Declan notes the label on the bottle with a single flick of his eyes. Scotch, not Irish, and he's Irish enough to believe that Irish whiskey is inherently superior. Still, at least it's better than the disgusting stuff that Ronan tends to drink. He accepts the glass without any reaction, keeping his face blank as he knocks it back in one gulp and then holds the glass out again--whether to take or refill, he's not clear about what he wants, letting Gansey decide what he'll do.

"So what was that about, Dick?" Declan asks, still keeping him emotionally at arm's length with any nickname but the one that Gansey likes.

The look in Gansey's eyes makes him feel weak in the knees, makes him want to yield. Gansey has that inherent quality, that kingliness, and Declan doesn't think there's anyone who can hear his voice without wanting to kneel--sexual or not, the desire is inescapable.