[Leif is gearing up to get bratty about the insinuation that he might not get exactly what he wants, exactly when he wants it, when the jacket is draped over his shoulders. For an instant -- so quick, blink and you'll miss it -- he's caught off-guard, disarmed by the gesture. It's thoughtful. He doesn't know what to do with thoughtful. He looks up at Simon, expression open for that fleeting moment, surprised and confused and looking very, very young.

But then it's gone. And Leif's back to being in control, sliding his arms into the jackets sleeves and wrapping it around himself, making a show of breathing in the scent.] Good luck getting this back. Covering up all that [insert a gesture at Simon's everything, arms and shoulders and sheer, imposing presence] ought to be illegal.

[The hotel is close by, and Leif doesn't bother to hide his impatience, crossing his arms in the too-long sleeves and leaving his shoes by the door. He moves forward, intent and determined, right into Simon's space, rising up onto his tiptoes again.] We were just in a bar. Of course I don't want another drink.

[A mildly embarrassing moment to push up those sleeves, then Leif’s hands are reaching out, tracing along the tattos on Simon's arms, up to the cuff of his shirt, over his broad shoulders. All the while, he doesn't break eye contact, just keeps his chin lifted and his gaze intent.] I didn't come here to drink. Did you?