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“You confuse me, Regrator.”
Dottore didn’t often admit to such things as confusion or doubt. No, he was a man of science. Calculations were his specialty, his domain of predictions being infallible. He knew how the Regrator worked, down to an exact set of psychological responses- or at least, he knew how Pantalone should work. But humans were an inexplicably unpredictable phenomenon, and Pantalone’s actions never matched his words. It confused the Doctor, his pre-determined reactions falling through. It left him reeling, struggling to fight back against the Regrator’s barrages of insults and sharp jabs. He would be lying if he said he didn’t love it, the words kept him on his toes- but there was a small crack of doubt that had begun to spread, one he kept hidden under layers of cocky smirks and swagger that irritated the Regrator to no end.
“You’re so… contradictory. You say something, do the opposite. You run circles around me, you jab at all my weaknesses. And yet… I can’t find it in my heart to hate you, for prying me open like this.” Dottore continued, his words barely a whisper. The room was deathly silent, Pantalone’s breathing light and airy, so quiet that it was barely there. Black, inky hair spread over the plump pillows on the bed, his glasses set on the nearby table. “Why do you do this to me, Regrator? It frustrates me, makes me hate you. I want to hurt you, I want to tear into you until you’re begging for mercy- but I can’t. I can’t, and it angers me.”
Pantalone had forced himself into Dottore’s mind, had made a home for himself in a long-hollowed chest. He whispered Dottore’s name and the Doctor’s knees would give on command, his hands were like fire when they trailed down his sides. They hadn’t reached the point of anything beyond hands roaming, but oh how Dottore wanted it. To think that a mere child- nothing more than a small and pathetic creature- could bring them together so irrevocably. Pantalone had Dottore’s heart in a death grip, squeezing so impossibly tight that blood dripped down his hands, it stained the floors a crimson that could only be matched by the scarlet of the Fair Lady’s lips.
“I want to kiss you, to have you all to myself. I see how they look at you and it makes my blood boil. They want to possess you, to use you.” Dottore’s fingers trailed over the back of Pantalone’s neck, unmarred and a porcelain white. “I want to spill their blood. They don’t deserve to look at you, to yearn for you.”
Pantalone shifts in his sleep, but doesn’t wake. What would he think, if he woke with Dottore hovering over him like this, fingers dancing around his throat, aching to just-
“Fuck.”
He can’t do it. He can’t let his fingers fall and snuff out this life. He can’t. He’s addicted, he’s hooked on this feeling. He can’t stop chasing the high of having the Regrator’s hands on him, of the Regrator looking at him with thinly veiled hunger, of having those lips close to his ear.
“You drive me crazy, you manipulative bastard. This was a part of your plan, wasn’t it? Make me desire you, make me want you and no one else- you’re sick. Yet so fucking beautiful.” Dottore muttered, opting to instead tuck a strand of hair behind the Regrator’s ear. “You pretend not to want me, but I feel your eyes on me during those boring meetings… It’s hard to keep them off the only attractive man in the room, isn’t it, darling? But you long for me, only pretend that you hate me.”
He couldn’t say it.
And yet…
“You ignore the fact that I desire you. I have given you gifts to court you, I even had to ask the old bastard how courting works in Liyue… Your delusion, that fur you’re so enamored with- I hunted the beast that you wear with my own hands, and you never gave me as much as a kiss. It’s pathetic of me to want you, I may be above your station but I am below your standards.” Dottore didn’t know where these words were coming from, how they came so easily. It felt like a river was pouring through his eyes and mouth, the pressure behind his crimson irises so intense that he could feel it in his throat.
“I know I’m ugly.”
He had never outright recognized the fact. Not before this… enigmatic puzzle of a man before him.
“I know that my face is unsightly, you’d rather die than be seen with me.”
The Regrator had always ushered him away, when consorting with nobles. Almost in embarrassment.
“I know… You are annoyed with me for requesting funding, asking for favors, and touching that child you hold so close. You hate me with all your being.”
Pantalone had smacked his hand away countless times, yet the child always ran up and hugged his knees, as if it were a treat. He would always look up at Dottore with those eyes , like he was the moon that always hung in the sky, or the stars rarely seen through the clouds that surrounded the palace.
“But… I love you. Despite the fact that you will never love me back.”
Silence.
He almost expected to hear the Regrator’s mocking laughter, a rich baritone that would make shame boil in his gut. His vision blurred just thinking about it- it was unseemly, for the Second Harbinger to be on the verge of tears over something so stupid.
He was a cruel, disgusting man. He killed anyone who displeased him slowly and thoroughly, ignoring their screams of pain and cries for mercy. There was no way to save him. Salvation was futile, he had been so thoroughly corrupted that even his own creation- his own child - was afraid of him. The only pure thing about him would have been his love, but even that was all consuming in a way that would defile the steps of Celestia.
“...I’m sorry.”
The silence continued, mocking his weakness.
Dottore surrendered.
Laying down, he ignored the way his chest constricted, instead pulling the pillow close, squeezing it tightly. He would forget about this humiliating event in the morning.
Closing his eyes, he let his breathing even out, his eyes drifting shut.
All the while, Pantalone was wide awake, struggling to keep his breathing even.
