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Scaramouche's breath hitched as Childe suddenly let out a husky, yearning moan beneath him, but only slightly. He restrained himself, holding back the desire to lace his fingers in that ruddy hair and take Childe however he could. It would have been easy to give into that, and there were some times that he did. But for now, he didn't want to get overexcited, though Childe clearly did not share that same sentiment.
The Eleventh was on his knees in front of him, wrists manacled to his ankles behind himself. Scaramouche could hear the metallic clinking of the chains rubbing against themselves and the shackles as Childe shifted around anxiously, but he did not strain at them more than that. He did not need to. The truth was, he could have broken out of the metal restraints at a moment's notice. Childe knew it, and Scaramouche knew it, though he was the one who so enjoyed seeing him in them.
But it was not that which fettered him that kept Childe obedient. They both knew this as well.
Childe had his face pressed between Scaramouche's legs, right against the hardening mound in his pants where his erection throbbed underneath. Despite still being fully clothed, Childe lavished the outline of his cock with his lips and tongue, finding the shape of the shaft with the tip of his tongue and trailing it up and down with wet, lusting kisses. The front of Scaramouche's pants were absolutely soaked with saliva at this point, which would be an inconvenience once they were done, but Scaramouche couldn't be bothered to grouse over that.
Childe was desperate, as he often was. His cheeks were burning red as he moaned and whined into Scaramouche's crotch, his breath coming out hot and humid gasps as he rubbed his face against him. Scaramouche knew he was driving him crazy. Childe was going crazy because they were both still clothed, because Scaramouche simply sat there leaning back in his chair with mild amusement playing on his features, because he was forced to kneel there and keep his hands to himself when all he wanted to do was touch and be touched in return. The display he was making of himself now was partly for show, just a touch of theatrics for Scaramouche's own benefit. But he was so genuinely starving - ravenous, even - for contact that he was quickly slipping into something close to delirium. He wrapped his lips around the outline of Scaramouche's cockhead and started sucking on it through the fabric, and the Sixth fought the urge to shiver.
Instead, he did decide to give both Childe and himself a bit of quarter. Scaramouche extended a hand and ghosted his fingers against Childe's hairline, before running them through the red locks. A small, needy sound escaped Childe's throat at the contact, and he opened his eyes to look up at Scaramouche pleadingly. Scaramouche smirked at him in return, fisting his hand into a patch of Childe's hair at the crown of his head. Childe yelped when his head was suddenly yanked backwards. There was a string of saliva that connected him to the front of Scaramouche's pants, eventually snapping in the center and falling back against his bottom lip. Scaramouche had the urge to lick it off of him.
Instead, he clicked his tongue. "Look what a mess you've made of yourself already. Not to mention me."
Childe didn’t say anything, didn’t look like he could. He wriggled around a little bit, not out of discomfort, but out of restlessness.
“Aw, what’s wrong?” Scaramouche cooed. “You really want to suck my dick that badly?”
Childe’s breath hitched, mouth floundering open slightly, as if he were a parched man just shown an oasis in the desert. “Can I?”
“Can you what?”
“Can I suck your cock?” Childe’s voice was strained with lust, eyes half-lidded as he stared up at Scaramouche.
“Not even a please?” Scaramouche wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep himself contained, but he couldn’t resist drawing it out a little. Childe begging on his knees like this was too pretty a sight to skip past.
Childe actually laughed a little. It was a breathy, trembling laugh, one that carried with it a slight air of disbelief. It may have been disbelief in how far Scaramouche was willing to withhold his own pleasure just for the sake of teasing him, or disbelief in his own debauched state. Most likely, it was a mix of the two.
“Please,” Childe said, humor still present in his voice. Then the humor was gone, and began to taper off into a plaintive, whiny tone. “Please.”
“So impatient.” Scaramouche scolded, but there was no edge to it. “You’re so desperate for it. And I haven’t even offered to reciprocate yet.”
“I don’t care.”
“You don’t?” Scaramouche feigned surprise. “You’d just let me fuck your mouth with no promise of anything in return? You must really want it.”
“I want it,” Childe whined. “Please, I want it.”
“Tell me how bad you want it.”
