You don't have to worry about hurting me. It's not like they'd let any old person into the Fatui, right?
[ Though when Scaramouche posed that last question that there's a multitude of suggestions that run through his mind. What would he like from him at this moment?
Childe looks at him, really looks at him, taking in the Balladeer's appearance as though he's seeing him for the first time. He looks so small like this, shrouded in moonlight and sitting at the end of the boat. So small in Childe's jacket, with his scarf draped around his neck. There's power in that tiny frame yet, he knows, but right now... right now, he can't think of any good reason why Scaramouche should leverage that against him.
There's a part of him that knows that's wrong, but he can't fathom exactly why that would be. Thrilling from a battle was a concept that came as easily to him as breathing. It wouldn't make sense that he wouldn't delight in it from Scaramouche, either.
But no - that's not what he wants from him. And when the realization of what he desires hits him like a truck, all he can do is swallow in response. ]
... hey. [ His voice is soft, but still loud enough to be heard over the water lapping against the boat. Childe will stretch out his legs, first one, then the other, and release one of the oars to gently pat at his own lap. ]
no subject
[ Though when Scaramouche posed that last question that there's a multitude of suggestions that run through his mind. What would he like from him at this moment?
Childe looks at him, really looks at him, taking in the Balladeer's appearance as though he's seeing him for the first time. He looks so small like this, shrouded in moonlight and sitting at the end of the boat. So small in Childe's jacket, with his scarf draped around his neck. There's power in that tiny frame yet, he knows, but right now... right now, he can't think of any good reason why Scaramouche should leverage that against him.
There's a part of him that knows that's wrong, but he can't fathom exactly why that would be. Thrilling from a battle was a concept that came as easily to him as breathing. It wouldn't make sense that he wouldn't delight in it from Scaramouche, either.
But no - that's not what he wants from him. And when the realization of what he desires hits him like a truck, all he can do is swallow in response. ]
... hey. [ His voice is soft, but still loud enough to be heard over the water lapping against the boat. Childe will stretch out his legs, first one, then the other, and release one of the oars to gently pat at his own lap. ]
Come here.