VIER

Your eyes are glued to it, as if processing the fact he's offering it to you. You hadn't made a move so much so that he actually bothered to look at you. "Are you gonna take it or not?" Scaramouche asks, that same bitter and cold tone in his voice you'd think its chiller than the wind. "Thanks." Is all you utter in turn, grabbing it in between your fingers and inhaling, feeling the bitter taste make its way onto your tongue as you hold the smoke for a moment before letting it go.

It was beyond that. You had glee on your heart each time you saw the indigo of his irises and knowing that someone loved you. It was fulfilling having an anchor that kept you at the bay that had grown so familiar. The joys of not needing to say those three words, and the feeling that everything is going to be fine, as long as you have each other. And you were content. You believed he was too. But, you felt his attention drift. And the acts of affections, the gifts, and touches you attempted to make to maintain what you had, or what was left of it, were fruitless. You wrote endless words of expression, trying to make him see that emotion between you two once more, but nothing would come back. At best, acknowledgement. At worst, ignored. Practically forgotten like you were nothing.

You don't know when it started, or why. You don't why that anchor that had once been the one thing keeping you on your feet was keeping you stuck in place, unable to move on. Even though you two were dating it was like you had never once spoken in your entire lives. You'd say that you still felt that joy when he looked at you, but he doesn't even glance at you anymore. It was like you were erased without an answer. And with desperation you clung. For once you had attained a love you didn't know your body and mind craved and you wanted it back. It made you feel alive in the most cliché sense. So you continued to try, to become more persistent. But it's like he only cared when you did everything, when there was no one else but you to fall back on.

Then it dawned upon you. You had become merely the thing that comes last to everything, the thing he kept around just so he never is fully alone. It all felt so aimless. All you wanted is to see the hue of his eyes again rather than being met with the back of his head, the only sight are his silky straight strands. It was as if his face was obscured. So, you stopped. You stopped being the first to come to him, to display your love - if you can call it that anymore - first. To be there. And you waited. You couldn't help waiting internally, for that day he'd come back, the day he'd speak to you, tell you he's sorry and he loves you. And foolishly, you'd forgive him as you've done countless times. But that day never comes.

You fought for what you wanted. You allowed yourself to be pitiful. You let your fingers write him honey sweet words till they began to mean nothing to you, and you had to search for new sentences, new phrases, just so you can be refreshing - less repetitive. But it didn't matter. It did not matter what letters you strung together, how you ordered a sentence, how neatly you tied a gift, how long you spent picking it, how gentle your touch was or even its warmth. Because he didn't love you. And worst of all, he didn't care. He didn't care despite your long history and you were left for nothing.

You had stumbled onto a narrow hallway, one with many doors all of which are vandalised or partially ajar. There was no reason to peek, you'd be met with webs and a void. Continuing to progress, you held your phone for light. The sounds outside of people had long vanished and you were left with the sound of your own breaths, the house, and whatever else was there with you.

A creak cuts through the tense air. You still. Tempted to look behind you, around you, yet your body is frozen. You swallow your nerves, hoping that maybe you had misheard or maybe it was just one of your friends who is nearby, but the noises don't stop as you had wished, they seem to be actively doing the opposite.

A whisper here, a squeak there. It felt like your mind was being toyed with and your breaths were growing heavier- A deafening crash came from behind you, something like shattering glass, a vase? You peer over your shoulder, squinting your eyes in an attempt to see if there was a figure in the spotted dark.

A row of footsteps resound, thunderous and agile… Yet, it wasn't coming from behind you. The sooner the realisation sunk in and you turned your head forward you were met with piercing stormy violet irises, lit up with thrill and conniving mischief as hands grab at you.

Not a sound leaves me and yet the prior anticipation has piled atop you, and you frantically push him away with a gasp as you stumble back, feeling your heart beating out of your chest. Your legs feel weakened and the space between the two of you grows. Blinking, he only gets closer, till… Wait. "Scaramouche?"

"You're really easy to scare, aren't you?" A smirk was plastered on his dark wine lips, some 'blood' leaking from the corners. You can practically see how glad he is to have humiliated you like that, even if he was the only one to see it.

"Shut up, I didn't know you'd do that." You retort weakly, although evidently more relaxed compared to prior now that there was someone you knew here.

In turn, he raises a brow at you, hand on his hip as he looks at you as though you're the biggest moron he knows. And in his opinion you might be. "It's a haunted house. What do you expect?" You can only remain silent. Though, you use this to take in his appearance. With a ragged cloth draped around his neck, filled with holes and tattered at the bottom.

