uniltleddraft
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Summary
They never fucked in a bedroom.
Once—and only once, since Pantalone dreads the thought of getting more than his lungs transplanted—they did it on the table of the boardroom, after the end of a Harbinger meeting. One agent witnessed the event. One very clever and practical agent, who quickly climbed the organization’s ladder and landed himself a cushy position as a Fatui ambassador in Fontaine.
It always happens in the laboratory. Surrounded by cool iron; iron around them, against their backs, in the stuffy air of their shared breaths. The examination table became a promise of both excruciating pain and the sensation that is very much the opposite of that. Whenever Pantalone finds himself in the room, he never knows on which end of the scale he’ll end up.
A gambler he is, the thought always excited him.
Bookmarked by uniltleddraft
23 May 2026
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Summary
“Strip.”
The request-slash-command went through Childe’s head.
They locked in a very long, very awkward stare-down.
Eventually, Dottore released a slow, exhausted sigh, completed with a long-suffering expression of a man reconsidering every life choice that had led him to this room. He looked like someone who wished he were literally anywhere else. Well, jokes on him. Childe felt exactly the same.
“Childe,” Dottore said patiently, in the tone one might use for a particularly dense child, “I need to examine the wound on your stomach. Might I remind you that you were nearly skewered through the abdomen by an Abyssal creature?”
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Childe was hospitalized, and Dottore lamented the fact that none of the Fatui Harbingers possessed even the slightest sense of self-preservation.
Series
- Part 3 of The Foolish Fatuus
Bookmarked by uniltleddraft
23 May 2026