Summary: They were crystalline, never before as they were in this moment. The pliant little thing. So ambitious, so inspirational. Hendrick’s eyes eclipse over. So deserving…
⚠️ Tags & Warnings: Doctor/Patient, God Complex, Manipulation, Misogyny, Power Imbalance, Drug Use, LSD, Hallucinations, Sexual Fantasy, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Sadism, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Dubious Consent, Daddy Kink, Masturbation, Finger Sucking, Hand Jobs, Oral Sex, Fingering, Rough Sex, Clothed Sex, Office Sex, Easterman POV, Oneshot
💀 Read On AO3 or Keep Reading. WORD COUNT: 4,253
🚫🚫 18+ ONLY! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! 🚫🚫
Soured. Jaw clamped, tension batters the plates of his skull in constant rhythm. The drone of dim lights jarring on his nerves. His mood. Soured.
Perusing documents proves an arduous task. Words of Amelia had drifted back to him. No idle exchanges nor provocations spread only for the attention of the Sleep Room. Murkoff is always listening. And for that perfidious bitch to still be haunting the halls and cells of his children, gnashed his teeth together. Rationalising the Reagent’s conscious cling to fantasy and languishing advancement is infuriating. So susceptible to delusions. To mere fabrications; convincing themselves with empty, affable smiles.
“Soft. Scattered.” His lips pull back in a sneer. “Stupid.”
Sometimes he wonders if he has been too gentle. But a God loves and forgives, as much as he destroys.
And their false liberator, hollowed out and bound. A martyr... draped upon her own psychological deathbed. Flashing back to those visits, irritation flares. Amelia’s barely conscious state, her expression. Her damn smile. Patience is his greatest test with that woman. That rat. What could she possibly be dreaming about? An erased chapter of the past? Satisfaction at the chaos she commenced, the diabolically unknown tally of escapees? Perhaps her late lover she would soon join? If only it was as simple as letting her perish in the fetid wastes.
Hendrick exhales through his nose, the pernicious train of thoughts casting a gloom. He needs to divulge elsewhere. Nothing shall bar Lathe’s progress again. Arrangements were made for her, but bigger plans and priorities lie with those still under his care.
The cigarette pressing between his fingers proves less than effective of any relief while impatiently waiting for the administered compounds to take effect. To perceive beyond the veil. Following weeks of stabilisation, violent visions no longer plague his waking hours. By sheer tenacity and adherence to the project built upon the backbone of his work, the hellish images ceased. Scenes once blurred with screams, blood and twisting black. Limbs rigid with fear, until rousing to find his environment in ruins. Yet the worst… a lapse in memory if not for reading that file. Heaven forbid another mortifying discovery of himself in such a state, naked and squawking. In the beginning, it galled him to have to look into the eyes of colleagues that waste their breath excoriating every decision towards the project and wipe that memory clean. Now with more substantial purpose, he scarcely left this room. Confined to an office, his provided accommodations neglected.
There is always a method more… dissolute. Cravings that prove difficult to dismiss, enduring what felt an eternity shrouded within the facility. Pitifully human. Connection, intimacy. Primitive needs. Once offered from a loving source, now bitter and painful. Gross negligence. Absurd. The betrayal is a blight to his lingering affections. It was the bitch’s fault his eyes wander, searching. Wanting.
Hendrick’s hand clenches, inadvertently scrunching the sheet of paper. Passing a huff, he pinches the ruined beginnings of another journal entry and pulls it aside. His mind is too much in disorder to coherently transfer thoughts. Perhaps he should simply let the pen flow instead. But he falters when he spots an oddity. His pen, pooling like hot wax upon the paper - the humming of the lamp growing faint.
Another inhale of the cigarette, then a chill finally ripples through his form. Weightless, as familiar dizziness stirs. Trains of thought begin to fuse. Slower, organic. The room, the furniture. Objects shift and distort, angular lines framing a vivid, dissolving mass. A welcome sight to the usual drear of old slate.
