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Pantalone had established three strict rules for his arrangement with Dottore.
The rules were simple.
First, it was strictly a transaction; second, kissing was forbidden as it is an expression of love; and third, developing feelings was out of the question. The terms were clear. The banker satisfied his own sexual desires while the scientist secured funding for his future research.
It should’ve stayed at that border.
Nobody, not even the other Fatui Harbingers knew about this ‘transaction’. It’s just between Dottore and Pantalone.
The clock on the mantle ticked and with a heavy and predictable rhythm. It was the only sound in the room until the door opened. The heavy oak doors to his room didn’t just open, it flew back, shuddering on its hinges as Dottore collided with the door. Within the room, the scent of fine, fermented grapes mingled with the sharp, chemical reek clinging to the scientist's attire.
Dottore’s coat slid down his shoulders as the doors closed. His mask almost slipped off, one crimson eye, unfocused and intense, peering through the slit.
Pantalone remained focused on the ledger at his desk, his gaze unwavering as the soft window light caught the silver rims of his spectacles. With a black fur coat draped over his shoulders, he remarked without looking up, "You are tardy as ever, Zandik".
Dottore’s heavy breathing had turned to a scoff,
“And you are incredibly loud for someone who values stealth.” His voice was a smooth, cultivated drawl. “My door was nearly broken.”
“Stealth… is for the subordinates.” Dottore breathed heavily, then coughed a laugh. His voice slurred, “Plus, the mora is already in my account, Regrator. Our transaction is guaranteed.”
“Naturally.” Pantalone closed the ledger with a soft thud, finally looking up at him with his soft purple eyes. He stood up, smoothing the front of his coat. He walked over to where Dottore stood, his expression a mask of perfect and professional elegance.
Dottore was standing over looking at the moon through the window. “And the latest reports from the Sumeru operations?” Pantalone started, leaning against the wall beside the window.
“It’s promising,” Dottore replied idly. His eyes, obscured by his mask, swept over Pantalone with a clinical and detached familiarity.
He reached out, his gloved fingers cold as ice as they touched Pantalone’s jaw. His fingers trace down to his turtleneck. “I doubt you brought me here to discuss logistics tonight.”
“A fair assumption.” Pantalone whispered. He forced his heart to keep a steady, professional beat, even if Dottore’s finger brushed against the curve of his throat. Though the routine offered a sense of stability, an unfamiliar sensation remained lodged deep in Pantalone’s throat.
Dottore pulled Pantalone by the collar and sat back down on his bed, not an act of desperation or passion, just routine. It makes it easier and less inefficient to drive him closer.
Pantalone followed. His gaze was kept on Dottore’s eyes.
This act is like a casual routine Dottore did, and for years, it was enough. Pantalone covered all of the costs that Dottore needed for his work, and the boundaries kept Pantalone’s pathetic heart hidden behind a wall of gold coins.
This transaction? It was suggested by Dottore not long ago.
The back of Dottore’s knees hit the edge of the mattress. He looked up at the taller guy then sat back up, leaning back on his elbows, looking at him with a bored, expectant look.
“Well? Are we going to begin?”
“Mmm,” Pantalone finally spoke up, answering. “Remember the terms. Number one, this is just a transaction–” His voice was cut off.
“I know the rules, Regrator. Stop talking.” Dottore spat, “Just fuck me.”
Pantalone replied with a scoff, stripping his own clothes with an efficient, cold precision, his clothes discarded in a heap of silk and wool. Dottore’s movements were slower, his fingers fumbling with his own buttons, cursing under his breath when a button popped and skittered across the floor.
Pantalone didn’t wait for him to finish. He reached down, ripping the remaining fabric of Dottore’s clothes and trousers. Dottore laid down and scoffed, before the taller male shrugged it off. “I’ll replace them.”
He pulled Dottore’s trousers down, exposing the pale, lean curves of his thighs. The banker’s fingers slid down, fingers rubbing against Dottore’s entrance. Dottore let out a strangled gasp, jumping from the sudden sensation. His back arched, legs bent.
Pantalone brought his gloved hands up to Dottore’s mouth. “Suck.”
His gloves were coated with his saliva, diving inside Dottore’s anal, pushing deeper until knuckle deep. “You’re squeezing my fingers so tight.” He noted, adding another finger as he smiled deeply.
“Shut up,” Dottore struggled to speak up, groaning as his own spit served as a lubrication, stretching his tight heat. “Shut the fuck up.”
His dick twitched as Pantalone added the third finger. The sound of slicking flesh filled the quiet room. Dottore’s breathing turned into uneven hitches, his fingers dug onto the bed, knuckles turning white.
The Doctor’s mouth dropped open. Pantalone used his free hand to take off his mask, revealing his crimson eyes, wide and blown out with lust. Dottore immediately used his hands to cover his eyes, his saliva foaming on the edge of his mouth.
“Just…” He paused, hiccuped. “Please.”
The Regrator hummed, his fingers working. “What’s that?”
“Don’t make me repeat myself.” Dottore inhaled sharply, the walls of his anus gripped tightly on his fingers. “Please, just fuck me.”
He doesn’t need to be told twice. He withdrew his fingers, unzipping his pants to free himself. His cock thick and pulsing, glistening with pre-cum.
With one hand, he guided himself at the opening and his free hand holding Dottore’s legs apart. The blunt head rubbed against his entrance, teasing the sensitive rim. He waited, letting the tension build up until he began to thrash beneath him, hips bucking upward in a desperate search for friction.
Pantalone’s hands gripped on his thighs, scoffing softly.
With a sudden, powerful thrust, Pantalone buried himself deep.
Dottore cried loud, the loud sound filled the room. His entire body stiffened, all the air was pushed out of his lungs in a sharp wheeze as his tight walls clamped around the intruder.
