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The concept of hope was interesting from a financial standpoint. To manufacture dreams and euphoria was to grasp power in a way most could not fathom. To rule with fear and despair? That was mere child’s play. Perhaps though, it’s better to say that, only through the negative emotions and experiences could unfettered and unadulterated joy be realized.
For what was light without the dark, good without evil, and yin with yang? In the requiem of this cyclic world, around and around in circles they went with this impossible puzzle. Oh, to be a fool, to be a Fatuus.
In the greatest of despair, it is hope that drives you forward. In the greatest of hope, it is despair that keeps you at a standstill.
Then, it is fear that drives the most basics of instinctive human reactions. And to rule over fear was to conquer demons. To hold the world in the palm of your own hands.
“Pantalone? What’s got you so quiet and wrapped up in your own head?”
Dottore’s voice broke through his reminiscence. The banker twisted slightly to look up at his partner from where he rested his head atop bare shoulders, and chuckled at the comical way the stray soft blue strands stuck up like a bird’s nest. He stroked along the other’s sides, before pressing firmly on a ribcage right with sharpened nails. The older man didn’t even flinch. His sensitivity to touch long since dulled over the centuries.
“Nothing. Just…well I suppose reflecting a little on the past.” Pantalone responded.
“Hmmm…” Pantalone tilted his head at the Doctor’s low hum, and at the familiar lips that danced across his cheek. Feather-light, dusted butterfly wings fluttering over his skin. The dark silk sheets pooled around the pair’s waist, and the cooling sweat and salt made him shiver. He moved closer to hopefully steal his partner’s warmth. The Doctor’s hands were always cold, but the rest of him was soothing, the stinging scent of antiseptics and machine oil unpleasant, but familiar.
“The day we first met.” Pantalone conceded.
He observed Dottore’s expression out of curiosity. They never talked about it. How the Second brought him to the Fatui shortly afterwards, to see if there would be use for him. Anything was better than being taken or sold again. Better the devil you know, as the saying went. The Second Harbinger watched him grow and flourish over the years, with a mild smile.
“I could see your potential. That’s the only reason I’m letting you come along,” was all he answered at the time.
“I suppose I’m curious, what ran through your mind.” Dottore’s scarred hands reached down and thumbs stroked at the dip of his hip. Swirling circles to a strange rhythm, unbeknownst to all except the Doctor himself.
Sometimes when Pantalone closed his eyes at night, all he could see beneath his shutters behind his lids was the dark grey concrete walls of the basement that coated the walls to floors in dark blood. The sharp scent of iron in the air, so prominent he could taste it on the tip of tongue.
When he pressed his mouth against his dear Doctor, he felt the buzz against his lips as the other hummed his consideration. It tickled.
“I was originally planning to just leave you there.” Dottore admitted.
“And? Aren’t you glad you took me with you? I must say I never realized I could seduce another so thoroughly, so quickly.” Pantalone teased.
“I wish I had waited,” he responded.
The banker looked back at him; eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Dottore took their clasped hands, fingers intertwined, with such reverent touch of his lips to the back of Pantalone’s hand. He only chuckled at the banker’s raised eyebrow.
“Come now, you’re always complaining about romance. Can’t I also wish our first time together wasn’t in a basement of some degenerate bandits, reeked in corpses and blood? Even I have some sort of standards.”
Pantalone sniffed. “Well, clearly those standards hadn’t stopped you.”
“You were…very pretty.”
He batted his eyelashes in a dark smile. “Is that what you think? Perhaps you would like a reenactment. I’m sure you could procure something with your skills.”
“Why would I do that if I have you here?” Dottore asked, confused.
The banker snorted. For once, the instigation flew over his head.
“You can be so charming sometimes.”
