#straight up doing inductions in my askbox

[callibones]

"unspeakable?" callie, it's *very* speakable. that's the whole point, isn't it? all these anons on the cusp of flirtation, those who portray a curt and dominant mx. no-one, the people eager to provide a quick jolt of "Pretty!" and "Beautiful," to your system, it's all just words.

but that doesn't matter to you. the idea *of the idea* of being desired is enough to make you overheat. the thought that someone out there, someone you'll most likely never know, has feelings and desires of their own they wish to act on is delightful, isn't it? your heart flutters, your digits tremble, and maybe your mind

a quick tug on the leash - they like you - a hand pushing down - they love you - a pair of eyes entranced - they want you. you are wanted. you are wanted in all your different, wonderful forms. you're imagined in the minds of others, below, above, in-between, oh, what they wouldn't give to see it come to fruition. there's no one else that fits the role so easily.

of course, these are only words too.

i thinkii haauve ckvidj. sorryi mean i thrinfk i hayve covid. um

you have a real way with words. um. anon. i think um

can

uh

i thinj im in love with you maybe?

[djs-horny-blog-lmao]

yeah unfortunately I think we are doomed to forever be separated by time zones unless I am traveling :(

prompt: hmm okay I have one. Janus is having an *awful* day and is snapping at everyone. desperately clinging to the last threads of his self control. (side of your choice) is finally like "okay, you need to be put down for a trance/nap/orgasm/all of the above" and semi-forcibly hypnotizes him into chilling the fuck out and giving up control.

- 👽

hiii alien anonnnn so this has been sitting in my askbox for literally months <3 <3 but i finally found the ouevre to do it so. i may be a little rusty tho so sorry <3

roughly 1.5k words. dom!logan, dom!roman, sub!janus. roloceit. no actual sex, just trance. Induction is written out. use of 'good boy' as praise. hypnosis.

as always, full fic under the cut

--- --- ---

Janus hates that he’s snapping at everyone. Remus can take it, usually laughs in Janus’ face about it, which makes it worse, honestly, but Janus appreciates that Remus can take it. Logan can too, actually, but the others all take it some level of personal, and Janus wishes he weren’t feeling so crabby, but he’s just-

He’s wired that way today, it seems.

Roman stares at him a little longer each time after every snappy remark, and Janus is sulking now, he wants to be close but everything is kind of loud, and he feels electric in a bad way, and he just wants-! …He doesn’t know what he wants.

Logan is sitting on the sofa. Janus is sitting in the armchair. Roman is sitting on his bean-bag throne. Roman and Logan keep shooting each other glances, even as Janus pretends to ignore them with a scowl on his face.

Why is it so hard to ask to be looked after? He wants to be looked after. He feels like shit, and he wants to be looked after. Janus finds himself tearing up, and he hides his face.

It’s when he hears movement that he looks up, and realises Roman has heaved himself out of his bean-bag throne and closed the difference between he and Logan, and he’s leaning down to whisper in Logan’s ear.

“Mm,” Logan says in agreement, before he rises to his feet too.

They approach Janus, which makes him shy away a little, shrink into the armchair.

“What do you want?” he snaps. “Leave me alone.”

“Do you really want that?” Logan asks, tilting his head, and Janus stares a moment. “Or do you want us?”

“We’re happy, you know,” Roman says, and he moves to Janus’ left a little more. “Happy to try take care of you.”

Logan moves to Janus’ right, sitting on the edge of the sofa.

“You’ve been highly strung all day,” Logan points out. “We have noticed. We want to help you.”

“We promise we will help you,” Roman adds, and he perches on the left armrest of Janus’ chair, and Janus keeps looking between them, unsure where to focus. “Don’t even worry about which one of us you want to look at. Do whatever you like.”

“Listen to whoever you like,” Logan adds. “Roman or I, we both want the same thing for you. To relax.”

“Yes, to relax,” Roman agrees, and Janus’ hands clench on his pants, he stares straight ahead so he’s not looking either in the eye. He can guess what they’re up to. And t-that’d be nice, but it- Janus isn’t- Janus won’t drop so easily. Surely he can’t, all stressed like this. “Don’t even worry about it, darling. There’s no rush, there’s no panic. It’s just you, me, and Logan. We’ve got all the time in the world.”

Janus looks at him, trying to keep a cynical look on his face, and he shakes his head softly.

“Oh, you don’t believe us?” Logan leans in a little, and Janus blinks as he turns to face Logan only to realise how close Logan suddenly is. “We do want you to relax. There’s nothing else you need to focus on other than Roman and I. Unless you want anything else…?”

Janus stares for another long moment, before he realises they’re waiting for a response, and he swallows, wets his lips, and softly says, “No…”

Roman and Logan both smile. Roman’s comes out as a sharp and eager grin. Logan’s looks perfectly normal, if it weren’t for how dark his eyes get, how hungrily they trace the shape of Janus’ face.

