It was a lazy evening. You were sprawled comfortably on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, flipping through channels with half-lidded eyes and zero plans to move anytime soon.

Then the front door opened.

You looked up to see your boyfriend walking in, fresh from the gym. His gym bag was slung over one shoulder, and his tank top clung to him in all the right places. His hair was still damp from a quick shower, little beads of water clinging to his temple, trailing down the side of his neck.

He dropped the bag by the door, kicked off his sneakers, and strolled over to where you were.

Arms crossed, chest rising and falling lightly from exertion, he smirked.

"As you can see," he began, his voice low and proud, "I’ve been working on my body."

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed—but not really. “Mmm, yeah. I noticed,” you said, trying to play it cool.

He stepped closer, casting a shadow over you as he leaned forward, muscles tensing ever so slightly.

"Just one muscle left to train," he added, voice dipping an octave, licking his lips as his gaze locked with yours—eyes full of mischief and intent.