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Once, Diluc was the Uncrowned King of Mondstadt. His reign seemed endless.
He was king because he had it all.
Money, wealth.
Influence and information—so much information, all at his fingertips. Through documents and through word of mouth, Master Diluc seems to know it all. Nothing gets past those falcon eyes.
He even has the genes to back it up. The last name, the titles. Ragnvindr.
So, yes: Diluc truly was the Uncrowned King of Mondstadt.
“Diluc.”
Aether’s voice is beautiful, like this. He dips down and noses across Diluc’s throat, and his honey-soft, honey-thick thighs are split open across Diluc’s own. Diluc’s hands dig into the muscle of them with a gentle sort of reverence. Of religion, almost.
He’d kneel before Aether readily, king or not. Religion—that’s unimportant to him, when he has anything he could ever desire, hope, and wish for right in his grip.
“Diluc, please.”
Diluc hums. He hears a soft sigh, paired with a whine. A whimper. Aether squirms the best he can with his legs spread so far, with his knees digging into the cushion of the chair on either of Diluc’s sides.
It’s a ridiculous chair, all things considered: there’s no arm rests, and it’s skinny as hell—Aether’s knees balance precariously close to either edge, even as Diluc’s thick thighs are pressed as tight together as possible.
But it's comfortable, and that's all that matters. (Comfortable, and durable: the legs, thankfully, do not squeak.
Diluc can handle Aether’s squeaks, but he absolutely cannot stand the squeak of cheap, weak wood.)
And, ah. Aether.
Aether’s voice, Aether's hair, Aether’s— everything, it all tickles at Diluc’s skin until he is left pressing his lips into the soft crown (hah!) of blond atop that dear and darling head. Aether is all soft curves and softer muscle, skin sun-kissed and honey-hued; and, oh, how greedy Diluc is for him. This is the greed that makes a king king, he supposes.
“You don't need to beg,” Diluc coos. Croons. “I have you—” and have him he does, as he gentles in first one finger then two, right to the hilt, “—just feel.”
He wonders: is it greed if his greed entails another’s? If his greed makes his little lover greedy, too? He ponders the thought with the slow spread of his fingers, and he decides it matters little, in the grand scheme of things. All that matters is Aether, and how he feels.
Oh, how Aether feels. He feels warm, wet; soft and supple in all the right places, and Diluc’s fingers slip inside as easy as anything. Aether is always so open, like this. Always, always.
“‘Luc.” Aether pants with an open-mouth against Diluc’s throat. His canines drag so close, so teasing, and Diluc knows it would take only one mishap, one mistake, to end his life right then and there—because, king or not, he is mortal.
His throat is a delicate thing, scarred as it may be; but it is still the thinnest skin on his person. It is still dangerously close to fatality.
But he finds he does not mind that. Not at all.
God, Barbatos. Whoever else there is, Diluc certainly does not mind, nor does he care. To die here, under Aether, under his golden crown—to die here is to die true.
He almost thinks he’s died and gone to Heaven already.
(Does a Heaven exist, for people like him?
He thinks it does, if only because he is here now, surrounded by slick skin and the sweet sound of Aether's unraveling.)
Beneath his thumb, Diluc can feel, too, the throb of Aether’s chubbed cock. He feels it pulse in time with Aether’s heartbeat, thumpthumpthump; and he feels the thrum of his heart against his own chest as Aether presses further into him.
And, “Please,” Aether begs. Bargains, as he keeps himself flush to Diluc yet pulls his head back, puts his lips into a pout. “Please.”
Diluc smiles, soft. He is helpless to the deal Aether just proposed, helpless to leaning in and kissing that pretty pout right from spit-slick lips. Aether mewls, and Diluc swallows the sound. Slips his tongue in and slides it across Aether’s teeth, the roof of his mouth. He pulls more sounds, more meek moans from Aether’s throat.
He is a greedy, greedy king. A greedy thing, for Aether.
“Soon, liebling,” he murmurs. He pulls apart from the kiss as he pulls apart his fingers, spreading Aether open slow and soft. Diluc is loathe to hurt him, like this.