Sinking deeper into his writhing chair; head tipping back and pushing away from the scarred work surface, the sensations drift him down a stream. There’s a pleasant buzzing as colours flow fluidly across the ceiling and pulsing walls. Kress Chemical’s production and reputation was certainly nothing to sneer at.
Particles shimmer, pulled towards a centre point through layers of concrete and into a vast sky like stars. Stars he once gazed upon. He could watch them and they would watch him in return.
A breath that borders into laughter escapes him, the responsibilities of overseeing the foundations of a patriotic future - annihilation - gradually lifting. He could see it all properly, a deeper awareness. A rare comfort permitted, to ease the discontent still festering within. Hendrick had to approach this carefully. Reversals were never linear and he felt the frayed ties profoundly around the Sleep Room. Ideals diverging. Children who have strayed too far. How can they choose to stay blind? A familiar thought enters his head, as it was when the sun had descended below the plane, abandoning him. I am alone.
…No. That wasn’t a reflection of the whole truth, was it?
Arrant nonsense whispers among the lost, but there were subjects not to be swayed by lies and long embraced the therapy’s specific pleasures. One in particular draws to mind. A most promising candidate of atrocities. Potentially due to lysergic substances circulating his system, heat rolls over his body like a tempest.
Subject #1797… A number he had committed to memory. Their name, the skin shed of who they once were.
A miserable example of society’s fractures littering the streets, metamorphosed into shaping the complexities of contemporary history. A mind melding into a masterpiece. Acclimation is a fascinating part of development and they wore it well. Now seasoned to the therapy, perfection rewards his eyes every day. It was invigorating. Every step of their success, a testament to his work.
An intriguing scale of charisma, a trap for flies. Nothing reverentially comparable to the Assets, but one he could attest to. Fellow Reagents draw to them, like haven within a storm. A comforting hand. Courageous. Never one to abandon those fallen within the Trials, whose values contribute little more than meat for the blade. Displaying excellent coordination and cooperation, yet they held a propensity for cruelness towards the objectives withal. Bodies dismembered, shredded and scorched by those same hands. All to repeat.
With the incident still fresh, Hendrick had to be sharp in observations. An echo would be met with the surgical knife. Cut, peeled, then crushed. But there was nothing. No words, no measures. Every infliction was an act of piety. Feelings that only he continues to rouse.
The circumstances evolved… gradually. Surveying reports, the repetition of scientists passing on their results for his attention. Curiosity turned to fascination, fascination turned to.. well. In his field, such reactions were unconventional, but not unheard of. Burning his insides like the finest gin.
And the more private affairs; compulsive viewing of camera feeds, lingering on the carmine that stains their clothing and skin through the grain - Breathtaking, he catches himself thinking - the pain they wear so passionately. The Reagents' gaze holding onto the radio opposite their bedside, as though awaiting his voice. Never had a doctor wanted to dissect a patient's ruminations so terribly. Their tortured cries when clashing with a Prime Asset or the Experimental Population... Unique behaviour with regards to the Skinner Man… Loath to admit, they soon became the subject of much prurient intrigue.
The cigarette's lambent glow stubs out upon the ashtray. Frustration builds, hooks lay claim to his skin. He aches. When was the last time he allowed himself the chase of release?
Resolve unravelling, his hand crawls to the seam of his crotch and rubs, excitement already beginning to strain the material of his trousers. With an uneven breath, thin fingers seek out the buckle of his belt. Then follows the low purr of a zip. Exposed to the air; fingers wrap around flesh with a gasp tumbling from parted lips. Closing his eyes and succumbing to the sensations, Hendrick moves tantalisingly slowly. His own sweat slicked hand far too familiar, but it would have to do.
Lost in an ocean of nothingness behind his lids, he tenses at the sudden contact of a hand upon his own. A stranger’s touch, yet lovingly caressing. A shape materialises, half-expecting the elegant contours of his once adoring wife. No. The unconscious brain was much crueler than that. Truths lie dormant. Instead, intoxicated eyes lock onto a different face. The very face he saw routinely, in a world where day and night became irrelevant. Every blemish, every speck of violence adorning their features from Trial now absent. A blank canvas.
