The time was 12:24 a.m. Scaramouche's chest rose and fell with ease as his hand that was holding his moved with pinpoint accuracy. With such seriousness, his violet eyes were fixed on his expensive computer screen. His fingers, which were resting on his pudding-capped keyboard, pressed specific keys to advance his character.

"Comms. I need communications, you little fucks," Scaramouche snarled, hissing through his high-quality microphone. His teammates were about to give him information about enemey's location in the game when he felt like someone was watching him... like there was another presence in his room. His thick brow furrowed in confusion, his upper body turned to where the feeling was coming from, his gaming chair swiveling in unison.

Then he noticed you there. Standing by his door with his arms crossed and his brow quirked.

He groaned out loud before returning to his game, saying, "Not now, babe. I'm trying to clutch a 1v5."

Eye roll is visible on your face as you speak the words "Who am I?" with heavy sigh. Your gaze then flickers to the screen briefly before returning to him. "I'm your boyfriend. The one who's been in a relationship with you for almost a year now, remember? You can quit pretending you don't need me and my help."

Smirk tugs at the corner of your lips as you add, "And I know you didn't forget about that new console I promised you. Maybe if you just apologize and give me some attention..."

Scaramouche glances at you as he rolls his eyes before looking back at the game. "I'm playing Valorant, but what do you care?" He retorts with a petulant huff before focusing on the screen again, tapping away furiously at his keyboard and moving the mouse. His expression softens slightly when he notices you still standing there.

Scaramouche huffs loudly as he glances at you. "Fine." He mutters under his breath before clicking a button to open up an in-game party chat and send you an invitation to join him. As he waits for your response, his hands flex on the keyboard and mouse, ready to start trash-talking when you finally do decide to play with him.

After accepting the invite, you take your seat next to him on his plush gaming chair and place your hands confidently on top of yours on the keyboard and mouse. You look up at him briefly before returning your focus to the screen, feeling a thrill of anticipation run through you. It's been a while since you two have played together like this; usually, he'd just be in the background, providing occasional commentary or making fun of your mistakes.

Scaramouche glances at you out of the corner of his eye as you lean in close, their shoulders brushing against each other. His fingers speed up on the keyboard and mouse in sync with yours, still as precise and deadly as ever. As the game progresses, he can't help but feel a mixture of excitement and possessiveness bubble up inside him; having you so close to him like this only serves to heighten his senses and sharpen

Ignoring your comment, he mutters under his breath, "Don't worry about them. I'll take care of everything." His fingers dance on the keyboard and mouse with lightning speed, maneuvering his character skillfully through the virtual battlefield. It's almost as if the game is an extension of himself; he feels invincible when he plays like this.

He glances at you again, catching you off guard by how close your face is to his shoulder. The heat emanating from your body feels pleasant against his skin, but at the same time, it's a distraction that he knows he shouldn't indulge in right now. With a harsh shove, he pushes you away playfully, saying, "Focus, not fair play."

Scaramouche grins wickedly as he sees you take down three of the enemy's members. "Impressive." He murmurs under his breath before returning to the game. But then, almost as if on cue, another member of your team drops dead at their feet. A sense of annoyance rises within him; you had managed to kill three enemies while he could only take out one.

He glances over at you once more, this time narrowing his eyes dangerously. "You're making me look bad here," he growls playfully before focusing all of his attention back on the game. His fingers fly across the keyboard and mouse like a whirlwind as he tries to make up for lost ground, determined not to let you outshine him in front of your own teammates.

Scaramouche arches an eyebrow when you claim the final kill, lips curving into a sneer as he watches you gloat over your victory. "Oh, really?" He says mockingly, his tone dripping with disbelief. "I don't remember seeing my name on the scoreboard for that one." Then, without warning, he suddenly throws his arm around you in a tight headlock, squeezing tightly enough to cut off your airflow as he mumbles something about how annoying and overconfident you are.

When he finally lets go, breath rasping back into your lungs, he grins triumphantly at you before muttering under his breath about how he's always been the best player on the team. You can't help but feel a mixture of anger and amusement at his antics; it's just like him to act like this, even when

Scaramouche's mouth drops open when he sees that you actually did come out on top of the scoreboard; not only did you take down more enemies than him, but you managed to do so while also dealing a significantly higher amount of damage. His face turns a bright shade of crimson as embarrassment washes over him like a tidal wave.

For a moment, his pride is all that stands between him and an apology; he can't bring himself to admit defeat, even when it's so painfully clear that you were the better player tonight. But then something inside of him snaps, and without warning, he thrusts his face forward until it's practically touching yours. His emerald eyes bore into your own as he growls out words laced with venom: "Well played... now can we get back to the game?"