---
Snezhnaya, 20 years prior
Feofan ran until his calves burned sour from the strain, and he felt his lung almost collapse inside his chest. He heaved gasps of frigid air, and tried to hide in the cold shadows of the dingy alleyway. He heard the thundering footsteps and rustles of clothes from behind the wooden stall. The young man covered his mouth to keep any sound from escaping, the moisture from his mouth condensed on the palm of his muddied and sweaty hands. He had been minding his own business, as much as a nobody like himself could, but the group of men, bandits and thieves really, had done their research.
He observed them over the span of the last few days and it was always the same two people. The short cut hair and broad builds, the rasp in another’s throat, and scent of cigar smoke and gunpowder which lingered on them. Their daily attire, though changed, poorly disguised their identities from his keen eyes.
His ears caught the rumours, the word on the street from the citizens. The walls have ears, and children were the most unassuming and easily dismissed. But said children had suspiciously gone missing as of late. Feofan almost missed it at first. The way some of the more regulars on this side of the city appeared less frequently until they disappeared for good. The citizens only mentioned how it seemed the streets were cleaner than usual.
He almost scoffed at that. Greedy, selfish bastards, who couldn’t look past their own upturned noses.
“Well look who we found here. A rat.” remarked a dark voice above him.
He gazed above him, seeing the man’s shadow towering over him and felt only dread. They found him. Feofan scurried away, his knees and palms digging into the sharp rocks in his haste. By his calculations and mental map, the alley led into a couple of others, and he would have better luck in the crowds of people. It was late, but the night markets were always busy with street vendors and late-night festivities. He only made it a few steps before he went barrelling into a heavy unmovable object. The hard stone tiles dug into his tailbone as he fell back and looked up to see one of the other men. He was surrounded, blocked on both sides. His heart thundered and he struggled to maintain his rationality through the panic.
A large hand easily pushed him face forward into the ground, and he floundered with as much as his strength he could muster. Long-term starvation made him weak and his bones felt like they would break if he strained too hard against the iron grip. Feofan scrunched his eyes tightly at the dirt that ended up dusting into his face. Thin legs tried to kick out and he was half proud when the soles of this shoe impacted hard enough to make the man behind grunt in slight pain.
Or not.
His skull rattled at the hard impact when the man in front used his gloved fingers to wrench into his curled hair and slam his head back down to the concrete below. Blood flowed into the corner of his eye and blurred his vision. Everything was dizzying, blackened and dark. Nothing but shadows and echoing voices.
Weak. He was far too weak.
He cursed his own powerlessness, and the helplessness.
His stomach filled with coal as he struggled to move his heavy limbs. Feofan was only vaguely aware he was shoved into a large woolen sack and dragged the friction burning across his bare skin, as they headed to their destination. He struggled to stay conscious but it was in vain.
Every time he blinked, he only saw darkness. It was like his eyes weren’t open at all.
---
Feofan startled awake to the sound of voices and quiet cries. He rubbed his eyes and shook his head slightly, feeling twinges of pain from the scrapes and bruises, but the headache was the most irritable. The pain pulsated across the side all the way down to the back of his neck.
He looked around to see other children, though most seemed younger than himself, huddled together with their hands wrapped around their knees. The youngest was a little boy, he couldn’t have been more than five, all wide-eyed and trembling. Clear snot was running down his nose, and Feofan felt alarmed how quietly he cried. How long had the child been here to know keeping quiet was the safest option?
In total there were ten, including himself, all locked in a crammed steel cage. The cold metal seeped through his thin rags for clothes and caused him to shiver. The room was equally cold and damp, a basement hidden under a house. The only lights were dim, some even flickering from the lack of maintenance.
Where were they?
“So do we have a good enough haul this time for that Harbinger?” he overheard a male voice ask from across the room. It was slightly muffled by the door above the stairs but he sounded like one of the men who kidnapped him. Feofan pursed his lips and made his way towards the back of the cage, where he would hopefully be hidden in the darkness.
“How would I know? That man’s insane.” The door opened, and light trickled in behind the pair.
“I thought you said it was easy to do business with him? What have you gotten us into?” another snarled back.
“Look, when the Fatui come to hire you with exorbitant amounts of money, you don’t say no.”
