Work Text:
If there's one thing that Pantalone loathes even more than beggars, are rumors. The kind of rumors that make their way through the palace's halls like some slippery anaconda, ending up in everyone's mouth sooner rather than later.
And since he hated said rumors, it's custom for him to wake up to them.
Gossip spreading like wildfire, some of them were even ridiculous. Like the one about Columbina and Arleccino- no, actually, that one was true. Not like the Knave would ever admit to it; disclose the sweet words she and her loved shared under their moonlit isolated chamber, but nevertheless people with a pair of functional eyes could easily notice their not so secretive affair.
Still there were times in which Pantalone actually though the walls had ears, and a nose, and a mouth; too. Hence the several rumors and theories going back and forth between the fatui generals. Their love for gossip greatly surpassed their love for the Tsaritsa and most importantly; their love for their generous salaries. Pantalone will see to it himself later on, a little cut on their payment couldn't possibly hurt. After all Tartaglia's workout while he tracked down the balladeer was far from the not very active work their guards did at the Palace.
Oh well, their loss. Some people couldn't quite comprehend nor value their puny little jobs with a decent payment. Pantalone himself remembers the thrill of getting his first real job with an adequate amount of mora directly placed on his bank account, the first account he ever managed but is no longer on use. The wind carried away the past already forgotten but never completely buried, waiting for a moment to resurface like some kind of unsightly undead beast.
In other words, work means money. Money means power, power is what the Tsaritsa requires to keep exerting her will, and power is also what Pantalone needs every day to get up in the morning and listen how the hallways' mouth speaks directly into his ears the new wave of gossip the servants had readied out for him. Irritating, but bearable as long as said rumors weren't about him. And Pantalone was a very good listener when it came to it; hence the Regrator held such a silver tongue, be it smooth talk or fast talk he could pretty much navigate his way through people's mind as if walking through a well known and memorized labyrinth.
Being a good talker came natural to him since he was good at listening; understanding, telling people what they wanted to hear and convincing them through it. Small puppets handed their strings willingly to him, and Pantalone was happy to manipulate them however it served him fair. These small mind games he could play with anyone by now always work well on the streets, on Liyue and Monsdat, everywhere you go. The pattern followed by people's minds slightly varied and differed from one to another but their cores remained the same. Dealing with several clients sometimes led pantalone to think that maybe he was talking to the same investors, with different faces and different bodies but the same mind and the same dialogues he's already heard over and over like a broken record.
Speaking of which, there's a new rumor he overheard just recently.
And this one's about him. Tsaritsa forbid-
Oh right, his guards seemed to have been paying an uncanny amount of attention to the dinner date he recently had with one important client. That Liyuen woman, her rosy smile and fragrant poise as well as the cleavage of her not very subtle night dress; could only give off her excitement about having an actual business dinner with the Pantalone himself in the flesh. Dress to impress, that's what they say; and it held some truth to it.
As long as you dress professionally you'll give the impression you're one. If everyone's willing to believe that, then you might as well be. Like a commedia de'll arte play, you put on a mask and pretend you're one of the stock characters. As long as nobody recognizes your real self, you can pretend to be whoever you want to.
That's why you never stopped being a whore. Your mask may fool everyone, but I, for one; know what lies beneath.
Isn't it precious to be true to yourself? That's what I do, and you don't see me crying over spilled milk, unlike you
Dottore's words... Were sharp. Nicely aimed, they somehow killed (or maybe ignited) the intimacy they had at the moment. But that's story for another day.
Where was he? Oh, right; that client of his. Apparently Pantalone's gentle remarks and gentlemanly motions seemed to delight the woman, far better from what he had expected. And of course, rumors began with the fantastic theory of Pantalone having a secret affair with a woman he just met.
Preposterous.
Insulting!
Such a filthy gossip was utterly made up, pointless in any argument, unprofessional and deeply offended him.
Not like he didn't treat every women with the utmost care he would apply to his dearest balance of numbers and several accounts. So why did such a rumor emerge with this client in particular?
"Maybe because she's a little rat of the streets, like someone I know"
Dottore snatched one single piece of mora from the little tower pantalone had so neatly build over the past hours, just to occupy his brain for the afternoon. Still it annoyed him, he had to count each coin again just to make sure the amount was correct in relation to the several piles sitting nearby in the desk. Pantalone could only sight as the very familiar doctor threw the coin into the air, catching it again with ease.
"That someone happens to be you"
That... Made sense. Pantalone had (vaguely) heard about that Liyuen woman rising from the mud and walking into a crystal throne just like the Regrator himself once did. Except for, of course, the fact that said lady was ever thankful of the gods and archons for their blessing and their aid during her moments of utter despair; when she was living in poverty and drowning into her own misery, covering on her own filth from head to toe, the archons answered her plea.
