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Childe is a tryhard at everything. He tries hard in school, in games, and in social settings. And he succeeds in all of them, of course.
Scaramouche, on the other hand, could care less about the world. Actually, he couldn’t care less. It just goes to show how little he cares from the way he doesn’t bother to attempt learning the difference. They’re used interchangeably, so who cares?
Although the fact that Childe tries hard to perfect everything while Scaramouche has never bothered to work in his life should definitely suggest a difference in overall success in their lives, it’s the opposite of the typical expectations. Surely if you give everything your all, you’ll be admired and showered with praise. And surely, if you’ve never worked a day in your life, you’ll get nothing at all. While the latter is certainly true, the former doesn’t apply to this situation. When Childe isn’t toiling away at his homework, he’s putting the rest of his efforts into gaming.
Although Scaramouche doesn't work hard, he’s probably seen and smelt grass before. If he’s a normal human being, then it’d be safe to bet he’s even felt grass, perhaps rolled around in it. Touched it. Childe, on the other hand, could tell someone he doesn’t know what a plant is and they wouldn’t bat an eye.
To put it in the simplest terms, Childe is a fucking nerd. A no-lifer. He’s a hardcore gamer, and one of those academic
freaks.
Bright colors danced in front of Scaramouche and Childe, the walls painted in the reflection of the glow they emanate. Sharp sounds cut through the air, and clicking sounds escape from beneath Childe’s frantically moving thumbs. His hands encase a useless little hunk of plastic with useless little buttons, and his eyes are stuck to a big dumb box with ugly flashing lights.
Scaramouche is fucking bored. Childe invited him to “hang out,” but it ended up as Scaramouche sitting behind him as he played his games. He’s on the floor next to stacks of papers, schoolwork, notebooks, textbooks, binders, folders, flash cards, and whatever insects had probably crawled their way into said stacks. Scaramouche is upset, and he’s left to steep in his foul mood alone as it completely escapes Childe’s attention. Scaramouche is upset because he’s been tossed aside on the floor, as if he was just another thing to be dealt with later. And he’s tired of these worthless hobbies taking priority over him.
When Childe isn’t focused on video games, he’s studying. And when he’s not studying, it’s fucking midnight by the time he’s done and Scaramouche gets tired. He may have all the time in the world, but that doesn’t mean he’ll waste it waiting on a dumb, geeky ginger. A month ago, they had time for each other. Over summer break, Childe had all the time in the world, too. And in the summer, the both of them were allowed to waste it all. They could stay up late and do anything at any time. Childe could play games any time, and could spend time with Scaramouche any time, too.
Over the summer, they had time to be a bit more than friends. Childe taught him things he had to understand before the next school year. That was more than friends. It was best friends, because best friends help each other. And they also spent time being more than friends in each other’s beds. They slept together, and that was definitely more than friends. But it was less than lovers, because they never said “I love you”.
Currently, Scaramouche sees none of this at all. There’s no friends with benefits, no best friends. They barely spoke to each other.
The clacks of the game controller piss Scaramouche off.
Clack, clack.
Who does he think he is? Inviting me over just to ignore me in favor of investing more time into his worthless hobbies.
Clack, clack.
Scaramouche pushes himself off the floor and begins walking over to Childe.
Clack, clack. Thud.
Scaramouche has planted himself on his knees in front of the screen Childe has lost himself in, blocking the view.
“Childe, stop wasting time on this bullshit.”
Childe doesn’t respond. He only leans to the side to see the screen, but Scaramouche moves to block his vision again.
“Childe, I’m fucking bored. I’m tired of your bullshit, too. Why do you keep inviting me over just to ignore me?”
A noise indicating Childe has lost booms out from the screen. And finally, Childe’s eyes drift slowly to meet his gaze. He looks fucking pissed, but so is Scaramouche. After a second, Childe decides to give in, glare melting away before he flops onto his back with a sigh. And Scaramouche smirks. He’s won.
“Scara, couldn’t you have waited until the round was over?”
He crosses his arms. “It doesn’t matter. You would’ve lost either way.”
Childe turns his head and looks away from Scaramouche, folding his arms together just as his friend had. Scaramouche frowns. The reaction he’s receiving is underwhelming. He didn’t expect Childe to be that petty.
“Are you really going to ignore me over this ?”
The answer is clearly yes. Childe still refuses to look back at him, and at this point the silence is becoming awkward. Scaramouche could almost feel guilty, except he doesn’t. After thinking for a few seconds, he flings himself onto Childe’s chest with a smirk, and Childe flinches at the impact.
