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He knows.
Oh, by the gods, he knows.
You sigh, step onto the platform, and side-eye the fresh crimson stains on the spruce. Jester still towers above despite your two foot advantage on the stage. You sit and let your legs swing over the edge, and you knock your knuckles against the wood.
“How quick did Quin cave?” You do not waver your gaze from Jester’s. It would be tempting for anyone else, but you know better. It’s easier that he’s pretty, and you could get lost in his eyes if he’d let you. Especially as they dangerously flash that beguiling violet.
“Oh, tch.” Jester’s hands hook behind his back. His recondite eyes and elegant smile dries your mouth. “He did not. Secrets are not usually best kept from me in the slightest, sweet thing.”
“He asked me to.” You keep your voice soft. Your heart hammers, but not of fear. Jester’s eyes flash, and his smile thins. If his senses are anything like Pierrot’s, then he won’t know the difference between fear and excitement. But it’s Jester. Your blood has been pulsing lower and lower into wanton thrills every time you near him as of late. You don’t say a word or react, and if Jester knows your plight, he says nothing about it either.
It’s okay if he doesn’t reciprocate.
“In hindsight, quite stupid of me.” You harrumph and drop your gaze to your hands. You brace them at the edges of the wood. Hopefully, you can avoid a splinter. You flare your nostrils and sweep your gaze to his face. “I should’ve figured someone as couth as you would know.”
Jester’s eyes thin a margin. “Is it fear that prevents you from speaking your mind?” Oh, he knows then. Your mouth opens an inch by the time Jester stiffens. “No. It is not. Something else, darling?”
“Mm.” You finally break eye contact and tilt your gaze to the entrance. The area around it, including Jester, begins to blur. “I can’t quite put it into words. I'm still thinking on it, but the emotions are there. Just… gotta pinpoint them.”
“Maybe the Doctor can help?” There’s something… gentle in his voice. It breezes against you like wind on a balmy beach day.
You shrug and fall back with a grunt. You stare up at the stripes curving into one singular point of the tent—Jester’s face felicitously fills your vision as he bends at his hips. His long, violet hair surrounds you like silk walls and tickles your torso.
“If… I know…” Your eyes fall to look at him. Jester’s smile defaults to his usual, angular grin full of sharp teeth, but his pupils remain dim. His expression keeps an intimidating douceur. “... Does it affect you? I haven’t told anyone other than Harlequin.”
“That is where I am confused, dear thing.” Jester tilts his head and bells softly chime. You fight the urge to lift a hand and twirl a lock of his hair. From the few times it has brushed your skin, you know just how soft it is. There’s still hope that he’ll let you braid his hair. “Why be in our presence so willingly if you know? Why not run and hide? Why not bring a riot and burn us all the same?”
You frown. “That’s… happened?” Maybe the Ticket Taker’s mirrors had some more truth than you thought. “Was it… more than once?”
Jester’s pupils flash and grin tenses. “You can say that.”
You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. “I know people suck, but I’m surprised you haven’t met people like… well, have the same opinions as me.”
“We have, but…” Jester’s pupils drift for a second before returning. “We always live longer, darling. Getting close… is against the rules. In a matter of a few decades, we will forget them. Fear and hatred prevail.”
You can’t help a small smile albeit you want it to be comforting. “Saying you’ll forget me?”
Jester hums as he straightens and disappears from your immediate view. “Just so. Now, splendid company as always, darling. Allow me space to clean up for my next show.”
You huff and sit up. His back faces you. Long hair twitches with a light breeze in the tent, and the four arms of his big hat drip like horns. Does he have horns, too? People in pink clown costumes prepare body kits and scrub the stained wood. “J—” You cut yourself off, but the purple clown turns enough to pin you from the corner of his eye. You stand with a sigh. “Don’t worry about it, it’s stupid.”
You take a step—Jester steps into your path with a light jingle. You freeze, inches from walking into his torso like a brick wall. You tilt your chin with a frown, but Jester’s grin pulls from side-to-side as eyes narrow. “You have been rather despondent as of late, dear. I liked that you would speak your mind, but recently you have been… withdrawing. I have doubts about whether to trust you more than I already do.”
You flex your brow. “It’s… not about that? I’ve shown that I’m helpful to you, you know this. It’s fine, Jester.”
“Yes.” Jester lifts his chin. He stares past you to the stage, but you keep your eyes on him. “Words start to hold less truth to me when one stops being honest with what they say.” Your nostrils flare, and Jester’s eyes twinkle as they flick to you. The teeth in his grin sharpen. “You have been saying ‘it’s fine’ when your eyes and heart tell me otherwise.” He tilts his head and squints. “I did not take you for a liar, dear one.”
What tells do you have where he clocks you every time? Eugh, you feel like a rodent under a cat. “I… just feel bad. I don’t want to fuck it up for you, y’know? Excuse my language, but still…” Not entirely a lie.
Jester straightens with a nod. “You have not so far. Keep in mind that my rules must apply to you as well. You cannot see us for what we are albeit knowing it.”
You reciprocate a firm nod. “And you’ll kill me if I do anything, I know.”
Jester’s eyes flash. His smile spreads rather hungrily. “Glad we are on the same page, sweet thing. You know your place more than most.”
You grin as heat billows beneath your cheeks. “Thanks, sir. See you soon?”
“I know we will.” Jester waves a dismissive hand as he passes you to the stage. Bells chime. “I look forward to it.”
Without overstaying your welcome, you exit the tent with a little pep in your step. Your body vibrates with heat—you haven’t even eaten anything in the Circus. His final words rattle your brain and leak euphoria through your veins. He says it almost every time, but it gets you giddy all the same. And every time, Harlequin has to leer at you from whatever tent he lingers by. Every time, Pierrot creeps to the shadows to ensure your safety, possibly thinking you can’t see him. And every time, Ticket Taker stands at the entrance, silently staring, with a polite tip to his hat and a nod to your departure.
But this time, you stop in front of the Ticket Taker. He pauses, eyes drawn blank.
“Can we speak, ah… Bil? Is it still okay that I call you that?”
“I must remain at my post until the Circus closes, dear. Thank you, dear visitors, I hope you visit us again tomorrow.” You step aside as Bil tilts his hat to a small group of chattering people. One tells him to have a good night. Bil tilts his head to you. “And… no. I do not mind. You may speak, if it is something quick.”
You nod. “Tá.” Harlequin has gotten you to say some Portuguese out of habit lately, and you’re almost certain the Circus members have taken a liking to it. “So, purple is Jester’s whole scheme, right? That’s rhetorical, don’t answer that.” You notice the subtle flex around the mask’s eyes. “What… kind of lingerie is he into?” You ensure no-one is around to hear it.
