If Ryan wanted to go, Henry was ready to agree, although all he really wanted to do was close the house up to intruders and spend time with his husband… fuck. His husband.He didn’t even want to see a delivery guy, so they made dinner from what they could find in the fridge—spaghetti and meatballs, the red sauce loaded with vegetables. Henry put the radio on and laughed again at Ryan’s terrible singing, told him off when he fed the dog a meatball right out of the pan, and threatened him with a spatula if he did it again.Their hands barely left each other’s skin, this now being normal for them on most days and even more important on this day. He didn’t want to be out of contact with Ryan, not for one second, not one second when they’d come so close to losing each other.“I have something for you,” Ryan said as the sauce simmered on the hob and they stood leaning against the counters, sipping at wine from the nicest bottle of red Ryan could find in his wine rack.“Oh? Kitchen sex?”“No, not kitchen sex,”
