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The scent of sex runs heavy amidst frigid air, the uncomfortable smell of smoke doing little to disperse it.
Naked and sweaty, Pantalone takes another drag of his soon-to-finish cigarette, the warmth of his lungs being filled to the brim with the putrid, harmful fumes bringing a false sense of relaxation. He leans against his far-too-many pillows, finally exhaling the smoke one more time.
He feels disgusting. Remnants of sweat, blood and semen stuck to his person urging him to go shower, yet unfortunately for him, his legs ache much too terribly to do any more than the basics Dottore aided with earlier.
Dottore, the thirty-five year old segment, the Omega Build—lies beside Pantalone, bare skin in constant contact with the other’s beneath the shared cover. Painful bites and hickeys cover his entire body (the former likely prone to infections, were he not an artificial being), remnants of his own synthetic blood running down the teeth marks on his person less than half an hour ago. His hair is far too messy, mask long discarded somewhere he cannot bother remembering at the given moment, skin sticky with all sorts of bodily fluids, dick flaccid against his lover’s thigh. Lying on his side, he nonapologetically stares at the Ninth.
“Are you done destroying your pitifully fragile lungs?” He asks, acting as if, for the past five minutes the Regrator had been smoking, he wasn't completely entranced by his naked, raw beauty.
Pantalone merely takes one last drag before answering, turning to face Dottore and puffing it against his face.
“Are you done pestering me?” Pantalone says, a scoff from the Second being the only response. “But yes, I am.”
Despite Dottore's clear expectations of having the cigarette buried against his skin to light it off, Pantalone decides to avoid it and merely do so on the ashtray, likely due to his current incapability of enticing and withstanding any more arousal. Even if immortal by longevity, he’s still human, and his ass hurts and his dick is sore.
“Already tired?” Dottore chuckles, wrapping one hand around Pantalone’s waist, placing a kiss on his shoulder.
“What do you think?” Pantalone smiles, hand following to caress blue, messy locks. “I thought I had finally managed to tire you, but alas.”
Dottore laughs. “Perhaps one day. If only you had met me when I wasn’t a harbinger, you’d maybe have witnessed it.”
“Hah, when was that, before the war of funerary flame?” Pantalone feels how the kisses on his collarbone slowly turn into gentle nibbles, like a teething kitten.
“Please, despite our grand gap of maturity,” Dottore teases. Pantalone rolls his eyes. “I am merely a century older than you.”
“Of course.” There’s a beat of silence until Pantalone continues. “How was it?”
“It what?” He tilts his head.
“Ah, apologies. I forgot you can’t yet read my mind.” Dottore opens his mouth, likely to ramble about a project similar to this, but he is interrupted by Pantalone continuing. “How was your first time?”
Dottore stays quiet. Not out of shame, perhaps, but rather confusion. “Where does that come from?”
Pantalone laughs at his endearingly stunned expression. “You mentioned before you were a harbinger and I guess circumstances just made me curious about it.” Dottore leans closer, maybe trying to recall it, or maybe unsure of how to phrase it. Is he embarrassed? How adorable. “I can tell you mine to buy you some time, love, what do you think?”
“... While I do not need it,” Pantalone raises an eyebrow. “I am also curious, so go on.”
“Hm, not much different than anyone else’s, really.” Pantalone treads his fingers amidst Dottore’s hair, gentle fingers undoing knots as he speaks. “I was a teenager. Maybe sixteen at the time? I do not remember exactly. Regardless, the school in my district had never been the most… well planned, and we were often left without teachers. It happened that, on one of these days, I went home and took a boy from my class with me. Nothing unusual from the majority of people.”
Dottore listens carefully, mindlessly drawing circles and patterns on Pantalone's soft, pale skin.
“You were young.” Is all he says at first. “How did you get past your parents?”
Pantalone shrugs, free hand intertwinning with Dottore’s idleless one.
“They were at work.” He answers first. “Most people I know lost their virginity that early. Was that not the same for you?”
