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Chapter Text

Franco got his hug, cradled in Gooseberry’s lap resting his head on the pillowy set of jugs across her chest, against the better judgement of the fucking duck.

What did he know anyway? He was dead, Franco was very much alive and staring at her knockers, salivating. Yeah, salivating like a dog drooling over a bone, or a pussy cat wanting to make buttery biscuits with its paws. Maybe he could paw at her melons to bring that milk in, a little kitten wanting to feed, bad.

They were right there, untouched. No other man had come here, besides the weirdo duck boy on her hand and some unlucky asshole with a pair of stupid goggles. Franco was almost certain there was no boyfriend, but loaded two extra toothy slugs into his Lupara for good measure.

Ain’t no man walkin’ in here who’s gonna leave with their kneecaps intact. Not after the first one.

“What a naughty little boy.” Gooseberry cradled him, rocked him in her arm, humming to herself.

His first two rounds went into the twitching reagent on the floor, gurgling at the teeth buried in his throat. He could have been Gooseberry’s boyfriend for all he knew, but her reaction to him said otherwise.

“Don’t encourage him. Phyllis!” The duck’s drill groaned in Franco’s direction, but he never gave it the time of day.

“Quit yappin’, baby’s cold, baby’s been a bad boy. Let her tell me off without you shovin’ that powertool in my face. I ain’t no two-by-four.” Franco kicked his feet, pulling out his pacifier and slipping it between his teeth just waiting for her to soothe him.

“You wanna go on me, you little shit? I’ll drill you's two ways to Sunday!” The undead dad roared and did this weird thing where he got up close like he wanted to hurt him, but never did.

Pussy.

“Doctor daddy, can’t we keep him just for a little while? He’s so warm.”

She didn’t move, running her index finger along Franco’s suit in that maternal fashion he adored. The duck ignored her, focused solely on Franco. He did the same, rubbing the length of the Lupara as if it would purr at his fingertips and pulled away the pacifier for a second. He cuddled into Gooseberries chest like he was about to set up camp for the foreseeable future. 

“What you say, goes in one ear and out the other, duckie boy.”

The drill grew louder, closer, puppet eyes practically glowing with fake rage he could have laughed at. “You’re just a prick with one good ear-”

The Lupara went off prematurely, gouging the ceiling of the shipping yard office. Frano’s rage was real enough to put the next slug straight through the fucking duck's face. “The fuck you say to me?!”

“Doctor daddy, please!” She pulled him away, and pushed out her chest to keep Franco just far enough out of reach. “He’s been a naughty boy, not a little brat like those other ones. Why not… punish him instead, that way he’ll never do it again.”

“Fuck no, let me at ‘im, Phyllis! I’ll drill ‘im a new asshole and he can drink through that, not around my little girl!

She held him back, fucking ridiculous. “Maybe, I can talk with this little man on my own?”

The metal asshole stopped and sighed, totally frustrated. “You’re murdering y’poor father right through the heart.”

“It does get awfully lonely, daddy. Maybe, just for ten minutes?”

“Likes hell am I gonna leave you here with this runt!”

Could a man not fondle a broad’s tits in peace? She really had to have her daddy here to keep an eye over his precious little blueberry? Franco wasn’t going to knock her up, just get her to knock him about a bit.

He could see it now, suffocating under the weight of those huge bazonga's on his face, praying it was slow and agonising. Marone. Just the thought of his head between her thighs, making a home in there, getting crushed by those things until his own eye popped out of the socket.

Out of this fucking world.

But the duck was pissing him off, the quicker he was latched on to that rack, the better. Franco was partial to the Lupara point blank at that fuck-a-duck face. They didn’t make women like this one anymore, she was built to last and Franco wanted to ride her to his grave. A deep one, big enough to hold two people so even then he could bury his face between her jugs like one of those prairie dogs he’d never seen in person, only heard of.

Bury right in there between those plushy breasts and fall asleep with his pacifier.

Go on, mommy. Tell that freaky feathered fuck to hit the road.

“But daddy, just ten minutes!"

Franco’s patience was wavering. Maybe if he shot the duck off at the wrist, he could wrap his lips at the sight of her mamellas right by his mouth. He smacked his lips just imagining what they looked like under her dress, bouncing after being let free for a fondle.

The duck drilled again in defiance, but miraculously stopped, like the ghost of some asshole dad just left the room. Fucking perfect.

“Ten minutes, daddy. I’ll be good.” She looked down at Franco still cradled in her arm. “You‘ve been such a naughty boy, I’ve never seen a child so foul-mouthed.”

“Yeah…” Franco stifled his laugh under his weighty excitement. “Baby’s been bad. Real bad.”

He wondered what material her skirt was made out of. The softness eased at his fingertips, rubbing it together as a soothing remedy. The pacifier found its way back into his mouth, audibly sucking overtime. If he could just steal one of her skirts somehow, maybe he’d sleep better, snuggling up to it with her earthy scent to put him off to dreamland.

Yeah, he’d sleep real good with the memories on his tongue, hand rubbing his back in the way he always wanted those whores to do, yet they were always too scared or too pathetic. Gooseberry commanded the room, no, she commanded the entire area, shivering right into Franco’s bones like a sexual disease, or heroine through a junkie's needle.

Fuck, he’d sleep so good tonight.

“If children are bad, they need a firm hand. But it's all in love.”

“Oh, mommy. Mommy, I need to be punished.” It excited him, drove his carnal desires to the very edge.

He hadn’t even touched himself, he didn’t need to. Franco’s cock was as hard as a rock, twitching between his legs just begging for attention. But he didn’t move to touch it, he watched Gooseberry study him and take his face in behind her mask. That fucked up mask that never came off, he wondered if it even could, and what rosy colour her cheeks would be if it did come off. 

She picked him up, seemingly without issue with one arm, and laid him over her lap. His legs hung off, but the tip of his cock rubbed against her leg. 

“Five spanks for the foul language, I have to punish the child so he isn’t a bad influence around the children.”

In that case, Franco would swear around these ‘children’ all day long if it got him over Gooseberry’s knee.

“Punish me, mommy, I can’t take it anymore.” He whimpered, shoving the pacifier back into his mouth just as she delivered the first blow to his backside.

