[ His attention sharpens when he sees that flicker, never entirely tensing up again because the little thing pinned beneath him seems less dangerous than sassy. Tygra's pupils turn to slits as he blinks, cross-eyed, at the tap of a chip to his nose, and he captures that hand in his own to pin it above the stranger's head. As he looks down with an arched brow, Tygra lets another low growl vibrate through his body and, subsequently, into his so-called husband's. ]
no subject
We are not married.