Armin swallows hard when Angel turns around to slide onto his laugh. Her question almost makes him laugh. Is this okay, she asks, as if having Angel on his lap, having her thighs press against his own, is something he could ever mind; as if it isn't something he's dreamt of for ages.

He doesn't laugh though. His throat is far too dry for it, even as he swallows to wet it. His face feels like it is on fire, and he's certain that by now, the flush on it extends all the way to the tip of his ears and the top of his collar bones.

"Y-yeah." It's a little different, having to just slightly tilt his head upwards to look at Angel, but it is far from unpleasant. His hands find her hips again, resting there, one of his thumbs stroking in idle, absent strokes against her shirt.

And he knows this sort of position is incredibly dangerous, at least in terms of his body --well, a certain part of it, at the very least-- soon betraying him and turning this whole thing into a big embarrassment, but he also doesn't want it to end, his entire body feeling like it is buzzing with an excess of energy.

So instead he does the only sensible thing to do; stretching up, he kisses Angel, his tongue teasing rather bottom lip in a way that is very far from chaste. At least that part of something they have some level of experience in.