“You don’t have to worry,” Roman says, and he holds out his hand.

Janus hesitates, staring at it, before he slowly puts his hand in Roman’s.

“May we take off your gloves?” Roman asks.

Janus shakes his head.

“Aright,” Logan finishes, and he offers a hand too, and Janus looks at his hand, and hesitates a little longer before he puts his hand in Logan’s too. “Thank you for telling us.”

“We just want you to breathe,” Roman says softly, and he closes his fingers loosely around Janus’ hand. Then, slow and gentle, Roman pulls Janus’ hand towards him, then away from him in a small circle. Both Logan’s and Janus’ eyes follow the shape of it, before Logan silently copies the motion himself.

Janus feels- he already feels way more… fluid. Just kind of… being moved by their hands. They are moving him, and he doesn’t have to think about it.

“Breathe in,” Logan says.

Janus doesn’t question it. He breathes in.

“Hold,” Roman says.

Janus’ eyes fall to the floor as he does what they say.

“Breathe out,” Logan finishes.

Janus lets the air woosh out of him, head bowing.

“If your eyelids are feeling heavy, that’s alright,” Logan tells him, and Janus blinks slowly. Logan’s right. They are feeling heavy.

“You can close them, if you want,” Roman offers. “You can let your eyes close as you just breathe, nice and slow and calm.”

Janus keeps breathing in the pattern they set, and they guide him through the pattern of breathing a few more times, and Janus has to admit he’s feeling more grounded, the touch of his own clothes against his skin doesn’t feel as bad.

“As you breathe, and as you feel us just moving your hands gently like this,” Roman speaks up again now, and Janus’ eyes are closed, but he turns his head towards the prince anyway, listening, “you can feel yourself relaxing. All the tension is dropping off you, rolling off your shoulders and down your back, dripping off your fingertips. You don’t need that tension. You can just let it all go.”

Janus takes a big breath in, holds it instinctively, and when he breathes it all out, he slumps, listing over just a little, and their grips on his hands tighten a little to make sure he stays upright, and a little smile tugs at Janus’ mouth at that sensation.

“Good,” Logan says, and that makes Janus’ breathing hitch. “Good. Let yourself feel good. It’s always nice to see you smile like this.”

“It lets us know we’re treating you the way you like,” Roman adds. “Relax. Breathe. Smile. Sink into it.”

Janus shudders, his hands clenching in theirs, and his head lolls, chin dropping to his chest, but a shy little smile grows wider across his sleepy face.

“Good,” Logan repeats. “Very good.”

“Good boy,” Roman says. “Such a good boy for us.”

Janus makes a little humming sound in the back of his throat – a little too close to a moan for it to be innocent. They keep dragging his hands in little circles, which disorientate Janus more and more, he’s being dragged around and down, and he’s sinking into it, and he really didn’t think he’d be able to achieve trance the way he had been feeling however-many-minutes-ago it was, but he has and it feels good.

“Good boy,” Logan says, and a hand cups the back of his neck, and Janus whimpers for it. “Sink under our touch. Let go.”

“Just let go,” Roman’s words are by his ear, and Janus knows in a thoughtless heartbeat that those words are going straight into his brain. “Just let go for us. You’re going to drop. You want to drop.”

“You will drop for us.” Logan’s voice penetrates his brain from the other side, and Janus doesn’t know who to lean towards, torn between their gentle push and pull, ebb and flow, up and down, and he’s so effortlessly dizzy. “You want to drop.”

“…Want… t’drop…”

Janus isn’t really even that aware he spoke until he realises his lips are moving, but a warm sort of satisfaction fills him too at the sound of his own voice – hazy, slurring, content.

Logan and Roman move in beautiful synchronicity, and it’d be stunning to watch if Janus could open his eyes, if he had the wherewithal to watch at all. They gently start to lift his hands, up from waist-height to shoulder height. They stop at eye level. Janus can feel it, feel the way they manipulate his body. It feels so good. They’re going to drop his hands, and Janus is going to fall with it. That smile stays on his face, dopey and hazy and content.

He’s going to fall. He feels so good. He’s about to feel even better.

“Want t’drop,” he repeats unprompted.

Roman and Logan speak together.

“Good boy,” they say. “Drop on three…”

Janus shudders, eyelids opening just a fraction so he can do his best to study their faces, even though the pleasant haze.

“Two…”

Janus sighs happily, closing his eyes.

“One…”

The anticipation is killing him. He wants to drop. He wants to be good for them. When are they going to tell him to-?

“Drop.”

Roman and Logan let Janus’ hands go. Janus drops. He slumps backwards onto the couch with an open moan as his hands fall and bounce on the leather sofa, but his eyes are closed, his mouth is open, his head is lolling, and his mind is finally, blissfully,

empty.

The last thing he consciously hears, as his mind fades away for the evening – and it makes him smile, makes him feel all warm and gooey inside – is a very fond chorus of ‘good boy.’