“Hey. I know a game we can play together .”
Finally, he has Childe’s attention. His blue eyes finally look back at Scaramouche, but only for a moment. He soon goes back to ignoring him, but Scaramouche knows he’s still listening.
“I don’t care, Scara. If it makes you stop bugging me, then I’ll play.”
Scaramouche’s face cracks into a grin. He slips his hands underneath Childe’s shirt and slowly drags his fingers along the sides of his body, cold hands tracing his figure, and Childe’s face pinks in surprise.
“So, we can play, right?”
There’s a moment of silence as they stare at each other. Scaramouche taps his fingers against Childe’s ribs as he anticipates his reply. Childe breaks eye contact, his lips hesitating before he responds. “Yeah. We can play.”
As soon as he’s given the green light, Scaramouche pounces on Childe. Their lips meet for only a short while before Scaramouche pulls away teasingly. Something in Childe’s eyes seems to light up, and Scaramouche finds himself being rolled over, his back slamming onto the ground. He had squeezed his eyes shut upon impact, but when he opened them, he found himself trapped beneath Childe. Childe, who seems.. kinda dangerous.
Childe brings their lips together once more, their tongues meeting, and the other moans into the kiss. Scaramouche clings onto his back, curling his fists around his shirt. He’s delighted. It felt like they hadn’t had a legitimate interaction in ages, but now they’re speaking to each other. Now, it’s more touching than speaking, but hey, that’s an interaction too. An interaction in which their tongues meet, and their bodies press against each other. An interaction in which they take off each other’s clothes. An interaction in which they can share their warmth with each other. He’s longed for this.
Scaramouche sighs as Childe runs his fingers through his purple locks, and as his now burning body is exposed to the dry air of August after Childe peels his clothes off him like a banana. Meant to be removed before you can eat. Although maybe that’s not a good comparison, because Childe has eaten bananas with the peel on many times. Scaramouche had no clue how he never noticed that he was chewing through the peel, but he never stopped him either.
Now, Childe is the one running his fingers along Scaramouche’s sides. They crawl along his ribs slowly, sending a shiver down his spine. And Childe covers his chest in kisses, each action overflowing with want. Slowly, the kisses make their way lower and lower. From chest to waist to hips, and finally Childe plants a single kiss on the tip of his dick. Scaramouche shudders.
Childe pushes himself up to stand on his knees, which allows the hot air to invade the space in between them. Although the air is hot, they are hotter, and it makes Scaramouche wish to be pressed against Childe once more to be warm again. Childe spits in his hand, spreading his slobber on his fingers. Yeah, of course he fucking would. He’s a dog, he drools all over the place.
Childe uses his clean hand to grab Scaramouche’s legs and throw them over his shoulders, and everything below his knees dangles behind Childe’s back helplessly. Childe pushes his wet finger against the entrance, massaging his hole until he finally slips the long limb inside. Scaramouche squirms at the intrusion, but the finger continues to wiggle its way inside the cavern, persistent in moving deeper inside him. He lets out a groan of pleasure, feeling his face burning up. The finger presses his insides, and his face grows redder with every new kiss Childe prints along his thighs. He sucks and licks the soft skin roughly, as if he wished to tear a piece off.
Scaramouche can no longer focus on the nipping and sucking sensations below his waist, as a new finger pushes its way to be inside him alongside the other. “P-please..” Scaramouche moans as he claws at the ground, feeling the need to grab on to anything at all. Eventually, his hands find themselves clinging to Childe’s back, fingers digging at his shoulders with every sensation. Childe’s fingers are relentless in prying him open, a feeling that’s almost overwhelming to him. All Scaramouche can feel is heat and pleasure, and all he can think about is how good it feels. His communication has been reduced to moans and mumbles, his mind turned to mush.
Childe’s tongue had crept sneakily up to Scaramouche’s neck, continuing to nip and pull at the smooth skin. He runs his tongue along his ear, and his teeth click against his gleaming piercings. “You’re so perfect, Scara.” Childe whispers into his ear.
“Fuck,” Scaramouche gasps, “that’s so hot.”
Childe chuckles, leaning away before swooping closer once more, catching Scaramouche’s lips in another kiss. They melt into each other, chests heaving as their hearts beat against them. Their lips dance together as they push impossibly closer, and Scaramouche quivers feverishly. Their veins are full of electrifying passion, pumping throughout their bodies. Scaramouche lets out a sudden moan in their kiss when Childe pushes a third finger into his bottom, causing his spine to lift off the carpeted floor as it arches.
