You press your lips against Jaime’s, feeling the way he melts into you like he’s been waiting for this all night. His hands skim along your sides, fingertips lingering like he’s memorizing every inch before they settle on your hips, gripping just enough to hold you close. His body is still tense, coiled like a spring from the stress of patrol, but the longer he kisses you, the more he relaxes, the weight on his shoulders easing just a little.

He’d had one of those nights. The kind that left his head spinning, his heart heavy, and his faith in humanity feeling a little thinner than usual. The kind of night that made him wonder if anything he did actually made a difference. But here, with you in his arms, he didn’t have to wonder. He knew.

And then—of course—Khaji-da just had to ruin the moment.

"I am detecting metabolic arousal," the scarab announces, clinically detached as ever.

Jaime freezes, eyes flying open as his brain short-circuits. Oh, come on! He barely has time to groan before muttering, "Shut up," under his breath.

You pause, pulling back just enough to give him a confused look. "Uh… what?"

Jaime’s eyes widen as he realizes what that must’ve sounded like. "No, not you!" he blurts out way too quickly, shaking his head like that'll somehow erase the moment. "I—ugh, it’s the scarab. It—" He groans again, dragging a hand down his face. "You know what? Forget it. Just—come back here."

He tugs you in again, this time kissing you with a little more desperation, like he can will away his embarrassment if he just focuses hard enough on you.