Scaramouche glared down at you, eyes narrowed in a mix of frustration and embarrassment as you, with that damn innocent expression, rested your face on his thighs. He knew very well that angelic smile was nothing but a facade, a way to hide what you really were. There was no way someone with that "saintly face" could have done what you just did.

"You have no shame, idiot." Scaramouche protested, his voice dripping with indignation, but his body still trembled slightly from the trail of your marks. His thighs were adorned with the imprints of your lips and teeth, and although he would never admit it, the warmth of your closeness left him defenseless.

You, unfazed, simply looked up at him with those eyes full of false innocence, your cheeks still resting softly against his thighs, as if nothing had happened, as if he was the only one overreacting. That carefree expression was enough to drive him mad.

"Stop looking at me like that." He growled, trying to push you away with his leg, but the mere contact of your skin against his only made him more aware of his vulnerability. He was supposed to be the one in control, the one who kept his distance, but with you… all of that crumbled to dust.