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Waking up to the sun on his face is a new -and briefly panic-inducing, before Thoma remembers that his Lord had given him the day off- experience, as is waking up to the warm presence curled up against him. Thoma can't help the fond smile that tugs at his lips at the new sensation, turning his head slightly to take in the view that is his Lord, soundly asleep beside him.
Said lord has one arm thrown over Thoma's chest and the other curled possessively around Thoma's arm, hugging the limb tight against his chest- and, oh, Thoma can already feel the tingly numbness of having the blood flow to his arm restricted, but he can't find it in himself to care when his Lord looks this content.
The sun streams in from the window, dappling his Lord's fine features in white-gold, and Thoma watches, entranced, when his Lord mumbles discontentedly and turns to bury his face into the crook of Thoma's neck, leaving only his side profile just barely visible. Thoma chuckles lowly, heart feeling too big for his ribs, and revels in the feeling of warm breath puffing evenly against his skin. He reaches down with his one free hand to tug the blankets up, tucking them in around his Lord's asleep form, and gives in to the urge to press a kiss to the top of his Lord's head.
His Lord murmurs in his sleep, a muffled sound that might have been some mangled form of Thoma's own name, and Thoma's heart swells with the sheer affection that he holds for the man in his arms. To think, that he'd been denying himself the pleasure of holding his Lord in his sleep, of knowing the way his Lord's kisses felt like, when his Lord had reciprocated his feelings all this time. To think, that it had taken a some minor clan's badly executed attempt at drugging his Lord for them to finally learn of each other's affections- oh, and Thoma would have happily drunk all of his Lord's drugged wine a hundred times over if this was where it led.
(And if Thoma had enjoyed being fussed over by his Lord after the embarrassment had faded… well, he never had to admit it.)
His Lord is soft in his sleep, an unguarded kind of vulnerability that Thoma hasn't seen on these features since they were both far younger and far more innocent, and it is really only now, with pale blue hair falling in his Lord's face and pale skin unblemished by the stress of the day that Thoma is reminded of how young his Lord truly is.
He's always known, of course, that his Lord was barely older than Thoma himself, not even out of his mid-twenties yet and already far more diligent, far more successful, and far more pressured than most, if not all, others his age. But knowing and seeing it are two entirely different things, and Thoma's heart aches with the desire to let his Lord rest, to give him a haven where he can put his worries down and simply be.
Perhaps, a small voice in the back of his mind whispers, wistful, wishing. You could be that haven for him.
Maybe, the same voice continues, gaining strength, gaining hope. Maybe you already are.
Thoma lets the thought simmer in the back of his mind, and feels his lips curve at the idea. How nice it would be, if his Lord could put down his burdens, if Thoma could be the place where his Lord could rest.
He raises a hand and brushes the hair off of his Lord's face, lets silken strands fall through his fingers, basks in the sight of pale eyelashes resting peacefully against pale skin. His Lord mumbles again, and Thoma pauses, entirely unwilling to wake him from a much needed sleep, but his Lord simply nuzzles closer to Thoma's side and curls tighter around his arm. Thoma feels his Lord shift against him, draping a leg over Thoma's thigh even as he presses his face closer to Thoma's neck, hiding delicate features from Thoma's sight entirely. Pale hair tickles slightly at Thoma's shoulder, and he tilts his head to press his cheek against the top of his Lord's head, enjoying the sensation of satin-smooth hair against his skin, sleep-warm and soft. Out of the corner of his eye, spread messily over the pillows, Thoma catches sight of blue and blond hair alike, strands falling over one another against the white of the sheets, almost interwoven for how closely they lie against the other.
The sight sends something singing in him, the visual proof that they are intertwined, that they are together, that Thoma and his Lord fit together like two pieces of the same puzzle.
How long he has longed for his Lord, only to now be rewarded with the knowledge that his Lord had wanted him all along.
"I adore you," Thoma murmurs to the silent morning, feeling the way his Lord's chest rises and falls against his arm. "I really do."
A shift, and a low hum, and lavender eyes blink open.
"How lucky," his Lord says, still hoarse with sleep and words slightly slurred. "That I adore you as well, dearest."
"My Lord-"
Thoma's Lord smiles, a gentle, open smile so unlike the one he wears daily like a mask, and Thoma cannot resist leaning over to press a kiss to smiling lips. His Lord chuckles against his lips, moving to press the lightest of pecks against Thoma's lips as he draws away, and curls a long-fingered hand around Thoma's own. He entwines their fingers, and Thoma can feel the hard-earned callouses of Inazuma's best swordsman pressing against the rough skin of his own hands. Neither of their hands are those of a noble's, even if only one of them is noble, but they only speak of the determination and effort that had brought them to where they are today.
"Thoma," his Lord says, voice soft, a strangely reverent quality to his tone that makes Thoma's stomach fill with butterflies.
"Thoma," his Lord repeats, like he's savouring the word, running the same syllables over his tongue over and over again until their meaning is rewritten, only for his Lord's use. "My darling Thoma, my dearest Thoma-"
Thoma feels his cheeks burn at the sheer adoration in his Lord's voice, heat rushing to tan skin even as he cannot stop the smile from splitting his cheeks. "Yes, my Lord?"
"Please," his Lord says, lifting their joined hands to pressed featherlight kisses to Thoma's knuckles. "Call me by my name, dearest."
Thoma's heart stutters in his chest. His Lord had- Thoma had not addressed his Lord as such since more than a decade ago, when he was still young and new to Inazuman customs, when he did not understand what an honourific was, what a title was. It is a form of address that no longers comes naturally to his lips, for all that the request sparks something bright in his chest, a searing warmth nestled between his lungs, against his heart.
"My Lord-"
"That is not my name, darling."
Thoma swallows, gaze caught in a sea of lavender, in the sparkle of light in smiling eyes. "My-"
He catches himself, and drowns in the cheer on fine features.
"Ayato," he says, soft, reverent, worshipful, and his Lor- Ayato laughs.
"Your Ayato," he muses, lavender eyes laughing. "I quite like the sound of that, hm?"
Thoma's cheeks burn hotter, but he refuses to tear his gaze away. Not when Ayato is looking at him like this, mirthful and delighted, alight with joy.
"My Thoma," Ayato says next, one hand coming up to caress Thoma's still flushed cheek, laughter almost bell-like in the peace of the late morning sun. Thoma ducks his head at that, but doesn't resist the urge to press a kiss to the thin skin of Ayato's wrist.
"Your Thoma," he agrees after a long moment. "Always yours, my Lo- Ayato."
Ayato hums, clearly thrilled. "I do so enjoy my name on your lips, my darling Thoma. It has been so long since I've heard it spoken, after all."
And, Thoma thinks, the realisation sudden. Isn't that the truth? Nobody calls Ayato by his first name, not any more. The last person who had done so had been- his mother, and after that Ayato had always been Lord Commissioner, or Lord Kamisato, or just onii-sama to his little sister.
"Ayato," Thoma breathes, and surges forward to pull Ayato into a tight hug. "Ayato, Ayato, Ayato-"
"Oh, dearest," Ayato sighs, a fond sort of mirth coating his words. "You are precious, aren't you?"
Ayato pauses to press a kiss against Thoma's cheek, laughing when Thoma turns his head instead to catch lips against lips.
"A treasure," Ayato finally continues when they pull apart, his lips kiss-swollen, expression pleased. "So precious, and entirely mine."
And what can Ayato's Thoma do, except to kiss his Ayato more?