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Summary
"I presume the masquerade is drawing to a close. Has the time come for you to lodge your knife in my throat?" Dottore taunted.
Without missing a beat, Pantalone huffed. "Tempting..."
Playfully, his finger rose to the Doctor’s jugular, and the nail scraped ever so lightly. An intimate threat, one that broadened Dottore’s smile.Or
When a Fontaine undercover assassination turns sour, Dottore seems unable to forget the sight of a certain Regrator in a most compromising situation.
