That's a new noise. Jess's lips purse as she battens down a smirk, and she threads her fingers securely through the roots of his hair while he gets comfortable. Having his arms around her, his rough muscles at ease, lulls a sigh free from deep down in her lungs. The breath she takes after feels all the more vital to maintain a vestige of alertness. For his sake. No conscious part of her wants him to find safety in her company, yet she likes it when he does, and she hates it a bit less with every instance unshadowed by the monsters in their shared past.

"You're rude," is her comeback; she struggles quarter-heartedly to lean forward and grab her whiskey though the glass remains several inches out of reach. Jess is amused enough by the picture in her head of easily standing up and dislodging him, she's not bothered. In reality, his reflexes would probably save his ass from hitting the floor, but that's not how the image plays out for her.