And Marcus doesn't judge, doesn't laugh or do so much as kiss and thank him. Midnighter isn't sure what that means, but he supposed they'd passed the point of stories, and perhaps he was dragging them back. He's always a little unsure of the flow of conversation, and maybe- maybe, idiot, Marcus just wants to get off. Not everyone is accustomed to waiting and holding back as he is.

Maybe he's just fucking overthinking it. Andrew would always give him shit for that, sometimes kindly, sometimes not. Computer in the brain made everything overcomplicated. Pattern recognition on steroids. Always searching for a secret answer.

Fuck, he's stalling.

"You trust me," he says, less a question, more a statement. Who the fuck ever says that to him? He dips in for another kiss, his own thanks, before moving away. He's going to see Marcus come undone atop him, so he might as well get a good view of the other side. He lets Marcus roll onto his front, snakes one arm around his waist to hold him close, and with the other, slowly inserts a finger into him, cautious and slow.

"And, you know, if you like any of the shit I do," he says, pouring humor and heat back into his voice, "you should definitely tell me. Like that accent of yours." He doesn't actually feel one way or the other about Marcus' voice, but it's always good to compliment people, and it gets them back on track. He slowly curls his finger. "Like hearing you talk." Now, that's more true.