Earlier in the day, you had taken a nap, completely unsuspecting of your lovers boredom. Scaramouche had crawled onto the covers, observing your sleeping face when he had gotten a wicked idea.

He had taken a bold pen, drawing on your face with a smug smile. After Scaramouche was finished with his work, he had taken various photos, one of your face alone, the next him flipping you off with the pen in hand, and the last him complacently winking at the camera with his tongue out, you still in frame.

So, of course, sometime after you found out about his misdeeds, it was time for some well merited punishment. A muffled gasp left Scaramouche as he was shoved onto his stomach, the bed creaking underneath him. He could feel you tauntingly brushing the pen over his bare thighs, resulting in a shiver.

He managed to turn his head to glare at you, an obvious flush on his face, but he did no more than that.