He endures the hair mussing, because it's her, and because he's in a nice post-coital haze that is disturbed only by the desire for more of the same.

'What do you take me for?'

Of course there's wine. He pecks her on the lips in his turn, then rubs his hand over her arse.

'G'on, then. I want a fag. And you want to tart yourself up for me.'