Slapping Michael on the back, Cormac answered, "You don't see the problem? How can you not see the problem? How-" His voice got higher as he trailed off. Sighing dramatically, Cormac dropped his head down on the table onto his folded arms.

Michael choked with laughter on his drink, and then gulped the rest down feverishly. "You--" he said, slamming the drink down emphatically, "--are quite the character, Mr. McLaggen." The funny syllables that made up Cormac's name almost did him in; he giggled boyishly at Cormac's silly name, and then looked around the bar anxiously, hoping nobody had witnessed his foolishness. Instead, he caught sight of a slim brunette entering the room.

"Oh." Michael frowned, and reached blindly for another drink, which a passing waiter generously slipped into his open hand. "Speaking of problems, mate--yours appears to be on the warpath, and heading this way." He tittered again, missing Cormac's wild look as his friend peeled himself off the table.

Pansy wound her way through the tables in the lounge dining room, looking for Tracey, on the off chance that she might find her friend there without her 'plus one'. Having no luck, Pansy set off to do what she did best, drink everyone else under the table. On her way to the bar, she saw not just one, but two familiar faces. Before she had time to make a discreet exit, Michael had seen her and alerted his friend. Dear Merlin? What do I do to deserve this? she thought. How much humiliation should one witch have to endure? Is there some quota I have to meet before I die? The last time she'd seen Cormac, she'd been clad in lingerie, standing in front of his co-workers, just after hearing him admit that she wasn't the most awful thing to walk the Earth. She hadn't heard from him since.

She plastered a pleasant expression on her face and tried not to roll her eyes, while walking over to greet the men. "Michael," she said pleasantly, by way of greeting. Unable to stop the contempt in her tone, she ground out, "Cormac."

He jerked his head off his arms and jumped slightly in his chair. "Pansy." He stared dumbly at her for a moment. "Good evening, love." He tried grinning at her, but stopped mid-grin when he saw her reaction. Damn and blast. She's angry with me again? Should I have owled her? He stood up, teetering slightly. "Please, join us," he said, gesturing to the empty chair beside him.

"Yes, please do," said Michael, grinning broadly. "We were just talking about you!"

Perhaps that was the wrong thing to say, considered Michael as an afterthought, catching both Cormac and Pansy's displeased looks in his direction. Ah, well. Could always be worse!

"Gentlemen. I'll assume what you had to say was lovely and flattering," she said as she sat down.

The waiter arrived as if drawn to her like a magnet. "What will Miss have?"

Pansy smiled at the man. "Oh, bourbon." She gestured around her. "When in Rome, after all." She turned to Michael. "How are you, then? Everything all right?"

"Oddly enough, yes," said Michael. "Nice turn of the tables, really, considering I spent the better part of last month envying this one over here." He nudged Cormac across the table, who looked somewhere between furious and mortified, leaning towards the latter. "But, now, as it were, it seems rather the other way around. Quite pleasant. I get shagged regularly, sometimes on the filing cabinets in my office, and Cormac moans and groans into his drink." Michael smiled again, the silly smile of the drunk. The bourbon had taken hold quite nicely now; he felt pleasantly light, unworried about anything he had to say or do. And he had retained his good manners--when finished with his tirade, Michael added, "And how are you, Miss Parkinson?"

"Well on my way to being amused, apparently," she returned. "I do so love a man who can't hold his liquor." Pansy directed her attention to Cormac. "And how does this evening find you, Mr. McLaggen?"

"Well, Pansy, I'm well on my way to becoming arse-drunk. I think that should answer your question." He looked at his object of affection. "You know, I don't do well with declarations of-well, whatever it was the other night." Shut your mouth, you imbecile! the voice in his head screeched. He looked up at her sheepishly.

"You don't say. I hadn't noticed," she answered wryly.

"I probably should have owled you-or something." He flashed her what he considered to be his most endearing smile. "Please, love, forgive me?"

She chuckled mirthlessly. "Or something." she waved the waiter over. "Have another. Maybe it'll help."

Taking the proffered beverage, he took a drink and set it down. "Thanks, Pansy, you're wonderful." Hearing Michael snicker he said, "What? She's wonderful."

Michael looked at Pansy. Pansy shrugged. "Have you heard? It appears that I'm wonderful. Not the adjective that I'd use, but it is a bit better than 'pit viper,' so I suppose it will do," she said thoughtfully. Leaning back in her chair, she raised an eyebrow at the two men. "So. I suppose you're solving the world's problems then? Helped along by a bottle of twelve year-old bourbon?"

"Not the world's problems," Michael replied matter-of-factly. "Just his." He raised his glass in Cormac's direction and snickered. "Though it seems as though you two are well on your way to kissing and making up...would you like me to leave you two alone for some much-desired privacy?" He arched his eyebrow, and smiled at Pansy rakishly, running his fingers through his hair. "Or--" (He paused, a drunken, vapid smile spreading across his handsome features) "--should I stick around, and perhaps jump in on the action?" His grin was wicked, his eyes glazed with alcohol, and his inhibitions clearly shot to hell with the empty glasses littered across the table.

Pansy looked at the man across the table from her, one eyebrow raised and an intrigued look on her face . She leaned her elbow on the table and rested her her chin in her hand. "Well, now," she purred. "That is an interesting thought." She turned her head and looked at Cormac. "What do you say, darling?" she asked, running a finger along his forearm where his starched shirt was rolled up. "I snog young Michael here, and we call it even for your indescretions of last week?"

