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The sigh that leaves Scaramouche is immense. His chest deflates with the force of it, making him sink into the couch even further. It’s Saturday; a rarely uneventful one, too. Both Scaramouche and Childe are homework free, and have the day to themselves in their tiny apartment.
“I’m bored. This is boring.” Scara whines, tossing his controller beside himself on the couch. It almost hits Childe, but he scooches his leg to the side to avoid it.
“You’re the one who insisted we drag out the Wii for bowling.” Childe shrugs, setting his Wii-mote on the coffee table in front of them.
“Yeah- it was fun for like…five minutes, but now I’m bored again.” Scaramouche huffs. Childe only rolls his eyes from beside him. The gentle sound of the game’s music fills the living room.
“You wanna raise the stakes?” Childe asks casually.
“I’m not playing strip-table tennis with you.” Scara sneers. It makes Childe’s nose scrunch up in a funny expression.
“Wow, don’t get too excited about it.” Childe mutters jokingly under his breath.
“You’re the kind of creep that would suggest it.” Scaramouche shrugs, like it’s a valid explanation. Childe just shakes his head in response.
“I was gonna say we should take shots or something.” Childe shrugs.
“It’s 3pm.” Scara responds. Is he crazy?
“Oh… true.” Childe’s smile falls. “How about a bet?”
“...What kind of bet?” Scaramouche asks cautiously. If he’s not careful, he’ll end up having to do something embarrassing.
“Hmm. Let’s make the loser do something embarrassing.” Childe says. Scaramouche immediately frowns. Of course. “We can do a best out of three sword-fighting match on the game.” He gestures to the TV, which is still on the Wii-Sports game selection menu.
“Okay.” Scaramouche flattens his expression. “But I get to choose what happens to you when you lose.”
“That seems fair…” Childe trails off, slightly raising an eyebrow in Scara’s direction. He seems cautious… probably for good reason.
“When you lose, you’ll be forced to be my maid for a day.” Scara elaborates.
“Oh, that’s nothing, I practically do that anyway-”
“Dress and all!” Scara interrupts triumphantly.
Scara smirks evilly, thinking of how Childe’s hairy ass legs will look in white lace stockings. This ought’ to be good.
“Okay.” Childe says far too calmly. “What happens if you lose?”
“I won’t.” Scara replies with finality.
“Yeah… but what if you do?”
“Impossible.”
“Okay but like- imagine a world where you do lose, I think it’s only fair I get to choose the consequence.” Childe tries to bargain, shooting Scara a hopeful look.
“Fine.” Scaramouche huffs in defeat. Childe is too stubborn. “I’m not gonna be your maid, though.”
“Hm… I don’t really think I need a maid anyway, but I’ve always wanted a cat!”
“How the hell is that related?”
“You could be my cat for the day. Y’know like… follow me around and wear cat ears and shit. It would be fun.”
“Maybe for you, you freak.” Scara scowls.
“It’s just… my allergies… I could never have one.” Childe sighs dramatically. He pretends to wipe a tear from his eye, further exaggerating his clearly fake sob-story.
“UGH! Fine. As long as you’re not weird about it. It won’t even happen, anyway…” Scaramouche trails off, mumbling under his breath.
“Shake on it?” Childe reaches a hand in Scaramouche’s direction. Scara claps his palm against Childe’s, and shakes firmly. This should be good.
-
Scaramouche loses. Horribly loses, actually.
He lost the first, boasted about how he was just warming up, and then went and lost the second round as well. Now they both sit in front of the victory screen, silent.
Scara stares straight forward at the TV, hoping the verdict will magically change if he looks hard enough. Meanwhile, Childe has a growing smirk on his face. He says nothing, though, and picks up his phone. Scara can see him scroll for a few moments out of the corner of his eye.
“What’s your shorts size?” Childe asks, idly typing something into his phone’s search bar. Scara can see the Amazon app from the angle he’s sitting.
“Die.”
-
Scaramouche sighs as he slings his backpack onto the floor. He feels twenty pounds lighter with the weight of heavy textbooks removed from his poor shoulders. He kicks off his shoes as well, haphazardly tossing them onto the shoe-rack near the door of their small apartment.
Said apartment is eerily quiet today. It makes sense- Fridays are the days when their schedules don’t collide. Scaramouche has all of his classes in the early morning, and Childe only has one class. On any other day, Childe would have his homework sprawled all over the coffee table in the living room, but it seems he decided to sleep in this morning. It’s no matter- sometimes the quiet is welcome.
Scaramouche practically skips the short distance to his bedroom; ecstatic to sink into his sheets for a well deserved nap. He nearly trips over a large cardboard box outside his door.
“What the fuck…” He mutters to himself, leaning down to examine it. He wasn’t expecting mail, could this be…?
He lifts one flap of the cardboard box to reveal something furry, and a shiny gold bell. Scaramouche slams the box shut, blushing bright red. Childe was serious? Part of Scaramouche hoped the bet was all some sick joke, but of course it wouldn’t be. It’s Childe. He doesn’t have an ounce of grace or subtlety.
It’s been nearly a week since their stupid little bet. Scara almost (foolishly) thought Childe forgot, given the two-day shipping and all, but it seems that’s not the case.
Scaramouche stomps over to Childe’s door, and rips it open. He’s sitting criss-cross on his bed, with his laptop perched on his thighs.
“Hi.” Childe says softly from his bed.
“You’re an asshole.”
“Yeah, but I’m a handsome asshole.” Childe smiles.
“I’m not wearing your perverted Halloween costume.” Scara frowns, looking down at his feet.
“Going back on your word? Hm….” Childe hums to himself. “Sounds to me like you’re scared.”
“Yeah- scared of my weirdo roommate who wants to dress me up like a doll.” Scara sneers. Childe just lets out a light laugh.
“You don’t have to put it on, I’ll just taunt you ‘til the end of time. Scaramouche’s ego is too fragile to put on a tiny pair of fake cat ears. Scaramouche is soooo mad at his big sexy beefy roommate who-”
“Kill yourself.” Scara interrupts him.
“Time’s ticking, go get dressed.” Childe checks his invisible watch, and smirks in a manner that can only be described as evil. Scaramouche just scoffs in disbelief, and leaves the room. He resists the urge to slam Childe’s door shut with all of his strength.
He stalks the short distance to his own bedroom door, and gives the box on the floor a look that could kill. He knows Childe wouldn’t force him to put it on, but it really is a hit to his pride to go back on a bet- especially when he was so confident he would win. He just knows that Childe is the type of asshole who will never let him forget it.
Scaramouche sighs in defeat, and picks the box up off the floor. He pushes his door open, and quickly closes it behind himself. He flings one of Childe’s dirty shirts off his bed, and sets the box down.
It taunts him silently for the next ten minutes as he paces the small space. Back and forth, back and forth. Ugh. Fuck this.
Scara walks over to his bed, and rips open the cardboard flaps covering the contents of the box. It looks the same as when he saw it earlier, but now he can take a closer look. He takes a furry cat ear headband out of the box. The ears nearly match his hair color- a bit too purple, but Scara will give kudos where kudos are due. The ears are good quality- not unlike the kind people wear for cosplay. He rubs the fur between his thumb and forefinger, feeling the softness. He spots fur of a matching color inside the box, and pulls that out too.
