When Flowers Bloom | Ayato x Thoma

Chapter 4: Lover's Spit Left On Repeat

At some point, Ayato realised, they were going to need to stop feeding each other and start talking to each other instead. He dismissed his thoughts: later. His tongue was currently far too preoccupied with dipping into Thoma's belly button and cherishing the way Thoma would wriggle, helplessly ticklish, beneath him.

At this point, Ayato realised, he might actually be spreading the manjuu's leftover stickiness about, rather than mopping it up. Again, he was currently too otherwise engaged to care: Thoma's breathless laugh had stolen all of his attention.

Thoma's belly rippled beneath him. His warm skin vibrated against his tongue as he lapped up the mess of his own creation.

A two-fold mess, when thought about it: firstly, there was the matter of Thoma's inexplicable anger – the manjuu and its present stickiness had only come after Ayato noticed Thoma was pissed off. But before he'd even thoroughly analysed the anger's source, he'd found himself seeking forgiveness like a flower turning towards the sun.

His mouth journeyed upwards, trailing kisses along Thoma's abdomen as he went. He didn't stop once he reached Thoma's t-shirt – only detoured his kisses to that silver pendant around his neck instead.

When Ayato looked up, he met Thoma's eyes: green and bright and open. In moments like this, it never occurred to Ayato that Thoma would ever lie to him. It never occurred to him that he could.

And yet – there was the doubt. The disbelief every time he said yes, yes, yes. My lord. Waka. No, I don't mind cleaning. Yes, you can touch me. No, I don't want to go back to Mondstadt. Yes, I'll stay.

Even worse was when he didn't use words: the bite of an apple, a laugh at being licked, the sword placed back in its sheath.

How could Ayato know what Thoma truly felt?

The logical part of himself finally piped up. It said: by the fucking Archons, just ask him.

He still found himself hesitating. Thoma blinked up at him, patiently waiting for whatever was next while he lay between the trap of Ayato's arms.

It would be a good time to kiss him, he thought. "Am I forgiven?" he asked instead.

Thoma's brow furrowed. "For calling me a pet?"

Ayato's own expression mirrored Thoma's. "For making you kill a man," he said levelly whilst his mind darted back to retrieve whenever the hell he'd called him a pet: Ah. Last night, with Ayaka. He must have overheard.

"Oh," Thoma said, unsure of what else to say. "That."

It was almost ridiculous if they weren't both so fucking serious about it. Perhaps because they were both so serious about it. Ayato licked his lips before speaking. His mouth was uncharacteristically dry. "Which one are you angrier about?"

"Well, I can't say pet now, can I?" Thoma said, squirming beneath him. Ayato allowed himself to lean closer.

"It would be disrespectful to the treasure hoarder's memory," Ayato agreed, exceedingly close to Thoma's face.

"You weren't so thoughtful of him when he was still breathing, my lord."

Truthfully, Ayato thought, nor am I so thoughtful of him now. "Ah. So you are angry about the treasure hoarder. I see," he said, leaning away. He sat up. He was unable to trust himself lying so close to him. "You needn't have touched the sword in that case; it was merely a test. I wished to see if you were truly mad at me. Clearly, you are, though tidying it away has been a poor measure of your anger. I should've factored in your penchant for cleaning over feelings of personal distress." He was speaking too much. Purposefully so. Speaking meant he wasn't licking him. It also meant Thoma was listening, not leaving.