He still somehow maintains his ability to stylise his clothing with black button up, decorated with a brooch that reads 'Haunted House Staff'. Unexpected…. A violet necktie is knotted tightly and securely, though he seemed to disregard his flimsy collars. Rustles dressed the wrists and torso of his attire, and it's hard to not tell what's happening here.

Your eyes linger down… This guy still wore shorts even in October… At least he had sole knee stockings on, though, I'm not sure how historically correct that is for vampyres.

"Are you going to keep staring?" His tone was harsh and seemingly annoyed. Well, he likely thought being put in a somewhat prissy outfit is agitating. Actually, "How'd they get you to do this?"

You are met with a stone cold face and apparent distaste. "Don't ask." And maybe that's for the better sake of both your conscience. "So, what, are you gonna stand there all night?"

"Why did you even come here alone, are you stupid or something?" That man could not hold his tongue if he had a gun to his head. He seemed like he already wanted you gone, hell, if you asked maybe he'd show you the path out himself. Then again, that's just how he sounds most times: Uninterested and aloof. The vampire sthick makes sense now.

Approaching him to a more comfortable distance, you angle your phone so the light is revealing to you both. "I didn't come here alone, moron. I'm not that lonely." You swear you hear him mutter under his breath, 'could've fooled me', but you decide to ignore it, for the spirit of Halloween.

"Either way, I lost the others so I was roaming around on my own." This seems to capture his attention and his head perks up with an all too familiar grin. He wasn't one to be so blatant but it was like even he was elated by whatever scheme came into mind. "So you're alone,"

He inches closer, leaning into you with darkened indigo irises and you swear his pupils expand at the idea. "All alone?" A hum leaves his throat and he pulls back. His smile cools and his arms cross over his torso.

"Stay with me."

Opening your mouth to ask why he'd even offer, especially because he is part of the staff, you don't think it'd make sense to have someone of the crew help a participant. And to add onto that, it was strange for him to put it on the table in the first place. "I'm only keeping you company." He interrupts, "You'd get too scared by yourself. That much is clear." You wanted to argue otherwise, but you held your tongue and swallowed your retort. It was better to have company than nothing.

Turning on his heel, he walks off crossed arms and takes casual strides in his raven black platforms, expecting you to follow behind him, so you do. "How long ago did you lose each other?" Scaramouche asks, gaze straight ahead unlike your wandering ones, inspecting the scene you travel through. "A while ago. I thought I'd just get out and meet them that way."

"Why not call?" He suggested, peering over his shoulder back to you. "Didn't think it would be this hard to get out." A chuckle leaves his throat but the small lifted corners of his lips quickly disappear as he halts. "They must be far." He begins, tone laced with a certain ominous vine and you wonder what misconduct he was plotting. "Yeah… What of it?"

His body faces your direction and you can see him bite on the inside of his bottom lip, almost appeased at the perfection of this outcome. "I haven't gotten a break in well over three hours." The dark-haired man mentions, stepping towards you. "I'm hungry." Raising a hand to his face, he swipes off the paint along his chin, smudging it along his porcelain skin.

Those unforgettable amethyst eyes glaze over the crimson that tints his fingertips before meeting your irises in an almost enrapturing look, as though he intended to take your soul.

"I prefer the real thing…"

With sudden movements you watch him come closer to you, yet before you can process it you feel how one of his palms rests against your waist, another on your upper back as the gentle yet prominent sensation of his teeth meeting with the skin of your neck makes itself known, not only in feeling but with a mark.

This takes you by surprise. You cling an arm to his tricep, as if to ensure that he wasn't just losing it. Maybe he got so bored he went crazy. Though, the shove he acts on proves otherwise as he holds you against the wall, the ceiling above decorated in webs and fake bats.

His tongue licks at your skin, as if to seal the mark he left, but he doesn't end there, trailing kisses up to your jawline. "Scaramouche-" You interrupt, voice filled with an amount of confusion and something else.

"Don't think too deeply about it. I just need something to cure my boredom." He muttered, answering your unspoken question. Nibbling along the skin of your jaw, he takes in your scent whilst his fingers stroke your skin through the fabric of your clothes.

"We have all the time. I have so much I want to do to you…"

It becomes crystal clear that he has not been joking nor underselling what he meant when he voiced those thoughts. His almond-shaped nails can be felt digging into your skin, his hold ok you growing stronger. "I'm going to ruin you." Delight permeates his tone, his lips moving closer to your ear and his tongue pokes out, swiping at your lobe before chewing on it, his face plastered with the smile of a predator toying with their next meal.

"Won't someone come?" You make no attempts to push him away, only looking at the blackened hallway. A mocking laugh leaves him like you had asked something naive. "No one's gonna pass by, unless you want me to fuck you in a room you can't even see in?"