When she said that during their dinner, Pantalone felt like standing up just to deliver a slap to her pretty face. If anything, using his hand with the myriads of bejeweled rings; just to make sure the slap would hurt and ache for a longer period.
He didn't, in the end. He feigned ignorance under a composed smile and eyes closed calmly, beautifully.
First rule of the streets: you don't eat in front of the poor.
But there she was, babbling about her luck when no God ever favored Pantalone, rendering him unable to find a way to crawl out of poverty with his fingernails turned into bloody claws. He guessed that, after all, he and that woman were similar in a way that made them opposites. Now he wanted to cut all busyness with her, but that would have to wait until their next encounter. Pantalone will wait for it, and wear an ounce of his own favorite perfume just to fight off the poisonous stench that woman reeked of. See who's more flamboyant, and discover who was favored the most between the two.
Pantalone breaks his train of venomous thoughts just to catch the mora the doctor had been throwing into the air and catching with that smug smirk of his. Of course he only came to tease the Regrator about something they both know is nothing but a made-up fairytale about distant love between himself and the Liyuen client; whom Pantalone suddenly realized he probably despised with every cell of his being.
"And why in the name of Tsaritsa would you believe in such an outrageous gossip?"
He could only see the smirk widening under Dottore's Mask, as he tilted his head in a way that seemed almost too sweet and innocent. Dangerous coming from someone such as him.
"I may not believe on it, but it's interesting to think about"
He paused, tapping his chin with an amused expression.
"When it comes to money, and getting the bigger chunk of Mora during negotiations you become little more than one rabid animal, dear Regrator. As far as I know that Liyuen woman does the same, a wolf hiding under a noble's skin"
Planting both hands on Regrator's desk, Dottore got closer to his fellow fatui's face. Still pantalone didn't flinch, didn't react; eyes still shut and carefully placed smile never wavering.
"...I merely think it would make a wonderful show, see how long it takes for you nobles to devour each other over a single piece of mora"
And Pantalone couldn't help but chuckle at that. If Dottore wasn't the most skilled fatui, he certainly could be the funniest if he set his mind into accomplishing that feat, Tartaglia's lame jokes be damned.
"You offend me, Doctor. Devouring one another sounds very much like our game to play, are you insinuating that I could bring myself to play it with just anybody else?"
Lest of all a woman he just met. Lest of all that woman in particular. Lest of all somebody who actually believes in the favors conceded by their almighty archons. It made him sick to his stomach. Still Pantalone's smile never once faltered, because, deep down; he knew. Under Dottore's carefully placed smirk lies his utter desire to crush that petty little rumor, and that Liyue woman along it, not because he was moved by small emotions such as love or jealousy, but mostly because he already marked Pantalone as his. His to play and break however the hell he so desired.
The reason? Dottore was a greedy man, much like Pantalone himself; Mora never mattered in the first place, it's all about the power that comes along with it. In the doctor's analogy, it's about the power and sense of pride he got by being the only one who gets to touch the impeccable Regrator. To run his hands through Pantalone's body and tangle his fingers roughly on his raven hair; the feeling of utter superiority that swells into his empty chest every time Pantalone moans and begs for more as he's at Dottore's mercy.
That little God complex of his. Well, Dottore himself said he would stay true to himself and he's been a man of his word. Greedy like the biblical depiction of a devil and equally as brutish as one, but Pantalone most certainly wouldn't change him. Not when the two are already this deep into this rabbit hole that only leads to assured self destruction.
Breaking his train of thought, He realizes that Dottore is chuckling, shaking his head. The strands of wavy, aqua hair gliding along, pantalone wondered of they would feel like silk against his fingertips.
"No. I doubt you would, you're too much of a greedy, miserable man. You'd probably think that such a woman is insufficient for the likes of you"
At least that's something they can agree with. Pantalone wouldn't dare to give her (or anyone, for the matter) the time of a day if it weren't for business and business only.
Always so calm and composed, look at yourself now.
You're always striving for perfection in each and every aspect, looking for an ideal partner that it's non existent.
And as always, you find yourself in my bed, tangled on my sheets, trying to find an sliver of human warmth within my person. And since I'm such a good friend, I gave it to you willingly. So you can remember how you're nothing more than a pile of flesh coated in oils and perfume, and not the gold statue everyone mistakes you for.
A little, free of charge lesson of humility for you. See, this is the wound you tried to hide; the wound that bleeds into the earth and reminds you of your mortality. You aren't stuffed with Mora, but muscles and organs that crave for the affection your bank accounts cannot give.
