🍾🥂Snippets 6/6 - Nino

After witnessing Wilson dance on a table after losing a drinking contest with Nino, you’ll never be able to look him straight in the face without laughing ever again.

You don’t know how Nino manages, seeing as it’s hardly the first time she’s won, against him or otherwise.

After wiping the proverbial floor with her friend, and fast-dialing his sister to come pick him up, Nino has been downing a shot after a shot from the tray that’s been left untouched during Willy’s performance.

Swallowing pure vodka like it’s water shouldn’t look so attractive, but the slight flush that keeps on growing on Nino’s face does a good job of convincing you.

Aside from her glistening eyes, her reddened complexion is the only sign of inebriation. At least, that’s what you think until she begins to speak.

“You’re abstaining?” she asks, and honest to fuck grins.

It’s not her patent ‘oh, you’re fucked’ smirk, or the vicious ‘oh, you’re about to be fucked’ leer, it’s a smile, wide and sweet, so alien - but so fitting - that it momentarily takes your breath away.

It’s gone in a blink, and she bores at your lack of reply, gesturing at your side of the table.

“Pass me the glass.”

“Sure, hold on.”

As you pick up the drink, it seems that the adrenaline and exhaustion caused by the day’s work haven’t left you, because your hand trembles. So badly, that by the time the glass is about to change hands, you manage to spill half of the shot over your fingers.

“Oops, sorry—”

Opposite of deterred, and surprisingly not at all amused by your blander, Nino’s eyes darken.

“Even better,” she mutters, and you only understand what she means when she leans in to take your thumb in her mouth, causing you to shoot up from your seat, sputtering “Oh my fucking— Nino?!”

Now, that diverts her plenty. She barks out a laugh while you plop yourself back down, face aflame.

“Are you shy?” she asks bluntly, expression turning very shark-like. You’re still not used to how forward she is. Really, you expected to eventually wear her out enough to like you, but... perhaps it was you who was lured.

“Maybe you had too much to drink,” you mumble, looking away in lieu of people-watching.

“Maybe you had too little,” she shoots back, fishing out the forgotten glass still clutched in your hand.

It’s either a payback for all the insults you hurled at her in the beginning, or she simply delights in your misfortune, but she doesn’t address you or attempt a conversation until you finally relent and look at her.

It takes a moment. A moment and a couple of more shots, to be exact, and when your courage is back, it appears Nino’s patience has run dry in exchange.

The tray is empty, and Nino glowers at you from behind her last drink. Ah, it’s time for a scolding.

“Well, now you certainly had too much,” you note when she slams the glass on the counter with a little too much force. Teasing her when she’s like this— Ah, teasing her at all has never ended well for you before, but you’re nothing, if not adventurous. “Should I call you a taxi?”

“Do you want to fight?” Nino slurs, grabbing the lapels of your jacket.

Her rapid change in behavior the more alcohol she pours in her is one thing - and having seen the usually composed and snobby Wilson drunk dance, Nino’s childishness is not even that surprising to you.

The fact that her strength and movement are still top-notch despite her inebriation... does something for you, and your obvious reaction mollifies Nino at once.

“Uh—”

The pull might have been intended as playful, but with what seems like a flick of her wrist, she sends you toppling forward. You need to scramble for the wall to keep yourself - even partially - upwards.

“‘Uh?’” she mocks, parroting your statement with a whiny voice. You’d frown at the insult, if not for the fact that her gaze is so openly fixated on your lips. She’s riling you up, doesn’t even hide her intentions.

“No,” you say, swallowing down the amusement and knowing full well that a ‘yes’ would result in you splayed on your back in the middle of a club. “I’d rather kiss.”

Nino snorts, as if in scorn, either not registering or simply not buying the mien of innocence you brought on your face. A moment passes, and another. You know she’s waiting for you to fidget or whine, so you do both.

“Fine,” she says, as expected, dragging you even closer.  Her blasé tone doesn’t match her actions, but, well, that’s Nino for you. “Might as well.”