Scaramouche lets out a sigh of relief when he sees the velcro at the end of the tail. He had a scenario in his mind which ended in a metal buttplug ricocheting off Childe’s thick skull.
The tail is even softer than the ears. It’s a little puffier than a real cat’s, but hey, who’s counting? The fur gradients into a slightly lighter purple at the tip, and is silky soft to the touch.
Scara sets the tail and ears down, and picks up the next item. It’s black fabric all folded up in a cellophane bag. He rips open the bag, and pulls it out. Two long socks unfurl in his hand, but he catches a glimpse of pink as they do. Scara brings the foot of the sock up to his face, only to be greeted with a cute pink paw print. He frowns. Childe went all out.
He throws the alarmingly long socks onto his bed, and pulls the next item out of the box. It’s a pair of shorts, very obviously made for women. They’re obscenely short- will these even fit? Scara turns the shorts around to see the other piece of velcro on the butt. He scowls at the offending fabric.
Scaramouche sighs as he picks up the last thing in the box- the object he dreads the most. It’s a collar- pink in color, and adorned with a large gold bell. It jingles as he moves it around in his hands. The leather is cool to the touch, and has a belt-like clasp in the back.
Scaramouche chooses to believe that the feeling in his stomach is hatred as he unbuttons his pants. He shucks them off his legs, shivering as the cool air of his room tickles his bare skin. He picks the tiny gray shorts up off his bed, and steps into the fabric.
He looks like an idiot.
Scara looks at his reflection in the mirror on the wall. The shorts are all bunched up in the fabric of his boxers on one leg, and on the other, his boxers are a good three inches longer than the hem of the shorts.
“This is so fucking stupid.” He grumbles under his breath as he takes the shorts off. He stomps over to his dresser, and yanks open his underwear drawer. He rifles through every pair he owns, but they are all the same cut and length of the ones he’s currently wearing. He looks utterly ridiculous- he can’t walk out into their apartment with his underwear showing.
Letting out a sigh of defeat, Scara thumbs the hem of his plaid boxers, and pulls the fabric off of his legs, leaving him bare from the waist down. He picks up the gray shorts once more, and slides the soft fabric into place. He looks at himself in the mirror. Slightly less ridiculous, but… definitely still stupid looking. He feels like his balls are going to fall out of the shorts with how small they are. Hopefully his shirt will be long enough to cover everything. He turns around, looking at the back where the tail is supposed to attach. His ass does look fantastic… Maybe the shorts aren’t all bad.
He picks up said tail, and firmly presses the velcro together. It sits at his tailbone, and swishes behind him satisfyingly as he moves. The ears go on next, simply sliding over his hair thanks to the thin headband. He fluffs his hair up around them to make them look more natural. It’s freaking him out- they almost look real.
He picks up the socks next, and sits down at the edge of his bed. He bunches up the fabric, and slides his foot in, pulling the whole sock up at once. The black material isn’t too thick, but not thin either. He pulls and adjusts the fabric around the paw print so it sits right on the ball of his foot. He does the same with the other sock, before adjusting both of the hems where he wants them. They come up above Scara’s knees, slightly squishing the skin of his thighs under the ribbed fabric of the sock. He has a feeling they will not stay up on their own, but that’s a problem for Future Scaramouche.
He picks up the collar last, and brings it up to his neck. A shiver goes down his spine as he looks at his reflection. Cat ears are one thing… but a collar? He looks like he’s about to star in a porno- a bad one at that.
Scara struggles to get the leather through the metal belt clasp. His arms bend at an uncomfortable angle, and he can’t seem to find the hole for the clasp to go through. He huffs, giving up, and leaves it on his bed. Childe can cry about it.
Scara takes a deep breath, hoping to calm the nerves in his stomach. He shouldn’t be so anxious- it’s just Childe. Hopefully he won’t actually make him wear this stupid getup for the whole day.
He makes his way to the door, opening it and stepping out into their apartment. He can see Childe’s orange mop of hair from the back of the couch when he steps out of the room. He must’ve moved to the living room while Scara was changing. He walks over, the paw pads on his socks providing surprisingly helpful tread against their slippery wood flooring.
Childe turns around at the noise, and Scara watches as his eyes jump from the ears atop his head, immediately down to his tiny shorts. Childe snorts out a laugh, but quickly covers his mouth. Scaramouche grabs one of their decorative throw pillows from the arm of the couch, and whacks him over the head with it.
“Fuck you. You asked for this.” He seethes.
“No, no- I’m enjoying it, I promise. Where’s your collar? And the shirt I gave you to go with it?” Childe asks. Scara looks down at his shirt. He just left on whatever t-shirt he went to class in. It doesn’t really match.
“What shirt?” Scaramouche frowns. He didn’t see any shirt in the box.
“The one I left on your bed.” Childe clarifies.
“Oh. I thought you were just leaving your dirty laundry all around like usual.” Scara scowls.
“Go put it on, it’s part of the outfit.” Childe says with finality, and turns away, going back to whatever game he was playing on his phone prior. Scara huffs, but turns back anyway to put on the shirt.
He finds the shirt Childe is referring to- it’s one of Childe’s favorites; or at least Scara thinks it is. He wears it pretty often. It’s black with an abstract white design on the front. The print is a bit worn from wear, but the shirt is soft. It still rests on the bed from when he pushed it away earlier. Scara quickly pulls his own shirt over his head, flinging it into his laundry basket. His ears almost get knocked off in the process. Oops. Forgot about those.
He pulls the soft fabric of Childe’s shirt over his head (carefully this time). It’s… big. He’s never really thought about it before, but Childe is a lot larger than him. Of course his shirt would be too. It’s loose on Scara’s frame, and almost obscures his shorts from how long it is. He’s immediately overwhelmed by the smell of Childe’s cologne. Or body wash, or after shave, or… whatever. Scaramouche doesn’t really care; or at least he shouldn’t care. He brings the collar of the shirt up to his nose, and gently inhales. He feels like a total creep. Doesn’t change how nice it smells, though. Scaramouche doesn’t bother looking in the mirror, before grabbing the collar, and walking back to the living room.
“Too cheap to buy me the matching shirt?” Scara smirks, standing in front of the couch where Childe sits.
“No, you’re techically my cat now. I need to show that you're mine somehow.” Childe smirks mischievously. Scara’s smile falls.
“Oh what, the fucking collar wasn’t enough? Where’d you even buy this, a sex shop?” Scara scowls, tossing the collar into Childe’s lap. The jingle it releases is miserable. Childe doesn’t even grace him with a reply- just that stupid handsome smirk.
“You're disgusting.” Scara frowns.
“Go on, put it on, it’s the most important part of the outfit.” Childe gestures with his hand, tossing the collar back at Scara.
“... I couldn't do it by myself.” He mumbles shamefully. Luckily, Childe doesn’t make him repeat himself, and gets up instead.
