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There are a great many things Lotor enjoys about his dearest one and his relationship thereof, were he to list them it would be an all day affair. (he did in fact list many of Jackal's finer attributes to them once, causing a dramatically distressed shriek and then shoving his face away, horribly flustered. he laughed in between sugary sweet kisses, jackal halfheartedly grumbling all the while.)
But he thinks, were he forced to choose, it's moments like this that are his favorite. Little moments where their guard completely drops and he knows he's the only one allowed to bear witness.
It is after a shower, a feat that he lovingly praises for how difficult they often find it for taking too much energy, where they're lounging on their shared bed. The two of them have separate ones for when the closeness becomes too much, but this one is both of theirs and is a veritable nest of stuffed animals. Squishmalllows they sagely insist is the proper name.
They're in just a towel still, dry but for some of their hair and he's helping them with their lotion. It is a new habit the two of them are working on. For Jackal's skin gets dry easily but they grimace and cringe at the feeling of the lotion on their hands. It's not the only sensation to cause them discomfort, having on more than one occasion grumbled god had to give me sensory issues out the fucking ass or I'd be too powerful and sexy after rubbing their hands on his sleeves post touching a Bad Texture.
(he keeps a mental list of the things that are distressing: cotton balls, most sherpa fabrics which they find sad as it looks so soft, certain wool fabrics depending on how they've been treated, nails accidentally scratching metal. he also keeps a mental list of the sensations they enjoy: leather, wood smoke, all items made of fur or scaling, satin ranks highest among them however.)
Even after the lotion is sufficiently rubbed into their skin his hands linger. They trace the gentle slope of their spine, brushing past the mole that sits just in the center. It's a trait shared with their mother apparently and they joke sometimes that they must have been stabbed in the back in a past life. It's like, kinda a thing? Birthmarks are supposed to be how you died. Or alternatively where you got kissed most often?
He likes the second one better, he thinks as he lays a gentle kiss to the nape of their neck, for they have a birthmark there as well. One that most humans have but eventually fade and yet theirs has lingered all this time. They make a little noise of surprise under the attention and shiver.
They're so terribly responsive.
Ticklish as well he's reminded when his hands idly skim over their sides and they shriek, wriggling in his grasp for a moment. He can't resist the urge to do it just once more, earning him a little laugh alongside a whine of, "Lotor that's bullying!"
"I don't know what it is you're talking about my love." Another kiss, this time on their shoulder as his hands settle on their hips to trace the marks there. This close against them he can feel the way they tense minutely before consciously attempting to relax again.
He knows why of course. They've had many a talk on their issues with looking at their body for too long. It took so long to get to the point of allowing themself to be even half undressed around him. So his hands don't linger long on the stretch marks there, moving instead to wrap his arms around their waist and pull them fully against his chest.
They tilt their head to the side to look at him, those sweet brown puppy eyes roving over his face to find a place to settle. Most recently it's been one of the smaller clusters of freckles on his cheekbone, the one that they enjoy laying kisses to very often.
"You're so handsome." The compliment catches them off guard for a moment and they flush so beautifully, eyes darting quickly away before returning to their resting place on his cheek. He reaches up to brush one ringlet out of their face, hair now fully dry and making soft curls. The bleach they use damages their hair, something fierce but it persists and he adores the way the curls frame their face. "Absolutely stunning my love."
He remembers distantly the first time he complimented them like that. They had frozen like a frightened rabbit, looking for a moment like they were contemplating bolting before awkwardly laughing and waving him off as if it was a joke. (much later they would admit to him, in the dark with their head on his chest, that they felt they didn't deserve it. not from someone as wonderful and smart as him.)
(the immediate flash of rage on their behalf was so strong he had to make a conscious effort to keep from clenching his fists and snarling. instead he gently stroked their hair and purred to them. whoever made you feel that way was a fool, entirely undeserving of your time and energy my little star.)
But now they give him a sort of smile, he knows the reflex to object loudly is there but they're working on accepting his words as truth. For he has no reason or desire to lie to them.
He does however have the desire to cradle their face in his hand and gently stroke their cheek. They let out a sigh, eyes closing as they press into his touch. There are so many things he would do for them, to keep these small moments all for himself. He would commit atrocities if they but asked, lay his life in their hands if that was what they desired.
But they don't. And he adores them all the more for it somehow.
One day they will too be able to fully see the depth of his adoration.