𝕺𝖑𝖎𝖛𝖊𝖗

He nearly melts as he opens his eyes and casts his golden gaze onto your bed. How bewitching you look in slumber, all soft-limbed and serene, the flickering light from your television washing your face in muted blue tones and one bare foot poking free of your rumpled sheets.

Utterly entranced by the sight of you, Pierrot heaves a soft sigh as he approaches your bedside, boots carefully sidestepping the discarded apron and work shirt you’d left piled on the floor. Sprawled on your back, you’re the picture of contented sleep, brow smooth of worries and lips lightly parted. Pierrot watches the constant back and forth of your eyes roving beneath your closed eyelids long enough for one program on the television to bleed into another, and when he can contain himself no longer, he reaches out a clawed hand and grazes his knuckles along your cheek.

Warm, he shudders, drawing the edges of his claws along the curve of your jaw. It makes his heart race, how clearly he can feel the warmth and give of your skin even through his gloves, and a creeping heat begins to pervade Pierrot’s body as he lifts a knee onto your mattress, desperate, suddenly, for more contact.

You grumble softly as his movements jostle the bed, but you settle quickly enough, lips smacking gently together and drawing Pierrot’s golden eyes to the shape of your mouth. Knees daring to graze your thighs, he plants a hand on the mattress beside your pillow and dips his head, careful not to allow loose strands of silver hair to brush your cheeks lest he startle you awake. The soft tinkling of the many bells on his costume fail to stir you, thankfully, and Pierrot wonders with a guilty flush whether your lost coworker and the increased workload she’d left you with has anything to do with how deeply you slumber now. 

A wanting breath rattles free of his chest as he lifts his other hand to your mouth, gently tracing the bow of your lower lip with the edge of his claw. Desire shivers through his frame as your flesh catches against his glove, soft and plush, and Pierrot sinks sharp teeth into the meat of his cheek as longing curdles in the pit of his stomach. How sweet you look, he thinks dreamily, leaning closer. How sweet you’d taste. 

Unable to resist the impulse to find out for himself, Pierrot reaches for the edge of his mask and, after a moment’s hesitation, bares his face to the blue-tinted darkness of your bedroom. His chest heaves gently as he deposits the worn, white porcelain on your bedside table, tongue darting out to lick nervously across his lips before he lowers his head and touches your mouth with his. 

The contact is electrifying, the give of soft flesh forming to his sending a pleasant shiver down Pierrot’s spine. Tentatively, he begins to move his mouth against yours, clumsy but eager, his pulse thrumming like a trapped bird beneath his breast as the meeting and rescinding of flesh creates a soft, wet popping sound, barely audible above the drone of the television. 

Pierrot longs to truly indulge himself in this moment, to drag it out into eternity, but it doesn’t take long for his slow exploration of your mouth to become a fervent plundering, his cheeks burning as a pulsing heat begins to churn in the pit of his belly and coil tightly at the base of his dick. 

He huffs gently as he feels himself begin to swell against you, tongue darting out to drag hungrily along the seam of your lips. You breathe out softly through your nose at the sensation, brows furrowing a moment before you sigh into his mouth, a gentle heat beginning to radiate from your cheeks. 

Pierrot whimpers as the warmth in your flesh begins to bleed into his, a soft hiss escaping his lips when you shift beneath him and your groin grazes the growing bulge between his legs. Tilting his head and drawing your bottom lip between his teeth serves only to hasten the arousal bubbling in his gut, sharpening his need into a desperate, driving ache, and as your mouth begins to soften beneath his, plumping deliciously as he nibbles at your flesh, Pierrot cannot resist delving hungrily between your slack lips, softly prying them apart to welcome his eager tongue.

Oh, you taste divine! A shudder ripples through him as he loses himself in it, tongue dragging silkily along the bumps of your teeth and the softness of your inner cheek. Traces of the toothpaste you’d used cling to your palate, but beneath the icy bite of mint, Pierrot tastes a subtle sweetness that he’s certain must be entirely your own, and he longs to chase more of it, drink deep of it, until he’s full to bursting. 

