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This is too much. Too fucking much.
The heat burns through him, his hands gripping the sink counter so hard as his knuckles fade into a white shade. A drop of sweat trickles down Dottore's forehead, the intense pleasure and warmth engulfing his body. It's so bad that he can't utter a coherent thought. Everything around him feels tight, suffocating — a deviant feeling coiling in the lowest pit of his stomach.
He locked himself away, distancing himself from his members. Besides the obvious horny, derogatory words spewing around in his head, he remembers the short meet-up they had.
*****
"Wait, so let me get this straight. Pulcinella, you accidentally walked into Dottore, causing him to spill..."
"A sex pollen potion on me." Dottore, who still has his decency, finishes the sentence for Arlecchino. It was five minutes after the incident, calling the only three harbingers who were available at the moment.
The room is freezing, the windows and doors fogging up with ice. The breeze sways their winter clothes, displaying the tension and intensity between the members.
Dottore hears Tartaglia before he loses his composure, "So, erm, you want someone to help-"
What the fuck?
"No, I'm just notifying you that I'll be in my office for a long period. Don't barge in unless I grant permission. You may inform the other harbingers when they arrive. Thank you for your time." The doctor implies, sensing perplexed, eccentric faces poking at his back as he walks away.
*****
Dottore's so unbelievably frustrated right now. The thoughts are getting too overwhelming, whispering in a smooth honey-like voice about sticking his dick in someone so pretty, using them like a toy. All he has to do is outstand the pressure and jerk off- simple, right.
Except he's so fucking wrong.
It's been half an hour with his dick in his hand, chest heaving— hunched over his office desk. The burning sensation is still shivering through his body, nowhere close to cumming.
The sound of soft footsteps distracts his thoughts, the sound coming to a halt when it reaches the front of his door.
And because Dottore is fucking dumb at the moment, he forgot to lock the door. Great, just fucking great. The shiny, cold doorknob twists in an anti-clockwise direction, the hinge of the door creaking open. Dottore cringes, looking up to who's stupid enough to barge in—since all the harbingers supposedly know about his condition—.
Dottore squints at the person in the dark, the moonlight illuminating his office. He groans when he sees a very familiar specialized back and blue outfit and a pair of black gloves. Trust the gods to bring the last person he wanted to see in this state.
Pantalone stands there, hands displayed across his chest, staring blankly at Dottore like he's weak. His eyes drift away to land on Dottore's dick, a rare emotion wiping over his face, and then it's gone. Pantalone's eyes return to Dottore, a chuckle easing into the atmosphere.
Did this maniac laugh at his dick?
"My my, the doctor really does have perfect features." That satiny, delicate voice whispers teasingly, and Dottore internally blames it on the potion for focusing on the pretty, pink shape of Pantalone's lips-
Shit.
For some reason, he can't seem to have any shame. Dottore's hand is still on his dick, pumping slowly- a hint of pink creeping up his neck. It's detrimental. He knows if Pantalone doesn't leave now, all hell will break loose.
"As much I'd love to see your lovely face, what do you want, Pantalone?" Dottore puffs, tortuously stopping himself from moaning.
The man with glasses grins ever so widely, "It's always something I want, doctor. What if I came here to offer you something?" He purrs, his voice showing no mercy to Dottore's dick. It sparks a bundle of electricity within the doctor's heated, lustful body. The room has no space, and everything feels stupefied- his breathing hitching every once in a while.
Dottore stares as Pantalone locks the door behind him, a determined glare pulsing in those dazzling eyes. Deep down within the stubborn gut of Dottore, he admits that beautiful and talkative is a description to fit Pantalone. Those glasses sit so prettily on top of his nose, his delicate hands wandering around, the way the outfit fits so firmly around his body- showing off his curves. Curse this breath-taking man for being such a bastard.
Dottore laughs, his impulse increasing with every minute. "You can offer me whatever you want after. Get out before I make you. My condition is bad." It's supposed to sound threatening, but the flirtatious voice in his head says otherwise.
Pantalone sighs, shrugging off his rather expensive winter coat. "Never thought I see the day where you spill your potions on yourself. How stupidly inept of you."
"If you're here to mock me-"
"However," Pantalone hushes him, the chilly breeze fluttering through the office. "I'm here to help you."