They were coming closer, until the two men stopped by the cage looking at the group of children.
“A little young, aren’t they? What could he possibly need them for?”
His companion chortled. “Who knows, maybe he has special tastes?”
“Urg, don’t project onto people like that. Just because you like that doesn’t mean the rest of us do. Keep that stuff out to yourself.” There was a disgusted noise.
“Ohhh…” the other crooned back. “You’re in such denial. I saw the way you looked at the recent catch.” Feofan tensed at the reminder. He didn’t like the sound of that.
“That’s different,” he protested. They were right in front of the cage now.
“He won’t notice a few missing right? We never gave him a number, just promised a couple of human subjects, whatever that means.”
One of the younger boys started shrieking out in fear, breaking down sobbing. His cries were high-pitched, almost a long-drawn scream, and only made his headache worse. He grimly watched as the man on the left got equally irritated.
“Fuck, I forgot how loud they were. The Fatui will find this place with the racket the brat is making.”
There was the sound of keys jingling, and Feofan’s eyes shot up to observe where the man took them from. Really, his belt was such an obvious place. There were several keys on the silver hoop, and he settled on the 4th from the right. The other children began moving back, huddling to his corner. They finally realized the cage was safer. It kept them inside, but the men out. They all watched in hushed silence as the man with a brown scarf grabbed the screaming boy by the front of his shirt and slammed him into the ground of the basement before locking the cage back up with a resounding clang.
One of the little girls wore a cute yellow bow. Her hands trembled so violently he thought they would vibrate right off from her wrists. They were almost fists stuffed into her small mouth, red teeth marks imprinted onto the flesh, as her shoulders shook to keep her cries quiet.
Feofan could only grimly look away from the scene. He gleaned enough from their conversation to know exactly what their plans were, especially seeing the twisted grin on the one with the scarf. They all heard the sound of the belt unbuckling, and lashes slap across flesh. That boy cried out louder and louder with each one, only getting louder and louder. It seemed this was his first time. Either he was new to this, or had been protected from it in the past.
At a certain point the man hit too hard, of course he would be considering the weight and size difference and the boy went quiet. Slick blood pooled into the floor, the man lashed hard enough to break skin, and it spread outwards from the small body to the edges of the cage. The dark helped disguise it, but there was just enough lighting to expose the result of the deed.
“Really? You killed him? We needed them alive.” the other man in a red bandana sighed. Even he paused at the gleeful gleam in his fellow bandit’s eyes, at the way he prowled to the prone body, chest heaving.
He made a disgusted noise. “I’m not staying here for this. The kid’s dead.”
“Hehehe, isn’t that so much better. When they can’t resist, when they’re so quiet and obedient.” he rasped.
“Do me a favor and wait until I’m out of this house. Even I have my limits. I’ll find a way to call up the client in the meantime.” He clapped the back of the shoulders. “I’ll be back tonight, is that enough time?”
“Morning.”
The man gave a cheery wave as he left. “Sure, sure, you really need to find some better hobbies. Save the other one for me though.”
Feofan almost scoffed. Hobbies. Is that what this amounted to?
He watched it reflected in the wide eyes of the little girl beside him, who only stared blankly ahead with a gaze like an empty-shard. Could they survive until morning with this man? He seemed determined to kill and desecrate the corpses one-by-one. His grunts were disgusting, absolutely foul. But this was good, as he listened to the footsteps above go back-and-forth before quieting. Hopefully that meant the other man was far enough away and had left the house. There were nine children left. Surely, if they worked together, they could overwhelm him and escape.
But as he looked around him, the dark-haired boy realized it was impossible. Half of the other children were so dazed it’s as if they were already dead. The remaining were too shaken to form any words other than the faint mutterings of prayers, begging for their god to save them.
Haven’t they realized yet? That the gods would do nothing?
Feofan almost sighed.
So, one-by-one they were grabbed, ripped out of the cage, the bodies and blood only adding to volume painting the concrete along with other fluids. He wrinkled his nose at the stench of urine and feces. There was a small pile of corpses, three down and seven left.