One…

Franco’s cock strained against his pants, reacting to the painful strike across his ass cheeks, the duck on her right hand stared up at him, lifeless. He watched the now dead reagent in the middle of the floor, eyes wide with horror full of buckshot, an unwilling audience.

Two…

This strike was positively firmer this time across both cheeks, making him groan and kick his legs to move himself against her thigh, stimulating his crotch and soon swollen tip of his cock.

“Throwing all those teeth away, Doctor Futterman always says, you should listen to your mommy, keep them clean and they won’t fall out.”

For Gooseberry, Franco was willing to slow down a little on the teeth collecting. A little. Barely.  As soon as she was done spanking him, until it gave him the happy ending he was looking for, he was already eyeing up the reagent on the floor for more buckshot.

Three…

Franco got that similar tingling sensation in his balls, if Gooseberry kept this up and hit harder each time, he was sure to blow himself in his pants. An accident, maybe she’d change him after, pull his pants down and clean him real good and wipe his ass while she was down there. Damn, Franco hadn’t thought of that, so focused on the spanks, he never thought of what Gooseberry could do to his ass.

A finger, a thermometer, a quick kiss on his forehead. Letting mommy care for him while he was tired from all the killing and teeth ripping. Would she give him a bath? Wash him up real good and step on his face after with a sick twist of her shoe? Just a sight of those unclothed jugs gave Franco sweet dreams for the rest of his life.

And when she gave it to him, he’d keep coming back. It beat those big grunts he tried sitting on, never warm enough after they died, just stiff and cold. Baby wanted something warm with breath into.

“Spank baby good.” He said, fiddling with the blue ribbon of his pacifier. “So bad…”

Four…

Franco was getting close, his cock rubbed against her leg, practically humping her like a dog, huffing and panting with the silicone teat in his mouth. He sucked so hard, his gums started to bleed, flooding his tastebuds with the metallic red stuff he loved looking at so much.

Being punished and told off made Franco’s hips gyrate without control to tease the end of his cock. No care at the dead body’s eyes which fuelled him to go faster, gripping on to Gooseberry’s leg and digging his gloved hand into the fat of her voluptuous, plushy thigh. He was ready for the release he begged for, no hands, or the pair of puppet eyes. So close, he was so close he could taste it along with the trickling blood in his mouth.

“Mama can’t play if you’re vulgar. I’m only doing this because of my love for you. You’ll learn.”

If she stopped doing this, then Franco didn’t want to learn. Fuck education.

Five…

He groaned and bit the silicone so hard it squeaked between his teeth. His hips shuddered as he came in his clothes, resting his head as close to her as he could, smelling her scent and closing his eyes to ride the high he clawed at. It came out in ropes, filling his crotch with a wetness that would no doubt stain the soothing material of her skirt.

“Mother has you, baby.” She stroked a section of his hair, cooing softly spoken words to lull him off of the pleasure into something else entirely. “It hurts me to punish you, but it’s a firmer kind of love that every mother needs to give.”

“Mommy…” Franco huffed, lounging across her legs like a bed itself. “Baby’s thirsty.”

“A drink?...” He couldn’t tell if she was asking him, or not quite understanding his subtle demand.

Though, before he could tell her he wanted to knead and suck her boobs until he fell asleep, or even grab onto them for dear life, the fucking drill powered up. It roared and bellowed by his ear like he owed it money. Franco Barbi owed no man money, it was he who collected the money from pricks like him.

“What the fuck is goin’ on here?” It darted about like a fucking idiot. ”I leave for five minutes and you’re already tryin’ to moves in?! Get the fuck away from my little girl you pervert!”

Franco would have argued back, but he got what he wanted and had a literal lifetime of material to think about when he was cold at night, cuddling up to the wet skirt he was about to steal.

He still held out on the possibility of being drowned between her breasts though.

Chapter Text

“Did you know that Russian roulette was played by demoralised soldiers during the revolution? Facing dishonour, they would initially self-destruct, to confront their own mortality at a time of despair.”

Heavy pressure coated the entire room more efficiently than the joint cigarette smoke. Hendrick was already on his third cigarette, Leland Coyle on his second, coming in after Hendrick had already sat down. But they were chaining the tobacco filled sticks as though they were up against time, willing the embers to reach and burn their lips at the same time.

One winner. Sort of like Russian roulette.

Leland grumbled, sitting slouched, legs wide apart and to the side of Hendrick’s desk. “Never bothered with history.”

Was that because of the ‘mysterious’ deaths linked to his name?

“History allows us to repeat our sins, to stare down the barrel of educational reasoning. Why would we repeat mistakes from the past?”

Leland shrugged, stubbing out his cigarette in the crowded ashtray.

Hendrick tapped the end of his own and leant back into his chair. “To rewrite them into something more efficient. Hitler was charismatic, but in the end, he forfeited that charisma for a bullet. What could he do now with the copious amounts of information available to him in this day and age?”

“Who gives a shit about that asshole? Lil man with one o' them complexes.” Leland lit another cigarette, a clip on his silenced lighter by the dim flare of Hendricks desk lamp.

“Oh?” Hendrick swirled the rare, uranium gin glass between his fingers. “You’re absolved from that? Who was it who said I was the towel boy in your whore house?”

He tried belittling him, Hendrick recalled at least once a day, watching Leland strapped to that table after Murkoff secured him as a prime asset. Undeniable charisma, struggling against the restraints with an anger laced on his breath.

Too tempting not to think about. Especially when Hendrick fantasised about what his immense strength could do to him if he ever got out of that room.

Look at what happened to Clyde Perry.

Hendrick wasn’t strong by any stretch of the imagination, his strength relied on his brain, his words, his carefully detailed therapy. Leland Coyle could have thrown him about all over this room if he wanted, yet never did.

That was Hendrick’s upper hand. The ace in his deck in the fifty-two card pick up he’d make Leland collect all by himself.

Leland huffed, almost an amused chuckled. “You are. My house is my house.”

The gin gave Hendrick the satisfying burn in the back of his throat, straight gin over ice. Nothing diluted or watered down, but ninety proof under his nose.

“And who pays the rent?”

He did. Despite Scarfiotti’s efforts over the trial environments, Hendrick made it all possible. He made it a necessity. Something he liked to remind anyone who listened. His importance, his power, the undulating rhythm as it increased in the palms of his hands.

