#harbingers

...eating you out, they get their pleasure from it for different reasons.

Dottore is methodical and calculated. He has studied every anatomy textbook (and probably more than one human body), pored through every reference or light novel possible, and he takes your pleasure as seriously as he does everything else. And that's clear from the way he lavishes you in too-soft kisses, grazes of his teeth at the tender flesh of your inner thigh as you're splayed out on his bed.

Every stroke of his tongue against your folds, every suck of your clit, every single centimeter he slips his gloved finger into your entrance - it is all intended to bring you to the edge and keep you there as long as possible. You are the most lovely specimen to be studied, his pet project, his beloved; and to see you sobbing, thighs quaking in his iron grip, frantically trying to grind your hips against his slick-covered face for an iota of friction after being denied orgasm after orgasm while he chuckles and coos over what a desperate little thing you are...for someone like the Outcast, it warms his heart as much as it hardens his cock.

You are the Doctor's beloved; the one who reminds him of that scrap of humanity he has left. And the way you sing his name (his real name, Zandik, the one he's only heard from your lips since centuries ago) when he finally helps the wave of your orgasm crest its shore...it is tangible proof that he is, in spite of everything, still worthy of love in return.

He will never tell you how you make him feel, preferring to show you instead and knowing you are intelligent enough to make the inference.

Pantalone is different. He is the richest man in all of Teyvat; he can purchase whatever he wants, sell whatever he doesn't, and his wealth and power are evidence that he has risen to the highest of heights without a lick of help from the gods. Money is a catalyst that can bring him that which he desires.

You, however...money could never buy the way you ride his face into oblivion. It could never buy the iron grip of your fingers in his dark locks in a futile effort to keep him in place whilst he teases your clit. It could never buy the rasp in your voice as you cry out his name, 'Lone, please, begging for more, more, more - and Pantalone is greedy. His title of Regrator knows no bounds, and the way he veritably devours you makes that fact quite clear.

He does not know how to navigate a relationship that is not transactional. You snort and roll your eyes at his attempts to adorn you with priceless jewelry and furs; you scoff at his offers of lavish gifts and fine wine, opting for a quiet night in his quarters snuggled into his lap. But the sound of you losing control, at his doing no less...that, Pantalone knows. That, Pantalone can give you - and he will continue to give it to you, over and over and over, until your legs are jelly and his glasses (which he inevitably must leave on to make out the perfect part of your dry lips, the flutter of your lashes, the furrow of your brow in the throes of ecstasy...) are fogged.