Feofan realized he was grateful that he would be left for last. Maybe it would draw this out, but it gave him more time to plan.
He quietly began tearing the edges of his ratted shorts into long stripes of fabric. The man was too busy to focus on him at the moment. If they were so interested in his scrawny body sexually, then the exposed thigh might tempt them enough to dismiss exactly why or how that occurred. The man was too strong and would easily overpower him. But all humans needed to breathe, he just needed to find a way to wrap the fabric around his throat and strangle him. That was difficult considering he only reached the other’s abdomen while standing.
There were multiple possibilities. Feofan had time until the morning, when the other man returned. By then, sleep deprivation would dull this one’s senses but it almost meant there would be two assailants. Not to mention the so-called client, who sounded like would also be arriving soon. His eyes adapted to the darkness enough by now to see the floor was soaked in blood to span most of the basement. How was there so much blood in just a few bodies?
At a certain point the man pulled too hard on a limb, and it tore from the little girl’s shoulders.
He watched in a daze, only seeing how the torn muscle dangled from the white bone joint of her shoulder.
The dark grey concrete was being dyed a dark, crimson red.
At this point, the blood all looked and smelled the same.
Red, red, red.
He could only see the colour red. Iron, metallic tang filled his nostrils and head, stronger than even the rancid and sour stench of rot.
---
“You stole from him?” Feofan snapped to awareness at the angry voice. He hadn’t fallen asleep. There was no way he could’ve slept in such dangerous conditions. How was it morning already? He frantically checked and luckily the strip of fabric was still balled and hidden in the tight grip of his left fist. His heart jack hammered in his chest.
“Oh come on man, like that’s the worst thing compared to this! We don’t even have goods to give at this rate. There’s only one left! I mean he’s really pretty, but - anyways, surely, he’ll want it back in exchange for some ransom?”
How had he been caught so unaware, Feofan cursed to himself.
“What is this even anyways? It just looks like a chunk of metal.” The man with the brown scarf grunted.
“Hmmm, not sure, but it must have been important considering the number of guards that surrounded it. My friend, we will finally live the good life! No more stealing, or living like rats, we can drink all the good booze, all the amazing food!” He frowned at the uninterested look of his companion.
“Alright, and you can obviously just fund your interests.” He got a happy, toothless grin for that, the saliva slipping from the sides of his lips to his beard.
“I left this one for you, buddy. Untouched, pristine. Though who knows if street rats like this are clean at all.” He chuckled.
Feofan tensed at the mention. He watched wearily as they opened the metal doors, and grimaced at the accompanying creak of the hinges.
---
And so, he knelt there, in a pile of cold blood.
If it weren’t for the smell, he could’ve pretended it was just dirty, rusted water. The stench of it all was absolutely foul. He thought his nose would have adjusted by now. The liquid soaked the bottom of his shorts and sandals, quickly caking. He begrudgingly tried to relax as much as possible. Relax his jaw, release the tension in his shoulders, this would hurt less if he was obedient and quiet. If the man enjoyed the corpses of children, then he must be looking for a child docile and frozen. The one with the red bandana on the other hand, thought he was pretty.
Now how was he supposed to find that balance between the two to survive this?
---
Feofan felt the prayer lingering on the cusp of his voice, in the back of his throat, wanting to spill from his chapped and dry lips, begging, to the gods, please, please just please make this finally stop.
It has been years since he asked the golden god anything, but as he could only struggle to breathe past the large and foul, thick obstruction in his throat, past the disgusting sweat, grime and blood that coated the cock in his mouth, he prayed. And perhaps, that was the most humiliating and shameful of all this. To need to ask that damned god for help at all. Tears ran down his eyes, and drool spilled from his lips. It burned, where the other man, the red one in the bandana he barely recalled, began to penetrate him from behind.
