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“No, I don’t take in stray animals, even if they look identical to myself.
“Please?”
Scaramouche scoffs, snarling at his younger self. “I can’t stand to look at your pathetic smiling face; there’s a reason that’s not me anymore. Leave.”
Kabukimono hums, stroking an invisible beard in a motion he must have picked up from somewhere, but of which he had yet to understand the meaning. “Where should I go, then?”
“As long as you get out of my sight, I don’t care where you came from or where you go.”
“Oh, that’s all?” Kabukimono seems satisfied at this answer, nodding enthusiastically. “Okay.”
Scaramouche can’t comprehend why the other seems so happy about this. Without a further word, he turns back to the book on his desk. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Kabukimono drop out of his sight. Huh? Weird. Whatever. He mentally dismisses this. The sooner he’s out of Scaramouche’s sight and mind, the better.
Or so he thinks. Because not ten seconds later, Kabukimono has crawled under Scaramouche’s desk. “What the hell?” He spits out, looking down at Kabukimono. “I told you to leave.”
“Nuh-uh. You told me to be out of your sight, and I complied.” Kabukimono smirks, looking up at Scaramouche like he’s won something, and not like he’s a man on his knees.
“You’re a pest.”
“If you say so.”
“I’m getting irritated.”
“Okay.” The dopey grin on Kabukimono’s face only furthers Scaramouche’s annoyance.
“Don’t you have somewhere to be? Go back to where you came from.”
“I don’t know how.”
Scaramouche glares hard. He shapes his face into the most intimidating scowl he can manage. The pure disgust and rage emanating from this very gaze has sent many Fatui running away or begging for his forgiveness. He clenches his jaw and keeps staring, but Kabukimono is so undeterred that Scaramouche might as well have not wasted his efforts.
“Ugh.” He grumbles, rubbing his temples. “Then stick around, it doesn’t make a difference to me. Just stay out of my way.”
Kabukimono beams with joy. “Thank you, future me.”
Suddenly, there’s a knock at the door to Scaramouche’s office. Both of them tense. Scaramouche gestures for Kabukimono to come closer. When he does, Scaramouche grabs him by his shirt and shoves him under his desk. “You shut up and stay put, or I’ll kill you.” Scaramouche puts his index finger to his lips, and is not comforted when Kabukimono looks at him blankly. “Stay,” he commands again, turning his attention to the door. “Come in.”
Sandrone walks in. Rather, Sandrone enters, sitting upon the hand of her mech, which dwarfs her. “Balladeer.” She bows her head slightly. “I estimate the Doctor will be occupied for at least four days in Fontaine. His experiments on you will likely go on the backburner, so I fulfilled my end of the bargain.” Both her voice and her affect are flat, except a small smile which doesn’t reach her eyes. “To this end, I sacrificed a precious machine of mine. Not just anything can maintain his interest.” She gives him a look, and Scaramouche groans.
“Yeah, thanks. I’ll take that mission off your hands.” He taps his finger on the table, impatient for her to leave, especially as Kabukimono starts to move, as if going to stand up. Scaramouche tries to kick him under the table, but his feet only meet the air.
“That was no small task,” she starts, and he almost rolls his eyes. Today is the worst day for her to haggle with him. “And there’s another mission-” She freezes, her gaze fixed next to Scaramouche.
Kabukimono pops up from under the table, doe-eyed as ever. “Hello?”
Sandrone stares, her mouth agape. Some whirring noises come from her robot, too. “What is-” She looks rapidly between them. Scaramouche opens his mouth to try to explain, or perhaps to threaten her, but Kabukimono’s reaction comes first.
Of all things, he waves at her, a huge smile on his face once again. “My name is Kabukimono, it’s good to meet you. You must be his- well, my friend?” He bows. “Good to meet you,” he repeats.
“Balladeer.”
Scaramouche weakly grunts an acknowledgement. Before, he had offered to fulfill one of Sandrone’s unpleasant missions, as long as she ensured that Dottore would cease his brutal experiments, even if only for a time. The neverending rhythm of fighting in the abyss, enduring experiments, completing other missions, filling out mission reports, and dealing with idiotic henchmen- it got old. He had wanted for no more than a few days of peace. And now, it seems, those dreams are shattered.
“Balladeer, I can be silent, but right now, I have some inconvenient assignments…”
***
“You.”
Scaramouche seizes Kabukimono by the collar, causing him to gasp. After the incident with Sandrone, he’d commanded Kabukimono to entertain himself while Scaramouche worked on a project. Kabukimono had spent some time pestering Scaramouche with questions, all of which he’d ignored or rebuffed. Hours later, he’d spared a glance at the corner of the room, just to see Kabukimono curled up in a ball in the corner. His head had been resting on the wall. Something about Kabukimono’s peaceful “sleeping” expression irks Scaramouche, leading him to now.