When Childe pulls away from their kiss, Scaramouche looks dazedly up at him. Their eyes meet, and pools of daylight stare back into the deep indigo night. “Shit, Princess..” Childe murmurs, reaching his hand to caress Scaramouche’s suave face. He leans against the hand holding his face, heartbeat pounding in his ears. “Hurry… Hurry up, bastard.” Scaramouche orders between pants.
Can’t say no to Princess, can he?
Childe can’t last much longer himself. He drags his fingers out at a hesitant pace that makes Scaramouche squirm in impatience. Finally, the limbs exit him, leaving Scaramouche feeling painfully empty. He grinds his hips against Childe, urging him to fill him once more. Childe gladly takes him up on the offer.
Placing his hands on Scaramouche’s waist, Childe groans as he slides his cock into Scaramouche’s ass. He fits inside perfectly, like he was meant to be there. Like Princess was made for him. As he moves further inside, Scaramouche squirms, wishing he could hurry up. Childe receives a kick from the foot draped behind him. “B-bastard, I said -“ Scaramouche cuts himself with a moan as Childe thrusts himself further inside. Scaramouche clutches Childe’s wrist tightly, the skin growing pale in his grasp.
“I heard you, Scara.”
Childe draws his hips back, only to plunge himself back in once more. Scaramouche lets out a yelp, and his grip on Childe’s joint only increases as his pace quickens. His legs stiffen and bend tighter, pressing against Childe’s back and pushing him closer. “Fuck,” Scaramouche moans, “so fucking good.”
Childe slams into him relentlessly, and Scaramouche is knocked back slightly every time he’s pounded into. Childe wraps his arms around Scaramouche’s back and picks him up hazardously, and Scaramouche grabs his shoulders once again to gain stability. He’s lifted above the ground, and Childe continues to hammer away at his insides as he stands on his knees. “Fuck, it’s so- ngh, Childe!” Scaramouche calls as he squeezes his eyes shut. Childe leans forward and presses a kiss on his cheek, tasting the sweat of his face. Scaramouche pries his eyes open, and before Childe can pull back again, he steals another kiss from his lips, then runs his tongue across his own as if savoring the taste.
Childe’s face lights up in amusement, and his grip around Scaramouche’s waist tightens. “Perfect, ugh- so fucking perfect, ‘Mouche..” Childe says, muffled by how he’s shoved his face into his shoulder. Scaramouche whimpers at the affection, and his dick twitches against Childe’s stomach. You like that, huh?
“Gorgeous, oh- you’re so hot, so fucking good for me,” Childe stammers, “perfect, my princess.” Each one of Childe’s thrusts is punctuated by a praise for Scaramouche, and each compliment drives the other mad. He wants to be so good for him. His hand grasps ginger locks, pulling him forward until he can feel Childe’s breath against his neck. “Ajax, please, I ca- I can’t!” Scaramouche moans, tossing his head back. He sure knows how to press Childe’s buttons, because fuck , does that name turn him on.
Before Scaramouche can see himself falling, his back hits the ground, and he yelps in surprise. Childe soon follows, slamming his hands on both sides of Scaramouche’s head before thrusting down into him even harsher and faster than before. He bites on his shoulder hard , and Scaramouche releases a wail as his blood is forced out of his skin, the shining red swirling with spit. Childe draws back his mouth and licks his lips as he admires the mark he’s left. Scaramouche’s eyes are spilling with tears, both from pleasure and pain, and his vision is foggy. He couldn’t notice Childe’s focus wandering, but he could feel it when he leaned over to grab something.
As Childe continues with pounding into the smaller man, he places a thin sheet of something on Scaramouche’s chest, and the coolness of the material makes him shudder. Then, Childe holds down one side of it with his hand, and began to press an intricate object against it. The collision as they scrape together produces a curious scratching noise, but Scaramouche’s mind is too muddled to figure out what it is. Everything on top of him jolts each time Childe’s body slaps against his, and he loves it.
Childe continues to move the tiny-tipped object along his chest, and it eventually begins to brush against his nipples. Scaramouche moans at how sharp it feels, and how it hurts just a little bit. The sensation is gone disappointingly fast, but he soon enough feels the same object poking and prodding at his other nipple, and he whimpers as he tenses his body. Childe moans in pleasure, his hand controlling the object stilling for just a moment until he discards both of the mysterious items entirely.
