"Fuckin' squirmy, ain't ya?" he asks, but he's laughing, even as her kick lands, a sudden spark of pain blooming through his tailbone and lower spine and that's going to bruise, he's sure of it already. But it's a bruise he'll welcome, like all the bruises, like all the fights.

He turns, dropping into a fighting stance again, and he might mostly be used to barroom brawls, but he was, at one time, a king and a soldier. He remembers how to call on those abilities every now and again.

"I expected you'd be climbing me by now," he says with another flash of a grin. "Let's not disappoint now, love."