Oh, he's all too aware of what he's encouraging. Pressed against each other and knowing her like he does he can feel when she decides to move before she moves, parts his lips a little wider, lets himself get carried away by the thought. Just for a moment. Her fingers drift and for that second he lets himself wonder about the logistics; about the open space around them, about how far she'll let herself take this and a hundred little inchoate joyous thoughts he's been trying not to indulge and--

the flat, muffled sound he makes as she pulls away is more than half curse.

She's supposed to be working and he's supposed to be a responsible member of what passes for society, they ought to be thrilled that she's got a bite. More food to pack away for the lean months and all that. He leans his chin in his hand with a hopeless kind of huff, though honestly the whole thing's so ridiculous that his hand is covering half a smile.

She'd better reel it in. He wants to personally eat this fucker for dinner, all right.