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Scara’s heart missed a beat when Childe kneeled between his legs, gripping his thighs to prevent his escape. The hands of the Balladeer scraped against the wall when one of them was pulled over Childe's shoulder so he could rest his cheek on the inside. With his nose nestled right at the connection of his legs and pelvis.
And arkons.
His shorts couldn't do anything against the sensation. He could feel everything through them. The movement of the cold air against his hot shaft as Childe breathed inches from it, the way his lips were pressing the fabric to his skin. The way it all moved to the rhythm of the other harbinger’s inspiration...
His other hand traveled upwards, rougher by the constant handling of weapons. The thing he decided to handle now was not a bow, but a handful of Scaramouche's ass. With his face half hidden in Scara's hips, he looked up, eyes framed between curls of red hair and dark fabric, swirling with an expression now engraved in Scaramouche's mind. Two pools of pure lust were looking back at him as he struggled to stay upright. No, The look he gave was of near worship and plea. He was gripping the inside of his knee and his thighs like they were the only thing that mattered at this moment.
It was a lot to take in. Never did somebody else than himself had ventured in this part of his anatomy. Also anywhere else, to be honest. He hadn't felt the need to feel anybody's hand on his body. Until then. Until Childe's strong grip was holding his legs so hard it may bruise. They were grounding, by their weight, and scalding hot by their only presence on his skin.
He felt so vulnerable with his younger colleague pressing his face to his groin, how transparent that part of him was. He surely wouldn't have missed the way it was slowly hardening against his cheek.
"-Tell me, he spoke, making the whole situation so much worse. Do you want to go further? "
The question made him panic a little more than he already was. Further, like what? How much further? He swallowed the saliva that had begun to pool in his mouth
"-W...what do you plan on doing, Eleven? "
"- I want to suck you off. "
The bluntness of the words made his heart drop, and a speck of electricity run down his spine. Why, ô why, was that guy not born with a filter like everybody else? It was always like this. Tartaglia would say something and Scaramouche would get hit with a wall of honesty he wasn't prepared to face. He was so annoyingly simple.
The other seemed to notice the gears turning in his head and pulled back. The other fatui had to exercise a great amount of restraint to not buck his hips forward. The black-haired man paid close attention to the red washing over his freckles.
"- If you don't want to, that's ok. Let's just forget about th-"
He sneered when a hand yanked his head right back where it had been, his nose now in direct contact with Scaramouche's soft parts that weren't that soft anymore. He couldn't let him go scot-free.
"-Finish what you started. Don't disappoint me. " he snarled. "
Tartaglia looked up, through annoyingly long lashes. He could feel him smiling.
"- Your wish is my command, sir. "
He was about to say something, how dare he give that much sass while between another man's legs? But he decided to let go, his vocal cords seemingly not responding correctly right now. He wondered, really if it was worth it. Tartaglia couldn't be that good at this (not that Scaramouche had that much experience to judge from). The only thing he ever talked about was battle and weapons and whatever mess he had made recently. He heard rumors though, but had quickly dismissed them as unrealistic slander. Surely he did not have enough wit to bed someone.
He came to eat back his own words soon enough.
The ginger took back one of his hands (Scara ignored the feeling of missing its presence here ) and hooked one finger on the hem of his shorts. He pulled them down and the sixth shivered from the hit of cold air against his red tip.
Because it was flushed red against his milky white skin, and dripping precum from its slit along his shaft and his balls. How was he that worked up from being slammed into a wall? Blame it on his inexperience. Childe licked his lips, looking at it wide-eyed.
"-What? The other barked. "
"-Nothing. It's just really pretty. "
His ears turned hot in an instant.
"-Shut the fuck up, and get on with it. "
Not needing to be told twice, the ginger got down to the base and tentatively licked it.
Scaramouche's leg which wasn't supported by the other man suddenly felt weak and his throat tightened. His tongue continued circling the shaft. Then, it took a long stride along the underside right to the very tip.
Scaramouche only allowed himself a low grunt at this. Not in a million years would he moan for that dumb meathead. Even if he really,really wanted to.
The meathead in question came to suckling the tip and running his tongue over the moist slit. His finger wrapped around the length to steady it while he worked on it.
Soon enough, the Balladeer's head hit the planks behind him, eyes unfocused at the ceiling. A sharp exhale only fueled the fire burning his very core.
The hand that was resting on his knee came to cup his balls and slowly massage them, making them roll over each other. Without so much as a warning, the Eleventh swallowed his whole length in one go, not choking on it like Scaramouche thought he should.
One second of distraction and a broken mewl escaped his throat. The sound was way too high-pitched and way too needy for his liking. No doubt the other had heard it, because he seemed to pick up the pace, meticulously unraveling his senior as he did. The movement of his lips was full of intent, and of the reverence he seemed to hold for him.
Every stride erodes more and more of Scara's rational brain.
