For a moment, Fabrice worries that Demetri's changed his mind, when he lingers a moment on the front steps. But then, he's stepping inside, chest brushing against his own, and Fabrice's breath catches at the sensation, warm, comforting, and sending his nerves for a whirl. "You did," he manages, his voice slightly raspy as the heat from the other man's presence snakes up his spine.

He manages to move back, almost stumbling into the table as he watches the other man lick his lips. The sight does funny things to his brain, and he has to shake his head to clear it of thoughts other than trying to scry for Moira and James.

"Okay, um. Follow me, this way," he gestures, before remembering his manners. "Oh, can I get you anything to eat or drink?"