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Sometimes Jonah does have to wonder if he isn’t serving the wrong Power.
It’s the thrill he gets in his chest every time somebody pushes his plans along without knowing it, the satisfaction of moving another piece into place, the warm, curling pleasure deep in the pit of him whenever he sees them all unawares doing exactly what he wants them to: dance, puppets, dance.
In point of fact the thrill is almost sexual in nature. Watching these sweet little fools fall into every trap he sets for them just makes him feel so...powerful. In control. Dominant. A voice somewhere in his mind whispers I wonder what else I could make them do?
Yes, he very much enjoys the private knowledge of how much control he has over them. Especially Jon.
Poor little Archivist. So much in store for him, already set down an inescapable path, and he has absolutely no idea. The sweet, delicious irony of it honestly makes him rather tingly.
How, he wonders idly, would one conceptualize the nature of his control in a sexual scenario? Simple dominance and submission doesn’t cover it, since your average sub chooses to lay himself down at the feet of the powerful, whereas Jon obviously can’t have chosen what he doesn’t suspect. But straightforward rape doesn’t exactly align either, since even a rape victim is aware of what’s going on. Drugged? No, that would mean he wasn’t aware of anything at all, lacked even the illusion of agency, and perhaps the best part of this was watching Jon move to follow his plan without ever understanding why. The only appropriate metaphor, he supposes, would be some kind of trance. Yes, a carefully-woven hypnotic spell under which the victim unthinkingly, unhesitatingly obeys any order the hypnotist gives them, without ever consciously realizing that there was an order—that this isn’t just something they’ve decided to do.
If he closes his eyes, he can picture Jon’s pointy face, dark-circled eyes gone dazed behind his glasses, mouth slightly open. Picture his skin-and-bones body swaying slightly as he stands in place. In his mind, Jonah reaches out a hand. “Come to me.”
And Jon obeys.
Jonah stares at his prize, suddenly unsure of what to do with him. When you spread the ultimate buffet out in front of someone, they can stand there for an eternity before they figure out what it is they want most. Still, in the meantime while he figures it out, he’s never been one to scoff at the power of the symbolic: “Kneel.”
Jon does so, instantly. In fact, since Jonah is sitting in his office chair, this only brings them eye-to-eye, (pun in that, perhaps?) but still, it’s the principle that counts. He’s comfortably reposed, and Jon is prostrate before him. He reaches out and strokes Jon’s cheek lightly. “Such a pretty thing, aren’t you?”
Of course, Jon doesn’t answer. Such is the nature of this particular trance, that except for commands, which slip into the mind without being consciously heard, the victim doesn’t process anything the hypnotist says. Jonah can say anything he likes, spill any secret, reveal the whole plan, and Jon will never be the wiser. He wonders, within the fantasy, how exactly did he spin this spell? Did he dangle a crystal in front of his Archivist’s eyes? Trick him into staring at a spinning wheel? Slip him some sort of substance? Whisper a magic word into his unsuspecting ear? Or maybe...maybe he slipped an induction script into his hands, disguised as a statement, and before Jon could figure out what was happening, it was too late. The suggestions to keep reading took care of whatever his growing nature didn’t, and he could not help but talk himself down into this helpless state, until the script ended with a command to get up and walk to “Elias’s” office, where he would find the person whom he had no choice but to obey. Yes, that would be...appropriate.
Back in the “present”, Jonah cups Jon’s head and pulls him down and forward to rest against his chest. He begins to stroke and play with his hair, reveling in the warm weight in his arms. “You’re mine”, he purrs. “I’ve completely ensnared you, bound you up so tight you’ll never escape. And you can’t fight it, because you don’t even know it’s happening. Do you know how that makes me feel?”
He gives a rueful shake of his head when he’s met with silence. “Answer me, Jon. Tell me.”
Jon’s voice is slurred, sluggish. “N...no?”
