Archive of Our Own

“Heard about the new intern?”

“Yea! Apparently, he’s a ginger.”

“Oh, how awful.” Scaramouche pops up between two of his gossiping coworkers, Kaeya and Mona, as he sips out of his third mug of coffee. Kaeya freezes while Mona whips her head, almost smacking Scaramouche with her obnoxious pigtails. He misses it by a sliver. The only reaction out of him is furrowed brows and a twisted mouth.

It was quite clear that they were both supposed to be doing work. Papers littered Kaeya’s desk, and a half written email was displayed across Mona’s computer screen. Instead, Mona was hunched over her office booth, listening to Kaeya’s incessant gossiping. When did he not have something to talk about?  He leans against the booth. Scaramouche won’t mind stooping to their level for some quick office gossip.

“What does the new intern have to do with meeting the deadline at the end of the week?”

Kaeya clicks his tongue, “Scara, always so diligent.”

“Don’t call me that.” 

Mona rolls her eyes and rests her face on her hand. Of course he had to be under scrutiny of two of the least reliable coworkers on his floor. It doesn’t get to him, but his eye twitches. He swirls the dark liquid in his cup before taking another sip.

“A little birdie told me that we are getting a new intern next week. And he’s quite easy on the eyes.” Both Kaeya and Mona look at each other as they giggle like high school girls. Mona snorts like a pig.

Scaramouche doesn’t share the enthusaism, “How would you know?” 

“What did I say?” Kaeya curls his lips into a smirk, “A little birdie.” 

Venti. He meant Venti.

“But it will make it all the more exciting when we see him on Monday I suppose.”

Mona pouts, “I don’t work Mondays, take a picture of him for me.”

“Will do.” Kaeya points his finger in agreement.

Scaramouche scrunches his nose, “What a bunch of creeps.”

Kaeya stifles his laugh, “Really? You aren’t even a little interested?”

Scaramouche pulls his lips to the side and squints at Kaeya. Interns come and go, but all of them were quite underwhelming. Always stumbling on their feet, carrying around stacks of papers up to their chin, and walking around with an uncomfortable, stick straight posture. Humorous at most, but not worth any of his attention. There are far better things in the world than wondering who the new intern is, but here he was, even batting an eye to their little gossip.

Kaeya returns the glare with a cocked head, “so you are?”

“Tch.” Scaramouche brings the mug back up to his lips. His words echo against the ceramic, “Not in the slightest.”

Mona rarely ever gets under Scaramouche’s skin, but she has her ways. She drums her manicured fingers against the office booth, a lazy, but completely mischievous smile adorned on her face, “You should consider looking into it. After all, he will be working under your wing.”

That is when Scaramouche almost chokes on his coffee. Kaeya and Mona should thank him for not sputtering all over their faces. At least he has class, unlike them. He holds his forearm over his mouth, grimacing under his dress shirt’s sleeve.

“Oh, that’s right,” Kaeya muses, turning back to Mona, “so we won’t even see him that much huh?”

Of course neither of them are concerned about him. 

“Why didn’t anyone tell me this?” Scaramouche finally regains his composure.

“We just did.” 

“That’s not what--” Scaramouche cuts himself off. At least this entire conversation wasn’t completely fruitless. 

In his entire career at Teyvat Inc, he had one intern, and it was a disaster. He ended up firing him after the second week. Call him harsh, but he wasn’t going to tolerate bullshit more than he had to. That should have been a sign to the higher ups to not give him any more interns to clog up his work, but apparently they had other plans.

“Either way, expect me to come visit your office more. I am dying to see him.”

“Me too!” Mona adds on.

“No, absolutely not,” Kaeya and Mona’s faces droop at his words, but he knows they won’t take them seriously. He pinches his nose bridge, “God, why in the hell would they assign this stupid intern to me?”

“I think you are being too harsh.” Mona quips. Kaeya nods along.

“Yeah, now that I think about it, there is always a little wrinkle,” Kaeya points directly at Scaramouche’s forehead, “on his pretty little forehead.”

“I have bangs.”

“Oh, but we can all see it a mile away.” Kaeya laughs. Scaramouche doesn’t. And Mona agrees with Kaeya, nodding along.

He should fire them, but god knows what trouble it is finding some competent people. Scaramouche brings his mug back up to his lips, only to see a droplet left in the cup. Fuck, he needs more.

“You need to let loose a little, boss,” The condescending tone in Kaeya’s words tells him this comes from anywhere but a place of concern, “pick up a hobby. Take a few days off. Lay on the nice coasts of Liyue with a martini.”

“Oo, I do love a martini.” Mona squeals. Pfft, as if she gets paid enough to enjoy one. If Scaramouche could, he definitely would rob Mona a hundred dollars off her paycheck.

“Can’t exactly do that now that I have some intern on my ass.”

Mona snorts, “So you really don’t have any hobbies?”

“Better than your fake astrology shit, sure.” Scaramouche shrugs. Mona gasps, but before she could retort, Kaeya speaks up. He holds up a finger as if to add some suspense.

“Perhaps the boss doesn’t want us to delve into his secrets.”

“Oh. . . oh .” Mona and Kaeya share a brain cell as a Chesire grin takes over their faces. As for what they were thinking, Scaramouche had no clue. What he did know was that he wasn’t going to tolerate this any longer, and he didn’t like how light his coffee mug was at that very moment.

“I need more coffee.” Scaramouche turns on his heel to walk away.

Kaeya bursts out laughing, “so there is something.”

“No,” Scaramouche twists his head. Kaeya always has to be a little bitch , “but you two are getting on my nerves and I have to file some things before clocking out. Get back to work.”

“Oh, you’re no fun,” He could hear the sorry pout in Kaeya’s voice, “but you know what they say, everyone has their secrets, right?”

Their laughs mock him as he walks away. Screw them , he thinks. He grips his coffee mug harder as he stomps back to his office. 

-

He ends up not firing Kaeya and Mona. 

Despite the burden of raising another intern weighing down on him, he can’t help but feel anticipation bubbling up inside as Monday edges by. Having some clueless intern tail him as he does his work; how unnerving. Even the peace of his apartment isn’t enough to provide him solace. He will definitely need a lot more coffee.

Sunday night, Scaramouche spins on his chair, scrolling through his computer aimlessly. Honestly, he was looking for anything that could get him off. To ease the nerves. A hand cups around his mouth as he looks through the first porn site that came up from his search. 

Obscene ads play on mute on the screen. Scaramouche gives it a glance before contorting his face into disgust. Seriously, who does this appeal to? Scaramouche wasn’t exactly in the position to judge though.

He doesn’t have time to be picky, and he was about to click on some random video until a thumbnail caught his eye. 

What do we have here? Scaramouche hovers his mouse over the video. 

The video shows mute clips of a guy in a red mask jerking off with a fleshlight. Nothing too special, except for his chiseled abs. 

Without much thought, he clicks on it. He slides his pants down as the video renders.

At first, white noise is the only thing that can be heard. Then, some guy walks into frame. With the camera perched up, the guy sits down on the bed in front of it with a sigh. Damn, it must be that hard being that hot.

Scaramouche bites his lips as the guy starts to take off his shirt. He doesn’t know how he misses it from the thumbnail, but staring at him were sterling silver nipple piercings. 

He tosses the shirt across the room, and veiny hands palm over the long dickprint under his grey sweatpants. Oh, how badly Scaramouche wants to tear it off and run his tongue along his length; it looks so big. It would likely weigh down in his mouth and hit the back of his throat. 

His hand runs up and down his own dick, but god knows how much he wants that dick inside of him. It would likely break him. 

A deep groan fills his ears. Scaramouche sinks lower in his chair as he watches the masked actor finally slide his sweatpants out. He gasps; he didn’t even know he was holding his breath the entire time. His hands move faster at the sight of his cock-- it was so thick, oh it would definitely fill Scaramouche up to the brim .

In the video, he lubes up his cock while the other hand holds a clear fleshlight. He moans with the languid motions around his dick. The sound of the lube squelching continues to funnel dirty thoughts in his mind. 

He knew for a fact that his body paled in comparison to this guy. Oh-- precum leaks out of his dick at the thought. This guy could easily pick him up and fuck him in the air, fold him, force him on his knees. Fuck, he was so tired of bossing people around all day; he needs a good fucking so bad. Someone to command him around instead, make him feel like a slut . Sweat starts to burn up on his face, and a familiar burn reddens his cheeks.

“ Fuck . . .” His voice was so deep too. 

Scaramouche whimpers. The video barely started and he was already in heat, eye-fucking this faceless guy.

The guy finally starts fucking into the fleshlight, giving deep thrusts. The fleshlight expands with each thrust, practically squeezing out hot, husky moans. Scaramouche entertains the thought of it being him yet again-- being fucked open with a cock like that. His thick hands would wrap around his waist just as easily as it does around that fleshlight. He could slide him up and down his cock. Easily pick him up and slam him down as hard and as fast as he wants . He would take all of it, he would do anything to submit to some dick like that.

When he speeds up his thrusts, Scaramouche doesn’t even hold back the shame anymore. His brain was completely shrouded with sex and hoarse groans. He moans, letting it slip from his mouth. It is exactly how he would sound if he were to get fucked like that fleshlight. God is he getting jealous of a fleshlight? 

The masked actor lets out an airy laugh when he pulls out and completely misses the fleshlight. Everything this guy was, to the voice to the abs to the dick, was complete sex . When he pushes his cock back in, the tip of it pokes out from the fleshlight. Either he was that big, or that fleshlight was too small. He was going to tear that poor fleshlight apart; oh how he wishes that was him.

Scaramouche speeds up his hands, panting and whimpering. 

“Fuck-- I’m gonna cum, gonna cum--” His voice rings out from the computer. 

He sounds so hot even when he’s desperate to cum. Scaramouche keens as he feels his orgasm building up. Mindlessly, he starts to suck on his other fingers. The taste of salty skin envelops his taste buds. He couldn’t care about that though, he just wants to feel used. He shoves his fingers deeper in his mouth. Saliva spills from between his fingers and lips, sliding down his chin. The grosser, the better.

The guy’s hips stutter, before cumming on the camera. It was pathetic how fast Scaramouche came at the sight of it. He imagines that cum splatters on his face, painting it with white and shame. Even then, Scaramouche would flaunt it if it meant that he would be a good boy to him. 

His fingers, sodden with slimy saliva, finally leaves his mouth. The mess under his chin felt so liberating. Sticky bangs pressed against his forehead, and cum coated his sweater. The back of his thighs stuck on to the leather of his chair. If not for that, he would have probably crumbled to the floor from the intense ecstasy that overcame him. 

Once the video ends, he is met with a collage of other videos from the same creator. 

Fuck. He was gonna go another round.

-

Scaramouche severely doubted how indulgent of a person he could be. He doesn’t remember how long he sat in that chair, but eventually he did go to sleep. Probably the best sleep in his entire life, and the only thing ruining it was the fact that he had to get up early the next morning.

Except, he doesn’t. 

“ Shit, shit, shit !” Scaramouche repeats to himself, running out of his apartment and to his car. His tie was loosely done, his dress shirt desperately needed to be ironed, and his buttons were sure not fitted with the right holes. It didn’t matter, he could fix them when he got to work.

If he got into a car crash, then at least he wouldn’t have to deal with nagging from. . . her .

He dodges a few potential accidents by the time he makes it to Teyvat Inc. He didn’t even have his morning coffee. Fuck Mondays.

The people in the front don’t acknowledge his disparaged state as he entered the elevator. There was a slump in his hurried pace. If he bothered to check his watch, it would probably make him feel more antsy. Whatever, at least he can spend the next minute in the elevator by himself--

“Oh, wait up!”

Scaramouche doesn’t even put his foot through the elevator door to stop it from closing, but some lanky guy manages to catch up and slip through the crack. 

Great Scaramouche thought, Just what I needed.

He shuffles his foot to the side of the elevator to keep a modest space between him and the stranger. The stranger gives a small thanks.

“Where are you headed?” The stranger pants.

“Floor eleven.” Scaramouche averts his gaze to the shiny metallic wall of the elevator. His blurred reflection stares back at him. It was so pitiful .

“Oh, me too!” The stranger smiles and presses the eleventh button with his knuckle. The door closes, and the elevator starts to play a jingle as it ascends up. 

Scaramouche keeps his eyes ahead. Most times, it's enough to indicate that he hates talking. In general though, he hates elevator trips with other people. Some people act like the silence is choking, making them sputter some quick ice breaker to make up for it. Even if they didn’t talk, Scaramouche wouldn’t be able to stay in his thoughts alone in peace without the aura of the person next to him bothering him. The way people breathe in an elevator can be so annoying.

“So. . .” Oh, here he goes. Scaramouche rolls his eyes and lays his head against the elevator wall, “what are you here for?”

Tch. He says that as if this was prison. In a way, it was. 

“I work here.”

“Oh sweet,” Who in the world is this peppy on a Monday morning? “Today is my first day. My name is Childe by the way.”

From the corner of his eye, he can see a hand come up, open, expecting a handshake. Scaramouche balls his hand in a fist before reluctantly shaking his hand back. Maybe that would be enough to keep him at bay.

