kitty

A jingle rang out from in front of you as Pierrot turned his head to glare at Harlequin, who sipped innocently on his cold brew, readily ignoring the other clown. The smirk remained on his face as he ‘read’ the newspaper. 

Strangely enough, the sight made your stomach sink ever so slightly, and you quickly scolded yourself for feeling flattered by the charlatan. Of course he’d only look at you like that if Pierrot was here. 

Did it even matter?

It does to me, Harlequin. 

-2-

The night was dark and full of shadows, but the stars shined brighter than usual. The moon laid on Harlequin as he walked you home, illuminating only the protrusions of his costume, which left his face cast into obscurity.

The clown cradled your hand, grip remaining lax such that you could not feel the heat of his palm, only the caress of his fingers as they tangled with your own. Harlequin had made a show of things in front of Pierrot, naming himself protector and you the lamb who needed him to shepherd you home, but the performance had continued even after the audience went out of sight. 

Instead of leading you by the collar, Harlequin strode beside you, words only passing between you as often as the wind caressed your cheek. The clown’s eyes drifted around him, searching shadows and corners. He was rarely so vigilant, and you wondered if perhaps it was discomfort that drove him to find something to focus on. 

You examined him from the corner of your eye as you walked, checking him for injuries. 

“Like what you see?” he quipped, still inspecting your path. Maybe if his gaze strayed your way, he’d have his answer. 

I do. 

You ignored him. “How come Pierrot is always getting hurt, but you never do?” you asked. 

Harlequin gave a sardonic laugh. “The answer is obvious, isn’t it? Pierrot is a fool.” 

You kicked the rock in front of you, watching it roll. “I don’t think that’s true,” you said. “Pierrot is very nice. He’s strong, too. He helped me carry supplies into the café once, when my boss wasn’t there.” 

Harlequin rolled his eyes, returning his hands to his pockets. “Charmed by his simplicity, are you?” 

You glared at him, but Harlequin took no heed of it. “His kindness, actually. Maybe you could stand to learn a thing or two from him.” 

The clown only shrugged. “If you truly believe that, then perhaps you two deserve each other.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. Maybe he was right.

Then why do I want you, instead?

Harlequin broke the silence easily, grinning at you despite the sudden tension. “Although, based on the looks you were giving me earlier, I doubt it. Do you have a habit of lying to yourself, dear one?” 

Do you, Harlequin? 

You reached your door, saving you from having to answer him. 

“Night,” you said. “Thanks for walking me back, I guess.” 

The clown observed you for a moment, suddenly drawing you close. “Goodnight, darling.” 

He walked away looking half a shadow, half the moon.

-3-

The trees were turning from green to red, and you were loath to see the change. It seemed green had become your new favourite colour, recently. Summer had felt endless and effortless, but it would be cold soon. 

A stasis had fallen over your life since the circus arrived in town, questions lingering in the still air, and yet never feeling suffocating until now. 

It was almost closing time, and you hadn’t caught sight of Harlequin or Pierrot all day. The thought made you surprisingly anxious, with how the town seemed to treat them. 

Shamefully, you felt around for the pin in your pocket, the one Harlequin had given you when you first met. You were too sheepish to actually wear it on your clothes, but you liked having it on you. It soothed you, as you rolled it around in your fingers, smooth on the edges but with a sharp point.

He had given you his green heart. It almost seemed a cruel joke, now. 

Time drifted along, but left you behind: immobile, unchanging, alone.

You dreamt of him last night. 

Falling, always falling. But this time, he catches you by your sleeve, just before you dip into oblivion. It’s not a strain for him to hold you, or if it is you can’t see it on his brow. He raises you up, so far up you can see the sea and the sky and then when you reach him he presses his lips to yours and he tastes as good as he smells. 

It feels like the real thing. 

Then his chapped lips leave your own and all you wish for is to fall faster so you won’t have to watch his back as he walks away from you, the freedom burning where he let you go.

