Elspeth is glad that Milliways likes her, because she likes it. Jacob at her side and a glass of this nice golden stuff in her hand (she's tried the other synthetics; they're nice for an occasional change, but only humans care about dietary variety that much and this one is her favorite) and hubbub from a hundred worlds around her: lovely. A lovely break from work that keeps no one waiting, that doesn't even throw off her sleep cycle because her sleep cycle cares about the sun. (It throws off Jake's, a little, but his is more flexible than hers.)
"Everybody here's got good ears," says Nathan. He grins. "D'you care?"
"My room's thisaway." And he scoops the Joker up off the floor and goes thisaway, at a bit of a run.
He's pretty sure Alice gave him regen powers, and even if he didn't, probably nothing Nathan's going to do to him will kill him before he can fix that. Which is a positive enough risk assessment that he throws himself wholeheartedly into experimenting.
"Babe," Nathan murmurs, "it's not strictly impossible for me to accidentally nip you if you keep doing that - I've got sharp bits - and you don't wanna turn."
"Fun, though," he says, undeterred. "I'll quit it until I've minted myself immune."
"You want some help with the minting?" Nathan's hands are a blur; he can't seem to decide where of many delightful locations to put them. He's careful. But not very very careful. The Joker's probably acquiring some bruises.
"You wanna help me out with the details, babe?" Nathan's left hand settles more or less stationarily on a thigh; the other one's behind the Joker's back for leaning-on. Left hand starts pressing. Slowly.
The room doesn't have a bed in it; they're on the floor and Nathan's got his mate in his lap, and there is no give to said lap. The leg in question is slowly, inexorably compressed. Crushed.
He can definitely see what Alice gets so excited about.
And if he did that, then the Joker would have to heal again before he could feel similar damage done six inches down, to his knee. Six inches farther to his shin.
It's slightly less slow, the second and third times, though still within human-trackable speeds.
"Sweetheart," he breathes, "you do make good guesses, you do you do you do."
"If I were mortal you'd be the death of me," says Nathan in a half-purr half-growl. "It is very, very good that I cannot smell you right now, or I'd just - bite - your - throat - out." And he reaches, and crushes one foot and then the other and works his way back up the other leg.
"I love you," he sighs, shuddering. He isn't looking anymore, but that has got to be a hex.
Nathan's hand tightens harder than he means it to on the knee. "I love you," he whispers back, sliding his hand up to find an uncrushed spot to destroy. "I love you forever."
"Oh, sweetie," he murmurs, and he gives a happy wriggle and kisses Nathan's cheek.
Nathan's all out of leg to crush. He wraps his arms around the relatively unharmed middle of his mate and squeezes. Slowly. And kisses his mate in all the safe places where he can't accidentally twitch a lip into the path of an envenomed tooth. "How much of this can you even take?" he murmurs into a recently kissed ear.
"Anything that happens, the magic'll fix...? I've only got one of you," Nathan says. But his arms are still tightening and ribs are starting to creak.
Just to be a showoff, he piles an amplifying hex onto the regen power Alice gave him—make it faster, make it more robust, make it hurt more because why not? And then he lets go of it.
And shudders in Nathan's arms as his damaged body repairs itself in a short, exquisitely painful burst of activity.
"Fuck that's a rush," he pants. "Squish me some more, honey, I wanna do that again."
"You got it babe," purrs Nathan, and he is less careful this time.
"I think we should have sex," he declares.
There is non-negligible clothing damage en route.