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Description
He's not entirely sure why he came here. He's not that much of a drinker, and there aren't even any of his friends to keep him company. In all honesty, he's uncomfortable. His pint is too bitter, and the air is so thick that he almost gags on it. It permeates cigarette smoke, alcohol, and darkness. The pub seems to have a disregard for the non-smoking rule. He has a hard time even finding the smoking-prohibited sign, as the level of illumination is set at a perpetual twilight. Various lamps are dotted around the room, emitting a golden glow. Despite the number of these light bringers, they do not seem to lighten up the area; nor his mood. He feels a deep sense of disconnection, but still he glances around the pub, desperate for company.
There are a few people seated on chairs and barstools, most of them near the bar. Three elderly men are in a heated conversation about politics, gesticulating wildly, almost spilling their pints. A young couple, seated in the corner near one of the windows, is holding hands. The bartender is chatting to what seems to be a friend of his, who in turn seems to be chatting up the lady a couple of seats away from him. She doesn’t take any notice of him, but is staring into the darkness outside, or maybe listening to the soft folk music emitting from the speakers above the bar. His thoughts return to his drink, and he glares at it, willing for it to evaporate so he can buy something a little more stimulating.

"I'm sorry, may I?" A voice asks him through the haze.
He looks up, his eyes meeting that of a woman, about his age. Her hands are tangled together, her shoulders hunched, and she comes across as nervous, timid; almost shy. Her features are rather average: small, pink lips; normal figure; light brown hair.
Her eyes, however, are a different story. He cannot catch their colour in the gloom, but nonetheless they seem to be glowing. She's not his type, and yet his heart quickens in his chest.
"Of course," he replies, grabbing his coat from the seat next to him and scooting over to give her space. She blinks at him before carefully sitting down next to him, keeping her coat neatly folded on her lap.
“You seem out of place,” he says, the words tumbling from his mouth. She looks up at him for just a moment before lowering her eyes to the table again.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“How so?”
“I don’t know, you seem to be very uncomfortable with the general rowdiness and the state of this little pub.”
She smiles at the table. A waiter comes to take her order, and her response is steady, which surprises him.
“What’s your name?” she asks suddenly.
“Gideon. You?”
“Caroline.”
“And what brings you to The Archer’s Pub, Caroline?” he says, in an attempt to come across as smooth. When he asks this question, she looks straight at him. Her eyes are an unwavering blue. When the words leave her, her face doesn’t betray anything.
“You.”
For a second, a hush befalls the pub. It’s purely coincidental, but adds to the weight of that one word.
Gideon holds her gaze, and thinks he detects something almost animalistic in it. He licks his lips, and is intrigued to see that her eyes follow the movement before snapping back up again.
“Good.”

They pass the time, sipping from their pints and talking. She is a part-time pathological psychology student, currently working at a general practitioner’s clinic as a doctor’s assistant. Gideon is a careers advisor. He works at several educational institutions, providing students with material, connections, and thought-provoking conversations in order to help them make a choice.
“I really could have used someone like you,” Caroline says, “to have helped me decide on my future. I had no idea what I wanted to do. The only thing I knew was that I liked the human body and the way it worked.”
“Well, maybe I can still help you. We can set up a meeting and spend a whole day figuring you out,” he says light-heartedly, wondering whether she will catch up on the double meaning of the sentence.
She looks up at him again – she doesn’t seem to like eye-contact much – and once more he cannot read her face. However, she gives him a small smile, and for a second - just a second - he thinks that she is not just timid, but that she is keeping a tight rein on her emotions. Then, the feeling dissipates. Her knee is bumping against his, and his heart starts beating just a little louder.

It is midnight when the pub closes. Their breaths sound loud in the quiet air.
“I can’t believe they kicked us out,” Caroline huffs. “I was just about to order a new pint!”
“I think that if they’d left us in there, they would’ve made a fortune off us,” Gideon chuckles. She nods in agreement, smirking.
“So, where to next, Captain?” he says, his voice full of barely-suppressed excitement. He is very aware of where he wants to go, God knows. She isn’t unattractive. The more alcohol he drinks, the more he starts to appreciate her.
She laughs and grabs his arm, pulling him close to her. “I’ll lead the way,” she whispers. The tone of her voice makes him shiver. God help me, he thinks, I hope we can make it to her place.
They slowly start walking down the hill on which the pub is situated, towards the city centre. Her hand moves its way down his arm, her fingers threading through his. He can smell the alcohol on her breath. Not unpleasant, exactly.
They walk in silence for a couple of minutes. The city centre is nearly deserted. Youngsters walk around, yelling profanity, and here and there the odd couple walks hand in hand. Gideon moves his thumb against the ridge of her palm. He looks up at her face again; her eyes are hypnotic.
“Caroline,” he breathes. They stop walking. Her eyes meet his, seemingly cold in comparison to his warm brown ones. She doesn’t respond, but the question is on her face – not confused, but steady in its curiosity.

