Chapter Text
Dr. Victor Gideon was a man of very little words. A nod, an occasional, appreciative hum, a quick Yes. No conversations between shifts, no laughter about jokes made over stained coffee cups, no deep talks. Simply, a quiet and reserved man.
Nevertheless, a man you appreciated to work under. Right after graduating college with top grades, you applied to the job at Rhodes Hill Chronic Care Center. You had specialized in human biology and medicine over the years of studying, only waiting for an opportunity like this. The Center had been looking for a research assistant, keen to work on more difficult tasks from time to time. And you had been always someone who loved a good challenge.
Only two months later, you had been offered a permanent position in the sanatorium which you had gladly accepted. The generous pay was very much appreciated and you truly enjoyed your work, settled between stacks of files, your computer and the laboratory. Sometimes, you even visited the patients even though it didn't fall under your tasks but real practice has always proven effective in comparison to blunt theory.
Your ambition hadn't gone unnoticed, either. You had only met your boss once in the probationary period, the day you had started your new job but it had only consisted of a short, five minute talk of instructions, a firm welcome and the listing of your daily tasks. Dr. Victor Gideon, a virologist and apparently highly educated scientist, had appeared to be a strange man. Almost seven feet tall, grayish skin and a large visor covering half of his face. The swirling and soft movements of the lenses attached had made you feel uneasy, the thought of being watched but not seeing any eyes leaving you with a shiver on your neck.
He had observed you, even in the short period of time, you had been sure. A cold, clinical check up if you would be worth his time. In the end, he was more than content to have you assigned to his research team. You exceeded his expectations by miles, always finishing your reports on time, the stack of paper neatly sorted on his desk at the end of the day. He had you working overtime, enjoying the way you challenged yourself for a sliver of his attention.
Because after all, you had learned to appreciate his cold nature, striving for a hint of warmth nevertheless, always chasing the high of him acknowledging you and your work. You saw him often now, lingering between microscopes and hundreds of vials, hidden behind piles of documents and files. He never took off his visor as if he wanted to hide away most of the time but his work forced him to endure the staff around him.
You made sure to keep your distance, talking as little to gain as much trust as possible. Most of all, you thrived after the moments you two were alone, sharing the same passion and ambition that hovered over your heads as you were lost in research, the only thing on your mind formulas and medical terms. And then, one night, when everyone had already left, and you were still shuffling through countless documents in the files room, you heard his office door close on the third floor.
Judging by his firm steps, you weren't sure if he was on the brink of leaving or if he would stride through the rooms, checking if someone was still working. So you focused on the paper in your hands as you finally found the file you had been searching for.
Dr. Victor Gideon gave off a special kind of presence that would raise the little hairs on the back of your neck. The kind that made your skin crawl and your breath quicken. Yet you, out of all people, remained unbothered. It did effect your breath, though. But it rather hitched in your lungs as soon as you felt him lingering in front of your door, his visor peeking through the open gap. He had been looking for you.
His gaze burned on your skin, and you asked yourself if he only wanted to skin you alive or rather take off your clothes first. You knew about the experiments, and you knew about his brutal nature. It didn't scare you away, on the contrary. And sometimes you wondered if there was something very, very wrong with you.
But you simply couldn't help yourself, you bathed in his glance, your cells reaching for him out of pure instinct. It happened somewhere between the lines, between countless hours spent together in the laboratory. You knew you were damned after the first time you had come home and spent the rest of the night moaning his name while you made yourself cum again and again. But it had sounded good, and it had felt so right.
So you only kept your eyes glued to the report you were pretending to read as Dr. Gideon stepped into the room and occupied much of the space within seconds. The air seemed to chill down by a few degrees as he took only single step further. But you were closer than you were most of the time, only an arm length apart. You almost forgot to breathe as he raised his velvety voice.
''You are still working.''
Not a weighted opinion, no prejudice nor mockery. A simple fact stated.
''Yes. I am.'', you muttered, still fixated on the meaningless letters in front of you.