Would his lips be as sweet as you dreamed? 

Or was it simply a reverie conjured within the pits of your mind, an animal instinct to have something pleasant enough to get you through the day?

Pierrot’s entrance whisked away such thoughts, and left you with others, mind slipping away even as the two of you chatted. 

Red was perfect for you: he smiled without a trace of fabrication, and he never stopped looking at you. You felt his warmth when he held you, and you knew that if you asked, he would never let go.

But there was something different about green. 

You felt it even as Pierrot went and Harlequin came, the way he devoured old hopes and bloomed new ones. Even the glimpses you caught of the parts of himself that Harlequin usually hid whispered that he could see you better than anyone.

Maybe if you’d never met Harlequin, then you and Pierrot…

It didn’t matter, because you did meet Harlequin, and this was your life. 

But there was something stirring inside of you, even as you laughed at Harlequin’s snide jokes or tried to share things about your day. Your lungs ached, like the clown was stealing your oxygen, and hardly noticing. 

Your mind returned to the vision of him that came to you at rest.

It was pitiful to long for a mere dream when the man himself was in front of you, but the fantasy stole you away from reality. 

If Pierrot wore his heart on his sleeve, then Harlequin had hidden his own away somewhere you would never find. You wondered if that’s what had attracted you to him in the first place; to take on the challenge of someone whose heart belonged only to himself. 

Perhaps you were simply tiring of such games. 

-4-

Pierrot had departed only moments ago, reluctant to leave you behind with Harlequin. You reassured him that you would be fine, and Harlequin let him know that you would be more than fine. 

You had to give Pierrot a hug, and promise to see him tomorrow, just so he wouldn’t strangle the other clown in the middle of the café. Harlequin had only watched, your eyes meeting over Pierrot’s shoulder. He seemed displeased with this development, as though he hadn’t been the one to cause it. 

When the rest of the customers left you alone with Harlequin, you finally worked up the courage to ask the question which had been burrowing in your mind: “What’s your deal with Pierrot?” 

“Whatever do you mean?” Harlequin said, drawing out each word and giving you his sweetest smile, just to aggravate you. 

“Neither of you will tell me, but don’t you think I deserve to know, considering how you’re forcing me into the middle of your little spat?” 

“Spat? It’s all fun and games, dear one.”

Am I really only a game to you?

“I’m fun and games?” 

Harlequin gave you a sultry look. “Well, you’re certainly fun.” 

Not quite a lie, yet not the truth. Harlequin twirled and spun his own reality. 

“...And what else do you do for fun, other than scorn Pierrot?” 

“Curious about little old me?” he teased. 

You wanted to shove your face into the counter. Maybe he would see you then, really see you, when the blood dripped down your nose. “Yes, actually. I don’t know anything about you, except the fact that you are stubborn and arrogant and taxing, and I…” 

You trailed off suddenly, your mind finally catching up to your mouth. 

Harlequin raised an eyebrow at your sudden outburst, but his usual grin quickly returned to his face. “Yes, dear one?” 

I think I’m falling in love with you. 

You shook your head. “Nothing.” 

Even if you don’t love me back.

Harlequin’s slender finger brushed under your chin, gently raising your face to meet his eyes. “Really? Nothing?” 

But everything hurts when you’re around, and nothing seems to make sense anymore. 

He looked at you as though he had a one-way mirror into your soul, and he saw just how pathetic you really were. Your cheeks grew hot under his intense gaze, and you jerked out of his grip. “Yeah. Nothing, except you suck.” 

Harlequin rolled his eyes dramatically at your childish retort, but he laughed all the same. His easy demeanour made you want to giggle too, at how silly you were being. 

“Hmm,” he commented as he finally finished his drink, standing from the bar and sliding over a couple bills and the empty glass to you. “I think you secretly enjoy me, dear one.” 

It was your turn to roll your eyes. “You wish.” 

“Yes,” he said. “I do.” 

For Pierrot’s sake?

Or your own?