“Please.” His eyes flutter, gold against golden skin. “Hurry.”
Diluc laughs. It is a light little thing—one he couldn't stop if he tried. It spills from his throat, tickles it; yet not once, not even for a moment, does he stop the motions of his hand. He is enamored by the weak whimpers that fall from Aether’s lips—kiss-bitten as they are—, and the only thing stopping him from swallowing those down, too, is that, well.
He rather needs his mouth to speak, here. “I don't want to hurt you,” he says, and he draws his fingers apart to nudge the third one in, in to the small hollow he has carved from Aether’s flesh, fluttering. “You're far too precious for that.”
In his words is only truth: he speaks what he feels, and he feels exactly what he speaks. And here, like this? He couldn’t lie.
Not even if he wanted to.
(He doesn't know if he ever would—if he even could.)
“You—” a pretty, pretty gasp glides from Aether’s throat “—you can’t possibly mean that.”
“I do,” Diluc murmurs. “I mean every word I say, Aether.
“You are precious.” He squeezes at the muscle of Aether’s thigh in emphasis, in time with the squeeze of Aether’s cunt, his three fingers sliding in slow, so slow. He’s got two wholes buried to the hilt, now, the third slipping in slower than the others before it too is hilted.
And, oh. How Aether sings, at that.
Feels, sings—it’s all much the same right about now.
“Diluc!” His voice is high, but hushed. “I—”
“I have you, sweetheart—my heart.” Diluc spreads apart his fingers and spears himself forward, leaning down and licking up as Aether’s lips part for him, automatic. Autonomous. “Just a little while longer, alright? I promise.”
“Diluc—” Aether falls silent save for the soft sounds from his tender throat. Truly, it can hardly be called silence: he is never silenced, not here.
Diluc welcomes each and every sound—whimpers, whines. Moans, mewls. God.
How greedy he has become.
Aether’s thighs still quiver, quiet. He—Aether is close, Diluc realizes; he is strung-tight but soft around him, his cunt clenching in time with the insistent throb of his chubby cock.
And Diluc thumbs at it, just because he can. Just because he is king.
(How selfish of him.
But, really, is that selfishness? Is it selfish, wanting pleasure for another? Diluc wonders if that would make him rather selfless, instead.
He finds that he does not particularly care about these intrinsics; he wants Aether to come, selfishly or selflessly. It doesn't matter.
All that matters is making Aether feel good, here.)
“Aether.” His thumb teases in tight circles, and Aether falls more and more and more apart with each pass, each press of his thumbpad against where he aches most. “Liebling. I want you to come.”
He nods. I do, too, he says—without saying.
“Will you?” Diluc curls his fingers, and Aether?
Aether crumbles.
“I’m—!” An aching moan crawls from his throat as his thighs tense ever more, twitching around Diluc’s own while his cunt clenches even tighter. It ought to be counterintuitive, the way he tightens; but Diluc knows Aether.
Knows the way he comes. He’s tight until he’s not—teetering between those two extremes, toeing that little line in perpetuity, in Diluc’s arms, in his lap—, until Aether is limp and loose in all ways, all kinds. He’s barely able to hold his head up and kiss Diluc, soft and slow; and Diluc grins into him, against him, sliding his fingers from the clutch of Aether’s cunt as his tongue teases away from between his teeth.
“That was perfect.” Diluc's tongue slips out, only enough to speak: to return to his own mouth before swiping again into Aether’s. “Thank you for giving me everything.” Everything, enunciated with a nip to his lip.
Aether makes a wounded whimper—this small, soft thing—, ragged pants dispersing each aftershock, each word he attempts to make. “Diluc,” is what he lands on.
Diluc is all he can say, now; and Diluc is all he can see. Diluc smiles at him, turning his face just-so and tilting his chin just right to have those hazy-hued eyes looking at him, too. “Aether,” Diluc echoes. “How do you feel?”
“‘m good,” Aether mumbles. Grumbles, his voice scratchy as it is soft, still. His vocal chords are tight, but his cunt is not: nowhere else is. “I’m really, really—” he gasps. “Please.”