“The past stays in the past.” Leland repeated himself and sniffed. “Better that way.”

Hendrick was determined to pull something out of him. “And what’s your darkest stain?”

Without missing a beat, Leland took a long drag of his cigarette and passed the smoke into the room. “Iwo Jima.”

“What was the nickname it earned again?” Hendrick knew it already, he just wanted Leland to say it.

“The meat grinder.”

A vicious battle during the Pacific theatre. Bloody, gore ridden and loaded with a psychic pressure, unforgivable pain on the battlefield. Hendrick was drawn to it, making note of how Leland must have looked ladened with blood and battle cries on his uniform. Just how many glimmers in people’s eyes did he see fade away under his hand that were unconfirmed?

The thought was simply riveting.

“And like the slurry we make within the confines of Sinyala, giving their lives to a cause.”

His cause. Hendrick’s need to be the king of his little kingdom and his subjects who did as they were told despite what freedom they thought they had. He found himself almost breathless at the idea of Leland’s past.

“It was a damn blood bath.”

“I bet you enjoyed it, right?” Another sip of his gin hid his subtle smirk, yet it never inebriated the room.

“Three confirmed kills, suspicious deaths in your company- tell me,” He rifled through his locked desk drawer to his right. “What’s more powerful? The power of a shared joint intention, or the brute strength of one man’s will to stay alive?”

Leland picked up his own glass for the first time, sniffing the contents of gin pooling around the ice. “How 'bout a bayonet shoved inside a man’s throat? That powerful ‘nough for ya?”

Oh goodness, yes, it was. Hendrick could see the sight right now. Leland, crawling on top of a man with fuelled rage in his eyes, shoving the steel into the man’s neck over and over and over. blood gushing and spitting all over his face while he struggled, gurgled for breath. Now that was power.

Hendrick pulled out a revolver and clunked it on the desk. “It's a reason you have your baton and not a gun like Lupara.”

A gun’s scent wasted the very emphasis on Sergeant Leland Coyle. The ferocity of his movement and prowess came from his soul because his melee weapon pushed his body past his physical limits. Putting a gun in his hand was not only a disservice to his character, but would also make him incredibly lazy.

If Franco made his own ammunition, Leland no doubt would too. Hendrick had assumptions of how deadly he could make that ammunition.

“So I ain’t gettin’ a gun, but you can have a pea shooter? Fuckin’…”

Hendrick smiled, warmly embracing his bitterness. “But, I do believe that baton has… much more power than you think.”

He caressed the revolver, sipping his gin for courage. “Take this for example.”

Cigarette between his lips, gin down, bullet in, and the barrel span with a whirring hum. Right to his temple. “The heart. It pumps epinephrine around my body, my palms sweat, my breathing increases to compete with the exchange rate of oxygen. But…”

The revolver clicked. Empty. “After the chamber turns, my heart rate settles, it ends the anticipation far too abruptly.”

Hendrick placed the revolver down on the desk and pushed it over towards him, focusing on keeping his breath steady, stop his hand from trembling around his green hued glass.

How exhilarating.

“After one hit with that baton of yours, Sergeant Coyle, you’re already anticipating the next strike. That power never goes. But one life ending gunshot, or missed chamber ends the ... anticipation like sediment collecting in a glass. You can see it collecting once left alone for a minute.”

The gratification to put his life into his hands just to prove a point, to prove that he was right. Always right.

Now, Leland wouldn’t refuse, Hendrick knew his personality too well. A man getting a point on his record when he was the man who never backed down. Clyde Perry could attest to that, Henrietta Grubbs too.

Leland let the cigarette ember longer for supposed dramatic effect, and picked the revolver up. He inspected it, looking closely at the barrel and decided he would follow through and spin the barrel.

Though before he could go any further, Hendrick stopped him from behind the rim of his gin. “No. Not to your head. In your mouth.”

“Up close and personal… you gonna make me work for it?” Leland did it without protest like the obedient dog he was, despite a few grumbles, slipping the barrel between his lips and wrapping them around it. Hendrick never broke eye contact with that gun.

The gun was the symbol, not the man holding it.

“There’s nothing more powerful than seeing the concept of death pointing right at you. Something so alluring about the intense social pressure of an audience.”

Harrowing, distasteful, deviating from societal norms. Yet he did it anyway.

“Will you hear the gunshot before it tears through your skull?” 

He leaned back and watched him closely, something between them was certainly on edge. It fascinated Hendrick, not only did Leland’s charisma entice him, but his lack of anything. It drew him closer, waiting to see if he’d make it through, or be clearing up blood and brain matter off of his office walls for the next hour.

Though Hendrick could not see Leland’s eyes behind his darkened shades, his gut influenced him to know that he was looking right at him. The chamber clicked and left the two men in an aroused room of utter silence, swirling ice and one bullet still lodged within that chamber.

“A bullet don’t scare me.” This came from a man who often stood in the middle of a field to observe thunderstorms for a clear view. 

More like a human lighting rod.

Being a man of war, of course a bullet wouldn’t sway his judgement, though he could have possibly been bitter about Franco’s privileges of keeping his Lupara. Still, Hendrick took the gun back and spun the chamber again.

“Then what does?” He held up the gun to his mouth and opened. "There must be something that tempts you to run."

It reminded him exactly of Franco’s Lupara, same taste, same metallic sensation on his tongue. Not unpleasant, yet it fit better in this mouth. If he focused hard enough on the taste rather than the firm barrel on his tongue, he caught the slight tang of the cigarettes Leland smoked. Far more harsher than when Hendrick was used to, it overtly replaced his own tar scent the longer he sat there.

“Are ya scared, doctor?” Leland leant forward and rested his elbow on the desk, partially illuminating half his face. “Or do you just like hard things in yer mouth?”

Hendrick studied him with an amorous gaze, struggling to control his breathing. He clicked the gun and shivered at the bolt of electricity shooting down his spine, it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up amongst the cold sweat on the back of his neck.

“I’m partial to a little risk taking now and then. It’s the cornerstone of science, not theories or calculations, it’s taking the risk to make the impossible, possible.”

Standing up, Hendrick knocked back the rest of his gin and inhaled his cigarette, stubbing it out in the ashtray. He spun the revolver and coaxed himself around the desk, legs like jello. This gun held so much power. Power he wanted over Leland entirely.