“What’s your name?”

Scaramouche wants to slide down the wall. He sighs, and he hopes it sounds annoyed enough to give him the hint that he doesn’t want to talk, “Scaramouche.”

“Scaramouche. . .” Childe sounds it out, getting a good feel for the name on his tongue. Scaramouche twists his face.

“Ah, wait a minute! Aren’t you supposed to be my mentor? Yeah! Scaramouche!”

Scaramouche instantly shoots his head toward Childe. When his eyes meet his chest, he tilts his head up. Ginger hair, blue eyes, and sporting an obnoxious smile. 

This guy was the intern? Easy on the eyes-- bullshit. Scaramouche coughs up a curt laugh.

“That’s boss to you.” The lack of coffee in his system was getting to him. 

“Oh!” Childe bows his head, “Sorry boss. But it will be nice to work with you! I heard about your credentials.”

Childe continues to ramble all the way until the elevator dings. Even when the elevator opens and Scaramouche walks out, Childe tails behind him, talking up a storm. Eyes follow them as Scaramouche stalks toward his office. On his way, his eyes meet Kaeya’s. At least, one of them. Kaeya’s eye pinch at the corner, and Scaramouche could tell how utterly entertained he was. He grits his teeth before turning his head back to his path, making a beeline to his office.

When Scaramouche and Childe finally reach his office, he slams the door, and for some reason, that was the only thing to shut Childe up. Not the annoyed expression, or the deep sighs, or the short, cutthroat responses. The metallic window blinds shake from the impact, and papers fly off his desk from the wind fanned out by the door. Scaramouche tosses his briefcase onto the desk.

Fuck Scaramouche leans over his desk, bowing his head. He closes his eyes. For a second, he imagines a world without work. A world without some nagging ginger behind him.

“Ah, so we are going straight to work huh?”

Scaramouche whips his head around. He balls his hands into fists, yet Childe still smiles at him. He stood there with his hands around his own little briefcase, ready for orders. 

“ You ,” Scaramouche starts. He raises an accusatory finger up, slowly walking towards Childe with death in his eyes. Childe leans back, but doesn’t move. 

Scaramouche curls his lips and right before he could even spit the most heinous insult in his life, he pauses. The divine knew to hold him back here, to grace him with one more ounce of patience. He drops his hand and sighs, albeit a painful one of defeat, “make me my coffee. Black coffee.”

“Oh, sure, uh,” Childe looks down at his own case, “where do I put--”

Scaramouche just points to the file cabinet with a sigh.

-

There was a knock on his door. Scaramouche doesn’t even look up, staring down at piles of paperwork that managed to accumulate on his desk over the weekend. The door still opens, and Kaeya’s head pops in.

“Oh, where is the pretty boy?”

Scaramouche shrugs, “Somewhere. Told him to make me my coffee and he still hasn’t came ba--” 

He drags his hand down his face and balls his other hand up just as he feels himself about to explode. He takes a deep sigh and doesn’t bother on finishing that sentence. 

“Aw, was really hoping to take a picture,” Kaeya strides into his office and makes himself rather comfy on his desk.

“Well you won’t find him here.”

“Hm, I guess,” Kaeya leans over and scans the paper Scaramouche was reading, “Oh, quite the pile you got here.”

Scaramouche just leans back in his chair. These papers were going to take all day to go through; it doesn’t matter if he took five minutes to rant to Kaeya. The chair rocks underneath Scaramouche’s impact, “God, I am so tired.”

“When are you not?”

Scaramouche scowls at Kaeya, “I woke up late, almost crashed into a pedestrian and a Volvo, and just as I was about to get my minute of peace in the elevator, that fucking intern had to come in and ruin it all.”

Kaeya snickers, “it might be all that coffee you've been drinking.”

“Oh shut it.” Scaramouche leans forward and buries his face in his arms. 

“But seriously, if you want, I can stall the guy so you can have some peace.” Kaeya sits up from the desk. Scaramouche can feel Kaeya running his hand up and down his back. He hates to admit how nice it felt. His arms shielding his head on the desk traps the hot air of his sigh. Some excuse of a sauna.

“No, it’s fine. I got it.” Scaramouche brings one hand to wave off Kaeya’s suggestion, before it falls back down on the desk with a thud. 

Eventually, he will have to tolerate the guy. 

Scaramouche sighs, “Do you know how long this internship is?”

“Uh, same as all of the internships, like around a year--”

Scaramouche doesn’t let him finish that sentence. He just groans. A year of that? Work was not a safe space nor a second place to call home; far from it. However if he had to keep up with that everyday for work, he might just combust.

He lifts his head up when he hears a knock at the door. Despite not saying anything, Childe still opens the door, a mug of coffee in his hands and another stack of paper. He slams his head back down on the desk, “ Ugh .”

“Here boss, I got your coffee, and some woman named Yae told me to give these to you.”

The delightful sound of the mug being placed on the desk is quickly overrun with the fat stack of papers being slapped down. 

“Ah, so you must be the new boy around here. Name’s Kaeya.” 

“Nice to meet you Kaeya, just call me Childe.”

Scaramouche can hear Kaeya hum with amusement, “Childe hm? Like ‘child’? Like a kid, right?”

Childe laughs, “yeah, but with an ‘e’ at the end.”

“What an interesting name.” Pfft, Scaramouche begs to differ.

“But welcome to Teyvat Inc.” Kaeya pats him on the back, “So, uh, we have this tradition of taking pictures with our new interns and I was just wondering, do you want a picture?”

“Oh, yeah, sure!”

Cue Kaeya taking several candid photos of Childe posed next to the door. Kaeya even lowers himself on the floor for a better angle. Scaramouche lifts his head up to take a sip of his coffee. He smacks his lips at the taste. Could be worse.

“Okay Kaeya, that’s enough.” Scaramouche drones. After a few more clicks of his phone, Kaeya seems satisfied.

“Gotcha boss,” Kaeya turns to Childe and places a hand on his shoulder, “don’t give him too much trouble now. Because then we”, Kaeya motions his hand to the people outside his office, “gotta deal with it.” 

“Yeah, no problem!” Oh, but it certainly will.

Kaeya finally leaves, leaving Scaramouche and Childe all alone in his office. Scaramouche doesn’t even acknowledge him within the first minute. He takes turns sipping his coffee and flipping through the stacks of paper on his desk to gauge what was the agenda for today. Childe just drums his fingers on the desk.

“So--”

“Shut it.” Scaramouche doesn’t even give Childe any time to speak. He grabs the stacks of papers that Yae handed him and starts flipping through them.

Curse that woman. 

All of it has to do with the directives of the internship as well as intern outcomes and goals that Childe was supposed to fulfill. He supposes he can start with that. Give Childe some shit to do.

“Ok. . .” Scaramouche rubs his eyes and holds up the paper, reading the introduction speech in a bored tone, “Today is your first day at Teyvat Inc. Say yay.”

“Uh. . . yay?”

Scaramouche tips his chin, “good. We hope you enjoy your internship here and that this opportunity will entrust you with important values that will carry on with you in life, leading you to success and prosperity.”

“You know, you don’t have to read all of that. We can just start.”

Scaramouche slaps the paper down, “It’s policy.”

“Well I won’t mind if you cut a few corners here and there-- it’s fine!” Childe insists. He even leans back in his chair and brings his ankle up to his knee.

Oh, now he notices how pissed he is. He doesn’t comment on the rather informal sitting position. However, Scaramouche yields. The entire introductory speech took up a page; he just wanted Childe to get off his ass and do something. He flips through the papers and finds something of substance.

“Ok, here.” He takes the paper and slides it over to Childe, “Today you will be focused on creating your account for Teyvat Inc.”

-

Scaramouche makes Childe do a few more trips for his coffee. At some point, he gets up to make his own coffee because god, did the guy suck at making equal proportions of water and coffee beans. He should fire him for that alone.

Scaramouche lingers in the break room for a little longer than he needed to. He knew that if he came back, Childe would be badgering him with questions and asking him about his life. 

“Ah, Kuni, didn’t know you would be in here.”

Shit . Scaramouche grips onto his coffee mug a little tighter as he turns to face Yae. Her natural pink hair was pulled up into a ponytail, save for the short layers in the front of her face. Her stature towered over him in those expensive heels, and the shoulder pads in her blazer made her seem all the more intimidating. He pushes his shoulders back and clears his throat.

Her . The one that fucked his mom.

“How’s the new intern?” She hugged a clipboard to her chest, while tapping a pen on her curved lips. 

Scaramouche had to pick his words wisely here. Ever since he learned about her and his mom’s affair, she had been holding it over his head. Not only was she his boss, but also technically, his step mother. If he even let out a peep of his own irritation, she would be sure to drive him insane.

He shrugs, “he’s okay.”

“Mhm,” Yae doesn’t believe it for a second, “it’s been two years since you picked up an internship. I am surprised you didn’t come up to H.R. and demand a switch.”

“Tch, well it’s not like they would have given me many options. Perhaps they were tired of incompetent people training the newbies.”

He pats himself on the back for that one.

Yae squeals, “Oh that’s funny Kuni. I’ll tell that joke to your mother later.”

Any reassurance that he had instantly deflates as Yae’s sharp voice punctures it with another cackle. 

“Well, just to update you, we have a company party coming up-- ah, ah, ah, I know, I know,” Yae holds up the hand with the clipboard to prevent Scaramouche’s protests. Scaramouche has to manually prevent his eyes from not rolling to the back of his skull to look her straight in the eye, “You aren’t a ‘fan’ of these parties. But we would really enjoy it if you came.”

Scaramouche scoffs, “if I wanted to get wasted I would just stay home.”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Yae taps Scaramouche’s nose with her pen with each ‘tsk’, “that is not how you accept an invite, now is it?”

Perhaps he should have stayed locked up in his office with Childe.

“You will be joining us. Besides, they are lots of fun. Kaeya and Mona will be there.”

“Like that's supposed to convince me.” Scaramouche averts his eyes to take a sip of his coffee. Sheesh, her eyes were so unnerving.

Yae shrugs, “well I don’t know which way you swing. I suppose it had to be one of them.”

Scaramouche parts his lips away from his coffee cup and scrunches his face. Suddenly his coffee tasted sour. Leave it to Yae to ruin everything.

“In any case, Childe will also be there and as his mentor, perhaps you can show him the ropes of a standard company party.”

Scaramouche groans. That makes it even worse, “Do I have to show him everything? The dude is an adult. He knows how to navigate himself. Just let Kaeya do it.”

“Kaeya isn’t his mentor, you are. I thought you weren’t like the rest of your ‘incompetent’ coworkers, hm?” Yae lifts her chin up and narrows her eyes down at Scaramouche. When he doesn’t say anything, she laughs behind her clipboard, “I’ll see you then, Kuni.”

-

“So boss, what do you like to do in your spare time?”

The day was coming to an end. The sky was growing dark, and the city was starting to light up with speckles from the windows of the skyscrapers. Teyvat Inc. being one of them. All the tension in his shoulders was killing him.

Scaramouche ignores the redhead’s question as he flips through his files that he had Childe organize. 

“One of my favorite things is to go ice fishing. Makes me miss Snezhnaya.” Childe drawls.

“Then why didn’t you just stay there?” Scaramouche says through gritted teeth as he opens up two manila folders. 

Childe seemed to take it as genuine curiosity, “I am a adventurer at heart. Though one day I do plan to settle down and this internship was too good to pass up. Nice pay and everything.”

“Everything?” He snorts. Yeah, just some flimsy excuse to kiss up to the higher ups. Whatever ‘everything’ could be has to be complete bullshit. Working here was perhaps one of Scaramouche’s worst decisions. He was likely living in the worst alternate timeline; the one where he ended up making all the wrong choices and is now subjected to the sad, monotonous nine to five work lifestyle. 

The world should thank him for not becoming a villain. 

“Yeah. Nice pay. Pretty area. Cool coworkers. A cute boss. ”

Scaramouche freezes. Oh, ho, ho, ho, this is not happening. He pretends he doesn’t hear that as he closes the two folders and shoves them back in his briefcase, “you misplaced two of my records. How you managed to confuse my clients’ names is beyond me.”

Childe quirks his eyebrow up, “oh, my apologies.”

“ My apologies , tch,” Scaramouche mocks Childe; who says ‘my apologies’ nowadays? This isn’t Mondstadt in the 1500s, “only your first day here and you already showed me that you fail at comprehension skills and how to make the most basic coffee.”

So much for relieving stress. He was going to watch ten times the amount of videos he watched last night just to make it up to himself. He clicks his briefcase shut.

“If I wasn’t getting paid extra, then I would have kicked your ass to the curb. Don’t make me say it again.” 

If he wasn’t going to kick him out, he was going to make Childe leave through his own free will. Scaramouche will make Childe eat his words. 

However, instead of cowering under his gaze, Childe leans in. Scaramouche feels his eyes read his body, his stiff posture, and his deep sunken eyes. He stands his ground, but his mind wavered under Childe’s look. Throughout all of that, he just whispers, “Okay, boss .”