Poised on their knees donning a tightly fastened - customised - blindfold, the identity of their confidant, their God obscured. Night vision goggles, pivoted to the crown of their head. Here they were, before him. Ready and willing. Just as they were for every extension implemented into the programs. They were crystalline, never before as they were in this moment. The pliant little thing. So ambitious, so inspirational. Hendrick’s eyes eclipse over. So deserving...
Further heat swells across his groin, he feels unbalanced. A vague resemblance of shame in need of expulsion.
Submitting to instincts, Hendrick leans forward in his chair, breath hitching when he makes contact with the Reagent’s soft skin. A simple touch enough to make his head spin. Any preservation of professionalism is quickly discarded. Featherlight fingertips trail the jawline to the tempting commissure of their lips. Transfixed, the doctor drags on their lower lip, the plump flesh warm and glossy. Too inviting. Granted freedom, the tip of his thumb dips inside as they replace the hand around his erection. His breathing stops and his hips jerk reflexively, denied for too long. A heavy lidded gaze snaps to their expression and he revels at the deepening shade of their cheeks. Seeking more, Hendrick drives his thumb further inside, meeting their tongue and applying light pressure as he roams in drawn circles. Encourages them when slowly pulling back and forth, grunting softly. Soon he replaces the thumb for an index finger, casually pumping in and out of their mouth.
Jaw slackening and drawing closer, they know what to do. The Reagent meets his movements up to his knucklebone; slightly timorous but rooted in growing lust. A brief gagging noise at the intrusion but they adjust, undeterred. The sight streams further arousal from his throbbing sex, easing their strokes.
Desire overtakes, greedy reveries of other areas untouched as additional fingers glide between drool coated lips. His panting grows harsher - movements more prominent as a hum of what could only be contentment vibrates against his fingers.
Soon an all-consuming need fills his body, far too riled up to continue as they were. Anticipation spreads from his hands to the rest of him. Retracting to secure their head in a firm hand, Hendrick’s piercing stare observes while guiding them closer in silence, parting his legs.
Then magnificence takes hold. The crunching of shifting bone deafening on his ears, slender appendages sprout from the torso, a flurry of hands and elongated fingers on each end curve in a jointed arch to the floor. A pair of jagged wings burst through skin and expand, the translucent flaps patterned with pulsing veins interconnecting like spiderwebs. Inky tendrils emerge from the floor around them, entrapping them both.
Hendrick beholds. Words tender with a sigh. “There you are.”
What were they? Murkoff’s perfect angel of death. His how-high. His clever little spider, his omniscient eye, his precious lamb. His.
And what would he see behind the fold? Bleached whites, or pupils bottomless as a doll's eyes? Filled with adoration, detachment, disgust? Teeth tapered like needles flash upon opening their mouth and he breathes a delirious laugh, shivering from excitement. They could destroy him so effortlessly, leave him broken and mangled. A stain on the floor of a powerful corporation. Yet they wouldn’t. His destruction had never entered their mind. Not for a fleetful moment.
Bite. Bite.
Nothing.
A groan, intensive relief releasing from his throat to the ceiling as they finally take what he desires to give. Swollen flesh meeting wet warmth, spasming around the intrusion and sinking heavier and heavier. The two of them retreat into the split between realities, shielded and theirs alone.
Their lengthened hand moves in earnest as they sink their delectable mouth further - gingerly - onto his cock. At the first sensations Hendrick’s fingers lock at their nape, bucking his hips. Every drag of their mouth sends a charge shooting down his spine, the eager muscle of their tongue mapping every curve and protruding vein. Seemingly emboldened, they begin kneading the shape of his thigh, trying discreetly to test the limitations.
How is it that every touch felt as though his body were perched upon a cliff's edge, ready to fall? Unable to discern if from the amalgam of chemicals swirling or simply his needs. Their additional limbs and hands are useless, swaying idly. Merely spectators to his unfurling.