''Interesting.'', he replied. He allowed you to hear him exist behind you for another minute, then he turned around and left without another word.
Only then you allowed yourself to let the used oxygen escape from your throat where it had formed an invisible lump, making you gag on emptiness the second you were alone. You hadn't realized you had started trembling, ever so slightly, adding to the sickening arousal coiling in your stomach. It would be a long night.
The process repeated itself over the next days. You stayed, longer than anyone would have forced you to, and he visited, after everyone had left. Sometimes, he talked to you, briefly of course, other times, he'd just watch. You loved feeling uncomfortable around him, loved the uncertainty in every step you took, afraid to stumble. He might eat you alive, after all.
Only one night, you didn't hear nor see him coming. Reasonably so, as you were fast asleep on the small couch in the corner of the files room. Multiple heavy boxes were stacked next to the hard piece of furniture, countless papers spilling from the insides, scattering the floor. You had been lost in a particular difficult part of your research and had needed some important documents you knew were stored somewhere around the room.
Yet after an hour of flipping through pages after pages, you had admitted defeat and sought out a few moments of rest before continuing your tedious search. Only resting your eyes for a while, you had told yourself. And now you were laying curled up on the couch, knees pulled up to your chest, sleeping soundly between the files. The pen in your hand threatened to fall from your loosened grasp any second now, your strength totally spent.
The plastic hit the floor when Dr. Gideon entered the room. He never asked for permission to enter, this was his center, after all. He found you, exhausted in his room, so careless.
Foolish, little bird laid itself bare in front of the python, not aware of the danger it put itself in.
As usual, he observed, his lenses gathering information about your heart rate, your lung capacity and the noises you were making as you were dreaming. He didn't know how long he had been standing in front of you but he would later think about the exact moment when you turned and shuffled on the couch, your lips parting and a soft, warm moan spilling from them.
And he would remember how he tensed, how something inside him clicked and made him focus closer on you. Your cheeks had flushed the slightest, a hint of pink settling behind the surface. He noticed you shivering, the cool September air filling the room since you had left a window open. His perverted mind led him to the idea of closing his hand around your throat, choking you until you were unconscious and having his way with you. How he would love to be in control, in utter dominance for once in his miserable life.
But his murderous instinct died down as you spoke, rather mumbled something under your breath as your dream seemed to reach its peak. ''Do..''
He bent down to hear you better. But the harsh twist in his abdomen knew what was coming.
''Doctor… Gideon…'', you half moaned and sighed, your eyes still closed, but he could see your eyeballs twitching behind shut lids, your imagination running wild. He felt sick all of sudden, sick with want and burning desire. His heart pounded feverishly as he stared at you, feeling himself grow hard in his pants. The stupid leather was in the way of his erection, pressing uncomfortably against his bulge. He was afraid to touch himself, not because of the risk of you waking and noticing him, but because he might like it.
His thoughts outran themselves with things he could do to you if he would only be brave enough to overcome his fear, if he could only reach out and feel. Yes, rip off your clothes, caress your insides until you would scream, not whisper his name, until it would be washed clean with your vocal chords just because he couldn't bear the dirt anymore.
Victor Gideon was turning into a mad man for the simple sound of a woman's desire and he forgot about what had happened, he forgot about himself and all the cruel people he had encountered, and acted.
His hand wandered down, fingertips running over the leather underneath his silver snake belt. He applied pressure, just enough to make him feel something, something similar to you if you were awake. A shock cursed through him, cold-hearted electricity, as pleasure overcame him. Something he had not felt in a long time. And the buzz was so strong it caught him off-guard, having him gasp and writhe over your sleeping body.
It hurt how hard he was, and it hurt more to rub his palm over his clothed cock, even as white warmth gathered in his stomach and his pelvis. But the pain felt so good that he ripped his hand free from himself, his blood boiling beneath layers of agony. Dr. Gideon was breathless as he quickly discarded the coat of the clinic he was wearing over his own snake cloak, heartlessly throwing it over your small body and fleeing the room right after.
Coward.