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Ao’nung swears, he’s not doing that on purpose. On Eywa, he isn’t. It kinda all happens on its own.
A drink spilled there, some food carelessly dropped, greasy fingers that by some weird twist of fate find a way to smear on Neteyam’s sweatshirt. It’s all an accident, coincidence even. No, Ao’nung is definitely not using every possible opportunity he gets, when Neteyam is over, to get him out of his clothes so he'd have to wear his.
No way.
So now, when Neteyam grabs the ends of his tank-top to pull it off and glares at him, he makes the same innocent, mildly guilty face as all the times before. It really isn’t his fault; the spoon of jam, when they were eating pancakes a moment prior, got its own consciousness and flipped on its own, he swears. And it just wanted to land on Neteyam’s shirt, for some reason. It’s childish, like that. Who could’ve known.
His eyes take an unashamed journey, over the exposed planes of Neteyam’s abdomen, his chest, all swathed by the smoothest, sepia-brown skin. But he’s not given more than a moment to enjoy the view, before Neteyam throws his tank-top into his face and instead puts on the shirt Ao’nung gave him.
‘’I’m breaking up with you.’’ he grumbles as he does, ‘’You’re costing me too much in laundry detergent. I’ll have to find a another job to cover just that.’’
Ao’nung snorts, the smile still lingering on his face, when he wraps his arms around his boyfriend’s — still, full year strong, no matter how many times Neteyam threatens he’s on thin ice, for whatever reason — and pulls him closer.
‘’Sorry, sweetheart.’’ he says, with a peck left on the middle of Neteyam’s lips, ‘’You’re just so distracting.’’
Neteyam rolls his eyes, glares at him again right after, like he can see right through Ao’nung’s bullshit and the truth is, he probably can. He’s been trained too well on that, by the endless shenanigans of his siblings.
But he sets his hands on Ao’nung’s hips nonetheless and lets him nuzzle in his neck, apology taken as it seems, and Ao’nung takes in a lungful of their scents mixing in the dip of his shoulder. The woody, slightly sweet smell of Neteyam’s cologne, his own, that he can scarcely pick up only because it’s met with another. He skims his hands down Neteyam’s sides, senses the overfamiliar fabric — but it feels different on Neteyam, it always does. It drapes too loosely around his slim waist, makes it look even smaller, more irresistible to hold. Fits just enough, on the wide shoulders, accentuates them the right way to make you want to lay kisses all over their elegant line. It makes Ao’nung want it, at least.
He tightens his arms around Neteyam again, picks him off the ground and Neteyam grumbles something, but he hooks his legs around him anyways, too used to it. Ao’nung sets him down on the bed, nestles between his thighs with his head on Neteyam’s chest and arms still around his middle. A breath of pure delight and content breaks free from his lips, when he breathes in the scent more deeply, feels Neteyam fingers dipping into his hair.
‘’Acting cute won’t help you.’’ Neteyam scolds half-heartedly, ‘’You gotta stop doing that.’’
‘’You gotta wear my clothes more often then.’’ Ao’nung counters, setting a kiss somewhere on his sternum, over the fabric. ‘’Or just throw all of yours out and take all of mine, I wouldn’t mind.’’
Neteyam sighs, his nails light, as they scratch over Ao’nung scalp.
‘’Dumbass.’’ he says, too fondly, to take with any offense.
‘’Yup. But all yours.’’
A laugh rouses somewhere in the cavern of Neteyam’s chest. He leans in to give Ao’nung a kiss on the top of his head.
‘’Yeah.’’ he adds quietly, softly, ‘’I guess I brought it onto myself.’’