“Therapy is a gateway. A locked box. An integral component of discovery and acceptance. And you… right at the culmination.” His voice drops darkly, forcing their head down further. “You are not some stray off the streets. Not anymore.” Show me.
Awakening a new vigor, the Reagent speeds up and takes him deeper. Hendrick’s face scrunches in pleasure, sucking in a breath through gritted teeth and emitting a pleased rumble. Their technique.. stole the oxygen from his lungs. Hands curl into fists, caught between gripping the arms of his chair or digging nails into his palms enough to bleed ribbons. If all his blood hadn’t rushed to one singular point.
The flames roaring brighter, he guides the Reagent to a fervent pace, moving with central purpose and in tandem to lurching hips. Creating a mess of vulgar, breathy sounds and the slap of skin. Throat tensing in panic, they quickly adjust to prevent nicking his tender flesh, but the thought elicits a twitch between his legs.
“Yes. That’s it.” It rushes out before he can stop it.
Hendrick snarls as he’s coaxed to climax, moving his hips harder and watching as tears spill over flushed cheeks from beneath the blindfold. His cock disappearing behind soft lips. With a vice grip and tightening muscles, the build up of pressure finally tumbles over. One final drive and he surrenders with a groan.
Chest heaving, toes curling, he feels light and high above the surface. Release hits the back of their throat, taking everything he had to give as tremors travel along his thighs. Filled with little aftershocks.
Drunk on pleasure, Hendrick’s head hangs low to look upon them once more, focusing on where their throat bobs. Unexpectedly they pull away to offer attention to the blushing tip, then trailing just below to the sensitive pull of skin. Approving with a hiss, he allows them to experiment as while the euphoric waves ebb, it does little to quell his blood that runs rampant.
A thrill thrums deep in his gut as he rises from the chair slowly, towering over them. “Stand up for me.” A demand behind a murmur.
Primed to obey, the Reagent and the doctor finally stand face to face. His hand twitches, eyes roaming freely over their body accentuated by gear Murkoff provided. Suddenly a daring hand reaches out and Hendrick snags their wrist in a crushing grip; pain contorting their face and riveting them to the spot. The stunt shocks through his being mercilessly that clarity balances precariously for a moment. He was in control.
“Your avidity is exhilarating, but try that again and I’ll have your fingers severed.” There’s a pregnant pause before speaking with a growl. “You take - what I give you.”
A nod, pulse hammering beneath his fingers. Each staccato beat not unlike his own, narrowly contained within his ribs. What practically shatters him however is how they shiver with rapt attention, hanging on to every articulation. Truly… a marvel.
He wants more. He will have more. The opportunity to sink fully into the depths of them. A vessel for his teachings, his punishments, his love. Fertile.
Hendrick purrs. “Let father see you.”
Rapacious hands, the thud of the E.S.O.P against varnished wood and bone, a cry of pain. A pen clatters to the floor. Discarded, forgotten. His suit grows suffocating, reaching up to wrench the crimson tie loose and letting his slacks pool around his ankles. Hendrick closes the distance, slotting between spread thighs and caging their form over the desk, admiring the perfectly sculptured curvatures of their figure on display. The likeness of a wingspan stretches wide and scientific interest as a doctor presses him to run his hands along the length of it. The structure is impressive, texture like velvet but bedded with scars. Slipping lower, knuckles stroke inside the leg towards their most sensitive area, resulting in a shudder. Their body is taut and keen, receptive to every caress.
Unable to resist, he grinds his erection against the cleft of their rear, the delicious friction shooting sparks. Despite a ravenous beast yearning for a taste, Hendrick’s movements were methodical; removing garments with the amount of care to something reverent. Purposefully brushing along their skin at each layer until he hooks into a waistband and peels away cotton underwear past their legs.
