Work Header


Work Text:

The first hour that Eve was missing, Sven kept himself busy. It was too early, really, to even call it missing, and yet somewhere inside himself he knew.

So he spent the first hour she was missing going over his notes for the case they were working on; he tidied the tiny apartment they were staying in; he even ironed shirts. He worried about Train, because that was easy. Train always came back, but Eve...

The second hour, he smoked himself stupid. Sitting at the kitchen table, filling the ashtray with stubs of varying lengths, drinking tea and wishing it was sake.

The third hour, he phoned everyone he knew. Most of them twice. Rins four times, until she finally sounded more worried than pissed off, and promised to put the word out among her contacts.

He even called Eve's phone, even though he knew it lay with her keys in the little dish in the hall.

By the fourth hour, he started to get angry with Train. If Train was here, Sven could go search for Eve himself. But Train wasn't here, Train was out asserting his stupid illusion of independence, walking the streets while Sven was trapped, unable to leave in case Eve came back and couldn't get into the apartment. Sven's anger climbed to fury, so that when the door opened (and he knew straight away it was Train, he knew their footsteps, the sigh of their breath, everything about them, damn) he sprang to his feet and shoved Train against the wall.

Sven was yelling, he knew he was yelling, but Train wasn't doing anything; he just stood there, his fingers curled loosely around Sven's wrists, and blinked through his tirade.

To his horror, Sven found tears pricking at his eyes. Train blinked one more time, and this time when his eyes flicked open compassion shone out, and Sven saw his own fears reflected there so vividly, that when Train said, too calmly, "don't worry, she'll come home, we'll find her," Sven went limp and helpless and sobbed, and if Train hadn't caught him he would have slid to the floor right there, a puddle at his feet.

But Train did catch him. Train put his arms around him, and called him his partner, oh, God, and held him so close Sven could feel his heartbeat.

"We'll find her," Train said, his lips brushing soft against Sven's ear, cutting through the panic like a hot knife in butter. "Call Annette, she's just shut up shop, she can come and house-sit for us."

"You could wait, I'll-"

"Call her. I'm coming with you."


Train kissed him. He'd worked out far too fast that it was the best way to silence Sven; something about the warmth of Train's mouth and the slick wet of his tongue forced a comfort on him that he couldn't resist. More than pleasure; firm reassurance swept through him and finally he felt like he could breathe. "Train..."

"We'll find her," said Train, as if he was talking about a lost set of keys. "I'll call Annette. Go wash your face. You're all snotty."

Sven was too worn out to even feign indignance, but his brain was coming back into focus and he started to form a plan for the search as he took himself off to the bathroom. The park first, that was Eve's favourite spot, there might be clues there, and then the shopping precinct, because she had been drooling over those stupid shoes for weeks. Never mind that it was gone midnight and the shops were long since shut; they might find something. Eve wouldn't go anywhere she didn't want without a struggle....

He was towelling his face dry, full of calm resolution, when the phone rang. He heard Train answer it, his soft voice far enough out of range that Sven couldn't quite make out the words. By the time he was at Train's side in the kitchen, towel still clutched anxiously in one hand, the conversation was over. But Train was smiling. Smiling.

"They found her in the library," Train said. "She fell asleep under a table in the cybernetics section, they didn't see her when they locked up."

Sven was vaguely aware that he was grinning like an idiot. "Asleep?"

"Yep. Such a moron," said Train.

"Why didn't she take her phone, or her keys?" Sven said.

"I think she was mad at you. I think maybe we were both mad at you." He'd found a carton of milk from somewhere (didn't he always?), and he proceeded to pour it down his gullet. Sven watched as Train drank, momentarily distracted (wasn't he always?) by the working of Train's throat as he swallowed. A stream of milk escaped the corner of his mouth and trickled down his jaw.

"Mad?" he said, faintly.

"You're too protective," Train said, licking his lips. "You said she couldn't go to that dance, remember?"

"What? But... it's only a stupid school dance. She's not there to go to dances and mess about with boys."

Train shrugged, then took another gulp of milk.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Why do you send her to school? She's already brighter than any of the kids there."

"I... she should have a normal life. It's bad enough she has to hang around with a pair of losers like us, she needs..."

"To be with people her own age? To have a little fun?"

The penny dropped, and Sven's misery was complete. "Oh shit. It's all my fault. Oh shit."

Train tossed the empty milk carton into the rubbish bin and stretched luxuriously. Train always stretched with his whole body, lean and powerful and...

"Rins is going to fetch her from the library. I said she should keep her overnight. You can collect her in the morning."

"What? Why? I could-"

"Give her time to cool off. Rins seemed to think they needed some time for girl-talk."

