He ex-vents, his expression one of faint exasperation but not ire. Carefully and slowly, giving Rogue plenty of time to move or otherwise tell him to stop, he cups his other hand under her and lifts her off his leg. There's an effortlessness in the movement; she weighs so very little compared to him, but his digits never tighten beyond a gentle pressure.

Rather than setting her on the floor however, he folds his arms together across his torso, just below where the armored part of his chassis ends. The planes of his forearms press together, making a relatively flat place that's big enough for her to curl up in.

"A compromise," he pronounces. "I'm not... there are surely more comfortable places, but..."