He grunted when the other laid his weight on top of him, but it was a grunt made from familiarity rather than any sort of discomfort. His hand rose with that same familiarity, stroking FDR's hair lazily, shivering when his neck got kissed.

He turned his head to look at him, keeping in close against him to enjoy the warmth of his companion. Maybe a part of him should have been concerned at how easily they slid into the most comfortable positions on the couch.

"So, not that I didn't enjoy that, but what's wrong?" he asked him, arching a brow. Because they both knew he knew something was up, but those blue eyes had genuine concern in them - or as much as he willing to show.