“Wha-” Scara cuts himself off as Childe grabs the collar from his hands, and steps behind him. Scara peeps out a small sound as large hands wrap the collar around his throat.
Childe is standing too close. Scaramouche can feel his breath against the back of his neck as he fastens the collar. His chest touches Scara’s back- he hopes Childe can’t feel the way he’s trembling.
Scaramouche has never addressed the feelings that sizzle beneath the surface; The tight feeling he gets his chest when Childe gets a little too close. Scara almost doesn’t want to. Something about the tension is enchanting. He likes when Childe touches his leg in the car, or puts a hand on his waist as he moves past him- although he’ll never admit it. Childe may be an annoying bastard, but he is an attractive man. Very attractive; and if Scaramouche is being honest, he would like to do unsightly things to him.
Childe buckles it after what feels like an eternity of awkward silence. It’s snug around Scara’s neck, but thankfully not too tight. Childe steps around to face him, and right as Scaramouche is about to speak, Childe fits two fingers under the leather of his collar. He tugs; once, twice, making Scara’s whole body jolt at the movement. The bell on his throat jingles as he moves. How humiliating.
“Is it too tight?” Childe asks, the teasing lilt to his voice gone. Scara shakes his head, not trusting his own voice. He wants to kick and scream and call Childe several expletives, but things will only be more embarrassing for him if he does so. He just needs to make it through, then he can berate his roommate.
“Good.” Childe says, and then jingles the bell a few times with his pointer finger. Scara can feel his expression morphing into one of hatred, but Childe doesn’t seem to care. Scara scoffs under his breath, and flops down onto the couch unceremoniously. Childe gives him a weird look.
“...What.”
“Since when were pets allowed on the sofa?” Childe smirks.
“I am going to kill you.” Scaramouche spits.
“That’s not what a cat should say to his beloved owner.” Childe trills.
“Oh sorry- I’m going to scratch your eyes out and piss in your shoes.”
“Ohhh… roleplaying already? I like it, what happens next?” Childe says, and is promptly whacked with the pillow once more.
-
The time spent with Childe is going exactly as Scaramouche feared it would. Childe has absolutely zero shame, and isn’t afraid to make Scara bend to his twisted whims. Scara honestly can’t tell if he’s doing this because it’s funny, or if he’s actually a pervert. Probably both.
“You’re not gonna chase it?” Childe cocks his head at Scaramouche from his place on the floor. He made it very clear that pets weren’t allowed on the sofa, so he sits on the soft fabric of their shag rug, instead. There’s a cloth mouse laying at Childe’s feet; a cat toy. He must be sick in the head if he actually thinks Scara will play with it. He’s a person, not a cat. This is ridiculous. Childe nudges the toy in Scara’s direction with his foot.
“C’mon, I’ll even throw it for you.” Childe says, and leans down to pick up the mouse. He tosses it in Scara’s direction. It bounces off his arm, hitting the floor with a soft ‘poof’. He watches Scara like he’s actually going to move. How stupid can he be?
“You kind of suck at being a cat.” Childe sighs dramatically.
“Yeah, no shit asshole.” Scara scowls, crossing his arms.
“I thought you would at least put a little effort in. I know I would’ve gone all out if I had lost the bet.” Childe says in a tone bordering on wistful. Scara knows he’s just trying to guilt trip him. If he respects himself, he won’t fall for it.
Before Scara can come up with a witty response, Childe gets up off the couch, and wanders into the kitchen. He hears some rustling around, and then the sound of the fridge opening.
“Here kitty kitty kitty!” Childe calls from the kitchen. Scaramouche feels his eye twitch with annoyance. He gets up, poking his head into the doorway.
“Ah, so you do come when you’re called.” Childe says. Scaramouche can’t see his face from how he’s standing, but he assumes Childe has that stupid expression on his face that he has when he thinks he’s being clever.
“I think you should kill yourself.”
“You’re so mean to me.” Childe says, but his tone is dismissive. He’s not paying any attention to Scaramouche. It pisses him off.
Childe reaches into the cabinet above the counter, and grabs a can of tuna fish.
“Hey, can you find the can opener for me?” Childe asks, glancing over his shoulder. Scaramouche grimaces.
“I’m not eating slop out of a can. You’re sick-”
“Chill.” Childe says, and then holds up a bag of white bread with one hand. “I’m just making sandwiches.”
“...Oh.” Scaramouche says after a beat. Well now he feels stupid…
Scara walks over to their junk drawer and bends over. He pulls it open, and takes a glance at what’s inside. Childe lets out a choked sound from behind him. Scara feels his face turn red; he knows why. His attire isn’t exactly modest, and neither is his choice of underwear (none).
He chooses to ignore Childe’s obvious gawking, and continues rooting around the drawer. There’s a little bit of everything in here; thumbtacks, scissors, a rogue tape dispenser…
“Ah!” Scara squeaks, losing his balance as a hand tugs on his tail. He grips the countertop to stop himself from falling flat on his ass. His face heats at Childe’s laughter from behind him.
“Do you find all of your joy in humiliating me specifically?” Scaramouche spits, whipping his head around to glare at Childe.
“No, just most of it.”
Scaramouche doesn’t have it in him to retort, so he keeps his mouth shut. He can’t win.
He watches silently as Childe cuts a small stalk of celery, and cranks open the can to scoop the fish into a bowl. He mixes the ingredients with mayonnaise and some seasonings, before spooning it onto two pieces of bread. He cuts one sandwich in half down the middle, and the other diagonally; just the way Scara likes it.
Childe turns around, and sets both plates down at their small kitchen table.
“...You’re not gonna make me eat off the floor like an animal?”
“Oh, I can put it on the floor, sorry.” Childe starts to take his plate and lower it down off the table.
“No! No, here is fine.” Scara backtracks. He wasn’t asking for fuck’s sake. Ugh. Childe does a poor job at hiding his mischievous smile. Scara knows him well enough to see when he’s laughing on the inside.
Childe watches attentively as Scara brings one half of his sandwich up to his mouth. He bites the corner of the triangle, chewing slowly.
“Is it good?” Childe asks, a hopeful look on his face.
“It’s food.” Scara says through a mouthful of tuna salad, shrugging. He refuses to give Childe small victories. Childe’s smile falls.
“What? I’m not gonna bend over backwards just because you made me a sandwich.” Scara raises an eyebrow.
“You’re a shitty cat.” Childe responds.
“Well maybe you’re just a shitty owner.” Scara shrugs. Childe shakes his head, but doesn’t respond.
-
The obnoxiously loud sound of tires screeching and gunfire fill the living room, but Scara idly glances at the TV, paying the car chase scene no mind. They’re watching some silly action flick that Childe suggested. They never have time to sit around and watch a movie; someone is always busy.
Scara sits on the floor, resting his back against the couch. As long as he doesn’t sit on the fake tail, it’s much more comfortable than one would expect. The plush texture of the shag rug underneath him is pleasant to run his fingers across. He’s been zoned out of the movie since the first explosion, so something to fiddle with is welcome.