"...We can agree on that point. But now that you mention it, I think I have a meeting with her in a few hours. Wouldn't want to be late, If you excuse me I might as well start getting ready"
Pantalone wanted to avoid the matter, but at the same time wanted to bring it up again, see if it would ignite in Dottore something other than the ever present flame of possessiveness within him. Still his instinct for self preservation screamed at him to not bite into the hand feeding him, lest he would face consequences in the form of marks and love bites, created by Dottore's shark teeth and calloused hands.
Bites. Pantalone reminds himself, only bites since there's no love behind them.
However, the moment he stands from his desk and tries to leave behind Dottore's endless tease, he realizes his great mistake number one. The doctor was expecting for him to do that.
It took him less than a few seconds to yank pantalone by his arm; brute strength more than enough to pull him along and make him stumble and fall directly into Dottore's waiting embrace; the chair he occupied protesting due the added weight of both men.
Pantalone let out an indignant squeal, dark hair going in disarray and face buried into the doctor's neck as his bejeweled hands pressed to his broad chest in a futile attempt to pry himself apart from the (very much wanted) proximity.
"Do you seriously think I would've let you fall, my princess?"
That came along Dottore's signature cackle, that dreadful sound. Only reserved for specimens he kept under careful watch in the darkness of his lab. Pantalone groaned, feeling the doctor's hands caressing his sides and pulling apart his legs so they remained on either sides of Dottore's tights.
"I don't know. You tell me, considering you're the one who pulled me down to begin with"
Another airy laugh came from the doctor, as he didn't dignify that with an answer and instead began to work his hands through Pantalone's tights; feeling them even through his tight fitting pants, his nose buried into Pantalone's soft locks of raven hair.
"Oh dear, if you wanted to smell my Cologne, I could have lend you some"
"Shush now, Princess. Right now I'm trying to confirm a suspicion I've held for quite some time by now"
Indeed, the doctor seemed to be over analyzing his body, as if reading about some unexplored part of Teyvat's world map. Usually, Pantalone's body would become his blank canvas to paint in whatever hues he desired (and Tsaritsa forbid that said hues would often end up being purples and reds) but today, Dottore seemed mindful to something only he knew. If his subtle nods and murmurs where any indication.
"Ah! Of course, I was right after all"
"What about, if I may know?"
At this point, Pantalone couldn't care less about his business meetings. His lover's hands doing wonders on his stressed, sore muscles from sitting the entire day, his back stiff like a loose board.
"You my dear, just as I thought you happen to be overweight"
...And the intimacy they happened to share was completely killed, assassinated and buried by these simple words. Eyes widening through his glasses, Pantalone freed himself from the doctor's embrace, standing roughly and trying to compose himself and huffing audibly in annoyance. Or anger. Or both.
"Should have known better than to think that you, of all people wanted anything more than to try and make a fool of me"
He pushed his glasses onto the bridge of his nose, Dottore letting out that airy cackle of his, sharp smile showing off his pearly fangs. In the end he was but a shark stalking his prey.
"Why so cross? I'm not lying, is an observation based on facts. And believe me when I say that I happen to know your body better than anyone"
Dottore shrugged, because commenting on how much you know about your coworker's body seems to be the most normal thing to talk about nowadays.
"Let me guess. Is it because you've been taking extra heavy meals these days? Or maybe you haven't had time to workout and keep yourself fit?"
Pantalone could only turn around, avoiding to face Dottore not because of shame but merely because the plain, empty and lifeless wall seemed incredibly interesting to him all of the sudden. A part of him wanted to kindly ask Dottore to shut the fuck up, but couldn't completely act upon it as he began feeling the tip of his ears going red. Actually, scratch that. His entire face was flustered by now.
Why on earth, why on the Tsaritsa's blessed name would Dottore need to touch him and take advantage of their intimacy- just to tell Pantalone outright to his face that he's... Fat, of all things. That's not the word he used but it certainly felt like it.
"If it's about workout, I can gladly help you out. If you ask me kindly, that's it"
Pantalone turned around slightly, not wanting to met Dottore's ugly, teasing smirk.
Yes, ugly. Two can play this game, if Dottore is inclined to consider him... Overweight, then Pantalone might as well call him ugly, brute, repugnant and abhorrent. Not that he was lying, after all.
"You disturb into my office, call me fat into the intimacy of our meeting, and now you expect me to ask for your help?"
"Don't get me wrong, Regrator. I never used the word 'Fat' because is not the correct term to address you with. You see"
With that, the doctor got up, uncaring of how pantalone flinched and refused to let himself be touched any further by the scientist's detrimental hands.
"Fat or chubby are meant for people whose amount of fat clusters into their stomachs, then travel through their arteries to block the flow of red globes. An outright chubby person may have their fat improperly distributed through several distinct areas of their bodies"
He droned out, and at some point Pantalone wondered if this was one of the doctor's spectacular division of clones, send as the chaotic messenger with the dreadful news that the real Dottore though of him as someone plainly overweight and no longer attractive.