Please, because Diluc slipped his fingers out—because Diluc is slipping a slick hand into his own trousers. “Please?” He doesn’t often echo Aether, like this; but he’s so, so easy to tease, tonight. “What do you want, sweetheart?”
Aether whimpers.
“Hey,” Diluc murmurs. “It’s alright. Do you want to stop?”
He shakes his head. No.
“Right. Let’s do this then,” Diluc tugs himself from his trousers, his cock heavy, hard in his hand. He’s forced to spread his legs, and Aether makes a soft squeak as he balances himself again; his knees teeter precariously, now, but Diluc has him: he always does. “Easy, honey.”
Aether weakly nods at the words, whimpering, and Diluc lays a little kiss against his chin while taking proper hold of his own cock. Precum bubbles at its tip, and he drags a thumb across it to collect its slickness, to spread Aether’s own—his own slick and cum—across his cockhead. “You don’t need to say a word. Do you want my cock?”
He nods, at that.
“Good boy.” Diluc rubs his cock against Aether’s own, the difference in their size but the similarity in how they throb, in the glistening sheen that covers them both equally—a mess of their own desire, their own making—sends another impossible bolt of desire to the pit of his belly. “You’re doing so good for me, Aether. My beautiful boy.”
The chair beneath them is plush: not as plush as Aether is, no; but as plush as cushion can get. It molds to Diluc’s back, his ass, his thighs—just like Aether molds into Diluc. His body gives for him in such a way that Diluc feels as if he is king from this alone: crowned by Aether’s soft body, his softer curves. His softest cunt.
Perhaps Mondstadt got it wrong. He was never king—not until now. Not until he had Aether.
“Are you ready for me, liebling?”
Another nod; and Diluc smiles, soft.
“Alright,” he murmurs, regardless. His whims—they matter not. All that matters is Aether, speared open, spread wide: a sight, like this. The most perfect sight there is. “I got you.”
Diluc notches his cockhead in the gentle give of Aether’s cunt, letting the tip spread him open. He hovers above Diluc, held up by Diluc’s hold alone.
Aether whimpers—whines, too. “Diluc, please. You’re teasing me.”
“Teasing you? No,” Diluc hums, lowering Aether down, down, down. “I’m taking care of you, liebling. Exactly—” one inch, “—as—” two, “—you—” three, then four, “—deserve.
“Well, would you look at that,” he coos. He croons something low, a little sing-song sound from his throat. “You did it.”
Aether makes his own soft sound in reply. His cunt flutters and his face flusters, flushed. A tear runs down one blushing, honey-hued cheek, and Diluc thumbs it away, thumbing at Aether’s tense thighs in the same breath.
“Are you alright?” Diluc squeezes Aether’s chubby-cute cheeks; he’s soft, truly, in all the ways that count. “You’re taking me beautifully, honey. You feel—” he sighs at the wet warmth around his cock “—perfect.”
Aether’s eyes flutter.
Diluc hilts, after. He pulls Aether down, down, down until there is nowhere to go, until his ass meets his thighs and his cock is fully sheathed. “Look at that.”
With a whimpering little whine, Aether surges forward those scant inches—the inches separating their faces, that is—to kiss Diluc. Diluc smiles into the kiss—he’s smiling so much, tonight.
He finds it easy to smile with Aether around. (Around him goes unsaid.
He’d like to stay in the good graces, after all.)
Their kiss is a lovely little thing. Not lovelier nor littler than any other, of course; but just as lingering. Aether whines when he pulls away, puffs of air, warm and wet, brushing Diluc’s cheeks, his chin.
“Please,” Aether murmurs, mutters. His tongue looks heavy in his mouth, heavy as he licks across the kiss-bitten swell of his bottom lip—heavy enough that Diluc leans back in and kisses it again, again, again.
He coos something sweet, something soft. He’s not sure what it is, exactly, that he says—but he knows that it is adoring. As adoring as Aether is adorable, to him, for him.
On him.