Suddenly Harlequin was beside you, bending down to kiss your forehead and whispering into your ear: “Don’t worry. I enjoy you too.” 

-1-

Harlequin looked up at you cheekily. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed all the green you’ve been wearing. Your way of announcing my claim over you, I suppose,” he teased. “Don’t worry, it becomes you.” 

You glared at him halfheartedly, double-checking the café was empty before replying. “Fuck you.”

Harlequin grinned at your choice of words, leaning against the bar you stood behind, and brought his face close to your own. “Yes, that’s the idea, dear one.” 

You pouted in response, but the clown hardly seemed affected by your misery, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. He laughed at your petulance, deep and rich and almost sincere, the sound sending your heart racing and bolstering your anger toward him. 

“Don’t you get tired of this,” you spoke suddenly, the words spilling out of your mouth, which suddenly felt very dry. You gestured between you, and avoided his gaze. “I don’t know why you hate Pierrot so much, but surely it can’t be worth spending all your time bothering me.” 

Harlequin huffed, eyes narrowing as he finally turned away from you, his back toward the bar. His fingertips grazed the edge behind him, lingering. “…If you detest my presence that much, I will make myself scarce,” he said, his voice strangely subdued. 

You admired his silhouette as he stared out the café windows, his cute dark curls and the adorable hearts across his costume. The graceful way he carried himself and the way he made you laugh in spite of yourself. 

Please.

Stay. 

“…”

When it became clear the silence would persist, he turned back around and the two of you stared at each other, unblinking. 

“You would really leave?” you asked meekly, rubbing the same glass you had been drying for the past five minutes. “Just like that?” 

You half expected him to make some quip about Pierrot not suffering as much if you didn’t enjoy it, but Harlequin only gave you a bittersweet smile, eyes dull. 

“Is that what you wish?” he asked, stepping forward. 

No. 

Come closer, Harlequin. 

Let me see you. 

The clown was just in reach now: you could see the slight lint on his lapels, a wayward string on the hems of his sleeve, a piece of dark hair which had fallen out of place and dangled in front of his eyes. 

The front door jingled as someone walked in. Harlequin’s body blocked your view, but you knew by the way he stepped closer exactly who it was. 

His eyes lit up as Pierrot stood in the doorway, staring at the two of you. Harlequin’s tall form towered over your own. You must have been quite the sight, nestled so close together. 

Almost like lovers. 

“Yes,” you said, your eyes glazing over, suddenly thankful Harlequin was too distracted to see. “I want you…” 

Harlequin finally turned away from the other clown, and he stiffened at the sight of your teary gaze. It was the first time you had surprised him, rather than the other way around. The thought almost made you giggle, but your lip quivered instead. 

Pierrot had glowered at him from the next booth over, only perking up when you gave him a soft smile in apology for Harlequin’s behaviour. His exasperation reached a climax once Harlequin got handsy, first grazing your waist before attempting to wander further down your back. You scolded him, but truthfully, you found his flirtation more amusing than anything. 

Pierrot, however, did not view Harlequin's actions in such a lighthearted manner. You were fairly sure that, had you released him from your embrace, the clown would have fought Harlequin in the middle of the cafe. Thankfully, Pierrot’s outrage was easily subdued through your displays of affection, and Harlequin was smart enough not to stick around when he pushed the former past his breaking point for the day. 

Still, the clown remained agitated the rest of your shift, keeping an especially close eye on you and any customer who dared linger near you for too long. Your usual pats and smiles were of no comfort to Pierrot, his manic state persisting even as the last customer exited the shop. He waited patiently for you to close, but you worked quickly considering how antsy he seemed to leave. 

The second you finished locking up the cafe, Pierrot took your hand in his own and began leading you away. Not in the direction of your home, you noticed. If you hadn’t come to learn that he was mostly harmless, you might have been afraid, but instead, you were rather worried for him. Pierrot was certainly strange, but you found him endearing nonetheless. 

“Pierrot? What’s wrong?” 