Enough to give himself to Hendrick for the foreseeable future.

Leland didn’t move from his seat, not when Hendrick sat on his desk in front of him, foot pressed firmly on the chair between his legs.

“Maybe a bullet doesn’t scare you, but what gratification can you get out of something if you just tolerate it?” He pointed the barrel of the gun at his head. “If you welcomed that risk, I guarantee the results are more… forceful.”

“Mhmm.” Leland grunted, running his gaze down Hendrick’s leg right down to his shoe between his legs. “You wouldn’t know what forceful is if it slapped ya in the face. Forceful earns respect, it obstructs assholes playin’ hard to get.”

That was true, Hendrick wasn’t forceful in the way Leland was, but one thing that drove him to an edge he had always wanted to jump from, was the twinge he got in the pit of his stomach when the idea of controlling others began.

Force didn’t always have to rely on brute strength.

Hendrick took off Leland’s cap and set it beside him, he rested his palm on his forehead and pushed his head back. “Maybe not, but there’s other ways to get someone entangled in a well placed lie. A spider doesn’t actively seek out the fly, it waits in its den for the slightest tug.”

The barrel pushed past his lips, scraping on his teeth now and then. Hendrick pushed it further until he felt Leland gag, though tried his damndest to hide, it.

“And then it strikes when that fly is ready for ingesting.” The revolver clicked.

And for the first time, he heard Leland’s shallow breaths hiccup in proximity. A god dog submitted to him, without savagery, brute force or harsh words.

Only a firm hand and one carefully placed shoe between his legs.

Chapter Text

The benefit of being smaller than everybody else? Franco could get into smaller spaces and remain there for as long as he wanted. Well, he crawled into the body of Honey Island Jenny for fuck’s sake, if that wasn’t some sort of record, he didn’t know what to think.

Boy what he’d give for the chance to bury and nuzzle himself inside Gooseberry, carrying him around in her belly while she chased those little shits around the factory. It would be so warm, sucking on his pacifier as he bounced about, knees together in a little ball.

Yeah… Quite the image he made for himself, trying his best to replicate it at night. The blankets wrapped around him into a cocoon made the fantasy only go so far. They weren’t warm, had no opening to come out of that didn’t lose its shape whenever he moved an inch, and he had to make it himself.

But if Gooseberry ate him and swallowed him whole, he bet being in her belly would be one awesome fucking ride. The only problem was that he wouldn’t see her knockers swinging about the place as she ran, but he’d get a moment’s peace from the feathered prick on her right hand.

Even now, watching her traipse around the bathroom signing, the fucking bird was yapping his jaw clean off.

“The goose is on the loose… The goose is on the loose!” Who knew the fucking this could sing? “Phyllis, remember not to get me wet this time, it wets me right through.”

“Yes daddy, la-la-la… Doo-doo-Doctor-F-U-Double T-E-R Man…” A voice of an angel.

Gooseberry walked about the bathroom, bending over the bath with her voluptuous ass right by the hole in the wall Franco was watching from. He almost gave himself away, whimpering at her big, round bottom right by his face. Would she shove his face between her cheeks if she knew he was there? Sit right down on him and get comfy while he gleefully struggled for breath? Wouldn’t be the worst past time until the assholes upstairs called on him to play house and collect more teeth.

She ran the water until it began steaming and turned towards Franco like she anticipated he’d spy on her. The lining of her shirt front and centre, sitting perfect in his eyeline, she unbuttoned the first part one handed.

“Hygeine is so important, doctor daddy. It reminds me to tell the children to wash up for supper. Clean hands, clean mouth, happy day.” She started singing again, like it was a personal rendition just for Franco in her walls.

“Brush your teeth clean, so I can see you smile.”

Franco adjusted himself and got comfortable, fumbling with his pacifier without looking away and sucking it in anticipation for those big jugs right by his face. And as each button opened, the excitement grew, sucking harder and harder, trying to ignore the duck and think about the little slice of heaven he was ready for.

There it was, the thick, frumpy brazier he always thought she’d wear across her big breasts, pushed up and ready to peek out and say hello. Marone. Franco rubbed his earlobe with one hand, pressing it between his fingers for comfort, the other rubbed his Lupara like an extension of his coiled up body. 

Excitable, aroused and extremely cramped. It made for one out of this world memory he’d hold onto for the rest of his life.

“Clean body, clean mouth. No cavities, doctor Futterman. I love when the children listen and behave. It makes me so proud.”

Her titties hung out and drooped as soon as she took the material away, bountiful and swollen melons on her chest, peeking right at him.

“Oh… mommy.” He breathlessly said out of pure awe at the size of her nipples, holding their own weight.

Maybe if Gooseberry stepped just one inch closer, his tongue could fit through the hole for just one taste of that plush skin. He bet they were velvety, softer than the blanket Easterman gave him, maybe getting harder by a rogue breeze or gentle touch of her fingertips when she washed her chest.

But as soon as Franco got a good look, smacking his lips together, she turned. He caught himself just in time not to curse out under his breath, especially seeing the outline of her ass cheeks as she climbed into the tub.

Lots of bubbles, soapy wet body. Bubbly titties and steam sticking to her skin, Franco didn’t even blink.

That’s it, get ‘em under that hot water, make the milk come out better, mommy. Oh… I want a taste. Baby’s parched.

Gooseberry’s mask stayed on, it made Franco think it really couldn’t come off, a second face. How did she clean the damn thing? He didn’t know and didn’t think to ask, but the fucking duck asshole was in the way of his perfect view.

“Ah… What I’d do for a bee’s knees right now, Phyllis… Thinkin’ of bath tubs- the prohibition sucked.”

She tapped her long, slender feet in the water, making little splashes. “The prohi- was that when you were naughty, daddy?”

The duck’s drill whirred a little. “They stopped us drinkin’. If anything, they's were the bad guys for taking our booze and fuckin’ us up the asses.”

She hesitated, and tilted her head at it. “Alcohol is bad for your teeth, doctor-”

It roared right in her face. “I knows what’s bad for your teeth, Phyllis! Shut that hole in your face and get the goose grease out. Clean yourself, you're a mess!”

“Yes, daddy.” She shrunk in the bath and pulled the bar of soap from the side, rubbing all over her arm and chest.

