And They Were... Roommates

A/N: Everyone in this story is over 18. The story involves one character brainwashing his two housemates into a sexual relationship with him and as such, they cannot consent. These elements are fictional. The hypnotist is a bisexual male seducing a straight male and a female via this hypnosis, so there will be (coerced) m/m sex as well as (coerced) m/f sex. If any of this doesn't tickle your pickle, here's your chance to back button out.

I haven't yet decided if I'm going to continue with this or not. I may, if the fancy strikes. Happy to hear suggestions for where to take them, but no promises that those suggestions will be incorporated. The muse is a fickle beast.

#

Fielding hated the way his housemates treated him. They weren't cruel or spiteful. Instead, they existed around him, effectively treating him as though he wasn't there at all. He'd lived with them for eight months now, and his frustration with being the embarrassing secret kept tucked away in the back of the house was growing.

Today, he lurked in his bedroom, considering his plan. It was a large bedroom, which suited him perfectly. No wonder he spent most of his time in here instead of out there, with them. Fielding had selected this room particularly when they'd moved in, loving the small air conditioner that pumped cold air in even if his selfish housemates would rather heat the rest of the building, and the lack of windows that gave him the privacy he deserved. He'd filled the room with a large TV against one wall with a long couch that faced it, his desk and computer against another wall where he worked, and his huge bed which he was, always, alone in.

Well.

Fielding smiled.

He turned to face the final wall, which he'd lined with mirrors reflecting the TV, the back of the couch, and capturing the bed in its entirety. His room was a stage. He'd designed it for one performance in particular. And it was almost opening night.

He was a man of average height but, as far as he was concerned, above-average looks. He'd dressed with care for today, unwilling to leave anything to chance. The slim-fit black slacks he wore clung tight to his thin hips and pert ass, the fabric tight over his crotch. A grey belt provided a neat line of contrast between them and his satin button-down, dark blue. He'd even ruffled his hair -- dark brown -- into an artful mess that fell over his high brows and green eyes. His was a narrow face with a sly, pouting mouth. He worked hard to maintain an image of cunning indifference. It served him well to drive people away, as Fielding had no interest in maintaining relationships with other humans. He couldn't see the point. He had his work -- what could another human offer him that his work couldn't?

At least, that's what he'd believed, until eight months ago when he'd moved in with Neal and Bee, and been viscerally reminded of his human body and human desires. For the first time in his life forced into the messy, unsatisfying dance of trying to draw other people to his side and, perhaps -- though his cheeks flushed with heat at the very idea -- his bed.

Fielding was twenty-six years old and he'd never kissed another person, never flirted, never had sex. Never desired any of it. He'd gone to college at thirteen and emerged at twenty-five with more degrees than he needed, in computer science, in human psychology, in behavioural science, in English literature, among others. He had a PhD. He had a thriving business programming training software for various large companies to use to induct new hires and upskill old employees. And he had two housemates that he hated, loathed, reviled, desired.

Fielding hated the way his housemates treated him; tonight, that was going to change.

#

Neal barely had the energy to poke the boiling spaghetti with his fork, lurking moodily over the pot as he waited for it to be done so he could eat. After a long shift at the hospital where he was a resident, he just wanted to eat his food and collapse into bed. Even his housemate and friend, Bee, chattering brightly at him wasn't enough to keep his eyes from spending longer and longer closed every time he blinked. If his dinner didn't hurry up, he was going to fall asleep right into it.

"Oh for crying out loud," said Bee, snorting a laugh at him as she came up and bumped him out of the way with her hip, taking his fork as she went. "Go sit down, beanpole. You're going to burn yourself."

"But it's my food," he protested without much commitment to the cause.

She raised her eyebrows at him; smartly, he retreated to the counter and lounged onto a stool, folding his gangly self over the countertop as he watched her work. Appreciating, without heat, the soft, round shape of her body in a vaguely pleased way that reminded him it had been a long time since he'd had the energy to fire up Tinder and get himself laid.

