Chapter Text
He's slight.
That's the first thing Childe thinks when he sees the Sixth Harbinger. The Balladeer is a small delicate man with an air of elegance, sophistication, and something otherworldly that Childe can't quite name. His eyes are bright, the red eyeliner drawing attention and keeping it there. His clothes, when Childe can finally look away, are intricate and foreign- from Inazuma, he realizes. He has a light smile, kind or coquettish, Childe can hardly say. He's maybe the most beautiful thing Childe's seen in his life outside of a battlefield.
And then Scaramouche opens his mouth.
Childe hates him almost immediately.
He's an insufferable brat, practically drowning under the weight of his own egomania. The others avoid him- no one seems to like him at all actually- so at least Childe can laugh to himself about it. When he's told that Scaramouche outranks him by a fair margin, Childe can't restrain the laughter at all.
He's just so fucking annoying.
The only two people who aren't afraid of him or annoyed by him are her royal Highness herself and Il Dottore who Childe avoids too. They deserve each other, really. But the Tsaritza is kind to him, like she's kind to all of them, patient and doting. Childe heard that she apparently gave Scaramouche his own building.
The rest of them, (barring Dottore, incidentally, who has his own lab that he lives in) share an apartment building. They're all very luxurious, Childe would never complain, of course. Just his sitting room is bigger than his entire childhood home was. He's on the top floor and the view from his balcony takes his breath away every single time he sees it. But still.
Scaramouche's living area is blocked by a tall grove of bamboo, and his small estate is blocked in further by taller walls. He's heard rumors that even though it's smaller than the apartments they have, Scaramouche has his own hot spring tucked in a corner somewhere.
Childe thinks about him more than he wants to admit.
He doesn't really understand why he's here- with how tiny he is and everything, so he asks him to spar. Because he thinks it'll be funny.
Scaramouche laughs, and it's so condescending its a miracle Childe doesn't punch the teeth out of his mouth.
And then Scaramouche, without a vision, drags a bolt of lightning from the sky and runs Childe through with it.
When he wakes up in an infirmary two days later, Childe thinks maybe he's in love.
...
He isn't in love.
He realizes a few weeks later that it's not love- at least definitely not the normal kind. His brain is broken, and his wires get crossed sometimes. He just thinks it would be nice if he could actually fight Scara to the point where either or both of them are catatonic from pain. It would be hot, maybe, probably.
He wants to fuck him.
So he sneaks into his weird little estate.
There's a small yard, a few trees that have paper lanterns strong between them. A few bugs flit about that Childe doesn't recognize. He can hear running water, but it must be behind the house. The wood the building is made of looks imported.
The actual building is raised of the ground and seems to be made up of only a study, a bedroom, and a much smaller kitchen. The study has things displayed, on the walls and on pedestals, old things from all across Teyvat. They range from clearly important and expensive artifacts to random trinkets and cheaply made child's toys. An old violet yukata hangs on a wall.
“What are you doing.” It doesn't sound like a question.
Childe turns slowly, and Scara is standing there, arms crossed and angry. (Pouting, maybe.)
“Visiting.” Childe smiles, all teeth. “Nice place.”
“Great. Leave.”
“I just got here though.” He says, and stretches. “Where's your hospitality?”
Scaramouche sighs, and moves inside, leaving his shoes and his hat by the sliding door. He disappears into the kitchen and leaves Childe alone. Oddly quiet, and Childe isn't satisfied with being ignored so he shoves himself into the doorway.
“I just got back from an appointment. I'm not in the mood.”
“What kind of appointment?”
“Doctor patient confidentiality.” He rattles of mechanically and lifts a tea pot to the stove. Dottore? Childe can't help but be curious. It would be funny if they weren't even friends though, just a doctor and a subject.
“So mysterious.” Childe teases. Electro sparks from Scaramouche's fingers, lighting the stove and boiling the water. “Aren't you lonely, all the way out here?”
“I don't waste time with those beneath me.”
This fucking guy.
...
He comes back a few times, when Scara is away on the other side of the planet, to snoop.
There's nothing all that interesting, outside from the old things in his study. The bedroom has a roll out futon and stacks of books and letters, disorganized and scattered across the floor. The kitchen is mostly functional and all of the food is nonperishable.
He sees the hot spring, steaming rising even in the ten inches of snow they got last night. Stones are inlaid into the earth, they form a simple path to the spring. There are a few washing implements, some soaps and oils in a small storage container. All of the towels he finds are unbelievably soft. One of them looks threadbare, the same shade of violet as the yukata inside.
Everything seems clean, but as far as Childe knows he and Scaramouche are the only ones who ever come here.
None of his clothes even smell like a person wears them- which Childe has no good excuse for. He was curious.
Childe gets sent on a mission that takes him to Mondstadt for a month. It's dull work for the most part but he finds some fun people to take his mind off of his weird co-worker. It's a net positive all in all. The grumpy bartender and the clinically handsome calvary captain are both so entertaining he could probably move in, just to watch them be passive aggressive at each other every night.
When he finally comes back home though, once he cleans the road off of him, he goes and visits his favoritist tiny brat in the world.
The house is empty, and Childe is ready to call it a wash, but not before peaking his head into the backyard.
