And that something is the way Harry would behave when you get home from the gym.
You get back, absolutely exhausted from a hard workout, your gym clothes cool and damp with sweat, sticking to your skin. And Harry’s in the kitchen cooking some “protein” noodles or maybe they’re zoodles or squoodles, and for whatever reason he’s only got a pair of tight joggers on, his chest completely exposed to the boiling pot.
“Don’t burn yourself,” you sigh, remembering the last time he cooked nearly naked and little grease spatter burns were across his belly for at least a week. You kick off your shoes, bending to remove the sweat-soaked socks from your feet. A sharp hiss escapes you as you feel the burn in your thighs.
“S’the matter?” he asks, turning the stove top off and removing the pot before crossing over to you.
“My thighs burn,” you mutter, slowly easing yourself up. Harry’s closer now, arms outstretched with his hands running over your shoulders. His fingers twist around a bit of damp hair before he pulls them back, brushing them lightly beneath his nose. “Are you trying to smell my sweat?”
“Yeah,” he grins unabashedly, taking a fist full of your wet hair and inhaling deeply. He growls in pleasure, before placing a kiss on your neck. “What do they call it? Natural musk?”
“I do not have a musk, Harry!”
You stomp away from him, but the ache in your thighs keeps you from achieving the desired dramatics.
“Yeh do, love, and it’s sexy,” he says, easily closing the distance between you once more as he slithers his arms around your waist and rests his head atop yours, swaying you gently.
“Well, I think I’m smelly and would like to take a shower.”
“Can I help yeh with that, love?”
Turning in his arms, you give him a hard look. “No,” you answer firmly, “because to you helping is fucking and I’m just too exhausted for that right now.”