[ The clatter of the doorknob attempting to turn brings Scaramouche's attention away from his cloak, nose wrinkling in displeasure from the interruption. Those knocks before Childe tried to enter were too quick—did he expect Scaramouche to materialize in front of the door in those few seconds? As always, the other man is too eager.

Scaramouche sighs quietly as he slips out of his wooden chair to allow Childe inside.

Up until this point, he had been alone in his room, sitting at his desk with a needle, thread, and lush black fabric in hand. He'd learned to sew centuries ago, so the stitch-up wasn't particularly difficult. It had also served as an excellent way to bide his time until Childe arrived. Absorbed in his menial task, Scaramouche hadn't noticed just how late it had become until he'd finally torn his eyes away.

Making him sit here for so long... How irritating. ]

I waited. Shut up before anyone hears you.

[ The door opens with a soft click, and for the first time in weeks, Scaramouche gets a glimpse of Childe's face. He looks... pathetic, somehow, but perhaps that is simply a trick of the light. Silently, Scaramouche crosses his arms and tilts his head in the direction of his bedroom in a silent gesture to hurry. ]

[ He snorts but returns to his desk to put away the sewing materials. ]

The seam in my cloak frayed, [ Scaramouche explains dryly, opening the small drawer beneath the table and tucking his belongings inside. If Childe peeks over, he'll see there are a few miscellaneous items in there, like a book, more thread, and Scaramouche's make-up. ] I didn't feel like sending it off, so I sewed it together myself.

[ And once everything is where it should be, he closes the drawer and turns to face Childe again. Color is returning to those freckled cheeks of his, most likely due to the warmth permeating Scaramouche's bedroom. Admittedly, Childe was right in assuming Scaramouche had prepared for his visit. He'd activated the large, mechanical heater in the corner and lit an oil lamp on his nightstand. Scaramouche himself may not be susceptible to the cold, but he knows a human like Childe would be. ]

What about you? Did you fail your mission?

[ It's his usual blunt tone, the dark, deep indigo of his irises peering up from beneath black lashes. ]

[ That earns a twist of the lips, and then Scaramouche chuckles. He likes it, Childe's sulky, irritated response, though it may just be due to the sadistic streak in his personality. ]

I see. You didn't fail; you were just surprised.

[ The mocking lilt in his voice is honeyed, deceptively soft and sympathetic. Scaramouche proceeds to reach out with one gloved hand to take Childe's chin between his fingers, lowering his gaze until they're looking into each other's eyes. Of course, Childe's remain shadowed, rejecting light itself due to some sort of aberration he'd experienced in the Abyss. For all his fuss, Childe's a pretty thing with long, full lashes and a handsome face.

Scaramouche's thumb drags over the other's bottom lip. ]

Pitiful, but I would expect nothing less.

Tsk.

[ The bite doesn't sever his skin, but it's a sharp enough sensation that Scaramouche jerks hand away with an irritated click of his tongue. Then, indignation flashes in his eyes, and just as quickly, his arm darts out to close his fingers around Childe's throat. His skin is considerably paler than Childe's, the black, glossy polish adorning his nails glinting under the lowlight. Scaramouche can see a faint indentation around his thumb, but it likely won't last very long given his body's durability. However, to be marked... ]

That was stupid of you, [ he says, exercising his inhuman strength enough to force Childe down even further towards the floor. ] Did you think you could injury me?

[ But like Childe, he feels arousal rush up his thighs and spread out in his groin, a distinct reminder of just how long he waited for Childe to return. Perhaps that is why Scaramouche is intoxicated by his partner's misbehavior and the adrenaline from the bite itself. It's feral, exciting; something only Childe can give him.

Scaramouche won't wait any longer. ]

[ Coolly observing him, Scaramouche watches as Childe is forcefully brought to his hands and knees. There's a moment where it seems he will resist, the Hydro manifesting at his hands in preparation to strike, but after a second or two, it dissipates into droplets. It was smart of him to surrender, Scaramouche thinks. After all, he can feel the flutter of a pulse beneath his fingers, the warmth of Childe's skin—a quick flex would be all it takes to crush him.

