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Snezhnaya’s nights were always cold and unforgiving, doubly so during the winter months. The wind howled on, snow falling at such a speed anyone who happened to be outside would be pelted with it, and buried beneath it.
However, inside the large building allocated for Dottore’s work, no such concerns existed. As the late hour grew upon them, the heated floors on their own kept the place comfortable, let alone the fireplace that was lit practically in every room.
As the minutes ticked by, the shadows falling on the wall of the lab grew larger, yet the figures to whom the shadows belonged to remained still.
“It’s getting late.” Twenty Five said, lifting his head to glance at the clock on the wall. It was coming close to midnight.
The hours before bed in the lab were always the least productive, when their bodies would gradually succumb to the exhaustion that they were still prone to, yet they were often the more enjoyable moments. Their more undesirable traits softened by the late hour, oftentimes collaborative projects were left for evenings, as even Thirty Five became more bearable when he was just a little more tired.
Eighteen took a moment to respond at all. Twenty Five had almost found it endearing how wholly he had thrown himself back into rebuilding the destroyed project the moment it had been suggested to him. For all his flaws, Eighteen’s sincere, almost innocent passion for his projects was what separated him from his older counterparts, and he was all the better for it.
“Already?” He asked, when he finally did. “We haven’t made all that much progress.”
“It was late when you returned from Pantalone’s office.” Twenty Five said. “They kept you there for a while, you know. I had..” Twenty Five cut himself off, having nearly said “grown worried for you”.
“It was troubling, given the discussion was with Thirty Five present.” He continued, so quickly his pause was barely noticeable.
“He was surprisingly bearable for once.” Eighteen said dryly, finally putting down the pieces he had been working on.
“If he continues this way, maybe we’ll be capable of staying in a room together for longer than fifteen minutes.”
Twenty Five snorted.
“Perhaps. Granted, I don’t think he’s capable of being particularly tolerable. It’s more likely it’s you who’s becoming more equipped to deal with his attitude.”
Eighteen shrugged.
“It may be both. Both of us have limited capacity for growth.” He said.
“It may.” Twenty Five conceded, putting out the fire in the lab. Eighteen, taking the hint, moved to begin to tidy up the desk they had been working on, placing all the sketches in a neat pile, and placing the parts in their corresponding drawers, save for the main body that they were working on, which he left on the desk for him to resume work on the next morning.
As Twenty Five locked up the lab, Eighteen stood around, though he wasn't entirely certain why he did so. It was an inclination he could explain.
“... Are you willing to continue this project as a collaborative effort?” Eighteen asked, desperately trying to keep himself from flushing at making such a request.
“Is it not already?” Twenty Five asked.
“I did offer my assistance. I found the concept interesting enough, I'm willing to see it through.”
“You are? I was under the assumption it was just for today.” Eighteen asked, slightly taken aback, but noticeably pleased about it.
“I admit, I initially merely wished to assist you with the start of the project.” Twenty Five remarked, walking down the hallway alongside Eighteen. Their shoes clicked and echoed in the hallway, Twenty Five's shoulders were raised, hands behind his back, Eighteen hunched over the book he had taken from the lab, intending to spend some time reading prior to sleeping.
“However, I have to admit, I found the project a lot more fascinating than I expected.” He continued, tone warming marginally. “Besides, with both of our minds on this project, it will undoubtedly be better than your prototype.”
This was his way of comforting Eighteen. Given the younger had been so upset at the destruction of his project and lab, and the recent discussions of his coping mechanisms this would undoubtedly serve as something positive for him to look forward to.
“I see. Very well then.” Eighteen said, indeed sounding much calmer.
“Were there any changes you wanted to make to the blueprints?”
“No, the blueprints are perfectly accurate.” Praise that made Eighteen’s heart skip a beat.
“I do wonder if we could improve on the materials used, however.” Twenty Five continued, closing his eyes momentarily in consideration.
“Though I assume the lesser quality material was a result of Pantalone being rather stingy with the funding.” He added, glancing at Eighteen.
“It was.” Eighteen confirmed.
