The realisation comes, embarrassingly late, that this is the angle Danny's been working for a while. That wanna get fucked up with me wasn't about finding whatever crazy and entirely platonic substances this place had to offer - or wasn't just about that, anyway. Being wanted like that wasn't exactly something Murphy had experienced much, and it's like being caught on a hook, Danny's finger tracing fire down the thin skin of his wrist, the idea dripping heavy from the spaces between his words.

There's a second where something animal-wary and vulnerable flits across Murphy's expression. Eyes a little too open, uncertainty and disbelief and some deeper sorrow, caught in the headlights and about to bolt. But then - screw this - it's gone, chased away by the slice of the smile tugging his mouth, the slightest shift of his posture, opening.

"Why, you wanna find it for me?"

He's pretty sure he doesn't have one. But that just means Danny would be looking for a while, right.