He pulls Kabukimono up from the floor. Kabukimono winces, but this only causes Scaramouche to sneer.
“Don’t forget that I am you. There’s nothing you can hide from me. I know you don’t sleep.”
“Yes, I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to deceive you, but,” he replies, pulling away from Scaramouche and sighing in relief when he’s released, “I wanted to think.”
“What could you possibly have on your mind?” Scaramouche flicks Kabukimono’s forehead, glaring at him. “There’s not much going on in there, anyway.”
“About my friends. I miss them.”
“Oh yeah? You miss your friends?” Scaramouche scoffs, his fists clenching. He knows how that story ends, but infringing on the other’s naivete seems wrong, somehow, so he restrains himself. “I miss having peace and quiet around here.” Kabukimono had only been here for half a day, but already managed to cause trouble for Scaramouche.
“I’m sorry.”
“You keep saying that.”
“What else can I do? I have nothing to offer.”
He sighs, pushing aside his paperwork. “I guess that’s true.” But then, a thought comes to his mind. It’s a depraved thought, but it’s impossible to fully dismiss. “No. It’s not true.”
“Tell me what I can do.” Kabukimono looks sad, and he moves closer to Scaramouche, looking at him with pleading eyes. “It looks like I’ve been a burden to you.”
“Yeah, you have. A serious burden.” Scaramouche stares into space, his mind racing. No, he couldn’t possibly… right? But no one would find out, and he doesn’t exactly have qualms about hurting other people, let alone himself.
“I’m sor-”
“Shut up and get on your knees.”
He states the command with absolute authority, as if he’s bossing around a subordinate. Kabukimono looks at him, shocked, but he maintains a stony expression. “Well?”
“...Alright.” Kabukimono nods and obeys, now on the floor and between Scaramouche’s knees. He looks up like a begging puppy. “Now what?”
Scaramouche can’t help the thrill that rushes through him. This joy is familiar, but he finds there is something intoxicating about the novelty of this situation. If he had a heart, he thinks, it would be racing right now. “Don’t do anything I don’t tell you to do. Now, say ‘ahh’, and look up at me.”
As Kabukimono complies with the instruction, Scaramouche tries to think back to his past. It is unclear to him whether this younger version of himself is knowledgeable about sex. At some point, Scaramouche knows, he learned about the subject. Yet, to this day, his mechanical body remains untested in such matters. Sex rarely crosses his mind, and even on the odd occasion that it does, no potential partner seems suitable.
Perhaps that changes today. He scoots forward, his torso only inches away from Kabukimono’s face. Scaramouche’s hand rests on Kabukimono’s cheek, stroking his face. His mouth remains open, becoming more and more dry.
“Do you know what’s going on?” Scaramouche whispers. Kabukimono makes some noises in his throat, but finds himself unable to communicate with his mouth wide open. Scaramouche gives him a quick smack. “Respond when I speak to you.”
“No, I don’t know,” Kabukimono replies right away.
“Open your mouth again.” He complies, as expected. Scaramouche runs his thumb across Kabukimono’s bottom lip. He takes his time observing the characteristics of this more innocent self. The two are identical, with skin equally as smooth and flawless. Unlike humans, neither will age with time. “I am pretty,” he mumbles.
The corners of Kabukimono’s mouth turn up slightly, but he keeps his lips parted wide.
“Yes, good. Keep it open.” Scaramouche puts his first two fingers into Kabukimono’s mouth. “Suck on them.” Kabukimono doesn’t waste a second complying with the command. His eyes fall closed, and he leans forward, taking the fingers deeper. Scaramouche curls his fingers, feeling around inside that mouth. The soft tongue. The smooth gums. The pure white, replaceable teeth.
Replaceable teeth…
This time, when he looks down, he doesn’t see himself. He sees someone else’s face- someone he doesn’t want to remember. Scaramouche pulls his fingers out of Kabukimono’s mouth at once.
He gives Kabukimono a harsh smack on the face.
“Ouch!” Even when Kabukimono winces, Scaramouche knows the verbal reaction is more of an imitation of what a human would do than a sincere expression of pain. “Did I do something wrong?”
So compliant, Kabukimono is for him. It almost makes him chuckle, but he keeps his stern exterior. “Shameless, aren’t you? You’re acting like a fucking whore.” Ironically, these are also imitated words. Scaramouche had done enough eavesdropping on both colleagues and underlings to educate himself on these matters. Now, he thinks, it’s time to see if these actions can bring him pleasure, despite his lack of humanity.
