It’s only when Scaramouche has her flat on her back, her wrists pinned above her head in a surprisingly solid grasp, that Mona realises that Scaramouche really, truly has no idea what he’s dealing with.
He’s not used to fighting one-on-one without his Vision - or his Delusion, Mona supposes - and, well. Mona can most certainly tell. Despite the strength in his arms and his thighs as he crouches above her, watching her with a shit-eating grin on his face, his head and stomach and groin are all open to Mona.
Of course, she isn’t going to act on her knowledge of all of his softest, weakest spots straight away. Instead, she struggles against his grip, playing up the role of helpless little maiden, and resolutely ignores the way something hot in her stomach tightens as his grip grows firmer around her wrists. “Let me go, Scaramouche!”
“What, so you can go tattle to those idiot knights? No, I don’t think so,” he says, all teeth as he smiles at her. Mona huffs, turning her head away, and Scaramouche breathes out a laugh. He pulls both of her wrists together until he can fit both of her hands in one of his own, and uses his free hand to pull her face back towards him with a hand on her jaw. “No, you’ll stay just like this and tell me exactly what I want to know.”
Goodness, how pretentious. Mona glares at him, flicks her fringe out of her eyes with a shake of her head, and sets her plan in motion. It’s ridiculously easy to pull her legs up until her knees are level with Scaramouche’s groin as he hovers above her, and when she kicks her knees up and out with as much force as she can, he falls as easily as she expects him to, yelping in pain. His grip on her hands loosens just enough for her to yank her hands from his hold, and she grabs at his shoulders, digging her nails until she hears him hiss in pain. It takes a few moments of writhing underneath him, doing her best to fight back as he tries to regain control, but eventually she’s wrapping her thighs around his waist and using all of her might to roll the pair of them over until she’s just about on top of him, sitting the full of her weight on his thighs before he can begin to struggle any harder.
“You idiot,” Mona hisses, ignoring the way Scaramouche twists beneath her, trying to throw her off. “You think you can just ambush me in my own home? Who do you think you are!”
It’s so easy to reach out and push Scaramouche’s arms to the floor with a thud, pinning him just as he had her, and Mona ignores that she enjoys the way he struggles beneath her, trying with all of his might to tip her off him. It doesn’t work, of course - her strong thighs are tight around his own, keeping him from gaining any leverage by spreading his legs. It’s a struggle to pin his arms, but Mona likes the way he gasps when she digs her nails into his skin, his chest heaving as he breathes.
“You’re crazy,” Scaramouche snarls, bucking up beneath her as hard as he can. Mona pushes back against him, doing her best to steady herself, and Scaramouche kicks his legs up, forcing her forward and further onto his lap. She tightens her thighs around his waist, squeezing until she knows he’s at least a little winded. “Let go!”
“No,” Mona retorts, shuffling back until she’s sitting enough of her weight on his thighs to leave him struggling to push her up again. She leans in, pressing herself against his front, and watches him as he glares at her from beneath him. “You think you’re so smart, hm? What, did you think I was some silly little girl that you’d easily overpower?”
Scaramouche doesn’t respond - he just stares at her, his expression murderous, and continues fighting to push her off him. Mona almost wants to laugh, to goad him into realising he’s done for - instead, though, she settles for staying silent and watching him with a cocky little smile. She’s enjoying this perhaps a little too much, she realises, but really - who can blame her?
“You don’t scare me,” Mona continues, leaning a little more of her weight onto Scaramouche’s wrists. He winces, just the tiniest bit, and Mona has to shift her weight onto her knees a little more as that pit of heat in her stomach begins to burn a little hotter. “And it goes without saying, but I won’t be telling you anything.”
“We’ll see about that,” Scaramouche says, but it doesn’t have the bite he’s intending when he’s trapped under Mona like this. “You think you’ve got the upper-hand, but we’ll see how long for.”
As Mona opens her mouth to speak, Scaramouche bucks up once more, pushing his thighs up to get her to fall forwards onto his lap again, and Mona realises it isn’t just her who might be getting a little too into this.
Scaramouche is already growing hard against her, his cock twitching through the soft fabric of his shorts as it fills out. Despite herself, Mona freezes, staring at him with wide eyes. “What?” he asks, snippy, and she realises - oh, Archons, he doesn’t realise she knows yet. “Did you realise I’m right? I will get the information I came for.”
