A/N: This piece is a prequel to my story To the Ends of the Earth and the second instalment of my 'Attached' series. It's what happened the night Charlie came onto Bass at the bar.


Charlie sat at the bar, nursing her fourth glass of whiskey. She blamed herself for becoming more like Miles by the minute, and he blamed Monroe for all the aggravation she'd been feeling lately. With Monroe Junior splitting after his father proved to be a colossal disappointment (shocker right?) she'd had nowhere to take out her pent up sexual frustration on. It wasn't like the tiny town of Willoughby housed many eligible bachelors.

Someone slid smoothly in the seat next to her, it didn't take much to figure out it was Monroe because well, the man walked like a peacock, and there was no way she'd miss his scent. She'd probably be able to sniff him out even if he was hiding in a pigsty. He asked the bartender to just leave them the bottle. Guess he had some demons to drown tonight.

She cocked an eyebrow at him, trying to be judgy, but she could barely see straight so she swayed slightly. He laughed, throwing his head down a little. It was cute how he did that when something was really funny, he just looked down as if he was committing it to his memory or something. She shoved him for making fun and he almost fell off the stool. That would teach him.

"Jesus, Charlotte."

There it was. Her name, rolling off his tongue, smooth as butter.

She ignored it and returned to her drink, downing it in one big gulp, slamming the glass on the bar and sliding it over to him. He silently poured her another. Good thing about him is he never asked questions and he never judged. Well, except maybe when she'd repeatedly fucked his kid, but maybe that was understandable.

She found herself drinking with him with ease, the kind of ease they usually found only in the midst of battle. But here they were, their defences down as they laughed and teased each other about anything and everything. Monroe, ever the gentleman poured the last drops of alcohol in her glass and she finished it slowly as she suddenly grew aware of the fact that they'd have to part ways soon. When she set her glass on the bar and stood up she did her best to appear nonchalant.

"Walk me home, will ya?" She asked casually.

If he thought anything of it, he didn't let on. And he threw his jacket on his shoulder and followed her out. The street was quiet and mostly dark, the night was warm and sticky and she didn't want it to end. So fuelled by the liquid courage burning in her insides, she turned around and pressed her lips against his. It wasn't so much a kiss as much of a curiosity of what his lips would feel like on hers. Charlie felt like she could taste the shared grief, the shared history as she put her mouth against his giving into the thirst. She latched to him the way a parched man would latch on to cool water from a stream.

He sucked his breath and took her arm. It wasn't forceful, just his body reacting to her gesture but it was enough to snap her out of her trance. She backed out, a little lost and smiled up at him through her lashes.

- BASS -

She was provoking him, baiting him through the night with smart comments 'til it came down to this. He saw her smile, teeth bared and clever blue eyes glimmering, her hair was messed up and she looked so feral. He could always use that word to describe her, but today he'd struggle to use any other one.

She was opening her mouth to speak again and he really couldn't hear another word out of her so he just shoved his tongue in her mouth and blindly led her to the secluded alley that run down the side of the bar.

He peeled her leather jacket off her shoulders and tossed it to the ground where he'd already dropped his. As if they'd choreographed it, they both reached for each other waistbands at the same time, unclasping belts and unzipping flies. Then he took charge, claiming her mouth once more slowly this time, giving her another chance to back away from this and while a part of her begged that she did, the other just screamed at her not to. When she didn't back off he broke the kiss and knelt in front of her, and slowly pulled the tight jeans down revealing more and more of her bare flesh inch by inch. He thanked his lucky stars she hadn't fully laced up her boots when she kicked them with ease and stepped out of the jeans.

Now the only thing separating him from her sex was a sorry excuse for a garment, a simple cotton slip he could tear away with a yank of his hand. But they were out in the open and he didn't want her more exposed than she had to be. He always liked to account for the worst-case scenario, so he kept it there in place and just kissed her over the fabric, taking a whiff of her tangy smell. He could feel how wet she was, she'd nearly soaked through it. He smiled and got up, his chin tilted down towards her as he backed her into the wall and pulled her thighs up. He was surprised she complied so fast, wrapping her legs around his waist, as he pinned her between the wall and his body and picked up speed.

