely," he replied liltingly, only slurring his words a little. "F'rgive me my rudeness, but haven' you missaken me for somebody else?"

Jetta's hand wandered from his shoulder to his neck, where it traced the beginnings of his spine. If she ever tried, those long fingernails could probably do some serious damage, you know?

"No, I don't think so, honey."

Who in the world would she have mistaken him for? He was much scruffier than her usual boy, but my, my, he was delicious. He was certainly worth an evening or so.

"Ah, really, Jetta? I didn't think I was your type," he said, with a drowsy smile. He was much less careful about immediately using people's names when he was drunk. He blinked slowly as her hand ran over the back of his neck, then he shut his eyes, muttering, "Mmmm...'s nice, that."

Blink, blink.

"How'd you know my name, honey?" The overly sweet tones were slightly suspicious now. Ordinarily, boys waited for her to introduce herself before they called her by name.

She did not, however, stop caressing him.

"I'm ... v'ry intuitive," he said amiably, without opening his eyes. "Natural gift."

Leaning on the counter and smiling like that, - the very tips of his ears poking through his mess of hair- he resembled nothing so much as a skinny, half-asleep alley cat. One could almost imagine him purring.

"Uh huh."

Well, it's a better answer than 'I've been stalking you.' Though, knowing Jetta, she would probably be flattered that someone found her interesting enough to stalk. After she was through freaking out and calling the police.

"What's your name, honey?"

If he starts acting like a creepy stalker, she'll find someone else cute(r ).

"Wwwell,..." he said, opening one eye in a slit, so it appeared to be a pure liquid blue, "I'd have you guess, but that might take forever, and I don't know if you have that much time,... so you can call me Teague, Jetta-girl. Just Teague. That should do."

His smile brightened for a moment while he was talking. He nudged at one of the empty glasses in front of him, to move it away. He'd had enough for one night - he knew his limits. One more and he'd pass out for sure. He had a pretty high tolerance, but he knew when not to push his luck.

"Teague." She rolled it on her tongue in that flattering sort of way that people say names that they like. Or names of people they like, maybe.

"Is this how you plan to spend your entire evening, Teague-honey?"

I suppose I should mention that her hand is wandering and is no longer anywhere near his neck. (Though it is still on his spine.)

Can we say 'slut'?

He shrugged a shoulder.
"Mmyeah. If I could be said to have plans,... sitting 'ere all night and gazing into a glass - that would be it. I'd throw a few good drinking songs into the mix as well, but I think I'm a bit off-key tonight, and the other patrons don't seem to like my singing," he said, with a pretend pout.

"Oh, but that's not any fun."

Now her hand is aiming for places that would be considered off-limits except on much longer acquaintance. (She's even more brash than usual, probably because he's drunk, and thus, his sense of boundaries should be easier to push aside.)

"There are much more interesting things to do in the evenings, when you're drunk."

He shifted uncomfortably, making it look as if he was leaning back and stretching, when really he was making an attempt to get her hands off him. Still, the part of his mind that would usually forbid him to let her touch him was the first one to go when he started feeling hazy, and he soon relaxed again.

"More interesting than off-key singing? Really?" he said, sounding pleasantly disinterested. His hand floated up to her face and slid down her cheek. He was frowning slightly as if he was trying to focus on something. "You... have a very lovely face..." he said ponderously.

"Mhmmmmmm," she purred.

Maybe she figured out that she was making him uncomfortable--or maybe she was just teasing--but her hands wandered back up to his neck and began to give him a shoulder rub.

She didn't answer his compliment. She didn't have to; she knew she had a very lovely face.

He rested his chin in his arms, sleepily watching Jetta from the corner of his eye.
"Mm, that feels nice,... carrying around a guitar all day tenses me up quite a bit..." he mumbled innocently, then added something totally incoherent that sounded like, "I nefhem gesshera arless wish..."
Translation, just for curiosity's sake : I'd never guess you're a heartless witch.
It was probably lucky that she wouldn't be able to decipher that.