I wanna lather those puppies up and grind my face into them! Oh… so slippery.

Franco wanted to paw at them, knead them with all their worth and suckle for an afternoon until he fell asleep. He bet Gooseberry’s milk would take like a thick strawberry shake, the one from diners made with ice cream and syrup. Real sweet and cool on a hot day.

And if it tasted nothing like that, then he imagined the mommy milk on his tongue would be something along the lines of the good kind of cheese, none of that cheap shit. The expensive kind they put on burgers or something cheese topped. Franco enjoyed something savoury as the next guy, though something sweet was his favourite.

With knockers that size, who the fuck cared?

Franco remained in his little hole for the rest of Gooseberry’s bath, sucking his pacifier and fantasising of all the positions he’d rest his head while he suckled.

He even got a glimpse of her ‘front window’ on her way out as she dried herself. Boy, she could sit on him anywhere with that and he’d thank her for it.

Gooseberry was just that tantalising.

They didn’t call her mother for nothing.

Franco's breath caught in his throat when Gooseberry stopped by the bathroom door, looking to the side by the wall but never at him. "Little man, next time, come sit with me."

She'd known he was there this whole time.

Marone.

Chapter Text

It was never supposed to be sexual, merely scientific.

That’s what Hendrick convinced himself and repeated over and over like a mantra.

Merely scientific, a way to observe and study stress on sex, to see how you would withstand Perry’s vices sprawled out on that rock opposite the hard place. Only for science and part of Hendrick’s research. It all came apart when he stopped making notes and decided to watch so intently, his eyes began to weep from the dryness and react to the smoke from the end of his lit cigarette. 

Perry chose water, a destructive way to extract information you simply didn’t have, all the while hips flush with yours, penetrating you like some distraught lover in the heat of uncovered infidelity. He huffed, the crude slap of skin against skin as he fucked you, hand wrapped around your throat for good measure after each jug of water poured over your face like syrup. Each whole container paired with your scream once you gained breath again, you couldn’t really do much else.

After the fourth time round and the container clattered to the floor, Perry had given up on questioning you with a line of non-existent enquiries and grunted every now and then. It was funny, whenever the man got riled up like this, he lacked the necessity of his cane.

Curious.

The guttural scream. The almighty power behind Perry’s own Totem. Torture. The psychic power oozed beyond the walls, permeated through the camera and slit through the wall Hendrick preferred watching from. There was something about watching in person that a camera just couldn’t project.

Perhaps it was the smell of faucet water that soon started to evaporate from the floor by the heat cranked up in the room. Perry’s suggestion. The sweat, not only water splashing about, but exacerbated breath and utter panic clinging to yours and Perry’s skin.

Hendrick leant closer, getting the best possible view by the spot light illuminating the room and casting jittery shadows on the back wall. He studied the way you scrambled for Perry’s wrist every time he poured water all over your face. A life line, an emergency floatie of familiarity you’d always go crawling to despite that line being your torturer. Incredibly fascinating how you had given up reasonably quickly by your bottom half, allowing him to fuck you at whatever pace he wanted.

You moved entirely to self preservation and did not rely on your instincts to defend yourself. One over the other despite knowing you wouldn’t die by having a jug poured over your mouth and nostril. Still, you screamed like a broken record and allowed your body to decide how to act accordingly. Not your brain. It intrigued Hendrick to no end. Even with a hand wrapped around your throat, you still reacted solely to the water. Each hiccupped breath and partially recognisable word perked Hendrick’s senses just as much as seeing Clyde Perry thrust inside you without recourse.

Hendrick was mesmerised by how his buttocks contracked each time his hips snapped against yours, slapping the skin and sucking sounds were almost too delectable to ignore. He was really going for it, as the good rat catcher was told to enjoy himself for once.

Avellanos encouraged him, and Hendrick allowed it.

Maybe it was his own hidden curiosity to watch him, to explore his own veiled sexuality even though he had no idea of the extent of its roots. Little things excited him, body parts described in a certain way, obedience and results. He didn’t care who it was, as long as he felt superior and worshipped.

Some would say it was an insecurity complex. Hendrick called it wanting simple undying love from those below him, nipping at his heels so they could do what he told them. He wanted them begging for it, because it was just something people did towards a position off authority.

Hendrick was owed that respect. Including from Clyde Perry.

As he fucked you, Hendrick soon found himself palming his crotch over his pants, taking in little breaths and watching the way your breasts jiggled each time you squirmed and gasped whenever Perry furiously slammed his cock inside you.

I want to see his ejaculate all over her stomach, but the idea of unprotected ejaculation breeds far more psychic pressure than I ever thought was probable.

Each end had their pros and cons, Hendrick had thought over each of them in great detail as he watched. If he released himself all over you, you’d look just as deflated as his own shrinking phallus, covered in white fluid and fresh choke marks. If Perry finished inside you, it would push the unknown right onto you and produce a new type of anxiety inside your very soul.

This wasn't going to be the only time he’d allow Perry to engage in dubious sexual intercourse with you. In fact, if it was like this every time, Hendrick was content in making this more consistent with his working schedule. More frequent, maybe a sensual request or two now and then, to note down the effects of conventional sex versus unconventionally ruining someone on a metal operating table. Such a sterile environment, lone and cold with materials impervious to disease and blood. So unforgivingly forgiving, laying underneath death and ways to prolong life in the empty space of one’s hands.

So pressurised. So tantalising. So… worthwhile.

“I’m still here, Hendrick.” Avellanos leant back in her chair, one leg crossed over the other with an unbothered expression. “Fancy touching yourself in your own time and not in the company's?”

He’d already shoved his hand in his pants without even noticing. Hendrick only looked away for a second, but understood just how much he’d missed. His hand did not leave his crotch, continuously rubbing and squeezing his cock at the sight of Perry lifting your leg over his shoulder and scooping up another jug of water to pour all over your face and chest from a height he could reach from.

“The visceral nature of an operating table. So many possibilities, Alice, and you’re worried about my body's natural function?”

“Not worried, but it’s something you can do in your own time, or are you going to add your masturbation needs into the report?”

What the hell did she even know about science?

She was never supposed to be here anyway, not watching from the room Hendrick chose at least. But she was bored, of course she was here to bother him when all he wanted was his privacy to study a man’s anatomy while engaging in sexual intercourse. He wondered if his body looked like that, what it would feel like fucking you and it switched rather fast to what it felt like being in your place instead.

