#brenner x reader

Martin has been working far harder than usual in recent weeks. 

Even when not in the lab, late nights and long hours spent inside his study seem to have become the norm. His side of the bed feels far icier to you every evening without him in it. Something in his work is gradually getting to him, and it’s becoming more evident as the time goes by. You can’t even remember the last time you enjoyed a quiet night with him, or last felt his loving hands against your skin. 

Tonight, you hope to change that. 

A pretty dress you rarely wear is the first thing you pull out to help do that. A light one normally saved for special occasions. It’s joined by some makeup with his favourite shade of red lip, and a little curl in your hair that makes it bounce as you move. Everything you know that he normally loves. 

It’s already late by the time you’ve put yourself together, and your husband still hasn’t risen from his desk. One last check in the bathroom mirror sees you heading out of the room towards his study, practicing a very slight sway in your hips along the way. 

When you reach his study you stand in the doorway for a moment, leaning against the frame while you wait for his attention to turn your way, and you anticipate his reaction anxiously. You hope he’ll like the effort you’ve made for him. It becomes clear very quickly that he’s far too invested in whatever he’s doing to even look up at you, so you opt instead to slowly move around behind him.

Not once does he look up the entire time you make your way over. 

You can see his paperwork clearer while you stand at his back. Whatever he’s working on, his scribbles make very little sense from where you are. With the line of work he’s in you’re sure they would make even less sense close up. You don’t bother to concern yourself for too long with it. Eager hands come up to rub his stiff shoulders, though he doesn’t take much notice of them doing so. You expect his muscles to relax under your touch - instead, they just tighten. 

“You’re working so hard, dear…” Your voice is low as you continue your gentle massage. He’s still wearing his shirt, though his waistcoat is unbuttoned and jacket discarded, and the slightly looser look has you desperate to get him feeling far more comfortable. “Don’t you want to come to bed?”

It takes him a second to even register your question, and another to respond. “Sure. In a minute.”

The short response catches you slightly off guard. It seems you’ll have to turn up the effort. 

"Martin," your tired voice sounds as silky as you can make it. You let your hands slide slowly over his shoulders, gradually down his front and under his navy waistcoat, feeling his muscles tense under your touch. His skin feels warm even through his white shirt. "Come to bed, honey."

The doctor pays you very little mind. You take notice of his half eaten plate of dinner pushed aside on his desk. Earlier, he had reassured you that he would finish it while he worked. That had meant another dinner spent alone at the dining table for you, with every one feeling even lonelier than the last. Whatever he's working on, it must be important, though you know this late work will have him exhausted in the morning. 

Soft hands rubbing circles over his shirt still do nothing to stir him even as time passes by. A part of you begins to wonder how long you should continue until it would be an appropriate time to give up. If he would only turn around, he would see the actual effort you had made for him. The way you had done up your hair, and put on the exact lipstick you knew he would like. Even your little dress would surely raise his brow, and with any luck, something else. 

It becomes clear that just words and gentle hands won’t do very much to pull him from his current focused state. Looking to snap him out of this trance, you move to press your lips slowly to his cheek, then his jaw, until coming to whisper into his ear. "It's so late darling. Come on, come to-"

"I told you to give me a minute." There’s no hint of jest in his spat out words. His muscles tense harder underneath your fingers. Martin breaths deeply, then lets out a very sharp sigh, as though his order wasn’t enough to convey his mood. Just to drive his point further, he raises one hand in a gesture of dismissal. “Go on. I’ll join you when I’m done.”

When I’m done. In Martin’s world, that could be hours. Operating on his own time and expecting you to do the same, as though he sometimes forgets that the whole planet isn’t living in his world. 

It takes you a moment to move yourself away. Uncertain hands eventually leave his hard chest awkwardly, and you step back to stand up straight. There’s a very familiar defeated feeling in your chest, knowing it’s time to retire to bed for another night without your strangely distant husband. 

When on earth did he grow this frigid?

You’re not even sure whether you should bother to say something in response to his snapping, so you don’t. You just huff and turn on your heel to go to bed - not because you’ve been told to, but because you’re no longer bothered to wait up for him. If he was bothered enough to pay you any mind, he may even notice the clack of your heels against the hard floor. When in a good mood he normally loves to see you wear them. 

The bedroom feels much colder when you eventually reach it. You give a quick comb through your hair before changing out of your clothes. Your pretty dress gets left out on purpose, hanging up where you know he’ll see it to ensure he knows you had worn it. The heels he likes you to wear get left on the floor directly under it. You don’t even bother to wash off your makeup, though you now regret even having bothered to do it.  

If he can’t see you all done up for him, then you may as well make sure he knows exactly what he missed. 

***

The birds are softly chirping outside the window by the time you feel the bed dip. The sun hasn’t quite peeked through the curtains yet, despite it already threatening to rise outside. Martin sighs heavily as he sits. Lately it feels as though he is weighed down by some unspoken burden. At this early hour, you can’t bring yourself to care enough to ask what it is. With your back facing him, you keep your eyes shut tight and try to pretend to not even register his presence. 

You hear him kick off his shoes, before slowly hanging his clothes. There’s a quietness to his movements. A deliberate one, as though he doesn’t want to wake you. Oh, how considerate. 

When he eventually peels back the covers to join you underneath them, you don’t even bother to turn and greet him. 

“Sorry, sweetheart…” the words are whispered against your ear, while a long arm comes around to pull you into his chest. With your back pressed against it you can feel his skin bare. “Things are just… I’m just very busy.”

His apology is met with silence. After enough time has passed without a response, he just pulls you in closer. Now that your back is flush against him, your cheeks can’t help but grow a little hot. His slender arm wraps tighter around your middle. 

“I know you’re awake. I’m here now, you don’t have to pretend you can’t hear me.” Though his words should seem caring, there’s an edge to them that you can’t quite pinpoint. It’s not an angry one, nor is it icy. More of a slightly snarky tone woven through them. After a few moments of continued silence, Martin sighs quietly, and presses a soft kiss to your cheek. His next words are spoken low and deep against your skin. “I saw your pretty dress hanging up. Were you wearing that for me?” 

The feeling of his lips against you make you shiver, and you try hard to ignore a suddenly brewing arousal beginning to claw through your exhaustion. It’s been some time since you were wrapped up like this. Silently, you nod. At least he notices the dress now. Even if it is a few hours too late. 

Martin pushes himself up on an elbow, before pulling you to lay your head back flat against the pillow and look up at him. You can just about make out his features in the gradually brightening room. Even in the dimness, it’s easy to tell that something is troubling him, more so than usual. You’re sure the lines on his face have only deepened in recent weeks. 

“Did your makeup too.” His observation is met with the same heavy silence. The arm around you moves, the hand coming up to rest gently on your cheek. The cold metal of his wedding ring stings on your skin. A reminder of the love and union you’re supposed to be experiencing. 

At this point, it feels more like his work is the thing he should have married. He’s been far more tied to it recently than he has been to you. 

“You made such an effort for me.” He traces your faded red lips with his thumb. Tired eyes remain stuck on them for a moment, before flicking back up to stare into your own. His voice reduces to a whisper. “I’m a fool to disregard you, dear.”

Swallowing hard, you tear your eyes away from his own to stare past him at the ceiling. Looking too long into his blue eyes may sway you to melt underneath him, but it’s late, and you want him to know the opportunity is long gone. 

Sensing your everlasting reluctance, Martin offers you a smile in another attempt to warm your cold shoulder. “You look lovely. Really. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier.”

You didn’t even notice earlier. Letting out a small sigh, you move away to turn back onto your side, but Martin’s hand remains on your face and pulls you back to look at him again. The pads of his long fingers press harder into your cheek. Not harshly, or painfully, but just enough to make you aware that he wants you attention. 

“Haven’t had any time with you in so long.” Martin leans down to press a kiss to your forehead, then your cheek. Then a peck to your lips that you don’t quite return. “I’ve been so caught up in work…” His lips graze against yours while he speaks in a mumble. A shift in his hips makes you aware that he’s half hard already. The feeling takes you by surprise. “It’s been so long since we-“

“Go to sleep, Martin. It’s late.” Or early, you think, hearing the birds singing louder outside. 

You’re tempted to bite back and tell him that whatever he’s after, he would have gotten it hours ago had he only followed you to bed when you asked. Though the feeling of his body does stir a small something deep inside you, you ignore it in favour of holding your ground. You’re too far past the point of wanting to try to keep him happy tonight. Had he rubbed against you like this all those hours ago, or muttered sweet words and kissed your skin as he does right now, then maybe your reaction would have been different. 

“So you can speak.” His sarcasm only further irritates you, and you let the emotion show on your face in a glare. He tilts his head at your very clear annoyance and presses his fingers into your skin slightly harder. “Here I was, worried the cat had gotten your tongue.”