Bare from the waist below, their complexion bathes in a backlight glow and harsh shadow, illuminating and hiding a terrible secret. Splayed, sensual gropes in exploration until brushing the warmth of their hips stirs him to painful hardness. The pads of his fingers tease the space above their cheeks, continuing further until he finds the object of his most depraved fantasies. There his fate is sealed. Captivated by their nakedness, he pauses, as though the illusion would fracture.
Grazing back and forth until seeping with their arousal, his hand traces their entrance so delicately a moan filters through his huffs. Patience wearing off, he pushes forward. Pumping slowly and deliberately with each slickening sound, Hendrick flexes his fingers and they jolt, a strangled noise so unbearably provocative he pins their face to the desk.
Heartbeat thundering in his skull, Hendrick aligns, grinding against their core once. Twice. And finally enters with a thrust. Ecstasy crashes over with a weight so sublime, knees come close to buckling. A most sweet death. “...Oh, God in heaven.”
When he breaches their walls, he secures their hips tightly enough to bruise, working to ground himself. His cock weeps inside at the immense pressure. Subtle movements and fluttering muscle had the last grapple of his composure slipping. But needing this to last, Hendrick catches his breath, savouring every pulse of desire as his end gradually subsides. He can feel them latch on, physically, cognitively and unconditionally.
Accommodating him to the hilt, his throbbing cock slides effortlessly against their walls. Each time withdrawing, he feels their body beckoning him back. Delectable moans and groans from the Reagent pierces his ears and drives his hips further. Harder. Such wonderful, alluring sounds. Yes. Sing.
Obscenities falling from dry lips, Hendrick reaches forward under the jaw, ensnaring their neck. Feeling the rapid drumming of their life, the power he holds, he cannot overcome the urge to tighten his grip. The pain only amplifies their pleasure as he expects, smirking internally.
Frantic as unbearable fervour builds, Hendrick turns them onto their back, revealing everything for the starving man he was. Mouth agape, head tilting back, the rise and fall of their chest beneath the weight of the E.S.O.P, stomach tensing, to the glistening thatch of hair above their groin. The doctor watches in sick perversion at where they’re conjoined, where he loses himself inch by inch with ease. His hand snakes under their thigh and lifts, squeezing supple flesh whilst the other resumes stimulating their sex. Before long, as though sizing prey, Hendrick leans in close. Ever so close. His nose barely inches above their own. The soft lustre of sweat catches the light, watching as a stray bead runs down their temple. Shallow breaths collide with the Reagent’s skin as blown, manic eyes attempt to sear through the blindfold.
Oh, how easy it would be to tear aside. For his perfect specimen, his inspiration to finally behold God. To blind and burn a permanent imprint. How contrary. How human it is. A want to be seen, clawing at the surface. Would they see him or a perception in the form of the Skinner Man?
Casting it aside, he remains crowding them against the desk, suffocating them in his shadow, his scent, as their passion rattles the furniture. A joined chorus of pleasure rises, one that shall never leave these walls.
“Listen to my voice. You. All of you… belong to me.” Rhythm stuttering, breaths labouring, thighs clenching. So close. “Your life, your radiance. My will is yours. I know what you need. I am part of you. I will always be part of you.”
Wet, obscene noises draw him back, absorbed in the way their body arches, bucking up into pummeling thrusts. His hands hike up to settle at their waist, holding on like a lifeline. The black tendrils in their peripheral agitate and thrash.
Broken sounds grow louder, desperate. Rapture quickly approaches, an intensity that draws upon his nerves. Ready to snap. A whine barely recognisable as his own. “Only I love you.”
Finally his world shatters.
With a noise akin to agony, pure unadulterated ecstasy floods his body. Liquid sin. An addictive rush that had him shaking - unable to recall the last time it had crashed over so deeply. Nails jab into their hips, keeping them flush against his own as evidence of his lechery spills inside. A mark. A womb to ensconce him.
Mind like dense mist, Hendrick rocks languidly to drag it out, insatiable for the convulsions he feels surrounding him. Observing closely as the last remnants of their own orgasm slipped from their grasp and into his hands. Sated and slumping upon the desk, leaking over his place of work. Their peak shall undoubtedly haunt his dreams.
