Ford didn't know what to say. He tried to slouch farther into the chair, forgetting that he had balanced his drink on his lap. It tipped slightly and sloshed just a tiny bit of his drink out, just enough for him to notice that his crotch was suddenly wet. He startled, pulled his hands away from his face, and grabbed the drink to prevent it from spilling any more. Fuck fuck fuck. Now Macnair's pants were going to smell like gin when he returned them. Although there was presumably no reason for Macnair to notice this — Ford wasn't in the habit of smelling his own clothing, particularly not after it had been worn all day — it was still freshly alarming. And Merlin, what if he stained Macnair's pants? He kept the glass in his right hand but used his left to cover part of his face with his sleeve again, wishing this whole night was some sort of nightmare and he could force himself to wake up from it.

Ford peeked over at Noble, with the one eye not covered by his sleeve, and immediately wished he hadn't. "Oh, don't," he begged miserably. "Don't look at me like that."

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