Charlotte Dearborn has an answer to everything (brokenvows) wrote in throwingstones, @ 2010-04-25 00:03:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | ! complete, [april 1979], charlotte dearborn, constantine travers |
Who: Constantine Travers and Charlotte Dearborn.
When: Saturday evening
Where: Stan's house in London
What: Drinking.
Rating: PG-13
Status: Completed log.
Charlotte had every intention of going to see Alice; she had headed out the door, ready to see her best friend and get thoroughly drunk off her face because that was the only way she was going to cope with her disastrous evening, but had caught herself before she Disapparated. Biting down on her lip, she glanced behind her at the house and rolled her eyes dramatically; why did Malcolm have to be so difficult? Apparating onto a street she hadn't seen for years, she hugged her stomach protectively, feeling uncharacteristically vulnerable. Why had she come here of all places? She needed Alice; she needed dependable Alice who always had a bottle on hand for her, who always knew exactly how to swear and curse the men in her life, who was always able to cheer her up with the right insults and jibes. But she was here now and Charlotte had never backed down before; so, albeit reluctantly, she pulled her hair away from her face and quickly knocked on the door before she could change her mind. Folding her arms over her chest, she stepped back from the door and tilted her chin up in defiance. Stan had none of the problems in his life that Charlotte did. For once, things were going well: he had been punished for his short-comings and given a chance to prove himself, and he felt that he had performed admirably so far. It had born in him a new thirst to be much better than the rest of the Outer Circle, something he had not been particularly driven about before. He had spent the better part of the evening training, and had just sat down to reward himself with a good book and an even better scotch while listening to some of the new music that had been sent to him from work. Not ten minutes had gone by before he heard a knock on the door. Brow furrowed, he picked up his wand and walked to the door. People did not knock on his door. Mostly, his family were the only ones who visited, and they did so by bursting through the fireplace. He peered through the peep-hole and oh, how he smirked. Stan suppressed a satisfied chuckle when he put his hand on the door handle, giving himself a moment. Of course, there was a possibility she was here to arrest him on suspicion of being a Death Eater, but he had a feeling she had something else on her mind. Wiping the smirk from his mouth, he opened the door. The smirk came back, try as he might to fight it. "Greene." Stan said, lifting his glass to her, "Long time no see. " Despite the years that had gone by, the toll her marriage had taken on her, the way her pregnancy had altered her body, Stan still saw her as the same girl he had been with all those years ago. He made no attempt to hide the fact that he was looking her up and down, drinking her in. "Can I do something for you?" As soon as the door was opened, Charlotte knew it had been a bad idea to come here - and yet, despite regretting it, she found herself taking in Stan as he was doing to her, frowning as she tried to assess how much he had changed. Not as much as she thought he would have, truth be told. "No," she answered reactively, glancing away from him. "I was bored," she continued, trying to make her voice as off hand as possible. "And I thought there's only other person who's sad enough to be home on a Saturday night." Charlotte couldn't resist throwing in an insult, her mouth twitching into a smile; sarcasm was what they both thrived on and it was immediately cheering her up. Stan mirrored her smile, opening his door a little wider. He gestured grandly that she should enter, calling her bluff. He took a sip of his scotch, measuring his words before he said them. "Bored," He teased the word out, "You were bored, and you thought you would come to visit an old friend you had not seen in years. Interesting." She hesitated for a moment, before following him into the house, kicking the door shut behind her. It was weird, being back in this house again. The last time she had been here - well, she was a dress size smaller for a start, and wasn't that a depressing thought? Shrugging, she folded her arms across her abdomen and fixed Stan with a look. "I couldn't keep insulting you over the journals," she answered blankly. "Now I can do it in person." Lucky him, huh. Stan chuckled, walking back into the lounge and not checking to see if she was following. He refilled his glass. Without asking her, he started about mixing the same drink she always had when she was with him. While shaking his cocktail mixer, he held up a hand to her to say he would be back, then wandered into his kitchen for the last ingredient. While there, he took the opportunity to cover his Dark Mark with a glamour, and then returned and handed her the glass of Long Island Iced Tea. "Let me get this straight - you came all the way here on a Saturday night to insult me." He lounged in his chair, "You could have stayed at home with your husband, or gone out with your friends, but you came here. Very interesting." Wandering through to the living room, she flopped down on the sofa and