For fucks sake. He calls Childe a ‘bitch’ before leaving him in the office. He wasn’t going to let Childe join him on his elevator ride again.

-

Scaramouche lays on his bed as he pulls up his laptop. This time, he was going all out. He took a shower and ate his dinner an hour early. He wasn’t going to oversleep again, but he definitely needed this.

He looks up the user “tarta_glia11”, the guy that he had jerked off to last night. The dude had a lot of videos. It was like staring at a menu; so many options to choose from. Scaramouche bites his lips as he clicks on the one of him jerking off in the shower. He takes off his robe as the video starts.

The shower was running in the background. Again, tarta_glia11 shows up in a mask. This time, no piercings. Scaramouche lets out a pout; they really were nice. 

He takes his sweet time peeling off his clothes. His tight t-shirt clung to his body, and he didn’t even try to hide the dickprint from his sweatpants. Underneath all of those clothes was a lean body, and big, muscular thighs. Scaramouche wanted to be in between them so badly. Either to  choke him and crush his head, or to suck his cock. He wouldn’t know what to choose.

This time, he decides to prep himself. With lubed fingers, he pushes one finger over his entrance first. He whines when his hole doesn’t open up to the first one. If he can’t even finger himself, then how will he be able to take some dick? With a little more force, he pushes his finger in. He won’t lie; this was his first time. And he couldn’t believe it was, because once he found his prostate, he buries his cheek deeper into his pillow, trying to bite back a disgustingly erotic moan. 

The masked actor steps in the shower, and the water cascades over his body. The water creates a sheen of shine, emphasizing every mound of his muscles. 

Scaramouche’s eyes flutter as he continues to open himself up, adding another finger. Oh god, those hands. Imagine those hands all over his body, cupping over his ass, slipping inside his mouth, fingering him open. Taking him apart, just one hole at a time.

Soap froths up around his cock as he jerks his dick in the shower. Water splashes out from the shower but that was the last thing on the dude’s mind. He had a show to create. Scaramouche rocks his hips back against his fingers. Would he be just as messy as he is now if he had all the power over Scaramouche’s body?

Scaramouche would let him do anything-- yes he is fantasizing about this faceless pornstar, but fuck did it feel amazing . Every touch on his own body amplified at the thought of tarta_glia11 doing it to him. It was addicting .

Finally he has three fingers scissoring him open. He pushes his fingers in deep, rocking his body against the mattress. Shameless moans pool out of his lips as the fuzzy feeling takes over his mind. This wasn’t even a fraction of what a man could do to him, yet here he was losing his mind over three small fingers. Crisp tingles of arousal sparked on the inside of his thighs, yearning for touch and satisfaction. 

The actor’s deep groans echoed within the shower walls, and into Scaramouche’s mind. The actor throws his head back, running his hair with his other hand. His red hair had deepened into a dark reddish brown thanks to the water. It was so sinful. 

Scaramouche could feel himself about to cum; he never came with just his fingers before. Yet he could tell it was about to rapture his mind. Scaramouche thrusts his fingers in and out, speeding it up to a mind-numbing pace. His eyes roll to the back of his head, and all he can hear are those loud groans coming from his laptop, and the lube squelching around his fingers and hole.

Oh yes, holy shit, yes! Scaramouche’s hips still before the orgasm willed his body to arch his body, pleasure taking over his entire body. Incoherent words babbled from his mouth; he didn’t know what he was saying. Nothing made sense except for how good it all felt, and how Scaramouche needed to give himself up to it before it ebbed away. This was it, this was everything Scaramouche wanted. He didn't want to stop, god no. He wanted to keep going.

His eyes slowly opened to the sight of tarta_glia11 also reaching his climax. How delicious his cum looked, spurting from his cock. He imagined being under him, mouth wide open as he let him spill into his mouth. He would swallow every drop.

In his mind, tarta_glia11 doesn’t see him as some nagging boss who drinks too much coffee. Instead, he sees him as an insatiable slut. Even then, he would take his time, running his hands over his body, make him feel loved and special, before using his body for his own selfish pleasure. He keens as that very thought ripples in his mind, sending shocks of pleasure throughout. Tidal waves of dirty thoughts push all sound reason out of his brain, and all he can do is drown in it.

Safe to say, he spends another indulgent night alone.

-

For the next couple weeks, that is all Scaramouche does. Almost every day, he comes home from work just to touch himself for hours on end. It didn’t even matter that his body was growing used to it; it just meant he had to work a little harder.

And he had to, because god forbid Childe ever try to make his day easy for him.

Childe eventually learns how he likes his coffee. It’s not an exceptional skill, but it makes trips to the break room and run-ins with Yae less frequent. Childe doesn’t mix up files as much anymore, but he asks so many questions that he honestly rather him fuck up and he fix it himself, than have to twist his head every second to fix all of Childe’s mistakes.

“Hey, are you going to the company party this weekend?”

“What does this have to do with work?” He doesn’t lift his gaze from his work.

Childe perches his elbows on the desk and cups his own face in his hand, “just curious if my favorite boss is gonna be there.”

The pencil in his hand surprisingly did not snap in half, “I am your only boss.”

“Not really. Yae is your boss, and the boss of your boss, is also your boss. Wouldn’t you say the CEO of Teyvat Inc. is your boss as well?”

Scaramouche furrows his eyebrows together. Childe really was a child. He grabs some papers on his desk-- he doesn’t know what the hell is on it-- and slaps it in front of Childe, “go sort these out, will you?”

“You still haven’t answered my question, boss.”

“You don’t need to say boss every time.”

“Okay, what about my question, hm?” Childe presses on. He slides the papers off to the side.

Scaramouche grits through his teeth, “Which one?”

“The company party, of course. Are you going?”

Scaramouche feels a headache coming on. He reaches for his mug only to see that a shallow pool of it was all that was left. He grimaces, “go fill my mug up.”

“Okay, you already drank so much coffee, so no, and can you please stop changing the subject?”

“And you ask too many goddamn questions,” Scaramouche snaps. The fact that Childe even took him as someone who would partake in idle chit-chat angered him. He lurches across the table, holding up a condescending finger. He could poke Childe’s eye out if he wanted to. His voice quivered as he bit each word out, “I told you to sort those papers. You can’t even do that. Then I tell you to fix me another cup of coffee, and you also can’t do that. What can you do? Also another rule: don’t tell me what to do.”

His hand was shaking from the amount of rage boiling within him. Did Childe have anything better to do than throw the worst flirts his way and be an absolute nuisance? He did actually, but that didn’t matter apparently. Whatever he expected his intern to be like, Childe had completely underwhelmed and ruined his expectations by a tenfold. Childe flicks his eye between him and his finger-- it was really tempting to stab his eye. 

“Well then,” Childe pushes himself up from his chair, overshadowing Scaramouche’s figure. He sucks on his teeth, “I will get that cup ready for you.”

Childe rolls up his sleeves, and grabs the mug from the desk. Scaramouche, in all his anger, takes one glance down at his arm. If Childe noticed the gulp from his boss, he doesn’t mention it. Childe strides out of the office before Scaramouche could sink in his chair and run his hands through his hair, and down his face.

Childe had really nice arms.

Before he could revel in the small amount of peace granted to him, Mona and Kaeya peek their heads in. He groans and swivels his chair to face the window. 

“Hey boss, what happened here?”

Leave it to those two to eavesdrop on everything. He purses his lips and leans his temple on his fingers, massaging it to ease the migraine that was sure to come. 

“He’s way hotter in person.” Mona comments. 

Kaeya snorts, “I know right.”

Everything and everyone around him reminds him of Childe. Taunting him over the fact that he is going to be stuck with him for a year. His coworkers, his boss and stepmother, his own office, the papers, and even his fucking coffee. He presses the heel of his palm deep into his eye sockets until all he can see is a bunch of swirly, muted colors. 

“You think he will be at the party?”

“Oh definitely.”

“My lord,” Scaramouche drops his hands on his armrest and groans, “why does everyone talk about him and that goddamn company party?”

Kaeya rounds the desk and spins Scaramouche’s chair back toward the desk, while Mona sits  on the edge. He was getting cornered, wasn’t he?

“It’s because they are fun! Don’t you like spending time with us?” Mona pats the desk as if to make a point. Scaramouche knows that Mona only likes them because of the free booze. Cheapskate. He also knows Kaeya only goes because Albedo goes, and Albedo only goes because of Mona. The only person to entertain her stupid star shit.

“Fun my ass.”

“Well you've never been to one before.” 

“I have once,” Scaramouche corrects, “and it was so horrendous.”

It was hell on earth; loud, drunk coworkers, stupid card games, and a whole lot of bargaining on who had to pay for it all. 

And the reason why Mona likely didn’t see Scaramouche was because he was passed out under the table. Apparently no one bothered to check for him and just left. He only remembers being shook awake by the burly owner of the bar telling him to get his ass up.

“Ah, well if the boss doesn’t want to go, then let’s not pressure him,” Kaeya pats his shoulders, “right?”

“Thank you.” Scaramouche mutters. 

Mona crosses her arms and sighs, “he gets it his way all the time. What a whiny baby.”

“I don’t, because if I did, then your ass wouldn’t be here in the first place. Also button your shirt,” Scaramouche wrinkles his nose at the sight, “you are violating the dress code.”

Mona lets out a “tch,” but complies. 

“So. Thoughts on the intern so far?” Kaeya leans on his hand perched on the desk.

“Childe? God, he’s shit.” Childe would likely come back any moment now (with some subpar coffee and a story about seeing Yae up his sleeve), but if he walked in on Scaramouche dragging his name through the mud, he wouldn’t care. He needed to hear it anyway.

“Aren’t you supposed to train him so he isn’t shit? Maybe you’re. . .” Mona’s words taper off as Scaramouche squints his eyes at her. Instead of finishing that thought, she squeaks.

“It’s been several days. He should know the gist of everything by now.”

Kaeya raises a brow, “So then what has he been doing this entire time?” 

Doing a terrible job at organizing files. Telling him unnecessary information about his family and Snezhnaya. Talking about his run-ins with Yae. Asking him questions that have nothing to do with the job.

Flirting with him.

He leaves that part out in reciting just about all the things Childe does that makes Scaramouche go insane. If Kaeya and Mona ever got word of that he will never hear the end of it.  

“Right. So he's basically like every intern ever.” Humor tugs Mona’s lips up into a smirk. She throws a glance to Kaeya and Kaeya snorts. They were both in on it; making him feel like absolute shit.  

Kaeya nudges him, “Cut him some slack, won’t ya, boss?” 

“Ok, you don’t understand because you're not the one training him— also goddammit, where’s my coffee?”

“Right here boss!”

All heads whip toward the door to see Childe holding Scaramouche’s mug, as well as a stack of papers. Despite the hefty load, not a wrinkle of struggle laid upon Childe’s cheerful face. Mona could hardly contain her excitement.

“Cougar.” Scaramouche deadpanned Mona.

“Stop it.” Mona mouths, keeping her act together in front of Childe.

Childe drops the stack of papers on the only free space on the table and hands Scaramouche his mug. He mutters a thanks before taking a sip.

“Ah, you must be Childe!” Mona brings up her hand for a handshake. 

Childe takes it, “yup! And you are. . .” he squinted at the nametag on her chest (thank god Scaramouche reminded her to button her shirt), “Mona Megistus?”

“Oh, just call me Mona.”

“Mona. . . and Kaeya,” Childe bounces his eyes between the two before his eyes widen, “Both of your names end with an ‘a’!”

What type of revelation was that?

“Oh, I guess we do have more in common than we thought, Mona.” And for some reason, Kaeya seemed shocked by such a discovery. 

Mona nods with Kaeya before being taken over by a sudden gasp, “Wait, Childe, what is your astrology sign?”

Now this? Scaramouche slams his mug on to the desk like it was a kabble in a courtroom. He leaned his head on his hand, “Can you guys please move this outside?” 

For a second, Scaramouche believes that this whole exchange will finally leave him alone. Kaeya gives Scaramouche one last pat, “Alright, alright. Well I guess--”

“Wait. I just realized. . . Scaramouche. . . Childe. . . our names end with an ‘e’! And a silent one too!” Childe snaps his fingers and points toward Scaramouche. It doesn’t cue any sort of reaction out of him. 

“Oh my gosh!” Mona squeals. Even Kaeya, who was about to leave, seems shocked by this other epiphany.

“I told you, it’s boss.” Scaramouche corrects, staring daggers at Childe. 

“Didn’t you say I don’t need to say boss all the time?”

“That doesn’t mean to call me by my name. Now,” Scaramouche lifts himself up from his chair using the desk as support, “please leave. I have a lot of work to do.”

Eventually, after a few short exchanges with Childe, Kaeya and Mona do end up leaving. Mona remembers to stick her head out the door to give Childe an extra goodbye before being dragged away by Kaeya. Scaramouche drops back into his chair and runs his hand through his hair again. His bangs flop back on to his forehead. 

“I like them.” Childe comments as he sits on the chair across from Scaramouche. 