The risk was high but you'd rather not enter one of those rooms only filled with decor and piles of ruined furniture and books. He takes your silence as your answer, "That's what I thought."

"Just relax, I got you."

A firm hold was on your body, his warmth growing more and more apparent against you. Placing a hand on the side of your face, he revolves your head away from him, granting more skin for him to feast on. Shivers run up your back as you feel his hot breaths meeting the skin of your neck, his sharp canines grazing you before he digs in with a relieved moan.

The hand on your back doesn't remain still for long, his nails scratching down the centre of your back till they reach your thighs. Squeezing the mould of flesh possessively till crescent marks taint your beautiful skin. He continues to kiss your body as if he was praising someone superior to himself, a being above his reach.

His palm massages the skin of your legs, moving inwards as he hums. You swallow thickly, feeling the raspy vibrations against you.

Letting your hands find home at his nape, you bring him closer to you, his bites growing rougher and more painful, feral like an unstoppable force of hunger and yet, it only serves to fuels the growing heat inside of you that makes you roll your hips against him, pleading for him to proceed faster. "Stop wasting time…" You complain, but he only snickers in return. His digits reach your underwear, tracing the patterns of the design before giving you what you've been waiting for and rubbing your clit slowly through the fabric, tormenting you for his own amusement. "Be patient," He reprimands hoarsely, "I'll fill you up when I want to."

A whimper leaves you and you push your body to meet his fingers repeatedly. Still, you need more than that, you need to feel all of him. Your hands trail down all of you till a finger hooks onto the side of your panties, yanking them off in one swoop, eagerness prominent in your moves. There's no hiding the amusement in his eyes, it's as if he's pleased with your actions.

You don't need to tell him again what you want for him to start touching you again, this time his pace growing faster, more than you even wanted.

Leaning into you, he captures your lips with his, biting on your bottom lip before taking you in as though he wants to taste every inner part of you, memorising it like the back of his hand. Sliding your tongue along his swollen bottom lip, he guides you into his burning mouth, pressing himself against you and forcing your back to the wall as he lets you feel the strength of his body.

He was starting to grow impatient himself and his actions revealed that as his free hand slipped under your clothing with ease, groping at your chest, touching the supple softness of your breasts and pinching your nipples in between his fingers. God, how he wanted to shove his dick in-between them and cum on your pretty face.

The growing hardness was making itself more evident and you can feel his skin meeting your abdomen. Metal resounds as you unzip his shorts, sliding them off partially, just enough to slip your hand inside and palm him through his pre-cum stained thin boxers.

A whine leaves his throat and if divinity existed you were certain you had just heard what it must be like.

Taking out his cock from the confines of his boxers, you feel up and down his length rapidly as though memorising each vein beneath his skin. Your thumb traced the slit of his tip again and again, causing his kisses to grow sloppier into wet tongue kisses as he merely desires to feel you.

Forehead-to-forehead, his crimson stained lips separate from yours, remaining parted as he groans with every move that you make, practically paralysing him under your touch. You could feel him inching closer to your entrance and when his finger enters you, you nearly melt in glee. He pumps up into you with growing speeds, adding another digit as he stretches you out for his cock.

"I'm going to make sure you never forget me."

Scaramouche promises, hand wrapping firmly around his dick as it throbs in anticipation to be embraced by you. Lining himself up with your entrance, it was the furthest thing from gentle. Snapping his hips up into you sharply, making you gasp at both the force and the rapid size you had yet to come accustomed to.

Still, he wasn't completely inconsiderate, even if you did feel him throb at the sight of your surprised face. Coming off slowly, he goes in and out of you so kindly you'd think it was an apology for being so rough prior. Though, the sweetness doesn't last as he begins to thrust with intent similar to that of a madman. He didn't know if he was fucking you to the beat of his heart or the other way around. Something was certain though, Scaramouche wanted to ensure you were going to leave stained with his cum, your body holding his essence inside of you. He was going to make sure you needed his help to carry you out of here.

The noise of flesh meeting flesh echoes along the empty halls, the grunts and pleas that leave your throat only echo back to you, like some form of humiliation. You feel your mind slowly lose thought as your body aches in a numbing pleasure. Your moans are choked as breaths get stuck in your throat and you meet his merciless shoves, but the deeper he goes the weaker you grow. Strangely, you wanted it. You wanted to be rendered useless by him. "Deeper- Ah…Go deeper." You murmur, your temple rested against his shoulder, kissing at his collarbone and leaving marks and lipstick traces in its wake.