While Childe’s taste in movies leaves something to be desired, Scaramouche doesn’t hate the company. He likes sitting, and he likes doing absolutely nothing even more. The best part is that Childe has shut up for once.
Scaramouche almost doesn’t notice a hand coming down to touch the ears perched on top of his head. The touch is gentle, as to not startle him. He flinches regardless, but Childe’s hand stays. He rubs the ear between his fingers, feeling the soft fur.
Fine. Childe can touch the ears- he bought them, after all. Scara doesn’t really know how to feel about being pet.
Childe’s hand leaves his cat ear headband, and for a moment, Scara thinks he’s done. It’s not until he feels fingers in his hair that he knows that’s not the case.
Scara tenses at the sudden pressure against his scalp. It’s foreign, but not completely unwanted. As much as Scaramouche craves physical affection, he doesn’t have that kind of relationship with Childe. It would make things weird; too close for comfort.
“I will bite you.” Scara nearly hisses, squirming away from the large hand patting the top of his head.
“That would be the most in-character thing you’ve done all day.” Childe scoffs, but loosens his hold a little. His nails lightly scratch against Scara’s scalp as he pulls his hand away, and most embarrassingly, Scara leans into the touch. He chases Childe’s hand subconsciously.
He hears a little huff of a laugh from where Childe sits behind him, and his cheeks go mortifyingly red at what he’s done. God- If he wasn’t so touch starved, he’d go lock himself in his room. Is it bad that he… likes it? Scara would rather bash his head into a wall than ever admit that to Childe, though. Something about his smug face makes being honest incredibly hard.
Before Scara can run away, Childe’s fingers thread through the hair at the back of his head. It pushes Scara’s head down, but he can’t bring himself to care. Short fingernails scratch at his skin in circular calming motions. It’s obviously different than petting a real cat, but it feels like Childe is being careful with his fingers. He isn’t pressing too hard, but not too softly either.
His fingers rub behind Scara’s ears (the real ones), and his thumb rubs down the side of Scara’s neck. Childe is eerily quiet through it all. He would expect a witty comeback like normal, but Childe stays silent as he pets Scara. The energy in the living room feels charged with something Scara can’t quite put his finger on. The silence somehow doesn’t feel awkward like he thinks it should, but there is a strange tension between them, and Scara does not want to sever it.
Scara’s breath hitches at the feeling of fingernails pressing into the skin of his neck. The slight pinching feeling startles him, but as soon as it comes, it disappears. What kind of game Childe is playing?
Deft fingers trail down the side of his neck, and his palm flattens over Scaramouche’s collarbone and shoulder. He wonders if Childe can feel how fast his heart is beating. He hopes not; how embarrassing.The beat of Scara’s pulse feels like someone hammering at his ribcage. Childe’s touch almost feels absentminded, but Scara knows better. If he were to turn around, Childe would definitely have his eyes trained on Scaramouche- not the movie playing on the TV.
His fingers slide under the leather of the collar almost imperceptibly, but the bell on the front jingles at the motion regardless. Even though the room isn’t completely silent, the sound of the bell feels like a sonic boom to Scara’s ears. Childe tugs softly, putting pressure on Scara’s throat. It’s not forceful enough to choke him, but just restrictive enough to make his breathing a little strained.
“Ah-” Scara lets out a small sound at the feeling. His cheeks flush red immediately. Neither of them say anything, but Scara could feel the smug energy radiating off of Childe from a mile away. Childe loves to push his boundaries to the limit. He does it time and time again, and somehow, Scara lets him.
Scara gets up, letting Childe’s hand drop from his neck, and flops down on the couch next to him. Something needs to change. He’s not sure what will happen if he keeps letting Childe toy with him like that. Scara hopes that he has already forgotten his ‘no pets on the sofa’ rule.
Childe leans over, way into Scara’s personal space, and mumbles close to his ear.
“You look a little red.”
“Yeah? Well you look a little stupid, but I never say anything.” Scara lets the weak insult leave from his mouth without even thinking. His voice trembles as he says it. He keeps his eyes trained on the TV in front of him, desperately avoiding eye contact.
Childe huffs out a dry laugh through his nose, but doesn’t respond. Scara settles back into the couch, trying not to seem too ruffled by Childe’s actions. He has a feeling he is failing. Childe keeps glancing at him from the corner of his eye. It’s infuriating.
Scara jolts as a warm hand touches his thigh. He whips his head around to yell at Childe, but his voice doesn’t come out.
“Your socks keep falling down.” Childe says softly, and grabs the hem of his thigh-high sock between his fingers. He tugs on the fabric, pulling it back up Scara’s thigh. Childe takes his sweet time, adjusting the hem of the sock closest to him until he deems it correct.
Scara expects him to sit back in his seat, but instead, he leans over him completely, until he’s basically in Scaramouche’s lap. He does the same as before to the other sock, this time lightly pinching the skin of Scara’s thigh where it slightly bulges out of the sock.
“Childe!-” Scara scolds, but cuts himself off as soon as it leaves his mouth. It comes out a lot more…whiny than he meant it.
“Can’t have my kitty looking disheveled, can I?” Childe catches his eye, and then bends back into his spot, slouching into the couch cushions. Scara feels his face get hot. He’s seriously so annoying.
Scara huffs to himself, pointedly turning away from Childe. He’s not a toy to be played with, but Childe can’t seem to get it through his head.
Scara yawns, letting the movie on the TV fall into the background. He’s had enough of the movie, and especially of Childe, but the frustration that was bubbling at the surface just moments ago seems to fade as Scara’s eyelids droop. Closing his eyes for just a minute won’t hurt. He’s sure Childe will wake him up to annoy him soon enough…
-
Scaramouche awakes to Childe annoying him. As expected.
A gentle touch brushes his bangs off his forehead. Childe’s fingers comb through his hair slowly, as if to not wake him. He hears a gentle laugh from above him. It sounds like Childe is making an effort to be quiet, but failing. Scara slowly cracks one eye open to see Childe’s annoying smiling face.
“Whuh-” He tries to speak, but it comes out a gurgled sleepy mess. Scara tries to sit up, but a hand on his chest gently pushes him back down. He feels too groggy to protest. Childe’s lap is warm, and he’s comfortable. He can feel mortified when he’s fully awake.
“I hate you.” Scara mumbles out, partially muffled into the fabric of Childe’s pant leg.
“You fell into my lap all by yourself- don’t go blaming me.” Childe snickers. His fingers feel so soothing against Scaramouche’s scalp. If they weren’t mid conversation, he might just fall back asleep.
Scara squints his eyes at the TV in front of them. A rerun of House Hunters is playing with the volume low- their movie must’ve ended a while ago, and Scara must’ve been asleep for longer than he meant to be…
“Mmnn…” He lets out an unintentional sleepy sound as Childe rakes his fingers through the hair at the base of his neck. His head lolls forward, cheek rubbing against Childe’s thigh.
“That’s a good kitty.” Childe croons at him softly.
“We can never have a moment, can we?” Scara scowls.
“But you look so cute.” Childe frowns.
“I look stupid.” Scara huffs in return. He ignores the nagging feeling in his chest.
