[It's a futile bout of tug of war that he's doomed to lose. Though he tries to keep the cuff attached to his wrist discreetly hidden, where one arm goes the other must follow. The chain between them goes taut and his wrist is tugged upward. He gives Gojo a pointed look, then lifts his hand higher, over the edge of the bar, and places it atop Gojo's. He doesn't attempt to yank both their hands back down, but he is, briefly, tempted.

To anyone looking they would probably come across as either a face card laying claim to a mid-ranked plaything or an older man jealously guarding the attention of a pretty youth—neither interpretation is desirable. What he really doesn't want is to cause a scene, so he keeps his voice to a low murmur.]

If I want? If you're good, I'll consider it.

[The suggestion is not without some appeal, provided they can find a more private location to slip away to. The months—coming up on a year soon enough, what a horrible thought—that he's spent here have chipped away some of his reserve, but he still prefers to keep bedroom games in the bedroom. Or at least not right in the middle of a crowded casino. He glances at his half-finished drink, coming to a decision before flagging down the bartender.]

Whisky highball and a chocolate martini.

[The latter is his best guess at something sweet enough that Gojo won't wrinkle his nose at it. Once the bartender turns away again to start mixing the drinks, he tips his head at Gojo. Casually conspiratorial,]

Start by finding the least populated section of the casino.