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This absolute whorish wench! Scaramouche was mad, genuinely furious. He not only failed his mission, he also fell right into her trap. This is exactly her scheme, to lure women and men alike into her well crafted spider web of lies and deception, it had to be. Yet he did not know what she wanted. He had an ever growing list of her contacts, and while some looked suspicious, he could not find any proof that she sold any of her knowledge to them. Maybe she wanted the success for herself, to come out as the sole victor, to be the hero of fairy tales or the one who smited the gods. No, that wouldn’t be right, she was already a hero in fairy tales, even if they were barely published and she is dear friends with both Barbatos and Rex Lapis, she did not despise the Archons. So what’s her fucking problem? The way she slept next to him, he wanted to strangle her. Though, as his eyes kept lingering on her, what was stopping him? She was unconscious, no weapons in sight, not even the discarded clothes in hands reach. Maybe the candle holder on the bedside but what good use was that? To jam it into his head as if it would actually hurt? As his fingers slowly crept along her neck and he continued to cross out her options for escape, he couldn’t help himself but to tenderly graze her soft flesh while never letting his eyes wander away from her face. He was towering above her, hands securely around her neck and yet- And yet he could not press down. The longer he stood still, the longer he stared at her, the angrier he got but his hands wouldn’t let him. Maybe it’s a curse. The woman is no human, he did know that. A trickster spirit from the forest, it’s not unlikely that she dwells in ancient spells and curses. But that she dared to use her foolery on him, he’ll make her regret, he’ll make her cry, beg, he’ll break her- It felt like the air in his lungs got knocked out the second he heard a soft breath. This is a joke, it has to be, he can’t possibly mess up two times in a row. His hands automatically gripped a little tighter and his irritation was clearly visible in his face and he was only greeted by a small laugh. “You enjoying the view there, pretty boy?”
Scaramouche didn’t know what to say, or do, he wanted to spit a nasty comeback in her face so badly but his mouth forgot how to form words, so only an irritated rumble left his lips. “Love, if you desire to kill me, then you actually do need to press down.” She chuckled, while guiding her hands to his to slowly remove them from her throat so she can sit up. Due to the shift of her position, the blanket dropped down to her lap and he seemed to have caught his thoughts again. “You are one cheap fucking slut, you know that? Honestly not even whores spread their legs as willingly as you do” “HmmHm, that is a funny thing to say when you are laying here as well. And that is not even considering the fact that you were the one who begged'' She laughed again, booping his nose. “Tzzt, is this like an ego boost for you? Trying to fuck as many high-ranking people as possible because there’s nothing else you are good for? A desperate attempt to find a stupid enough man who keeps you so you don’t end up as used whore on the sidewalk? Well, maybe if you’d-”
The woman wasn’t listening, or at least didn’t care that much about what he had to say. Only caressing his hands, letting her fingers slide from his fingertips to his palm. Ever so slowly guiding his hand closer to her and softly kissing his fingers, humming a lovely tune. He was about to throw more insults at her when she cupped his cheeks to pull him down to her lips. He froze until she lightly bit on his lower lip and even though his head screamed to protest he let her tongue wander into his mouth, sinking even deeper into her grasp, almost smashing his arm above her head so as not to completely lose balance. He hated this but a desperate moan escaped his lips claiming the opposite. He’d slaughter everyone down the second they would hear him make a sound like that, fuck he would even do it if he just suspected someone to know without any evidence whatsoever. One of her hands found her way to the back of his neck while the other nestled between his hair. It didn’t take much longer until she needed to take a breath, a string of saliva still connecting them. Looking at her flushed face and her uneven huffs for air, Scaramouche could not help himself but to fall deeper into her intoxicating embrace, letting her explore his mouth as much as she wanted.
He despised how secure he felt, how safe, how loved. He wished he took the chance to press down to now not experience this contradictionary distress of how good this feels, how right this feels, of knowing that her actions have been nothing but sincere. He curses the gods as his head starts to feel fuzzy and his body heats up…