He'd question her line of thinking, that fond look in her eye and the lingering touch a little more if he weren't so damn tired. Boneless, to be exact. Her warmth is missed when she removes herself from his person somewhat, or he at least misses her tits squashed ontop. Like the perfect dessert.

Ducking his head, Wolfwood plops a kiss onto that cute wrinkled nose.

"Who's the one who decided on that? Get your own pillow, then, I'm not yours."

Isn't he, though? In every way that counts, in the come coaxed because of her, laid across his stomach, in the sweat that begins to dry in the line of his hair. He sighs, lets his knees settle around her more comfortable. They're getting kinda stiff.