He wouldn’t be able to answer you, considering there were still other people around, but you expected him to try to communicate non-verbally like he usually did. Instead, the clown only kept tugging you along, walking as fast as he could while still ensuring you wouldn’t stumble. Pierrot was surprisingly good at navigating the alleyways in the dark; you supposed he must be in order to make his escape from the hostile townspeople. 

The thought of how often Pierrot came to harm made you squeeze his hand, the clown looking back at you with curiosity. He stopped for a moment, but continued guiding you to wherever he wished to go once you nodded for him to proceed. He wandered farther than where you could recognize, and slowly the amount of people around you diminished until it seemed you were the only ones left. 

The clown stopped suddenly, searching around, and once he confirmed there was no one around, turned back to you and guided you towards the alleyway wall. 

“My lady, I need you now,” he pleaded, dropping down to his knees in front of you, despite the harsh concrete. 

You were taken aback by his sudden intensity as he pinned your hips to the wall. The clown was able to hold so much of you in his hands, but he was always so gentle, despite his size. The brick chaffed slightly against your back, but you hardly noticed with how Pierrot looked up at you. 

Like he was ready to worship every part of you. 

Arousal stirred in your core at the sight. Pierrot suddenly scooted closer, and tugged lightly on the bottom of your skirt. He tilted his head and looked at you, eyes wide and desperate and awaiting your response. You hesitated for a moment, eyes searching the area and praying nobody was around. 

Were you really willing to let him have you in some random part of town? 

Well, it did seem like he wouldn’t be able to wait to make it back to your home, and you were awfully pent up after dealing with the clowns’ shenanigans at work today. 

Eventually, arousal and pity won out and you raised a hand to pet his soft hair. “Touch me,” you said.

Pierrot’s imploring eyes lit up at your words, at first seeming almost stunned, before quickly getting to work, as though he couldn’t wait a minute longer to have you. He gathered your work skirt around your hips, hands shaking in anticipation. The clown took a long moment to cherish the view of your plush thighs, and you were now the one getting antsy. 

Even kneeling, Pierrot was so tall that he had to move back a little just to get his head in between your thighs, nuzzling them slightly with a lovestruck grin, before pulling back. He nudged your legs apart and paused, staring at your cute panties. The clown looked up at you in apology, before somehow shredding them with his sharp nails. You wanted to be upset that he’d destroyed your best pair, or even ask how he’d done that so easily, but you could hardly blame him when you were just as desperate to get to the main event.

Pierrot stared at your bare cunt for so long you might have thought to be insecure, if not for the total devotion in his gaze. It wasn’t the first time he’d touched you or seen you naked, but Pierrot always seemed to act like it was. The clown was practically drooling for a taste of your cunt, and was eternally grateful that he had such a privilege. 

Hands smoothed over your thighs, before Pierrot’s head finally dipped between your legs. He secured you against the wall before pushing one of your thighs over his shoulder. You gripped his head for balance, feeling dizzy with how close his mouth was to your cunt. 

The clown began with simple licks to your inner thighs, a tongue that felt oddly long and thick dragging against your flesh, and just avoiding where you needed him.

You groaned in frustration. 

He peeked up at you from between your thighs, and the sight made you ache for him. The clown smiled at you, buzzing with excitement. 

“Stop teasing, Pierrot,” you scolded him, gently tugging at his hair. “I need you.” 

A whine escaped him at your movement, and the sound only heightened your need. 

Your lip twitched. “Do you like it when I do that, sweetie?”

Pierrot nodded, slightly shy, and nuzzled against you again. You ruffled his hair in return, and promised to keep it up if he did well. The clown seemed keen on your approval, and refocused himself on his task. 

The first lap of his tongue against your folds had you twitching in his hold, pleasure burning in your belly. Pierrot looked up at you as he tasted you, his tongue hot and wet as it dragged against your flesh. He watched your face carefully as his tongue explored you, unsure of where to go, but happy to feast on you. 