One of your hands comes up to swiftly pull his own from your face, before you finally turn to lay over on your side again. You ignore the sudden emptiness that you now feel without his touch. A part of you expects him to reach for you, to pull you up against him or to pull you onto your back again, but his body is instead frozen just behind you. 

“Goodnight, Martin.”

A few moments pass before he shifts just slightly. It’s clear that he’s thinking over his next move, thinking of any other words or ways to loosen your firm stance. You remain where you are, stiff and rigid while you wait for him to move away. Eventually he decides to give up on his affectionate act, and shuffles to the other side of the bed where he turns his body away from you with a huff. The movement reminds you of a toddler not getting his way. 

“Goodnight.”

He barely whispers it, but you hear it very clearly in the quiet room. The cold distance in the bed feels like a mile now that he’s created it. Wrapping the blanket tighter around you doesn’t do much to subdue the shiver that has suddenly come over you, and it does even less to replace the feeling of him pressed against your back. 

Maybe by morning things will feel a little better, or you’ll feel like your suddenly withdrawn husband really does care for you for a change. Just like he had done before. 

—///—

You felt beyond vulgar and used in the worst way possible.

It almost made you sick to your stomach. It was anyone else, you'd snap. Filled with rage and disgust.

But this was for the Doctor. Dr Brenner. And it wasn't much of a secret how much you loved the Doctor, or the lengths you'd go to please him.

Which is why you allowed him to drag you away to his office in the middle of your short scheduled time with the children, where 001 was already waiting, and throw you onto his chair (knees on the seat facing away from him) and rip your skirt up and tights and panties down. Exposing you completely to the men in the room.

"I'm sure you know why I brought both of you here today..." Dr Brenner sighed whilst stroking your wetting entrance slowly.

He continued, "I was pretty shocked and disappointed with both of you as of recently... maybe you didn't realise how obvious you were both being, but I've seen the looks you've been each other... the little conversations you been having during and after work... I've decided I need to give you two a reminder of the rules here."

You were frozen in fear, what was he talking about? Yes, you and Peter had been getting close as of recently but only as friends. You'd never betray your beloved Doctor like that.

You couldn't see, but behind you Peter was also frozen in fear. He didn't quite know where this was going. He had tried to anger his Papa by flirting with his naïve girlfriend right in front of him and did expect Papa to lash out and punish him, but he didn't quite know what kind of punishment this was and the lack of knowledge and control scared him to say the least.

Dr Brenner stared Henry down as he shoved a finger inside of you, making you gasp and grip onto the chair harder. Brenner and 001 could see how wet just a finger could make you, 001 moved uncomfortably on his chair and tried his best to hide his growing erection.

But Brenner had already seen it, and it only made him angrier. To him, Henry had no shame. He shamelessly flirted with his girl right in front of him and how he was shamelessly getting hard right in front of him for his girl.

Brenner knew you had no real part in his, he never once doubted your loyalty to him. But he was a little upset you hadn't seen 001's bad intentions with you and come to him immediately.

But still, this was Henry's punishment, not yours. Your punishment would come later.

Brenner unbuckled his belt and pulled down his trousers with just his free hand, before adding another finger into you.

He turned away from Henry to look at your bare ass and wet cunt and began stroking himself though his boxers, "I'm doing this to remind you both of your places, since you clearly need reminding. Henry, your place is beneath me and my darling... you should be grateful I've kept a failure like you around for so many years... and my darling," You slowly looked around to face him and your eyes met, "...You're my whore. I keep you around just to use whenever I please. You'll do good to remember that."

It stung and made you wetter. To hear you meant so little to the Doctor broke your heart a little but you already knew it. But also to hear that the Doctor wanted to use you in filthy ways... I mean, a win is a win.

Dr Brenner removed his fingers from you and showed them to Henry. The young man closed his eyes and looked away, moving awkwardly in his seat again because his hard dick was starting to hurt against his trouser.

Brenner chuckled at him and placed his fingers in his mouth, sucking off your juices with an evil smile on his face.

You whined and whimpered, grabbing both men's attention.

You shook your ass at the Doctor, "Please more Sir..."

Henry thought he was gonna be sick. He wanted to run away, but knew running away from his punishment could make things even worse.

But Brenner was quite the opposite. He was always thrilled to hear you beg for him. And since you were handling this all so well, he figured you deserved what you wanted.

He pulled down his boxers and quickly sheathed himself into you. You both let out a groan and began eagerly rolling your hips together.

You bit your lip and ripped the chair beneath you, you needed some way to let out how good this felt.

"Oh Papa... I'm so sorry!" You cried, "I'd never betray you! I love you!"

Brenner gently patted your head and continued fucking you, "I know you wouldn't, dearest. Papa knows you would never... God! You're taking me so well!"

You came first, Brenner not long afterwards. You sighed as you slowly came down from your high, you stayed out just in case your Papa had more in store for you.

Dr Brenner sighed as he carefully spilled all of his seed into you, then tucked himself back into his trousers and turned to look at Henry.

His face was almost covered with his hair as he looked down, but Brenner could feel 001's fury from a mile away. This punishment was a reminder that Brenner owned him, and he hated it. He always hated his Papa, but now he might hate you even more, for not helping him. And for choosing your evil mad Papa over him.

"Henry..." Brenner spoke out of breath, "Before you go back to work, look here."

He pointed to your cunt, filled to the brim with the Doctor's cum.

"I can't stop you from thinking about my Darling, but when you do, remember her filled up with all of me."

Henry didn't even bother to look.

"Now go back to work."

Henry was more than happy to run out of that office. Both to jerk himself off and to get as far away from the both of you as possible.

Brenner turned back to you and carefully pulled up your panties and fixed your clothes. He pulled you off the chair to face him and smiled at you.

"You did so well Dear." He gently stroked your face, "You know Papa really does love you. I love you more than anything else in the World, actually."

You smiled at your Doctor, your heart beating speed up to the point you though you might be having a heart attack. Your Papa did love you.

"I love you so much too Papa."

Brenner smiled again at you and leaned down to kiss you gently.

Working in Hawkins Lab rarely sees a day come and go without some form of excitement, and normally never any of the good kind. You’re grateful at times to not be up front dealing with the worst of it. 

Most days, you prefer to situate yourself in a quiet office, happily tending to whatever admin work may need to be dealt with. Paperwork feels endless, though you’d rather deal with this than whatever experimentation Dr Brenner has put his foot into. Just reading the files and hearing his retellings of the fascinating boy he’s been studying has been enough thrill for you. 

You’ve been involved enough with the doctor over the past couple of months to have heard plenty of stories. More involved that any of the other staff have the privilege of being. In the time you’ve known him, and even within the time you’ve been seeing him, he’s been nothing short of mannerly. Not once so far has he stepped over the line, keeping his distance and remaining professional at work, and even when alone your activities have always stayed very appropriate. Nothing more than short kisses and gentle touches up to this point. 

Dr Brenner is confident, and seems to always have his wits about him - though this demeanor slips up sometimes when you look up at him in a certain sweet way while he talks to you in the lab. Even so, he remains ever the professional at work, though you do sense his attention being drawn away from his tasks and to you much more often than it maybe should be. In this sense, you sometimes think that getting your work done may be easier the further you are from him, finding each other's presence to very often be a distracting one. 

Today, like many days, you’ve found a quiet office away from the busiest areas to allow yourself to work in peace. The hours pass quickly. 

You’re so deep in your work that you don’t notice a commotion start up at some point somewhere in the lab, until the very person at the centre of it comes bursting straight through your office door. 

The door flies open with such force that you worry it may break off of the hinges totally. The suddenness gives you a start, making you jump and pulling your attention instantly away from the paperwork in front of you. 

The sight takes you a moment to adjust to. 

A slightly hunched over Dr Brenner appears before you. His usually proud shoulders are slumped, and he visibly winces with each step in your direction while a large hand presses flat against his side. He stares you down with wide eyes and chest heaving, as though still processing whatever the hell it is that’s going on. 

The blood on his face startles you when you see it, having not fully registered it within the first few moments following his very sudden arrival. A slash across his nose begins to bleed, crimson gathering on his cheeks and some on his forehead too. 

“The boy-“ before you can even ask about the incident, Dr Brenner blinks quickly and begins to make an attempt to stand straight. He pats down his suit, as though trying to make himself look presentable. The blood adorning his features certainly doesn’t help him to do so. “He’s gone. It worked, he’s-”

“Dr Brenner, you’re injured, I-“ He looks briefly taken aback by his title coming from you. Though used to calling him by his first name on the outside, addressing him correctly whilst working inside the lab allows you to preserve some shred of a professional relationship, and you try to do so when you can. You focus your thoughts on his injuries - the more you look at his face, the more blood you notice. Swirling thoughts present endless possibilities as to what may have caused it. “Your face. Please, allow me to clean you up?”