The flutter around his cock makes Diluc hiss hot through his teeth as he presses his forehead to Aether’s. Frizz from that golden fringe tickles at Diluc’s skin, and he sighs soft, smiling when he reaches up to brush Aether’s hair back, to see those eyes he so dearly loves swell with tears.
(“I’m okay, ‘Luc,” Aether said, once. “It’s—it’s good. Really good.”
Diluc had cupped his cheeks, then; and he let his thumbs swipe across the tears that streaked the apples of them as he said, simply, “Okay.”
It is catharsis, is what it is.)
“You’re beautiful, Aether,” Diluc murmurs, and—and Aether giggles.
It’s a soft sort of sound, sticky and staticky where it pulls from the depths of his throat; but, God. It's the sweetest sound Diluc’s ever heard.
“You say that—” Aether says, ducking his head and dipping into the hollow of Diluc’s throat “—everytime.”
“Because it's true,” Diluc mumbles, now. His breath is beginning to come in pants, in between pregnant pauses that threaten to have his composure (or, what’s left of it) crumbling, “every—” a kiss to the tufts of blond tickling his chin “—single—” another, to Aether’s temple “—time.”
Diluc is generous, with his praise. With the pleasure he gives.
“If only you could see yourself the way I see you, my heart.”
Aether’s head tugs itself from his throat, at that. “You—” he starts, but Diluc does not let him finish. (Not yet, at least.
Diluc does want him to finish—just not in that way.)
“I am not lying,” Diluc finishes, for him. “You are beautiful.”
Then, “Breathtaking,” he adds, his breath leaving him in a thin whisp, a whisper, as he tugs Aether off his cock, just a little. Just enough.
“‘Luc—”
“I’ve got you, liebling. Let me make you feel good,” he murmurs. He holds Aether above his own cock as Aether’s cunt flutters around the head of it. A soft, simpering whine washes over Diluc’s head with the meager motion, and he finds himself smothering a grin as he readjusts the hold he has on honeyed hips. “Do you want more?”
Aether nods, but: “Words, please,” Diluc adds.
“Yes—” Aether squeaks and squirms the best he can, held up by nothing but Diluc’s hands. When Diluc merely raises a brow, still damningly still (and testing Aether’s patience as much as it tests Diluc’s own. He aches to bury himself back inside, after all), Aether clarifies: “‘m ready.”
Diluc smiles. Says, “Good boy.” And then, he lets Aether fall.
“Ah—!”
(It’s a gentle fall, of course.
Diluc would never harm him: not like this.)
Aether cries out sharp but soft. His voice is a whisper where Diluc pushes and pulls at him, and it is above the gentle melody of Aether’s moans that Diluc says, “You’re taking me so well. You are perfect—perfect for me.” He holds Aether down on his lap for a moment more, luxuriating again in the sensation of his little lover around him, wet as anything and whining as if there's nothing in the world that feels as good as Diluc’s cock.
It’s a heady thing, what Aether does to him. (Thank goodness that Aether is kind where he has Diluc wrapped around him, around his small finger.
Had he been anything but, Diluc would have been led by his heart to his grave—and he’d have been grateful for it, too.)
“Is this alright?” Diluc noses forward, nuzzling at mussed-up, sweat-downed curls, and Aether makes another soft sound that bubbles from his throat. It is not a word, but he does nod; and that is enough.
Alright, it is.
Diluc begins a slow rhythm, then. He pulls Aether off of his cock—though, not really off. Aether’s cunt clenches tight around his cockhead, and he doesn't have it in him to pull Aether off him entirely: the pleased, pleasured sounds that his little lover makes as he keeps him full are far more rewarding.
“Mm,” Aether murmurs. Mumbles. His lips part on a whine, and Diluc catches the nut of his bottom lip in between his own. He suckles on him as Aether sucks him in, the sounds of their coupling—the wet sounds, the slick-schlick of Diluc’s cock rutting sweetly into Aether’s sweet spot—unbearably loud in the quiet of the room.
“Look at you,” Diluc coos. He rolls his hips, now, pulling Aether into him with each tender thrust; still, Diluc does not pull him off his cock. He grinds in, gentle, and lifts Aether halfway off before bringing him back down, before hilting him again, again, again.
