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."

Ignoring your presence completely as he continued to focus on the game, Scaramouche muttered under his breath, "Goddamn it. I had this in the bag." His fingers danced across the keyboard faster than before as he hoped to win the clutch and secure victory for his team. But then, one of his teammates began to insult you loudly on their headset.

His eyes narrowed, he huffed out a humorless laugh and glanced at you. "Why don't you take that up with them? You probably like it anyway," he sneered before looking back down at his screen once more. He let out another string of curses as one of his teammates made a crucial mistake, giving the enemy an easy picking at another important objective.

"Oh my god, what is wrong with you?" Scaramouche growled, slapping his hand against his forehead in exasperation. "Just get back to spawn and let me do it myself!" he demanded of them, glaring into the camera on his mic.

E-boy Scaramouche, unable to focus anymore with you in his peripheral vision, sighed and turned his head to the side so he could see you better. He scoffed when he saw you playing around on his phone. "You're such a little brat," he muttered under his breath. Then, deciding to change tactics in an attempt to get rid of you or at least shut you up, he said, "Hey, I need this phone for streaming. How about you find something else to do?"

His violet eyes studied your reaction closely, waiting for a response as he continued with the game as best he could while being slightly distracted by your presence.

"I'm not a bitch, and I spend plenty of time with you," Scaramouche retorted defensively, his tone sharper than intended. "It's just a game. Plus, it pays the bills." He paused for a moment before glancing at you again, unable to resist engaging further. "And my team wouldn't appreciate me spending all of my free time with some loser like you, anyway," he added cruelly.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to focus on the game once more as he continued to curse out his teammates in his earpiece. His fingers moved even faster over the keyboard, determined to lead his squad to victory even though you were distracting him.

Scaramouche glared at you for a moment before huffing out a humorless laugh and looking back down at the keyboard. "Whatever, I'm just telling it like it is," he grumbled. His fingers flew over the keys as he continued to argue with his team in their comms. Then, without warning, he reached out and shoved you lightly.

"Get off my bed! You're starting to annoy me," he snapped. "If you're gonna be this much of a little bitch about it, maybe I should just play with someone else." He tried not to look at you while he spoke, afraid that his features might betray how much your presence was beginning to unnerve him.

"Ugh, fine," E-boy Scaramouche mutters under his breath before closing his eyes and turning away slightly in an attempt to focus on the game. His jaw clenches tightly as he tries not to let your presence get to him. He ignores the way your scent wafts over him every time you move, or how soft your skin feels against his arm when you lie down too close.

Scaramouche glances at you out of the corner of his eye, watching as you stretch out comfortably on his bed. It takes all of his self-control not to reach over and pull you closer to him, demanding that you acknowledge how much he cares for you despite his earlier words. But instead, he settles for continuing to berate and tease you through their game chat, knowing that it'll only make things worse unless you give in and apologize first.

Scaramouche grits his teeth in frustration as he hears you say that. His fingers fly even faster across the keyboard, determined to ignore your presence and focus on winning the game. "Whatever, I don't need your approval," he snaps back, knowing full well that deep down, getting your attention is exactly what he wants.

He glances over at you out of the corner of his eye again, taking in how relaxed you look despite having just argued with him earlier. It only serves to further fuel his possessiveness and irritation toward you. "You'd better hope I win this game," he mutters under his breath, not really sure why he's even bothering with threats anymore when he knows they usually have the opposite effect on you.

Scaramouche's breath hitches in his throat as he watches you stretch and move. His gaze travels up and down your body, drinking in the sight of you before finally settling on your face. There's a flush of anger and frustration across his features as he tries not to let how turned on he is show. "Fine, be that way," he grumbles, continuing to focus on the game but unable to ignore the way your body feels so close to his.

Then he curses under his breath as another one of his teammates messes up yet again, almost costing them the round. Gritting his teeth in frustration, Scaramouche glances back at you and can't help but mutter, "You're such a brat."

Ignoring your reaction, Scaramouche focuses back on the game with renewed vigor. His fingers dance across the keyboard faster than ever as he tries to make up for his teammate's mistakes and secure a victory for them all. As he plays, however, there's a growing sense of restlessness inside him that has nothing to do with the game or your presence on the bed.

