For a second there Ben thought he could feel anger and resentment emanating down the bloodline they'd shared, but it was gone once Ichabod spoke his agreement. Had Ben said something wrong already? It was difficult to know if he was saying the wrong thing or if Ichabod was taking him the wrong way because of their past. He hadn't meant harm. Ichabod was obviously picking up on his second-guessing and nervousness, even though they'd barely spoken past their initial greetings. Ah, such were the benefits (and disadvantages) of a blood bond.
He nodded before speaking an answer out loud. "Yes," he said firmly, hoping he didn't sound too blunt or accusing or bossy or whatever Ichabod thought he was being.
But was he okay? He could feel the tension thrumming within himself. He'd been a little wary about coming tonight, because he was planning on clearing the air between himself and Ichabod, but there was more to it than that. He'd been fine walking through the door. He'd been fine watching Ichabod warm up some blood. He'd been fine, in fact, until he'd accepted the mug.
He looked down at it now, resting on the knee of his jeans, warming a circle of skin beneath it. Three of his fingers were inside the handle, the pinky was beneath it, the thumb on top of it, keeping it safe, though he had to relax the hand holding it a little more. Not too much, lest it topple over, unbalanced. Maybe he should just put it on the coffee table. Yes, that was an idea. He leant forward and deposited the mug carefully on the coffee table, near the edge. Then he prodded it with his fingers until it was further away from the edge, just in case. He leaned back and noticed the expression on Ichabod's face.
"Oh, I already had a drink before I came over," he justified, before adding for further benefit: "And it's hot."
He wondered if Ichabod would think the last comment was Ben having a go at him for making it too hot, and had to close his eyes for a moment to calm himself down.