Instead of using his hands on objects, he now grips at Scaramouche’s waist, thrusting into him desperately. Childe kisses Scaramouche’s chest, obsessively tasting each rib he can see, and each blue vein running across his skin. He leaves marks all over his body, as if he’d starve if he couldn’t touch him for every second. Scaramouche wriggles at the tickling sensation his tongue leaves behind, and he claws at Childe’s arms as if his pleasure is going to spill out of him. He feels so hot, like he’s boiling, like everything is going to spill over. “Nh, Childe, gonna- I’m-“ Scaramouche rambles, now gripping onto Childe’s arms firmly.
Childe grits his teeth together, pace becoming uneven as he continues to press into Scaramouche’s insides sloppily. “Inside- can I cum, Princess, please..!” Childe begs, his grasp on Scaramouche’s hips growing tighter and tighter. “Please, fuck, Ajax please cum inside of me.” Scaramouche whines, not far from cumming himself.
Childe pries his hand away from Scaramouche’s hip and uses it to clutch his dick, stroking it as he savors his final thrusts. With a moan, Childe releases inside of Scaramouche, who cums soon after. They both remain still, panting as they come down from their high, drenched in sweat.
“Hey, Childe,” Scaramouche says breathlessly, “what was that? The poking thing.”
Childe chuckles innocently and avoids eye contact. Scaramouche glares.
“Hey, Childe…” He repeats, scowling threateningly.
“Okay, alright, fine.” Childe says, before reaching above Scaramouche’s head and reluctantly presenting the two items before him. A paper and a mechanical pencil. Scaramouche curls his fingers into fists and forms a furious smile.
“Childe, my love!” Childe shivers. Despite being taller, he feels very small right now. Scaramouche slides away from him and sits up. “You mean to tell me that you really wrote a C.E.R. paragraph? While we were having sex ?”
“Well-“ Scaramouche snatches the paper out of his hand. “Childe, give me one reason I shouldn’t shred this.”
“Please! ‘Mouche, fuck, I’ll do anything.”
Scaramouche pauses for a moment to stare at Childe before giving up with a sigh. He lets the paper flutter to the ground, and grips Childe’s head to support himself as he stands up. “Come on,” Scaramouche commands, “let’s shower.”
The shower sprayed water on the two’s heads. They stand in the bathroom shower, feet resting on uncomfortable concrete floors. The mirrors slowly become fogged up as steam rises up from the floor.
And then, there was Scaramouche and Childe. Scaramouche sits on his legs as Childe is crouched over him, carefully massaging conditioner into his hair like the princess that he is. He scrubs his scalp, drawing a pleasured sigh out of Scaramouche, who closes his eyes and slumps his shoulders in relaxation.
“Alrighty, Princess, let that sit for a while.”
Scaramouche opens his eyes and glares at Childe. Immediately opposing the instructions he’d been given, Scaramouche tilts his head under the water raining down from the showerhead and scrubs the conditioner from his hair. Childe frowns, but decides not to dwell on it. Instead, he squirts a bit of soap into his palm and begins to wash his own body.
Scaramouche turned his attention to Childe. The way he washes his body, sliding his hands along skin, as if to guide the sight of anyone watching… It’s really fucking hot.
“Like what you see, Princess?” Childe teases. Scaramouche scoffs and turns his head away, not allowing him the pleasure of hearing his answer. Childe didn’t have to hear it, anyways; it’s painted on his face how he was enjoying it. He smiles, humming to himself as he continues to enjoy his shower. Scaramouche, on the other hand, is now viciously scrubbing his scalp with his eyes squeezed shut, causing his hair to fling water everywhere. He hears a groan from Childe.
“What, can’t handle some water? We’re in a shower, dipshit.”
After waiting a while and receiving no answer, Scaramouche gets curious and opens his eyes again. Then he opens his eyes wider some more, because why the fuck is Childe fingering himself?!? His face is painted bright red. Earlier was hot, but now this is…
“Childe, what are you doing?” Scaramouche asks awkwardly.
Childe looks up from the floor to meet his eyes. “Fingering myself.”
There’s an awkward stretch of silence before anyone speaks again. Scaramouche scratches his neck and looks around. “Uhm… why?”
Childe smirks and replies, “‘Cause I… wanna ride you.”
Scaramouche’s heart goes wild. If his face wasn’t red before, it certainly is now. He watches as Childe pushes his finger in and out of his ass, his body dripping wet as he shakes from the stimulation. It’s so… erotic. Scaramouche can feel his dick stiffening a little at just the sight.
