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It was just one night at Wangshu Inn. Just one night sharing a room with the insufferable man that the Fatui called “Childe.”
Scaramouche couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t stand the way Childe always spoke so loudly, the way he was always so blood thirsty, the way he would grind his teeth when he was trying to focus. He couldn’t stand it one bit. But it was just one night, he thought to himself. So what’s the worst that could happen?
Then Scaramouche hears his name being called from the bathroom. But not his full name, that stupid nickname that Childe oh-so creatively came up with.
“Scara!” he elongates the second “a” of Scara, just to piss the other one off. “Grab me a towel!”
One night. Scaramouche silently gets up from the bed, grabs a towel from the nightstand, and flung the door open without a word. Then he saw it.
Why wouldn’t he be ass naked in the middle of the bathroom? Why would he just stay in the shower and reach his hand out awkwardly for a towel? Scaramouche feels himself turn beet red as he tosses the towel at the other, who seems completely unfazed. Scaramouche can feel a tent forming in his pants, the fabric restraining them becoming incredibly uncomfortable.
“No, no, no.” he mumbles to himself, pacing around the room with his hands in his hair. “Not happening, not happening, not happening.” Scaramouche repeated it like a mantra, as if that would fix his little problem.
Childe exits the bathroom with the towel wrapped around his waist, his hair still soaking wet.
“Do they have a hair dryer?” of course he would act oblivious, like he wasn’t just ass-naked in front of his colleague.
“Why would I know?” Scaramouche spits back, covering his crotch with his shirt and sitting on the edge of his bed. Gods, please don’t notice it. Childe nods, and his eyes slowly trail down, causing Scaramouche to look away in both arousal and frustration.
“What happened here?” Scaramouche hears over the pounding in his chest. He shakes his head in response, his words failing him.
“Nothing?” Scaramouche tries to sound cocky and confident, just like his usual self, but instead squeaks out the word like a question. Childe gives a small laugh, more of a chuckle, and steps forward ever so slightly.
“You’re a fucking pervert, do you know that?” Childe asks, though he knows if Scaramouche weren’t in the situation he was in, he would kill him.
“You were standing there ass naked after calling me in.” Scaramouche says through gritted teeth. “Who’s really the pervert here?” He stands up and walks towards Childe.
“If you want me, you can just say that.”
How did he have the audacity to say such a thing?
“And so what if I do?” Scaramouche told himself that he didn’t have feelings for Childe for years, that he could never develop feelings for a mere human. Of course, that was total bullshit, and he knew that deep down. Childe gives a slight hum, moving so close to Scaramouche and leaning down ever so slightly that their lips were centimeters from touching.
“May I?” Scaramouche asks in a soft voice, holding Childe’s chin between his thumb and pointer finger. He gives a nod in response, gently pressing their lips together and sliding a hand down to Scaramouche’s waist. The latter finds his hand making its way up to Childe’s hair and giving it a slight pull, encouraging him to open his mouth and allow Scara to slide his tongue in, gliding his own against the other’s.
Childe releases a quiet moan at the tug, his inner masochist screaming for more. He slides his hands down further, cupping Scaramouche’s ass as he picks him up and feels legs wrap themselves around his torso. They break the kiss every few seconds to breathe, immediately diving back in to get just another taste of the other one in front of them. Childe practically tosses Scaramouche onto the bed that he had picked when they entered the room, Scara’s nimble frame causing him to bounce slightly. Then Childe is on top of him, holding himself up with his muscular arms and continuing to kiss him sloppily, then removing his pants. He’s hard as a rock at this point, knowing exactly what he would do to Scaramouche, (if he would let him, of course.)
Scaramouche presses Childe off of him, looking up at him with his pupils blown and his hair ruffled beyond any point of return.
“Get under me.” he demands through a deep breath.
Oh.