Diluc simply can't bear not being connected to Aether—not even for the mere moment a true thrust takes—, and it seems Aether shares the sentiment.
“‘Luc!” His voice is thin and high-pitched, reedy. He clenches around Diluc with intent, with each push ‘n’ pull of Diluc’s cock into his cunt. His cries rise in pitch until he begins to sniff and snivel, sobbing. “‘Luc...”
“I’m right here, honey.” Diluc sits Aether down squarely in his lap, stilling as Aether continues to softly sob. He buries his face into Diluc’s neck, smearing his tears into Diluc’s skin. “What’s wrong?”
Aether shakes his head.
“That's no good,” Diluc delicately whispers. “Talk to me, Aether.” He keeps a hand on Aether’s hip and moves the other to cup the back of his delicate skull, the irony of it all not lost on him: Aether’s canines, again so close to where he could bite, maim, murder; and Diluc’s hand, holding the spot he could so easily squish and squash.
Despite it all, they are nothing but soft.
“I—” Aether sucks in a sharp breath. It ricochets through his chest, his heart a heavy thrum against Diluc’s own. Diluc bundles Aether in further, his hand pushing that pretty head down deeper into him as he gently goads him on.
Pushing, but not pressing.
Aether will tell him, on his own time. His own terms. (He always does, anyway. Diluc would be an unjust king—an unfit one, at that—if he were to force anything from anyone.
Anyone close to him, that is. Those fatui, that abyss? They don't count.)
Patiently, Diluc leaves little littering kisses across Aether’s face, unable to help the way he smiles at Aether’s expression. His nose scrunches when Diluc lingers against it, and he arches up to press his lips to Diluc’s, instead.
That's certainly a more convenient way to get his point across, Diluc thinks; but he does not pull away. He licks into Aether’s mouth as Aether opens up for him, and he tastes himself against his tongue.
Aether pulls away with a labored breath, panting where he presses his forehead to Diluc’s. “I just—I love you,” he says, simple. “So, so much.”
“And I love you, my heart.” Diluc rubs their noses together, and he rolls his hips, once. Twice. He watches Aether’s eyes flutter shut above the flush of his freckled cheeks.
Diluc thumbs at the nape of Aether’s nape, fingers tangling through thick, blond hair. He draws his hand down until it reaches his hip, the divot of the bone melding perfectly into Diluc’s palm. “More?” Diluc asks, as if he’s not building themselves back up to the same gentle rhythm he had set before. Aether mewls.
“Please.” He arches forward, pressing the soft skin of his bare belly into Diluc’s own; he clutches at Diluc’s shoulders, too, the calluses across his fingertips sending shivers down Diluc's spine.
“Alright, honey,” Diluc murmurs. “I got you. I’ll make you feel good.”
Beneath the palms of his hands, he feels Aether’s hips begin to twitch in time with the thrusts of his hips. Aether is trying his damndest to follow the rhythm that Diluc has set, and Diluc’s heart flutters in his chest as he sees Aether try so, so hard. Always so obedient, always so, so eager.
“That's it,” Diluc croons. He adapts easily; he follows the gentle grind of Aether’s body, and Diluc’s efforts are rewarded with the sweetest of sounds spilling past Aether’s lips.
Diluc decides then that it’s high time to up the ante. (So what, if he’s a little eager, too?
It’d be hypocritical not to be.) He times his thrusts better, now, each one as accurate as the last as his cockhead buds up against Aether’s g-spot. Diluc lets his cock drag along it, grind against it until Aether’s hips twitch out of rhythm, and Diluc’s left supporting all of his weight once again.
“You feel—mm,” Diluc moans before murmuring, “so good, honey. So good.”
With a weak whine—more of a whimper, really—, Aether tucks his face into the hollow of Diluc’s throat. There, he noses at and nuzzles the throb of Diluc’s Adam’s apple, and Diluc has half the mind to wonder whether Aether can feel him groan, like this.
(He can certainly feel Aether.)
