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Alicia Spinnet-Pucey (_alicia_) wrote in finnigans_rpg,

“Personal invitation.” Alicia shivered; Adrian’s purr, his warm breath against the shell of her ear and his hand on her hip – an obvious staking of his claim on her – did things to her that made her wish for a bit more privacy. But this was good, this was thrilling, this delaying and playing in public. “A drink is a good start,” Alicia laughed, feeling a slight victory in the fact that he hadn’t ruled it out completely and far from doubting her own ability to get him on the dance floor. She’d have to be subtle, she knew that, but contrary to popular belief, Gryffindors could do subtle and probably better than anyone because nobody expected it.

Her fingers caressed idly over the small of his back as he ordered for them, and when he slid onto the bar stool, she came to stand between his splayed knees. She sent a small wave and a smile at the bartender when he brought them their drinks, and took a sip of her sparkling white wine. “I am,” she told him with a small lick of her lips, her hips already moving under his hands as she leaned in to put her mouth by his ear. “You can either join me or watch me,” she purred and pressed soft kisses to his jaw, his cheek and finally his lips, before she danced away from him, her eyes still on his.

Alicia was, by no means, a musical genius, not like her mother and brother were and by the looks of it her son, too. Sure, she could play the guitar and the piano, but only because she had practiced for years. She hadn’t just – unlike them – been able to learn it just like that. That, however, didn’t mean that the music didn’t affect her. It did. Greatly. It made it hard for her to stand still, as she gave in to the rhythm, raising her arms as her hips swayed, she felt free. Free of the responsibilities that was her everyday life. It wasn’t unlike flying, except here she didn’t have to worry about crashing or causing herself injury that would lead to concerns about Isla and Liam. She felt like a 26 year old woman, not the widowed mother of two who took care of a team of Quidditch players and numerous charity cases. She laughed with delight that Adrian watching her made her feel admired and wanted and when she closed her eyes for a moment, she was sure she felt him approaching. The hands that grabbed her hips from behind had her freeze, though. She couldn’t see who was behind her, but she was certain that it wasn’t Adrian. The hands were too clammy, the fingers digging in too tight and as one hand slid to her backside, she knew without a doubt. Adrian would kiss her too deeply in public, sure, and he would say things in a purr that had her body reacting in ways that were better suited for the bedroom, but he would never touch her like this, even in a club. “Get your hands off my arse,” she growled, turning to face the wizard who indeed wasn’t Adrian, but still managed to keep a good hold on her arse. “Or I will make your arms forever half an inch too short to scratch the permanent itch I’ll apply to your private parts in 5-4-3-“ and just like that, as she had her wand out, the hand disappeared, though Alicia kept scowling at the git, the light feeling of dancing now gone in favour of the pouty feeling of having been interrupted like this.