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Theta doesn’t kiss; they feign it, get close, and then their teeth are in Koschei’s lip, digging in painfully like they’re daring her to yelp or try to escape the pain and only satisfied when the skin tears.
Koschei has a dozen little scars, on her lips, on her cheek, on her neck, all from Theta’s reckless mouth leaving marks everywhere they want and licking Koschei’s blood up afterwards. But if Koschei wanted them to stop, she would have made them a long time ago, and she wouldn’t spend every night running her tongue over the rough break of the scars until she falls asleep.