“No.” The self assured doctor is short and stern in his answer. “I’m alright, that’s not necessary.” 

This statement is very evidently a lie. You’re surprised he even expects you to believe it, and it makes you wonder why he’s even arrived to your office in the first place. 

“But you’re bleeding-“

“I’m fine. I just…” He looks away for just a moment, before clearing his throat. An attempt to straighten himself sees him sucking in a sharp breath before returning to the way he was. “The boy was… violent. I thought I’d better check the rooms before I continue onwards.”

You assume that the boy had something to do with the way Dr Brenner is now acting. You also begin to assume that his sudden arrival in front of you has very little to do with the violence, and much more to do with him seeking his own comfort away from it, even if he’s far too proud to admit it.  

As though reaffirming this thought, he takes another few small steps towards you. There’s something in his eyes at first that you don’t quite recognise, until it shifts into a hesitation that stops him in his tracks. An awkward moment of silence sees you scanning his face for a clue that doesn’t come. 

You notice him swallowing hard when you try to bridge the gap towards him, one small step bringing you closer, though you do so cautiously. Something about him seems flighty. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, yes I’m… I’m fine.” A small nod with lips pressed tightly. “Well, everything seems okay here. I’d best get going…”

Like a sudden case of cold feet has hit him, Dr Brenner starts moving back towards the door before he’s even finished his sentence, although his injured gait betrays his confidence. He doesn’t make it far before his shoulders hunch once again, and thin lips press hard together. It’s evident that he’s far more hurt than he wants you to believe. 

“Really, it would be better if you allowed me to check you.” You shove down a selfish thought about such an act allowing you to be close to him. This doesn’t seem the time to be thinking so inappropriately. 

With a shake of his head, he continues, not even looking your way as he limps towards the exit. Determination was always a very evident trait in him, and a one you’re sure had helped to get him so far in his role. Determination, though, seems to be the best friend of stubbornness in Brenner’s world. 

Your own stubbornness prevails, and you take quick steps to block his way to the exit. Your shorter body stands in his way of it. Though a certain intimidation comes with the way the man towers over you with his eyes narrowed, you’re far too focused on getting him clean to care. Especially since he seems far too prideful to admit that he requires it. 

“Dr Brenner, I insist you must take a seat. Trailing blood around the lab will do no good for anyone.” 

It seems your stern words take his attention. He stares down at you with brows raised, before nodding slowly. His tensed up jaw relaxes only slightly. 

“I suppose you might be right…” he doesn’t quite meet your eye while he admits his defeat. “Don’t want to let myself be known as a walking biohazard.”

Satisfied to have won this battle, you offer him a small smile before moving towards your desk. Dr Brenner is still slow in his movements, and there’s a hint of reluctance in the way he follows behind you, though he does so all the same. 

You pull the chair out from your desk, gesturing for him to sit on it to allow you to begin your treatment. Stepping back to give him room to sit himself down allows you to analyse him as he does so, and you let yourself lean back slightly against the desk while you attempt to deduce some form of a diagnosis from his staggered movements. 

Now that he’s settled and sat, you find a clean tissue nearby and begin to go about your work quietly. Your first priority is to remove all of the blood and to assess how badly he’s injured. Some time passes in silence while you dab the tissue slowly on his skin in an attempt to clean up his wounds. With your own gaze fixed on them, you don’t initially notice the way his stare is fixed to you. It takes some time to even see it in your peripheral vision. 

When you do meet his gaze, there’s a grateful glint in his eye, and a slight softness to his face while he watches you work. It’s as though there’s some appreciation on his mind that he can’t quite articulate now. When he speaks up and addresses you, there’s a tender edge to it, though he still sounds somehow professional. 

“So helpful, for you to do this. Thoughtful. Very kind.” Brenner speaks as though diagnosing you with these words. You can almost picture him writing the description on paper - while they’re complimentary, there’s still something analytical in them that feels as though you are but another one of his tests. 

With the way his eyes begin to scan further down from your face, down to your collarbone now exposed beneath your blouse from being bent down to clean him, you certainly feel as though you are under examination. 

A sharp breath hitches in your throat when his curious stare doesn’t let up. Whilst not totally opposed to his wandering eyes, the intention behind them leaves you confused given the current situation, and your hand hesitates over the skin of his face. 

“Dr Brenner, I-“ The doctor pulls his gaze away swiftly as though remembering himself. A sudden awakening or realisation of where you are. “I really must get your wounds cleaned up.” 

“Of course. Excuse me, my mind is… elsewhere,” Dr Brenner adjusts his seat, swallowing hard as he does so. “Please. Continue.”

Just as instructed, your now uncertain hand returns to its work, patting the skin of his pale face carefully. 

When you’ve finally cleaned up the last of his blood, you set the tissue aside and stand back just a little to inspect him once again. Taking his face in your hands gently allows you to turn it slowly to each side, eyes scanning every inch of it as you do so to ensure you haven’t missed a single spot. You don’t miss the way that his eyes follow you even as his head moves. You opt to ignore this stare in favour of keeping some shred of composure while you hold him like this, but a niggling feeling in the back or your mind of wanting to give in to this tension still remains. 

Eventually, you release your grip, and find that you instantly miss the warmth of his skin against your own. A deep breath to compose yourself before speaking up factually. “They don’t seem too deep. They shouldn’t take too long to heal.”

Even after letting your hands fall to your side, you find your feet stuck where they are, and your eyes remain glued to him. His seem totally fixated on you. 

A thought strikes you, that in the privacy of this quiet office, there shouldn’t be anything stopping you from wanting to address this subtle tension. That thought leads on to a hope for him to act on it. A small part of you begins to wish for him to close this awkward gap. To make the first move. To actually fulfill whatever desire seems to be lingering behind his eyes, and behind his words and movements, something sitting on the tip of his tongue that he’s just the slightest bit too prideful to admit. 

The privacy and proximity both give you some form of confidence, and after locking eyes for so long you can’t help but bite the bullet in this moment. Without you fully expecting it to, your body leans forward, slowly bringing your face closer to his as though acting on its own. Like a magnet pulls you closer and closer to the man staring up at you from his seat below you. Time crawls while you move, and a reluctance still lingers in your mind, making you wish that he would just pull you down and get this initial awkwardness over with. It’s not as though you haven’t kissed the doctor's lips before - but doing so in the office and totally derailing your professional boundary feels that little bit more daring. 

Your breath catches when you finally notice him move. When he does lean forward in an effort to bridge the final gap, his face comes only inches from yours before his approach is cut off with a sharp hiss, features contorting in a brand new pain. The suddenness startles you and makes you jump back. 

“Y-you’re hurt.” You stutter the words out through a newfound nervousness, a sudden realisation hitting as to what was about to happen, cheeks flaming hot when you stand up straight once again. You attempt to swallow down the arousal now clawing up through your system. Wiping your sweaty palms along your skirt, you swallow hard before continuing. “You’ve hurt yourself badly.”

Whatever want had started to spark in his eyes is replaced now with a pained glint. One of his hands is back now on his side, pressed flat against his ribs, evidently rushing to the site of the pain. He clears his throat quietly, not quite meeting your eyes when he responds. “It seems like I have.”

Slowly, you nod. “Can I take a look?”

There’s a few moments of silence before Dr Brenner gives a small nod. With a slight shrug he begins to remove his outer layers, discarding his coat before moving to undo his tie and work on the buttons of his vest. It takes some strength to not stare too perversely at the way his fingers do it. Out of some attempt at respect, you look away for a moment when he moves to unbutton his shirt. 

When you do turn back to face him, his shirt is undone though it still sits loosely on his shoulders, and he has pulled it apart enough to allow you to get a good view of his skin. It’s the first time you’ve been able to fully see his bare chest, having not gone much further than an innocent kiss or a suggestive placement of a hand at this point of your relationship, and you allow yourself just a moment of an indulgent ogle. Tunnel vision on the faintly suggestive lines of lean muscle along his stomach stops you from even noticing his injury at first. The view makes your skin heat up. After a moment you realise his eyes are boring into you, and this fact stokes the fire already burning on your cheeks. You force yourself to resist a longer look and to pay attention to the task at hand. 

Your eyes widen when they finally meet his injured side. It had been obvious that he was in pain, though you’re still surprised to see the intensity of the physical evidence. The pale skin along one side of his rib cage has already started to bruise, dark shades blossoming along his flank.  

Shuffling closer, you raise both hands to touch the dark skin, but not before glancing briefly at his face in search of approval. Once he nods, you trail your fingers carefully along the damaged area, feeling along his rib cage while he watches. Though you try to be delicate in your investigations, every prod at the tender skin leaves him tensing.

Another brief flick up to his face tells you that he’s not watching your work - rather, he’s watching your face, and the way you look while you inspect him.  