Neal, though he'd never slept with Bee or tried to, thought that she was really quite stunning. Too young for him to do much more than appreciate, however, seeing as she was a friend of his younger sister, twenty to his twenty-seven. Still, he had eyes, and even though he'd known her since she was a kid racing his brat sister around, she'd grown up nicely in the time he'd been away from home at med school. He'd always been a sucker for her particular combination of large hips and a bust to match, with huge dark eyes to drown in and messy black hair she barely kept under control by winding it into a sloppy bun. Now, dressed in one of his oversized band shirts -- it was laundry day -- and tight, tight leggings, he'd have to be blind not to look. Respectfully.

He himself was nothing special, he well knew. Just med school's particular brand of tall and skinny that only came from an entirely coffee and stress fuelled lifestyle. His brown hair, which was his one vanity even though it was already beginning to grey at the temples, was long and tied back. Lanky legs made it difficult for him to slouch effectively over the counter, so he stuck them out into the walkway instead, ignoring how Bee rolled her eyes at him turning himself into a tripping hazard. He was the only one in the house who wore glasses, which he propped crookedly onto a too-long nose. His grey eyes blinked sleepily behind them.

He was thinking how even if he'd wanted to sleep with Bee, he'd hardly have been a catch for her with his hair still damp from a post-work shower, his heavy bags under his eyes, and his baggy sweatpants under a worn-thin tee, when Fielding slipped out of his room and stood awkwardly in the doorway, eyes on them.

"Hullo," said Neal, glancing to their reclusive third housemate. They'd brought him in to help pay the bills and, while he didn't talk much, Neal liked him well enough. Bee didn't. She said he was difficult to talk to; Neal, who'd been shy since the womb, could relate. "How's things?"

Fielding stared at him. "Pardon?" he asked, looking baffled.

Neal corrected himself: Fielding could be difficult to talk to, but just because people were difficult didn't mean they weren't worth the effort.

"He means how are you," Bee said, clattering over the sink as she strained Neal's spaghetti for him. "We haven't seen you for days. How's the cave?"

Fielding stared at her, blushing and, apparently, speechless. Not for the first time, Neal wondered if the man had a crush on Bee, which would go a long way to explaining why he never managed to string a sensible sentence together around her. Then again, he was pretty shit at talking to Neal too, so maybe it was just a character trait.

Though he was straight, Neal could appreciate that Fielding was attractive in a kind of wish-it-were-me way. It annoyed him that he couldn't be so nonchalantly good-looking, though Neal liked to think he had charm that Fielding didn't. If that was any consolation to Bee.

Judging from the small smirk on her face, he doubted it.

"Be nice," Neal whispered to her when she came over to drop his spaghetti and re-heated pasta-and-meat sauce in front of him. It wasn't grand cuisine. He inhaled it anyway after a rapid, "Thanks," that she grinned at. In his normal voice, between bites, he asked, "So, Fielding, plans for the night? You're dressed up. Must be a hot date."

Fielding took a deep breath before he spoke, his slow, deep voice carefully shaping all the words with precise pronunciation. "No. I thought we could have a ..." He paused, frowning slightly before finishing his thought. "Film?" Catching sight of their expressions, he tried to explain: "To watch a film, together. Tonight."

"With you?" Bee asked, tone almost catty. Neal frowned at her. Sometimes she was younger than her age.

"Yes," said Fielding shortly. The blush was spreading down his throat now. He looked, under his reserved mask, terrified. Neal's heart hurt for him. "We can use my room."

Woah, thought Neal. Fielding never let them in his room, which was a pity because the dude had the best TV and sound system out of all of them. Neal had been waiting months to get a peek at it, without any luck. He must be serious. But ...

"Man, I wish I could," said Neal with genuine regret. "But I'm flat, I gotta crash. I couldn't stay awake if I tried."

"Pass," said Bee flippantly. "Maybe another time, Meadow."

"Fielding," said Fielding quietly. Bee grinned at him before going back to chattering at Neal, her back to their other housemate as she prepped her own meal while talking. Neal, however, kept watching Fielding, seeing the flicker of emotions on his face. Hurt and maybe, was that anger? It seemed like it, as the man fumbled his phone out of his pocket and tapped at it with one gently shaking finger, the hand holding it white-knuckled. Neal didn't blame him. Bee could be brash.

"How about a raincheck, eh?" he asked to try to defuse the hurt. Mediate the peace of their little house. Fielding glanced at him, startled. "I've got a night off coming up. Let's book that in!"

