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    Summary

    Childe’s eyebrows furrowed as Scaramouche clamped his hand over his mouth to stop him from talking. “Shut up, I don’t want to hear your shit right now.” He mumbled, licking his lips in search for any remaining blood. He didn’t want to look at Childe either. If he looked at his gorgeously freckled face, he’d have to think about what he was doing. If he didn’t look at him he could just pretend he was going to do this with some random stranger or something.

    Childe, as told, stayed quiet, though he kept his gaze focused on Scaramouche’s face. Too bad for him, since Scaramouche leaned back down so his face was tucked in the crevice where the other’s neck and shoulder connected. He didn’t want to think anymore. It’s not like he was thinking very properly anyway, since his body felt like it was on fire. After a few more seconds of nothing, Scaramouche sighed and mumbled, “So?”

    “Calm down, calm down, I was figuring out what I was gon- ah-” Scaramouche lightly grazed one of his sharp fangs against the 11ths neck, telling him to shut up. “Okay, Okay, just get on with it, I get it…” he chuckled as the hand still at the shorter’s waist carefully moved to slip beneath his shorts.

    Series
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