He kisses her.
It takes a second, but then she responds, tiptoeing up into the kiss, holding firmly onto his collar, pulling him down. His hands are on her face, running his thumb over her cheek, his fingers through her hair. After an eternal second, they disconnect. His breathing is considerably heavier. He can’t get enough of her eyes on his – of her face, her hands, her body.
“Come,” Caroline whispers, just a tiny bit breathless, grabbing his hand and pulling him along. Needy, Gideon thinks, she comes across as needy. His pace quickens, his eyes never leaving her form.
She pulls him into a nearby alleyway. He presses her against the wall, kissing her again. The thought that he is just as needy as she is crosses his mind. It dissipates when she pulls him closer, hooking her fingers through his belt loops. He moans quietly, even more turned on by that gesture, and detaches himself from her lips before kissing her neck. Her hands run over his back, and he feels her breathlessness. His lips move from her neck to her collarbone, and then to her throat. She lets out a tiny sigh. Good, he thinks.

The seconds pass by quietly. He has moved his lips back to her collarbone again, and his hands are at the hem of her shirt, fingertips already on the verge of slipping underneath. His whole being is focused on the skin below her shirt, and his nips and kisses become sloppy with lack of attention.
He does not notice her become still under his ministrations. It’s been a long time since his arousal was at this peak, and he aches for the point where his longing can be satisfied. His vision is blurry with lust.
He moves upward, pressing his lips to hers again with closed eyes, and hardly notices her lack of response. After a few seconds, she pushes him quietly off her, her hands running down his chest.
“Not here,” she whispers. It is only then that he opens his eyes again.
He is about to respond when he sees the look on her face. It’s not neediness. It isn’t lust.
It’s hunger. Pure, unadulterated hunger. His breathing quickens.
“Wha-” he utters, but before he can finish, her face turns into a snarl.
Good.
He is dragged further into the passageway, where shadows have conquered the cobblestones, and not even a sigh is heard. The alley would be left in darkness, were it not for the glow of her eyes.

Description
He's not entirely sure why he came here. He's not that much of a drinker, and there aren't even any of his friends to keep him company. In all honesty, he's uncomfortable. His pint is too bitter, and the air is so thick that he almost gags on it. It permeates cigarette smoke, alcohol, and darkness. The pub seems to have a disregard for the non-smoking rule. He has a hard time even finding the smoking-prohibited sign, as the level of illumination is set at a perpetual twilight. Various lamps are dotted around the room, emitting a golden glow. Despite the number of these light bringers, they do not seem to lighten up the area; nor his mood. He feels a deep sense of disconnection, but still he glances around the pub, desperate for company.
There are a few people seated on chairs and barstools, most of them near the bar. Three elderly men are in a heated conversation about politics, gesticulating wildly, almost spilling their pints. A young couple, seated in the corner near one of the windows, is holding hands. The bartender is chatting to what seems to be a friend of his, who in turn seems to be chatting up the lady a couple of seats away from him. She doesn’t take any notice of him, but is staring into the darkness outside, or maybe listening to the soft folk music emitting from the speakers above the bar. His thoughts return to his drink, and he glares at it, willing for it to evaporate so he can buy something a little more stimulating.

"I'm sorry, may I?" A voice asks him through the haze.
He looks up, his eyes meeting that of a woman, about his age. Her hands are tangled together, her shoulders hunched, and she comes across as nervous, timid; almost shy. Her features are rather average: small, pink lips; normal figure; light brown hair.
Her eyes, however, are a different story. He cannot catch their colour in the gloom, but nonetheless they seem to be glowing. She's not his type, and yet his heart quickens in his chest.
"Of course," he replies, grabbing his coat from the seat next to him and scooting over to give her space. She blinks at him before carefully sitting down next to him, keeping her coat neatly folded on her lap.
“You seem out of place,” he says, the words tumbling from his mouth. She looks up at him for just a moment before lowering her eyes to the table again.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“How so?”
“I don’t know, you seem to be very uncomfortable with the general rowdiness and the state of this little pub.”
She smiles at the table. A waiter comes to take her order, and her response is steady, which surprises him.
“What’s your name?” she asks suddenly.
“Gideon. You?”
“Caroline.”
“And what brings you to The Archer’s Pub, Caroline?” he says, in an attempt to come across as smooth. When he asks this question, she looks straight at him. Her eyes are an unwavering blue. When the words leave her, her face doesn’t betray anything.
“You.”
For a second, a hush befalls the pub. It’s purely coincidental, but adds to the weight of that one word.
Gideon holds her gaze, and thinks he detects something almost animalistic in it. He licks his lips, and is intrigued to see that her eyes follow the movement before snapping back up again.
“Good.”