Now imagine that: Childe joining forces with Kaeya and Mona. That might actually be smart if they wanted to take Scaramouche down. Aside from that, Scaramouche guesses that those two do have their charms, no matter how infuriating and lazy they can be.

Scaramouche shrugs, “they can be neat.”

For a while, both of them managed to get their work done. The desk got organized, Childe went through the other binders and folders on his desk and labeled them accordingly, and Scaramouche managed to get a good portion of his work done. Perhaps having Childe around wasn’t so bad.

“. . .But I like you too.”

Or not.

Scaramouche side-eyes him, “what?”

“Sorry, I just didn’t want to make you feel left out.” Childe chuckles as if finally realizing how awkward it was, “Kaeya and Mona are cool, but I like you as well.” 

Scaramouche doesn’t know whether he should feel touched or disturbed. After having his cup of coffee and a solid portion of his work done, he can’t bring himself to be completely irate. It would have taken a lot of energy out of him anyways. 

“Thanks. . .” He says slowly. The icky taste of gratitude on his tongue sours his facial expression. Childe leans in to take a good look at his face. His lips curve from seeing Scaramouche’s quizzical face, but it was far from mischievous like Kaeya’s or Mona’s. 

Almost endearing.

The gaze lasts a second too long for his liking. Scaramouche’s eyes darted between the blinking red dot of the camera in the corner of the ceiling, and Childe’s blue eyes. Do you see this shit?

Finally, Childe leans back and smiles, “So, will I see you this weekend?” 

He knows that he was talking about the party, but the way he said it sounded like he was asking him out. If that was intentional, then gross. Scaramouche snorts at the notion; as if saying a few nice words would be enough to sway him. 

“In your dreams.”

-

So he went to the party.

This time though, he won’t get drunk. He promises himself that he won’t lay a single finger on any drink. Rarely ever did peer pressure ever get to him. 

That is, until Yae had to get involved.

“C’mon Kuni, one glass.” Yae pours a bottle into a cup and slides it to him across the table. 

Other coworkers fill the room, their rambles mixing in the air into incoherent white noise. Kaeya, Mona, and Albedo were in their own world while Scaramouche was being pressured into drinking. He sighs.

“No thank you, I gotta drive home tonight.” He slides the cup away.

Yae tilts her head and slides it back, “no can do, it has been a long time since you have joined us. Relax and take a sip.”

Maybe this entire company party was just a trap to lure him to get into a drunk car accident. With the way Yae looked at him, the possibility was definitely there. When Scaramouche refuses again, Yae presses harder.

“It is Inazuman custom to accept a drink from an elder, no?” Her words are polite, but the narrowed eyes and oncoming sneer tells him a lot more. 

He laces his fingers and places it just below his chin, “Hmph, well you certainly are a hag.” 

“Do I need to tell your mother how much you have been misbehaving under my watch?”

Scaramouche takes the glass and gulps it. He scrunches his face at the bitter burn on his tongue, but he still swallows. Must she always win everything? Yae smiles and heads off to a different table.

“Nice to see you make it boss.” Kaeya holds his own bottle up as a toast. Albedo just nods at his presence while Mona urges him to bring his chair closer to their group.

Instead of his business suit, he came in black turtleneck and jeans. Having his coworkers see him in such casual wear felt invasive to the invisible bubble he created between them. They weren’t supposed to exist outside Teyvat Inc. in his mind. He straightens out the hem of his sweater once he scoots the chair closer. 

“So what made you come along?” Mona takes a shot and lands it on the table with a thud. She sucks through her teeth before letting out a long sigh from the burn. Just from that alone, he could tell she really needed that.

“Nothing to do. Thought I would stop by.” 

“That’s definitely a lie.” Mona hums.

Scaramouche raises a brow, “You asked, I answered, what other reason would I come along?”

“Now Scara-- ah--” Kaeya cuts Scaramouche off before he could even correct him on his title, “this is outside of work, let me indulge-- we all know you never do things without some level of interest.”

“He has interests?” Albedo asks. Mona snorts. Knowing Albedo, it actually did come from a place of genuine curiosity. Was he really that lame to everyone in his office that even Albedo of all people was coming after him? Scaramouche tries to squeeze his throat with his mind.

Though, one thing Kaeya was undoubtedly good at was reading people. He was right; Scaramouche wouldn’t go out of his way for something unless there was something in it for him. However, that ‘something’ was a mystery even to himself.

“Apparently so. Something here is of interest to him.” Kaeya waves his bottle around in circles to gesture to the room. 

“Hey!”

All of their eyes shoot toward the entrance. Mona leans back to get a better glance. Childe had apparently brought some pizza for the entire party. Everyone was patting him on the back while Childe side-hugged everyone with a smile pinching his eyes into crescents.

“Or perhaps, someone .” Kaeya finishes that thought with another pull from his beer. Mona instantly catches on, purring as her eyes bounce between Scaramouche and Childe. Scaramouche twists his head back.

“What are you trying to say?”

“Oh, Childe?” Albedo cuts him off. Mona pours herself and Scaramouche another glass. He grimaces at the liquid. Albedo slides his lips to the side, inspecting Childe’s appearance, “What’s so special about him?”

“Nothing.” Scaramouche shrugs. He leaves his full glass on the table.

“Childe is Scaramouche’s intern.” Mona wiggles her eyebrows. Kaeya almost coughs out his beer. Even Albedo catches on, letting out an amused exhale from his nose. What the hell were they implying? 

“Yeah, and a nuisance.” He scrunches his nose, “Trust me, he is the last person I want to see.” 

“Why not? He’s quite pretty.” Albedo muses. Kaeya pouts before taking another swig of his beer.

Ok, how come Albedo can say something so blunt like that, yet not get teased to death?

“I know right. Ugh, he probably has a girlfriend already,” Mona sighs, “In any case, Leo men and Virgo women do not get along well.”

“So you did have your eyes on him?” Scaramouche prods.

Mona shrugs, “I merely entertained it for a day. However I have come to learn it wasn’t my fate to accept. I think I will admire him from a distance.”

He lets it go, but his mind wanders to that: Childe having a girlfriend? Now that would be sickening if that were the case. He couldn’t say it out loud, but Childe flirting with him showed all the signs that the guy didn’t have one, nor didn’t want one. And if he did, talk about a terrible boyfriend. What an amusing thought.

“Hey guys! Hey Scara!” 

His shoulders tense hearing Childe say his nickname. Childe slides a chair next to Scaramouche, making him lean away. Everyone at the table greets him, but all of their eyes lie on Scaramouche, gauging for some reaction to the latter’s appearance.

Albedo slides Childe a bottle of beer. With the table, Childe expertly pops the cap off of the bottle. It fizzes over, almost spilling onto Scaramouche’s pants.

“Watch it.” He hisses.

“My apologies.” Childe nudges him with an elbow. He even says it in the same mocking tone Scaramouche did back in the office. Scaramouche digs his nails into his palms.

Childe throws his head back, drinking the beer earnestly. Scaramouche watches in horror (and awe) as Childe’s adam apple bobs with each gulp. The bottle was two thirds gone by the time Childe slammed it back on the table, everyone wooing over Childe’s impressive chugging abilities. Despite all the attention on him, Childe slouches down to whisper to Scaramouche.

“You aren’t drinking?”

“No--”

“Yes you are. Hi Childe.” Scaramouche jolts from the sound of Yae’s voice from behind him. Just great. Childe greets her with a wave.

“Ah, your cup is full. Drink it so I can pour you another.” Yae pats Scaramouche on the back. When he turns, she narrows her eyes, reminding him again that she will pull that same mom card on him. He sighs and downs the entire glass.

-

He definitely had way too much to drink. 

Yae wouldn’t stop coming over with a bottle of sake for him to “try out”. Eventually he folded and started drinking from Mona’s bottle as well. The taste of liquor was gross, but he became so drunk to where the taste didn’t even matter.

The bartender said the bathroom was on his left, but did he mean his left, or Scaramouche’s left? Also he should have known better than to just tell him the directions. He was drunk; his flushed face and stumbling speech should have been enough to tell that his sense of direction had been completely obliterated. Eventually he did find the bathroom, but the dark intricate halls with dim lights didn’t make it any easier crawling back to the table. 

Fuck, he was plastered as shit. He slides against the wall, relishing the cold surface of the wall against his heated skin. He is never, never going back to these parties ever again.

“Scara, are you good?” 

He knows that voice. It provided him some relief that at least he wasn’t alone in this maze.

“Scara?” Childe repeats again. 

Nevermind. The relief is short lived.

“What do you want?” Ugh, this turtleneck was getting too tight. It was itching his neck and there was definitely a gross amount of sweat building up underneath. He pulls the turtleneck down, and sighs when the air hits his damp skin. 

Childe’s eyes linger on his neck, and it sets off a nerve, “What do you want?” he repeats.

“Oh,” He snaps out of it, “are you. . . okay?”

“I am fine-- just, wha-- where is the table? With everyone?” 

Childe chuckles, but he still has that worried look on his face, “Do you want me to call for an Uber? I think you should stop drinking.”

“I said,'' Scaramouche emphasizes it with a finger on Childe’s chest, poking it with each syllable, “I am fine.”

“No you’re not.”

Now where did he get the idea to talk back? Regardless of where they were, Childe had some guts to be talking down on Scaramouche-- his own boss, like this.  Though, it was inevitable with how freakishly tall Childe was. That doesn’t scare him at all. It doesn’t.

“You are so, so drunk Scara,” Childe stills Scaramouche’s wavering body by clamping his hands around his arms, “you are not okay.”

“Says you. You drank like. . . a bazillion bottles.”

Childe snorts, “And I am not a lightweight like a certain someone. . .”

“Oh piss off!” Scaramouche goes to push Childe off, placing his hands on his chest and pressing hard. However, the alcohol had rendered his arms in weak, wet noodles. In the midst of trying to prove his strength, he can feel something poking out from Childe’s chest. 

Oh my god? No one’s nipples are that hard. Were those nipple piercings?

Childe could tell that Scaramouche was just now processing the feeling of the piercings under his touch. It didn’t help that Childe’s sweater was rather thin. How he didn’t notice before, he doesn’t know, but the piercings poke out from his sweater and against Scaramouche’s touch. Scaramouche, in a daze, looks up at Childe. The dim lights of the hallway only emphasizes the eclipse of Childe’s tall stature over him. 

He gulps and lets out a breathy sigh. Childe stared down at him with a clenched jaw. The hold on his arms tightened, and it felt like it was going to bruise. It wasn’t like he planned on escaping. He couldn’t even if he tried. Yet the force behind Childe’s grip seems to be motivated by something else, and he had to admit, it was affecting him. When Childe’s grip squeezes past a pain threshold, Scaramouche whimpers, fluttering his eyes. Wow, never did he expect Childe to be the one to fulfill his deepest, darkest fantasies in a hallway. His drunken thoughts overran his sound mind telling him to get off of him.

Oh, he will certainly get off alright.

Nice arms, tall figure, strong grip, and nipple piercings. All of it reminded him of one thing.

“Ew, get a room.”

Scaramouche snaps out of it when Rosaria walks past them with a look of disgust. He immediately crosses his arms, while Childe drops his hands and averts his eyes. Once they hear Rosaria go into the bathroom, Childe speaks up.

“I’ll call an Uber.”

“Yeah, uh huh.” He got whiplash from how fast he sobered up. He brushes past Childe. He might get lost again but he just needed to get away.

-

He strips himself of his suffocating clothes. Who was the bright mind that decided wearing such warm clothes would be appropriate for an outing? Scaramouche throws the turtleneck across his bedroom. He face-plops onto the bed. He can wash the sheets later; he was so gross and sticky and tired and horny .

It was definitely the alcohol. No way he saw Childe, his bratty, stupid intern, as hot. 

What would have happened if Rosaria didn’t interrupt them? Scaramouche tugs that thought out of his mind but like a crazed dog on a leash, it keeps coming back, sinking its teeth into his conscience. 

His messy, red hair. An inexplicable, but oh-so-arousing gloss over his blue eyes. And that fucking grip.

Perhaps he can just jerk off and get over it.

He can settle with his small phone screen. He already slid his pants off and quickly pulled tarta_glia11’s page up. He clicks on a random video. He’s in luck, because the video is of him humping a pillow.

He leans the phone against a pillow as it plays. In the video, tarta_glia11 was already naked, flexing his body and thighs towards the camera. Scaramouche bites the bend of his finger when he runs his hands over his muscles; he knows the effect they have. 

The soft pillow contrasts against his hard body. He squeezes his thighs together. 

“ God, wanna fuck you so bad. . .”  

Without breaking his attention, Scaramouche reaches over to his desk, patting around for a familiar bottle.

tarta_glia11’s hands press down on the bent pillow, sinking his weight on it and squeezing it into a tight hole for him to use. For him, perhaps he could turn anything into a toy with his strength alone. Scaramouche would definitely fold for him. Willingly too, but being forced into a vulnerable position— that was far more enticing.