Crickets would have chirped. Bil falls stoic. You can almost see the loading screen above his head. His brow upturns, and he finds the words as a couple passes the both of you. “Have a good evening, folks, hope to see you again tomorrow.” Bil’s smile tightens as he side-eyes you. “Ah, my dear… a little explicit, don’t you think?” His voice wavers by a hair.
“Does he… not like me?”
“Tch. I did not say that, my dear.” Bil clears his throat and straightens. He stares out into the Circus. You follow his gaze for a bit. The closest guests order food at some stalls, but either way, it’s too loud for them to hear your conversation. Bil knows this, too. “Jester has a liking for silk. Silk and lace. Anything… lavished.”
You smile. “Thanks so much, Bil. Ah, don’t tell him, will you? I wanna surprise him, if that’s even possible, and I only asked you because you know him best, so… secret safe with you?”
Bil flicks a finger above his defaulted grin and his blue pupil flickers.
“Thanks so much, darling. Hope closing goes well!” You wave as you speed off to your truck, and Bil’s eyes never leave your back until you finally disappear.
“You told the Ticket Taker?”
Harlequin chortles a laugh from his own question. He lays on your couch in your new room, some boxes still about from moving. Harlequin runs green and black claws down the back of one of your big snakes that suddenly seems smaller in his grasp. Her iridescent black nearly blends with his costume, but her dark face hangs above Harlequin’s as he lifts her above him. Harlequin and Pierrot have been helping you unpack in this new space, but Harlequin only found himself playing with your reptiles over anything.
Pierrot glares at Harlequin. The bigger, red clown hovers by you and your bed as you sort through some rather… dubious clothes.
You join Pierrot with a frown. “Bil was helpful at least.”
Harlequin scoffs. Green eyes flick upward and leer at you. “Rude. I’m keeping our babies company.” He brings Scylla (your boa) to his mouth and kisses what you call the “luscious lumps” of your snake’s head a few times. Scylla doesn’t flinch from Harlequin’s touch.
You sigh and look at your laced lingerie. None of it is silk. You have straps, lace, and fishnets. “Confidence is key, right?” You look at Pierrot and hold the dark purple straps and lace to him.
The tall clown swallows. “Uh… Yeah…”
You grin at Pierrot softly. “It’s okay, big guy. Think of it as me prepping for you. You are a little big.”
“Little?” Harlequin’s chuckle darkens Pierrot’s mask. “He’d put that Ice Mountain bottle you have there to shame~.”
You place a hand on your sassy hip and smirk. As Harlequin kisses Scylla’s neck as she crawls over his face, you sneer, “You’d know, hm?”
Harlequin freezes as Pierrot’s claws graze your back. “My love…” Pierrot melts as you swing around and cup his face. His white hair brushes against your wrists like silk.
“Yes, my sweet?” you purr.
“Y-You sure you want… this?” Golden eyes flick to the lingerie on your bed. “I-I don’t… aren’t I enough?”
“Oh, you’re so cute, sweetie,” you croon and kiss his smile. Red blooms on his face as bells on his hat jingle. He shrinks just for you, and Harlequin groans behind you. “And unfortunately, no. I’m greedy, like you, you see. You all, especially you, are all mine~.”
Surprisingly, but not unexpectedly, your honest words work. And truthful they are, to an extent. You want them all. Pierrot nods with golden hearts in his eyes. Even kneeling, Pierrot’s head nuzzles into your chest.
Harlequin grunts, and you thrust a finger at the Green Goblin. “You’re mine, too, you missing Lego piece.”
Harlequin squints to the ceiling as he redirects Scylla’s path. “What does that even mean?”
“Means I hate you, love you~.” You make a heart and then flip him off. You rub Pierrot’s cheek as you face him. “Wanna help me get this on at least?” You tap your purple lace.
Pierrot beams with a nod and rises to his feet. Spine-shivering claws graze your skin and drool almost drips from Pierrot’s teeth as you strip before him. He growls when Harlequin’s gaze sweeps your way. The green clown only lifts your snake at Pierrot with a smirk and kisses her again. Pierrot glances between the snake and you, and then kisses your hairline with eyes still on Harlequin. You giggle and swing your head. You catch Pierrot’s mouth in a kiss that brings the beast to melt and mold against you. You moan softly—the clown goes rigid.
You nuzzle his mask (or face? You can’t tell with him, unlike Harlequin). “Help me, my sweet?”
Pierrot rumbles as eyes drown your naked form. The heat boils him from the inside out, but the furnace ignites whenever he notices Harlequin looking your way, too. The green clown specifically shifts to see you better, but he wisely keeps to the couch. Pierrot’s claws run down your sides as you undo the straps. You shudder, which earns a guttural growl. You manage to separate the lingerie pieces by the time Pierrot starts to feel your nude form. He presses against your back, and you gasp and grab his wrists once claws glide too close to your inner thighs.
“Focus, babe,” you grin. Pierrot whines and hooks his arms around your chest. You bite your lip at the familiar tent pressing against your ass. Hips twitch against yours. “I-I’ll need your help to tie this in the back.”
“Meu amor,” Pierrot whimpers. He straightens so his rampant need presses against your lower back with gentle grinds. “Please, p-please? Can I have you? I need you.”
“P-Pierrot—!”
“Well, if we’re gonna do this, I might as well put Scylla up.” Harlequin stands from the couch with your snake, and Pierrot growls and glares in his direction. He keeps grinding as your breath wheezes from your lips. You clench your covers and lace. Your breath stutters his name once again, but he only presses on you harder until you fall forward. Your cunt and clit burn—No!
Harlequin disappears with Scylla, and the claws squeezing your hips in a bruising, vice grip snap you into reality. “Pierrot, later,” you gasp. Pierrot stills with a whine, and you brush a hand under his chin, the skin rough. “Later, I promise. I’ll have you all to myself after Jester, okay? You can wait another day or two, right? For me?”
Pierrot’s growl runs low and vibrates into your ribcage as Harlequin re-enters your room without Scylla.
Harlequin tuts. “So impatient~,” he coos. “And they say I can’t control my impulses.”
“You can’t,” you deadpan.
“Tomato, tomahto.” Harlequin strides to the bed, and you hiss as Pierrot’s sharp claws dig into your hips. Your cunt flares as the green shadow engulfs you with the red. Harlequin reaches for his crotch, and you notice his pants have tightened significantly, too. “Want me to take the front, then~? I wanna see what your smart mouth has to say over my cocks.”
“No no, Pierrot, off. We’re not fucking right now.” Pierrot whines but obeys and Harlequin groans. You wobble onto your feet and shudder a breath. You loop the straps over your chest and shiver as Pierrot’s claws brush your skin. “Pierrot, tie these for me, please.”
Pierrot obeys and Harlequin scoffs. “I put Scylla back for no reason, then.” He growls and looks down. “And now, I have to deal with this.”
