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"Scaramouche!" Childe called out as the Sixth Harbinger entered the Eleventh's appointed suite in Zapolyarny Palace. "You're back!" His face had lit up in that way that Scaramouche would never admit always made his heart jump in his chest.
"Obviously," Scaramouche said, as he hung up his hat by the door and began to shuck his gloves and shoes.
"Obviously," Childe mimicked. He didn't stand to greet Scaramouche, just stayed sprawled on his plush couch, watching Scaramouche with hungry eyes. He knew Scaramouche would come to him in just a moment. It had taken some time for them to reach this point, but it turned out that Childe could demonstrate a modicum of patience, on occasion, with proper motivation. "Well, how'd it go?" he asked, absently. "Find out anything interesting on your info-gathering mission?"
Scaramouche padded over to Childe on bare feet and settled himself atop the other Harbinger's lap. Like this, his head was just slightly higher for a change, so he could tilt up Childe's chin and pull him into a deep, searching kiss.
Childe leaned into it obligingly, eagerly, resting his hands on Scaramouche's upper thighs. The two of them stayed like that awhile, nipping at each other's lips for long enough that Scaramouche was reasonably sure Childe had forgotten all about the question he'd asked.
Well, that was too bad, since today, Scaramouche had something quite interesting to tell Childe about. He smirked against Childe's lips, then pulled back, ignoring the man's whine of dismay.
"Hm… what did I find out?" he said aloud with a performatively thoughtful demeanor, smoothly dodging Childe's clumsy attempt to lock their lips together once more. "Well, I met that Traveler of yours…"
Childe perked up instantly at that, but had the good grace to appear abashed about it when Scaramouche leveled a narrow-eyed look at him.
No matter. Scaramouche would get his revenge for that one, soon enough. He continued. "Gathered some valuable intel about Liyue's and Mondstadt's troop deployments, too," he said. And then, with an air of afterthought, he added, "Oh, and I determined that the sky is a hoax."
"Right," Childe said, barely reacting to the bomb Scaramouche had just dropped. He was too busy batting his eyes, trying to look as kissable as possible. So annoying.
"Are you listening to me?" Scaramouche demanded. He put a hand to Childe's collarbone, pushing him firmly back against the backrest of the couch. "I said, the sky is a hoax. The stars, too. All of it is a lie."
Childe's brow furrowed pleasingly, and Scaramouche prepared himself to launch into an explanation that would no doubt go right over Childe's head. He was practically salivating at the thought. In just a moment, Childe would ask what in the world he was talking about, and that would be his cue.
"Right…" Childe said with a slow drawl and raised eyebrows. "You feeling okay, Scare?" He lifted up a hand to press the backs of his fingertips against Scaramouche's forehead.
Scaramouche jerked back and slapped away his hand. "I don't have a fever, you blithering moron," he snapped. But his annoyance was soothed, at least a little, by Childe's hiss of pain and the way he recoiled, shaking the stinging sensation out of his fingers.
Huffing out a breath, Scaramouche forced his shoulders to relax, and then he turned his nose up into the air so he could say, loftily, "Sorry to hear that you're such a sheep that you still believe the sky is real. But, really, Tartaglia, it's time we move past such ignorant notions. I understand that it's hard for you to comprehend, but this is the undeniable truth: the stars above us are a sham, and we have been led astray by the ones who constructed the illusion. But, unfortunately for them, they couldn't fool me forever." He let himself bask for a moment in his very favorite thing: the feeling of smug superiority.
But… throughout this diatribe, Childe had just been frowning at Scaramouche with knitted brows. And he didn't say anything when Scaramouche was done. Just kept squinting at him.
"Well? Say something!" Scaramouche exclaimed, after several interminable seconds had passed.
Childe opened his mouth, hesitated, then cautiously said, "Uh, sorry, Scare, but… that wasn't what I meant?" His hand came up to scratch at the nape of his neck, awkwardly. "I meant… I already knew the sky was a hoax. Didn't you?"
"…What," Scaramouche said.
Childe shrugged helplessly, with a bemused half-smile on his face that Scaramouche might have found endearing if it wasn't being employed at his own expense. "Yeah, Scare," Childe said. "Dottore told us ages ago. At the Harbinger all-hands meeting. Weren't you there? I swear you were there."
Scaramouche shook his head wordlessly. He hadn't been there.
"Oh. Huh," Childe said. "That explains it, I guess?" He shrugged again, letting out a little chuckle this time. "Well, it's impressive that you figured it out all on your own!" he added, with the tone of one congratulating a child. Never mind that it was impressive to figure out that the sky is a hoax on your own while in a dream fugue state from which few could escape unassisted. Staggeringly impressive, if Scaramouche could say so himself.
But somehow Childe made it sound like he'd performed a mildly interesting party trick.
Scaramouche did the only thing he could, which was sulk about it. He stood up with a thunderous expression and turned for the door.
"Hey, don't be like that…" Childe wheedled, grabbing his arm and reeling him back. He dragged Scaramouche into his lap again, this time with his chest pressed to Scaramouche's back, and he wrapped his arms around Scaramouche to hold him in place. "I'm impressed! Really!" Childe insisted, into his ear.
It would have been undignified to try to wriggle out of Childe's grasp, but Scaramouche was sorely tempted anyway. He was also sorely tempted to pull out one of the knives he always kept on his person, to assist with the effort. But he knew violence would only encourage Childe.
"…You're not," Scaramouche groused instead, making a face Childe wouldn't be able to see. He kept his spine rigid, refusing to let himself relax into Childe's furnace-like heat.
"Sure I am!" Childe said, no more convincingly than before. Scaramouche could hear the laughter, underneath. So he didn't bother acknowledging the words at all this time. He just stared stonily forward at the door through which he would be making his escape the very moment that Childe loosened his hold.
Childe exhaled, his breath hot and damp against Scaramouche's cheek. "Scaramouche," he said, quietly, his voice suddenly nothing but serious. "I mean it. You are a marvel. You never fail to impress and astonish me, every time." He stroked a thumb over an exposed patch of Scaramouche's skin, and Scaramouche felt his own breath catch in his chest.
"And I missed you," Childe added. He pressed his lips to the corner of Scaramouche's jaw, right above his pulse, leaving behind just the barest hint of teeth. "Don't leave me alone again already. Please?"
Scaramouche wavered for a long moment, his pride warring with every other part of him. And then, of course, he gave in, letting his head fall back against Childe's shoulder.
"Fine," he said to the ornate plaster detailing on Childe's ceiling. "But only if we never speak of this again. It never happened."
"My lips are sealed," Childe said, as he reached up to turn Scaramouche's head and pull him into a kiss.