“I never intended that project to be its final iteration for that reason. Call it a prototype to ensure the structure of the joints and the mechanism behind the guards functioned as they were meant to. I planned to attempt to request a higher budget for the final product at a later date. When Pantalone… wasn't so frustrated with me.”
“I see.” Twenty Five said, closing his eyes.
“Then it shall not be a concern this time. I shall request the funding myself to ensure that this project will turn out well.”
“I doubt Pantalone would be so stingy this time, given… recent events.” Eighteen said, sounding slightly upset at thinking of it, and stopped just before they reached Twenty Five’s room.
“?” Twenty Five stopped too, gazing back at Eighteen.
“What’s the matter? I thought you said your meeting with him went well.”
“It did.” Eighteen said, hugging the book just slightly closer to his chest.
“I just…” He trailed off, not knowing how to properly phrase his thoughts. Though Twenty Five could have interrupted him with the guess, the older remained silent, waiting for Eighteen to speak.
“I had concerns that things might not improve.” Eighteen said plainly, though there was a hint of anxiety in his voice.
“I've been living in a state like this for decades.” He elaborated. It felt so strange being this vulnerable. He hadn’t said this much even in Pantalone’s office.
“I worry… that I’m not capable of improving very much.”
Twenty Five gazed directly into Eighteen’s eyes for a few moments, and surprisingly, Eighteen did not break eye contact.
“And so what if you don’t?”
“... What?”
“And so what if you don’t?” Twenty Five repeated.
“We are not mortals, Eighteen. Your body cannot be as easily destroyed by things like this as their bodies are. The severity of the scarring, however gruesome, is proof of this. What matters is that you do not keep this to yourself, so that in the case of this getting worse, we can intervene sooner than later. That infection could’ve killed you, I hope you know. If you had kept it concealed the full week.”
Eighteen remained silent, uncertain on how to answer him, feeling a pang of something at being called out on his reckless attempt to conceal his habits, though he could not truly identify what it was.
“Do not take this as an excuse to give up on improvement, Eighteen. If even Thirty Five considers you capable of it, it should say something on its own. But however marginal the improvement might be, as long as you are in a position to be able to tell someone when you require assistance, that in itself, is improvement.”
However cool Twenty Five’s tone was, the words were meant as reassurance.
And only his own segment would take it as such.
“If you say so.” Eighteen said, after a short while. He still seemed incredibly pensive when they reached Twenty Five’s room, and it caused Twenty Five to worry.
“Eighteen.” He said, before the younger could go on to his room.
“Yes?” Eighteen stopped and turned around.
Twenty Five did not phrase his concern directly.
“If you feel uncertain if you can make the night without a relapse, you may stay with me.” He said, forcing his tone to remain as even as ever, truly coming off as though it was a practical concern.
Eighteen’s eyes widened marginally, yet it confirmed Twenty Five's suspicions that he indeed had been feeling the urge once more. Whether it had been brought on by the worry that he would be unable to get better, or the fact that he had been exposed, it was second to the fact that he was feeling it.
“I don't want to-” Eighteen started, and Twenty Five immediately understood the denial wasn’t coming from a place of not needing support.
“I have no desire to force you to stay with me, Eighteen. If you believe it won't do any good, then walk away. However, if you are rejecting it solely because it is what you are used to doing so, then I ask you to reconsider.” Twenty Five had subconsciously reached out to Eighteen, yet the moment he realized he had, he drew his hand back to his side.
He watched the fight going on in Eighteen’s head through the conflicted look in his eyes, before the younger eventually sighed.
“Very well.” He agreed, fists clenching slightly on his book.
“As long as you don't use this as a reason to mock me later.”
“You have done a lot of things that are truly worthy of being mocked that I have never brought up, Eighteen.” Twenty Five said coolly.
“I do not think that is something you need to be concerned about.”
“... Point taken.” Eighteen said, turning on his heel to join Twenty Five in his room.
Twenty Five's room was certainly quite a comfortable space. Bookshelves lined the walls, crammed with journals, textbooks and books that all originated from different centuries. A large desk stood against the wall directly opposite to the door, the window in such a position that allowed the light to illuminate the desk, whether it be the crisp light of the day, or the gentle glow of the moonlight.