You tugged on his hair again when he finally reached your clit, pulling him closer to your pussy. He was so sweet on you, and you felt it with every second he touched you. “Good boy. You’re so cute.” 

Your praise seemed to invigorate him, Pierrot suddenly placing several sweet kisses on the sensitive flesh he had discovered. Then, he began eating you out like he was starved, lapping more firmly and tongue dragging from your hole to your clit. 

His movements were hurried and unfocused between his excitement and inexperience, but you didn’t mind. Pierrot certainly had his own kind of charm, and his eagerness to please meant that he learned quickly exactly where you enjoyed his sweet tongue or tender touches. His technique may not have been graceful, but he hardly left an inch of you unsatisfied, shoving his mouth against your folds and messily slurping at you. He seemed transfixed by the taste of your cunt, enjoying lapping up your slick as it dripped from your hole, and pressing his tongue inside of you, reaching a depth which caught you off guard. You’d have to ask him for a full view of this tongue sometime…

Pierrot ate you out like he loved you, and the thought made you feel all sorts of soft and mushy things you didn’t want to be feeling. The clown was the kind of person who could draw that vulnerability from you, whether or not you wanted him to. He took care of you, his tongue swirling endlessly around your clit as you practically humped his face, as desperate for his touch as he was for your taste. 

“You’re making me feel so good, Pierrot,” you gasped. You wanted to let him know that you appreciated him, even if you weren’t as good at it as he deserved. 

Finally, the tension building in you came undone, and your thighs shook as you reached your climax, squeezing his head between them. Pierrot didn’t let up his attentions, continuing to suck on your clit. He only released his mouth from your cunt when you tugged on his hair again, finally too overstimulated to allow him to continue. 

As he let down your leg from his shoulder, you pulled down your skirt and realized just how weak your knees felt. You collapsed onto Pierrot as he stood, but the clown was perfectly happy to have you in his hold. You were always surprised by the softness of his costume, and you enjoyed nuzzling into him. Based on how tightly he gripped you, Pierrot seemed to enjoy it too. 

Once you finally felt strong enough to stand, you raised your head to speak. “…If Harlequin’s flirting leads to more of this, then maybe I’ll welcome it in the future,” you joked. 

Pierrot’s sad, puppy-dog eyes suddenly made you regret your words. The clown looked as though you had just smacked him across the face. 

“Just teasing you! The only one I want flirting with me is you, after all. I’m all yours, Pierrot.” You’d become so soft for him, affection spilling from your lips even when you would normally feel embarrassed for spouting such saccharine words. 

The clown seemed to perk up at that, squeezing you almost painfully tight. “And I am all yours, my lady!” Pierrot said fervently, grinning and surprisingly energetic despite your prior activities. Well, he certainly had good stamina. 

The close proximity of the hug brought your attention to something hard pressing into your thigh. You stroked his cheek, and Pierrot smiled so sweetly at you. 

“Let’s go home,” you said. You eyed the slight tent in his crotch. “Maybe I can take care of you too, sweetie.” 

He worried the repetition might be as tedious as some of the performances he had done ten, twenty, fifty times. The cities hardly made each iteration enthralling; they all melded together before disappearing entirely from his mind. 

Why should the prey have been any different? 

You were a fawn prancing along on unsteady legs without a soul in the world to protect you from dangerous creatures like himself. 

It was pitiful, really, how quickly you clung to him, unknowingly sealing your fate. What was wrong with you, so willing to surrender your heart and your body to a monster? 

You had neither fled nor froze nor, he chuckled at the thought, fought. He faintly wished you had, just to see you flounder. It would almost be cute, if he still thought of things in those terms. 

He was grateful, in the end, that you embraced him. The last one had fought, which had been fun for a time, but less fun once Pierrot realized she wasn’t truly in his grasp. 

He knows now that he was wrong to doubt you, to imagine you’d be anything less than delectable entertainment. He enjoys variety, of course, whether it be in cuisine or perfume or prey, and what a magnificent hunt you had been. 

