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“You’re beautiful, Aether,” Diluc murmurs.
“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. “every—” a kiss to the tufts of blond tickling his chin “—single—” another, to Aether’s temple “—time.” He is generous, with his praise. With the pleasure he gives.
“If only you could see yourself the way I see you, my heart.”
King of Mondstadt or not, Diluc doesn't care: as long as he has Aether, he is content. The love he has for his little lover is a crown in and of itself, and it is the only crown that Diluc wears—and it is one that he wears with a pride that far surpasses the Ragnvindr name.