It was quite similar to how Eighteen's room was, however, Eighteen's room could usually be found in a state of disarray, books and journals tossed all over the floor and desk, occasionally even the bed. In fact, the only times Eighteen’s room was ever tidy was if Pantalone happened to enter it and chided him for the untidiness, as he was the only one who would ever mind it. Eighteen found himself slightly envious of Twenty Five’s ability to keep his living space so neat, but he did not put this into words.
Eighteen glanced at the bed. It was large enough for them both to lay comfortably without making contact. Twenty Five had taken off his glasses and mask, and was currently undoing his doctor's coat.
And Eighteen ran into a problem.
He knew Twenty Five had seen the scars before. It was a foolish problem, it was nothing that was going to catch Twenty Five off guard.
Yet all of a sudden, Eighteen recalled the look in Twenty Five's face when he had first recognised the extent of disfiguration of Eighteen's skin. Yes, it had been partially concealed by the mask he wore, but most vividly, Eighteen recalled the look in his eyes, of shock that Eighteen had never seen on any of their faces.
It was a nauseating thought. Now that the horror had subsided, Twenty Five would undoubtedly look at him with disgust. Eighteen hated the idea. Eighteen already was quite sensitive to rejection and hate - it was built into his very nature.
Yet the thought of being perceived that way by his own self was worse than he could've imagined. Despite everything, the older segments looking down on him, having been called all sorts of things by then, to be viewed with disgust caused a unique sort of weight on his chest - panic, insecurity, and the self hatred he was so familiar with.
Yet, he did not have much of a choice. However cold it was outside in Snezhnaya, the inside of the building was kept incredibly warm to compensate. Staying clothed would be incredibly uncomfortable at best. So, he began to shed his own clothes, though this was done with shaky hands.
Twenty Five had the courtesy to locate a clean pillow and blanket for Eighteen, and by the time Eighteen was undressed, he had arranged them on the bed for him.
“That’s all in order..” He said with an exhausted little sigh.
Eighteen saw no disgust in Twenty Five’s gaze when he turned around to look at Eighteen. There was no reaction, despite this being only the second time Twenty Five had seen his body.
After a moment of awkward silence:
“Well? You don’t need me to tuck you into bed like a child, do you?” Twenty Five asked, crossing his arms. Without his mask, he seemed so much more expressive, his lips curving upwards in an amused smirk.
“Obviously not!” Eighteen said, flushing deeply at the taunt, but complying and getting into bed. They were a good distance away from each other. It was warm. Comfortable, even.
Yet the uncertainty lingered in his heart, and he couldn’t fall asleep very easily. He tossed and turned, though he attempted not to, as he was well aware he wasn’t sleeping alone. Yet it was no use. The restlessness had overtaken his being, and he couldn’t get himself to get his nerves in check.
He didn’t know how long it had been, but he eventually felt a hand on his shoulder that halted him in his movements.
“For Archon’s sake, relax.” Twenty Five rumbled at him, drowsiness giving his voice a husky quality.
“What do you think I’m trying to do?!” Eighteen snapped back, though he kept his voice down to a whisper.
“That’s why I’m here, you arrogant fool.” Twenty Five said, pulling Eighteen closer. “Say something instead of acting like you can handle it on your own.”
“What are you doing?!” Eighteen hissed, voice raising slightly in embarrassment.
“Tactile reassurance can release oxytocin and dopamine, and decrease cortisol, which allows the mind to quiet down and allows for better sleep quality.”
“I don’t need you to recite a textbook to me, I’m well aware of the effects of cuddling!” Eighteen hissed, but allowed himself to be pulled to Twenty Five’s side. He knew that Twenty Five could feel the coarseness of his skin, and it immediately caused another wave of insecurity to wash over Eighteen.
“Let me go.”
“What’s the matter?” Twenty Five asked in a low tone.
“I-” Eighteen fell silent, throat seeming to constrict. He couldn’t see Twenty Five’s face in the dark. How disgusting was it to hold something so tainted?
“Eighteen.” Twenty Five let Eighteen go, seeing as his touch was causing him so much trouble.
“I won’t touch you, but you will do well to tell me what’s on your mind.”
Eighteen remained silent, unable to form words. Twenty Five reached over and turned on the lamp, causing Eighteen to flinch away from the sudden light.