When he discovered the spot that would make you break, he did not hide or cover up his abuse as his tip kisses your insides frantically in perfect recreation again and again. His palms wrap around your thighs, hoisting you upwards against the dark weakened wooden wall, assaulting your skin like he needed to know how each part of you feels. "You're mine… You hear that? mmn.. You belong to me." The way he pumped through you was like he only had one goal and that's to use you as his toy, getting himself off with your body. "Yours… I'm yours to fill."

He could feel his body beginning to reach its limits and the whimpers he tried to suppress only grew till he couldn't hold them back. The mewls he let out were so soft and vulnerable you'd think it impossible to be coming from someone as cold and ruthless as him.

Only focused on shoving in and out of you, he relishes in his love for how tightly you wrap around him like he is your saviour, what you desire to not leave you. It feels so good he might cum just from the idea that you crave him so. "Haah… You're such a whore. You like when I fuck you like this?" He spits out with venom, though there's no hiding how much he likes being balls deep inside of you, with both your clothes clinging to your sweat-ridden skin.

Scaramouche can feel the knots inside of him threatening to come undone, pushing him to the edge. Not once do his tantalising amethyst eyes part from yours, and for once they looked to hold something comforting within them, appearing warmer.

Maintaining his speed, his muscles tense, hardening when a string of cum shoots out of him with a loud moan that morphs into an almost weakened joyful whimper. His seed fills you to the brim and you bite into his shoulder, attempting to stifle the sound of your moan as your eyes roll back. Scaramouche continues to fuck you as you reach your high, clamping tighter around him and milking him of anything left he has whilst your cum surrounds him in this encompassing sensation of unmatchable heat he would not find elsewhere.

The both of you breathe heavily, exchanging oxygen with your bodies still pressed together like they're glued to one another, and to some part you were with how he seemed to be avoiding pulling out. Your cum mixes together, leaking out of you and down the length of his cock.

Reluctantly, Scaramouche pulls out of you and resists nearly shoving himself back in the moment he loses your warmth. His fingers swipe up the leaking juices, bringing them to your sweet lips. "Open." He orders firmly and when your pretty lips do as such, he shoves his fingers into your mouth and makes you suck on them, your tongue swirling around and in-between his fingers as you taste the saltiness of your mixture.

Still, you were not aware of his deeds. The cold canned drinks you'd find on your table after gym wouldn't have anything accompanied beside them. Nothing like a note or a message beside the beverage.

But he watches as you drink what he gets you. Observing and ensuring you swallow every sip.

Maybe you were naive.

He likes you.

So, would it be absurd to say that the change in taste was not because it was a different flavour but because of something else? And that perhaps the ill you come down with as you feel your chest heave is not just due to the hot weather?

Maybe there is a reason he does not blink as he sees the sweat drops form on your forehead. Why he supports your body when your knees lose strength and why he insists on taking you to the infirmary without hearing you out.

Turning his head back to you, he gives you a confusing expression. It didn't give you much to work with, but he seemed to be thinking something over. The only reason you think so is because of how you can tell he was biting on the inside of his bottom lip.

"Are you going to keep gawking? You interrupted my reading." There was that voice again, meant to tell you that you did something wrong. However, there was something else there; It was laced with a certain mischief. You didn't miss how the corners of his lip rose ever so slightly.

Ah. You knew what this meant. Although, you weren't going to argue. In truth, he wasn't against the idea of Scaramouche revelling in the thrill of looking down on him.

He could tell you caught on and he shuffled closer. Scaramouche was already down to his black skintight top, sheer and just barely see-through. You could see the slight shape and shadows of his figure, how the fabric clung to his waist.

Sometimes you wonder if he knew how beautiful he was. Then you reprimand yourself for thinking that.

One of his hands find itself on the side of your face, the pillow you rested your head upon sinking lower. The small smile he had donned had grown to an all too familiar smirk. You were beginning where he was going with this. You saw that his hand had slinked under the blankets earlier on but where could it-

An involuntary moan leaves your throat as you feel pressure on your crotch. His palm moved in miniscule circular motions over it, pressing deeply against you.

The pleasure he took in hearing you was evident as his face grew to be more grimacing. "So quick to voice your thoughts, aren't you?" He was a taunting conniving bastard cat and yet you still enjoyed how cruel he can be. Maybe that says something about you.

His hand continues to toy with you, feeling your buldge grow beneath his hand as he leans closer to you, his breath pressed against the skin of your neck. You can feel his lips brushing over you but he never does anything. No, rather, he merely seems to take in your scent, savouring the small whines and shaky breaths that leave you. The more he listened the further starved he felt. His tongue pokes out, licking at his bottom lip as he stares at your skin as though it was the most appetising thing to have ever graced this land. He digs in. His teeth are firm against you, leaving their mark. He doesn't soften, only going harsher, deeper. You had come to know that this was the equivalent of showing his affection. This aggression was merely love.