For a long moment, Mona isn’t sure what to say. Her head spins a little as she stares at him, his cock still filling out against her thigh, and she digs her nails into the soft skin of his wrists when he tries to push her off once more, taking her stunned silence as weakness.
“And you have the gall to tell me that I’m crazy,” she eventually manages, looking down at him and watching him struggle with a purposely blank expression. She wonders if her cheeks are as pink as they feel.
He reacts instantaneously, grimacing at her as he twists his wrists beneath her hands. “Takes one to know one,” he bites back, and Mona can’t help it - she breathes out a laugh. I suppose he’s right, she thinks, sparing a moment to think about the way there’s a definite ache beginning to grow between her legs.
“That’s rich, coming from you,” Mona says. Scaramouche narrows his eyes, glaring up at her.
“What the hell is that supposed to-”
He cuts off abruptly when Mona shuffles up onto his lap, sitting herself right above where he’s half hard, and his mouth closes so fast she thinks she hears his teeth click together. “You dirty pervert,” Mona murmurs, and if she pushes a little more of her weight down onto his lap, well - it’s just an accident, of course. “Aren’t you enjoying this a little too much?”
For a long moment, Scaramouche doesn’t respond; he just stares at her, wild-eyed, suddenly still beneath her. Mona watches back, waiting to see what he’ll do - his cock is still twitching against her ass, and she resists the urge to grind back against him just to get some kind of reaction.
“Shut up,” he eventually snaps, though there’s a lot less heat in his voice. In fact, his cheeks are gradually growing a faint, rosy pink, and Mona realises with a jolt that she really, truly does have the upper hand. She could do anything she wanted to him like this, and he’d have very little means to stop her. Hm.
“Pervert,” Mona repeats, even as she relinquishes her grip on his wrists and untucks her thighs from around his waist. This is it, she decides - he can easily pull her off and free himself, or even fight back and get Mona back under him. Either way - the choice is up to him.
Scaramouche seems to understand the chance she’s giving him - he tugs at his wrists a little, and Mona’s loose fingers slide along his smooth skin, the indentations of her nails still pressed into his pale skin. After a moment, though, he stops moving and seems to settle under her, despite the sneer on his face and the heat in his gaze.
“As though you’re any better,” Scaramouche snaps, even as he makes no move to tip her off him. “You think a normal person would still be acting like you are?”
Mona tilts her head a little, watching him. He’s giving himself over to her, she realises, and with this knowledge, she allows herself to give into the urge to push back against his cock. He’s fully hard now, hot and heavy and already throbbing against her, and it feels so good to finally acknowledge the heat that had been simmering in her veins from the second Scaramouche had had the nerve to barge into her home and push her down.
“I don’t particularly care what a normal person would do,” Mona tells him, watching as his eyebrows furrow just the slightest. “After all, you’re hardly normal. You like being forced down like this, don’t you?”
This time, Scaramouche looks away, sneering even as he turns his head away from her. “As though you gave me an option,” he says, just to be difficult, and this time, Mona can’t help herself - she laughs aloud, stilling on his lap.
“Fine,” she says, uncurling her fingers from around his wrists. She moves her hands to his heaving chest, just resting there for now, and looks down at him. “I’ll make it explicitly clear this time. Leave, since you apparently want to so badly.”
Scaramouche doesn’t move a muscle. He still refuses to even look at her, but Mona can still follow the way he flushes all the way down his neck, pink and pretty, and she laughs again, pushing with a little more pressure against his chest. She starts the movement of her hips again, moving in small, tight little circles against his cock, and watches with glee as he squeezes his eyes shut, his chest rising and falling quickly under her palms.
Mona allows herself to keep grinding nice and slow against the shape of his cock, shifting a little so she can drag the crotch of her leotard against where he’s hot and hard through the material of his shorts. It’s easy to get lost in the motions of it, rocking against him solely for the sake of her pleasure until she can feel how wet she is with each movement she makes, grinning as she watches him bite at the pink plushness of his lower lip.
“You know,” Mona says, already a little breathless. “It’s no fun if you’re just going to sulk the entire time.”