Dottore stays silent, caressing Pantalone's hand with his thumb, until he finally responds:
“I was twenty three. A year before I was expelled from the Akademiya.” Must be why the twenty-five year old segment is a sex freak, Pantalone thinks but refrains from speaking out loud. “It was with a girl from my darshan. I had been forced by the teachers to collaborate with her on a project. Needless to say I did all the heavy lifting while she relied on her Akasha.”
Pantalone giggles, scooting closer to Dottore to hear him speak better, turning on his side to face his beautiful red eyes. Dottore, however, averts his gaze.
“We worked on it together for a long few months, until one night where we spent far too long in the library studying for the final presentation. I really don’t know what came over her… or me, for that matter.”
Upon listening to it, Pantalone stops, unable to contain a snort. “Wait- You had sex for the first time in the library of the Akademiya?”
Dottore pauses, waiting for Pantalone to at least stop smiling at him. When that doesn't happen, he concludes: “... Yes.”
Pantalone laughs once more. “Out of everything I expected, that was most certainly not it.”
Dottore hums, leaning in for a quick kiss, perhaps to distract the Ninth from the story. “It explains why I’m drawn to you. You are also a depraved pervert-”
“Me? The pervert?” Pantalone audibly laughs, entangling his legs with Dottore’s. “You’re the one who had sex in a public library, and I’m depraved?”
“These things are not mutually exclusive.” Dottore finally concludes, watching how Pantalone scoots even nearer, if that’s somehow possible, wrapping both arms around Dottore, exhaustion finally catching up to him.
“I’m sure of that…” He chuckles as he pretends to agree, closing his eyes, heartbeat following the gentle rhythm of Dottore's caress on his back.
The following week is nothing short of busy. Managing the Harbingers’ budget is much like managing children’s expenses, Pantalone notices on Sandrone’s third request this month. She isn’t unreasonable, per se, but she asks for far too much without giving him even half of her profits. She even dares compare her budget to Dottore, despite their glaring difference in rank, expertise and aforementioned benefits directed to the Ninth (not counting, of course, Pantalone’s personal entanglement with Dottore. No one else could grant him that.)
Speaking of which, Dottore has been away. Not just one Dottore, but nearly all of them. Even the eight year old segment is away, and Pantalone misses having that little version of his beloved around. It’s almost like having a child of their own. He decides to not think about that right now.
The others are all gone, with the only exception being Gamma, the eighteen year old segment.
Pantalone taps his pen against the desk, incapable of working on anything he should be. He misses his darling lover, and he knows not when any version of him will return. Damned be Pierro and his ridiculous missions.
He sighs, finally getting up from his chair. He might as well go after Gamma: it’s been a while since they’ve last had a chat.
He strolls around the palace at first, greeting the agents who occasionally bow to him in reverence, or avoiding the office of the stupid fifth so as to not get caught in a two hours long discussion with that damned fae. At last, he reaches the lab, and doesn't bother knocking, for the system already recognizes him and opens it immediately.
He walks inside, the intense smell of chemicals burning his nose in discomfort. Alcohol, medicine, other chemicals Pantalone doesn't know of… he attempts to ignore them, walking past the oddly inside laboratorium.
There is no sound of the segments fighting, no sound of experiments being made, no sound of anything at all. It’s disheartening. Pantalone misses him dearly. All of him.
That silence lasts until he reaches a specific wing of the large facility, encountering what should have been Dottore’s office, were he in it often enough. Pantalone hears that distinct pattern of a pen hitting the wood; a silly, adorable habit of his lover when in deep thought.
With a gentle knock, he walks inside. Gamma looks up.
“Pantalone?” He asks, hesitant. There’s a soft pink tint to his cheeks. “Do you need anything? The others should have left the new batch of elixir on your office.”
“Hello to you too, dear.” The color staining Gamma’s cheeks deepens. He looks down, writing something on a paper and mumbling a hello back. “That isn't it, I received it, don’t worry.” He doesn't need to be offered to sit down, for he simply does, sitting on the chair across the table.
“Then… how can I help you?” He asks, tone not as indifferent as he usually sounds.