Perhaps Childe wouldn’t be the one in control tonight; not that he necessarily minded, of course. Scaramouche sighs in frustration at Childe’s hesitation in obedience, deciding then and there he would take the liberty of grabbing his hips and flipping him over so their positions were swapped. Childe’s towel drops, revealing his cock on full display. Scaramouche sighs at the sight, sliding a hand down Childe’s abs and towards his crotch before lowering his lips to the other’s ear.
“This okay?”
Childe nods with a quiet whimper, tilting his head back ever so slightly. Scaramouche continues lowering his hand to the other’s dick, giving it a slow stroke and leaning back down to kiss him. He continues the action at an agonizingly slow pace, not even once speeding up. Childe’s breathing picks up, beads of sweat forming on his brow as Scaramouche teases and edges him.
“Fuck, faster.” Childe moans against Scaramouche’s lips, before diving back in.
“Ah ah, Ajax.” Childe can feel the smug look on the other’s face, pulling away to look into his eyes as Scaramouche’s hand stops all movement. He lifts his hand to the other’s face and cups it.
“Why don’t you beg me?” he whispers, leaving a brief yet gentle kiss to Childe’s lips. Childe shakes his head without a word, earning him a slap and a grab of his jaw, in which he responds with a loud moan.
“I said, beg me.” Scaramouche orders, tightening his grip on Childe’s face.
“Please, go faster.” Childe grunts out. “Please, Scara, jerk me off, I’ll be good.”
Scaramouche gives a sadistic smile, sliding his hand back down to Childe’s dick. He slinks down between the boy’s legs and continues to move his hand up and down, this time rubbing it against his own through his boxers. Childe releases a string of loud moans at the feeling, his breathing getting even faster as his grip tightens on the sheets. Childe feels a knot forming in his stomach, precum leaking out as he whimpered and whined, Scaramouche still touching the two of them together.
“Gonna cum.” Childe pants out, picking his head up off of the pillow and nearly tearing through the sheets. He can practically see his orgasm approaching, his vision whitening and his moans getting louder. Then all movement stops, and Scaramouche gives a dry laugh, releasing his grip on the both of them. Childe whines at the denial, groaning in defeat.
“Not yet.” Scaramouche says in a mockingly soft tone, sliding his lithe hand up and down Childe’s thigh in an attempt to sooth him. “This is just the beginning, my sweet Ajax.” The aforementioned groans and throws his head back again, impossibly hard.
“I know what’ll make you feel better.” Scaramouche says it as though he was trying to cheer the other boy up like a friend, like he didn’t just rub his dick on his.
Scaramouche plants a kiss on his forehead, then his lips, then his neck, his chest, his stomach, and then to the head of his dick. He looks up at Childe, silently asking for permission, receiving an eager nod to go ahead. Scaramouche kisses the head again, then slides it in his mouth and licks the slit.
Childe gives a small “hah” sound at the feeling, his dick practically throbbing at this point and his heart pounding in his chest. Scaramouche slides more of it in his mouth, not really bobbing his head, just sucking. Childe slides a hand into indigo hair, lacing his fingers through and trying not to cum from just the sight of Scara’s mouth around his cock. He would never let that go if he came that early. His mouth was just so warm, so wet, his tongue moving in a way Childe had only ever dreamed of as he slid his mouth down further onto it. Scaramouche was slowly grinding his hips into the bed, needing some kind of friction after going so long without any.
“Scara, get off.” Childe staggers through a moan as he feels his orgasm creeping in once again. Scaramouche doesn’t do it, he just keeps sucking and licking, as though it was addictive for him. He moans at the gratification the bed was giving him, but it still wasn’t enough. Childe was chanting Scaramouche’s nickname like it was a prayer, growing louder with every time he said.
“Oh my gods, Scara!” he was screaming at this point. “Cumming, oh fuck!” Scaramouche pulls off, once again denying him any more pleasure.
“What the fuck?” A tear rolls down his cheek out of frustration, a whine escaping his throat. “Why? What do I have to do?”