He doesn't, though. Instead, a smile returns to Scaramouche's face now that Childe has displayed a level of submissiveness, his breath hissing when he speaks. It sends a thrill down Scaramouche's back. ]

Hmph. I don't mind them if it results in this.

[ The pressure lessens, and then he releases Childe's throat entirely. However, Scaramouche's hand doesn't pull away. His slender fingers slide up and into red, unruly hair, stroking Childe gently like a dog, before giving a small tug towards his groin.

His intent is clear. ]

Undress me.

[ The armor around Scaramouche's waist comes undone and lands on the floor by his sandals, allowing Childe to ability to pull down his pleated shorts. Underneath, the black fabric stretches thin over the subtle rise between his thighs, one that makes clear that, despite the doll-like appearance he was modeled after, Scaramouche is indeed male. There's no shame in exposing himself, either—he's satisfied with the agreement they've come to.

He shifts on his feet, a shallow, soft sigh escaping him as Childe leans in to mouth over the head of his cock. And almost instinctively, Scaramouche's fingers tighten a little in Childe's hair. It's good. The heat of that tongue can be felt through the material, pleasurable enough that a pang of arousal quickly follows after. Scaramouche's smug expression flickers because of it.

Could it be that his body is more sensitive after being prolonged touch? ]

More, [ Scaramouche murmurs, his voice quiet despite the bratty demand. ] You look good like this, Tartaglia.

[ Frustrated, hungry. Perhaps Scaramouche will be devoured again. ]

[ The teasing works.

Scaramouche fills out from behind the fabric separating him from Childe's mouth, and soon his smirk melts away. It isn't out of discontent; no, with the heat of a wet tongue rolling over him, he's left a bit needy, absorbed in the feeling and the look Childe is giving him. Their continued eye contact gives the performance a heady intimacy, one he finds himself unable to break. Scaramouche's legs quiver once when, at last, his skinwear is pulled down his thighs and he is exposed to the open air.

...Greedy. There isn't anything wrong with being greedy. He'll take what is his regardless of what others think.

But contrasting that domineering mindset, Scaramouche's next sigh is louder and more vulnerable than the first. ] Hah... [ Warmth then crawls its way up his neck and spreads in his face. The fact alone a puppet can blush is ridiculous.

Concentrated now, he tilts his head to the side, brows furrowing as his flushed, pink cock disappears between Childe's lips. The gratification is instant. It's different than getting his cock wet in the traditional sense; like this, Scaramouche must endure Childe's skillful tongue. And it truly is something, a light groan tearing itself out of Scaramouche's throat the second Childe dips down to swallow him completely. ]

[ Scaramouche scowls upon being forced back, but the bed isn't far enough to result in an accidental fall. He manages to end up sitting on his fluffed mattress with a short huff. However, it transitions into something a little more breathless the second Childe is between his legs, playfully lapping up his erect cock and peppering hot kisses. A thick and punctual throb causes Scaramouche's dick to twitch on Childe's tongue.

Being toyed with like this... It's frustrating, but nonetheless effective. Scaramouche is undoubtedly wet, shivers racing up and down his back as Childe works him over. There is no use hiding how much pleasure he is deriving from being ravished. The wait has most definitely doubled his sensitivity.

Scaramouche's hands end up in Childe's hair again as he sharply gasps, brows upturning once Childe reaches down under his legs. His fingers slide over skin that is noticeably more delicate than the rest of Scaramouche's body. ]

...It doesn't matter what I did, [ he replies, breath stuttering as Childe suckles his soft sac. Scaramouche shudders and jolts his hips into the other man's awaiting mouth. It's plaintive, wanton. ] You took too long.