They pass the time, sipping from their pints and talking. She is a part-time pathological psychology student, currently working at a general practitioner’s clinic as a doctor’s assistant. Gideon is a careers advisor. He works at several educational institutions, providing students with material, connections, and thought-provoking conversations in order to help them make a choice.
“I really could have used someone like you,” Caroline says, “to have helped me decide on my future. I had no idea what I wanted to do. The only thing I knew was that I liked the human body and the way it worked.”
“Well, maybe I can still help you. We can set up a meeting and spend a whole day figuring you out,” he says light-heartedly, wondering whether she will catch up on the double meaning of the sentence.
She looks up at him again – she doesn’t seem to like eye-contact much – and once more he cannot read her face. However, she gives him a small smile, and for a second - just a second - he thinks that she is not just timid, but that she is keeping a tight rein on her emotions. Then, the feeling dissipates. Her knee is bumping against his, and his heart starts beating just a little louder.

It is midnight when the pub closes. Their breaths sound loud in the quiet air.
“I can’t believe they kicked us out,” Caroline huffs. “I was just about to order a new pint!”
“I think that if they’d left us in there, they would’ve made a fortune off us,” Gideon chuckles. She nods in agreement, smirking.
“So, where to next, Captain?” he says, his voice full of barely-suppressed excitement. He is very aware of where he wants to go, God knows. She isn’t unattractive. The more alcohol he drinks, the more he starts to appreciate her.
She laughs and grabs his arm, pulling him close to her. “I’ll lead the way,” she whispers. The tone of her voice makes him shiver. God help me, he thinks, I hope we can make it to her place.
They slowly start walking down the hill on which the pub is situated, towards the city centre. Her hand moves its way down his arm, her fingers threading through his. He can smell the alcohol on her breath. Not unpleasant, exactly.
They walk in silence for a couple of minutes. The city centre is nearly deserted. Youngsters walk around, yelling profanity, and here and there the odd couple walks hand in hand. Gideon moves his thumb against the ridge of her palm. He looks up at her face again; her eyes are hypnotic.
“Caroline,” he breathes. They stop walking. Her eyes meet his, seemingly cold in comparison to his warm brown ones. She doesn’t respond, but the question is on her face – not confused, but steady in its curiosity.

He kisses her.
It takes a second, but then she responds, tiptoeing up into the kiss, holding firmly onto his collar, pulling him down. His hands are on her face, running his thumb over her cheek, his fingers through her hair. After an eternal second, they disconnect. His breathing is considerably heavier. He can’t get enough of her eyes on his – of her face, her hands, her body.
“Come,” Caroline whispers, just a tiny bit breathless, grabbing his hand and pulling him along. Needy, Gideon thinks, she comes across as needy. His pace quickens, his eyes never leaving her form.
She pulls him into a nearby alleyway. He presses her against the wall, kissing her again. The thought that he is just as needy as she is crosses his mind. It dissipates when she pulls him closer, hooking her fingers through his belt loops. He moans quietly, even more turned on by that gesture, and detaches himself from her lips before kissing her neck. Her hands run over his back, and he feels her breathlessness. His lips move from her neck to her collarbone, and then to her throat. She lets out a tiny sigh. Good, he thinks.

The seconds pass by quietly. He has moved his lips back to her collarbone again, and his hands are at the hem of her shirt, fingertips already on the verge of slipping underneath. His whole being is focused on the skin below her shirt, and his nips and kisses become sloppy with lack of attention.
He does not notice her become still under his ministrations. It’s been a long time since his arousal was at this peak, and he aches for the point where his longing can be satisfied. His vision is blurry with lust.
He moves upward, pressing his lips to hers again with closed eyes, and hardly notices her lack of response. After a few seconds, she pushes him quietly off her, her hands running down his chest.
“Not here,” she whispers. It is only then that he opens his eyes again.
He is about to respond when he sees the look on her face. It’s not neediness. It isn’t lust.
It’s hunger. Pure, unadulterated hunger. His breathing quickens.
“Wha-” he utters, but before he can finish, her face turns into a snarl.
Good.
He is dragged further into the passageway, where shadows have conquered the cobblestones, and not even a sigh is heard. The alley would be left in darkness, were it not for the glow of her eyes.