Lance held up his hands in front of him in a defensive gesture. "I don't have a camera, I promise yeh. There will be no 'butt-kicking' necessary, though it flatters my ego that yeh think it's cute." He grinned at her, hoping that his smile would win her over.
He shoved his hands in the pockets of his denims, a pair that had seen better days. He'd chosen them, and the simple v-neck white tee shirt, because Ronan O'Reilly was the type not to give a fuck what he wore (as opposed to Lancelot Troy, who, when not in uniform, had a tendency to dress rather sharply if he did say so himself).