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“Hey, Scaramouche.” Childe poked his head into Scaramouche’s office—uninvited, again. Scaramouche sighed, stacking some papers and putting them in a pile at the side of his desk. Pulling another document towards him, he said irritatedly, “What do you want, Eleventh?”
“Aw, don’t be like that,” Childe whined. The sound was grating on Scaramouche’s ears. “I just wanted to ask if you’d spar with me.”
“Absolutely not!” Scaramouche snapped. “I have better things to do than sate your craving for unnecessary violence.” He skimmed over the words on the document, far too used to multitasking after a myriad of irritating visits from his coworker.
“I’ve heard you can kill without even charging up an attack beforehand,” Childe continued. “I wanna see how well you fight in close quarters!”
“Get out of my office,” Scaramouche snapped. “Unless you have something of substance or use to me, get. Out. Of. My. Space!”
“Fine,” Childe huffed, but Scaramouche heard no footsteps. Childe was not known for his capacity for stealth, so Scaramouche was on edge. He was still there—just what was he planning now?
“I certainly hope you’re not standing around for no reason,” Scaramouche said impatiently.
“Not at all.” As Childe spoke, his voice grew closer until his arms rested on the chair Scaramouche was sitting in, looking down at him with a cheeky grin.
“What exactly are you planning?” This had never happened before, and Scaramouche grew nervous.
“Relax—I won’t disturb you. Unless your focus is broken that easily?” There was a strange grin in Childe’s eyes that made the growing unease worsen. Scaramouche gritted his teeth.
“Some of this information is confidential, Tartaglia—what the hell are you doing.” There was something wet wrapped around his ankle. He looked down and saw… a tentacle?
“I’ve been practicing various shapes with my Vision,” Childe said as if nothing was amiss. “Mostly for combat purposes, but you seem a bit… tense. How about I help you ease up a bit?”
“Get this thing off me!” Scaramouche began to inwardly panic. No amount of struggling moved the appendage, and he wasn’t about to electrocute himself by attacking it. To his growing horror, another wrapped around his other ankle, leaving both stuck to the legs of the chair.
“Cease this, Tartaglia,” Scaramouche warned, though his voice wavered. “Just know that whatever you’re about to do is being done without my consent.”
“We’ll see about that.” Childe brandished a knife, slicing through Scaramouche’s shorts. He wordlessly shrieked in pure rage, lashing out with a hand to fire lightning at his coworker. Childe easily dodged, Scaramouche’s panic throwing his aim off.
“Relax,” Childe said again, but Scaramouche was not about to listen to someone like him. He had lived his entire life in a state of fight or flight, and he wasn’t about to change that now. Scaramouche fired another bolt, this time managing to clip Childe’s shoulder, forcing him to drop the knife.
“Well, that was rude,” Childe tsked. “I’m trying to help you. You said I could stay if I was of use.”
“This is not usefulness, it is assault!” Grabbing Childe’s shirt, Scaramouche yanked him closer and simultaneously punched him in the face, the momentum of the pull making the impact that much worse. To his horror, Childe simply laughed—he had turned his head at the last second, saving his nose and teeth from a rather painful end.
“That was a good one,” Childe cackled. “You’re a fighter. I like that. But unfortunately for you, this isn’t a battle you’re gonna win.” And with that, Scaramouche felt a tentacle wrap around his cock, his lower half left bare after Childe took a knife to it. That was when the panic truly set in.
“Get it off of me!” Scaramouche screamed, hands flying towards the offending appendage, before he could reach it, however, two more appeared, wrapping around his wrists and forcing them behind his back—which was a difficult feat, considering that Scaramouche had pressed up against the chair to try and escape.
Childe only shushed him in response, picking the knife back up and sliding it back in its sheath. “You’re gonna alert the others,” he chastised, his words followed by yet another tendril pushing its way into Scaramouche’s mouth. Any sound he made was muffled, and he could no longer form words.
The worst part was that the tentacle around his cock felt good. He had no doubt that it was the one Childe was focused on the most, directly controlling it as the others settled in their places. Scaramouche still wriggled in his binds, but they just wound around him tighter. He screwed his eyes shut, not wanting to see anything.
That just made things worse. Without his sight, his tactile senses were amplified, increasing the pleasure he felt. He opened his eyes again, pointedly ignoring the tendrils touching him.
Still, Scaramouche couldn’t deny the pleasure he was feeling. He could feel an orgasm building and belatedly realized his wordless protests had turned into moans and whines. He quickly stifled them, thankful that Childe was silent for once.
Wait.
Childe was silent.
Though it was difficult for Scaramouche to move his head, he managed it, eyes scanning the room for any sign of Childe. It was like the man had disappeared into thin air.
He left me here! Scaramouche felt tears burn his eyes, though he wasn’t sure whether they were of frustration or despair. He didn’t have the chance to dwell on it, however, because he finally reached his climax, mind going blank as he came. The tentacle didn’t stop, though, and Scaramouche vaguely wondered how Childe was still controlling it if he wasn’t here.
Sudden footsteps startled him, and Scaramouche prayed it wasn’t another harbinger—or, Archons forbid, one of his subordinates. Luckily for him (or perhaps not), it was indeed Childe.
“Sorry about that,” was all he said, his tone disturbingly casual. Scaramouche cursed at him in Inazuman, but his words were muffled. He felt far too sensitive, another climax building.
“How are you doing? Too much? Too little?” Though he sounded concerned, Scaramouche knew that Childe didn’t truly care. He couldn’t answer, after all.
Eyeing Scaramouche’s leaking cock, Childe answered for him. “Seems like you’re doing just fine as is.” He smiled, but there was nothing kind nor gentle within his expression.
Scaramouche paled as he realized this wouldn’t stop anytime soon.