She moaned in his mouth as he moved against her and he put a hand on the wall next to her head to brace himself. She surprised him, boy was that the theme of the evening, by leaning her head against it and pinning him with her gaze. He'd expected her to close her eyes, enjoy this for what it is – a good pounding between friends. Maybe she'd even try to forget that he was there. But instead she held his gaze. He kept his eyes on her face too, he'd be damned if he flinched first while she played chicken with him. Then she smiled again, a thought evidently crossing that crazy Matheson brain of hers. Before he could even try to figure out what she could possibly be thinking right now, she turned her head to the side, eyes still on his mind you, and sank her teeth into his forearm. He growled in shock, clenching his every muscle so he didn't drop her. And in this little moment of losing whatever semblance of control he had over this entire insane situation, Charlotte Matheson made him come. Hard. He shot a load inside her before he'd even realized what was going on. Then as he pulled away from her while putting her down, he inevitably got most of the rest of it on her t-shirt. Shit, what was this? Amateur hour?

He went to turn away from her and finish himself off when she took him in her hand, pushing his aside and gave him a few pumps so he was all good and drained. His legs were barely holding him and he put his forehead against the wall next to her and panted, trying to catch his breath. He caught a side glance of her amused smirk as she looked down to her abdomen and saw his stuff splattered there. He sent a silent prayer to the skies that Charlie did her own laundry. Or he might be losing an important part of his anatomy sometime soon if any of her family members got wind of this.

She pushed herself off the wall, surely to walk over and pick her pants back up from where he'd thrown them and he swiftly put a hand across her body to block her. He pulled her against him again. Her eyes widened and now that he'd finally surprised her, it was time to get his revenge.

He turned her over and pushed her front against the wall, running a hand down her back a few times and enjoyed the fact that his touch very clearly gave her goosebumps. He nuzzled on the back of her neck a little and she started getting vocal again. Great, they'd wake half of Willoughby. Probably Miles with them. He banished the thought of his best friend as he fucked his niece. Trust his brain to bring up Miles in the most inappropriate of hours.

He shook his head to focus and wrapped her hair around his wrist and pulled her head back a little so he'd reach her ear.

"As much as I love hearing you scream for me, Charlotte, how about you keep it a bit more on the DL. Unless you wanna attract company." He whispered.

She gulped and nodded. Finally a bit of respect. Then he gave her shoulders a gentle enough push and she caught on to what he was trying to do. She bent her waist and spread her palms against the wall.

He took a moment to appreciate the sight – Charlotte Matheson, bent over, legs spread apart and eagerly waiting for him. Ever so impatient, she craned her neck back, cocking a brow asking what was taking him so long. Boy did he wanna make her beg for it. But he could tell they only had another half hour or so before sunrise so he'd better make it count. He stalked toward her, slow and menacing and she turned her head back to the wall like she said "surprise me."

Well surprise her he did, as he guided himself in her again with one stroke and she gasped, the new angle surely waking new sensations for her as it did for him. He moved slowly at first to make sure she was used to him and then picked up pace as she ground her hips against him, meeting him thrust for thrust.

Her hollow breath told him she was close and while what he wanted was to rub his hands together with delight, he grabbed her hips and focused on getting the angle right. He didn't know if it was his touch that did it, or this little routine he'd come to perfect over the years, but he felt her quiver as she came and he pulled out of her for fear of having another accident.

He kept his cock in one hand and stroke it while he focused on hooking two fingers inside her and pumping them a few more times to make sure she was done for. Her knees gave way and he pulled his digits out just in time to steady her, pulling her to his body. But he wasn't stone cold sober either so they both toppled to the ground, spent.

He held her there, leaning on his lap and looked at her with what he recognized was a pang of regret. From her jizz stained t-shirt to her bare ass sat on the cold concrete, it was nothing like what he'd imagined their first time would be those rare few times he'd allowed himself to indulge the thought.

Weirdly sobered up, he wanted to make it right somehow. So he awkwardly pulled his pants up and reached over to grab her jacket that lay discarded only a few feet away from them. He pulled her to sit on his lap so she wasn't on the ground and put her jacket over her thighs for modesty. They'd make the trip for her jeans once they were good to go. For now he wanted to give her a bit of intimacy.

He half expected her to resist, tell him this wasn't what she wanted from him, but she quietly leaned her head against the crook of his neck as he did his best to smooth her hair. When he deemed he did a good enough job of it and she didn't like she'd been through the tumble dryer anymore, he kissed the top of her head and rested his chin there as he rubbed soothing circles on the small of her back.

He knew the moment consciousness left her body, her breath going quieter and despite seeing the first signs of daybreak on the Texan sky, he decided it was worth the risk and just let her rest for a few hours while he kept watch and took stock of what it was they'd done in the night while no one was looking.