She can’t help it - she reaches out, taking his jaw in her hand just as he had hers, and pulls his head towards her. He opens his eyes, already glaring at her as she continues pushing herself back on him in slow, steady motions. She wonders if he can feel how wet she’s growing through the fabric separating them.
“So sorry, princess,” he snaps sarcastically, but there’s no real heat behind it - his voice is already a little breathy, his mouth pink from where he’d been biting at his lips, and Mona grins.
Mona doesn’t give him a response - instead, she keeps holding him where she wants him, and grinds down hard once, twice, before she pulls herself off. “I want the shorts off,” she tells him, lifting herself onto her knees and using her hands on his chest and jaw to balance herself. “Now.”
Scaramouche moves so quickly it almost surprises Mona. It only takes him a moment to lift his hips and pull down the silky fabric of his shorts and underwear, kicking them off with little grace. His cock lies flat against his stomach, the head flushed pink and wet with precum, and that little curl of heat in the pit of Mona’s stomach burns bright and possessive.
Mona makes an appreciative noise, but she doesn’t bother reaching out to give him any relief - not yet, anyway. He’s going to have to work for that. Instead, she makes quick work of her own clothing - she unclips her cape and pulls off her gloves, throwing them to the side with little care as to where they land. Scaramouche is watching her now, his eyes bright with interest as she shuffles until she’s kneeling just enough to reach behind her and undo the hidden little zipper sewn into the back of her leotard.
Scaramouche’s hands twitch once, twice, as though he’s thinking about touching her, before he gives in to the urge and grabs at her leotard, tugging it down with very little elegance. “Watch the fabric!” Mona warns, even as she wiggles enough to help Scaramouche tug the fabric down to her waist. “And don’t even think about touching,” she adds as an afterthought, watching the way his eyes fall to her tits, his hands lingering around her waist.
“I’m not stupid. You think I want to deal with you digging your nails into me again?” Scaramouche asks, even as he stares at her tits, wide-eyed and hungry. It’s chilly in her room, even despite the sunshine streaming in through the windows, and she feels her nipples tightening a little with the cold. She wonders what she must look like to him as she hooks her fingers into the band of her underwear to pull them down, wonders if he really likes what he sees.
She doesn’t have to wait long to find out - he groans under his breath as he watches her finish stripping before him, his hands still gingerly resting on her waist. She hums a little, unable to stop her smug little smile as she watches him looking at her, his eyes mapping out all of the bare skin he can’t touch. “You can watch,” Mona tells him, settling herself until she’s hovering above his lap again. His hands tighten fractionally on the curve of her waist, warm and surprisingly soft against her skin. “And if you’re good, I’ll let you keep touching me. In the meantime, I’m going to have a little bit of fun.”
Scaramouche narrows his eyes, even as his tongue darts across the pink of his lips as he watches her. “What kind of f-”
Scaramouche doesn’t manage to finish speaking before he breaks off into a moan as Mona lowers herself onto his cock, still lying flat against his stomach. She manoeuvres herself until his cock is spreading her open, wet and hot against his bare skin. “The kind of fun where you lay there while I make good use of you,” Mona tells him, matter of fact. Scaramouche doesn’t respond - really, it looks like he’s barely holding it together, his plump lower lip trapped between his teeth as he tries his hardest to stay still under her. Mona makes a little noise of satisfaction, and starts to move against him.
She’s so wet that it only takes a few motions of her hips before he’s slick with her, making it nice and easy for her to start up an easy rhythm. It takes a second for her to figure out what she likes and just how wide to spread her legs to keep her balance, but she manages it eventually, ignoring the desperate little noises Scaramouche is making. She drags her cunt along the length of his cock, humming at the pleasant feeling of the head of his cock catching at her clit in a way that sends hot, lovely little shivers down her spine.
The noises she makes as she grinds against Scaramouche are loud in the quiet of the room, sticky-slick and filthy, and she bites her lips as she covers Scaramouche in her wetness from root to tip before she settles on grinding her clit against the spongy head of his cock, humming out a moan under her breath at the sensation of it. “How does it feel?” Mona asks, though just by looking at Scaramouche beneath her - pink-faced, with his mouth already bitten red and his fingers clenched into fists by her waist - she thinks she can already tell.
“Fuck you,” Scaramouche spits, but he breaks off into a shaky moan a moment later when Mona grinds her hips down hard against him, pushing forwards just a little so the head of his cock pushes against her entrance for a brief moment.
