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"Charlie, you go check out the club and see if you can find anything out. Zari, go with her and - " Sara trails off and gives Zari a look.
Zari resists the urge to roll her eyes for about four seconds. Sara doesn't have to say the word supervise; she doesn't need to. They both know that's what this is.
Zari and Charlie are - better, together. Since the time loops. But 'better' is relative; Charlie hasn't stopped looking for all of Zari's buttons and finding them, and Zari can't quite stop herself from getting angry every time she does.
Still it's better, and maybe that's enough.
Maybe it's fine, and Zari can handle going to a magical demons-only gay bar with Charlie. She can dress up in whatever silly mid-90s outfit, and - whatever. Make sure Charlie doesn't set anything on fire.
(Unless setting things on fire is what demons do for fun.
Then, who knows.)
+
Charlie starts it. She pulls Zari's arm, drags her in with a pink-frosting smile and coos, "This is Zari, she's my girlfriend." Then she leans in, half-dragging Zari towards her, and plants a kiss on Zari's cheek. Her American accent's improved a lot, she manages to speak in a way that sounds almost-but-not-quite like Amaya. Zari resists the urge to squirm. "I can't leave her behind."
The bouncer rolls his eyes, but he lets them through.
Zari takes her arm back as soon as he's out of sight. It's - she gets it and it's fine. Pretending to be a couple makes sense, and Zari doesn't mind if it means they get what they need. But there's something about the way Charlie does it - about the fact that it was her idea first - that makes Zari's blood boil.
They walk through a dark hallway, the tug of vaguely-sticky floor against the soles of Zari's boots a telltale sign of the type of place this is going to be. From the far end of the hallway is a wall of noise, the thump of bass and the crunch of truly horrible four-chord-wonder distorted guitar. It's turned up so loud that Zari can feel it, vibration in her chest and under her boots in time to the music.
Charlie stops short when she reaches the end of the hall. She does it without warning and Zari's following her closely enough that they collide, her front crashing up against Charlie's back. The wall of studs across the back of Charlie's vest are sharp against Zari's sternum. Zari pushes Charlie away and rubs at her skin. "Ow," she whispers.
Charlie clucks in the back of her throat, mocking. "Sorry," she drawls. She's still putting that American drawl on, phony and chipper and not-quite-right. Something about how she says it, sore-ee, makes it even more infuriating than if she'd used her own accent. Then she jerks her head to the side, indicating the heaving crowd of bodies in the thick of the club. "Honey, you'd better hold my hand. I'd hate to lose you."
She's not wrong, is the thing. Zari doesn't want to get separated; this bar is dangerous for her but it's also dangerous for Charlie in its own way. Zari knows she's got more than a few ghosts in her past (some of them possibly literal ghosts) and this seems like the sort of place that old demons of Charlie's might hang out. She takes the hand Charlie offers, holds it tight and tries not to think about how soft her skin is, or how furious it makes her feel to notice it.
They weave through the crowd, Charlie leading and Zari following.
The club is loud and dark and crowded. They don't stop moving until Charlie finds them a place to stand, a little free island of space near the bar. "Zari, honey," she asks. "Can I get you a drink?"
Once they stop walking Charlie lets go of Zari's hand, but she doesn't stop touching her. She moves her hand up, dragging her fingertips up Zari's arm to the top of her shoulder, across her back and down the other side. It's barely intimate, and Zari knows that, but it's so much more contact than she's usually gets from Charlie that she can't stop noticing it. She's just - feeling, a lot, and it's a problem.
Zari's tense from the mission but she's also - Charlie's touch keeps sending these little, fluttering buzzes of contact and girl touching feelings down Zari's spine and she doesn't know how to process it. Doesn't know if she likes the idea of associating those soft, sweet little shivers or the way they set something blooming in her belly with someone who's - Charlie.
Zari gets a sudden urge to roll her shoulders, to shove Charlie's hand away and just yell at her to stop. She thinks about escaping. It'd be so nice, to push Charlie backward and run headlong out of the club into the cold air of the night outside.
(Maybe then she'd be able to breathe a little bit.)
Zari doesn't do any of that. She takes Charlie by the wrist to still her movement and answers in a voice as mocking and sing-song as Charlie's own. "Just a soda, dear. I'm driving tonight."
Charlie's eyes go wide for a moment: she'd forgotten that Zari doesn't drink but she should have known, and the way her expression falters over it is almost sweet. "Of course," she says, her voice a little softer and less mocking than before. "Sorry."
Charlie disappears to the bar, and blissfully, Zari is free.
(Except that she's not. Except that she's stuck in a demon bar with Charlie and she's got all these feelings and she can't decide what's worse for them: Charlie touching her or Charlie not touching her.)
She leans against the pillar behind her and watches as Charlie exchanges money and a few words with the bartender. She's - Charlie's hot. Zari can admit that. She's got Amaya's face, all beautiful angles and inviting lips, and the way she's dressed tonight is - it's nice. It's a good look, in a Charlie sort of way. Her vest is studded all the way from the middle of the shoulder blade up to the shoulder seams on the back and there's a patch hand-sewn below them, the album cover for The Smell that Zari's almost certain never got made. Her skirt is black denim, frayed around the edges and so short that when she leans up onto the bar to shout a little louder to the bartender it gives Zari a glimpse of the lower curve of her ass. Just like that, Zari's thinking about what it might feel like to press her palms against it and -
- fuck her.