Jonah smiles. “Well, that’s alright. You’re not really supposed to know.” He strokes a little more steadily and insistently, “So just go back down now. Go fully back down into trance, so you can’t hear me. You only absorb my commands, and they simply slide into your mind like hot grease through ice, until you act on them. No need to talk. No need to think.” He feels Jon settle once again, his breathing growing slow and regular.
Jonah looks up and continues, “But since you didn’t ask, it makes me feel like the most powerful man in the world. Holding you in the palm of my hand is a rush like no other. You’re helpless, you’re powerless, I can do anything with you that I wish. Do you know something? I’m downright glad that my plan is going to take so long to reach completion, because I want to keep you on a string for as Long. As. Possible, my clueless little puppet.”
He almost thinks he could simply stay like this, holding Jon literally as firmly as he holds him metaphorically, but describing the situation is making that familiar heat grow inside him, and he needs something now. But what? There Jon is, vacant and open, a vessel for anything Jonah desires, and all of a sudden he can’t. Choose.
Have Jon stand back up and strip for him? It would be fun to see those layers come off—how skinny is Jon underneath it all, when he’s already a twig in a shirt and jumper? Perhaps have him do some kind of erotic dance? (That would certainly be fitting—“dance to my tune”, and all that) Perhaps move things over to the couch, where he can lay his docile doll-boy down and devour him slowly, moving kisses all up and down his chest, only once in a while circling back to his pretty, pretty mouth—
That mouth…
And suddenly, he knows what he wants. Slow, sensual exploration is all very well, but in the end you can’t go wrong with the classics. He pulls Jon back up, so he’s still kneeling, but no longer leaning against Jonah. “Undo my trousers.”
Jon’s hands work quickly and skillfully, even as his face continues to stare ahead, unseeing.
“Now pull my boxers down.”
Jon does as he’s told, freeing Jonah’s already-hard member. Simply the air against it is a pleasurable sensation, but Jonah of course has no intention of making do with only that. “Take me in your mouth.”
And without a moment of hesitation, Jon bends down, picks up Jonah’s ever-more-rigid cock, and slides his lips around it.
Just being inside that warm, wet space is so good, but of course Jon’s going to need a little prompting if Jonah wants any more. “Suck me off, Jon. Slow and thorough, suck me like you love me.”
And so it truly begins, and as the pleasure moves up and down his dick Jonah leans his head back and fists his fingers into Jon’s hair. “Yes, that’s it, that’s just the way, you’re so good, mmmm, good boy, good puppet, good sweet little toy and you’re mine, and I have you, and I can do anything with you and you’ll just play along like a good sweet dancing puppet and you can’t resist and you won’t resist...”
Jon is speeding up now, which somewhere out in the real world Jonah knows isn’t realistic since he was never told to, but he doesn’t care because he’s so close.
“Mindless and helpless and unknowingly obedient, yes, you’re my precious little prize and you’re mine, mine, MINE!”
Back in the real word, Jonah shoots into a Kleenex, but he wants to stay in this sweet fantasy a little longer, so he decides to, before he cleans himself up, clean up after himself.
“Good, Jon, that was so very good. Now, when I touch your forehead, get up and go back to your office. Take the piece of paper you read your induction from, and eat it. Take a sip of water to get rid of any aftertaste. Then sit back down at your desk, and wake up with no memory of reading that paper, falling into this trance, or anything you did while you were under. Instead, believe that you simply dozed off for a little while.” He reaches out and taps Jon on the center of the forehead (right where a third eye would be...) and Jon, as distant and robotic as he has been all this time, rises, turns, and leaves.
Properly back in the real world now, Jonah buries the Kleenex in the wastebasket under some papers, does his trousers back up, and runs a hand through his hair. Oh, that was nice. Of course, it would have been quite awkward if any of the team had walked in on him while he was, ahem, so thoroughly occupied, but then, he had Just Known that that wouldn’t happen.
So he supposes that serving The Eye has its advantages after all.