"No," said Fielding in a soft voice, lowering his phone. "I'm afraid it must be tonight. Don't worry. You'll change your mind soon."

Neal raised his eyebrows, uncertain how to respond to that. Bee laughed oddly, giving Neal a puzzled look; she looked as confused as he felt.

While they were battling to figure out how to reply, Neal felt his phone buzz in the pocket of his sweatpants. It was better than sitting in awkward silence, so he fumbled for it to see who the notification was; out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bee picking hers up from the counter.

He unlocked the screen. He tapped the notification, which was unfamiliar.

He heard Bee gasp.

Then, nothing.

#

Fielding knew he had to move quickly once the app snared them. It wasn't designed as a long-term hold, not like the other programs he'd built. But, despite the urgency, he couldn't help but admire his work briefly. Bee, the mouthy bitch, stood slack-jawed and stupid against the stove, eyes fixed on the pulsing screen of her phone. Her breasts strained against the fabric of the men's shirt she was wearing despite how big it was on her, a monument to their size. She wasn't wearing a bra. Fielding could see the outline of her nipples through the thin cotton. His penis, already beginning to strain the tight front of his slacks just from seeing his work in action, surged along with the skip in his heartbeat as he noticed this small detail. To avoid overexciting himself, he looked at Neal, who was sitting on a stool at the breakfast bar with his long legs stretching out before him, his normally sharp gaze dull behind the flickering reflection of the hypnotic app on his glasses. He was dressed for sleep in a thin shirt -- similar to the one that Bee was wearing, Fielding noticed with a surge of frustrated jealousy at the relationship they excluded him from -- and ugly sweatpants. Fielding was tempted to make him go change. But there'd be time for that later.

He crossed the room swiftly and turned the stovetop off before turning to his housemates, who hadn't moved. From here, he could see the instructions he'd texted to the apps installed secretly into their phones some months prior, under the guise of fixing their streaming apps. He didn't look too closely though, unwilling to test his resistance to the app.

"Let's try this again," he said in the same low voice he'd decided he'd use for this, shivering all over when both of them sluggishly looked up at him, their expressions identical in their emptiness. Though already, Neal was blinking quicker than he should, and there was a small frown around Bee's mouth. "What are we doing tonight?"

"Watching a movie with you," Neal said promptly, standing up. As always, Fielding was briefly surprised by how much taller than him the other man was, even though he stooped to try to obscure it. "We're very excited. We should go now."

He was parroting the message beautifully. Fielding felt his penis twitch; Neal was going to be so good when he was fully under. He was going to learn so well.

"I was making dinner," Bee protested, the frown growing. Fielding's excitement faded. Now Bee, she was going to be ... tedious. Even under his control. But he wanted both of them, and he intended to have both of them.

"The film first," Fielding corrected, stepping aside to let her walk past him, her gait uncertain. "Food, later."

"Okay," she whispered, following Neal as they walked slowly to his room. They weren't deep enough. Fielding lurked after them, his heart in his mouth with nerves as they funnelled, looking around with dull interest before crowding together like sheep in the centre of the room. Neal was frowning too now, a small crease of anxiety across his forehead.

"Sit on the couch," said Fielding, having followed them in and closed the door behind them. "Put the headsets on. It won't take long, I promise."

They both looked at him. Neither moved.

"What's going on?" Neal asked, the words coming heavy and thick. His eyes flickered closed and stayed like that briefly, dark lashes making heavy lines below his glasses. He was truly and unfairly pretty; Fielding gritted his teeth. "I think we should go ...?"

Bee just shook her head, eyes beginning to clear.

Quickly, almost dropping the phone with his haste -- and erection definitely gone -- Fielding fumbled for his phone and opened the app again. He typed in new instructions, waiting anxiously as they transmitted to his housemates' phones. But, eventually, both of them looked down at the screens they were clutching, which lit up in unison. Their anxious expressions cleared, replaced with serene nothingness, flawed as it currently was. Their unease was gone.

Obey Fielding.

Walk to the couch. Sit down. You are excited to be here.

Obey Fielding.

Put away your phones. Put on the headsets.

Obey Fielding.

You are excited to be here.

Obey Fielding.

