Ishshi challenged me with "the liquorice hours", and I used it as an excuse to get Train drunk. Challenges are fun!


The Liquorice Hours

The bottle clinks uncertainly against the rim and clear liquid flows out, fills the shot glass, overflows a little and leaves an oily ring on the table. Sven can't quite remember how they ended up in this situation, and right now he can't seem to care.

Sambuca tastes like liquorice, thick and sweet, but it's fiery, biting beneath the sweetness. Train doesn't drink - not ever - but he likes sweet things, Sven knows, so perhaps he's drinking it for the flavour? Except that doesn't seem right, somehow. Something niggles at the back of Sven's fuzzy thoughts, and then his foot nudges a prone body on the floor and he remembers.

Those guys should have known better than to challenge them to a drinking contest. Train's not one to turn down a dare, and when they started laughing at him for ordering milk at the bar, they sealed their fate. He never drinks, but when Train Heartnet does something he does it well; and as for Sven, well, he couldn't let his partner go into combat alone, now could he? He's a gentleman, after all - it was only the chaval...chivral...gentleman-type thing to do.

The body on the floor twitches a little, and one of the others is snoring gently to itself. Looks like they won, then. And how better to celebrate than with another drink?

They're drunk - or at least Sven is, and Train looks drunk, looks like Sven knows he must too. Face flushed and hair sweat-damp and eyes bright, hazed with alcohol. He shifts slightly and the catbell around his neck jingles, just a little. Bell. Collar. Skin that it lies against and Sven's fingers itch with a vague desire to touch. He frowns at them. Bad fingers. Anyway they have another task to perform; that glass isn't going to empty itself.

He picks it up carefully and sees Train do the same. Except he's not as cautious as Sven - or not as practiced at such manoeuvres - so when he tips the contents into his mouth a droplet falls onto his hand and meanders its way towards his wrist. A red tongue darts out and swipes the sticky liquor from his skin, and Sven can't help watching. Can't help staring. Can't help losing his concentration, and as he empties his own glass a trickle escapes down the side of his mouth. Before he can lick it away Train leans over and does it for him, and the way Sven's breath hitches has nothing to do with the alcohol burning in his throat.

Train grins at him with half-lidded eyes, and Sven suddenly feels a hell of a lot drunker than he did just a moment ago.

Then Train kisses him, tasting sinfully of liquorice, and Sven thinks that he could do this for hours.