Childe nearly sobbed in frustration. “Please, please, please-”
“Use your words, now. You’re a big boy.” Scaramouche was so close to caving now, reaching the point where the satisfaction of watching Childe unravel like this could not outweigh the thought of slipping himself between those lips for much longer. But he could hold out just a little more.
“Please, I wanna suck your cock so bad,” Childe breathed. Scaramouche believed him, because he was literally drooling for it, spittle flying from his mouth with every “please” that left his mouth. “Please fuck my throat, I wanna make you feel so good, I want you in my mouth, please please please I want it, let me make you come-”
“Well, aren’t you sweet,” Scaramouche interrupted, struggling to keep his voice level. He brought his other hand to Childe’s face, cupping his cheek and running his thumb along his bottom lip to wipe the spit away. Childe greedily took his thumb between his lips, suckling at the tip of it with a moan. Oh, this boy was going to be the death of him. “You want to make me come? I’ll let you, then.”
Scaramouche withdrew his hand from Childe’s face, keeping the other laced in his hair as he hurriedly pulled down the waist of his pants, only enough to finally release his aching cock from them. Childe immediately tried to lean into it, and Scaramouche had no doubt that if he had not been holding him still, he would have tried swallowing him to the hilt all at once. It was a tempting prospect, but Scaramouche held him off for another moment.
“Oh, aren’t you excited.” Scaramouche had meant for it to come out a bit derisive, to indicate a level of control he no longer actually had over himself, but his exclamation had slipped out as a low moan instead. “Don’t get so excited, though. We’re in no hurry, are we? And seeing as you wanted it so bad, I want to make sure you can really savor it.”
Childe nodded a bit too emphatically, not seeming any more soothed. He was looking at Scaramouche’s cock with what the Sixth could describe as nothing less than hunger, like he was starving for it, his mouth hanging open like a stray dog that had just been offered a fresh plate of meat. He rolled his hips erratically where he knelt, thrusting into nothing, simply trying to find what little friction the inside of his pants could offer to his own erection.
“Can you be good?” Scaramouche asked, giving himself a few languid strokes with his free hand. “Look at me, and tell me you’ll be good.”
Childe managed to tear his eyes away, meeting Scaramouche’s gaze. His pupils were nearly blown out to black saucers amidst pools of blue. “I’ll be good.”
Scaramouche smiled at him, letting go of his hair. "Go on, then."
Childe somehow managed to contain himself, despite how consumed with desire he visibly was, just licking his lips as he looked back down at Scaramouche's cock. The Sixth held himself still at the base, steady enough to avoid Childe having to chase it down.
Childe leaned in, lips parted, and almost tentatively licked at the bead of precum that had formed at the tip of Scaramouche's dick. He licked again, the tip of his tongue dipping into the slit, before putting his lips around the head with a breathy moan. Scaramouche exhaled sharply as Childe took his cockhead into his mouth. His lips slid around it almost lazily, only the frenetic movements of his tongue betraying his excitement.
Childe lavished him with kisses yet again like this, sucking at the tip of Scaramouche’s cock, swirling his tongue all around the head and immediately lapping up the precome that began to steadily dribble out. His eyes eventually closed on their own, like he was being soothed by it, like greedily drinking in every last drop was the only thing sating his wild desire. But his hips still bucked into nothing, and Scaramouche could see the wet spot of precum soaking through the crotch of his pants getting larger by the minute.
Childe eventually disengaged himself from the tip of Scaramouche dick with a wet pop, his breath shallow and hot against the sensitive skin. He placed a kiss against the tip that in any other circumstance Scaramouche would have described as modest in its tenderness, before dotting more all the way down the shaft of his cock.
"You taste so fucking good," Childe moaned, the sound vibrating against Scaramouche's skin and making his cock twitch. Childe licked a thick, wet stripe up and down his shaft, stopping again at the base to curl his tongue around it, being sure to slide it around his fingers as well. "Your cock tastes so good. It's making me so hard."
