She lets him get away with the name calling. It's becoming more and more an endearment, rather than an insult.

"You'll have your turn."

Maybe.

She sets her hairpins on the closest surface, surprised to feel his hand in her hair as she's turning to him. She doesn't move for a moment, save to reach for his hand. Her expression softens.

It is nice.

She presses her lips to his fingers, and then eases herself down on her hands and knees. She slips one leg between his, stretching herself out over his body until she can just touch his lips with her own, hair curtained to the side of their faces.