“I mean… a little- Ow!” Childe yelps as Scara pinches the skin of his knee.
“I dunno. The tail is a little much, but I thought the socks and the shorts were cute.” Childe murmurs. His hand comes down to the hem of Scara’s shorts, pulling it down slightly to cover him.
Scara lets out a small gasp. He didn’t think too hard about his position, but he needs to be more careful in such skimpy attire. One wrong move and he’ll be exposing himself to Childe. From the looks of it, he probably already has.
“Although, I do wonder why you’ve forgone underwear…” Childe smirks. His voice has taken on a low pitch- something deep and syrupy lies beneath his words. Scara freezes.
“I didn’t- I didn’t have anything that wouldn’t show through the shorts.” He rushes to defend himself, face tinged pink.
“And having half your ass out is better?” Childe smirks. His hand still rests on Scara’s hip, gently thumbing the fabric.
“I’m not the creep who picked the shorts!” Scara tries to sound angry, but it definitely comes out closer to a whine. This is not going how he hoped it would.
“No need for mean names, kitty. I’m just asking.” Childe hums, rubbing the pad of his thumb against Scara’s hipbone. A shiver runs up his spine at the feeling. He doesn’t know how to feel about the pet names. He knows it’s just part of the bet, but something about those names coming out of Childe’s mouth sends heat down to his stomach. This is not good.
“Maybe I should’ve bought something matching for underneath. Hm. Next time.” Childe muses. Scara’s face burns under his gaze.
“Shut up.” He groans. Next time?
“What, you don’t like it?” Childe cocks his head.
“I thought that was obvious.” Scara attempts to scowl in return.
“Could’ve fooled me.” Childe smirks. His hand on Scara’s hip pinches the fabric between two fingers, and pulls it tight against him.
Scara’s breath gets caught in his throat. The fabric of his stupid tiny grey shorts pulls taut against his dick, making his state of half-arousal incredibly obvious. He lets out a small sound of embarrassment, and tries to squirm out of Childe’s lap, but Childe holds onto him tight.
“Hey- hey I’m sorry, don’t run away.” Childe panics, holding Scaramouche tightly against his chest. He squirms around, achieving nothing except making himself look like a fool. Scara so desperately wishes he was feeling anything other than lust right now. Anger or hatred would be much more appropriate, but the feeling of Childe’s hands on him turns his mind to mush.
Scara wiggles around in a half-assed attempt to escape, but Childe manages to maneuver him until they are face to face. Scara sits in his lap, knees bent at an uncomfortable angle. He’s doing everything in his power to keep his hips from touching Childe. He feels like he’s going to die from embarrassment.
“Hey.” Childe grabs him by the chin, turning his face so Scara will look at him. “I can stop messing with you if you want me to stop.” Childe explains softer than normal. His eyebrows are furrowed. Worry is a strange expression on his face.
“I-” Scara cuts himself off. Of course he doesn’t want Childe to stop, but he can’t just say that! He’ll never live it down.
Scara suddenly feels his knees protest, and they give out underneath him, making him sit his whole weight on Childe’s hips. They both gasp- Childe’s hands grasp his hips, and Scara fists two hands in the fabric of Childe’s shirt; worried he’ll fall off the couch.
“Tell me, and I’ll stop.” He says, a little firmer this time.
“You- You can’t…” Scara whines. Urgh, he doesn’t get it! Scara wants to be absolutely ruined!
“Tell me to stop.” Childe’s voice gets low. He pauses, looking at Scaramouche directly, but only sees desire in his eyes. He surges forward to capture Scara’s lips in a kiss.
Scara lets out a needy whine against Childe’s mouth as they kiss. Fucking finally. He was afraid Childe would never make a move. The hands on Scaramouche’s hips grip him tight as he presses forward into the kiss.
Childe kisses like he’s hungry; like he’s been waiting. The wet smack of their lips sounds almost too loud in the living room- It makes Scara’s knees weak. Childe’s hands flex against him, clearly orchestrating some restraint.
They part, devastatingly so, and Childe has a look on his face that Scara can’t decipher. Childe’s eyes trail down his face slowly, examining all he can see from their position. He stops at the collar wrapped tight around his neck. Childe reaches his hand forward, and hooks a finger through the loop at the front of the collar. He tugs, pulling Scara closer until they are forehead to forehead.
“You like this.” Childe murmurs. It’s not a question. His voice has gone slightly husky- a tone Scara has only ever heard when he is mad. Something tells him that this scenario is not quite the same.
“...I don’t hate it.” Scara replies after a moment has passed.
“Tch.” Childe rolls his eyes. A hand unseen to Scara comes behind him, gripping the hair at the base of his scalp. Childe doesn’t pull, not yet, merely holds him in place as a reminder of who’s in control.
“Why can’t you ever just speak to me truthfully?” Childe asks, a little more genuine. Scara pauses. Kind of a loaded question…
“I… I like it when…” Scara starts, but cuts himself off with a huff. God, this is so embarrassing. He can’t even get the sentence out.
“You like saying no, and not meaning it?” Childe offers softly, and Scara stops. He nods slowly.
“You like putting up a fight?” Childe’s tone turns teasing. Scara merely hums in response. “You like pretending you hate me, when really, I make you feel like this?” The hand on Scara’s hip squeezes, and Childe’s thumb rubs over his hip bone; dangerously close to where Scara is straining through the fabric. He lets out a pathetic whimper, but doesn’t move from Childe’s touch.
“So… when you want to stop, what will you say?” Childe asks.
“I won’t want to stop.” Scara says, and he means it. Childe’s eyebrows furrow.
“No.” He frowns. His expression is disapproving, and it makes shame swirl in Scara’s stomach. “I need a word. I’m not going to do this with you if you won’t follow my rules.” Childe says firmly. He’s not angry, not yet, but the words send shivers down Scara’s spine regardless.
“Red.” Scara decides. “I’ll say red if I want to stop.”
“Good boy.” Childe praises, and the hand releases from the back of his hair. Scara lets out a small sigh of relief.
Just when he thinks things are going to calm down, Scara’s world is flipped literally and figuratively as Childe manhandles him off his lap and onto the couch. He’s basically thrown onto the unoccupied side of the sofa. Childe’s hand pushes down in between Scara’s shoulder blades, forcing his arms to buckle, and his upper half to fall. His ass sticks up, the furry tail bouncing at the sudden movement.
“Childe-” Scara cries. It’s unclear whether it's in favor or protest of his actions. Childe flicks the velcro tail up so it rests on Scara’s back. He wants a full view.
Scara’s shorts were small in the first place, but they feel even tighter now that he’s hard. The gray fabric looks vacuum sealed to his body. Childe can see the outline of his little balls through the material from how he’s bent over, and the shorts are doing nothing to hide his arousal. There’s a small wet patch on the front of his shorts, embarrassingly dark due to the type of fabric. Childe runs his hand up the back of Scara’s thigh, making a visible shiver run down his spine. He grabs one cheek in his hand roughly, spreading Scaramouche through the fabric of his shorts. He lets out a cut off gasp at the action, squirming around in Childe’s hold.
