There was no need for words.
He loved when she made use of the puffy collar in his flak jacket to pull him in. Sometimes he would make it easy for her; others he would purposefully play around, taking advantage of height and putting his weight on his upper body, pretending not to notice. It never lasted long, partly because he would get a painful chakra-infused flick of a finger, but mostly because he had a bad habit of not resisting her. If they were in a crowd of people he contented himself with a brush of his lips to her forehead, or a light caress of his fingers on the side of her face. He enjoyed the pink of her cheeks when he does this, the slight crinkle beneath her eyes and bridge of her nose, the shadow of a smile - like she could resist. Often she does, and he is sometimes left wondering how.
When they were alone it was a different story. His favorite, her shoulders, leaning to breathe in from the tip of one end to the side of her neck, sliding off a strap of whatever she was wearing; a kiss here and there, when she's busy and supposed to be concentrating. He would sneak up behind and begin this slow assault, hands on her hips to gradually reach for his other favorite places, and it never takes long for her to give in; hands enclosing his, aiming to guide where she wants, or just letting him because he was already there. He would turn her in his arms and let her lead the kiss, his every being ready and accepting the passion she threw from her end. He would revel in this before losing himself, deepening the kiss and urging her to follow; to which she always did and never needed telling twice.