Agonizing, flames licked up the base of spine, and something wet began to trickle down his dirtied thigh. The sheer size difference made everything hurt all the more, everything felt like smoke and mirrors. He was going to be ripped apart just like the other children and he could only stare at the remaining corpses of the others. They stared back with blank pale blue accusatory eyes.
He didn’t save them, so why should anyone save him? Why should he deserve to be saved?
The worst was he could feel the twinges of pleasure, his own slender cock beginning to harden when the blunt head of the one behind him seemed to hit a certain spot. Twinges of electricity danced across the base of his spine, and his toes curled unwittingly. The sneering comments made it all the worse, and he wanted to wretch in shame of it all. At how even his own body betrayed him.
“Oh, you like this don’t you. What a twisted boy you are. I’m almost tempted to keep you for myself.” The man in brown grunted in delight.
“So docile. Hahaha….hhhhahhhahaa!” He laughed. It was hard to see past the tears clouding his eyes, all manner of disgusting liquid pooling and dripping onto the floor beneath them. How long has this gone on for? He barely kept his mind with him. He needed to wait for the right opportunity, and it was so easy for who they wanted him to be. Obedient, docile, like a doll.
Like a corpse.
Not yet, Feofan told himself. You need to wait just a little longer.
The man in red was more dangerous, and he needed to kill him first. He was the stronger of the pair, had time to recuperate over the night, but more importantly had a rational mind.
That meant he needed to wait for an ideal positioning and opportunity. It meant he would have to let this continue until he was able to find an opportunity to retaliate. The moment would have to be when they came, where the height of their own pleasure would blind them to everything else. Ideally at the same time so that he would have enough time to get a hold of the other as well. He realized now where he went poorly in his decision making, cursing he hadn’t gotten rid of the man with the brown scarf when he had the chance. Foolish, foolish, what on Teyvat had he been thinking?
As soon as the softened limp cock slipped free from his throat and his ass, he sprung to action, pushing past the pain in his knees from the cold concrete and ignoring the way thick liquid dripped onto the cold stone below. At the burn that travelled across his spine, and flashes of white from the pain. Feofan twisted around, and jumped onto the others back, wrapping his legs around the red bandana man’s thick waist.
It was so easy to take the torn and sweat-dampened fabric he hid in his fist, balance himself and quickly loop it around the thick neck. He pulled tight, as quickly as possible before the man even realized what was happening. Feofan was always swift on his feet. The first to flee and hide when the merchants discovered stolen goods. He distantly observed how vibrant and angry red the bandit’s face went. Almost puce and purple.
The man’s eyes bulged out, and veins throbbed like slithering snakes as he struggled to get the lanky boy off his back. People thought you could easily survive strangulation like you held your breath underwater. But the true answer was it only took 10 seconds for the brain to run out of oxygen and for the victim to fall unconscious.
Feofan quickly moved one of his legs down when the red man swayed to trip him, so that he fell forward instead of backwards, lest the smaller boy be crushed.
Turns out it was a good thing they ripped off his shorts. The clothing would’ve made it more difficult to maneuver otherwise. Left in only his baggy shirt over his thin frame, his knobby knees shivered from the cold.
“What the hell? You brat.” The other bandit snarled. He heard the click of a gun, and braced to spring into action. The basement had several steel pillars and the pile of bodies was stacked between two of them. They would serve as shields from the bullets.
A bright blue beam of light shot out through the darkness, straight into the man’s shoulder. The bandit dropped the gun and it clattered to the ground with a curse. The client.
Feofan felt trepidation, because human subjects sounded a lot like experimentation. And that didn’t seem any improvement than this basement.
The sound of two voices followed behind.
“I told you he was here. Follow the trail of rats and he would lead straight to their hideout.” Male, calm, even a little young.
“Hmmm. I won’t deny you were correct in your prediction,” another responded. Much older, but for some reason his voice sounded similar.
Feofan backed up wearily trying to hide behind the stack of corpses and darkness, all too aware of the liquid staining into the bare soles of his feet. Of how he only had the tattered remains of his sweat soaked shirt. The air was damp and heavy in the disgusting scent of body odour.