“Boo hoo. Pissy’s right there.” You gesture to the forty-gallon vivarium right in your room. “His bedtime is soon, but if you wanna hold him—”
“He musks me every time,” Harlequin huffs while crossing his arms. “Can I go get Fettuccine?”
You nod. “Knock yourself out.” Pierrot slackens once Harlequin leaves the room—You gasp when the straps suddenly tighten on your ribcage. You grunt.
Pierrot hesitates. “My love? D-Did I hurt you?”
“N-No, Pierrot, you’re just stronger than you realize you are sometimes.” You chuckle breathlessly.
Pierrot sighs but gently fiddles with your remaining straps around your waist. Harlequin returns with one of your ball pythons, and his viridian forked tongue flicks in your direction. You pat Pierrot’s arm as he bends like a waiting predator at your side. Pierrot nearly pouts when your skin and lace disappear under layers of polyester and cotton.
“Well, I’m not just gonna stroll into the circus in only lingerie.”
“I’m sure there would be nothing wrong with that.” Harlequin grins as Fettuccine stays coiled on his chest. His green claws brace her. “I, for one, would relish the visual.”
“Then you do it. I’m sure Jester would be thrilled.”
“Jester only likes seeing such things for himself.” Harlequin’s grin sharpens. “I don’t think he cares about sharing much.”
“We’ll see, I suppose.” You rub Pierrot’s arm, and the red giant nuzzles your neck. “You boys ready to go back to the Circus, then?”
Harlequin stands and holds Fettuccine up in one hand as he stretches. Pierrot rises to his feet, and his eyes level to Harlequin’s. Harlequin ignores Pierrot as he passes and kisses Fettuccine’s head. She is naturally more skittish, so she jumps under his touch.
The drive was spent telling Harlequin that no, he could not watch you and Jester go at it. You want your first time with him alone. You don’t think you would click well with him if the bane (love) of your life was there with you. Or maybe Jester would find it amusing. Despite adamantly agreeing that Harlequin shouldn’t, Pierrot pouted once you told him the same thing. You park before the entrance, and the street lamps illuminate where Bil stands specifically.
“Ominous,” you say jokingly as you step from your vehicle.
“Welcome home,” Bil says to the two clowns. You don’t follow them, but you step before Bil. He tips his hat to you. “Thank you for bringing them home, sweet one. Did either give you a ticket for tonight?”
Oh, shit. “Oh, no, we’ve gotten distracted. Um, yellow then?” You pull your wallet as Bil’s eyes squint.
“Actually, perfect. I was told to hand you this one.”
Your eyes widen as he holds a purple ticket. You tilt your head and reach for it. Bil’s eyes dilate as your fingers brush his white gloves. A breeze hits your chest, and your eyes dart downward. “Oh, shitshit, sorry.” Your cheeks redden as you zip your jacket to your neck. “S-Sorry, excuse my language, heh, uh… how much do I owe?” You fumble your wallet.
Bil hesitates. “That’s… You’re quite alright… dear one.” You hand him the total. “Appreciate it. We’ll be opening soon. See you then, my dear.”
As you wait, you venture the city while ensuring your jacket stays zipped high. You eat pre-emptively at a restaurant—ever since you found the Circus's food contains aphrodisiacs, you do not want to experience that again. Especially not with Jester.
By the time you head for the Circus, it’s been open for a couple hours. Jester’s show should be starting—it’s usually what starts and ends the Circus’s performances. Bil punches your purple ticket—there is no line coming in this late. Bil tells you to have fun, but his smile grows sharp. It reminds you of Harlequin’s.
Oh.
Jester gave him the purple ticket to give to you… because he knows. Bil told him.
Dammit, Bil!
You should’ve figured. Harlequin was justified laughing about it, but you’ll never tell the lime clown that he’s right about anything.
You seat yourself in the front of Jester’s tent before the crowd comes in. The seats wrap around a large, circular stage. When it starts, cold fingers dig into your ribcage—you’re out in the open. The show itself does not unease you, but rather, the hungry, nearly bright pink eyes that peer at you from the darkness. Why do you feel like a sheep that the dragon watches?
Harlequin’s predatory nature you can handle. Pierrot’s you can manipulate. Doctor’s you can calm. You have not experienced the Ticket Taker’s and Jester’s… is the only one you can’t predict. The only one that scares you. Perhaps that’s what unnerves you, or the anticipation for tonight, but you find it… intoxicating. How a single look makes your heart leap—the nirvana!
Gods, you’re such a freak.
Jester narrates occasionally and brings himself into the light as a priceless piece of art. Flawless, elegant, and mystical. He avoids the blood pooling at his boots. For such bloody shows, Jester has a knack for staying clean.
Should you feel afraid? Probably. Purple eyes blaze at you once his narration has finished, and your heart soars into your throat. You’re good at staying still. The lights fade and Jester’s eyes are the last to leave as the scene changes and blood drips down a bed. Those bodies aren’t props or practical, but you haven’t the heart to tell them you know. How would they react? They’ve grown more interested and restless once you told Harlequin that you knew their true nature.
The lights darken completely only for the ones above the audience to lighten. It signals the end. People chatter their excitement and opinions as you wait. The longer you wait, the harsher and louder your heart bangs in your eardrums. You steady your breathing. You need to calm before Jester senses—
A light voice says your name. You swallow as the mix of masculine and feminine undertones send heat to your stomach. Your heart flutters. Your eyes sweep to his without a second to spare. Purple pupils blaze with potency.
You nod. Moving helps you finally realize just how much your body shakes beneath your skin. “Hey. The show was pretty cool. I feel like you don’t do as many psychological horror shows as you want.”
“A show grows predictable and unwatchable when it becomes repetitive.” Jester tilts his head. Bells jingle. “As much as I would like to.”
You finally stand, but your height does not gain much compared to the Jester. You rock on your heels. Jester’s composure keeps professional and tall before you. Sometimes he slips and relaxes around you, but you notice when he corrects himself. There’s only but a flash in those amethysts currently. “I mean… maybe I’m just pretty gay, but I’d watch all your shows, even if some repeated.”
Jester’s shoulders bounce once. “Ha!” He steps past you with hands behind his back, “How quaint.” You jump in your skin as black claws tickle up your arm. Jester side-eyes you, and you keep your gaze to his side. His smile closes and shrinks, but it remains sharp. “Something else brings you here, dear one.”
“Bil told you, didn’t he?” Dread lines your throat.
Jester's shoulders jump with a short giggle. His teeth bare in a sharp grin as he turns and leans to you. His smile fills your vision, and you press your lips to seal your salivating tongue. “I want to hear it from you. I see what you desire, sweet dove, and I can hear your heart from here. What is it that you wish to tell me?”
Lying to the Jester is the biggest mistake anyone can make. He knows your tells far better than you ever will. You hesitate, and Jester raises a brow. Gotta be bold with this one. You smirk.
