Midnighter's only ever been massaged by Andrew, and his response is immediate surrender, muscle memory leading him to seek grateful pleasure. He trusts Marcus, is the thing, so it's easy to let his head loll back, eyes shifting closed, and let out a tiny murmur of pleasure, a soft sigh.

"You're... good at it." A smile crosses his face, sharp our of habit, this time, than attempted menace. "Only one who does it right. I mean, there are others, but we got an understanding. Lotta people are squeamish of making sure the job gets done all the way. Don't like working with me, so they kinda... make room and we don't talk about it. And they don't look too hard when some slave trading scumbag gets shoved out an airlock."