After returning to your task for a few moments, you’re too lost in your assessment to notice the rise of his hand that rests closest to you, but you become very aware of it when you jump at the feeling of a cold knuckle against your knee. For a moment you wonder if the touch is accidental, a result of your movement and the way his arm rests down along his side as he sits, but this theory is disproven when it stays there. 

The theory is thrown completely out of the window when you feel it begin to move. 

A knuckle grazes along your leg as he slowly moves it up, skirt going along with the ascent, steadily and methodically tracing a line up towards your already aching heat. You shiver at the feeling of a chill hitting your newly bare legs. 

A part of you still wonders if this may be an idle action, the doctor too deep in thought to truly register his own movements, though the way half lidded eyes have started to follow the path of his hand shows he’s very aware of it. Whilst certainly not opposed to his wandering touch, the time and place where he is acting on his desire to explore has you baffled. You wonder if you may have been right to assume he has come to you seeking personal comfort after all. 

The digits move higher, slowing their pace only inches from the junction of your thigh, and when they freeze in place you let out a deep breath you hadn’t realised you were holding. This pulls his attention back to your reddening face. 

“Dr Brenner?” It’s spoken more feebly than you had hoped. The tremble in your tone is evident. A mixture of uncertainty and a very steadily blossoming arousal. 

“Hm?” Hummed so sweetly, so innocently, as though unaware of what you may be alluding to. 

“Do you…” another shake in your speech. It takes a large amount of discipline to will your mind to remain on your task. “Do you want me to continue to check your injuries?”

“Continue.” A smirk pulls his lips up. “Don’t let my wandering distract you.”

Darkened eyes cast themselves away from your evidently embarrassed features and back to his act. You stiffen as the hand moves further, the climb still so slow, and your eyes flutter when you feel a knuckle brush against the spot where your thigh meets the hem of your knickers. The longer they rest in their position so close to your sensitive heat, the more maddening the wait becomes. It grows gradually more difficult to fight back the urge to push your hungry hips forward in order to press yourself against his hand in search of any slight friction you can find. 

Before your excitement can even truly begin, he withdraws this touch. Though your will is strong, it proves impossible to stop a quiet whine from escaping you at the feeling. The sound only pulls the corners of his lips up higher as shadowed eyes flick to your face for a moment. There’s a wickedness behind them that only pushes your desperation more. Now, he moves his hand instead to the back of your thigh, long fingers stretching across the skin with his palm pressed against it. It’s a comfortable hold on your leg. A much more comfortable and intimate hold than could be deemed professional in any sort of context. 

It takes a lot of power to ignore this new touch, along with the frustration building up in your body at just how close he came to touching your more sensitive parts. 

“I-It’s definitely injured…” Focusing as much as you can on his injury, your voice is low while you debate the diagnosis, and you mentally scold yourself for stating the very obvious. Whilst he’s certainly restrained in his movements, he doesn’t seem to be damaged enough for anything serious to have snapped. “Though not overly swollen. It doesn’t seem like anything is broken.”

There’s a silence while you give one last check over his side. His jaw seems tense, and when you poke at a particularly sensitive spot of his rib, the hold on your leg tightens slightly with a wince. Short nails dig ever so slightly into the skin just below your arse. 

When this action makes you gasp, he mutters out an apology with a sigh.

Brushing off the very tense feeling that’s filling your bones, you lean back just a little to address him properly with your final medical suggestion. The hold on your leg still keeps your feet in place. “It’s best that you get some rest. Do you want something for the pain?”

Dr Brenner tilts his head at this, considering your question, though doesn’t initially respond. The silence makes you feel awkward. His only real acknowledgment of you is a brief flick of his eyes to your own. 

Then, without a word, the hand holding you pulls you in just slightly. It forces your feet to shuffle a few timid inches closer to his long legs. Another pull, and you find your knees brushing against them. 

As though you’re not close enough already, his free hand suddenly comes to roughly pull at your other untouched thigh, dragging the limb over across his own and bringing you to settle into a straddle on his lap. The action brings a deep crimson fire up your cheeks, happening so swiftly and unexpectedly but certainly not unwantedly. 

Timid hands fiddle with each other in front of you. Having been busy only moments before, you’re now uncertain as to what you should even do with them. You allow yourself a curious glance down at his still bare chest, then back up again to his face when he begins to speak. 

“No…” At first you don’t register that he’s finally answering your query, but then he continues. “No, no. I should be alright for now.”

A firm hand still on your thigh keeps you in place on his lap while the other finds your hair. Long fingers tangle through it on the back of your head, a tingle going down through your spine at the feeling, and for a moment he just looks at you - stares up at you expectantly, as though awaiting any potential objection - before pulling your face down to meet him. His lips meet yours initially hesitantly, before the hand in your hair brings you even closer to deepen the kiss. 

It takes you a moment to adjust to it - you never would have expected that simply healing his injuries could ever lead up to something like this - but it’s absolutely not an unwelcome act. Nervous hands find his shoulders slowly, holding gently and steadying yourself better in his lap, and he responds to your grip with a tightening of his. Now that your touch has given him a green light he pulls you closer swiftly. Your front moves towards his own, and this closer proximity finds you hovering just over his bulge. An awareness of your position makes you feel hot between the legs, but a hesitation stops you from settling down and allowing that heat to meet him. 

You don’t stay like that for long - Dr Brenner raises his hips an inch to meet yours, allowing his bulge to push up against you. It’s a relief, a long awaited desire now fulfilled, to feel this movement against your sensitive spot. You use little effort to stop the quiet moan that escapes against your mouth. A low hum from him conveys his equally relieved approval. 

With this little bit of encouragement, you find you can’t help but push down just a little bit harder. 

Your fingers press into his shoulders while you rock your hips, small movements giving you just enough pleasure to feel a spark start up low in your stomach, and his grip on you tightens when you move just the slightest bit quicker. He rests his own hips once yours pick up just enough to have you both feeling the friction. It wouldn’t take much investigation for you to know that you’re already wet from this act. With such a desire burning for him, it hasn’t taken much for you to turn into putty in his lap. 

Dr Brenner doesn’t let you go until he absolutely has to. By the time he does, your chests both heave, the sound of pants filling the room while your eyes lock once again. There’s a faint redness to his cheeks that you don’t believe you’ve ever noticed before - it’s unlike him to be anything less than cool and composed. 

Just as you’ve managed to catch your breath Dr Brenner shifts slightly, eyes trailing down and landing on the spot where both of your bodies meet. A smirk tugs at his lips when his gaze reaches the area of your arousal. 

“You’re eager.” He states it as a fact, like some scientific finding, eyes glued to the spot where his covered erection meets your heat. Looking down to follow his gaze, you see you’ve already left a very obvious wet stain on his navy suit. 

The sight sends you into a very mild panic - it prompts you to push yourself up in embarrassment, stuttering an apology while attempting to break the contact and wanting to avoid any further marking, though this isn’t something he seems to be pleased with. Both hands grab your hips roughly to bring you back down into the same position on his lap.  

“Don’t be shy,” he tilts his head, staring at you with a mockingly innocent smile. “I don’t mind it. Keep going.”

“But, your suit, Dr Brenner-“

“It’s fine. Keep going.” His gaze remains glued to you. His already harsh grip roughens, large hands pulling you to help to continue your pace. “And please just call me Martin. We’ve already thrown professionalism far out the window.”

Normally, you might second guess this, and would be tempted to retreat in embarrassment over the very obvious effect the doctor is having on you. This, however, just feels far too good to run away from. After a moment of thought, you ease yourself back down once again, gradually allowing yourself to grind softly and just the vaguest bit hesitantly against him. 

This obedience seems to please him - his eyes flash with something darker, head tilting back with a relieved sigh at the return of your pressure, and he sits back very slightly to watch you while you begin to chase your satisfaction. The way his eyes seem to analyse your features brings a hint of shyness back to you, but it’s forgotten very quickly when his own hips move to rut up against you. They don’t do so for long - unable to move too hastily with his current injured state - though just that brief added stimulation is enough to erase the embarrassment from your mind. You pick up a steady rhythm, and can’t help but let your sounds of pleasure fall out into the room while you move on his clothed erection. 

Martin stays as he is, hands still guiding your eager hips while his eyes stay fixated on your face, his own lips parted with a look of awe and pleasure. The pressure of you pushing against his erection isn’t quite enough to get him to his finish, but the way he looks along with an occasional quiet grunt tells you it feels good all the same. 

Even if it was enough to bring him up to his own peak, Martin finds himself in this moment to be less focused on his own excitement, and far more interested in watching the ways in which your body reacts to yours. 

