Makarov wasn't one for affection, of any kind. It was something he didn't partake in or particularly enjoy. He'll, he despised it most of the time.

Keyword, most.

He, for whatever odd reason, didn't mind your touchy personality. The hands on his shoulders, and the gentle nudges to his arms didn't make his fingers itch for his gun. You and him were in the back of a car, just leaving a weapons deal when he felt you nudge his arm with your elbow, and he turned to you, an eyebrow raised.