Once he's assured himself that the burn really isn't bad at all (and stolen a quick kiss in retaliation for the groping) he retreats as ordered, scooping his kit off the far counter as he goes and tucking it back behind the couch, out of sight for the time being. It takes him a couple awkward moments to convince cranky joints to let him down with some sort of grace (not much) onto the pillows.

He finds it was worth the effort. If only because he can steal one of those lovely olives and pop it whole, savoring the salty-sweet taste.