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The gentle yet deliberate tap-tapping of Arlecchino's claws against Furina's chest could almost be called tender, or perhaps even titillating—and something deep inside Furina still finds it so, still aches for any caring touch despite knowing what it truly means.
(Even her cursed human heart is speeding up, making itself all the more obvious that it's there instead of the godly power she claims to hold.)
Arlecchino hums, lips pressed under Furina's jaw, low voice slicing deep under Furina's skin; the only one who knows, and who knows what she'll do with that knowledge beyond these strangely gentle caresses.