Dottore snarls with anger, lust, and gloom. His dick twitches, and every part of his body itches- corruption and desire urging him on. That same fucking voice. 'You hear that? He wants you to use his body like a toy. Devour him. Make him cry on your dick for hours.'
Dottore curses himself as pre-cum dribbles onto the floor.
"Fuck, Pantalone, leave. You are a charming bastard, but I'm not going to fucking violate you." The doctor heaves, every ounce of his sanity hanging by a thread.
"Aw, I think you're an attractive jerk too, Doctor. But," Pantalone whispers, his face looking delicate under the moonlight. "I want you to use me."
Within that fucking second, the thread snaps, and all hell finally breaks loose. Before he knows it, he's hauling forward— ripping the air out of Pantalone as he pins them to the nearest wall. He corners Pantalone on the frigid wall, Dottore's hand traveling up to restrain both of the Regrator's gloved hands. It's so quiet that Dottore could hear his breathing. His desire crawled around in his veins, tempting him, persuading him.
What makes it worst is the absolute sluttish smirk plastered on Pantalone's face. A pretty pink blush covers his face, tinting his ears, a sparkle of lust and anticipation dazzling in those eyes. The glasses tilt on his face, his glossy lips forming an 'O' shape. Holy shit, Dottore is so close to dropping dead from a boner. The other man is acting so pliant like he actually wants this. So willing to let Dottore use him, touch him, devour him. The doctor is not sane after all.
Dottore growls under the tinted light of the moon, hands letting go of Pantalone's wrists. "Why are you doing this to yourself, submitting me, risking yourself for some infantile sex potion?" He bites, yet his knee unconsciously slips between Pantalone's leg. He's so horny yet so confused. Pantalone could go his way, leaving Dottore to handle this stupid sex pollen himself. Though, Pantalone is here. Offering help and Dottore almost think Pantalone is being nice.
Almost. Too bad Pantalone is never friendly. Gods, could he fool a person.
"I understand your dearest concern, but you could die. It's a 'Fuck or Die' situation. I heard you talk about how some of your sex potions can be deadly if not treated urgently." Pantalone deadpans, but that same lewd, upright voice is back.
"And to be honest, doctor, You're not dying under my watch. If anything, I'm the only one that can kill you."
Out of Dottore's horny, clouded, under that mask- red eyes widened. The way Pantalone whispers in such a possessive, reassuring tone- like a promise never meant to be broken. A warmth perishes over them, and Dottore sighs, slightly shaking his head. He's going fucking insane.
Before he feels it, there's a gentle gloved hand caressing his erected dick. Dottore bites his tongue as his hands squeeze reluctantly on the wall.
"Pantalone... you do know there are consequences t-"
"To my actions? Oh, trust me, doctor, I know." The other man finishes his sentence for him like they're secret lovers. As if destiny is bestowing a promise, a gentle wish above them. It makes Dottore's blood boil, even more, pleasure and anger setting ablaze under his sensitive skin.
A hand comes up to his mask, gripping it, towing it away from his face. It falls flat on the surface, and an echo of the impact rings in Dottore's ears. The aroma is too tensed, suffocating with desire and hate. Those red, crimson eyes rake over Pantalone's smug facial features, a feeling swarming in them.
"What if I told you I wanted those consequences? I'm permitting you to utilize me however you like. Stop retaining it and fuck me up just like you wanted to. Use my body like a toy." And fuck, that's all it takes for the sex pollen to rush through his veins.
Dottore immediately dives in for a kiss. He kisses him with a thirsty desire that rips the breath out of the banker. Every press of their lips, messy tongues dancing with each other, sends a shock wave through the doctor's body. He pulls at Pantalone's bottom lip, snaring strings of moans and whines from the other man.
Pantalone wraps his arms around Dottore's neck, the heaviness on his body fading, sparks of fire and passion settling in his bones. The doctor thinks it's so passionate. He almost mistakes it for love.
As expected(?), Pantalone is a rather messy kisser. He gradually keeps up with the pace as Dottore's tongue explores his cavern. He squeezes onto Pantalone's waist, nails digging into his flesh. A quiet gasp leaves the banker's bruised lips while Dottore feels him quiver, making him pull the other closer, kissing roughly and hastily. They are fighting for dominance— like they always do when arguing. The kiss becomes more heated and sloppy, drool streaming down at the corner of their mouths.