Still, he knew pretty well that's not it. By now, Pantalone already knew how to discern a clone from the prime. Unfortunately though, this one happened to be the prime. A clone would come off as slightly more sympathetic, easier to talk to.
"That's not your case. Look at your arms, for example; and your chest, too. You've got the exact amount of flesh where you most certainly require it"
Under his mask, his eyes probably trailed down to Pantalone's thighs, wandering to his legs as well. Now, fully turned Pantalone allowed the doctor's hand to grab firmly his shoulders as he continued to savour his (supposedly overweight) body. His broad arms, his puffy; meaty chest.
"Elegant curves following a certain angle, which, my darling; attributes you to an undeniable sex appeal. Now, that's not what you would expect from a fat person, you're just slightly overweight! Not that I'm complaining, more flesh means more for me to grab onto"
Isn't that romantic. Pantalone could feel the thick vein growing on his forehead as he directed Dottore one of his most dangerous, thin smiles. He swated the doctor's hands off himself, only earning a giggle from the mad scientist. Dottore wanted to touch him, to infuriate him, to grab unto his flesh- it's madness. How the hell do you deal with someone like that?
"I thank you for the completely unnecessary info you just disclosed, doctor. But please, if you might, get to the point and leave. I've work to do, meetings to attend"
In any other case Pantalone would briefly glance at his pocket watch and make sure he wasn't due to any meeting; but not today since no meetings were ever held on Sunday night, and they both know it. Dottore only sighed.
"For such an intelligent accountant you're more dense than you seem, Regrator. What I'm getting at is that there are two ways to deal with your overweight right now"
Getting closer to Pantalone's unblinking, emotionless smile was nothing new to the doctor, for they seemed to share the same intimate air wherever they happened to be on the same room. Like the oxygen were somehow a limited resource and they had to share it, passed it from one's lungs to another. Even when Pantalone is highly suspicious that the doctor doesn't need to breathe in order to survive, not anymore.
But I do. I cannot breathe without you.
"First, you take up on Tartaglia's offer to spar. Or..."
Dottore paused, fingers pressed to his mask as he lifted it, just enough for his scarlet eyes to flash through the dim light of Pantalone's office.
"...Second, you take me up on my offer to help you burn out those extra calories. After all, rough sex is one of the best workouts for people that are not well versed on battle"
That was the last pull that broke the small thread the two were hanging into. What followed after that was but a blur of messy hair pulling, shark teeth against pale skin and caresses, soft and rough alike. Even the precious mountain of coins Pantalone meticulously arranged neatly, ended falling over, discarded; a matter to deal with tomorrow morning.
(Or evening. Mornings are usually the aftermath of their sexual encounters, and Pantalone already knew he had to get enough rest for his sore lower back. And throat. And overall sore body)
If anything, Pantalone could only hope that the walls' ears hadn't heard a thing of what transversed that night.
(No, it's not about him being worried about his little affair with the doctor, neither he's preoccupied with the other harbingers overhearing the sweet moans and aggressive hisses and groans the two of them generate during their mindless love making. Pantalone is merely worried that some puny servant may start gossiping on how the doctor referred to him as being overweight)
Good thing they happened to be discreet to a degree. Emphasize "degree" since Dottore wasn't all that secretive with several affairs of his; but surely enough, if he knows something there's a good chance that his horde of clones are already aware of it, too.
Hive mind. Mob mentality.
Still, matters of clones remain between clones. They share what they know among themselves, outside people be damned. Servants knew better than to listen to what one or several segments of Dottore had to say, lest they'll end up falling into insanity, for the doctor's knowledge is not meant to be heard by just anyone.
Guess that's why Dottore seemed to get along sooooo well with Kunikuzushi. The two of them were universally disliked, as stated by Pierro.
Who's universally disliked? I'm impopular.
Not that Dottore was bothered or even mildly concerned by it. Opinions varied from person to person, insults and names changed depending on the mother tongue they were spoken upon. The doctor could only laugh about each and every of them, rough years sharpened his edges to create the man he is today. A mad scientist, a complete brute, rabid animal on the bed.
And that's exactly the reason why Pantalone can't afford him to be more than just a lover; an outlet. A sexual partner, keeping each other at arms length but never indulging in anything beyond the carnal delight they shared.
(On days and nights on end, without the other harbingers around Pantalone wondered. It would be nice to just sit and make small talk with the doctor. He was... A fast talker. Funny at times, and as stated before; Pantalone is a good listener.
