Watchful caution softens into something less definable in his expression when she tries to put it to more words. But she feels entirely more Rogue than she has most of the morning, or at least since they'd woken up curled together in their nest of mattresses, and that soothes him. He shakes his head when she offers him an out.

She's so near to him, pressed against his chassis, that he only needs to drop his head a little to be even closer, until his face plates nearly brush her skin. He uses the tips of two fingers to slide the material of her shirt down, baring one shoulder, and leans in to close his mouth over her bare flesh there. It no doubt feels strange: Knock Out's mouth is warm, moreso than the rest of him, but dry. She can feel the shape of his denta plate, though it never applies any force.

A human response, she says, and his optics gleam. "No," he replies slyly, mouthing the word into her skin and raising goosebumps with tiny tingles of current that emanate from the site. "No, not only a human response. I understand it."

His mouth moves from her shoulder to the side of her neck and collarbone. It's a little awkward given how large he is, but there's never anything more than a gentle pressure.

"Mm," he hums when he finally draws back, looking down at her. "Not the ideal place for this, is it..."