As long as Zevran wanted to hold on, Jack had a feeling he was going to accept it. Especially after the last time Zevran had returned to them, Jack supposed he could take some idiocy. And inebriation. And . . . hell. All of it, every incomprehensible bit down to the sole objection being the possible offensiveness of his breath. He couldn't repress a soft huff of a laugh, letting his head hang down just a moment as he let that sink in. Brandy breath. Really.

"Let me think about that." He peeked up with a smirk, then straightened deliberately, hesitating a moment before walking away - all the way to the counter. With a deliberate twist he uncapped the brandy, and stepped back already taking a deliberate swig, wincing with the burn but swallowing a second one by the time he reached the table.

Enough pleasantries, then. Bottle on the table. Hand in the loose front of that sweater. And mouth against Zevran's, firm and steady, everything and nothing like before.