Scaramouche let out a breathy laugh, bringing up his free hand and lacing his fingers into Childe's hair. It was not to pull or hold this time; he bunched the locks between his fingers just to take in the softness of them, just to feel Childe's head bobbing beneath his touch. "You're certainly making a mess of yourself. Is it really that good? So good that it turns you into a wet, dripping mess?"
"Yes." The word came out as a reverent groan, and his hips jerked forward even harder than they had before, making his manacles rattle against themselves. "You're making me so wet."
Scaramouche just exhaled at that as Childe brought his head back up to slip the tip of his cock back into his mouth. He took it deeper this time, sliding his tongue along the underside of it with a contented hum. Scaramouche fought against himself to keep from thrusting into the hot, wet heat of his mouth. He didn’t want to get ahead of himself. He wanted Childe to work for it. He knew he would.
Childe, as expected, started bobbing his head up and down his length in slow pulls, his lips tightly suctioned around Scaramouche. He went a little further down each time, until he had finally taken all of him into his throat. Scaramouche was now gripping his hair tightly, probably too tightly, but Childe didn’t seem to mind. He was taking Scaramouche so deep that his nose was pressed into the skin of his groin, and his eyes were half-lidded, unfocused and glazed over with lust.
“Look at me, baby,” Scaramouche breathed. It was a plea, not an order, but he knew Childe would take it as one anyway.
Childe obeyed, his gaze flickering upwards. He was an absolute mess. Drool spilled from his lips as he choked down Scaramouche’s cock to the base, eyes watering from the effort. It left Scaramouche so breathless that he no longer could muster the energy to tease him.
“Good boy,” Scaramouche cooed. He relaxed his grip on Childe’s hair, running his fingers through it, stroking his thumb along his hairline. Childe moaned at the touch, the noise vibrating against Scaramouche’s cock and sending a shudder through him. He brought his other hand to the younger man’s face, cupping a cheek that had gone deep crimson with a flush that burned hot against his palm. Childe leaned into the touch slightly, and Scaramouche felt like he was melting. “You’re such a good boy. I love how you look with my cock down your throat.”
Child whined at this, keeping his eyes locked on Scaramouche as he started moving again. The sounds he made as he bobbed his head up and down Scaramouche’s cock were obscene, slurping and sucking at him loudly and uninhibited. But even more filthy than that were the needy, choked off cries that tumbled out from the back of his throat anytime the older man’s cockhead was not occupying the space. Scaramouche could no longer keep his hands off of him. His fingers intertwined themselves in his hair, stroked his jawline, traced the shell of his ears - he suddenly felt that he couldn’t be touching him enough, that he needed nothing less than for every square inch of Childe to be in his grasp.
Scaramouche let his head loll back slightly, his breath coming out in shallow gasps, and he finally extended the slightest bit of mercy to himself by letting his hips jerk upwards, meeting the back of Childe’s throat as he plunged back down on him. Childe gagged, but then let out an affirmative sounding groan, so Scaramouche continued rolling his hips up towards his mouth, fucking his tight, needy throat as he pleased.
Childe suddenly let out a sob, pulling himself off of Scaramouche abruptly. That made Scaramouche look back down at him, almost alarmed at Childe's sudden disengagement.
Although Childe had clearly been overwhelmed enough to pull himself off Scaramouche's dick, he was already gravitating towards it again. He was writhing beneath him, gasping for air, and yet he still tried wrapping his mouth back around the head of his cock, slathering his lips with precum and his own saliva in the process.
Before Scaramouche could ask him what was wrong, Childe let out a shrill moan.
"Fuck, I'm really close," he whined. Scaramouche only then noticed just how fiercely the Eleventh was rolling his hips forward, almost spasming with the motions. Even from this angle, his clothed erection looked painfully hard. But more telling than either of those things was the look on Childe's face. Scaramouche had seen that look plenty of times before. But all the other times he had seen it had been in the midst of much more "hands on'' activities. Not ever like this. Childe was enthusiasm personified, overexcitable even by the standards of a man of his youth, but for him to be on the edge of bursting now was a lot, even for him.
Oh, this boy was really going to be the death of him.