Scaramouche is already scissoring himself open. From this angle, he can see the shadows cast from his abs, and those studded nipple piercings. He presses his cheek against his mattress, digging his fingers deeper. Just the sight of his muscles pushes his mind off the ledge and descends into a fuzzy haze. The only thing clear was how much he needed to get fucked .

tarta_glia11 groans against his mask as he picks up speed. The mattress creaks with each thrust— god how hard was he going? His knuckles go white from bunching the pillow up in his fists. 

If he can do it, so can he. Scaramouche yanks a pillow and shoves it under his crotch. Each push of his fingers would rub his dick against it. The plush of the pillow lacks friction; Scaramouche will have to work extra hard to make it work. He bites his lips as he fucks his hips back on his fingers and grind forward into the pillow. Honestly, why hide his moans? Should the whole world know he is getting off to a pillow?

Scaramouche didn’t even know he could have such voyeurist thoughts until now.

Animalistic grunts fill his ears, drowning out any sober thoughts telling him that he was being weird. If he was, then why did it feel so good? His own bed starts to creak under him. He was getting close.

“Oh my god . . .” Scaramouche rolls his eyes to the back of his head.

His drunken imagination fills the blank space. He wishes his hands were free so he could grab the sheets and truly revel in the feeling. Let someone else take control; someone bigger than him, built to pin him down and desecrate his body. Someone like Childe.

Oh, he really shouldn’t think of him right now. It was too late now; his very image was flashing across his mind. He just hopes Yae made him drink enough to make him forget tomorrow.

“Mm, Childe. . .” The way his name rolls from his tongue in such a drunken lull sounds foreign, yet he spreads his legs wider and digs his face deeper into the sheets. He repeats his name again. And again. He really loves how it sounds.

the pace of his fingers roughen and even the friction against the pillow becomes unbearable. Scaramouche gasps, “Childe, oh my-- oh my god, Childe, please!” 

He doesn’t know what he is begging Childe for; to fuck him, to notice him, to let him cum. Maybe all of that at once. Of course he couldn’t hear him, but if he did, what would he think? Seeing his own boss go weak for him? 

He bites into his other pillow; not because he wanted to be quiet, but because he wanted to imagine sinking his teeth in Childe’s body. 

He wants Childe to look down at him like that again-- just like how he did in that hallway. And how his hands squeezed him; he doesn’t know if he wanted his hands on his neck, hips, wrists or waist. Actually, he would want his hands all over his body. There is not a single place on his body that he wouldn’t want Childe to touch. Even having his hands tug his hair sends violent arousal streaming down his spine. And those fucking nipple piercings, god, he just wants to run his tongue all over them. 

Those same grunts coming from his phone fall into his imagination, fitting as the last piece of the puzzle that was Scaramouche’s dirty imagination. 

“ Yes, Childe, yes! Yes, mm’yes, wanna’ cum, cum so bad! ” 

He arches his back, pressing his chest deeper into the pillow while squeezing it with his thighs as he cums. The drool trailing down his lips creates a round wet splotch on his pillow. It was going to be a hassle to clean up, and his quivering legs tell him that he likely won’t have the energy to get up. So be it. 

“Mm, Childe. . .” Scaramouche wraps his arms around the pillow and nuzzles his face into it. The video in front of him already ended, yet even the prospect of reaching his hand out to shut it off seemed strenuous. The afterglow of his orgasm keeps him warm as he is lulled into a deep sleep.

In the morning, Scaramouche wakes up with the horrible realization that he won’t forget this.

-

The party had occurred on Saturday, yet even on Monday, Scaramouche felt hungover. He was just thankful he didn’t see Childe in the elevator. He takes those few seconds in that electric box wondering just how he is going to look him in the eyes.

Imminent doom settles in as the elevator jingle stops and dings, stopping on the eleventh floor. There had always been the fear of being trapped in an elevator, but Scaramouche never thought he would be so afraid to step out of one.

He walks like there was a stiff rod stuck up his ass. He can hear Kaeya and Mona call out his name but all he is focused on is getting to his office. 

While Childe has no idea that he jerked off to him Saturday night, there was still that hallway incident that haunted him. How was he supposed to act in front of him after that? 

He sighs as he closes the door.

“Good morning boss.”

Scaramouche almost breaks his neck from how fast he turns. There Childe was, sitting in his chair across from his own. He swears under his breath. Keep cool.

“Morning.” He tosses his keys on the desk. He opts to keep his words short. If Childe even caught the waver in his voice, he would be sure to catch on that he still wasn’t over Saturday night.

“I got you your coffee.” Childe slides the mug over to his side of the table. From the steam rising up, it seems that he had got it pretty recently.

“Thanks.” 

“I also checked in with that client of yours, the one with the nasally voice? Yeah, that should be all handled.”

Scaramouche doesn’t look at Childe, but he nods along. Did Childe forget? There is no way he didn’t. Scaramouche still acknowledges Childe, “Nice.”

From the corner of his eye, he can see Childe lean in. He pretends to read the reports from last week; Childe’s gaze was making it impossible to actually focus on the words. He sips out of his mug, and it blocks him from seeing Childe’s stupid face for a few seconds. His tongue darts out to catch the small drip of coffee on his lips.

“Are you. . . okay?”

Scaramouche bites his tongue before he nods, “why would I not be?”

Don’t bring it up, for the love of all that is holy, do not bring it up.

“I was just wondering because you drank a lot on Saturday.”

Typical. Out of all people, Scaramouche didn’t know why he thought Childe would keep his mouth shut. Scaramouche waves it off.

“I’m fine.”

Childe chuckles, “you sure? You just seem off today.”

“Chi--” He almost says his name, and that immediately sets him back. He can’t even say his name without thinking of Saturday. How he moaned his name.The paper in his hand creases from how hard he grips it. He clears his throat, “just focus on your work.”

It was all tarta_glia11’s fault. Why did he remind him of Childe so much? The red hair, hot bod, nice arms, washboard abs--

Metallic nipple piercings.

Wait.

For the first time that day, he glances up at Childe. The sudden glance makes Childe stop like a deer in headlights. 

No. . . no .

“Is there something wrong?”

Yes. There was. There was no way, right? What would some pornstar be doing here for a stupid internship? With all that money, why would he go bother himself with some lame office job? Yet everything matched up. All that was missing was that mask.

“Nothing. I was just trying to remember if I turned off my stove.”

Bullshit-- he doesn’t need to elaborate.

“Oh, yeah,” Childe takes the bait, “makes sense.”

-

Not even Kaeya and Mona can take his mind off of this new revelation. He doesn’t tell them because then he would have to admit that he watches porn. But even as they tease him for being a drunkard on Saturday, he can’t bring himself to defend himself. 

“Uh oh,” Kaeya snaps his fingers in front of Scaramouche, cutting his attention away from his zoned out mind, “we lost him.”

Mona stifles a laugh, but a concerned look still looms on her face, “Wow, I didn’t know you were that lightweight. You should have taken the day off.”

Scaramouche shakes his head and sighs, “it’s nothing.”

“No, there’s something. Tell us.” Kaeya leans back in his chair, lacing his fingers together. Mona adjusts her arms on the edge of the office booth. 

What does he even say? The stove excuse likely won’t work here-- Kaeya could see the apprehension with his one eye, and Mona could probably pull a tarot deck out from her tits and read the very thoughts scattering his mind with a single card. How does one explain that their intern is also the same person he has been jacking off to for several weeks?

“Wow, so there is something!” Mona’s eyes twinkle as she squeals.

Scaramouche didn’t even notice that he was taking his sweet time trying to come up with some excuse. That was enough to blow his cover. Despite that, he keeps a straight face.

“So something did happen at the party. Hm.” Kaeya scratches his chin in thought.

“Yeah, someone force fed me a bunch of alcohol, what a surprise.” But not enough to wipe his memory. It was like Yae had created the perfect dose between sobriety and drunkenness to make Scaramouche remember all the things he regretted. How evil .

“Well yes, but didn’t you leave early anyways? Plenty of time to get yourself together, right?”

“Not really. Turns out I had some work over the weekend.”

Kaeya snorts, “now we all know you wouldn’t do such a thing.”

“Is it that hard to imagine being on top of your work?” Scaramouche narrows his eyes at the pile of papers building up on Kaeya’s desk, but that hardly does anything to the latter.

“Even then, what traumatic event happened that would prompt you to work on a Sunday?”

Shit, he was right. Scaramouche was never the type to do work on a weekend. The only time he ever gets a break from life? Yeah, why would he work on a Sunday?

“Hey Kaeya, can you go through these? Thanks.”

Scaramouche feels his heart drop to the pit of his stomach as he sees Rosaria pass Kaeya a manila folder. Their eyes meet once before Rosaria turns away to her own desk. He coughs into his hand.

Rosaria had her reservations about everything and everyone. Perhaps that wasn’t enough to deem her as a snitch-- but Scaramouche had no clue who was within Rosaria’s circle. Seeing how Kaeya is pushing him to spit the truth out, then he can say that at least she didn’t tell Kaeya about what happened on Saturday.

Mona looks between Rosaria and Scaramouche before widening her eyes with a shit eating grin on her face,, “no way.”

“Wha-- no. Oh god no, no.” Scaramouche splutters.

“Boss. . . I didn’t know you had your eyes set on Rosaria,” Kaeya whistles, “can’t say you have bad taste though.”

“No, no, I swear, nothing happened between us. Nothing at all.”

“You guys are both gloomy. Wear black a lot. Never talk to anyone. Only thing that you guys don’t have in common is height and the fact that Rosaria can actually hold her liquor,” Mona teases, “So, what happened between you and Rosaria on Saturday?”

“Nothing hap--” Before he can finish that thought, he realizes: this could be his escape route. Admitting to having a thing with Rosaria would be far more tolerable than admitting that he almost fucked Childe at the company party. Only thing preventing him from this entire thing going smoothly is if Rosaria decides to run her mouth.

Some blackmail never did much harm anyways.

“You know what,” Scaramouche raises his hands in defeat, “yeah. Something did happen between me and her.”

Kaeya and Mona’s mouths drop. Great, they are taking the bait. Now to slowly reel it in. . .

Sorry Rosaria. Scaramouche dips his head, as if relaying the story brings him great embarrassment. As if Kaeya and Mona had finally got to him and were tearing his darkest secret out from his heart. Deep down, he was relishing in victory.

“When I left for the bathroom, I bumped into her, and we talked. A lot. And . .” Scaramouche brings his head back up. He brushes his hair behind his ear, biting down a grin, “I-I think I like her.”

-

“You what ?”

“Okay, you just need to stick with it for like two weeks max. However long Kaeya decides to hold it over me. Then, we can ‘break up’ and never talk about it again.”

Scaramouche was practically on his knees as Rosaria blew smoke out from her lips. She sighs, flicking the burnt cigarette butt off. 

“Hmph. So what’s in it for me?”

The entire operation had switched on Scaramouche. Instead of blackmailing her, it was the other way around, because yeah, she now had the power to completely destroy his life. She takes another drag of her cigarette, watching Scaramouche lose his shit. If anything, he was the one that needed that death stick.

“I can buy you cigarettes. I can take half your workload for the next two weeks. I can give you more vacation time. A raise. Just please.” Scaramouche clasps his hands together. God, may he never be so desperate ever again.

Rosaria tilts her head, looking up at the cloudy sky above in thought. She lets out an amused exhale from her nose, “I guess we have a deal.”

“Oh my god, thank you, thank you so much.”

Rosaria shrugs, “So, what’s the story we are gonna tell?”

-

Scaramouche was so glad Rosaria had nothing to lose. Despite her monotone speech, everyone believed her. Perhaps it was her bored tone that convinced everyone, because god forbid she exerts any other emotion. Call her emotionless but you can’t call her inconsistent.

Thanks to her, the entire office ate up the gossip like hyenas. Every time he would make his way out the bathroom, his coworkers would throw him a look, nudge him towards Rosaria’s direction, or make some passing, suggestive comment. Slightly unbearable, but nothing he couldn’t handle.

The story went like this: a drunk Scaramouche leaves the bathroom but then suddenly, oh my, he meets Rosaria, the dark, mysterious woman on his floor. Despite their differences in height and alcohol tolerance, they had a heart to heart— they learned that they had a lot in common. Perhaps it was destiny to meet in such an unconventional place, yet the ambience of the dark hallways was the perfect backdrop to their blossoming love; it was fitting for them. Dark, gloomy, cold. They liked each other so much in fact that they went out on Sunday, and left with shared lingering gazes on Monday. An unlikely office romance but one nonetheless.

Good thing his entire floor was stupid.

He laughs to himself as he drinks his coffee. It was the most fun he had in ages. Finally, instead of being under everyone’s scrutiny, he has the entire floor under his fucking thumb .

Childe notices this, and his face lights up, wanting to join in on the joke, “What are you laughing about?”

The mug covered half of his face, but his eyes still shifted to the red head. He puts down the cup and swallows, “none of your business.”

“C’monn,” Childe leans his arms over the desk, “I thought we were close!”

Scaramouche clenches his jaw. What did he mean by that? 

“Tch. You’re delusional. Anyways, did you print those copies I asked for? Where are they?”