“A whore?”
“Yeah.” Scaramouche grabs his chin and leans down with a glare, but this time, he displays an evil smirk as well. “Say it. Tell me you’re a shameless whore.”
“I’m a shameless whore,” Kabukimono replies in a drone-like voice.
“Say it again.”
“I’m a shameless whore.”
Scaramouche chuckles, stroking Kabukimono’s hair like he’s a pet. “Good.” It brings him a twisted pleasure to hear self-deprecation from that face, a face for which he bears great contempt. “We’re going to try something different now, so get ready.” He doesn’t know why he’s being so gentle all of a sudden. Really, he thinks, he should simply unzip his pants, seize Kabukimono’s jaw, and-
“Yes, I’ll do anything to truly apologize.” When that thoughtless, empty smile comes to Kabukimono’s face again, Scaramouche can no longer see any other face except his own. A relief, considering what he has in mind.
“Okay.” Scaramouche looks around, ensuring that his door and windows are locked. Why am I so nervous all of a sudden? These types of actions are new to him, but he’s a Fatui Harbinger, not a pathetic child. He needs to approach with more confidence, he thinks. So he is more decisive when he says, “open your mouth again, close your eyes, and relax your body.”
Once again, Kabukimono obeys. Scaramouche feels the smallest possible sliver of guilt, which he discards. Such emotions are useless.
He reaches for his shorts, removes his tassets and belt, and sets them on the desk. He removes the rest of the clothes covering his lower half and leaves them on the floor. His hand goes to his artificial cock, which is by far the least used machine in his entire body. When he grips the length, he gasps, finding the motion pleasurable. He squeezes and releases a few times, unfamiliar sensations coursing through his body.
Then, his gaze returns to Kabukimono, who is patient as can be, his mouth hanging open and ready to serve.
The filthy sight before him gives Scaramouche a thrill of a different kind.
He puts his hand on the back of Kabukimono’s head, inching it closer. He encounters neither resistance nor enthusiasm. With his other hand, he takes his cock, guiding it to Kabukimono’s face. Kabukimono twitches when he feels the head of that cock on his mouth, but Scaramouche warns, “keep your eyes closed.” He receives only a slight grunt in reply.
Scaramouche rests the tip of his cock on Kabukimono’s bottom lip. A colorless, viscous fluid drools from the head, dripping onto those parted lips. Scaramouche watches in fascination as that pure, flawless face is corrupted by that fluid. He feels a slight turn in his groin, and more comes out. Just like he had with his thumb earlier, he pets Kabukimono’s bottom lip with his cock, spreading the fluid even more.
“This is good,” he mutters, “keep doing what I tell you to do. Now, get ready.” Kabukimono shifts a bit, but makes no attempt to escape. Finally, Scaramouche decides, he’s ready to discover what humans find so fascinating about these rituals.
One hand holds Kabukimono’s open jaw while the other guides his cock into that welcoming, open mouth. He gently thrusts forward and pulls Kabukimono’s head close at the same time. The head of his cock collides with the back of Kabukimono’s throat. At once, he releases a moan. A shudder runs to the base of his spine. His toes curl.
More than ever before, he thinks, he understands humans.
“Close your mouth around it?” He silently reprimands himself for sounding apprehensive, but it makes no difference in how diligently Kabukimono follows the order. “Ahh, good.” The pleasure Scaramouche feels intensifies when those lips close around his cock.
Unfortunately, that pleasure dies down after a moment, and Scaramouche finds himself at a loss. Here they are, with Kabukimono on his knees, dick deep in his mouth. He’s been nothing but a willing partner. So where did all the pleasure go? Do humans really travel hundreds of miles, spend fortunes, and sacrifice relationships and reputations for this one sensation? Surely not.
Kabukimono looks up at Scaramouche, his mouth still full of cock, a sharp contrast to his otherwise innocent features. The sight is downright filthy and sends another wave of arousal through him. That, like the pleasure, fades in but a moment.
He finds himself disappointed.
“Hmmm.” He threads the fingers of both his hands through Kabukimono’s hair. “Maybe…” He yanks Kabukimono’s head closer, nose meeting crotch. His cock hits the back of Kabukimono’s throat again, and he cries out in pleasure. “Ahh!” As the head of his cock meets the back of that tight, wet throat, his toes curl. Pleasure courses through his veins. Again and again, he pulls Kabukimono closer and further, fucking his face.
He throws his head back, relieved at last. This is what he needs to do. Movement, warmth, wetness, friction…
“Hey.” Scaramouche pats Kabukimono’s head, then removes one hand. “Move your head like I was doing. Up and down. Suck it.” An idea comes to his mind. “Use your tongue, too. Slide your mouth up and down. Lick it.” It’s challenging to know how to instruct, since he’s not the one with a mouthful.