“Beg me again.” Scaramouche orders. “It was so hot the first time, do it again.”
“Please just let me cum, please.” he says it without hesitation. “I’ll do anything you ask me to do. I’ll suck you off a-and I’ll ride you, I’ll do anything, I swear.” His hands are folded like he was in a prayer, more tears welling up in his eyes. Scaramouche cups his face, a smile filled with mock-pity covering his face.
“You really want it?” Scaramouche slides a thumb into Childe’s mouth, getting an “mhm” sound in response and a suck of his thumb. The feeling was nearly too much for Scaramouche to keep his demeanor, but he managed to do it. Scaramouche lets out a quiet moan the feeling, before giving his next order.
“Lay back down, back on the mattress, head on the pillow, and spread your legs.” as soon as Scara says it, Childe pulls his thumb out of his mouth and follows his instructions as though it would be the last thing he would ever do. He looks around frantically, his partially wet hair sticking up in a ridiculous way.
“Do you have a…” Childe sighs. “y’know.”
Scaramouche appears confused for a second, looking at Childe as if he was stupid.
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
Childe groans yet again, covering his face with his hands.
“Condom.” he says it as though it’s common knowledge. (It totally is.)
“Right, yeah.” Scaramouche gives a small laugh, getting up from his position and rummaging through the drawers. Nothing. Both their faces drop as they realize: one of them has to go to the lobby.
“You’re topping, you go!” Childe says with no hesitation, his legs still spread out on the bed. “Plus, I’m completely naked. You still have a shirt and shit.”
“I hate you so goddamn much.” Scaramouche hates that it make sense, he hates when Childe is right. “I’ll go.”
Scaramouche slides his pants back on, a pink shade tinting his cheeks as Childe watched his every action. He didn’t want to lose the mood, he couldn’t afford to.
“If I catch you touching yourself when I’m back, you’ll regret it.” Scaramouche says it like an order, getting a nod in response.
“Yes sir.”
Fuck, he liked that. Childe hears the door shut, immediately letting go of the breath he felt himself holding. Thank the gods that Scaramouche wanted him the way he did, that he finally got to fuck this stupid boy. When he finally returns after what feels like hours, Childe is still spread out on the bed, displaying himself. Scaramouche slots himself between the other’s legs, circling the head around his entrance.
“Ready, pretty boy?” Scaramouche asks, removing his pants, then his boxers, followed by his shirt. He rips open the condom and puts it on eagerly, the inability to wait overthrowing his sense of dignity.
Childe nods again. Scaramouche kisses him passionately but with a certain gentle touch, simultaneously sliding himself in and swallowing the moan that Childe released. Scaramouche slides his hands down to his hips, giving himself leverage to fuck into the boy underneath him as he moved at his own pace. He removes one hand from Childe’s hips to grab onto his hair, not once pulling away from their kiss.
“So fucking pretty.” Scara mumbles against his lips, angling his hips to hit the other’s prostate before pulling away and jerking him off as he fucked him.
“Oh my gods.” he practically screams as a response to the sudden yet pleasant stimulation. “Like that, Scara, right there.”
The words encourage him to go faster, harder. He wanted everyone to know who did this to him, who he would soon belong to. Scara leans down to his neck, finding a spot just below his jaw and sucking it. Childe gasps at the feeling, his hands making their way to Scara’s back and clawing. Scaramouche kept repeating the action, leaving hickey after hickey as he kept the same pace.
Scaramouche pulls away from his neck to admire his work, the tears rolling down Childe’s face, the way his damp hair stuck up at the spot he was holding. His pace was relentless at this point, the sound of his hips smacking Childe’s ass as he bottomed out echoing throughout the room. He slides the hand out of his hair and begins holding the side of his face once more.
“You like that, Ajax?” he pants out as he chases after his orgasm. Not yet. “Oh fuck.”