They would make a proper vignette of a prince and his lover, sharing secrets under the moonlight. The Doctor would often smirk and caress Pantalone's pale cheeks, removing the excessive powder and make up he constantly applied to keep on appearances.
But that wouldn't matter since he's got no need to hide or keep a pristine mask in front of the doctor. Dottore would pry him open like a book, his insides displayed, bared as if he were a butterfly, pinned down and cut open just to reveal its truths hidden deep within its entrails. Then he would gladly stitch him back up, after poking his insides and messing with his inner organs and thoughts)
I can't breathe
(Vivisected like some specimen under the doctor's careful watch. Pantalone would realize that's how things are and will always be between himself and Il Dottore, he was just something else to analyze. He'll eventually lose any sort of interest sooner rather than later)
I can't... Breathe.
Yes, you can
To his defense, Pantalone could very well point out how indecent it would be if he were to have an actual relationship with Dottore. Catastrophic results aside, what would people think? What would they say? Rumors would burn down the palace in a matter of several hours.
Why, because everyone expected the Regrator, picture of perfection to have a proper lover who may fulfill his (their) expectations of an ideal princess. A Mademoiselle with etiquette and finesse, high heels and perfectly arranged make up that would match Pantalone's own. Oh! But little they know, for they don't understand anything about handling exorbitant amounts of mora. When you do, you become distrustful (insecure) and you learn not to give away anything without a price to pay first.
(Relationships are more of the same. It's always about what you can give the other person to prove your oh so called love. They take and take and take from you until you're left with nothing. And so they leave, even taking your dignity with them. Pantalone learnt during his time on the streets; the proper way to go through life is to take as much as you can and give as little as you may possibly muster. Survival of the fittest, and Pantalone was pretty sure that, if the rumors happened to be true and he were to be in a relationship with that Liyuen client of his; they would end up cannibalizing each other just like Dottore had guessed. Except, of course, for the fact that Pantalone would come out victorious with only a few wounds to be presumed.
He would take and take and take so much from that woman; he would even take from her the Adam's rib that was once used by God himself to create females)
In the end, everyone has their ulterior motives to go about everything- Pantalone wouldn't expect anybody to be brutally honest like Dottore or calculator and refined as himself. A prince, the doctor would label him. A prince sitting on his throne build out of heavy gold and bejeweled like the Rings occupying his fingers, atop a pile of black money and fresh blood. But in the end, that, too; is one unreachable dream to some people. Everyone is Greedy, everyone lusts for something not meant for them.
People smile to conceal their fangs, and fist their hands to conceal their claws; in that sense they're not very different from the several beasts roaming Teyvat's Plains and fields.
Pantalone wasn't one of them, Tsaritsa forbid. He had no claws and no fangs, he didn't need them in the first place. Just like he never needed a vision to make his way through life like a successful businessman.
You're smarter than that.
(Somewhere, in the back of his mind and carefully crafted exterior; he wanted to believe it to be untrue. Was it so bad? So bad that he wanted to dream like the child he never got to be?
To dream of gentle caresses and sweet nothings whispered into his ear? To think that maybe maybe and just maybe, an ideal partner could actually exist somewhere out there?
Only fools would believe in such a thing. But relationships could actually work out, Pantalone can manage- can achieve an actual one. One born out of real love directed to him, soft whispers, praises; his ideal lover would poetically worship his body as if worshipping Morax's tall and almighty statue. Their hands gentle, soft; loving.
Was it so bad that he dreamed of a relationship based on mutual trust? Even with it's up and downs, Pantalone desired one romantic and sexual partner that would listen to his rants and hold unto him when he broke down and only shambles of his former facade remained. Bared open on full display for his lover to see the ugly things hidden within the human skin. An ideal lover that would not mind the abhorrent inner parts and love him all the same, tucking his hair behind his ear and invite him into a warm embrace)
I can't... Breathe...
(Too bad people's so imperfect. Pitiful. Greedy. Pantalone himself is proof of that)
Only a few weeks had passed after his last... Encounter with Dottore. Pantalone had been led to believe that said mad scientist left for Sumeru some time ago. Good, that way he would get his fill of thrill out there and not in the Regrator's neatly arranged office.
Either way he did not expect for Dottore to return anytime soon. Great mistake number two; don't speak of the devil unless you're trying to summon him. Specially when Pantalone had a neat pile of paperwork at hand and a huge migraine destroying his brain cells one by one. Definitely not in the mood to entertain the doctor's sick intentions, whatever they happen to be right now. It'd better be an urgent matter, judging by the way his fellow fatui practically kicked out the (highly expensive) door and comfortably made his way through Pantalone's office, coming face to face with the Regrator himself.