Childe slides the papers over to Scaramouche, but continues to pester him, “Never seen you so happy boss. What happened?”

A knock on the door interrupts them. Scaramouche makes some muddled noise to signal the person to come inside. 

“Boss. . . look who we got here.” Scaramouche can hear the pure amusement in Kaeya’s voice as he ushers Rosaria inside. 

Not a single muscle on her face has ever flexed in her life. Her mouth only moved to speak with flat words, “Hi babe.”

Childe widens his eyes and keeps looking back at Scaramouche and Rosaria. Really, he hasn’t heard a lick of gossip throughout this entire week? He really was stupid.

“Hey Rosy,” Scaramouche cringes, “did you get my text about tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Can’t wait for our date.” 

Realistically, there was no date. But he needed to play it up in front of Kaeya. He didn’t actually like the woman, but he definitely liked that she caught on quickly. 

Childe runs his hand through his hair, chuckling as if this was all one big joke. And it was. He shifts his gaze to Scaramouche, “Uh, when was this?” 

“Oh, you haven’t heard?” Kaeya pats Childe’s back, “Scaramouche and Rosaria are a thing .”

Kaeya then proceeds to make disgusting, wet, lip smacking noises before cackling and patting Rosaria’s back. She looks at Kaeya. And then looks away.

Scaramouche laces his fingers under his chin, “yup. I mean, I don’t want to brag but,” Rosaria rounds around the desk and stands next to him as if on cue. He wraps his arm around and places his hand on her hips. If anyone squinted, they would see how stiff his shoulder was, “I got really lucky with her.”

He glances up at Rosaria, who is staring daggers down at him. Scaramouche quickly retracts his arm, “but whatever. Let’s not get distracted.”

“Oh. . .” Childe’s face droops seeing the close proximity.

Kaeya leans on his hands placed on the back of Childe’s chair, “Yeah, I can’t help but admit I didn’t see that coming. I guess you really are an unpredictable boss.” 

“Oh, stop it.” Scaramouche snorts , flicking his wrist as if it was a compliment.

“Yeah. Stop.” Rosaria deadpans. 

Kaeya raises his hands and backs away,“Alright, alright. I will leave you lovebirds here alone. . . with Childe. I need to catch up with Sucrose on this week’s analysis. See ya.”

When Kaeya leaves, Rosaria lets out a deep sigh while Scaramouche dips his face into his palms. 

Childe nibbles on his thumb as he looks at the two. Scaramouche knew Childe wanted to say something. He didn’t need to be in on it, but Childe was catching on. Scaramouche should have thought farther ahead about Childe.

“I need to smoke.” Rosaria doesn’t even bother waving as she leaves. Childe twists his head as she walks away.

Scaramouche nods, “Goodbye Rosy!”

The only thing he is met with is the sound of the door slamming shut. After this is all done, Rosaria will definitely beat his ass.

Childe turns back, completely bewildered, “Okay, what was that about?”

“Hm? What do you mean?”

“You and Rosaria. . . what happened?”

Scaramouche spits a curt laugh, “Since when did you get interested in my love life?”

“You don’t have one. I am interested in why there just so happens to be a convenient rumor between you and our witness.”

Shit . Scaramouche looks away from his computer screen and meets Childe’s curved eyes. After a while, it felt like there was a silent agreement between the both of them to not bring up that entire event. Yet as Childe’s stupid brain pieced all the puzzle pieces together, he could feel his plan crumbling. Scaramouche opts to keep the front together.

“No reason. Rosaria is hot, no?” Scaramouche shrugs and goes back to his computer screen and types away. Childe scoffs. Scaramouche hears his chair scrap against the floor, and that same shadow peers over him. 

“Yeah, but we both know she isn’t your type.”

A conglomerate of emotions ball up in his chest, but one of pure arousal swallows it completely once he stares back up at Childe. Childe knew exactly what he was doing, and he knew exactly how much Scaramouche loved the view from below. His hands froze atop the keyboard. Childe’s weight leaned on one leg as he pinned his hands on top of Scaramouche’s important papers, his figure looming over the desk; Scaramouche couldn’t even bring himself to care though. There were more pressing matters.

Childe smirks, “ You’re keeping something from me .”

Scaramouche managed to hold his ground but if it weren’t for his chair, his knees would have caved in. He knew Childe was referencing the thing regarding him and Rosaria, but that only scratched the surface on how much he knew about him. He shuffles in his chair.

“Don’t talk to me like that, I am your boss.”

Childe makes a mocking gasp, “stalling now? What happened to the boss that wanted everything to be efficient?”

“I am not stalling, you are. You are just bringing up irrelevant stuff to avoid doing your work. Sit down before I throw this cup of coffee in your face.” He puts his hand around his coffee mug, but he grips it hard to steel himself.

He knows how stupid Childe is, but the person in front of him was completely different. Someone he only knew from behind a screen. But now, the only thing separating them was a few inches of space. This was tarta_glia11 without the mask. Without the mask, it becomes all too tempting to strip Childe more in his mind--

“Pfft, I know your type, Scara.” Childe ignores his order, and Scaramouche has to bite his lip down to prevent a measly whimper from spilling out because yes, having Childe treat his words like trash does something to him. Childe pokes his tongue out from under his cheek upon seeing his reaction, “you like someone who just makes your days just a little more painful , don’t you?”

Scaramouche hopes he didn’t see him cross his legs.

He presses on. Childe moves his hand to lift his chin, causing Scaramouche to suck in a breath, “Rosaria might kick your ass once your charade is over but she won’t be the one to break your back. ”

-

Good news is that Childe isn't immune to hot liquids. Bad news was that it wasn’t hot enough to scorch his face. And even worse news is that the coffee got all over his documents and keyboard.

“So. . .” Yae quickly brings a hand over her face to prevent a chuckle. He had explained the situation to Yae; weeding out details that were too risky to share. It ended up sounding like a splotchy story because practically every detail connected to some sexual connotation that he would rather not say in front of his own stepmother. Scaramouche sat in the chair opposite to her, just waiting to get reprimanded. This felt more attune to a delinquent in the principal’s office. They were practically the same; Yae would threaten to call his mom.

“Okay, yeah, I shouldn’t have done that. But at least the dude’s face is still intact.”

Yae nods, holding back her laugh. Eventually she takes a deep breath in, “Kuni, I must say, this is very uncharacteristic of you.”

Was that a compliment? Yae literally thought Scaramouche was the devil’s spawn within the first two years of meeting. Throwing coffee at someone’s face, if anything, should be something Scaramouche would do.

“What?”

“Seriously, am I supposed to believe that Childe was just so irritating, you threw coffee in his face?” Yae presses her elbows into her desk. She was testing him, he knows it. Even though he told a rather unbelievable story, Yae stares at him like she knew it all.

“Yeah, because he was.” Half truth, half lie. He was being irritating, definitely, but also in other ways.

“You threw coffee. Because your intern was being irritating.” Yae repeats her words, her lips creeping into that smile Scaramouche knows too well. Even he was starting to doubt his words. Did that happen? Yeah, it literally did.

“Yeah. And I feel bad, go tell my mom, I don’t know.” Scaramouche flails his arm, giving up. Yae snorts.

“And you feel bad. . . for your intern. . . that you yourself threw coffee at?” Again, she repeats her words with that same, cautious cadence. She sounded out each word as if she was reciting it to a baby.

Scaramouche sinks in his chair, impatient, “I mean if that makes it less worse then yeah-- okay, can you just tell me what you are trying to say?”

“Ah, Kuni. . .'' Yae rests her face into her hand, “if I didn’t know any better, I would say Childe has a special place in your heart.”

Scaramouche’s eyes widen and immediately kicks up from his slouched position, “what?”

Childe-- his intern, the one he threw coffee at, has a special place in his heart? He actually didn’t feel that bad about burning Childe’s face.

“Oo, touched a spot, hmph,” Her words dressed in mirth, “Must I spell out everything for you?” 

Scaramouche scratches his head. Then he shrugs. 

“Kunikuzushi. You don’t have any interests at all.” Yae starts. Despite her rude, straight forward words that only seem to make fun of him, she dissects her conclusion with a serious look on her face. Does he really come off like that to everyone?

Scaramouche furrows his brows, “Literally what does that have to do with anything?”

“And you are the most impatient and spoiled brat I have ever met.”

“Seriously? Have you met Ayato? I mean, dude was born deepthroating several silver spoons.”

“. . .Ayato would be third. I have to say Kujou Sara beats him by a feather-- but that’s not the point,” Yae folds her hands together while Scaramouche nods along with her fleeting sentiment toward the two, “Why would you ever entertain Childe for more than a week if you really did not like him?”

Scaramouche was about to speak up, before his own realization clamps his mouth shut. Yae leans back in her chair, letting the rest of Scaramouche’s mind fill in the rest. Her lips form a satisfied grin.

Why didn’t Scaramouche fire him within the first week? How long has it been? Three weeks? Childe beat his last intern’s record by a week. Scaramouche tolerated him more despite him doing more irritable, reckless things. He started a psychological war in his mind, and he was losing, but there was something making Scaramouche keep Childe around. And he knew exactly what it was.

He grips the handle of his chair at the confrontation with this thought.

Yae makes a good point-- and he hated when that happened.

“Well, I am about to clock out. For now, I will just give you a warning. And less liberty with the coffee machine,” Yae steps out of her chair and pushes it in, “and as for your mother; I am sure she will find it all very amusing.”

-

Things between Scaramouche and Childe, for the most part, have gone awkward. But perhaps that was exactly what this arrangement was supposed to be. It was purely business. There was no room for flirting or dirty innuendos. A pro from this was that they got work done a lot faster, and that meant Scaramouche could leave the office earlier.

However, it wasn’t like everything from before had disappeared into thin air. If anything, it made it all worse.

Now that Scaramouche had a taste of what Childe could do to him, he always rushes home to pull up his videos. It felt even more dirty knowing just how much trouble he would get into if Childe found out that his boss, who seemingly hated him now, still jerked off to him. And he couldn’t even lie, that consequence by itself was arousing.

News of him and Rosaria had died down, and had been replaced with the ‘coffee’ incident. Not only did he put his pride on the line, his grand scheme only lasted for one week until it got overthrown. For this entire month, it seemed like Scaramouche was attracting trouble from all corners of the office. Rosaria and Scaramouche still haven’t ‘broke up’, but Rosaria wasn’t up to stage a dramatic break up in the middle of the office. 

Honestly she wouldn’t be able to even if she tried.

Every time Scaramouche and Childe would pass by, he could feel everyone’s eyes on him, and especially if he had a mug in his hand. Did they really think he would just pull off that stunt again in front of everyone? Why did everyone have such shabby impressions of him?

Anyways, this will all pass with time. Eventually Childe will leave his internship, him and Rosaria will ‘break up’, and he will be back to the nagging boss he used to be. He just hopes all of this torment will be over soon because he was actually losing himself. 

The weekend was about to start, which would have been a great relief to Scaramouche, until Kaeya decided to pop in at the last second.

“Hey boss, I got a few files here for you. Was told that this was within your domain.” Kaeya circles his hands over multiple stacks of documents he laid across his desk. Scaramouche’s lips twitch. Of course he sends it over on a Friday right before his break.

“. . .Thanks Kaeya.” 

“No problem!” Kaeya smiles, giving him the thumbs up.

If he could guarantee he wouldn’t get involved in another office scandal, he would have definitely slapped the look off of Kaeya’s face right there and then. Instead, he stares at the stacks of paper. He could feel the bags under his eyes get heavier just from the sight of it. Maybe he could work on it another day, but that thought gets thrown out the window when he sees the sticky note on top saying all of these were supposed to be done by Monday. He pinches his nose bridge.

Scaramouche is positive he was the last person at the office. It was an hour after closing. People rarely stuck behind. The silence behind the door only reaffirms Scaramouche’s conclusion. The only thing that could be heard was the humming from the light above. He tilts his body to look through the window of his door. All the rooms were turned off, and not a single coworker in sight.

So would it really be so villainous to watch a little porn before overtime?

Scaramouche pulls up his phone. It is practically muscle memory, and good thing his office had good wifi. He looks around again before proceeding with his usual search. 

tarta_glia11.

He props his phone on his empty cup as the video renders. God, he was really about to do it in his own office. He unbuckles his belt, letting it drop to the floor with a thud, and slides his pants off. There was a new video that he hadn’t had much time to check out. It seems that despite Childe’s relatively new job, he was still sticking with his main gig. It was a little dangerous, to be mixing two separate parts of his life into this unholy mix of horniness, but for some reason, it turns him on even more. It could be his little secret. 

He couldn’t finish himself like he usually would. Doing a quick handjob should have done the trick though. As he runs his hand over his dick, he sinks into his chair, biting his lips. 

Oh Childe. Does he know the things he does to Scaramouche? 

What if he didn’t splash coffee on him that day? Perhaps a different scandal would have gone down. He should hate Childe but no. He keeps finding himself going back to him. He was such a horrible boss, he needed someone to set him right. The video in front of him gives him a clear visual on who exactly should be the one. Someone strong, and certainly knows just how bad he likes it. 

