[ for a moment he just stands there--he lifts a hand, brushing his fingertips idly along her throat before he simply turns and walks to sit on the couch, beckoning for her to follow him. despite whatever emotions he's feeling, he's oddly mellow outwardly--though there's something boiling under his skin, waiting. ]

Something like that. Everyone wants a piece of him but if they go up against him they'll just get hurt.

[ anderson is a powerhouse, after all. sighing, he tips his head back into the couch cushions. ]

If only he'd left it at Easter.