“Can’t I want to see my darling doctor?” Gamma’s face immediately turns red, eyes shooting up towards Pantalone before immediately looking back down. “Unless you don’t want me to address you as such. I mind not, of course.”
“No!” He backtracks as soon as he speaks, trying not to sound so desperate. “No, I- I don’t mind. I just- You usually address the others as such. A little,” he forces a cough, trying to feign naturality. “A little unused to it.”
Pantalone hums, actually sounding a little concerned. “Have I not called you this before?” He questions.
“Yes, but I thought-” He pauses, heart racing as he accidentally hits the ink bottle near him with the back of his hand. He curses under his breath, a mix of ancient sumerian and pure gibberish. He gets up, grabbing it before it spills further on the table, cleaning the small droplet with a handkerchief he grabs from the drawer. “I just thought that you did that… out of courtesy, perhaps.” He says such things so matter-of-factly. Pantalone can’t help but feel utmost pity for him.
Pantalone gets up, walking around the table and twirling one lock of Gamma’s beautiful hair on his finger.
“I was under the impression all the segments were aware of my feelings.” He cocks his head to the side, scrutinizing Gamma under his gaze.
“We were, I just-” He stares at Pantalone. “thought I was too childish for you.”
It is finally then that Pantalone lets out an audible laugh. “Oh, that’s the reason?”
“Don’t laugh at me…” Gamma has that signature downturned frown of all the Zandiks, sharp teeth showing.
“I’m not laughing at you, my dear, but rather at your train of thought.” Pantalone lets go of Gamma’s hair, pushing the few papers to the side before sitting on the table. “You are not a child, are you?” He tugs Gamma nearer, drawing him closer as he parts his legs, letting Gamma awkwardly stand between them.
Gamma’s entire body is covered in goosebumps. “No, no, I’m not.” He immediately concurs.
“So why would I reject you, hm? I had just always thought you wanted to be left alone.” Gamma immediately shakes his head, hands halfway through the path to touching Pantalone, but frozen midway through. “I take it I misjudged the situation. It’s okay, you can touch.”
Gamma’s hands are hungry for touch, yet the moment they grasp at Pantalone's waist, he tenses, fingers unsure of where to go or how to proceed. He looks at Pantalone’s eyes, then his gaze flickers to his smiling lips before immediately turning back upwards.
“Nervous?” Pantalone chuckles.
Gamma blushes. “No, I’m just-” He’s always been so prideful. Too egocentric and egotistical to admit he’s confused or hesitant. “Can I kiss you?” He’s so pitiful. Yet, so adorable. Pantalone can’t help but laugh.
“What a silly question. Go right ahead.” The moment Pantalone finishes speaking, Gamma lunges forward, capturing his lips in a starved, hasty kiss. Clearly inexperienced, Gamma tastes Pantalone’s lips as if it were his last meal, lips pressing with strength not needed. Pantalone smiles against the horrible kiss, hand running to Gamma’s hair as he takes a slightly firmer hold on it to aid the younger’s rhythm. Then, when Pantalone probes at Gamma’s lips with his tongue, the segment so noticeably shivers, yet gives in, opening his mouth to entangle their tongues. It’s so, so terrible and sloppy, Gamma far too eager and harsh, sharp teeth rasping against Pantalone's tender flesh and threatening to tear. It’s so bad, its endearing.
Pantalone pulls away at last, a short string of saliva connecting their mouths breaking once he starts speaking. “You should've come to me sooner, love.”
Gamma practically melts, pressing nearer Pantalone, kissing his neck as he snuggles closer. Pantalone slowly caresses his hair, other hand rubbing against the segment’s back.
“Is there anything else I can do for you? Anything to make up for our lost time?” Pantalone can see how that makes Gamma’s knees weak, how he opens his mouth to say something, but does not. Pantalone grabs a handful of Gamma’s hair, pulling it gently up to look at his face before leaning in to whisper at his ear. “Anything you wish for.” He says.
Gamma fully trembles, fingers pressing deeper on Pantalone's skin.
