Chapter Text
"You seem like you would cum first."
Scaramouche slowly looked up from his phone and gave the ginger a look of annoyance.
"...what the fuck is that supposed to mean?"
"Like, between us, I feel like you would cum first," He corrected.
"..." he sighed. "Why is it, that every time I get a precious moment of silence, you must open your goddamn mouth?"
Childe shrugged.
"You didn't deny it, man."
"Is that a fucking challenge?"
Childe did his annoying ass shrug again, pulling his bean bag in front of the couch where Scaramouche sat.
"Might as well compare dick sizes while we're at it," he retorted, grinning. He began taking his shorts off when Scaramouche shot him a look of disbelief.
"Oh my god, you were serious."
"You pussying out?"
"Fuck off."
He exasperatedly undid his belt and, following him, pulled his pants down. Now they sat awkwardly, facing the other in their boxers. Scaramouche scoffed.
"You gonna show that dick or what?" he chided as if the flaccid state of Childe's penis wasn't prominent enough against his boxers.
"I dunno, was kinda expecting to do it at the same time. Should I start a countdown?"
"Pull your fucking 'panties' down."
"Woah, no need to get yours in a twist buddy," he teased, pulling his pants down. Scaramouche glanced down analytically. Solid 6 inches soft. He took his pants off in suit, Childe's turn to 'analyze'. He stifled a laugh.
"Damn dude, you're small as fuck."
"I'm a grower, not a shower," He snapped, glaring down at the ginger.
More awkward sitting was induced. Scaramouche leaned back, his arms over his chest. He began to say something but Childe beat him to it.
"Want me to stroke it?"
"Fuck no, you're not touching my dick."
His right hand wavered over to his penis, stroking it himself. He looked away from Childe, squinting his eyes in embarrassment. His penis felt much more sensitive when he was beating it in front of someone else.
From the squelch noises, he could already imagine Childe touching his dick. Of course, this guy had no shame.
"What, do you usually jerk off to pictures?"
"I don't usually jerk off at all. Your ugly face isn't helping either."
He laughed, a pompous, annoying laugh that screamed, 'I'm a lot of things and ugly isn't one of them'. And even annoyingly-er, he wouldn't be wrong if that's what his stupid fucking laugh did mean.
"Don't be such a prude, comrade!"
"Saying comrade is gonna make me go even softer some ho- ARE YOU STARTING TO STROKE IT WHILE TALKING TO ME?"
Squelch, squelch.
He felt the heat of embarrassment rush to his face. Whatever. It wasn't that hard to just...
"Can't get it up, man? Here, I'll recreate some porno for you. Ah~ Scara harder! " Childe moaned playfully, making Scaramouche go more red in the face, out of embarrassment and second-hand embarrassment, of course.
"Stop that, you buffoon."
"Ngh~! Come on, faster!" He continued, making a mocking pouty face.
Scaramouche looked away again, fighting the urge to beat the ginger up. If he actually got hard from this, he swore he would fight the heavens themselves. It didn't help that Childe's beanbag seat was low enough to be near his dick.
Phoooh.
The second he felt the air from Childe's mouth hit his dick, he knew it was over.
"Hey, that didn't count as touching! And look, you're getting hard." Childe cut in before Scaramouche could yell at him. Biting back every bit of will to admit defeat, he touched his dick and began stroking it, stimulating himself.
Childe looked gleeful like this was another one of his shitty sparring matches.
"That's the spirit!" He grinned, attempting to go at the same pace as Scaramouche. The last thing the purple-haired man needed was a damn dick-beating synchronization.
"You weren't lying about being a grower-"
"Shut it with your incessant yapping already," he grumbled, his movements growing slightly hesitant. The only thing on his mind at this point was simply not losing.
He thought of the most unappealing thing he could think of- Childe. Childe's ugly, annoying face, his stupid, arrogant, happy-go-lucky attitude, his teary face when he mo- THAT'S NOT HELPING.
"Ugh, ha," Childe's muffled groans escaped as he was obviously nearing his climax. Scaramouche held back his pre-victory mockery as he didn’t want to give Childe some sort of encouragement.
He felt his eyes blur slightly, almost rolling as he neared his peak, more unwanted thoughts of the annoyance of his life entering his mind. Shit, I can’t cum ye-
He didn’t need to worry about that since Childe’s head rolled back, a silent splurting sound along with his panting signaling his loss. His hand caught most of the cum, but a single drop ended up on Scaramouche’s knee.
The pathetic site of his number one nuisance quickly completed whatever thoughts Scaramouche was having. He swiftly ceased his stroke just after Childe orgasmed to prevent his own orgasm.
“Damn it, I was so close- technically I am close-”
“Shut up. I can’t believe I agreed to do this stupid shit with you and won.”
“So rude as always, shouldn’t you be relishing your victory?”
“I am, by leaving and valuing my mental health,” he sarcastically muttered, getting up and roughly pulling his pants over his still erect dick.
“No aftercare?” Childe joked, his joke apparently not sitting with Scaramouche since he continued his march over to his room, flinging his door shut.
Now not near the ginger, Scaramouche pulled his pants down again, looking at the erect little guy staring back up at him. The image of Childe’s head thrown back as his Adam’s apple bobbed, his legs slightly wobbling from climax, the sweat rolling down his thigh- His dick was growing hard to the point it felt like it hurt. He seriously needed this deal with this now.