How would he explore that sexuality he had no clue about in truth, the mere thought of Perry’s cock pushing against his tight hole, covered in enraptured sweat and the plain, unadulterated wondering of what-if’s.

Now and then, Hendrick heard your little moans between simulated drownings, the way his cock must have hit the right place or padded thumb over your clitoris perfectly to send that perfectly executed jolt of electricity into your wet pelvis. Hendrick wanted to know what you tasted like, to see Perry eat you like his last meal.

Exploring meant that Hendrick’s mind flitted to how well would he would do sucking Perry's cock for science instead, while you watched. Would you touch yourself like he was? With someone else in the room? Perhaps Hendrick just enjoyed the idea of watching, his hesitancy to even ask Perry to experiment with him was something he wasn’t ready for, but the ideas did something to him.

Curiosity.

“I’ll put in my notes. So stay, don’t stay, but I’m trusting the process.”

Silently fantasising about it would do for now, maybe having Perry’s lips wrapped around his own cock softly, tasting it and exploring his body while almost fist deep inside of you, exploring your own insides. Would Perry choke him too? His cock twitched at the idea and watched for the next time his knuckles went white as he squeezed your neck tighter.

“Be my guest, Hendrick.” Avellanos doubled down and relaxed in her chair, watching the screen with a three second delay.

So she was going to stay, maybe watch. Though whenever Hendrick gave her the satisfaction of checking where her eyes were, she was always watching the television screen instead without an ounce of movement.

“Sounds like an invitation.” He said, pulling his cock out entirely and running his hand along its length slowly, methodically. “It’s a natural process with urges, nothing more.”

Maybe if she did this more, she wouldn’t be such an uptight bitch-

“And who are you looking at?” Her tone has a sense of deviancy. “She’s pretty.”

“That she is.” He didn’t stop to give Avellanos the time of day, watching the point your bodies met.

“He’s quite handsome too, hm?”

Clyde Perry was. A previous part of the collections department on top of his clothes, and an ex-marine under it and written across each curvature of his body. Hardened and seen things Hendrick could only imagine and fantasise over, etched into his muscles for the rest of his life. 

Hendrick nodded to Avellanos’ statement, watching you touch Perry’s sweaty body, clawing at him to stop and let your neck free as each gasp grew more shallow. It was then that his hips started getting sloppy, only just, but Hendrick noticed immediately.

He rubbed the tip of his weeping cock, making his hips jitter about against the sensitivity, imagining the tight pull in the base of Perry’s cock and balls. He was about to finish himself off.

Inside you?

All over you?

“Fuck.” Perry said through gritted teeth, letting go of your throat to double down and use every ounce of his strength to finish.

You gasped, spluttering up a cough until you looked away from him with closed eyes and pretty flushed skin. Hendrick put it down to a lack of energy, because you did not fight back or try to push him off when he grunted and stopped abruptly, emptying is cock inside you.

No fight, probably overwhelmed by the immense pressure of Perry’s totem.

He came inside you and waited there until his body stopped jolting about. Your breaths were far too loud for Hendrick to concentrate and Avellanos’s glare in the back of his head was off putting. 

One had to go.

“Get out.”

“Hm?” She swivelled in her chair and watched him as though he’d grown two heads.

“I said get out, Alice. Now.”

“What? Too shy to touch yourself in front of me now?” She was smug, though Hendrick didn’t take the bait.

He set his own conditions. “If you don’t leave now, you’ll see my ejaculate all over the table. I’m experimenting with future exploits. So get out before you live to regret what you see. Do you get the picture yet?”

"How high are you?" She went to speak further on it in protest, or retaliation, but she stood and visibly shuddered. “Don't break him, I expect him back in one piece.”

Hendrick ignored the judgemental shake of her head and loud latch click on his office door. He moved in a more comfortable position and scrambled to grab the speaker connected to the room. 

“Perry.” He watched his head turn towards the small slit in the wall. “Do it all again.”

For science he said. Merely scientific. It was all for science.

The rate of his arousal and force of his ejaculation, all experiments. It was his excitement that Perry did as he was told, because he was an obedient rat catcher. And you laid there utterly destroyed, unbeknownst you’d really go through it all again.

Arousal.

Exhilaration.

Merely scientific.

Chapter Text

“He’s lost it,” was all Clyde Perry said to you over the phone. No empathy, no consideration to even explain yourself.

No, he let you stew on it the entire walk to the infirmary. You couldn’t run, you couldn’t even show Murkoff staff that you were upset by the sudden news.

Clyde Perry was the only person who knew of the affair, and that was only by sheer luck.

He was punishing you, keeping you out of arms reach because of his inclination towards you. Because of your past relationship.

Sheer luck and a misplaced door lock. Hendrick had forgotten to lock his office door just once, and by his reaction, it was like he wanted to be caught. The thrill of seeing Clyde walk in and see you strewn across the desk with Hendrick’s head between your legs, he dismissed him and carried on.

You weren’t even sure how Hendrick found out about your relationship with Clyde at first, kept entirely secret and kept professional when at work. But he did and from then on, being in Clyde’s presence suffocated you.

Yet you stayed with Hendrick. You knew his tendency to get lost in himself, the god complex he drooled over and elated by the shift in authority. How could anyone assume that Dr. Hendrick Joliet Easterman would ever take interest in his recently transferred secretary?

He did, and quite brazenly so in your company, actively pursuing you even though he was married. A married man. Your grandmother would be turning in her grave, disappointed that the oldest sibling in the family would taint her name with such depravity.

The thing was, you found yourself recently single and lost. So, you fell in love with Hendrick and from what he told you, he was divorcing his wife promptly, though three months later his wife divorced him.

So you were the other woman. The home wrecker. Clyde treated you as such and made sure you knew it too despite his own ties severing with you. 

He noticed your heels clacking along the floor towards the infirmary, but he didn’t acknowledge you, not directly. He thought himself too good for that. 

“Is he in there?” 

No one else was around.

“It’s not pretty, looks like he went ten rounds with a rabid dog and lost.”

“Oh god…”

Covering your mouth, you mirrored his body language, leaning against the wall in some kind of vulnerability test. You were on your own, and he had the ammunition to shoot you with.