Cormac stared at Pansy, his eyes bugging. "No." He shook his head. "Hell no. You are not snogging him."

Pansy pouted prettily. "One of us should, darling, I mean, look at those lips," she whispered huskily, studying Michael. "They're just crying out to be kissed."

"His lips are what?" Horrified, he looked back and forth between Pansy and Michael. Dear Merlin, I cannot believe it's come to this. "Fine. I'll snog him."

Michael watched this banter amusedly, not quite listening as he took in their faces--Pansy's sleek hair falling in front of her cheek, her dark lips pursed in his direction and the fine ridges of skin where the lipstick was just starting to crack the tiniest bit, and then Cormac's eyes widening, his thick brows furrowing and then shooting upwards in shock, and finally, oddly, Cormac's lips puckering as well, and getting closer across the table...

"Are those intended for me?" Michael asked quizzically, looking at Cormac's disgusted expression with confusion. "I don't usually elicit such negative reactions, you know. That's a bit insulting, to tell you the truth." He turned to Pansy conspiratorially, and added, in what he thought was a whisper, "For that matter, I don't kiss very well across a table. I'm much better up close."

Cormac smiled wryly as he stood up and walked around the table to Michael. He looked towards Pansy. "So, you're telling me that if I kiss this...if I kiss Michael," he said, "all will be forgiven between us?" He gave Michael a once over and laughed. "Well, at least he's not bad looking. Almost as handsome as myself."

Oh, Gods, yes. Pansy leaned back from the boys a bit. "By all means. If I'm not going to get kissed, someone should. And yes, I'll forgive you." She waved her hand in the air. "Go on, then. Make reparations, Mr. McLaggen."

Cormac pulled a chair close to Michael's and straddled it, one arm resting on the back, while the other hand roughly grasped the back of his head and pulled him to his lips.

Michael would have spluttered with laughter with the oddness of the situation if Cormac hadn't pressed his lips to his and made such a reaction impossible. Michael opened his mouth to giggle, but Cormac's tongue filled the empty space, and then--now, this was strange--Michael found himself kissing back, the motions automatic, and then, as Cormac swept his tongue around Michael's mouth, with meaning. This was beyond believable, there was no doubt about that, but Michael scooted towards the edge of the chair so Cormac could run his fingers more deeply through his thick, messy hair, and tentatively placed a hand on Cormac's broad shoulder, gripping harder when Cormac seemed to respond.

Cormac brought his free hand up and reached for the back of Michael's neck, deepening the kiss even as he fought the need to moan as Michael caressed his face. I'm kissing a man. I'm kissing a man and enjoying it. His other hand was fisted in Michael's hair, and he was surprised at how soft it was, and couldn't resist the urge to pull it, to see if Michael liked that as much as he did.

Pansy cleared her throat softly. "Gentlemen? As much as I am loathe to interrupt something as unbelievably erotic as this, I feel that perhaps that's enough." She glanced in the direction of the bar. "People will be talking tomorrow, I'll warrant," she murmured, noticing the stares coming from the other side of the room. "In addition, I'm more than a little jealous. Of both of you."

Michael pulled back almost reluctantly, looking up dazedly at Pansy. He'd forgotten she was there. His lower lip felt sore from Cormac tugging on it with his teeth. His hair was mussed. He realized he was breathing raggedly, and straightened up slightly. He was still drunk, but somehow that didn't make it easier to ignore the many eyes from around the room pinned to his face--or Pansy's, which were smoldering. In his haze, Michael wasn't sure if it was lust or anger burning in them, but it was intense, that was for certain.

Shaking his head, Cormac heard the words that Pansy was saying as if through a layer of heavy wool blankets. His heart was racing and he was staring at Michael, dumbfounded. "What?" he asked Pansy, tearing his eyes away from Michael.

"As much as I'm enjoying myself, I'm fairly certain that outside the twelve or so cocktails you boys have had this evening, you're both heterosexual." She leaned across the table. "I'm not opposed to this, per se, but I think perhaps if you're going to continue, you might want to do it in a more private setting," she said smirking and gesturing to the mouths that were hanging open at the bar.

Michael pushed his hair out of his eyes and looked around wildly. "Where's there a more private setting, then?" he asked abruptly. His pulse was still thrumming in his veins like a drumbeat. Then, suddenly crestfallen, he turned to Pansy. "Wait--it'd be quite rude of me to steal your bloke, wouldn't it?" he asked, looking a tad regretful.

Cormac laughed and wondered if he wore the same expression on his face as Michael. "Nah, didn't you know, mate? Pansy's been feeling mighty altruistic lately. I'm sure she'd love to share," he said, grinning ear to ear. "Either way, we should probably take this back to my flat as we've got quite the audience here."

Pansy gave a delicate snort and gathered up her handbag. "I've been to your flat, darling, and although it is absolutely charming, my bed is bigger. You boys are in no condition to Apparate. Shall we floo?"

Michael looked up, taking in Pansy's dark, playful eyes and the curve of her hips. His eyes swung across to Cormac--he looked bewildered, but Michael was more focused on the fact that the top two buttons of his shirt were already undone. Less work for everybody he thought, and he stood, staggering slightly.

"Sounds like an excellent plan," he affirmed, with a grin.


{Summary: Cormac and Michael get a wee bit sloshed. And who shows up to join them, but Pansy? }