“Don’t look at me.” He said quickly, shielding the fresh wounds on his stomach on instinct, though they had already been bandaged by Thirty Five earlier on.
“Ah. So this is what this is about.” Twenty Five said, noticing this.
“Do they hurt?”
“No..” Eighteen muttered, looking away, cheeks red with embarrassment.
“I'm merely…uncomfortable with being viewed like this.” He said.
Twenty Five's features softened marginally.
“What is it that makes you uncomfortable?” He asked, after a moment, and allowed Eighteen as much time as he required to respond.
“... I resent the idea of being looked at, and evoking a sense of disgust.” Eighteen said eventually.
“Lest… by one of my own selves.”
Twenty Five considered this, clearly wishing to avoid saying anything that could worsen that insecurity.
“I do not feel disgusted when I look at you.” He said eventually, unable to think of anything more to say.
“You… You were when you first saw me.” Eighteen said, hands clenching into fists.
“I was not.” Twenty Five answered immediately.
“I was taken aback, yes, but never disgusted. Not by you. Never by you.”
Eighteen glanced at Twenty Five. With his mask off, he truly seemed to lose a lot of his unbothered demeanor.
“As if you'd tell me the truth.” Eighteen said bitterly.
“You're well aware it would set back everything Thirty Five and Pantalone worked to set up.”
“Do you think so lowly of me that I would be disgusted by this?” Twenty Five leaned closer to Eighteen, invading his personal space, hand tracing his scarred shoulder, causing the younger to shudder slightly.
“There is nothing to be disgusted by. This is mere proof of the resilience of ‘Dottore’ as we all are. You have lived this long in the state of Zandik's freshly bitter, resentful self, and you have survived. No mortal human could withstand the existence you have lived.”
Eighteen could see the depraved, almost reverent fascination in Twenty Five's gaze, as he examined Eighteen’s body, but strangely, he did not feel objectified by it. His skin tingled pleasantly as Twenty Five's hand traced it.
“You perceive this as a weakness. Perhaps you are not wrong about that. Yet this is also proof of your strength.” He continued, leaning closer to Eighteen’s face, and their breaths mingled.
“If you do not believe my words, then allow me to prove my sincerity to you.”
With his intents clear, and no denial from Eighteen, the space between them closed, lips making contact.
It was a chaste thing at first, but that did not mean it was short. Eighteen leaned back against the headboard of the bed, hands on Twenty Five’s shoulders, stuck in a state between relaxing and tensing up, unable to fully commit to either end. Twenty Five’s hands had come to rest on Eighteen’s hips, a soft, grounding touch, yet one that wasn't restrictive.
It was a slow descent from a strangely soft affection, to lustful haze that was allowing Eighteen to disengage from his feelings of insecurity and inadequacy, and focus on the pleasant tingling in his skin, the heat growing in his groin, allowing Twenty Five's tongue to slip past his lips, letting himself to give into his touch.
It was so easy to stop thinking altogether, to ignore everything that caused him trouble, and remain in that pleasant haze.
Twenty Five had pulled back only when both of them were short of breath, and gazing at Eighteen, realised that he was dissociating.
“Ah!” Eighteen winced. Twenty Five had pinched his cheek.
“What did you do that for?” He complained.
“Stay with me.” Twenty Five said, leaning down so Eighteen was gazing at him directly.
“I don't want you to zone out, Eighteen. You’re trying to use pleasure to numb yourself.”
Rather reluctantly, the younger forced himself back into reality. Twenty Five was attempting to keep him grounded with the firm hold he had on Eighteen’s hips, beginning to pepper his neck with kisses, before he descended to the marred skin of his collarbone.
“You…” The protest died in his throat, seeing how intense Twenty Five looked. He did not seem in the slightest irritated. His eyes were slightly glazed over with arousal, yet he was focused, focused on the body beneath him, slowly running his hands up and down Eighteen’s sides. He wasn’t rough with the kisses he left on Eighteen’s skin.