How could he be a dirty fantasy to Childe? He wasn’t going to go out of his way to seduce him, but he just wonders how he can be a good boy for him. He tugs his pants lower, freeing himself of the constricting material. God, he wasn’t even watching the video anymore, he was too focused on his imagination and if anything, the video only encouraged his imagination, pushing it deeper . 

He moans, and it escapes too easily, and is all too loud. Maybe Childe would like that. He would like the sound of his voice, of him coming undone. 

“Hey, I—“

Scaramouche freezes as Childe steps through the door, with a paper in hand. Childe had his eyes down on the paper, but when he hears Scaramouche scrambling for his pants, that is when he looks up. And the look on his face when he hears his own moans through Scaramouche’s phone— Scaramouche wants to curl up on the spot. 

Within that moment, all they can do is stare. Well, after Scaramouche yanked his phone off the desk and turned it off. Childe’s mouth was agape, his eyebrows raised to his hairline. In any other moment, Scaramouche would love to see such a stupid expression on his face. Why was Childe of all people still here?

Finally, Scaramouche clears his throat and pushes himself closer to the desk, “uh, what is it?”

Childe doesn’t say anything. The paper in his hand goes forgotten. Scaramouche purses his lips and drums his fingers against his knee. Anything to ignore the fact that he was just caught jacking off to his intern, by his intern. If Childe was consistent, he would pretend nothing happened. That’s all they have been doing these past weeks.

Except Childe is anything but consistent. Scaramouche should know this by now with how many times Childe fucks up his coffee.

“Was that. . .” Childe breaks the silence as he slowly raises his hand and points at Scaramouche’s phone. 

Scaramouche looks down and scoffs, “O-oh, what? No. It was nothing. What is it that you wanted to show me?”

“No, it definitely was something,” Childe shakes his head as he slowly approaches the desk. It was like a switch had gone off. Scaramouche grips his armrest and takes a deep breath in. Childe keeps his eyes on him the entire time, tossing the paper to the side, letting it sway down on to the floor, “you always like to pretend. Don’t you get tired?”

“Yeah, I-I am tired of pretending that you are capable of your job.” It lacks any bite.

Childe ignores it with a laugh, but the dark look on his face tells him this is anything but humorous, “you like to pretend nothing happened at the party. Then, you pretend to date Rosaria, and now you’re pretending that you weren’t just jerking off to me.”

“To you? That’s a funny joke. . .” his voice trails off. What was happening to him?

Childe rounds the desk, and unease drips at the pit of his stomach with each step towards him. At the same time, Scaramouche bites his lips. Getting caught doing such a heinous act? He watched enough porn to know how this ends. There was undeniably excitement thrilling in his chest. That still doesn’t stop him from staying planted in his chair. He doesn’t directly meet Childe’s gaze but tilts his head down in shame.

“I gotta say, you’re really bad at acting, boss,” Just then, Childe whips the chair around. Scaramouche yelps as he almost flies off his chair. Childe pins his hands against each armrest, lowering his head to Scaramouche’s level. His eyes flick down to Scaramouche’s unzipped pants and bulge sticking out from his underwear. Childe huffs out a breath, “what’s this?”

Heat burns on his ears and face. He could feel his entire facade crumbling, and the only thing keeping it up was school glue, “n-no one is here, and shit, I just like to work without pants on when I can, okay? Damn.”

Childe nods, “you’re right. No one is here.”

Childe places a hand on top of his bulge and pushes down. Initially, he squirms from the touch, but that itself causes friction. Scaramouche’s hand lands on top of Childe’s, yet he doesn’t try to pull it off. A pathetic whimper escapes from his lips.

“So why keep up the act? Doesn’t it drive you insane?” Childe rocks the heel of his palm against Scaramouche’s bulge, “doesn’t it just make you want to scream? ”

Scaramouche keens. How ironic, Childe telling him about ‘acting’. Scaramouche grits through his teeth, “Aren’t you the one that hides behind a mask?”

Childe hooks his tongue from under his cheek. Mentioning his identity makes Scaramouche press his back deeper into the chair. He admitted it; he was a fucking pervert that knew this whole time.

“Sure, but I am not the one hiding behind a title. You may be my boss, but do I really have any obligation to follow your rules? Especially when I can do this?” Childe grabs Scaramouche’s tie, dragging him up and throwing him onto the table. Then, he grabs his thighs and pulls them apart, slotting himself in between. 

“Ngh, fuck !” His voice shoots up to an uncanny high pitched moan. 

Oh my god, it was really happening, right here, right now, on his own desk. 

“You’re just too easy,” Childe remarks, “Always wondered if I should do a show with a viewer. Never expected it to be my own boss.”

Childe grabs his tie once more and pulls his upper body up. Just a few inches off from meeting his lips. His breath fans across his lips. Even on the table, he has to tilt his head up to meet Childe’s eyes. He was so tall, and so strong. It was as if Scaramouche was made to be under him. 

“I’ll bite,” Childe starts, his hand creeping down to Scaramouche’s ass, “I always wanted to fuck you. Every video, from the day I became your intern, all of those. . . in all of those, all I could imagine was fucking you.”

Scaramouche moans as Childe squeezes his cheek, and with his other hand, Childe sinks his fingers into his mouth. He lifts his hips as Childe pushes his pants down. He even kicks off his expensive shoes just so he could get those pants off completely. He wraps his hands around Childe’s arm. A fog blurs his mind, and glosses his eyes with erotic want.

Under his touch, he was becoming putty. Childe didn’t need to say a single thing to get Scaramouche to fold, but each word further cracked the shell of his mind. He bends to Childe’s will just because of how much of a needy, desperate whore he was with no self respect. He just hopes Childe can whip him back into shape.

He knew exactly why he let Childe be a menace around him, and why he didn’t just fire him. Deep down, he knew that he too just wanted to fuck him. How his dress shirts fit snug around his muscles, how he insists on not buttoning up his shirt all the way just so his pecs and abs can show; God, how could Scaramouche fire him? How could he fire someone that pleases him so well?

“Look at you,” Childe cooes. Scaramouche hollows his cheeks as he bobs his head on Childe’s fingers. He wanted to be Childe’s fantasy. Make sure he never takes his hand off his dick every time he thinks of him. The saliva squelches around his mouth, and drips down his chin. Childe pushes his finger in, “I just want to tell the whole world that my boss is just one, bitchy, slut .”

Scaramouche moans around his fingers. He lets go of Childe’s arm to unbutton his shirt. He lets him call him these demeaning words. Unlike him, Childe wasn’t a liar. Every word rings true in his head.

“You would like that, wouldn’t you? How about I film you and post it, let everyone see it, let everyone see you take my cock? Let corporate know they have a slut within their ranks? Talk.”

It was degrading, reducing Scaramouche to a spectacle. Talking shit about his hard earned job just so he could paint the picture that he really was just a whore masquerading around as some nagging boss. In hindsight, it was true. Scaramouche pops his lips off of Childe’s fingers and nods, “yes, im your slut, m’yes .” 

“ Mm ,” Childe pulls Scaramouche’s lower back closer to him, pressing their crotches together. Scaramouche can feel Childe’s growing hard-on against him. Childe digs his face into Scaramouche’s neck, growling, “all mine .”

Scaramouche cries and claws at Childe’s back as he feels his teeth sink into his skin. It was animalistic, primal; he felt like a prey under the mouth of a predator. He lolls his head back. Childe grinded against him, coaxing moans to leak from his lips. Childe continued to leave trails of red and purple hues on his neck. He can only imagine all the questions Kaeya and Mona are going to ask. He stifles a laugh at the thought. He tangles his hand into Childe’s red hair and a leg around his waist, pushing him deeper. 

Let them ask questions. 

Childe runs his hand from Scaramouche’s ass to the underside of his thighs. His hands wrap around his legs so easily. His small body cradled in Childe’s nice arms. He was so secure in his hold. Yet it was more tempting to have Childe crush him. His hands could easily encircle his neck, wrists, waist, hips; he could be the perfect toy for him.

“C’mon boss,” Childe licks his skin, making Scaramouche keen, “am I doing a good job?”

“Oh my god, yes ,” Scaramouche lets out an exasperated sigh. He couldn’t tell if he was saying yes to Childe, or just from how good it felt. His senses were completely overwhelmed that he hadn’t processed the fact that his bratty intern and favorite camboy was making him feel this good, “ yes, yes, please, fuck me, fuck me Childe, I need it-- please! ”

He wasn’t ordering him around, he was begging for it. He didn’t care how desperate he looked; he was just a whore, it was in his nature. Childe leaves a tender kiss on Scaramouche’s neck before separating their bodies, making him whimper at the loss.

“You’re so cute like this.” Childe muses. At any other moment, Scaramouche would have definitely punched Childe for saying that, but right now, it makes his stomach do a backflip. Scaramouche presses his legs together in anticipation as he watches Childe undress himself. The buttons practically flew off, and he hurried to swipe his belt off before pulling his pants down. Scaramouche takes this time to slip his own underwear off. Scaramouche bites his lips when his eyes trail toward Childe’s piercings.

Childe laughs, “you like these?”

Scaramouche can only let out a shaky whimper as he grabs Childe’s arm, pulling him closer. He places his hands around Childe’s pecs; god they were huge. His tongue darts out to lick his nipples. He looked so deplorable now, like some fucking creep. He swirls it around the piercings, and even uses his tongue to flick at it. Black pupils cave around his indigo irises as he stared up at Childe. Even if Childe was disgusted at him, it didn’t matter. As long as he was under Childe, he was fine, even if it meant being degraded to a lowly slut. It draws a groan from the latter.

“Fucking pervert .” Childe runs his hands through Scaramouche’s hair, some of it plastered on his sweat slick skin. Scaramouche presses his thighs together. Those words sent shockwaves to his arousal. 

If he was a pervert, then who was Childe? 

He separated himself. He leans back against the desk and spreads his legs. Childe clenches his jaw, his eyes trailing down Scaramouche’s figure. The weight of his dark gaze on his body was pushing his sound mind into a void. He couldn't believe he was about to do this. 

“B-Boss,” Scaramouche twisted his hips, sucking in his waist. He wanted to look appetizing to Childe. Look like this just for Childe. Scaramouche sees Childe’s eyes widen, and it encourages him to go all the way. He brings a finger to his swollen lips, twisting his mouth into a mischievous smile, “can you please fuck me? ”

Childe’s lips go agape before he scoffs, “fuck, you’re so hot.”

Scaramouche whimpers as he watches Childe spit on his own fingers; the same ones that he sucked on. It was so raw that Scaramouche couldn’t even be grossed out. His legs spread wider from the sight.

Childe was rough with his fingers. It was everything he imagined and more. His arms flailed, struggling to find purchase as Childe scissored his hole open. Scaramouche’s mouth opens into an ‘O’ as each thrust of Childe’s long fingers assault his prostate. God, it was better than anything his own fingers could do. 

“Be good for your boss, okay? Don’t make me punish you.”

Scaramouche frantically nods. He knows just about every little thing that can fuel a boss’ ego. Right now though, he just wants to be a subordinate, even if that means throwing his ego out the window. Here he was, about to get fucked on his own office desk, only for Childe to be the boss of it all. 

He whimpers, “yes boss, I understand boss.”

Childe rasps out a satisfied groan to Scaramouche’s pleas. Eventually, Childe pulls his fingers out. God, Childe stretched him out so good with his fingers. His hole winks from the loss. He never felt this loose before, but he knows in a little bit, he was going to feel so fucking tight. When Childe tugs down his underwear, Scaramouche’s mouth waters. He has seen it before on screen, but it looked so much more real in person. Childe wraps his hand around his cock, jerking it.

“Good, now be a good little whore for your boss.”

Scaramouche nods. With his hole slick with saliva, Childe slides his cock inside slowly. Scaramouche knocks his head back on to the desk from the stretch; fuck it was so much. It was so much more than he thought. If he even wanted to back out, Childe didn’t give him the option. Childe’s hand wraps around his tie, pulling him back up to meet his gaze, while the other hand had a deathly bruising grip on his waist.

“You’re so tight, fuck. ” Childe groans. Even if he did want to back out, there was no way he was going to take away the experience of seeing Childe so debauched. Childe slowly thrusts inside, and each drag was driving Scaramouche mad. Did he forget to mention he was a virgin down there? He doesn’t mention it as Childe’s towering figure over his small body shoves him in a trance. How is this the first time he's ever done this before? This is his first time but shit, he is already so addicted. He needed more.

He needed to give himself up entirely to Childe.

“Faster, please boss. . .” Scaramouche tries fucking back into Childe’s thrusts.

“You don’t make the orders here,” Childe wraps the tie around his hand and tugs , punching a yelp out of Scaramouche’s lungs, “ I do .”

“But--” Oh. Scaramouche arches his back when Childe’s cock presses against his prostate. It wasn’t even a particularly hard thrust, but Scaramouche swore that he saw stars. 

“That’s right, don’t talk back to your boss, you fucking bitch.”

