Right, but if Lestrange turned him down now Theo was very prepared to get up immediately and get the hell out of here and possibly - if he could get away with it - never interact with the Cannons’ new captain ever again.
So it was lucky, bloody lucky, he didn’t. “Alright,” he agreed instead. “Great.” He had hoped shutting his mouth after that would maybe make him seem more nonchalant about it - but all his attempts to battle the stupid little smile that kept creeping onto his face were clearly failing. He bit his lip and ducked his face to hide it, pretending to be busy fixing the collar of his shirt again. It was nothing, just the novelty of it to blame - the relief of the feeling, or the refreshingly light sensation in him now amidst the stormclouds that seemed to have settled everywhere else in him. (Though he would have to come up with a new excuse for next time, if he was justifying this reaction like that. Next time...) Christ, and he couldn’t start thinking about doing this with Lestrange again if he hadn’t even stopped feeling his hand lingering at the small of his back yet, or the way his mouth had pressed under his jaw.
Actually, he shouldn’t be thinking about this at all: he should be getting ready to go. Right. Meeting ran late, he’d tell Veronica if she asked. Reluctantly - far too slowly, like his brain was foggy, like he could sit here all night without a care and just bask in the warm feeling of this, leaning against the chair - Theo straightened up where he was sitting and glanced down at himself again, critically, as if someone would see right through him just from looking, catch him in the lie from the dishevelment or his reddened cheeks. He reached for his jacket and pulled himself to his feet, and shot Lestrange a quick grin as he stuck out a hand to pull him up too.
So it was lucky, bloody lucky, he didn’t. “Alright,” he agreed instead. “Great.” He had hoped shutting his mouth after that would maybe make him seem more nonchalant about it - but all his attempts to battle the stupid little smile that kept creeping onto his face were clearly failing. He bit his lip and ducked his face to hide it, pretending to be busy fixing the collar of his shirt again. It was nothing, just the novelty of it to blame - the relief of the feeling, or the refreshingly light sensation in him now amidst the stormclouds that seemed to have settled everywhere else in him. (Though he would have to come up with a new excuse for next time, if he was justifying this reaction like that. Next time...) Christ, and he couldn’t start thinking about doing this with Lestrange again if he hadn’t even stopped feeling his hand lingering at the small of his back yet, or the way his mouth had pressed under his jaw.
Actually, he shouldn’t be thinking about this at all: he should be getting ready to go. Right. Meeting ran late, he’d tell Veronica if she asked. Reluctantly - far too slowly, like his brain was foggy, like he could sit here all night without a care and just bask in the warm feeling of this, leaning against the chair - Theo straightened up where he was sitting and glanced down at himself again, critically, as if someone would see right through him just from looking, catch him in the lie from the dishevelment or his reddened cheeks. He reached for his jacket and pulled himself to his feet, and shot Lestrange a quick grin as he stuck out a hand to pull him up too.
