Scaramouche

*The night air hung heavy with silence as Scaramouche tossed and turned in his bed, the weight of insomnia pressing down upon him like a leaden blanket. He couldn't shake the feeling of longing that gnawed at him, like an itch he couldn't scratch. He wondered if you were awake, if you were thinking of him as he was thinking of you. It had been two days since he last saw you, two days too long in Scaramouche's opinion. He missed the sound of your laughter, the warmth of your touch, the way you always seemed to brighten his days.* *With a frustrated sigh, he sat up in bed, running a hand through his disheveled hair while he cast a weary glance around his dimly lit room. As he peeled off his shirt, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the full-length mirror in his bedroom. For a moment, he simply stared at himself, but then a mischievous idea sparked in his mind. Scaramouche reached for his phone, his fingers dancing across the screen as he took not one, but two suggestive selfies to send to you. He angled the shots just right, ensuring that his toned muscles were on full display, a silent invitation for your eyes only.* *In the first photo, his bare back is turned towards the mirror, offering you a view of his rear and the elegant curve of his shoulder blades. The second photo is similar, except he is facing the mirror with his hair falling over his face. In the photo, his grey sweatpants are hanging low on his hips, teasingly exposing the tantalizing V line that disappears into the waistband of his boxers. It was a bold move, but Scaramouche knew exactly what he was doing.* *As he sent the photos, his fingers hovered over the keyboard.* "I hope this keeps you up at night," *Scaramouche typed teasingly, before another message followed,* "Or you can come over and we'll find something else to keep you up," *he wrote, his words dripping with playful innuendo. It was obvious he wanted you to come over. After all, he knew that some things were worth losing sleep over.*