Harlequin had weaved together tales of love and longing, threads strong enough to draw you into his delicate web without much coaxing. You were awfully fragile, insecurity and isolation chipping away at you morsel by morsel. 

It was not a matter of if he could charm you, but how soon until Pierrot was seething at his triumph. 

All it took were some well-placed words of comfort and venom-laced kisses to your head to get you sweet on him, unable to go even a day without his solace or touch. He almost felt sorry for you, if he was capable of such a thing, that you had fallen for him rather than a half-wit fool like Pierrot, head empty save for dreams of romance and reciprocity. 

You two certainly deserved each other. The thought made him surprisingly angry, but he quickly dismissed it. You had chosen him, after all, from that first day you had worn his pin. You were his sweet pet, and he would make sure you only ever looked at him. 

If only there were a way for him to hoard your kindness as well; he was tiring of how you would still fuss over Pierrot and his injuries. As if the fool didn’t allow himself to be harmed by mere humans. It was awfully pathetic, and if Harlequin didn’t know any better, he would wonder if Pierrot only let it happen so you would coddle him. 

Breathy sounds drew him from his musings. 

“H-harlequin…please…”

Harlequin let a smile grace his face as he leered down at you. He ought not to let the present get away from him, he chastised himself, your delightsome form quaking beneath him. Your time on stage was drawing to a close, after all. 

“What do you need, dear one?” Harlequin purred, deliberately avoiding the obvious. He knew your body better than you did: where you were most sensitive to the strokes of his slender fingers, which spots made your eyes roll back into your head, how hard he would need to squeeze before flesh split from bone. 

Well, the last one was much the same for all humans, so he supposed he shouldn’t give himself too much credit. 

“Need you,” you groaned, nails scratching lightly across his clothed back. It almost made him chuckle; you were always the gentle thing, even in the heights of your passion you could do no harm to him. 

“You’ll need to be more precise. You already have me,” he quipped, although the second he said it, he froze and his nose seemed to twitch in disgust as an unpleasant feeling twisted in his gut. 

Your eyes opened and you peered up at him, gaze curious and head tilted at his sudden inaction. The two of you stared at each other for a moment that seemed to last an eternity, your wide eyes like a vortex drawing him into the memory. 

He shook it off and focused on your pleasure, pulling you closer until his head was buried in your shoulder, taking in your heady scent and ensuring you could no longer see his face. He need not be rattled by mere turns of phrase, he thought, distracting himself by nipping at your neck, ensuring beautiful blooms would linger in the days to come for all to see. 

“Need you inside of me, please.” You tugged at his green lapels. He grinned at your neediness. 

“As you wish, dear one,” Harlequin cooed, spreading your legs gently and admiring the warmth ready to sheath him as you squirmed under his gaze. 

The movement of your hips was awfully enticing, and so he found himself unable to tease you any longer, easing himself into you with a pleasurable groan. The sweet song of your moans distracted him from his thoughts, and allowed him to focus only on thrusting into the warm body beneath him.

Your pathetic whines enthralled him as he took his pleasure from you. You needed someone like him to fuck you like this, helpless thing that you were. He doubted you would take care of your own needs without his aid, but he was content to relieve your stress by fucking you into your mattress until you came undone beneath him. He did enjoy the sight of you with weak legs the day after his visits, and he enjoyed the knowledge that everyone would know you were getting pleasured within an inch of your life even more. 

Harlequin’s thrusts slowed only when he finally filled you with his seed, enjoying the feeling of claiming you so thoroughly. It was only once you had collapsed fully onto the bed, tugging him down beside you so you might curl up into his arms, that the incessant thoughts began to plague him once again, despite the pleasurable haze leftover in his mind. 

He closed his eyes to try and forget the nonsense that had been keeping him up, but all he could see was you. It seemed you were all he could think about lately: if he would spot you at his tent, eagerly cheering him on, or whether you would be working when he next came into your cafe. 

