[ the hand that comes up to his chin and tilts it upwards earns some stubborn weight to it. not enough that juno is actively pulling away - it's just petulance. the commanding touch is enough to make his shoulders prickle just slightly with the contact, warming over down to his fingertips that flex a little in anticipation (of what he hasn't decided on yet.) ]

Oh yeah? [ his voice is pitched more than he'd like. between the proximity, close, thigh to hip nearly and the scent that's still lingering on the air even with the mist and water, juno's trying to find some sort of verbal ground to stand on. ] More like I hate getting caught off guard and the holster chafes without a shirt. [ excuses: he's got 'em. ]

Besides, [ it spills out before he can catch it, impulsive, you have to take it from him. ] if I don't make you work for that smile, what's the point?