Pantalone groaned, the sensation of the tight, hot grip nearly breaking his composure.
He stayed still for a moment, allowing the light blue haired guy to adjust. His eyes were clamped shut, chest was rising heavily, and his legs were shaking.
Pantalone fought the urge to pull back and thrust forward immediately.
He began to slowly move, his hands holding Dottore’s waist. He pulled back until he was almost out, before slamming home again.
It was painfully slow, but rough. The squelching sounds echoed with every thrust. His pre-cum coating Dottore’s insides. Pantalone’s testes slapped against Dottore’s skin with a heavy, meaty thud that drove both of them crazy.
“Breathe, Dottore. I will ejaculate earlier if you keep squeezing me like that.”
Dottore replied with a moan that was muffled by his own hand. He couldn’t answer with words, he was lost in the sensation, his head tossing left and right every few minutes. He felt the thick head of Pantalone’s cock hitting his prostate, a deep blunt pressure that made his toes curl.
Pantalone increased his pace, his thrusts becoming frantic, almost passionate.
“Gods,” Pantalone groaned, “You feel incredible.” Sweat dripped from his forehead to the boy beneath him. His face felt hot. A warm, metallic liquid began to drip from his nose, trickling down toward his jawline. It dripped down to Dottore’s torso.
“Shit,” He accidentally blurted out, wiping his nose with his palm. The same hand reached for Dottore’s penis, wrapping around his girth, mixing blood with pre-cum. He jerked him off that mirrored the violence of his hips. Dottore’s breath broke into high, thin whimpers.
His legs moved. He was hovering on the edge, the pleasure becoming too intense, bordering on pain. The pleasure reached an intensity he had not experienced in all their months of this arrangement.
Suddenly, the rhythm shifted. The physical intensity remained, but something in Dottore broke. A sob, small and jagged, escaped his throat.
Pantalone froze, his cock still buried deep inside. He looked down at his face. Dottore wasn’t looking at him, his face turned away, eyes shut, tears leaking. It soaked through the covers.
“Zandik?”
He didn’t answer. He just shuddered, another sob racking his lean frame. The vulnerability was sudden, stripping away the facade of the arrogant, sarcastic scientist and the cold banker. Dottore looked fragile, vulnerable. His chest heaving as he wept silently, his body still trembling around Pantalone’s hardness.
He felt a surge of something unfamiliar and terrifying. It wasn’t the desire for conquest or the satisfaction of a deal closed. It was an ache, a crushing weight of his chest that made it hard to breathe.
He looked down at the man beneath him, and realised that the ‘arrangement’ he had made was just a lie. A lie for himself.
He didn’t pull away, he didn’t ask. Instead, he shifted so he could look at Dottore in the eye. He stared at the man for a moment.
He knew the rule.
No kissing. Kissing was for those who sought intimacy, for those who wanted to be known. Sex is for the body, and kissing is for the soul. To kiss was to admit that the other person mattered beyond the friction of skin.
No catching feelings. He had betrayed his own rule.
Pantalone took off his glasses and leaned down. He didn’t hesitate. He cupped Dottore’s cheeks to make him face towards him. He pressed his lips against the man below.
Dottore stiffened, a gasp of surprise dying in his throat as the contact happened. It wasn’t a tentative kiss, it was a claim. His mouth was warm and demanding, tongue sweeping past Dottore’s lips to taste the salt of the tears.
Dottore let out a broken moan as he pushed Pantalone’s chest. His eyebrows furrowed, eyes shut hard. He fought. Then he lifted his hand and grabbed at his hair to pull him closer.
The kiss deepened, becoming a desperate exchange of saliva and breath.
It was an admission of defeat.
Pantalone pulled back, his eyes not only shone brightly only from lust, but another look, a look of heated passion.
“You fool.” Dottore’s voice was almost inaudible. “The rules said no kissing.”
“Perhaps I may be a fool.” He scoffed, pulling out slowly, then thrusting back in. “But your tears made you far too tempting to resist.”
He caressed his cheek. “There, there. What’s there to cry about?”
Dottore whined as he resumed thrusting. The heat between them became an inferno, despite the cold weather in Snezhnaya.
His body shuddered, he was close, on edge. Pantalone gripped his dick tight.
“Moron,” he stuttered. “I need release…”
Pantalone picked up his pace, his own climax rushing toward him like a tidal wave. He thrusted one final time and buried deep inside, letting go of Dottore’s penis as they came together. Dottore cried out loud, his insides clenching rhythmically around Pantalone’s cock, milking his cock to release more.
Release after release erupted from his own cock, the fluid drips down from the head of his cock down toward his torso.
Pantalone groaned, pumping wave after wave of hot seed inside Dottore’s stomach.
“Fuck,” Dottore grumbled. “Pull out, you idiot.. My stomach hurts.”
They collapsed together, a tangle of sweat-slicked limbs and heavy breathing. The silence that followed wasn’t the cold silence of two strangers. It was a comfortable, unusual silence.
Pantalone didn’t pull out immediately. He stayed there, anchored inside Dottore, feeling the slow thrum of their shared heartbeat. He stared at Dottore’s face, really looked at it, and felt a sense of completion he had never found in any ledger or gold coin.
He smiled, then scoffed.
Pantalone felt a heavy wave towards him that made him pass out.
Dottore groaned and hit his back a few times, unable to find response from the taller man. He admitted defeat before dozing off himself.
When Pantalone eventually stirred at 4 AM, the early morning light was just beginning to touch the room. With a low groan, he withdrew his penis from the sleeping man and sat on the edge of the bed. He reached for his glasses, then a lighter and a cigarette.
His gaze lingering on the soft, steady breathing of the man still lost in slumber. Hand reaching for his hair, tucking a strand behind his ear. The room reeked of smoke.