watched him make her a drink - make her her drink. Her stomach tightened as she realised that he still remembered what he used to make her, but she wasn't sure if it was out of flattery or guilt. But she frequently let men at the bars buy her a drink, so why was being made one any different? Raking her fingers through her hair, Charlotte accepted the glass, toying with the straw. "Thanks, I needed that," she muttered, sipping it gratefully. The nostalgic taste, coupled with the much needed alcohol, calmed her down and stopped her from fretting - for Merlin's sake, when did she ever fret? She took another sip, avoiding Stan's comment for as long as possible. "We argued," she said finally, dropping her chin a fraction; she didn't want to admit it to him, not when he spent so much time convincing her she was better off without her husband, but she couldn't help herself. "I didn't want to see Alice-- I thought I might as well-- Oh for fuck's sake, do you have to be so difficult?" she complained, huffing in exasperation. "I don't know, alright? I just fancied some company from someone who wasn't going to piss me off." She rolled her eyes and leant back into the sofa. "Clearly I got that one wrong." "Come on," Stan grinned, "We lived to piss each other off. It was what we did, in good humour." Stan leaned back in his chair, keeping his eyes fixed on Charlotte. Physically, she had not changed as much as she seemed to personally think. He could still see the woman he was so enamoured with from a young age, despite her blood status. She compensated for it by being a Slytherin, and his favourite one at that. However, he could see little marks of what her life had done to her, how her marriage had effected her. It was in the grim set of her mouth, the angry glint in her eyes. Although he did feel a little sorry for her - they had been friends once, he could sympathise - he felt mostly smug that he was right. He couldn't help but wonder if he had anything to do with their fight. "What happened?" He asked, arching his brows as if to say I told you so. Charlotte continued to fiddle with the straw, swirling it around the glass. "I told you, we argued," she answered bitterly. "He stayed out all night to prove some ridiculous point, and then had the nerve to tell me I needed to grow up and be responsible." He was such a hypocrite, it made her blood boil. If anyone needed to grow up, it was him - and he should grow a backbone while he was at it. She was still pissed off that he had stayed out with Caradoc without telling her; it was probably Caradoc's idea as well. Everything was always his fault. "He doesn't get it," she blurted, searching Stan's eyes because she knew that he did get it. "I can't be domestic. I can't be boring. I want some excitement in my life that doesn't come from the DMLE! And I don't see what's so wrong about trying to be happy," she murmured into her drink, knocking the rest of it back and closing her eys as the alcohol warmed her throat and stomach. Unfortunately for Malcolm, Stan did get it. It was the very reason why he didn't want to get married for years, and why he was not happy about having the choice being taken from him. He cast his mind back through the years to when they were together, and how he had laughed when she left, finding it ludicrous that Charlotte Greene was getting married. It wasn't like her, and it clearly did not suit her. Stan got up from his seat and stood in front of Charlotte, taking the glass from her hand and filling it again from what was left in the cocktail shaker. "There is nothing wrong with that," He enabled her, handing her back the glass, "However, it is not exactly your husband's fault, no more than it is yours. Is it not completely obvious to you that you are not meant for one another? He is not making you happy, and I doubt you are making him happy. So maybe you should find your happiness elsewhere." Without a smirk, for once, he added quietly, "And that is why you are here, right?" She swallowed thickly and drained half the glass to avoid the question. It wasn't the reason why she had come here. She had just wanted to talk to someone. But when had she and Stan ever just sat down and talked about their feelings? When had they ever just talked? That's what Alice was for, and that's who she should have gone to see. So why didn't she? "It's just a rough patch," she muttered to herself, setting the drink down and pulling a cushion towards her lap. "We're always going through rough patches but we still - he still makes me happy?" Why was she questioning that? Of course he still made her happy, when he wasn't winding her up, or being so goddamn passive, or just being... him. But he still made her happy, didn't he? So when was the last time she hadn't felt bitter? Or angry? Or unhappy? "He's always been there for me. And he's all I've got," she conceded, looking up at Stan only to glance back down at her knees. Stan sat on the other end of the sofa, still regarding her with those slightly narrowed eyes, the arched brow. For the first time since he knew her - and he knew her since school - she seemed vulnerable. Where was the vivacious, outspoken woman he once knew? He wrinkled his lip, not at all fond of the crumpled mess that had become Charlotte Greene. But this wasn't Charlotte Greene. It was Charlotte Dearborn, and she didn't have a patch on the old girl. "Who