He’s never considered himself to be a particularly attractive man, though he isn’t insecure by any means. He just doesn’t care much for his appearance, not to say that he’s a slob. He’s just neutral, he’d suppose.

You, however, can’t seem to get enough of him. He finds it a little funny, the way you struggle to drag your eyes away from the curves and outlines of his toned body whenever you get the chance to see him in a state of undress.

Upon arriving home from a long day, he quickly heads to the kitchen to put his clothes in the laundry basket, as you told him to. You’re in there washing dishes, and although you weren’t expecting him to enter the room and immediately take his shirt off, you’re not complaining.

He stands there in his cargos and work boots, now shirtless, with a slight grin on his face. “You know my eyes are up here, no?” He teases you as he throws his shirt into the hamper. “Do you need some help picking your jaw up?”