the tips of cold fingers seem to draw bizarre patterns along the curve of your neck, while scaramouche whispers all sorts of sweet little phrases in your ear about how much he has been waiting for this moment all his life, and how languid and dreary the days of waiting without you seemed to him...
the guy leans closer, his slightly swollen lips are almost caressing your earlobe, and scaramouche, with a slightly desperate expression on his face, turns his indigo eyes directly to your flushed face...
just a little more, just a moment, and you will forever cross this last line, taste such an alluring forbidden fruit...
"cut!" suddenly the director shouts from behind.
scaramouche immediately sighs in irritation and then abruptly moves away from you, frowning as usual.
"you could have done so much better than this. and they even call you actor of the year, huh..." words soaked in impudence casually fall from his lips, which just recently seemed so alluring, and scaramouche turns away in a hurry, leaving you for the dressing room.
nevertheless, despite all his professionalism as an actor, scaramouche still fails to hide the sincere blush on his cheeks from your discerning eyes.