It was an achingly tender scene, one Dottore wasn’t sure as an entity he was capable of, yet Twenty Five kept Eighteen too grounded for him to spare a thought that this might be some sort of dream. They had slowly shifted into a different position while Twenty Five had been loving on him. Eighteen’s bare back pressed against Twenty Five’s chest, the older now holding him close with his arms around the younger’s waist, nuzzling into Eighteen’s neck.
“Your breathing has slowed.” Twenty Five noted, his tone quiet. “Am I to conclude that you do enjoy this after all?”
“Don’t harp on it, you ass.” Eighteen hissed at him, though he melted further into his touch. His mind felt a little fuzzy again now that Twenty Five’s touch wasn’t quite so firm, but both were feeling the haze of arousal settle over them.
Slowly, Eighteen moved down to nuzzle Twenty Five’s boxers, prompting a soft sigh from above. He pulled them down, and took a moment to gaze upon not just what he had exposed, but Twenty Five’s body as a whole.
The olive skin beneath Eighteen’s hands was clean. Smooth. Twenty Five had not even a blemish in sight. He was truly the pinnacle of the handsome nature of ‘Dottore’, perhaps the most handsome segment. He took care of himself, something the other segments did not care for. His skin smelt like whatever concoction he used to care for it, felt so soft beneath Eighteen’s palms.
Eighteen should’ve felt lucky. Should’ve felt lucky that Twenty Five wanted to do this with him. It reminded him of how badly he had disfigured his own body. Because it was disfigured. The sight always nauseated him when he gazed at himself in the mirror.
In an attempt to distract himself from thinking about his body, he took Twenty Five into his mouth, causing the latter to let out a choked gasp and buck into the warmth with a groan.
Yet, tried as he might to focus on the physical reality below him, on how vocal Twenty Five was being, the feeling of his hands stroking Eighteen’s hair encouragingly, his mind was stuck on the self reproach. He hated thinking about his own body in comparison to Twenty Five’s. How if Twenty Five touched him any lower than the neck, he was forced to feel the never ending keloid and hypertrophic scars on Eighteen’s skin. There was no skin that would feel pleasant to the touch anymore, something Eighteen was well aware of as his thighs pressed together, and he was hyperaware of how rough it felt.
Everything became hazy, and he felt Twenty Five’s tip hit the back of his throat, causing him to choke on it, yet he found he craved the sensation. Everything - anything to distract himself from the flame inside him, the flame that demanded the destruction of Eighteen’s own self.
But before Eighteen could go any further. Twenty Five pulled him off his erection by tugging at his hair, though he did so gently enough so as to not hurt him.
“You’re doing it again.” He said, gently tugging Eighteen to lay down on him, guiding his head to rest on his chest.
“What?” Eighteen asked blankly.
“Dissociating.” Twenty Five said. “I told you, I won’t let you use this as a way to escape your issues. I’m willing to help you get through this, but if you dissociate through this you won’t be doing yourself any good.”
Eighteen struggled to ground himself this time, however. The prospect of remaining in a hazy, somewhat distant state remained much too easy.
He felt Twenty Five shift their positions again, though he barely felt the difference. He had guided Eighteen to lie down on his stomach. He remained in such a hazy state regardless. That was, until he smelt the soft fragrance of Twenty Five’s oil of choice, and felt the cool sensation between his legs, causing him to make an annoyed noise as steady hands poured the unwarmed oil into his hole.
Nor did the older wait for the oil to warm up. He two fingers teased at the rim, before both slowly pushed past the tight ring of muscle. Twenty Five was achingly slow, yet firm enough for it to still be pleasurable. He was doing enough to stop Eighteen from dissociating again, yet not quite enough for Eighteen to fully immerse himself in the pleasure and nothing else.
“I- I don't… want to think about anything.” Eighteen whined, back arching slightly as Twenty Five's fingers curled.
“Don’t.” Twenty Five said. “But I need you to feel what you need or want. I don't want you to regret this later because you were dissociating this whole time. Don't use me to block out what you don't want to acknowledge.”
Eighteen hated the feeling, but simultaneously, he didn't want Twenty Five to pull away. His chest felt tight, eyes stinging slightly.
He didn't want this to end. Rather than feeling out of place, the gentle, slow stimulation felt soothing. So comforting.
Tears stung at his eyes before he could stop them.
