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Chapter Text

 Sergeant Leland Coyle was a sight to see. Out of all the prime assets at the facility, he was the most grounded. He lacked psychosis, didn't hallucinate, and could even hold a full conversation without devolving to childish whining. Leland had all the same neurosis as half of the American police force. Violent, racist, sexist, sexually repressed, and eager to display those traits for others. 

    His oral stage was clearly disrupted, likely due to being a c-section. Nurses notes pulled from his birth noted a struggle to latch. The oral fixation Leland Coyle displayed wasn't unique. Easterman was a psychologist, after all. He had seen plenty of adults struggle with that infant instinct. 

    But for some strange reason...

    Dr. Easterman scanned through trial footage. His reagents were developing nicely, but his eyes weren't drawn to them. Not today.

    On camera 14, in the belly of the station, Leland leaned against a locked door and chattered away to somebody trapped inside. His tone was controlled, but his motions were frantic. Easterman took careful notes. 

    This trial wasn't just for him. The scientists eagerly watching when their windows were passed kept their focus split. Cataloguing behaviours for the Prime Asset the same way Easterman was then. 

    His lips were caught between his teeth. Balls of blood teased on falling but were quickly licked up before they could. Leland's hand dug in and out of his pockets, turning over every corner. Once in a while his foot would stomp, like a harmless little rabbit trying to mark territory. He cussed and spat. Swapping between women, Italians and reagents as his victims.

    It was captivating. 

    The cop was certainly a powerhouse. The sobbing bleeding victim behind the locked door only served that notion. But here, in this moment where Leland thinks that he is alone, the vulnerabilities show. Like a dog searching for its promised treat. Leland was desperate for something to put in his mouth. Desperate. This state of unfulfilled desire caused Coyle to regress. His old coping strategies were gone, replaced with the wild impulses that controlled him as a child.

    Not that his coping strategies were anything Easterman would normally prescribe. Feeding his fixation only created a stronger dependancy on it. Back in Blackwell, Leland would go and get himself a reprimand if he misplaced a cigarette. Within the safe walls of the trials, however, he was free to behave as his Über-Ich demanded. 

    Everything was going exactly how he wanted it to.

    Without a soother of some kind, a toothpick or cigarette, Leland's grip on his stun rod tightened. He tapped the live end into his thigh. Gritting his teeth as the muscles beneath twitched and spasmed in pain. His fingers didn't rub or stroke. Even at his most base, Leland has zero instinct to be gentle.

    Leland threw something to the floor. He growled like an agitated dog. That locked door behind him was thrown open. It was a shame that such a promising reagent had to die so violently but progress required sacrifice and insight needed suffering. Screaming flooded the mics as well as the crackle of electricity. He could switch cameras and follow. See the hungry pump of Leland Coyle's hips as he ripped and tore and killed. He enjoyed the lost glint in his eyes more. This is what his work was about. Digging down to the root of the mind and seeing the rot that the world had filled it with.

    Easterman adjusted his trousers and rewound the tape. 

    Yes. Leland Coyle was quite the subject. He deserved to be filled with something better. Something in line with their values.

    Maybe it was time for another private session. 

Chapter Text

 It was important that Dr. Easterman sat at attention when Leland was brought in. The secret security feed of his bedroom showed him twitchy and irate. After three hours of failing to bring himself to completion, Leland spent the remainder of his night throwing empty beer cans at other, empty beer cans in a sad, redneck version of bowling. 

    Despite how regular of an occurrence this was, Easterman could read the anxious clench in his shoulders. This was actually a deeply revealing moment that showed just how attached Coyle was to putting things in his mouth. Laughably homoerotic, especially due to the sexual hangups caused by his country Christian upbringing. 

    This need would cause him to act out. In the interest of protecting his workspace, Easterman would stay rigid from the moment he called for Leland to the moment he arrived. Easterman had to be fully in control the entire time. He even swapped to a blue tie. Hopefully the colour would subconsciously encourage peace and calm. He kept a cigarette smouldering in his ashtray. Like a candle with a calming scent.

     He would have to snuff it out before Coyle actually appeared however. There was no telling what he would do if he was directly faced with his desires. Coyle struggled to face his wants. Oh sure, he could puff his chest and pretend he took everything he ever wanted, but real hunger scared him. He grew up comfortable. That never truly left him. Sadism was his first defence to anything difficult. So far, Easterman had done well to avoid being on the receiving end.

    His first cigarette burnt out to the end. Anymore and the stench would be too obvious. A little bit of alcohol would be alright. Dangle desires in front of Coyle and ignore how he had never gone more than a day without a sip of something since he was 16. 