Dottore eagerly wraps the banker's slim, perfect legs around his waist, gripping onto his ass within a second. Fuck, who told Pantalone to be with such a big ass like this? Panting for air, Dottore pulls away as a trail of salvia follows. The sight before him is devious. Pantalone's head is tilted, lips bruised and glossy. Dottore wants to make him cry, and it's unreal.
The doctor dives in for the unblemished neck as he leaves sweet, hypersexual kisses and bites on Pantalone's skin. Pantalone's little whimpers and groans dance around in the air, urging Dottore more. His hands recklessly scrabble against the banker's clothed ass—fingers mindlessly pressing on the imprint of his hole and-
And-holy, fuck, is that? Does it feel like-?
Noticing his sudden confusion, Pantalone chuckles. "C'mon now, Doctor, give me some credit. The harbingers warned me about your condition. Obviously, I would prepare myself beforehand."
Dottore's mind breaks. The voice is back. 'Look at that. He prepared himself for you. Lubed up, bouncing on his fingers as he thinks of you, mo-'
The doctor smirks, "You're such a naughty boy, banker." That's all he says before Pantalone is thrown over the office desk, a yelp spilling from his mouth. Papers, glass tubes, and notes are under Pantalone as he arches his back, ass hanging over the desk—gloved hands bracing his impact. The banker seems startled until Dottore converts him around, shoves him back down, and tugs him forward as his head hangs off the edge of the table.
Everything is upside down as Dottore's figure comes in front of him, a hand pumping his veiny and thick cock. Dottore strokes a few times, laughing -oh so evilly as Pantalone predictably opens his mouth- tongue lolling out as if prepared.
"Always so eager, sweetheart." The heat pulses through his veins. Droplets of drool gather behind Pantalone's tongue as Dottore immediately shoves his cock down the banker's throat. No warning and no time to adjust to the size difference- Pantalone almost cries. Dottore notices that the man under him gagged at the sudden intrusion and rammed into the back of his throat (enough to leave bruises). Though, Dottore couldn't care less. Pantalone's tongue was doing wonders.
Pulling a tight grip on Pantalone's hair, he moaned as the wet mouth around him kept taking him so eagerly. Every time his tip reaches the edge of the banker's mouth, soft kitten licks are placed before his cock sinks into the throat again. It drives Dottore insane. He knows he should make this quick in case blood rushes to Pantalone's head, but he can't. He's too intoxicated to think of anything except praises or moans.
Pantalone kept taking him in, deeper and deeper, his throat extending with ease. He didn’t gag, didn’t choke, didn’t protest. The only sign of struggle in his body is the faint watery haze in his eyes, tears gathering and making Dottore twitch inside his mouth.
"Fuck, darlin'. You love sucking cock, huh? Such a good boy." Dottore sighs, almost like a tired laugh. Pantalone wants to protest and say his dirty talking fucking sucks, but, fortunately, he has his mouth stuffed with cock. In return, Pantalone moans- the vibrations hitting Dottore so hard.
Everything around him feels intimate, yet the only sight he cares about is Pantalone. Gloved hands slip against his thigh, pretty eyes filling up with tears as his mouth brutally swallows his cock. See, Dottore would go slow, preciously letting Pantalone feel every edge of his veins on his dick, but this potion is putting a heavy weight on his soul. All he wants to do is 'fuck, fuck, fuck, sex, sex'- like it's manuscript into his pure blood, defiling it with filth and betrayal.
A weightless yet forceful sensation settles over him, pleasure and release coiling in his lower stomach. "Shit, I-I'm close." As Pantalone delivers a last promised suck, Dottore shudders and clenches his fists, and before he knows it, he's cursing out Pantalone's name as he emits a stream of white out of his cock—painting the banker's tongue with ivory smears.
He pants and tries to calm down. Keyword; tries. The pollen is still there- coursing through his muscles, and he still has lust sinking into his blues. It doesn't go away, and he's fucking frustrated. Dottore mindlessly looks down at Pantalone and coos. The other man is licking the cum on his swollen lips, black hair scattered from the doctor's actions as sweat dribbles onto the floor. Somewhere out of his fucked-up brain, Dottore adores how he left those red, spotting marks on the banker's neck.
He admires how he's the only one to mark Pantalone's neck, to ravish him.