Jetta would probably have dug those claw-like nails into his shoulders--and drawn blood, even!--if she had understood what he'd said. Fortunately, she did not, and simply smiled as she continued to massage his shoulders and work her way down his back.

Sooner or later, she's going to haul him into her car. (But not to her apartment. He's not important enough, you see.)

Bending down, she murmured in his ear, "Like that, honey?" She knows he does. She just wants to hear him say it. (Again.) Her breath probably tickled his ear; she's awfully close.

"Oh, abs'lutely," he replied, shutting his eyes again and tilting his face forwards into his arms, letting his hair fall all over the place. If he was any more relaxed, he would have melted onto the floor.
"...Feels wonderful," Teague sighed earnestly.

"Mmmm," she purred.

But she doesn't want him quite this relaxed. Relaxed is harder to tease.

Her hands drift downward again.

No, she doesn't have any interest in observing personal space. I doubt she's even heard of it.

He sat up, one of his hands flying back to catch one of her wrists. He held on very lightly - it wasn't as if he was disliking this,... he just had this nagging feeling that he shouldn't be liking it.
"Ah-ah," he cautioned, smirking drowsily at her and teasing, "Careful , there. I'm awf'ly ticklish."

"Oh, are you."

Shouldn't give Jetta ammunition for teasing, Teague. She uses it, you see.

Thus, she tickles him. This gives her an excuse to bring her hands around to the front and tickle his belly. (Though, knowing Jetta, I doubt they'll stay near his stomach for very long.)

Teague didn't just say he was ticklish because he wanted to tease her - he actually was very ticklish. So when she started tickling him, he tried to struggle away from her, chuckling. His flailing knocked over the drink of a person sitting next to them.
"Oh...Sorry!" Teague said, between chuckles, trying to protect himself from Jetta's tickle-attack by wrapping his arms around his front, "I'm mos' terribly sorry, do believe me..."
The man grumbled something and moved to a safer spot to order another drink.

Jetta grinned a delighted, almost innocent sort of grin. (No, I didn't know she could do innocent either. Especially not in this situation. How odd.)

"Silly man." Hey, he gets called a man, instead of a boy. Does that mean anything...? No, probably not.

She does not let up on her attack, though. And her hands are getting lower and lower.

Whore.

"Ha ha- no, stop, stop it-!"
Maybe on purpose - or maybe not, considering how utterly smashed he was - Teague fell backwards off his chair, landing heavily on the floor. Well, at least she'd stopped tickling him. He wobbled to his feet, holding his sides from laughing so hard. One hand found it way to the counter, so he could hold himself up.
"Can't breathe..." he gasped, an occasional giggle bursting from him as he tried to catch his breath.

A low amused sound comes from the back of Jetta's throat as she reaches out and takes the hand that is not holding on to the counter, and pulls.

The idea? Pull him up, pull him close, if he's leaning on her he can't run away.

He probably can't run away anyway, all things considered, but she likes to be in control, this, er, lady. Lady being a relative term.

"Whoa, careful," he said, not resisting her at all to the point where he nearly fell into her, "I'm not quite steady on my feet this evening, forgive me... It's a bit of a carousel in here, to my eyes."

My, he thought vaguely, gazing at Jetta's face with a bemused expression, I think it's been quite a while since I last kissed a girl. Wonder what it feels like...
And with only that thought guiding his fogged-up brain, he leaned in and very deliberately kissed her.
Oh, now I remember.

This is unusual. Jetta seems to have a knack for picking out the guys who have to be coaxed into every little thing.

It's nice to have the guy making the moves for a change. But she doesn't like it quite enough to keep him. (Always assuming that Teague would want to be kept, and since he's a fairly sensible man, he probably wouldn't.)

That's not all that important, though. She kissed him back.

Mmm, tasty. She could do without the alcohol breath, though.