You grab his collar that tapers like feathers at his sternum—Jester's pupils shrink as you slam your mouth to his. You keep your gaze directly to him. Pupils flex for a brief moment. Then, they dilate as he growls into your lips and claws slide into your hair. More pull you in at the waist, and you squeak. Jester's claws tickle at your scalp, and you shudder against him as he devours you mouth-first. A warm tongue darts at your lips. You part your lips, but he breaks the kiss.
His grin holds a familiar benignity with his eyes. He grabs your ear and pulls mirthfully as you puff your cheeks. “Still did not use your words. Hm.” Claws brush down your ear and jaw, aside your collar, and then slowly unzip your jacket. Goosebumps prickle your arms. Jester's pupils brighten once purple lace peeks with your skin.
You grab his larger hand, and he allows you to pull it from your waist and push the arm by your chest. Claws cup your sides as you fist his flowering collar and his violet suit.
“Will you let go, sweet dove?”
You huff. And then your fists clench and with a snarl, you throw the Jester to the ground and perch right over his torso. Jester's eyes flash, and he sits himself upright on his elbows so his mask comes mere inches from your face. Eyes blaze and his smirk thins.
“Stronger than you look.” Poison laces his tone.
You frown. “Liar.” Why did you do that? Do you have a death wish? “You let me do that. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're into it.”
“Mmm.” Jester's grin sharpens and shrinks as the glow dissipates in his eyes. “Smarter than you act.”
You narrow your eyes. “I don't… So, you are into it?” You sigh. “Is that an insult or an answer?”
Jester shrugs and closes his eyes with a harrumph.
You growl. “You're lucky that you're too pretty for me to smack—”
Black claws squeeze your neck. You squeak. Jester slowly rises and takes you to your feet with him. You hiss and grab his wrist as your neck strains and claws dip into the nape of your neck. His mask shadows you. Teeth disappear with a considering grin, and his voice flows deceptively sweet. “I am not too opposed to anything. Come, little dove, to my personal tent.”
Claws slide off your jaw, and your heart leaps. You nod and then wince as he brushes the dirt from his suit tails. “Sorry…”
Jester hums. “I am not upset. It all washes anyway. But do not take this as invulnerability to my patience.”
“Understood.”
Jester speaks no more of it as he hooks a hand to his wrist at his back and strides to the entrance of the tent. You trot along to catch up and keep a fast pace just to match his purposeful strides. His bells chime on occasion despite his near silence and soft footsteps. You admire how he keeps his head high and how he holds himself around everyone. Everything he says and does is right and just in their eyes (and maybe yours), and he’s the ringleader for a reason—he must be a bottom. Your hands clench as you follow him past the performing tents and to the trailers and small tents hidden behind. It seems… cozy. Like camping. Jester leads you to a tent of his respective colors, and as he reaches, fingers grazing the fabric, a voice clears behind you. You nearly jump in your skin, but you and the Jester face the Ticket Taker.
Bil stands tall like Jester, despite being the shortest of the bunch, and he only regards his leader. “Jester, some help at the front.”
“Hn, alright.” Jester gestures to his tent and gifts you a sharp grin. “Make yourself comfortable, darling.” He brushes past you as you nod. You glance at their receding backs as you slip into the tent—warmth hits you like a truck. You brush through a secondary entrance, and the smell of chamomile and sage beckons you further inside the cozy tent. It’s a stark contrast to the rest of the Circus. It’s not unkempt with the books in the shelves arranged by theme and alphabetically, the desk so neat and tidy, and the bed inimitably made without a wrinkle—Jester surely is a perfectionist.
Maybe he has to be.
It especially feels lavished. You brush your hands on the dark bed sheets: silk. There’s a recliner near the bookshelves and a television that faces the bed. The nightstand’s lamp seems to be made of bone… Cool. A large briefcase sits at the side of the bed with varnished wood bordered in gold. Curiosity ebbs to look inside, but an inkling tells you Jester would know you looked. Humming, you shrug off your jacket to let it hang at your elbows. The balmy air kisses your skin and exposes the top of your lace. You run your hands over the silk again. Legs twist together for a little friction once you imagine Jester crushing you in a breeding press.
You saunter around the bed as you ignore the burgeoning heat below, and you run your fingers over velvety spines of old books. You see histories, horror, and some psychology. You smile. It fits him. Maybe one day, he’ll reminisce tales of his past with you. Not everything, just… stories. Experiences. You could fall asleep talking to him every night.
Fabric fwips, and you turn from the books. Your stomach immediately flutters as Jester eyes you like prey and bends like a predator ready to pounce. He composes himself enough to keep his hands behind his back, but he stalks toward you like a dragon to a princess. Despite the feral need lining his form, he still sweeps around you with elegance and precision. Those eyes leer at every inch of you that you present to him, and he swarms you. Eyes meet yours as he traps you against his bed.
You suck in a breath as silky claws tickle up your sides and pull the jacket from your torso. A long, violet tongue coils at the junction of your neck and shoulder. Goosebumps rake your arms. The rough texture sends shivers down your spine, and your cunt flutters. His heat practically permeates your skin and infests your veins like poison. He turns and pushes you against the bed.
A guttural purr reverberates through your entire body as he presses against your back completely. You foolishly melt in this predator’s claws as he molds you against him. Claws scratch at the lace and dips dexterous fingers into the hem of your pants at the waist. The perfect grind against your back nearly dots stars behind your eyelids. Jester’s hot teeth graze your neck.
“You were bold not too long ago,” he hums. “What happened, sweet dove?”
You grit your teeth and nuzzle against his mask. He lets you. “You make it too hard to think…”
Jester’s claws poke through the lace at your hips and hums against your head. “That is quite alright, darling. You do not have to think tonight at all.” Claws now press into the skin of your hip as another hand dips further down your pants. You whine as those claws send little flickers of electricity to your clit, and then the pads of two fingers rub over it through your lingerie. Almost immediately, your knees buckle, and you catch yourself on the bed. Your cunt flutters, you gasp, and Jester rubs you in languid circles.
Shivers quake your form as fangs clamp at the nape of your neck. Fingers flush harder and crush your sensitive nub against the texture of the lace. Your jaw falls, and your body nearly crumbles. Jester’s burning hands and venomous teeth hold your weight effortlessly. With the little strength you can muster, you push yourself up and keep your weight on your hands. Jester’s warm tongue darts against your neck, and hot breath rolls against susceptive skin.
Teeth release your neck. The rough, scalding hot tongue returns and laps at the reddening bite albeit not breaking skin. Your body vibrates beneath him. Heat blooms in all corners of your body—corners you didn’t know it can reach. Your buzzing skin gets his touches all the hotter. Jester’s light growl prickles your skin, but he doesn’t cease his unmerciful attack on your clit. The growl flows into a smooth laugh, the only noise that can ever get your small hairs to rise as your chest heavies, but your cunt seeks to tighten on something. It’s all very conflicting for you.
