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"Don't cover your mouth," you plead softly. Kris is splayed out below you, cloak surrounding them like a halo, armor dismantled on the ground. They look beautiful like this, a red blush scattered across their face as they shake their head, eyes squeezed tightly shut.
"No one will hear," you try and convince them. It's true: most of castle town is out today, and the rooms are pretty insulated too. But most of all you're saying it because you want to hear their pretty voice, a voice they use far too little for how nice it is. You share the same one - same body, same face - but the way Kris makes use of theirs is all their own.
"I want to hear you. Please?" Kris still refuses to make eye contact with you, but they lower their hands from where they were clamped tightly on their mouth. Slowly, giving them time to react if they wanted, you gather up their wrists and pin them above their head with one hand.
"There. Now I can make sure to hear all your lovely sounds." You smile at them, satisfied.
You watch, fascinated, as the red spreads further across their skin. You've always liked the way they blush, how their whole face goes red. Their whole body does, really. You've mapped it out before, trailing kisses down their face and neck and the top of their chest while they whine and yank your hair but never say no. It makes you feel good, seeing your color on them: like just by flustering them, you're leaving your mark, all the way through the layers of their skin.
"You're annoying." They mutter, but you lap up the sound anyway. You wonder what they're reacting to. Is it your compliment, the type they always complain about, shoulders shrugging up and face turning away to hide how easily flustered they are? Or is it just the show of your strength? You do like it, being stronger than them: it's a fun perk of this new body, based on all the battle experience your soul accumulated. They tend to get annoyed at the fact that they're still weaker, but in moments like this, you know that they like seeing it too. The fact that you're so much stronger, that you could probably crush them in a moment: but you wouldn't, ever. Still.
"But you love me, don't you?" you taunt. You do want to hear the answer, though. It's rare, having them be sincere with you: with how easily flustered they are, they struggle to say things like that, hiding it behind snappish remarks. It's fine, though: you're more than willing to compliment enough for the both of you, telling them over and over how cute they are and how much you love every part of them and watching them shut down. And you're well-versed in deciphering their language, now: the way they leave a slice of pie for you, and take your hand when no one is looking, and play you piano when you're up late and neither of you can sleep. It says enough. But hearing it in words is all the more precious for how rare it is.
"I don't," they respond, stubborn. They look up at your face, glaring, and then turn their face firmly away at what you know to be a sappy smile. You can't help it: your lover is so cute, it makes your heart burst with happiness.
Still, you lift their arms back up enough just to plant a soft kiss on the row of scars across both sides, before lowering them again. You don't miss the frown that flits across their face: they still find it ugly, even though you don't mind it at all. They survived such painful things, you feel; they did such stupid things, they respond. You can't convince them otherwise, but you still try. Every part of Kris is beautiful, you think.
"That's a lie, isn't it?" You respond, smiling.
"No–ahhh-! No," they insist, cutting off into a breathy sound in the middle as you lean down to nip at their ear in punishment. They're surprisingly sensitive, but maybe you've just learned their body too well. You've always been called curious, needing to know everything about everyone. And so you've mapped their whole body out, head to toe - memorized it, all the wonderful parts of it inlaid in your mind.
"Really? Liars get punished, you know," you tease. Not that you're against it: you have fun, teasing them by taking things slow, marking their collarbone while they kick at you with their feet and demand that you go faster. You can't help it: you just want to relish every moment of them you can get, as much as you can.
"I'm not-" you swallow their words down with a kiss, and they kiss back, hungrily. Before it can get too deep, though, you pull back. They glare again.
"What?" you smile innocently, leaning down to press another chaste kiss at the corner of their mouth.
They keep glaring. You decide to take this as a chance, and pepper small, soft kisses across their face: one of your favorite things to do, especially when they've just woken up and are still too bleary to do anything but kiss you back. Their expression softens, corners of their mouth moving up, and then they seem to realize it and hurriedly fix it. You laugh a little, and they flush a bit more, somehow.
"Fine. I...love you," the last two words are mumbled, but you're still delighted to hear them. You like watching the way they react, too: the way they jerk their hands against your hold as if wanting to use them to hide the way their face is changing, the way they squeeze their eyes shut again as if trying to pretend not to hear their own words. Getting so embarrassed by just a few words...They really were so cute.
"I love you too," you respond, laughing through the end of it, and swallow the pain of them kicking you with another kiss, a deeper one. When you let go of them, they lick their lips, smiling at you as if urging you on. Like 'well, weren't we here for something?'
You can never deny them anything, and so you smile back. They're a vision, a masterpiece, and all the more so when they're in ruins. So how can you ever resist it?
You lean down, and get started.