“You can’t…” He whines breathlessly.
“Hmm?” Childe says, pretending not to hear him. “I can’t? Or I shouldn’t?”
“You-” Scara groans in frustration.
“You’re too fucking stubborn.” Childe sighs. His voice is tight- almost like he’s angry. “You love to pretend you hate me- you hate this. Look at yourself.” He growls, roughly palming Scara’s ass through the fabric. “All bent over for me. Bright red, shaking, and dripping through your fucking shorts.” Childe spanks him.
“Ah!” Scara lurches forward at the sudden slap.
“You’re pathetic.” Childe spreads him again, this time pressing two fingers against his hole through the thin fabric.
“Childe- Ah…” Scara moans. He can’t decide whether to press into his touch, or squirm away. “Nghh.. Stop..” He whines, but he doesn’t mean it. He hopes Childe doesn’t stop anytime soon.
“Interesting. Very interesting.” Childe says in faux curiosity. His hand trails down underneath Scaramouche, cupping his cock through the fabric. It makes Scara whine, and his hips thrust into Childe’s hand. He’s been hard since he woke up from his nap- Scara feels like he’s going to die if he doesn’t get some attention where he wants it most.
“That’s it, kitty.” Childe mutters under his breath. His hand leaves Scara’s small bulge, though, and trails back behind him to his tail. He pulls on it; the velcro connection making Scara’s shorts come with it. Frustratingly, Childe doesn’t pull them down or take them off. He alternates between pulling the fabric tight against Scara, and letting it almost fall off of him.
“Childe…” He groans in frustration. Scaramouche’s cheek is smushed against the couch cushion. He would very much like to get on with it.
“Be good.” Childe scolds. “Let me play with you how I want to. I’ll give you a treat if you behave.” He smirks. The mention of a treat makes Scara perk up in more ways than one.
Childe’s hands feel like hot irons against Scara’s skin; even through the fabric separating them. Scara knows he runs hot, but the description is nothing compared to the feeling. Childe’s hands run up the backs of his thighs, squeezing roughly. One of his hands comes back up to the tail, and yanks it off harshly, tossing it to the floor.
“Should’ve gotten you a plug…” Childe grumbles under his breath. Scara lets out a small sound at the thought that he desperately hopes Childe will ignore.
“Oh?” Childe questions. “It seems my kitty would rather be stuffed full.” Childe presses the tip of his thumb against Scara’s hole through his shorts. His back arches, pushing his hips toward Childe’s finger.
“I- that’s not-!” Scara squirms.
“No?” Childe questions coyly, and removes his hands from Scara completely. He lets out a pitiful whine, chasing Childe’s touch as it leaves him. “You’re sending me some mixed signals, Scara.”
“What do good kittens say when they want something?” Childe smirks.
“Fuck you.” Scara spits, and is met with a rough spank. “Nnh!-” He whimpers, face pressing forward into the couch cushion.
“Wanna try that again?” Childe so kindly offers. His hand comes down, massaging the cheek he just slapped.
“I’m not gonna beg.” Scara huffs stubbornly.
“M’not asking you to beg, just a ‘please’ will do.” Childe bargains.
“Please.” Scara says sarcastically; not at all like how Childe wanted. His hand cracks down on Scaramouche’s ass again, making him jolt.
“With a little sincerity, kitty.” Childe says; a warning. Scara stays silent, arching his back slightly in hopes of enticing Childe enough to make him drop the bit. Childe, however, does not drop the bit. He takes Scara’s silence as an invitation to grab hold of his hair, yanking his head up to look at him. Scara lets out a small moan at the harsh pulling.
“You better start behaving, or you’re not getting fucked tonight.” Childe says, deep and menacing in his ear. Scara gasps, his cheeks getting even pinker.
“Please- m’sorry, I want-” He struggles to find his words, not being able to grasp the idea of being left alone. Luckily, it’s acceptable to Childe. He releases his tight hold on Scara’s hair, and lowers him back down against the couch gently.
“That’s a good boy.” Childe coos humiliatingly. It makes Scara’s insides burn- being talked to like a pet. Childe’s hands grip the elastic of his shorts, and slowly pull them off of him. Scara sighs a breath of relief, and obediently lifts each leg so Childe can remove the offensive fabric. He hears an approving hum from behind him, and then one hand is on his ass, spreading him for Childe to see. Scara squirms under his gaze. How embarrassing.
A hand is on his stomach, and suddenly, he’s flipped over on his back. He rushes to pull the hem of his borrowed shirt down to cover himself, even if it’s pointless. He doesn’t need Childe teasing him any more about how hard he is. Childe merely rolls his eyes, and brushes Scara’s trembling hands away dismissively. Scara feels… something roll over him as he watches Childe’s gaze sweep down his body. Childe’s hungry eyes make him squirm.
Childe practically rips the shirt from his hands, and tugs it up until it rests above Scara’s chest. He’s fully exposed where it matters most- all on their living room couch. Childe ignores his cock, and rubs his hands up Scara’s stomach, pressing his palms into the pale skin as he moves up his torso. It’s a little ticklish, but Scara feels sensitive everywhere. Childe stops at his chest, cupping what little there is in his hands like they’re breasts. Scara flushes red. It’s not like he has that much up there to work with anyway, but the motion is embarrassing regardless.
Childe pinches his nipple, rubbing the bud between his fingers. Scara lets out a quiet mewl, and he can’t decide whether to arch into or away from the touch. He’s never really thought about it, but he is actually quite sensitive there. Childe makes quick note of that fact, and tugs roughly against his skin. He leans down, and mouths at Scara’s neck.
“So sensitive, kitten.” Childe rumbles against his throat. “Who said you could hide these pretty little tits from me?”
“I- What..” Scara whimpers, squirming as Childe’s hands pinch and pull at his chest. Nobody has ever used that kind of language with him. Something about it makes Scara twitch. He… likes it a lot.
Childe bites him, not very hard, but the pressure against his neck makes him jolt. Childe seems to take great pleasure in this, and reaches a hand up to tug at the collar. It jingles in his hand, a painful reminder of who’s in charge of who. He presses a kiss to Scara’s lips, who can barely keep up.
Childe doesn’t hold back- ravaging his mouth. Scara tries to match his pace, but Childe doesn’t let him take any ounce of control.
Childe pulls away, and wordlessly brings his hands to the backs of Scara’s thighs. He pushes his legs up, fully exposing him.
“Mnh-” Scara waves his arms out, protesting the embarrassing pose, but Childe shoots him a scolding look- like he’s saying ‘back off’ without really saying it. Childe looms over him, it almost feels menacing. His frame is huge in comparison to Scara, who stands a proud 5’4. A perfectly normal height. Average, even. Not even that short when compared to Childe’s measly 6’2 stature!
“Shit-” Childe swears, patting his pockets, and then looking toward the hallway. “I’m gonna go get some lube. Don’t move.” He gives Scara a pointed look, and then climbs off the couch in the direction of his bedroom.
Scara frowns. How frustrating. He lets his legs relax, at least, and stretches out on the couch. It feels weird to have leather on his bare ass. Not bad weird- just… unfamiliar weird.
