The hand at the back of Daryl's head slides down to the space between his shoulders, and then down to join the hand holding the fabric of his shirt. He parts his lips, kisses Daryl slow and wanting, even as scarred fingers seek a path to the warm skin at the small of his back.

"The squids?" Theon repeats, and then glances over at the TV as if surprised to see them. "Oh. Aye, they'll be fine. If anything, they support this." He knows his grin has to be a little goofy, even as warm as he's already feeling, and he urges Daryl back down to him.