"Oh. Well, I guess Rins is usually right about that stuff."

"Yeah." Train was looking at him, that slit-eyed, hungry look that stole Sven's breath and made his stomach flip. Sven tried to believe that Train didn't see him in the same category as a pint of milk or a plate of sushi, but he could never quite be sure.

"So, what were you mad at me for?" Sven asked, voice all choked-up all of a sudden, as Train advanced on him.

"Dunno," Train said, and brushed his cheek against Sven's, tongue darting out to lick his ear as Sven trembled and dropped the towel. "Forgot."

Then Train was kissing him again, and Sven did his best to pretend he was in control, to remind himself that in this, as in all things, he was the senior partner. But it didn't wash. Not one bit. Not when Train was undressing him, his breath warm in Sven's ear, along Sven's neck; not when his tongue was lapping at Sven's collarbones while he worked Sven's shirt over his shoulders.

"On the table," Train said, and then, as an afterthought, "please?"

Sven could only nod. All the tension he'd been generating through the last few hours seemed to have concentrated in his dick, and all he had was ache. He let Train back him towards the table, wincing at the clatter as Train cleared enough room by sweeping everything onto the floor.

"Pants off," said Train, and left Sven fumbling with buttons and underwear while Train fetched something from the cupboard.

Oh shit. Oil again. Olive oil. Rosemary olive oil. Train's favourite.

Sven's mind went weak, his groin sucking all the energy and thought from him, and he lay back on the table as Train held the bottle high and poured. Sven yelled as the warm, thick liquid flowed over the root of his cock, his aching balls, down the crack of his arse. Train's fingers followed the stream of oil until they reached his hole. There they swirled around, dabbling in oil and soft skin, pressing cautiously inside. More oil. More fingers. Until Sven felt stuffed and slick and open, and his cock was dribbling precome to form a puddle on his belly. Train always knew just where to rub, where to tease, where to...

Sven forced himself to breathe, to wait, not to come too soon.

Train spread Sven's legs wide, and nudged his way between them. He was watching; Sven watched Train watch as he guided his cock to Sven's hole. Watched him bite his lip, shut his eyes for that instant when he pressed inside, and Sven could imagine it, imagine the hot clench of muscle around dick, even as he felt the invasion himself. Harder and thicker than fingers could ever be, big and full and... and....

Train folded himself over Sven and kissed him. Buried all the way inside. Sven crossed his legs over Train's back, wriggling around, chasing pleasure, head falling back as Train began to thrust. Train's fingers stroked his chest, trembling against his skin; Train's mouth brushed his neck, teeth grazing, snagging over the stubble at his jaw. Train's hair fell onto Sven's face, tickled, caressed.

Train's cock surged into Sven's body, over and over, building the ache, stronger and stronger.

"Oh fuck," Sven whispered. There were stars. There was screaming. He came like a dam bursting, everything clench and release and he was biting down on something, hard, eyes squeezed shut as his body shuddered.

It went on until it felt painful, almost, hard and tight, balls empty, cock pulsing dribbles, and Sven could feel, all of a sudden, out of nowhere, Train's fingers soothing through his hair. He tasted blood; he'd bitten Train's shoulder, hard enough to break the skin, but Train was being gentle. Train understood. He always understood.

"I have to," Train murmured, a kind of apology, and he started fucking again (when had he stopped?), steady, purposeful strokes as Sven let the world swirl back into place.

He'd want to lick the oil off afterwards, Sven remembered. Whenever they used oil, he always...

Train came with a sort of grace that was all his own, back arching, head tipped back, letting out a groan that turned into a sigh, his whole body quivering. Sven watched him, let the warmth spread through him.

"Better?" Train whispered, looking down at him through ragged strands of damp hair, a smug grin already spreading across his pretty face.

"Yes," said Sven. "Thank you, much."

"You're all messy."

"We should take a bath." The thought of a long soak in the tub, with an indecent quantity of bubbles and possibly a bottle of something there might be in the fridge, sounded like heaven to Sven's aching muscles. Funny how just holding everything inside made a person feel so...

"I'd better clean you up a bit first." And Train was sliding down Sven's body, little pink tongue lapping at his skin.

Sven smiled to himself. It would tickle. It would lead to other things; his cock was already stirring, stretching itself fat across his belly. If they made it to the bath they might be so exhausted they'd fall asleep and drown.

"She's really okay?" he murmured, fingers weaving their way through Train's hair.

"Yes." Train kissed Sven's belly.

Sven let out a little sigh, relaxed into the hard wooden table as if it were the softest bed, and let Train have his way.