Nyx is already reaching right back for Midnighter, pulling him into the circle of his arms. Feels something tight and pained and closed like a fist in his chest ease, bit by slow bit, tension seeping out of him in a long sigh.

"Already laying it on thick, huh? 'Cause you know flattery is gonna get you exactly what you want." But the affection in his voice belies the tease as Nyx focuses on combing fingers through his hair, rubbing at the prickly-softness of the buzzed-off sides before he presses a kiss to his temple. Midnighter smells like leather, like the acrid tang of ozone, something singed and bloody. He can't get enough of it. What's a little blood in comparison?

"Mm, missed you," he murmurs... and gives Midnighter's ass a squeeze. "Long job?"