[ It's basically an admission that he did touch himself. ]

[ The heat that's pulsing through Scaramouche's body is familiar, but the warmth in his chest isn't. A puppet discarded by his mother upon creation struggles to understand—this. Childe's smile, the near affectionate tone he has as he pleasures his partner. Scaramouche wasn't created selfish—the opposite, rather—but he taught himself to be. And yet, he finds that he is lowering his guard and allowing Childe to see a side that he rarely ever reveals.

It's as Childe lowers his head to fit Scaramouche down to the base that Scaramouche finally, actually moans. It's a light sound, almost delicate in quality. He was modeled after a woman, so it shouldn't be a surprise, but hearing it still causes Scaramouche to flush hot in embarrassment. No matter how scathing he may try to be, Childe somehow always manages to unravel him. He can't stifle the raw emotion, his supposedly synthetic responses. Does he appear human at times like these? ]

All of me, [ Scaramouche mumbles vaguely, gasping under his breath as he rocks his hips forward. The tight, wet ring of Childe's throat is nearly overwhelming, arousal causing his balls to tense against Childe's chin. His fingers clutch lovely red hair. ] Take all of me.

[ It sounds more like a request than a command. Scaramouche shivers. ]

I—want you to swallow.

[ A hitch interrupts him, but he manages to get it out. ]

[ He can feel Childe's throat flexing around his cock and relaxing enough to slip him down further. It's an impressive feat—a testament to Childe's ability to please him, even—and so pleasurable that it immediately brings agonizing heat between Scaramouche's legs. He can then only watch as Childe manages to not only take his length, but his soft, full sac, enveloping him entirely.

Ah... [ Scaramouche gasps, lurching forward over Childe's head. The fingers already threaded in his partner's hair curl into those strands, holding Childe almost possessively to his lower body. His lashes flutter as another shudder travels through him. ] Fuck, Ajax—

[ It doesn't register that he's uttered Childe's first name. It was something he'd learned of by accident, when Childe had shared a story about one of his littlest siblings. Scaramouche had silently chosen to keep that information to himself, but—it slips out now, hinging on an emotion that's too affectionate for an inorganic being to feel.

Maybe, just maybe, it can stay a secret between them.

Soon, all it takes is that final, earnest swallow for Scaramouche to come undone. His eyes squeeze shut as he promptly unloads down Childe's throat, breathlessly whining as he does. His body is absolutely feverish. Each individual throb can be felt in his length, his sac—Childe is too fucking good at this. Scaramouche is frustrated again, but still finds himself rocking into Childe's chin, desperate for the other to taste him and his spent. ]

[ Lashes half-lidded and cheeks flushed, Scaramouche blearily gazes down at Childe. The atmosphere has changed slightly, but he's admittedly still lagging behind, caught up in the relief of his orgasm and the warmth permeating his body. It isn't until Childe leans in to kiss his hip that everything falls back into place. Scaramouche then expels a shuddery breath and promptly turns his head away.

How humiliating. To think that he lost himself enough to call Childe's actual name—it's not meant to be like this. It's too close, too personal. Their relationship shouldn't be anything more than a quick fuck. And yet, for a reason he can't explain, he crossed that boundary. ]

Forget I said it, [ Scaramouche murmurs. ] It's just something I overheard once.

[ The skin that Childe pressed his lips to seems to burn hot as a reminder. ]

[ Scaramouche's stomach flutters as Childe worries a blemish into his skin, and then he is moving again, pressing Scaramouche back until he is laying on the mattress beneath him. He doesn't move, not yet. Instead, he gazes up at Childe as the other man positions himself on top of him. ]

It should be reserved for your family.

[ This—is a soft subject. For all his villainy, Scaramouche has always been particularly kind to the elderly and children. 'Ajax' is associated with both; he still has loved ones to return to outside of the palace, little siblings that adore him. There, Childe is neither 'Childe' or 'Tartaglia', but the name his parents gave him. Would it be appropriate here? ...What a strange line of thought. It isn't like him to show vulnerability like this.