Without prompting, Dottore roughly pulls Pantalone off the table, taking a seat on his office chair as Pantalone bounces on top of him.
"What the fuck? Just because I told you to use my body doesn't mean you get to hurl me around like some-"
"You're so fucking pretty, Pantalone, you know that?" Dottore interrupts the scolding, straddling the banker's thighs while it's beside his hips. He caresses Pantalone's clothed waist, slowly grinding his dick against his ass. He wants nothing better but to eat up that lustful blush Pantalone displays across his cheeks.
Dottore rends his black, expensive clothing apart, pulling at the strings Pantalone typically wears under his pants. "I wanna fuck you all day, have you bounce on my cock all night until you pass out. I wish you were mine, baby. I would take such good care of you." Pantalone lets out a pathetic whine and grinds back on Dottore, helping him rip off his clothing. He would complain later on about how much money his outfit costs.
"All this sweet talking. It's making me think you actually mean it, doctor." Pantalone pants, moaning when Dottore grazes against his perky nipples. Dottore left hand gripped Pantalone's hips, grinding their bodies together. He groans when Pantalone's hole brushes over his already-erected dick. Mmh- his cock felt so fucking good just rubbing against the banker's rim, lubricating itself with his cum.
Pantalone moans out, arms extending out to wrap around Dottore's neck. "P-please fuck, Doc-"
Doctor smirks, grinding their bodies even harder, hotter. "Dottore. Call me Dottore. You can do it, sweetheart."
Pantalone pulverizes his teeth. It was supposed to be for Dottore's pleasure, but shit, he is getting off on this. "Dottore...please, just hurry up and fuck me." And that's all the confirmation Dottore needs.
Within the blink of an eye, Dottore lines his cock up with Pantalone's entrance. The tip slowly pushes through a ring of muscles before Dottore whispers, "This is gonna hurt, so bear with me." Pantalone's eyes mist over, mouth dropping open, tossing his head back with a guttural moan when Dottore shoves into the hilt.
It's a tight fit— the burning stretch overwhelming his body, shaken to the core. Dottore wants to assure him, slow down and make sure he's okay but, fuck, he can't. The potion is shaking up his headspace, thrusting into Pantalone without thinking. The banker makes the cutest little noise, pawing at the chair handles. Dottore moans shamelessly, the way Pantalone's inside squeezes his cock—his walls creating a silky substance for him to pounce.
Giving himself better leverage, Dottore's hands pinch at Pantalone's thighs— allowing himself to let out his pent-up frustration into Pantalone, swimming in the cute noises he gets it. Dottore dreamt of this, enjoying as the cocky banker falls apart on his lap, glasses bouncing up and down repeatedly. The more Pantalone's walls clench down on his dick- the closer Dottore is to cumming. Dottore pulls back, barely escaping halfway before he slams back in, already captivated by the grip of Pantalone's hole molded to his cock.
Pantalone groans, and the pink-tinted blush spreads across his chest, ears, and neck. It's so fucking cute. "D-Dottore, ngh, p-please.."
His cock hits Pantalone's prostate dead-on, this sort of pleasure—it's too deep, different from stimulation on his cock. Again and Again, fucked senselessly, brutal pace, but Panatlone loved every moment of it.
Setting the rough, euphoric pace— Dottore chuckles. "P-Please what, baby?" Skin slapping, squelching, and whimpers engulf the office, the stench of sex and heavy breaths lurking around. Dottore feels so blissed out, the pollen still written in his blood— ramping up the speed.
"S-Slow down, f..fuck, D-ottore!" The trail of moans resounding off his name sends the doctor into overdrive. Forcing one more thrust, he comes with a shout— hands digging into the skin of Pantalone's creamy thighs. Pantalone trembles on top of him, cramming tight around Dottore’s cock as it pulsates within his walls, pumping gush after gush of come deep into his hole.
Pre-cum dribbling down Pantalone's cock, the banker looks away, embarrassed. After a minute, Pantalone soughs when he realizes Dottore's cock isn't going down. He almost cries. The same pace is back— Dottore adjusting himself so he can hit Pantalone's prostate head-on. It's a sex marathon; the banker comes to the realization.
Arching his back, Pantalone moans when cold, sweaty fingers pinch and twist at his nipple. The stimulation— the banker wants to die.
Pantalone takes it anyway. Repeatedly— up and down, moans and groans. Praises and degradation are tossed shamelessly around the room. Yet, the banker still won't look at him.