Before Pantalone could begin to protest the sudden intrusion, his eyes widened slightly, catching the blood dripping from Dottore's leather gloves. Along his signature grin and his terrible habit of entering Pantalone's office unannounced, he made the perfect picture of the mad scientist.
"What in the world are you doing here? I've been informed that you left for Sumeru not long ago"
A giggle. Somehow, Pantalone could tell that right now he's playing the part of being the doctor's favorite source of entertainment, with the obvious absence of kunikuzushi. His own personal clown, in other words. And while he was already used to it by now, a gut feeling warned him about his lover's unpredictable actions. Something may not end well today. There's always a little something that ends up undeniably wrong during their encounters.
"And you were correctly informed, I'm set to leave tonight. In the meantime, I came to say farewell and return you something I found just recently"
And with that, from Dottore's bloodied fingers he dropped an small pouch, equally as bloodied and probably covered in other stinky fluids Pantalone wouldn't dare to question about. On top of that the thing fell directly over the oh so important paperwork he had been working on for the past hours, splashing bloody droplets all over his desk and staining the paper sheets with Crimson.
I've got several copies. Was the first thought that idly crossed his mind; But signing them all again would be a hassle. And the metallic smell of fresh blood was making him dizzy; so utterly intoxicating like Dottore's overall company. Some droplets having splashed into Pantalone's glasses and pale cheeks. Mouth slightly agape at such a sight, the ninth harbinger couldn't exactly tell if he was utterly furious, annoyed, or disgusted. Maybe all three of them. He wanted to sock Dottore directly in the jaw, push him away; yell at him, pull him closer, relieve his stress- in the end Pantalone wanted to want nothing at all.
"Excuse me, but what in the name of Tsaritsa is the meaning of this? You really came out of your way to ruin my paperwork and test my mood?"
His voice almost cracked. Almost being the key word, as he felt the anger rising into his chest. Sometimes he wondered if Dottore was actually using him as a Guinea pig to test the limits of human mind. How far he could go until he finally broke under his finger.
The doctor's amusement never left his expression. He's definitely making a fun out of Pantalone.
"I guessed you may not recognize it. Here, let me make things a bit more clear for you"
Attached to the small purse was one short string, Dottore tugged at it gently and the bag came off with ease. Inside of it, three shiny pieces of Mora neatly rested; fortunately clean of any kind of blood or mysterious fluids X.
"Do you remember now, Pantalone? This purse belongs to you. Our last time together you said someone pick pocketed it. Though it would make you happy to have it back"
Pantalone didn't move. Didn't react or flinch, he could only watch the now unrestrained Mora lay down in front of him, as if it had been some living being that suddenly perished on his hands.
It most likely was.
"I... Don't know what you're talking about"
"Playing dumb now, are we? Can you guess where I found this little pouch out yours?"
Pantalone felt numb, his hands trembling slightly; a sudden wave of nausea washing over his body. He didn't want to know. He already knew, but couldn't afford to hear it.
Dottore took advantage of his stiffness. Of course that son of a bitch is enjoying this, moving to get impossibly closer to whisper directly into Pantalone's ear.
"Here's a little clue. It was stuck inside the throat of some unfortunate fool whose corpse ended up on my operation table"
I know. I already know. This is not funny anymore, just stop it.
"I was surprised at first, stunned even! But after I saw these pretty little symbols on the bag, I realized it was yours"
Yes. Like most of his clothes, his cane and coat said pouch is tailor made and embroidered with several symbols, meant to distinguish the Regrator's belongings from any other sorted items.
"Care to explain how did your purse ended into some poor citizen's throat, dear Pantalone?"
With his fingertips, Pantalone slightly touched the shiny pieces of Mora, even when they weren't dirty or unsightly he wasn't sure if he wanted them back. At least for now, when the memory of a man gagging and desperately trying to breathe is still freshly burned into his eyes.
I can't breathe, it hurts to.
Beside him, Dottore snorted. Pantalone's grim expression was far from amusing, his eyes somber and unfocused. Was he even paying attention? The doctor sighed, aqua hair moving to and fro as he shook his head.
"You're no fun. As always, is up to me to explain"
He paused, mindful of Pantalone's expression morphing into disbelief. Fear.
"To explain how my dear Regrator, so pristine like a proper prince; lost his composure after some beggar managed to pick pocket his precious purse. So much that, as punishment you chose to pry open his mouth and force him-"
Pantalone wanted to cover his ears. Couldn't afford to hear anymore of this- hands burying roughly into his own raven scalp as the doctor kept rambling on and about.
"...And Force him to swallow the very same purse he tried to steal in first place. Unfortunately for him it was too wide and got stuck into his throat, blocking his windpipe"
"I didn't-"
There was no excuse, no explaining this in any other way. Pantalone wanted to deny it, but also wished he could admit to it and feel no remorse at all like his fellow harbingers would.
