"You left the table," Silver counters, and once he's satisfied he sets the money on the small water basin. He snatches the bottle of rum he usually keeps next to it, and is about to offer it to Benedict before he thinks better of it and takes a large swig himself.

Ale is fine, but he much prefers rum. He can't really imagine much of a life without it anymore. He does, however, find it in him to get a little more comfortable where he sits, placing his free hand in the other's hair, idly looking down and running is hands through it.

Jesus, Benedict looks good like this. Silver quirks a smile.

"Something's just occured to me," he says softly, and his hand moves from Benedict's hands to the other's jaw, gently tilting his head up. "I think you're the most dangerous man in in this very inn."