“When I say he’s lost it, I mean it. He isn’t the same person he was and even that’s a reach.”

You knew of his decline, the thallium poisoning, his issues with trust. Hendrick confided in you more than Clyde ever realised.

“He was coping.” You said. “Then he just stopped talking. He kicked me out of the office and I haven’t seen him in days… I know what his temperament is like. But this is different.”

Clyde said nothing, hands in his pockets, quiet and deep in thought. He shook his head slightly, you recognised his scoff anywhere. “He’s dangerous. Maybe not physically, but he ain’t keeping a roof over your head in a hurricane. You shouldn’t even be here, if anyone catches wind of this, you’re replaceable.”

He wore the same expression he had when he met your eyes that night in the office.

“I’m just his secretary making sure my boss has everything he needs-“

“Quit the bullshit.” Clyde kept his cool, his expression now neutral, you could tell how seething he was inside. “You’re playing this dangerously, he’s not a man you want weighing you down-“

“You only saw the good side, Clyde. The lustrous assumptions that all we did was fuck each other. And it was so much more than that. You need to grow up.”

Clyde finally looked you in the eye, searching your face for anything to use, something to tackle you with. He had quite the gall to speak of who was and wasn’t good for you. He had a darker side he always wanted hidden from you. Borodem became his excuse to extend his… vices. After you and he ended things mutually, Clyde had taken a more sinful route to entertaining himself, you'd seen in the report one night in Hendrick’s office. Disastrous. Sprawled out on the desk in a way he neglected to store it into his locked cabinet.

On purpose? You hoped not.

You expected Clyde to back you into a corner, his tone was quite the opposite, so hushed it unsettled you. “Easterman is a sinking ship, he’ll be out any day now. This is just the beginning-”

“You weren’t there when he hadn’t slept for four days and had to try and wrangle his personal stash of Lysergic acid out of his hand just so he could sleep… you never saw the bad times. And they were bad. I was there for him through the divorce he doesn’t even remember. So please, keep treating me like the other woman because that's clearly all I'll be to you now. But I’ve tried my best to be there for him when he’s calling out for help. No one is listening.”

"You didn't see the shit he was covered in, the bullshit he was blabbering about," Clyde studied you intensely, arms folded in judgment at your own choices. “He’s not asking for help, he’s way too gone for that. I’m giving you a warning. Stay away from him, he won’t last long the way he’s going.”

It was a threat, wasn’t it? 

Would he expose your relationship with Hendrick?

He hadn’t done anything to suggest it, but carrying around that information on his shoulders came with great power. If you’d asked yourself over a year ago, you would have been certain it was a firm no. Clyde Perry still loved you, even apart from each other.

But now, you doubted everything.

“Let’s just keep to ourselves like we’ve been doing, Clyde. I’ll live with the choice I made, I won’t back down either.”

With a shrug, he pushed himself off of the wall ready to leave you there alone. “Whatever, I have things I need to be doing, so go in, don’t go in. I don’t care. But when things get one sided, make yourself scarce.”

He left you, walked away and out of sight. You let out the breath you reserved for when he departed. Nothing was stopping you from seeing Hendrick, no ugly stories, or veiled threats of a nature you didn’t quite understand. Though when you saw Hendrick sedated and restrained in his hospital bed, it took everything in you not to react to that image. 

“No visitors allowed.” A brute of a man stood rather aggressively in your view, blocking your path. “You need to scram.”

“I’m his secretary, I have clearance.” The clearance card Hendrick had made for you came with its perks.

He snatched it from you like a greedy toddler, holding it so close to his face you thought he’d try eating it. With a grumble, he shoved it back into your hand.

“Fine… make it quick.”

You waited for him to step out, keeping his back to you on the other side of the door before you took a real solid look at Hendrick. There was a cannula poking out of the back of his hand, a drip of solution by the bed, bandages over half of his face and scalp.

“What happened to you?” It was enough to bring you to tears, sitting by his bedside so uselessly. “I should have been there for you… why did you push me away?”

He didn’t react to your touch, gently holding his hand, rubbing the part of his scalp that had no damage. He was balding so much lately, stress didn’t help, the thallium being the main cause. It was odd seeing him in so much light when he always kept to the darkness of his office.

Like you were seeing him properly for the first time ever.

You had only just noticed how sunken in his eyes were, cushioned by dark bags that weren’t even plush, just deflated. His cheek bones protruded out like growths or prosthetics from an accident. Hendrick had lost so much weight, so much time from himself without sunlight and nutrition.

What more could you do to help him?

He was clearly calling out for help, but perhaps Clyde was right in a way. An unconscious plea for help could only be helped if he knew what he wanted. Because right now you were entirely out of options.

Out of your depth.

However, you didn’t get up and leave or tell him to figure it out on his own, you sat with him for a little over ten minutes. You pressed sweet kisses on his hand, stroked his pale skin like he was aware.

Just sleeping.

Resting.

It all stopped abruptly when you heard that voice. You recognised it and backed away from Hendrick like he was radioactively leaking all over the floor.

“Miss Avellanos.” You said, back against the wall like you’d been programmed to do.

“Get out.” She said, never even giving you the decency to look at you. “Nobody comes in until I say.”

You promptly left the room, unable to steal one more glance in Hendrick’s direction.

“Wake up, Hendrick. I know you aren’t sleeping.”

What you didn’t know, was that Hendrick was feigning sleep this entire time to catch something worthwhile harbouring in the chance he ever needed it. What he didn't anticipate was hearing you come to him after he’d removed you from his life temporarily. It was harsh, but a test you required all the same.

He knew now that if you hadn’t left yet, you weren’t ever going to leave. Perfect. And if that were the case, he wouldn’t need to terrorise Perry so much, knowing you wouldn’t leave to go back to him.

Hendrick blinked his groggy eyes open and winced at the overhead light, far too artificial to bear. “Don’t speak so loud, Alice, both of my ears are functioning quite well.”

“We need to talk, privately.”

The conversation that went on between them was something revolutionary. Hendrick had unravelled mysteries his heart tried to follow since his brother’s passing, his divorce and everything in between he thought he already knew well enough. But when Avellanos threatened to bring you into this mess, there was a flicker of pettiness, her disparaging words that he batted off like a fly because he was past caring.