"Speak." He demands as his palm slid over your buldge, fingers slipping under the waistband of your pants. Scaramouche was not wasting any time. "I want to hear you."

Opening your mouth, a breathe leaves you. "Keep going..." His voice was firm, and you were sure of yourself. There were no doubts in your mind. Why would there be? All there was waiting for you was the impending pleasure.

A chuckle leaves the indigo eyed man, irises so dark they resemble the hue of the night. Suddenly, he yanks your trousers down to your thighs and the soft skin is exposed to the temperatures of the room. You sense the pads of his fingers on you, trailing up your legs as he massages the molds of flesh. He proceeds.

Scaramouche continues on his venture to your crotch, a smirk permanently on his lips as he feels your gaze fixated onto him in anticparion. The tips of his slender fingers on your boxers, grazing the fabric with his nail as he follows its form, only separated by thin cotton.

"Just do it already, stop making me wait." You interrupt, aware that he was enjoying taking his time to torture you as your heart drummed inside the confines of your chest.

Your words were met with a piercing glare. "Don't rush me." Low in tone and stern with his voice as though you had done something wrong. As much fun as he's having with you, he decides to take your wants into consideration and he quickly discards of the only clothing left to cover you. You could see how his smile widens at the sight as your member props up, precum staining it. As beautiful as he was you wondered how long he'd stare at you.

Scaramouche extends a finger, touching the slit of your dick, tracing the line over and over as your breath hitches, your spine arching slightly at the sensation.

"Have you a clue how much I like hearing you moan?" He begins, letting his hand fall to the length of your cock, rubbing you slowly, painfully slow. "When you're touching yourself alone..." Adjusting his position he pushes himself closer to your torso, kissing your upper chest, above where your heart would be. "When you're begging thinking of me, needing me, craving me." Scaramouche grows closer, just at your neck and you can feel each warm breath hit your skin as his pace quickens rapidly. "I love it when you can only want me."

"And I'll ensure it stays like that forever."

The pressure he applied was stronger now and you felt the rush of electricity buzzing through you with every swipe of his palm. Planting a peck on your skin in preparation for what was to come as he bites down on your skin again. You can hear him breathing through his nose as he continues to dig deeper and a moan escapes your throat. His tongue laps up the mark, almost in apology but those eyes don't seem regretful at all.

He almost seems to grow more and more possessive as he taints your skin with new marks he'd deem the gift of a god, so kindly gracing you. "Mine. I'll make sure...you're only mine." The once slow touch had changed quickly as it grew faster and faster. Your breaths were filled with pleasure, and when you'd attempt to muffle yourself it only resulted in futile whines leaving you. Scaramouche brings himself closer to you, his lips a few inches from the shell of your ear, you can feel them grazing it. "I want to hear every sound you make."

It was impossible to not take note of his chest rapidly rising and falling, you were unsure if he even needed to breathe but it certainly reflected his excitement back to you. You could feel your body burn aflame, something so strong one would say it rivals the menacing strength of his thunder strikes. Parting your lips, you attempt to speak although what leaves is a babble of words. He seems to take pride in this and leans closer, swiping his tongue over your bottom lip and feeling the blood burning beneath.

"I got you." Scaramouche whispers, a hand on the side of your face, his thumb stroking your cheek. Smacking his lips against yours in a harsh manner, he doesn't wait for you to ease into it, expecting you to keep up with him as his tongue slithers into your mouth and he brings himself deeper into you. The movements below only grow rapid and yet he only focuses on tasting you, rubbing his tongue against yours as he explores the familiar warmth, ignoring how you struggle with the moans arising from your throat.

Though, you eventually capture his attention. Your nails dig into the skin of this triceps, leaving crescent marks in their wake. He can feel your growing desperation to reach your climax as you buckle your hips into his hand with sloppy but rough thrusts. You can feel him smirk as he continues to kiss you. You press the back of your head further into the pillow behind you and only then does he part from you, solely to watch you, hear you.

It was almost second nature to always say his name. Without question, you always knew to say his name when you came, just so he can be reminded that you belong to him.

The height of your orgasm is met then and there, with a needy and loud moan you attempt to muffle as you press your mouth against his shoulder. It leaks down and onto his hands, staining with your cum and if you had looked at him then and there you'd see how prideful he appeared, swiping his tongue over a finger and tasting it; tasting you.