“Pantalone-”
“Call me Feofan.” He doesn't ask. It’s an order.
“F-Feofan…” He whispers, almost as if tasting the name on his mouth.
“Do you want to fuck me, hm?” Pantalone keeps speaking on the shell of his ear, hand still holding Gamma’s hair. “I’ll let you. Anything you desire, I’ll grant you.”
Pantalone marvels in the way Gamma tenses up, face red with just a pinch of sweat rolling down his forehead, salivating in pure desire
“I-” It’s so adorable seeing him stutter and stumble over his own words. A man usually so well spoken, eloquent and precise, falling apart at the mere touch of Pantalone's fingers. “I’ve never- I’ve never done this before.” He admits, as if it took far too great a strength to say it out loud.
Pantalone remembers the conversation he had with Dottore a week ago. He had figured that, despite not having lived it, the eighteen year old segment would have found himself in another circumstance of the sort. Seems like he was mistaken.
“Really?” Despite saying it, he doesn't look all that surprised. “I can guide you. Would you like that?”
Gamma merely nods in ecstasy, unsure of how to proceed. Pantalone gets up, feeling how Gamma immediately trembles at the accidental brushing of their bodies.
“Sit down.” Pantalone orders. Gamma immediately complies, sitting back on his chair. Pantalone chuckles, hand finding itself once more caressing the younger’s hair. “Good boy.” Pantalone can practically see the way every follicle of hair on the young Doctor’s body stands up. “The other segments are always so difficult to work with. But I don’t need to tame you, do I? You’ll listen to what I say, won’t you?”
He’s already out of breath as he responds. “Always- Please, Feofan, I’ll listen.”
“So good for me.” Pantalone lets go of Gamma’s hair, and were the lab not completely silent, he would have missed the delightful whine Gamma lets out. Chuckling, he kneels in front of the segment, finally taking notice of the bulge in between his legs, constrained by the heavy clothes. Were it any other segment, Pantalone would tease and probe fun at their excitement, but tonight he remains silent at first, wrapping his arms around Gamma’s hips, resting his head just near the painful erection. “How wonderful it is to finally have you. You should've come to me before.”
“Ah-” Gamma places a hand in front of his mouth when Pantalone brushes his face on his clothed dick. “I- I’m sorry-”
“Mmm, don’t apologize.” Pantalone corrects, one hand slithering to the front of his garments and slowly tugging it down. “I also should have approached you sooner.” He pulls Gamma’s pants and underwear down in one go, impossibly hard cock immediately sprouting up. “Just look at you. Poor thing, already so hard. You must be so pent up.”
Gamma opens his mouth to answer, but what comes out instead are choked out, desperate moans, Pantalone's finger gently gliding over the wet slit of his cockhead, precum soiling his gloves.
“Could you get any more adorable?” He giggles, licking a gentle stripe upwards, from the base to the very tip. “Tell me, did you ever think of this? Of us?”
Gamma, about to say yes, stops midway through, tears forming on the corners of his eyes when Pantalone takes in the entire tip, giving it a gentle suck. He throws his head back, dick twitching once Pantalone’s hands wrap around it. Gamma whines in discontent when Pantalone pulls away with a pop.
“What is it, love?” He asks, giving one careful stroke, laughing at Gamma’s thighs shaking. “Don’t leave me hanging. Tell me all the details. The more I know, the more I can reward you.”
“All the time-!” He answers, whining one more time when Pantalone starts taking in every inch of his. “Mh- I need to- I can’t come without thinking of you-” His choked gasp almost sounds like a sob. “Every night-” He can barely keep a cohesive train of thought. Pantalone can't avoid the sharp desire to take him deeper, and so he does. Gamma’s cock throbs. Is he already close? “When you and Theta- mmh- fuck, fuck- When you two had sex here- I heard, ah, I heard you two-” He can roughly remember one of the many times they did so. Theta, the forty-five year old segment, had convinced Pantalone to be taken right there, on the operating table. It was a day much too similar to this one, where the majority of the segments were busy. They thought they were alone, but when they were done, they found Gamma in the office. He, at the time, believed Gamma hadn't heard anything.