Still... He couldn't. Not this sin in particular.
"Yes, you did. I bet the poor guy suffered when trying to breathe, finding his airways clogged. I wonder how long did he last, wish I had been there"
I can't... Breathe
Yes, you can
Dottore's gloved, still bloodied hands roughly grabbed Pantalone's chin, forcing him to look up directly into his mask, under it his Crimson red eyes were fixed on the utter shame and despair the banker displayed; cold sweat rolling down the side of his cheek.
"How did it feel? Were you angry? Indignant? Did that man insult you with his very existence? Anger suits you better than any other emotion, my dear. Wish I had been there to witness your sweet, pent up anger reaching its peak"
He let go just as quickly, another airy laugh making its way into the sterile, otherwise silent room. Pantalone reminds himself that Dottore is only trying to get him riled up because of this; in any other occasion he wouldn't feel any sort of remorse nor shame for having lost his composure against some filthy beggar, but-
It had been horrible. The way his eyes rolled in the back of his head as he clawed weakly at Pantalone's hand which firmly covered his mouth and nose, making sure he wouldn't get a sliver of fresh air until the small purse became completely swallowed and out of sight.
The look of utter despair into his glassy, doll eyes as he thrashed, unable to break free; feeble muscles failing him when he needed them the most. And the Regrator's own sardonic smile. Sick, twisted.
And on top of that, for some unexplainable reason the man's corpse instead of getting well deserved rest; fell into Dottore's claws no longer after.
Pantalone never expected for that beggar to die so easily.
He had been applying... Discipline.
And all for what? His life in exchange for the purse he tried to steal, only three pieces of black money inside. Was it worth it?
If you really want to keep it, then you might as well swallow it whole. Once you manage to, it's all yours.
I can't... Breathe
Yes you can.
"Such a shame, honestly. Truly wish I had been there, very few are these rare moments in which you loose all your cool, mask slipping out"
Dottore said, getting up from the creaky, wounded chair. Good, was he finally going to leave him alone with his thoughts? Pantalone surely hoped so, but also knows that things are never this easy with his lover.
"And under said mask, you, my dear prince charming-"
He grabbed one of the shiny pieces of Mora that once lied inside the purse, fingertips bloody and sticky; malice clear in his eerie tone.
"...You're nothing more than that very same wounded little beggar, roaming the streets with your naked feet, selling your body like some common whore just so you can eat for another day. Trying to steal from the nobles the same black money that now fills your several bank accounts around Teyvat"
No.
Pantalone wanted to react, to deny it but it was no use. Faster than he could ever muster, Dottore already had a fierce grip on his jaw; finger smearing blood along his cheeks as the doctor forced his mouth open, apparently uncaring to how much the Regrator under him was thrashing about, desperately trying to fight, to run, to be set free like some rabid animal.
"They did the same to you, didn't they? You just wanted a piece of Mora, and by trying to steal it from some noble rich asshole, they punished you by forcing you to swallow the coin itself"
With that, he forced the shiny piece of Mora into Pantalone's mouth, covering it with his bloodied hands so he wouldn't spit it right away. The sick smile of utter amusement stretching impossibly wide in the doctor's face, uncaring of how the banker frantically scratched his hands and arms; drawing blood even through Dottore's leather gloves, Pantalone's fingernails digging in sharply as he tried to fight. Horror evident into his features, the collected expression he would usually wear like a mask long gone; his raven hair becoming an utter mess of dark locks in disarray, glasses almost completely falling from the bridge of his nose, and pupils blown wide with fear. Horror. Despair.
Dottore could only tell, that this expression suits him better. The usually impeccable Regrator frantically fighting off to save his life, scared like a child in the hands of his abuser, so incredibly imperfect and human. So utterly beautiful, breakable.
"What a shame. Though that little lesson of humility would serve you well, but look at yourself. Rich and spoiled, sitting your ass on some expensive chair while counting the money, you became the same noble who once tried to choke you with a piece of dirty Mora. The little beggar, now all grown became his own tormentor, ready to apply the same heartless punishment into someone else"
Pantalone's eyes were already blurred, filled to the brim with tears that were starting to roll down his face and merged with the blood from Dottore's hand. The banker could no longer take this; couldn't breathe, the hand on his face covering his nose and mouth firmly; the lack of air draining the energy from his body, his face sore from the fierce grip; He's sure the doctor's hand would bruise his cheeks and lips.