“You wish,” Mona responds, and she’d laugh at the expression Scaramouche makes in response if there wasn’t a hot tension building right in the cradle of her hips, leaving her a little breathless. Unable to resist teasing him further, she pulls one hand from where she’s balancing on his chest and brings it to her own tits, dragging her thumb across her nipples until her hips are jumping.
It’s easy to get lost in it, like this - making Scaramouche watch as she plays with her cute tits, grinding slick and smooth against him until she’s panting and biting her lip to try and muffle her moans. By the time she’s so close she feels like she’s burning up, her thighs aching with the repetitive movements of her hips, Scaramouche has moved onto calling her all the nasty names he can think of, even as his hips cant up in tiny little movements to meet her halfway.
Mona almost wants to put it off until she’s really desperate for it, but she also can’t wait to get Scaramouche inside her so she can ride him until he’s begging. The thought of it has her hips juddering against his, so close to orgasm her toes curl, and it only takes a few more hard, slow, delicious grinds until she comes, thinking about grinding against Scaramouche’s cock inside of her.
Her orgasm is just enough to take the edge off, and it’s so good as it washes over her, her hips jerking in tiny little pulses as she presses both hands down on his chest to steady herself. She keeps moving in tiny increments until she’s just reaching oversensitivity, her arms shaking a little as she slows to a stop. Scaramouche’s skin is wet with her come, sticky on his thighs, and Mona laughs a little as she pants, sunshine warm and satisfied.
“Mona,” Scaramouche says, strangled and desperate. His hands are still clenched into fists by her side, and she’s almost a little impressed that he hadn’t grabbed at her somewhere along the way. Mona makes a little noise of acknowledgement, but she’s not particularly interested in anything he has to say unless he starts begging for it. “Come on, I’m - I can’t, I-”
“Oh, shush,” Mona interrupts, just to be cruel. Realistically, there’s no way she’s going to be able to resist sinking down on his cock in the next five minutes, or as soon as her thighs stop trembling for long enough for her to be able to kneel up above him. Scaramouche doesn’t seem to realise this, though, and Mona isn’t really surprised by it - he’s a mess, flushed all the way down his neck and below the high collar of his shirt and a little sweaty by his temples.
He makes a noise, even more desperate than the last, and drops his head back against the floor with a thunk. For a moment, he looks defeated, and Mona is almost a little concerned, until-
“Please,” he says, his voice so quiet Mona would have missed it if she wasn’t staring directly at him.
A thrill shoots through Mona, hot and dizzying. It takes her a moment to be able to speak, her mouth a little dry. “Please what?” she asks, as though it isn’t completely obvious. “What do you want?”
“Anything,” Scaramouche snaps, but his bratty attitude doesn’t really work when his hips are still working against her in tiny little movements, like he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it. “I can’t - I’m going insane, I need something.”
Mona leans in, carding a hand through his sweaty hair. It’s the most tender moment they’ve had yet, she thinks, and Scaramouche freezes below her like he doesn’t quite know how to respond. “Work for it,” Mona tells him, entirely sincere. Scaramouche watches her carefully for a moment, as though he doesn’t trust that it isn’t a trick, and Mona sighs, tangling her fingers tighter in his hair. “If you’re just going to sit there and stare at me like an idiot, I may as well leave you here. I have plenty of other toys in-”
Before she can finish speaking, Scaramouche is jolting up and pulling her in towards him with a hand on the back of her neck. His other hand settles on her chest, taking one of her tits in his hand and pinching her nipple with his thumb and forefinger. “I feel like I’m fucking dying,” he tells her, his voice low and already a little hoarse. They’re so close that his lips brush against hers as he speaks, and it sends a lovely flush of heat straight between her legs. “You’re evil, you know that?”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Mona says, her voice breathy as he plays with her tits. Archons, she wants his fingers between her legs, inside her, fucking her until she come, but if she keeps this going any longer she thinks she might start begging for it. “Come on, work for it.”
Scaramouche makes a noise of frustration, and suddenly, he’s pushing her back and shuffling the two of them around until she’s properly sitting in his lap. She hardly has time to settle comfortably against him until he’s lunging in and pressing his mouth to her tits, leaving hot, biting kisses over her flushed skin. Mona can’t help but arch into the sensation, clinging to him with a shaky little moan, and with her hand still tangled in his messy hair, Scaramouche moves to suck at her nipples, working the flat of his tongue against the sensitive buds until she’s so wet she thinks she might genuinely be dripping down her thigh.