    Easterman poured himself a few fingers of whiskey and ignored it. Where was Coyle?

    The clock ticked past the seconds. Minutes. Something had gone wrong. 

    Easterman sighed because of course something had gone wrong. The project had graduated from awkward infancy to irritating adolesence and every other command he gave was met with failure. 

    It was only then did Easterman remember that he gave the order to leave Leland Coyle's stun rod on. His 'Jenny' as he called it. That might have caused some unforeseen problems. Surprising how he forgot, considering Coyle had just spent 3 hours humping the live end and pawing at himself while staring into the blue light. Such things were so natural to see from Coyle, they hardly registered as something noteworthy. 

    He turned his attention to the beaten screen on his left. Every camera in the entire facility streamed a nonstop feed to it so that he could keep a careful watch on everything. Children cannot be effectively raised by an absent father, so it was his duty to be present for every person at every moment. 

    On the hallway camera outside of Coyles cell, the problem revealed itself. Blue sparks leapt from the open cell door while the guards warily pointed weapons at the tantrum within. While he was out of sight, it was easy to picture the face within.

    "You wanna fuck with me? I'll teach you not to mess with the law!" His voice, distorted yet instantly identifiable, shouted from within. 

    The guards mumbled to each other. Insecure personalities selected for their eagerness to please and general apathy. Those two would be to be re-evaluated. To an experienced doctor like Easterman, he could tell that all his mutt was doing was testing boundaries. He felt pent up from his comforts being stolen and so, like a child, was pushing at any authority he could find. Those morons at the door were just fanning his flames by letting it affect them. 

    In fact, this could easily be spun to be the guards fault entirely. Easterman left his stun rod on to see how they would be able to handle a real emergency. This was hardly the proper response.

    You don't cry if a dog bites you. You backhand it. 

   Dr. Easterman fingered the intercom button.

    Kzchh-

    "Guard group 11-9 provide assist to Prime Asset Holding Quarters immediately. I repeat, 11-9 to PAHQ. Kill the baton while you're at it. Bring him to my office."

Chapter Text

    Coyle didn't have a damn clue on how he was supposed to feel. The doc kept Jenny running long after she's left limp and dead in his arms and just as he was starting to get into his groove, he sends in some fuckos to disrupt it. He was always playing stupid games, treating Coyle like some lab rat. 

    It was probably some fuck-up the good doctor was trying to cover up as an experiment. Nothing could ever really be his fault, O' Holy Father. 

    While Dr. Easterman's authority was just a costume, Coyle held a real actual badge. If this whole thing went to shit he'd be the first to arrest that quack and show him what real justice looked like.

    His eyes drifted to the corner of Easterman's desk. Asshole never quite scrubbed the blood off. It was... hard to remember why it happened but Coyle still knew how it felt. His head slammed into the corner like some watermelon and the pain and helplessness that just morphed into blind fury. He liked to think he got a good punch in before he passed out. He was just that good of a cop. 

    Maybe that was why he was here. Another punishment delivered by a guy who needed his toupee delivered yesterday. 

    Easterman just looked.

    Hands still bound behind his back, Coyle began to get nervous. 

    "How was I supposed to know it was a direct order? Those shitheads don't know the first thing about respecting a cop. For all I knew, they were commies who snuck in here to tear us all down."

    Turning away, Easterman refilled his whiskey glass. He let silence continue to fill the room. Predictably, Coyle kept talking.

    "I complied once ya shut Jenny off. If she's on, I'm in fightin' mode, you understand? So, don't expect good cop if she's purring in my ear. In fact! You could blame whatever moron forgot to finger her kill switch. It's hardly my fault."

    Easterman took a drink. Coyle watched him swallow, but deflated after realising he wasn't going to speak up.

    "It's not my fault!" He shouted, "I didn't do nothing wrong. I didn't even kill nobody. Hell, those crybabies ain't even hurt. I just spooked 'em. That's all."

    With his temper threatening to spill over, his sense of 'injustice' flaring, Easterman cut him off.

    "I agree. You're not to blame."

    "I- uh, whuh?"

    The sudden allowance made Coyle feel unsteady. Nothing was that easy within Murkhoff. Nothing. 

    Dr. Easterman kept his mind games going, forcing Coyle to sit through uncomfortable silence. His eyes traces the way Coyle chewed his lips. Understanding clicked in his mind.

    "Well then, I reckon' you're seeking to... punish me for my actions despite my lack of blame."