What the fuck.
Did- Did Dottore just confess to him?
Fuck, fuck, fuck. What the hell was he supposed to do? Just snap awake and say “Hey Dottore, I’m also deeply enamored with you, let’s try to eat each other’s faces”?!
He was all too aware of Dottore’s breathing nearby, slowly evening out as he slipped deeper into sleep. There was no way Pantalone could simply ignore the fact that he’d just been confessed to, his heart was hammering too fast in his chest. Not only had he confessed, he’d apologized. Pantalone’s chest felt tight just thinking about it. Dottore wasn’t ugly. If anything, he was more handsome than the Regrator himself, his scars only adding to his roguish charm. Pantalone would never admit to it out loud, but staring at that refined silhouette made his cheeks feel warm, the way Dottore’s lips curled upward smugly made him bite the inside of his cheek with sheer, unadulterated desire.
Dottore really was quite dense, wasn’t he? For a man who was mad with his own intelligence, he really was oblivious at times.
“Foolish Doctor…” Pantalone murmured, blinking slowly as he sat up. Tsaritsa have mercy, what had come over him? His face felt warm under his hand, rubbing at his eyes haphazardly. It was too late for this… far too late.
But… One little peck couldn’t hurt. Right?
Dottore really did look beautiful, ethereal under the warm light of the crystal lamp on the bedside table.
Pantalone couldn’t resist.
Brushing the stray curly hairs out of the way, he placed a gentle kiss on the Doctor’s cheek, feeling the warmth of the Doctor’s skin under his own. It was comforting, in its own disturbing way. The Doctor was still warm, despite the modifications he made to himself, still had blood running through his veins and behind those carmine eyes. He was still human.
The kiss lingered a heartbeat longer than Pantalone had anticipated, his hair falling down his shoulder and hiding it from the gaze of the outside world, a curtain of shadow that kept his love hidden and safe. Dottore wouldn’t know. He didn’t need to.
Pulling back, Pantalone found himself smiling, his hand running over Dottore’s cheek ever so tenderly. His doctor… Disillusioned and lonely. It broke his heart to hear those words-
I know that my face is unsightly, you’d rather die than be seen with me.
How dare he speak so terribly about something that Pantalone loved, cared for so much. He was beautiful, face seemingly carved from alabaster, eyes taken straight from the many adornments that Pantalone draped himself with. He would wrap Dottore in the finest silks if he were allowed, parade him by his side as a treasure. He would keep the Doctor draped over his arm at parties, drink from his lips the bitter taste of aged wine. All eyes would be on his beauty, his husband, and on the rings that shone under the light, accentuated by the pearls and diamonds encrusted within them. They would be jealous. And Pantalone would savor it, leaving his claim on Dottore’s neck once the doors closed, showing the Doctor how much he truly desired him.
Of course, there was the issue of telling him.
Pantalone found himself lying down again, his eyes drifting closed as he faced the Doctor’s back, resisting the urge to wrap his arms around the other’s waist, to pull him close and feel his heart drumming against Pantalone’s chest. He wanted to touch the Doctor and not be batted away, he wanted to brush the hair out of his face and gently kiss him on the nose, reminding him to take a break, instead of shouting at each other like it was the end of the world. Was it too much to ask, to be loved?
I love you. Despite the fact that you will never love me back.
“...I love you too, Dottore.”
The silence in the room was comforting as Pantalone burrowed further into the blankets, his mind full of nothing but the Doctor’s sleeping visage.
That is, until a bright light suddenly shone into the room, the door creaking as it was opened. Tiny footsteps tapped against the icy floor, faint sniffles filling the air.
“Baba…” The sob jerked Pantalone straight out of sleep, his body forcing itself up almost by reflex. The blankets tumbled into his lap as he rubbed at his eyes, fumbling for his glasses as he was blinded by the sudden light.
“Danya…? What’s wrong, baobei?”
“Danya, come here-”
What.
Pantalone stiffed, realizing that the Doctor was wide awake, sitting up beside him groggily.
Oh shit.
“Baba…” Danya sobbed harder, drawing his attention as the boy tried to get up onto the bed, failing miserably. It was almost pitiful, minus the part where Pantalone’s chest hurt.
“Danya… Archons, Danya… What’s wrong, tell baba what’s wrong…” Pantalone sleepily pulled Anastasiy up into the bed with him, gently setting the boy in his lap. “Oh, you’re freezing! Come here, baba will warm you up…”
The boy practically burrowed into his arms, burying his face in Pantalone’s shoulder as he cried, shoulders shaking.
“That’s it… Let it all out, my dear.” Pantalone murmured, brushing his hands through Anastasiy’s hair. “Baba’s here… Baba’s got you…”
He could feel Dottore’s wide, owlish eyes on him. He could practically hear the question, hanging in the air.
You were awake this whole time?
Tsaritsa give him strength… He didn’t have time for a crying child and a panicking hus- no. Not husband. Bad Regrator, that was not the proper terminology-
“Regrator, how much did you fucking hear?”
…He would say language, but that just about summarized the feeling.
“...All of it.”
“...”
“...”
“Baba, папа said a no-no word.”