Fuck Charlie for having a nice ass and wearing clothes that make Zari think about it. Fuck Charlie for being someone Zari could like, when she's just going to -
Zari stops the thought cold. Doesn't want to keep going with it, doesn't want to finish that mental sentence.
(- she's just going to leave, like Amaya did before her.)
Zari kicks at the floor. The edge of her boot catches the edge of a long-forgotten band sticker, plastered to the floor with its ink mostly worn away. She kicks a few more times, tries to roll the edge of it up with the rubber edge of her sole, but it's not going anywhere. She gives up just in time to raise her head and catch Charlie looking over at her from the bar. Charlie smiles, bright and fake, and blows her a kiss.
The sight of it makes Zari's stomach flip, a sudden wave of desire waking up inside of her. She does her best to ignore it. It's just sense memory, she tells herself. She's just thinking about Amaya, and the way Amaya used to smile at her and kiss her; the way she used to look at Zari just like that. Nothing to do with Charlie at all. She forces herself to smile back. She goes through the motions, makes a show of catching the kiss and fluttering her eyelashes and tries not to think about the way her hands are shaking and her heart is racing at the idea of Charlie's mouth.
Charlie comes back with a soda for Zari and a beer for herself. She leans in close, whisper-shouting into Zari's ear, "Here you go, darling." Her r on the American pronunciation is too hard, and it makes her sound a like something in between a cowboy and a pirate. It should be off-putting, but Charlie's breath is so warm against her ear and the side of her throat and it feels so good, the heat and intimacy of it. It's taking all of Zari's focus not to shiver with delight. "The bartender says the man we're looking for is here tonight."
Zari feels relief so strong it's almost physical. Nothing would make her happier than to meet a demon smuggler right now. "Cool," she says. "Cool."
Charlie leans back, takes herself closer to the edge of Zari's personal bubble. She takes a long pull of her drink, and Zari definitely doesn't notice the way her throat moves as she swallows. Zari also definitely doesn't think about kissing the length of Charlie's neck, or about pulling away her necklace and suckling the skin underneath it until she's marked up.
Charlie leans back, shoves gently at Zari's side with her elbow to take up some space on the pillar Zari's been leaning against. Zari takes a sip of her soda, looking out at the expanse of the club. Charlie stands with her. She's nodding her head in time with the music, like she's genuinely enjoying it, and that's - not something Zari finds sweet. Not at all.
Then Charlie goes still.
Her mouth opens, shuts, and then she sort of spins so that Zari's back is against the pillar and Charlie's pinned against Zari, facing her. "Shit," she hisses. Charlie's startled enough that she's not putting on her American accent, and that's enough to make Zari pay attention.
"What? What is it?"
"The guy we're looking for, he's here. And I know him."
"That's a good thing," Zari says. "We're looking for him, remember?"
"There's also a chance I might have pissed him off a little, back in the day," she hisses. She's not playing games now, she's making eye contact and she sounds a little scared. "Think he noticed me?"
"What does he look like?" Zari's got her free hand up, resting it on the front of Charlie's shoulder and she doesn't know if she's pushing her away or just holding her steady to keep her from bolting. Charlie reaches up, presses Zari's hand against her tighter.
"Sort of like - white guy, green hair, I dunno what else. Oh, he's got a shirt with, like, a skull on it. And he looks like a nasty piece of work."
Zari tries to keep from rolling her eyes. That description fits half the people here who don't obviously have tails or horns or other demon appendages. Charlie's got herself arranged with her back to the club, leaning in to Zari while Zari looks out. "I don't see anyone like that," Zari says, running her thumb across the back of Charlie's hand.
"You sure?" Charlie looks almost nervous. Some of the anger burning warm in Zari's chest starts to melt.
Zari nods.
Charlie sighs and dips her head with relief. It's sort of - gentle isn't quite the right word but it almost fits, there's something about the way she relaxes that has an echo inside Zari. It's almost endearing.
Zari can almost see Charlie shake the feeling off, the way she rolls her shoulders and puts on a grin and by the time she lifts her head to look at Zari, the moment's passed. All of that vulnerability is gone, and in its place is a smile that's got ideas. She presses herself against Zari hips-first, pinning her against the wall. They're only really touching in a few places, but it feels like Charlie's pressed against the whole of Zari, her presence suddenly overwhelming. It feels better than Zari is willing to admit. "What are you doing?" she asks.
"We're supposed to be dating, right?" Charlie whisper-shouts, her mouth practically touching Zari's ear. "Just doing a good job."
"We're pretending to date, yeah."
"Come on," Charlie whispers. "Give us a kiss, love."
The stupid thing is, Zari wants it. This dumb shapeshifter jerk who can't be serious for more than four seconds without covering it up and Zari hates that she's even thinking about kissing her but she does. She wants it with every part of her that's pressed against Charlie, with the fluttery nervous desire in her belly and the beat of her pulse.