Childe sighs as he pushes his finger in and out slowly, making wet squelching noises due to his soaked skin. His breaths are deep and trembling as he savors the feeling of being stretched open, and he takes his time enjoying being watched by Scaramouche. To him, it’s torture. He has to sit here patiently as he watches Childe fuck himself on his finger, making little noises every so often that drive him mad.
Scaramouche is weak to pleasure, and he can’t hold off any longer. He lowers his hand to his already hardening dick, but before he can grasp it, Childe meets his gaze.
“Not yet.”
Scaramouche’s heart drops dramatically, as if he was caught committing a crime. “Why not?” He says, bringing his hand away to rest on the floor beside him.
“Because,” Childe huffs, “I need you to last longer. So… hold on.”
Scaramouche bites his cheek, needing something, anything to distract himself with. So he dumps shampoo into his hand and slaps his palm on Childe’s head, and begins vigorously washing his hair. He works the soap into his hair, scrubbing and combing it through the ginger locks. He scratches Childe’s scalp, from which he earns a moan, and goes back to combing his hair. He allows the hair to slide in his hands, silky and smooth. He’s stunning, fuck .
Scaramouche turns around to find a plastic cup, and he allows the shower to fill it to the brim before turning around, intending to start rinsing Childe’s hair. However, he’s distracted by Childe, who is beginning to push a second finger inside himself. “Ah, fuck..” Childe mutters, and that voice turns Scaramouche on to an insane degree. He decided to push past his lust, instead washing the shampoo out of the wet mop and combing away the foamy bubbles. I am pure, I am pure, I am pure. I am a god, a god of purity… Scaramouche forces himself to look up at the ceiling as he works, and Childe chuckles at his efforts.
Once he’s fully rid the locks of the soap, he pours fragrant conditioner into his hand. Ah, it smells like Childe… He shakes the thought out of his head, instead working the soap into Childe’s hair. He combs it into the hair from bottom to top with his hands, and once again scrubs his scalp. The sounds of scrubbing can almost cover the lewd squelching and the soft grunt coming from Childe. And fuck, Scaramouche can feel Childe’s breath on his dick, they’re so close.
Scaramouche turns around and rinses his hands in the stream of the shower. And honestly, he can’t leave himself empty-handed long enough to let the conditioner sit. He snatches the cup again and moves it below the shower head until it’s full, then works the soap out of Childe’s hair. He combs it and tousles it until the water runs clear, then begins to make small braids with Childe’s hair (which he immediately undoes once finished). It’s taking an embarrassing amount of strength for him to keep his hands off his dick, or Childe’s dick, even.
“Childe, I can’t take it much long-“ Scaramouche was interrupted by Childe standing up, and suddenly the water stops raining down. Childe grabs Scaramouche’s wrist and pulls him to his feet, and they stumble out of the shower together. Childe fishes two fluffy towels out of the cabinet, and they rush out of the bathroom together as swiftly as they had wrapped themselves in their towels. They turn the corner and twirl into Childe’s room, swinging the door shut and locking it behind them.
Childe backs Scaramouche against the door and brings him into a sloppy kiss. The towels are dropped in an instant, and they’re left to press against each other naked. Scaramouche sighs into the kiss, allowing Childe to lead him. He grabs Childe by the waist as they slobber over each other, but Scaramouche soon pulls away from the kiss, and their chests rise and fall as they both pant together.
Scaramouche leads him by the waist to a chair. “Sit, boy.” So, Childe does as he’s told and sits on the chair. Luckily it’s wood, so it won’t be absorbing all the water dripping off of his body and hair. Although they had gotten towels, they had barely used them to dry themselves.
Childe watches as Scaramouche walks off and kneels before his nightstand, rummaging through the drawers. As he does so, he wiggles his ass in the air behind him to tease Childe, drawing a laugh from the ginger. He also hears the zippers of his backpack being pulled open, but he’s unaware of the reason. Whatever it is, he’ll find out. “By the way, if you ever need to stop, just say ‘worms.’” Scaramouche calls to him.
Scaramouche prances back to the chair Childe sits on, both of his hands behind his back. “Choose which hand.” He says, beaming at Childe.
Childe doesn’t give it much thought; it’s random either way. He points to Scaramouche’s left hand, and the smile on his face increases. He presents the contents of his hands to Childe. In the right hand, he has lube and a condom. And in the other, the one Childe had chosen, there are two safety pins. But how safe can they be, in the hands of Scaramouche?
