Gustavain seems almost alarmingly at ease with the whole thing. There's a sharp, audible gasp when he sits down at first, but he immediately makes a little wince and stretches his leg a bit, with an apologetic still bothering me a little bit at Phillip, but for their server. He loses the thread of conversation a few times, fingers tight on the edge of the table or once, resting over his mouth with his chin on his hand, looking for all the world like he's just watching the people come and go, contemplative. If somehow someone else were toying with him it would be obvious to Phillip that something was wrong, but there's no way anyone else would.

Still, he doesn't really manage to eat much, shows how hard he's having to work at calm in the way he can't quite manage to maneuver both his knife and his fork at the same time, the way he's unconsciously rubbing the tines of the fork against his tongue a bit more than normal, yet another thing that could easily be taken as him just eating slowly, but Phillip knows better.

The closest he comes to slipping up is one of the deeper, slower combos has him roll his hips exactly once before he can stop himself, the look on his face completely pornographic, before he grips the sides of the table and very clearly wrests himself back from the edge. It's clearly something that's more taken him off-guard rather than the one where he seems to half lose control of himself, because he coughs a moment later, loudly, and then takes a frantic sip of his water, like he's choked on something.

A glance around as soon as he regains himself and he manages to turn his voice bright, innocent,

"I don't think I'm quite ready to go home yet after food but... perhaps a detour?" Perhaps the previously aforementioned storage closet, he means. Or somewhere else alone.