Aether’s still soft, still sweet. His sounds are a melody as they fall from his lips, smearing his pleasure against Diluc’s sweat-slick skin. It should be disgusting, this sheen that’s smeared against both of them; yet it is anything but. Instead, it serves only to stroke the flames of desire that burn low in Diluc’s belly, still, and Diluc is helpless to it all.
In no kingdom can he hold back his orgasm, now.
“I’m close, honey,” he murmurs. He squeezes at the stubborn, supple fat that clings to Aether's hips as he rolls his own into him. Again, again, again. “Where—” Diluc gasps, a gentle groan rolling through his chest with the clutch of Aether’s cunt around him“—do you want me?”
Aether cries out, his clenching cunt erring on the side of too-tight—that tell-tale way it always does, right before he comes.
“Diluc,” he sobs. His sweet sounds, his soft, saccharine voice—they’re tinged with the type of desperation that Diluc loves to draw out of his little lover. “In me, please, cum in me. ‘m gonna...” Aether’s words trail off in time with the trembling throughout his limbs.
“Yeah?” Diluc leans in to leave a kiss against Aether's freckled forehead, and he laughs—low, gentle yet gruff—as Aether whines in lieu of a reply. “Are you going to cum for me again, liebling?”
He nods, desperate.
“Good boy,” Diluc croons, “what a good boy.” He runs his right hand from Aether’s hip to rest above his cunt; Aether arches into him, whining still as Diluc swipes his thumb across the swell of his cock. It throbs beneath Diluc’s thumbpad, and he smothers his smile—strained, but a smile nonetheless—into Aether's cheek.
“You’re so hard, honey. Won’t you cum for me?” Diluc asks. He draws tender but tight circles against Aether’s cock, careful not to stimulate him directly. “I can feel you throbbing. Fuck—”
“Diluc!” Aether’s voice cracks around another cry.
“—you feel so good, sweetheart—my heart. You’re—you are so good, so good to me.” Groaning, Diluc tightens his grip on Aether’s hip. “That’s it, keep going. Take what you need from me, Aether; I’ve got you.”
With a soft sob, Aether turns his face into Diluc’s in order to smash their lips together. It’s messy, spit-slick; but it is perfect as Aether pants against him, his hands scrabbling for purchase against Diluc’s shoulder blades. He already knows that, come tomorrow, his shoulders will be married with streaks of ruddy-red, but, now, he can't find it in himself to care.
Not when Aether is so close to coming on his cock.
(Not when he is so close to coming himself. And, ah.
Speaking of.)
Diluc draws back from Aether’s lips just barely, just enough to press their foreheads together and look into those glittering-golden eyes and murmur, “Cum for me. Cum for me, Aether, and I’ll—I’ll fill you up, yeah? Just how—fuck—just how you like it, I promise.”
And that, in the end, is all it takes for Aether to come.
Fuck. “What a good boy.”
Whines, whimpers—Aether is a mess of muffled sounds as he buries his face into Diluc’s shoulder. Diluc dutifully—if not a little desperate, himself—works Aether through his high, slowing the thumb against his cock while speeding up the thrusts of his own hips; and, fuck.
Diluc’s so fucking close.
“Fuck,” he moans, because Aether— “feels so good. You feel—mm—so good, honey. So—so fucking good.” Diluc’s stuttering, stumbling over his words, he knows; but he doesn't care. Doesn't need to, when Aether’s whimpering whines are an answer in and of themselves.
That, and: “Cum in me,” he begs, beautiful. His thighs flex around Diluc’s own, and Diluc is forced to close his eyes, to focus on the feeling at the base of his cock as he’s pressed cheek-to-cheek to Aether. He manhandles Aether’s still-shaking body up and down on his cock, a feat that’s far easier once he’s got both hands back on Aether’s hips, that chubby cock of his oversensitive, overstimulated from the saccharine-sweet pressure of Diluc’s thumb.
“Please, please. In me.” Aether’s begs turn into babbles as he turns to bite at Diluc’s shoulder, smearing salty tears into his neck. “Please!”
Diluc’s hips stutter at the subtle scrape of Aether’s teeth against him; Aether has gone limp in his lap, but his hands continue to cling tight to Diluc’s shoulders, squeezing at him in the same way his cunt seems to squeeze around him.