“Tch, a waste of time.” The man’s voice was calm, unbothered by the violence around them. It was hard to tell beneath the black and silver bird-like mask under the dim fluorescent lighting. A four-pointed star, and light blue hair. A man who saw horrors with a clear mind was more terrifying than one driven by selfish desires and passion. A man like that had no weakness, except to utilize others. Feofan felt sweat drip down his forehead. This pair was dangerous.
“You, I’ll make you pay for this!” The man with the scarf snarled and ran towards them.
Feofan watched as the mysterious stranger easily dodged the approaching fist, and in a single motion faster than he could blink had the man subdued and sprawled on the ground, facing the ceiling.
“Hmmm…most of these resources have expired past a stable date.”
“Oh look, the thief in question. Seems fresh.” There was a wide, shark-like grin. His jagged white teeth gleamed in the dark hidden partially by a black and white mask, as he looked at the corpse of the other bandit. Feofan grimaced.
“There was someone else here.” The younger one observed. Feofan tensed from behind the bodies, heart hammering in his chest.
“Considering this kind of scene, they are either incapacitated or long gone. If they were smart.” A scoff.
Feofan almost spit out curses at the snide insult. Did they think he wanted to be here? The pair had the absolute worst timing. But he could only gape as the one in a blue dress shirt began to take out supplies from a large briefcase, filled with metal tools, and different shapes and sized glass bottles.
“Looks like we might get a few samples after all.”
“Do you just carry that with you?” came the flabbergasted question.
“Preparation and patience are key. Perhaps you haven’t learned that lesson yet. Set the electrolyte solution. We will need Cyro to ensure the organs remain viable.” the older one responded.
Feofan watched as the two men manoeuvred the bandits into the center of the room, where there was more space to work. They injected a syringe with a blue liquid into the man with the brown scarf’s neck.
“Oh don’t worry, it’s just something I designed as a paralytic. You won’t feel any pain,” the shorter one grinned. He paused for a split second. “Well, actually I’m not too sure about that - but you certainly won’t be able to move for the next four hours until it wears off.”
“We need the freshest resources possible after all.” The older one remarked.
---
The pair of masked men in white lab coats reminded him of some of the more traditional herbalists in the city, who carried the scent of pungent roots, leaves and flowers. He had watched, once when the doctor was treating a woman on the street, and checked her pulse and vitals with only his fingertips at her wrist. She noted the parlour of her cheeks and sweat from her brow.
Feofan’s hands were slick with sweat. Perhaps, the fate of the man in the red bandana was merciful. He stared, wide-eyed, mouth agape at the clinical and methodical way the two worked seamlessly to take the other man apart.
The masked man had a scalpel as he slowly, methodologically began to make cuts through the first layer of the epidermis. Just shallow enough that there was no blood. Nothing except the red fibre of his muscles exposed. The pieces of skin were placed into a plastic bag and snapped shut.
The other one cut open his stomach, and Feofan watched blankly as the entrails spilled over, intestines like rope. More blood was pooling, added to the gray concrete floor, spreading outwards from the body. At this point, the only identifying feature was the red bandana, the clothes thrown to the side long ago.
And then, one of them cut down his sternum, listening to his screams of agony with a hum. His chest cavity was opened, exposing the heart and lungs like an open-heart surgery. Every single organ; gallbladder, then the pancreas, the stomach, the liver, the intestines, were placed into glass jars.
Throughout it all, the man kept screaming. How was he still alive?
The blood only added to the volume painting the concrete along with other fluids, filled with the stench of plasma, urine and feces.
---
“Found the other rat.” Feofan jerked, startled at the sudden attention. He glanced at the younger one wearily, in suspicion. He had blanked out at one point.
“By the looks of it.” The older one agreed.
He tried to push away the clouded thoughts, the way his vision was going white. Rationality. Twins, family? No, he looked more carefully. They were the same person, how was that even possible?
“You’re the same person.” He blurted out.
