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    Summary

    “I want his mouth.” That’s Diluc, for sure. Kaeya can’t see him, but he can imagine him, pink in the cheeks and arms crossed over his broad chest.

    “You got that last time,” Childe points out. He’s cocky. He’s wearing a smirk, Kaeya knows it. It’s like he knows he’s saying just the wrong thing—or just the right thing, if the intent is to rile Diluc up further.

    “And every time you have his mouth you get sad that he swallows like the whore he is.”

    “Okay,” Childe relents. “You can have his mouth. You always say you like him better when he shuts up anyway."

    Language:
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