It's evident to Sirius that this isn't the sort of conversation Cisco is accustomed to. In truth, it's not one he's allowed himself to indulge in much recently either. A war doesn't quite lend itself to flirtatious conversations with people he's only just met. If anything, he's learned to barely speak of anything at all, invitations given and accepted only with significant looks and barely discernible nods toward darkened corners and back alleys.

To say Sirius's skills are a bit rusty in this department is an understatement.

"Perhaps invitation is a better word," he says, still smiling as he sets his tea on the table and leans forward. "To be accepted or rejected by the person paying for the drink."