(She wants it with the dream she had a week ago, the one where she woke up and was almost surprised not to find Charlie underneath her in bed.)
Zari doesn't want to want Charlie this much.
She's doesn't want to give in - she's not not going to, until Charlie reaches forward with her free hand and drags her fingertips across Zari's forehead. They trace an arc across her face, down her cheek and then behind her ear. "Please," she whispers. Zari's not even sure if she hears Charlie's voice or if she's just lip-reading. "I just need a little - " Charlie starts, stomps her foot like she's frustrated and something in Zari's heart twists.
Then, Charlie's kissing her.
Or Zari's kissing Charlie, maybe.
They're kissing each other and it's not important who started it. Maybe they both started it at the same time. It feels like they're not kissing and then they are, both of them somehow leaning in at the same moment and it's better than Zari could possibly have imagined.
(Not that Zari's imagined kissing Charlie.)
(Because she definitely hasn't thought about it, and she's never had Charlie's smile pop into her head while she's in bed with her hand between her legs.)
(She's never come thinking about it, not even by accident.)
Charlie's lips are soft and they taste like ginger ale, not beer. It takes a moment for Zari to process that, and in that moment Charlie's slipped her tongue between Zari's lips. Charlie practically fucks her tongue into Zari's mouth, licks the inside of her teeth almost violently. They kiss like it's a fight, like they're not going to stop until one of them falters.
Charlie pulls away first. Her mouth is smeared deep burgundy from Zari's lipstick and she's grinning again, but she's out of breath and her pupils are huge and dark. The sight of her gives Zari a little surge of satisfaction. "You're the best, babe," Charlie says, in not-quite-Amaya's voice.
Zari shoves her a little. "You're the worst," she says.
Charlie's smile gets even wider. "You sure didn't kiss me like I was, Z."
Zari starts to speak, opens her mouth and shuts it again. Charlie has her and she knows it, has the taste of Zari's mouth on her tongue as evidence that Zari liked kissing her, a lot. Zari's already leaning halfway into another kiss before she catches herself, swipes her hand across her lips. "Shut up."
Zari moves forward, planning to shove Charlie out of her personal space. But Charlie's faster: she catches Zari's wrist and pins it back against the pillar, above her head. Her drink sloshes a little, dripping cold and sticky onto Zari's palm. Zari's stuck, one hand pinned above her and the other holding a rapidly-warming soda, useless. Charlie leans in closer, grinning. "You sure you don't want to kiss me again?"
This is the thing: Zari does.
She wants to kiss Charlie, badly. Not for the mission or because it's a cover story. She wants to kiss Charlie because she's pretty and she makes Zari so angry and she's a good kisser and she's pressed against Zari's body like she wants to be here just as much as Zari does. "Don't make a big deal out of it," Zari whispers.
Charlie whispers something. Zari doesn't catch the words, can't lipread because Charlie's mouth is already out of view, she's moving in and kissing Zari again. This one is deeper than the one before. Charlie's mouth is tender this time, and it's everything Zari has been trying not to want.
Charlie kisses with her whole body, digging her thigh up into Zari's inseam and pressing close, arching her back catlike so that all of Zari is touching her. Her mouth is insistent and it feels so good and when Zari wriggles against her she feels a low-pitched sound from Charlie. It's too loud for her to hear it, but she feels it against her lips, can imagine the low almost-hidden moan and despite herself she feels a surge of satisfaction at the thought of it. Charlie rocks her hips forward, shoves her thigh into Zari until her groin is pressing into it with all of her weight. She shouldn't like this. She shouldn't feel aroused, but she can feel her pulse between her legs, sweet and delightful and what if Charlie touched her, there.
Charlie sighs against Zari's mouth again and Zari feels it, wrestles her arm out of Charlie's grasp so that she can grab Charlie by the nape and -
"Charlie, Zari." Sara's voice floats into their earpieces, startling them both. "How's it going in there?"
Sara can't hear them, but she'll worry if they don't reply. Zari wriggles her fingers, moves to release Charlie's neck and tap her comm but Charlie's hand flies up to keep her still. "Just so you know," Charlie drawls, her voice thick with desire. "If Sara didn't need our help I'd be inviting you to the ladies right now."
"To do what?" Zari asks. She's digging her nails into Charlie's skin, and she doesn't miss the way Charlie leans into the feeling and rocks her hips forward.
Charlie bites at Zari's lower lip, teasing. "I think you know," she says. "And I'm pretty sure you'd come."
Charlie quirks an eyebrow, rocks her hips forward in case Zari had somehow missed the double-entendre. Zari squirms, flexes her thigh forward against Charlie's groin and is rewarded with a gasp and a little hiss of delight. "I guess you'll never know if I will or not, darling," Zari says.
Charlie kisses her again as she lets her up, fast and hard and more than a little competitive. "Maybe not, love. Not yet. But one of these days, I think."
Zari taps her earpiece. "Good," she says. She sounds out of breath even to her own ears. Charlie makes another face at her, a little too proud. "Everything's good, Sara."