He doesn't try to pull away or push him off. Rather, those same tentacles, originating from his shoulders,
wrap around Blitzø protectively. "You're a goddamn menace," he grumbles, walking into the large, open kitchen. "You come to my door, talking about your cock, and there's me in a towel and you've done nothing about it except complain about bread."

A large loaf of bread, topped with baked cheese, sits on the stove cooling.