Scara waits a minute for Childe to come back, but he seems to be taking a while. Maybe he can’t find it? Scara rolls his eyes. Useless as usual.
He takes the opportunity so graciously given to him, and trails a hand down his stomach to where his cock rests; hard and leaking against his skin. He whimpers out a sigh of relief as his hand makes contact. He’s been waiting so long, and he’s been so good. How dare Childe leave him here like this!
Scara whimpers, stroking himself slowly. The wet sound of precum is a little embarrassing, but he doesn’t care. His cock has been ignored- aching for attention for what feels like forever. The relief his touch brings is immense. It feels so good- He doesn’t notice the footsteps approaching the couch.
“Tsk tsk.” Childe is suddenly right next to him. Scara gasps, opening his eyes to the sight of Childe, now shirtless and even hotter than ever. “Did I say you could touch yourself, kitty?” Scara doesn’t answer, he fears he made the wrong choice. Childe’s disapproving stare makes him feel shameful, like he was doing something bad.
Scara scooches back on the couch to make room for him, but Childe doesn’t make any move to sit down. He looks at Scara expectantly, waiting for an answer.
“...No.” Scara answers meekly.
“Little kittens are supposed to wait for their owners, isn’t that right?” Childe talks down to him, tilting his head condescendingly. Scara looks away, averting his gaze from Childe’s expectant face. Childe lets out a big sigh, making a big show out of how ‘disappointed’ he is. His eyebrows furrow, and then he sits down on the couch. Childe grabs Scara by the ankle, roughly pulling him towards himself.
“Ah!” Scara lets out a surprised sound as he’s once again man-handled into Childe’s lap. He flips Scara over so he’s face down against his legs, and adjusts him across his thighs in a humiliating pose. Scara whimpers- he knows what’s about to happen. He arches his back, presenting himself so Childe can do what he pleases.
“Hm.” Childe hums in approval, and brushes a gentle touch over his asscheek. “So obedient. It’s a shame you make such stupid choices.” He says, and then slaps a hand down on Scara’s ass.
“Mnh-” He whimpers at the first spank. He expects it, but it still hurts. A second one comes shortly after to the other cheek, making him jolt forward in Childe’s lap.
Childe doesn’t give warning after that, and spanks him again and again. Scara whimpers at the pain, but also the feeling of his cock dragging against Childe’s thigh with every back-and-forth movement. The fabric of his sweatpants rubbing against the tip feels like sandpaper- he’s so sensitive.
“Ah!-” Scara whines, pushing back into Childe’s hand. He grabs Scara’s ass in a fistful, and then slaps it immediately after. Childe groans, almost too quiet to hear, but he’s obviously enjoying this too.
A few more slaps land on his reddened skin, and then a hand grasps his cheek, spreading Scara. Childe’s hand comes down a little softer, directly on his hole. Scara whines loudly, letting the sound fill the space.
There’s suddenly a pause; a brief rest from the consistent slaps. Scara breathes out a sigh of relief, but it immediately gets caught in his throat as a wet finger presses against his hole.
“Childe- Mnn-please!” Scara whines, pushing back against the finger. His body feels so oversensitive, and being touched directly sends electricity up his spine. He wants to be fucked; needs it.
“So sensitive.” Childe says. Scara can’t tell if it’s directed at him, or merely a thought spoken out loud. He honestly doesn’t really care, because Childe’s finger is pushing into his hole. He’s so painfully slow that Scara whines, pressing into the touch. Childe huffs out a small laugh, but doesn’t scold him.
“Good boy. Doing so well.” Childe prods at him, taking his sweet time playing with Scara how he pleases. He takes great joy in watching all of his little reactions. His lube slicked finger doesn’t feel like much, though, and Scara begs for another.
“Two- I can– fuhh..” Scara whines as Childe presses a second finger along with the first one. It’s barely a stretch, but Childe’s fingers are bigger than his own. It takes some getting used to.
Childe thrusts his fingers in and out, starting slow, but gaining speed as Scara moans. Being laid out on his lap like this sure doesn’t help. Scara is totally at Childe’s mercy; not that he minds. Scara loves this feeling- like Childe is having his way with him. The shared unspoken trust between them is working wonders for his sex life.
Two fingers turn to three, and three turn to four before Scara is reduced to a begging mess.
“Childe…” He moans, pushing back against the fingers pumping in and out of him at a rapid pace. “I need- please-!” Scara whimpers. Much to his horror, Childe removes his fingers completely, wiping them on the back of Scara’s shirt. He makes a small confused sound in the back of his throat, turning his neck uncomfortably to see what’s wrong. Childe gently moves Scara off his lap, shimmying him onto the couch beside him.
“Whuh-” Scara questions; confused, but then Childe kneels on the couch and hooks his thumbs in the waistband of his sweatpants. Scara gasps, finally getting the message, and rushes to get on his hands and knees. He wants to be good.
He feels like he waits forever. Childe can’t possibly be taking that long to undo his pants. Scara starts to get desperate.
“I can take it.” Scara whines. “Please- I- I need it so bad- please just put it in-!” Scara cuts himself off with a mewl as Childe’s thighs press against his ass. His cock slaps down between his cheeks, hot and heavy against his skin. Scara arches back, feeling the heated flesh slide against his hole and tailbone. Childe is…much bigger than he was expecting.
Scara turns his head to look behind him, and gasps at the sight of Childe’s cock laid against him. How on earth is that going to fit?
“Childe- It’s too- it won’t-” He stutters, panicking slightly as he watches Childe grab hold of his own cock, and guide the fat head to his twitching hole.
“It’ll fit.” Childe smirks. He slaps the head of his cock against Scara, once twice, and then starts to push inside.
No amount of prep could prepare him for the overwhelming feeling of being filled by Childe. Blinding heat trickles through his body, touching every nerve as Childe slides in; inch by inch. Scara cries out- it doesn’t hurt, but he’s so fucking thick that he feels like he’s being split apart.
“Shhh.” Childe quiets him. Scara is almost at a sob at this point. He needs it. “There you go.” Childe rubs a calming hand up and down his spine, just like he’s petting him. Scara looks much more disheveled than when they started. His cat ears are askew on his head, barely holding on.
“Mnnhh- it’s good, fuck!” Scara whines again, trying to push back against Childe to make his cock push deeper inside him.
“I know, kitten. You’re being so good.” Childe coos, running a hand through Scara’s sweaty hair. Scara leans into the touch, rubbing his head against Childe’s hand like a real cat.
“Good boy, that’s it.” Childe groans, and then slides home all at once. Scara lets out a sound he’s never heard himself make. He feels so unbelievably full. His cock leaks a steady stream of precum onto the cushions below.
“Shit…” Childe curses, grabbing his ass as he slowly pulls out. He leaves just the tip inside, watching how Scara’s pink hole stretches around him. Childe rocks his hips back and forth in shallow thrusts, watching Scara twitch as the head of his cock pops in and out of his ass.
“Childe…” Scara groans. It’s so good, but not enough at the same time. He doesn’t need to say anything else, because Childe plunges the rest of his cock back into Scaramouche, rocking his whole body forward on the couch.
