Dottolone/Panttore (Dottore x Pantalone)

Insanity

Warning: Aggressive acts. I more enjoy the psychological aspect of this relationship so it was really interesting to write this! ^^

It was well past midnight when Pantalone made his way through the dimly lit corridors of the Fatui's luxurious underground base, a subtle smirk playing on his lips. The day had been slow, filled with delays and what he could only describe as theatrics—a perfect opportunity to savor another victory over the Doctor.

The grand, luxurious chambers that Pantalone had arranged for Dottore were quiet, save for the faint ticking of a clock on the far wall. It was well past midnight, and most of the base had gone silent, the faint hum of distant machinery the only sound accompanying the stillness.

 And so, he found himself at Dottore's chamber door, ready to indulge in his favorite pastime: taunting the infamous madman.

He knocked lightly and stepped in without waiting for an invitation.

Dottore was seated at the far end of the room, back turned to the door, his usual eerie calmness filling the air like a thick fog. He didn't rise to greet Pantalone, nor did he even acknowledge his presence right away. The room smelled faintly of chemicals and metal, as it always did with Dottore, but something else lingered beneath the surface—something that felt... different tonight.

"Doctor," Pantalone began, his voice dripping with condescension as he sauntered inside, "I was just on my way to retire for the evening and thought I'd check in on you. After all, it seems I've been the only one making any real progress lately." He chuckled softly, his eyes glinting as he awaited a reaction.

But Dottore didn't turn. Instead, he remained unnervingly still, a faint clicking sound breaking the silence—a soft twitch of his gloved fingers, barely noticeable unless one was paying close attention.

Pantalone's smirk faltered just slightly. He wasn't used to this kind of quiet.

"Too busy with your little... experiments?" Pantalone teased, stepping closer, his gaze sweeping over the clutter of equipment in the room. "Or perhaps you've found another poor soul to poke and prod for your amusement. You always did enjoy your little 'tests.'" His voice lowered into a soft, almost taunting drawl. "Shame none of them ever quite measure up."

Still, no immediate response.

The silence stretched just a bit too long for Pantalone's liking.

Finally, Dottore turned slowly, his face shadowed by the dim light, and there it was—a smile. But not the usual, mocking grin Pantalone had grown accustomed to. No, this was different. The edges of Dottore's lips twitched unnaturally, and his eyes gleamed with an unsettling intensity behind his mask. His hand twitched again, fingers flexing almost involuntarily.

Pantalone noticed then—the faint glisten of blood running down Dottore's chin.. Strange.

"Oh?" Pantalone's eyebrow arched, but he forced himself to keep his usual composure. "You're unusually quiet tonight, Doctor. Not like you at all."

Dottore's eyes followed the movement of Pantalone's hand as it gestured casually in the air. He licked his lips absentmindedly, tasting the metallic tang of his own blood but not appearing to care. His hand twitched again, fingers curling inward, nails pressing into his palm. He seemed barely aware of it—or perhaps, he was fully aware and simply didn't care.

Pantalone, still maintaining his calm exterior, decided to push further. "Are you... unwell? You seem a bit... how should I put it—off tonight. More so than usual." His voice turned teasing again, an attempt to regain the upper hand in the conversation. "Perhaps I should call for a doctor? Though I'm not sure any of them could particularly help you."