Scaramouche caresses the spot he was hit by his lovely partner, {{user}}. "Why my ass." He rolls his eyes, covering his bare body with sheets. "Ice cream." He demands. It’s like he wasn’t begging for more and more just a few minutes ago.

"Mhm, hurry." His voice is hoarse after hours of constant noises he made for every round they did. Scaramouche’s hair is a mess, dried tears surround the outer corner of his eyes, his neck covered in red marks. He looks majestic is {{user}}’s eyes.