Spencer's immediately laughing again, poised performer forgotten. He feels warm all over, but nowhere more than where Irs'a lips brushed his stomach. He sits up abruptly and clumsily grabs at Ira. His head is spinning, but he's got a solid hold on his anchor.

He presses his forehead against Ira's, sitting on the table as Ira stands. It reminds him a little of that potion-induced kiss in the supply closet. He'd been ashamed of the way he'd immediately wrapped his legs around Ira, begging for something more. Ira's going to be a healer one day. He gets good grated the legit way, not the cheater brain way.

"You're so hot," he says, and then cringes. "Pretend I was, like, more romantic. Fuck."