After allowing you to grind against his bulge a little bit longer, getting you dangerously close to falling over the edge of your pleasure, he freezes his hands on your hips to hold them in place and stop your frantic movements. At first you open your mouth to instinctively start to protest, until one hand leaves your hips to dive down between you legs, and your eyes widen when you feel it graze along the folds there. 

“Sorry for the… interruption.” Long fingers move your underwear aside swiftly, before running along your already dripping heat, his breath catching in his throat at the feeling. This newly direct touch draws out a quiet whimper from you that seems to leave him satisfied. “I just want to see exactly how I make you feel.”

For a moment he enjoys the sight of his own hand between your legs. Long fingers stroke you gently, moving slowly and almost teasingly as though testing you, and the soft noises you make at his mercy leave him enthralled. 

Another protesting whine leaves your lips when he abruptly removes his hand. Before you can even begin to complain, the sound of a zipper being undone leaves you holding your tongue, the realisation quickly dawning on you of what his next move will be. You’re suddenly much less annoyed at the current lack of stimulation you’re receiving. 

When he pulls himself free, already hard and leaking just a little, you can’t help but find your stare drawn to the way he looks in his own hand. You notice your slick still glistens on his fingers. Martin runs his hand along himself to spread it along the veiny skin with a gasp, and the sight of your wetness on his cock leaves you aching to feel it in any way you can. Your lips part while your eyes fixate on it. If he’s staring up at you, as he usually does, you’re far too enamoured by his now wet cock to notice it. 

Then, after only a moment of allowing you to enjoy this sight, he moves himself to line up with you and prepares to finally allow you to feel him just as you wished. 

It doesn’t take much for Martin to push himself in - the very kind doctor knows enough about anatomy to have prepared you very well, to the point that him filling you almost feels more like a long awaited relief than an outright intense pleasure. Sounds of pleasure fill the room as you lower yourself inch by inch, paying little regard to your location in the lab, and even less regard to the fact that anyone could be on the other side of the office door.  An initial pressure gives way to a very satisfying full feeling the further he enters you. 

It’s a tender moment, once you finally relax into his lap with him buried deep inside you. A first, and definitely not a last, having not gotten as far as even to see each other nude before now. Of all of the places you would have imagined he would have first taken you, the lab would have been high on your list of wild fantasies, though very low on your list of realistic possibilities. 

You begin to crave more after adjusting for just a moment. Holding tightly still to his shoulders, you slowly begin to ride him in the chair, enjoying the feeling of being so much closer to him now than ever before. 

It seems like he enjoys admiring you while you move. Half lidded eyes track the steady rise and fall of your hips before moving slowly upwards. Rather than enjoy the view of you sinking down around him over and over, he finds himself gazing once again at your ever changing face. 

His gaze is observant, and almost analytical, as though studying your expression while he starts to see you come undone. His eyes dart to each and every shift in your features, brows furrowed slightly like he’s mentally noting every change - the twitch of your lips, the way your eyes flutter closed, the way your face screws up. It’s as though he wants to assess the way each movement makes you feel. 

Maybe it’s even an attempt to memorise your favourite sensations for another future meeting. 

You can’t help but feel flattered by the way he seems so focused on you, as well as just the slightest bit shy, but the latter feeling evaporates when your pleasure begins to build. 

Another curiosity seems to occur to him while you ride him, the curious doctor always looking for more information. One hand moves up, beginning to quickly unbutton your blouse while trying his best to not pop the buttons off in his rush, a task made more difficult when you begin to pick up your pace with a quiet whine. His own hand hardly stays steady with the way his own satisfaction slowly mounts. Once open just enough, he slips the blouse down your shoulders, leaving your front mostly bare. Pulling your breasts free has him wetting his lips while admiring the view.

“Such a pretty sight…” you barely hear it when he whispers it, too wrapped up in your own pleasure to fully register it. 

It’s easy to get lost in the sensation of him in you, and to admire the way he looks underneath you, and it isn’t long before your movements become just a little more jagged. A tingle spreads from your stomach and you chase that feeling with your movements, sensing now that you’re getting closer to your finish, and by the way his groans grow louder it seems that he may be near that end too. 

When Martin notices you getting close, the tips of his fingers press harsher into your hips, his own sounds of pleasure becoming a little less controlled. He ruts up against you as well as he can with his damaged body, movements now rougher while he chases his own high within you. Your desperate sounds spur him on. 

“That’s it, come on -“ he cuts himself off with a low hum up his throat when you rock your hips a little more. “Follow that feeling, finish this pleasure for me.”

One of his hands finally rises to touch your breasts, having enjoyed the sight of them in his face for so long, fingers carefully flicking over a sensitive nipple while you ride him. This one little action derails you entirely - the heat in your stomach swells up into an explosion, pleasure rushing through every inch of your body with a moan while you begin to finally ride out your finish. 

Those same attentive eyes remain focused on only you now as you finally reach your peak. 

The intensity of your orgasm makes you buckle, forcing you to bend and bury your face into his neck to stifle your moans. The hands that had been on his shoulders move up to grip onto his hair, and he inhales sharply when you accidentally pull at it slightly. At this sudden embrace, long fingers move from your hip to spread across the small of your back to pull you closer, bringing your own body flush against his while you whine against his skin. He continues to rut through your orgasm, even through his own pain, his thrusts senseless and moans verging on desperate before eventually he stills completely with a loud groan beside your ear.

You allow yourself a moment of rest like this while totally breathless. His hand that had been on your breast moves to wrap around your middle, and the other moves to join it and pull you into a tight embrace. You enjoy it, to be so close and so intimate with him, and the thought of ever having to move yourself away from him leaves you already feeling a preemptive emptiness. 

When you do eventually push yourself up to look down at him again, his appearance is an almost satisfying one. You’ve never seen him look so disheveled. His unbuttoned shirt barely hangs off of his shoulders. Normally neatly combed hair is rough and tousled from your hands. If his appearance wasn’t already enough evidence of the act he just engaged in, his heaving chest and pink cheeks would make it obvious enough. 

You take some mild satisfaction in knowing that you’re the reason for his undoing. 

Gradually, your body begins to relax, coming down slowly from your high while he holds you. Those analytical eyes still watch you, still studying your expressions while you gaze down at him. You’re too tired and satisfied now to take on any shyness from his stare. 

Without the sounds of your pleasure filling the room, you suddenly feel much more aware of your location. When your ears pick up the normal background noise of the lab out in the hallway, the reality of this situation begins to register. The reality suddenly hits, the scene you’ve found yourself in, sitting in the doctor’s lap while the rest of the lab’s work continues outside the office door. Your colleagues walking the halls and working hard while Dr Brenner softens inside you, his warm spend still filling you. 

Martin doesn’t seem nearly as fazed by this as you do. His head cocks to the side as tired eyes take in your suddenly worried expression, but then he wraps his hold tighter to pull you down to rest against him once again. Taking your lips into a much more tender kiss than before, he hums quietly. He does tense slightly when you lean against his body, the pain relief of his pleasure gone now that his orgasm has totally finished, but he enjoys the warmth or your skin against his own and the feeling of your mouth on his all the same. 

Martin takes great pride in ruining your dating life routinely. 

Well, to him, he doesn’t exactly ruin it. All he does is prevent you from wasting your time on inferior men - stupid, lustful little boys - when you could be spending it all with him. 

It’s easy to know when you have something romantic coming up. You’ll arrive to work on the morning of a date, hair done differently, looking even better and more put together than you usually do. To Martin, you always look decent. On the days that you have plans, he thinks you look exquisite, leaving him even more flustered in your presence than he normally finds himself to be. The doctor is calm and collected around everyone he meets. It frustrates him to find himself much less self assured around you. 

As his assistant, Martin finds you competent. Clever, perceptive, careful. Always helping him and aiding him in every way he could need. Every way, apart from in the ways he truly needs, ways he cannot bring himself to admit to you - as an assistant you are irreplaceable. As a person, Martin finds you irresistible. 

But, of course, dating is something entirely different from work to Martin. He doesn’t find it’s a world he's as confident in as others. As a doctor he is cocky, but as a human he is not as assured in his emotions as he wishes. He is not as smooth as he desires to be. So, lacking in the skill of suave sweet talk, the closest he can get himself to asking you out is asking you to work late with him. Even better when he knows that he’s the one taking up your evening instead of some other inadequate young man. 

Echoes in corridors often tell him of your evening plans before they’re ever truly set in stone. Whispers to colleagues, hushed excitement as you update them on the newest potential addition to your life, and mentions of plans to go out to get to know each other more. Stifled giggles as they ask you if he’s handsome, or kind, or rich. Martin is nosey, and along with it he’s also perceptive - in his eavesdropping, he can pick up the optimism and the giddiness in your words. 

Martin always makes sure to set your schedule in such a way that will prevent you from attending yet another little date. The overtime he gives you is only ever over the weekend - a Friday, more often than not - when he knows you’re likely to have made plans already.  