are you trying to convince?" He said, almost scathingly, "Me or you?" "Like I'd ever try and convince you of anything," she retorted quickly. "You're far too pigheaded." She smiled despite herself and shook her head; insulting him was far too easy and far too amusing. Maybe that's what she had come here for, some teasing banter to perk her spirits up again? Speaking of spirits... She retrieved her glass from the floor and drained it, the alcohol buzzing happily through her system. "Were you surprised to see me?" she asked suddenly, curiosity getting the better of her, adding with a shrug, "You know, you can tell me to fuck off if you want." Stan glanced at her empty glass and then to his barely touched scotch. Charlotte could talk breezily if she wanted to, but for an Auror, her body language was certainly giving her away. With a tight-lipped smile, he took her glass from her and stood up, strolling back over to the bar to mix all over again. At this rate, she was going to pass out on the sofa, but if that was what she came here for, he was not all too eager to stop her. "Surprised? Not exactly," Stan shrugged, "We have been talking so frequently I assumed that you would want to see me in person so you might actually win an argument for a change. I do not see that happening, but whatever keeps you entertained." Once again he went to the kitchen and returned, handing her the glass. "You can fuck off whenever you want. In the meantime - are you hungry?" She was well aware that she really ought to curb her drinking - especially as Stan had always mixed them extra long - but she had no intention of listening to logic right now, or her nonexistent conscience. If she wanted to drink then damnit, she was going to drink all she damn well wanted to. And damn Malcolm. Damn them all. Damn... damn. "I always win," she corrected, exaggerating in rolling her eyes. "You got any food with booze in it? Getting drunk seems like the best way to deal with everyone's bullshit." So what if she had been drinking last night as well? Alcohol was the best coping mechanism she knew and she wasn't about to give it up just yet. "I can ask the House Elf if he knows how to make anything with alcohol in it," He offered, "But to the best of my knowledge, cooking burns alcohol out." Stan snapped his fingers, and his House Elf appeared. He asked him to prepare dinner for two, and the Elf bowed, not before stealing a glance at Charlotte, then disappeared with a crack. This time, when Stan sat on the sofa, he sat a bit closer to Charlotte. He draped his arm over the back of the sofa, the tips of his fingers brushing her hair almost imperceptibly. It was an old habit, one so familiar he barely noticed that he was doing it, but knew all too well what it would do to her. "By the way - you have not won a single argument of ours yet, at least not in recent weeks. I am so entirely correct about your boring husband and your unsatisfactory life." Stan clinked his glass with Charlotte's and smirked at her before taking a sip, "Why else would you be here?" "I can't believe you still have that thing," she muttered, jealousy creeping into her voice. It had always been her biggest problem, having friends with so much wealth and status, all of which they had just been born into. If anything, it had only made her more determined to have a better life than they had (ha, like that had turned out as she planned), but she was still bitter that she didn't have a house elf. It'd be better at doing chores than Malcolm was, that was for sure. She turned her head to look at him; his fingers toying gently with her hair was sending shivers down her spine - or was that the alcohol? To compensate, she knocked a third of her glass back, shuddering as the mixture of spirits hit the back of her throat. "I dunno," she answered, her wit completely failing her as her fuzzy head refused to kick into gear. "To taunt you with what you missed out on?" "Why on earth would I get rid of Kippley?" He said of his House Elf, "He has been in my family since I was a child. Excellent cook, as I am sure you will remember." This time, he did not hurry to refill her glass. Three Long Island Iced Teas drank that fast was not a good sign. Passing out was one thing, but vomiting on his expensive robes was another. Instead, he slyly moved a little closer and trained his eyes on her lips, admiring the little downward turn of the upper, the fullness of the lower. "I did not miss out on anything," He corrected her quietly, slowly reaching his hand up to brush his thumb on that bottom lip, wiping away the slightest drop of the cocktail that clung there. "You are the one who sold yourself out to a low bidder, settled for a life of mundane mediocrity when you could have had so much more. Really, Charlotte, what are you bragging about?" Stan dropped his hand from her face, and it landed very close to her knee, "I think you came here to remind yourself what it was like when you were happy, had a fulfilling life... when you were free and untethered. Stop me if I am wrong." She was finding it incredibly hard to move; her limbs felt so heavy and it was all she could do to stop herself from sinking back into the sofa. And as Stan's thumb brushed against her lower lip, moving away soon became impossible. Her stomach was clenched tightly from their sudden intimacy and her heart began thumping wildly