Ryoko was bright, and loud, and radiated confidence in much the same way a fire did heat. She was easily riled up and turned to physical violence for a first alternative. She was brash and unladylike-- but if a person just looked, she was kind, and soft, and lovely.
She often made Chrome blush with the way she'd reach out and ruffle the smaller girl's hair, or even just with a casual grin. Ryoko had thrown the eyepatch a curious, worried glance once, Chrome had caught her--but she'd never made commentary or inquiry on it, for which the Mist was grateful.
Ryoko was... sweet.
Chrome was drawn towards her instinctively, slowly becoming closer and closer to the woman's exuberance until she realized she'd left her own walls of her own accord, that she was willingly reaching towards another person, and someone who was not, would never be, her Mukuro-sama.
And she realized she was fine with this.
She straddled Ryoko's thighs and took note of the boxer's hazy, confused expression before hiding it away behind a silky blindfold. The Mist leaned forward to brush their mouths together, soft and slow, and reveled in the response she received, as slight and uncertain as it was. The ropes keeping Ryoko's hands to herself were lies, but Chrome's hands were real and warm as they slid across the woman's hips, stomach, waist, until her fingertips caught tentatively at the edge of a sports bra and drew it carefully (as carefully as Ryoko would have, had their positions been reversed, perhaps) up to her tan elbows.
She gave no firm, definitely caresses, even when the drug began to wear away and Ryoko began to react more, to arch upwards and let out gasps and moans that grated pleasantly against Chrome's ears. She fluttered her lips and hands across calloused skin with a softness that drove the Sun to madness, to jerking at the fake bindings and rocking desperately into the fleeting touches and demanding, begging, pleading--
Ryoko rasped out half of a scream, and the rest was left to be robbed from the world by another chaste kiss.