How humiliating. He hadn't cried for decades, and the first was in a position like this.
“No- No, keep going-” He whined, as Twenty Five made to withdraw when he noticed Eighteen crying.
“It's good, I want you to keep going.”
“Are you sure?” Twenty Five asked, almost clinical in his tone despite the tenderness of the moment.
“Yes.” Eighteen answered immediately, proving that he was indeed present in the moment, reaching up to wipe at his tears.
“I told you to keep going, asshole.” He hissed, when Twenty Five did not immediately get back to it. Though he did not mean the insult, it did come from a place of irritation, the sudden lack of stimulation when Twenty Five had already been going so slowly left Eighteen feeling oh so desperate.
“Don't leave me on edge.”
“You're a vexing brat, I hope you know.” Twenty Five snapped back in a heartbeat, but complied, inserting a third finger so suddenly Eighteen was momentarily startled out of his tears.
“You- Really?!” Eighteen burst out, yet didn't insult Twenty Five further, as he now was sincerely focusing on making Eighteen feel good.
Eighteen settled. The pressure in his chest no longer felt like it was crushing him, the fire in him that called for self destruction becoming so much easier to bear.
Twenty Five was being quite thorough with Eighteen, probing where he knew Eighteen liked it, curling his fingers in all the right places. Eighteen sighed in pleasure, relaxing further into the sheets. And the tears gradually stopped running down his cheeks.
“Come on.” He said impatiently, tugging Twenty Five up, so their foreheads were touching.
“Don't end this here.”
“There you are.” Twenty Five said, sounding quite pleased.
“You're lucky I'm being merciful tonight. I would've quite liked to make you beg for it.”
Eighteen barked a laugh.
“In your dreams!” He snickered, as Twenty Five withdrew his fingers, lining himself up to the loosened hole.
“What’s stopping you now? Pity? I seem to recall a certain someone bragging about how detached he is-!” Eighteen cut himself off with a groan.
Twenty Five had neglected to warn Eighteen, and buried himself to the hilt in one go, biting his lip to prevent himself from making noise.
“Are you attempting to be more insufferable than Thirty Five? You're coming quite close to it.”
“Oh, please!” Eighteen rolled his eyes, regaining his composure without being prompted to this time.
“If I was really that insufferable you wouldn't be here right now.”
Eighteen braced himself against Twenty Five’s shoulders as he began to thrust, pulling the man impossibly closer.
“Don't test that.” Twenty Five warned breathlessly, though it was an empty threat. He felt much too good to stop now, much too invested to see this through.
“Ah…”
Yet he enjoyed this all the better, knowing that Eighteen was reliably present beneath his touch, knowing that the younger was undoubtedly experiencing just as much pleasure from this as he was.
It was Eighteen who initiated the next change in position, not wishing to remain under Twenty Five, he pushed himself off his back to sit up, and Twenty Five accommodated this change, so Eighteen was on his lap, hands resting still on the younger’s hips.
Yet this allowed Eighteen to be much more proactive, to move in time to Twenty Five’s thrusts, and Twenty couldn’t feasibly stop himself from moaning out when he actually did so.
“Not so quiet now, are you?” Eighteen breathed, a smirk growing on his face. His cheeks had adopted a permanently rosy flush, eyes glinting excitedly. It had been a long time since Twenty Five had seen him so gleeful, unburdened by his usual troubles.
“Yes, yes, I’m sure you’ll keep rubbing that in.” Twenty Five said dryly, intentionally bucking his hip in a sudden way that caught Eighteen off guard.
“You really are such a brat.” He tightened his grip on Eighteen’s hips to force him still, and began to fuck into him a lot less steadily, taking on a fast and almost careless pace.
“Maybe I ought to- Fuck-! Teach you a lesson.” He murmured into Eighteen’s ear, voice low and sultry, yet carrying an evident threat.
“I didn't take you to be such a vengeful-!” Eighteen managed.
“Oh, I'll show you vengeful.” Twenty Five grumbled, hand moving from Eighteen’s hip to squeeze Eighteen erection, and didn’t let up.
Eighteen whined desperately, hips bucking, attempting to escape Twenty Five's grip, yet it was no use.