His purr etches into your mind. “Are you going to make it, pet?”
“Y-Yeah.” Shit, how are you breathless already? “How’s the weather up there?”
Jester kisses his teeth. His other hand slides down your hip and squeezes your thigh. You suck in a breath as claws threaten to break skin. “You act like this is your first time.” He harrumphs.
“I-It’s not, it’s just…” You grit your teeth. “It’s just you.”
Both of Jester’s hands withdraw as you waver a reedy breath and fight a whine. Those same claws drag up your sides. “How… funny.”
You bite your lip and furrow your brow. His heat disbands from your back. You twist your hips to sit a little on the bed and hope your thighs can at least calm your enraged cunt. The clown doesn’t move far and in fact, pulls the briefcase to him from the bedside. He clicks it open and violet pupils flare as your heart drops. With a hum, black claws tap the metal corners as he turns it to you. Your throat bobs and mouth runs dry. It’s… toys. You thought Harlequin of all of them would have these things, not Jester.
But you’re not opposed.
Your eyes scour the whip, blindfold, gag, clamps, riding crop, spiked paddle—that one palpitates your heart—silk rope, leash and collar, a bulbous dildo, butt plug, and beads that get you to shrink the slightest. Jester still ghosts a grin and tilts his head. The soft jingle brings your eyes to his.
His small smirk and thinned gaze does not offer much help. “Harlequin informed me of your preferred safeword method. You can say red, and we will cease this, dear one.”
You nod and swallow as eyes fall back to the briefcase’s contents. “I… should be fine. No… anal as of now, preferably.”
Jester nods once. “As you wish. Any other boundaries?”
“Nothing else, but…” You grimace and point at the spiky paddle. “Let’s… avoid that, too, for now. If you wish to draw blood, I don’t mind biting or scratching, that thing just makes me worried.”
Jester’s eyes flash as he also looks at the paddle. His expression does not falter. “Will do. I only request that you keep your hands to yourself and if you wish for me to discard my clothes…” He hooks a claw under some fabric in the briefcase and lifts the blindfold. “You will put this on.”
You tilt your head and bob your throat. “I… wouldn’t mind having that on regardless.”
Jester’s smile sharpens but remains small. The hand drops the blindfold back into the briefcase and scoops a ring of leather. He leans. You hold your hands as he places the midnight purple collar in your palms. You run your thumbs over it and clench your jaw. Bells softly jingle. Black gloves with golden diamonds ready a black leash. He twists the hand loop between ebony claws. Mistakenly, you look him in the eye, and Jester’s smile hardens into a fang-filled, predatory sneer. Or perhaps it feels that way. “Put it on.”
It’s Jester, so you almost obey naturally. Almost. You smirk, tilt your head, and lift the collar to him. “Why can’t I see it on you?”
Jester’s sneer perilously curls upward. “If that is what you wish.” He bends at his hips and braces alarmingly sharp claws on your thighs. Jester cranes his neck to you, and the mask nearly brushes your temple. Violet pupils, ardent and bright, leer in your peripheral. “Put it on.”
Admittedly, you fumble as your eyes dart between the collar and him. The claws at your thighs steal any thoughts as they squeeze. Fuck, just act, just act. You would not hesitate to leash Harlequin. But heat rises to your cheeks at the thought of Jester…
You’re about to panic. Didn’t he say you wouldn’t have to think tonight? Who’s the liar, now?
With a grunt, you cuff the collar to his neck. His soft hair brushes your arms as your heart hammers into your throat, but he lets you. In fact, he tilts his head to give you some space. His smile shrinks into a thin line, the curve upward a ghost on the mask’s features. His pupils dim, however. Once you have it on, your lower half flares as he clips the leash on himself. The leash is then handed to you, and you fist the loop taut around your knuckles.
Jester purrs and hooks his hands behind his back, still bent to your level. “Enjoying this, sweet dove?”
Your cunt quivers. Biting your tongue, you yank the leash down to your side. Jester huffs and catches himself at your sides, but your lips collide to his mask. You keep your hands at bay, and your arm strains to keep Jester this low to you. You inhale as Jester tilts his head and nips your lips. Teeth nick your skin, and his long tongue cleans the cuts. Your lips twitch. There’s an urge to bite his tongue.
But he acts before you.
The mask jerks from your mouth in a flash of lightning. Fangs, sharper than the Harlequin’s, sheath into your shoulder. Your sudden inhale strangles your yell. Your legs curl and latch onto Jester’s hips, and his mouth detaches from your flesh. His smile widens and engulfs your vision, painted in light crimson. His eyes pin your fresh wound. You shudder as he licks the blood from his teeth and straightens. You rise a little with him, thanks to the leash still twisted around your hand. Larger hands come to cup it and meticulously release you from the leash.
Jester’s smile curls. Debonair hands unclip the collar and swing it onto your chest. “Your turn, pet.”
Your hands tighten around the collar. Like Bil, Jester takes obedience positively, but is it the same in bed, you wonder? You clench your jaw and squint directly into his violet eyes. He squints back immediately. “Say please,” you firmly demand. You don’t fight your sly grin.
Jester’s teeth disappear into a thin, taut, and angular smile. Dark hands rigorously scoop the collar from your hands without wavering his gaze from your eyes. Your heart demands freedom from behind your sternum as another hand lifts around your head. Maybe you shouldn’t have—Claws scrape your scalp as your head jerks back. You gasp and grip his wrist. Jester facilely shoves you to your stomach, and claws hook your hips and prop your ass flush against his thigh. It grinds wonderfully against your throbbing clit as he bends his leg onto the bed and holds your groin against it. Once content, he shoves your face into the silk sheets as he hooks the collar around your neck. You choke as your head snaps upward with an austere yank. You whimper, unable to shrink as Jester’s mask closes in with a slack brow and usual, fanged grin. His shadow devours you as purple pupils brighten, and his violet hair falls all around you like a silken cage. Your hands knead the sheets as you push yourself back—further up his thigh—and the grind sends convulsions through your thighs. Jester’s eyes flare. He braces your hip and hooks his claws into your lace.
He lets your head fall against the sheets, and you bury your face into your arms. “Go on, little dove,” Jester purrs. “Please yourself. And maybe if I pity your desperation, pet, I can lend a hand.”
You grip at the collar—Jester tugs indifferently and deftly. You hiss and prop yourself by your elbows, and the hand at your hip lifts. It crushes your hand on the left, and your cunt flutters at the hand nearly twice the size of yours. Grunting, you shift your hips and dig your right knee into the sheets. With a trembling sigh, you roll your hips up and around Jester’s thigh. Your grinding staggers as Jester presses his mask against your head.