“Mmm,” you hum against his mouth, the sound vibrating against his tongue. Startled, Pierrot pulls away with a rough, wet gasp, golden eyes wide at the gleaming strand of saliva connecting your lips before it breaks.

Beneath him, your body writhes gently atop the mattress, eyelashes fluttering and brows bunching for a moment before the lines smooth from your face and you settle into slumber once more. Pierrot pants quietly as he watches your head turn on your pillow, the elongated tendon along your throat drawing his eye to the gaping collar of your nightshirt and the strip of skin bared between. 

Bewitched by the sight, his claws settle in the hollow of your throat and drag gently along your sternum, skin flushing with heat as he notices the soft cotton of your shirt straining around the peaks of your nipples. 

Even in sleep you respond to him, Pierrot marvels, idly tracing the curve of one bud with the edge of his thumb. Your chest hitches on a sigh at even that light of a touch, and, emboldened, Pierrot begins eagerly rolling your nipples between his fingers, pinching and rubbing until they’re stiff beneath his gloves. His mouth waters with the desire to fit his mouth to those peaks and feel their pebbled texture with his tongue, but as you shift restlessly beneath him, hips hitching gently, Pierrot’s eyes dart from your chest to the apex of your thighs. 

Tucked snugly against his groin, the warmth of your skin is exquisite, even through your clothing and his own - a heat that has been building, climbing, since Pierrot first touched his mouth to yours. 

He wants to feel it.

The realization sticks wetly in Pierrot’s throat, his breath running shallow as he drags his claws down the length of your torso to the worn waistband hanging low around your hips. Dipping his hand beneath forces him to lock a whimper behind his teeth so as not to wake you; beyond the flimsy barrier of your clothing, the heat of your skin, the softness of it, the slickness of it, is almost too much for him to bear, saliva pooling on his tongue as he explores the shape of your sex with curious, eager fingers.

Warm, Pierrot thinks in a haze, throat bobbing around a hungry growl he struggles to suppress as he dips his head and pushes his brow against your chest. Your heartbeat thunders in his ears, soft, hitching breaths ruffling his hair as he strokes at your flesh, and as slick begins to gather beneath the pads of his fingers, dampening his gloves, Pierrot whimpers as he realizes he can feel your sex swelling against his claws.

Your need bolsters his own, his cock straining beneath his trousers and his body aching to drive between your thighs and feel the heat of your skin against his own. It would take so little to bare yourself to him, just a rending of his claws to tear the barriers between you to ribbons. 

Yet Pierrot knows he cannot, that it would wake you, that the sight of him frenzied and wild-eyed in the darkness of your bedroom would scare you. Drive you away.  

His heart sinks like a stone at the thought of you hating him, spurning him. He won’t risk it, even if his hunger for you claws at his innards like a starving beast. 

But he can do this, offer you this, his claws stroking lovingly at your sex until your chest heaves beneath his brow and a long, tremulous moan spills from your lips. Pierrot gnashes his teeth as your release coats his fingers and the palm of his hand, your body hitching beneath his own as it shivers through orgasm, but he forces himself to withdraw from your heat and away from your bedside before he can succumb to his own desperate desires, golden eyes trained on your sweet, flushed face as he retrieves his mask and retreats to the safety of your balcony, tugging the door closed behind him.

The cool night air soothes his fevered skin, but it does little to quell the heat sparking along his spine, the head of his cock pulsing in time with his heartbeat as he watches you twist atop the mattress and reach a hand beseechingly over the edge of your bed, as though urging him back to your side.

Tomorrow, my dear, he thinks lovingly, longingly, launching himself off of your balcony and relishing in the rush of wind against his flushed face. Tomorrow you would find your way to the circus and use the ticket he had given you, staking his claim for all to see.