“You're so-!” Eighteen did not manage to lay into Twenty Five as he had wanted to so badly, as Twenty Five caught his lips before he could manage it, Twenty Five continuing to thrust desperately into him. Despite everything, Eighteen poured his frustrations into the kiss instead of verbalising them, so aggressive he was sure he had bruised the older’s lips.
Yet Twenty Five hadn’t loosened his grip on him, and both were rapidly approaching orgasm.
“Plan to let me go any time soon?” Eighteen asked, as he pulled back from his lips, pleased to see that he had bruised Twenty Five’s lips.
“When you’re still behaving like such a brat?” Twenty Five rasped, voice straining from how tangible relief felt. He smirked, somewhat resembling Thirty Five in the moment, lacking his mask, seeming so maddened both by pleasure, and at the sight of Eighteen so desperate.
And he laughed openly.
“You act as though you’re incapable of retaliation. However, you've already proven you are.”
It was a challenge, plain and simple. Eighteen couldn't think very clearly with all the pleasure and discomfort clouding his mind, wrapping his arms around Twenty Five's neck to brace himself.
And that gave him an idea. Quite a cruel idea, but since Twenty Five had egged him on…
Eighteen pulled back momentarily, then placed both hands on either side of Twenty Five’s neck, and applied just enough pressure to restrict his airflow.
The effect was instantaneous. The hold on him loosened, and just in time too, and Eighteen sank down to the hilt, spilling over himself.
Twenty Five’s face had gone blank, pupils blown wide, face having flushed significantly in the moment Eighteen had put his hands on his neck.
Then, with a choked moan, he bucked his hips, and Eighteen felt warmth flood his insides.
They remained still for quite a while, though Eighteen had loosened his grip on Twenty Five’s neck for fear of causing him permanent harm.
Eighteen felt Twenty Five gently help him off his lap, and he allowed it, feeling that he was much too exhausted to do so himself. They ended up tangled up together on Twenty Five’s side of the bed, Eighteen's head resting on that smooth, soft chest of his.
“Of course you're so degenerate to like being choked.” Eighteen muttered, though the sleepiness was evident in his voice.
“You learn something new every day.” Twenty Five commented, with a casual shrug of his shoulders, seeming a lot more like his usual composed self.
Eighteen had a retort ready on the tip of his tongue, yet, never managed to give voice to it, as the exhaustion that had been tugging at his consciousness won over, and he drifted off into perhaps the most restorative sleep he had in centuries.
“Good morning, Eighteen.”
Eighteen jumped slightly, glancing at Pantalone, who had just taken a seat beside him.
“Good morning, Pantalone.” He greeted, feeling a little more awkward now as he took a sip of water to wash down his breakfast better.
“It's quite unusual to see you in the dining hall.” Pantalone said pleasantly, tucking into his own food (Decreased portion, Eighteen noted. Something he would bring up to Thirty Five later on, no doubt).
“It's early.” Eighteen said, watching Pantalone eat without much interest.
“There wasn't anyone here before you came in.”
“Indeed.” Pantalone hummed.
“Then arriving earlier will guarantee being able to have breakfast with you, hm?”
There was that glint in Pantalone’s eye that indicated that he would not be refused in this matter.
“I don't see why you would want to, but I suppose it would.” Eighteen slowly.
“Excellent.” Pantalone said, taking a sip of coffee as he leaned back in his seat somewhat, gazing at Eighteen.
“No need to look so concerned.” He said with a slight chuckle.
“It is merely an ideal opportunity to discuss potential projects and their funding.” Pantalone said, though this was evidently not the full truth.
“It is easier to discuss things in the morning with a clear head, rather than when everyone has had time to get on your nerves. So, is there anything you have in mind, Eighteen?”
Eighteen thought back to the night before, the construction of the ruin guard and Twenty Five's offered help. His already good mood felt like it couldn't get any better.
“As a matter of fact, there is.”
As Eighteen launched into the full explanation of his plans, Pantalone's previously honeyed smile settled into something a little more fond. He picked up his fork again, but his eyes remained on Eighteen, listening to every word, despite having already decided to fund the project, no matter how much mora it would ultimately need.