Theon's busy steeling himself to get the fuck out of there for good, to head back to the shore where the most evil thing is that fucking seagull. This part is easy, this part should be easy.

To say he's surprised to suddenly have Daryl wrapped around him, to feel his breath against his throat, seems like the dimmest of words. A gasp punches out of him and then he's clinging, an arm curling around Daryl's middle and the other around his shoulders, a hand at the back of his neck, the back of his head.

"Aye," he murmurs. "Aye, I've got you. And you've got me." He doesn't want to give this up, not for a damn second, but he has to say, "Let's get back to my place, yeah?"