Every time he asks you to work late with him, it goes the same way - Martin takes in the way your shoulders drop, your face falls, and your mouth opens quickly with a rejection at the ready only to shut before it comes. It would be embarrassing for you to admit to your boss that you’re heading off on another silly date, he assumes. It’s difficult to say no to him. Martin knows of your reluctance to deny the request - he wonders whether there may be an eagerness to please underneath your calm surface. He hopes there is. 

Every time it goes exactly the same. Martin takes some comfort in this, despite knowing how much it disappoints you. 

Only, this time, you very firmly say no. 

Martin hadn’t expected such rejection to come from you. Particularly not when in relation to an event he always thoroughly enjoys. The overtime he spends with you is the most amount of time he gets alone with you all week, and the idea that you don’t enjoy it quite as much as he does bothers him far more than he wishes it to. 

But, reluctantly, he finds himself working late alone regardless of your absence. 

The lab seems so much more lonely in the late hours of a Friday evening. When so many of the rest of the staff are at home with their families, or out on the town with partners or friends, Martin finds the isolation of his office to be unnerving. It isn’t like him to think so - but on this particular evening, knowing that you’re off in these late hours doing god knows what with your new beau, he finds the four walls of his office to feel more like a cell than a place he should be working. 

Working is the only thing he should be doing with his overtime. But, with nothing but you and your company on his mind, he finds he can’t quite make himself concentrate on it. 

With his chin propped up on one hand, and his pen held loosely in the other, Martin finds he can’t quite bring himself to focus. A black coffee grows cold next to his elbow. It always tastes better when made by your hand. The steam of it is long gone while he ponders over your absence. His eyes stare off into space. Though they stare off blankly, they are drawn to rest on the spot you usually take up in front of his desk, where you sit to go through papers and discuss his experiments. Martin knew he would miss your presence tonight, but he hadn’t quite realised just how much the solitude would bore him. 

Bore him, and bother him enough to cause a persistent dull pain in his chest. 

The end of his pen taps a rhythm on the desk. Why don’t you enjoy his presence just as he enjoys yours? His work feels long and lonesome without you here. The paperwork feels endless without your aid in it. Quality time is just what he had desired this evening, but you’re choosing to spend yours with someone else instead. 

A heavy sigh escapes him as he thinks about this,, about the ways you might be spending your night with your lover. Even the word itself makes his stomach twist and turn. Martin runs a hand through his hair. Then, another. One drops to his neck, to loosen his tie and allow his body some reprieve from the discomfort his tired flesh feels. It feels childish to him, to feel himself this worked up over his assistant's absence, though he knows it’s far less to do with your absence and much more to do with the reason for it. 

And, though he very much hates to admit it, the emotions that your rejection stirs inside him. 

Martin tries to push through these feelings, forcing his attention to the papers in front of him, but he finds he can’t even bring his eyes to fix on them. It makes him feel all too human to be so distracted by you. 

Another minute of forcing an attempt of concentration, and Martin gives up with a frustrated grunt. The pen he once gripped tightly gets thrown down swiftly. Black coffee still sits untouched right beside him. He stares off into space once again, swirling thoughts spinning his tired mind, though through the irritation they always end up landing on you. 

Had he always been this foolish? Stricken with loneliness and a jealousy that he dare not name? He mulls over this, fixated again on your empty seat before him, until he feels that his eyes can’t stare at it any longer. The lids droop before drifting slowly closed, tiredness and boredom taking over despite the everlasting ache in his chest, and he decides that he’ll put off his own diagnosis until another time. 

If he is infected with some illness of the mind, something similar to what some people like to call love, then Martin knows he’ll have to name it after you. 

Both hands rise to cover his face, eyes shutting tight, head resting heavily in his palms. He allows his tired head to sink down to his desk, and he lets one arm fall to cushion the side of his face from the hard surface of it. The papers below him will be crumpled under his weight. In this moment, he doesn’t feel he can care. 

A short rest lasts much longer than Martin had intended, and before long he feels himself quickly drifting off, but not without you still dancing around every single thing on his mind. 

***

A quiet tap on his door is what stirs Martin from his sleep. 

Bleary eyed and barely awake, he begins to stretch his sore limbs. His arms and legs feel stiff, and his back completely aches. It takes him a moment to wake up completely, wondering through his exhaustion about who may have come here to disturb him, knocking on his door at such an ungodly hour. 

An ungodly hour, he thinks - until his wrist watch tells him that it’s 9:02. 

He blinks quickly. Then, scans frantically around the room. His office is still empty, still lonely, though the noise now filtering in from the rest of the lab makes it feel a little less so. The sounds tell him that the rest of the building has started their day without him. His short little rest turned into a much better night’s sleep than he had expected himself to get, even if every bone in his body now feels the full effects of sleeping slumped over his hardwood desk. 

When Martin finally does fully gather his bearings, he comes to realise that the person on the other side of his office door is still softly knocking intermittently. His watch tells him now that it’s been a minute or two since he last checked it, meaning his lack of response is gradually beginning to appear even ruder. A quick pat down of his suit, a quiet cough while he clears his throat, and Martin calls out to the visitor. The door opens soon after he invites his visitor in. 

“Good morning, Dr Brenner,” he swallows hard when he sees you, suddenly feeling far more alert than he had done only moments ago. He feels his heart pick up in his chest as you move closer. Another symptom to add to his never ending list. “I brought you your coffee.”

His reaction is a delayed one. Martin stares up at your face just a moment too long, mouth agape and tongue feeling dry, before his eyes dart to the mug held out in your hand. Or, as much as he wants to deny it, they’re drawn more so to the fingers wrapped around it. A quiet little thank you is all he musters up as you place it down for him, next to the untouched one from the night before. 

When you sit down in your chair, ready to start the day, Martin is disappointed to find that you get straight into your work without much more chit chat. Despite this, he does find himself relieved to notice your lack of a comment towards what he assumes must be a very disheveled appearance. Without his suit fully fixed or his hair combed neatly, Martin finds that he feels far less put together than he usually does, and in your presence this feels rather inadequate. 

Still, he makes an attempt to return to the work before him, to distract himself from his tired mind. This doesn’t last long at all before you decide to suddenly interrupt it. 

“You worked late.” 

You say it like it’s a scientific finding. Martin’s attention fixes on you, like it often does, and he finds your eyes still focused down on the paperwork in your hands. He uses this fact to his advantage to study you while he can. 

Sharp eyes take in your face in one sweep. Skilled from years of studying and experimentation, they take in all of the information they need in only a second. Martin registers the navy hue just below your eyes, and the slightly paler complexion of a person seemingly exhausted. Your lips are turned down, following the curve of your slumped shoulders. 

This exhaustion doesn’t seem like typical morning laziness. Something about the way you are today tells him that this doesn’t stem from any normal late night or even from overworking. Pieced together with the date you had in the evening, Martin deduced that unlike his own lonely fatigue, this exhaustion stems from a person being kept up by the company of another. 

At this realisation, he feels his face turn red. The idea of you tangling limbs with someone who isn’t him makes his skin feel too hot, and his wrinkled clothes feel far too tight. 

He doesn’t like to think of himself as a jealous person - but, when it comes to you, he feels it far too often to claim to not be one. 

Ignoring in your previous statement, Martin decides to broach the elephant in the room, already sick of the way it weighs down on his shoulders so heavily. With his best attempt at remaining uncaring, he casts his eyes down to his crumpled paperwork, reaching for a pen to scribble some notes. The pages are folded from however long he spent unintentionally resting on them. “How was your evening?”

“My- oh, my evening. It was good.” With an innocent stare, you give Martin a polite smile joined by a small nod. 

This answer doesn’t satisfy him in the slightest. His eyes burn even hotter into the page in front of him. 

“Did you do anything… special?”

Shifting slightly, your eyes trail down to follow his sketchy handwriting. His own flick for only a moment up to you before nervously dropping back down to the page that he’s trying so hard to keep his attention on. “Are you referring to my date?”

A temptation sparks in Martin’s mind, an impulse to ask what the hell else he could possibly be referring to, but he shoots this down very quickly. 

“Mhmm. How did that go?”

He forces himself to look at you properly now. Holding his own breath, he sees a moment of hesitation in you before a warm hue dusts your cheeks. Martin doesn’t miss the small twitch that tugs at the corners of your lips, or the way your expression is a fond one while you gather the memories of your night. 

“It was, well… good.” His eyes drop down to the way your hands play in your lap. Nerves or excitement? He’s not quite sure. “We had a lovely dinner, and… yes, it was nice.”

Martin nods slowly, and thinks over the dinner he had - or, the lack of any actual proper one - and it bothers him to think that he could have been the one enjoying a meal with you instead. Did the boy who took you out even take you somewhere decent? Someone fancy, expensive, low lit and romantic? Martin would have taken you to the finest place in town. Would your manchild’s budget have even stretched past a cheap little diner?

