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Dottore could no longer count how many times he had been taken on his superior’s desk, bent over, spread open, folded into whatever position the Jester made him do while he fucked the wits out of him. It had been his reward each time he came back with a piece of good news. So when his ship docked at Snezhnaya’s main canal after a long voyage from Inazuma, he immediately reported at the first lord harbinger’s office.
“Jester, I have completed the task you gave me.”
It was like a cue, because barely a minute after the proud announcement, Dottore already found himself on his knees, diligently doing as expected of him: to have his tongue trace each bulging vein on Pierro’s girth like a cartographer to his most prized map. Though it was not the right compensation for his hard work just yet, he relished in his superior’s shaky sighs, the low droning praises that went straight to his spine in rousing tingles.
He had done an exceptional job. He deserved it all — deserved the load spilled in his mouth, and the hefty hand combing through his locks afterwards, for when he was told to lick, he licked, and when told to suck, he sucked.
And knowing he was bound to receive more than that was nothing short of exhilarating. Pierro didn’t even need to say a word when expectant blue eyes met eager crimsons. Dottore stripped out of his own accord, vestments hastily thrown on marbled floor as he took his rightful place on the first lord’s desk, legs outspread for Pierro to occupy the space between them.
Underneath the solemn front only for Dottore to witness, Pierro have always been a violent beast, marring his unblemished form with marks, bruises, bites deep enough to draw out blood. To Dottore, it was honor. To have his own blood smeared across the first lord’s lips was honor, because it only meant that he hungered for him. The first lord harbinger craved for his flesh.
He had done an exceptional job. He deserved it all — deserved every damning thrust, and every starved kisses. Deserved the painful handling. He always loved it that way.
Harder.
Deeper.
Faster.
More.
Another.
“Please, Pierro.”
Dottore had his last ounces of logic spill through incoherent moans of pleasure and insatiable desire. Damn Celestia and its foolish gods if the whole of Snezhnaya heard how much of a whore he was. He cared none of it— the cock driving him to orgasms after orgasms felt too good for him to think of anything else.
He had done an exceptional job. He deserved it all — deserved to be filled over and over again. And he didn’t mind if nature bent its own laws right then and there: to be bred by Pierro would be bliss.
When given temporary reprieve from unending bliss, Dottore pulled his superior close, locked his lips - bloodied from his own biting - on the other’s, and delivered breathy moans into his mouth while he was being delivered chains of praises. Excellent. As expected. Very good.
He had done an exceptional job. He deserved it all.
“Well done, Doctor.”