“Do not stop.”
“T-Trying,” you grunt. The collar seems like it tightens as you begin to pant. As you find the perfect angle to crush your clit against layers of textured fabric, your free hand grabs at some of Jester’s locks that brush against your face. Jester faintly growls and brushes aside his hair to slip it from your grasp. The hand with your leash then presses on your hand, now pinning both. Stars glitter in your vision as teeth press against your scalp, and his soft hair brushes against your skin. You puff at some violet hair in your face.
Your hips stutter at a disappointing revelation: Grinding isn’t enough. Your high doesn’t crest nor trough, but it seems that ever since Harlequin found his way between your legs, he despoiled you in ways you can’t forgive him for. Biting your lip, you arch your back and slide your crotch to Jester’s knee—he moves his leg off the bed. Your shrill whine earns a chuckle that tickles up your spine like spider legs.
“Not doing much for you? Did the Harlequin already ruin you, darling? Such a pathetic pet.” The leash drops in your peripheral. You wince as claws slice more lace and skin while they dip into the waistband of your pants. “Need my help?” Cold air licks your ass as he strips your outerwear and fully exposes you in intricate lace and tight straps. You blow a breath between teeth. That breath sucks right back in as large hands slap and squeeze your ass. Teeth kiss your cheek as Jester crushes his mask to your face. “Pet? I asked you a question.”
You squeak as claws dip into the flesh of your lower half. It burns and no doubt beads blood. Your voice runs breathless. “Y-Yeah, yeah. Yes. Please.” You roll your ass, but Jester’s hands keep your hips flat to the bed. You whimper. “Pl-Please, Jester! F-Fuck! Please, I need you!”
“Mm.” Jester withdraws from you completely. You whine, but everything within you turns to stone at his velvety command: “Stay.” Claws scrape at wood, tap thoughtfully, and your heart drums against your ribs. You feel it high in your throat. The bed dips once again around your hips, and you almost roll against his knees. You exhale and shiver as claws wipe aside your hair from your face. He plays with your locks for a moment and then hums. Claws run up your arms. “Did you beg the same to the Harlequin?” Jester’s tone drips with something a little more than curiosity. It makes the hairs on your neck stand.
You furrow your brow and side-eye. You can only see a hint of him in your peripheral, but his eyes shine the same. “What…?”
“Do you need him as much as you need me, little lamb?”
Your heart soars into your throat. Your brow furrows. “Don’t compare, Jester. I like y’all for who you are, and I can’t help my libido…”
“I am not saying it out of jealousy, sweet dove.” Jester sighs and claws close around your wrists. “I am merely curious. Although, I would prefer to know where your loyalty lies the most.” Jester pulls your arms to the center of your back, and soft rope tightens around your wrists. You flare your nostrils. He’s gentle. He tugs your arms, and you strain. Jester hums in approval. “You are my pet, sweetheart. I do not mind sharing you amongst the Circus, but in the end, you belong to me.” Chills tingle to your cunt as teeth brush against your ear. “Understood?”
“Yessir.”
“Say it, dove.” Darkness envelopes your sight as Jester ties soft fabric around your head. Howbeit your cunt flutters at the sudden sense loss, you whimper.
Nostrils flare. Your body freezes. “I'm yours. Your pet. Your toy. Your doll, so please—” You lift a knee to your torso and huff. “Use me as you wish.”
Jester's silence isn't unusual. Spine-tingling claws that brush and twirl through your hair keep your thoughts serene. You have grown out some of your hair just for him—you find yourself yielding whenever he mindlessly plays with your strands. It seems he appreciates it.
“Toys do not speak.”
You nod. You're completely fine being silent for him. Your cunt pulses at merely being just a fleshlight for the Jester. Harlequin has suggested it for himself, but you can switch on him as you please. The Jester is not so kind. You squeak as sandpaper and hot laves your cheek and nicks your blindfold.
“But I want to hear you sing tonight, darling pet.” Claws vellicate down your spine—the other hand has no grip on you. “Arlequim says you make such piquant sounds…”
You growl. “Harlequin can suck my cock.”
“Mm. That mouth will only get you far with the Harlequin. Do I need to teach you manners?” An abrupt, startling slap reverberates through the back of your thigh. It leaves a sting at the impact and heat under the blindfold. The air vacuums straight into your lungs.
“No, sir.”
“No? Tch.” Pads of his gloved fingers massage your stinging thigh. “You enjoyed this. Who am I to deny such a gorgeous little creature?” Claws swipe up your ass and all the way to your arm. You shiver. “And an obedient one, nonetheless. Well…! Mostly.” He chuckles like a gentle lap of the cold ocean against your shins. The air whistles, and a flat surface whips you right on your right lower cheek. You squeak. Claws halt the sting with another gentle rub. “Humans enjoy pain, correct, pet? No matter the circumstance, suffering is substantial to your everyday life. It is how my Circus works. Humans will play off anything here abnormal as practical, but you? You saw right through us, did you not?”
“I-Is this sex or an interrogation?” You whimper. The toy whistles and lands another scathing swat to the same thigh as before. You grunt and recoil your leg. Jester’s claws don’t let it go far.
“Answer, pet.”
“Pain c-can be a form of trust.” Breath puffs behind your teeth. “L-Like now. A-And I only had suspicions until Harlequin—”
“Trust is a strange thing for prey to have with a predator.”
“I don’t think I’d be alive if there wasn’t any form of trust between us, Jester.” Your voice rasps on a soft breath. Your hands flex in their bonds at your back. Jester’s fingers cease movement at your thigh, but they stay as he remains silent. “I-I know you’re literal monsters. I know you… kill and eat people. And yet, my opinions do not change.”
Jester’s grip tenses on your thigh. But then, he retracts. His heat lifts from your back. “I would consider you a fool.”
You smirk and bend your leg onto the bed. Jester’s claws catch that thigh and hold it in place. Your cunt flutters, and your breath staggers as the soft fabric of his crotch presses against your ass. “I-I’m sure Bil says the same thing,” you breathe and attempt a laugh. It dies in your throat.
Your collar tugs at your throat—a simple reminder that he has you. His other hand clutches your tied wrists, and claws poke into your flesh. “You are useful. Even now, here, like this.” White flashes behind your blindfold as Jester grinds right on your ass. The soft fabric gives no signs of a hardening tent like Harlequin’s would. That brings a whimper to your lips. “Granted, at first, I believed you to be a rather insufferable pest that Pierrot happened to fall for. I felt indifferent when Arlequim expressed about you similarly. And believe me, dear one, when I found out that you knew… I had almost entertained the thought to kill you.” Your lips part as your eyes dart rapidly behind the blindfold. “But I realized… Pierrot has calmed in your presence. Arlequim behaves in your presence. Doutor has gotten more sociable in your presence. Bil has relaxed in your presence. And I have…” Jester hums. “I have spent some time thinking what to do to you. Should I kiss you, claim you, kill you, own you, or devour you?”