Scaramouche makes a quiet sound, tilting his chin up higher to allow Childe further access to his throat. He reaches out, too, unfastening the buttons of Childe's shirt. ]

...But, [ he continues, dragging his fingers over exposed skin, ] if you don't dislike me using it, then I can call you that.

Ajax.

[ Before Childe returns to his neck, Scaramouche does get a glimpse of him from below. His breath catches, thighs widening instinctually from the sight of Childe's stiff, erect cock, the tip nudging into him as Childe leans in closer. It's been too long—Scaramouche knows that he wants it inside him, for its length to stretch him open and fill him. A shiver travels down his spine from the mere thought of it. ]

You promised the last time we spoke. Don't disappoint me.

[ At that time, he was alone in his chambers, fingers buried inside himself as he tried to replicate Childe's touch. It hadn't been enough. Scaramouche had eventually orgasmed, but it was weaker in comparison to what Childe could give him in person. He'd said as much on the phone, too. ]

The oil is on my desk.

[ It comes out as a murmur, eyes briefly closing as Childe's teeth brush his sensitive skin. ]

[ Deft fingers tease oil into his pink rim, and then Childe applies enough pressure to sink them both inside in one fluid move. Scaramouche's expression briefly crumples as he arches his lower back, thighs falling open further in a genuine display of vulnerability, a moan that's too whiny leaving his throat. To think he has ordered countless subordinates with this voice, and now it is pulled out of him two octaves too high. The trembles that accompany it are just as embarrassing.

As for the burn... it isn't terribly unpleasant.

Being a puppet, Scaramouche's body recovers quickly. It can return to its original state after a period of time. The place between his legs, his tender hole, is just the same. He is as tight as a virgin would be—clenching, his heat irresistible. It doesn't matter that he has experienced this before; he virtually remains untouched. ]

Fuck, [ Scaramouche gasps, and he reaches out to thread his fingers through the hair on the back of Childe's head. ] D-Deeper.

[ The mouth on his neck feels pleasurable, too. However, it doesn't distract him any from the fingers slowly and carefully stretching him open. On his belly, his cock is already twitching. ]

[ With the insertion of Childe's third finger, Scaramouche reflexively clenches down on him and quivers for a long, lingering moment, panting shallowly above the other man's head. He feels full enough already, but that isn't the case at all. His partner's cock will be more than this, and Scaramouche is torn between being aroused and wary.

The best he can do is make a low sound in his throat, grinding back against those intrusive fingers in an effort to have one brush his prostate. ]

Hah, what are you saying... [ There's mild incredulity in Scaramouche's tone, but a layer of something else, too. Headier, as if Childe's proposition is getting to him. ] You would rather I be loose instead? Isn't it better for you if my body remains as it is?

[ Being, tight like a sleeve and intent on milking Childe dry. ]

Don't be, ah... stupid. I don't know where you'd find one, anyway.

I don't become frustrated, [ Scaramouche retorts, but his body responds in a needier manner. His walls quiver and tighten around Childe's fingers, and between them, his cock jumps. ] It's because you're incompetent and too slow.

[ Not really. It's a lie, an attempt at saving face.

One of his hands still retreats down to take himself in his palm. It inspires a quiet grunt, but Scaramouche gropes his cock shamelessly, tugging it enough that a sticky line of pre is squeezed from the tip. His trim hips twitch once because of it. Already, he is hard again, much faster than the recovery time a human male would have to experience. Scaramouche continues to subtly grind into Childe's fingers all the while. ]

And... ah, you're a deviant. It must excite you to violate a body like mine. [ By stretching, teasing. ] We both know I was not created for this purpose.

[ He twists his hand and swallows a moan. When he continues, Scaramouche's voice is raspy. ]

You are always intent on mouthing between my legs despite it doing nothing for you—whatever perversion this is, you're fine with it.