"It's exciting to be here," said Neal dreamily, falling back into the couch and crossing his legs before him at the ankle, Fielding circling the couch so he could face them. Bee had settled in beside Neal, her hip against his. Both of them set their phones aside -- neither flinching when Fielding took them and, after a thought, turned them off -- and picked up the twin headsets, putting them on. Then they looked at Fielding, pliant for the next few minutes at least.

Fielding was almost hyperventilating with anticipation. He hadn't truly expected to get this far, he had to admit, despite his confidence in himself and his work. He looked at himself in the mirrors lining the back wall, which reflected the backs of his housemates' heads and himself, flushing red and sweaty with anxiety, standing dumbly before them.

"What are we watching, Meadow?" asked Bee, breaking him out of his reverie.

Anger struck. He strode to the TV, yanking cords as he set up the laptop he had hooked to it to play the program he'd designed, rage at her and her irreverence surmounting with every second that passed without her submitting to him. He would have her and her smart fucking mouth, just like he'd have Neal and his sly pretence at being kind. They'd both worship him by the time he was done. That was all this was -- a desire for revenge, while also finally ridding himself of these absurd desires he'd caught from them. That was it. Then he would have them do his bidding without bothering him, while he worked. A perfect outcome.

He switched on the TV.

#

Bee lounged back into the couch, somewhat uneasy but mostly just feeling warm and content. She was excited to be here. They were going to watch a movie. Meadow was being as weird as usual but, shit, that didn't change that she was going to obey and have fun. It was nice having Neal sitting so close too, her hip and thigh hot where they were touching. Like her preteen fancies were all coming true at once and her best friend's hot older brother was here spending time with her, just her, and Meadow of course.

Well, nothing was perfect.

She fiddled with the headset as Meadow turned the TV on, the warm feeling already beginning to fade. When she snuck a glance at Neal, he was staring oddly at the screen of the TV, looking dopey or stoned. She'd only seen him look so vague when he was exhausted beyond belief, and her worry about him briefly cut through the warm.

But she was excited to be here.

She turned to ask Meadow, the freak, when they could go, which was about when the screen dashed to life and the headset began to thrum heavily in her ears. Bee startled with shock, feeling Neal jerk next to her as though an electric current had slammed through them both. It was stunning, the feeling, and she wasn't just imagining it; the hairs on both their arms were standing on end, and Neal's eyes were huge behind their glasses, all the vague look gone from his expression.

But Meadow had moved out of the way of the TV.

Something dragged Bee's eyes back to the screen.

And then she couldn't look away.

It was difficult to describe. The headset kept throbbing noise into her eardrums, drowning out all the sound around her. The screen was a mass of pulsing, shifting colours, no sense or logic to it. It didn't make sense that it was so impossible to look away. She was shivering with overstimulation and fear, which mounted as she realised she couldn't move. There was no warmth left. She wanted to go.

Neal's hand, trembling, touched her knee and gripped tightly, which was when she realised he was as trapped as she was and trying to soothe her the only way he could, which made her feel sick with love for him. With the headset on, she couldn't hear where Meadow was to ask him what the hell this was; she was terrified that the headsets were malfunctioning and electrocuting them or something. She needed to get them both out of here.

She began to fight the immobility, slowly, muscle by muscle, peeling herself away from the couch. Her whole body shaking. Eyes still locked on the screen. Heartbeat rocketing along. That sound throbbing in her ears like it was alive too. It took a stupid amount of time to lean forward not even a cm. And the next cm took even longer. She was moving slower and slower the longer she looked, the longer she listened, and Neal's grip was beginning to slacken ...

No, Bee said to herself, briefly stopping her battle so she could breathe deep and try to gather her scattered thoughts. Her heartbeat had slowed. It was beating in time with the noise from the headset, which was soothing. The colours had slowed too. They were beginning to circle the screen, like a drain. Slower than before. Calmer. She was calmer too.

No, Bee said to herself, breathing deeper. Don't panic. Neal's fingers were loose on her knees. His hand relaxed. He had such nice hands. Steady and clever. Surgeon's hands, one day.

Don't panic.

It was stupid that she'd tried to stand up, she realised now, leaning back into the chair, which was the most comfortable couch she'd ever sat upon. Nestling neatly against Neal's side and feeling how deeply he was breathing. He was so calm. So she was calm too. The headset noise wasn't so bad after all. It was like a heartbeat. Like a heart. Like a pulse.