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Dottore hadn't known solitude until he met you.
You appeared in his life like a Padisarah blooming in spring; a creature so lovely and sweet that he could not believe you could be his. You were all-consuming, you were otherworldly. Your words awakened in Dottore parts of himself that he thought nonexistent; your touch set his entire body aflame and made him understand just how ravenous he had been his entire life.
He had never considered it before - that he could be hungry for something like this: you lying bare beneath him, hair splayed out on the soft pillow, eyes pooling with tears as you took him in. Gracious, generous. Dottore had not known intimacy of this kind before but you showed him all that he had been deprived of. Was it wrong to want more? Should it bother him, that the feeling of your walls enveloping his cock so sweetly was not enough?
A thought that would not leave his mind no matter what he did. Dottore ached with the desire to fill you until he was all you knew; to take and take until you had nothing left to give; to merge your souls into one, forever intertwined, never to be separated by the omnipresent island in the sky. And you would let him - you were kinder than he could ever be, sweeter than all the dandelion wine in Teyvat.
Dottore thrusted in and out in time with your wanton moans. He couldn't remember when his rationality had been overtaken by such desperate want, but that had ceased to matter the moment he slid into you. You were his only respite from a world which despised him - your body a haven he could have never dreamed of.
Archons, and why didn't he meet you sooner? Why did the stars mock him for five hundred years before finally allowing this to happen?
You whined when his cock brushed against that particular spot. He knew you were overwhelmed; your legs, wrapped around his waist, twitched every so often with a plea for release. Dottore reveled in that, too: that he could see you at your most desperate and prolong the sweet torture that he knew you so loved.
"I can't," slipped the miserable confession past your lips, "please, Zandik..."
He brushed damp locks of hair out of your face with a careful hand, kissed your tears with a softness he never knew he possessed. Dottore's gaze was nothing if not fond as he took in the sight of you.
"You can take it, dear," he murmured, slowing his thrusts to an agonizing pace, "Be patient."
It was a lot to ask of you when Dottore himself was on the brink of losing all self-control. Your arms were wrapped around his neck, bringing him closer and closer still; as if the proximity between you would force him to move at the pace that you favored. Had you forgotten, in your haze, that Dottore much preferred these slow, tantalizing strokes? That the sight of you writhing impatiently fueled his lust more than anything?
His lips trailed your skin: beginning with your jaw and stopping at the crook of your neck, where Dottore bit down in time with a sudden, harsh thrust that made you moan loudest. He went as deep as he could - squeezed by your walls in a way that made him groan against you. Intoxicating, divine. You would be his undoing.
"You're teasing. It's- it's too much."
Dottore chuckled softly. "Is it? Can't you take it?"
Fool. Terrible, fatuous fool.
How you'd melted every ice wall that shielded his heart - a shriveled thing, rotten to the core. Never had he yearned so deeply to mark you, to show the world that you had proven him worthy of being desired.
"I need more, Zandik," you said, words coming out in gasps as he pushed in and out, in and out. "I want to come."
Whatever resistance he had was crushed into dust. How could he deny you a thing when you had given him life?
"Anything you desire." He said, before pressing his lips to yours in a fervent kiss. His hands roamed your skin - your hips, waist, breasts, the pads of his fingers brushing against your hardened nipples, eliciting a sigh that sent shivers down his spine. He couldn't get enough; even when your hips bucked against his, even when your fingers tugged at his hair as he thrusted deeper, harder. His hunger for you was bottomless - a mere taste was not enough. Dottore wanted to become one with you; like the ley lines buried deep in the earth.
You broke the kiss first, but Dottore did not spare you the moment to catch your breath. He dove back in, thirsty for more, his heart nearly fluttering when your mouth welcomed his again. Could you feel it, the adoration he held for you? Did his rough kiss convey everything that you made him feel? If you were to open your eyes in that moment, you would have seen the passion with which he kissed you: in his creased brows and eyes closed shut. He focused everything he had on wordlessly telling you, mine. You're mine and mine alone.
He kissed you until his lungs betrayed him. Dottore rested his forehead against yours, the feeling of your warm breath on his swollen lips setting him on fire. Your body had tensed where it was pressed against his own - a sign of your impending release.
His hand moved down to your core, thumb slipping past your slick folds to rub circles against your clit. The moan that slipped past your lips as a result was an exhilarating melody that he could never tire of.
Dottore wished to see you as you came; to catch a glimpse of your expression, twisted in pleasure utterly unbearable. But he couldn't muster that strength, for his own release was creeping closer, turning his movements sloppy, the thrill of the moment too great to bear. He could only hear your voice, the slapping of skin against skin, could only feel the way you took him in - you consumed him with no mercy. Everything you did had formed cracks at the edges of a mask he spent five hundred years carefully crafting.
It was only when you stilled beneath him that he slowed his thrusts. You clenched around him for a brief moment - eliciting a hiss - and then you came undone with a cry that Dottore could feel in his bones.
He nearly forgot about his throbbing cock, still buried deep inside you, for Dottore couldn't tear his gaze away from your face. All coherent thoughts escaped him until all that was left was the same mantra he repeated each time he looked at you: mine, mine, mine.