"Nhnngh," Midnighter says, tension unwinding from him. It's a fair amount of tension, especially when he keeps having to ignore the computer's warning that his neck is about to have some teeth sunk into it. He settles eventually, though he's tired enough to show some tells, occasional twitches and tremors from reactions that stop the moment they begin; defenses against attacks that aren't coming.

His head finds the space over Marcus' heart, its steady beat, sometimes nervous and sped up, but consistent and comforting for that. "You," he says, but he's got a good idea of Marcus at this point, and anything to blatantly complimentary won't be believed. "And the floor. Never got the hang of beds. But I'm not gonna drag you down there just for me."