"Pantalone." He moans freely. "Look at me."
After a moment, Pantalone’s eyes slide to meet his, hazy with arousal and pure with tears. His eyelids are brimmed with glassy tears, chest heaving up and down. Dottore grins, roughly hitting that sweet spot inside Pantalone.
"You're always so pretty when you cry, banker. Too much? Or are you crying because you're such a slut for cock?" The dirty talking is sufficient to make Pantalone see stars, his eyes rolling back, mouth popping in the shape of an 'O'. Pantalone is cumming onto both of their stomachs with a soft, slash cry of Dottore’s name and going limp, panting for breath. His hands scrabble for purchase, gripping onto Dottore's shoulders.
Pantalone feels dry.
Something fuels him because Dottore doesn't stop the thrusting, sweat trickling down his body- his blue hair sticking to his forehead. Everything is hot and feels messy and sticky. It's too much- his nerves feel hypersexual. Yet, he can't bring himself to pull out. A feeling of want, urge.
Dottore hits the absolute, perfect spot, and Pantalone is on the edge of a kinfe. Between the brutal ass fucking and nipple playing, stars are forming in his stomach— pleasure increasing and increasing and increasing, and there's still ablaze but—
Dottore strokes his dick.
The pleasure crumbles, and Pantalone's mind goes numb. The world is spinning, white stripes gushing out repeatedly. He's so full. Dottore didn't slow his pace. He kept fucking into the banker, pushing in further each time. He made sure Pantalone could only think about his cock.
The other male trembles on his lap, head dropping into the swell of Dottore's neck. "Ah, nghh, dottore- I-I can't- It's-"
"Shit, I'm sorry, sweetheart. I-I can't seem to bring myself to stop. One more. You can do one more for me, right?"
Pantalone whines effortlessly, but his disobedient, selfish body nods. Dottore grins, "Good boy. So good for me, hm?"
The banker gasps at the praise, meeting halfway to fulfill Dottore's sloppy, rough thrusts. Everything around them feels sensitive, tensed, and hazy. Cum dirty their bodies, Pantalone's nails breaking Dottore's flesh- Dottore actually thinks it's bleeding. The office chair creaks when the doctor starts pounding his ass at maximum force.
The sensations are so much, and they're not stopping. Time travels around, feeling truly boneless.
“Ohhhh!” Pantalone's voice echoes straight into the snow, enough to let the other harbingers know about their business, “Ah-! D-Dottore, fuck, need you!”
Hot. Messy. Wet. It's desirable.
Dottore grinds his teeth together, fucking as his life depends on it. "You, ah, have me, sweetheart." Pantalone is a tangle of tears and drools- whines and croaked-out moans escape his sore throat with each thrust, ignoring that he's full of Dottore's cum. “Come on,” The doctor chokes, thrusting faster and harder by raising Pantalone's hips, “you got this, baby, cum on my fucking- come on, fuck!” The encouragement rips the orgasm out of Pantalone, his eyes lidding as a black vision dances around under his sights.
It feels like electricity. It feels cold, yet it feels sizzling and numbing. White stripes are plastered all over their sticky, messy bodies. Pantalone quavers with wails, the glasses slipping off his face. Dottore is in his dimension and can't even utter a single word. He keeps it up as he mindlessly thrusts like a bitch in heat. Pantalone sobs, tears soaking up Dottore's shirt— he lets his body get used like a doll, fucked over and over. It's maddening. He can't talk to Dottore right now- he knows this.
"Y-you said, hah, th...this is the last one." Pantalone gasps, voice shaky and broken. He can wordlessly hear the smirk in Dottore's voice. " You, o-of all persons should know, mngh, I like lying, Pantalone."
Gods, this fucking bastard.
Every little touch to Pantalone's cock has him sensitive as he grips onto dear life. He lets Dottore use him, indulging in the belittling, and the praising, and loses his composure. Holding on like this, he feels —somehow— safe. Safe in Dottore's arms, relaxing his body for the scientific man— trusting in his comfort. The waves in his body are taken over by Dottore, squeezing him— throwing away those empty sorrows for the banker.
'C'mon, let go, baby. You can do it, there you go. That's it, fuck, you're so perfect.'