“I couldn't help it, I couldn't! I heard you and I couldn't stop myself-” His fingers entangled with Pantalone's hair, desperately trying to feel some sense of control. “I came to your voice so many times- I just wanted you for myself, I-” His cock throbs. He throws his head back. “Ah! I’m coming, I-” Pantalone immediately pulls back, getting away with a wet squelch. Gamma squirms, whines and whimpers. So close, yet so far. He opens one eye, trying to search for any sign of reprehension from Pantalone, but nothing.
“So cute of you. Next time, you should join us.” Gamma's cock throbs once more, aching and hard and so so close. “I apologize, my love, but you can’t cum just yet. Can you wait just a little more for me?”
“Anything for you…” he mumbles, chest heaving and pathetically trembling.
“I told you I would let you fuck me, I can’t have you all spent before the main course.” Pantalone gets up. Slowly starting to undress. He places his clothes on the coat hanger, not particularly keen on them touching anything in this laboratory. “You can undress too, dear.”
He doesn't attempt to tease, but it's clear that the pace in which he undresses keeps Gamma at the very edge. Gamma hastily gets rid of his garments, throwing them to the floor.
“You mustn't know of it, but Omicron and I keep a little something here.” Proudly nude, Pantalone walks towards one of the cabinets, grabbing the key to Omicron’s —the sixty five year old segment— and unlocking it. Gamma's eyes immediately go wide, face heating up from the sheer depravity of it. On one side, there are clear, normal things of Omicron’s own research, but on the other? Sex toys of all kinds, various colors, shapes and purposes, handcuffs, aphrodisiacs, ballgags, whips, collars, some he hardly recognized.
Pantalone doesn't even so look at the options, rather grabbing a simplistic bottle, transparent liquid inside.
“Now,” He starts before walking back towards Gamma, sitting once more on top of the table. “I’ll need you to be very still and watch. Don’t touch yourself, you’ll get distracted. If you learn, next time you may do it yourself.”
“Next…?”
Pantalone chuckles.
“Why of course. You don’t want this to be our last time together, do you?”
He shakes his head with such fervor. It’s so cute.
Pantalone, tortuously slow, grabs the bottle, pouring some of the cold liquid on his fingers, reaching down his legs to circle his entrance with his middle finger, coating it with the excess. Gamma squirms at the sight of Pantalone's ass.
“I’ve also thought of us.” It’s the last phrase before he shoves one finger in, a small mumble of pleasure before he gently moves it. “I wondered how you tasted. The segments all have a similar taste, but nowhere near the same.” Gamma fights against the urge to touch his throbbing, heavy cock, sore and pained with the need to cum. “Next time, I would love to have you cum in my mouth.” He shoves another finger, his index this time, and begins scissoring, hardly giving himself any time to adjust. Gamma tries to squeeze his thighs together to sate his pained dick, but fails immediately, the mediocre friction sending wavelengths to his entire body. He heaves out a desperate whine, obscene amounts of precum dripping from the tip. Pantalone moans obscenely, likely to tease him, groping his own chest with his free hand, using his elbow to support him instead, the chain of his glasses bobbing softly at the gentle pace Pantalone scissored himself at. One tear rolls down Gamma’s face.
Pantalone finally stops. “Come on.” He says. The speed in which Gamma gets up is inhuman, grabbing each of Pantalone’s thighs and leaning close, rubbing his hard dick against Pantalone’s wet hole while attempting to kiss Pantalone's chest. “Ah-ah, you’re forgetting something.” Pantalone gently pushes him away, grabbing the vial and coating his hand with a copious amount of lube. “Can’t ever be too sure with you Zandiks.” He states, gently spreading it from the very base until the tip. Gamma whimpers, hips bucking to the touch against his own volition, just following primal desire to ravage Pantalone. The Ninth touches Gamma’s hand, bringing it to his own back, a subtle sign for Gamma to support him. With the other hand, still holding Gamma’s dick, he aligns it with his hole, pulling the segment closer to whisper in his ear: “Fuck me good. I’ve waited so long for you.”