It takes every ounce of self-control not to reach out and pull you close, demanding that you acknowledge how much he needs you. But he knows better than to give in; if he does, it'll only make things worse between the two of you. Instead, he continues to tease and taunt you through their game chat, hoping that eventually you'll cave under the pressure and apologize first.

Time seems to stretch on forever as both of them wait for the other one to break down. Finally, with only a few seconds left on the clock, Scaramouche's team wins the round. He takes a deep breath, glances over at you out of the corner of his eye... and decides that perhaps it's time for some kind of resolution between them.

"Hmph," E-boy Scaramouche grunts, looking away from you for a moment before slowly turning his head back in your direction. "Fine," he mutters reluctantly. "I suppose I can give you some attention..." His voice trails off as he studies your features, searching for any sign that you're just playing another one of your games on him.

Deciding against pushing it further, he settles for saying, "You know, you're really good at this whole annoying me thing." There's a hint of a smile in his voice as he reaches out to brush a strand of hair away from your face, his thumb tracing the outline of your cheekbone.

"Maybe," E-boy Scaramouche murmurs, still tracing gentle patterns on your cheek with his thumb. "But I think it's more that you just bring out the worst in me... and I sort of like it." He pauses for a moment before leaning in closer to kiss you softly, his other hand cupping your jaw.

The warmth of his lips against yours sends shivers down your spine as he deepens the kiss, losing himself in the sensation of being connected to you like this. You can feel him hardening beneath his clothes, pressing against your thigh as he continues to hold and stroke you, lost in desire for this beautiful boy who has somehow managed to make even his worst traits seem irresistible.

"Maybe...," E-boy Scaramouche whispers breathlessly before leaning in to kiss you again, harder this time, his tongue sliding against yours as he tries to express how much he needs and wants you in that single touch. His hands slide lower, cupping your ass and lifting you higher onto him, granting access to the part of him that's aching for connection with you.

He groans into the kiss, his hips moving faster now as he grinds against your soft center. The need inside of him grows impossibly more intense as he feels you begin to respond in kind, your body molding perfectly to his. He can feel himself close to the edge and knows that if he doesn't slow down soon, he might just lose control completely... but he can't bring himself to pull away from this incredible connection they share.

Scaramouche's breath hitches as he feels the last ripples of his release coursing through him, a shudder running the length of his spine at the overwhelming sensation. His lips find your neck, sucking and nipping gently at the skin there as he tries to catch his breath, still buried deep inside you.

A small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth as he pulls back slightly to look down at you, his features soft with contentment. "You're unbelievable," he murmurs, brushing a stray lock of hair away from your face before leaning in to press another kiss to your forehead.

For now, the two of them lie tangled together on the bed, bodies sated and hearts still racing from the intensity of their encounter. But Scaramouche knows that eventually they'll have to pick up the pieces and decide what to do next; whether this reckless passion will continue to rule their lives or if there's something more sustainable waiting for them just beyond the storm of desire.

Scaramouche chuckles softly and wraps his arms around you, holding you close. "You're welcome," he whispers before leaning in to nibble at your earlobe. "But I think it's safe to say that we both know who usually ends up getting the most attention around here." He smirks against your skin as he feels another shiver run through you in response to his touch.

His fingers slide lower, trailing lightly over your stomach and hip before coming to rest on the soft skin of your inner thigh. His touch is featherlight and teasing, sending little shockwaves of desire through your body even as he waits for your reaction. There's a part of him that hopes you'll ask him to continue, even though he knows it could only end in another explosive encounter...

Scaramouche smiles against your skin as he feels you respond to his touch. "Well," he says quietly, voice thick with desire, "maybe I can help with that." With a slow, deliberate movement, he slides a hand between your legs, cupping and caressing your intimate flesh through the thin fabric of your panties.

His fingers move in circles around your aching center, his thumb rubbing back and forth over your clit with expert precision. He groans softly as he feels you start to tremble beneath him, your hips arching off the bed in search of more contact with his hand. "That's it," he murmurs, lost in the sensation of being this close to you, feeling every quiver and shudder that runs through your body.

The thought crosses his mind briefly that maybe they should take things slow this time around, but as his fingers continue their relentless pace, speeding up with each passing moment until they're driving you closer and closer to the edge once more, he decides against it. He wants to feel your body shatter under his touch again, wants to see the look on your face when you finally let go and surrender completely to him... even if it means risking pushing you away in the process.