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"Can you kiss me?"
This gets his attention. It's not like he's been ignoring you, sitting at your feet, working on his latest project for the circus, hands working skillfully on his craft.
But touch starvation had been gnawing you, and that night more than others.
Out of the corner of you eye, you see his head snap up in your direction and for a moment you think he's going to tease you. But after a second more you feel the coldness of the mask against the skin of your legs and hear the distinct sound of his lips smacking together, signaling a kiss.
You hold your breath for a second, focusing on the lingering tingling sensation against your skin, almost afraid that's all you're gonna get from him.
But then another kiss comes, and then another, and another along both of your legs and all you can do is whimper and clench your thighs as you feel his clawed finger across your skin.
"Did I not give you enough attentions, my dear?"
Your hands find their place between his soft curls, an almost unconscious habit.
"It's not that-"
"But of course, the problem is that you're such a needy little thing, aren't you?"
That draws another whimper out of you. You can feel the kisses moving higher, the smoothness of his mask gliding upon your skin, and he's moaning softly as if simply kissing your legs is enough to bring him pleasure.
"What should I do with you, hm? Will my kisses even be enough to satiate this hunger of yours, sweet one?"
You want to argue that you'll accept anything you can get from him, you don't feel like being picky tonight. The sound of his smooth voice, the sensation of his hands your skin is, and his masked face leaving those fake kisses on you, the mix is making your head spin and your heart ache so good.
But you have to remind to yourself that there is one specific thing you asked of him.
"I want a kiss"
This time the words are barely above a whisper, but it seems that he hears you clearly.
His movements stop, and his head rises once again to stare at your face. You can't bring yourself to meet his eyes, or else you know you won't be able to think straight anymore. The weight itself of your request is getting overstimulating.
But even if you're not looking at him, you can hear the rustle of his clothing and the soft ringing of the bells as he raises.
He palaces a hand on your shoulder, but he doesn't even have to apply any pressure on it. Your body is moving on its own, and you're already lying on the mattress where you had been sitting.
From this position, you eyes can't help but wander, ending up on his face for just a second before your sight is taken away. He places one hand on your eyes, covering them.
You hold your breath, afraid that the wrong moment could shatter this moment of bliss, just as you're afraid of how he's going to poison you that night. One of your hands clutches his costume, the other rests on the sheet, waiting uncertainly for his own to join it.
But, with your surprise, what touches your free hand is not his own, but the coldness of his mask. He had removed it and placed it in your hand, wanting you to know what he was doing. That he was bare for you, even if you couldn't see him.
Your mind scrambles to try and come up with a coherent sentence but all that escapes your mouth is a strangled sound, and even that is cut short by his lips pressing against yours.
The texture of the skin of his lips that rubs against yours is weird to say the least, it's easy to understand that whatever is kissing you isn't human. But, being a freak yourself, your mind doesn't concern itself with that detail, focusing instead on following the movement of his lips against yours.
You moan softly when his forked tongue slips into your mouth, and Harlequin answers with a moan of his own. And as your tongue meets his, your hand - the same one where he had placed his mask, now abandoned on the sheets - reaches for his curls, sinking into them, while your other one grabs at his costume with more urgency, pulling him impossibly close to you.
All is left for you to do is melt against him, chasing after his lips when they leave yours. You whine pathetically, but then clown must feel particularly generous tonight, because his mouth is once again pressed against your skin, on your cheek this time, and then lower, kiss after kiss, on your jaw, your neck, your shoulder and your chest.
And there he stops, lying on it and you can feel his warm breath, somethings that's usually impossible because of his mask.
He remains there, silent for a bit and you're more than happy to focus on catching your breath, while gently petting his hair.
Then finally:
"Was that good enough of a kiss, dear one?"
You let out a shaky breath.
"Harlequin"
He lifts his head from your chest, and even though if his hand is still on your eyes, you can feel his warmth drawing closer to your face. Then his voice is right next to your ear, making your shiver.
"Yes."
You can't do anything to stop the small smile that spreads across your lips
"Just one more kiss."