He does not relent on grinding. You pant and wiggle your hips beneath his. “D-Do you need my help on deciding?”
“It’s only hard…” Teeth press on your throat as the leash pulls and exposes your jugular to the beast… “because they are all very similar desires.”
Teeth bare as a guttural growl vibrates in your throat. “Well, whatever it is, love, it’s green! F-Fuck, kill me, fuck me, I’d rather it be you, so just please, I need you, no matter what it is.”
Jester’s hips stutter and pause. The tepidity pulls from your rear as teeth withdraw from your neck, and fabric tears like Velcro. You keen as claws pull aside your bottoms, and the air and same fingers rub into your swelling, already damp folds. You gasp into the sheets and twitch your hips. Heat ignites every inch of your body as wet, hot, bumpy, and hard serpents lick your inner thighs—multiple.
More than Harlequin.
One slithers against your inner thigh. It feels ribbed and barbed, but scarily so. Your cunt gapes hungrily, and your clit ignites ardently. “F-Ffff… Fuh—Jester, how many are we working with here?! I can only handle two from personal experience!”
Two tips immediately press against your entrance. You suck in a breath. Longer appendages coil around your thighs and another two sandwich your clit. You whine and jerk your hips, but the Jester has a taut hold.
“J-Jester, love, start with one, please! Y-Yellow!”
The hand that still holds your wrists tightens. You mewl as a claw slides on your neck, but he unclips the collar and swipes aside your hair. His thumb rubs the back of your neck. You’d relax if it wasn’t for the armada of dicks at your flaming cunt.
“Jester, please liste-ehn—!” You wail as fangs clamp on your neck until they slip into your flesh like butter. Liquid hot drips down your neck and inevitably onto the sheets. It stings, it burns, it boils. “Ow ow! Jester, oh please—!” Toes curl as his hips push forward. Tears wet your blindfold as hot breath puffs over your split tongue. Your neck burns, and even as you roll your hips, your cunt follows suit. Jester only pushes one in, but a shuddering sob scratches your throat. He’s bigger than Harlequin just with one. The barbs nearly scratch your walls, but it soothes the ache your cunt has had for the past several minutes. You wet him in no time, and your body battles to focus on the burn of your neck or the burn of your cunt. Jester’s bite does not relent, and a spark shockwaves through your core as the cock flicks.
Your cunt sucks him in. Lewd sounds draw a heavy sigh from the Jester. That humid breath hits your fresh wound, and you shiver with a whine. His hips stutter for a second—he pulls your waist as he shifts. Your back bends upward until your ass presses flush to his crotch, and his teeth remain in your neck. A few cocks writhe against and squeeze at your thighs. He sighs heavily around your neck as your legs twitch and shake against his. His hard cock twitches inside you. You pant and bite at the sheets.
His tongue darts against the back of your neck briefly and licks at your skin under his mouth. Humidity and saliva paint your neck. Your mouth hangs as a muffled scream chokes into the sheets once he suddenly ruts you into them. Jester’s hand tightens on your bonded wrists and heavy breaths roll over the goosebumps on your neck. Your neck has started to numb under his fangs, but the tears still wet your blindfold. His jaw tightens on your neck, but thankfully the teeth do not sink deeper. Your mouth waters as those barbs flex inside you.
“J-Jester!” you mewl, and hands flex in their bonds. Jester rubs a thumb over one of your wrists, and you fall limp against the bed. Jester holds your hip firm. Those teeth finally release your neck, and the cold air burns at the fresh bite. A coarse tongue laps at it as light as a ribbon, and a purr rumbles from Jester’s chest. Your walls seize his cock, and your slick lets him slide and grind effortlessly. “J-Jester, m-more. Another in me. Green, please.”
By the gods, you’re a freak and a whore.
“One will be enough for tonight, greedy thing.” You whine as teeth press on your unbitten shoulder. His tongue drags across your reddening skin, and you twitch under his lick.
Your hands clench as his hand squeezes your wrists. “P-Please, wh-what do you want—”
Teeth sheath into your unbitten shoulder. It’s like a blowtorch to your skin and instinctively, you try to curl from the pain. His teeth do not let you move, and you yell into the sheets and clamp your blunt fangs onto the silk. But your cunt clenches, and is it just you, or do his cocks get harder? Jester groans. Your walls burn so delectably as Jester ruts and punches his cock into you. Your whines and gasps and whimpers fall in rhythm to his thrusts.
Teeth free your flesh. All three bites sting in harmony. Your breath racks through your chest as hot tears stain the fabric over your eyes and panting sobs thump against the sheets. Jester’s free hand dips between your legs and catches your clit in slow, teeth-grinding circles as those two cocks rub against it simultaneously. Jester’s hips slam against your ass. His cock rubs and rams against your walls, and you grunt and jerk against the sheets to every thrust. Magma-hot pleasure flows in your lower half and builds like a volcano ready to rupture. You wet him so much that it puts all the lube to shame.
Why won’t he put another in you? You’re in perfect condition for it! Does he want you to beg?
Hips flatten against your ass, and you bite into the sheets with a murmur. The tip of his cock grinds that perfect spot and kisses your cervix. Your pants deepen as ardent euphoria tremors your legs and renders you limp once again—Jester’s base swells.
Your eyes widen. The blindfold does nothing as you instinctively try to look. Jester grinds his swelling base into you, and his mask presses to your temple. The cold feels nice against your damp skin, and you hiss as the bites burn again. Your breaths moan from your warm lips, and you flare your nostrils once Jester’s teeth feel wet against your ear. The predator starts huffing while he rolls his hips deep into you. You whine, whimper, and mewl with his relentless rut. That knot tugs and tugs at your entrance in an illecebrous burn. Jester’s hips pause with a low growl. That low but light rumble harmonizes against your ear as a soft lullaby that elicits shivers down your spine. Your brow flexes from the stiffness stuck between your legs and dissipates. You try to help with a roll of your hips. While it helps your continuing high, the Jester digs his claws into your thigh.
Quite literally.
Immediately, your thigh shakes with searing hotness as crimson lava trickles to your knee. Blazing claws drag up your thigh. You bare your teeth with a shrill groan. But Jester purrs and nuzzles your head as his cocks rigidify, poke, and grind against you in rhapsody. He bounces his hips. Your cunt licentiously complains once the knot bucks into you. His other hand hooks your waist as the knot unashamedly pulls from your cunt with a pop. Heat bakes your face under the blindfold, and Jester licks at your earlobe. A nip follows.