“Oh, Archons,” she pants, holding him close as he sucks at her tits. His other hand slides down from her neck, down the damp skin of her back, until his hand is curling around her thigh and stopping at her cunt. With his thumb, he brushes against her pussy, so delicate and soft that it makes her shudder against him, choked little moans escaping from her no matter how hard she tries to keep it together.
“Please,” Scaramouche says again, muffled against her chest. “Mona, fuck me, please.”
Mona doesn’t have it in her to wait any longer - she bats his hand away from between her legs, ignoring how much she wants to grind against his palm, and settles herself so she’s kneeling in his lap. There’s a moment of blind scrabbling between them until her fingers brush against his cock, her head tilting back as he bites at her nipples. There’s another desperate moment of maneuvering and finally, blessedly, she manages to press the head of his cock against where she’s wet and open and aching for him.
Scaramouche moans out a quiet little yes, broken and so, so desperate against her chest, and Mona can’t help but tease him just for a moment longer - she grinds her entrance right against the head of his cock, pushing down on him and moving back up just to feel the tip of his cock start to stretch her out. Scaramouche makes a strangled noise, canting his hips up to meet her, and something snaps inside of her, hot and needy.
Holding Scaramouche steady, Mona begins to properly sink down onto his cock, and she doesn’t bother to choke back her moans any longer. Scaramouche is panting against her chest, his thighs trembling beneath her, and the stretch is so fucking good Mona can’t help the way she whimpers. She wants to take it slow, to make him really feel it as she fucks herself onto him, but it’s so hard to resist the urge to force herself down hard on his cock until he’s as deep as she can take him.
Thankfully, it doesn’t take long for Mona to slide down until her thighs meet his, trembling slightly as she breathes in hard and deep. She feels so spread out where he’s stretching her open, and she can’t help but press her hand between their bodies once more, just so she can press her fingers to her clit, feeling her own wetness on Scaramouche’s cock. He’s so hard inside of her, breathing hard against her chest as he clings to her, and Mona hums out a moan as she begins to swivel her hips in tight little circles.
“So deep,” she murmurs, mostly to herself. Scaramouche groans, his hands resting tight on her hips, and gently rocks his hips up against hers. It almost feels like she can feel him in her throat - he’s long and thick and so, so deep, and Mona strokes a little faster over her clit, wondering briefly if she’d be able to come just like this, cockwarming Scaramouche until he’s begging to come.
The thought alone is enough to have Mona’s head spinning a little, but she tucks it away for later. Instead, she grabs a little harder at Scaramouche’s shoulder with her free hand, and pulls herself up slowly on Scaramouche’s cock. He’s so responsive under her, his breath hot and damp against her bare skin as he groans, grabbing at her hips like she’s his lifeline. She moves until only the head of his cock is still inside of her, and waits there until his fingers are leaving indentations in her hips.
“Mona,” Scaramouche hisses, his voice rough, and - that’s it, that’s what she was waiting for. Right as he pulls his head back to look up at her, she pushes back down onto him, watching him as he tilts his head back and moans, loud and long. His reaction only fuels her, settling in the cradle of her hips as she begins to fuck herself back onto him with fervour. “Oh, I-”
“Mhm,” Mona says, breathless with the look on his face and the way she’s rocking her hips in equal amounts. She doesn’t even really know what she’s agreeing to, at this point - that it feels good, maybe, or that she’s beginning to feel a little brainless with the sensation of it all. She tilts her hips and gasps loud when his dick presses just right against her, keeps grinding just like that, her fingers bumping against Scaramouche’s stomach as she circles her clit-
“Move,” Scaramouche says suddenly, a hand leaving her waist to pull at her wrist instead. Mona makes a discontented noise, pulling her eyes open - when had they even closed? - to look at him. “No, I mean - let me,” he prompts, pushing her hand away from between them, and before Mona can complain, his fingers are already moving to replace hers. He swears under his breath when he feels where they’re joined, Mona still so hot and wet around him, and when his thumb brushes over her clit, she jolts. “You were losing the rhythm,” he explains a moment later, almost a little sullen as he avoids her eyes.
