He kisses her not a moment too soon, and she smiles against his lips, the laughter that had been threatening to bubble out of her escaping, instead, as a sigh. She loves making him laugh. It's always been its own reward, if only because she's gathered that 'full of laughter' wouldn't describe the life he led before they met. That he's found such an agreeable way to stifle it is a bonus.

She draws him down to her, loving the weight of him pressing her into the mattress, her thighs tightening unconsciously around him. "I believe," she murmurs, only barely breaking the kiss, her lips still brushing against his as she speaks, "you offered to give me a hand with something." There are plenty of perks to taking their time and drawing things out, of course, but that doesn't mean she isn't growing increasingly desperate for the feeling of his hands on her skin.