Stephen didn't recoil - he wasn't used to people touching him, but he definitely didn't recoil. Slender hands on his shoulders (hands that had just wielded a sword to turn a killer hound into a shish-kabob at that) certainly surprised him, yet he wasn't about to doubt Michelle's skills. She was a lot older than she looked - they already had that conversation - so no doubt she had picked up a few talents here and there over the years.
"I'm okay with it," he assured - felt like he could actually take a moment to breathe, now that the wave closest to the animals had been dealt with. Not like it was your typical spot for a massage, out here in the grass that still carried the aroma of scorched earth and fire and brimstone, rotten eggs and rot - but hopefully the breeze would take it away.
Cloak even attempted to be helpful, unfastening from his shoulders, the wool material thick and likely in the way. "You - that's what you want? With me?" he asked, just to clarify - because she'd said under more intimate circumstances and hoping to in the same sentence. After getting rejected by what felt like every Christine in every universe, it was just sort of difficult to fathom someone actually wanted him in that way.
Not to mention he hadn't really bothered with certain things in years - joining Tinder wasn't going to happen, despite his loneliness which he always tried to shove down deep in a hole someplace.