Fortunately, Scaramouche soon finds that his guidance worked wonders. He can’t help but let out another moan as Kabukimono starts to understand. “That’s it,” he encourages. He settles into a rhythm, lightly thrusting his hips into Kabukimono’s mouth as those blissful lips and that delightful tongue work in tandem to pleasure him. A stirring sensation builds in his core.
“Fuck,” he mumbles, “fuck, fuck, fuck.” He imagines that within himself is a pyro slime, heating, expanding, getting hotter, getting bigger, until it’s so full it’ll burst, until it-
Explodes.
With one final moan, Scaramouche releases fluid into that greedy mouth. He uses his strength to hold Kabukimono’s head close, and he feeds spurts of his fluid directly into Kabukimono’s throat. The feeling of sheer euphoria overwhelms his body for several seconds.
In the end, he collapses in his chair, releasing Kabukimono. As he pants, Kabukimono looks thoughtful, then starts to speak.
“Was that a good apology?”
Scaramouche observes him with newfound awe. Then, he scoffs.
“Not nearly good enough. Try again later.”
***
Kabukimono sashays into Scaramouche’s office, swinging his hips. This causes Scaramouche to frown. “Why are you walking like that?”
“I dunno. I’m in a good mood today.” Kabukimono sits atop Scaramouche’s desk across from him, looking back. “I met a new friend.”
Scaramouche tenses. “Really.”
“Yeah. He reminds me a lot of someone I- or I guess, we- knew before.” Briefly, pain flashes across Kabukimono’s face, but he recovers extremely quickly. “The scientist, Escher. Remember? For some reason, the Doctor reminds me a lot of him.” Kabukimono lays down across Scaramouche’s desk, knocking down hundreds of papers, several folders, and a mug, which shatters on the floor, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He sighs. “I miss the people from Tatarasuna.”
Scaramouche’s stomach churns with a mixture of emotions, none of which he cares to acknowledge. “The Doctor? I have to admit, this is the first time I’ve heard someone speak positively of him.”
“That’s so sad.” Kabukimono’s reaction has all Scaramouche’s emotions replaced with bafflement. “No one deserves to feel alone like that.”
“If anyone does, it’s the Doctor.”
“But he can’t be all bad, right?”
“He can.” When Scaramouche sees Kabukimono about to protest again, he sneers. “There’s no reason for you to be so defensive of him. He reminds you of Escher? Well, he’s not him. Get the idea out of your head and see the Doctor for who he really is.” Scaramouche stands, glaring down at Kabukimono- a position he finds himself in often.
“Oh… okay.” To Scaramouche’s surprise, Kabukimono concedes, putting his arm over his eyes*. “I’m sorry. I just get lonely when you’re busy.”
“Then… then…” Scaramouche clenches his fist. “Play with yourself. I’ll buy you a cat toy or something. Whatever. Listen to me carefully right now.” Scaramouche pulls Kabukimono so that the latter is sitting on the desk in front of Scaramouche. He puts his hands on his shoulders, looking deeply into Kabukimono’s eyes. “No one around here is your friend.”
Blinking, Kabukimono tilts his head. “Why not?”
“It’s just true. I’m older and wiser, you shouldn’t be questioning my judgment.”
“Mmm.” Kabukimono tilts his head down, suddenly fidgeting and glancing around the sparsely furnished office. He furrows his eyebrows, deep in thought. “I’m getting lonely.”
“So?”
“I dunno…” Kabukimono swings his feet back and forth. “Actually, of everyone who could be my friend,” he says, choosing his words with care, “I want you to be my friend the most.”
Scaramouche pauses, then blinks, taken aback. “What? Why?”
Undeterred, Kabukimono elaborates, “you’re so cool, confident, and strong. And smart. I can’t believe I’ll become someone like that someday.”
“Stop.”
“I mean it.” Kabukimono, looking serious, puts his hands on his hips. Or, rather, he attempts to do so. It seems he’s observed the motion before, but not fully understood the mechanics, because his hands rest on his sides, but above his waist. “Tell me how you do it. I don’t know how- mmph!”
His ramble gets cut off by Scaramouche, who grabs Kabukimono’s face unceremoniously, his palm muffling his mouth. “Shut up. I’m serious.”
Behind his hand, Scaramouche feels Kabukimono smile. And then, he starts to lick Scaramouche’s palm in long, slow licks.
“Why, you little-”
And just like that, it seems that Kabukimono has learned how to get Scaramouche’s attention.