At some point, not remembering when, he chucked his pride out the window. He finally let his arousal make him sing in whimpers rolling off his tongue at the rhythm of the ginger, adding to the chorus of wet noises that filled the air of the whole room. And sharing the stage with the unmistakable, heady scent of sex.
It was a mess.
"- Slow... Nghhh~ down... "
He tried to say, words losing meaning at this point. Maybe for Childe too, by the way he just ignored them.
Worst. Checking on him now, he looked gone. Eyebrows knitted together, head tilted to the side, and eyes tightly screwed shut, he was humming along to his task with so much dedication he seemed to be in the middle of a prayer.
Scaramouche's hand came to find a loc of fiery red hair and pulled on it. Childe opposed some resistance, his mouth sliding down his cock and letting go in an obscene wet pop.
A heavy silence fell between them, as the shorter male took in the scenery. He was panting as much as Scara, looking blissfully lost. Cum had dribbled from the corner of his parted lips to his chin. Those dead eyes he usually sported were even more glazed over now, his gaze gone in the distance.
"-Huh, he pathetically let out. "
"- Were the rumors true, Tartaglia? "
"-Wha.. "
The Balladeer gripped his hair harder, making him look straight at him, the pain on his scalp seemingly bringing some coherence to his mind (or maybe it was Scara's face inches from his, who would know at this point) . He distractingly licked off the white fluid tarnishing his lips and swallowed, Scara unwillingly following the movement of his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he did so.
"-What rumors? "
"-The ones that say that you are secretly a slut that sleep around with the recruits whenever he gets the chance. "
"- Ho that. But I want you now, don't worry about it," he says, before trying to dive back, but Scara's hold was thankfully firm.
He did not even try to deny it. Taken aback, the sixth looked at him under a different light. On the other way, this was quality blackmail material, he thought, before realizing the whole situation he found himself in right now was blackmail material.
"-It gets lonely in the camps, do you blame me? "
Scara did, but not for the reason he thought.
"He fucked me so hard I couldn't walk! "
"I can't get the image of him moaning like a bitch in heat under me.. "
All the things he had heard when he paid somewhat attention to what people were saying when he had to visit the barracks. He hadn’t given them much credit at first but maybe he should’ve. At that, a pang of jealousy rang in his ears. He wanted that. All for himself. The only prospect of sharing this with any lowly skirmisher made his blood boil.
He should be the only one able to say such things about Childe.
"- Listen to me, from this point on, you are my only property. You are mine to enjoy, understood? "
A giggle escaped the other’s throat, racking his lax body, like a boneless puppet.
"-Whatever you want. Use me as you please. "
He accentuates his words by parting his lips and letting his tongue hang out, in a display that sends tremors to Scaramouche's whole body.
Wordlessly, Scara pushes Childe's head back where it had been, soon finding that velvety heat around him again. Encouraging him to move, the ginger started pushing the shaft deeper inside by pressing the Balladeer’s hips forward, on the small of the other man's back.
Not wanting him to decide what to do anymore, Scara obliges, moving on his own accord. The eleventh stills and takes it, letting him use his mouth like he said he would, but Scara can't shake the feeling that he is not the one in charge of what is happening. Like Childe was only letting him lead. Or at least that he thought so.
In the wake of this revelation, he pushes harder, finally drawing out moans from the other man. Good, a taste of his own medicine. The vibrations of his voice also added to the experience, so much so he is nearly sent over the edge multiple times.
He knows he won't last longer than that, not when the knot coiling in his guts is getting tighter and tighter. He stops himself to catch his breath, but Childe has other plans, shoving it down his throat again. His back arches like held by a bow string.
The tip hit the back of it, and in an instant, everything is spilling. His voice, the cum, everything like a dam letting go of crashing waves that rock his entire world to its foundations. He nearly can't hear himself over the sound of blood rushing to his ears. But he does and it's depraved .
Childe finally let go, beaming through the tears on his eyelashes while every bone of Scara's body had changed into wobbly jelly. The ginger seems so annoyingly proud of himself it makes his senior want to slap him. But he is too tired for that, having had all his energy literally sucked out of him.
The aftermath is sticky and had dribbled a bit on the eleventh collar. But because he apparently had done that so many times before, the brunt of the flood had been swallowed.
Scaramouche fights to not sink to the ground next to him when Childe releases his leg from his hold, hand on his mouth. To his horror, it's trembling and unsteady.
"-We should do that again. " The other chirps from below, in his usual cheery tone, as if nothing had happened. He seemed already back on earth, and that made Scara a little mad. If he could only see this expression for a bit longer, maybe next time...
Wait.
Would there be a next time?
He said there would, but the words had escaped him in the heat of the moment. Post-nut clarity made him realize that perhaps that wasn't the right move. Not at all, perhaps even the worst he'd made in this decade.
"-Not... Bad. He coughed out, steadying his balance to hopefully go get cleaned with dignity.
The expensive wood floor feels like rubber. He still needed to hold on to the wall, and the moist residue between his thighs was making loud squelching noises whenever he put a foot in front of the other.
So the Walk of Shame was not a myth.