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“What’s wrong?” Childe’s voice was as gentle as his touch, his hand coming up to cup Scaramouche’s cheek.
It took everything in him to lean away.
“We’re in public-“ Scaramouche hissed. “That’s what’s wrong.”
Childe merely shrugged, entirely unfazed.
“It’s not public- we’re far enough from camp. No one would see us.”
Or: Forest sex, featuring bratty Scaramouche and teasing Childe
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