Chapter Text
Pierrot hums quietly while working in the kitchen, movements fluid and elegant as he makes cookies simply because you'd mentioned wanting some. You watch him fondly from the couch; the beautiful man could not be persuaded that his labor wasn't necessary, having just given you pitiful puppy eyes until you relented and let him bake for you.
It was nice feeling so loved, and so you were devising a plan to make him feel almost as appreciated as he makes you feel.
You watch him as he starts rolling the cookie dough into small balls and placing them on the baking sheet, his normal long gloves traded for a pair of disposable gloves from a box you keep around for when they're necessary. You've come to the conclusion that he doesn't like his hands for some reason, with how nervously insistent he is that they stay covered.
Well, who are you to judge, though? Everyone has insecurities... Though you do hope he'll eventually feel safe enough to share all his insecurities with you.
Pierrot's soon put the tray of cookies into the oven and set a timer, and so you take the chance to call him over before he picks up another task; knowing him, he'd probably start cleaning the kitchen or insisting on helping with dinner.
"Pierrot! Can you come here?" You call, and he immediately snaps his attention to you, perking up at the sound of his name. He quickly strides to your side, looming over you and eager to help.
"Yes, my dear?" He tilts his head, his grin widening and arms folded behind himself, eager to please.
You think for a moment, looking up at him, before waving a hand down at the floor in front of you, "Can you sit down, your back to me? I want to play with your hair, if you're okay with it."
Pierrot freezes, stunned for a moment, before nodding enthusiastically and plopping himself down on the floor as quickly as he can, bells on his hat jingling. "O-of course, my dear! You are always free to do as you wish..."
You chuckle lightly, fond of how easy the red-clad clown is to fluster. He's tall enough that the back of his head is level with your chest even though you're higher up than him, and you reach forward to gently place a hand on his chin, turning his head so you have easier access to the hair that frames his face... and the sight of his bashful expression as you begin twirling one of the long, silvery strands of hair around your fingers.
"Soft.." You praise quietly, gently playing with his silky hair, "you take great care of it, Pierrot."
Pierrot hums softly in response, enjoying the feeling of your wonderful hand in his hair, head tilted slightly to lean into you like a pet, adoring the affection.
You continue to play with his hair, occasionally gently turning his head this way and that to see more. You turn his head away from you, eyes drifting down his porcelain-white skin, marred only by dark, crack-like black marks that peek out from under his hat at the nape of his neck.
You frown slightly at the marks that you've come to know are scars, and you gently hold his hair out of the way, leaning in to slot your face against the bottom of his hat and lightly kiss the unnatural marks, letting your lips linger and eyes drift close before slowly pulling awah again, resuming your repetitive motion of stroking the soft strand of hair in your hand. "You didn't deserve to get hurt... No one deserves that. I'm sorry," you murmur, even though it's not your fault, even though he'd never blame you for the crimes of your kind.
He freezes in shock your touch, trembling slightly with devotion, absolutely caught off guard by the fact that you're truly touching him like this, praising him like this. His eyes close and he exhales, hands clenching into fists in his lap, trying not to give away how deeply, truly he enjoys this, how hearts form in his eyes and his blush grows further, or how desperately he wants to pounce on you.
You giggle softly at his reaction, deciding to tease him a bit more and kiss his neck again, your free hand gently grazing his porcelain skin, making him shiver more violently. However when you part your lips to tease him, a sharp beeping sound fills the room. You look up, a bit startled, when the timer goes off, and based on the way Pierrot jumps, he forgot about it too.
"Go get the cookies, we wouldn't want them to burn," You chuckle with amusement, pulling away from him. He scrambles away to pull the cookies out of the oven (did he even use oven mitts?), placing the tray on the stove and turning the oven and timer off. As soon as his task is complete, he quickly comes back to you, nearly throwing himself into your lap for more affection, hearts in his eyes and mask rosey red, arms wrapping around you.