Scaramouche's first instinct was to ravish that boy right on the spot, his own needs be damned. He wanted to shove his hands down his pants and give him the contact he so wantonly craved, to squeeze every last drop from him until Childe would have to beg him to stop. But the desire that really took hold of Scaramouche - the one that made his cock throb so intensely that it nearly doubled him over - was the desire to see Childe unravel, to watch him come in his pants from nothing more than some sugary words and Scaramouche’s dick between his lips.
Scaramouche felt almost dizzy with lust as he jerked Childe's head up a little more, getting a better look at him, his hands still fondly stroking his face and petting his hair.
"Are you gonna come for me like this?" Scaramouche leaned in and slid his lips around Childe's. He could taste himself in the strings of drool that spilled out from the boy’s lips. "Are you gonna come just from sucking me off?"
"I-" Childe's voice sounded strangled, either too worked up or too stricken with disbelief to get the answer out.
"Oh, you're such a good boy," Scaramouche said emphatically, knowing so well which words to emphasize. He flicked his tongue against Childe's lips, drawing a guttural moan out of him.
"Ohh, you're gonna-"
"You're so good, you're gonna come for me," Scaramouche felt as crazed as Childe looked, nearly babbling as he pawed at Childe's face. "I'm gonna fuck that pretty little mouth of yours and come so deep in your throat... that's what you want, right? You want it so bad you're about to come for me, aren’t you? You’re so fucking sexy, baby, I can’t wait to come inside your tight little throat-"
Childe keened. His hips rocked back and forth violently, rutting against nothing, and Scaramouche instantly knew that he was coming in his pants. He was nearly spasming, for how out of control it seemed, how out of control he looked. Scaramouche could hear him strain at his chains for the first time since they had been placed on them, perhaps only attempting to scramble for something to ground himself to as he doubled over. Even as it passed, with Scaramouche petting his face and soothing him with wordless murmurs, his breath hitched with every unbidden twitch of his hips.
Childe, a man whose lust for carnage could instill fear in the hearts of some of the greatest warriors across Teyvat, was now quivering before him, riding out the waves of an orgasm that he hadn’t had the slightest control over. He had just let it take him, let Scaramouche take him with nothing but a throaty growl and a few syrupy words. And before Scaramouche could even stop staring at him, momentarily stuck in an admiring trace - before the younger man had even caught his breath again - Childe let his mouth drop open, tongue lolling out wantonly as he did so. He looked up at Scaramouche pleadingly. He did not intend to dwell on his own climax any longer. There was only one thing he wanted. Scaramouche could see how his eyes begged for it.
Far be it from Scaramouche to deny him of it any longer.
Scaramouche's restraint had long since dwindled to nothing, and he shoved himself back into Childe’s mouth without another thought, reveling in the way it made Childe moan around him. Scaramouche still spoke as he fucked his throat erratically, but he no longer had any idea what he was saying. It was some sort of fitful, nonsense word salad, a messy jumble of swears and affirmations just before he reached his limit.
He plunged himself in to the hilt and held it there, letting his seed spill deep in the back of Childe’s throat. Just like he said he would. Childe’s whimpers tapered off as he started drinking it, without protest or hesitation, his throat pulsating around Scaramouche’s cock as he swallowed it all down.
Even after there was nothing left, Childe kept himself latched onto Scaramouche. He seemed as if he would have been content to stay like that for hours, and Scaramouche knew from experience that he could have. But even as his dick began softening within the warm comfort of Childe's mouth, Scaramouche knew he did not have the patience for that tonight. He urged the Eleventh to release him with a gentle push against his forehead, and Childe lingered a second longer before almost begrudgingly pulling himself off of Scaramouche's cock.
"Can we go again?" Childe's voice had gone hoarse. He looked back up at Scaramouche with dazed eyes, licking his lips.
Scaramouche let out a laugh. "Already? You're insatiable. Give it a rest for a minute, will you? Besides…."
Scaramouche trailed off, leaning in closer to Childe and pinching his drool soaked chin between his fingers. Scaramouche tilted his head up, watching his Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed roughly.
"That ravenous appetite of yours must be contagious." Scaramouche licked his own lips now, reveling in the way it made Childe shiver in his touch. "I'm suddenly feeling a bit peckish. You wouldn’t happen to have any suggestions for me, would you?"