“Please...”
“Almost there, honey,” Diluc grinds out, grinding his hips until that thread threatens to finally, finally snap, “‘m almost there.”
Diluc teeters on the edge of orgasm, of oblivion. His eyes flutter open, and his gaze settles on where his cock disappears into Aether’s warm and wet and more-than willing body. On the cum that has been smeared between them, on the cum that’s slicked a ring around the base of Diluc’s cock: Aether’s.
Aether has creamed on his cock, and that’s what does him in, after all. After everything. The knowledge that he made Aether feel good, that he pulled these reactions out of Aether... it makes Diluc as dizzy as he is desperate, coming in long, thick pulses that fill Aether up, just like he said. Just like he promised he would.
“You’re perfect—” he groans with the soft squeeze of Aether around him “—so, so perfect..”
Diluc’s breath leaves him as his hips slow to a stop, as he slows Aether down on his cock. Still, “Taking me so well—taking all of me, all of my cum.” He continues to speak, saying these sweet nothings that have Aether squirming, his cunt spasming; and, if not for the way he milks him so softly, Diluc would think he hurt him. “So good. Such a good boy.”
With a sigh that's as soft as silk, Aether’s arms finally fall from beneath Diluc’s shoulders. He stretches carefully, cautious of the way that they're connected; but when he looks between their bodies, he gasps.
“Oh my God, I’m—” he swipes his hand through his own cum, smeared between their bellies. With the way Diluc’s still got him plugged up on his own cock, Aether knows, immediately, that the mess is his own. “I’m so sorry—”
“Aether,” Diluc tuts, tender. He gently grabs Aether’s hand and pulls it to his mouth in order to kiss at his knuckles, at his fingers. At the cum covering them. Aether blushes profusely—prettily—but does not open his mouth to object.
“Don't apologize for feeling good, liebling.” Diluc talks against his hand before he reaches for the other one, intertwining their fingers and interlacing both of their hands between them. But: “Did you?” Diluc asks, suddenly—suddenly shy, he feels.
Because what if Aether didn't feel good? What if—what if he—
Aether’s light laugh brings him from his reverie. “‘Luc,” he says, smiling, “I did.
“I felt really, really good.” Ah. He leans in, just-so. Just enough.
“I’m glad,” Diluc murmurs. He shakes his head before he squeezes Aether's hands, leaning in to kiss the smiles off of both their faces. It’s hard, kissing like this; but, God. Barbatos. It is perfect.
He wouldn’t trade it for a thing—and certainly not to be king.
After all, every king’s reign is set to end, and Diluc’s was no exception.
Now, he has been crowned—and he would have it no other way.
“Diluc,” Aether whines, “hurry up.” He squirms on the countertop where Diluc left him, shivering from the cool chill of the nighttime air. The slow rising steam of the equally slow rising water has yet to reach him.
However, It does well enough in shrouding Diluc where he kneels beside the tub.
“I’m trying to, honey,” he murmurs. He draws his hands in wide arcs through the water, working to warm it hotter—because working plumbing or not, what the winery has to offer ain't cutting it for Aether.
He quite prefers to be boiled.
“It’s a large bath,” Diluc adds, placating. He glances over his shoulder, and Aether sees the mirth in his eyes that belies his mollifying tone. “And we’re two grown men. It’ll take a minute.”
Aether sighs but stays silent. When Diluc’s gaze returns to the tub, the gentle glow from his vision casts his profile in a warm, welcoming light. If it were any other time, the silhouette of him would make Aether swoon; but as it stands, he's a bit, ah—preoccupied.
“I’m—” going to leak all over the counter, he wants to say. It’ll get everywhere.
He ends up saying none of that, of course. He stays silent because, well. It’s Diluc’s countertop, and it’s Diluc’s cum that’s near to spill.
Diluc caused this whole conundrum: Aether supposes, then, that it's only fair that Diluc cleans it up.
“What was that?” he asks, but Aether shakes his head.
“Nothing.”
Nothing that is Aether’s problem, at least.