Thierry leaned his cheek into Barclay's hand, not quite nuzzling it but liking the feel of Barclay's fingertips on his skin there. He didn't really know if anything else needed to be said. Thierry was usually really good about knowing when to speak or not to speak. Love wasn't a stranger to him, but maybe this sort of feeling wasn't like the other times.
It might explain why Thierry was leaning in and saying something in Cajun French along the lines of "Why fight it?" Those eyes of Barclay's were drawing him in and he couldn't pull away. Not that he was trying or anything.