It would have been a shame to take someone so lovely out to anywhere less than what they deserved. There’s no doubt in his mind that you would have styled yourself well, as you always do here in the lab - for him, he likes to think, with just how much time you both spend together. Some silly hope that helps him to believe some tiny chance he may have. 

Despite not knowing the first thing about the person you went out with, Martin has already settled on a dislike for him. 

“Where did you go for this… date?” The word gets hissed out more harshly than intended. He already pictures you being subjected to cheap burgers and soda in the nearest dingy diner. 

An awkward shift in your seat shows that you pick up on his judgemental tone, though you don’t bother to address it. Tired eyes don’t meet his when you respond. 

“Sorrento’s.” A moment of stunned silence in which Martin does not answer, as yours has dissatisfied him greatly. The place is far more upmarket than where he had expected your date to take you. Admittedly, it’s likely a place that Martin would have proudly brought you himself. It would be with great shame that he would ever admit the way he had previously envisioned himself bringing you there one day. “You know, the one on-“

“I know it.”

Another snappy response, while Martin finds himself now much more irritated than he already was, and far too annoyed to try to hide it any longer. You take this as a sign to go back to working once again. 

After this you continue in silence, checking through papers while he does a terrible job of focusing on his. Martin is much more concerned with not so subtly keeping a close eye on you. 

At one point, you sit back slightly, and a shift of your shoulders moves your shirt collar just an inch. This fact should not be significant in the slightest, and Martin wouldn’t take much notice of it, if it wasn’t for the way it now allows his curious eyes to find yet another clue towards how you spent your evening. 

It shakes Martin terribly to see his new finding - just above the crook of your neck, where your collar would normally cover, sits the dusting of a bruise on your skin. The blooming deep shade is difficult to miss, the perfect small match to your lover’s hungry mouth, and his eyes are drawn straight to it like a bull to a matador’s flag. 

And, just like the bull, the sight of this colour drives a fury through his blood. 

Already tense fingers tighten harshly around his pen. Martin can’t bring himself to look away from it. Did the boy have the decency to only leave you with one, to stop his primal urges there, or did he selfishly litter the rest of your skin too? Such a disgusting and immature act, to reduce your lovely presence to something ultimately so much more carnal. 

Disgusting and immature, but only because Martin wasn’t the one engaging in it with you.

“Can I… ask you something, Dr Brenner?” Hearing your voice catches his raging mind off guard. Pushing past the feeling of his blood now boiling in his veins, Martin forces himself to answer your question with a simple curt nod. If you had caught him eyeing up the new bruise you are sporting then he’s not sure he even cares. The way your eyes don’t quite meet his sparks some concern at the topic of what you may be looking to investigate. “When I stood outside the door this morning, I could hear you quietly call my name. I thought you were calling for me, but you didn’t answer when I responded… why?”

At this, the anger once coursing through him is very quickly replaced with intense mortification. An embarrassment too strong to hide tears through his body as he tries to figure out what you may be referring to, finding himself unable to come up with an answer himself before attempting to offer you one. 

Then, after a few moments of very stunned silence, Martin remembers that you had already been standing outside his door before he had woken up. 

He shuts his eyes for a moment before attempting to stutter out a response. Martin knows his feelings for you are much more than a normal workplace relation, but your name falling from his lips in his sleep is a brand new symptom on his ever growing list of them. One hand rises to fidget with his tie, but this only serves to remind him that it’s still loose, making him feel even less presentable than he already does in his flustered state. 

“I- well, I, um…” he swallows hard. It’s not often that he finds himself at a very genuine loss for words. The room feels like a sauna with your curious eyes stuck on him. Not quite meeting his, but moving along to scan his red face, making him feel as though he is under the same sort of investigation that he normally trains on you. For as long as he stretches out this very awkward silence, Martin still can’t find any viable excuse other than the very shameful truth. “I’m not sure.”

“Oh. Well, I just was unsure if-“

“I suppose I may have been thinking of you.” Martin blurts it out long before he even fully registers the words leaving his mouth. A stupid truth thrown out on impulse. It feels like far more of a confession than he is currently ready for. Far more of a confession than the romantically stunted doctor thinks he would have ever been ready for.  

For the first time in a long time, Martin feels very truly stupid.

Stupid for confessing so easily. Stupid for allowing himself to be so flustered in your presence. Stupid for even wanting you so terribly in the first place. 

The doctor had long thought himself to be above such human desires as this, but you have managed to prove his theories wrong in every way possible. 

A knowing look sparks up in your eyes as you process his silly answer. It’s your turn to blush, a pink hue dusting your soft cheeks, a one that only makes Martin even more flustered. You bite your lip softly and the action makes him feel the slightest bit dizzy. 

Martin doesn’t like the way you look at him now - as though his words have just confirmed a suspicion you had held all along. The idea of anyone reading beyond his guarded ways so easily leaves him feeling exposed and unsettled. Normally, Martin prefers to be the one bringing up these feelings inside others. 

And yet again, unlike his usual ways, he feels himself genuinely worried about what impression his confession may have left on you. 

“I may have told a lie.” This response initially ignites an alarm inside him, until the rest of your statement leaves him with some much needed relief. “My date didn’t go that well. I mean, it was going fine, until… Well, I just definitely won’t be seeing him again.”

This perks Martin up, storming mind subsiding only slightly. Maybe he was right to assume the terrible things he had thought about the person you went out with. 

Though his mind does drift back to the very obvious little bruise decorating the side of your neck, he decides to push past the jealousy it still sparks in him, and opts instead to make an attempt to show some sense of genuine interest in your evening. 

“Why not?”

“Just not the right person I suppose.” It’s a fair answer, and one that makes him feel a little better. It also makes him wonder what your idea of the right person would be. Martin resists the urge to ask whether he would fit into that mould in any form. 

“That’s a shame.” Martin knows his lie is not a very convincing one even before he says it. 

A small nod in response shows that you don’t intend to take this topic any further, and you waste no time in changing it. “Will you be working overtime tonight?” 

This swift change of topic catches him by surprise, but only slightly. A glance down at his watch tells Martin that he’s gotten far less work done than he should have by this point of the day. 

“I’m not sure I would like to, but it seems I’ll have no choice.”

A beat passes while you consider his words. Again, he finds himself studying the small furrow of your brow while you think, and the way you chew gently on your lip right before opening your mouth to speak. 

“I’ll stay late with you.”           

A tilt of his aching head. It's very unlike you to offer up your time to him so freely. If anything, his requests for you to do so are normally met with much reluctance. “You don’t mind?”

“Not at all.” Your kind smile warms his cheeks, and he feels that he much prefers to have them reddened by your sweetness rather than his own anger. “Two heads are better than one after all. This work shouldn’t keep us here too late if I stay here too.”

With a quickening heartbeat and a still racing mind, Martin can’t help but return your smile warmly. His previous frustration begins to leave his body, the still present ache in his chest now finally slowly fading. 

Offering to give up your free time to work with him of your own accord is the closest Martin feels he may get to having you fully ask him out. To him, it may as well be the very same thing. 

“Thank you. It’s-“ Martin resists the urge to call it a date. “It’s settled then.”

When he finally does return to his work reluctantly, Martin feels far more relaxed than he had expected based on his previous frustration, and he wonders if you may be both the cause and the cure to his persistent emotional illness. Either way he decides that more time spent with you would surely do him no real harm. 

Three Months Later …

Rose woke to find Brenner going over his maps for the thousandth time.

“You know those maps might not actually show the direction Eleven and her friends went, right,” she asked as she walked up behind him, running her hands up her back to his shoulders, “I can think of a few other ways to take up our time,” she teased as she let one of her hands make its way to his chest and down lower.

Brenner’s breath caught before he replied, “You are very naughty, do you know that? You very rarely play by the rules,” he playfully chastised as he turned to face her, allowing her hand to finish its journey to his very hard member.

Rose began rubbing her hand up and down on him while she placed kisses along his jawline and neck before she was distracted by a pain in her lower abdomen. It was like a cramp but much worse.

“What is it?” he asked because even as he experiencing immense pleasure from her hands he was fully aware of every single emotion she was displaying. 

She took a deep breath to ignore the pain as she continued her work on him, “Nothing, baby,” she lied as she moved down onto her knees so she could take him in between her lips.

Rose loved the way his breath caught when she blew him.

She took him back as far as she could before her gag reflex kicked in as she ignored the contractions coursing through her body. 

“Just like that, little one,” Brenner groaned as he felt himself nearing his release, allowing his fingers to play with her hair.

Just as he came, Rose’s strongest contraction took over her body, causing her to let go of him just as after he finished.

