"Yes, I know that," he huffs, hiding his smile by ducking his head down and pressing it to the curve of Cougar's neck and shoulder. "But you placed a moratorium on me singing bachata years ago, and I know where my bread is buttered."

It used to be that if Jake insisted on butchering music Cougar actually liked, he'd refuse to speak to him for a few days. Which, granted, might not seem like a departure from normal, but totally was, if you asked Jake. If you asked him to explain his reasoning, he would go on a rant about facial expressions and being able to totally understand what he was thinking because we're on the same wavelength, which tended to teach people to just not ask.