A mild ache stings his lids from having screwed them shut, exertion burning his lungs as though he had ran distances. Then something dark and debauching - fuelled by madness - surfaces as he folds completely over their form, pinning both arms and giving three sharp thrusts in an effort to hold the gift of himself inside.
Passing a weak moan from growing sensitivity, he blinks hard before his vision sharpens. Distortions subsiding, he discovers himself seated in place, staring down vacantly at his own hand. Soiled and clasping tightly around his flushed cock. Hendrick sighs before tutting, swallowing down the disappointment. Movements sluggish, he begins fixing himself to something more presentable, not fond of the idea of looking so bedraggled in front of another respectable person.
The further his mind dripped thick liquid into a pool of degeneracy, he would find himself relieved and cursed to the same degree to be locked away in shadow. For he does not dare entertain the ideas conjuring in his head if his little masochist were within reach. Close enough to perceive. To inhale. To touch. Dangerous feelings. Ones that stirred him to look upon his own patient - a father upon his child - with such carnal hunger. It should be abhorrent. Yet he had been wrung out so easily.
Nobody could possibly see what he saw. All that grit, all that promise. Influence already at their fingertips. Hendrick knows his faith is not misplaced.
Who better to share the vision, to comprehend what Murkoff - what he - strives for than the one partaking treatment? Their endeavours reflect their results. The fidelity, the gratitude. It isn’t ignorance, but conviction. With just a little push, they will carry the future far beyond these walls. Their heart and volition to be truly tested for what fate claims for themselves. A thrilling but complicated notion.
Did he hold an aversion to it? Of course not. A father should feel the sting of their child leaving. But…
No. At this crucial point, where he could fashion them into something greater, something more absolute - they will remain, a little longer. As with the prospects of science, the therapy was always evolving and their subjects along with it. A requisite for achieving the miraculous. For what transpires as the next step, such a star pupil would indulge that. Of course they would.
Yet with every showering of love and abuse, the further his shackles slip. Watching the performances captured in Trial, demonstrations of their capability, returning to the Sleep Room and their cell. That glazed look in their eyes. A hollow shell. Scraped out, ready to be filled again. It was enough to make a man jubilant. But here in solitary would the sinful acts and stench of torment remain, a slave to his own sexual appetites. Mind and body moored or else he sink into an abyss. The therapy had proven favourable results as long as he was absent. Anything not part of his design could cause a fatal impediment, especially something tantalising as temptation. Lest he make cracks for superiors like Avellanos to use as leverage. She was a cunning woman. Her secrets would become his. Others were dry as dust or infantile, but not people to be dismissed. That he had regrettably learned directly.
However… The man had already been stripped, scorched and spat out once before and he remained. Forsaken. But reborn stronger and resilient. The power of the sun and the burning phallus.
After all, he had said himself - strapped down and thrashing within the white halls of the infirmary, that he and Avellanos would fall together if the other should pull. A threat, now a jest drenched in irony. Hendrick couldn’t have been more correct.
Weird idea.. but since Easterman self-administers himself LSD and following the Breach incident, he's on a cocktail of others - what if he has a massive trip out whilst fantasizing about a certain Reagent of his. I'm talking on par with his "I look in the mirror and see a sun with cock" freak nonsense, so the Reagent is sprouting wings and several legs or something whilst on their knees for him. 😝💦
Would anyone be interested in a continuation from the first fic? I have a rough outline of something along the lines of;
Easterman becomes too curious about the Reagents wants and desires. What they desire, maybe even who (his desperation isn't subtle) that he drugs them full of Arora's solution that spurrs arousal and transports them to an interrogation room with one way glass. Or to watch through the camera feeds. No instructions, no interference, he just observes. Maybe. Then after getting his answers, he drugs the Reagent again to return them to the Sleep Room.
Still just an idea, but I really enjoyed writing for this crazy man. 🤭