Childe snaps his hips. Scaramouche’s hands fly up to Childe’s arm, the one choking him by the tie. Childe’s fisted hand turns white from the vice grip around his tie.

“ Oh my god, yes, boss, I’m sorry boss, I won’t do that again, boss, please boss, fuck, fuck, mmph!”

The table croaked and shook underneath them. The stacks of papers that Scaramouche was supposed to go through fly onto the floor. It was likely all scattered and will take hours to organize but Scaramouche was so gone. His body rocked with Childe’s thrust as if he were a ragdoll being used. He loved it, fuck, he would have never gotten this with just his fingers. 

The drawers of the desk heaved back and forth, banging as it opened and closed from the desk's violent shaking. It was so loud , the only thing muting the sounds of the table was Scaramouche’s incoherent wails and Childe’s gasping. Even as the tie strained his voice, he couldn't stop ruining his throat. Over and over, he just wanted to ruin himself for Childe.

Scaramouche bends his head back at a particularly hard thrust, “ mm, so good, m’love it, so good!”

“You like that? Love being filled up with my cock huh? So obedient and good for me, yeah?” Childe’s voice drowns out the voices in his head telling him to keep his pride. His voice alone was enough to control his own mind. He was breaking him from the inside out.

“ Yes, anything for you, boss, love your cock, boss, mm’ so good. . .” Scaramouche sobs as he runs his nails down Childe’s strong arms. So firm, so perfect.

“Have you bent over your own desk just to let me fuck you, you want that though right? Everyone can see just how much of a slut you are-- hear how much of a slut you are. ”

“ Yes boss, I’m a stupid slut, m’fuck, fuck-- fuck me .” Scaramouche grits through his teeth. When Childe slips his dick out, he flips Scaramouche onto his stomach. He squeaks at the sudden flip-- he was barely touching the floor with his toes. He shudders when Childe lands a hard slap on his ass.

“That’s right, dumb little whore .”Fuck, he is so glad that he agrees. Childe tangles his hand into Scaramouche’s hair and pulls. Scaramouche drops his jaw at the sheer pain, but the gratification surges through his body. He needs to be a good slut for him. Let his boss take his body and use it-- he was so happy that he could finally be of use to his boss. Be a good little worker and take it.

Scaramouche cries as Childe sets a brutal pace. He claws at the edge of the table, but accidentally knocks his pencil cup over. Fucking whatever, let them make as big of a mess as they want.

His eyes look up at the security camera staring down at them from the corner. The red light blinking reminded him that the camera was still on. Scaramouche, with all sense gone with the wind, stares up at it and bites his lips. He could quite literally lose his job, but he couldn’t think straight. If anything, he hoped he was putting on a good show. 

“Heh, just noticed that?” Childe leans in, pressing his chest onto Scaramouche’s back. His hand grabs his chin and forces it back even further, “Let them see your face. Let them see how your boss fucks you.”

The fact that Childe didn’t even tell him until now, while should have been a blaring red flag, only turned him on more.

“ Mm, yes boss .” Scaramouche tilts his face up to the camera. He brings his fingers up to his mouth and starts swirling his tongue around them. He makes obscene faces, feeding off of the attention. He could imagine the security guard watching the footage back, perhaps thinking what the hell. However, could it really be that bad if he looked this good? Was this what it felt like, being filmed while doing such foul things? Now he can see why Childe was a camboy. Childe chuckles. He had completely ruined Scaramouche for life.

Scaramouche keens as he feels his orgasm coming up. 

“ B-Boss, I need to cum, c-can I cum, let me cum please, please, oh, please-- ”

Childe grabs Scaramouche’s hips, lifting them off the desk, and slams his hips down hard. It hits his prostate on a whole new level-- he can’t even beg to cum anymore, he has to. There was no way he would be able to hold back.

“ B-Boss, oh-- Chil-- Boss, I can’t-- m’ gonna cum, ngh!” Scaramouche reaches back, digging his nails into Childe’s arms, leaving crescent divots in his skin. It was his last resort, his last restraint. His hips hurt from how hard Childe pressed into him with his hands. Yet as he stares back at Childe, clenching his jaw, flexing his muscles, pink dusting his skin with sweat dripping down his forehead, drilling into him with no remorse, it became quite clear that Childe was close too. All strings of sanity cut loose.

“ Cum, c’mon baby.”

The tender nickname makes him melt.

“ C-Childe, Childe, ngh--Childe! ” Scaramouche couldn’t even say ‘boss’ anymore. All he could think of was Childe. He loved his body. He loved being fucked by him. He loved being used by him. He was Childe’s. 

He presses his chest into the table, pelting out a loud moan as his cum splattered across his chest and table. His eyes roll to the back of his head, and random strings of words and mumbling fall from his lips. Scaramouche was so gone-- his mind went completely numb and all he could think of was the pleasure ravaging his body.

“ Childe, mmph! ”

Childe doesn’t give him a break. He grabs Scaramouche’s ankle and pushes it up, forcing Scaramouche’s leg into a split. It causes Scaramouche to yelp, creating a burn under his knee from the stretch. His mind was already broken that he couldn’t even care. 

“Wow, so you can do a split? You’re so goddamn flexible, I wonder how many angles you can take my cock in.”

Scaramouche forces his leg to split farther, “ A-any, just f-fuc— “ His voice stutters. Just fuck me . More, more, more.

Driven past overstimulation, he feels tears well up in his eyes. It hurt so good. The tears stream past his red cheeks, sizzling to the touch. He felt so fucking wet everywhere . The fabric of his shirt stuck to his sweaty body, and precum and semen dripped down his cock. He was a mess, and all because he wanted to be good for Childe. 

“You were made to be a slut for cock, fucking look at you,” Childe breathes out, “so pretty, so perfect for me.”

Those words settle into Scaramouche’s skin. The arousal makes his skin prickle, and the only thing that can soothe it is Childe’s touch. After all the degradation, that small praise has him gasping. Yes , he was perfect for Childe-- he worked hard to earn it. If it meant that he could be engulfed by him endlessly, he could be bent like this forever for Childe. He would do anything for him. 

“ Fuck,” Childe growls. His hands fly to Scaramouche’s hips and presses down, fucking into his limp body with rigor. He was so close, “ Gonn’ cum inside, take it, wanna see you with my cum. ”

“ Yes boss-- Childe, Childe, oh my god!” Scaramouche’s body is shoved down mercilessly onto Childe dick. Despite how big he was, his hole tightened and squeezed around his cock. Childe lets out animalistic grunts, and fuck, it sounded so raw. 

“ Fuck .” Childe rasps.

Childe grabbed Scaramouche, lifting him up into his arms before sitting back on the office chair. The chair slides back and hits the wall. Thank god for Childe’s god-like strength, As Scaramouche straddled him, Childe smashed their lips together, tongue invading the wet heat of his mouth. Childe’s lips part as he gasps, his orgasm overcoming him.  Childe lurches forward, almost crushing Scaramouche in his grasp as he cums inside of him, the hot cum coating his insides. Fuck he felt so used and small in his hold.

Scaramouche felt his grunts vibrating on his lips as Childe rode out his orgasm, grinding up in his hole. He can practically taste the sexual frustration ebbing away as his groans softened. The sweat on their bodies leave behind a tacky sensation, making their bodies stick together. They were done, but their lips slowed to a soft dance. Scaramouche melts into Childe’s hold.

Fuck. That was amazing.

Using the last of his strength, he brings his hands up to Childe’s hair. It was so good. 

So fucking good.

-

“And it was all a dream!” 

“Really? That seems like something you would do though.” Kaeya laughs as Mona recounts her memory of getting stupidly drunk, only to have the rest of her high in her dreams.

“Ugh, yeah. I guess I am pretty lightweight. Speaking of lightweight, where's Scaramouche?” Mona perches on the office boot, scanning the office. Phones ringing, people talking, keyboard typing. It was just a typical day at Teyvat Inc. It was Monday, and she was hoping she could surprise him since she rarely works Mondays. Though, it likely wouldn’t be that much of a nice surprise.

“Yeah, he had some papers I gave him to work on. He was supposed to give them to me today. . .” Kaeya lifts his head to look.

“Really? What time is it?” Mona turns around to look at her computer. It was already ten, and Scaramouche usually came around at nine.

“Odd. Never took Scara as a slacker, tch.” Kaeya sighs. Kaeya turns to see Rosaria walking by, holding up a few binders and folders. 

Kaeya stands up from his desk, leaning over the booth, “Ah, Rosaria. Where’s your boyfriend?”

Rosaria slows her track, but scrunches her face, “Haven’t heard? We broke up.”

Kaeya and Mona exchange glances. Scaramouche and Rosaria? Only after a few weeks. But wasn’t it true love? Mona brings her hand to her mouth as she looks at Kaeya for his reaction. He was completely stunned.

“W-wait. Are you okay?” Kaeya reaches out to console her, but Rosaria leans back. The attempt at a tender gesture deepens her scowl.

“Of course I am? Ugh.” Rosaria gives the two one last dirty look before walking away, her heels clicking against the floor. She whispered something under her breath, but none of them caught it.

Kaeya sinks into his chair. Poor Scaramouche. Perhaps that was why he was gone. Rosaria really had no heart. She probably dumped him in the worst way possible. She was merciless like that. Maybe he should have stopped Scaramouche from getting with her to stop him from this torment--

“Hey guys!”

Kaeya and Mona whip their heads and drop their jaws to the floor. 

It was Scaramouche. And he was smiling . And with no mug in his hand. Kaeya didn’t know Scaramouche was capable of smiling without being under the influence of alcohol or coffee.

“Hey guys,” Scaramouche repeats, making his way to the booth, “what’s up?”

Mona almost collapsed if not for the fact that she was gripping on to the booth wall as if her life depended on it. Even Kaeya, the smooth talker of the trio, is left stuttering. When they both don’t say anything, Scaramouche moves his head to the side and side eyes them. Then, he laughs, “What’s wrong?”

“Oh my!--” Mona clasps her hand over her mouth as she looks at Scaramouche’s neck. It was obliterated ; painted in red and purple. It was like he got tackled by a lion. Yet he looks at them like nothing was on his neck. Kaeya shifts his eyes down to Scaramouche’s neck and fucking shrieks.

This couldn't be Scaramouche. Right? A few people in the office shush Kaeya, in which he waves his hand dismissively. That didn’t matter to him right now, who WAS this? 

“You-- uh, wha--” Should they mention the neck? 

Scaramouche raises an eyebrow, “What? Okay, you guys are being weird.”

They were being weird? The dude had the Froot Loops berry flavor color scheme on his neck. Kaeya just shakes his head and scratches the side of his temple. Scaramouche’s unorthodox behavior can be addressed later, “Anyways boss. . . uh, do you have the, uh, papers from Friday?” 

“Oh. No I don’t,” Scaramouche chuckles, “but you know I don’t do work on the weekends. I will try to get them to you in a bit though.”

Kaeya sighs.

“Also, you don’t need to call me boss anymore. Just call me Scara, like how you used to.”

Kaeya furrows his brows together. He was going through multiple emotions all at once-- was he being gaslit? 

“I am actually going insane.” Mona cups her hand over her forehead. Her whole demeanor had deflated. It felt like her brain was going to explode.

“I believe ya.” Scaramouche aims pointer guns at Mona, “Oh. It’s Monday. What are you doing here?”

Mona waves it off, “it doesn’t matter.”

So much for a surprise. Scaramouche really did beat her to it.

“Hey!”

Kaeya and Mona lean to the side and see Childe walking up from behind. Both of them flick their eyes between the Scaramouche and Childe. It was always like this whenever they saw both of them in the office. Without a mug in Scaramouche’s hand, who knows what weapon he will settle for? A book? His shoe? Kaeya’s eyepatch?

However, instead of a scowl on his face, Scaramouche fucking purrs, “Hey boss .” Scaramouche giggles as he runs his hand through Childe’s tie. He playfully flicks the end of it in Childe’s face.

Mona fell into her own booth. This is why she never comes to work on Mondays.

Kaeya tries to piece the pieces together, but it wasn’t piecing. First, Rosaria says they broken up. Next, Scaramouche comes with a purple neck and a smile , and now he was flirting with his own stupid intern? Not his words though, it was Scaramouche’s before now. Did Scaramouche cheat on Rosaria with Childe? The intern he swore on his life that he hated? Kaeya runs his hands through his hair. The very fabric of reality was tearing each second.

“Anyways I got to get those papers to you as soon as possible.” Scaramouche mentions. Kaeya scoffs and flails his hands, surrendering. Honestly fuck those papers. The end of the world is happening right now.

“Yeah, and Kaeya, is the offer still up? If you don’t wanna go to the baseball game, Scaramouche is gonna steal those tickets from you.”

“Oh, uh, no, I am still down.” Kaeya nods, but he feels lightheaded. He might need to lay down.

“Boss,” Scaramouche tugs on Childe’s tie, “gotta get going now.”

“Oh yeah, ok, see ya Kaeya, see ya Mona.” Childe waves.

Mona makes a grunt. At least she was still awake.

All in all, yeah, Scaramouche had his floor under his control.