“Have you been in labor this entire time?” Brenner asked as he began to put himself back together, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Rose breathed through the contraction before she answered, “No reason to interrupt a good thing,” she joked as she felt another contraction take over her body.

“I’m going to have to deliver our babies,” Brenner sighed as he helped her to the floor so he could lift her dress and check on her progress. 

Rose took a deep breath once the latest contraction passed, “How am I doing, boss?” she teased, earning zero amusement from Brenner.

He looked before reporting back, “The first baby is already crowning. I’ve called the professionals, but at your next contraction, I need you to push. Count to ten and then stop,” he stated, to which Rose nodded.

In the next hour, both of their twins were born. 

“What should name them?” Rose asked as she looked at the babies in both of their arms.

Brenner took a deep breath, “I’d like to name the girl Jane to undo a wrong I’ve done.”

“I love that” Rose replied, “And, for the boy, I think the perfect name is Henry to give that name a second chance.”

Brenner smiled at her suggestion, “That is a very charming idea. Let’s do it. Jane and Henry. Hopefully, these two will help me undo some of the wrongs I’ve done in this community.”

“You’ve already started that work, babe,” Rose stated as she leaned up and placed a kiss on his cheek.

His blue eyes met hers before he placed his lips to hers, pulling back to say, “It’s only because of you, dearest.”

With the kids’ help, Rose and her team navigated their way into the mechanical room. 

She and the others helped the kids hack into the controls for the lab, but then chaos ensued. Rose heard the kids utter the name Demodogs to describe the creatures running through the facility killing everyone in sight. 

She couldn’t help her mind wandering to Dr. Brenner’s safety while following the kids’ instructions. Rose was the only one in the room who was able to participate in each team’s goals because she was the only one to exhibit every power.

As time passed, the Demodogs were surrounding their room, smashing themselves at the doors leaving cracks in the glass. 

The kids, led by Dustin, began giving them instructions but at the same time, Brenner hacked the kid’s feed to share his own mission for the group.

“There you are,” Brenner began, “I’m glad I found you. You’re all in very serious danger, right now. My team is in the process of getting this situation under control. I need you to do exactly as I say.”

The kids were interrupting Brenner’s feed with warnings not to trust him because he’d lock them away forever.

Brenner continued anyway, “Red team, push the gray handle back to its original position. I have my security team working to handle this situation so that I can guide you all to safety.”

Rose began to raise her arm to do as Brenner asked.

Before the gray bar could move more than half an inch, the others turned against her.

At the same moment, the others in the room turned against her and started using their powers against Rose, causing her to crumble to the floor in misery before the children took back over the feed.

“He’s changed!” Rose shouted the kids took back over the team.

They instructed the ‘Red Team’ to open a wall in the room into the ‘upside down’. Everyone left Rose alone in the room as they made their way through the portal.

Rose sat on the floor in the mechanical room, alone, until she was joined by Dr. Brenner.

“How’d you get through the halls filled with monsters?” she questioned as she looked into his eyes, finally able to catch her breath after being attacked by her peers.

Brenner pulled her against himself in a tight hug before he replied, “My team cleared each hall so that I could safely get to both of you,” he stated as he rested his hand on her stomach, “Were you ever going to tell me?”

“I wanted to, but I wasn’t sure how to find you,” Rose replied as she placed her hand on top of his, “I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to ever find you again. This all happened by chance today,” she stated as he helped her up from the ground. “We have to help them close this ‘rift’ so that the city can be safe again,” she shared as she looked in the direction everyone else had gone.

Brenner began to shake his head, “If I go in there with you, those people will use their power to kill me. I’d very much like to be by your side to raise this child,” he shared as he leaned down and placed his lips to hers.

Rose hadn’t shared many kisses with Brenner in their short time together, but that didn’t stop her body from responding. 

Finally, she pulled away, “I’ll keep you safe. I fell on purpose when they all turned on me. This baby has only added to my powers, c’mon,” she added as she grasped his hand and dragged Brenner into the portal to the upside down with her

When they reached the ‘Upside Down’, Eleven was fighting off a scary-looking man and she needed help.

Rose looked at her fellow teammates, before glancing back at Brenner, “He’s on our side. Trust me,” she added before she climbed up the rocks until she was at El’s side. 

“I’ve got you,” Rose,” stated, as she raised her hand to further propel Vecna back.

“Thank you,” Eleven replied, “Focus all of your energy on vanquishing him!” she yelled, causing Rose to do just that.

Rose and Eleven used all of their powers, along with the others in the group backing them, to destroy Vecna, the Demodogs, and close the portal to the Upside Down.

Once it was over, Rose collapsed to the ground. Brenner raced to her side, only to be reassured by Eleven.

“They’re both alright,” Eleven shared, “She just needs a nice long nap. I can sense the change in you, Papa. Thank you for finally seeing the right side of things,” she added after the group had re-emerged the normal side of the town.

“Be happy,” Brenner instructed Eleven as he scooped Rose into his arms, “That’s all that matters. I’m so sorry that I kept you from that for so long. You are free to visit us anytime. I can promise you that I’m not a danger to you or your freedom anymore,” he added as she locked eye contact with her.

Eleven nodded with a smile, “Yes, Papa. I can tell through my powers and Rose’s that you’re telling the truth. I wish you the best of luck in your future with her and your twins.”

A/N: This is where this story moves from Post Season 4 into the Stranger Things Experience (which I highly recommend to anyone who loves the show)

Six Months Later …

Rose Foster found herself five months pregnant on a plane to Hawkins, Indiana to participate in a Sleep Study at Hawkins Laboratory with some of the other people who’d signed up for the study with her.

She had no idea what to expect or why she was involved in the study, at all. It claimed to help people who suffered from insomnia or nightmares. Rose didn’t belong in either group. If anything, she was in a constant state of cruise control where she didn’t feel anything. She missed Brenner and she was fully aware that she’d never see him again, even though she was expecting his baby, something she wished she could tell him. 

Rose didn’t expect him to drop everything in his life to help her raise their child, but she’d hoped that at least he’d be able to know that he was going to be a Father. She shook off her thoughts as she focused on the magazine in front of her for the duration of their flight.

Once Rose arrived at Hawkins Labs, she was put into the ‘red group, and given a wristband to identify her classification. She was guided through a few rooms at the lab where different people explained why they were there.

Rose didn’t hear any of it until she found herself in what they called the Rainbow Room. 

The Doctor in this room gave each group a task to accomplish. Blue went first and they proved their ability to freeze a metronome, something Rose already knew she could do.

Rose’s group was next. The Doctor asked them to move a soda can on his desk. She was sick of hiding her powers, so she raised her hand along with the other members of her group and moved the can before she decided to show off and crush the other ones in the room.

“Who did that?” the Doctor asked, his voice filled with panic.

Rose had no worries left since she’d been separated from Brenner and she raised her hand, before speaking, “I can also stop things in motion and conjure things with my mind, or influence things with my mind. I suppose I’m, somehow, the best of all three groups,” she added, sarcastically just as a very familiar voice entered the room.

“Doctor White, do any members of this group show any promise?” the voice she knew could only belong to Dr. Brenner questioned.

Rose’s heart skipped a beat as she resisted the urge to yell out to him.

Dr. White answered, “Dr. Brenner, it appears all of these people have powers. However, one member of the red group has the ability to express all three powers we’ve studied. We have to be careful with her though, per the hospital’s instructions.”

“Why is that?” Brenner’s voice cut through the room once again.

Dr. White glanced at Rose quickly before he clarified his statement, “She’s pregnant.”

Their session was interrupted by the visual of Brenner and two other scientists on the other side of the glass mirror in the room.

Brenner’s eyes visibly scanned the room before they focused on Rose’s, causing her to inhale sharply even as she kept her cool.

“What should I do with these subjects next?” Dr. White asked.

“Hello, I’m Dr. Martin Brenner,” he began, “Welcome, we’re glad you’re here. I know you came in today for a sleep study but we have something much more interesting in mind. This is where I come in. We work with very special people like you. We help them to unlock the power within themselves. This is very exciting,” Brenner went on.

Rose was trying to focus on what he was saying but all her mind was able to do was run through their memories together.

She was shaken back from her train of thought by Brenner’s words, which weren’t part of his scripted phrasing, “Have security sweep sectors four through six and then report back to me, immediately.”

What was going on? Rose thought to herself as Brenner’s regularly scheduled speech continued, “Dr. White, take them to the S Room for their Stress Test,” he ordered.

Dr. White faltered slightly, ‘Even Foster? I’m not sure that is in her best interest,” he voiced his concerns.

“You heard my orders,” Brenner repeated before he disappeared and the glass returned to its mirror state as Dr. White led the group to the next room for their Stress Test.

Dr. White left Rose and the others alone in the next room. Before the next Doctor could arrive, they were addressed by some kids climbing in the vents asking them to work against Dr. Brenner.