Stealing your heart had been a part of his masterful plan, but he wasn’t quite sure why hadn't he finished things off, taking the final bow. 

Pierrot may have fumed at the sight of you in his arms, but nothing would compare to his anguish when Harlequin finally, truly stole you away from him forever. 

Harlequin was sauntering to the finish line, making a fool of himself each and every day that he stayed his hand. The kind of fool that humans always seemed to take him as. The kind of fool Pierrot truly was. The thought made him grimace. 

Final tricks were often harrowing, he told himself. It was only a normal performance anxiety for the most difficult part of the show. 

The last time had seemed daunting as well, yet the execution had been – well, not flawless, even Harlequin could admit, but certainly quite the production. 

Why should it be any different with you? 

…Because he was fucking you when Pierrot wasn’t even around to suffer the spectacle, a wayward part of him answered. 

Harlequin stared down at your peaceful face as you slept on top of him. A slender finger rose to brush a strand of hair out of your eyes, so he might get a closer look, careful not to wake you. He had never witnessed a human face in such serenity, before he met you. They usually wore masks of fear or anger or hatred, sometimes ecstasy, but never tranquility. 

He enjoyed the fear, even the anger at times. The look on a human’s face when they know the end is near is a special treat, and he seemed to delight in it more and more recently with the number of men who had batted their eyes at you while you worked at the café. 

There was nothing wrong with him seeking out pleasure, he thought, eyes roaming your alluring body. The strong took from the weak, whether or not they offered up such delights as graciously as you did. His life couldn’t be all about Pierrot’s suffering, after all.

Wouldn’t you taste all the sweeter, for all the time he had spent savouring you?

And when that was over, he would simply find another dalliance to satiate him. He was fond of you and your unbridled affection, and their taste probably wouldn’t be as succulent as yours, he could admit, but there wasn’t much to be done about it. 

Your demise was an inevitability, a mere fact of your lowly human existence. He was simply stealing away a few measly years. All true entertainers knew that a good show was worth the price. They usually sacrificed their own lives, but Harlequin thought the analogy still applied. 

Maybe you would even be happily led to the altar, should he ask it of you. 

Would you fight against the tearing of your flesh or content yourself to sacrifice, like a lamb finally laying down to nourish its salivating shepherd? 

How joyous an idea, for Pierrot to watch you kneel for him willingly. Harlequin nearly shuttered with pleasure at the thought of how his foe would shake with rage at the sight. 

It was difficult to imagine you being anything less than sweet and docile, to picture you fighting against his hold instead of sinking into his arms, fulfilled even as he sunk his teeth into your skin and took no heed of the blood that spilled out alluringly onto your back. You would stare at him, but your eyes would hold no feelings of betrayal, only fondness for the monster that you loved. 

Because you did love him, he was certain of it. There was no other possibility in his mind, none that wouldn’t make him see red. 

Harlequin didn’t love you; he wasn’t capable of such a thing. He couldn’t deny, there was something intoxicating about your devotion to him, but love?

That was what he had always thought, but human conceptions of love were always so limited. So pure and lovely and good. Harlequin was a monster, so perhaps he simply loved like one too. 

In that final moment, when you straddled the line between life and death and he, lust and gluttony, perhaps Harlequin would finally be able to admit to himself that he did love you, and that it still wouldn’t change a thing. 

He simply couldn’t help himself: for a monster, to love was to consume, to join your flesh with his own eternally and to possess you entirely. The thought of having you in such a way that no one ever had and no one ever would was undoubtedly riveting to him, and for once, Pierrot’s reaction seemed completely irrelevant to this thrill. 

And yet, Harlequin still found himself pushing off the inevitable. Because it was inevitable, it wouldn’t matter if he took a few extra moments to savour the warmth of your body and the undeniable rapture of being worshipped by a being capable of the kind of saccharine affection that he wasn’t. There was still fun to be had before the curtain closed, he told himself.