[ When Derek's eyebrows raise, Reggie raises one of his own and offers a thin-lipped smirk in return, cocking his head slightly to one side in consideration or challenge. Both, perhaps; Reggie's bravado tends to be somewhat layered.

His eyes follow Derek's hand, then raise back up, his face once again returning to a cool, neutral state. It's obvious there's several emotions competing there right under the surface, mostly anger and indignation and smugness with very mild undertones of shame and arousal (the two unrelated). Reggie doesn't care for losing face, absolutely hates being made to feel small, but there are times when he can kind of respect it, too. This is one of those times, rare in that there is no in-built baggage or inherent competition for him to get too hung up on to let, er, sleeping dogs rest. He's not over it yet now, but he can see himself getting there.

Derek kneels, and Moose sniffs him warily, still growling and taking the opportunity to move himself protectively in front of Reggie's legs. He doesn't lick Derek, but doesn't bite him either. ]

That's a good boy. [ Reggie says, petting his still-growling dog. ] And I think you know as well as I do that all that shit does matter. You're an idiot if you think it doesn't. But what's that even got to do with any of this? I mean it's not my fault that your boy there isn't more like me.

[ Then, frowning and brushing his bangs out of his face, he adds after a pause in a distinctly more irritated tone: ]

I'm also obviously not the one who's been running my mouth.