049×035 oneshots

As You Wish~

A.N.: I spent actual hours on the wiki researching canon names and, for the Doctor, got as close as I could. Provided source for the name shall be provided upon request, I assure you.

In which the Doc has a little fun, and the Mask learns to be a bit less commanding.

Warnings: technical necrophilia, topping from the bottom, subservience, praise, formal titles, oral, body worship, vaginal, mutual edging, begging, technical dismemberment, fingering.

________

He loved his darling mask's temper. The thespian was simply so fun to play with. Able to, within a fraction of a second, flip from being an absolute dear to a genuine menace for as long as the Plague Doctor could remember. With the Possessive Mask's temper, however, did come a sort of... bossiness. Giving orders when, really, there were none desired.  He'd learned to live with it over the years. The practice of medicine had taught him a great deal of patience, but everyone, even the once-famed surgeon, had their limits. 

Ever since the successful escape from the foundation three months prior, the thespian had been in a mood, growing ever more frustrated over the Doctor's lack of compliance to the repeated request for a cured host. He knew better than anyone that the mask would only be able to stand the given form for so long before abandoning it, and the professional certainly wanted no part in confining his patients someplace so they could be switched about like clothing. Perhaps, one day, if there was a body the thespian truly adored, one they took the effort to preserve rather than carelessly wearing it down, he would consider it. 

Distantly, he heard the front door slam, not even bothering to set down his scalpel as an unfamiliar set of footsteps headed through the small house he and the mask had holed up in. This body was far lighter than the last one his dear friend had selected. He wasn't quite sure why his friend enjoyed variance so much. Larger, more heavily muscled bodies lasted the longest. Why even bother with a small, slim one? 

Another thud from upstairs, this one coming from the kitchen. Damn it, he'd just gotten that milk. He really needed to get the mask a separate carton next time. Clearly his insistence that the beverage would taste the exact same in a glass had done nothing. He wasn't even certain as to why his friend bothered with food and drink. Such a horrid mess for such a small amount of increased durability. 

Sighing to himself, somewhat exasperated, he returned his attention to his surgery, trying to figure out why the blazes his patient had a third kidney, and whether or not it would be better to adjust his cure or remove the organ. He finally shook his head, took the kidney out, and set it aside, ignoring the sounds of the thespian wandering the ground floor as best he could. 

It was only a short time later that the sounds of life upstairs began migrating toward the basement steps. Apparently, he was being searched for. He carried on, refusing to acknowledge the presence even as a pair of already-decomposing arms wrapped about his waist.

 Move this lung. Ichor injected into the heart. Pump the blood through the veins to balance the concentration and then the phlegm and yellow bile together to both avoid corroding the liquids-

 "Oh Doc-tor.~"

-And keep the substance from burning a hole in the circulatory system. The experimental thinner was considered, for a moment, but ultimately set aside. He was already dealing with an extra organ. Best not to meddle with too much- 

"Doc. Doctor. περιστέρι."

-Perhaps he ought to put the kidney back... recount the organs just to make sure he didn't mistake something else for an unneeded extremity. He'd had two other surgeries just before this one and, admittedly, was becoming a bit muddled.-