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Out of all the troublesome individuals Lumine has brought to Albedo’s lab, Scaramouche is by far the most aggravating one.
He also happens to be the prettiest.
It’s not the first thing Albedo noticed about him – mainly because he had an air of danger and mischief about him, and a past that confirmed all his suspicions. Still, he’s proven to have changed somewhat. Albedo didn’t know him back when he was Lumine’s enemy, but if she calls him her friend, he knows he can trust her judgement.
So when she introduces him to Albedo as another synthetic being and suggests Scaramouche stays in Mondstadt for a while, he has no issue with it. That is his first mistake.
If Lumine notices that Albedo does not chase him away from his lab even as he breaks expensive equipment and tells him to fuck off when he asks Scaramouche to fetch ingredients for him - only to show up with them three hours later - she doesn’t comment on it.
And it would all be fine if Albedo was able to think when he’s around. Tragically, he’s messed up the solution he was working on three times in two hours, only because Scaramouche is sitting on his working table, absent-mindedly flipping through sketchbooks Albedo doesn’t remember allowing him to touch.
“Again?” The wanderer sneers when Albedo throws yet another failed potion away. “How difficult can it be to make one of these?”
“Do you want to give it a try?” Albedo bites back in response.
Scaramouche raises an eyebrow, his hand stopping dead on its way to flip another page.
Fuck , Albedo thinks when he sets it down. Of course he’s picked up that I never respond to his taunts.
But what can he do. He’s got limits, just like anyone else.
“What’s up with you?” Scaramouche asks, leaning over to put a hand to Albedo’s forehead.
His skin is much warmer than Albedo expected it to be. He likes to think his brain is his most useful weapon and yet he can’t use it right now, not when Scaramouche looks at him like this, and if he’s perfectly honest not even when he’s in the same room as him.
“It’s nothing,” Albedo replies, blinking to shake off this haze he’s trapped into.
The outstretched hand retracts and Albedo wishes it would linger. He’d never survive it but he craves it the same way.
“If you say so,” Scaramouche shrugs.
He gets off from the table and stretches his limbs. Albedo stares at a nonexistent stain on his desk.
Scaramouche turns on his heels to leave but before he does, he says:
“Try to clear your head, at least, if you won’t rest.”
Albedo doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move until he hears the distinct gust of wind and elemental energy that means Scaramouche took off to fly away from here.
Albedo lets out a sigh and starts making his potion all over again.
*
Clearing his head is easier said than done. Albedo’s body doesn’t need rest but it aches for relief all the same. Ironic.
Scaramouche would never let him hear the end of it if he knew the real reason he couldn’t concentrate. Which is exactly why Albedo is never going to tell him, but he needs to do something to ease the longing.
Something like closing his curtains and climbing into a bed he doesn’t even need, just to close his eyes and think about what he’d do if he could act on his desire.
Oh, the things Albedo would let him do to him, if he only felt the same way.
It’s jarring, how easy he can imagine Scaramouche straddling him and whispering scorching things in his ear.
“You’re so obvious,” the wanderer would say, because he would bully him relentlessly if he knew.
In his fantasy where this desire goes both ways, Scaramouche is pushing him into the bed unkindly, like he knows Albedo wouldn’t care as long as he was touching him.
He’d kiss him, once, languidly enough to make Albedo lose his mind, then never again just to see him eye his lips the entire night. And Albedo would be into it. He’s the patient type.
Even now, he’s careful not to stroke himself too quickly. If he gets to decide, he’s going to savor it.
But it’s difficult to be reasonable, to drag this out, when the mere idea of Scaramouche kissing and undressing him turns him on this much.
“You should really tell me how you feel,” Scaramouche scolds him, even in his own fantasy. “Maybe I would consider it.”
“I’m not risking it,” Albedo imagines himself muttering, eyes screwed shut in pleasure.
Even if he bets the stretch of Scaramouche fingers into him would feel better than anything he’s ever known, even if he’d probably have to beg for it.
“You’re pathetic,” Scaramouche murmurs, taking his chin between two fingers and sinking into him.
Albedo bites the inside of his cheek to suppress a moan. If he got too carried away, he could catch himself whispering his name.
And he does, quietly, into his pillow, only a few moments later.
*
Albedo reminds himself ten times a day that Scaramouche cannot read his mind. Therefore, his secret is safe.
The only flaw in that seemingly perfect plan is that whatever the wanderer doesn’t undestand, he will investigate. And Albedo certainly underestimated the effort Scaramouche was willing to put into understanding him.
Scaramouche cannot read his mind. Therefore, he will pry the truth out of his empty ribcage if he doesn’t give him a satisfactory answer.
“So,” he tells Albedo a few days later, jabbing a finger in the middle of his chest. “I’m gonna ask you one last time so listen up.”