of its own accord. This wasn't right, she shouldn't be feeling this intoxicated or this lustful. He was wrong, of course he was. And she would correct him, like she always did. But talking, too, was apparently just as impossible as Charlotte opened her mouth only to have her words die in the back of her throat. In that moment, she was so excited, so nervous, so alive - and that's all she wanted. Her throat closed up and she shut her mouth again, pressing her palm to her forehead as her head began spinning. "I will take your silence as acquiescence," his hand wound a little further into her hair, toying with the wispy ones at the back of her neck. His other hand took hers from her forehead, his thumb tracing circles on her palm. Since Charlotte was not pushing him away or arguing with him, he was confident in his actions. As though years hadn't passed, Stan tilted her chin and kissed her - just a test, a barely there kiss. It was like she was twenty once again; his lips felt so familiar against hers, his forwardness in the kiss was so welcome after years of being the dominant partner with Malcolm. It was so tempting to deepen the kiss and find out if he still tasted the same, if he-- She pulled away, her eyes blurring for a moment from the sudden movement. "I shouldn't," she muttered, looking down at her knees. That hadn't felt like any of the random snogs she had entertained across the years; they had been meaningless pleas for attention. That was... It was alarming how easily she had fallen into old patterns of kissing Stan. "It feels-" great "-wrong." "Probably because I was being gentle," He smirked, stroking the line of her jaw, "That is not how you like it, as I recall." Stan wasn't privvy to forcing himself on girls. It was not his style. He could have any number of girls, and had the charm to seduce most, but Charlotte was always a special case. She would never admit that he was the one who took her virginity, and he liked to think he had a special part to play in her sexual hunger. So, when he nuzzled her neck and kissed her jaw, he did not think of it as forcing himself on her, but simply giving her a chance to get used to how it felt to be with him again, and how he understood her better than her husband did. Her breathing quickened as he kissed down her pulse point, closing her eyes in pleasure. "Mm, Stan, no," she muttered into his hair. "No, I-" She bit her lip to stop herself from gasping at his kisses, squeezing her eyes tightly shut. Why was she so weak? She was saying no, and it was slightly disconcerting. If it was anyone else, he would cut his loses, but this was Charlotte. She had come to his house, had necked a lot of cocktails, and he had a feeling in his gut that told him that she wanted more. In one last ditch effort, Stan kissed his way up her neck, finding her mouth once more. He kissed her a little harder than last time, and before he pulled away he caught her lower lip between his teeth, tugging on it. He sat back, reached for his scotch and took a swig. If Charlotte wanted more, he would be willing. "No means no, right?" Despite herself, Charlotte hungrily returned his kiss, moaning quietly as he bit down on her lip. Utterly confused now, she opened her eyes and looked at him, pulling at the neckline of her jumper to shift it back into place. "No means... I don't know." It was taking all her self control not to drunkenly pull him towards her and let him do whatever the fuck he had in mind, because she was sure she wanted it. "Kiss me again and I'll make my mind up." Well, if her husband and brother-in-law seemed to think she was some sort of evil, cheating whore, who was she to prove them wrong? Stan took his time, taking another drink of scotch. He chewed on his lower lip and studied Charlotte, wondering if he wanted to be a test dummy for her. If dragging her out of the misery her life had become would be enough to put an end to Charlotte Dull-As-Fuck Dearborn and bring back Charlotte Hot-As-Fuck Greene, then he would be doing the world a disservice by not kissing her. He pounced. Stan kissed her hard, pinning her beneath him on the sofa. He ground himself to her, tasting alcohol on her tongue, feeling every inch of her body pressed up against his own. It was a delight to kiss someone who so obviously enjoyed being kissed, and if he was going to be stuck courting the likes of Jocelyn Mulciber, he was going to enjoy being with a sexually confident woman, given the chance. Stan broke the kiss enough so that he could make a trail on her jaw, her neck, to nibble on her earlobe. "Made your mind up yet?" He breathed, his hands travelling her torso, ready to rip her shirt open at her say-so. Succumbing to her body's needs, she entwined her legs around his, her hands roaming all over his body, down his sides and over his broad back, cupping his arse and pulling him closer to him. Every inch of her was on fire with pure, all encompassing lust. She had never wanted someone so badly before, and it was made all the worse by knowing that this was so, so wrong. She leaned in to scrape her teeth down his jaw and neck, kissing as she went. "Yes," she murmured against his skin, dizzy from the heady mixture of alcohol and sex. Although he could tell from the way she was acting that her answer was in his favour, he still felt obliged to say, "And?" as he put his hands on either side of