Valerian was all too aware of the way Greengrass was mirroring him, and he briefly wondered if the other man was as transfixed by him as Valerian wanted to believe he was. The last time he'd held a man's eye this long, with this look in his eye was... too long ago, even on the rare occasions he went to visit a rent boy after a particularly rough day at work. He wanted to push the boundaries, see how farther he could get—and yet, once again, the fact that they were in the middle of the club was proving a source of annoyance.
The question caught him off guard, though, but not long enough to force a break the eye contact or even a change of demeanor. He didn't want to think about boggarts, even if it was cute to watch Greengrass theorize about the things he enjoyed. He wanted to think about Greengrass, and more specifically what it would take to get him out of the main sitting area of the club. "Not anymore, I think," he answered, an intensity to his words that hadn't been there before. The words had an underlying meaning, of course, just as all his previous answers had, but there was also truth: the fear of being a killer—of killing Macmillan—or being killed himself had dissipated once he'd patched up Macmillan.
He finally broke his gaze away from the other man's gaze, bringing the glass of wine to his lips. He'd meant to make it seem like he was deep in contemplation about Greengrass' question, but really he was just thinking about how obvious the dent in his pants would be if he tried to stand up now, and if it would scare Greengrass off. Hm.
The question caught him off guard, though, but not long enough to force a break the eye contact or even a change of demeanor. He didn't want to think about boggarts, even if it was cute to watch Greengrass theorize about the things he enjoyed. He wanted to think about Greengrass, and more specifically what it would take to get him out of the main sitting area of the club. "Not anymore, I think," he answered, an intensity to his words that hadn't been there before. The words had an underlying meaning, of course, just as all his previous answers had, but there was also truth: the fear of being a killer—of killing Macmillan—or being killed himself had dissipated once he'd patched up Macmillan.
He finally broke his gaze away from the other man's gaze, bringing the glass of wine to his lips. He'd meant to make it seem like he was deep in contemplation about Greengrass' question, but really he was just thinking about how obvious the dent in his pants would be if he tried to stand up now, and if it would scare Greengrass off. Hm.