He was past letting his colleagues walk over his chest and steal the air from his lungs.

Murkoff Minutes
1960.04.22

MURKOFF CORP

COPY

TRANSCRIPTION FROM TAPE OF A. BRADLEY AVELLANOS INTERVIEW OF H.J. EASTERMAN

SINYALA FACILITY INFIRMARY

EDITED FOR CLARITY

[Minutes 16-19]

EASTERMAN: If I go, you're coming with me. Let me out of here. Unfasten these fucking straps. Alice. Let me out. Let me the fuck out of here.

AVELLANOS -  That’s fine, I’m sure the board will be interested in your little distracting affair as well in the heat of all this mess. She’d make an excellent part of the experimental-population. I’m sure they’ll see the director’s affair as a point of interest.

EASTERMAN -  My secretary and Lawler are two people in completely different hemispheres. Don’t test me, Alice. Fucking a CIA agent on company time, it’s against everything that money pinching mouth stands for.

[there’s a moment of brief silence]

AVELLANOS - We need those punch cards. Don't make this difficult, Hendrick. Because it can and will get worse than it already is. Soon enough, you won’t have a secretary to-

EASTERMAN - She’s a drone. A bit of fun.

AVELLANOS - You don’t have fun. You drag things out and throw your tantrums.

EASTERMAN - She’s replaceable, plenty more like her lying around. You stand so much more to lose if you think about trying to pin this on me.

[dead silence for twenty seconds]

EASTERMAN - Your perfectly pampered world will crash around you. Will you risk it?

AVELLANOS - Where are the Shuttle punch cards?

EASTERMAN - You’ll get the punch cards when you let me out.

While it agitated Hendrick’s gut to talk about you that way, it wasn’t because he was in love or clinging to you like a leech in some bacteria ridden pond. It was because through everything, you were a consistent variable no matter what he threw at you.

Avellanos must have figured out the affair just like Hendrick did about you and Perry. He enjoyed rubbing that fact he was between your legs most nights when he no longer was. 

Hendick was possessive, where you were in love.

Big difference.

Avellanos would have a hard time using it against him when Hendrick had nothing to lose besides consistency.

You would come crawling back because it was just in your DNA to care for someone.

Avellanos would lose everything because she was a cold and calculated bitch.

Chapter Text

You didn’t know. 

You didn’t know he was blind.

If you did, you wouldn’t have run the way you did. He caught up to you so quickly, with such precision you had no chance to get away before his arms wrapped around you until it crushed.

It happened so fast, how he ripped away your clothing like paper and pinned you down on the ground so your rig dug into your chest with a pinch, like it was about to cut the skin and bleed you dry for fun.

“I want to hear your bones crack!” The thing said, a beastly monster huffing perversely in your ear.

You naturally panicked, trying to pull away and scream in his face as some sort of weak deterrent. “Get off of me, let me go!”

“I smell you little rabbit…” He inhaled you, his creeping, heaving breath rough in your ear to attract slinging sweat over your cheek. “Smell you good…”

There wasn’t one muscle you were able to move, not one inch or grabbed purchase over the floor. It pulled at your nails, scratching and dragging along the textured concrete and cringed the ends of your fingertips as he yanked you closer. His hands roamed, pinching the plush of your bare thighs, tempting the friction burn from the rushed material of your damaged clothes scattered over the filthy, trash ridden floor.

It stung, heated a rash over with hives and panic at his hands grabbing at your legs. His hips ground against you with excitable vigour, grunting over you like a beast in heat. 

“Please…” you begged, trying to crawl away to nowhere underneath his vast weight. “Please let me go…”

You should never have run, looking up at him showed that his eyes had been covered by rusted steel apparently bolted to his head.

“Doctor said. Said blindness wasn't a weakness. It's... It's a doorway. For a miracle… This miracle…” 

Then, you felt it, the hard biological limb rubbing firmly against your bare ass. He reacted to it as it moved back and forth, a pleasurable symphony in your ear that played a depressive stance in your heart. There was no getting away from this, yet your body still tried.

“Don’t leave me!” He pushed you further into the ground, rig cutting into you as you struggled for breath.

“Everyone leaves the blind man!”

You couldn’t shy away or recoil at the raw pressure of his twitching cock pushing against you. It burned, you screamed, he did not stop.

“You won’t leave me. Doctor said I can keep you… keep you.”

He melted into you as soon as he was able to penetrate, shallowly moving his cock until he was able to get more of himself inside you. You couldn’t move, agonising how you ended up here in the first place. It was an idiotic choice to come here alone, your jammer rig was entirely useless.

Even if you could have wriggled to get a hold of it, it wasn’t upgraded enough to corrupt him.

You had skipped out on upgrading until you came back from this trial. 

How fucked was that?

“Please- please…”

“Every little move, I hear your heartbeat between your legs.” He trapped you, pushing himself deeper inside and pushed your g-spot sloppily and untrained.

It tugged, coiling up a sharp jab in your abdomen as he picked up speed. His harsh head was right by your own, poking you and possibly drawing blood while he murmured odd sounding phrases you couldn’t understand.

That’s when you had no choice but to react to it. His cock started swelling, catching your entrance with each thrust that forced more wet across your face and down your cheeks. It started tugging, stretching and burning.

“So good… So good!” 

His hurtful thrusts slowed down dramatically, the swelling kept going until he couldn’t pull out anymore to fuck you further. And then he grunted, but this time it was different, more sickly and pleasurable than you’d heard thus far.

“Good fucking pussy.” He almost keeled over, huffing and stopping completely.

Did he just… You were certain that he came inside you, the swelling was too much, like his cock inflated and now was far too big to slip out. He’d come inside you and gave his fluids no chance to leak out.

“Get off of me- get the hell off of me!” You tried pulling away, tried scratching at his face to get some sort of reaction out of him to see if he hadn’t just died.

He clamped down his grasp until you cried out in pain by the metal pins deepening themselves into your back. “Don’t tear. Stuck together for a while.”

So full. So uncomfortable. Can’t breathe.

“You’re mine now, little rabbit.” He said, inhaling your hair and running his tongue across your cheek to taste you. “Delicious.”

Whatever happened next, it wouldn’t end well, not with this beast of a man attached to you by his cock.

No escape.

Just pressure.