Those words. Meaningless. Pantalone tries to convince himself that it's just the pollen fucking with Dottore's head. It's not worship; it's not passionate, just a simple fuck. But, why does Pantalone keen and urge when Dottore whispers sweet-nothings? So deep in denial.
Nonetheless, a breathless sigh engulfs him, a pure blissful warmth covering his body. He barely noticed his surroundings, the praises spewing from Dottore's mouth as he thrusts into Pantalone like a pattern. Soon enough, Dottore was the one filling him even fuller with his cum. The banker is burning up alive. He's sore and devoured and too anesthetized —a mixture between pain and pleasure.
Dottore's lips gaze against his reddened ear, whispering something like a commitment. Dottore's dick doesn't soften anytime soon, Pantalone's insides warming up to the shape of his cock. It feels like home now, like if Dottore pulls out, Pantalone would feel lonely. He slowly slips out of consciousness, weakly bouncing on the doctor's cock—cumming for the sixth(?) fuck, he can't even keep count.
Every now and then, Pantalone feels the clench of his rim as Dottore paints his walls a white color. Craning his neck up, the banker leaves sweet, palliative kisses on Dottore's creamy neck. It sinks into the doctor's skin— flourishing in his blood, that fast beat of everything in his body cries out, being put to rest. The blues and toughness float away into another hopeful land— those kisses of Pantalone's delicate lips wash over.
Before the black waves surge over his eyes, Pantalone whispers into the swarthy frozen night. "Take care of me, Dottore."
******
Soon enough, Pantalone blinks into consciousness in a gentle jolt of pleasure. His body feels numb, sore, and lifeless. The world is upside then, somehow, flipped over. His eyes feel droopy and dried. It's so grotesque, the shifting of his mind between legible thought and muddied surrealism.
Fuck, his throat—
His throat is burning, gawing at every corner of the dry ridge. He needs, fuck, he can't think— it's too—!
Something moist and cold presses against Pantalone's lips. Like the tip of a glass cup. Tirelessly, he allows his mouth to gulp it down. Shit, it feels so refreshing, the icy liquid traveling down his dry throat — a fervency raising from his soul.
After a long thirsty gulp, Pantalone can't move. The fifth wave of tiredness swiftly flutters around him, and he can't speak. He should be worried, maybe have his defenses up, but he's in arms. A comforting, lean body holds Pantalone close, to ensure the banker that the body is here for him.
Pantalone sighs.
After minutes of stirring silence, his body moves on its own. Relapses. Pantalone feels floaty, eyes slowly adjusting to the dimmed room light. His glasses aren't on his face as he realizes his cheek is squashed against a firm chest. Strange.
Pantalone grinds his hips and—(he moans?!)
Before the banker could lifelessly react, a hand slowly caresses his bare back.
"Don't move, my dear banker. You could hurt yourself, or because I also have my cock in your ass. But, that's beside the point!" A voice. Very similar, Pantalone groans.
"D,,o-" Pantalone rolls his hips and mumbles. He can definitely feel it, the thick length buried deep inside him. He doesn't even understand what he's trying to say, fuck.
He hears the hearty chuckle above him, "Don't worry, I took care of you after you fell out of consciousness."
Dottore sighs, a hand drawing circular patterns on his back. Pantalone feels rather at ease, he wants to protest and move his shaken body away from the swollen cock inside him, but he sadly can't. It's so intoxicating to endure it. Take in the recurrence.
"The potion is evaporating within my body— gradually I'm starting to feel like myself again." That's a relief. "Though I must say banker, You hold a lot of trust in me for this to happen."
Pantalone whines, tired, irritated and drunk on the taste of sex. He knows what this stupid scientific man is going to say. It hits, "Something you wanna share with the audience?"
Bastard.
"S-sh...up" The banker moans helplessly, eyelids sealing shut again. He doesn't even know what he wanted to say to the man under him.
A huff of laughter circulates the air. "Alright, sweetheart. Rest up, but after you wake up, we need to have an urgent talk about money..."
Pantalone giggles as he remembers. How Dottore lustfully rips apart his expensive clothing. Though he is the one to give a heavy scolding on wasting money— he'll let it slide once.
Either way, the banker hums, drifting away in sleep and gliding with the stars around him. At that moment, Pantalone tries to convince himself that he dislikes Dottore— but how could he when he feels safe in the Doctor's arms.
Truly nymphomaniac.