That voice is doing something to him. Scaramouche has no idea what he’s starting. Or maybe he does, and either way Albedo is done for.
He fights the urge to chuckle nervously because this looks ridiculously like the scenario he made up two days ago. Only this time, instead of calling him out on his embarrassing crush, Scaramouche snarls, way too close for comfort:
“What is your fucking problem?”
Albedo swallows, gripping the edge of his desk without realizing it. Leave it to him to get off on an ex-Fatui Harbinger threatening him.
You , he wants to groan in agony. You’re the problem. You’re driving me insane.
He’s too close to him. He needs to end this immediately. Who knows what he might do if Scaramouche gets any closer, if Albedo catches another whiff of his intoxicating perfume?
Albedo’s so focused on not collapsing on the spot that he doesn’t realize he has yet to say anything.
When he meets Scaramouche’s eyes again, he’s been staring at his mouth for a lot longer than what’s socially acceptable.
Recognition flares in those gorgeous violet eyes. Scaramouche releases his grip on his shirt on the spot, shell-shocked.
This is so, so mortifying.
Scaramouche doesn’t look angry. His features have relaxed and he opens his mouth to say something, his right hand landing on Albedo’s thigh, feather soft.
It’s too much for him to handle.
And with that ? He flees the scene.
Scaramouche doesn’t run after him.
*
Albedo walks all the way up to his lab in Dragonspine. His head feels as fuzzy at the blizzard around him.
He stays there a while, long enough for the sun to dip beyond the horizon. He wonders what Scaramouche is thinking, what he’s doing right now. Is he disappointed? Angry?
Did he run to Lumine to tell her that her friend is a freak? Anything is possible. He’s not the most predictable person he’s met.
It takes a while for Albedo to clear his head and come back to his quarters, and when he does, he doesn’t light a single candle – Kaeya doesn’t need to know he went to bed at one in the morning, thank you very much.
Which is why he nearly jumps out of his skin when he catches the golden glint of something shining under the thin rays of moonlight streaming from his window.
“Finally,” Scaramouche says, stepping out of the darkness like some sort of sleep paralysis demon.
Albedo’s frozen in place. Whether it’s the surprise or Scaramouche’s unwavering gaze on him, he knows he’s not getting out of this one. But he knew that when he left the mountain. He knew he couldn’t run forever. He didn’t want to run forever.
“You owe me an explanation,” Scaramouche says as he walks up to him, and Albedo still cannot explain why every inch of his skin sings at the prospect of touching him. Even if it’s violence he seeks.
It is only when Scaramouche’s hands cup the side of his face that Albedo realizes he’s not going to slap him.
“I gave you some time to get your shit together,” he murmurs, caressing the alchemist’s cheek. “Are you going to run away again ?”
Albedo is a second away from crumbling into his hands.
“Because I fucking like you too, in case you were wondering,” Scaramouche says, like it’s obvious.
“No,” Albedo chokes out.
Scaramouche raises an eyebrow.
“No what?”
The confusion on his face is so endearing that Albedo can’t help but chuckle.
“No, I’m not going to run away again,” he says.
“Good,” Scaramouche grumbles, one second before he kisses him.
He crowds Albedo against his desk and licks into his mouth like he’s been thinking about it too, like he lays awake at night wondering what he tastes like.
Well, at least he’s doing a better job at finding out than Albedo did.
But now that they’re here, now that he knows his hunger is reciprocated… he’s not wasting this opportunity.
Scaramouche fists a hand into his hair and Albedo can’t help but sigh against his lips. He’s done for. From now on, Scaramouche will do whatever he wants with him.
Albedo grabs his waist, pulls him closer. Scaramouche chuckles against his mouth.
“Want me that badly? Embarrassing for you.”
Albedo’s breath catches in his throat.
“I guess it is,” he groans. “But you must be into it, since you’re here.”
Scaramouche sneers, and a second later he sinks his teeth into Albedo’s neck, not hard enough to hurt but the sting is heavenly. He soothes the bruised skin with his tongue and Albedo can’t stifle a sound.
Archons, he’s never been so turned on in his life.
“Tell me why you ran away,” Scaramouche says against his ear, just as his hands make quick work of Albedo’s belt.
“You know why,” Albedo pants.
“I want to hear it.”
The touch of his hand is heavenly, and it stops until Albedo speaks his next words:
“I can’t concentrate when you’re around,” he sighs. “You’re too distracting”
“Tell me exactly what about me is distracting,” Scaramouche says, and he strokes him once to show him how he plans to reward him for his confessions.
He’s so mean. This is so humiliating. Albedo would do anything to make him keep going.
“Everything,” Albedo murmurs. “Your face, ah, your…hands…”
Scaramouche licks the palm of his hand and strokes him faster, drawing soft gasps from Albedo’s lips.
“What about them?”
“I want them on me all the time,” Albedo blurts out.
