Poe's initial response is a quiet grunt of surprise as Andor pulls his arms into what he apparently feels is a more appropriate position. And that -- well. It definitely works, even if it means he's wrapped that much more securely around the man. An invitation is just that, though, and so he complies without complaint, curling his chilled fingers into the warm fabric of Andor's shirt for good measure.

Poe lifts his head, attempting to smooth the back of Andor's hair with his cheek to tame some of the most ticklish offenders. "Don't know that I've ever been accused of being shy," he murmurs. "If you're tired, get some sleep -- ain't just about me, y'know." There's a note of unhappiness in Poe's voice, not quite offense but enough to indicate that he's bothered by the thought. He's never really given the logistics thought. Poe's a pilot, and like many of his kind, inclined to catch micronaps when the possibility presents itself.

(Then again, he supposes it'd be very different for a spy -- especially one with a stranger attached to him like a too-friendly barnacle.)

The sudden change in direction surprises him almost as much as the question. He snorts, and regrets it immediately as Cassian's hair seeks to invade his nose all over again. "Read that in my dossier, huh?" There's no accusation to it, just mild curiosity -- he's sure he has one, after all, especially given the trouble they'd run into while chasing Skywalker down. "Yavin, yeah, and the rest might be true enough. Only been cuddling up to starfighters these last few years, though."

And yeah, there's definitely the aura, but Poe's smart enough not to mention that yet.