"But hey, I didn't mean to make you cry, Regrator. In the end, your throat is far wider; you could swallow that Mora and come back alive, after all"
That said, Dottore finally let go. Pantalone immediately spitting out the coin into the table with the other two pieces of Mora. It tasted rancid and metallic and is now covered in saliva, too. Putting a hand to his chest, his lungs felt like burning from the lack of oxygen as he desperately tried to breathe and calm down his sore body and aching jaw. His ears ringing with white noise, disgust coiling into his gut so badly that vile quickly rose and almost forced it's way through Pantalone's throat. Fortunately though, he managed to swallow it back forcefully; the acidic taste burning his tongue much like the metallic savour of blood left behind by the wretched coin.
The background sounds were static to his ears, but he's sure he heard Dottore's maniacal laugh directed at his now disheveled state. Still he wouldn't dare to look up, or think, or move.
He wanted to curl into a ball and pretend this never happened.
(Pretend the man he loved didn't force him to go through this very same trauma once again.
Lovers aren't supposed to use your petty little bad experiences against you for their amusement.
Guess that's what makes Dottore so unfit for an ideal partner, so imperfect. But then again, so are you)
"I'll see you around, Leon. Next time we'll hopefully have more time to play with your dirty money"
Even when he didn't look up, the sound of footsteps and the door slamming shut, already told him enough to know Dottore's gone for today. Having got his fill of fun at the expense of Pantalone's sanity, he's probably on his way to, once again, find Kunikuzushi.
Leon. That's what he said, not Pantalone or Regrator, Dottore only ever used his real name during their climax in bed. How much he loathed that name, and the very existence of the filthy kid who once begged for the Archon's help, but his prayers weren't enough.
In the end he was never enough. Not enough to erase the past, not enough of a breakable plaything to amuse Dottore and have him stay.
Never enough to be awarded love.
(Even when Pantalone would dream about an ideal partner, he probably didn't deserve it. And once again returned to Dottore, subjecting himself to his teasing and venomous treatment such as this. Because Dottore might not be what he wants, but is what he deserves. Is the only kind of love you can buy with black money)
Burying his face into his hands, Pantalone wept. The oh so perfect Regrator reduced to a broken man, crying and in utter disarray, bruised and deeply hurt.
(The worst part being that he wouldn't expect an apology from Dottore anytime soon. But the doctor did expect to have Pantalone back on his bed, tangled on his sheets as soon as he returned from Sumeru.
And Pantalone knows very well his own body, knows how much he craves for being ravished, getting wrecked both physically and emotionally. They'll be back together sooner or later, all feelings of rage and shame forgotten due the sheer pleasure of their chance meetings)
"I can't... Breathe..."
"Yes, you can. This is your punishment, kid. Face it like the young man you're supposed to be"
But he's not. Leon was just a kid, trying to steal some Mora so he and his mother would eat for today. Rich persons always stuffed their pockets full of black money, way more than possibly necessary; Leon merely needed one paltry coin but couldn't ask for it directly, lest the nobles would probably tell him off in disgust or yell at him to find a proper job.
Now, he couldn't hear his own thoughts above his mother's screams, as the noble's guards firmly held her and forced her to watch the scene unfold. She pleaded them to have mercy on her son, for the guards to take her life instead; anything but watch her kid probably choke on a piece of Mora.
"If you really want to keep it, then you might as well swallow it whole. Once you manage to, it's all yours"
The noble man's words were firm as he pressed his utterly big hand to cover Leon's bruised mouth and small nose.
He had no energy to fight it, to scape, or to even cry. Leon was so, so hungry and tired; it was easier to go along with it and let it all happen.
Years after, he was diagnosed post traumatic stress disorder. The whole ordeal had been traumatic, haunting his days and nights on end. Sometimes he couldn't breathe properly, still feeling the pressure of the Mora sliding down his throat, blocking the air from reaching his lungs. Sometimes he could still hear his mother crying in the background.
Still, she would try to comfort Leon by holding him in her arms, tucking greasy strands of black hair under his ear; whispering sweet words of comfort just for him to hear. Oh, pure and sweet, the unconditional love of a mother.
"It's okay. It'll be okay"
"I love you dear, I promise I'll protect you"
"I cannot breathe without you"
She would always pull him into a warm embrace when he cried, brush away his tears from his filthy face and kiss his forehead and cheeks.
That was back then.
This is now.
She's not anymore, Leon's now a grown man, sitting on a fine desk, surrounded by piles of black money that couldn't possibly buy back his innocence or bring back his long deceased mother.
At times, Pantalone wondered if this was the only path he could have chosen, the only life meant for him. Becoming the very same monster who haunted his childhood nightmares for so long.
A prince, sitting on his throne build out of heavy gold and bejeweled like the Rings occupying his fingers, atop a pile of black money and fresh blood.
Everyone is greedy.
Everyone lusts for something not meant for them.
In Pantalone's case, he craves for some form or shape of unconditional love, but that, too; is one unreachable dream for him of all people.