This feels like the best reward he could have possibly ever asked for a job well done.
Scara is naked, skin pink from the heat of the water, eyes closed as he rests against the rocks.
Childe thinks he might be drooling.
He sneaks up silently, the most quiet he's ever been, to observe him closer. He's struck with that beauty again, the one he saw the first time they met. Something excessively pristine to him, like he was designed somewhere instead of born from normal people. The rest of his body is just as breathtaking as his face. Prim little breasts and a delicate mound between his legs that don't surprise Childe in the slightest.
Scaramouche opens his eyes.
Neither of them move for what must be a minute before Scaramouche reaches out to call down lightning again.
Childe's faster this time, an arrow flying and seating itself an inch from Scara's head.
He stops.
They both stop.
“Get out.” He bites, and finally moves to cover himself. Not being able to stare at him feels like a loss Childe hardly knows what to do with. “Get out!”
Childe shakes his head- and moves forward, crossing the distance until he's one step away from getting into the pool.
“Let me look.” He says, and Scaramouche frowns before his face contorts in fury. He's still pretty- his hands move to his sides. He's stiff- but the movements seem practiced- like he's done this before. “Is this was the good doctor does to you? At your fancy appointments?”
“No- fuck off you idiot-” Scara stands, shoving the bow out of the way. More angry than scared then- good. Great, even! Childe lets the bow go, and spins their weight around until he's on top of Scaramouche and Scaramouche is laying on his back in the fresh snow. Childe rushes to pull his gloves off with his teeth and get his hands on him.
Scaramouche is breathless and wide eyed.
“What are you-” He chokes. “What are you even trying to do-”
“You're beautiful.” Childe says, (romantically, he hopes) before touching Scara's bare shoulder.
“Fucking creep.” He says, and shudders. Shudders for the fist time, Childe realizes. From his touch and not laying naked in the snow. Interesting- he's so interesting- “Degenerate piece of shit.” His skin is soft- it feels velveteen under his fingers, still warm from the hot water. “I'm going to fucking kill you.”
“Would you? Would you really?” Electro sparks all around him and there's the smallest glow to Scaramouche's eyes. “What are you?”
Scara shoves, and it's surprisingly strong. Just not as a strong as Childe.
So Childe touches and Scaramouche lets him, for whatever reason. His shoulders and his neck and his face- Childe wants to smear the eyeliner just to see if it would even budge- but he restrains. He touches his hair, runs his fingers through out. Like silk.
His hands start to drift down and that's when the lightning bites into his spine. Not as hard as it did the first time they met- it still stings, the pain is so sharp he can practically taste it, but he'll risk the damage. Scaramouche's chest is gorgeous, plush. His small breasts are comfortable handfuls, with already pebbling fawn nipples.
He rolls them in his hands and Scara gasps, like he's somehow surprised.
He leans down and takes a nipple in his mouth, laving it with his tongue and watching Scaramouche- who was composed and furious a second ago- come apart.
“First time?” Childe asks, before pressing a kiss to his chest.
Scaramouche shakes his head, looking away. He's been biting on his lip so hard that he was bleeding.
“You're shaking like it's your first time.”
“It's-” He gasps when Childe sucks on the other nipple, legs kicking against the snow. “Not supposed to- Why would-” He cuts himself off when a whine escapes his throat.
“Like that?” Childe asks, instead of the obvious baffling questions. Because he's nice like that. He almost seems to nod- despite himself. Childe smiles against him and hums. Scara's legs are brushing together now and it only takes a quick glance down to find out why. “Pretty boy.” He says, and abandons his chest for favor of kissing down his belly.
“I don't-” Scaramouche shakes his head. “Leave it- fuck off- leave-”
“Let me try.” Childe says, grips his thighs, prying them open with a grip that would definitely leave bruises. “Let me try and then I'll go.”
He has such a pretty cunt. It shouldn't be surprising but it is. Prettiest cunt he's ever seen. A gorgeous flushed color, glistening wet, tiny clit slowly peaking out and tiny hole fluttering open and closed.
Childe was going to savor it but-
He shoves his face into it immediately, licking up and down like his life depends on it and Scaramouche squeals, hands tight in his hair, trying to Childe away. He even tastes sweet somehow- He pushes his tongue inside of him and Scara's legs tighten around his head. He hums and the vibrations must be nice because Scaramouche stops trying to push him away.
His hips roll up to meet Childe's mouth, and Childe stops tonguing his hole to suck on his clit.
Scaramouche squirts almost instantly, drenching Childe's face completely. He pulls back, just a bit, to look at him. Even more red now, breathing hard, chest rising and falling. He looks angry and confused, eyes a little blown out from the orgasm.
“You're so fucking pretty. You're like a doll- anyone ever tell you that?”
Scaramouch inhales first, and then reaches forward, grabbing Childe by his shirt. For a second Childe thinks he's going to kiss him, and wouldn't that be everything? Scaramouch kissing his own slick out of Childe's mouth?
But Scara headbutts him instead.
Hard enough to see stars.
Childe staggers off of him, and Scaramouche rises, kicking him in the side hard enough that his ribs creak from the force, and he turns and walks back into his house.
“Huh.” Childe says, and wonders why he didn't just do that earlier.