“Fret not, we’ll still use condoms and lube. Now, you just get an added bonus.” Scaramouche informs him. He nudges Childe off of the chair and takes his place, then pulls Childe down to sit on his lap. Childe is forced to spread his legs on either side of Scaramouche, and their fronts are close to touching. Scaramouche admires the view in front of him, before diving in for another kiss. He twines his fingers together behind Childe’s neck, and uses his hold to pull him closer.
Scaramouche’s breath dances along Childe’s skin before he whispers breathily into his ear, “You’ll do anything … right?”
Which means Childe is definitely fucked. Yes, he’s going to be fucked, but he’s also.. fucked. Screwed, doomed, dead. He still has no clue what the pins are for, but he’s now certain that it’s nothing but trouble.
Scaramouche separates his hands and uses them to tease Childe’s skin. He squirms as Scaramouche moves his fingers along his body so lightly that it tickles. Once his fingertips have trailed their way down to Childe’s somehow muscular thighs, Scaramouche removes them from his body to tear open the condom’s wrapper. It rocks in the air as it glides to the floor after Scaramouche threw it behind himself, only keeping the actual condom. He rolls the rubber down to the base of his cock, and gently flicks Childe’s dick while his hands are down there.
Then, he grabs the bottle of lube and pours a generous amount on both his fingers and his dick, before tossing the rest aside carelessly without even bothering to close the lid. He stares into Childe’s eyes as if he would run away. Then, he snakes his hand to Childe’s behind, rubbing his slippery fingers against Childe’s already prepared entrance. A small moan escapes Childe’s mouth, much like a sigh, as Scaramouche teases him.
Scaramouche’s fingers occasionally dip inside the hole slightly, drawing impatient whimpers and whines out of Childe. His fingers run in circles and move back and forth lazily as he pays no mind to Childe’s wordless complaints. The wet noise of the lube makes the pleasure feel so close, so obtainable…
“Please, ‘Mouche…” Childe mumbles under his breath.
“What was that, boy?” Scaramouche asks, fully aware of what Childe had said.
Childe sighs with slight embarrassment before speaking louder. “Please, Scar-“ Childe’s eyes go wide as he feels two fingers suddenly press inside him, quickly digging deeper inside him. He moans loudly as the slim fingers plunge inside him, squelching as they explore his cavern. Scaramouche kisses his chest as he continues to focus on fingerfucking the ginger on his lap.
Just as suddenly as the first two fingers had entered, Scaramouche added another, stretching Childe slightly beyond what he’d already done himself. Childe moans without restraint at the feeling, his mouth drooling, unable to keep a few drops of his saliva contained. Scaramouche licks the spit off his chin, and Childe whimpers next to his ear loudly as he twirls his fingers around inside Childe’s ass. He can’t stop himself from gasping when Scaramouche begins to assault his prostate, and his spine curves back instinctively.
“Hn, Scara, please, fuck me…” Childe whines as he grasps Scaramouche’s shoulders.
“Huh? What was that?” Scaramouche inquires, a sly grin stretching across his face.
Childe’s body quivers. “Shit, you heard me, Princess- ah- fuck me, ‘Mouch-“ Childe’s sentence is interrupted as his whole body jolts, disturbed by a smack. Scaramouche had slapped his hand hard against Childe’s rear end, still continuing to finger his hole.
“Is that how you ask for a favor?” Scaramouche asks, an unserious anger plaguing his tone. Childe only moans in reply, his skin still tingling. “Tell me Childe, is it?” He repeats.
“N- ah, ugh, no, ‘Mouche. ‘S not, it’s not.” Childe responds, his whimpers breaking his sentences.
Scaramouche chuckles and rubs his palm against the spot he’d struck. “Do you want to ask again?” Scaramouche offers gently, to which Childe nods and sniffles. “P-please, fuck me, Scara..” He says, mouth so close his voice echoes in the other’s ear. Scaramouche grins.
He slips his fingers out of the hole and looks up into Childe’s eyes. “Ride me, Ajax .” Scaramouche says, voice smooth as silk. Fuck, was Princess a siren in his past life?
As commanded, Childe begins to lower himself onto Scaramouche’s cock, tightly gripping the other’s shoulders to help steady himself. He bites his lip, straining to hold himself up. But he’s filled to the brim as Scaramouche thrusts into him without warning, and he lets out a pleasured cry.
“You’re even louder than I am, fuck, Childe… Such a fucking slut, so good for me.” Childe nods mindlessly to his words, tears falling from his eyes. Scaramouche’s hands crawl around his waist and begin to guide him up and down his length, slowly decreasing his grip for Childe to move on his own. The ginger uses his legs to push off the floor so he can move up and down Scaramouche’s length, and Scaramouche can feel the muscles tensing and relaxing in his legs. He moans as he bounces on the dick, his face shining as it’s covered in tears and drool.
