He laughs, another breezy, giddy sound, and nods in understanding. It's something Deirdre may pick up on, dealing with Jeff. Sex, and all things, adjacent, is a giggly affair with him-- when he's being real, anyway. When he feels whole and human and carefree, the sunshine starts to come out. He bites his lower lip to stifle his snicker.

"Thank god. I'm no good at talking like-- like a romance novel."

And just look, the boy can multitask! He keeps his hand on her calf, caressing with long fingers, as he uses his other hand to undo his trousers and try to free himself from the confines of the fabric.

There's only a minimal amount of fumbling!

"I thought-- fuck, I was thinking about, at the dinner? Going under the table and-- and lifting up your skirts--" He groans a little, both at the fantasy, and at the very real contact between them now. "--eating you out. Don't even care if there's other people around..."