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“I want to see you.”
The request is little more than a hushed whisper against his lips, the tip of her nose bumping gently with his. Her fingers are bunched into the fabric of his shirt, knuckles pressed to his chest, and she’s leaning into him with the temptation to steal another kiss.
Scaramouche quirks a brow, peering at her through half-lidded eyes. Softened by the depth of her kisses, he gives in to her affectionate gestures; he tilts his head just enough to nuzzle her, brushing their noses together again.
“Yeah?” he breathes out in response, his voice rough and laced with darkened amusement.
His girlfriend doesn’t seem fazed in the slightest by his tone, despite that it teeters on belittling. She blinks at him, but her eyes betray nothing—a beautiful shade of the finest moonstone, glazed and permanently distant.
“Would you mind?”
Scaramouche hums thoughtfully, followed by a long sigh; he’s deliberately delaying his answer, if only to keep her on her toes. When her nose scrunches up irritably, rich laughter bubbles past his lips. He squeezes her waist as though to offer reassurance, using his grip to tug her a step closer.
“No,” he finally says, “I don’t mind.”
She’s nearly eye-level with him, so there’s no need for Scaramouche to bend forward to accommodate her wandering touch. Mona releases her grip on his shirt and allows her hands to slide up to his shoulders; she rests there for only a moment before dragging them up to the sides of his neck.
Mona feels his thundering pulse, and she carefully presses the pads of two fingers down against that vein as though to determine just how quickly his heart is beating for her. Her lips part to make way for a shaky exhale at the realization that he’s reacting so strongly for her.
With the gentle encouragement of his fingers rubbing circles at her hips, Mona continues her exploration. Her thumbs trace the smooth underside of his jaw, following the curve all the way up to the pierced lobes of his ears. She briefly sweeps through his hair before she finally cups his face in her hands.
Every experimental touch is made with the utmost care, her fingers trembling as she pauses after reaching an unmapped stretch of skin. She runs her fingers along the path of his cheekbones, tentatively passing over his nose.
Scaramouche watches her with an uncharacteristic fondness glimmering behind the indigo depths of his gaze, something that he’s almost grateful she’s unable to see. He can’t have anyone, not even Mona herself, knowing that he’s grown soft—and for a woman, no less.
And she pushes onward, bringing her fingers down to his mouth. Mona follows the upward curve of his lips all the way up to the dimples that dip into his cheek. Her brow furrows.
“You’re smiling,” she says flatly, as though she doesn’t believe it to be possible.
“I am,” Scaramouche confirms with a chuckle, and his grin stretches even further, crooked and mischievous; he wonders if she's able to tell that much.
Mona feels his expression change beneath her fingertips, and she takes a moment to explore at his mouth again. She touches at his lips, accidentally brushing across the teeth that are now showing, and she quickly retreats to hold his face in both of her hands once more.
She’s satisfied now, having felt all that she wanted to see.
“I didn’t think you were the kind to smile,” Mona finally tells him.
Scaramouche snorts out his annoyance, and she can't see the borderline-playful roll of his eyes that accompanies it.
“That hurts,” he teases dryly.
“I can hear it, you know." Mona absently plays with a lock of his hair as she speaks, awestruck by how soft it feels between her fingers. “In your voice. It’s never sounded genuine before.”
“Never?” Scaramouche echoes, and he curls a finger beneath her chin, directing an unseeing gaze back to his own. His breath is warm as it fans across her lips, and he contemplates kissing her once more. He hovers there, waiting for an answer his question before he strikes.
“Rarely,” she amends.
Mona has barely breathed out the word before he claims her mouth again.