    "Exactly. Well done, Sergeant Coyle."

    The tension left his shoulders and the stupid bastard smirked. Coyle was just happy he wasn't going to get his skull split open. He knew how to read tone, and that was the timbre a man used when he needed to left off a little steam.

    "Leland, you understand that even if a criminal doesn't know what law they've broken, they must be punished. As a man of such high standing as yourself, I'm confident you understand this."

    "Sure, Doc."

    Frankly, he was zoning out as Easterman continued his ramble. Christ, could that man yap. Ever since he lost his cigarettes, he'd been itching to chew on something. The last Reagent he killed had an empty pack in its back pocket, which was such an unfair tease.

    Easterman continued in the background, some nonsense about muffins and cupcakes. Eventually, the tell-tale sound of his zipper coming undone perked Coyles interest. It wasn't gay to suck off the docter. He made those Reagents do all sorts of things and he was still a heterosexual man. 

    This was just a power play. 

    Coyle sunk to his knees between Easterman's legs and convinced himself that he was the one in control. 

    He looked up at him through his sunglasses. His shirt and tie were still perfectly pressed together. The few wisps of balding hair he did have were combed back with care. The real fun of these 'private sessions' was ripping that put-together persona apart until one of them snapped. 

    Easterman was the first to make a move. He undid his trousers and pulled out his dick, already hard, and tapped it against Leland's lower lip. 

    Coyle let his jaw drop and guided it into his mouth with his hands. Mentally, he tried to keep his pride intact by ignore how it smelled, tasted, and felt in his mouth. It was hard to do when every stretch of his jaw had him holding back a moan.

    Easterman's hands wound through his hair. The grip was possesive, but loving in his special brand of fucked up. Leland pulled forward slightly, just to feel it burn. The tip of his cock was already brushing the back of his throat. Dancing of the edge of being too much. 

    "That's my good boy," Easterman sneered. His prim facade was slowly eroding. Leland took a particular pleasure in making him lose his composure. That fucking put together doctor, always speaking down to him, pretending to know better. A solid face fucking always had the good doctor worked up and worn down. 

    He flattened his tounge along the base of his cock and let his jaw relax. 

    Dr. Easterman's grip became bruising. His nails tore bloody lines into his scalp when he yanked his mouth off of him. 

    Everything stilled, until suddenly Leland felt his face get dragged up to Easterman's. His knees were weak from kneeling for so long. 

    Teeth smashed into his lips, forcing blood to drip down his chin as Easterman's other hand worked his jaw open. It was hardly a kiss. Leland's mouth was Easterman's property, and he was wasting no time in declaring that ownership. 

    He tried to push his tongue around, he wasn't some gay-boy who would just lay back and take it, but the doctor didn't care. He pulled away and met Coyle with such a sincere look of disgust before cramming his thumb into his tender cheek and spitting into the open hole. 

    "You need me," Easterman growled, "You need me more than you need anything else. You would pick me over food or water or air. You value me more than your own fucking life, do you understand?"

    His palm left a painful welt before Leland even registered that he had been hit. 

    "There is no limit to the pain that I can and will give you."

    The toe of Easterman's shiny oxford shoe dug into Leland's painfully erect and painfully clothed dick.

    "And you, my perfect dog, will gain only pleasure from it." 

    Easterman threw Leland to the floor. His shoulder colliding with the sharp edge of the desk. Looking up from the ground, he could see the sick flush that spread across his cheeks. 

    "You motherfucker," Coyle grumbled into the ground. He never quit monolouging. 

    The desk chair creaked as Easterman stood up. His funny quip about the doctor gaining weight was cut off as he was stomped in the back of the head. 

    Stars exploded in his vision. Everything blurred and something cracked. The urge to gag choked him with a foul taste.  A small, childish part of him was afraid of throwing up. The image of his father flickered in his mind, swapping between Easterman and his actual dad. 

    Stupid bastard. 

    Leland felt the doctor start to pull his pants down. He lifted his hips up to give him better access. A self-satisfied chuckled sounded from above. Maybe it was God, mocking him for how far he'd fallen. 

    Slick fingers prodded at his entrance. Electric sparks of pleasure had his legs feeling fuzzy and his blood running cold. 

    Easterman felt impaitent. He wasted no time in forcing his hand in. It was painful like it always was. Leland had done something to turn him on, but e had no idea what. For that he complained, if he knew what triggered the doctorto act like this, he'd do it all the time. 

