tartalias ➤ " do i get a kiss for being a good patient, doctor ? "
BELOVED LITTLE LAB RATS are prone to keeping the doctor's attention, a blessing for most and a curse for his object of obsession. unlike scaramouche, this one fights him little. his studies of the abyss and its inner machinations led him to tartaglia's doorstep ━━ so to speak ━━ with wishes to dissect foul legacy firsthand. how generous that he may be allowed a more... hands-on observation !
ever blinding the light above the table, ever sharp the tools at his disposal, but he is careful. too careful, mindful not to lose himself to excitement and flay his pretty subject. ruin the meat and discovery becomes worthless when there is nothing to show for it. and when his muse returns damaged, it is these same hands that mend just as they destroy.
a glove peels off slowly, filling the silence with latex reluctantly leaving skin. bare hand smooths over bandaging around ribs, ensures its security. never sloppy, ever proud of his work. crimson gaze lifts to his seated prize, fixates on tousled orange for a moment too long that silence sets in. a clear of his throat.
❝ you should heal up within a week's time if you do not overexert yourself, ❞ he states matter-of-factly, turning away from his fellow fatui to find the sink. the glove is tossed against the stainless steel, followed by its twin, with a bloody splat. hands find the comfort of warm water after an agonizing fifteen seconds of nerve-paralyzing chill that near swallows his patience whole. fingertips brush the not-so-cozy towel at the request, momentary pause before he resumes. ❝ oh ? have you outgrown the want for sugary treats as a reward, now ? ❞
mere jest rolls off the tongue a tad too comfortably, towel left crumpled on countertop. the slow approach, footfalls echoing on sterile tile as fingers curl to adjust once rolled-up sleeve, seating it back to the elbow. ❝ i'm almost disappointed. i was looking forward to keeping you complacent with food for just a little while longer, ❞ he manages with a pout and stops just in front of targatlia.
forward lean, slightly too close, tilt of the head juuuuust enough to reach where fingers may grasp dangling metal chord. one tug and the blinding light overhead clicks off, leaving naught more than the dull buzz of ceiling lights: a sound that would drive anyone mad. palm finds operation table's edge, knuckles white with the weight of his body relying solely on the support. he will indulge, not for the other, but for himself. dottore's kisses were addictive for those with an acquired taste, more-so than any drug at his arsenal.
thus does free hand reach, serpentine in its ascent to grasp other's jaw. commanding, not forceful. generosity coupled with harsh nature, smile brought to other's lips in a half-crash: hasty thank-yous were his specialty. only when he has tartaglia's bottom lip fixed between his teeth, enough for metal canine to split the skin down the middle, does his own smile widen. iron on the tip of his tongue and he releases, pleased with himself as a thumb smears red on once occupied lips.
❝ now get out of my lab, ❞ punctuated by bloodied thumb slipping past lips as he saunters through the doorway with maddened laughter that echoes through vacant halls.
