Though he loathes getting dirty, it is at times unavoidable. It doesn't, however, make the crimson spotting on his grey suit, or the deep red that stains his hands, despite the thorough scrubbing with his handkerchief, disappear. He sighs. He truly does do so much for his job.
His mood improves as he makes his way into his lovely pet's room. Kneeling, pliant, grey eyes hazed by the drugs keeping him that way. He smiles and runs bloody fingers through dark curls, positively delighting in the soft mewl of pleasure and the nuzzling into his hand. He chuckles and extends his other hand, smile widening as an eager tongue laps at it, cleansing the red from his skin.
Good boy, he thinks. Good boy.