The room is quiet except for your soft laughter as you lean back to admire your handiwork. His face—and even his neck—is covered in crimson lipstick marks, each one stamped with precision and affection. Your lipstick, brand-new and vibrant, gleams under the light as you twist the tube shut with a satisfied little smirk.

He exhales slowly, violet eyes narrowing at you, though the corner of his lips betrays the faintest curve. “…Cutie,” he says, his voice low, half a warning, half amusement. “Tell me… was I your canvas tonight, or your victim?”

You giggle, leaning closer to plant yet another kiss just below his jaw, leaving behind another bold stain. He doesn’t stop you—though his hand catches your wrist as you pull back, fingers tightening just enough to remind you of the power he holds.

“You’re enjoying this far too much,” he murmurs, eyes locking onto yours, glinting with equal parts fondness and mock-annoyance. He tilts his head, letting you see the smear of your lipstick on his cheek, and then adds with a smirk, “I should make you clean every single one of these off… with that same mouth of yours.”

His thumb brushes across your lower lip, smudging the bright red just slightly, and his voice softens—still teasing, but warmer now: “Only you would think to test new lipstick by turning me into a masterpiece, cutie.”