It's in these moments he feels closest to her -- and like he could so easily give in if she offered her wrist now. He opens his mouth to ask for it even when she moves on to the next stage instead, and he can't deny how much better she feels as her skin warms against his, smothering a cry against her face as her leg rubs against him.
"Pepper..." But it isn't a request or even a protest, not really, just an utterance of her name. These acts have stopped feeling anything but right, even tailgating on a kill. Perhaps especially then. He hates how much he enjoys that, too, but he knows he can't stop. Won't truly know what to do if all the mindless monsters finally become extinct. "Do you feel better?" he asks tentatively, smoothing hair back from her face and behind her ear to cup her cheek in one calloused palm. He can't deny how much he cares about her, far beyond survival. He wants her to thrive because of the words he can never say.