Archive of Our Own ^beta

Dr. Hendrick Easterman had been staring at paperwork until the words bled together. His pen tapped restlessly against the desk, filling the silence of his office. Eventually, his gaze slid toward the monitor.

Onscreen, Sergeant Leland Coyle was in full performance—prodding a reagent through the chest, grinning like a wolf as the body writhed. Hendrick had seen it countless times, but still, he watched.

Then came the shift.

One of the guards leaned close to the chain-link, whispering. Coyle swaggered over, shoulders loose, smile easy. Too close. The guard reached through and grabbed him bold between the legs.

Coyle threw his head back and laughed, leaning into it.

Enjoying it.

From someone else.

The snap of Hendrick’s pen broke the spell. Ink pooled over his hand, ruined his papers, but he barely noticed. He shut the feed off, stood slowly, and straightened his coat.

Chains rattled when Coyle was escorted inside, but he made them music—shaking his wrists for the sound, wearing a grin that could split a face in two.

“Couldn’t wait to see me, huh, Doc? Go on, get these off.”

Easterman didn’t move. His voice was cool, detached. “What happened in the trial today?”

That earned him a frown. “The hell kinda question—hey, you said ya watch it! Hmpf..Same as always. Justice served.” Coyle puffed his chest, waiting for praise.

“What else?”

The silence after that question stretched thin. Coyle shifted, smile faltering. “Nothin’ else.” His bravado cracked when Hendrick rose from behind the desk, the weight of his stare pinning him harder than any chain.

“Aw, hell, Doc, it weren’t nothin’! Just a bit of fun, alright? You’ve been busy, I’ve been… restless.” His laugh was awkward, hands fidgeting against the cuffs. “It ain’t like you’ve been payin’ me attention lately.”

“Attention?” Hendrick’s brow arched.

He closed the distance in three steps, grabbed Coyle’s tie, and hauled him forward. Their mouths collided—at first too sudden for Coyle to react, then too deep for him to resist. Heat pooled fast, the sergeant shuddering in spite of himself.

“Goddamn…” he breathed against the kiss, but the words died in his throat when teeth dug into his lip, sharp enough to draw blood. He jerked back, only to be shoved down onto the couch.

“Psycho!” he barked, though his voice trembled more than he liked.

Easterman loomed over him, jacket pushed open, tie loosened by efficient fingers. His mouth found Coyle’s throat—slow at first, almost tender, then biting hard enough to bruise. Each mark stung, but each dragged a ragged sound from the sergeant’s throat.

“You son of a—everyone’s gonna see this!” His protest came out breathless, half-lost under the pressure of lips moving down his chest.

The flash of red leather silenced him. Hendrick held up the collar, the little bell glinting under the office lights.

“Don’t,” Coyle warned, eyes flashing. “Don’t you fuckin’—”

It buckled around his neck before he could finish. The bell jingled once, sharp in the silence.

“Better,” Hendrick murmured, adjusting the fit. His voice had dropped, darker, quieter. “Now you look like what you are.”

Coyle’s pulse thrashed under the leather. Heat was burning through him despite himself—humiliation curdling into desire. He tried to laugh it off. “Ya got a real sick sense of romance, Doc.”

“Romance?” Hendrick smirked, straddling his chest. He slipped off the sunglasses, tossed the cap aside, and dug his hand into Coyle’s hair. “No. Possession.”

The blunt head of his cock pressed against Coyle’s lips.

“Open.”

Coyle clenched his jaw. The tap of flesh against his mouth was insistent, teasing, until he broke, lips parting on a growl. Hendrick pushed deep, claiming his throat in one swift motion.

The bell jingled wildly with each forced bob of his head. Coyle’s eyes watered, muscles trembling, but a low groan rattled in his chest as arousal betrayed him.

“Breathe through your nose,” Hendrick instructed, his tone husky now, colored with pleasure. He tugged the sergeant’s hair, hips rolling with measured force. “That’s it. You can listen when you want to.”

The words sank in like iron. Coyle hated it—hated how much he wanted to hear them.

When Hendrick finally pulled free, Coyle gasped for air, lips slick, eyes glazed. He expected release, craved it—only to feel hot stripes across his cheek as the doctor finished on his face instead.

Coyle flinched, humiliated, but his cock strained against his jeans, undeniable.

“Do you understand now?” Hendrick asked, voice low, steady, as he tucked himself back in.

“Yes…” The word rasped out before Coyle could stop it. “Doc—please—”

“No.”

The refusal was cruel, deliberate. Hendrick smoothed his hair back, then pressed a kiss to his forehead, soft as a benediction. He opened the door, guards waiting outside.

“Take him.”

“Wait! Don’t you—don’t let ‘em—” Coyle scrambled upright, but the bell gave him away with every frantic move.

The guards snickered as they hauled him out. Easterman lingered in the doorway, listening to the jingle fade down the hall.

Coyle would remember.
And he’d come crawling back.