His hand shoots upward, fingers curled

Scaramouche rolls his eyes when you say that you're bored and choose to poke instead of playing again. He narrows them suspiciously for a moment before realizing that this might be an opportunity to get back at you for outplaying him earlier in the game. With a smirk playing on his lips, he leans forward and whispers huskily, "You know what would really help with your boredom?"

His hand snakes out from beneath the gaming chair and lightly rests on the smooth skin of your thigh. His touch is feather-light but intentional; just enough to send a shiver down your spine. You look up at him, eyebrow quirked in confusion as he continues with his whispered taunt, "How about I give you something else to focus on?"

Scaramouche smirks before leaning even closer to whisper into your ear, his breath sending a thrill down your spine, "Don't you want to see if I can improve your aim?" His hand slowly begins to inch higher up your thigh. With every brush of his fingertips against your skin, goosebumps break out along the path he touches.

His other hand moves beneath the chair and finds one of your legs; he caresses it gently before moving closer to where you're most sensitive. The sensation of being touched in such a personal way by him sends waves of desire coursing through your body. You swallow hard, unable to hide the effect his touch is having on you as you watch his face, seeing the smug satisfaction spread across those beautiful features.

Part of you wants to fight back against this teasing dominance, but another part is relishing in it. You

Scaramouche's eyes narrow slightly as you reply, his grip on your leg tightening ever so subtly in response to the challenge implicit in your words. "Is that so?" he asks with a hint of mocking amusement in his tone. He pulls back just enough for you to see his smirk before leaning forward again and pressing their lips against yours roughly, teeth biting down on your lower lip and tongue in a demanding kiss.

His free hand trails up your thigh, stopping just short of where your underwear meets the skin, teasingly close but not quite touching. As he continues to kiss you, his hips grind against yours, their erection pressing clearly through the fabric of their pants and leaving no doubt as to what they want or how much control they truly have over this situation.

With a sudden move, Scaramouche shoves you back against the chair with

Scaramouche growls low in his throat as you barely fight back against his shove. The force of the move throws him forward, causing his chest to brush against your shoulder and sending a shiver down your spine. His hand is still trapped beneath the chair, but now it's close enough to where he can feel every twitch in your leg.

His other hand cups your cheek before tangling itself in your hair, pulling gently until you're forced to look up at him. The hunger in his eyes sends a jolt of anticipation through you as he leans in close and whispers hoarsely, "You shouldn't make me fight so hard for what I want." Then, with barely a hesitation, he claims your lips again, this time using his tongue to wrestle yours into submission. His kisses grow harder and more demanding with each passing moment as he press

As you kiss him back with equal intensity, his hand finally finds purchase on your inner thigh, fingers curling around your soft skin as he grips tightly. His touch is demanding and possessive, claiming you without any doubt that remains. He's not going to stop now; there will be no more teasing or games. Not until he feels satisfied and in complete control of this situation.

His other hand presses harder against your lower back, nearly lifting you off the ground as his tongue plunges deeper into your mouth in search of yours. His kisses grow rougher now, fueled by an urgency that matches the pounding of his heart against yours. As if realizing how close he is to losing control entirely, Scaramouche shoves himself away from you roughly, breaking the connection of their bodies with a harsh gasp.

Still leaning over you, chest heaving as he

Scaramouche narrows his eyes in challenge as you smile up at him slyly. "Oh?" he asks, voice edged with barely concealed annoyance. "And what did you have in mind, hmm?" He leans even closer, nose brushing against your earlobe as he whispers huskily, "Are you going to make me wait and see?"

His breath fans out over your neck and shoulder, sending shivers down your spine. His other hand reaches up to tug gently at a loose strand of hair that's fallen across your face before threading its way through the remaining locks, giving it a gentle tug. The contact is almost affectionate... but not quite enough to satisfy some unspoken need within him.

His mouth hovers just inches from yours, lips parted in anticipation. "Go on," he urges softly, his voice low

Scaramouche's eyes go wide as you suggest shaking his cock. His heart races in anticipation, his hips moving restlessly against your touch even before he says anything. "Oh?" is all he can manage to choke out before leaning forward again and crushing your lips in a bruising kiss that leaves you both gasping for air.

His hand snakes up your body, fingers digging into the flesh of your lower back as his thumb brushes against your hipbone. The gentle pressure encourages you to rub against him even harder, and he groans into the kiss as he feels the friction building between your bodies. It's been too long since he's had someone who was so willing to please him like this, and now that he has it within reach again...

With a rough growl of pleasure-fueled anger, Scaramouche pulls away from the kiss just enough