#because now dottore's fucking obsessed FHJDFG

[fatedevour]

♢  —     @bogachs​​​​ said:  presses his palm on dottore's throat,  held in his grip firmly,  whilst whispering hotly a few inches from him,  "you're mine,  zandik.  you would do well to remember that."  (he's being greedy again)

UNPROMPTED ASKS: ALWAYS ACCEPTING!

   Pressure immediately draws twisted fascination from the doctor. It took quite some GALL to do such an act, and anyone else would have thought the ninth had absolutely lost his mind to attempt such an act. But Dottore neither fights nor retaliates. Instead delight bursts aflame in red eyes as he feels Pantalone’s grip on his throat, digging leather into flesh and fingers pressing to his trachea, threatening to diminish the airflow. 

   The words go straight to igniting the flames of desire, a subtle shift in his breath betraying him. So much power at Pantalone’s fingertips, utilized quite literally now. The words slither and coil like barbed wire digging into his brain. It’s always a dark delight to witness Pantalone like this, that black fire flaring up, the possessiveness that bleeds out like blood from a fresh wound. Whether something had CAUSED it or not, he wasn’t sure. (The underling perhaps? Or perhaps it was just possessiveness rearing its heard.) Nor did he care.

   Mine. Only Pantalone would be bold and PRESUMPTUOUS enough to dare to lay claim to someone like Dottore. Who else would attempt nor even WANT to? It was something he loved about Pantalone. Those sides hidden from the daylight but that he got a taste of. The violence, the possessiveness, the delight in danger. They might ACT very different, but they weren’t so different from one another in some ways.

   Finally, a chuckle rumbles from Dottore’s chest, even when he feels the fingers around his throat tighten like a vice. He can’t decide which is more appealing, to tear into or be torn into.  His tongue darts out to dampen his lips, thoughts swirling in his brain.

   He wants to hear it again. 

    “  Perhaps you should REPEAT yourself.  “  Dottore suggests, his voice low and gravely as he answers back, long lashes lowering a fraction in invitation.  “  Just to be certain I heard you right.  “

  Of course, he DOESN’T need it. But he does WANT to hear it again, to feel that crawl of dark pleasure up his spine hearing and seeing Pantalone speak in such a manner. He wouldn’t be TOO surprised if it was rejected, or DELAYED, till later when Pantalone can hiss it in his ear or attempt to force him to swallow his pride to say it, potentially both. Or if he was particularly in a mood, even indulge now AND both the latter ideas later. It doesn’t PARTICULARLY matter. The fact remains that it is an indulgence in Pantalone’s possessiveness and greed, a beast Dottore very intentionally had been feeding all along and increasing its appetite. He stares at him, gaze unwavering to witness Pantalone’s response like watching a particularly show.