"All is good." Grayson lightly said, snuggling on his neck. His large hands settled more firmly against his stomach, thumbs rubbing idle circles through the fabric of his shirt. "It's so comfortable."
Neville's eye twitched.
"Cook," Grayson murmured against Neville's collar.
"I can't cook like this."
Grayson hummed thoughtfully. He moved his weight, pressing closer until his chin could rest comfortably on Neville's shoulder. The position gave him a perfect view of the counter space and, at the same time, trapped Neville more thoroughly than before.
"Just cook."
"Mr. Maxwell." Neville struggled to keep his temper in check. "I cannot cook with you on my back. I need to move around. I need to reach things. I need—"
Grayson's tail curled around his calf in a motion that was almost sulky.
"—I need space," Neville finished weakly.
For a moment, nothing happened.
