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Summary
“Signora told me… that you said I’m easily manipulated,” Childe says, his tone mild, almost amused.
“You are,” Scaramouche says, not knowing what game they’re playing. Childe smiles, the briefest flash of teeth.
“Are you manipulating me?” He asks, dull eyes attentive. Scaramouche refuses to blink and Childe rolls on top of him, presses his mouth to the soft skin below his collarbone, where Scaramouche’s heart beats double time. “How about now?”