Then again, Jetta's not really as picky as she pretends to be.

He smiled dizzily, reluctantly pulling back. He touched his fingers lightly to her lips, and then to his own, and then just... stared at them for a while, looking completely mesmerized. I did that. It felt nice,... 'n tingly. Not bad. Should do it again sometime.

Sometime? How about, oh, right now?

This time, Jetta kissed him.

She has a remarkable amount of practice at this. That probably says something not terribly nice about her, too.

Or right now. Right now was good too. He hadn't been planning on going any farther with this,... he hadn't actually been planning anything at all.
Oh, what the hell.
So, he kissed back, perhaps with more force than Jetta was using. Involuntarily, his hand slid up the back of her neck and his fingers tangled in her hair, close to her scalp.

Teague might not have been planning anything, but Jetta probably was. She was always planning something. (You'd think her boys'd notice that.)

Pleased with his cooperation, she began to pull away, toward the door, and tugged him with her. It wasn't as much fun when one was actually somewhere public. There simply wasn't as much to do.

Men are so easy to manipulate; she loves to do it so much.

He was easy to lead - swaying slightly, and entirely under her control. They were nearly out the door. Then he stopped, uttering, "Shit!" before turning back and ducking down to grab his guitar. He held Lucinda up to show her. "Couldn't f'rget this. Sorry."
He swung the guitar case onto his back.
"'Kay, I got it."

Jetta smiled.

"Of course you couldn't," she answered, shrugging. As long as he was still putty in her hands, she didn't care about the guitar.

Speaking of her hands, she put one on each of his shoulders and resumed drawing him out the door.

Smiling like he hadn't a care in the world, he swayed out the door. Only when the fresh air hit his face did he realize they were actually changing locations. "Wher're we going?" he asked, "'S this a smoke break? 'Cause I don't smoke, you know. Not anymore. 'S a poisonous habit to get in."
Says the man who's so drunk he should have fallen on his face by now.

"Not a smoke break." Her eyes sparkled in the light from the bar. So did the earrings and necklace, but that's beside the point. (Speaking of the necklace, its main purpose seems to be to draw attention to her cleavage.)

"I just don't like to have an audience." Liar.

She kissed him again and played with his hair. He has nice hair, you know that? Very touchable.

He shut his eyes and kissed back, allowing his, shall we say base instincts, to take over. Some people are capable of keeping themselves under control, no matter how intoxicated they get. Teague is one of those unfortunates who can't do that, and does the first thing that pops into his mind. In this instance, what comes to mind is pressing her against the wall in front of them, holding onto her, one hand travelling through her hair from the base of her skull.

He's going to sincerely regret and be sickened by this later.

She made all the appropriate noises--this was altogether too easy, but what did she expect when picking on a drunk? Maybe this would be excusable if she were drunk too, but she's not. Also I doubt she'd be excusable in any state at all--and let her hands wander down his back.

The wall is nice, but the car would be better.

Teague finally had to come up for air, so to speak - though with the intensity of it all, maybe the author wasn't merely being figurative. He cupped both hands to the sides of her face and leaned forward so that their foreheads touched (he had to stoop a little), his hazy blue eyes fixed directly on her eyes.
For a moment, he seemed like he was going to say something intelligent, but -
"...my goodness,..." he murmured finally, giving a soft sigh.

Jetta smiled. (She's always smiling, you notice? Even when she's angry.) A pleased kind of smile, as if she was of the opinion that maybe Teague was a little more than he looked like.

"Enjoying yourself, honey?"

She knows he is. Again, she just wants to hear him say it.

"If I wasn't would I have done it?" he said, as if he was speaking to himself rather than her. Then he added, "Yes. Yes I'm enjoying it. I believe I am."

The difficult thing was, he wasn't sure. The only thing he was feeling right now was happiness,... though that may have nothing to do with Jetta.

A small laugh.

"Want some more?"

It's a wonder that she doesn't have an STD or something.