He scowls for that laughter, expression twisting with fainter resentment; he thinks she is mocking him—

But then she eases herself into pressing against him, into kissing and touching and relaxing, and he recognizes with slow-building trust that she is simply pleased enough to match pace with all that he requires. Demands.

His sigh is easier, his expression falling back into place, gaze infinitely less peregrine in its set. His hand, made rough only by years of scars and calluses, falls easily over her own.

“Lie back.”

A simple man he, beneath all that cutting armor.