“Mhm.” The aforementioned responds with a moan, much louder than he intended to. Scaramouche loved every second of it, though. Loved the idea of everyone in Liyue finding out what a slut he was, everyone knowing that it was him who got to fuck him after years of waiting. Childe resumes his previous grip on the sheets as he huffs and whines so loudly it drowns out the sound of the headboard smacking the wall.
“You feel so good.” Scara manages to say through a moan, watching the precum leak out of Childe’s dick. “You wanna cum?”
“Yes sir.” Childe takes a breath after each word. “Please.”
“Too bad.” Scaramouche doesn’t stop his movements, only slows them down drastically, removing his hand from Childe’s dick.
“You’re killing me.” Childe whines and continues clawing, this time as an attempt to rile up the boy fucking him. “Please, please.”
“Do some of the work, my love.” Oh, he liked that name. “Move your ass against me.”
So, Childe does exactly as he’s told. At this point, he’s desperate, he’d get on his knees and kiss Scara’s boots if it meant he would let him cum, if it meant he could finally feel that sweet release. Scara loves the feeling of Childe’s insides, the way they clench around him with every single thrust. He loved watching Childe moan and whimper and sob at the denial; if he wasn’t so desperate to cum, himself, he would’ve spent the entire night edging and teasing him, just like he had been. Scaramouche slides his lithe fingers down Childe’s abdomen, feeling every little bump under his fingertips and relishing at how sensitive the boy was under his touch. Childe had been behaving well the entire night, so perhaps he had earned the feeling he so desperately craved all night. After all, Scaramouche was nearly done, himself.
“Getting close.” Scaramouche grunts out, immediately picking up his pace again, his own moans growing louder. Childe gives a relieved sigh and continues pushing his ass onto him. “You’re being such a good boy, why don’t you cum for me?”
“Can I, can I really?” Childe asks it like a kid on Christmas, his eyes lighting up and breathing all staggered. Scaramouche nods, using the hand he was previously tracing Childe’s abs with to pin him down. A pleasantly warm feeling courses through Scaramouche’s veins, one he hadn’t felt in a long time.
This time, there were no games, no more denial. Childe releases rope after rope of cum, covering his stomach and Scaramouche’s face as his orgasm ran through him. He licks it off his lips as he continues his rough pace, fucking him through his orgasm as he reached his own with a loud grunt, filling the condom to the brim. There’s a moment of mutual, loud breathing, before he pulls out slowly and discards it, followed by him throwing himself on Childe’s twitching, fucked out body and kissing his cheek.
“Fucking hell.” Childe sighs and laughs a little, wrapping an arm around Scara’s shoulder, which he unconsciously snuggled himself into. He couldn’t help notice how comfortable he was, how safe he felt in his arms. “Safe to say our ‘friendship is ruined’ or whatever.”
Scaramouche looks up at him with soft eyes.
“You saw me as a friend?” his voice is quiet.
“Yeah, did you not see me as one?”
“I saw you as a hot piece of ass, that’s what.” Scaramouche jokes, grabbing and kissing his jaw once more, inspecting his previous work. Childe laughs with him for a moment, allowing the other to trace his fingers down the marks he had previously left.
“You fucked me up, dude.”
“Do not ever call me dude.” Scaramouche responds, flicking one of the sensitive spots and getting a whine of complaint. He kisses it. “Look at my back, though.” He rolls on his side to show off his scratches, having broken enough skin to scar, but not quite enough to draw too much blood.
“Fuck, sorry.” Childe says with genuine sympathy, reaching out to touch one, in an attempt to comfort him, before Scaramouche swats his hand away.
“It’s fine, really.” Scara rolls back over. “You have to shower again, you’re covered in your own jizz and it’s disgusting.” He says this as he wipes his face with Childe’s previously discarded towel.
“Maybe I’ll call you in again.” Childe winks and gets up, kissing Scaramouche before heading to the bathroom. “Stop staring at my ass.”
Dammit.