That makes Scaramouche’s breath catch.
“Well you certainly have my attention now.”
Albedo grabs his face and claims a second kiss from that mouth he’s seen in every dream he’s had since the wanderer showed up in Mondstadt. He coaxes Scaramouche’s mouth open with his tongue, turns the kiss messy and loves every second of it. How Scaramouche pulls him closer, slots their hips together and moans into his mouth.
“Want me to fuck you, alchemist?”
Albedo can only nod, too busy trying to rid him of his clothes.
He got his kimono out of the way, now he traces the slender lines of his abdomen through that shirt that clings to him like skin. Scaramouche lets Albedo undress him and then, he pushes his head down on the desk, his fingers combing through his hair all the while. It’s going to be a mess afterwards but Albedo can’t bring himself to care.
“Mmh,” Albedo groans as Scaramouche slides one, then two fingers inside him. “ Fuck .”
“Is that why you mess up your little potions so often lately?” Scaramouche taunts him, lips brushing his ear. “Too busy thinking about how bad you want me?”
Albedo nods frantically because what else can he do? It’s the truth. It would be embarrassing if Scaramouche didn’t have three fingers inside him at that point but here they are. He’s beyond feeling ashamed of it. He just needs him to fuck him already.
“Yeah,” he moans. “That’s all I think about all day. So get on with it.”
That makes Scaramouche laugh.
“See, it wasn’t so hard to admit it.”
It’s only then that Scaramouche pushes into him, and Albedo screws his eyes shut in pleasure. It’s breathtaking when they move in a broken rhythm, and it’s divine when Scaramouche grabs his hips and sinks deeper inside him.
“I couldn’t guess if you wanted – ah, if you wanted this too,” Albedo stutters, because he still has half a mind to defend himself.
“But couldn’t you?” Scaramouche sighs, dropping his head on Albedo’s shoulder. “With how often I visited you?”
Albedo doesn’t know how this makes him blush, as if he isn’t being fucked stupid right now. He lets out a soft gasp.
“Crazy how you ran away from this, really,” Scaramouche murmurs, and Albedo doesn’t have anything to say to that.
It’s true. He could have had this weeks ago had he not buried his head in the sand. But it’s fine now. He knows what he wants, and what Scaramouche wants to give him.
“Not anymore,” Albedo moans.
“True enough.” Scara says. “Who knew you’d be so good, in the end?”
Good question. Albedo certainly didn’t. He was truly caught off guard with the force of this desire, the need that overcame him each time they were in the same room. And now, he finally had what he wanted. And Archons, it’s exactly as good as he thought it would be. And yet, he feels like pushing his luck.
“You guessed it, it seems. Why else would you spend so much time here?” Albedo manages between gasps. “Makes me wonder if you were just hoping I’d snap first.”
Scaramouche scoffs, then grabs a fistful of Albedo’s hair.
“I did guess it,” he says into Albedo’s ear as he fucks him in earnest. “I guessed what a little slut you were the moment I stepped into this lab and you batted your pretty eyelashes at me.”
“Mmh,” the alchemist groans.
Is it bad, that Albedo loves it? Is it so awful, that he wants Scaramouche to murmur vile things in his ear until the day he dies, that he wants him in his bed each night for the rest of his time in this world?
He’s getting so close, with each thrust and each scathing word Scaramouche whispers into his skin.
Scaramouche caresses the star on Albedo’s neck and says:
“Come on,” he purrs. “I know you want to.”
“You first,” Albedo whines.
“Hm,” Scaramouche snickers, but his voice betrays him. He’s just as desperate as he is to finish, and he will not need be asked twice.
When he does, it takes Albedo no less to follow suit.
“Of course you’d say that,” he groans, face buried into the hair at the back of Albedo’s head. “Of course all I’d have to do to make you come is to call you a slut and –”
Albedo turns around to kiss him and Scaramouche lets himself melt against him, lets Albedo crowd him against the desk and make him stop talking. Once they get down from that high, once they fix their clothes, he lets Albedo lead him to his bed, only a door away.
“So this is where you pretend to sleep,” Scaramouche comments.
They’re tangled up in Albedo’s sheets and he tries so hard to pretend he doesn’t want to be here. He clutches Albedo’s hand regardless.
“It’s a good bed,” Albedo says. “Good for thinking about you.”
“Archons, do you ever stop?”
Albedo raises an eyebrow at him.
“You seemed less embarrassed about it earlier.”
“Well that was when I was horny. Do I have to be nice to you for you to calm down?”
“How would I know,” Albedo comments, still smiling as he stares at him, his chin resting into his palm. “You’ve never tried it.”
“Fuck off,” Scaramouche groans. “I’m going back to my room.”
He doesn’t. Instead, he puts a hand over the arm Albedo throws around him and he closes his eyes.