    For all the times he was called a dog, Easterman was no better. He pulled out harshly, forcing Leland's hips up in the process. It was beyond degrading. His hands scrambled for purchase on the floor so he could at least push his face up. 

    Easterman forced his way inside, knocking the wind out of Leland. He felt full. bursting at the seams. It was so good. Easterman's other hand came up to the side of his head and forced it even further into the ground.  That sensation of his brain bleeding came back fourfold. He was pretty sure that his nose was bleeding. 

    He wanted a cigarette.. As if reading his mind (Coyle could never to too sure with him) ) Easterman released the pressure  from his skull and pushed his fingers into his lips. Still thrusting into him, it took a few tries for Coyle to actually get them into his mouth. The relief was instantaneous. Coyle couldn't taste the nicotine on his own hands, covered in justice as they usually were, but Easterman didn't have that problem. 

    "Such a good dog," Easterman purred into his ear. One hand knocking against his teeth while the other hand forced their hips flush. Coyle wanted to turn around, to snap and fight back how he always does, but it wasn't possible. 

    All at once it was too much. 

    "So fucking tight for me, puppy," Easterman groaned to himself. Uncaring of Leland below him. At least he wasn't muttering his wife's name anymore. 
    God, wasn't that a degrading thought. The family dog being happy that he wasn't a wife replacement anymore. 

    Easterman pulled his fingers from Leland's mouth with a wet pop and started harshly stroking his cock. It was as good as a command and Leland quickly came. 
    Easterman grunted. He was only using Leland's pleasure to further his own. He kept thrusting, even as Leland recoiled from the overstimulation. Easterman used him like a toy. His personality was wholly irrelevant.

    Easterman didn't go any gentler, ramming into him with new vigour. Leland tried to tense up, exaggerate his pained noises and so that Easterman would finish faster. It worked well enough, Easterman snapped their hips together and spilled deep inside of him. Filling him up. 

    He sighed, contented, and wiped his dick clean on Leland's ass. 

    "Hey!" Leland barked, "Don't swipe your dirty fucking jizz on me. Keep that shit to yourself,"

    "Of course. Whatever you say, Sergeant." 

    He tucked himself back into his pants and stood up. All the earlier energy bled out of him. Easterman was back to pretending he was a competent doctor. 
    Leland took a breath on the floor, feeling sticky and sorry for himself. He pulled up his pants, wincing over his sore joints. 

    The doctor was already distracted, drinking more booze and reading through some bullshit files. Leland stood in the now quiet office space, silently reeling from how fucking bipolar their hookups went. 

    "You'll see me 'round then, I suppose." He awkwardly shuffled to the door. 

    "I will see you, Leland. Maybe I'll let you see me, Return to your quarters."

    Coyle just rolled his eyes. What a moronic one-liner. 

    He did hope that someone would leave Jenny on again. He was already missing her burn on his thighs and she never left him aching in this way. 

    He'd do anything for a smoke right then.

Chapter Text

Both Dr. Easterman and Leland Coyle laid awake for the next few nights. 

    Coyle's cigarettes magically appeared after their 'private session'. He was tempted to toss them out but there was nothing else to do in his cell. Another trial would begin soon and he would be moved back into his police department. He looked forward to it. 

    He worked through every busted up lighter that covered his floor until one sparked long enough to give him a light. Now that was an addiction he could pretend to have control over. 

    His jacket was dumped on the floor somewhere, it didn't matter where. Coyle laid himself on the repulsive, damp mattress that he now called a bed. As annoying as he found all women to be, having a wife came with benefits. Namely, a clean home. It's all he really found them good for. 

    Coyle's hand cupped his crotch. He swore he could still feel the imprints of where Easterman touched him. The oils from his hands staining and burning his skin.

    It would take a while before Coyle was able to fall asleep again. His skull felt distended with thoughts of the doctor. He'd give anything to taste his blood in his teeth. Hear him cry out for a change. 

    Easterman kept his sleepless night dedicated to everything else in the facility, only offering a faint smile to his empty office when he had the time to spare for his dog. He bruised so easily now compared to when he first arrived. Pretty flowers of black and blue bloomed everywhere Easterman graced him with his presence. 

    As a reward, as if he wasn't spoiled enough, he had an upcoming trial of newcoming reagents. They'd hunt to kill his snitch and Easterman would keep a close eye on how he limped as he ran. 

    The facility was bleeding money and the amount of desperate homeless people willing to better themselves was decreasing. He had applied for some prisoners, but they'd take more effort to break. 

    They were running out of time. Slowly but surely. 

    Easterman was going to make sure that no matter what, he was going to leave an impact.