He’s embarrassed, Mona realises, and laughs even as she shivers against him. “So sorry,” she says, bringing her wet fingers to his mouth. She taps against his lower lip, and, after a moment of embarrassed hesitation, he opens up for her, his tongue hot against her skin. “Oh, that’s good.”
With Scaramouche staring up at her with her fingers in his mouth and his own fingers working at her clit in a way that makes her feel like she’s quite literally melting, it’s so easy to begin rolling her hips again, fucking him lazy and slow and entirely selfishly. Scaramouche finally seems to have given in - so much of him seems to be focused on her pleasure, even as his eyes grow hazy as he watches her ride his cock, taking everything he has to offer for the sake of her own pleasure.
This time, Mona’s orgasm is a slow, white-hot build, settling in her thighs and her hips. The muscles of her calves clench as she grows shivery and sensitive, and she pushes herself down hard on Scaramouche one last time, whimpering at how deep he feels. She settles there, content to rock her hips in a way that makes her cunt clench around Scaramouche.
“Are you close?” she asks, and Scaramouche pulls his eyes open from where they’d fallen shut at some point, nodding desperately. “Good.”
With that, Mona tangles her free hand in his hair, pulling his head back until his throat is open. He moans, deep in his throat, and his hips rock up against hers with a new sense of urgency. “Get yourself off,” Mona tells him, bringing her lips close to his ear. She stays there as he nods, and lets Scaramouche fuck high-pitched little moans out of her.
It doesn’t take much to push Scaramouche over the edge. Mona mouths at the skin of his jaw, grips his hair a little tighter between her fingers, and that’s it - he pulls her down against him, his lips loose around her fingers as he moans, and pushes his hips up hard as he comes, his cock impossibly hard inside of her. For one hazy moment, Mona briefly wonders if she should’ve made him pull out - probably, she decides, because the clean-up is going to be a nightmare - before she begins to move again, taking advantage of the fact he’s still hard.
Scaramouche makes a noise like he’s just been punched, moaning with what Mona guesses is oversensitivity as she rides him. “Too much,” he says from around her fingers, and she nods, gripping at him and squeezing her eyes closed as she works her hips until she’s panting.
“Just a little more,” she says, and she’s not really certain who she’s even saying it for. “Oh, gods, gods, yes-”
Despite the way he’s panting around her fingers, obviously overstimulated, his fingers begin to roll against her clit - it’s messy and entirely uncoordinated, but it’s enough, and Mona full-body shudders as her orgasm sweeps over her like a wave. She vaguely feels herself gasping against Scaramouche’s neck, too overtaken with the sensation of his fingers against her and the way she’s clenching around him to really be able to think about anything other than how good it all feels. It rushes over her slowly, and by the time she’s coming back to herself, her fingers have slipped from his mouth and she’s slumped against him, boneless and trembling.
There’s a long pause of silence between the two of them before Scaramouche decides to break it. “Do you usually fuck people like you’re trying to kill them?” he asks, his voice rough and a little scratchy. Mona tilts her head so she can look up at him, and she grins at how disheveled he looks.
“Only the special ones,” she says, laughing a little when Scaramouche . “Oh, don’t pretend you didn’t like it.”
“I never said I didn’t. I hope you know, though, that I’ll pay you back for this,” Scaramouche tells her, and going by the look on his face, he’s dead serious. Something pangs in Mona’s chest, and whether it’s apprehension or excitement, she can’t quite tell.
“Well,” she says, running her thumbs over the seams of his silky shirt. “How long do you have before you’re expected to go back to… um, wherever it is you came from?”
Scaramouche pauses, pulling away a little so he can watch the expression on her face carefully. “I run on my own schedule,” he finally says, and Mona notices that there’s a tiny curve to the corner of his mouth with a thrill. “Why?”
She shrugs, but she knows Scaramouche can see right through it. “Just wondering.”
Scaramouche watches her with an amused look on his face before he lunges, too fast for Mona to do anything other than shriek. He pushes her down until she’s flat on her back, his hips still firmly pressed against hers and his hands firm on her waist. She doesn’t hear what he says over the sound of her own yelping, but going by the grin on his face, she thinks it’s safe to assume that he won’t be leaving for at least a few more hours.