“Hah, Childe, you’re so… fucking pretty like this, hn, ohh...” Scaramouche marvels. He brushes Childe’s hair away from his face. “So pretty, so- unh, so fucking good.” Scaramouche continues, and Childe agrees by nodding his head, although it was more like he was allowing it to lull around with his bobbing.
Childe continued to moan shamelessly as he moved up and down, and Scaramouche began to play with his chest. He groped the muscular surface, squeezing and massaging Childe’s breasts. He could swear they bounced whenever he moved, they were so wonderful. Scaramouche brings his lips to the flesh, dragging his tongue along the skin. And his mouth eventually finds its way to a pointed nipple. He sucks at the peak, occasionally letting his teeth catch on the sensitive bud, and Childe mewls at the contact. Scaramouche whimpers when he feels Childe clench around him, and he releases the nipple with a pop.
Scaramouche grabs something small and shiny next to him on the chair. He holds up a safety pin, bringing it to his mouth before running his tongue along it hungrily. He presses against the pin, causing the sharp, pointed tip to fall out of its barricade. “Ajax, hold still.” Scaramouche commands, pressing a hand on the other’s waist to steady him.
Slowly and carefully, he drags the sharp metal across the middle of Childe’s torso, just hard enough to break skin without drawing blood. And eventually, he pulls the spear away to reposition it, its point pressing against the side of his nipple. Scaramouche can feel Childe’s rapid heartbeat with his other hand, and he lifts his attention to Childe’s eyes, as if silently asking for permission. Or rather, asking to be told no. Childe, however, stared unwaveringly back at him.
Scaramouche plunges the metal into the pink skin, pushing it until the sharp end meets his thumb at the other side, and he clasps the pin shut once more. Childe whimpers quietly, his eyes watering as blood almost immediately begins to pour out from the puncture. It drips everywhere, running over Childe’s chest, both of the men’s thighs, and the chair.
Scaramouche wraps Childe in a tight embrace, careful to avoid brushing the new piercing, but uncaring of the red mess he’s smearing on himself. “Shhh, good boy, so good,” Scaramouche whispers, rubbing Childe’s back, “It’s okay.” Childe shivers at the feeling of Scaramouche’s breath blowing along his chest, a tingly feeling that helps him forget the pain.
It wasn’t as bad as he expected, truthfully. The pain was sharp and hot, but only for a moment. It quickly became reduced to a deep throbbing sensation, one which lacked pain. It just felt odd. There’s a thing stuck under his skin, which simply seems weird. At the same time, however, it feels normal, as if the pin piercing through him was only an extension of his body.
While Childe was lost in thought, Scaramouche prepared for the next piercing. He collects the last pin from the chair and takes it into his mouth, then uses his fingers to wipe away the excess saliva. Childe watches him curiously and grimaces at his method of “sanitation”.
Scaramouche opens the pin and brings the point to the other nipple, aligning it to be symmetrical to the other side. It digs into his skin lightly with the small amount of pressure being applied, not yet enough to puncture the sensitive skin. After the first piercing, his tolerance to pain has only gotten lower, and even the slight prick of the pin is uncomfortable.
With his other hand, Scaramouche curves his palm around Childe’s cheek and pushes himself upward to meet his lips, mouths greeting each other hungrily once more. And while Childe enjoys the affection, Scaramouche pushes the safety pin through his skin, closing the pin in a fluid motion. Childe tenses once again, lips twitching against Scaramouche’s, and his nails press into Scaramouche’s shoulders. Their lips separate, and Scaramouche stares at Childe once more.
His chest is flushed red with pain, and a deeper red drips along his entire torso, glistening as it catches the small amount of light in the room. His face was lightly painted with tears that Scaramouche would love to chase away with his tongue, and his lips were red from overuse. Gorgeous.
Scaramouche lowers his head to press his tongue to the pink skin of his chest, soothing the skin with delicate movements. Then he makes his way to find the trail of scarlet, which he laps up as if it’s a treat. The blood mixes with his spit and paints his mouth red. Eventually, Scaramouche begins to gently rub his tongue along Childe’s punctured skin, cleaning around the wound as it continues to spill more crimson. Childe hesitantly begins to move up and down on Scaramouche’s cock once more, his body still trembling with the adrenaline that comes from pain.