Gamma can’t hold back the strength of his first thrust, sheathing himself completely inside. Pantalone moans loudly, hugging Gamma’s neck. He’s gonna come. He feels his cock throbbing, the way his breathing becomes erratic. He attempts to ignore it, thrusting messily at a confusing pace, earning gasps and moans from Pantalone beneath him every time he almost hits that perfect spot. His hips tremble, his pace falters. Tears drop from his eyes.
“Feofan, I’m gonna come, I-”
“Hold a little longer. You’ve been so good. You can do it.”
He hides his face in the crook of Pantalone's neck, biting and licking in a desperate attempt to not fall over that oh-so-tempting edge. He barely pulls out, moreso grinding and readjusting. That is, until he hits a very specific spot, and Pantalone moans loudly, tightening himself impossibly more around Gamma’s dick.
Thick, white ropes of cum spurt out of the tip, painting Pantalone's insides. He thrusts while coming, but his movements are weak, stuttering hips begging for a pause.
He pitifully sobs against Pantalone's neck, sore, aching cock begging for a second of stillness, but he simply can’t stop, thrusting shallowly.
Pantalone’s hand follows to Gamma’s nude back, caresses soothing and gentle, so terribly loving.
“Everything okay?” Pantalone asks. Instead of a verbal answer, he receives a kiss to his neck, a low, muffled grumble. Gamma’s eyes are closed, cheeks burning with a red undertone. Pantalone can’t avoid laughing. Gamma hides his face further. “Are you embarrassed?"
“You didn't finish.” Is all he says, muffled against Pantalone’s pale skin. Clearly, his lack of restraint and resilience got to him.
“I don’t mind. You did well.” He kisses the top of Gamma’s head, shivering with the throb inside him.
“Let me help you.” He almost pleads, embarrassment clinging to his every word. “I can keep going.” Despite that, his legs shake horribly, his body barely able to stay standing.
Pantalone tilts his head to the side, considering it once more.
“Of course.” He agrees. “But we’ll switch things up. Don’t want you falling on me now, do I?” Gamma merely nods, but doesn't make any effort to move. “Gamma? Pull out and sit-”
“I love you.” Gamma whispers, almost against his own desires, fear clinging to his hesitant tone.
Pantalone laughs. “I love you too.”
His darling doctor. Stupid, emotionally immature and so, so egocentric to admit confusion, even at such a young age. He loves Zandik so much. No matter which one of them.
Pantalone softly taps Gamma’s shoulders, tempting him to finally pull out. Begrudgingly, he does, Pantalone's hole clenching around nothing and Gamma’s spend seeping out. He’s always found fascinating just how much the segments came, what was even the mechanical purpose of such? Not like Pantalone is complaining, no, not at all.
Gamma helps Pantalone up, even if his own legs are ready to give out underneath him, and then sits back down. His dick, still sore, already begins to grow hard again. Another thing Pantalone’s fond of: the segments’ refractory period is simply unmatched. Having sex with more than one of them is an exercise of its own.
Pantalone approaches, sitting down on Gamma’s lap but not yet near his dick, just close enough for the heat of his ass to be tempting. “You want to make me cum?” He asks, taking one of Gamma’s hands.
“More than anything.” Gamma concurs, letting his hand be controlled by the Regrator.
“Good.” He praises, placing Gamma’s hand near his hard cock, shockwaves sent through his entire body as the segment gently holds it. “No matter what, don’t stop stroking, not until I’m finished. Got it?”
Gamma nods along, softly toying with Pantalone's tip. He hums in pleasure, and Gamma’s eyes sparkle in delight.
Pantalone grabs Gamma’s cock once more, taking less time than before to align it with his asshole and slam down, Gamma's teary eyes go wide, yet he fights the shock to stroke Pantalone up and down.