“Fuck!” Scara squeaks, face pressed against the leather as Childe builds up speed.
“God- you just take it like you’re made for it.” Childe groans, gripping his hips. Scara whines, arching his back even further for Childe to destroy him. He feels like he was made for it, at least right now. Childe’s cock fills every inch of him, leaving him delirious.
“How’sit feel, kitty?” Childe says, a smile in his words.
“It’s- fuck! So good. So big- nnh!” He barely gets out, moaning and whining with each thrust. He can feel his stupid paw-print socks rolling down his legs with every movement.
“If I had known you’d be so needy for it, I would’ve bought you a collar ages ago.” Childe snickers, hooking a finger through the leather of the collar, and tugging slightly. Scara gasps at the feeling of his throat being constricted. It’s luckily not enough pressure to choke him, but it leaves his breathing a little strained. He whines wantonly, head lolling forward.
“I should just keep you like this. Collared for me, naked except for my shirt. I could buy you a cute little tail plug- keep you nice and stretched out for me, hmm?” Childe croons, bucking his hips in rhythm with his words.
Scara moans at the thought of Childe having his way with him. He would be so pliant- ready to bend over whenever Childe pleases. Fuck.
“Yeah? You like that idea?” Childe asks, using his fingers to comb the hair out of Scara’s eyes. He moans in response. “You could sit on my cock all afternoon. Keep me warm like a good pet…fuck.” Childe groans, getting lost in his own fantasy. His thrusts speed up, punching against Scara’s prostate with every movement. His whole body shakes with pleasure- it’s so much.
Childe suddenly pulls out, and Scara whines at the sudden empty feeling. He doesn’t mourn for long, though, because Childe easily flips him over onto his back. His head hits the cushion as he falls, knocking a small sound out of him. Normally he would yell at Childe, but he honestly can’t bring himself to care. What has Childe done to him?
Childe grabs the undersides of his knees, and pushes his legs up, basically folding him in half. Scara feels the stretch in his legs- thank god he’s flexible. Childe takes a moment to line himself back up, and pushes into Scara once more. He fucks him fast and sloppy, not giving him a moment of rest.
“Fuck- nhh-” Scara moans out with each thrust. His cock is reaching so deep inside. The new angle is making Childe hit places he wasn’t hitting before.
His thrusts suddenly slow in speed, pressing into him as deep as his cock will reach.
“Woah.” Childe says. Scara cracks an eye open, about to scold him for being so slow, but then he follows Childe’s line of sight to his stomach. There’s a small bulge- barely noticeable, but undeniably present. Scara whimpers at the sight. How is that possible?
Childe brings his hand up, caressing his stomach softly- almost ticklishly, before pressing his thumb against the bump. He lays his hand flat, feeling his cock move underneath Scara’s skin as he thrusts in and out.
“God you’re so-” Childe cuts himself off with a groan, thrusting his cock faster and rougher into Scara.
“Fuckin’... tiny.” He finishes, barely getting out through a gasp as Scara desperately clenches around his cock. Scara is pretty far gone at this point- reduced to a whimpering leaking mess. He squirms against the couch, the constant attack to his prostate making him overly sensitive.
“Please- I need-” Scara hiccups, reaching grabby hands out to Childe. He’s not 100% sure what he’s actually asking for, but he needs something. Anything.
Childe leans forward, pressing his legs even farther in half as he fucks him so incredibly deep. He reaches a hand out, barely brushing Scara’s little cock, and he’s thrashing and whimpering. Childe grips it, smearing the sticky head with his thumb.
“Please- Please please pl-mmm!” Scara cries, humping Childe’s hand erratically. He needs to come so bad, he can’t take it anymore.
“Come on, kitten.” Childe huffs, fucking him deep with quick jerks of his hips. His hand squeezes Scara’s cock, jerking him off in time with his thrusts. “Come for me, Scara.” Childe groans, pushing his nail against Scara’s slit.
He practically screams, shooting out ropes of cum all over his own stomach. Childe moans, strokes slowing down as Scara tries to catch his breath.
“That’s it- yeah. Fuck. I’m gonna fill you up. Pump you full.” Childe pants, drilling his cock in and out, in and out. He doesn’t stop. Scara can only sob and moan as Childe fucks him into oversensitivity. He hiccups out little gasps as his prostate is nudged- over and over and over.
Scara scrabbles for purchase, gripping Childe’s shoulders and digging his nails in. It’s so much- it’s too much. Fuck, he’s gonna cum again. His body feels like it’s on fire.
Childe lets out a deep groan, and pushes his cock in as deep as it will go. Scara feels his insides flood with warmth as Childe’s hot cum fills him. Scara’s cock shoots up to his chest, squirting out cum as he’s milked for all he’s worth. Scara’s entire body shakes as he comes a second time- his skin feels raw, he’s so incredibly sensitive.
His head feels fuzzy as Childe’s thrusts slow down, and then stop completely. His entire lower half is tingly and numb. He can barely feel his legs. Childe huffs out a heavy breath, and slowly pulls his cock out of Scara, watching the flood of his own cum ooze out of his puffy red hole.
“Shit…” Childe swears, wiping the sweat from his forehead. He gently sets Scara’s leg down, unfolding him from the painful position. Scara groans out a sigh of relief as he stretches his body out. He grimaces at the feeling of cum leaking out of him. Gross.
Childe reaches a hand out toward Scara’s face, and wipes his thumb underneath his eye. Scara suddenly feels the wetness covering his face. When did he start crying? How embarrassing.
“You okay?” Childe asks, uncharacteristically gentle. It’s a stark juxtaposition from the way he was talking just a moment ago. Scara nods, bringing his own hand up to wipe the moisture from his cheeks. “It wasn’t too much, was it?” Childe asks, clearly concerned.
“No!” Scara replies a little too loudly. Childe’s mouth forms into a small smile. “It was just. A lot. Um.” He tries to explain without letting his embarrassment take over. “It was good. Really good actually. I liked it.”
“Yeah?” Childe’s smile grows into a smirk. He looks like he wants to poke fun, but he doesn’t. “Good.” He replies, simply leaving it at that.
-
“I was serious about what I said earlier, by the way.” Childe mentions offhandedly. They’re sitting at the dinner table, eating two packets of instant ramen. Childe finished cleaning up the living room (mostly the couch) about 20 minutes ago. He’s been forcing Scara to take small sips of water ever since.
“You’re gonna have to be a little more specific.” Scara replies, raising an eyebrow. He takes a small bite of his noodles.
“About keeping this stuff around.” Childe reaches over, jingling the bell that still sits around Scara’s neck. “About… Y’know. Keeping you a little more… readily available.”
Scara chokes on his noodles, coughing and thumping his chest to regain his breath. Childe was serious? He thought it was just dirty talk. Childe’s eyes go wide, and he almost gets out of his chair before Scara gives him a shaky thumbs-up.
“I’m.. um. Not opposed.” Scara says quietly once he regains his breath. Childe smirks at him, and pulls out his phone from his back pocket.
“What size plug do you want?”