Stupid. Why was that the first thing he had to say?
They gave matching twisted smiles of delight. “You’re rather intelligent.”
“They call me the Doctor. Or Dottore if you prefer.”
There was red everywhere, the taste of iron in his mouth. The walls were almost dripping with blood.
The “Doctor” didn’t seem to notice at all.
Yet, he didn’t really have a choice. He needed to find a way to ensure his survival. The younger Doctor busied himself cleaning up, leaving him with the older one who stared down at him, with an odd intensity.
Feofan took a deep breath.
His own swallow sounded unerringly loud in the dead quiet of the basement. The young boy slowly loosened the belt, and unzipped the other’s trousers, pulling down the fabric. But his cock was still soft. This…Dottore…smelled strongly of…something like alcohol but not quite. More like the pure distilled alcohol the ones in his village liked to drink, with a hint of heavy musk. For some bizarre reason there was a sweet scent hidden beneath it all.
His small fingers gently stroked along the sides, up and down, as he pressed small, almost kittenish licks along the sides, before opening his lips over the foreskin and the head. He almost smirked in victory around the crown, feeling how the limp flesh slowly started to harden in his hands and mouth. Feofan could barely wrap his fingers around the thickened girth.
He felt the slightest licks, almost teasingly of electricity at the base of his spine.
Feofan relaxed his throat as much as possible, but drool still dribbled from the corners of his mouth. He was thankful that he learned quickly. He didn’t want to see what would happen if he failed even this simple task. Yet other than the steady breathing above him, the man didn’t make a sound. He also didn’t know what to do, when he had to initiate. Feofan shamefully felt his own inadequacy, his younger years and the lack of experience. Giving himself a mental shake, he was determined to complete his self-appointed task. It felt so off-kilter, but he wanted to do it right, wanted to make this stranger praise him.
He heard a quiet gasp when his tongue lapped across the blunt crown, the silken smooth skin and heavy weight in his mouth. He hesitated, before figuring it wouldn't hurt, and reached further downwards to roll his ball sack. Now, that got him a reaction.
But Feofan realized something, and began to make small nibbles.
That’s what he liked, slowly, gently, softly. Almost like a lover.
His cock was so big, filled to the back of his throat, and even then, he couldn’t fit the rest of it in his mouth. And yet, slow, pressing each kiss and suckle imbued with emotion. Love, love, love. That’s what this man wanted more than anything. He could feel it now, the way his soul called out in agony.
This man was powerful. He could use him to keep himself safe.
Without being aware of it, Feofan found the tip of his nose buried into cyan curls. The scent was heady, almost addicting, in a way. He almost forgot to breathe through his nose and somehow, he ended up with the Doctor completely inside of his throat. He swallowed around, feeling the drool pool from the corners of his mouth, shameful at the wet noise, and heard a low groan in response. Feofan almost jerked, at the calloused, large fingers that brushed the corners of his mouth, before gliding to his cheekbone, and stroking his hair. Reverent. Worshipful almost.
“Fuck.” It was a quiet whisper, so soft he almost didn’t hear it.
The young boy looked up to see the man’s face, and was drawn in by the colour of red. Seeing into his eyes, he saw the reflection of…himself.
They were the same.
That’s why he felt so connected, drawn to him.
Monsters, staring down into a pond with nothing but the reflection of the moon, where the lotus blossoms and lily pads covered the still surface. The sound of dewdrops, the rustling of grass, a building filled with other children, staring at a little boy in disgust and confusion. Children were always so cruel. His heart ached, knowing exactly how it felt to be in this world alone, unable to belong anywhere.
Left behind, abandoned, cursed.
How lonely it was, to live like this, with no one to love and love you.
People didn’t understand. The contradictory traits, of arrogance and desire for love, of love of life but a pennant for destruction.
How Feofan desired to be loved, how the other man desired to be understood. And how they both wished for each other’s wishes too. That Feofan desired to be understood, that Doctor desired to be loved.