Noises echo in the room: squelching, sucking, and soft moans accompanied by the light slapping sound when skin meets. They both feel so hot, not only because of the heat of August. Hot bodies pressing against each other, hot breath in the air, and… hot people. They are very attractive.
Scaramouche burrows his hand into Childe’s hair, clutching the ginger locks gently as he begins to spread his love to other areas. He kisses along Childe’s collarbones and neck, then moves to the shoulders which he had grasped so desperately before.
Childe leans forward and rests his chin on Scaramouche’s shoulder as he continues to ride him, and the cock inside of him now pounds his insides at a new angle. Childe lets out another plangent moan due to the change, a sound which brings heat to Scaramouche’s face from it being so loud and close to his ear. It almost hurt, but was so heavenly at the same time.
Throbbing heat, throbbing pain, and pleasure that consumes their entire beings.
Scaramouche feels himself nearing his climax. He wraps his fingers around Childe’s nearly forgotten dick, stroking the flesh and drawing a whine out of Childe. “Ajax, gonna- hmn, I’m-“ Childe cuts him off, pressing their lips together. He moans into Childe’s mouth, tongues pushing against each other as they both lose themselves in pleasure. The kiss tips Ajax over the edge, and he pulls his head back, biting his lip as he splurges, feeling tense but relaxed at the same time. Scaramouche follows soon after, then they sit there, filling the room with the noises of heaving breaths as they motionlessly continue to cling onto each other.
Scaramouche sighs, the exhale being a sound that was partially a groan. “Fuck,” he murmurs breathily. Childe mumbles in response, the noise a simple grunt without the intention of speaking real words. He lifts his legs up and onto the chair, bending them around Scaramouche’s waist. He drags his hands through the air so he can place them in Scaramouche’s hair, then ruffles the mess of indigo vigorously. Scaramouche wails in complaint, swatting at his arms before the ginger halts his harassment.
“Happy, Childe?” Scaramouche asks, staring up at the blue eyes.
“Mhm,” Childe replies lazily, wrapping Scaramouche into a tight hug, but suddenly jolting back in pain when their chests touch.
“Oh, yeah. How is that? Are you feeling alright?” Scaramouche asks with genuine concern as his gaze lowers to observe the punctures. The area is still red with fresh pain.
“It’s not too bad, but it hurts when anything touches it,” Childe answers, “But how do I take care of it? Also, your sanitary practices are questionable.”
Scaramouche looks around the room before shrugging his shoulders. Childe frowns at him and sighs dramatically. “Seriously, Scara…”
“I decided that would be a problem for the future,” Scaramouche says, “But you can’t be mad at Princess, right?” He makes the most innocent face he can, which isn’t very. It works, nonetheless. Childe throws his arms over his shoulders and presses their foreheads together. “Nope, I can’t.”
“Also, Childe?”
“Hm?”
Scaramouche fidgets with his fingers, and removes his forehead from Childe’s. “I know homework and shit is important to you, but can we spend actual time together? ‘Cause it barely feels like we’re hanging out, even though I’m at your house every day.”
Childe’s face shifts into one of a guilty man, and his smile dulls slightly as he lets out a sigh. “To tell you the truth… Well, I guess I was kind of avoiding you, despite the fact that I didn’t want to leave your side. So I just ended up ignoring you.” Childe huffs. “Honestly, I’ve been trying to convince myself that that wasn’t the case, but…”
“Hold on. Why were you avoiding me?”
Childe looks straight into his eyes before looking all around the room, swaying around on Scaramouche’s lap as he has a small internal battle. Finally, he takes a deep breath.
“Well, we had the friends with benefits sort of thing going, but… I caught feelings, and it was hard for me to keep talking to you without being more than that. But I was worried you’d stop talking to me if I told you,” Childe confesses, a blush spreading over his cheeks.
Scaramouche murmurs something that couldn’t be heard by Childe.
“What?”
Scaramouche grunts and stares into his eyes. “I said you’re stupid if you think I don’t love you!”
Childe holds his breath as his heart begins to beat out of his chest, getting lost in his thoughts that rage in his head like a tornado. After a while, Scaramouche grabs his shoulders and shakes him. “Breathe, dumbass! Don’t die right after I confess.”
Childe breathes again. Then, he wraps Scaramouche’s torso in another tight squeeze, vigorously covering his face in kisses as Scaramouche unsuccessfully pushes his head away.
Childe snuggles his face into Scaramouche’s chest, his expression full of relief. “I could die happy right now.”
Scaramouche snorts. “Like I said, don’t die right after I confess.”
He presses a gentle kiss against Childe’s forehead.