You can’t… hold your weight. Your injured thigh undulates against his lap, your body heats and sweats as Jester begins to huff and puff against your head. His thrusts turn deep and languid. His cock nudges and pokes the burgeoning fire flowering inside, and convulsions wave through your muscles like an ocean. Your legs find no grip on anything, and your bites and scratches smart. You hiss, but the claims flutter your cunt against Jester’s cock—has it gotten thicker? Harder? You don’t know anymore. You whimper. Your body laxes against the mattress, and Jester’s hand catches your waist. He continues rolling his hips despite following your form flat to the bed. Claws release you, and the sheets dip by your shoulders. The cold, smooth surface against your head rubs past its bitemark, and knives grip the nape of your lower neck, mindful of the previous bite.
You gasp when the bite above stings. Your body bounces with deep, Lodicean thrusts, and those barbs flex against every spot possible that twinkles stars in your black vision. Yeah, he definitely takes longer to cum than Harlequin.
All the things you possibly wish to say, you can’t. Your breath wavers too many pathetic sounds to even form anything coherent. You can’t even rasp his name, but you’re sure Jester gorges your sounds all the same. Plus, your heart leaps at the thought of badinage with the Jester, but he might not appreciate it like the Harlequin.
Jester plugs his knot in you with a final thrust, and as your own knot bursts, it laps intoxicating waves throughout your core. Jester’s bite inexorably draws blood, but all your heat and quavering nerves focus between your legs. A guttural gasp escapes your silent scream. Your calves begin to cramp with how tight you curl your legs. Hot liquid paints your inner thighs and ass, and Jester bucks a few final, desirous grinds into you.
You pant, Jester pants heavily, and his breath rolls over your freshest bite. You yawn into the sheets as you catch your breath, and Jester’s pants soon slow and quiet. He does not move his hips from you for a while, and the other cocks idly twitch and curl against you. Your cunt still attempts to milk him the longer he stays inside you. Jester finally frees your neck from his fangs and licks it. His knot unswells as his cocks soften, and so he unsheaths with little resistance.
You whine from the squelch your cunt makes at the loss. It feels too… empty. Wrong. “J-Jester?” His name is a muggy breath on your forked tongue. “C-Can we…? Another round?” Your hips twitch as the fire does not relent.
You sigh and lean into the lick against your ear. “No, pet. But you did so good for me.” You pout as the chilled mask feathers kisses along your jawline. “Wait here, dove.” Claws drag across your hairline as his heat disappears. You violently shiver. His purposeful footsteps fade further into the tent as you sigh and mold into the soft sheets. They’re cool and welcoming against hot, damp skin. You wince as you move your sore and scratched leg. Right. You should’ve figured Jester would take his sadism to bed, but not for one moment do you doubt the Jester in anything. His bitemarks have become completely numb and sore.
Your cunt’s hunger fades into soreness. Your body feels too heavy and light in unison.
Footsteps thud and click closer with the gentle jingle of bells. He wants you to hear him. “Hm.” Soft hair brushes along your back. Metal clicks by your hip, liquid glugs, and wrappers crinkle. You curl your nose and suck in a breath. You wince your good leg as deft and heedful fingers wipe your highly sensitive area clean. “Stay still, delicado pet.”
You groan and tug the bonds at your back. “J-Jester, please untie—”
“Shh.” Jester shuffles and then works at the rope on your wrists. His thumbs rub your sore skin as you let your arms slack. You stretch them and begin to push up your blindfold, but Jester smacks at your hands gently with a tut. “Let me take care of you, pet. Relaxe.” He lifts the blindfold himself, and you rapidly blink to the warmly lit tent. You keep your heavy eyes on the mattress. Dried tears flake at your eyelashes. A cold wipe stings its way across the scratch marks on your thigh. You exhale through your teeth, and the process repeats with the bite marks: recoiling cold, wince, stinging swipe, hiss. But… It's nice. Harlequin is often too tired, or only worries about cleaning himself, to offer you aftercare. You’re fine with that; you’re also very fine with this. Your breathing slows once virtuoso fingers adhere bandages over your bites and massages under them. Eyelids battle to remain open.
Jester hums. You hear the smile in his voice. “Stay awake for me, darling. Do not fade on me yet.”
You moan and turn your head with a strong exhale. Your throat and chin rest flat on the sheets. Wincing, your arms shake as you push yourself up and curl your knees under your torso. You rub your sore left shoulder and hiss.
Jester says your name like the silk on his bed.
“Hm?” You tilt your head as something dark whooshes in your peripheral. You jump internally as he wraps you in a warm, lavender robe. You grimace from your sore wrists and arms smart as you lift them. Jester helps you get them through the long sleeves.
He fixes the collar to better cover the bandages on your neck. The robe fits you more like a blanket. “Do you have an extra pair of clothes, dove?”
You nod. “Truck.”
“I will have Bil retrieve them in the morning.” Jester has an aberrant balminess to his voice. It’s… welcoming. “Here. Drink.”
Dark claws lower from over your shoulder and offer you a clear glass. You accept and drink it without question. Correction, you down the water. Once done, sharp claws take the glass from your mitts without a word. Hydration helps your eyes stay open, but it doesn’t stop another yawn. You pull the robe around you completely—you sniff the collar. There’s a subtly sweet and sage smell.
Jester’s words finally register. You squint and turn, Jester’s back to you at his desk. “Wait, morning? You’re… letting me spend the night?”
Jester sets the briefcase under his desk. His bells jingle as his head tilts toward you. “Unless you want to head home tonight.” He straightens and fully regards you. His hands fold at his chest rather than his back. Jester squints, and for the first time, his mouth falls into a straight line. “I would prefer you to stay.”
You nod, but your heart palpitates. “O-Oh… Yeah, I’ll stay.”
Jester’s toothy grin returns. “Good thing.” He strides to the side of the bed in a few, jingling steps. You shrink as he bends to you, arms surround you, and he lifts you to his chest effortlessly. You tense in his grasp as he peels apart the sheets and slips you under them. He turns you from him. “Do not look, dove. I might have to kill you if you do.”
You nod and swallow with a dry mouth. You swear there’s merriment in his tone, but you don’t test it.
Fabric swishes and drops to the floor. Another one clatters and the final one jingles. Jester hums as something else thunks around behind you. You squeak once he grabs you with (still) gloved claws and shifts your back against his chest. You can’t see his lower half under the covers but you still feel some sort of fabric against your legs. An arm keeps around your waist as he opens a book near your hip. You melt as claws from behind comb through your hair. You shiver as they hit your scalp. Jester repeats this while he reads, and you lie lax against his side. He occasionally twirls and fiddles with your locks, and you sigh against his shoulder. His hair brushes your head as his now warm lips press on your hairline. He nuzzles you.
Your eyelids grow heavy. Claws flick your locks and trace over your bandages right under his robe. “Lemme braid your hair in the mornin’...” It’s not a question.
Jester hums and pecks your cranium, which he parts with a soft smack. “Good night, dove.”