It was as if the rest of the world fell away, leaving only them, and the feeling of being connected. Like a single line where the other started and Feofan began.
He tried not to think about it, of the other children, or their blank pale accusatory stares behind him.
And for the first time in a long while, Feofan felt a sense of power, that this man between his legs was rendered immobile, mouth agape and hands gripping his waist hard enough to indent bruises in the shape of his fingers. With nothing but small gaps of pleasure from his own lips, a dainty kiss pressed across the side of his jaw.
His rim was still puffy and swollen, hopefully not too torn from the previous encounters, but Archons, somehow the way the light blue haired man’s cock filled him was almost perfect. So full, so big, he barely was able to take him to the root, and yet he wanted more. He couldn’t help it, chasing after the feeling. It felt…so good. Addicting, like fireworks from where they were connected, at the feel of his larger body against his own, at how his legs spread to straddle his hips, the weight and feel of his thick thighs beneath where he sat.
Feofan leaned in, pressing his face against Dottore’s chest. Against the crook of his neck, with a quiet satisfied sigh. Why, in such a situation, did he feel safe?
---
“Wait, take me with you.”
The younger Dottore scoffed. “Unless you want to end up as another experimental subject, I suggest you think deeper on that statement.”
Feofan’s mind raced, trying to push past everything that happened this far.
“Because I love you!”
There was only the briefest of pauses before the pair continued to turn away. So slight, if Feofan hadn’t been watching so closely he wouldn’t have noticed.
“You must be very desperate to make such baseless claims.” And yet, the man stopped.
“You’ve been looking for something for years. Maybe even more than a human lifetime that I could hope to even perceive.” Feofan realized.
“And what makes you think I’ll want a brat like you? Do you even know who I am?”
“Not at all. I don’t know what you do or where you’re even from. But I understand you, more than anyone else. And I’ve already seen the worst of you. Anything else would be just good right?” Surely, right?
“Let me come with you? Please.” Feofan begged. “I don’t want to be alone again.”
There was a long pause.
“Tch, do what you want.” The two men paused at the doorway. “Well?”
Feofan grinned and ran up toward him, slipping his slender hand into leather-clad gloves.
---
Present Day
“Why do you wish you waited? The real reason you took me with you?” Pantalone asked, slightly puzzled now that he thought about it more deeply.
“You don’t strike me as the type of person to care about morals or the benefits of an organization like that.” The Doctor was first and foremost self-serving, selfish even.
Dottore’s hands stilled for a brief second. The question caught him by surprise. His lips pursued as he took the question into consideration.
“To have you, without all these ghosts of the past. To have you choose me, wholly, without being weighed down by fear.” He explained, slowly. “To have you, in all your entirety, as mine.” His tone was slow and measured, as if to prevent spooking a startled animal.
Pantalone looked at him, confused. His eyebrows furrowed. Was this not having him already? He just couldn’t bring himself to understand the question. The banker knew the other Harbinger so well, it was as if he could live inside his mind. They knew each other so thoroughly, being partners in everything. Weren’t they already? Hadn’t he chosen him already?
“To have your love.”
The Ninth realized there was something he was missing. An emotion, no, rather, an understanding. The emotions he felt…how would he even know it was love, if he never experienced such a thing in his life? How would he know it wasn’t equally manufactured, a love, a hope, created by circumstance and given birth in conjunction with fear, rather than the soft and gentle feeling that they told in fairy tales.
“One day, you will understand.” Dottore said, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. “Understand why I’m doing it like this.” A deep sigh, and yet it sounded wistful, hopeful even. “One day, I will come back for you with a choice.”
Pantalone could only stare at the others' odd behaviour. It was out of character. Not the gentleness, nor the softness, just…something about it wasn’t fitting together.
It was his own knowledge that wasn’t fitting in. A different, incomprehensible worldview, a perspective he could not grasp. Like the puzzlement, when you stare at a wild animal lashing out, unable to comprehend why it was acting that way.
Except this time, the wild animal was himself.