Theon padded into the kitchen on bare feet, his eyes still puffy from the long nap, his lashes clumped together, and his dark hair sticking up in every direction.
Ryan was at the stove first, then moving to the sink, broad shoulders shifting under a thin gray t-shirt as he rinsed something. The savory scent of meat filled the air.
Theon's chest tightened with a familiar ache. He crossed the room without a word and slid his arms around Ryan's waist from behind, pressing his chest to that strong back, face buried between Ryan's shoulder blades. He inhaled deeply—the clean scent of Ryan's skin mixed with the kitchen spices and the underlying musk that always made Theon's pulse stutter.
Ryan stiffened for a heartbeat, muscles going taut under Theon's hands. "Theon, I'm trying to finish dinner," he said, voice low and rough.
Theon hummed but released him, stepping back with a soft sigh. He wandered to the fridge, pulled out a cold bottle of water, and twisted the cap.
