Ford wasn't actually interested much in plants one way or another, so the comment about the greenhouse might have gone without reaction from him except for the look that followed it. The raised eyebrow, the smile that was almost a smirk — Ford's throat drew tighter and his stomach flipped again. He wasn't sure what it was about that look on Macnair's face, but it certainly made him feel a certain way. Except that wasn't exactly true, was it? Ford did have an inkling of what it was — he just wasn't sure how to put it in words, even internally. But: the offer still stands, with a look like that. They weren't really talking about his mother's greenhouse, were they? Ford moved his wine glass to his mouth less because he wanted a drink and more because he wasn't sure what expression was on his face, and thought it might serve him well to hide behind the glass for a minute while he wrestled with that idea.
One thing popped into his mind, before anything else: if he'd found himself in the exact same situation with Macnair as he had with Fisk this week, where they were alone and had their hands on each other and clothing starting to come off, and Ford said we shouldn't, he didn't think Macnair would have stopped. He didn't seem like the sort to do things by halves; if he wanted something, and it was within his grasp, he would take it. The idea should have made Ford uneasy, he knew, but — it was a little exhilarating, too. Just thinking about it made goosebumps go down his arms.
Macnair had moved on, so Ford didn't have to actually respond to the offer, which was probably for the best. Even now, recognizing it for what it was, he didn't know what he would have said. He knew what he should have said: no. He couldn't be sneaking off to meet attractive men and get into mischief with them, when he really needed to be devoting his attention, time, and energy to his family. He particularly couldn't agree to anything if he wasn't sure Macnair would pull back if Ford had second thoughts. Showing up for something like that would be surrendering himself the moment he arrived, because from that point on it would be up to Macnair how far and how quickly things progressed. That level of uncertainty was dangerous. Ford couldn't have agreed to it, shouldn't have agreed to it — but he also wasn't sure he would have been capable of telling Macnair no if he was looking at him like that when he asked, so he wasn't sure what he would have said.
Boggarts. They were talking about boggarts. Or Macnair was, anyway, and Ford was swallowing to try and clear the dryness in his throat and hoping that he didn't look as distracted as he felt. Macnair spoke rather casually of the boggart, given how much it had shaken him in the moment, but perhaps that shouldn't have been surprising. That same effortless confidence that Ford had noted in him so many times already was showing through again. But — boggarts. Ford could talk about boggarts; he was good at this, and it was a comfortable conversation topic, so he could get through this without making a fool of himself.
"I can only imagine," he agreed, and was pleased to hear that his tone sounded entirely normal despite the fact that he felt hyper-sensitive to every physical sensation at the moment. "It's fairly common for people to see themselves in boggarts, but it's never happened to me."
One thing popped into his mind, before anything else: if he'd found himself in the exact same situation with Macnair as he had with Fisk this week, where they were alone and had their hands on each other and clothing starting to come off, and Ford said we shouldn't, he didn't think Macnair would have stopped. He didn't seem like the sort to do things by halves; if he wanted something, and it was within his grasp, he would take it. The idea should have made Ford uneasy, he knew, but — it was a little exhilarating, too. Just thinking about it made goosebumps go down his arms.
Macnair had moved on, so Ford didn't have to actually respond to the offer, which was probably for the best. Even now, recognizing it for what it was, he didn't know what he would have said. He knew what he should have said: no. He couldn't be sneaking off to meet attractive men and get into mischief with them, when he really needed to be devoting his attention, time, and energy to his family. He particularly couldn't agree to anything if he wasn't sure Macnair would pull back if Ford had second thoughts. Showing up for something like that would be surrendering himself the moment he arrived, because from that point on it would be up to Macnair how far and how quickly things progressed. That level of uncertainty was dangerous. Ford couldn't have agreed to it, shouldn't have agreed to it — but he also wasn't sure he would have been capable of telling Macnair no if he was looking at him like that when he asked, so he wasn't sure what he would have said.
Boggarts. They were talking about boggarts. Or Macnair was, anyway, and Ford was swallowing to try and clear the dryness in his throat and hoping that he didn't look as distracted as he felt. Macnair spoke rather casually of the boggart, given how much it had shaken him in the moment, but perhaps that shouldn't have been surprising. That same effortless confidence that Ford had noted in him so many times already was showing through again. But — boggarts. Ford could talk about boggarts; he was good at this, and it was a comfortable conversation topic, so he could get through this without making a fool of himself.
"I can only imagine," he agreed, and was pleased to hear that his tone sounded entirely normal despite the fact that he felt hyper-sensitive to every physical sensation at the moment. "It's fairly common for people to see themselves in boggarts, but it's never happened to me."
Set by Lady!