Pantalone laughs. It’s so adorable how terrible Gamma is at this all, his inexperience makes everything feel better. His grasp is far too rough, likely mimicry of what he does to his own cock, and Pantalone shudders at the thought, dick pulsating while imagining it. He picks up a better pace, rising and lowering himself on Gamma’s lap, forcing an angle where Gamma’s tip rubs just right against his prostate every single time.
Pantalone feels that familiar knot near his groin, that feeling just near climax. Gamma’s unsure hand and pace, led by Pantalone’s ruthless rhythm, gropes around the girth and squeezes softly, just enough to drive Pantalone mad.
He leans in, capturing Gamma’s lips with his own, leading the kiss to, maybe, teach Gamma the way. He’s evidently a quick learner, less harsh than the first time they kissed, but still far too brutish, sharp teeth centimeters away from drawing blood.
He feels the way Gamma grasps at his waist, forcing him nearer, the tip of his stimulated dick rubbing against Gamma’s stomach, and that's when he cums. His semen drips down Gamma’s skin, noticeably less thick and copious than the segment, but a lot nonetheless.
He, despite finishing, doesn't stop moving, clenching around and riding Gamma’s cock. Gamma whimpers, letting go of Pantalone's cock and hugging him, drooling against his shoulder where he attempts to bite but fails, mouth slacking.
“My good boy, so good, so-” Pantalone caresses Gamma’s hair, kissing the top of his head while plummeting down nonstop. “Fill me up again, my love. You’re so good, such a wonderful, perfect-”
Gamma squirms, coming inside Pantalone one more time. Pantalone helps him ride out the high, soft drawings of his hips while Gamma throws his head back, panting.
They share a comfortable, warm silence, Pantalone's hips finally stilling on top of Gamma’s lap, the only silence being their heavy breathing.
Pantalone grabs a handful of Gamma's hair, gently pulling him near. His face is completely red, crimson eyes glittering with remnants of tears. Pantalone smiles. Gamma looks away, embarrassed, but Pantalone pulls him back, kissing him one more time. This time it’s gentle, soft and easy, no intrusion of anyone’s tongue. Gamma is still horrible at it, but Pantalone hardly minds.
Pantalone pulls back to breathe. Gamma is simply awestruck.
“How are you feeling?” Pantalone asks, fingers treading through Gamma’s blue hair.
“Good.” He answers, snuggling close to Pantalone's chest. “Just- Exhausted, I suppose. I’m not designed for expertise with these activities so I…”
“Having a hard time adjusting?” Pantalone chuckles. “Don’t worry. I’ll help you get used to it.”
Gamma hums thoughtfully, hugging Pantalone's waist. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me, my love.”
Omicron’s indignant huff is the first sign it was going to be a long day. He marches towards Omega.
“Haven’t I already told you multiple times to get your own things?” He accuses. Omega doesn't even look up from the corpse on the operating table, scalpel continuing to do its job.
“If only I knew what you were blabbering on about, I would be able to respond-”
“Don’t act innocent.” He reprimands, showing Omega an almost empty bottle of lube. “There’s a reason why only Pantalone has a key to my things.”
“I didn’t use that.” Omega insists, hands resting on his hips. “I have been away for just as long as you have. It must’ve been Theta, he’s the one who returned earlier.”
Theta, from across the room, merely looks up from his papers. “Me? Why would I bother coming all the way here to steal lube, of all things? I haven’t as much stepped inside the lab in the past weeks.”
“Then, who else? The others are still away. That only leaves out Epsilon, and-”
Epsilon, the twenty five year old segment, stands on the side, brewing himself a cup of tea. “I have my own lube, thank you very much. I need not the one in your freak collection of sadomasochist gear-”
That’s when Gamma, silently, walks in, holding a stack of papers, supposedly from his research. He doesn't greet any of the others, but that slight, unusual hop to his steps and the uncharacteristic smile plaguing his face calls too much attention to himself.
The lab falls silent. The segments slowly, mechanically turn to face him.
He notices the shift, looking up at them.
There's an awkward silence.
“What?” He asks.
Epsilon bursts out laughing.
“No way.” Theta says.
Omega hums.