She can see him relax into it, the way his expression slides even more heavy lidded. He tilts his head to the side to bare his neck just slightly as she reaches for it, then leans into the caress once it's there. Into the palm of her hand, yes, but also into those nails.

"Mm, I do," he confirms, because it's important, "I want to." And then, because it's also important, "If you want someone who'll fight you, say so now. I'd not wish to prove unsatisfactorily... accommodating, but I've little mind to resist otherwise." And then, there's still a little smirk, his humor as always rising to the forefront, a little show that she need not worry his easy acquiescence means losing his personality,

"Besides, what is the point in resistance when both of us can mend," he teases, but also allows, draws part of a line-- she is the clothing mender, of course, that's how this started, but he can knit flesh, bone. It's permission, if she wants it, deliberately open-ended.