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"What's wrong, Bill?" Dom asked, forehead wrinkled.
"Don't ask."
"I am asking. What's wrong?"
"I am very vexed with you right now," Billy forced out between clenched teeth.
"I'm sorry. Why?"
"There is mustard on the cheese."
Dom stared at him. "Are you kidding?"
"No, Dom, I am far from kidding. There is mustard on the cheese, there is peanut butter in the margarine, and there are toast crumbs in the bed. I am vexed, and unless you can promise me none of these things will ever, ever happen again, I suggest you go and order takeaway and never make anything in our kitchen again--at least until I am no longer quite so vexed."
"What if I--"
"No."
Dom sat on Billy's lap and licked his neck right below his ear. "What if I accidentally got a bit of jam there? You'd let me clean it off, wouldn't you?"
Billy stilled. "Perhaps."
"And what if I, say, spilled a tiny bit of syrup on the inside of your elbow? Would you let me clean that up?" Dom lifted Billy's arm to his mouth to demonstrate.
"I suppose." His jaw unclenched, and he licked his lips.
"And what if--by accident, you understand--I were to drip a bit of milk into your filtrum?" Dom sucked on Billy's upper lip, nibbling gently.
When his mouth was freed, Billy huskily said, "I'd expect you to deal with your mess."
"I'll deal with them all, I promise," Dom said fondly. "Just tell me you're not vexed with me anymore?"
"...No. I'm not vexed." Billy finally smiled, then slyly added, "I think I'm getting hungry, though."