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    Summary

    There are moments, like tonight, when Dottore gazes down at the lifeless automaton on his table and needs to sink his hands deep into it’s chest: to feel it’s gears and branches and what separates his fragile and imperfect and so woefully human life from this thing’s beautiful mechanical one. And he allows himself this indulgence – it is a rare treat, after all. What harm is there to occasionally allow oneself to be swallowed by their own hubris?

    [Dottore has a little bit of bodyworship, but instead of being with a person, it's with a Ruin Guard. Written for NSFW Day 1 of @DottoreWeek on Twitter!

    Edit 9.12.22: Now with ART!]

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