Is he living in a Penthouse letter right now? He's getting a job serving a hot, older tiefling lady, and now he's getting, you know, another kind of job right here and now. And with every touch, he's anchored to right here and right now, and it's fucking blissful, to quiet the noise in his head and ignore the distressing, lonely lack of that once-constant presence.

"Uh huh-- arrangements, yeah--" His breathing quickens, and he's biting back a whine-- a fucking useless attempt at keeping some control over himself, since it's not like Deirdre can't feel the way his dick's starting to stiffen against her foot. A laugh, almost a giddy giggle, escapes him as she calls back to the fucking cucumber festival, and he nods.

"Yeah, I mean, you know, you're..." Ahhhh fuck, what are words? "Fucking hot. Just-- stunning, and impressive, and-- and yeah, I've been thinking about what it'd be like to, ah, you know, if we fucked, uh--" He scrunches his nose a little, like maybe she's not the kind of lady who wants to hear about fucking, in such terms. He reaches under the table, sliding a hand from her ankle, up along her calf, far as he can reach at this angle. "I mean, made... love...?"