her shirt and pulled, ripping it open. Biting down on her lip so hard she was in danger of piercing the skin, she just nodded dumbly at first, trailing her fingers down her bare skin, over her breasts and across her stomach. Lying underneath him, she was absolutely terrified of what she was doing, but she seemed completely incapable of walking away now. She was desperate for someone else, desperate to sample her old life again and have some of that happiness once more. Stan liked his sofa - it was perfectly comfortable and good for kissing - but it was not big enough for what he wanted. With one last lingering kiss, he stood up and brought Charlotte with him, taking her by the hand as they walked the familiar route up to his bedroom. They could always have dinner afterwards. Once inside his bedroom, Stan pinned Charlotte against the wall and, kissing her, tugged the shirt from her shoulders. He unbuttoned his own shirt and let it fall to the ground, kicking off his shoes as he manoeuvred her to the bed, catching her by the waist and hoisting her up onto it. He pulled back long enough to unbuckle his belt, and since he didn't have a baby, he didn't feel in the slightest bit self-conscious about his body. As she staggered up the stairs, tripping over her own feet, she became aware of how drunk she actually was. She was kissing Stan back without entirely being aware of what she was doing, her head lolling back against the wall - and then against her chest as was pulled onto the bed. Onto another man's bed. "Stan, wait, stop," she slurred, rubbing her forehead to try and clear her sluggish thoughts. "I don't think this is such a good idea after all." When had she taken her shirt off? She could barely remember. With his hands either side of Charlotte's waist, Stan paused and really looked at her. Through all the kissing and fumbling, he hadn't noticed how drunk she was. The cocktails should have been a signifier, but she had always been able to hold her drink better than that. Years of motherhood must have lowered her tolerance. Lip curling, Stan took a step backwards. She was really, very drunk. With a casual shrug - no big deal - Stan pulled up his pants again. He didn't say anything as he helped her off his bed, holding onto one of her hands while his other arm was looped around her waist, holding her up. "Let's get some food in your belly," He said, feeling a bit repulsed by how drunk she was. "I probably have a hangover potion." Her head reeling from the alcohol and from what she almost allowed herself to do, she nodded slowly and sank into Stan's chest, her knees wobbling underneath her. "Fuck, m'sosorry," she mumbled, trying to force herself to sober up - and failing abysmally. "Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck." Where had her shirt gone? She didn't even care at this point, she just wanted her head to stop feeling so fuzzy. "Fuck. Sorry. Fuck fuck fuck." Stan picked up his own shirt as they left his room, since Charlotte's was fairly ripped. He walked her down the hall and back into the lounge, sitting her down on the sofa before putting his shirt on her, carefully pulling her hands through the sleeves like dressing a toddler. He snapped his fingers and Kippley appeared, and Stan set him off to fetch some potion for Charlotte. He, in the meantime, shrunk the shirt so it would fit her. Charlotte continued to swear under her breath as she was led back to the sofa, leaning all her weight into Stan before sinking gratefully onto the sofa. "Fuck, m'sosorry, I shouldn't've had that second... or third... or... no that was it, wasn't it? Fuck." "Stop swearing," He said, when Kippley reappeared, "And drink this. It will make you feel better." The Elf also informed Stan that dinner was served, so he hoisted Charlotte up again after she had drank the potion and guided her into the dining room, pulling out a seat for her. He poured himself another scotch for his troubles, and poured Charlotte a pint of milk. "That will line your stomach," He told her, sipping his scotch as he took his usual seat at the table. Dinner was duck, and Stan chewed on his while keeping his eyes on Charlotte for entirely different reasons than earlier. Reluctantly allowing Stan to pull her away from the sofa, she dropped down into the seat and, ignoring the milk and food, folded her arms on the table and let her head rest on them. "Just wanna sleep," she mumbled. "Please?" She was too embarrassed to consider doing anything that wasn't crawling into a hole and sleeping for at least a solid twenty four hours. With a sigh, Stan put down his fork and clasped his fingers together. "If you eat your dinner and drink your milk, then you can sleep. Deal?" He picked up his fork again. Why did he feel like the parent when Charlotte was the mother? Charlotte reluctantly lifted her head and nodded slowly. "Kay. Don't tell anyone, please?" she added, looking beseechingly at him. Stan tilted his head, his eyes squinting a bit. "Charlotte, when have I ever told anyone about us? This is our secret. I like it that way." After a moment, he added, "You can come see me again, but next time we will keep it sober." When dinner was finished, Stan brought Charlotte to his room again. This time, he left her there alone to sleep, returning back to the lounge to read his book and appreciate music, just as he had before she had called over. |